"Mon dieu!"

He called out for her as desperately as if the world were about to collapse beneath their violent rocking. As passionate as the goddess was, it seemed likely.

"Waka–" she choked out between growls, guttural and strained, as feral as the wolf that lay dormant within her. Her fingernails dug into his skin, red marks trailing in their wake as they clawed down his chest. Her lips pulled back to bare her teeth, no doubt aching to sink into the soft flesh of his neck.

Waka always loved these moments – when her inner beast reared its head, snarling and fierce, ready to bite. By day, Amaterasu walked the Plain a proud and noble warrior; by night, she became an animal in all but physical form. He couldn't decide which side of her he liked best.

"Ah-!"

A sharp gasp cut through the air – Waka was rendered momentarily thoughtless as she gyrated her hips on him. A quick glance up revealed a cunning grin across her beautifully painted face: she knew damn well what she was doing to him, and he hated and loved her for it. Deft hands clutched at her hips, yanking them back down onto his own.

"Being – une fille coquine – are we?" he sneered between pants. Amaterasu only smiled; the way he lapsed into French when preoccupied amused her.

"Only for you," she replied as her hips bucked back down onto him. Caught unawares again, he let a moan escape – before grasping at the goddesses's torso and rolling the two of them over.

The skies rocked with the strength of their lovemaking – with the violent passion they shared. He drove himself into her as sunlight pierces the clouds; she showered him in the heat of a thousand summer afternoons. They embraced for hours, a musical conjoining of pale hands through golden hair, teeth sunk into unblemished skin, and arms wound as tightly around one another as a vine clinging to a fencepost. Together they rocked, panted, cried out into the night air – two beings with a singular pulse, a shared heartbeat.

Their tango culminated at the brink of dawn. Sunlight peeked in through the canopy of leaves above their heads, stealing glimpses of the couple lying naked and exhausted on the forest floor. The sun continued its climb up the pale sky, yet neither god nor prophet moved, each far too content to do anything but gaze softly into the eyes of the other.

"How strange," Waka observed after some odd hours of silence, letting his fingertip trace the crimson markings across his lover's face, "that the goddess of the sun boasts skin as pale as purest moonlight."

Amaterasu smiled and reached for his golden hair, fingertips stroking through it as lovingly as wind whispers through blades of grass. "How strange," retaliated she, "that the Celestial Plain's greatest prophet could not foretell even this."

"Even what?" Waka began to ask, but the moment the question left his lips it was answered: Amaterasu, giggling (the twittering song of the most beautiful bird), had snatched his clothing and run off into the glade.

A moment of panic seized him before he took off after the telltale trail of flowers, shouting French obscenities betwixt fits of laughter.