食色性也
Shí sè xìng yě
By nature we desire food and sex. (Mencius)
Appetite and lust are only natural.

Thankfully I won our next competition as well, and so our kill rode back to the cabin on Zakhar's shoulders and not mine.

Kageyama rejoiced. That much meat would feed us for a week or longer if smoked, a task the kitsune set to with relish.

Near five days from our last hunt, Zakhar announced he would be going out again. I asked to go with him.

"How can you leave a handsome man like me all alone," complained Sanli, with mock dramatics.

Zakhar looked surprised by my request, but agreed.

This time I took my own bow. I wanted to practice my skill. I wanted to get out into the forest, and hunt for the little bit of blue sky poking through the clouds. I wanted to escape the ever present smell of smoke and deer meat that now filled the cabin.

At least those were the reasons I gave myself. But the memory of the brush of Zakhar's rough hands against my cheek, his warm breath on my lips, kept creeping through my mind, no matter how many times I drove it away.

The memory returned with frequency as I tromped after Zakhar toward the meadow, skipping in and out of my head like a rabbit frolicking in the snow.

He was just teasing you. And well deserved teasing it is.

We found the hide Zakhar had dug out some days previously and crawled inside. It had snowed since then, further sealing in the snow walled, fir roofed room.

I cleared away some snow to peer out at the meadow.

"There doesn't seem to be much out today," I commented.

"Perhaps the animals can still smell our last kill," Zakhar said. He did not seem particularly interested in hunting, and instead spread the bear skin he had carried with him, then sat on it, back against the ice wall of our hide.

Zakhar took out his knife and started carving away at a piece of wood about the size of my thumb.

"What are you making?" I asked, peering at the figure he was whittling in his hands. It looked like a...rat?

"The Twelve Clans. Two sets. For chess," he explained.

"That's what you have been making!" I exclaimed. "You have been working at it all winter."

"Aye," said Zakhar, grinning. "And this is the last piece. Want to play?"

"I do," I said enthusiastically, crawling across the hide to sit on the bearskin beside him. "But what will we use as board?"

"The snow of course," said Zakhar, carving out the board grid into the snow of the floor beside us. He stuck the rat he had just finished into the ice gird, the carved nose sticking into the air.

Zakhar reached into his jacket and pulled out the leather pouch I had seen him tucking his wooden creations into throughout the winter. He upended it between us, sending the pieces scattering over the bear fur. I sorted them into the two sets, light wood and dark wood, then helped Zakhar set the pieces in the snow.

"Kageyama always plays go, but I could never much understand it. Too many moves for my feeble human mind," Zakhar joked.

"It is terribly boring," I said. "You are not missing much. I prefer this game. Each piece is different."

"Aye," agreed Zakhar. "They all have their strengths and weaknesses."

We played, and I only managed to get three pieces across the river and keep them there. The monkey, the ox and to my disappointment, the tiger.

"Looks like your feeble human mind is not so feeble after all," I said with a sigh. "Or mine is even feebler.

Zakhar laughed. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Want to play again?"

"Perhaps with stakes I will perform better," I said slyly.

Zakhar quieted. "What kind of stakes do you want?" he asked.

I realized he was thinking of our last wager. "A foot rub!" I blurted, then realized it sounded just as bad as a kiss. Damn! "I have not been able to feel anything below my ankles for a month, my feet are always so cold." I quickly added, laughing, to let him know I meant it as humorous punishment and not something erotic.

Zakhar grinned. "Fair enough. I warn you though, my boots can get awful foul. You're going to regret this.

To my dismay, Zakhar won our second game as well. He pulled off a boot, and stuck a huge, blond hair covered foot my way.

"How's the smell?" he asked.

I laughed, swatting the foot away. "Anything but that. A rematch! Or best of five."

Zakhar agreed to a rematch, and to my relief I won the next game, getting my rat piece, the one Zakhar had just carved, all the way across the field for the highest score.

"My win! Keep your feet in your boots," I said triumphantly. Then I sneezed.

It had gotten colder, and I realized the day was drawing late. The sun, behind the clouds as always, was sinking westwards, and a faint orange glow could be seen along that horizon.

"We should head back—" I started to say, peering at the western sky through a space in the branches. And then something warm draped around my shoulders.

It was Zakhar's sheepskin jacket. I looked at him as he settled across from me again, in just his woolen tunic.

"I— I already have my cape," I said to him. "You will get cold."

He shrugged. "It is not so cold, these days. And you forget, I am from the north."

"It is plenty cold!"

"Do you want to head back to the cabin?" Zakhar asked, reaching for my foot and pulling it and me toward him. "Or do you want your prize?"

I realized there was a second question behind his words, and that what I said next would determine the answer to both.

"I want my prize," I said quietly.

Carefully, watching me all the while to see my reaction, Zakhar slipped off my boot, then peeled off the woolen sock I had on beneath.

The cold air hit my foot, but was soon replaced by Zakhar's warm hands. He cradled my foot in his palms, pushing his large thumbs slowly, steadily into the arch of my foot, the curve of my heel, the joints beneath the pads of my toes.

Wherever he touched, warmth and pleasure blossomed, as though magic flowed from his fingers.

"You are very good at this," I admitted.

"I've had practice," Zakhar grinned.

"On the flowers of Zhanghai? Lucky things, I quite envy them now."

Zakhar laughed. "If only. In the camp. The mercenary camp where I was raised. When I was still too young to fight, it fell to me to do other tasks, including massaging the commander's feet at night."

"That does not sound pleasant," I said, frowning.

"It wasn't," said Zakhar, grinning broader. "His feet smelled even fouler than mine." He laughed at the expression on my face.

I lay back, on the bearskin, enjoying the delightful feelings Zakhar's kneading thumbs brought. I pulled his jacket over me. Warm, comfortable, feeling safe and secure in our little hideout, I closed my eyes and savored the silence.

Finished with my right foot, Zakhar carefully replaced my sock and my boot, then moved onto the left foot. I murmured my appreciation as his thumbs found all the knots and tense places and smoothed them away.

My feet, my toes, numb for so long, warmed, with the increase in circulation and the warmth from Zakhar's big hands.

Outside evening had come. Stillness had settled over everything, and chill permeated the air. I knew we should head back to the cabin, but was loath to. I did not want the splendid feelings Zakhar was creating to end.

But all things end. After Zakhar had spent a similar amount of time on the left foot as he had the right, his talented thumbs stopped, and I sighed with regret.

I opened my eyes just as I felt the scratch of Zakhar's beard on the bottom of my foot. Just in time to see him kiss the soft skin there, gently, like it was something precious.

I drew my breath in. Zakhar looked up, meeting my eyes, my foot still held to his lips.

Oh my.

Zakhar lowered his eyes, and my foot. He reached for my sock, and slid it back on, followed by my boot, his movements careful.

A strange trembling had started in my arms and shoulders. It did not have to do with cold.

I licked my lips. A need came over me. Like hunger. But it was not food I craved.

I sat up. I crawled across the bearskin to Zakhar, and pulled myself into his lap.

He looked down at me, face unchanging, but I sensed him holding himself very still.

"You know," I said. "My feet are connected to my legs, and my legs to my body, and my body to my head. And on my head, I have these," I pointed to my lips, which I was sure were swollen with how they ached. "I think you should massage them too. That's a fair request, isn't it?"

Tell me no. Tell me to stop.

Zakhar's expression, which had been chilling in its gravity, slowly thawed, a smile curving the corners of his lips beneath his beard. His beard, that wonderful creature that caused such pleasant tickles on my face, my feet. Perhaps on other parts of my body it would feel just as good...

"And what should I massage them with?" Zakhar asked. He did not laugh, but I could feel his humor echoing deep within his chest beneath my palms.

"Hmm," I continued, though voices in my head were screaming to stop. "Your thumbs are very skilled, to be sure, but I think you should use these." I pointed to his own pink lips.

Zakhar grinned broadly and bent his head. "If that's what the winner wants."

I did not wait for him to meet me. I pushed my mouth against his.

At once it was like fire. Fire flooding from my lips, from the tips of my fingers up my arms, from my tender toes to my trembling legs.

Zakhar's mouth was hard, and soft, and warm and cool all together. He tasted sweet, and familiar, of something I knew but couldn't place.

Then I realized. This was his taste. His smell. That I had smelled beside me every night since we had begun traveling north and I had first started sleeping in the men's tent. That I had felt as Zakhar leaned out the window to catch me, and again when he carried me across the ruined village on his shoulders, a monster at our backs.

It was the smell that had enveloped me that day in my room in Changfang, with my face covered in bruises and my world in shambles.

A warm, familiar, safe smell.

I broke away to gasp. Zakhar, also breathing heavily, tucked his face against my neck.

"Tell me to stop," he said, breath hot. "Tell me to stop and I will."

"Stop," I said. "Stop."

*~*~*~*~*~*

As we walked back to the cabin, and the mad fever that had seized me in the coziness of the hide faded in the cold of the night, I cursed myself over and over in my head.

That can never happen again.

It was not just that I had told Zakhar time over time that I would never see him as anything but a friend, and was ashamed to go back on my hurtful words now.

It was that I knew I could not give him what he wanted. What he needed.

He has had much darkness in his life. He deserves to be loved, and never let go.

Ahead of me Zakhar's broad back strode through the night, outlined against the light shining from the window of the cabin.

Yes. Never again.

But even as I swore to leave Zakhar alone for his sake, a part of me wondered if I wasn't doing it for my sake as well.

You are afraid.

Zakhar's boots echoed through the night as he trudged up the cabin steps. In contrast my sheepskin boots hardly made a sound. I crept silent as a mouse behind him.

He has not looked back once. Is he angry? Frustrated? Indifferent?

We entered the cabin.

"About time!" said Sanli from his bed of furs over on the small kang. "Please tell me you've brought something else back. If I have to eat deer meat one more meal..."

I held up empty hands. "Deer meat it is, prince."

Sanli groaned. "Not again. What were you even doing so long?"

Zakhar and I carefully avoided looking at one another.

Our evening meal was a simple affair of smoked deer meat and stewed rock greens. It commended Kageyama's skills as a cook, that the mixture looked disgusting, yet tasted delicious.

We talked for a time, Kageyama and Zakhar sat around the small table, Sanli and I on the kang. Then we turned in for the night.

I lay on the kang, not far from the prince. I could not sleep. Again and again, the events of just a few hours ago replayed in my head.

"If that's what the winner wants," said Zakhar, and he bent his mouth to mine.

I remembered how Zakhar's lips had felt, soft and firm all at once. I had tasted them, savored them, and now I longed for more. Longed to feel them kiss along my jaw, tickle down my neck. Linger on the soft hollow where throat met chest, where veins pulsed, beard whispering across my skin.

And then he would lift my shirt over my head, and kiss farther—

No. NO! This was too much. My own desire would be the death of me, or would at least ruin the gentle friendship I had built with Zakhar. I did not want to lose what we had, just to satisfy my lust.

He did not seem to mind your lust today—

No. Zakhar was not just a random partner. Not a stable hand, or some soldier in a bar. I could not use humans so easily. Not the ones I cared for. Perhaps there was a time where I had thought differently. But now, I knew humans were not toys, for me to use as I would.

At least, I thought I knew... then why did I kiss Zakhar?

I suddenly remembered the words Kageyama had spoken to me in the hall of the university. That day he had saved me from Ermi's vicious cousin, then accused me of treating the two princes as toys.

Maybe he is not wrong. I am just a pathetic relic of what I once was, seeking out pleasure wherever I can.

I groaned at the thought of Kageyama being right.

Beside me, Sanli spoke up. "What's wrong Ao? Is something bothering you?"

"No," I said quickly. I had been so lost in my thoughts I had not realized the prince was still awake.

Sanli's voice turned sultry and I heard him shift closer on the kang. "Well, perhaps I can help you sleep, as you always help me..."

"No." I said again, firmly. Sanli's hands, that had reached out to tug at the ends of my hair, retreated.

"Oh. All right. Well, goodnight then."

"Goodnight, prince. Get some sleep."

I rolled away from Sanli, and as I did so heard what sounded like a breath being let out from Zakhar. I realized his snores, which were usually rumbling softly from under the table by now, were absent.

Is- is he awake too? Did he hear the prince? Damn this too small cabin. What is he thinking?

Thoughts poured over and over through my head, like water being strained through a sieve. I tossed and turned. Willed myself to oblivion, even if it came with bad dreams. Anything was preferable to this.

But the harder I tried to forget them, the more strongly I could feel Zakhar's lips, on my own, on my skin—-

Needless to say, I did not sleep well that night.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, when I rose, Sanli was still asleep beside me. Zakhar slept beneath the table, his snores soothing.

I silently slipped on my boots and left the cabin.

Outside the sun had made a rare appearance, peeking under the unchanging clouds as it reached over the horizon. Golden light slid across the snow, and caught the icicles hanging from the cabin roof. It bathed my face in warmth and chased away my sleepless night.

Kageyama stood in a packed down circle of snow just before the cabin, sword in hands. He was in just his wool tunic, and looked small without a thick coat or furs about his shoulders.

The kitsune's breath emerged in front of him in thick, steaming clouds. As I watched he swung the sword up, over his head, then brought it down in several swift, cleaving chops. A parry, a side blow, and a twist to his feet and he was facing the opposite direction. He repeated the routine for a few minutes or so, back and forth across the circle, before changing to a new set of swings and steps.

It calmed me, the swing of Kageyama's sword in the still morning air. Hearing his careful footfalls crunch the icey snow.

Kageyama knew I was watching him, but he did not seem to mind.

"Teach me the sword ways of Wa, Lord Kageyama," I said.

Kageyama stopped, wiping sweat from his brow that had appeared even in the cold morning air. "Why do you want to learn?"

I looked toward the sunrise, my breath clouding the light. "I don't know. I suppose I am bored and in need of distraction."

"No. The way of the sword is sacred practice. It is not something one learns to alleviate boredom."

I sighed, not really caring. "Fine."

The door opened behind me, and I turned to see Zakhar stepping out of it. His blue eyes found mine, then swung away.

"Good morning Ao." The sun shone on his beard, in his golden hair.

"Good morning, Zakhar."

Zakhar clattered down the steps, pausing to stop and discuss something with Kageyama. I heard the words 'firewood' and 'axe'.

The big man went to the side of the cabin, to where the already well stocked woodpile was stacked. He picked up the long handled ax the men used for chopping firewood and hefted it over one shoulder.

Then he disappeared into the woods without looking back.

*~*~*~*~*~*