ext_33499 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
lucky-jack.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2004-11-10 02:00 pm
lucky-jack.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-11-10 02:00 pm
The Year of the Gods 6/?
The Year of the Gods
Previos chapters at: http://www.geocities.com/voyeur_ism under becs
DM/EW
Warning: Some non-consensual sex and high sexual content in some chapters.
An AU story set in British prehistory. Dominic is the son of a tribal chief with the weight of his village’s problems on his shoulders. When Lijah, the rival chief’s son is taken captive, the gods demand that Dominic uses his new slave to appease them.
For days Lijah had felt the gaze of the village upon him, their mockery and loud, derogatory whispers dogging his every step. Their laughter and the hostility forced themselves upon his consciousness each time he left the sanctuary of the hut. On the rare occasions that Wynn and Marys were not there when he awoke, Lijah would sit in abject misery and try to block out the torturous thoughts that assailed him as he worked to build up the fire and prepare their food for the day. Women’s work. His work. He tried not to leave the sanctuary of the dark hut on these rarest of mornings. Leaving his shelter meant he had to put on a dress, suffer the gropes and comments of the men of the village, the disdain and hostility of the women, crouch down to piss amid the mocking laughter of children and most of all, most unbearable of all, suffer the accusing and disgusted gaze of his own son.
Garren had not acknowledged Lijah in public from the night that he had lain with Dominic, and Danell had bought the little boy into the hut to see his father brought so low. Each time Lijah left to fetch water or pick herbs, he would look eagerly for Garren who was often around the settlement, but always accompanied. The warriors were teaching him to swordfight and he was being inducted into the ways of the tribe. The child looked happy, at least to the impartial eye, but Lijah could see the inner conflict raging in his son’s heart between wanting the comfort of his father and wanting to appear a man in the eyes of the warriors who were teaching him the real virtues of masculinity, the bravado of killing, warring and hunting. It pained Lijah to see Garren tutored in these virtues by his enemies, when it was his place to teach his son these things. But, instead, his own flesh and blood had to watch him fetch and carry, tend the children and the animals, cook and sew and of course. worst of all, live as a ‘wife’ to the chief of the war-tribe. It was sometimes more than Lijah could bear.
This morning, as Lijah picked his way through the settlement on his way to the stream, lifting the hem of his dress as he did so to avoid trailing it in the mud and pig excrement, he spotted Garren with Danell and the men of the war-band. They had made a figure out of straw and were teaching Garren how to use his sword, which parts of the body to strike and where a killer blow could be landed. One of the men, with the levity brought on by early morning drinking, had added wooden bowls to the chest of the figure to represent breasts. There was inordinate and unrestrained laughter as Garren was taught what other parts of the body were fair game for a conquering warrior. Lijah watched as his son giggled along with his companions, not knowing what he was giggling at and, perhaps, excited with this extension of the boundaries of his restrictive childhood. It was both a sad and an amusing site and Lijah smiled sadly to himself at the thought of what he was missing, thinking of all the elements of fatherhood he was being denied. But there was nothing for it, the safety of his son relied on his compliance in this state of affairs, and he was not about to jeopardise that. With one last glance he turned to walk out.
“Perhaps we can have some practice on the real thing”. The voice, obviously directed at him, stopped Lijah in his tracks. An icy hand wrapped itself around his heart as he recognised the voice of Morgan, now deputising for Dominic in his absence. “Yes you”, Morgan continued. “Come here”.
Lijah squeezed his eyes closed for a second, composing his features and drawing himself up before turning and meeting Morgan’s gaze. “What do you want of me?”
“I want you to come here”, replied Morgan. His face was a mask of geniality and amusement but Lijah doubted those were his real feelings. Since Dominic had rebuked him on the night of the ceremony, Morgan had been openly hostile to his leader and slyly covetous of Lijah.
With what dignity he could muster and trying with all the restraint in his body not to look at his son, Lijah walked over to the group of men. He raised his eyes and met Morgan’s with a look of defiance and hatred so marked that Morgan was unseated for a second and the smirk of triumph momentarily left his face. But he soon regained his composure and his dangerous smile. Lijah dropped his gaze, fearing to betray his hostility and endanger his son any further, but Morgan, lifting his hand to Lijah’s face and tilting his chin up with his rough and calloused fingers, forced Lijah to look him in the eye again.
“I have work to do”, Lijah said at last. “The feast is tonight and I have food to prepare. May I be allowed to go?”
“You have work to do here”, countered Morgan laughing. “Our men need some practice with a real woman”. He put an undue stress on the word ‘real’ and the war-band sniggered like a group of small boys. “I’m sure”, he continued, looking at Danell, “there can be no objection to me, as leader in Dominic’s absence, using his god-beloved to teach our new boy a lesson in the human form and how to use it?” The men laughed out loud this time and Lijah could not help but let his gaze flicker towards his son who’s shock was being masked in a veil of contempt and complicit laughter.
Danell raised his yew-staff to the heavens and closed his eyes, letting his body sway backwards and forwards, side to side in a show of communion with the deities of the village. There was a tense silence while this display played itself out. Then a slow, lazy smile spread across the priest’s features and he opened his eyes again, the wide and black pupils trained directly on Lijah, drowning him in their darkness and emptiness, and when he spoke his voice was calm and cold as death. “The gods are pleased”.
Morgan laughed in triumph and spun Lijah round to face the men and Garren. “This”, he shouted (drunk with his victory) “is a woman”. The men erupted into loud gales of laughter and mocking cries. Morgan looked down at the little boy who was now staring wide eyed. “Not the best example body-wise mark you, young Garren”. He cupped his hands around his chest and winked, causing more guffaws and exclamations of agreement. “But a pretty face can make up for an inadequate pair of tits”. He planted a kiss on Lijah’s face.
Lijah jerked his head away but felt Morgan’s grasping hands forcing it back. “Dominic will not be happy that you have touched his…property”. Lijah balked at the last word, but his instincts for self-preservation urged him to make the plea and try to avoid this latest indignity.
Slowly and deliberately, Morgan took Lijah’s hand and placed it over his own groin which was hard and erect. “Women talk too much”, he sneered. “And to shut them up you can fill their mouths with this”, he thrust his groin into Lijah’s hand. The war-band hooted and made obscene gestures, one slapped Garren on the back enthusiastically, urging him to take note. The boy looked horrified. Morgan continued, “Of course there are others holes you can fill. Although less so, perhaps on this bitch”.
Amidst the laughter, Lijah felt a blow to the backs of his knees which sent him sinking down onto the floor. Then he felt himself roughly pushed forwards until he was on all fours and his dress was thrown up and over his waist. Next was the feel of Morgan’s hot and fetid breath on the back of his neck as the man knelt down behind him.
“You’re mine now”, whispered Morgan against the nape of his neck.
“Please”, pleaded Lijah. “Please not here, not in front of my son”.
“Too late for that”, murmured Morgan, beginning to unbutton his breeches. “From what I hear, your son knows what a whore his father is already”.
Lijah drew in a deep, shuddering breath and braced himself, waiting for the pain of Morgan penetrating him. He thought of all the times since that fateful night that he had submitted to Dominic in this way and in many many others. The pain had eased slightly with each time but had never abated totally. And Morgan was going to be rough and without pity, unlike Dominic who….Lijah caught himself, perplexed at the feeling that had stolen over him whilst he thought of Dominic. How much had he just wished to substitute Dominic for Morgan when really there should have been no difference? He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as the laughter and the chanting filtered its way back into his hearing and he felt Morgan take hold of his hips and pull Lijah’s arse towards his waiting cock.
“Stop”. The voice was sudden, imperious and angry. Lijah looked up and saw the chief, Cendic and his daughter, Berren, both looking furiously at the scene in front of them. “How dare you?” Cendic continued. “When my daughter came to tell me that the slave whom the gods gave to my son was being used in this way, I could not believe it to be true. But now I see it with my own eyes and I see that you, Danell, do not act to stop this treachery. Release the slave at once”.
Morgan stared defiantly at his chief who stared back. “I have the gods blessing Cendic-chief. Danell has told me”.
Berren sneered. “You may have the gods blessing”, she said, “but you do not seem to be able to rise to the occasion yourself”. She looked down at Morgan’s wilted penis and smiled.
Morgan blushed and quickly tucked himself back into his breeches. “I was doing well before you came along”, he countered, his pride wounded.
“I imagine you were Morgan. You have never been able to perform in front of a real woman”. The war band laughed but their treachery was rewarded with an icy glaze from their replacement captain which immediately silenced them. Morgan and Berren stared at each other, their enmity growing with every second.
“Well Danell”, continued Cendic. “Whilst I would never contend with the gods, it seems that Morgan has not been able to fulfil their wishes. This has proved he is not half the man my son is and that we have chosen the right man to lead the war-band. It was obviously a test from the gods as to who deserved the honour of bringing fortune back to the village”. He looked at Danell, challenging him with his gaze to disagree. The atmosphere was tense and silent for a few moments.
“Of course, it was a test”, proclaimed Danell suddenly. The time for confrontation was not yet. “Nobody but Dominic should harvest this gift from the gods. They have spoken”. He tapped his staff three times on the ground and spat, then with a look of hatred towards Cendic, he walked off.
“Come Lijah”, said Berren, her voice carefully bereft of emotion. “We have much work to do for the feast”. She held her hand out and Lijah took it, grateful for some human warmth. He stood up, brushing himself down, not daring to spare a last glance for Garren, and walked off with Berren by his side. The last glimpse he had of the scene was Morgan still on his knees, staring with utter hatred at his chief as Cendic turned his back and walked away.
The feast that night was the biggest the village had seen in some time, a celebration of the turn in the tribe’s fortune, and offering every sample of good crops and ample hunting spoils. The mead flowed freely and the men were drunk and lecherous, singing songs, reaping the harvest of their women, boasting and feasting. Lijah was, of course, working. It was his job to make sure the food was plentiful, the beakers never empty of drink, and the men’s drunken, undiscerning hands never lacking in something to grope at. It did not matter that he was not female and that he was endowed where he shouldn’t be and un-endowed where he should, mead fogged minds made no distinction. Every time he leant over to fill a flagon, his arse was groped, a hand went under his skirts. Or he felted himself pinched and mauled relentlessly. He found himself yearning for Dom amidst all this objectification, longing for his more caring and gentle touch. Again, the feeling surprised Lijah as it had on many occasions. And as he had also done on many occasions, he chose not to examine them.
“My beaker is empty”, he heard the call over the tumult of voices in the room and spotted the vessel being waved over the crowd of heads. Lijah sighed and grabbed the jug of mead, making his way to the source of the voice. He stopped in his tracks when he saw that it was Morgan. His instinctive reaction was not to go to him but the voice was insistent and, when Morgan caught sight of his servant, his grin was feral and dangerous. “Hurry up”, he demanded. “You’re not frightened of me are you? I have been proved to be a lesser man and rebuked by my chief and my gods. What could I possibly do to you?”
Lijah could see that Morgan was somewhere beyond drunk, and dangerous in his self-pity and earlier humiliation. But he had to go to him. Approaching slowly and keeping his eyes on Morgan, Lijah threaded his way through the crowds of men. As soon as he reached him, Lijah held out the jug and began to refill Morgan’s beaker, determined to get this job done quickly and then depart. However, Morgan was in a dangerous and awkward mood and he pulled his beaker away at the last minute, so that the sweet mead fell into his lap. “Clumsy”, Morgan smiled. Suddenly, his hand shot up and grabbed a handful of Lijah’s hair pulling him down so that his face was level with Morgan’s. Lijah yelled in pain and tried to squirm away but Morgan only pulled his face closer in until their noses were touching. Then he dived in for a kiss, forcing his tongue into Lijah’s mouth, his rank breath almost making him gag. And then, as suddenly as Morgan’s face had crushed against his, it was removed again. Lijah blinked and rubbed his scalp which was bloodied where Morgan had held him. He looked up, and there was Dominic. The overwhelming sense of relief and safety did not take him by surprise this time.
Dominic’s face was wreathed in fury and he had wrenched Morgan’s head back by his hair and was holding a sword against the man’s throat. “Do you dare?” spat Dominic through gritted teeth. “Do you dare to try and usurp me twice in one day?”
Morgan blinked in surprise. “I do not know…”
Dominic dug the sword in a little further so that Morgan cried out in pain. “You did not expect me back so soon? And did you also not expect me to find out what had occurred in my absence?”
“My lord, please”.
“Are you challenging me to the leadership Morgan? Because if you are, let us fight now and get the contest out of the way”.
Morgan was breathing through his nose in short bursts of nervous energy. “My lord, I do not intend to challenge you. I am your follower and second still”.
Dominic snorted with incredulous laughter. “I do not believe that for a second. But as tradition insists that I must wait for you to challenge me, I am unable to act. When you are man enough to fight me, then we will have this over with”. He withdrew his sword from Morgan’s throat and pushed the man forward. “In the meantime, stay away from Lijah”.
Lijah watched as Dominic, amidst the silence that had descended on the gathering, walked out of the hut into the night. The urge to follow him immediately was great, but Lijah knew he would not be released until the feasting was finished.
The dawn light was just beginning to penetrate the dark night when Lijah was sent back to the hut. The men, for the most part, were dead drunk where they sat, or had gone home to their lovers and families and he was no longer required. He strolled through the village until he came to the roundhouse that had been his home for these few weeks. A strange excitement gripped him and he chided himself as he walked through the low entrance to the hut. Silently he picked his way over the sleeping bodies of Wynn, Marys and Ellohal to the section of the hut portioned off by hanging furs and skins. Lijah paused and took in a deep breath before he gently drew them back and stepped into the small and warm space.
It was a while before he could make out the form lying amidst the heap of furs at his feet, and when he could his heart began to beat faster. He felt ridiculous and, strangely, like he was betraying himself, but in what way he did not know. Lijah took in a deep breath and knelt down gently next to the figure, slipping softly under the warmth of the animal furs. Dominic’s now familiar scent filled Lijah’s nostrils and he could almost taste the man’s skin on his tongue. Lijah squeezed his eyes closed and chastised himself for such ridiculous thoughts, willing himself to relax and go to sleep. But just as he was drifting off he felt an arm wrap around his waist and another encircle his head as Dominic drew him closer and closer still. He had been through this with Dominic many times, but never before had Lijah felt such a sense of comfort and, could he but admit it, homecoming. The trauma of the day, the humiliation in sight of his son, crowded in upon Lijah and all the fight and rebellion left him. All the barriers that he carefully erected when he was with Dominic crumbled and he felt himself respond in kind, drawing closer to the man and feeling Dominic’s stubble scratch his own cheeks. Then Lijah did something he had never done before. He kissed Dominic, letting his lips linger on the other man’s for a few seconds before he drew away, uncertain and confused about what he had just initiated.
“Thank you”, the voice was deep and scratchy but strangely humble.
Lijah jumped a little. “I didn’t know you were awake”.
“I am”.
There was silence for a while until Lijah tentatively reached out a hand and touched Dominic’s ear, curling a lock of hair around his finger. “Thank you?” he whispered.
Dominic shrugged, puzzled by his own utterance, the gesture lost in the dark. “Are you alright?” he whispered eventually.
Lijah nodded, another useless gesture in the black space of the hut. Dominic cautiously leaned forward and touched his lips to Lijah’s. “Yes”, he whispered. “Yes”.
Their bodies came together and the love-making was uncertain but unhurried, like two people who know each other and know they connect but are not sure where or how. When Lijah came in Dominic’s hand it was with a sharp intake of breath, and when Dominic spilled himself deep inside Lijah it was with a guttural cry that sounded something like his name. Somewhere on the other side of the fur hangings, Ellohal woke up and cried for her mother. The sound was like a call back to this world, the world where Lijah was a slave coerced into this bed and Dominic was an anvil for the gods. Lijah turned his back on Dominic and fought down tears, Dominic lay staring at the ceiling and let the tears run unchecked.
Previos chapters at: http://www.geocities.com/voyeur_ism under becs
DM/EW
Warning: Some non-consensual sex and high sexual content in some chapters.
An AU story set in British prehistory. Dominic is the son of a tribal chief with the weight of his village’s problems on his shoulders. When Lijah, the rival chief’s son is taken captive, the gods demand that Dominic uses his new slave to appease them.
For days Lijah had felt the gaze of the village upon him, their mockery and loud, derogatory whispers dogging his every step. Their laughter and the hostility forced themselves upon his consciousness each time he left the sanctuary of the hut. On the rare occasions that Wynn and Marys were not there when he awoke, Lijah would sit in abject misery and try to block out the torturous thoughts that assailed him as he worked to build up the fire and prepare their food for the day. Women’s work. His work. He tried not to leave the sanctuary of the dark hut on these rarest of mornings. Leaving his shelter meant he had to put on a dress, suffer the gropes and comments of the men of the village, the disdain and hostility of the women, crouch down to piss amid the mocking laughter of children and most of all, most unbearable of all, suffer the accusing and disgusted gaze of his own son.
Garren had not acknowledged Lijah in public from the night that he had lain with Dominic, and Danell had bought the little boy into the hut to see his father brought so low. Each time Lijah left to fetch water or pick herbs, he would look eagerly for Garren who was often around the settlement, but always accompanied. The warriors were teaching him to swordfight and he was being inducted into the ways of the tribe. The child looked happy, at least to the impartial eye, but Lijah could see the inner conflict raging in his son’s heart between wanting the comfort of his father and wanting to appear a man in the eyes of the warriors who were teaching him the real virtues of masculinity, the bravado of killing, warring and hunting. It pained Lijah to see Garren tutored in these virtues by his enemies, when it was his place to teach his son these things. But, instead, his own flesh and blood had to watch him fetch and carry, tend the children and the animals, cook and sew and of course. worst of all, live as a ‘wife’ to the chief of the war-tribe. It was sometimes more than Lijah could bear.
This morning, as Lijah picked his way through the settlement on his way to the stream, lifting the hem of his dress as he did so to avoid trailing it in the mud and pig excrement, he spotted Garren with Danell and the men of the war-band. They had made a figure out of straw and were teaching Garren how to use his sword, which parts of the body to strike and where a killer blow could be landed. One of the men, with the levity brought on by early morning drinking, had added wooden bowls to the chest of the figure to represent breasts. There was inordinate and unrestrained laughter as Garren was taught what other parts of the body were fair game for a conquering warrior. Lijah watched as his son giggled along with his companions, not knowing what he was giggling at and, perhaps, excited with this extension of the boundaries of his restrictive childhood. It was both a sad and an amusing site and Lijah smiled sadly to himself at the thought of what he was missing, thinking of all the elements of fatherhood he was being denied. But there was nothing for it, the safety of his son relied on his compliance in this state of affairs, and he was not about to jeopardise that. With one last glance he turned to walk out.
“Perhaps we can have some practice on the real thing”. The voice, obviously directed at him, stopped Lijah in his tracks. An icy hand wrapped itself around his heart as he recognised the voice of Morgan, now deputising for Dominic in his absence. “Yes you”, Morgan continued. “Come here”.
Lijah squeezed his eyes closed for a second, composing his features and drawing himself up before turning and meeting Morgan’s gaze. “What do you want of me?”
“I want you to come here”, replied Morgan. His face was a mask of geniality and amusement but Lijah doubted those were his real feelings. Since Dominic had rebuked him on the night of the ceremony, Morgan had been openly hostile to his leader and slyly covetous of Lijah.
With what dignity he could muster and trying with all the restraint in his body not to look at his son, Lijah walked over to the group of men. He raised his eyes and met Morgan’s with a look of defiance and hatred so marked that Morgan was unseated for a second and the smirk of triumph momentarily left his face. But he soon regained his composure and his dangerous smile. Lijah dropped his gaze, fearing to betray his hostility and endanger his son any further, but Morgan, lifting his hand to Lijah’s face and tilting his chin up with his rough and calloused fingers, forced Lijah to look him in the eye again.
“I have work to do”, Lijah said at last. “The feast is tonight and I have food to prepare. May I be allowed to go?”
“You have work to do here”, countered Morgan laughing. “Our men need some practice with a real woman”. He put an undue stress on the word ‘real’ and the war-band sniggered like a group of small boys. “I’m sure”, he continued, looking at Danell, “there can be no objection to me, as leader in Dominic’s absence, using his god-beloved to teach our new boy a lesson in the human form and how to use it?” The men laughed out loud this time and Lijah could not help but let his gaze flicker towards his son who’s shock was being masked in a veil of contempt and complicit laughter.
Danell raised his yew-staff to the heavens and closed his eyes, letting his body sway backwards and forwards, side to side in a show of communion with the deities of the village. There was a tense silence while this display played itself out. Then a slow, lazy smile spread across the priest’s features and he opened his eyes again, the wide and black pupils trained directly on Lijah, drowning him in their darkness and emptiness, and when he spoke his voice was calm and cold as death. “The gods are pleased”.
Morgan laughed in triumph and spun Lijah round to face the men and Garren. “This”, he shouted (drunk with his victory) “is a woman”. The men erupted into loud gales of laughter and mocking cries. Morgan looked down at the little boy who was now staring wide eyed. “Not the best example body-wise mark you, young Garren”. He cupped his hands around his chest and winked, causing more guffaws and exclamations of agreement. “But a pretty face can make up for an inadequate pair of tits”. He planted a kiss on Lijah’s face.
Lijah jerked his head away but felt Morgan’s grasping hands forcing it back. “Dominic will not be happy that you have touched his…property”. Lijah balked at the last word, but his instincts for self-preservation urged him to make the plea and try to avoid this latest indignity.
Slowly and deliberately, Morgan took Lijah’s hand and placed it over his own groin which was hard and erect. “Women talk too much”, he sneered. “And to shut them up you can fill their mouths with this”, he thrust his groin into Lijah’s hand. The war-band hooted and made obscene gestures, one slapped Garren on the back enthusiastically, urging him to take note. The boy looked horrified. Morgan continued, “Of course there are others holes you can fill. Although less so, perhaps on this bitch”.
Amidst the laughter, Lijah felt a blow to the backs of his knees which sent him sinking down onto the floor. Then he felt himself roughly pushed forwards until he was on all fours and his dress was thrown up and over his waist. Next was the feel of Morgan’s hot and fetid breath on the back of his neck as the man knelt down behind him.
“You’re mine now”, whispered Morgan against the nape of his neck.
“Please”, pleaded Lijah. “Please not here, not in front of my son”.
“Too late for that”, murmured Morgan, beginning to unbutton his breeches. “From what I hear, your son knows what a whore his father is already”.
Lijah drew in a deep, shuddering breath and braced himself, waiting for the pain of Morgan penetrating him. He thought of all the times since that fateful night that he had submitted to Dominic in this way and in many many others. The pain had eased slightly with each time but had never abated totally. And Morgan was going to be rough and without pity, unlike Dominic who….Lijah caught himself, perplexed at the feeling that had stolen over him whilst he thought of Dominic. How much had he just wished to substitute Dominic for Morgan when really there should have been no difference? He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as the laughter and the chanting filtered its way back into his hearing and he felt Morgan take hold of his hips and pull Lijah’s arse towards his waiting cock.
“Stop”. The voice was sudden, imperious and angry. Lijah looked up and saw the chief, Cendic and his daughter, Berren, both looking furiously at the scene in front of them. “How dare you?” Cendic continued. “When my daughter came to tell me that the slave whom the gods gave to my son was being used in this way, I could not believe it to be true. But now I see it with my own eyes and I see that you, Danell, do not act to stop this treachery. Release the slave at once”.
Morgan stared defiantly at his chief who stared back. “I have the gods blessing Cendic-chief. Danell has told me”.
Berren sneered. “You may have the gods blessing”, she said, “but you do not seem to be able to rise to the occasion yourself”. She looked down at Morgan’s wilted penis and smiled.
Morgan blushed and quickly tucked himself back into his breeches. “I was doing well before you came along”, he countered, his pride wounded.
“I imagine you were Morgan. You have never been able to perform in front of a real woman”. The war band laughed but their treachery was rewarded with an icy glaze from their replacement captain which immediately silenced them. Morgan and Berren stared at each other, their enmity growing with every second.
“Well Danell”, continued Cendic. “Whilst I would never contend with the gods, it seems that Morgan has not been able to fulfil their wishes. This has proved he is not half the man my son is and that we have chosen the right man to lead the war-band. It was obviously a test from the gods as to who deserved the honour of bringing fortune back to the village”. He looked at Danell, challenging him with his gaze to disagree. The atmosphere was tense and silent for a few moments.
“Of course, it was a test”, proclaimed Danell suddenly. The time for confrontation was not yet. “Nobody but Dominic should harvest this gift from the gods. They have spoken”. He tapped his staff three times on the ground and spat, then with a look of hatred towards Cendic, he walked off.
“Come Lijah”, said Berren, her voice carefully bereft of emotion. “We have much work to do for the feast”. She held her hand out and Lijah took it, grateful for some human warmth. He stood up, brushing himself down, not daring to spare a last glance for Garren, and walked off with Berren by his side. The last glimpse he had of the scene was Morgan still on his knees, staring with utter hatred at his chief as Cendic turned his back and walked away.
The feast that night was the biggest the village had seen in some time, a celebration of the turn in the tribe’s fortune, and offering every sample of good crops and ample hunting spoils. The mead flowed freely and the men were drunk and lecherous, singing songs, reaping the harvest of their women, boasting and feasting. Lijah was, of course, working. It was his job to make sure the food was plentiful, the beakers never empty of drink, and the men’s drunken, undiscerning hands never lacking in something to grope at. It did not matter that he was not female and that he was endowed where he shouldn’t be and un-endowed where he should, mead fogged minds made no distinction. Every time he leant over to fill a flagon, his arse was groped, a hand went under his skirts. Or he felted himself pinched and mauled relentlessly. He found himself yearning for Dom amidst all this objectification, longing for his more caring and gentle touch. Again, the feeling surprised Lijah as it had on many occasions. And as he had also done on many occasions, he chose not to examine them.
“My beaker is empty”, he heard the call over the tumult of voices in the room and spotted the vessel being waved over the crowd of heads. Lijah sighed and grabbed the jug of mead, making his way to the source of the voice. He stopped in his tracks when he saw that it was Morgan. His instinctive reaction was not to go to him but the voice was insistent and, when Morgan caught sight of his servant, his grin was feral and dangerous. “Hurry up”, he demanded. “You’re not frightened of me are you? I have been proved to be a lesser man and rebuked by my chief and my gods. What could I possibly do to you?”
Lijah could see that Morgan was somewhere beyond drunk, and dangerous in his self-pity and earlier humiliation. But he had to go to him. Approaching slowly and keeping his eyes on Morgan, Lijah threaded his way through the crowds of men. As soon as he reached him, Lijah held out the jug and began to refill Morgan’s beaker, determined to get this job done quickly and then depart. However, Morgan was in a dangerous and awkward mood and he pulled his beaker away at the last minute, so that the sweet mead fell into his lap. “Clumsy”, Morgan smiled. Suddenly, his hand shot up and grabbed a handful of Lijah’s hair pulling him down so that his face was level with Morgan’s. Lijah yelled in pain and tried to squirm away but Morgan only pulled his face closer in until their noses were touching. Then he dived in for a kiss, forcing his tongue into Lijah’s mouth, his rank breath almost making him gag. And then, as suddenly as Morgan’s face had crushed against his, it was removed again. Lijah blinked and rubbed his scalp which was bloodied where Morgan had held him. He looked up, and there was Dominic. The overwhelming sense of relief and safety did not take him by surprise this time.
Dominic’s face was wreathed in fury and he had wrenched Morgan’s head back by his hair and was holding a sword against the man’s throat. “Do you dare?” spat Dominic through gritted teeth. “Do you dare to try and usurp me twice in one day?”
Morgan blinked in surprise. “I do not know…”
Dominic dug the sword in a little further so that Morgan cried out in pain. “You did not expect me back so soon? And did you also not expect me to find out what had occurred in my absence?”
“My lord, please”.
“Are you challenging me to the leadership Morgan? Because if you are, let us fight now and get the contest out of the way”.
Morgan was breathing through his nose in short bursts of nervous energy. “My lord, I do not intend to challenge you. I am your follower and second still”.
Dominic snorted with incredulous laughter. “I do not believe that for a second. But as tradition insists that I must wait for you to challenge me, I am unable to act. When you are man enough to fight me, then we will have this over with”. He withdrew his sword from Morgan’s throat and pushed the man forward. “In the meantime, stay away from Lijah”.
Lijah watched as Dominic, amidst the silence that had descended on the gathering, walked out of the hut into the night. The urge to follow him immediately was great, but Lijah knew he would not be released until the feasting was finished.
The dawn light was just beginning to penetrate the dark night when Lijah was sent back to the hut. The men, for the most part, were dead drunk where they sat, or had gone home to their lovers and families and he was no longer required. He strolled through the village until he came to the roundhouse that had been his home for these few weeks. A strange excitement gripped him and he chided himself as he walked through the low entrance to the hut. Silently he picked his way over the sleeping bodies of Wynn, Marys and Ellohal to the section of the hut portioned off by hanging furs and skins. Lijah paused and took in a deep breath before he gently drew them back and stepped into the small and warm space.
It was a while before he could make out the form lying amidst the heap of furs at his feet, and when he could his heart began to beat faster. He felt ridiculous and, strangely, like he was betraying himself, but in what way he did not know. Lijah took in a deep breath and knelt down gently next to the figure, slipping softly under the warmth of the animal furs. Dominic’s now familiar scent filled Lijah’s nostrils and he could almost taste the man’s skin on his tongue. Lijah squeezed his eyes closed and chastised himself for such ridiculous thoughts, willing himself to relax and go to sleep. But just as he was drifting off he felt an arm wrap around his waist and another encircle his head as Dominic drew him closer and closer still. He had been through this with Dominic many times, but never before had Lijah felt such a sense of comfort and, could he but admit it, homecoming. The trauma of the day, the humiliation in sight of his son, crowded in upon Lijah and all the fight and rebellion left him. All the barriers that he carefully erected when he was with Dominic crumbled and he felt himself respond in kind, drawing closer to the man and feeling Dominic’s stubble scratch his own cheeks. Then Lijah did something he had never done before. He kissed Dominic, letting his lips linger on the other man’s for a few seconds before he drew away, uncertain and confused about what he had just initiated.
“Thank you”, the voice was deep and scratchy but strangely humble.
Lijah jumped a little. “I didn’t know you were awake”.
“I am”.
There was silence for a while until Lijah tentatively reached out a hand and touched Dominic’s ear, curling a lock of hair around his finger. “Thank you?” he whispered.
Dominic shrugged, puzzled by his own utterance, the gesture lost in the dark. “Are you alright?” he whispered eventually.
Lijah nodded, another useless gesture in the black space of the hut. Dominic cautiously leaned forward and touched his lips to Lijah’s. “Yes”, he whispered. “Yes”.
Their bodies came together and the love-making was uncertain but unhurried, like two people who know each other and know they connect but are not sure where or how. When Lijah came in Dominic’s hand it was with a sharp intake of breath, and when Dominic spilled himself deep inside Lijah it was with a guttural cry that sounded something like his name. Somewhere on the other side of the fur hangings, Ellohal woke up and cried for her mother. The sound was like a call back to this world, the world where Lijah was a slave coerced into this bed and Dominic was an anvil for the gods. Lijah turned his back on Dominic and fought down tears, Dominic lay staring at the ceiling and let the tears run unchecked.
no subject
I don't often get this wound up over fics, which is a compliment to you. All this in front of his child, that's what's getting to me, no child should have to go through that and it's really upsetting!
Sounds like I hate the fic and nothing could be further from the truth. But you've got your work cut out to stop me hating Dominic, not just hating him but *clenches fists* wanting to kill him...
*wanders off wishing she didn't take this so much to heart*
no subject
Glad you're enjoying the story though!
no subject
Sorry I hate Dom, will try not to but he is a fucking tosser! And a rapist and an abuser of children!
You are very clever though and I can't wait for the next chapter!
*hugs*
*more hugs*
no subject
It is, ultimately, the love that Lij and Dom find because they have both been used and oppressed that's going to pull them through. Dom is a victim too.
I'm not upset with you, every interpretation is valid. I just wanted to point out that the Dom you're reading isn't the one I'm writing.
Thanks again.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
I just read this and I am worried that it sounds very aggressive and I don't want you to think I am having a pop at you, 'cos I'm not at all. I hope you just view this as a frank exchange of views and not as flame throwing! To be honest this is the first time I've ever had this sort of discourse about a fic but again, if it's getting on your nerves I'll bugger off and lurk!
When one starts blaming the victim of rape then I think the ground one is standing on is very dodgy!
Don't forget, if this is all too much, give me the nod!!!
*hugs*
no subject
If you don't like reading about the age I'm writing about then I would politely suggest you read something else. The whole point of the story is the totally mind rule the gods have over the people, just as in early Christian society people did things in the name of God (and still do) and have total belief that they are in the right. I'm not making judgements on that society, I'm just telling it like it is in the world I'm making up.
Once again, you are entitled to an opinion, but when you are trying to tell me how my characters should be written in a world that is of my making, then that sort of crosses the line. I think you may be happier sticking to stories set in modern times with modern mores and rules.
Take care.
no subject
No hard feelings I hope.
no subject
no subject
Thanky you!