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My Eternal One

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My Eternal One

Words for my eternal love

by shadowsplay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

fire | stone | wind | snow | ether

 

F I R E 

You build up the fire in our sitting room, then place my slippers upon the cushions near my couch.  Your body tonight is young, your naked skin smooth in the firelight as you walk across and into the darkness of your room.  I stand at the tall windows, opened now onto the night, the fire alive behind me as I touch the outer darkness, sensing long and far below the places that beckon me, calling me down.   And as I take in the night, breathing it in as the living air, the breeze which finds me is sweet and wild ~ moving against me with a gentle fierceness that seems to be yours... as our world seems to follow your desires and rhythms, my love.

I sense you returning with your thick robes and your book, hear the whispering silks just capture the breeze as you reach around me, pulling me into you.  You kiss the nape of my neck as I look out onto the night, shivering so slightly with your lips a lingering pleasure, your breath warm upon my skin.  I catch your fragrance as you touch my ear, your whispering breath with no words a promise as you slip away.

And I turn back to you as you walk to your couch, watch your robes come alive, flowing onto you in one motion as you dress, lengths shimmering red, then softly glowing firelight as you settle onto your couch, opening your book.  How easily you read by firelight; something I've never completely mastered.

Slowly I walk past you to my own couch, stepping into my slippers as I nestle into the soft cushions, and with my feet near the fire high and bright, I sit warm and content as I watch you read.  How quickly you are lost in your book; away, far and away to read of civilizations and their generals, the wars and intrigues of empires, their cultural and philosophical legacies.

You turn old again as I watch, my lover becoming my companion through the ages once again.  And still I sit, watching you, feeling the warm fire against the cool of night, the breezes stirring at the hangings about the room.

I watch you, my love, as the night grows, reaching the far places I remember only in darkness... as the starlight spills down onto a spinning world, becoming a thousand dreams, and then a hundred thousand more.

I feel myself becoming more alert, warming to the growing fullness of a young night no longer new.  I stretch and stir, watching you still.  And still do you read, your hands soft white in the dying firelight, your hair golden and thick, flowing down your arms and curling against your lap, ever startling in its beauty against the dark crimson of your robes.  I stand, stretching again, and walk to the table where my goblet stands yet half full from yesternight, the rim stained black, the contents thick and blacker still.  I sip the cold blood, holding it in my mouth, warming it, savoring the thick, metallic taste, finding the wine under the blood before I swallow, then feeling the life and warmth begin inside of me, growing.

I carry the precious mixture to the open window, standing again where the night finds me open, knowing my desire as promise, then answering my desire as freely given air... the soul of night touching me, rustling at my hair, moving under my clothes.

After a time, I listen for you behind me as you move slightly, for I feel that you have returned, your awareness a returning presence though you still read your book.  I set the goblet on the low window, still looking out, sensing your changing mood.  And the wind rises from below me, the scent of night delicious, perfumed with the smell of water from the river far down, and the distant acrid mossy smell of damp stone.  An owl calls in the trees below the upper meadow.  I lean forward a little and look up; the stars are bright, the night is yet moonless. 

Finally, I hear you put your book aside, then stretch your feet out.

Suddenly you are at my side ~ you can move so soundlessly when you desire ~ and your hand slips lovingly around my waist as I lean against you.  The breeze calms for a moment and I catch again your scent, inhaling deeply, your long hair falling over my shoulder as you bury your face in my hair, kissing my ear with little silent touches of your lips.

“You taste so sweet...” you whisper low and soft, as I remember our lovemaking before dawn and the stillness of daysleep.  Knowing that you also think of it, I feel deep within me a passionate stab of warmth to answer the remembering, my body moving so subtly in your arms.  You hold me tighter, your lips still at my ear.  “So sweet...” you whisper, tantalizing me, subtle laughter in your eyes as I turn to you, as I look into your soul and offer mine.  For a moment you hold me with your eyes, tenderly, knowing me, your translucent hair flowing silver-gold against the firelight.  You are laughing without moving, a breathless, silent laugh, your eyes so expressive as I look at you, my eyes pulling you to me.  You kiss me so softly, then we turn again to the night, your arms close and warm around me.  And so we stand for a time, waiting for the moment when you will go.  For I feel in your body the tensing as you awaken to the night, as you breathe deeply of the night air, stirring the need in you. 

I too feel the night pulling at me.  Later, perhaps, will I go out.  I will savor now the riches of a night yet young, the pleasures of my couch, the warm glow and magic in the comforting cycle of hearth’s fire, now radiant coals and a current of glowing heat behind me.  And my books, my book is calling me to another world; a human world, as my world was once so very long ago. 

Your breathing changes, your body tightening just a little, and I picture your eyes becoming subtly wild, then you slide very slowly from me, moving silently across the room and into your own, the door closing softly after you.

Alone... It is your habit, even after so many years with me.  You often go alone, though we both thrill at the chase, at the enchanting starlit flights over the lands surrounding our home.

Alone...  The delicious aloneness in which to enjoy the things that I love, the richness of many moments ever filled with the little joys of these, the daily pleasures that feed my soul.  I reach out, feeling the air beneath me as I pull the windows closed, then walk slowly to the fire, humming softly as I stir at it, adding fuel.  I light my candles, then settle onto my couch once more, picking through my books.  Where is the Tolstoy you have been wishing me to start?  I spot it next to your chair, and laugh to myself  as I pull my Proust onto my lap, fingering the worn cover.  I will have you reading the Tolstoy to me yet.

The Proust is thick prose, heavy laden as with sticky fruit.  The fire is again low when I sense your return, as I come back to the cold room, slowly, with a little effort, stretching and looking up into the shadows of our great room, now filled with near darkness.

And as you approach again our rooms, you make the little greeting that is silent in my mind, the inner touch of love and pleasure from your deepest knowing of me, surrounded in you by your vast soleness, the infinite aloneness that we each truly are.  For it is this boundless place of only self that balances what we share, and so makes possible our deep intimacy and deepest knowing of each other.

In each of us this single aloneness is made eternal and immeasurable in our joining, encircling the shared place between us, containing every way we might know each other, as we have known each other for centuries.  It is the other place, within which we express what is and needs no expression... woven through give and take as the pleasure of so expressing our love.  For this domain between us is the true treasure, the boundaries of our land, and the filling of it is the act and the art of that treasuring; the enjoyment and expression of that which we share.  Always and forever, for us...  my love.

I taste the fragrance of night spiced with the delicious odor of fresh blood as you move past me, as you open the dark stained skins and pour a measure of spiced wine into two goblets, then a larger amount of the thick, fragrant blood.  You lift the vessels, then notice the fire, setting yours down.  Smiling, you offer mine, and move to the fire, stirring it and adding more wood as you watch me, smiling with obvious pleasure as I drink.  You fill a decanter and bring it with your goblet to your chair, then sit across from me, still watching in the growing firelight as I drink, feeling the warming strength spread through my body.

You drain your cup, pouring more, then sit back.  You still love to look at me, offering your presence as love, a soft devotion in your eyes.  And I still respond to your open adoration after so long.  It demonstrates your bond to me in a special way, makes a daily gift of it to me.  I sometimes look up after hours of reading, thinking, or sleep, and find you are still looking at me, offering your subtle smile tenderly when our eyes meet.

I finish my drink and settle deeper into my chair, looking at you, watching me.  You have gathered your hair over one shoulder and are stroking it idly with your hand, so long and white.

After awhile, your face is relaxed, head to one side, eyelids slightly closed, as though you are meditating, full and relaxed as you watch me, looking at you.

Gradually, the silver of moonrise paints the mountains outside our windows with a pale shine.  The fire is very low.  I feel time moving, the earth turning in a great even arc, swinging past the slow climbing moon, ever catching up to it.  And still you look at me.

When yestereve's moon was high...

My body is warm as I remember again our wild lovemaking.  Your delight in my wildness, your answering intensity, grasping at each other, tangled around the bedclothes and each other.  The sharing of blood sending us to our peak.  Giggling and howling when at last we caught our breath, looking around at the damaged room, taunting each other.

I touch the place of the healed wound at my throat, then look up at you, knowing I have physically revealed my thoughts.  You bare your teeth playfully, then smile, your eyes glistening in the candlelight, your hair alight from the moonlight behind you, now cast down through the great south windows behind you.

I think back over the years, remembering.  There are the many times when we share months without physical sex, though you make love to me everyday with your devotion, your adoring manner and time spent sitting with me.  But those are the changing times, when time carries us through a different rhythm.

Most often our sex is quiet, so tender and sensual, like your watching of me, but with your dark intensity just below the surface.  The sharing of blood a sacred ritual, our release a long and fiery rippling, spreading out from us like sunset from the distant mountain tops, fading into the starlight stillness and our calm breathing.

And you quote poetry with my blood on your lips, then pull forth a volume from which to read to me before hunger sends us out into the night.

“A poem for every star” you say, as we look up from the bed.

My bed... for you often sleep in my room.  You are a private man, with an extra measure of that which is not human, a difference which seems to heighten your passion for me when we are together.

The ebb and flow of our days, the dance of togetherness and separateness most often includes many hours apart.  You seem to be the one that leaves, then returns, seeking me out.  We have long ago settled into a rhythm, a pattern of our energies, pushing off of one another, smaller circles, larger circles, circling out and away, and then back, always back...  I return always to you, my love.

When you leave, I sometimes cry, a faint remembering of a time when parting could be forever, when death was always a current in the river of my days.  Time flowed so differently then; it is slower now, and faster.  Each moment a luxury to be savored slowly, and the hours and the nights so quickly passing one after another into the years and centuries of living.

Time cannot betray me, and I have opened to it.  I flow with it, feeling its powerful tug as the tide feels the moon, unafraid and wild.  I sink into time, as I do the deep, luxurious bedclothes I pile on my bed.  And I dance lightly at the crest of time, feeling its push as I feel the wind rushing up at me on the battlements, where I stand on windy nights singing silently to the stars.

 

The candles are gone, the fire only coals now, and I cannot see your eyes, though I know you look at me still.  I stand and stretch, and you open your arms to me as I move across to you, nestling into your lap.  Arms around your neck, I kiss your soft cheek in tiny circles.  Moving to your neck, and your earlobe, then nestling into your neck, I breathe in your scent, taking your warmth.

“My love,” I whisper as you stroke my hair, rubbing my hands with your hand, our heads together as I feel myself growing sleepy...  drifting into contented sleep.

 

The moon is high when I awaken in my bed, the fire in my room flickering softly, a dark rose on the pillow at my side.  A goblet of blood and wine, my Proust and the Tolstoy on the table by my bed.

I pick up the rose, inhaling the spicy scent, and the candles in the room instantly light, flaring high for a second with a sound like a sigh.  I smile.  Your magic always delights me.  I pick up the goblet, fingering the Proust, then pull it onto the bed.  I taste your blood in the vrengésh, as you call the mixture.  I sip at the rich blood, slipping back into the Proust.

When the fire gets low, I find my slippers at my feet when I touch them to the floor, then pad over to the fire to add more wood.

Walking into the moonlit sitting room, I see that both doors to your room are closed, faint firelight at the lower edges.  You are there, in your great room.  I picture you reading, or sitting at the windows, writing, remembering.  After many years, memory offers much to go over, to keep fresh with the remembering.

In the hallway, I hear one of your servants replenishing supplies in the hall cupboards.  Water, wood and candles, clean vessels and linens, and little treats for me from the village, or the faraway cities.  Delicate soaps and softly scented toiletries, writing supplies, beautifully bound books, and this last century, one of many new delights ~ picture books from around the world.

Your door to the hallway clicks open, and I hear you speaking in Romanian, the servant hurrying off to comply as your door snaps shut again.

Standing in the silence, the moon filling the room through the great windows, I twirl in the high moonlight, dancing about the room, humming, letting myself go.

 

Hours later, after the Proust has led me on into the early hours, the candles low, the fire gone to coals, I look up at the rose and reach for it, my hand just touching the Tolstoy beneath it on the little table.

Immediately, the book opens, and there upon the title page is a beautiful ring made in the shape of a star, with a small and brilliant diamond at the center, and many smaller diamonds and sapphires shaped as the many points of the star.

It is breathtaking.  I slip it onto my right hand, laying my hand in the moonlight on the bed.

Sparkles...  Eternal sparkles.

You have given me several rings.  I wear only and always the dragon ring on my left hand.  This star ring speaks to me of many nights shared, of poems and stargazing, warm closeness shared under a cold eternity...  a sapphire sky filled with moonlit diamonds.

“My love...” I whisper, sending to you with eyes closed.  When I open my eyes, you are at my side, bending near to me, eyes shining.

“My love...” you answer in your tongue, and taking my hand in yours you kiss the ring, then press it with my hand to your heart.

“My eternal love...” I answer in Romanian, tears in my eyes.  After so many years, when I think I can feel no closer to you, you always find a way deeper into my heart.

You snuggle into bed with me, and holding my hand and the ring, blending our energies into it as you spin your tale, speaking of the artisan who made the ring, of the conversation you shared with him about local politics and gossip.

We giggle, laughing at the breathing humans and how they change, how they never change.  All the time holding hands, exchanging little kisses, and little caresses as we anoint each other again and again with our love, with the joy and pleasure of touch.  I love how loving and affectionate you are...  my love.

When at last the first hint of dawn begins to show in the sky, you look up, and the darkly translucent curtains unfurl, covering my windows with their views to the south, and above our heads, to the west.  I snuggle deeper into your arms and softly tickle you all over, the way you love, until your breathing slows, and you whisper “Sweetest dreams...” in your mother tongue.

We drift off together as the night passes into day.

 

S T O N E 

I am dreaming.

Running... I am running.  A great wolf leaping and bounding atop the mountain peaks of my homeland.

An in my eye, in my mind's eye... the deep sapphire of the heavens rushes before me, diamond rays of starlight spinning as I hurtle on... and on.

 

The moon is high, the bed a shambles, my pulse racing.  I push myself up, drop to the floor.  Closing my eyes...   Sensing you; you are out in the night... somewhere.  I am alone.  I revel in this aloneness, the gift of self; richness, eternal, ever-present.

Howling with delight, I dance around the room, crash through the door to our sitting room, laughing wildly.  Out into the hall, gliding down the steps that connect our rooms with the rest of the castle below, I run.

My laughter and deep growls echo through the great rooms as I race naked down the hallways and stairwells, then up again, as fast as the wind!  Feeling my power, the incredible strength I can draw upon at will.  I am a beast.... I am a God.......

As I fly through the great hall, running and leaping across the immense floor, cold and smooth, I catch a glimpse of my ring in a beam of moonlight from the windows far above.

Deep sapphire and diamond rays of starlight...

And through the remembered vision of my dream I descend, almost floating now, deeper, deeper into the darkness, into the depths of the castle.  Deeper, deeper, I am creeping now, silent; silence surrounds me as I step, step.  Step, step.  How I love the darkness... it holds me close like a lover.  And yet, I am alone.

Lying on cold dark stone, silent and unmoving, I feel small, and yet I wonder, what am I?  What am I, that I encompass a vast emptiness?  That in occupying it, immortal, ever opening, I feel so full?

I trance in the darkness, blurring the edges between waking and dreams, between self and darkness.

Time passes.

 

I come back to my body, to a familiar sensation: you are near, you are sensing me.  The slightest touch of your awareness brushes past me, then is gone.  You do not open to me, I do not hear the familiar greeting in my mind.  The silence is between us.  The silence is rich, it is luxury.

And I search for you, sending out into the castle darkness a slender reed of sense that slides by you in the stillness.  The briefest touch, no words, you are... there.

And in the darkness of my mind’s eye, inside I sense your presence, as though you sit in the corner, eyes closed, your mind in darkness.  And in my mind’s eye, inside I open to you, reach for you, feel you flowing to me.

And then you are here with me, lying next to me, silent in the darkness.  We are together, and alone.

Lying on cold, dark stone, silent and unmoving.

Time passes.

 

Inside you come to me, touch me in this inner place of darkness.  We are joined in the dark stillness, drifting in the still night from which all being springs.  And we drift in the darkness, blurring the edges between us, between you and I, between then and now, between what is and what has never been, can never be.

Time passes.

 

Many times, we have spoken of other such moments...  With the few words that evoke this inner place, this inner sharing of our experience; recalling those times as fond memories.  But we never speak of this moment, though we sense each other returning to it from time to time, when we are still.  A look between us speaks of the treasure in it, the bond between us that we share something so precious without ever speaking of it.

And some days later, I had found under my pillow a small, dark stone, touched by you from that place of stillness, so that whenever I touch it, I feel you there with me once more.

 

 

W I N D

It is always in the fall, when the winds finally come, that the melancholy begins.  I wake to the sound of my own crying, and touch my wet face with dread and wonder.  Again… it has come again.

The first time, so many centuries ago, I thought that I was dying.  I would die a woman of three hundred fourteen years, instead of the thirty-five allotted me.  But I would leave this life after all...  I would lose you.

Linishte tsandari, you called it, the quiet splintering.  My mind seemed to tear open and the very wind to howl through my ears, all of my memories and learning sailing away on a spiraling current of dissipation and emptiness.  There was only now, and all else seemed senseless and far away.  When I could recognize the elements of my life, I could not make sense of their relation to one another.

I could not speak.  I lay on the bed, feeling you near to me, sensing your concern and below that your grief and frustration.  When I looked, you were there.  I took great comfort in that I remembered your name, that I knew you still.

I know that you sat with me almost constantly, talking to me, reading to me, holding me.  You washed me and dressed me, you helped me to walk about the room, to move my muscles in concert that my body would remember how it was made.  Holding your love around my mind and my thoughts, you witnessed and contained my madness as only you could, and I rested against you as the sky rests against the earth.

Over and over, you tried to get me to feed.  Finally, you opened your mouth, and forced your own blood into mine, sending to me your plea.  “Djäriani...” you called, and I swallowed.   I felt a wetness, your tears upon my face.

 

When the woman came, she sat with me until I felt her there, until I realized she had been there for a time, though I knew not how long.  And still was she there; I could see her near to me if I looked up.  Waiting until the moment came, when I realized that she saw me as well, she was there for me, she was waiting for me...  A human woman, unafraid, who knew what we were.  And as I looked at her, she rose slowly and walked to me, her eyes coming nearer, holding mine as she came ever nearer, her eyes filling my vision as she bent down, her face so close to mine... then as with a great long sigh, she breathed upon me my name.

And I reached for her.  Arm slowly moving, hand shaking, towards those eyes, your eyes...  For now you bent over me, holding my eyes with your own, your mind open to me as my own seemed to hover, shift a little, then settle back onto its moorings with a shudder.

Lifting my other hand towards your face, I grasped your hair with both hands as though to grasp again my life, as you wrapped your arms around me, then buried your face in my neck, sobbing against me in terror and relief.

 

After that time, the melancholy is never as bad.  It returns to me from time to time, in one year among many, always in the fall, when the winds finally come and strip the trees in the lower meadows of their remaining leaves, leaving the landscape empty and the wind-sound hollow and useless.

No human is required to bring me back, no mortal woman to touch me from the place that will end, and begin again.  She is long since dead, that one of so long ago...  though her daughter was visited with a special gift that brought to life her own mind and silent tongue, long since silent once more.

Very few are so visited by my ancient one, to know him in their mind, and to yet live.

 

 

S N O W

Wake up my love…” you send to me, your mouth soft upon mine, awakening me with a gentle kiss, long and tender.  Still do I linger in half~sleep, until you rub my forehead, then pat my hands softly.  When I open my eyes, the fire is built high, and my room is suffused with a cold winter light filtering in through the partially opened curtains.  It is daytime, afternoon.  You stand up, ancient eyes sparkling; you are naked under your robe, barefoot.  You send to me, and I see in my mind our homeland, înzapezí, covered with the first deep snow of winter as I slept.

I sit up, joy in my heart and in my smile as I stretch, then blink in the light as I look at you expectantly.

“Yes, Djäriani.  Today we play.” Calling me by the name you give me, you open your hands to me, beckoning.

I am awake, and suddenly leap from the bed, playing at chasing you.  You allow me close to you before you suddenly move beyond my reach, and smile and bare your teeth at me as I giggle and scream in my pursuit of you.  So lightly you step over my great couch, then circle my desk, so that we stop with it between us.  All is still, but for our breath sounds as we stand, each awaiting the other.  You fly towards the door, and as suddenly stop, trying to catch me thus, but I leap right at you, screaming loudly in triumph as we tumble onto the bed.

As we laugh and roll against each other, I feel my body respond to yours and nestle against your back, my breathing in your ear.  You grow quiet, responding to my touches.

“Where are we going…?” I murmur, finding your lips, then your neck with ever slower, long and tender kisses, feeling your body open to mine.

Slowly you change; your body becomes that of the young warrior-prince, strong and smooth.  I pull at your robes, exposing your chest and shoulders.

“The snow…” you murmur.  I feel you tense as I kiss across your shoulder and onto your neck, kissing at, tasting your skin with little licks.  Breathing softly, almost purring in your ear, I whisper your given name: “V~…”  You arch against me as my hand moves down your stomach, enclosing you.

As your passion grows, you rock against me, pulling at my hair, then at the bedclothes.  I roll on top of you, relishing this rare dominance of you, firmly grasping your hair as I please you, my other hand wrapped about you as I turn your head, then grasp your body tightly with my own.

Lover…  you send to me in your tongue.  Your breathing is fierce, and you push against me as I lick and mark your neck, tasting you.  You are ready.

You push up with your arms as I bury my teeth in your neck, turning us again onto our sides, then kick against me, so that I grasp you more tightly, pulling at the liquid heat released into my mouth, amazed at my own intensity, drawing in your blood in an explosion of passion as you arch, arch…  Then release takes you as you tense and jerk in my arms, growling through clenched teeth, the minutes passing as you tremble in your little death.  Then you become quiet, finally letting go a long breath of deepest pleasure as you shiver and then grow still.

I wrap myself so gently against you…  covering you protectively as you slowly come back to the room, your body still quivering now and again.  I lick your neck gently, kiss your cheek softly, so tenderly, letting you drift.  The warrior in you lets such vulnerability come through only rarely, and only when I love you, when you let go into my loving of you.  I savor the moment, overcome with tenderness.

After a time you stir, then roll away from me, eyes still closed, lying back against my pillows, your face relaxed.  And when you open your eyes, you are serious, your thoughts your own as you look at me, your dark curls flowing onto the white pillows.  You reach out a hand to touch my face, then grasp me, pulling me to you, taking my face in your hands as you kiss me intently, taking the taste of your blood from my mouth, your mouth slightly open as you lean back again, still tasting as you look at me.

Lover…  you send unspoken as you offer to me your eyes, your dark eyes... like deep pools that draw me in; the soul-shimmer of you, your intention, freely offered there for me, in the depths.  I shudder, feeling your blood building inside of me, knowing you desire mine, but hold back.

And you smile, then sit back, still reaching out to me, stroking my hair.  And slowly do I bring my lips to yours, your arms encircling me, pulling me into you, and the echoes of your desire.  So subtly you quiver, and I know you are remembering, as I send my own remembering, my passion when I opened you, and feel your grasp tighten so slightly with pleasure.

“This day,” you speak low by my ear; a promise to tantalize me through the hours.

“And now…?” I ask, kissing your hands, then slowly sitting up, still blinking in the diffuse daylight.

“Dress now in your warmest…” you answer, as you rise.  I see in my mind your picturing of the heavy green dress you like.  “We go for a ride… upon the snow.”

“Oh, yes…!” I dance across the room, peering out through the curtains, then turning to throw open my closet.  I hear your quiet laughter as you walk through our sitting room to your own room.

 

As I am dressing, I hear you speaking briefly to your man in the hallway, the slap of his boots receding quickly down the steps as your door clicks shut.

All is quiet again, with the muffled stillness of a world freshly layered with snow.  I pull back a curtain, blinking against the milky white light pouring into the room.  Pushing open the window, I look up at the sky completely filled with a layer of high, white clouds.  I dress quickly, then walk through our sitting room. A large cup of fresh vrengésh is warming by the fire, and our fur cloaks hang by the door.

Your door is open, and I take up the warm cup as I walk into your room.  All of your curtains are up, and I blink in the strong light, looking about your room for a moment as I sip at the blood and strong wine.  You are sitting at the other end of the room, next to a small fire dwarfed by the huge fireplace and the massive bed, pulling on your boots now warm from the fire.  You are still young as you sit up, your back so straight against the chair, smiling, watching me as I walk to you, pleasure in your eyes.  You take up your cup, and we both drink by the fire, laughing and chatting as you finish with your boots.

You drain your cup, then stand, fastening your coat.

“Shall vee…?” You say formally in a parody of your accented English, offering me your arm, and I smile, joining in the arch humor of this favored game.  I hook my arm in yours and we glide, chins high, for a few steps…  then we break into a run, feeling our strength and laughing, racing to the door to our sitting room.  Both doors to the hallway are now open, and you scoop up our furs as we fly out into the hall and down the steps, feeling our easy strength, repeating the familiar steps and turns downward through the corridors and stairways, down and down, and then finally flying out into the great hall, looking upward at the high and narrow arches.  The hall seems smaller in the bright light streaming in from high above, our breath visible as we slow to walk arm in arm, the Lord and Lady of house and night, striding forth to partake of the day.

You lead me past our little side door and out through the great arched doorways, into the formal entrance where the huge gates have been thrown open to a world of white.  And at the foot of the steps sits our elegant little sleigh, the sturdy black horse gleaming in the light, huge against the snow, its breath rising in the still air as it shakes and tosses its head.

We stamp in the snow as we pull on our cloaks, then you lift me into the sleigh, covering me with more furs and scanning the sky, playing at sniffing the wind, smiling at me.  Then with one step you alight next to me, then sit back, looking up to the sky.  You send to the horse, and we're on our way.

 

Our world is transformed.  Everything is covered with a deep, soft layer of new snow, the trees bending with their burdens, the dark little birds flitting in and out from between the struggling branches.  The sky is like a great upside-down bowl of milk with a circle of jagged peaks as its edge.  It feels glorious to be pulled along, relaxed and warm against you under the furs, your eyes and heart full with the rare beauty of the day, and sparkling with laughter and delight when you look at me, smiling, stealing little kisses, your dark intensity held for me just beneath your smile.

At a fork in the pass road, the horse follows the upper road, and we climb higher through the forest.  For a moment the lower road curves away below us, winding away into the distance as a thickening ribbon of smooth white, then disappears as we move suddenly into the trees.  The little track narrows, deep with snow here, and with ever taller trees on both sides.  The sounds of the horse and the sleigh are immediate and quick, muffled by the closely piled snow on all sides.  Over and over we peer in anticipation through little breaks in the trees as we slow, then reaching a final crest in the road we begin our descent, winding around to the right and then to the left.

Finally the road straightens out again, and the trees suddenly open to the sky as we burst forth into the high meadow.  Here at the top of the world, surrounded by a great circle of tallest trees, and the tips of the jagged mountain peaks in a great circle beyond, all of this seeming to move to us, to encircle us in intimate grandeur as we float out into the softly rolling meadow.

The horse has stopped, and you stand, pulling the furs aside, so that with a rush of feeling I leap down from the sleigh, your arms encircling me so that I seem to float down onto the snow.  Then pulling at my skirts as I begin to run, sinking lightly into the deep, soft snow, up and down the gently rolling slopes of the meadow, kicking and jumping through the snow as I dip and leap and turn and turn again, my skirts flying as I dance.  The air is exhilarating, and I breathe deeply, then stand with my arms out and head back, letting my spirit sail out in all directions... to the trees, to the peaks, to the sky, all that I am, standing here on the roof of the world, finding within myself all that these are to me, in this moment, and forever.

When at last I turn, you are standing alone in unspoiled snow, and your eyes when they meet mine are filled with your own depth of emotion, the deep love and feelings you hold for this, your ancient home.  And as I walk to you, we send to each other our love of this place, the love of place which sustains our eternal connection to each other, to an expanding universe, and to a maturing young world... with its life and loss, changes and death, but the deepest winter always followed by the certainty of spring.  For a time we stand together, surrounded by winter stillness and beauty, together at the center of our world.

At last the sun has begun to set, and a subtle pink creeps into the clouds from the west to slowly fill the entire sky.  Suddenly all shades to blue, deeper and deeper blue until the snow covered land and cloud covered sky merge and seem to glow a subtle blue-white under the growing darkness.  My hand finds yours as our spirits reach out, as big as the sky, then farther, to greet the coming night.  We are as big as the heavens, and yet each holding but the other, our hands each gently curling into the other, our hearts’ knowing made as one.

I feel my blood stirring, quickening to the growing night, as the veil of day drops away, and beyond the high, silent clouds, we sense the world opening to the infinite and silent heavens beyond.

When all is dark, I feel you call to the horse, touching him with your mind, gentling him with the darkness of night.  We walk in silence through the snow, as with the last steps of a grand, silent dance.  Then you lift me into the sleigh, the furs whispering against us as you pull them close, and everywhere is the silent flowering of night, the darkened world opening in valley after valley beyond this place, our world growing ever larger, beckoning.  Then you send to the horse, and with a little tug, we start for home, your mind open, adding your night sight to his own as we circle upon the snow our silent farewell, then pass into the darkness of the trees.

The trees and the rolling hillsides slide by us in the darkness as we seem to float above the land, drifting, drifting…  I am drifting in and out of sleep as we come to a stop, I am drifting upwards as I feel you lift me with the furs and carry me up the steps, the sound of your boots crunching lightly upon the icy stone as I drift upward, your soft step echoing through the halls and towers as we climb ever higher in my dreams.

 

I awaken in your bed, the heavy hangings pulled back, the room warm and dry.  The ornate fireplace near your bed and the huge one at the far end of the room are both built high, filling the room with firelight and softly shifting shadows.  Looking, I find your boots by the near fire, my clothes folded over your chair.  A fragrant cup of vrengésh waits on the bed table at my side.

Suddenly hungry, I sit up and reach for the large cup with both hands, filling my mouth with thick, sweet blood, spicy with wine.  I relish each mouthful, drinking steadily with deep, slow pulls until the cup is drained.  And as I lay back, I feel the warm surge of the blood spreading through my body, the luxurious warmth of the room, the deep pillows and the bedclothes soft against my skin, and from the bedding the subtle scent of you rising through my brain with the wine.

 

I reach to you, sense you in the next room, send to you.  After a moment, the air shimmers, and you stand beside the bed, looking down upon me.

“Drágul mea…”

My love... you whisper in your tongue, an answer to my call.  Your eyes search mine, finding the desire there, and your eyes answer, your lips answer, desire in your lips, in your form and in your breath, all so near.  But you do not touch me, but stand very still, looking at me in the firelight, your eyes dark, so dark with desire.

And I feel the sînge trége, the bloodpull between us, the faint roaring in my ears, as of blood moving through me, between us, around us… we are one in the blood, the eternal bond of blood.

And still do you stand, your eyes still on mine as you unfasten each sleeve, then slowly remove your shirt, watching my reaction as it falls to the floor, as you loosen your soft trousers, letting them slide from your hips.  You stand very still, looking down at me, your body silhouetted against the fire.

Slowly, very slowly your head is tilting back, your eyes burn down upon me as I lie beneath you.  And slowly, very slowly I push the covers down, feel them float over my body, pull them slowly aside as you stand over me, watching.

Eye unto eye, in slow descent you come to me, your arms open to me like wings ...I crave your touch, your body on mine…  You hover over me, your breath upon me  …the searching of your hands…  your hair falling around us as your lips cover mine, as your body covers mine, as you gather me to you, your body enclosing me, burning against me as we shiver, and gasp, and then push against each other in our passion.

You move to readiness, and I push against you, wanting you.  I plead your name, but you hold back, becoming still.  So subtly you move your head, and with a gasp I feel your teeth hard and sharp at my throat.  I am wild for you, but still you hold back, holding me still, holding me for one eternal moment.  Then your passion is released as you arch into me, piercing my throat at the same time, releasing the waves of passion in us, the ecstasy and the intensity of it pushing out from us in a great circle, sweeping away the material world.  I feel only, know only the need, the passion, and the pleasure.  We are a union of this immense release, spinning outward in darkness.

 

The center is the pleasure, growing, building, more, so, even more, and so until all is the exquisite pleasure, flowing out from the center, cresting, rippling, then calming, so still, so purely exquisite for one eternal moment…  Then the pleasure becomes release as the waves push through me. 

And you fly on my pleasure, above me in this internal place of only pleasure, knowing my cry, breathing into each gasp, giving all to my pleasure and taking all, floating down with me but a little… finding again the center.  And then you take more, demand more in your loving of me, and I crest again, overflow again, flying out from myself in the fire of pleasure, as you hold me, encompass me, love me, my eternal love... let me be of thy love, always, my love. 

Hours later, I awaken from the dreamspell of nightsleep, the bed close around us, your awareness close to mine in a shared stillness, the inner haven between our entangled bodies, drawn close around each other in a private world of breath and sigh, lash and moist skin… the single temple of our joining.

 

 

E T H E R

You are curled up on my couch, staring into the fire alive upon my hearth. Your book has fallen onto the cushions, your pale hair shines in the firelight. I stand in the doorway of my room, looking at you, watching you in the firelight, admiring your power and grace, even in repose.

You are unto yourself. Instelát, as you say; of the stars.

You know I am here. You were aware of my presence as I approached our rooms. Yet you do not acknowledge me, or so it would seem to another. After so many years together, you can acknowledge me in this most intimate way. With me you remain as close with your self and your thoughts as when you were alone.

 

And as I watch you in the firelight, in my mind I still hear the breath-sung song of the tired shopkeeper, humming to himself in the town far away, where I stood alone, looking up into darkness, listening and waiting in the darkness kept outside a little lighted room... inside the shopkeeper sat alone at the end of day. 

Listening, silent… strike from the darkness, dark from the darkness, then darker still I drained the life from a man I took there, a wretched thief; struggling but soon so calm in the face of death. Clutching, shaking, then clutching still... we listened together to the intimate moments that built to his release.

 

I walk to the windows behind my bed and push them open, opening to the night breeze, feeling it pull at my heart and thoughts. I catch the wind with my hair, feel it caress my face, my neck, my naked arms. My breathing is that of nakedness first touched by a lover. So softly I whisper, înviorá… my call to the wind. Înviorá

Leaning out of the window, I feel the dark chasm falling away below me as though to bring me with it into oblivion. Closing my eyes, I sense you behind me, still unto yourself; I just catch the faint outline of your mind’s wanderings.

Inside I focus again on my own body, hold out my hands, palms down… find the inner place. Then from inside, with a silent sigh I push forward, falling onto the night air, and lifting my eyes to the stars, let my head fall slowly back, so that my hair swings wildly in the wind. And as I ascend, lifting, lifting as a wing over wind, {I invoke the feather and bone}, swelling with the quiet ecstasy… I allow the subtle ache I feel in my legs whenever flying in human form.

Up, over the battlements, my body hovering in the dark ether, then floating, slowly, downward I float to the stones, touch them so nimbly with my aching feet. {Always I expect them to break when first I downtouch, so fragile they feel from the strange aching}. Closing my outstretched hands into softly clenched fists, when I release them I feel my weight once more, standing on age-old stone. Making of outstretched hands these softly clenched fists, when I release them, I feel my weight once again.

I stand now at the highest point of the castle, above our rooms and the sheer cliffs below, far from the entrance and the many halls far below. Standing on the wide, flat stones of the highest parapet, I feel the wind rushing up at me as though to carry me away.

The sound of the wind is a subtle roar, a whisper that calls to me from all around me, whispering my name. Listening, I turn to find you next to me, watching me with dark eyes. The wind plays in your long hair, driving it this way and that as we stand in the darkness, wordless, your eyes on mine as we accept the wind's embrace, feel it pulling at our clothes and hair.

Still silent, our minds still separate, I feel the place where our spirits touch, knowing you, feeling your strong familiar presence overlapping mine. And my heart opens; together I feel our hearts unseen, open like the sacred Hindu flower, vibrating from the dark center of the God whose love embrace unites the one who creates with the one who destroys.




Your eyes are my heaven
They hold me, catch me darkly
where your love is clearly shining for me, only me

Your lips are my bed, where to touch mine is to
be undone from within, where to rest mine is
to lose my way and to want only yours
Your hands are the prophesied for whom the
secret places wait, aching. Beloved, your hands
are for me; their sacred searching brings you to my
inner door. Lord, but say my name and I am yours

Djäriani... the wind whispers, calling me
The wind speaks for you
The wind speaks for my heart


Still looking into your eyes, slowly I lift my hand to my breast, resting my fingertips over that burning flower. Without taking your eyes from mine, you raise your hand to your chest, your fingertips touching the center place, over your heart.

Your eyes know all I can say in this moment, and always.

As one we move our hands out, slowly, and our palms come together, just touching, our energies moving together as we stand so still amidst the wild dance of the wind. Your eyes close, and I feel in my body the intense glow and brimming over of pleasure from our union, and the gift of your love.

Eyes closed, the faint roar of the wind in our ears, our fingers intertwine and we grasp our hands together for a long moment, almost laughing in our delicious solidarity, but also in the shared irony of this, our joyous mystery ~ that we allow and yet somehow survive the immense power of our union.

After a time, opening our hands, unclasping them, I stand; before I open my eyes, I know that you are gone.

 

 

fire | stone | wind | snow | ether

 


Read my kickass vampire themed m/m slash novel with real BDSM:

Willie could not know how much Barnabas needed him, thinking of him, picturing his skin taut and ripe, the blood and rhythm released by bite or instrument, pooling and caking in the concave places of his body where Barnabas played in it with his mouth and tongue, running and slipping over the edges of him in lovely patterns of black scarlet, the aroma rising as a viscous cloud of plasma and iron as the blood touched the air.

Here on AO3: Dark Shadows Play


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My Eternal One ©1998 
by Jana Rae Bess

 

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