Oct. 29th, 2015 06:14 pm
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[personal profile] languir posting in [community profile] felicium

ANCIENT

 

None as of right this minute.

Nephilim-verse

Date: Nov. 28th, 2015 01:20 am (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (Default)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
The soldiers leering through the bar of the stockade couldn’t see him. Or rather, they didn’t. Trained to move in utter silence and stealth, and to keep unceasing vigil over his prey, the vampire who would in modern times come to use the name Carrick was part of the shadows, standing in the velvet darkness away from the guttering light thrown by the single oil lamp given to the captive to give him some comfort in the night. He’d been standing there for some time, fascinated by the slave who knelt in the centre of the stockade with perfect self-possession, despite the melancholy and sombre look in his eyes.

“Take your spoils from the belongings of the fallen and the ordinary prisoners. There’s plenty of slaves to go round. This lot are courtesans and pleasure-slaves. You know the rules – they’ll be shared out by the generals.” The vampire who had been tasked with watching over the captives taken from the defeated Persian camp was remonstrating with a squad of young wolves. Carrick knew the type. Lean and rangy, young and hungry for even more blood than had been spilled that day already. They were loping through the night in search of a warm body to toss and worry between them. Carrick watched them with faint contempt.

“We only want a look. The alpha of the squad bared his teeth in a grin that was half-challenging, half an attempt to charm. “A look and a little taste. Come on. When are the likes of us ever going to see a Persian houri up close again?” He flicked his eyes to the other men in his group. “Just show us one of them. You can join in if you want. It won’t take long. And the officers never have to know.”

The guard looked back into the stockade, at the pens and at the slave with the river of moon-white hair, who knelt still, his expression one of meditative calm. There was something strange about that one, he thought. Something untouchable.

Although he must know his fate was to be enslaved by Persia’s greatest enemy, and a culture of brutal discipline that shunned the decadence for which the eastern empire was famous, there seemed to be no fear in him. He simply knelt there as if in prayer, unmindful of the soldiers who eyed him with the hunger of true predators.

After a glance around to ensure that no officers were within sight, the guard nodded and unlocked the barred door to Alcuin’s pen. “Be quick about it,” he hissed, and held the door open long enough for the group to push inside and advance on the slender figure within.

Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: Dec. 3rd, 2015 09:03 pm (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (intense)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
The vampire would come to use many names throughout the course of his long, long life, but the one he bore now had been bestowed when his mortal name was stripped of him. Glaukopis, as the vampires of the Krypteia knew him, had been awarded the pale, delicate seeming boy as a spoil of war. He had not claimed the slave yet, preferring to watch him from a distance and enjoy the anticipation of enjoying the boy's body. When the wolves had talked their way into the stockade, the vampire's eyes had hardened, but he remained still and silent. His pale lips parted in a disturbingly wide grin as the slave pushed the wolf away. When the boy was in his tent, of course, he would tolerate no such defiance, but still, it was exciting to see that the boy had such a spark in him.

His brows drew together and his body tensed as the leader of the wolves grabbed hold of the filmy fabric around Alcuin's waist and ripped it free. The boy was his to unveil, his to explore. No wolf would put his hands on that moonlight-pale body before he did. Not tonight. He unsheathed the short but wickedly sharp dagger at his belt. The blade had been dipped in molten silver at the time of its forging, but the vampire had patiently covered it in layers of soot mixed with olive oil until the gleam of the blade was entirely lost and it became as shadowy as its owner.

There was a blur of movement, a spatter of blood, and a high-pitched yelp. The soldier who had thrust his hands between Alcuin's legs yanked his wrist back, sending more blood drops flying. A deep slash across his wrist was bleeding freely. He looked around wildly, letting go of Alcuin, but his assailant was nowhere to be seen. He span, the rest of his squad drawing their shortswords and instinctively falling into a tight circle, protecting each other. For a moment, the only sound was Alcuin's quick breathing and the sighing of the night wind. A voice that was barely above a murmur broke the silence.

"Do you remember the agoge? I do. Punishment wasn't administered for theft..." The very shadows seemed to take form, and the next words were spoken directly into the alpha's ear. "...but for being caught in the act."

The wolf slashed at the air with his sword, growling, but connected with nothing but empty air. He growled, and the rest of the pack took up the challenge, teeth bared.

"What's out there? Show yourself!" The only reply was another blur of darkness, and a fresh wound appeared; a slash across the front of the wolf's knee at the point where his tunic ended. The alpha howled in rage and pain. "Show yourself! Or are you too much of a coward?"

The wolf to his left snapped his eyes towards his leader and shook his head, panicked. "I know that voice. They teach them to speak like that - they never whisper, the hissing gets you overheard. It's a Kryptes."

The shadows moved once more, and for an instant a tall, dark figure stood behind the captive boy. One pale hand caressed the shining fall of white-blond hair for an instant, and vanished once more.

Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: Dec. 4th, 2015 02:12 am (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (Default)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
The alpha wolf snarled. "One of the shadow lords, is it? And you'd rather hide in the dark than challenge me for the boy in a fair fight. Call yourself a Spartan?"

The wolves had stood in a circle facing outwards, each man tight against the next, but they had made a potentially fatal mistake, and forgotten that a circle is a hollow space.

Glaukopis dropped to the ground, a formless dark shape from the blackness above their heads. He had hung bat-like from the wooden bars on the roof of the stockade pen, and dropped soundlessly into the gap left by the group. In a fraction of a second, the tip of his dagger was at the alpha's throat, one of the vampire's hands yanking his head back.

"Call me as you like. But a man with a knife at his throat should choose his words carefully." The tip of the dagger pressed forwards, breaking skin. The wolf growled, tendons standing out on his neck as the pain of the silver blade lanced through him. The Krypteia were feared by many, even hated by some, but they were among the most elite of the Spartan military.

Glaukopis lifted the knife and almost idly brought the point of it to his lips to catch up the drop of blood that had trickled onto the blackened point. "Get out. Before I call for your officer and have you flogged."

The alpha looked at him with eyes like smoke and flame. "This isn't over, Shadow." Glaukopis answering smile was viciously sharp, fangs flicking out and gleaming in the dull light. With another dark glance, the wolves skulked away, followed by the guard.

Glaukopis sheathed his knife, and stepped over to the kneeling slave, regarding him from under lowered eyelids. Even pale and gasping in pain, the boy was surpassingly lovely. His clothes were torn and muddied, but the dirt could not disguise the beauty that lay in the wide, dark eyes or the river of white-blond hair. As far as the vampire had been made aware, the boy had been some kind of pleasure slave for a Persian military advisor, kept as a living reminder of the wealth and decadence of the Persian empire. Dripping with gold, in a tunic sewn with thousands of tiny seed pearls and elaborate gold thread, he was worth a king's ransom. A shame for him, then, that Spartans had little reverence for gold.

"You've been in this pen long enough, boy." he remarked. "Can you walk?" The vampire paused, and reached out to Alcuin's cheek, wiping away the droplets of blood that had splashed him. Not taking his eyes from the slave, he slowly sucked the blood off his fingers.

"Your old Master is dead," he stated, his voice dispassionate. "But technically speaking, so is your new one. You belong to me now." he glanced in the direction of the retreating wolves. "And I don't intend to share you with them."

It would not do to have the boy display himself in his tattered clothing on the walk back from the stockade to Glaukopis' tent, so he unfastened his cloak and draped it around the slave's shoulders. It was not the crimson cloak that every Spartan wore in battle but a soft, well-worn garment of charcoal-coloured wool, the better to blend into the darkness. "Follow me."

Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: Jan. 1st, 2016 11:55 pm (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (Default)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
The boy had dignity, Glaukopis thought. Even beaten and half-dressed, spattered with blood, there was a grace to his new slave. He wondered idly if it was merely the training of a Persian houri that gave him his seeming self-possession, or if there iron in the soul beneath the gold and silks. The only way to know was to strip the trappings of decadence away... and the vampire intended to strip the boy very, very soon.

Glaukopis nodded his approval as the slave pulled himself to his feet. He did not miss the almost forlorn way Alcuin wrapped himself in the soft wool of his master's cloak, as if it were the only comfort the boy had felt in a lifetime.

"To my tent, on the edge of the camp," the vampire answered. "You've been in this cell long enough. You'll live in my quarters from now on." He shot his new slave a cynically amused glance, and plucked away the torn square of silk that dangled uselessly from a golden sash at Alcuin's waist before folding it in half and handing it back to him. "It isn't a sheikh's palace, I warn you of that. Follow me."

The vampire steered Alcuin around the edges of the camp, keeping him away from the curious eyes of the other soldiers. The helots they passed at their work stepped back and bowed their heads as the vampire moved noiselessly past. One of them knelt hurriedly when the vampire came into sight. "Slaves from home," Glaukopis indicated the kneeling helot as they walked. "The descendants of conquered peoples from the rest of Lacaedemonia. We use most of them as farmers, but some of them work in the baggage train to keep the camp running. In addition, every Spartan soldier has a slave to attend him in camp. You're going to be mine." He stopped and faced Alcuin. "Please me and I'll take you back to Sparta with me when victory comes." The intense, pale eye met Alcuin's own for a moment. The vampire did not feel he needed to explain what would happen should the boy fail to please him.

Glaukopis' tent stood in the cluster of dwellings reserved for the Kyrypteia, their presence announced by a black banner with the group's sigil woven into the fabric in blood crimson. The vampire unfastened the peg that kept the leather flap of the tent shut, and ducked inside.

The tent was the epitome of Spartan living; clean and orderly, but firmly austere. The furniture was wood polished to a high shine with olive oil, the blankets folded and heaped in a corner woven of simple rustic wool. A sleeping platform covered in furs, a table and two stools, and a set of shelves on which were arrayed a set of devotional statues and their offerings completed the furniture. Glaukopis motioned Alcuin to the centre of the tent, and turned away to light a number of oil lamps. He had no need of them, but he knew Alcuin did not share his ability to see in complete darkness.

He turned to face his new slave and stepped close to him. In the lamplight, his eyes were as dark as the night sky, and his hair shone like moonlight.

What a gift had been given to him - not only by the generals who led the Spartan army, but, it seemed, by the gods themselves. Surely no creature as beguiling as this, with beauty so unearthly, could have been created by anything other than the touch of Aphrodite herself.

Glaukopis lifted a strand of the white-blond hair, stroking it between sword-calloused fingers. It was finer and lighter than silk. "Your name, boy?" he murmured. He twined the strand of hair around his fingers for a moment before releasing it, his hand moving down the slender arm to stroke a bare wrist. He felt for the pulse, beating strong and quick beneath his fingers. The boy's blood would be sweet, he could tell. Sweeter than honey, or the pollen that dripped from Persephone's fingers when Hades carried her away to the Underworld.

Glaukopis lifted the long. elegant hand and twined his fingers with the boy's for a moment. Then patiently, methodically, he began to strip him of the jewellery that covered every inch of his form. He began with the hand he held, drawing away the rings on every finger and the heavy bracelets on his wrists and upper arms. He lifted the elaborate hair decorations that framed the pale, solemn face, then unhooked the golden earrings that dangled from his lobes and cuffed the upper curve of his ears... and everywhere his hands moved, his fingers stroked and caressed, marvelling at the smoothness of the translucent silk beneath his hands and the smoother skin it covered. Pausing to stroke the pale throat for a moment, Glaukopis unfastened the thick golden collar and lifted away long golden chains that dangled over Alcuin's chest. With a light pressure, he pressed his slave backwards and down onto a stool. His hand moved down over the now-bare legs to pull away the anklets and toe rings. His pale eyes grew more intense with every new caress. When he was finished, all Alcuin's jewellery had been stripped away, save a single delicate necklace of paper-thin golden vine leaves an seed pearls twining around the slender throat.

When the vampire straightened, he handed Alcuin a square of linen and a small flagon of olive oil. "Clean your face," he ordered. "With your beauty, you have no need to paint yourself like an aging Athenian whore. You can wear kohl to protect your eyes if you wish to - the sun here is brutal. But no more lapis or carmine."

Glaukopis lifted an armful of clothing and picked out a simple dark blue tunic. "This should fit you. Put the gold and silks in that chest. I'm going to get you some food. I'll be back shortly."

He made his way quickly to the nearest campfire and swiftly bargained for a platter of food. It was rough fare compared to what the boy would be used to - a couple of barley cakes and a wedge of sharp white goats cheese, but it would be nourishing enough. He returned to his own tent and place the platter on the table, along with a jug of watered wine. "Sit down. You look as though you haven't eaten for days."

He took the other stool and folded his elbows on the table, watching his new slave intently.








Edited Date: Jan. 2nd, 2016 12:12 am (UTC)

Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: Jan. 15th, 2016 09:53 pm (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (Default)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
There was a faint twist of Glaukopis' mouth as Alcuin bowed his head. The boy was afraid of his new master, it was clear. So should he be. Sparta was rightly feared in Persia and beyond, and the Krypteia were the most fearsome of all those of Sparta's forces who marched by night. Under the fear there was dignity though, the vampire noted as Alcuin moved to the centre of the tent. The boy looked as though he was going to his own death, hands clutched in the fabric of the cloak and heart hammering loud enough for Glaukopis to hear, but still he stood square and still to await his Master's inspection.

Glaukopis' lips parted in wonder as Alcuin spoke the language of angels. He could not understand anything the slave said, but there was something in the words that struck at his heart nonetheless. The tone of it was like music, but no music he head ever heard. And was there for an instant, in those solemn and midnight blue eyes, a glow when spoke his name aloud? Had he not been a Spartan he would have stepped back, shielding his eyes. There was something more to this boy than his beauty. Truly, he must have been touched by the gods. Glaukopis reached out and with the tips of his fingers, tilted Alcuin's face to the light. "What are you?" he murmured. He gazed into the solemn dark eyes as if the answer he sought was to be found in them, but they were inscrutable in their beauty.

"Philos?" he repeated, and his lips curved upwards at the only word he recognised. "Did you say Philos? An appropriate name for one so lovely. If you've no objection, I'll call you that." He caressed a strand of the pale hair again, marvelling at the softness of the pale strands flowing over his fingers.

When he returned after ordering Alcuin to clean his face, it was to the sight of his new slave stripped of all artifice. Without it, the boy was breathtaking. The deep blue tunic made his skin glow like moonlight, the tantalising expanse of bare thigh beneath the hem inviting his touch, and without the carmine lip paint, his mouth was soft and full, the pale colour of frost-touched roses. His eyes wiped clear of lapis and kohl were large and liquid, the full brows above casting a shadow that only deepened the melancholy beauty of his features. The vampire placed the food on the table then slowly approached his slave. "I've never seen anything so perfect," he murmured. Almost of their own volition, one of his hands reached slowly up to cup the back of Alcuin's neck, the other splaying to run his fingers lightly over the bare thigh. "Perfect... and mine."

He leaned slowly forwards, the hand on Alcuin's thigh now moving around and up to slide up the length of the boy's leg under his tunic, cupping the smooth curve of his buttocks and drawing his hips close against the vampire's own. The hand at the back of Alcuin's neck tangled lightly in the pale hair, holding his head immobile with a light but demanding pressure as the vampire's lips covered Alcuin's own. Glaukopis' kiss was firm and slow, his cool lips parting against Alcuin's and demanding the same from the boy in his arms. The tip of his tongue traced the softness of Alcuin's lower lip before pressing inside the warm mouth, his body rocking back and forth against the slim figure that he held against him, demanding submission with the pressure of his lips as the kiss lasted on. His cock stirred, beginning to harden, and a deep, short groan of pleasure left his throat. Finally, he lifted his mouth from Alcuin's and released him from the hungry embrace. "be thankful that your Master has a Spartan's self control," he said ruefully, his dangerous grin flashing white and sharp in the lamplight. "Or you wouldn't make it to supper."

The vampire fetched two pottery goblets, filling them both and pushing one over to his slave. "Of curse I had to. You'd hardly be of any use or pleasure to me if you fainted with hunger. Sit. Eat," he repeated.

"The old ones tend to give up food and drink altogether," he remarked as he settled on the other stool and lifted the goblet to his lips. "But the occasional goblet of wine... well, it's companionable if nothing else." He waited, toying with his goblet as he watched the artlessly graceful movements of his new slave as he dined. When the platter was nearly empty to crossed the tent and removed a small box from the chest where Alcuin had placed his finery. With a half-smile he placed it in front of Alcuin. "I looted these a few weeks ago. I've no taste for sweets, so I've been saving them for someone who might appreciate them." He opened the box to reveal a plump cluster of dates and candied rose petals.

The vampire settled back onto the stool. He refilled Alcuin's goblet but left his own.

"I'm told you were trained as a pleasure slave," he remarked with a raised eyebrow. "I hope very much that isn't idle campfire gossip."

Edited Date: Jan. 16th, 2016 10:56 am (UTC)

Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: Feb. 25th, 2016 11:09 pm (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (stubbly b&w)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
Glaukopis was faintly amused by the uncertainty on the slave's face. Could the boy truly not know how beautiful he was? He would have thought the Persian court, of all places, would have been bedecked by mirrors. And if he'd ever doubted, he would only have to look at the desire in both men and women’s eyes to be sure of the effect his beauty must have. "You'll find little flattery among Spartans," Glaukopis stated, fingertip tracing the perfect arch of one eyebrow. "We speak truth, in a manner that weaker peoples find acerbic. But you can be sure a Spartan's words are never empty."

The vampire had no pulse, but if he had, it would have been beating hard in his groin as Philos clung to him. He pressed forward in a renewed embrace, holding the slave tightly against him, his mouth on the soft, yielding lips hard and commanding. "They call me Glaukopis," he murmured in response to the soft exclamation. It was true, his eye colour was not usual among his people, and his rebirth as one of the undead had only made his eyes paler against his deathly pale skin.

The vampire's mouth twisted slightly in response to the tiny smile. "Wolves," he said dismissively. "They'll snarl and snap at you, but their loyalty to rank is their best trait. It’s almost a shame that we have no wolves in the Krypteia, or your safety would be absolute." His gaze hardened a little. “But if they try to touch you again I’ll have them flogged bloody. If I share you, it won’t be with them.”

Glaukopis watched the motion of the slave's lips as he lifted each morsel of food with a delicacy entirely foreign to the helots who had previously served him. Weary and hungry as he must have been, every movement the boy made was like a dance. “Who are your people?” he asked. Sparta may have been known for its abstemious nature, but nonetheless, Glaukopis had not heard of a drink called joy served anywhere else in Greece. “I’ve never seen such colouring among the Persians. Nor in any Greek city state.”

Glaukopis blinked at the unfettered show of delight in Philos' face and voice at the unexpected gift. The simplicity of Philos’ pleasure stirred something in him. It seemed there was still something untouched in the boy, an innocence of sorts. He wanted to see that smile again... and for the smile to be only for him.

He looked at Philos gravely as the smile faded from his lips, and folded his hands on the tabletop. A note of command crept into the vampire’s voice. Although the volume grew no louder, the pale eyes sharpened, narrowing slightly. "It would not. You're my slave, Philos. I told you that Spartans speak truth, and so here it is. You can earn nothing. I will not bargain with you or give you payment.” He rose to his feet and moved noiselessly around the table to where his slave sat. His voice lowered, a dark throbbing murmur that held the promise of steel. “You are mine. I expect your obedience in all things, immediate and unquestioning. And when I command you to pleasure me, it is because your body is mine to use. Not because I have bought your favours.”

His hand reached out and buried itself in Philos’ hair in a caress that was not quite a caress. He tilted the slave’s head back to force the boy to look at him. “Sparta claimed you through right of conquest, not through coin. I do not trade for the pleasure of your body... though I hope that in the nights to come you will learn to submit to me willingly. The sweets are a gift to you, no more and no less. Accept them as such.”

The vampire held Philos’ head immobile, his other hands moving slowly down the pale throat and chest. His fingers splayed, running over the slim form down to Philos’ groin, where his hand lingered. He tightened his grip on the smooth white-blond hair and lowered his head, covering Philos’ mouth in another deep, commanding kiss. He tasted sugar and roses on the slave’s lips, and his desire rose.

“Then show me, beautiful boy.”

Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: Mar. 30th, 2016 09:24 pm (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (Default)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
Glaukopis's gaze sharpened as Philos struggled to explain his ancestry. He reached out and tilted Philos' face to the light, studying every curve and line of his features as if he would commit them to memory. There was something more than human in the face, he was sure. The deep eyes were too wise, too knowing, the delicate features holding something unearthly. He was silent for a moment. "We Spartans are a pious people. For a slave boy to claim divine ancestry in the wrong hearing... it would go hard with you." He paused for a moment then gave a secretive smile. "Though they say even the gods themselves have been enslaved for defying Zeus."

His fingers remained at Philos' jaw, stroking it absently. He thought how he himself must have looked at the boy's age. Nothing like this. He had been hard and spare and lean, all whiplike corded muscle and roughened, sun-bronzed skin. He'd had none of this lovely boy's softness or seeming fragility. From the bare shoulder and legs he could see that the slave's skin was perfect, an unblemished ivory, smooth as silk. As a youth, his own body had been bruised and scarred, marked with the stripes of rod and lash, his knuckles scraped, his fingers callused. This boy looked as though hardship had never touched him except for the depth of melancholy in his eyes. Glaukopis had heard enough stories about the abuses visited on boys in the seraglio of a Persian witch priest. Well, perhaps good Greek mountain honey and spring water and the bed of a hero of the Krypteia could drive away some of that sadness.

The slave's smile when he asked about his master's eyes was like moonlight breaking through the clouds, illuminating his entire face. Glaukopis smiled in return, the expression wide and uncomplicated as it crinkled his eyes, an instinctive response to the simple pleasure of seeing such beauty. A low laugh escaped him. "Perhaps, sweet boy. Though I'm beginning to think you were their real gift to me."

Glaukopis' cock twitched as Philos submitted to his rough caress. He must still be in pain from the hard hands of the werewolves that had sought to ravish him earlier, but the boy lifted his hips without hesitation, obedient to his new Master's desires. The vampire's fingers tangled harder in the pale hair as he felt the slave's lips part under his and the kiss was returned with an almost shy sweetness. Part of him wanted to simply drag the boy to his bed and take him hard, conquer him and make him scream with rapture and pain alike, but there was something in the boy's kiss which halted him. Perhaps it was the hesitancy, or the softness of the full, pale pink lips, but he paused, allowing Philos to trace his own first steps in their dance of pleasure.

The vampire gasped softly, his sex twitching again as the slave knelt at his feet. Philos' gesture of submission sent a thrill of power through him, and a pleasurable shiver coursed through him as the boy made his deep obeisance, prostrating himself before his Master. It was only right and proper for the boy to humble himself so, but to Glaukopis it was as arousing an act as any that Philos could perform.

He shivered slightly, his skin tingling as the warm hands moved slowly upwards, caressing and stroking the muscles of his legs, torn between wanting more and waiting to see the culmination of the slave' slow, teasing skill. The tiny sound of pleasure and surprise that passed through Philos' lips when he uncovered his Master's sex made him smile a little. if this was the merely the pretence of a pleasure slave well trained in the arts of flattery, it was a good pretence.

Another gasp escaped Glaukopis' mouth at the first touch of the warm tongue to his skin. The boy's mouth was skillful and soft on him, the delicate curl of Philos' tongue as he lapped and licked sending delicious tremors through his sex. He felt himself hardening, and he looked down. The sight of the boy's lips parting against his shaft made him moan aloud. When Philos' eyes met his, he could not silence a wordless moan, even as his hips pressed forwards, silently demanding more.

His fingers closed reflexively as the very tip of Philos' tongue caught up the pearl of liquid on the head of his cock. He laughed shakily. "Is this a test, beautiful boy? To see how long Spartan endurance can hold out against against your sweet little mouth?"

He caught Philos' head lightly, fingertips burying themselves in the white-blond fall of silken hair and lightly stroking along his scalp. "I fear that for once, it won't be long..."

Taking control now, he angled himself towards the softly parted lips, pressing forward in a command for the slave to take his shaft into that perfect mouth.











Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: Apr. 10th, 2016 12:49 am (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (intense)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
Glaukopis stroked the pink cheek. "Such a lovely smile. I hope you'll have cause to favour your Master with it again." There was still something untouched about the boy, he thought as he saw the shyness with which Philos dropped his eyes and bit his lip. Innocence was so rare to see in a bedslave, but exciting nonetheless.

He closed his eyes for a moment as the warm wet mouth closed around the head of his cock. He shivered pleasurably. The boy's skills evidently went far beyond anything he'd imagined. While the tip of him was captured and laved by those smooth soft lips, his shaft remained untouched, his arousal growing with every second until he was so hard it was almost painful. His hips pulsed forwards, instinctively seeking more of that wonderful, encompassing warmth. He could have simply grabbed the slave's head and wrenched it forwards, forcing himself deep into the boy's mouth, and oh, how he wanted to bury himself completely in that soft little mouth... but that would be for another night. Tonight he would let his new slave show him all the bewitching kisses and caresses that a satrap's favoured bedslave could know.

When Glaukopis looked down, he saw Philos' arousal, and he grew even harder. The slave's cock was smooth and lovely, a deep rosy pink, standing straight up against his flat stomach. He was so beautiful, and Glaukopis had no doubt that he would be more lovely still beneath the tunic. He ached to feel the smoothness of the slave's body beneath his roughened hands, to taste the salt on his skin, and finally to pierce him to to the core with both his cock and his fangs, drinking in his sweet life essence even as his own seed spurted thick and cold into the boy's body.

However delicious his fantasy was, it could not compare with the rush of sensation that battened him when Philos took his entire length into his mouth. Glaukopis cried out wordlessly, his hips thrusting forward of their own accord. Nobody had ever swallowed him down so completely before - neither lover nor slave nor courtesan. He looked down at the kneeling boy, and moaned aloud when the deep violet eyes met his, the slave's gaze made all the more lustrous by the tears that that had sprung to his eyes with the effort of taking his master's cock so entirely down his throat "Gods," Glaukopis murmured. It was a prayer as much as an epithet. He drew out a little, then pressed forwards, letting Philos adjust to his movements.

The embrace of the boy's throat was almost too much. SO tight and hot and smooth... it was like no pleasure Glaukopis had ever felt. He rocked his pelvis back and forth, gasping and moaning at every new sensation, his thrusts becoming deeper and more insistent.

He could not last, he was sure of it. The pleasure was too great, the sensation too acute. Abandoning himself to his approaching climax. Glaukopis buried his hands in the slave's pale hair and thrust forwards with abandon, burying himself over and over again. He was almost trembling as all sensation gathered at the base of his sex, his oncoming climax unstoppable. His head fell backwards and he cried out, hips jerking as he came hard into the waiting mouth.

When the last tremors of his pleasure had passed, he slowly withdrew from between those perfect lips with not a little regret. He collapsed heavily on the stool and closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, his gaze was fill of wonder. It was a while before he could speak.

He poured two more goblets of wine and pushed one across the table to his slave boy. He lifted the other and took a long drink.

"What gifts the gods bestow..." he mused. He set down the goblet and reached out a hand, almost languidly beckoning for Philos to come closer. His thumb brushed across the redded, smooth lips that had pleasured him so expertly.

"Stand up," Glaukopis murmured, his fingertips still stroking and caressing the pale face. "Take off your tunic. I want you naked."










Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: May. 3rd, 2016 11:36 pm (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (Default)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
Glaukopis was too far lost in the delicious sensations of his slave's mouth taking him so deeply inside the wet, hot channel of his mouth and throat to notice the flicker of Philos' eyelashes. In nights to come, he would tease out that pleasure, delighting as his slave melted in his embrace and begged for more, but for now, he was almost incapable of thought. All he knew in that moment was the fierce pleasure of taking his slaveboy, of claiming him as his own.

He smiled a little as he watched Philos rearrange himself. The boy was fastidious. His eyes darkened a little at the sight of the crimson wine droplet gathered in the tender hollow of the boy's throat. Almost languid in the aftermath of his pleasure, Glaukopis leaned forwards and caught the wine drop on the tip of his tongue, withdrawing with a conspiratorial smile before settling back.

Glaukopis was young in vampire terms - only a decade had passed since he had left his mortal life and been reborn into darkness. Like all fledgling vampires he had struggled against the insatiable hungers that were both gift and curse to the undead; the hunger of the body as well as blood. He knew it would be only minutes before he was hard once more and ready to take his pleasure with his lovely young slaveboy once more... and this time, he would not stop at spending himself in the boy's mouth.

His cock twitched as Philos crawled to him, his movements as graceful as a cat, for all the submissiveness of the gesture. Since being in Persia Glaukopis had come to feel there was no gesture quite so arousing as the obeisances that slaves of the orient bestowed on their masters. He had seen beautiful slave boys prostrate themselves at the feet of satraps, pressing fervent kisses to their silken slippers, and the sight never failed to make his eyes darken and his sex harden. While any proud Greek would rather die than submit to such humiliation, the thought of being served so, or f being adored and almost worshiped was one that made his mouth dry and his cock ache.

The vampire's eyes fixed steadily on Philos as the boy got slowly to his feet. He sensed rather than saw a faint trembling his pale hands as he watch ed the boy unfasten the pins that held the shoulders of his tunic together and let the woollen fabric fall slowly to the floor.

Philos was unutterably lovely.

The slave's body was slender as a reed, long limbed, grace in every line. His skin was flawless, pale and smooth, flecked only with the finest of pale blond fuzz. He almost glowed in the lamplight. Glaukopis stood, moving closer wordlessly, reaching out a hand to stroke slowly all the way from shoulder to hipbone, hands moving across the warm skin as if committing every inch to memory. He reached lower and took the boy's cock in his hand, squeezing him lightly before cupping the heavy sac below. Glaukopis stepped closer, still fondling Philos' sex. He leaned forwards, seeking another kiss before letting his mouth travel down the pale throat. He could feel the pulse beating hard and fast under his lips, and it was an effort not to let his fangs slick out and pierce that fragile flesh and glut himself on the sweet crimson stream beneath.

He murmured against the slender throat as his fingers continued to stroke and tease. "Have you ever served a vampire, lovely boy? Have you felt the ecstasy of your Master's fangs in your throat even in as he penetrates your body? Giving yourself entirely to him..."

With another deep, hungry kiss, he let Philos go from his embrace and stepped back, pacing around the boy in a slow circle, drinking in the sight of him as if he were a piece of priceless art.

When he saw the design that adorned Philos' back, he stopped dead. A peacock, delicate and ornate, spread its wide jewelled feathers over his new slave's shoulder blades, traceries of leaves and feathers curling downwards almost to the swell of the boy's buttocks. He touched it lightly. The skin was as smooth as everywhere else on his body. He had seen Persian tattoos before, but nothing like this. "Who did this?" His voice was hushed, almost wondrous.










Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: May. 29th, 2016 12:18 am (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (stubbly b&w)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
Glaukopis gave a low but not unkind laugh at the tremor in his slave's voice.

"You will, lovely boy. Very soon. And believe me, there is no ecstasy like it... it is complete and utter surrender." He raised his head, his pale eyes bright and knife-sharp in the lamp light. "And it is what you were made for."

The vampire's fingertips continued to trace the intricate patterns that curled over the pale expanse of Philos' back. He had seen pictures of stunningly-coloured birds with long, luxuriant tails before on the walls of captured buildings and embroidered cunningly into the finery of captured Persian nobles, but he had taken little notice. Taught from earliest childhood to eschew ornamentation and frivolity, Glaukopis' tastes were, perforce, austere. Still though, something in the intricacy of the design stirred him. He'd heard songs and stories of the peacock, a mystical bird as brightly coloured as a jewel, but he had never truly believed they existed. The utilitarian philosophy of Sparta would have found no use for such a creature. Still, it could not be denied that there was something beautiful about the design.

He paused for a moment before answering. "It is unexpected. But then, Persian ways are not our ways. We would not mark a boy so. Why, when your bare skin is more lovely than any paint?" He turned Philos to face him with a light pressure on one shoulder, "You please me. Very much...". One hand ran slowly down to the centre of the slave's chest, pressing him back wards and towards the bed. The vampire's eyes never left Philos' own as he drove the boy backwards, pressing him down with light but decisive pressure onto the bed. "...And I'm sure you're about to please me still more."

Once the slave was stretched out on his bed, Glaukopis favoured him with a half-smile before stepping back. "Touch yourself," he ordered, his voice low but intense with renewed desire. His pale eyes were bright in the semi-dark of the tent, avid with anticipation. Without taking his eyes from the trembling, slender figure on his bed, the vampire began to undress himself. He unfastened the short himation that had been wrapped around his shoulders, and then the belt which had held the twin black daggers with which he had cut through the wolf pack. He only looked away when he had to sit to unlace his boots, and when he stood again the hunger in his eyes had grown ravenous. He pulled his charcoal-coloured tunic over his head, revealing his body completely to Philos.

The hardships and brutally disciplined training of his mortal life had left Glaukopis without an ounce of spare flesh, and his transformation into one of the undead had only hardened his muscles further. The scars of lash and blade that had marked him in his mortal life had melted away during the night of his mortal death when his body had lain on his shield atop the altar of Artemis, his life's blood an offering to the Goddess, beseeching her to take his frail human form and turn it into a living weapon of the night; to make him into a creature as swift and merciless as she herself. Now, his body was perfected and transformed. There was no inviting softness in his form; he seemed as hard and sculpted as a statue, and just as unconsciousness of his nakedness.

He was erect once more, his cock rising hard and heavy from its nest of dark curls, the tip of it glistening with a pearl of liquid. He could almost feel the soft mortal flesh yielding beneath him already, could imagine the tight heat and trembling sighs that awaited him when he was sheathed inside the slave's body.

Glaukopis advanced slowly, his steps eerily soundless and his eyes burning. He bent low over Philos' prone form, covering his mouth with another hungry kiss as he moved atop the slave and pulled him into a demanding embrace, pressing his bare skin against the entire length of the warm, slender body.



Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: May. 30th, 2016 11:53 pm (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (stubbly b&w)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
Glaukopis wasn't fooled by the awkwardly seductive pose struck by his new slaveboy. Philos may have been trained to pleasure, there was something still fresh and untutored about him; something unspoiled. Training Philos to serve him was going to be a rare pleasure.

The vampire moistened his lips, swallowing at the sight of his boy's spread legs and the heistant caresses he gave to himself. The boy's sex was beautiful, pink and smooth and glistening with moisture. He ached to feel it jump and buck against him, to see the boy spurt in his pleasure.

Glaukopis moaned aloud into Philos' mouth as he felt the slave's bod arch up beneath him. His embrace was anything but hesitant, indeed it was clutching and desperate and abandoned. He felt the slim, smooth legs locking tight around his body, and pushed his hips forwards, grinding himself against the smooth skin of the boy's hip. He did not know the words Philos cried out - whether they were a prayer for deliverance or a plea for his master to take him - but the tone spurred him on to even greater arousal. He captured the kiss-reddened lips once more, his teeth closing on the soft pink cushion almost hard enough to break the skin. He pressed a finger to the sweet soft mouth, encouraging him to moisten it with lips and tongue before reaching down to the entrance to Philos' body. To some surprise, he found it already slick, liberally oiled and ready for him. He gave another low chuckle.

"Clever boy..."

Glaukopis sat up and spread Philos' legs even further, pulling him down the bed and pushing back his thighs to open the boy's body to him completely.

"I'm going to take you hard, sweet boy. I'm going to claim you as mine, spurt my seed inside you so deep..." His voice was ragged with desire, the tip of his pulsing, granite-hard cock pressed to the tight oil-slicked hole.








Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: May. 31st, 2016 11:23 pm (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (stubbly b&w)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
Glaukopis responded to the hunger in his slave's lips with equal passion, ravishing the boy's mouth with his own, his tongue pressing deep between the parted lips.

He raised an eyebrow as Philos repeated the creed he must have been taught in preparation for the attentions of his Persian captors. "Master might, if his slave continues to moan and beg so beautifully."

Glaukopis was not often tender with slaves or captives. Taught from birth that pain was to be endured and that Supernatural Spartiates had the right to take their pleasure where and when they pleased, the begging and weeping of conquered boys did not often move him to pity. In the first years of his immortal life, their cries and pleas had only spurred him on to a frenzy of bloodlust, and he frequently tore into their throats even as he claimed their bodies. If his erastes had disciplined him afterwards for the proper lack of Spartan self-control, some small rebellious part of him would forever claim that the moment had been worth it.

Nonetheless, he was shocked enough at Philos' sudden panicked writhing to pause for a long moment. Slowly, he withdrew the tip of his cock from the boy's body and looked down at the pleading pale face, so soft and naked and trusting.

"You belong to a Spartan now," he stated quietly. "Pain will be part of your life." The sting of his words was moderated somewhat by a gentle caress to the boy's cheek. "You may come to crave it, in time. Many do."

He was silent for a moment before leaning down and lightly pressing his lips to each damp eyelid in turn.

"...but it's not a lesson for tonight."

To break Philos' body tonight would be an affront to the gods who had gifted the slave to him. This prize was rare and lovely, and to turn this beauty into a weeping, bleeding shell would insult Aphrodite. Instead, he stroked his fingers through the boy's hair, nuzzling into his throat, gentling him with hands and mouth and soft nonsense endearments.

Eventually he raised his head and reached over to pull a pillow down the bed maneuvering it under Philos' hips, tilting them upwards. under the bed itself, kept within easy reach was another small flask of oil, kept for just this purpose. He unstoppered it and poured a generous amount into his cupped hand, coating his fingers before reaching down to stroke and stretch the tight entrance to the slender body.

"Spread yourself for your Master, beautiful boy." His voice was little more than a whisper, but under it was the steel of command. Refusal would not be tolerated.

Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: Nov. 1st, 2016 01:05 am (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (stubbly b&w)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
Glaukopis could almost hear the quickening in the boy's heartbeat as he allowed his legs to part with unstudied grace, leaving him open and vulnerable to his Master once more. He gave a not unkind smile at the quiet plea for forgiveness. "Don't fear. You'll soon learn..."

Now he truly could hear the thumping rhythm as his slave's body responded to the slow pleasure of being touched. Glaukopis watched in hungry anticipation as Philos moaned, his face flushed and kiss-reddened lips parted with gasping breaths.

He pressed a second finger inside the boy, stretching and caressing him from the inside, preparing the slave for his Master's pleasure. He let one hand glide upwards from the tight hole to grasp Philos' hardness, squeezing and stroking. he wanted to see that lovely face flush deeper, hear those broken, musical moans for him and him alone.

When his own erection throbbed to the point of pain and he could bear it no longer, Glaukopis withdrew his fingers from inside the boy, soothing the loss with a kiss. He took hold of both Philos' wrists and pulled him upwards, even as he himself settled back on his heels. He pressed the small bottle of oil into Philos' hands. "Coat me," he ordered.

When the entire length of his cock was gleaming with oil, the Spartan pressed Philos back down to the bed and stretched out atop the pale, slender form of his new slave boy. The vampire had no heartbeat, but if he had done, his pulse would have been racing. He settled between the parted legs, his pale eyes burning with hunger.

"You're mine," he whispered. "Tonight, and always. My slave. My beautiful boy..."

Glaukopis did not intend to keep the boy entirely to himself, of course. Property in Sparta was held in common - they were not Athenians, to allow greed and possessiveness to sully their culture. All Spartans were equal among themselves, and in the brotherhood of those who served together in battle, they shared everything. Glaukopis' brothers in the Krypteia would soon find this radiant, beautiful boy offered up for their shared pleasure. And his erastes, the man who had gifted him the boy... what nights the two of them would find, the bond between them growing even tighter as they explored the boy's body together.

He could wait no longer. With another ravenous kiss, Glaukopis pressed his hips forwards in one deep, slow movement, breaching the entrance to Philos' body and sinking entirely the warm, tight depths of him. Glaukopis gasped aloud, eyes closing for a moment as the delicious tight heat surrounded him. Blindly, he sought the boy's mouth, and with another deep, almost savage kiss, he sheathed himself entirely inside Philos' form.

The vampire could feel the boy's heartbeat beneath him his heartbeat singing to him as he found a deep, powerful rhythm, his hips driving forwards again and again. How sweet it would be to sink his fangs into the warm throat even as he claimed the boy's body with his cock... but that could wait for another night. When the boy had learned to beg for it.



Re: Nephilim-verse

Date: Dec. 22nd, 2016 11:06 am (UTC)
the_shadow_master: (Default)
From: [personal profile] the_shadow_master
Glaukopis gave a dark and hungry smile as he heard Philos bite back his whimpers. "No need for silence," he murmured, leaning down to kiss the bitten lip. "I want to hear you moan."

The boy may have been a pleasure slave, but Glaukopis had been with enough camp followers and, when his budget allowed, trained hetaeriae to know that the responses of Philos' body were not the practiced affectations of a professional. There was true desperation in the way the slender body arched beneath him and naked emotion in the tears that glittered in the huge dark eyes. Predator that he was, the softness and vulnerability that the vampire saw in the lovely face only pricked his desire further, stinging him like a gadfly, demanding he indulge his instinct to take and conquer and possess the boy completely.

Glaukopis let his slave find his own rhythm to the feeling of his hands on him. His erastes had told him that the slave was already trained to pleasure, and had been kept as an ornament and bed warmer by a high-ranking Persian magi, but even so, there was an entrancing innocence about the boy. He worried those perfect pink lips with his own teeth, reddening them as Glaukopis' fingers worked inside him, seemingly as shy as a virgin bride. Though not a Spartan virgin, he mentally amended...

The feeling of those long, slender legs twining about him was delicious. The boy's skin was so soft and smooth, his flesh yielding, but even so he could feel the potential of wiry strength in the boy who lay beneath him.

The gasp which left Philos' lips as Glaukopis penetrated him only made the vampire harder. He found a deep, slow rhythm, his hips pulsing forwards again and again, the sharp sensation of Philos' fingernails at his back urging him on to thrust ever deeper.

"So tight," Glaukopis gasped as the smooth channel squeezed him, sending delicious shivers of sensation through his entire body.

The vampire buried hi hands in Philos' pale hair, pulling his head backwards. He kissed the rippling throat, lips playing over the long white column until he found the pulse thumping hard against the fragile casing of skin and muscle. His fangs instinctively flicked out, grazing the very surface of the boy's skin, and his lips pressed harder, tantalising himself with the thought of sinking his teeth into that crimson stream and claiming the boy utterly.

"You're going to taste so sweet..." he murmured against the warm skin. With an effort, he lifted his head and kissed Philos again, hard, taking the soft bottom lip between his teeth and delivering a teasing bite.