Great Spirits

∆ Twenty-Seven ∆

"Wa-wa-wait, Silas!" Wren breathed as he pushed against Silas' firm chest. "There are steps."

"Steps?" Silas asked, puzzled, straddling him.

"Yes, steps." Wren was breathless, his face hot and filled with steamy thoughts. Silas being on top of him, staring down with those eyes, made it nearly unbearable.

"Do you not want to?"

"... It is not as if I do not want to..." Wren mumbled. He didn't know what to make of his words, unsure if they referred to something physical or something more.

"Perhaps... you may want a change in positions?" Silas leaned in close. "Will that suit you better? ...Me underneath you?"

Wren became flustered and hot, a stream of blood running down his nose. He covered it with his hand, but Silas only took his hand away and licked it, grinning, pleased with himself.

"I must stop with this teasing now... It seems you have had your fill of it for now."

"Silas."

"After making me wait for so long, it is only right that I do," Silas said, kissing his hand.

Wren reflected on the time when he reunited with Seti and the crew, a moment when he vehemently rejected Silas' claim on him. The memory lingered, along with the other incident where Silas nearly scared him to death. Then, a flood of recollections followed — all the instances when Silas expressed his fondness, and Wren, in turn, only regarded him as a friend even though Wren felt more for him than he was willing to admit to. At that moment, Wren realized this was the culmination of his past treatment.

"You are a petty god," Wren muttered, which only made Silas laugh. "A petty, sly, greedy god."

"I suppose I am."

Wren blushed as he noticed Silas leaning in for another kiss which he gladly received. It was a soft, light kiss, yet it filled him with a warmth that traveled to the very tip of his toes. He swore, for just a moment, he could feel the brush of leaves, feel water coursing through roots as if they were his veins, the taste of the sun.

"My intentions for you, Wren... I wish there were human words to describe what it is." Silas brushed the back of his hand down Wren's cheek, smiling at him fondly.

Wren touched his lips and eyed him. "What was..." Wren started to ask, but he stopped himself, already knowing the answer.

"Me," Silas said. "What you felt then was me. A miniscule piece of me."

Wren's eyes grew wide with awe.

"I am neither male nor female, man nor woman. We, gods, are sexless and genderless. This is the form humans imagine me to be, so it is the form I take. It is not my real form. To see me, to feel me, you must give yourself to me."

"... I don't quite understand."

Silas thumbed his lip before moving over him with a contemplative face. "The human rough equivalent would be what you refer to as the soul. We call it Essence. Every living and non-living thing has it, but we are its embodiment."

Wren could not help his face from reddening more from the misunderstanding. Was he such a lecher now? And Silas took that misunderstanding and taunted him with it, deepening his embarrassment. He palmed his face, knowing now was not the time to be thinking of such things, and looked at Silas with a renewed flustered expression.

"And you want to see mine...?" Wren ventured to guess.

Silas gazed at him with an amused expression and stroked his hair. "Silly, silly, Wren... You will understand when the time comes."