Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

conservation officers, our scientists, and security, for however long you need."
    "I didn't come here just for my dissertation. Or for the Society." Augie kept his eyes locked on Shon. There he was again, stuck, too unsure to say the real reason out loud.
    Shon appeared not to notice Augie's hesitation. "I hoped as much. We need you to document the progress of the rhinos. My team is working a new contingency plan. The poachers are getting smarter, faster—"
    Augie set his hand on Shon's forearm, on his exposed dark skin, the sleeves of his uniform pushed to his elbows. The muscles in his arm tensed, stood out in relief against the unblemished, smooth skin. "That's not what I meant."
    Shon looked down at Augie's hand. "I know."
    Augie felt the heat of Shon at his fingertips, the coiled tension of his muscles in the palm of his hand. A shadow passed across Shon's face and hesitation gave way to a hitched breath before Shon met Augie's gaze. And yet Shon didn't move any closer. Augie wanted the look in Shon's eyes to be desire. Hoped that maybe the twenty-three hour plane ride hadn't been the most impetuous and asinine decision he'd ever made. In Germany, one touch like this, even as cordial and friendly as it appeared on the surface, had been enough for Shon to know that Augie's thoughts were straying south. Here in the Serengeti, it appeared to mean nothing.
    "Huh." Augie removed his hand and sat back in the dirt with an audible huff.
    Shon raised an eyebrow, his usual smile gone, lips drawn together in a line which tipped down enough at the edges to show he was displeased about something.
    Augie faltered, trying to pick up the thread of their work discussion, responding to a question Shon hadn't asked out loud. "Nothing. Just thinking that maybe I should put a call into my contacts in South Africa. That's where the poachers came from, right? I'm sure you've already made some calls as has your boss and the director of the Society, but the bureaucracy and posturing of it all can be a detriment to moving quickly—"
    Shon was on Augie before he knew what had happened. As soon as he accepted it was Shon's lips on his, Augie deepened the kiss. He slowed it, could have spent the rest of his life there—in front of a fire in the Serengeti, Shon's hand at the back of his neck pulling him closer, fingers tracing down his jaw line and along his collarbone. When they pulled apart, breathless, Shon rested his head against Augie's and spoke against Augie's lips, the tenor of his voice low, erotic, and soothing. "Do you really want to talk work, August? Please tell me I didn't call in favors for us to be coolly professional with each other." Shon kissed down Augie's jaw. He smelled of dust, the sweetness of savanna grass, and of morning. Who knew the scent of dew could be so similar halfway across the world? The cuffs of Shon's green uniform pants were still wet from the early morning rains. His hands were chilled, yet burning a path down Augie's skin. Shon cupped his chin and tipped his face up, studying, but not unsure. Augie wondered if Shon ever second-guessed himself. The twitch of Shon's lips was playful. "I would be sorely disappointed if it is. Please, Augie. Please tell me you missed me."
    Shon's mouth tipped up into just a crinkle of a smile and he bit his bottom lip. Right. As if Augie could deny anything when Shon looked at him like that. "I missed you, Shon."
    Shon nodded, an acknowledgment that was almost military in its precision, but the wide smile which followed was all Shon. "We have two hours for me to brief you before we meet up with the team, and," he looked at his watch, "we have used nearly thirty minutes of that talking bullshit and drinking tea. Any preference for how to spend the remainder of our time?" He crooked an eyebrow. His expression was unguarded, sunshine before the sun had thought to rise.
    Memory hardly did justice to the reality of the man in front of him. His dark chocolate skin had a golden cast. His brown eyes appeared to be lit internally by a fire which was all consuming, yet warm and inviting like a summer bonfire. Shon was a Maasai warrior, a skilled Tanzanian soldier, and yet there was nothing in his joyful presence or languid grace which betrayed the violence of which he was capable. In fact, that reality seemed anything but real the longer Augie knew him.
    "Well, Silver Spoon?"
    Augie chuffed. Shon had nicknamed him almost immediately after he arrived in Germany. Augie had been the