"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.

"Your beauty strikes me," Apollo whispered.

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 screamed and 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.

Ooh, a little dark I know but also slightly sexy (we're all thinking it) please review, I wanna hear you beg me for more :P