The muse fought him at first but the god had his wrists trapped above his head. The muse was completely defenseless and immobile with the heavy body of the god upon her.
The god's tongue entered his mouth like a fiery, anxious, and curious serpent of fire. He discovered, tortured, and venerated every inch of his mouth as if it were a new empire conquered. And that was exactly what the god felt, inside him, the blood ran like lava through his veins. The adrenaline, the happiness, the glory of a war from which he has emerged victorious.
His head was filled with mist, or was it steam? Perhaps, he could feel his blood boil.
He was grateful that his hands were immobilized because otherwise, he would have clung to the god's neck and never let go. Yet her legs clung to his waist tightly and he
