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.His testicles are unwrinkled and large, but do not droop unattractively beneath his member.He wears little, even in cold weather.Around his neck he wears a broad mail necklace, of gold links so finely worked that it lies like fine fabric on his chest.His left hand is sheathed in the white glove, always.On his wrists he often wears twin brass vambraces, heavy and buffed to a high shine.Larger jewelry of the same design encircles his ankles.For the month of monsoons, he wears a red satin headband that trails to the ground.He never covers his loins with clothing.At war and defense, the glove--grown to cover all but his eyes--is his only attire; in this guise, he is called Knoorikios Khnum, or Adrash Min.I have seen him in the glove only once.It was not during wartime.He smells of some strong, heavy musk--of an achingly familiar yet unnamable spice--but only when one's nose is nearly touching his skin.It is as if he causes the air itself to swallow the particles of his scent only centimeters from the pores, in order to save people from being overwhelmed by its intensity.His voice is deep and resonant, yet he rarely speaks publicly.He is not overly demonstrative in gesture, either, but makes his moods felt easily enough.Ocean-deep calm, seadog focus, tropical storm fury--one feels his moods in the gut, tugging, impossible to ignore.The gravity of his aura forces attention.We slept together, once, a short time after I arrived.He never spoke of it again, nor have I had the courage to raise the issue until now.To have that man, a man who topples stellar empires only to uplift others--a soul that resounds throughout the void itself--speak my name in furious intimacy once more.To hear my name spoken, whispered in the quiet moments afterwards.I love him, which is a foolish thing to do.I am a diplomat from nowhere, and he is the ruler of an empire.He has smashed stars with his fists, set worlds ablaze with the light from his eyes.His is the will of Thor, of Yahweh.Of Maitreya and Ahura Mazda.I am a man; he is a god.This is no hyperbole.* * * *"Please," I whisper."Please, please, I beg."He does not answer, but tightens his grip on my hip.His thrusts become shorter, faster.A grunt escapes his lips, and he swells greater, stretching me where we are connected.My begging has excited him, apparently.I push and pull on his erection, breathing deeply into my gut as his shaft massages my prostate.I stare at his fingertips, the indentations in my skin, hyperaware of the five small patches of flesh in contact with the glove.I will the material to melt from his hand onto me, to complete the union before I lose myself to orgasm.I long to be a closed environment, joined in our final moments of ecstasy; fused afterwards as his fluid disperses inside me, as my own ejaculate cools and spreads beneath the glove's membrane to coat us both--to be absorbed into each other's skin."The glove, Lord.The glove.Please."He grips my right shoulder.Get on top, he commands.I push myself up and, careful not to lose him, rise on his erection enough to hook my right leg underneath me.I grip his hips with my calves and lower my weight completely onto him.We sigh in unison as he reaches the greatest depth inside me.The angle allows me to rest for a moment and I savor the sensation of fullness in my rectum, the distention of my sphincter as it slowly spasms around the base of his engorged member.My own erection stiffens; my testicles rise, tickling my inner thigh.I breathe deeply into my stomach, trying to reign in my libido and achieve some measure of control over my body.It requires constant attention lest it let go completely.No amount of practice could have prepared me for this.Yet I am not allowed much rest.He slaps my hips.His fingers dig in as he lifts me up, off of his erection.Slowly, very slowly his head slides free.My heart shudders in despair, thinking that he has decided to end our lovemaking--but he holds me there, his head pressed against my opening.I want intensely to fall back onto him, but my hips are held in a vice grip.The fingers of his left hand tighten fractionally.I look down.Watch, he says.I watch
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