The Wandering God

41 Walk In the Snow To View the Flowering Plum 3/3

踏雪尋梅
Tà xuě xún méi
To walk in the snow to view the flowering plum.
Enjoy plum blossoms in winter.

*~*~*~*~*~*
(Skip the first section if you don't want the steamy stuff.)

Although variety is important in lovemaking, it is also important to find a rhythm, a pattern that both lovers understand.

Zakhar and I had found ours quickly. After much play, we would end with me on top, something men pretended to scorn but seemed to like just fine when they tried it. Zakhar said he preferred it as he could better watch me, but I think he worried more about hurting me were he to take the lead.

The position meant more work for me, but I did not mind. I liked the control that came with it. I could set the pace to whatever I desired, tease or demand as I wanted.

It also meant I could view Zakhar's face, in all the agony and ecstasy of delight.

"Ao," he gasped, eyes closed and then open. A white canine bit into his pink lip. "Ao—!"

His hand found my hip bone, squeezing it in warning, even as I felt him twitch and jerk beneath me.

With a final sway of my hips I followed him, then fell forward onto his broad chest, sweating and dizzy with euphoria and exhaustion.

Zakhar wrapped shaking arms around me. "I-I'm sorry," he said, breathing heavily. He was also sweating, though he had not had to move as I had.

"I've told you, it is fine," I replied when I had caught my breath. I was somewhat irritated. I did not know why he felt the need to apologize. "I am more than content. And I cannot have children."

He murmured an unintelligible response. Even with my finger idly tracing the black swirls on his chest, he was soon asleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*
(Non-steamy from here.)

Despite all my hard work, and the sleepiness seeping from my pleasure-drugged brain, I found I could not follow him. Sleep eluded me. In its place a restlessness had come. An uneasy melancholy.

I stood, tucking the furs about Zakhar's bare form. Taking my clothes, I went to wash in the hot springs once more.

Once I had bathed I quickly dried and dressed. My skin glowed rosy from the hot spring and my passions with Zakhar. Not feeling cold, or sleepy, I left the tent, and instead wandered back down the small canyon to the ruins of the old temple.

There was no moon or stars, only clouds, but somehow the night was bright, sending the shadows of the temple stones across the snow. The scene would have been quite eerie, if not for the waterfall roaring beside it.

I walked to the nearest monolith and let my fingers trace over the carvings there. I had never bothered learning the ancient script, and there were few alive who could read it now. No doubt it listed the virtues and merits of Caiwu, the old god of the North.

I leaned my warm forehead against the cold stone. As if conjured by contact, a memory appeared.

A ring of soldiers on horseback. In the middle, two combatants faced off, spears in hand.

One of them was a short, plain looking man in his later years. His face was lined with wrinkles and care, and from it shone dark eyes, matching the black of his cloak and military uniform. Even his armor, riddled with dents and scratches, was burnt black.

There was nothing in his appearance to suggest a god, but Caiwu exuded a presence so potent, it could not be ignored. The man was a warrior and a king and a god molded into one solid, weathered form.