His hair is feather-soft as owl's wings where it brushes your back, and you can't help shaking at the contrast with the hardness of his cock inside of you and the grip of his fingers on your hips. He is the fierce erotic chill of the desert at night, his body cool against you, and you rise, vibrating, crying out as orgasm hits you, and you feel it: the release of flight. The darkness rushes in, and for one moment, there is nothing in the universe but the pull and the darkness and the shattering joy of flight.