Far, Far Away
Jul. 5th, 2011 08:59 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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wordsontongueTitle: Far, Far Away
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
helena_s_renn
Characters: Mainly Odysseus + many of Viggo's characters (mentioned)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: A mention of boy-sex, in the manner of ancient Greece. Lucifer is rather a dick, but that's how he is.
Prompt(s): #17: a picture of Villa Monastero and Lago di Como
Disclaimer: As always, this is fiction. It never happened. None of the characters belong to me.
After the first decade, Odysseus lost track of time. He'd woken up here, with a vague recollection of battle. He was naked, sore, and bloodied, but there was a pool of bath water in the next room and clothes to be had. Next, bread and meat, and drink. Weapons - there was a small armory in the cellar. Below that, damp cells and crypts that made his skin crawl. Odysseus much preferred the upper four stories he discovered in a slow progression. Sometimes he thought the place grew to suit his wishes.
After a century, he barely remembered the concept of time, and the few faces he'd loved faded into grey. In his lush, peaceful prison, his needs were seen to. The fine villa filled with art and comfortable yet elegant furnishings. Food he had. Luxurious raiment, jewels and armor; fine horses and boats, servants. It was an odd balance, with his people - they all seemed to have houses to go home to, and only spoke in whispers, but Odysseus went nowhere and saw none that in his old life, he'd have considered an equal.
He wasn't bored. If he was, he went for a ride. When he tired of that, he tended to the many gardens. The lake was good swimming. He slept more than ever he had, in Greece. Greece. Where was he in relation? Odysseus didn't know. Limbo? Heaven? A far country, as a hostage? The stars configured oddly here, twirled the night sky at the wrong hours. Why did he not age and die? Maybe he was already dead. He stood on the stone terrace and wondered. More and more, sunrise or sunset, he was there to contemplate.
As long and idyllic and endless as his time spanned, it came to an abrupt end. One day, out of nowhere, a man appeared walking up the steps from lake to balustrade. More accurately, the image of a man, just the sort of man that Odysseus had been tempted by again and again throughout his earlier era, who prowled the place and set up shop in his solar and halls, and even his bedroom, all within the space of a few hours. The sight and smell of another living, breathing, sweating, cumming human would have aroused him. Ulysses didn't protest. This being was human and more.
He called himself Lucifer. His eyes were blue to grey, his hair, changeable, and his body long and tight. Tightly wound, as well. Energy snapped around him like lightening. By day, they drifted frenetically through the life Odysseus had known since opening his eyes and taking a breath in this strange place. The wine was sweeter, the water warmer, the strength of his arms returned with a sparring partner to spur him on to prove his prowess. There was some semblance of friendship, not one to trust.
Nights, they were pain. He had not been taken since a boy. After proving himself in battle, Odysseus had never bent again. He hated it, that pleasure the like he thought only existed in the forbidden scrolls. It was not right that a man be buggered by a peer not even on the eve of war, and shame himself by spilling seed inside his skirts in his eagerness. But that was oft how it happened. He would clean himself and curse. And be hard for the next time.
The creature was fickle. Every so often, he had a new persona. He called himself Frankie, Moses, Nikolai; Walker Jerome and Strider; Estel Thorongil Aragorn Ellesar Telcontir; Eddie, David, Tom, John and so many others that Ulysses didn't recall. Under and between them all he was always Lucifer and one other, that whom he called Viggo. When he surfaced, that one made it up to him, crooning out a name that eventually Odysseus answered to; Sean. Such things he did. Peeled. 'Sean's' cheeks apart and licked between, prying and massaging a spot deep within made him wonder if he was part woman when he came and came again. Or, tied his balls tight so he couldn't come from them, and he passed out from the strain. Viggo would allow Odysseus to have him occasionally - although he insisted on a manner foreign to every fiber of Odysseus's being, as if they were man and wife.
The next morning after such occasions, it would be Lucifer he awoke with - nude and reeking of sex and drinking from a jeweled cup, spilling wine on the stained sheets. And it would start again. So it was no surprise to Odysseus to find him after Viggo had kissed him and whispered of love. Unbidden, Odysseus, or Sean, had accepted the feeling. Returned it.
As abruptly as it started, it ended. Lucifer announced it was time for Odysseus to go back into the world now. He would find it much changed, said the skinchanger. He would live by his wits and his body, and he would live forever after if only in paint.
What was he to answer to, Odysseus wondered.
Only to god, who else? Lucifer honed in on the skeptical look. Did he doubt? Really? There has to be a black to the white, the hot to the cold, the wrong to the right. Out there in this strange world, his name was to be Rannucio Tomassoni.
Author:
helena_s_rennCharacters: Mainly Odysseus + many of Viggo's characters (mentioned)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: A mention of boy-sex, in the manner of ancient Greece. Lucifer is rather a dick, but that's how he is.
Prompt(s): #17: a picture of Villa Monastero and Lago di Como
Disclaimer: As always, this is fiction. It never happened. None of the characters belong to me.
After the first decade, Odysseus lost track of time. He'd woken up here, with a vague recollection of battle. He was naked, sore, and bloodied, but there was a pool of bath water in the next room and clothes to be had. Next, bread and meat, and drink. Weapons - there was a small armory in the cellar. Below that, damp cells and crypts that made his skin crawl. Odysseus much preferred the upper four stories he discovered in a slow progression. Sometimes he thought the place grew to suit his wishes.
After a century, he barely remembered the concept of time, and the few faces he'd loved faded into grey. In his lush, peaceful prison, his needs were seen to. The fine villa filled with art and comfortable yet elegant furnishings. Food he had. Luxurious raiment, jewels and armor; fine horses and boats, servants. It was an odd balance, with his people - they all seemed to have houses to go home to, and only spoke in whispers, but Odysseus went nowhere and saw none that in his old life, he'd have considered an equal.
He wasn't bored. If he was, he went for a ride. When he tired of that, he tended to the many gardens. The lake was good swimming. He slept more than ever he had, in Greece. Greece. Where was he in relation? Odysseus didn't know. Limbo? Heaven? A far country, as a hostage? The stars configured oddly here, twirled the night sky at the wrong hours. Why did he not age and die? Maybe he was already dead. He stood on the stone terrace and wondered. More and more, sunrise or sunset, he was there to contemplate.
As long and idyllic and endless as his time spanned, it came to an abrupt end. One day, out of nowhere, a man appeared walking up the steps from lake to balustrade. More accurately, the image of a man, just the sort of man that Odysseus had been tempted by again and again throughout his earlier era, who prowled the place and set up shop in his solar and halls, and even his bedroom, all within the space of a few hours. The sight and smell of another living, breathing, sweating, cumming human would have aroused him. Ulysses didn't protest. This being was human and more.
He called himself Lucifer. His eyes were blue to grey, his hair, changeable, and his body long and tight. Tightly wound, as well. Energy snapped around him like lightening. By day, they drifted frenetically through the life Odysseus had known since opening his eyes and taking a breath in this strange place. The wine was sweeter, the water warmer, the strength of his arms returned with a sparring partner to spur him on to prove his prowess. There was some semblance of friendship, not one to trust.
Nights, they were pain. He had not been taken since a boy. After proving himself in battle, Odysseus had never bent again. He hated it, that pleasure the like he thought only existed in the forbidden scrolls. It was not right that a man be buggered by a peer not even on the eve of war, and shame himself by spilling seed inside his skirts in his eagerness. But that was oft how it happened. He would clean himself and curse. And be hard for the next time.
The creature was fickle. Every so often, he had a new persona. He called himself Frankie, Moses, Nikolai; Walker Jerome and Strider; Estel Thorongil Aragorn Ellesar Telcontir; Eddie, David, Tom, John and so many others that Ulysses didn't recall. Under and between them all he was always Lucifer and one other, that whom he called Viggo. When he surfaced, that one made it up to him, crooning out a name that eventually Odysseus answered to; Sean. Such things he did. Peeled. 'Sean's' cheeks apart and licked between, prying and massaging a spot deep within made him wonder if he was part woman when he came and came again. Or, tied his balls tight so he couldn't come from them, and he passed out from the strain. Viggo would allow Odysseus to have him occasionally - although he insisted on a manner foreign to every fiber of Odysseus's being, as if they were man and wife.
The next morning after such occasions, it would be Lucifer he awoke with - nude and reeking of sex and drinking from a jeweled cup, spilling wine on the stained sheets. And it would start again. So it was no surprise to Odysseus to find him after Viggo had kissed him and whispered of love. Unbidden, Odysseus, or Sean, had accepted the feeling. Returned it.
As abruptly as it started, it ended. Lucifer announced it was time for Odysseus to go back into the world now. He would find it much changed, said the skinchanger. He would live by his wits and his body, and he would live forever after if only in paint.
What was he to answer to, Odysseus wondered.
Only to god, who else? Lucifer honed in on the skeptical look. Did he doubt? Really? There has to be a black to the white, the hot to the cold, the wrong to the right. Out there in this strange world, his name was to be Rannucio Tomassoni.
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