burning candle

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The ache in my body weighed me down like an anchor. Slumped against the cool stone wall of the cave, I was watched by the single black eye of the night, scattered with stars so breathtakingly beautiful that it would fill anyone with elation. Beside me, Achilles sighed. I turned to him and we watched each other, both too worn to communicate but eyes expressing more than words ever could. His hand reached out to caress my face, his touch warm and gentle, eyes weary. I placed my hand over his and moved my face to kiss his palm; soft as a peach. I inhaled his scent, sweet and Earth-like, and a weak smile tugged at his lips.
He shot forward, suddenly, and collided his lips with mine, opening his mouth and sliding his tongue between. His lips were soft, plump, and tasted as sweet as the berries we had picked. We kissed each other carelessly, passionately despite our exhaustion. My hand travelled down to his waist, wrapped around it and pulled him closer until we toppled backwards. He gasped in surprise as my back hit the floor, but promptly I pulled him close and our lips rejoined.
        In a matter of minutes, the air around us became hot, as did our bodies as we both began to strip one another of filthy clothes. His warm skin brushed against mine; sensitive, golden, electric. We kissed and touched and thrived in each others' embrace; I longed to feel him and could not get enough. I wanted to drink him in like smooth wine.
        He moaned softly against my ear, bucking his hips and tightening his grasp on my shoulders. I held his member firmly with one hand, the other still around his waist, and began to stroke rhythmically, evoking an endless series of moans and grunts from the trembling boy. After a while, I ceased, and he whimpered in disappointment.
To my surprise, he began to reciprocate. His hands were gentle yet strong, a deftness obtained from years of practicality and training. To the eye they appeared but so delicate and beautiful, yet beneath the stretched canvas of soft peach skin lie muscles of strength and skill. His entire appearance was deceiving; glowing, golden, gentle, yet possessing unimaginable power and potential. He was a walking façade, but also just the opposite. His heart could not match more the soft curve of his cheek.
My head threw itself back as the intensity rose, nails scratched short against the ground on which we lay. His hands moved easily, swiftly, and provoked such pleasure that I quickly became overwhelmed almost to tears. I choked out his name and he stopped, nuzzling his face into my neck and planting soft kisses like seeds in a rose bed. Our hands slid over each other, bodies slick with sweat and hot as fire. Our breaths were mingled and just as hot, loud, passionate. I felt we were dragons each protecting our golden treasures.
Eventually, we shifted position, him beneath I, and slowly, carefully, I proceeded to enter. His hands firmly gripped my arms in tension and discomfort, but soon, he relaxed. We lay still, connected, and I kissed his neck. He hummed lightly in satisfaction, and so I began movement, thrusting into him slowly but quickly building pace.
Beneath me, he was a mess of lust and longing, his golden hair splayed like the rays of the Sun. He appeared in that moment more divine than I had ever witnessed. A Godly aura was about him, and I was held in a state of disbelief that he could ever love such an insignificant being as I.
Our joint effort continued, and an endless song of moans arose from us both once more. I felt as though I could melt across his beautiful body; the soft, bright skin and curves of his muscles, as though I were a candle and he were the flame.
His gentle countenance dripped with pleasure, and strands of hair stuck to his forehead and pinkish cheeks. We did not know if Chiron could hear us, but in that moment we did not care. We cared only for each other and the love between us, strong and powerful like a merciless storm.
Occasionally Achilles would scratch long and hard across my back, nails digging deep, but I enjoyed the sensation that it brought, the stinging pain of passionate love, and did not mind. I bent down and kissed him, a raging fire on our lips that burned with lust and love; a candle burning brighter.
My movements were the quickest they had been now, and numerous grunts of pleasure sounded from deep within Achilles' throat as we kissed. He tightened his grasp on my weak, shaking arms, and already I could sense the bruises that would form there. The pleasure became overwhelming, unbearable, and our raised voices filled the walls of the cave, echoed back as a lingering fraction of the past which softly faded away into nothing. Our hearts spilled, melted across the rising and falling chest of Achilles with a glimmer like honey. I collapsed by his side and we lay together, static and breathless, feeling the passion still dance across our burning skin.

Only mere moments later, I noticed the fluttering of lashes as Achilles' eyes began to close, the soft muscles of his face relaxing, and breath turning shallow. I admired the divine features of his face, the bright glow of his skin.
Very soon, the low, rhythmic breaths began to lull me until exhaustion refrained itself no longer, and I joined Achilles in sleep. We lay together, dreaming of wars and the sea and each other, both vulnerably naked but comforted by one another. Nothing felt a threat with him by my side.
We slept, hand in hand, limbs lazily intertwined. The stars above watched over us like the Gods, guarding the mighty Prince Achilles of Phthia, Aristos Achaion, and I, his negligible exile lover.