"Do you know who I am?"
Hyacinth lowered his eyes. This did not suit his night time visitor. Swift as flickering light the golden being was over him; long fingers threaded through the Spartan Prince’s hair, eyes as clear and blue as mountain lakes sought his own.
“Apollo," Hyacinth breathed.
The Sun God gave a radiant smile. He shifted closer to the boy, who blushed at their proximity and drew his legs closer to himself. He had woken in the middle of the night, slick with sweat from a heat as penetrating as the sun’s rays. Emerging from the balcony in his chamber was a young man, more beautiful than dreaming; hair that glinted gold, eyes that burned, skin that shimmered.
Hyacinth’s chest heaved. Beads of sweat rolled over his lean brown flesh, down the curve of his back, over the swell of his chest, between his muscled thighs.
Apollo’s eyes darkened with desire. “I have watched you from afar, and I would take you for a lover.”
Hyacinth was trembling. He knew you did not deny a god. And if you did, well a god took what he wanted anyhow.
Apollo’s hand danced down his thigh, down and down till it slid over Hyacinth’s hip. The Prince gasped and the god smiled.
"Do not fear me," Apollo whispered. "I will not take you by force." He chuckled as Hyacinth’s fingers brushed against the wrist that held him, trailing over the arm with curiosity and mounting lust. "I could give you such pleasure." He leant closer, his broad thighs spreading Hyacinth’s slimmer ones. The hand entwined in the boys honey curls tilted his head back; and he let his breath play against Hyacinth’s sinuous throat. "If you would have me, I could make you cry for pleasure and weep for love of me."
"I am a Spartan," Hyacinth whispered in return. "You won’t see me weep."
Apollo turned his head and met the mortal’s eyes. His lips spread in a brilliant smile. “You would resist me?”
Hyacinth’s breath failed him. He shook his head. “No.” Slowly, he looked down to where his fingers were still dusting over Apollo’s arm. He peered up at the god above him and tentatively pulled his large hand from where it rested on his hip, pulled it down to his aching cock.
This was why Apollo liked boys. They were lustful things, beautiful things and whilst insolent, endearing. He decided to oblige. His hand tightened, fingers expertly tugging and Hyacinth let out a cry of surprised pleasure. Apollo chuckled, sitting back on his haunches as he began to pump the boy’s sex. A god’s touch, honed to perfection as Apollo’s was, could be excruciatingly pleasurable.
Hyacinth grew incoherent, his body shuddered as he grasped Apollo’s arm in both his little hands and his damp head fell against Apollo’s shoulder. “My Lord!” he moaned over and over, “Apollo – please – I shall die before release!”
Apollo doubled his effort in twisting and pulling till Hyacinth’s fingers bit into the flesh of his arm and he came with a scream, muffled against the God’s chest.
Apollo allowed Hyacinth a few moments to sag against him, his eyelashes teasing the immortals flesh as he blinked sleepily. Then he pushed the boy back amongst the silks of his bed and bent his head to Hyacinth’s eager mouth. Hyacinth gasped, wound his fingers around Apollo’s neck and allowed the god to deepen their kiss.
Soon he was arching his lithe body against Apollo’s muscled one, writhing and tossing his head. Apollo’s lips fell against his neck, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses over his straining throat. Hyacinth moaned, overwhelmed, and coiled his legs around Apollo’s, digging his nails into back and shoulder. Their cocks slid, slick, over each other and Apollo let out a suppressed groan. His hand delved between the prince’s thighs and pressed till Hyacinth gave a startled yelp.
"My Lord – wait – I’ve never…"
Suddenly, Apollo’s fist twisted in the sheets by the side of the boy, his tongue thrust, hot, into his mouth. “Then you are mine alone,” he whispered, voice thick with desire. “My sweet Hyacinth…”
When his fingers once more sought Hyacinth’s tightness the prince relaxed and let Apollo press inside of him. He was panting and crying out within minutes. “Oh Apollo! By the gods there!”
Apollo chuckled and withdrew his fingers; Hyacinth had time for a moue of protest before Apollo was pushing into the boy’s aching body.
Hyacinth shouted out in pain and tossed his head to the side. “Oh, ah…”
Apollo feathered kisses over his brow, his eyes, his lips, hooked a hand beneath Hyacinth’s knee to ease his pain. Still, Hyacinth hissed and screwed his eyes shut.
Apollo’s lips whispered against his burning skin, he grit his teeth to keep from further hurting the boy and rocked gently. After a short while Hyacinth’ eyes fluttered open, his curious hands flitted over Apollo’s waist and he pulled the God closer to him. When Apollo next thrust into him he gave a shout of surprise. One finger flitted over the hollow of Hyacinth’s throat and the Sun God rolled his hips. The boy threw his head back and screamed.
Apollo grinned and tossed his golden head before slamming into Hyacinth, hitting him right every time, pounding his pleasure till the boy’s screams reverberated through the night; till his face, sweetened in ecstasy, was all Apollo saw.
Hyacinth tumbled over the edge within minutes, and then again soon after, and then thrice more within the next hour. Still Apollo loved him, the muscles in his back convulsing; sweat beading on his shimmering, golden skin. His hands gripped at the bed posts till they splintered, he fell against the boy, encasing Hyacinth in his arms. Or else he tilted one lean leg over his shoulder and took a rosy nipple into his mouth, sucking and pumping in rhythm.
Hyacinth was weak as Apollo neared his end and dawn was close to breaking. His screams had turned to whimpers, his body, spent, was helpless next to the god’s stamina. Then, with a cry of pleasure so beautiful Apollo dragged the boy to ecstasy once more, the immortal erupted.
/ Two Years Later \
Hyacinth went to his knees before the statue of Artemis. Behind him one of his peers was being dragged off, unable the walk. His blood stained the cool, pale stone of Artemis’ temple.
His father, the king, observed this with disgust but when Hyacinth glanced over his shoulder he gave his son an encouraging nod. It was tradition for Spartan boys to be whipped, to test their endurance, their courage; as a Prince Hyacinth was expected to perform outstandingly.
He turned back and stretched out his arms wide and a rope was placed in each hand; the ends of both looped around the columns framing the temple. He had seen boys being coaxed to let go long after they had fallen. The priests began their invocations whilst his school master paced behind him, dragging the whip through his hand. As they chanted, beseeching Artemis to give him courage, the eldest stripped Hyacinth of his toga, bearing his nakedness to the crowd behind. The prince took a deep breath and stared up into the face of the Moon Goddess, noting the similarities she shared with her twin, the Sun God. They had the same beauty.
He took the first lash with a smile, and the second, third, fourth. The sixth landed in line with the fifth and his fingers tightened around the robe. The seventh and eighth had him grimacing, the twelfth was wet and slick against his back. He closed his eyes, his fingers now white to the bone, gripping the ropes taut. If he let go he lost.
Hyacinth took five more before he cried out and soon it was all he could do not to sob. Blood was running down his back, he could feel it hot between his ass and his thighs and see it dripping to the floor. His lean, brown limbs were glistening with sweat – each one swelling and heaving as the whip continued to fall.
He was close to dropping the ropes in defeat when, suddenly, he was bathed in a heat as heady and encompassing as the sun, one that he knew well. He opened his eyes even as another lash fell against him. The temple was drenched in light; it reached towards him with white fingers. With mounting anticipation he raised his eyes to the statue of Artemis and it was Apollo’s eyes that he met.
His next cry, even to his ears, was one of lust.
The whip continued to thrash him, his blood continued to spill, but Apollo knelt before him now and his breath against Hyacinth’s lips chased away the pain. The crowd behind were blind to the god, Hyacinth knew, for surely they would have said something if they could see his caresses.
"My brave, sweet Hyacinth," Apollo murmured.
The youth peered up at him with lowered eyes and parted lips. With each strike of the whip he still moaned or cried out in pain but, slowly, his voice was turning euphoric.
Apollo’s fingers traced over his chest, broader since they first met, dusted a ruby nipple and pinched.
Apollo chuckled and Hyacinth flushed.
His school master called from behind. “Can you continue?”
Apollo raised an eyebrow at Hyacinth. Panting, the boy smiled and cocked his head. “Continue? I was not aware we’d started. By all means, Laertes.”
Every muscle was clenched, he fisted the ropes but for a different reason now and the whip became a means by which he stayed his lust. Though he could see his own blood, dark and red, pooled beneath his spread knees, the pain was minimal, even exciting.
"Tonight," Apollo breathed, blue eyes deep and dark with desire, "I am going to take you as I never have before."
He told his slaves to leave him.
The night was black and warm, brimming with stars and filled with the scent of jasmine. The flowers themselves swirled in his bath, clustered around his bronzed brown skin. He lifted one leg from the water, rivulets dripping over the lean muscle of his calf, running back down his thighs. He could not lean back against the edge of the tub, the wounds on his back ensured that, but the pain was all but gone; which he expected had something to do with his lover, the God of Healing. The memory of the lick of the whip against his back was nothing compared to the touch of Apollo’s tongue.
He pushed himself up and out of the water, brushing off the little white petals that clung to him. Tendrils of jade hung from the columns round his chamber and iris by his bed. The breeze rustled them, ruffling his hair and teasing his hot skin; he followed it out into the night air, leaning over the stone banister of his balcony.
The wind was stronger here, blowing hard from the west. And it made him shiver.
His name was a whisper, hissing in his ear. He started in shock and spun around, eyes darting around the balcony. Empty. He strode back to his chamber, pushing aside the loose silk curtains. Empty also.
The youth gasped, stumbled, made a grab at the silk that hung from the archway and fell to the floor, tangled in it. He’d heard Apollo sigh his name most nights for two years; this was not Apollo. He scrambled to his feet, covering his nakedness with the sheer wisps of silk he grasped. Still he saw no one. His sword lay on the trunk at the end of his bed, he made for it.
Not a moment later and wind was whipping through his chamber, tearing the silk from his fingers, sending the flowers flying and falling. He cried out in shock and fear, grabbed his sword in both hands and spun around.
His mouth dropped open in shock, his fingers shook where they held the pommel of his sword and he backed up till his knee’s hit the trunk.
Another god, one he did not recognise. Where Apollo was gold and beauty the being before him was silver and darkness. Wild black hair floated about his face, long, hard muscles flexed beneath pale skin and eyes bright and cool watched him.
He lowered his sword and then his eyes. “My Lord…”
The fingers that dug into his jaw were cold as ice, strong beyond imagination. He was shoved onto the trunk and gripped the edges.
Hyacinth daren’t look up, though he could feel cold eyes sweeping over his body, naked to the god’s stare. He swallowed.
The fingers that held him loosened, the thumb traced over his parted lips, his throat, stroked his collarbone. Hyacinth’s eyes snapped shut.
"You are expecting someone?" the unknown god spoke, sleek and quick.
Hyacinth nodded. “Apollo-“
"I know who." The god snapped. When Hyacinth nodded again in submission the god continued. "You do not know who I am?"
"No, my Lord."
"Zephyrus, God of the West Wind."
At that Hyacinth’s eyes flickered to his face. It had grown cold and he had to fight a shiver as Zephyrus’ eyes continued to crawl over his body. The wind that stirred the air felt like fingers against his skin, groping and tugging.
"To what," he swallowed, "to what do I owe the pleasure, my Lord."
Zephyrus laughed, a deep laugh that rolled and rumbled like a storm. “Well, my pleasure.”
Hyacinth’s eyes widened. “Wait!-“
Those strong fingers closed around his jaw again and cold lips fastened onto his own. It took him a moment to catch his breath but before he could raise his sword he was shoved back against the mattress behind him and pain loosened his grip. The sword clattered to the floor as blood ran afresh down his back.
His struggles and cry of pain alerted Zephyrus who pulled away.
Hyacinth gasped and pushed himself up, trembling. He wiped a hand over his mouth as his shaking legs gave way and pulled him to the floor.
That laugh resounded throughout his chamber again. One finger dragged down Hyacinth’s back, reddening with blood and slipping between his thighs. The youth could do naught to stop him. “A promise of what is to come, I think,” the West Wind hissed.
He was shoved face first onto his bed, fisting the sheets that he had clung to so often in the throes of passion. Two fingers thrust inside him, wriggling and writhing and Hyacinth bit his lip to suppress his scream. But that lasted only as long as the fingers in his body. When the god shoved his cock inside the boy he screamed and screamedand sobbed and begged. His blood soaked through the feather mattress with his sweat and his tears whilst his body set aflame in agony. And whenever Hyacinth thought he might pass out and darkness closed around him he was dragged back and Apollo whispered in his ear, “Never forget that you are mine.”
He wasn’t aware when Apollo left him only that it was with the promise: “Zephyrus needs be reminded who you belong to as well I think.”
Hyacinth nodded but didn’t open his eyes till Apollo had gone. When the youth did, right before he blacked out, it was to reflect that Zephyrus’ parting words had proved true as he dragged his blood stained finger between Hyacinth’s thighs.
"Come to bed, my love…"
Hyacinth tightened the strap of his boot. “Will it matter if I say no?”
Apollo chuckled as though Hyacinth was being funny. “For sure,” he purred lazily and he pushed himself onto his elbow, luxuriously reclined on Hyacinth’s bed. “What would you like to do then? Hunting perhaps?”
"I am going hunting," Hyacinth said stiffly, grabbing his spear, "just not with you."
Apollo tutted. “Temper, child.”
Hyacinth whirled on him, jabbing his spear forward in anger. “I am sixteen! A man grown.”
He moved like flowing water, too swift for mortal eyes, then, suddenly, Apollo was behind him. “And I am as old as time itself,” Apollo whispered. His hands slid over Hyacinth’s shoulders, tender.
"Then maybe you should learn to control your own temper," Hyacinth hissed. He made to step away but Apollo’s hand entwined his hair and wrenched his head back. It was a playful gesture, one they often indulged in, but Hyacinth flinched.
Apollo immediately released him. “You fear me,” he said simply.
Hyacinth closed his eyes briefly and turned. He laid the head of his spear against Apollo’s shoulder. “When Zephyrus came to me I thought that I would be raped that night…” he cast his eyes up till they met Apollo’s, “I didn’t realise it would be by you.”
Apollo raised a hand and brushed the backs of his fingers against Hyacinth’s cheek in a path that burnt like the sun he bore. “It is in my nature, my love. I could not love you so fiercely and not seek to possess you solely either.”
Hyacinth pushed his hand away with the spear he still held. “And I cannot be possessed and not fear you as well.” He turned away, taking up his arrows and slinging them over his back. “Don’t you have work to do? The sun is supposed to rise shortly is it not?” And he flung open the doors to his chamber and strode out without a backward glance.
As it was, however, though his party travelled to the edge of the woods, the sun did not rise. Though they waited for what was surely hours, the sun did not rise. Though as they returned to the palace despairing citizens reached out to them whilst more fled to the temple the sun did not rise.
"This is some madness!" wailed one of the slaves that accompanied him.
"Madness, nay," corrected Hyacinth’s uncle, horsed beside him, "this is some apocalypse. And behold, I believe I see Charon come for us now!"
A wizened beggar man caught hold of Hyacinth’s boot strap. “My prince, save us, save us.” Hyacinth wrenched free his leg. “You have his favour,” he raised a trembling finger to the sky, to where the sun should have been, “let him have yours.” The same crooked finger grazed against the back of his thigh, implicit, as his horse shied.
"Hold your tongue, man," Hyacinth hissed, dagger in hand and against a wobbling throat, "or lose it."
His uncle sniggered, pulling at Hyacinth’s reins before more damage could be done. The beggar fell in the dirt, nearly trampled as a group of women ran for the temple.
Back in the palace his mother sat quaking on her throne, one of his sisters clutching her leg with wondrous eyes. They all looked at him like this, like he was some deity himself. They spoke little of it true enough; but no doubt they had their suspicions when his cries echoed through the palace night after night. No doubt they knew who he met with when he ventured out alone. No doubt they knew who provided him with finely crafted weapons and jewellery, with animals that hardly had a place in the mortal world.
A hand clasped his shoulder. His father, white beard magnificent and eyes wrung with fury. “What have you done?” he whispered. “All of Sparta lies in darkness, we can do nought-“
"I shall see to it," Hyacinth implored, detaching his father’s hand.
He was seething by the time he threw open the doors to his chamber. “What is the meaning of this?” he cried. His chest heaved and he quickly barred his door, striding over to his bed, casting aside the silk hangings. Empty. He dumped his hunting gear on the floor and searched his room. A loud sigh drew him out to the balcony. Apollo was stretched across the banister, one arm dangling over the edge, the other tucked behind his head. And though the banister was plated in gold the Sun God’s skin shone more brightly, a deeper and more enticing colour, than the actual gold.
"I have not the strength to fulfil the task I bear. The sun shall remain hidden until you forgive me and my heart is filled with happiness once more," Apollo bemoaned.
Hyacinth bit his lip. “Your father will be displeased.”
"I care not; all that matters to me now is your forgiveness."
In response the night sky rumbled and rolled with thunder.
Hyacinth swallowed. “Do not invoke Zeus’ wrath, and not for me.”
Apollo swung his legs off the banister and before Hyacinth could take a step back he was enfolded in the god’s arms. “But, my love,” he whispered, holding tighter still as Hyacinth made a half hearted effort to pull away, “how can I bring light to the world, when my light of the world has left me?”
Hyacinth braced his hands against Apollo’s chest, overwhelmed by their proximity. Beneath his fingers lean, golden muscles swelled, hard but hot.
"Tell me what I can do to earn your forgiveness." Apollo ducked his head to try and meet Hyacinth’s eyes but the boy turned his head.
"Let me go," he whispered, "Apollo…”
"I shall have the muses dedicate a ballad to you; your strength and beauty shall be known throughout Greece and for as long as I shall live I will sing your song and remember you." His hands were so warm through the fabric of Hyacinth’s tunic, holding him by the waist so tenderly. "I shall take the sun’s rays, trap them in a crystal pendant for you to wear at your throat and everyone will know you have the favour and love of the Gods.” He took a step back now, spreading his arms wide, eyes still fixed on Hyacinth. “I shall imprint your likeness in the very stars, you will never be forgotten, people will weep to see you and say that you were mine and I was yours.” He was panting. “All this and more till you forgive me…”
Hyacinth nodded and drew in a shuddering breath.
"My love?" Apollo took him in his arms once more, holding his face in his hands. "You were right. I cannot control my temper. No more than I can control the love I have for you. Surely you must see that." Apollo tilted his head, one broad thumb wiping away a tear that bloomed in the corner of Hyacinth’s eye. "It is not shame to weep for fear, when the one you fear is a God. Especially as I have given you every such reason."
"I weep not for fear," Hyacinth whispered. "But for love of you."
Apollo’s smile was dazzling. “And that is no shame either; for I do the same.” When Hyacinth didn’t reply, except to blink rapidly, Apollo pressed a searing kiss to his lips. As always he took Hyacinth’s breath away and it was all he could do not to moan aloud. As it was he gasped into Apollo’s mouth, flung his arms around his neck, dug fingers into his scalp.
"Mmm, A-Apollo, nghh, please.” He panted against his lovers’ lips. “Apollo, stay with me…” he entwined their fingers, tugging him back toward his chamber.
"My love, that I could," Apollo whispered. "I’m afraid I must tend to my duties, lest my father strikes us both down."
"I thought you cared not of your father’s wrath?"
"And I thought you did."
Hyacinth arched an eyebrow. “That was before you gave me this,” he pressed Apollo’s palm against his hardness.
Apollo smiled. His young lover was still the boy he first met. Still passionate, wilful… wanton. He dusted a finger over pouting lips. “Take your hunting trip alone?”
Hyacinth gave a breathless whisper of consent, lips soft against Apollo’s finger.
He bit his lip; eyes screwed shut, hands flat on the expanse of Apollo’s chest. His hips rolled, grinding down, filled to the brim. Hot fingers dug into his waist.
Apollo’s eyes never left his face, propped back on one elbow, letting Hyacinth take his pleasure, rocking and sinking… slow and luxurious.
Hyacinth blinked with heavy eyes, a lazy smile on his parted lips. He tilted his head back, sinking onto Apollo’s cock and crying out in ecstasy. He fell forward again, hands gripping Apollo’s shoulders; forehead’s bumping, lips brushing.
Apollo pushed himself up, deepening their kiss so Hyacinth moaned into his mouth. “More,” he whispered, “go on, take it.” He leant back on the palms of his hands, muscled legs sprawled.
Hyacinth was panting, sweat rolling down his chest, thighs trembling astride Apollo. He braced his hands on Apollo’s stomach, rising and sinking and rolling and grinding and rising and sinking and rolling and grinding and rising and sinking and rolling and grinding and rising and sinking and rolling and grinding.
His hardness swelled, so close. He reached out to caress himself but Apollo snatched his wrist away. “Take your pleasure, my love. Take it from me.” So Hyacinth grabbed him by the back of his hair, smashing their mouths together; gasping hungrily against his lips. And he slammed himself down, once, twice, three times-
"OH! OHHH, ngggh, hah, hah. Apollo!” Streams of pearls spilled forth as his eyes rolled back into his skull and he pitched forward, spent.
Apollo let him catch his breath, a luxury, but then he was pushing himself up, hard within him still. Hyacinth let out a needy whimper and wrapped his legs around Apollo’s waist as he was flipped onto his back, spread out on the grass. He coiled his fingers through Apollo’s hair and moaned as his lover began to thrust.
Apollo kissed away the last of his essence, slick on Hyacinth’s thigh. He leant over the prince, who still lay in a state of exhausted bliss. “Did you not want to hunt?”
Hyacinth gave a lazy chuckle. “Hunt? I can hardly bear to walk.”
Apollo smiled. “Well then perhaps you would like to sing, or to play.” He kissed cheek, lips, eyes.
"I should like to lie here for a few more moments. We mortals are not as tireless as the gods."
"For sure," Apollo whispered, against his throat. He lay down beside Hyacinth, watching as he fell into slumber.
After a couple of hours or so Hyacinth woke to see the Sun God tossing a discus through the air. He pushed himself to his feet, grinning broadly. Immediately Apollo was behind him with his arms around his waist and his kisses in his hair.
"Do you care you throw the discus with me?" he whispered.
"Of course," Hyacinth murmured. He turned, pressed a kiss to his lover’s lips and jogged a little away. He watched as Apollo stretched, swinging the discus back and forth. He dragged a hand across his forehead, sweltering in the midday heat as Apollo tossed.
It was an impressive throw, though that was hardly a surprise. It spun through the air and Hyacinth turned to watch its progress. Then there was a strong wind from the west, so strong he swayed where he stood, and then the discus was hurtling towards him… and then nothing.
"Hyacinth!" Apollo took his face in his hands, pale and listless. "My love?" his voice broke. "M-my love?" he raised a trembling hand his lips as a sob broke forth. But he could do naught to stem the blood that flowered forth, hot over his fingers, scarlet in the emerald grass. He bent his head as like a wilting lily the life seeped from the Spartan Prince. "Once my joy," he whispered against Hyacinth’s curls, "you are all my sorrow now." He shoulders shook as he pulled the forever sleeping boy into his arms. "That I could for you, or but with you, die," he moaned, "you name shall forever dwell on my tongue, our love on my lyre, so my verse shall tell. And you to a flower shall be transformed, stamped on your petals my cries you shall repeat. Behold the blood which stained the verdant field, is blood no longer; but a flower full grown."