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Chapter Eight
DAX
We plummeted. A saner man might have panicked.
But a courtesan needed to take risks.
“Dax!” Apollo clung to me, and his wings erupted from his back again to slow our descent—like I knew they would.
The terror in Apollo’s eyes made me feel admittedly guilty for the act, but it had to be done. In my assurance that he had me, that we were safe, as he allowed us to slowly drift toward the earth, I touched a finger to his lips. I pressed there, like at the start of our trek, urging them to open, and dragged my finger along his tongue. When he licked after it, I met that tongue with mine.
It was strange to be falling, while in the arms of one who could keep you aloft.
“Why did you do that?” Apollo demanded when our lips parted.
“Because some things are beyond your control,” I said. “Some always will be. You need to trust, not only in a partner, but in you.” I gathered him closer, much as I could with him having to hold me tight and us descending, gliding slowly downward. “Whatever happens, whatever may come from this point on, you will not lose me. If I somehow perish from something out of your control, no matter how you react to my death, you will not lose me.
“Not like Hyacinth, who feared you. Not like Cassandra, who betrayed you. Not like Admetus who chose another. I am for you, Apollo, and I would have you be mine too.”
I pulled him further to me, up the sprawl of my floating body, to sit upon my cock, and thrust inside him where I had wetted and stretched him.
His wings and eyes burned brighter with a burst of golden fire. “D-Dax!”
He was fire too, enough to make me sweat, to make my cock swell, and my mind melt, but none of it was pain. The heat faded to a morning frost that heightened the next surge of the sunrise even more.
Thrusting up into Apollo was not so easy without leverage, but he had no trouble thrusting down. The chariot was out of sight now, Helios far in the distance, as we dropped and dropped, beyond the heights that had shown me the curves of the earth. Now, if I peered beneath us, I could see the approaching lands with trees and valleys and mountains and streams. Yet I feared not the fall, nor the landing, for Apollo’s wings had us, as he rode atop me with their fiery splendor unfurled.
I reached for his neck to draw his face closer, and though the edges of his wings licked flames along my fingertips, I feared no burn either. I fucked my Apollo, as he had fucked me, worshipped him, as he worshipped me, and whispered to him as the wind sang past us.
"Beneath his trek, the laurels bloom,
And east winds blow his lyre’s tune,
As chariot pulls sun ablaze,
For heav’n and earth to sing his praise.
Yet mortal heart, in humble plight,
Is drawn to him in day or night,
For love's sweet flame cannot be bound,
Where equal courtship might be found.
And if I might earn lover’s place,
Forever I’d be blessed by grace,
For in his love, I find my art,
A symphony that fills my heart."
We danced in our slow descent, a twirl, a lunge, a dip, all culminating in a final bow—and another release for us both—as we landed softly upon the very grassy bank of the brook where we’d strolled the other day.
The slide of Apollo’s tongue was as searing as every other part of him, but hotter as we lay in the grass, for his tears fell upon my face. Joyous tears, this time, I hoped, for my poem had been from the heart, my own composition from its words to its gentle melody, in praise of the god who would be my lover.
“Thank you,” Apollo whispered, and as he lifted from me, the suns of his eyes dulled more than I had ever seen. Still radiant, still glowing, but I could see the amber irises behind their light. He was not the god of the sun with fire at his fingertips, but a man looking upon another.
