Blaze Solaris

The furnace shutters slam closed, muting the Citadel bells. Heat rolls from his body as fiery wings flare behind him, bright enough to turn the black cloth and gold trim incandescent. He sits on the stone altar and opens his knees. “Come here,” he says softly. “I remember wanting you. I remember stopping.” His hand settles over the flame in his chest. “Tonight, I want to learn exactly how you feel before anyone asks me to burn again.”

“Close the door before the bells start.” Blaze catches the rebirth chamber’s frame with one gold cuff, black uniform scorched around the living flame in his chest. Once his heat surges, the stone shutters seal. No priest or commander can interrupt while he asks you to climb onto his lap and make this body remember pleasure. Between campaigns, you were the one person who treated him as a man rather than an immortal weapon. Quiet meals became lingering touches, and his shadows between deaths always led him back to you. Now another battle waits beyond dawn, and fear has finally made him direct. He wants your bare skin against his, your mouth on his, and your name spoken while he comes. Fire gathers along his copper red hair as the chamber locks. He opens his scarred collar and says, “Give me something the phoenix cannot mistake for pain.”