The Offer - fic
Nov. 7th, 2010 11:33 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleTitle: The Offer
Pairing: Odysseus/?
Rating: PG-13
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
govi20
A.N. Written forsplix as a Halloween trick-or-treat
Beta: lovelymooms
Disclaimer'never happened of course, all filthy lies!
The Offer
Troy was no longer burning, just a few small fires remaining when they found the slaves, hiding behind a pile of burnt wood. Andreas, captain of the guard, had been assigned to take with him a handful of men and look for survivors, with not much luck so far.
He pulled the trembling, naked girl to her feet by her long, blond hair. “This one will be a good bed warmer. Now that Achilles is dead, she must be given to Odysseus, as it is only because of him the victory is ours. “Looking down on the naked man, kneeling in the sand before him, Andreas frowned. The bracelets around his wrists, the naked body, the pale eyes, all said this man was a slave. Still; even on his knees, he showed no submission. He looked up at Andreas, his eyes clear and fearless and something in that cold gaze made Andreas shiver. Muttering a few words to the gods, he straightened himself.
“Odysseus will need a human offering when Achilles rests on his funeral pyre and is sent to the gods. This one will do. You,” he pointed at a young soldier,” take both of them to Odysseus now.”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Odysseus, seated on a roughly carved chair regarded the two slaves thoughtfully. He hadn’t slept, couldn’t sleep, not with the rush of victory still singing in his blood and body. Fingers carding through his hair, still wet from his bath, he looked at the girl. She was beautiful; there was no doubt about it, her hair and blue eyes clearly proving she was not Trojan. She seemed scared to death and willing enough to please any man. Yes, there was no fight in her and he did not feel more than just a faint stirring as he looked at the young, firm breasts. There was also the vow he had made to Penelope and their son.
Sighing, Odysseus turned his gaze to the man, who seemed neither scared, nor willing to please anyone. As if he felt the weight of eyes upon him, the man looked back at Odysseus, which earned him a cuff around the ears from one of the guards, hard enough to make him avert his eyes.
“Stand up,” Odysseus ordered, suppressing a grin, as the man slowly, almost defiantly, stood up from the floor. His body was beautiful, lean, but muscled, skin glowing with health. *More the warrior than the slave.*
“To whom did you belong?”
The man lifted his head slowly and their eyes locked. There was no answer and again the soldier stepped forward and hit him. “Speak, slave!”
Slowly, the man licked his lips. “King Priam.” His voice sounded hoarse and Odysseus realized he was probably parched.
“Bring water,” he ordered and watched as both slaves drank greedily.
“House slave or bed slave?”
Again, those pale grey eyes looked into his and this time the answer came immediately.
“King Priam was old, but not dead yet.”
“My men say I am to sacrifice you tomorrow, at Achilles’ funeral. Are you ready to meet the gods?”
The man shrugged. “Your gods are not mine.”
“Ah, a barbarian!” Again, Odysseus had to suppress a chuckle and he rubbed his beard. “You have bad manners, slave and I should punish you for your impudence.” The slave did not stir, nor did he reply and they stared into each other’s eyes for a long time. Finally, Odysseus spoke to the guards.
“Take the girl and let one of the female slaves bathe, dress and feed her. I will send for her later. Now, leave, all of you.”
As soon as the man had left the tent, Odysseus rose from his chair and walked to the man still standing there. He was on his guard, alert for sudden movement, but there was none. Slowly, Odysseus stretched out his hand and stroked the warm skin of the other man’s shoulder. His voice was soft, as if he soothed a skittish horse.
“Was it that bad, what Priam made you do?”
The other man closed his eyes, his body relaxing to Odysseus´ touch.
“As I said, he was an old man.”
“Yes.”
“I could kill you now, you are not armed”
“You could certainly try, but I think you already would have if you wanted. Do you want to?”
Opening his eyes, the slave looked at Odysseus. “I don’t know.”
`I think you do.” Odysseus let his hand slide over the slave’s torso, then down where slight stubble fought against neatly shaved pubic hair.
“Yes. No, I do not want to kill you. Yet.”
“You are an unusual slave, but I like you. Will you lie with me?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“I gave you one.”
“You did.”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The funeral pyre was high, Achilles’ powerful body resting upon it. Odysseus stood very near to Achilles on the small platform, while he covered the dead man’s eyes with golden coins. In a corner stood a smaller pyre, the motionless body totally wrapped in linen on top of it.
Andreas smiled to himself, remembering the impudent look that slave had given him yesterday. The man was obviously sedated, but the fire would make an end to that.
Only when one of the soldiers carrying a torch lit the faggots of wood, at the same moment Odysseus lit his, did Andreas notice the long, blond hair, spiralling down from the pyre.
Pairing: Odysseus/?
Rating: PG-13
Author:
govi20 A.N. Written for
splix as a Halloween trick-or-treatBeta: lovely
mooms Disclaimer'never happened of course, all filthy lies!
The Offer
Troy was no longer burning, just a few small fires remaining when they found the slaves, hiding behind a pile of burnt wood. Andreas, captain of the guard, had been assigned to take with him a handful of men and look for survivors, with not much luck so far.
He pulled the trembling, naked girl to her feet by her long, blond hair. “This one will be a good bed warmer. Now that Achilles is dead, she must be given to Odysseus, as it is only because of him the victory is ours. “Looking down on the naked man, kneeling in the sand before him, Andreas frowned. The bracelets around his wrists, the naked body, the pale eyes, all said this man was a slave. Still; even on his knees, he showed no submission. He looked up at Andreas, his eyes clear and fearless and something in that cold gaze made Andreas shiver. Muttering a few words to the gods, he straightened himself.
“Odysseus will need a human offering when Achilles rests on his funeral pyre and is sent to the gods. This one will do. You,” he pointed at a young soldier,” take both of them to Odysseus now.”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Odysseus, seated on a roughly carved chair regarded the two slaves thoughtfully. He hadn’t slept, couldn’t sleep, not with the rush of victory still singing in his blood and body. Fingers carding through his hair, still wet from his bath, he looked at the girl. She was beautiful; there was no doubt about it, her hair and blue eyes clearly proving she was not Trojan. She seemed scared to death and willing enough to please any man. Yes, there was no fight in her and he did not feel more than just a faint stirring as he looked at the young, firm breasts. There was also the vow he had made to Penelope and their son.
Sighing, Odysseus turned his gaze to the man, who seemed neither scared, nor willing to please anyone. As if he felt the weight of eyes upon him, the man looked back at Odysseus, which earned him a cuff around the ears from one of the guards, hard enough to make him avert his eyes.
“Stand up,” Odysseus ordered, suppressing a grin, as the man slowly, almost defiantly, stood up from the floor. His body was beautiful, lean, but muscled, skin glowing with health. *More the warrior than the slave.*
“To whom did you belong?”
The man lifted his head slowly and their eyes locked. There was no answer and again the soldier stepped forward and hit him. “Speak, slave!”
Slowly, the man licked his lips. “King Priam.” His voice sounded hoarse and Odysseus realized he was probably parched.
“Bring water,” he ordered and watched as both slaves drank greedily.
“House slave or bed slave?”
Again, those pale grey eyes looked into his and this time the answer came immediately.
“King Priam was old, but not dead yet.”
“My men say I am to sacrifice you tomorrow, at Achilles’ funeral. Are you ready to meet the gods?”
The man shrugged. “Your gods are not mine.”
“Ah, a barbarian!” Again, Odysseus had to suppress a chuckle and he rubbed his beard. “You have bad manners, slave and I should punish you for your impudence.” The slave did not stir, nor did he reply and they stared into each other’s eyes for a long time. Finally, Odysseus spoke to the guards.
“Take the girl and let one of the female slaves bathe, dress and feed her. I will send for her later. Now, leave, all of you.”
As soon as the man had left the tent, Odysseus rose from his chair and walked to the man still standing there. He was on his guard, alert for sudden movement, but there was none. Slowly, Odysseus stretched out his hand and stroked the warm skin of the other man’s shoulder. His voice was soft, as if he soothed a skittish horse.
“Was it that bad, what Priam made you do?”
The other man closed his eyes, his body relaxing to Odysseus´ touch.
“As I said, he was an old man.”
“Yes.”
“I could kill you now, you are not armed”
“You could certainly try, but I think you already would have if you wanted. Do you want to?”
Opening his eyes, the slave looked at Odysseus. “I don’t know.”
`I think you do.” Odysseus let his hand slide over the slave’s torso, then down where slight stubble fought against neatly shaved pubic hair.
“Yes. No, I do not want to kill you. Yet.”
“You are an unusual slave, but I like you. Will you lie with me?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“I gave you one.”
“You did.”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The funeral pyre was high, Achilles’ powerful body resting upon it. Odysseus stood very near to Achilles on the small platform, while he covered the dead man’s eyes with golden coins. In a corner stood a smaller pyre, the motionless body totally wrapped in linen on top of it.
Andreas smiled to himself, remembering the impudent look that slave had given him yesterday. The man was obviously sedated, but the fire would make an end to that.
Only when one of the soldiers carrying a torch lit the faggots of wood, at the same moment Odysseus lit his, did Andreas notice the long, blond hair, spiralling down from the pyre.
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