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A young man walks toward a row of orchards. He dresses in thin, brown cotton pants and shirt for his work, and wears rope sandals. He wears a hat, broad rimmed and weaved with willow plait. He ties a silk ribbon around the hat, dyed the color of ripe peaches.
Young men would not wear silk dyed the color of ripe peaches. Dark Streams, as his parents called him, does not see the point. He treasures the silly, frivolous things as he loved a good story, a good game, a long day of work, or a pretty human. He knows small joys are rare in a sorrowful age.
Dark Streams wacks at a tree branch, glancing only once to see if any peaches fell down. The sun is still out, but it is quiet. He looks around the orchards for another presence.
He is not coming, is he? Dark Streams goes over to the next tree. It was just a stupid dream. Or he lied. He shudders at the faint memories. They were kissing in that dream, but the missing person was biting and scratching. Dark Streams remembers squirming under the hands and teeth of the man who stood him up.
The first thing he does after waking up is washing his blanket. He scrubs the stains out, dowsing river water and soap on the stains. If it is not too cold, maybe the blanket will dry by tonight. I won't have to tell Mom or Dad why I am sleeping without my only blanket.
After hanging the blanket out to dry, he hears a voice. "I will meet you in the orchards soon. We can continue this further." He feels hot breath on his throat and remembers the dream. He takes his basket and stick. He hopes that the V'neefs will assume that he went to work rather than ask why he is not serving breakfast.
He knocks at the trees and curses his drawstring pants as the sun rises higher. Dark Streams has had dreams like this before. Ones where he talks to people, who teach him stories or told of tinctures and potions. He even found out it worked. His older brother told him of a thing called Essence. Some people can work with only some parts of the world. Other people, however, are far more powerful. His older brother, Famous Brilliance, knows what he was talking about. He is a Wood Aspect, under tutelage of the V'neefs. He knew that the householders, Telsia and Baharan, wonders if he would Exalt like his brother. Dark Streams is not so sure of that himself. He is 18 autumns old, and it may happen that he is an enlightened mortal.
With that thought, Dark Streams chides himself. How could I be so foolish to follow a dream when they could be dangerous? He may have been in a trap set by an elemental, a fair folk, or (Gods forbid) an Anathema.
Actually, he is not sure how he feels about Anathema. Famous Brilliance says that the Anathema were not as evil as the monks say they were. They were dangerous, yes, but not always wicked.
"Why is what you say different from the monks", Dark Streams once asked.
"The monks know that not everyone knows how to protect themselves or resist the Anathema. I may survive an encounter, but you may get seriously injured. Those who are less enlightened may die or," Famous Brilliance whispered, "worse things".
Dark Streams looks around for another living being. He hears no bird or bee. The orchards look like they always have. Maybe he had been hasty.
He thinks of the dream person scraping their teeth against his neck, and shivers. Maybe it was a nice dream. Maybe the dream being stood him up. Maybe his erection is leading him into a trap.
Nayareti had a position as a god of war tactics and the Union of Rebukers in the city of Sanaderion. Compared to the other gods of war, he handles things by talking rather than fighting. In his day, he handled more camaraderie and smooth planning and execution of tactics in battle.
His current role as god of board games that mimic war tactics is a good fit for him. It has not been easy. He had odd jobs and bouts of homelessness since the fall and ruin of Sanaderion. Thus, he is careful to do his job of handling prayers and chatting up, wait, he means liaising with the Crimson Panoply, the Department of Humanity and the Cerulean Lute.
If only he could stop thinking about the guy. He is able to access dreams. He sees this one farm boy playing games under his domain. Finding out that the farm boy had vivid and accessible dreams made his non-specific time period.
He is having fun with marking the guy's pale skin with his teeth when the guy orgasms, panics, and wakes up. Nayareti tells the guy to meet him in the orchards. Now he is at his desk in Yu-Shan, wondering what the fuck he was thinking. How is he going to go down to Creation without getting written up by some tight-ass Sidereal.
On the other hand, he thinks, he does answer to the Cerulean Lute. They may be stickers, but they have a soft spot for trips to Creation.
First thing, however, is to look over these prayers.
Dark Streams is still at the orchards, trying to understand the being who invades his dreams, stains his blanket, and may be planning to kill him. Is he an elemental? A demon, or perhaps a god?
Why not? Gods can enter dreams and seduce mortals. Dark Streams blushes at the thought. Gods respond to prayers, right? He is a good calligrapher. He just needs ink and paper.
He looks at his stick and then the soft soil. Perhaps he does not need those things.
After five prayers for good matches, two prayers for a good teacher, and another petition from Ledaal Kes, that showoff, Nayareti is close to done. Just then, he sees a vision. A young man moving his stick against the ground. Nayareti recognizes the marks as High Realm. "Which god appeared in my dream last night, please materialize. I am really sorry that I interrupted things."
Nayareti grins. So, a possible savant? He can take a quick break. He finds the nearest portal to the East, hails a cirrus chariot, and leaves Yu-Shan.
Dark Streams stares at the High Realm prayer he has written on the ground. He looks up and wonders what he would say if V'neef Tamara went into the orchards. Few people in the East give the Immaculate Faith much thought. Tamara and her family are descendants of the Ruby Empress. They take the Immaculate Faith seriously enough. They commissioned an Immaculate temple in the town square. They tell the servants, including Dark Streams and Famous Brilliance, to take their petitions to the monks.
"Why take a trip to town when you can pray at home", Dark Streams once asked Famous Brilliance.
"The gods did not accept the abdication of the penitent Solars. To them, the Creation Ruling Mandate was to the Solars, and no others. They refused to serve the Host of the Dragons, even when the remaining Solars became the corrupted Anathema. The Anathema, however, is imprisoned. The penitents are still journeying toward enlightenment. If the Dragon-Blooded can make everyone pray as they like, the gods may work with them."
Famous Brilliance pulled away and whispered "If you repeat what I told you to an Immaculate monk, I will deny everything."
With that warning, Dark Streams tries to look for Tamara or even her parents. Then, the sky grows dark and a strong wind shakes the branches.
Dark Streams turns to the shaking trees and sees the dream being. First of all, he sees it is a man. The man is shorter than Dark Streams, but no matter. The man had short brown hair, the tattered robes of a scholar, and a stern gaze in his brown eyes.
Dark Streams blinks. He remembers that it is the same as a description of a god of the fallen cities. He feels awed when he remembers that this god was in charge of war. Or something related to war.
"Nayareti the Brown Wolf Counselor and Warrior?"
"How the fuck do you know my old title?"
"I read sometimes. I listen to a lot of stories." Dark Streams looks straight into the eyes of a materialized god, and squares his shoulders.
With a wave of his hand, Nayareti made the dirt blow over the prayer written in the dirt. "You just call me Nayareti." He crosses over to Dark Streams and pulls him closer. "Now, let's get back to what we were doing before you woke up."
Dark Streams blushes and feels his pants become more uncomfortable. Nayareti bites down into an exposed part of Dark Streams' shoulder. Dark Streams whimpers, but braces himself. He knows what he wanted to do before he was interrupted. He knows just the place where no nosy orchard owners would see them.
Dark Streams steers Nayareti into a thick copse of cherry trees picked of their fruit, but full of leaves. Nayareti leans into one of the trees, anticipating. Dark Streams takes off his hat, then looks confused. He wants his nice hat to stay nice. Nayareti sighs and takes the hat out of the young mortal's hands. The hat fits on his head, and keeps the dirt off.
Dark Streams relaxes and knells before Nayareti. He lifts up the tattered robes, and takes the materialized cock into his mouth.
Nayareti figures that the benefits of materializing outweigh the risks. Sure, the guy needs to lick more and not choke himself trying to swallow it all. Also, he is not careful with his teeth. Never mind that. The farm boy used his calloused hands very well. He has soft lips that he uses to kiss the god's thighs, shaft, and stomach. You do not get this kind of enthusiasm at the Cerulean Lute, that's for fucking sure, Nayareti thinks.
Nayareti holds Dark Streams' face with both his hands. For a guy with light brown hair, his eyelashes are dark and long over big blue eyes. Nayareti strokes the short light brown hair on Dark Streams' head. "I cannot stay too long so you have to follow everything that I say." Dark Streams nods and hears Nayareti speak without saying words.
"No fucking teeth, right. If you are not sure, just keep licking. Now cup the balls. Thrice-damned blood apes, you learn fast. Just keep up the fucking rhythm. Oh you're going to try that again, just don't be an ass and choke yourself. Yes, good, get some air in your fucking lungs. Necrophilia is not my kink, after all. Keep going now. Wait, you want me to call you names? Nah, you have to earn being called fuckface or jackass. I am just going to talk you through blowing me. Oh yes, that is good. More of that, more, more . . . "
What Dark Streams hears next is not words at all. Perhaps they were words older than any language, but they sound more like a hurricane and chimes. Nayareti bangs against the tree, sucking air through his teeth. He did not need to breath per se, it just seems better than screaming. Dark Streams feels the god's cock throb and soften in his his mouth. He swallows the small and salty substance, and stares at the ground. He feels afraid to look in the god's eyes. He feels afraid that it will be the last time that he will see him.
Nayareti is quiet and dazed. He remembers that when he was mortal, a blowjob did not hit him so hard. Pulling himself together, Nayareti lifts Dark Streams by his arms and elbows. "I got ways to see you again. I got shit to do, you got shit to do, but I am a god. I can find a way to do a lot more together."
Dark Streams nods and wipes dirt off the knees of his pants. Nayareti takes off the hat with the ribbon colored like ripe peaches. When a far off bell rings, Nayareti hands over the hat, smirks, and disappears.
Dark Streams comes out of the copse and sees the bucket full of firm and gilded pink peaches. He does not remember picking so many. As the breakfast bells ring, Dark Streams puts his hat back on, shielding himself from the morning sun. He lifts the full bucket of peaches, and walks toward the main house.