Country House
Cabin
By: Chekhov
Frigid rain danced upon a small house in the country side, pattering against its shingles on the roof. Darkness had nearly consumed the small dwelling were it not for a single candle burning dimly in the window of its single bedroom. The window was fogged from the rain and the warmth that emanated from the house. The remnants of a slowly dying fire crackled now and again as the occupants of the house sat staring at it's glowing red embers. They leant against one another, both pressing gently around a waste or a shoulder. It would get cold when the fire died but for now they were comforted by each other. Their shadows danced against the walls as the fire flickered, fighting desperately to stay alive and impose its heat on them. Howling, the wind outside was at odds with the tiny country house. Like a troubled flautist the wind blew against the top of the chimney making a foul, whistling groan. It would do this in intervals as though it had to catch its breath before once again blowing hard against the chimney top. Their arms tightened around each other as one pressed gingerly into the others strong and protecting chest while the other would curl they body to protect them. A fox and a German Sheppard called this place home, not the tiny house but rather each other's warm embrace. Rest was enough for these two who cast their lot against what all was meant to be and were met with both victory and disappointment. None of that mattered as they put it all aside to be with each other. So long as the fox could rest his head under the chin of the one he loved, that was fine with him, and as his love's tender hands moved to stroke the fox's back or squeeze him tight in a warming tenderness, he felt more than safe away from the cold and the wind. He felt as though his own fire burned inside of him.
The fox's lover, a young German Sheppard, caressed the fox's back while holding him close by the shoulder. Both were breathing slowly, warm, and comfortable. Sometimes that's all they wanted from each other, not to be pleasured but to be comfortable. They slowly realized in their silence and before the burning embers of the once great fire that on this particular night they wanted a bit more than just being comfortable. The fox felt a need to protest against the cold and so he pressed tighter towards his mate. The Sheppard's hands were strong but not controlling, gentle with their accurate pressure against wherever he might place them on the fox. So the canine moved to place one on the fox's waste, cupping around its curves, feeling the softness of his mate's still thick coat which to him felt almost like silk. Slowly they kissed gently on the lips, both of them feeling the pleasurable tingle as the heart feels light whenever to lovers kiss. They stayed that way, holding each other until the fire had nearly died. Darkness slowly engulfed them and the wind still howled outside. Two hearts were alight and though there was no light coming from the hearth of their fireplace there was still enough that came from each other to see that they cared. There was indeed a fire between them, burning brightly, passionately, growing with each imparting kiss and each gentle touch. They would stay there until their fire became a conflagration of heated desire, a conduit for their endless affection for each other. There bed would be their own hearth, a place for them to grow old until they became embers, slowly dying in the night.