Winter's Kiss (2 page)

She
chuckled and squeezed water out on his face before returning to washing him.

“You
know. . .there was a day when I had a dozen virgins giving me my bath each
day.” He said in a dreamy voice.  She smiled softly, she had heard the tale so
many times. “I was the imperial WuJen and my every whim was satisfied. The
Emperor himself gifted me with a beautiful beat copper tub so big that it took
twelve servants three trips to carry enough hot water to fill it. Big enough
that those nubile virgins could bathe with me.”

“That
put an end to having virgins bathing you then didn’t it?”

“Yes.
. .but it lasted once. That was enough.” He paused and his brow furrowed. “The
water went red you know.” He said in contemplation. “So many virgins, the water
stained red before I was done.”

She
ran the cloth gently over his face. “Hush now, that was another life. There are
no virgins here.” He snorted.

“I was
different then you know.” He stated.

“Yes.”

“More
WuJen than man. More wizard than mortal.” He sighed.

“They
enjoyed themselves I am sure, old man.” She tried to comfort him.

“No.
They didn’t. I didn’t want them too.” He opened his eyes. “That is why this
place is so good for me.” He said, his eyes pleading for something, be it
forgiveness or understanding she did not know.

“When
I was at court I had what I thought was power. I had every vice and every
craving satisfied. There was no want out of my reach and I wanted it all. He
gave it to me and more, the Emperor was so envious of my powers that he gave me
whatever I wanted so that I would do his bidding. I lost myself into it. Not
the WuJen but the man. I lost him to that whirlwind of hungers. When I was sent
away I was crushed. I was angry. I was so lost and I thought my life was over.
But then here. . .” He went silent.

“Here
is good for us both.” She agreed and ran her fingers over his furrowed brow and
pushed the wrinkles away.

“I
found the man here. I found myself but that hunger. . .those hungers. They
never go away. Then you. . .” He went silent again and she smiled down at him
as he fought back tears. 

“You
are good for me.” He said softly.

“Yes.”

“But I
worry. . .”

“About?”
She tilted her head as she asked.

“Do I
ever hurt. . .” He began and she snorted a giggle and then quickly covered her
mouth as she laughed. It was such an innocent sound coming from her it caught
him off guard and he did not finish his question.

“Old
man,” She paused and measured her response, gently stroking his brow as she
chose her words carefully. “I can promise you, you hurt me no more than I allow
myself to be hurt oh mighty WuJen.” She grinned and finished washing his face.
He smiled and nodded and accepted her words.

“Now
get your wrinkly old butt out of there before you wrinkle away completely.” She
said and swift as a breath was up and sliding away across the floor. “The night
is cold.” She turned and looked at him and with a knowing grin undid the tie to
her gown so that it fell open. “I am cold old man. Come and warm me.” Her flesh
was like the purest milk, so white and without blemish it almost seemed to glow
from within. Her nipples, stiff red berries,  the only break in the perfect
color. Her hair shaved so that her body was a continuous, uninterrupted flow of
cream. Nubile, fresh, untainted cream for him to corrupt.

He
carefully exited the basin and stood before her forgetting his own nakedness,
his cock hard, his body trembling in excitement. He knew at this moment he was
not her fantasy of a man in flesh but he would be and much more. He smiled and
the innocent smile began to morph and change on his face as the WuJen began to
surface, the wizard within him waking up. The inhuman hungers began to waken.
His sparkling green eyes ran over her form again and again as he licked his
lips in a bestial hunger. His breathing ragged and excited, he stepped forward
to her with a deep growling chuckle. She bit her lip. That look sending small
shocks through her body as her own excitement grew.

He
longed to kiss those lips, those red, red lips but he knew to do so was death,
even to a WuJen. So for many years he had wanted her kiss, even as he indulged
in her body, that kiss remained a dream he could not wake from. Those lips
haunted him, the thought of how sweet that kiss would be. She let the robe
slide off her shoulders and drop to the floor so that she was nude before him.
Turning she showed her ass to him and then turned back again. She did not ask
for approval, the look on his face was so much more than any words could have
been right then. The hungry, evil, sinister look that told her that he was wide
awake, that he remembered, that he hungered, and that he was ready to warm her.
Which was good because she was cold, so very, very cold.

 “I
have written something for you.” He said looking around for the piece of
parchment in the clutter.

“Have
you now? A poet now are we?” She said knowing that if she were able she would
be blushing at the thought.

He
grinned “Always a poet.” He chuckled and found what he sought. He handed it to
her and she took it tentatively like it was fragile and might break at her
touch. She read it and then again. She looked up at his smiling face and then
read it a third time. She found herself wishing she could cry, wished she could
react as the words deserved. A blush, a tear, all she could do was smile. There
were no tears in her any more, no blushing. She smiled at him and saw his face
beaming with pride.

Skin
like virgin snow

Flesh
chill to intimate touch

Forever
beauty

Each
character perfectly formed which she knew was a task for his old, shaky hands
to do. The entire thing beautiful beyond any words she could conjure. She was
surprised at her own reaction to it, she had thought that these feelings had
long since passed from her ages ago. That her ability to be shocked and wooed
had long since died in her but, all of a sudden there it was. His words tearing
back the years to her own mortal youth before she had changed, before she had
died and she was a blushing virgin again, star struck by a man’s words of her.
She grinned and nodded. She pursed her lips and handed the parchment back to
him, her eyes blazing with hunger, passion, new found emotional urgency.

“Give
me this.” She said and turned away and knelt down before him. “Forever, make it
part of me old man,” she bowed her head slightly and waited.

He
felt his heart racing, his breath coming in ragged and feverish bursts. He
looked at his own words, his own writing and then at her pale flesh and he
could see it, could see it there in her flesh in his mind. Yes. .  .this. .
.forever.

By his
hand. . . in her flesh, forever. . .

He
grabbed at the table and took a knife and tested the blade. It was razor sharp.
He had always kept his blades thus, always ready to be used. Now he was glad of
that, the urgency demanded immediate action. He saw the kanji, each stroke on
her flesh. Reaching out his hand he found himself uncannily steady despite
excitement and age. His hand was sure as he placed the blade and pressed
against her flesh. The feel of the first cut was like deflowering a thousand
virgins, that yielding pop and then the slow sensual pull. Not deep, barely
through the skin but deep enough that blood began to trickle across the snow
white flesh. She moaned and raised her head slightly, the pain exquisite and
pure. As the blade slid through her flesh, that pain awakened her soul. So long
she had felt nothing and now so much, this old man made her feel so much.

Excited
beyond the ability to articulate it, he was devolving into a much more primal
state. He leaned down and kissed the first cut and then licked his lips. Her
blood, like fire, burned his mouth and throat at first. Then the warmth flowed
through his whole soul and he began to chuckle. Another cut, another mark,
another trickle, another kiss. As he reached his hand to make the third stroke
he could see the age spots fading already, the youthful strength of his hands
returning. Another cut and another kiss, a lick and his flesh burned, his body
began to transform, to grow backwards. Each cut, each kiss and he was younger.
. .his vitality returning through the poetry. He finished the third line and
felt his muscles achingly redefining themselves. Stronger, stronger, stronger,
his body was burning with new life.

He
felt his face tightening, who he used to be returning over who he  was. He
kissed and licked her flesh, each kiss made her body tremble. He had never felt
her tremble like this before. He began to work faster, cutting then strokes
with more and more confidence. The blood smeared on her, on him. He was making
her the perfect poem. She was to be the words. His forever beauty. His body was
young and tight and powerful again. He panted as he worked, intent on carving
it perfectly into her flesh. This stroke, and then a lick across the flesh. The
soft, alabaster skin so cold to the touch and then the cut, warm, like fire in
contrast. Each kanji a delicate sculpture of her flesh, love carved into her.

His
mind was racing and he began to laugh as he worked. His body no longer aching,
no longer weak, no longer cold. The WuJen within was awake, he was alive, he
was hungry. He began to chant as he worked, old words that had no real
beginning nor end, they were part of some stream of thought that began when the
world first came into existence. Now he spoke portions, parts, of fire and
passions as he cut the last line of kanji into her. His mind focused like it
had not been for many years, he chanted words she could not understand,
meanings she would never grasp. His mind was fire, pure fire now, the WuJen was
here.

As he
chanted she felt herself getting more and more aroused, mor and more thrilled
by the sound of his voice. She did not know the words but she knew the voice,
that voice of power and fire. She knew the WuJen so well. He cut her again,
deeper now, she cried out and he licked her wound. He was laughing and she
moaned. The hunger she felt from him was like a force in the room swirling
around them pushing them together. Another cut, deeper, she moaned as the blade
sliced her, as she felt her blood dripping and him lapping at it, taking her
life into his body. As he spoke again, he spat the ancient words wetly and
rubbed his hand over her flesh, it was now slick from her own blood. Then
another cut and another and another and it was done. She collapsed forward, the
flesh already knitting together, she felt her body healing even as he crouched
over her and drank from her unreservedly and mercilessly.

He
stood over her and spoke the words again, the words he had created for her. He
spoke them now and it was less a poem of love and more a poem of ownership,
claiming, naming her as his. She looked up at him and he was young and
beautiful, every inch of him strong and powerful and as young as he had been
when they first met. Hair jet black, eyes burning green, skin taut, smooth and
rippled over his muscles. His cock, harder than hard, bigger, bobbing up and
down slightly as he spoke.

“Skin
like virgin snow,” He looked down at her and his skin began to darken in
strips, wild slashes of darker tendrils of skin began to snake up the contours
of his muscles. Starting at his cock, they seemed to grow and slither out from
there up his body and down his legs.

“Flesh
chill to intimate touch,” The darkened marks forming into great tribal swirls
of black that molded to his muscles and painted him with the design ancient
fire. From head to toe his body became marked with these great fiery swirls,
painting his flesh with fire older than mankind.

“My
Forever beauty,” Yes. . . his. The tribal swirls grew jet black and then
seemingly deeper than black. Slowly the black yielded to tiny pin pricks of
bright red that grew in number until the entire swirl began to smolder and then
cracks of red spider webbed across the dark as though he was cracking apart.
She watched in amazement as the fire on his flesh at first spat out tiny puffs
of flame and then with a great rushing sound combusted and became actual fire.
His flesh seeped fire from its pores, it burned freely, and the fire engulfed
him in a flash of pure energy that coiled around him and shrouded him in flames.

He was
a WuJen fire master. He burned with a fire that helped to forge the world, that
created the first stars, that gave even the dragons their fiery breath. He was
that fire, that arcane power so much older than the oldest man, older than the
world itself exploded out of him. He breathed deeply and embraced the flames
and then smiled a wicked smile as he reached down and grabbed her. He lifted
her to him as easily as a child lifts a doll. The fire seething all around him
encompassed her without burning her. It swirled and grabbed her with tangible
physical force. . .a living thing, it too embraced her. She moaned as she felt
the warmth of it penetrating her form, her flesh. The poem began to burn, every
cut searing in pain as the fire licked blood from her as well, turning it into
pure flame and branding the words into her flesh. His forever beauty.