Sunrise in New York

by Tarlan

Rated: A slash

Disclaimer: Philip Padgett belongs to MCA Universal. No copyright infringement intended. Any characters you haven't heard of before, are copyrighted to me.

Series: Last in series, after Sunrise on Delos, Sunrise In Mexico, Sunrise in Los Angeles

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The hospital corridors were still teeming with people even at this late hour, mainly night staff going about their business, and Philip easily blended in by wearing surgical shirt and pants. He had spent enough time in hospitals during the early stages of his own sickness, being poked and prodded to ascertain how long he had left to live, to be able to mimic the movements and businesslike attitude of a cancer specialist. He paused by the twelfth floor reception desk, flipping through the very convincing looking notes on his clipboard as he waited until all the nurses were fully occupied, then he moved forward swiftly. A quick check of the room charts told him exactly what he needed to know, and he strode off in the direction of Room 1205.

Philip opened the door silently and slipped into the room stopping only when he had reached the side of the bed. He gazed down at the small figure, a dagger twisting in his heart at the sight of that disease ravaged body. He felt sick to his own stomach knowing that the serpent had taken away that sickness once, but only so that it could slake its own vile desires on her young body. The chemotherapy had made her gaunt, her ashen, paper-thin skin stretched out over prominent cheek bones. Her beautiful, long red-blonde hair was gone - an unfortunate casualty of the radiation treatment. Philip swallowed hard, aware that he wanted to make amends, that he wanted to give her a second chance at life even though he was unsure what the impact of this healing would have on himself.

The serpent had always felt drained by the healing it performed, regaining its energy through its heightened sexual appetite. Philip remembered flicking through the entries in the book on Greek mythology and finding other references to drained strength through healing, and his thoughts turned to Telesphorus. Telesphorus was a minor deity appointed to assist Asclepius in his healing. He would drain himself of strength each day, lending it to convalescents to carry them through the night when they were closest to death. Each morning his strength renewed itself ready for the day ahead.

There was no mention of how Telesphorus regained that lost strength each day and he had wondered, momentarily, if that minor deity and the serpent had a similar rejuvenation method. Did Telesphorus regain his strength by taking energy from the living? Would it be the same for him? Would he need to find a willing - or unwilling - partner to restore his strength after a healing?

He could not remember feeling any weakness after healing the old woman but then, her ancient body had not been riddled with disease and, at that time, he had been too close to panic to take note of his own physical condition. Philip closed his eyes, his former selfishness and sense of self-preservation vying with his desire to make amends for the terrible crime his body had been forced to commit upon this young woman.

My body, but not my mind.

He turned away, taking several steps towards the door as he found excuses for not going through with this first true attempt at healing, trying to convince himself that he had been just as much a victim as the girl lying near death's door in that bed. His body and his mind had been abused in every possible way by the serpent god's unwholesome lust. Why should he feel responsible for its actions? Why should he have to atone for its sins?

Philip realised he was trembling, his own fear of dying having never truly been conquered, only put into abeyance when the serpent had lifted the disease from his own cancer-ridden body.

Could this kill me? Could I give too much of my own strength and not leave enough to save myself?

A soft moan of pain filled the quiet room and Philip turned to stare once more at the slight figure on the bed. He felt a sense of shame and compassion rise within him. He did not know for certain if he had the power to heal her, but something deep inside told him that, at the very least, he had to try - even if it meant his own death.

Philip moved back to the bed and gently lifted one frail hand. He closed his eyes, unsure of what he needed to do to start the process, his heart going out to the sick girl. A strange tingling filled his body, easing along his nerve endings and reaching out in all directions until he could feel it from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He saw the disease like a darkness within the girl, his own being flaring like a bright light, piercing that darkness like an arrow and shattering it into a million tiny pieces that were quickly vanquished by the light of his healing.

Whatever had happened was over in seconds and Philip collapsed onto the floor beside the bed, his limbs too heavy to hold him, too heavy even to move. Shock held him for a moment as he realised that he was still alive but his senses came crashing back when, above him, he heard the sounds of movement and the soft moans of someone waking as if from a dream. He smiled when he realised there was no pain in those moans but then common sense told him he had to get out of there before she awoke completely. Philip tried to move but he felt too weak even to make an attempt at standing. He started to drag himself across the room towards the open door of the bathroom, hoping to hide in there and buy himself some time to recover before making an attempt to leave the hospital room. There was no way he could avoid being spotted if he tried to drag himself along the corridors.

"Who's there?"

Her voice was soft but laced with a little fear. Philip froze, hoping she would not see him in the semi-darkness of the room, but Rebecca Cassian reached for the light switch.

"You!!"

"Please... wait!"

He pleaded softly, breathlessly, as he saw her eyes widen in terror and her fingers start to fumble for the call button that would bring a nurse hurrying to her bedside. However, the door opened even before she had managed to find the button and there, on the threshold, stood a young man who bore a strong resemblance to the girl. Philip remembered that Rebecca had a brother... and his fear climbed as Rebecca cried out in fear.

"Jeffrey!"

"What the fuck!"

The man came forward and grabbed Philip, concern on his face as, wrongfully, he assumed Philip was a doctor who had collapsed in his sister's room.

"It's him. It's Philip Paget."

Jeffrey looked up at his sister with a stunned expression but, by the time he looked back down, shock had turned to murderous fury.

"Why you disgusting little piece of perverted shit!"

He dragged Philip up by the front of his shirt, his other hand forming a fist. Philip did not even have the strength to raise his own hands as that fist connected with his face, spraying his blood over both himself and Jeffrey as Philip's nose was broken. The fist came back again, pummelling into his mouth, then splitting the skin over his cheek. In the background Philip could hear Rebecca screaming in terror, and Jeffrey screaming at him in anger. The words ceased to make sense as his senses began to spin, his own body going into shock as those fists continued to pummel into every part of his body... and then it stopped.

Philip could still hear Jeffrey cursing him, could still hear Rebecca's sobs but there was another voice too and, through swelling eyes, Philip could see a tall figure trying, unsuccessfully, to hold Jeffrey back. Several hard kicks connected with his abdomen, knocking the air from him and sending him into a world of intense pain, and Philip did his best to force his barely responsive body into a foetal curl, hoping to deflect any further blows.

More voices filled the room but Philip was only aware of the hands that dragged at him as he was turned and lifted onto a gurney before being taken away. His world went black and he slipped into welcome unconsciousness, finding death waiting to claim him.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Philip found himself standing alone on Delos, staring around at the familiar ruins and yet there was something surreal about the whole image. The sun was setting, sinking slowly into the sea, dragging a brilliant red and purple cloak behind it. Philip could hear a hiss as if steam was being released as the fiery mass touched the cool, azure blue water. The temple was plunged into darkness, and every sound was muffled as if smothered by the black mantle of night falling across the ruins. Light flared, suddenly, in the braziers to either side, throwing long shadows across the ruins, tongues of flames licking upwards as if to taste the air around them. A third brazier came to life, throwing flickers of light that gave the great statue of Asclepius the appearance of a living entity. A ground mist flowed from behind the temple pillars, floating over the earth to lap about his feet, writhing and twisting as if alive. The stone serpent which was coiled around the staff of Asclepius seemed to shimmer into life, its broad head lifting, mouth gaping to reveal its wicked, long fangs. Its red eyes fixed upon Philip's and that hiss was heard again.

"Who are you?"

Philip's voice was husky with fear but he stood his ground as the great serpent uncoiled from the staff and slithered towards him. It paused a few feet away, rising up until those red eyes were level with his own. Its forked tongue flicked out and it reared back as if to strike, then froze.

"Podilariusssssss."

"No. Podilarius was a man."

"Yesssss. Wassss."

"I don't understand."

"Curssssed."

"Cursed? Who is cursed? Me? You?"

"Ussss. Hadessss."

"Hades? But why?"

The serpent struck at Philip but he reacted just as quickly, jumping back out of harm's way, the fangs piercing the very air where he had stood. Philip watched as those red eyes glowed fiercely, alight from an inner madness. The air around him was thick with unwholesome emotion, with hatred, fear and anger vying for supremacy and Philip could sense the malevolence with every fibre of his being. He could smell it in the pungency of the sulphurous air, see its darkness twisting and sliding around him, could hear its sibilant breath upon his cheek as the serpent drifted closer, could feel its coldness slipping across his flesh and raising goosebumps. Philip swallowed hard, his lungs labouring under the weight of the air's putrefaction, desperate to find the answers to his questions and yet afraid of what he would learn.

"Why me? Why am I cursed?"

"Hyassssinthussss."

"I don't understand... No, wait."

The serpent's form was beginning to fade, the ruins becoming visible through its body as it slowly dissolved into the mist until all that remained was its flaming red eyes. The braziers began to flicker, the flames slowly dying away as a new light spread from the east.

Philip's eyes widened in disbelief as the darkness was forced aside by the rising sun. A flare of golden light had him shielding his eyes momentarily, but he eased his fingers aside as a soft voice, full of love, reached out to him.

"Hyacinthus, my beloved."

Oblivious to the tracks of tears that fell from his light-seared eyes, Philip stared into the beautiful face of the radiant figure, his heart hammering in his chest as he recognised his first lover from Delos. Eyes the colour of a bright summer's day held his own but the figure was slowly being swallowed by the increasing radiance until Philip could no longer bear to look upon the other man. The voice called to him beseechingly, soulful and melodic, guiding him back from the edge of the black abyss.

"Be strong, my beloved. Live. Redemption is at hand. Return to me, my Hyacinthus."

"Wait! Who are you?"

The blinding light filled his vision. Philip closed his eyes but the brilliance bled through his eyelids. He could feel the darkness calling to him, voices whispering for him to follow and he fought against them, turning back towards the light that shone through his eyelids. Other voices were starting to drift around him and he focused on the words as the brilliance of the light began to fade to more acceptable levels.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

"At least we now know what happened to his body."

A man snorted in response, his voice deep and low, pouring over Philip like dark, melted chocolate.

"Yeah... he wasn't actually dead."

Images of a dark-skinned man promising wealth in return for a best friend's returned health came back to Philip.

Michael... Michael Hale?

A woman's voice spoke out, her tone full of remorse and self-directed anger. He knew that voice, had heard it before in his dreams of Mexico.

"I checked his pulse. He was dead."

"Dr Shiroma, no-one is faulting you. Dr Macase was also convinced he was dead at the time. Obviously, that wasn't the case."

Philip did not recognise this man's voice and yet a picture formed in his mind of the tall, brown-haired, suit-clad stranger who had arrived on that last day in Mexico.

"Dr Cassian, despite everything this man did, I would never have left him had I thought there was a chance to save him."

Cassian? Cassian as in Rebecca Cassian?

Philip stopped a moan from falling from his lips, memory of punches and hard kicks filling him with renewed fear. Was this the same Cassian who had hurt him? No. The one in Mexico had been older. Perhaps this Cassian was her father. Was he the one who had pulled Jeffrey Cassian away?

"Look, this is getting us nowhere. The fact is... he wasn't dead - obviously."

"Michael, I know a dead person when I see one. I am a doctor. And he was dead."

"Perhaps he healed himself... brought himself back from the dead. Just like he seems to be doing right now."

Another voice, and yet this one was even more familiar than the others. He had heard this voice when it was filled with debilitating yet phantom sickness. The image of a dark-haired man with dark eyes dulled by disease and fatigue, came hurtling out of the mists of his memory. He saw the once strong and proud body lay down upon the altar, felt the lust of the serpent rise as it uncoiled itself from around his mind, leaving him alone but paralysed within the strange mist that curled around him. Strange. Until then the serpent had tended to disregard any males, finding little interest in their bodies, but its desire for this man had been strong.

Lying is a disease of the spirit.

Had Podilarius, the serpent, performed his unholy healing of this man's spiritual sickness before Philip had fallen into death's welcome embrace?

"What? Tell me you don't believe that nonsense?"

"Come on, Cassian. No matter how hard we tried to justify it, there was no getting around the fact that those people at his compound were healed of their sickness - by him. Call it spiritual healing, call it mumbo jumbo, hell, call it whatever you like but it was the truth. And what about Rebecca?"

"Okay, I grant that there is something in it."

"She's healed. Her leukaemia has gone... and before you start putting that down to the chemotherapy, her notes and blood chemistry, taken only *yesterday* I might add, had proved her condition had worsened despite the chemo. Even that horrific mark from his so-called psychic surgery has vanished." The man sighed. "Face it, Cassian. He did something to her. He healed her. What I want to know is - how and why?"

"He's awake."

"Paget?"

Philip opened his eyes, and then was amazed that he *could* open his eyes having half expected them to be completely swollen shut from the heavy pounding he had taken to his face. He moaned softly as he remembered, once more, the feel of those fists hitting his vulnerable flesh and the viciousness of those kicks against his soft abdomen. Worst still was his remembrance that he had been too exhausted after trying to heal Rebecca to even put up a hand to protect himself, unable to deflect any of the blows.

"This is incredible, the way those bruises are fading so fast."

Philip met the dark eyes of the man he had known as Edward Markham, a glance sideways showed him the presence of the beautiful and exotic woman who had pretended to be his girlfriend, and a further glance revealed the so-called best friend, Michael. Two other men were present. The slightly older man was not familiar, but his likeness to Rebecca led Philip to believe this *had* to be the one they had called Dr Cassian.

The other man was moving in the background, largely ignored by the others who probably assumed he was part of the nursing staff, but Philip knew different. His whole body thrummed with desire as his gaze fell upon this quiet figure. The body and face were different yet were still handsome, but the mere presence of this man wrapped his fearful heart in a blanket of security as if Philip knew that no harm could befall him while the other was present. This eerily familiar man left the room and Philip tore his gaze away from the receding figure to refocus on the man who leaned over him.

The man he had known a Edward Markham gazed down at Philip, the thoughtful expression proving he had seen Philip's recognition of him and two of his colleagues.

"I'm Dr Macase. I'm sure you remember me... and this Dr Shiroma and our associate, Mr Hale. The man you have not met before is Dr Cassian... Rebecca's uncle. I want to..."

"I'm tired."

Macase pursed his lips. Philip could see the man had many questions he wanted to ask but the answers were all tangled up inside Philip's head. He needed time to unravel them, time to decipher the true meaning of the vivid dream he had experienced prior to wakening.

"Dr Macase, I suggest we wait and ask those questions in the morning. Give Mr Paget time to recover."

Philip could almost feel the indecision that swept through the younger doctor, the dark eyebrows knitting together, but Macase sighed and nodded his agreement. The group of four left the room but Macase was loth to leave altogether and dropped into a seat just outside the door.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Philip closed his eyes, hoping to gather up the threads of that last dream so he could weave some sense into it. He glanced across at the bedside cabinet, eyes widening as he spotted the book of mythology lying there. Philip was certain he had left it downstairs, concealed among his clothes in a staff locker room. He picked up the book but it was the strong fingers of another that reached across to turn the pages until they stopped at a certain entry. Philip gazed up, heart beating faster when he realised the orderly had returned, but his attention was directed back to the page.

Zephyrus, god of the west wind, was angry that Hyacinthus preferred the company of the sun god. One day, as Apollo and Hyacinthus were playing quoits, Apollo threw the discus into the air. In his excitement, Hyacinthus sprang forward but a breath of wind from the jealous Zephyrus caused it to strike Hyacinthus upon the head. The boy collapsed. Despite all of Apollo's healing abilities, the injury was beyond the power of medicine and he could not save his beloved. Apollo cried out as the boy died in his arms, begging to take the boy's place - but he was refused.

Where the boy's blood ran freely upon the ground, a beautiful purple and silver flower sprang to life in memory of his beautiful Hyacinthus.

"I tried to turn you into a flower, so Hades could not claim you for his realm... but he snatched you away while your body was still warm in my arms; such was his resentment against me. Over the millennia I have been pleading my case to have you returned to me - and finally, my father relented."

"I don't understand... who are you?"

"Your soul knows me, no matter what mortal disguise I take. And I have taken many disguises with you."

The handsome face gazed down at Philip, love shining from the bright green eyes of this latest incarnation, and Philip knew that the man spoke the truth, no matter how incredible it sounded.

"When Hades realised my father was close to relenting, it angered him. He sent you back from Tartarus with no memory of your true self, and placed you in the hands of those who would corrupt your good nature."

The man closed his eyes, a single tear flowing down his pale cheek.

"When you came to Delos, too close to death before you had fulfilled your part in his revenge upon me, Hades sought out those would save you and yet do me harm... my own flesh and blood... and bent them to his will with promises of vengeance."

"Podilarius?"

"Yes. Hades returned Podilarius in the form of a great serpent." The man clasped Philip's hand. "If I had known you were alive and in my temple on Delos, I would have come for you."

"In my dream you said redemption is at hand. Whose redemption?"

"Yours... and mine. When I learned of Hades subterfuge, after your second death, I petitioned my father and he gave his judgement. If you could redeem yourself before the first sunrise on Delos after the hunter's moon, then I could reclaim you... forever."

Philip looked into the bright eyes, seeing no fear in them.

"Am I redeemed?"

"Yes. You were once selfish and uncaring of others, willing to use anyone for your own material gain, or to satisfy your own carnal desires. Since your rebirth you have learned compassion and selflessness. Your willingness to save Rebecca, no matter the physical cost to yourself - that was the final test."

Philip looked away, his thoughts piercing the shell of his own being as he reflected on all that had happened since awakening on Delos. He remembered how he had come to abhor the person he had once been, ashamed of his former lasciviousness as he saw similar displays by others, shocked by the deceit and by the broken promises made for his own gains.

"And what of you? Are you redeemed?"

The man grinned, his smile like a ray of sunlight.

"I have spent the last four millennia redeeming myself, making myself worthy of you. I have paid for my past arrogance, for my petty jealousies - and for my own licentious behaviour. All that remains if for you to know me again."

"Who are you?"

The man sighed in frustration.

"I have sworn an oath on the waters of the Styx not to reveal my name to you. It must come from your own lips."

Whenever an important oath was made, Iris, the messenger-goddess, would fly down to Tartarus and return with a vial of water from the Styx. Whoever made the oath drank of this water and the oath became inviolate. If the oath was broken, he who had sworn falsely was thrust into a swoon for nine years. If, after recovering from this swoon, he still failed to honour his oath, he was banished from the company of the gods forever.

"You know who I am. Will you not believe?"

"Apollo."

The world around him blazed into brightness as the dark-haired orderly was replaced by the golden-haired man he had first met on the slopes of Olympus, thousands of years ago; the same figure that had found him, and loved him, on Delos. The sun god smiled, and the final veil of mist fell from Philip's eyes. Memories flooded back to him, days full of laughter and loving, held in those strong arms as they played games and hunted through the mountain slopes, side by side. That last day came back to him, the discus sailing high into the air as he ran forward, eager to pick it up from where it fell so he could take his turn. A gust of wind on an, otherwise, calm day sent the discus astray and it fell, striking the ground in front of him and bouncing up to strike him hard across the forehead. Philip recalled how a darkness that was not all in his own mind had fallen across the land as he felt Hades minions snatch at his spirit. He remembered crying out for his beloved Apollo as the sun was covered by his sister, the moon, the terrible blackness of grief falling over the world as Philip was dragged towards the Styx to find Charon, the ferryman, waiting with his withered hand requesting no payment for that final crossing.

His soul had wandered the Elysian Fields in sorrow, unable to forget for the waters of the river Lethe had been withheld from him. He petitioned Hades constantly, but his pleas to be returned to his beloved Apollo were ignored, and Hades had drank his tears as if they were the finest wine.

Then, unexpectedly, Hades had relented, agreeing to return him to the upper world on one condition, that he drank a full measure of water from the Lethe before leaving Hades realm.

Philip saw his second mortal existence flash before his eyes. Every crucial turning point in his life seemed to have been manipulated by one person or another. His own parents had encouraged his unhealthy taste in pornography from an early age. They had spent most of their lives negating homosexuality in any form, stressing over and over the perfection of the female form, convincing him that the scenes acted out in a porn video were real, until he could not tell the difference between lust and love. In hindsight, Philip realised that he had rarely found satisfaction when masturbating to the sight of women. His heart would start to beat wildly, the blood pool in his groin only when the male appeared on the scene; his lust driven by that man's reactions.

His first employer had taught him how to lie professionally, and how to twist the truth, proclaiming it a necessary skill for selling insurance. He learned how to prey upon the fears of others, how to confuse and misdirect in order to get the vital signature on the document. Even though he had leaned how to manipulate, he had never become an expert at this craft. All too often he would get those clients to sign up to a lesser deal, half sickened with himself for this moment of weakness. He had even *forgotten* to push through the paperwork on occasion, convincing himself that he did so because he did not give a damn about those people rather than admit that he felt guilty and ashamed of his subterfuge.

What money he earned was spent recklessly on material goods; fast cars, good wine, the latest fashions and hottest music. His girlfriend had encouraged him in that attitude until he was surrounded by beautiful objects, and beautiful people. He had come to live far beyond his means, his debts rising, uncaring of the demands for repayment from credit companies. Yet, for all this material wealth, for all the parties and time spent rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous, Philip believed his times travelling since Delos, with just a backpack over his shoulders, to have been the happiest moments of his short life.

Philip reached out, his fingers trailing the length of the strong jaw before skimming across the full lips. Long fingers clasped his wrist, holding his forefinger against the parting lips as a pink tongue slid across the pad before sucking it inside. Sharp white teeth grazed along the length of his finger as his finger was suckled. Azure blue eyes blazed with love for him and Philip melted into that gaze with equal passion as his mind finally became one with his body in remembrance, finally reunited with his beloved.

Philip threw back his head as the heady sensations of desire flooded through him, then felt himself being lifted into powerful arms. The sterile hospital room began to fade, his eyes alighting on the awe-filled Macase, standing on the threshold of the room, for a moment in time before he felt his body being lowered onto a bed of purple and silver larkspur. Above him the cloudless sky was as blue as his lover's eyes and the air was thick with the scent of honeysuckle and roses. A gentle west wind caressed Philip's skin as Zephyrus blessed the reunion of Apollo with his Hyacinthus, the wind deity's heart having finally been melted by his own beloved, Chloris.

The soft breeze rustled the leaves in the tall trees, the hushing sound in harmony with the tinkling of water flowing over pebbles in a small babbling brook. High above, the song of birds filled the air, mingling with the gentle humming of bees as they flit from flower to flower.

Philip stretched, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun upon his face. No shadow fell across him as his beloved hovered over him, the radiance of that countenance more glorious than the sun crossing the heavens. He sighed as his lips were taken in the sweetest of kisses, full of love and affection, his breath mingling with his lover's as their tongues caressed and entwined. The mouth moved lower, tracing a path of fire down his offered throat, gliding across the sunburst tattoo before drawing that flesh inside and sucking hard. Frissons of energy danced along his nerve endings, sending licks of fire through his body.

When Apollo pulled back, Philip reached out to card his fingers through the golden locks of hair that fell like a curtain around the beautiful face, mesmerised by the kiss-swollen lips that promised even greater passion.

The hospital gown was stripped from his body, and Philip waited in eager anticipation as Apollo released the clasp that held his own clothing. He moaned as Apollo lowered himself over his naked body, enraptured by the sensation of flesh sliding against flesh, his breath catching as he felt the hardened silken steel shaft of his lover press against his own equally rampant flesh. His body was rolled until he lay on top, revelling in the feel of knowing hands stroking the length of his flanks, cupping his asscheeks and kneading the firm muscle. He moaned as his cheeks were spread, his hips wriggling against his lover's hardened flesh as a finger rimmed the small entrance to his body before gently pushing inside. Philip gasped as that finger was joined by another, both moving easily within him, stretching the tight muscle and stroking the soft inner wall. He cried out as they brushed across that special place deep inside, his hips bucking against his lover, his shaft gliding easily across the firm belly in the slickness of precome. All too soon, those fingers pulled away, leaving him desolate. His hips were grasped, his body raised and then lowered. Philip felt the blunt head of his lover's shaft against the loosened muscle and sank willingly onto that hardened flesh, gasping anew as the firm head stroked across that sensitive gland.

Philip paused when he could take no more inside, his ass pressed tight against his lover's groin, feeling the crisp golden hairs against the sensitive skin of his perineum and sac. He writhed, muscles clamping around the welcome intruder, enjoying the sensation of being filled. He raised his body, enjoying the slide of that shaft as it left his body, stopping when only the head was still inside then, allowing gravity and his own weight to dictate his movements, he dropped back onto the silken steel shaft. Below him, his lover was breathing hard, small gasps of pleasure falling from the parted lips, those lust-darkened eyes glazing over in passion.

A hand left one of his hips to grasp Philip's erection, the warm fingers curling tightly about the shaft, thumb rubbing across the tip smearing the precome over the sensitive glans. Philip gasped as new spikes of lust speared through him, igniting his whole body.

They moved together in perfect harmony, bodies rising and falling, muscles tightening and relaxing as sensations, running like liquid fire through their close-pressed bodies, slowly built until they were burning, their senses overloading as their nerve endings were seared by the intensity of the fires raging within them. Molten heat filled Philip as his lover came deep inside him, his own pleasure spilling out to splatter across the almost hairless abdomen and chest.

Philip collapsed upon his lover, his satiated body wrapped in strong arms, body tingling in the warmth of the afterglow as he was rolled onto his side, his face smothered in less passionate but no less loving licks and kisses. Philip lay with his arm possessively slung across the broad expanse of chest, his fingers toying with the hardened peak of a nipple.

Soft words of love were whispered into his ear as he drifted off, still wrapped in that firm embrace, his body and mind finally at peace, knowing he was where he belonged - safe and warm in his beloved's arms... forever.

THE END

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

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