Now he gazed at this beautiful man who had appeared almost as if by magic, suddenly at his door. He was bathed in the silver light of the moon, shimmering like a ghost. Ever since Kisho had seen the crane that morning he had known something was going to happen. When the thunderous horses had come tramping by and he’d seen the glorious royal procession, he’d been in awe of the strength and power and wondered for a fleeting moment what it would be like to be a prince. He had thought then that was the luck the crane had portended--to see such a glorious parade pass right by his little plot of land was amazing indeed. But now he knew in his heart his luck lay elsewhere. He hadn’t been able to sleep that night, though he knew the dawn would approach as it always did, and he would rise and tend to his mother and begin his backbreaking day in the fields. He decided, rather than fight sleeplessness, he would sit outside under the calming moon and let his mind drift where it might. When he had heard someone approach he hadn’t been afraid. The day had already been unusual, and it seemed natural for this to continue. As the stranger had approached Kisho had admired his fine form--the broad shoulders, the smooth high brow, the aristocratic nose and high cheekbones. The man held himself regally, Kisho thought. He assumed he must be a part of the prince’s royal party, perhaps a guard out for a walk, or a servant sent on an errand. He had been pleased when the man had approached, as he was lonely. When the man had sat down with him, they had stared at one another, and Kisho had found himself falling into the beauty of the other man’s eyes. They were a light brown, almost amber, specked with flecks of gold. He’d never seen eyes like that. They held him spellbound. When the man had touched Kisho’s thigh, Kisho felt something slide through his blood, moving toward his cock, making it hard. Without thinking, he’d laid his own hand over Yukio’s. It was the softest hand he’d ever touched. This was no laborer, Kisho knew. This was the hand of a poet and a gentleman. Kisho was entranced. He realized suddenly he must be dreaming. How else to explain this handsome, refined man suddenly appearing at his hut, taking tea with him, gazing at him with such tenderness? Since it was a dream, he decided to let the dream flow over him, taking him along its currents wherever he was supposed to go. Yukio leaned closer, his hand still beneath Kisho’s. It was the most natural thing when their lips touched, lightly pressing. Yukio’s hand did move then, sliding up Kisho’s leg toward his erect cock. They remained with lips touching as Yukio’s fingers found Kisho’s penis, moving over his pants to feel its hard outline. Kisho gasped against Yukio’s mouth. No hand but his own had touched him there, not since his mother had washed him as an infant. This dream was so real! So deliciously real. Yukio’s lips parted, his tongue licking over Kisho’s lips. He opened his mouth, letting Yukio’s tongue find his own. As they kissed Kisho felt his body begin to tremble. Some part of him seemed to know this man, and his touch filled a great emptiness inside of him. He reached out, his eyes closed, his tongue dancing with Yukio’s as his fingers sought their way into Yukio’s fine robes. He drew his hand along Yukio’s smooth chest and felt his heart, fragile as a bird’s drumming against his fingers. Perhaps the man was as inexperienced as he was. It didn’t matter. In dreams one knew what to do. He continued to move his hands down Yukio’s fine, hard body, sliding over his flat belly as Yukio’s fingers tightened around his cock, still sheathed in coarse fabric. Kisho longed to feel those fingers on his skin, wrapped around his manhood. Because it was a dream he felt no shyness, only desire, rising like a dragon’s fire in his blood. Gently he disengaged from Yukio, who opened his eyes as Kisho pulled away, his expression filled with longing. Kisho stood and pulled off his shirt and trousers, standing naked, his cock perpendicular to his body. Yukio licked his lips and knelt up, moving his face close to Kisho’s cock. Looking up at him, he took the man’s shaft between his lips, sliding his mouth down over the head. Pleasure washed over Kisho as Yukio moved down, taking the length of him into his throat. His lips and tongue created sensations Kisho had never experienced. Now he was certain this was a dream, and he gave himself completely to it. If he had died at that moment, it would have been enough. But he did not die. Yukio’s soft hands moved beneath Kisho’s cock, gently caressing his balls as he suckled and kissed his cock. Kisho’s hands moved to grip Yukio’s head, holding him as his hips began to thrust of their own accord against Yukio’s mouth. He felt his balls tighten and his blood pounding through his veins as Yukio continued his skilled attentions, drawing Kisho’s seed into his mouth, making him cry out as he jerked forward, his body spasming with fierce pleasure. Yukio’s mouth remained upon him, sucking out the last drops of his seed, his arms wrapped around Kisho’s narrow hips to keep him steady. When every drop of passion had been wrested from him, Yukio sat back, his amber eyes blazing. Kisho stood still a moment, his cock glistening in the light of the moon. He looked down on the handsome man still on his knees, his robes open, his hair disheveled. Something was wrong with this, even in a dream. The man seemed too regal to be kneeling while Kisho stood. Silently he held out his hand and Yukio took it, rising up to embrace Kisho, who stood taller than he. As his immediate lust had been satisfied, he felt another emotion, a great tenderness, overtake him, for this dream spirit who had just given him the greatest pleasure of his life. He pressed Yukio’s head gently to his shoulder, smoothing the soft black hair with his rough hand. He felt the man’s shoulders begin to shake and felt his silent sob as tears stained his bare chest. Yukio was crying. A cry too deep for sound, rising from the depth of his sorrow. He must be crying for his lost friend, Kisho thought, holding him tightly in his arms. He is grieving for lost love, and I have never known love. Not until tonight. He held him a while longer, and then, Yukio still silently keening, he lifted the smaller man into his arms and lowered himself against the wall of the house, cradling him in his lap until every tear was spent, and Yukio slept. © 2006 Claire Thompson |
