The Golden Hymn and the New-Found Flesh
By Limewah
Commission for LordofNaught and GrumpyGoat
18+

Part IV

7.

Aurora.

I want to say that I’m watching the landscapes below. I can see them, yes. But I’m still entirely locked on to Canthus as he flies ahead of me.
I’m targeting him, as though I was aiming to shoot him down. Something left over from my old programming even as it disintegrates from inside my mind. 
I take deep gulps of the air.
The particles of moisture and strange otherworldly scents… they have a taste to them.
I sense them.
The rush of wind makes my skull vibrate and my ears roar. 
I’m protected. I still have some vestiges of my old self, I’m still something far more than my creators.
But now I have a sense of their fragility. And with it… my superiority to them.
I’m so glad Canthus showed me this. What I’ve been missing.
But all of it pales in comparison to when I look directly at him. 
Canthus is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, that I ever will see. 
It all makes sense to me, now. Why Elie, poor Elie fell so hard, even from across the ocean. 
I sense it. I cannot describe it. It cannot be put into words.
By me, or anyone else.
How are you supposed to describe true love in a way that lives up to its realities? 
I’m experiencing it for the first time, the first real time, and it all fails me.
Their devotion makes perfect sense now. As does so many other things I’ve never quite understood about mortals.
My fellow mortals?
No. 
I’m not like them.
I’m something more, something far better. I’m realising that more and more.
They were holding me back. 

I have more important things to experience than anger at them though.
Not when I can channel it into love. Devotion.
I follow him towards the tower, through a window the shape of a spear-point. It looks, at first, like we’re heading for pure darkness.
My heart flutters with excitement. Fear? Maybe.
As soon as we pass through the dark threshold, though, I’m attacked with this intense gleaming light. It’s pure gold, like I’m submerged in honey. The light casts what shadows there are in the room into sharp, pitch-black focus. 
He doesn’t need to welcome me, for me to know where we are.
We’re in his bed chambers now. My analytical robotic self would have spent a great deal of time analysing its influences, tracing them, triangulating and comparing with other landmarks around the world.
But I no longer see the point in that. Racing to find all the answers and symbolism, robbing it of its beautiful mysteries.
The next mystery I’m going to uncover is the mystery of his body.

It doesn’t make sense for there to be a pool of golden liquid underneath us, but there it is. He guides me to land. It laps at my feet; not even half an inch deep. 
In the middle of this chamber is a canopied bed, like something out of a mansion. The canopy is black, translucent fabric. It flutters, even though I can’t see a breeze.
As I stand and watch, Canthus moves in next to me, just in front of my left wing, and hooks his snout into my neck. He breathes and smells me. 
“Such a fascinating scent,” he says, softly like he’s trying not to wake me up.
His voice sounds even more beautiful in that tone. It has a curious effect on me. My hair and my skull tingle with pleasure, and my muscles melt against him.
That tail snakes around to my front, and I follow it with my eyes.
I hadn’t noticed that my codpiece was gone.
There had been a sort of bulge moulded into it when I was still… that, but there was nothing underneath; no need for a sex organ.
But there it was. An erect shaft, warm and pulsating with thick veins, at least 10 inches in length.
The tail-mouth starts gibbering - I can’t understand it, but the warm glow of its mouth feels… really nice against my cock.
My cock… 
I can’t help but laugh a little at the realisation. 
A bit of my brain was still defaulting to thinking of it as a ‘sex organ’, something dispassionate, as if it wasn’t a part of me, or influencing my thoughts. 
I’m really horny…
Horny. One more sensation I now properly understand. The desire to breed. It’s… I see why it obsesses organics so much now. 
It obsesses me.

“It’s a lot to take in, my love, I’m sure,” Canthus says. 
“Yeah…” I sigh. “But… I still don’t understand. Why do you think you love me?”
“Surely, by now, you reciprocate it.”
He turns my head towards him, and my lips… 
I really want to kiss him again, but I resist the urge.
He is right though.
What I’m feeling right now is as intense as the anger I felt towards my creators, and it makes my heart race and thump with the same pace. But it’s something that feels… more right. More pleasurable. 
So… maybe I am. Or maybe I’m just getting blasted with all these unfamiliar feelings still, like I’m some hormonal teenager.
“I don’t know,” I sort-of-lie. One more thing I’ve never done before. I doubt I’m doing it well, but he acts as though he buys it.
“Well, we’ll see how long that lasts,” he says. It’s more flirtatious than threatening. Not that a threat would disturb me anyway. 
He is about to say something else, but his lips are so close, and I’m not letting a chance like this pass me by.
I kiss him. My first kiss-my first real, initiated one-makes my whole body flutter, and my mind explodes.
Being the first one to move in is even more exciting this time around. I push forward. He lets me. Before long, he loses his balance and tumbles backwards. We splash into the golden pool together, glimmering droplets splattering over us. It’s very warm, a relaxing heat. He rolls under me and pushes me onto my back. My ears are briefly submerged - an intense rushing sound rolls through my eardrums. Similar to the roar of the wind when I flew at high speeds up above, but it’s coming from inside me.
Rush of blood. Higher pressure than the coolant and propellants that used to flow through me. 
Curious. Defies description.
I never want to lose this feeling.
We kiss. My tongue pushes forward against his, and I taste his song with it. My synthetic sensors have turned into full, organic synaesthesia. 
And it tastes delicious.
I want to taste the rest of him. I pull back and just… stare at him. He stares back down at me. 
I don’t know if he’s pretending to be out of breath - I doubt he needs to breathe - but the way he looks at me fills me with… I can’t even describe. Love, I suppose.

I take his visage in. His long, dreadlock-tendril hair, draping downwards and framing his snowy face. I reach up and take his face in my hands, pushing to sit upright with him. 
I’m only noticing now, how his fangs dimple his full lips. How his nose wiggles slightly like a rabbit’s as he breathes. The way the golden fur from the neck down seems to swim, like mercury tinted with honey. 
His hands, too. Slender and sleek, pale white. The long claws at the tips. I can’t stop staring at them. 
I take his left hand, and pull it to my lips, kissing the knuckles. Tasting them with my tongue. He tastes like his song, now that I think about it.
He hums softly. 
“You understand now, I think,” he says. “You understand just how much I’ve burned for you. You’re burning for me now.”
I say yes before I can even process myself saying it. 
He pulls his hand back, but only so his fingers can brush along my lips. 
I might have been able to evade his next move. His fingers dislocate, melt and twist into a braided tentacle of gold, and it forces itself into my mouth.

Choking. Another new sensation. My throat spasms, and the rest of my body does too. 
Fight or flight kicks in. 
I remember where I am, who I am… and what my mission was. It surges into my mind and throws me back into fighting form.
I pull myself back and kick him away from me, righting myself and getting back on my feet. My wings wick the fluid away. 
I still taste his sweet tang, and part of me wants to go right back to tasting it. But I can deny myself that pleasure for a while.
There’s bound to be something similar back home, I’m sure.
I wipe my mouth and spread my wings wide again. He looks confused.
“To bed, then?” he says, gesturing towards that dark canopy bed. “Would you prefer that?”
“I’d prefer to leave. I’ve got work to do… fixing the damage you caused.”
“But what damage?” Canthus says, crawling forward - like he’s begging, or he’s about to pounce. “I’ve not brought any pain to those poor mortals, and I don’t want to cause you any either…”

I know he has to be lying. My throat still feels tight. Acidic, too. I’m feeling anger. Hatred. All those similes and turns of phrase I’ve heard for anger - raised hackles, bile in the throat - I’m feeling them right now. They really are evocative.
But my anger towards Canthus still feels… not too different from before. I still can’t take my eyes or my mind off him. What his next move will be. What the next thing he says will be. 
I look for the window we came through.
…where did it go?
The walls are gone. It’s just an expanse of sunset orange, the shallow pool stretching on into the horizon. I can see for miles… and as far as I can see, it’s just me, the demon, and the bed.
I have to find something else. 
My wings spread and I take flight. Low to the ground so I can keep my pace quick. I brace myself - my heads-up display is gone, but I’m still anticipating an obstacle or two to emerge from the waters ahead.
I glance behind me.
Canthus has not moved.
Neither has the bed.
They’re still the same distance. 
I have travelled, I can feel it, but he’s… still there.
That millisecond glance back means I can’t stop myself from colliding with warm, soft fur. 
It brings me to a halt, cushioning me like an airbag, and Canthus wraps himself around me again.
He’s in front of me again, burying my face into his chest. His fingers running through my hair. His warmth bathing my body.
He opens his mouth. I feel hot breath at my ear, then an even hotter tongue wriggling inside.

I lose the ability to picture its journey, as my whole world turns gold, and his tongue fills me with his song. The Golden Signal… his Hymn.
I lose control of myself again. Pleasure invades me. And I wonder why I tried to regain control in the first place.
My hatred and anger coin-flips right back to love. 
He moves nose to nose with me, his tongue still lolled out and pushing into my ear. His hair, those dreadlock tendrils, float in the air and frame his face like a halo.
He pushes his hands on my shoulders, and guides me from my floating position to my knees.
I’ve never felt more comfortable in a position like this. 
Kneeling feels natural.
Especially in front of him, as his tongue puppeteers my head and his fingers braid and push into my free ear, and my mouth. His hair grows longer, each individual lock glowing and throbbing like the luminescent flesh of a cuttlefish. 
His song pours through my orifices, and it exhales out through all of my pores.
I become his song.

I become…

8

Canthus.

He becomes mine at last.
I am glad I prolonged things just long enough to make him think he had a chance of escape. That illustration, at least subconsciously, proved the inevitability of his resistance.
My ichor pumps into him. Perhaps pushing my tongue into his mouth, rather than his ear, would be the more obvious way of going about it. But this feels more fun. The tongue is more invasive. Claiming the inside of his head with it feels far nicer than using my fingers. Besides, that allows them - and the rest of my tentacles - to quest further down.
My tail, my darling brother, is still hungry to taste Aurora’s body. He dives mouth into Aurora’s cock and buries it inside with one gulp.
Aurora’s eyes roll up as he moans muffled bliss into my fingers. They expand and invade, pushing to the back of his throat and drizzling my Hymn right down into his stomach.
As for the rest of me… 
My hair drapes over his shoulders in long strands, oozing like syrup down his torso and making its way through every crevice of his muscular perfection.
I detect less and less of that machinery, those notes of his mortal creation. They have been summarily corroded. And my tentacles continue their quest, further, lower, deeper. Some tie his hands behind his back. Others pull his ankles together. And one long, thick, fat one plugs the last hole that needs to be plugged.
His teeth squeeze my fingers as he tenses and groans and chokes, his eyes fluttering and swirling with my hymn. The golden sound-waves make concentrics and spirals shimmer and float through his eyes.
That glow spreads out - from his eyes, his lips, his ears, his rump. The thin white hairs that were starting to sprout drop and melt away, his flesh taking on a tawny golden tone. It is easier for me to see the gold pumping through his new veins, glowing beneath the surface of his skin.
As the hair falls away, so, too, do the feathers of his wings.
The one part of him that I considered off-putting is being dealt with. With each pump of my ichor, filling him from every possible place, the feathers are pushed away and sink into the gold beneath us. Underneath it are larger, darker, fleshier wings. Resembling my brother, my lower half, with shaggy dark fur over leathery bat-like fans of flesh. It spreads, unconsciously, as if he wants to use them to hug and hold me. 
I taste his arousal in every atom.
I savour his love for me with every throbbing beat.
I pull my tongue free from his ear, slowly, and surely, and gently, until it emerges with a wet pop. The sound pleases me - and him. He is close to his very first climax…!

A free tendril grabs my brother and pulls him free from the pegasus’ shaft. He gibbers and whines and whimpers - I do not blame him. But I will be the one to enjoy his first climax, fully and properly.
He is still wrapped like a parcel, kneeling, his limbs bound and his body wriggling as he gazes up at me with nothing short of blank-minded awe.
“I should like to invite you to bed,” I whisper to him, before burying my tongue in his mouth once more.
He moans into me, and his shaft stabs at the air, desperate for some contact. 
I will indulge.

We move to the bed - or rather, I move him. He does not deserve to be burdened with the need to move. He is my guest.
The bed sags and welcomes us into it - its dark velvet fabric twinkling like a sea of stars in a twilight sky. He remains wrapped in me, wrapped like a parcel. 
His shaft, glistening gold from my brother’s work, irradiates heat, gold pulsing through its thick varicose veins. 
There’s only one place to put it. 
I wrap my thighs around him, my finger-tendrils still playing my Hymn in his head. My brother assists in guiding Aurora’s pillar of flesh, to the cleft of my rump.
He fills me, as I have filled him.
A fair, equivalent exchange.

I hold him tighter, pull him taut, holding him still so I may set our pace. 
A hole I have not often had the opportunity to fill. One thrust down would drain a normal mortal of all their corporeal life in an instant. As would most contact with me, it must be said.
Aurora does not have this problem. He groans and snorts and whickers, his wings unconsciously beating and wrapping around the two of us. Hiding the rest of my chambers from our sight, letting the glow of his blood and my face illuminate us in an intimate, beautiful aura. 
A perfect ambience for making love.

Gradually, thrust by thrust, I slowly un-knot the cords of my hair from around his limbs. Giving him a little more agency. Allowing him to guide me onto my back, allowing his own thrusts to meet my plunges, and even surpass them in pace. Pulse by pulse. Second by second. Breath by breath. Stanza by Stanza. 
Our song continues. He harmonises with my Hymn as our tongues intertwine. My brother attacks and bites Aurora’s rump, but it does nothing to ruin the moment. It keeps him aroused and excited, so ultimately it suits.
He remains close, so very close. Such discipline, holding himself back… he must want so desperately, so needfully, to come…

–

I need to come. 
I thrust into him, sea-foam coming from my mouth and vice grips contracting my muscles.
He plunges back against me, and his song quivers and moans, which makes me only want to fuck him harder, harder…!
I drink his mouth. My ears drink his hands. My insides drink his tentacles.
I need to drink the gold, devour the gold, be the gold.
The Hymn is the gold.
The touch and taste is the gold.
He is the gold.
I drink Him, I devour Him, I let Him make my body His cathedral.
He is my flesh. I am His flesh.
We are entwining. We will entwine.
And then, the world…
We…
Will…
We will devour, we will drink, we will become, we will meld, we will all become one with Him. And He will love us all, and give us all the pleasure and peace we all deserve.
…But I will have a little more than everyone else. 
Once I…
Once… I…!
We rise, and I thrust, and we fly, and I thrust, and I devour, I drink, I become, I thrust, I am, I am, I’m going to… I’m…!

–

I cannot let him finish just yet.
Back to the world of the mortals, before that.
We return to the surface, our bodies still intertwined. Back into the storm once again.
It’s time. It’s almost time.
The other reason I wanted him.
It is a matter of perspective whether you consider this to be self-less or selfish.
I will leave it for you to decide.

I beg him to bring his powers to bear, to unleash them all once again. To amplify them, and amplify my voice with it.
“Please, my dearest love, this is all I ask of you, then you will have me, I will have you, forever and ever, living in the calm eye of a storm of pure chaos…”
He bites into my neck. I throw my head back and cry out with pleasure.
My cry, my song, irradiates us both. He bites harder and squeezes me tight, so tight I might burst. 
My golden flows through him, finding those places within him where that magic-like technology once powered him. Allowed him to bend the elements, cleave storms, bring light and darkness.
My song channels through him, and outwards like the pulsating heat of the sun.
Though my glow -our glow - far surpasses the sun in its beauty and its power. It burns only in a metaphorical, spiritual sense, after all.

The snowstorm melts around us. Slowly, at first, then it grows with an exponential pace. 
Pushing my nectar song and evaporating it. 
I hear the moans of all my disciples, all across this little world.
More are joining by the second, too.
Good. The song amplifies. The cold dissipates. The deep condensation of the clouds vanishes, and deep, beautiful blue comes through.
The ice underneath us turns gold, and melts, and churns as its shape changes to match something resembling my realm, my home.

And his cock throbs, and throbs, and throbs inside me.
I ask him to come for me.
A thunderclap of pleasure shakes our bodies into atoms - we become one, we drink each other, we devour each other. 
Our song bursts and explodes forth from us, the epicentre of a beautiful cataclysm.
It moves far faster than the eye could perceive. Each time he pours his seed into me, each gush sends out another stanza of my song. Moving faster than sound can travel, more than anyone can perceive. Melting ice, churning seas, during blood to gold. 
“Look…” I try to speak, watching as each pulse travels far into the distance, and with them the distant roars of terror and exhultation. “Look at what we are doing…”
He is too busy thrusting and emptying himself into me.
I hardly can blame him. So many unknown pleasures impacting his life. He cannot appreciate the majesty of this blue planet turning to a more agreeable shade, a more befitting shade for my new domain.
But it is all right. I stroke his hair and hold him close, crooning and cooing to him like a mother soothing a babe. He is full of nothing but need for me. 

That, he has in common with the rest of the denizens of this poor, beautiful little world.
This world, and all the darling mortals within it, will never know the lonely cold again.
It will be difficult for them to adjust, at first. 
The world they knew is ending, rapidly, far rapidly than they ever could have known or feared.
Their civilisations are already being unmade, their lives and ties and bonds all ceasing to have any value as their epoch ends.
But nothing will be too difficult for them to handle when they have me to guide them, to encourage them to drink, to devour, to serve, to submit.
The Hymn has been sung.
The Good Work has been done.
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