Sakura Dreams

by Sylvia

The sakura dreamt.

It dreamt of youth, long ago, when the sap had run thin and risen like fire every spring. It dreamt of its first companion, a blur of presence and an aristocratically pale, well-tended hand, leaving an imprint of blood on supple bark. It dreamt of blossoms, and death, and darkness.

It dreamt of him, an image of sound, a mental touch as smooth and dark as blood, a slow sweet swell of awareness that was hard to interpret as anything but arousal. It dreamt of feeding.

Seishirou dreamt the sakura's dreams and woke up hungry.



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