In the land at the foot of the mountains, there was an ancient legend about a spirit of the moon. Each cycle, on the full moon, this beautiful demon would take a lover amongst the mortals. But the legend also said that the spirit was doomed never to be with the same lover twice. No one knew why, but it was thought that if someone could tame the wild heart of the moon spirit, he or she could be the spirit’s lover for the rest of eternity, and gain the immortality the creature offered.
A traveler passing through the region called Varden heard the legend and was taken by it. He knew that many had tried and failed to capture the moon spirit’s heart. But he also thought that this must be because these false suitors were after the immortality and truly cared nothing for the spirit. Varden was not like that. When Varden heard the legend, his sole concern was for how lonely the spirit must be, that it must take so many lovers and yet never be able to love. He wanted to capture the heart of this sad, beautiful being, and keep that heart from harm.
And so, Varden went off in search of the moon spirit. He climbed the sacred mountain that the moon spirit called home, moving by darkness and sleeping through the day. Six nights he climbed the rocky crags, feeling for handholds in the moonlight. At the end of the sixth night, one of the flat cliff tops yielded a small forest. He ventured into it, hands in front of him to shield him from the branches and leaves that sprung out at him from the deep darkness of the wood.
Through the thick boughs, he suddenly glimpsed a glimmer of light, and began to move towards it. The more intense the light grew, the faster he stumbled forward, until finally he broke through branches into a moon-filled glade. The clearing was carpeted with soft, lush grass, and trees stood like sentinels around the outside of the space, as though afraid to come nearer. Varden looked up at the sky and knew that it would be light soon. He knelt down onto the soft grass and placed his back against the trunk of one of the encircling trees. He closed his eyes, lowered his head to the earth, and slept through the day.
He awoke on the seventh night to a full moon. Its brilliant light flooded the glade, and by its radiance he could make out a slim figure standing in the center of the clearing. Varden sat up with a start and looked closer.
The moon spirit stood barefoot on the soft grass, resplendent in a flowing gown of silver that looked hardly more solid than the moonlight itself. Long white hair cascaded like a waterfall down the spirit’s back, swirling around the pointed tips of the ears that broke its surface. From a smooth, regal face, luminous, icy-blue eyes gazed at Varden with liquid patience.
“After the night of the full moon, my energy wanes like the silver disc.” The moon spirit’s voice was soft, deep, and masculine. “On the night of the new moon I sleep, and when I awake my hunger and my lust grows night by night with the waxing moon, until finally I must satiate it when the moon comes full once more. Mortal, will you lie with me and slake this craving?”
Varden rose to one knee and bowed to the moon spirit. “Spirit,” he said, “I would gladly lie with you. But I would lie with you for more than one night. I wish to be your constant lover, to keep you as mine for eternity.”
The moon spirit closed his eyes, dimming their radiant blue light. “You are not the first to wish it so,” he said. “But my heart is my own. It can only ever be my own. I cannot give it to you.”
“Lie with me,” said Varden. “Let me love you and I shall prove you wrong. If you cannot give me your heart, I shall take it from you. I will prove to you how well I can love you, and perhaps you will change your mind.”
A soft smile curved across the moon spirit’s face, under his heavily-lidded eyes. “If you wish to try, mortal, then so be it. But I cannot guarantee your success.”
Rising unsteadily to his feet, Varden took a few halting strides towards the moon spirit, until they were standing less than a foot apart. The moon spirit simply waited, as though in invitation that he would allow Varden to do whatever he pleased. Varden reached uncertainly for the spirit, vaguely concerned that he would disappear at the first touch. But the body he embraced was soft and pliant, though cool as the silver light that bathed them.
Varden brought their lips together and kissed the spirit leisurely, making soft, silent vows with every motion. Varden drew the moon spirit close and pressed him against his own body, trying to hold himself back so that he would not crush the slight frame.
They slid to the ground, lips still locked together. Varden lay the spirit beneath him, the long white hair pooling like water on the soft grass about the spirit’s head. Rising to his knees, Varden began to remove his clothing, quickly shucking off his tunic and unfastening his breeches. It took longer than he would have liked to undress, but the entire time the moon spirit simply lay still underneath him, gazing up at him with pale, unfathomable eyes.
When he was fully naked, his clothes tossed aside without care, Varden began to run his hands over the moon spirit’s body. He was astonished to find that wherever he touched, the moon spirit’s silver cloak simply faded away, curling off him and sinking into the ground like mist. His fingertips caressed the spirit’s neck and chest, dissolving the gown as he went. He moved his hands down the long, sinuous arms. Everywhere the silver fabric left the spirit, it revealed pale, snow-white skin, soft and unblemished.
Varden kissed the soft underside of those arms, kissed the pale, thin wrists and the palm at the base of each delicate, tapered finger. His tongue darted out to lick the soft pad at each fingertip, and he noted as he did how the moon spirit’s eyes closed in bliss at the attention.
He trailed one hand down the spirit’s belly, dragging his fingers across the smooth surface. As the mist cleared, he saw that the spirit had no navel, just a pale expanse of flesh with the slightest dip as though to suggest what it was lacking. A true spirit then, not born of woman but of the moon itself and nothing more.
The moon spirit gasped as Varden moved each hand simultaneously down the outside of one of the spirit’s legs, caressing the creamy thighs and trailing along the shins all the way to the tips of the dainty toes. Then, on return, his hands moved up the inside of the legs. He could feel the spirit’s muscles tensing further and further as his hands crept upwards, until finally there was a sharp intake of breath as Varden’s hands rubbed along the inside of the spirit’s upper thighs, spreading them widely apart.
Finally, finally, he allowed the last of the mist-clothing to dissolve away as one of his hands closed around the spirit’s erect member. The spirit cried out as Varden’s fingers encircled his penis. Varden moved his palm to the tip of the head, smearing it with the clear fluid that leaked copiously from the end. Then he moved his hand back to the shaft and stroked it with soft, leisurely movements. The moon spirit moaned at this attention, his head tossing back and forth.
Keeping his hand on the spirit’s member, Varden lowered his head between the spirit’s open legs and placed his mouth at the small, tight opening of the spirit’s anus. He darted his tongue out, licking at the ring of muscle, before plunging it into him, thrusting his tongue in and out as though hinting at what was to come. The fine, long-fingered hands of the moon spirit tangled in his hair, as the spirit gave another encouraging moan.
Suddenly however, Varden drew back, ceasing his attentions to both the spirit’s anus and his rigid member. The spirit gracefully propped himself onto his elbows and gazed curiously at Varden.
The man sat back on his heels and looked seriously at the spirit. “What do you want?” he asked. “I want to give you pleasure, make you feel good. Please tell me how you would like me to love you.”
The moon spirit looked surprised. “No one has ever asked me that before,” he said. “Very few men have any care at all for my pleasure, let alone inquire into it. Many, upon seeing me, hardly wait for me to speak before throwing me to the ground and penetrating me without another word. If I am lucky, perhaps a man will care enough to bring me to climax with him. And yet you, you wish for my pleasure above your own?”
Varden nodded. “Sex has never been difficult for me. It has never been unavailable when I wish it, and never unavoidable when I don’t. You do not have such luck. I want you to experience pleasure for yourself. If I may do so as well with your body, then so much the better. But it is not important. So tell me, what shall I do?”
The moon spirit smiled, and it was cold like the moonlight, and a trifle mischievous. “Lie on your back,” said the spirit, “and I will take my pleasure.”
A trifle surprised, Varden complied. He had not expected such a delicate-looking creature to wish to be the one taking him, but he was willing to allow it if that was what the spirit wished. However, upon looming over him, the spirit did not lift Varden’s legs, but moved his head down to Varden’s stiff penis.
It was Varden’s turn to gasp as the spirit’s mouth enveloped the head of his penis. He felt as though he was losing stability, and grabbed at the grass in desperation as the spirit’s tongue swirled in circles around the tip of his erection. Then the soft mouth opened and the tongue was dragged cat-like along the length of his member, stroking it wetly with thick laps. The spirit coated him thickly with saliva before he finally opened his mouth wide and swallowed the entire length of Varden’s penis.
Varden tensed and drew his arms behind him, using them to lever himself into an almost sitting position so he could gaze down at the spirit and watch the pale throat contract around the thick phallus within. He finally fell back to the grass again with a soft thump when the moon spirit released him, exposing his wet, painfully hard member to the warm evening breeze.
The spirit rose up then, placing one of his knees on either side of Varden’s hips. He reached behind himself and grabbed one of his buttocks in each hand, spreading them widely open. Then, with a sigh, he lowered himself onto Varden’s cock with one long, slow, fluid movement, impaling his anus gradually, tortuously. His eyes were closed in bliss, and Varden could do nothing but stare at the erotic sight of the spirit pleasuring himself by taking Varden’s cock deep within.
When he was completely settled on Varden’s member, so deep inside that Varden could feel the skin of the spirit’s buttocks brush against his balls, the spirit tensed the muscles of his thighs and began to rise up at an equally slow pace, dragging his tight entrance along the length of Varden’s member until only the head remained inside.
Then he paused for a moment, still, like a marble statue in the moonlight, his body shining with silver as the pale illumination picked out the details of his thighs, his smooth chest, his small, hard nipples, the lean line of his throat. He stood poised like a dancer, like a graceful acrobat at the top of an arc. Then he opened his eyes. The icy blue stare pierced through Varden for an infinitely long second, before the spirit suddenly slammed down onto his cock, plunging it deep within himself. As soon as he was down, he rose again just as quickly, and down, and up, and down, riding Varden’s cock, impaling himself over and over.
Varden closed his eyes, feeling the heat, the rhythm, the slide, the tightness, the force, the moonlight, the thrust. In the darkness behind his eyelids the pleasure heightened, torturing him, and Varden clenched his fists, digging his nails painfully into his palms to keep from spending himself, wanting the pleasure to continue.
He opened his eyes again and watched the deep rolling waves of motion as the spirit fucked himself on Varden’s cock with wild abandon. The arching, sweat-slicked chest was proud, and the set of his chin noble, in complete control at the same time as his body submitted to the penetration of Varden’s member. The spirit reached up with one hand to brush back the hair that had fallen into his eyes from the frenzy of his movement. He tucked it behind the shell of one delicately pointed ear, his fingers tensing as he let out a particularly loud cry of pleasure.
The spirit began to whimper with each thrust, slamming himself down more quickly and more powerfully. His little moans of pleasure were almost as stimulating to Varden as the penetration. The whimpers grew louder and louder, the impaling more forceful, until Varden thought he might die from pleasure. Then suddenly, the spirit’s silver seed spilled from him, staining his own and Varden’s chests.
To Varden’s surprise, however, the spirit’s frantic motions did not cease. He continued to ride Varden’s member, though his pained cries had stopped and his expression had taken on a slightly more focused look.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Varden finally let go and thrust his hips upward just as the spirit slammed down, filling the ethereal creature with his essence. The orgasm seemed to last forever, on and on as he continued to pump his semen deep into the very core of the spirit’s body. Finally the sensations faded, and his hips fell back to earth with a sudden awareness of the cool feeling of the breeze, and the soft, mist-moistened grass beneath him.
He panted a moment, trying to catch his breath, when suddenly he felt the spirit’s hands on his arms. The sprit drew him up into a sitting position, still impaled on Varden’s softening member, and began to kiss his neck.
Varden smiled. “Have I convinced you?” he asked breathlessly. “Can I see you again on the next full moon?”
There was no response from the spirit. He had stilled with his mouth on Varden’s neck, and for a moment was completely silent. Varden remembered the unearthly vision that the spirit had been just before their coupling became frantic. The stillness was the same.
Then suddenly Varden’s body blossomed with pain as he felt sharp fangs dig into the soft flesh where his neck met his shoulder. He screamed as he felt tendons sever and bones snap. He screamed again as he felt a chunk of his body ripped away from him, blood pumping from his wound as his seed had pumped into the demon’s body. His next scream was muffled, as a distended jaw engulfed his face. His last sensation was the strange moisture, the tightness of the throat muscles contracting around his head, before his neck was bitten through and he felt no more.
It took the moon spirit less than a minute to completely devour the man’s body. When he was finished, he stood in the center of the clearing, his gaze falling softly on the man’s discarded clothing. He placed a hand on his full, swollen belly.
“If there were any man I could have loved,” he whispered to the night air, “it would have been you.”