by Pearl Love
A crimson hand slid down to rest on Alen’s breeches, and it took no more than a brief exertion of the god’s will to reduce the covering to a mere dusting of ash and soot. Alen whimpered as lines of fire ran down his quivering hip and raked over his thigh. His hands reached up and tunneled into Firnal’s hair, clutching helplessly at the fiery mane as heated lips nibbled at the pale column of his throat. Entwining his fingers behind the god’s thick neck, he moaned fretfully as he tried to voice a desperate plea.
“M-my lord!” Alen stammered, unable to articulate what he craved. “Please—” Further words abandoned him as the god demonstrated his mastery over his young lover’s untutored body. The yearning that pulsed between Alen’s legs was not completely foreign, having made itself known as he had huddled under his bedclothes, desperate to assuage the confusing desires of his adolescent body. Yet not even when he had touched himself with the god’s face burning behind his shut lids had his need reached such heights. Fire swelled within him until it rivaled the heat of Firnal’s embrace, coloring his body with a painful flush and a glistening sheen of sweat.
The rosy shaft that curved out from the thatch of soft, honey-brown curls at the apex of his thighs bestirred itself, rising stiffly toward his belly as though possessed with its own consciousness. Concerned only with his growing need for release, Alen grabbed the large, wandering hand and tried to force it to follow the path of his choosing. Firnal easily resisted the coercion, and Alen moaned when a chuckle of indulgent amusement vibrated against his throat. As though punishing Alen for his greedy impertinence, the god ran an intrepid tongue down the valley of the boy's chest, languidly keeping to the route of his prior claim.
A stilted cry slipped past Alen’s lips as his tacit demand was at last met, the wet heat of the god's mouth gently enveloping the tender twin sacs nestled just below his swollen arousal. He feared that the glorious sensation might consume him entirely, yet it proved nothing compared to the wonder of Firnal bestowing that same luscious attention on his turgid shaft, sapping away all will and thought and leaving him only with the overwhelming desire for . . .
“More!”
Alen’s breathy plea vied with the whimpering gasps that slipped from his lips as his divine lover worshipped him. His fingers blackened and cracked as he curled them into Firnal’s blazing hair, tugging demandingly on the fiery strands as he entreated the god to devour him whole if he but wished it. The muscles in his legs clenched and released in time with the lips that moved up and down his shaft like molten silk, accompanied by a gentle yet firm grip that ensured no inch of him was exposed to the coolness of the evening breeze. His narrow hips lifted from the ground, pressing mindlessly into the skillfully combined assault of palm and mouth, the wordless entreaty stilled by one strong hand that held him motionless while the other continued to fondle him.
A delectable stream of breathy cries rang out into the night, and it was a long moment before Alen recognized the voice as his own. If Alen had seen some other boy thus, moaning and begging for his own ravishment, he might have felt disgust at the whorish display. But such trivial feelings of shame could hold no sway over him now. There was only the relentless tongue that swirled around the sensitive head of his manhood before stroking with hot roughness down his entire length. He knew nothing but the hand that caressed his most vulnerable parts, cared for nothing but the burning finger that teased at the untried pucker of his opening.
Starting at the unfamiliar invasion, Alen tensed unconsciously against certain pain as the invader penetrated his body with firm, loving persistence. But his trepidation could gain no victory over the lips that suckled gently at his shaft or the fingers that eased into him. Alen’s thighs fell apart of their own volition, unable to deny the presumptuous request. Knees bending as he drew his legs toward his chest, he heedlessly exposed himself more fully to the blistering invasion. The pressure against his tight ring seemed not a solid thing, but a flowing column of fire that slid easily past his resistance, intimately stroking the sensitive flesh deep within and becoming yet another sensation to be craved.
“Ahh! Yes, my lord!” Alen cried in approval, shivering beneath the devastating pleasure as his heretofore inviolate passage was sacrificed to his god’s demand. “Please, I beg of you—” His words faded into incoherence as he gave himself over fully to the god’s devastating caresses.
FIRNAL savored the delectable, untouched taste of his in’zati, craving the needy pleas that fell upon his ears. The ferocity with which Alen pulled at his hair would have made any mortal weep, but to him the puny tugging was naught but the fluttering of an effete babe. While he soothed and inflamed the frantic boy with clever lips and tongue, his finger gently stretched and prepared the youth’s tender opening for the joining to come. The sweet ring of flesh quivered at his touch before clenching around his finger with a delicious tightness. He could not help but anticipate how that virginal channel would feel clenched around him, clinging to him and pleading with helpless flutters to be pillaged and taken. The mere thought was enough to engorge his prodigious member to its full length. Firnal growled at the need pulsing through his ancient blood, and the vibration swept through the sweet youth lying beneath him, making the boy cry out in agonized delight.
Alen’s cry became a sob of protest when he was abandoned by the myriad sources of tantalizing heat that had been playing him so masterfully, but the god ensured that his sense of loneliness was brief. Alen’s gaze drew up toward him like a flower to the sun as the radiance of his form blotted out the star-strewn sky spread out above them. The god reveled in the raggedness of the youth’s breath and marveled at the dazzled wonder in his lover’s gaze.
Firnal could easily perceive the boy’s thoughts. Alen’s beautiful eyes reflected his lingering disbelief that this was truly happening, his fear that this was merely some cruel dream and that soon he would wake to his sagging, hay-filled bed, to the worn weariness of his mother’s face, to the lustful, groping hands that waited to torment him. The boy closed his eyes, tears gathering in his lashes as he waited for the inescapable reversion to hateful reality. The god's heart, so long dormant until stirred by this needy, impossibly beautiful child, ached as a solitary bead escaped and ran slowly down the youth’s cheek. Bending down, Firnal captured the salty drop on the tip of his tongue. As Alen blinked open his eyes and gazed up at him, the god smiled, hoping that he had erased his in’zati’s doubts as quickly as the tear had evaporated from the heat of his mouth. Firnal felt his crimson lips curve with amused fondness as he witnessed the realization bloom upon his lover’s face that it was all true, that after so many years of silent wishing and whispered prayers, his most desperate longing had been fulfilled.
Yes, my little one, I have come for you, at last. Firnal lowered himself between the youth’s spread thighs, braced only by the immense strength in his arms. The solid presence of his arousal nudged against Alen’s opening, begging admittance. He gazed down upon the boy’s face and perceived his lingering hesitation as the youth struggled to bravely face this final unknown.
“I ask you once more, little ember, do you so choose to bind your fate to mine? For there will be no recourse to your former self. You will belong to me completely and without respite.”
The boy regarded him with wide eyes reminiscent of the soft, summer sky, and in his silence, the mighty fire god experienced the novelty of doubt. But the answer soon came in the slim arms that curved about his shoulders, in the legs that wrapped themselves about his waist, in the blistered lips that reached up, seeking yet more loving abuse.
“Claim me as your own, my lord,” Alen whispered, the sound brushing softly against his lips, “and I shall be forever content.” The words were spoken with Alen’s final breath, for no other was attainable as Firnal plundered his gift’s luscious mouth at the same instant he plunged into the boy’s welcoming depths.
A shout of joy ripped free from Alen’s throat as his body was torn asunder, his soul, at last, made whole. He rode the rut
hless thrusts as his god pounded into him, purifying him of the lingering taint of mortality and preparing him for his destiny. Every thrust was met with innocent zeal, the violence of the god’s embrace rejoined by the fierceness of his own attempts to bind the other’s heart.
Their coupling was not a slow, gentle joining of hearts and minds. There were no whispered endearments as are oft exchanged between lovers. No teasing caresses or blushing sighs were bestowed as they came together. Firnal obeyed Alen's command with a passion that rivaled the inferno over which he held dominion, for he was the master of the eternal blaze that quickened all life, and his love could only be told in a torrent of flame.
Time ticked onward once more, the fire engulfing the abandoned pyre guttering fretfully as though angered to be robbed of its prize. An orange glow seeped into the sky, spreading from the top of the mountain and overcoming the darkness with a false dawn. Alen remained unaware of the portent, crying out as the fiery pole that rent his body drove against a place deep within him, making him arch into the god with blatant need. But his exclamations of bliss were lost, drowned out by the mountain as it suddenly sounded its fury. Alen’s eyes grew wide as another thrust scored with devastating accuracy against his most secret place, and it was then, over Firnal’s broad shoulder, that he finally saw the glowing sky. Staring up toward the trembling peak, he marveled at the liquid inferno that bubbled over the broken edge of the mountaintop and poured slowly down the face of the summit. Yet his uncomprehending awe remained muted, unable to overcome the ardor that raked through him with equal intensity as the god continued to ravish him.
Molten lava streamed into the trees, reducing the venerable foliage to charred ash. The grasses withered, and the flowers wept at their own passing. The very ground seemed to melt from the sheer intensity of the heat, pebble and boulder turning to liquid stone and joining the stately flow. The growls, shrieks, and bellows of primitive fear pervaded the forest, but the surge of desperate life that fought to escape the conflagration knew only defeat as death claimed them.
The fiery river reached the clearing in which mortal and god merged their souls. The boy shivered at the groan that filled his ear as he gave into the temptation of Firnal’s scarlet throat. He touched his tongue to the strong column, heedless of the resultant sting as he feasted. Seeking to stake his own claim upon the magnificent being, Alen sucked and nibbled at the crimson flesh, his damaged lips beyond pain as they determinedly elicited more of the passionate utterances. He had resolved to give himself to his lord without hesitation or regret, though it meant the end of his life. Would that he could remain locked in Firnal’s embrace through time without end, rejoicing in his lover’s breathtaking possession and taking comfort in the knowledge that the guardian of his heart knew no equal on earth or in the very heavens themselves.
Alen’s head spun as another powerful lunge lifted him from the ground until he was supported only by the arms that held him. His toes curled into the air as he held Firnal closer to him. Tightening the vise of his legs, he implored every mighty thrust to reach as deeply as it might. Distantly, Alen was conscious of the magnitude of the searing heat that filled him and of the pain that enflamed his body. He discerned the struggled laboring of his lungs as they strove against the foul stench of the sulfur-laden air and knew that he was dying. At any moment, he would vanish in an incandescent blaze, skin and bones becoming naught but feed for the inevitable rebirth of the forest. But he cared not. His agony was utterly forgotten in the sumptuous heat that filled him, the burning passion that claimed his lips, the molten grip that had wrapped around his weeping arousal. He cried out as Firnal’s hand coaxed forth his virginal essence, freeing him from all suffering, overwhelming any awareness that dared divert his attention.
The god lifted him further, coming to his knees and drawing Alen up so that he was held aloft by his massive thighs. The god thrust again, their new posture enabling his turgid length to find the previously unknown reaches of Alen’s quivering depths. Choking against the ash that seeped down his throat, Alen shouted as he was filled completely, the sound of his approval tempered only by the lips that continued to devour him. Had his eyes yet been capable of sight, he might have been amazed at the molten rock that flowed over Firnal’s legs, doing him no more harm than the passing of a creek to a maiden’s toes. But he knew nothing beyond the blazing figure that was pressed against him, cared for nothing save for the unyielding column of flame that pervaded every hidden corner of his being.
The lava continued on, lighting the night with a demonic glow as it made its ponderous way toward the village, but Alen remained inviolate amidst the devastation that raged about him. He was enraptured by the strength of his lover’s passion and the immensity of his joy that they would spend eternity thus joined. He clung desperately to his vanishing spark of life, yearning to know this wonderment with his mortal self, if only this once.
“Hold me,” he pleaded, losing the battle against the dark herald that hovered at the edge of his consciousness. The entreaty was hushed amongst the din of the trembling earth and the cries of dying beasts, but Firnal heard him, and Alen marveled at the single bead of sorrowful flame that spilled down his cheek. He clung to the god’s broad shoulders as he was hastened toward his doom. The hand upon his stiffened length quickened until it was a blur of bright motion. The thrusts that shook him grew in power and purpose. Suddenly, the moment was upon him, and as Alen felt the final spark of life in his ruined body fade into oblivion, ecstasy swept through him, fierce and shimmering, unrepentant and utterly perfect. Alen no longer possessed the strength to cry out his fulfillment, but the rhythmic clenching of his channel about Firnal’s shaft was enough to pull the god along with him as he experienced, at last, the wonder of consummate bliss.
The ground shook, strong tremors stirring the dirt and making the trees that bracketed the clearing sway as they fought to keep their purchase in the earth. The pyre seemed but a pathetic stack of twigs set alight by the careless hand of a child in comparison to the flame that exploded from the mountain’s peak in a deafening eruption of fire and smoke. The seep of lava became a rushing flood of molten flame, obliterating anything that was foolish enough to stand in its path.
Firnal’s passion burst forth with a ferocity tantamount to the fulmination his wrath and love had loosed. His seed was a pulsing inundation of fire that consumed his beautiful in’zati from within and left behind only a soft fall of ash. The god wept as the boy’s mortal flesh was consumed, tears blazing a trail of regret down his scarlet cheeks. His roar filled the tumultuous night as he rejoiced at that which he had gained even as he cried out his anguish at that which he had been obliged to destroy. Before Alen’s remnants could be blown away in the gust of hot wind that rushed down the mountainside, the mighty god of fire was gone, vanished in his eagerness to find his promised one and pluck him forever from the eternal rest that had claimed him.
ALEN’S mother sat in her small cottage, weeping silently as she waited to feel the crushing pain of her shattered heart, for then she would know that her beloved son had taken his final breath. So focused was she upon her anticipated grief that it was a moment before she was able to decipher the noise she heard coming from outside. The scream startled her with its suddenness, but once she had primed her ear toward the sound, she realized that it was not a lone utterance. Though she could muster little concern for whatever it was that was frightening her accursed neighbors, curiosity nonetheless forced her to open her door and peer out.
At first she saw nothing strange. The sky over the mountain seemed a bit bright, but it was surely nothing to cause alarm. She turned to go back into the cottage and return to her mourning when more shouts reached her ears. The terror in the cries was palpable, and it was enough to draw her away from her home and down the lane toward the village square. Once there, she could barely comprehend the sight that met her eyes. The faint glow hovering atop the peak was but a pale reflection of the horror that rushed in a molten flood down th
e mountainside and toward the town.
“Alen,” she breathed, her first thoughts for her son, who was chained somewhere upon the ravaged slope. She started to run, feet carrying her toward her boy before her mind could keep pace. Reason told her that he was most likely already gone, if not from the manner of his execution then from the lava that was burning the forest, filling the sky with a miasma of choking black smoke. And yet still she ran, stumbling in her haste, spurred on by the unbearable thought of her son lying trapped in the terrifying inferno.
When she reached the market square, she could only stare in dismay at the transformed venue. Gone were the stalls which provided the villagers with both essentials and the occasional extravagance. They had been consumed by the molten river that flowed into the town, lighting afire the wooden structures with the ease of a torch set to dry kindling. Thatched roofs caught and blazed, one after another, until the entire arcade was bright with a ghastly orange glow. The ravaged buildings collapsed as their wooden frames took up the spreading blaze, showering the panicked townsfolk with red-hot embers and flaming bits of straw. She watched with awed dread as the old fountain that defined the middle of the square began to falter under the igneous onslaught, disintegrating until it was nothing but a melted pile of charred stone.
