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It would appear that his words had done little to balm the stress that flushed Achilleas’s nicely featured face. Though it was the case that he often found reverie in his jests and japes, Damocles had, from time to time, to remember that not everyone else shared in the brazen tone of his observational humor. For as rowdy and uproarious as he and his men tended to be amongst themselves, he needed to recall that others may find the rumbustious nature of the Damned to not be an appealing or welcoming one. Thus, if he was to settle down a possible truce between him and the well-fathered nobleman in front of him, a softer, more diplomatic tone would be required.
“I apologize for my candor. Amongst my men, humor, gregariousness and rambunctiousness are commonplace. Though, I guess none of them is as wild as I am, haha.” He conceded, poking fun of himself in the process as he scratched the side of his face. “Our ethos is that we might all die at war so we may as well enjoy life to its fullest.” Explained Damocles as he toned-down his outgoing demeanor to a more tactful one. He spoke slowly and clearly, allowing the musicality of his sonorously deep voice to exude the confidence of a steady, levelheaded man. Likewise, he kept contact with the other’s eyes, subtly letting silver orbs to warmly speak for themselves against the cold azure spheres of Achilleas.
By far, subtlety and diplomacy had not been his most favored form of recourse amidst these most delicate of situations. And yet, if there was one thing he knew, it was that he had to quell his intensity, to allow the other man to feel comfortable in what very much was a foreign environment to him. His broad, powerful shoulders were pushed-back, his spine was straight and his features were relaxed, causing the furrows on his brow to dissipate in place of what could be considered a cordially affable smile. His cheeks moved upwards, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and his eyebrows rose ever so slightly in an inviting manner. And yet, he knew staring and prolonged exposure could be considered awkward or stiff, which he did not want to channel. Thus, maintained his broad figure aloof, adding a great deal of genuineness to his otherwise least-favored means of approach.
“Indeed, Lord Achilleas.” He responded, using the proper style of address that he knew the other man favored while utilizing his name so as to highlight a slightly friendlier tone. “I fear that I am untrained in the diplomatic arts, for I am no great statesman. Nor am I a merchants of great many things. I am but a soldier, a man of no consequence whence compared to the gloried tales of your storied lineage.” He lead-on, purposely adopting a more modest tone so as to deflect from his otherwise testimonial pride and ego. “Oh, please Lord Achilleas...” He responded, noticing the somewhat forced formality in the fairer-skinned man’s tone. “Between us, behind the thin safety of this tent, you need not be so formal. Simply addressing me by my proper name suffices.” Amicably addressed the subdued Colchian as he once more gracefully tended to maintain his hospitable appearance.
After finally making their way to the inner confines of his homestead, Damocles paid close attention to the manner of his Taengean guest. Clearly, he was still somewhat unnerved by his call for friendship, judging by the stiffness of his thick neck and the pensiveness on those blue eyes. “Quite right. Though, I fear that in my case this aspect of my profession is the one I least enjoy. My men are my family and I their caring father. Their success, ambitions and aspirations are all synonymous with my own. This may be why I dread observing their funerary rites, for no man wishes to mourn the passing of his loved ones. Still, I must do as per my station’s demands. To give them a proper burial and make sure that their loved ones receive solace is but the least I can do as their leader. May their souls find careful repose within Hades’s domain.” He pontificated, allowing his bright, grey eyes to solemnly darken by the seriousness of the loss he had experienced today forthwith. He was aware that he should not have brought up such a personal topic to what was otherwise meant to be a truce between the two men. Yet still, he could not help himself. He was not above grieving or mourning. His soldiers were his brothers and sisters, second only in place of love and affection to his own dearly beloved sibling, Alcides. How he hated this part of his job. Still, he resolved to detract this otherwise somber tone back to a re conciliatory one.
“Ah! I apologize! When it comes to my men, I may become a tad emotional. I know that it unbecoming of my people. Yet, I cannot help myself. Come! Let us not mourn the dead, for they surely enjoy their repose amongst the golden fields of the Underworld. Instead, may Dionysus's fill balm our traced past.” Damocles directed, swaying the tone of their conversation back to his more optimistic, upbeat side, albeit still channeled through the guise of a composed man.
It was at this time, when Damocles revealed the extent of his invitation, unveiling an open condition that he thought would please the Taengean’s noble sensitivities. Granted, he had not made quick on his procurement of the wine as only a gesture of friendship. He had hoped that Achilleas would be too humble and split its content between the two of them. Alas, even his small gamble seemed to not go towards his directed path this time. So be it. Though Taengea’s wines were known for their deliciousness, he would not lose face over what was meant to be an act of peace. Besides, mayhaps now that stoic lord would drop his defenses and let his insecurities fade towards a more amicable tone. “Think nothing of it. Empathy may not be my strong suit, but I recognize longing when I see it. Don't think any less of yourself however. I just have an eye for perception, is all.” He assuaged, realizing that, due to the frown on the other’s face, maybe his previous levity with his free-use of words and conditions may have caused distress.
“Forgive me, Lord Achilleas, for it seems I have caused you discomfort. I only wished for us to look upon ourselves in a more fraternal manner. If you are not comfortable with this game I have proposed, just tell me so. I do not think any less of you for being honest with me.” He soothed, once more letting a pleasantly warm smile appear on his undisturbed visage. “In fact, for your bravery and open-mindedness in coming here with me tonight, I must admit that I cannot, in any way, think less of you overall. It is strange to find a man of noble blood who is willing to talk to someone who once insulted his pride and honor in the past. That alone shows your virtue and kindness, Lord Achilleas.” Damocles complimented, believing that his flattery, for as obvious and evident as it was, would still give some semblance of enjoyment. Everyone liked to be commended after all, right?
“You need not expose yourself thusly, Lord Achilleas.” Once more steadied the bulky man. “If you wish, rather than letting yourself be the subject of my tomfoolery, why don’t you ask me anything you so wish? I am as open as a book, and I do not have any scruples regarding most of my past.” Cheerfully re-conditioned Damocles in an attempt to make the other man feel more at-ease with his Colchian military equivalent. “Come! Surely you must have at least one question you wish to ask of me.”
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Feb 28, 2020 23:19:29 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Feb 28, 2020 23:19:29 GMT
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It would appear that his words had done little to balm the stress that flushed Achilleas’s nicely featured face. Though it was the case that he often found reverie in his jests and japes, Damocles had, from time to time, to remember that not everyone else shared in the brazen tone of his observational humor. For as rowdy and uproarious as he and his men tended to be amongst themselves, he needed to recall that others may find the rumbustious nature of the Damned to not be an appealing or welcoming one. Thus, if he was to settle down a possible truce between him and the well-fathered nobleman in front of him, a softer, more diplomatic tone would be required.
“I apologize for my candor. Amongst my men, humor, gregariousness and rambunctiousness are commonplace. Though, I guess none of them is as wild as I am, haha.” He conceded, poking fun of himself in the process as he scratched the side of his face. “Our ethos is that we might all die at war so we may as well enjoy life to its fullest.” Explained Damocles as he toned-down his outgoing demeanor to a more tactful one. He spoke slowly and clearly, allowing the musicality of his sonorously deep voice to exude the confidence of a steady, levelheaded man. Likewise, he kept contact with the other’s eyes, subtly letting silver orbs to warmly speak for themselves against the cold azure spheres of Achilleas.
By far, subtlety and diplomacy had not been his most favored form of recourse amidst these most delicate of situations. And yet, if there was one thing he knew, it was that he had to quell his intensity, to allow the other man to feel comfortable in what very much was a foreign environment to him. His broad, powerful shoulders were pushed-back, his spine was straight and his features were relaxed, causing the furrows on his brow to dissipate in place of what could be considered a cordially affable smile. His cheeks moved upwards, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and his eyebrows rose ever so slightly in an inviting manner. And yet, he knew staring and prolonged exposure could be considered awkward or stiff, which he did not want to channel. Thus, maintained his broad figure aloof, adding a great deal of genuineness to his otherwise least-favored means of approach.
“Indeed, Lord Achilleas.” He responded, using the proper style of address that he knew the other man favored while utilizing his name so as to highlight a slightly friendlier tone. “I fear that I am untrained in the diplomatic arts, for I am no great statesman. Nor am I a merchants of great many things. I am but a soldier, a man of no consequence whence compared to the gloried tales of your storied lineage.” He lead-on, purposely adopting a more modest tone so as to deflect from his otherwise testimonial pride and ego. “Oh, please Lord Achilleas...” He responded, noticing the somewhat forced formality in the fairer-skinned man’s tone. “Between us, behind the thin safety of this tent, you need not be so formal. Simply addressing me by my proper name suffices.” Amicably addressed the subdued Colchian as he once more gracefully tended to maintain his hospitable appearance.
After finally making their way to the inner confines of his homestead, Damocles paid close attention to the manner of his Taengean guest. Clearly, he was still somewhat unnerved by his call for friendship, judging by the stiffness of his thick neck and the pensiveness on those blue eyes. “Quite right. Though, I fear that in my case this aspect of my profession is the one I least enjoy. My men are my family and I their caring father. Their success, ambitions and aspirations are all synonymous with my own. This may be why I dread observing their funerary rites, for no man wishes to mourn the passing of his loved ones. Still, I must do as per my station’s demands. To give them a proper burial and make sure that their loved ones receive solace is but the least I can do as their leader. May their souls find careful repose within Hades’s domain.” He pontificated, allowing his bright, grey eyes to solemnly darken by the seriousness of the loss he had experienced today forthwith. He was aware that he should not have brought up such a personal topic to what was otherwise meant to be a truce between the two men. Yet still, he could not help himself. He was not above grieving or mourning. His soldiers were his brothers and sisters, second only in place of love and affection to his own dearly beloved sibling, Alcides. How he hated this part of his job. Still, he resolved to detract this otherwise somber tone back to a re conciliatory one.
“Ah! I apologize! When it comes to my men, I may become a tad emotional. I know that it unbecoming of my people. Yet, I cannot help myself. Come! Let us not mourn the dead, for they surely enjoy their repose amongst the golden fields of the Underworld. Instead, may Dionysus's fill balm our traced past.” Damocles directed, swaying the tone of their conversation back to his more optimistic, upbeat side, albeit still channeled through the guise of a composed man.
It was at this time, when Damocles revealed the extent of his invitation, unveiling an open condition that he thought would please the Taengean’s noble sensitivities. Granted, he had not made quick on his procurement of the wine as only a gesture of friendship. He had hoped that Achilleas would be too humble and split its content between the two of them. Alas, even his small gamble seemed to not go towards his directed path this time. So be it. Though Taengea’s wines were known for their deliciousness, he would not lose face over what was meant to be an act of peace. Besides, mayhaps now that stoic lord would drop his defenses and let his insecurities fade towards a more amicable tone. “Think nothing of it. Empathy may not be my strong suit, but I recognize longing when I see it. Don't think any less of yourself however. I just have an eye for perception, is all.” He assuaged, realizing that, due to the frown on the other’s face, maybe his previous levity with his free-use of words and conditions may have caused distress.
“Forgive me, Lord Achilleas, for it seems I have caused you discomfort. I only wished for us to look upon ourselves in a more fraternal manner. If you are not comfortable with this game I have proposed, just tell me so. I do not think any less of you for being honest with me.” He soothed, once more letting a pleasantly warm smile appear on his undisturbed visage. “In fact, for your bravery and open-mindedness in coming here with me tonight, I must admit that I cannot, in any way, think less of you overall. It is strange to find a man of noble blood who is willing to talk to someone who once insulted his pride and honor in the past. That alone shows your virtue and kindness, Lord Achilleas.” Damocles complimented, believing that his flattery, for as obvious and evident as it was, would still give some semblance of enjoyment. Everyone liked to be commended after all, right?
“You need not expose yourself thusly, Lord Achilleas.” Once more steadied the bulky man. “If you wish, rather than letting yourself be the subject of my tomfoolery, why don’t you ask me anything you so wish? I am as open as a book, and I do not have any scruples regarding most of my past.” Cheerfully re-conditioned Damocles in an attempt to make the other man feel more at-ease with his Colchian military equivalent. “Come! Surely you must have at least one question you wish to ask of me.”
It would appear that his words had done little to balm the stress that flushed Achilleas’s nicely featured face. Though it was the case that he often found reverie in his jests and japes, Damocles had, from time to time, to remember that not everyone else shared in the brazen tone of his observational humor. For as rowdy and uproarious as he and his men tended to be amongst themselves, he needed to recall that others may find the rumbustious nature of the Damned to not be an appealing or welcoming one. Thus, if he was to settle down a possible truce between him and the well-fathered nobleman in front of him, a softer, more diplomatic tone would be required.
“I apologize for my candor. Amongst my men, humor, gregariousness and rambunctiousness are commonplace. Though, I guess none of them is as wild as I am, haha.” He conceded, poking fun of himself in the process as he scratched the side of his face. “Our ethos is that we might all die at war so we may as well enjoy life to its fullest.” Explained Damocles as he toned-down his outgoing demeanor to a more tactful one. He spoke slowly and clearly, allowing the musicality of his sonorously deep voice to exude the confidence of a steady, levelheaded man. Likewise, he kept contact with the other’s eyes, subtly letting silver orbs to warmly speak for themselves against the cold azure spheres of Achilleas.
By far, subtlety and diplomacy had not been his most favored form of recourse amidst these most delicate of situations. And yet, if there was one thing he knew, it was that he had to quell his intensity, to allow the other man to feel comfortable in what very much was a foreign environment to him. His broad, powerful shoulders were pushed-back, his spine was straight and his features were relaxed, causing the furrows on his brow to dissipate in place of what could be considered a cordially affable smile. His cheeks moved upwards, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and his eyebrows rose ever so slightly in an inviting manner. And yet, he knew staring and prolonged exposure could be considered awkward or stiff, which he did not want to channel. Thus, maintained his broad figure aloof, adding a great deal of genuineness to his otherwise least-favored means of approach.
“Indeed, Lord Achilleas.” He responded, using the proper style of address that he knew the other man favored while utilizing his name so as to highlight a slightly friendlier tone. “I fear that I am untrained in the diplomatic arts, for I am no great statesman. Nor am I a merchants of great many things. I am but a soldier, a man of no consequence whence compared to the gloried tales of your storied lineage.” He lead-on, purposely adopting a more modest tone so as to deflect from his otherwise testimonial pride and ego. “Oh, please Lord Achilleas...” He responded, noticing the somewhat forced formality in the fairer-skinned man’s tone. “Between us, behind the thin safety of this tent, you need not be so formal. Simply addressing me by my proper name suffices.” Amicably addressed the subdued Colchian as he once more gracefully tended to maintain his hospitable appearance.
After finally making their way to the inner confines of his homestead, Damocles paid close attention to the manner of his Taengean guest. Clearly, he was still somewhat unnerved by his call for friendship, judging by the stiffness of his thick neck and the pensiveness on those blue eyes. “Quite right. Though, I fear that in my case this aspect of my profession is the one I least enjoy. My men are my family and I their caring father. Their success, ambitions and aspirations are all synonymous with my own. This may be why I dread observing their funerary rites, for no man wishes to mourn the passing of his loved ones. Still, I must do as per my station’s demands. To give them a proper burial and make sure that their loved ones receive solace is but the least I can do as their leader. May their souls find careful repose within Hades’s domain.” He pontificated, allowing his bright, grey eyes to solemnly darken by the seriousness of the loss he had experienced today forthwith. He was aware that he should not have brought up such a personal topic to what was otherwise meant to be a truce between the two men. Yet still, he could not help himself. He was not above grieving or mourning. His soldiers were his brothers and sisters, second only in place of love and affection to his own dearly beloved sibling, Alcides. How he hated this part of his job. Still, he resolved to detract this otherwise somber tone back to a re conciliatory one.
“Ah! I apologize! When it comes to my men, I may become a tad emotional. I know that it unbecoming of my people. Yet, I cannot help myself. Come! Let us not mourn the dead, for they surely enjoy their repose amongst the golden fields of the Underworld. Instead, may Dionysus's fill balm our traced past.” Damocles directed, swaying the tone of their conversation back to his more optimistic, upbeat side, albeit still channeled through the guise of a composed man.
It was at this time, when Damocles revealed the extent of his invitation, unveiling an open condition that he thought would please the Taengean’s noble sensitivities. Granted, he had not made quick on his procurement of the wine as only a gesture of friendship. He had hoped that Achilleas would be too humble and split its content between the two of them. Alas, even his small gamble seemed to not go towards his directed path this time. So be it. Though Taengea’s wines were known for their deliciousness, he would not lose face over what was meant to be an act of peace. Besides, mayhaps now that stoic lord would drop his defenses and let his insecurities fade towards a more amicable tone. “Think nothing of it. Empathy may not be my strong suit, but I recognize longing when I see it. Don't think any less of yourself however. I just have an eye for perception, is all.” He assuaged, realizing that, due to the frown on the other’s face, maybe his previous levity with his free-use of words and conditions may have caused distress.
“Forgive me, Lord Achilleas, for it seems I have caused you discomfort. I only wished for us to look upon ourselves in a more fraternal manner. If you are not comfortable with this game I have proposed, just tell me so. I do not think any less of you for being honest with me.” He soothed, once more letting a pleasantly warm smile appear on his undisturbed visage. “In fact, for your bravery and open-mindedness in coming here with me tonight, I must admit that I cannot, in any way, think less of you overall. It is strange to find a man of noble blood who is willing to talk to someone who once insulted his pride and honor in the past. That alone shows your virtue and kindness, Lord Achilleas.” Damocles complimented, believing that his flattery, for as obvious and evident as it was, would still give some semblance of enjoyment. Everyone liked to be commended after all, right?
“You need not expose yourself thusly, Lord Achilleas.” Once more steadied the bulky man. “If you wish, rather than letting yourself be the subject of my tomfoolery, why don’t you ask me anything you so wish? I am as open as a book, and I do not have any scruples regarding most of my past.” Cheerfully re-conditioned Damocles in an attempt to make the other man feel more at-ease with his Colchian military equivalent. “Come! Surely you must have at least one question you wish to ask of me.”
The Mikaelidas Lord was not a loud man. He was not the one who would be found cracking jokes and telling stories at a gathering. Practice and effort was equipping him with the skills to hold his own, to carve a niche for himself beyond the physical presence of being tall and broad, because he needed to be able to, but it was not done through being boisterous.
It translated into his behaviour now, with the Colchian soldier who was, when distilled into the most simplistic of observations, oil where he was water. They had little to unite them: not nationality, not heritage nor any shared history that was anything but hostile. It made it impossible to ignore the voice that pressed at the back of his mind, asking why the Taengean Lord was bothering. Achilleas shoved it away because he didn’t have an answer.
Instead, blue eyes flickered towards the other man as he tried to decide if the Colchian mocked him or not in speaking of bloodlines. He did not think so, and yet it seemed unusually humble of the man as he knew him thus far, so he just nodded. Yes, they were different indeed.
But his host at least appeared to be making an effort and so Achilleas flashed him a brief if meagre smile before responding to the instruction to call him by his name only. “Damocles then.” And because it would have been churlish not to offer the same courtesy he went on “You may forgo my titles also then, for this evening”
Let them make pretence at some even footing, even it could be in name only. Perhaps then Achilleas would not feel so..unbalanced as he did in the Colchian’s presence. He had half-formed opinions of the man that he clung to now: he was a reckless hothead with no sense of propriety or of his own station. But Damocles chipped away at them little by little. It was difficult to think him only an uncouth brute when he spoke so earnestly of the men he served with, of those he had handed into the safeguarding of Charon to cross the river and Achilleas regarded him with something akin to respect as he spoke on such matters.
He did not like the revelation that he had shown more than he meant to on the banks of the river - it had been an ongoing criticism: that he was too easy to read, left his thoughts too clearly upon his face. That knowledge could not undermine the kindness of the gesture though and so the Mikaelidas man swallowed back his discomfort at being so apparently unsubtle and raised his cup in salute to the man as a secondary thank you for the action. He supposed it was not unwise for the lower ranked soldier to seek more convivial relations with one who’d bettered him in rank and lineage.
Achilleas had prepared himself to answer a question put to him in concession to losing at Damocles’ little puzzle, and found himself surprised yet again when the Colchian acknowledged his reluctance in the game.
It was difficult to take offence when the observation was so couched in compliments and the Taengean felt compelled to offer some explanation “You will forgive me.I am not much one for games, and can assure you I am not made of tavern stories to share. You have picked the wrong Taengean if that is what you had hoped for” he muttered into his wine, wondering why it bothered him so the thought that the Colchian would find him lacklustre company. He had nothing to prove to this man: it was not for him to redeem himself.
But Achilleas was unusually glad of the drink, and the slight smoothing of his sharper edges that it offered. He drank more quickly than he might otherwise have done, and so when Damocles turner the coin on its face and instead offered his guest the chance to pose a question of his choosing, the Mikaelidas man set a curious gaze upon his host, voiced the enquiry that had long since puzzled him about the man. It was direct and to the point which was how the Taengean preferred to communicate, though he hoped it would not destabilise their attempts to mend that old tension. For that was surely what it was that made him feel so on edge around the other?.
“Well as you offer so kindly, tell me this: Why did you throw that spear at my cousin in Colchis?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The Mikaelidas Lord was not a loud man. He was not the one who would be found cracking jokes and telling stories at a gathering. Practice and effort was equipping him with the skills to hold his own, to carve a niche for himself beyond the physical presence of being tall and broad, because he needed to be able to, but it was not done through being boisterous.
It translated into his behaviour now, with the Colchian soldier who was, when distilled into the most simplistic of observations, oil where he was water. They had little to unite them: not nationality, not heritage nor any shared history that was anything but hostile. It made it impossible to ignore the voice that pressed at the back of his mind, asking why the Taengean Lord was bothering. Achilleas shoved it away because he didn’t have an answer.
Instead, blue eyes flickered towards the other man as he tried to decide if the Colchian mocked him or not in speaking of bloodlines. He did not think so, and yet it seemed unusually humble of the man as he knew him thus far, so he just nodded. Yes, they were different indeed.
But his host at least appeared to be making an effort and so Achilleas flashed him a brief if meagre smile before responding to the instruction to call him by his name only. “Damocles then.” And because it would have been churlish not to offer the same courtesy he went on “You may forgo my titles also then, for this evening”
Let them make pretence at some even footing, even it could be in name only. Perhaps then Achilleas would not feel so..unbalanced as he did in the Colchian’s presence. He had half-formed opinions of the man that he clung to now: he was a reckless hothead with no sense of propriety or of his own station. But Damocles chipped away at them little by little. It was difficult to think him only an uncouth brute when he spoke so earnestly of the men he served with, of those he had handed into the safeguarding of Charon to cross the river and Achilleas regarded him with something akin to respect as he spoke on such matters.
He did not like the revelation that he had shown more than he meant to on the banks of the river - it had been an ongoing criticism: that he was too easy to read, left his thoughts too clearly upon his face. That knowledge could not undermine the kindness of the gesture though and so the Mikaelidas man swallowed back his discomfort at being so apparently unsubtle and raised his cup in salute to the man as a secondary thank you for the action. He supposed it was not unwise for the lower ranked soldier to seek more convivial relations with one who’d bettered him in rank and lineage.
Achilleas had prepared himself to answer a question put to him in concession to losing at Damocles’ little puzzle, and found himself surprised yet again when the Colchian acknowledged his reluctance in the game.
It was difficult to take offence when the observation was so couched in compliments and the Taengean felt compelled to offer some explanation “You will forgive me.I am not much one for games, and can assure you I am not made of tavern stories to share. You have picked the wrong Taengean if that is what you had hoped for” he muttered into his wine, wondering why it bothered him so the thought that the Colchian would find him lacklustre company. He had nothing to prove to this man: it was not for him to redeem himself.
But Achilleas was unusually glad of the drink, and the slight smoothing of his sharper edges that it offered. He drank more quickly than he might otherwise have done, and so when Damocles turner the coin on its face and instead offered his guest the chance to pose a question of his choosing, the Mikaelidas man set a curious gaze upon his host, voiced the enquiry that had long since puzzled him about the man. It was direct and to the point which was how the Taengean preferred to communicate, though he hoped it would not destabilise their attempts to mend that old tension. For that was surely what it was that made him feel so on edge around the other?.
“Well as you offer so kindly, tell me this: Why did you throw that spear at my cousin in Colchis?”
The Mikaelidas Lord was not a loud man. He was not the one who would be found cracking jokes and telling stories at a gathering. Practice and effort was equipping him with the skills to hold his own, to carve a niche for himself beyond the physical presence of being tall and broad, because he needed to be able to, but it was not done through being boisterous.
It translated into his behaviour now, with the Colchian soldier who was, when distilled into the most simplistic of observations, oil where he was water. They had little to unite them: not nationality, not heritage nor any shared history that was anything but hostile. It made it impossible to ignore the voice that pressed at the back of his mind, asking why the Taengean Lord was bothering. Achilleas shoved it away because he didn’t have an answer.
Instead, blue eyes flickered towards the other man as he tried to decide if the Colchian mocked him or not in speaking of bloodlines. He did not think so, and yet it seemed unusually humble of the man as he knew him thus far, so he just nodded. Yes, they were different indeed.
But his host at least appeared to be making an effort and so Achilleas flashed him a brief if meagre smile before responding to the instruction to call him by his name only. “Damocles then.” And because it would have been churlish not to offer the same courtesy he went on “You may forgo my titles also then, for this evening”
Let them make pretence at some even footing, even it could be in name only. Perhaps then Achilleas would not feel so..unbalanced as he did in the Colchian’s presence. He had half-formed opinions of the man that he clung to now: he was a reckless hothead with no sense of propriety or of his own station. But Damocles chipped away at them little by little. It was difficult to think him only an uncouth brute when he spoke so earnestly of the men he served with, of those he had handed into the safeguarding of Charon to cross the river and Achilleas regarded him with something akin to respect as he spoke on such matters.
He did not like the revelation that he had shown more than he meant to on the banks of the river - it had been an ongoing criticism: that he was too easy to read, left his thoughts too clearly upon his face. That knowledge could not undermine the kindness of the gesture though and so the Mikaelidas man swallowed back his discomfort at being so apparently unsubtle and raised his cup in salute to the man as a secondary thank you for the action. He supposed it was not unwise for the lower ranked soldier to seek more convivial relations with one who’d bettered him in rank and lineage.
Achilleas had prepared himself to answer a question put to him in concession to losing at Damocles’ little puzzle, and found himself surprised yet again when the Colchian acknowledged his reluctance in the game.
It was difficult to take offence when the observation was so couched in compliments and the Taengean felt compelled to offer some explanation “You will forgive me.I am not much one for games, and can assure you I am not made of tavern stories to share. You have picked the wrong Taengean if that is what you had hoped for” he muttered into his wine, wondering why it bothered him so the thought that the Colchian would find him lacklustre company. He had nothing to prove to this man: it was not for him to redeem himself.
But Achilleas was unusually glad of the drink, and the slight smoothing of his sharper edges that it offered. He drank more quickly than he might otherwise have done, and so when Damocles turner the coin on its face and instead offered his guest the chance to pose a question of his choosing, the Mikaelidas man set a curious gaze upon his host, voiced the enquiry that had long since puzzled him about the man. It was direct and to the point which was how the Taengean preferred to communicate, though he hoped it would not destabilise their attempts to mend that old tension. For that was surely what it was that made him feel so on edge around the other?.
“Well as you offer so kindly, tell me this: Why did you throw that spear at my cousin in Colchis?”
It would as though, for as unaccustomed and ill-trained as he was in the subtle arts, Damocles’s mummery had been quite successful in quelling some of the plaguing nerves that brushed abrupt in Achilleas’s youthful features. It may be true that in his spare time he did, from time to time, enjoy a little bit of theatricality in his life, but that did not mean he was an adept actor yet. By his own admission, despite the great strides he underwent to appear genuine and smooth, he still had much to improve upon. Even it only there had been but a hair out of place, almost perfect was still almost, and nothing upset him more than almost.
Regardless, as his metallic orbs glanced about at the royal sitting diametrically opposite to him, Damocles came to note a few aspects of the Taengean lordling. Wherefore once he had been forcefully stiff and exceedingly restrained in his demeanor, the Colchian could now detect a glimmer of warmth in his counterpart’s tone. Perhaps there still longed some hope for them to tender to that awkward business of wartime camaraderie and finally move past the unnecessarily hostile undertones of their not-so-distant past. It would be best if they would do so, even if he himself saw no reason to apologize what he thought was a perfectly justifiable course of action. It was, after all, understandable and comprehensible, not in any way reprehensible and in every bit defensible.
As if on cue however, just as fast as he came to disregard their rocky past, the blue-eyed man across him broached that very subject without any prior indication of having intention of doing so in the slightest. He swallowed his wine abruptly, tensing as that otherwise delectable substance trickled down his hoarse throat. Why, of all things, had they to discuss such matter in the first place? Had this boy not been taught that what is past is past? He had no interest in manifesting his old actions in what was supposed to be a truce between them for the betterment of their relation. Damocles shifted his gaze elsewhere, gathering his thoughts in a coherent way while setting his chalice down on a wooden surface. Once he finished, the slightly taller man cleared his throat and spoke up with firmness in his voice, replacing the subdued, but cheerful tone he had blend before.
“That spear was not meant for your cousin…”he honestly spoke up, fastening his intense stare on the other man’s blue gaze. “Wayward as I may perceive your cousin to be, I had not intended to hurl that projectile at his feet. He was not the one that sparked my rage that day, though he contributed a great deal to it.” Approached the Colchian with clarity to his voice and firmness in his attitude. He was assertive, but not aggressive, taking meditated breaths between his sentences so as to congress his thoughts and compile them in the most constructive way possible. A concerted effort to suppress his strong desire to make snide comments at the expense of their so-called peace talks, raged inside him. And yet, he remained poised and collected, keeping his impulses in check with the greater objective in mind.
“For the sake of transparency, I will be entirely honest with on this subject. No, your annoyi- sorry, rejoicing cousin was not the target…for that honor was reserved solely and explicitly for you.” Revealed Damocles with stern coldness in his otherwise smoky voice. “Now you are probably wondering why I intended to do so? As I said, I will be explicitly candid with you. My reasoning is quite simple: you defeated one of my men.” Continued to reveal the unabashedly blunt man with no apparent hesitation whatsoever.
“Low and foolish as that boy you bested may be, he was still my subordinate, and therefore someone that I treasured very dearly. Just as my men’s ambitions and joys are aligned to me, so too are their losses and frustrations. I, alone shoulder the burden of their collective well-being, honor and pride. How could I stand aloof and remote when my comrade’s then-unbroken steak of victories had been rendered null and void by your victory? His loss was my loss, and his shame was my shame. I was not going to stand for his pride to suffer such wound, even if it cost me dearly. Hence, even if you did defeat him in a fair and honorable manner, by winning, you made my subordinate lose, and therefore show his imperfection. And, as you may know, nothing is worse than imperfection and failure…” Fully articulated the stony-faced Colchian as he turned his once pleasant, but jovial look to a serious, staid one. “I trust this satisfies your query, Lord Achilleas.” Damocles reported, once more turning to the use of honorific formalities so as to let the other know that this was not something he wished to dwell on further. "If it is any consolation, it was nothing personal at all. I would have done the same thing to anyone else regardless of who they were."
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It would as though, for as unaccustomed and ill-trained as he was in the subtle arts, Damocles’s mummery had been quite successful in quelling some of the plaguing nerves that brushed abrupt in Achilleas’s youthful features. It may be true that in his spare time he did, from time to time, enjoy a little bit of theatricality in his life, but that did not mean he was an adept actor yet. By his own admission, despite the great strides he underwent to appear genuine and smooth, he still had much to improve upon. Even it only there had been but a hair out of place, almost perfect was still almost, and nothing upset him more than almost.
Regardless, as his metallic orbs glanced about at the royal sitting diametrically opposite to him, Damocles came to note a few aspects of the Taengean lordling. Wherefore once he had been forcefully stiff and exceedingly restrained in his demeanor, the Colchian could now detect a glimmer of warmth in his counterpart’s tone. Perhaps there still longed some hope for them to tender to that awkward business of wartime camaraderie and finally move past the unnecessarily hostile undertones of their not-so-distant past. It would be best if they would do so, even if he himself saw no reason to apologize what he thought was a perfectly justifiable course of action. It was, after all, understandable and comprehensible, not in any way reprehensible and in every bit defensible.
As if on cue however, just as fast as he came to disregard their rocky past, the blue-eyed man across him broached that very subject without any prior indication of having intention of doing so in the slightest. He swallowed his wine abruptly, tensing as that otherwise delectable substance trickled down his hoarse throat. Why, of all things, had they to discuss such matter in the first place? Had this boy not been taught that what is past is past? He had no interest in manifesting his old actions in what was supposed to be a truce between them for the betterment of their relation. Damocles shifted his gaze elsewhere, gathering his thoughts in a coherent way while setting his chalice down on a wooden surface. Once he finished, the slightly taller man cleared his throat and spoke up with firmness in his voice, replacing the subdued, but cheerful tone he had blend before.
“That spear was not meant for your cousin…”he honestly spoke up, fastening his intense stare on the other man’s blue gaze. “Wayward as I may perceive your cousin to be, I had not intended to hurl that projectile at his feet. He was not the one that sparked my rage that day, though he contributed a great deal to it.” Approached the Colchian with clarity to his voice and firmness in his attitude. He was assertive, but not aggressive, taking meditated breaths between his sentences so as to congress his thoughts and compile them in the most constructive way possible. A concerted effort to suppress his strong desire to make snide comments at the expense of their so-called peace talks, raged inside him. And yet, he remained poised and collected, keeping his impulses in check with the greater objective in mind.
“For the sake of transparency, I will be entirely honest with on this subject. No, your annoyi- sorry, rejoicing cousin was not the target…for that honor was reserved solely and explicitly for you.” Revealed Damocles with stern coldness in his otherwise smoky voice. “Now you are probably wondering why I intended to do so? As I said, I will be explicitly candid with you. My reasoning is quite simple: you defeated one of my men.” Continued to reveal the unabashedly blunt man with no apparent hesitation whatsoever.
“Low and foolish as that boy you bested may be, he was still my subordinate, and therefore someone that I treasured very dearly. Just as my men’s ambitions and joys are aligned to me, so too are their losses and frustrations. I, alone shoulder the burden of their collective well-being, honor and pride. How could I stand aloof and remote when my comrade’s then-unbroken steak of victories had been rendered null and void by your victory? His loss was my loss, and his shame was my shame. I was not going to stand for his pride to suffer such wound, even if it cost me dearly. Hence, even if you did defeat him in a fair and honorable manner, by winning, you made my subordinate lose, and therefore show his imperfection. And, as you may know, nothing is worse than imperfection and failure…” Fully articulated the stony-faced Colchian as he turned his once pleasant, but jovial look to a serious, staid one. “I trust this satisfies your query, Lord Achilleas.” Damocles reported, once more turning to the use of honorific formalities so as to let the other know that this was not something he wished to dwell on further. "If it is any consolation, it was nothing personal at all. I would have done the same thing to anyone else regardless of who they were."
It would as though, for as unaccustomed and ill-trained as he was in the subtle arts, Damocles’s mummery had been quite successful in quelling some of the plaguing nerves that brushed abrupt in Achilleas’s youthful features. It may be true that in his spare time he did, from time to time, enjoy a little bit of theatricality in his life, but that did not mean he was an adept actor yet. By his own admission, despite the great strides he underwent to appear genuine and smooth, he still had much to improve upon. Even it only there had been but a hair out of place, almost perfect was still almost, and nothing upset him more than almost.
Regardless, as his metallic orbs glanced about at the royal sitting diametrically opposite to him, Damocles came to note a few aspects of the Taengean lordling. Wherefore once he had been forcefully stiff and exceedingly restrained in his demeanor, the Colchian could now detect a glimmer of warmth in his counterpart’s tone. Perhaps there still longed some hope for them to tender to that awkward business of wartime camaraderie and finally move past the unnecessarily hostile undertones of their not-so-distant past. It would be best if they would do so, even if he himself saw no reason to apologize what he thought was a perfectly justifiable course of action. It was, after all, understandable and comprehensible, not in any way reprehensible and in every bit defensible.
As if on cue however, just as fast as he came to disregard their rocky past, the blue-eyed man across him broached that very subject without any prior indication of having intention of doing so in the slightest. He swallowed his wine abruptly, tensing as that otherwise delectable substance trickled down his hoarse throat. Why, of all things, had they to discuss such matter in the first place? Had this boy not been taught that what is past is past? He had no interest in manifesting his old actions in what was supposed to be a truce between them for the betterment of their relation. Damocles shifted his gaze elsewhere, gathering his thoughts in a coherent way while setting his chalice down on a wooden surface. Once he finished, the slightly taller man cleared his throat and spoke up with firmness in his voice, replacing the subdued, but cheerful tone he had blend before.
“That spear was not meant for your cousin…”he honestly spoke up, fastening his intense stare on the other man’s blue gaze. “Wayward as I may perceive your cousin to be, I had not intended to hurl that projectile at his feet. He was not the one that sparked my rage that day, though he contributed a great deal to it.” Approached the Colchian with clarity to his voice and firmness in his attitude. He was assertive, but not aggressive, taking meditated breaths between his sentences so as to congress his thoughts and compile them in the most constructive way possible. A concerted effort to suppress his strong desire to make snide comments at the expense of their so-called peace talks, raged inside him. And yet, he remained poised and collected, keeping his impulses in check with the greater objective in mind.
“For the sake of transparency, I will be entirely honest with on this subject. No, your annoyi- sorry, rejoicing cousin was not the target…for that honor was reserved solely and explicitly for you.” Revealed Damocles with stern coldness in his otherwise smoky voice. “Now you are probably wondering why I intended to do so? As I said, I will be explicitly candid with you. My reasoning is quite simple: you defeated one of my men.” Continued to reveal the unabashedly blunt man with no apparent hesitation whatsoever.
“Low and foolish as that boy you bested may be, he was still my subordinate, and therefore someone that I treasured very dearly. Just as my men’s ambitions and joys are aligned to me, so too are their losses and frustrations. I, alone shoulder the burden of their collective well-being, honor and pride. How could I stand aloof and remote when my comrade’s then-unbroken steak of victories had been rendered null and void by your victory? His loss was my loss, and his shame was my shame. I was not going to stand for his pride to suffer such wound, even if it cost me dearly. Hence, even if you did defeat him in a fair and honorable manner, by winning, you made my subordinate lose, and therefore show his imperfection. And, as you may know, nothing is worse than imperfection and failure…” Fully articulated the stony-faced Colchian as he turned his once pleasant, but jovial look to a serious, staid one. “I trust this satisfies your query, Lord Achilleas.” Damocles reported, once more turning to the use of honorific formalities so as to let the other know that this was not something he wished to dwell on further. "If it is any consolation, it was nothing personal at all. I would have done the same thing to anyone else regardless of who they were."
Achilles had thought it a rather obvious choice: to question why the man before him had first engaged with them in such an aggressive manner those years ago. Indeed, he thought it spoke favourably to how they had agreed to set that history aside that now they would be able to speak of it just for curiosity's sake rather than with any lingering hostility.
But the Taengean Lord soon came to realise that perhaps ‘ask me anything’ did not, in Colchian, translate to ask me anything, for the other man’s reaction left him in no doubt that he had erred somehow. Achilleas resisted the urge to shift under the intense look the man set upon him, instead made himself remain still and held the other’s gaze levelly, his face masked with a smooth impassivity. It was a simple and just question, with no hidden malice. And he genuinely wanted to know what had stirred the man’s ire - Stephanos had claimed he had not even shared words with Damocles before that moment.
The Mikaelidas youth had deliberately not made reference to the consequences of said action, because the Colchian had been soundly made to repent his actions when Achilleas’ own father had stepped up to face him in the sparring ring. Pride if nothing else would make that a sensitive subject, and he was not entirely without tact. Which is why he was surprised at the abrupt change in tone that his simple question provoked.
He might have retracted it, for the sake of goodwill, but Damocles’ first words had the lord’s dark brows curve upwards in a momentary surprise.
"That spear was not meant for your cousin…"
That in itself was enough to make Achilleas decide he was glad to have asked, and he gave the slightest of nods to encourage the man to go on, even though it was clear the other was biting back on some annoyance. He ignored that, tilted his head to the side a little as he waited for Damocles to expand upon that revelation.
And he wasn't sure why in the next moment he felt so terribly offended as the Colchian went on to reveal that it had been Achilleas himself that had drawn his ire that day. He knew he had done nothing, hadn't even known the man was there.
“Me?” he had asked, almost without meaning to, confusion now evident across his features as he processed that development. And his own carefully curated expression continued to fail him as Damocles explained how Achilleas had so unconsciously provoked his anger. So that by the time he had finished, the Taengean lord was shaking his head, not quite so ready to put the matter to rest as his host seemingly was.
“Indulge me a little further if you will, Damocles” he said, stressing the man’s name to show that he had not missed that deliberate spurn of his gesture of before. “Whilst I can find something admirable in such a dogged commitment to your men, I am surprised that you would risk a diplomatic incident over what was essentially no more than wounded pride? It was not even a graceful victory as I recall. Your countryman fought effectively, if without honour. It was a close thing”
For some infuriating reason, Achilleas found a thread of defensiveness wind its way through his words, as if he had been the one to error. It bothered him, the shift towards coldness in the other’s voice, tempered what he thought was a justified offence at learning the man had attempted to skewer him just for doing what he was trained to do. What was expected of him.
That feeling that he had somehow misstepped had him bite back on other things he might have said, and Achilleas instead took a large swallow from his own cup, surprised to find it empty already and he wondered when that had happened. He lowered it, cradled it between his two hands in his lap and looked at the Colchian, not quite able to silence all of the things he wanted to ask. “We were there to spar. You took offence at me doing only what we had all been charged to do?” He realised he wanted the other to see his point of view, did not like the idea that he thought badly of him for something so...inevitable.
But as he looked upon the set features of the other, Achilleas realised this was not helping in their quest to move beyond that day, and perhaps it was not quite so easy to speak dispassionately of it after all. His gaze dropped away to the cup he held, and then the Mikaelidas lord drew a measured breath through his nose. “Never mind” he conceded, forcing a small, quick smile. “It is past. And we had looked to move beyond such trivialities now we find ourselves here.”
Yes. Because that was why he had come, and it would feel like a failure if he were to leave without having brokered some form of peace with the Colchian. He ignored the sense that it might be more because he didn’t want to leave, dismissed the thought because it made no sense. He had come with a goal and he was intent on seeing that through. That was all.
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Achilles had thought it a rather obvious choice: to question why the man before him had first engaged with them in such an aggressive manner those years ago. Indeed, he thought it spoke favourably to how they had agreed to set that history aside that now they would be able to speak of it just for curiosity's sake rather than with any lingering hostility.
But the Taengean Lord soon came to realise that perhaps ‘ask me anything’ did not, in Colchian, translate to ask me anything, for the other man’s reaction left him in no doubt that he had erred somehow. Achilleas resisted the urge to shift under the intense look the man set upon him, instead made himself remain still and held the other’s gaze levelly, his face masked with a smooth impassivity. It was a simple and just question, with no hidden malice. And he genuinely wanted to know what had stirred the man’s ire - Stephanos had claimed he had not even shared words with Damocles before that moment.
The Mikaelidas youth had deliberately not made reference to the consequences of said action, because the Colchian had been soundly made to repent his actions when Achilleas’ own father had stepped up to face him in the sparring ring. Pride if nothing else would make that a sensitive subject, and he was not entirely without tact. Which is why he was surprised at the abrupt change in tone that his simple question provoked.
He might have retracted it, for the sake of goodwill, but Damocles’ first words had the lord’s dark brows curve upwards in a momentary surprise.
"That spear was not meant for your cousin…"
That in itself was enough to make Achilleas decide he was glad to have asked, and he gave the slightest of nods to encourage the man to go on, even though it was clear the other was biting back on some annoyance. He ignored that, tilted his head to the side a little as he waited for Damocles to expand upon that revelation.
And he wasn't sure why in the next moment he felt so terribly offended as the Colchian went on to reveal that it had been Achilleas himself that had drawn his ire that day. He knew he had done nothing, hadn't even known the man was there.
“Me?” he had asked, almost without meaning to, confusion now evident across his features as he processed that development. And his own carefully curated expression continued to fail him as Damocles explained how Achilleas had so unconsciously provoked his anger. So that by the time he had finished, the Taengean lord was shaking his head, not quite so ready to put the matter to rest as his host seemingly was.
“Indulge me a little further if you will, Damocles” he said, stressing the man’s name to show that he had not missed that deliberate spurn of his gesture of before. “Whilst I can find something admirable in such a dogged commitment to your men, I am surprised that you would risk a diplomatic incident over what was essentially no more than wounded pride? It was not even a graceful victory as I recall. Your countryman fought effectively, if without honour. It was a close thing”
For some infuriating reason, Achilleas found a thread of defensiveness wind its way through his words, as if he had been the one to error. It bothered him, the shift towards coldness in the other’s voice, tempered what he thought was a justified offence at learning the man had attempted to skewer him just for doing what he was trained to do. What was expected of him.
That feeling that he had somehow misstepped had him bite back on other things he might have said, and Achilleas instead took a large swallow from his own cup, surprised to find it empty already and he wondered when that had happened. He lowered it, cradled it between his two hands in his lap and looked at the Colchian, not quite able to silence all of the things he wanted to ask. “We were there to spar. You took offence at me doing only what we had all been charged to do?” He realised he wanted the other to see his point of view, did not like the idea that he thought badly of him for something so...inevitable.
But as he looked upon the set features of the other, Achilleas realised this was not helping in their quest to move beyond that day, and perhaps it was not quite so easy to speak dispassionately of it after all. His gaze dropped away to the cup he held, and then the Mikaelidas lord drew a measured breath through his nose. “Never mind” he conceded, forcing a small, quick smile. “It is past. And we had looked to move beyond such trivialities now we find ourselves here.”
Yes. Because that was why he had come, and it would feel like a failure if he were to leave without having brokered some form of peace with the Colchian. He ignored the sense that it might be more because he didn’t want to leave, dismissed the thought because it made no sense. He had come with a goal and he was intent on seeing that through. That was all.
Achilles had thought it a rather obvious choice: to question why the man before him had first engaged with them in such an aggressive manner those years ago. Indeed, he thought it spoke favourably to how they had agreed to set that history aside that now they would be able to speak of it just for curiosity's sake rather than with any lingering hostility.
But the Taengean Lord soon came to realise that perhaps ‘ask me anything’ did not, in Colchian, translate to ask me anything, for the other man’s reaction left him in no doubt that he had erred somehow. Achilleas resisted the urge to shift under the intense look the man set upon him, instead made himself remain still and held the other’s gaze levelly, his face masked with a smooth impassivity. It was a simple and just question, with no hidden malice. And he genuinely wanted to know what had stirred the man’s ire - Stephanos had claimed he had not even shared words with Damocles before that moment.
The Mikaelidas youth had deliberately not made reference to the consequences of said action, because the Colchian had been soundly made to repent his actions when Achilleas’ own father had stepped up to face him in the sparring ring. Pride if nothing else would make that a sensitive subject, and he was not entirely without tact. Which is why he was surprised at the abrupt change in tone that his simple question provoked.
He might have retracted it, for the sake of goodwill, but Damocles’ first words had the lord’s dark brows curve upwards in a momentary surprise.
"That spear was not meant for your cousin…"
That in itself was enough to make Achilleas decide he was glad to have asked, and he gave the slightest of nods to encourage the man to go on, even though it was clear the other was biting back on some annoyance. He ignored that, tilted his head to the side a little as he waited for Damocles to expand upon that revelation.
And he wasn't sure why in the next moment he felt so terribly offended as the Colchian went on to reveal that it had been Achilleas himself that had drawn his ire that day. He knew he had done nothing, hadn't even known the man was there.
“Me?” he had asked, almost without meaning to, confusion now evident across his features as he processed that development. And his own carefully curated expression continued to fail him as Damocles explained how Achilleas had so unconsciously provoked his anger. So that by the time he had finished, the Taengean lord was shaking his head, not quite so ready to put the matter to rest as his host seemingly was.
“Indulge me a little further if you will, Damocles” he said, stressing the man’s name to show that he had not missed that deliberate spurn of his gesture of before. “Whilst I can find something admirable in such a dogged commitment to your men, I am surprised that you would risk a diplomatic incident over what was essentially no more than wounded pride? It was not even a graceful victory as I recall. Your countryman fought effectively, if without honour. It was a close thing”
For some infuriating reason, Achilleas found a thread of defensiveness wind its way through his words, as if he had been the one to error. It bothered him, the shift towards coldness in the other’s voice, tempered what he thought was a justified offence at learning the man had attempted to skewer him just for doing what he was trained to do. What was expected of him.
That feeling that he had somehow misstepped had him bite back on other things he might have said, and Achilleas instead took a large swallow from his own cup, surprised to find it empty already and he wondered when that had happened. He lowered it, cradled it between his two hands in his lap and looked at the Colchian, not quite able to silence all of the things he wanted to ask. “We were there to spar. You took offence at me doing only what we had all been charged to do?” He realised he wanted the other to see his point of view, did not like the idea that he thought badly of him for something so...inevitable.
But as he looked upon the set features of the other, Achilleas realised this was not helping in their quest to move beyond that day, and perhaps it was not quite so easy to speak dispassionately of it after all. His gaze dropped away to the cup he held, and then the Mikaelidas lord drew a measured breath through his nose. “Never mind” he conceded, forcing a small, quick smile. “It is past. And we had looked to move beyond such trivialities now we find ourselves here.”
Yes. Because that was why he had come, and it would feel like a failure if he were to leave without having brokered some form of peace with the Colchian. He ignored the sense that it might be more because he didn’t want to leave, dismissed the thought because it made no sense. He had come with a goal and he was intent on seeing that through. That was all.
It was clear, by the way the Colchian hunched his shoulders and tensed the muscles on his neck, that he was rather uncomfortable when it came to the that particular incident. It wasn’t as if he was in no condition to make his intentions clear. He really didn’t have anything to hide about that day in specific. And yet, despite the discomfort that all of this generated in him, Damocles couldn’t help but feel oddly compelled to soften his tone once more, to filtrate his slipping rage. This was meant to be an end to their hostilities after all, and so he had to keep making an effort to putting the past behind them. With a fast gulp of that rare blend, the silver-eyed man took a deep breath and recollected himself before speaking up again, physically appearing to relax as he once more found composure before the strangely honest youth.
“Forgive me Achilleas…I seem to have momentarily let my old habits resurface once more. I told you that anything you ask I would answer honestly and sincerely, without any ill-will on my part. So, let bygones be bygones. The ghosts of our past cannot harm us anymore, right?” he addressed, forcing a smile so as to try and appear to be once more in control of his primal urges to lash out and argue with the other man. “Though, I think that we both need a bit more of that wine I gathered today. Do you mind if I pour us another round? I would wager we may take away much from some of its soothing properties…haha” he offered after trying to lighten the mood with a rather small joke that poked fun of the tension they had raised a few moments past. His gestures were a bit more stiff and forced than before, but his eyes were bereft of resentment or anger, replacing such intense emotions with bright, friendly cordiality.
Indeed, in this moment of roused emotions, Damocles relied on an old tool of his, the use of his rare eyes to let the other fall victim to his charm and charisma. He didn’t often find himself forced to use those most unusual of orbs to their greatest extent, but years of practice had lend themselves to mastery on their exertion. He offered the blue-eyed youth a warm, hospitable stare, this time smiling genuinely as he let out a youthful laugh at the awkwardness that had been created between them. “You know…sometimes I wonder why the world is so cruel. In the grand scheme of things you and I are only boys killing other boys from strange, backwatered lands. Those Egyptians, for as savage and barbaric as they are, are just as confused as we are. I pity us all, gathered here in bellicose congress, fighting wars we don’t completely understand…What a sad fate…what a horrible fate…” he mourned suddenly, showing a depth of regret that Damocles himself did not expect at all to come out before him at this hour. Maybe the letters he had written before still preoccupied his thoughts.
“That was unbecoming. I know not what I say. Please excuse the ramblings of a madman, my friend.” Wait…did he just call Achilleas his friend? That sort of thing rarely escaped his process of though at all. This man was fascinating and he was a rather strong warrior, two things he quite fancied on a person, but did he really think him a friend deep down? “Um…well…anyways. As I was saying before I imitated one of those drugged philosophers from Athenia, I will be open and transparent with you tonight. The past is the past.” And thus, he stood up, collected the jar of wine and paused to pour both him and Achilleas their new fill, a small courtesy if nothing more. Surely that was all.
“I will not make excuses here. Now will I lie. I take responsibility for my actions and do so admit to having aimed the spear at you. Though, even if you had been my intended target, I knew that my weapon would not have hit you at all. I had only meant to scare you, to frighten you. Had I truly wished to cause you harm…well I think we both would not be sitting here tonight sharing wine.” Once more revealed the Colchian as he swirled the content of his cup so as to gather the aroma between his nostrils."In hindsight, I will admit that I was a fool, a passionate, emotional fool that let his worst instincts get the better of him. I have no words to express how much I regret my actions that day now, Achilleas, but if you take these, my earnest expressions of truthful admission, to heart, I will be happy. It was I who failed you…us…everybody that day.” And in that moment, Damocles noticed the royal looked completely crestfallen and saddened by all he had said.
With a rare move of affection, Damocles moved to Achilleas’s side and put a hand on his back, smiling like a man who had lamented every sin he had committed against the royal, and tried to show him the comfort of someone who too had known frustration and confusion. “Look at me. Look at me!” he commanded, raising the man’s sky-blue gaze from the cup he droned about. “You are one of the most impressive men I have ever met. And from what I have learned from you, your dedication and devotion to your men is as real as mine. You will find that a lot of commoners have a low opinion of most nobles, including myself. Still, tonight I think I have finally met someone who truly might just exemplifies the virtues of nobility, real nobility. This warms my heart, truthfully. I do not say these things often to others, but…I am glad that I am fighting this war with you by my side…Achilleas…” he said in a tender, soft tone that was completely paradoxical to the one he had shown earlier in the day. Gone was the boisterous, aggressively intense man that flaunted his overbearing ego and liberally spread pride. Instead, he was warm, tender and welcoming, letting his own grey eyes shine with real candor and gentleness to them.
Damocles did not know why, but every time Achilleas frowned, he felt a strange sourness to his tongue. Perhaps, it was his desire to not make an enemy out of this man yet. Perhaps, it was a sense of weakened empathy, but empathy nonetheless. This man was, in many ways, the polar opposite to him. And yet, here he was, hushing him so as to prevent the blue-eyed boy from letting dark thoughts consume the other. He wanted to prevent him from letting the other youth’s mind run free and wild, lest he would have failed in some regards tonight. Thus, once he saw a change in the other man’s demeanor, Damocles smiled softly at him again and questioned the Taengean. “Did that help?”
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It was clear, by the way the Colchian hunched his shoulders and tensed the muscles on his neck, that he was rather uncomfortable when it came to the that particular incident. It wasn’t as if he was in no condition to make his intentions clear. He really didn’t have anything to hide about that day in specific. And yet, despite the discomfort that all of this generated in him, Damocles couldn’t help but feel oddly compelled to soften his tone once more, to filtrate his slipping rage. This was meant to be an end to their hostilities after all, and so he had to keep making an effort to putting the past behind them. With a fast gulp of that rare blend, the silver-eyed man took a deep breath and recollected himself before speaking up again, physically appearing to relax as he once more found composure before the strangely honest youth.
“Forgive me Achilleas…I seem to have momentarily let my old habits resurface once more. I told you that anything you ask I would answer honestly and sincerely, without any ill-will on my part. So, let bygones be bygones. The ghosts of our past cannot harm us anymore, right?” he addressed, forcing a smile so as to try and appear to be once more in control of his primal urges to lash out and argue with the other man. “Though, I think that we both need a bit more of that wine I gathered today. Do you mind if I pour us another round? I would wager we may take away much from some of its soothing properties…haha” he offered after trying to lighten the mood with a rather small joke that poked fun of the tension they had raised a few moments past. His gestures were a bit more stiff and forced than before, but his eyes were bereft of resentment or anger, replacing such intense emotions with bright, friendly cordiality.
Indeed, in this moment of roused emotions, Damocles relied on an old tool of his, the use of his rare eyes to let the other fall victim to his charm and charisma. He didn’t often find himself forced to use those most unusual of orbs to their greatest extent, but years of practice had lend themselves to mastery on their exertion. He offered the blue-eyed youth a warm, hospitable stare, this time smiling genuinely as he let out a youthful laugh at the awkwardness that had been created between them. “You know…sometimes I wonder why the world is so cruel. In the grand scheme of things you and I are only boys killing other boys from strange, backwatered lands. Those Egyptians, for as savage and barbaric as they are, are just as confused as we are. I pity us all, gathered here in bellicose congress, fighting wars we don’t completely understand…What a sad fate…what a horrible fate…” he mourned suddenly, showing a depth of regret that Damocles himself did not expect at all to come out before him at this hour. Maybe the letters he had written before still preoccupied his thoughts.
“That was unbecoming. I know not what I say. Please excuse the ramblings of a madman, my friend.” Wait…did he just call Achilleas his friend? That sort of thing rarely escaped his process of though at all. This man was fascinating and he was a rather strong warrior, two things he quite fancied on a person, but did he really think him a friend deep down? “Um…well…anyways. As I was saying before I imitated one of those drugged philosophers from Athenia, I will be open and transparent with you tonight. The past is the past.” And thus, he stood up, collected the jar of wine and paused to pour both him and Achilleas their new fill, a small courtesy if nothing more. Surely that was all.
“I will not make excuses here. Now will I lie. I take responsibility for my actions and do so admit to having aimed the spear at you. Though, even if you had been my intended target, I knew that my weapon would not have hit you at all. I had only meant to scare you, to frighten you. Had I truly wished to cause you harm…well I think we both would not be sitting here tonight sharing wine.” Once more revealed the Colchian as he swirled the content of his cup so as to gather the aroma between his nostrils."In hindsight, I will admit that I was a fool, a passionate, emotional fool that let his worst instincts get the better of him. I have no words to express how much I regret my actions that day now, Achilleas, but if you take these, my earnest expressions of truthful admission, to heart, I will be happy. It was I who failed you…us…everybody that day.” And in that moment, Damocles noticed the royal looked completely crestfallen and saddened by all he had said.
With a rare move of affection, Damocles moved to Achilleas’s side and put a hand on his back, smiling like a man who had lamented every sin he had committed against the royal, and tried to show him the comfort of someone who too had known frustration and confusion. “Look at me. Look at me!” he commanded, raising the man’s sky-blue gaze from the cup he droned about. “You are one of the most impressive men I have ever met. And from what I have learned from you, your dedication and devotion to your men is as real as mine. You will find that a lot of commoners have a low opinion of most nobles, including myself. Still, tonight I think I have finally met someone who truly might just exemplifies the virtues of nobility, real nobility. This warms my heart, truthfully. I do not say these things often to others, but…I am glad that I am fighting this war with you by my side…Achilleas…” he said in a tender, soft tone that was completely paradoxical to the one he had shown earlier in the day. Gone was the boisterous, aggressively intense man that flaunted his overbearing ego and liberally spread pride. Instead, he was warm, tender and welcoming, letting his own grey eyes shine with real candor and gentleness to them.
Damocles did not know why, but every time Achilleas frowned, he felt a strange sourness to his tongue. Perhaps, it was his desire to not make an enemy out of this man yet. Perhaps, it was a sense of weakened empathy, but empathy nonetheless. This man was, in many ways, the polar opposite to him. And yet, here he was, hushing him so as to prevent the blue-eyed boy from letting dark thoughts consume the other. He wanted to prevent him from letting the other youth’s mind run free and wild, lest he would have failed in some regards tonight. Thus, once he saw a change in the other man’s demeanor, Damocles smiled softly at him again and questioned the Taengean. “Did that help?”
It was clear, by the way the Colchian hunched his shoulders and tensed the muscles on his neck, that he was rather uncomfortable when it came to the that particular incident. It wasn’t as if he was in no condition to make his intentions clear. He really didn’t have anything to hide about that day in specific. And yet, despite the discomfort that all of this generated in him, Damocles couldn’t help but feel oddly compelled to soften his tone once more, to filtrate his slipping rage. This was meant to be an end to their hostilities after all, and so he had to keep making an effort to putting the past behind them. With a fast gulp of that rare blend, the silver-eyed man took a deep breath and recollected himself before speaking up again, physically appearing to relax as he once more found composure before the strangely honest youth.
“Forgive me Achilleas…I seem to have momentarily let my old habits resurface once more. I told you that anything you ask I would answer honestly and sincerely, without any ill-will on my part. So, let bygones be bygones. The ghosts of our past cannot harm us anymore, right?” he addressed, forcing a smile so as to try and appear to be once more in control of his primal urges to lash out and argue with the other man. “Though, I think that we both need a bit more of that wine I gathered today. Do you mind if I pour us another round? I would wager we may take away much from some of its soothing properties…haha” he offered after trying to lighten the mood with a rather small joke that poked fun of the tension they had raised a few moments past. His gestures were a bit more stiff and forced than before, but his eyes were bereft of resentment or anger, replacing such intense emotions with bright, friendly cordiality.
Indeed, in this moment of roused emotions, Damocles relied on an old tool of his, the use of his rare eyes to let the other fall victim to his charm and charisma. He didn’t often find himself forced to use those most unusual of orbs to their greatest extent, but years of practice had lend themselves to mastery on their exertion. He offered the blue-eyed youth a warm, hospitable stare, this time smiling genuinely as he let out a youthful laugh at the awkwardness that had been created between them. “You know…sometimes I wonder why the world is so cruel. In the grand scheme of things you and I are only boys killing other boys from strange, backwatered lands. Those Egyptians, for as savage and barbaric as they are, are just as confused as we are. I pity us all, gathered here in bellicose congress, fighting wars we don’t completely understand…What a sad fate…what a horrible fate…” he mourned suddenly, showing a depth of regret that Damocles himself did not expect at all to come out before him at this hour. Maybe the letters he had written before still preoccupied his thoughts.
“That was unbecoming. I know not what I say. Please excuse the ramblings of a madman, my friend.” Wait…did he just call Achilleas his friend? That sort of thing rarely escaped his process of though at all. This man was fascinating and he was a rather strong warrior, two things he quite fancied on a person, but did he really think him a friend deep down? “Um…well…anyways. As I was saying before I imitated one of those drugged philosophers from Athenia, I will be open and transparent with you tonight. The past is the past.” And thus, he stood up, collected the jar of wine and paused to pour both him and Achilleas their new fill, a small courtesy if nothing more. Surely that was all.
“I will not make excuses here. Now will I lie. I take responsibility for my actions and do so admit to having aimed the spear at you. Though, even if you had been my intended target, I knew that my weapon would not have hit you at all. I had only meant to scare you, to frighten you. Had I truly wished to cause you harm…well I think we both would not be sitting here tonight sharing wine.” Once more revealed the Colchian as he swirled the content of his cup so as to gather the aroma between his nostrils."In hindsight, I will admit that I was a fool, a passionate, emotional fool that let his worst instincts get the better of him. I have no words to express how much I regret my actions that day now, Achilleas, but if you take these, my earnest expressions of truthful admission, to heart, I will be happy. It was I who failed you…us…everybody that day.” And in that moment, Damocles noticed the royal looked completely crestfallen and saddened by all he had said.
With a rare move of affection, Damocles moved to Achilleas’s side and put a hand on his back, smiling like a man who had lamented every sin he had committed against the royal, and tried to show him the comfort of someone who too had known frustration and confusion. “Look at me. Look at me!” he commanded, raising the man’s sky-blue gaze from the cup he droned about. “You are one of the most impressive men I have ever met. And from what I have learned from you, your dedication and devotion to your men is as real as mine. You will find that a lot of commoners have a low opinion of most nobles, including myself. Still, tonight I think I have finally met someone who truly might just exemplifies the virtues of nobility, real nobility. This warms my heart, truthfully. I do not say these things often to others, but…I am glad that I am fighting this war with you by my side…Achilleas…” he said in a tender, soft tone that was completely paradoxical to the one he had shown earlier in the day. Gone was the boisterous, aggressively intense man that flaunted his overbearing ego and liberally spread pride. Instead, he was warm, tender and welcoming, letting his own grey eyes shine with real candor and gentleness to them.
Damocles did not know why, but every time Achilleas frowned, he felt a strange sourness to his tongue. Perhaps, it was his desire to not make an enemy out of this man yet. Perhaps, it was a sense of weakened empathy, but empathy nonetheless. This man was, in many ways, the polar opposite to him. And yet, here he was, hushing him so as to prevent the blue-eyed boy from letting dark thoughts consume the other. He wanted to prevent him from letting the other youth’s mind run free and wild, lest he would have failed in some regards tonight. Thus, once he saw a change in the other man’s demeanor, Damocles smiled softly at him again and questioned the Taengean. “Did that help?”
It was strange, hearing his name fall so ungarnished from the other’s lips, even though Achilleas had bid it so himself. He turned a clear gaze upon the Colchian man, who seemed to have realised that his reaction had not gone unnoticed, and now visibly collected himself before he went on. For his part, Achilleas glanced again at the empty cup he held and though some part of him knew it to be less than wise, he nodded his agreement to Damocles pouring once again. Likely it would ease the way, the Taengean welcoming the slight mellowing that came with good wine. That it tasted of home was no poor thing either, and idly he wondered how the Colchian had procured such finery.
Looking up to find himself held in that unusual silver regard, Achilleas gave a small smile in return, his expression flickering a moment as Damocles’ words turned serious. Raised to believe that he and his were set apart from others by merits of blood, it was hardly a slant that the Taengean lord had thought upon, and he did not know quite how to respond, afraid to disrupt their brief truce once more. The Colchian seemed of a changeable temperament to say the least.
In the end, he settled upon a quietly spoken acceptance, “You are fine. Long hot days and seeing men die can cloud even the clearest of thoughts, Damocles” He almost felt like he should dismiss any further explanation too, like it was not worth it if meant the other man would grow testy again, but the Colchian was not about to be silenced it would seem. He spoke more words than Achilleas thought he had done in almost the entire day, but his apology seemed genuine, and went some way to soothe the discomfort provoked by the idea that it had been him that spear had been aimed at.
Less soothed perhaps by the hand laid across his back, the Lord was acutely aware of the warmth of the touch, and when he tilted his gaze upwards, there was an almost bewildered expression as it settled upon the other man.
There was a knot in his belly that spoke to some strange realisation. The very same that he had tried to ignore, or sweep away as just a natural wariness. But it hit him hard as he looked up at the smiling face of the Colchian.
He was attracted to the man.
Now Achilleas was no innocent, he was not oblivious to the fact that some men lay with men, that some lay with women, or that some lay with both. Nor did he have particularly strong opinions on the matter. He had just never before considered himself to fall in with the latter, and it was more than a little jarring to feel sparks shooting across his skin at the weight of a hand rested upon his shoulder with surely no more than the intent to bring comfort. He swallowed, hard. Would that Damocles think the heat that suddenly suffused his face to be nothing but shyness at the flattery that poured forth, and not guess that it was from such a sudden and shocking realisation.
The refilled cup of wine was a blessing then, for it gave him reason to tear his gaze away from the other man, dip his head and take an overly large swallow that still was not enough to blot out his sudden panic. But he was given little time to gather his composure before the Colchian had asked him something, and Achilleas blinked.Did what help?
It took him a moment to come back to the conversation, that the other man had been trying to..reassure him or something, and so the Taengean forced a smile and summoned some appropriate words. “You speak kindly, Captain. And I’m glad to have disavowed you of your assumptions regarding my kinfolk. War is good at crossing the boundaries of class if nothing else. As is good wine, it would appear”
He lifted his cup towards the other man, the movement allowing him to shrug the man’s hand off in a natural manner, which let him feel like he could breathe again, if nothing else. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he made some effort to explain away anything he had not concealed so well. “The day catches up with me I think. I am not a big drinker, you will have to kick me if I fall asleep here”
As if it were likely, now he felt so jittery in his new awareness of the other But it was an unknown and the lord wasn’t sure how to extricate himself from this scenario without giving offense, and so he laid the groundwork to cry off sooner rather than later. “The dawn will not delay because I stayed up too late” he added. “Nor our Egyptian foes”
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Mar 12, 2020 17:28:34 GMT
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It was strange, hearing his name fall so ungarnished from the other’s lips, even though Achilleas had bid it so himself. He turned a clear gaze upon the Colchian man, who seemed to have realised that his reaction had not gone unnoticed, and now visibly collected himself before he went on. For his part, Achilleas glanced again at the empty cup he held and though some part of him knew it to be less than wise, he nodded his agreement to Damocles pouring once again. Likely it would ease the way, the Taengean welcoming the slight mellowing that came with good wine. That it tasted of home was no poor thing either, and idly he wondered how the Colchian had procured such finery.
Looking up to find himself held in that unusual silver regard, Achilleas gave a small smile in return, his expression flickering a moment as Damocles’ words turned serious. Raised to believe that he and his were set apart from others by merits of blood, it was hardly a slant that the Taengean lord had thought upon, and he did not know quite how to respond, afraid to disrupt their brief truce once more. The Colchian seemed of a changeable temperament to say the least.
In the end, he settled upon a quietly spoken acceptance, “You are fine. Long hot days and seeing men die can cloud even the clearest of thoughts, Damocles” He almost felt like he should dismiss any further explanation too, like it was not worth it if meant the other man would grow testy again, but the Colchian was not about to be silenced it would seem. He spoke more words than Achilleas thought he had done in almost the entire day, but his apology seemed genuine, and went some way to soothe the discomfort provoked by the idea that it had been him that spear had been aimed at.
Less soothed perhaps by the hand laid across his back, the Lord was acutely aware of the warmth of the touch, and when he tilted his gaze upwards, there was an almost bewildered expression as it settled upon the other man.
There was a knot in his belly that spoke to some strange realisation. The very same that he had tried to ignore, or sweep away as just a natural wariness. But it hit him hard as he looked up at the smiling face of the Colchian.
He was attracted to the man.
Now Achilleas was no innocent, he was not oblivious to the fact that some men lay with men, that some lay with women, or that some lay with both. Nor did he have particularly strong opinions on the matter. He had just never before considered himself to fall in with the latter, and it was more than a little jarring to feel sparks shooting across his skin at the weight of a hand rested upon his shoulder with surely no more than the intent to bring comfort. He swallowed, hard. Would that Damocles think the heat that suddenly suffused his face to be nothing but shyness at the flattery that poured forth, and not guess that it was from such a sudden and shocking realisation.
The refilled cup of wine was a blessing then, for it gave him reason to tear his gaze away from the other man, dip his head and take an overly large swallow that still was not enough to blot out his sudden panic. But he was given little time to gather his composure before the Colchian had asked him something, and Achilleas blinked.Did what help?
It took him a moment to come back to the conversation, that the other man had been trying to..reassure him or something, and so the Taengean forced a smile and summoned some appropriate words. “You speak kindly, Captain. And I’m glad to have disavowed you of your assumptions regarding my kinfolk. War is good at crossing the boundaries of class if nothing else. As is good wine, it would appear”
He lifted his cup towards the other man, the movement allowing him to shrug the man’s hand off in a natural manner, which let him feel like he could breathe again, if nothing else. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he made some effort to explain away anything he had not concealed so well. “The day catches up with me I think. I am not a big drinker, you will have to kick me if I fall asleep here”
As if it were likely, now he felt so jittery in his new awareness of the other But it was an unknown and the lord wasn’t sure how to extricate himself from this scenario without giving offense, and so he laid the groundwork to cry off sooner rather than later. “The dawn will not delay because I stayed up too late” he added. “Nor our Egyptian foes”
It was strange, hearing his name fall so ungarnished from the other’s lips, even though Achilleas had bid it so himself. He turned a clear gaze upon the Colchian man, who seemed to have realised that his reaction had not gone unnoticed, and now visibly collected himself before he went on. For his part, Achilleas glanced again at the empty cup he held and though some part of him knew it to be less than wise, he nodded his agreement to Damocles pouring once again. Likely it would ease the way, the Taengean welcoming the slight mellowing that came with good wine. That it tasted of home was no poor thing either, and idly he wondered how the Colchian had procured such finery.
Looking up to find himself held in that unusual silver regard, Achilleas gave a small smile in return, his expression flickering a moment as Damocles’ words turned serious. Raised to believe that he and his were set apart from others by merits of blood, it was hardly a slant that the Taengean lord had thought upon, and he did not know quite how to respond, afraid to disrupt their brief truce once more. The Colchian seemed of a changeable temperament to say the least.
In the end, he settled upon a quietly spoken acceptance, “You are fine. Long hot days and seeing men die can cloud even the clearest of thoughts, Damocles” He almost felt like he should dismiss any further explanation too, like it was not worth it if meant the other man would grow testy again, but the Colchian was not about to be silenced it would seem. He spoke more words than Achilleas thought he had done in almost the entire day, but his apology seemed genuine, and went some way to soothe the discomfort provoked by the idea that it had been him that spear had been aimed at.
Less soothed perhaps by the hand laid across his back, the Lord was acutely aware of the warmth of the touch, and when he tilted his gaze upwards, there was an almost bewildered expression as it settled upon the other man.
There was a knot in his belly that spoke to some strange realisation. The very same that he had tried to ignore, or sweep away as just a natural wariness. But it hit him hard as he looked up at the smiling face of the Colchian.
He was attracted to the man.
Now Achilleas was no innocent, he was not oblivious to the fact that some men lay with men, that some lay with women, or that some lay with both. Nor did he have particularly strong opinions on the matter. He had just never before considered himself to fall in with the latter, and it was more than a little jarring to feel sparks shooting across his skin at the weight of a hand rested upon his shoulder with surely no more than the intent to bring comfort. He swallowed, hard. Would that Damocles think the heat that suddenly suffused his face to be nothing but shyness at the flattery that poured forth, and not guess that it was from such a sudden and shocking realisation.
The refilled cup of wine was a blessing then, for it gave him reason to tear his gaze away from the other man, dip his head and take an overly large swallow that still was not enough to blot out his sudden panic. But he was given little time to gather his composure before the Colchian had asked him something, and Achilleas blinked.Did what help?
It took him a moment to come back to the conversation, that the other man had been trying to..reassure him or something, and so the Taengean forced a smile and summoned some appropriate words. “You speak kindly, Captain. And I’m glad to have disavowed you of your assumptions regarding my kinfolk. War is good at crossing the boundaries of class if nothing else. As is good wine, it would appear”
He lifted his cup towards the other man, the movement allowing him to shrug the man’s hand off in a natural manner, which let him feel like he could breathe again, if nothing else. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he made some effort to explain away anything he had not concealed so well. “The day catches up with me I think. I am not a big drinker, you will have to kick me if I fall asleep here”
As if it were likely, now he felt so jittery in his new awareness of the other But it was an unknown and the lord wasn’t sure how to extricate himself from this scenario without giving offense, and so he laid the groundwork to cry off sooner rather than later. “The dawn will not delay because I stayed up too late” he added. “Nor our Egyptian foes”
Ever since that boy that sat just mere inches away from his side had taken him away from the ravenous, crocodile-infested waters of the Nile, Damocles has noticed something different about himself. He couldn’t really put his finger on what exactly the source of the difference was, but it was evident, noticeable even. He was more reserved and subdued, less subject to the instincts that raged inside him whilst utilizing words and gestures he had not thought of beforehand when dealing with another. Normally, he would not filter his emotions or thoughts, casually wearing his heart on his sleeve for others to poke at it. And yet, things were different now…
At first, he thought it might have been his attempt at negotiating some sort of truce and possible friendship with the royal-blooded man. Seeing as they had been on less-than-hospitable terms with each other before but were not bound by circumstance to cooperate, it made sense for him to want and go amend the errors of his past with pleasantries and small acts of kindness. Despite the passions of his character, Damocles considered himself a rational man, one that weighted the costs and benefits of each action before indulging in a course of action. It was therefore a more-than perfectly reasonable justification as to why he had tempered his impulses and desires.
And yet, why had he been so blunt and honest with this…stranger? Fundamentally, regardless of their otherwise cordial words, Damocles had not known any details concerning Achilleas. Apparently, he could read the emotions on his face pretty well, but that was not an essential understanding on the other man. He didn’t know this man. He had no real idea what were the things that made him move and turn. However, whenever he looked at those strangely captivating blue eyes he felt the sudden urge to ask more questions than he had cared for minutes prior. Just like the Hydra, every time he discovered one more thing about Achilleas, he wanted to explore two more aspects of the man sitting at his right.
Nobody had really caused him to ponder such many things and actions before. He had been calculated and strategic in the past, always trying to ascertain the most he could garner from the other. But, he couldn’t find reason why this man behaved this way. He had been…unkind to him before, chastising and criticizing every one of Achilleas’s accomplishments no matter how big or small they were. And he had been disrespectful and imperious, if he was being honest for a moment, with his words more akin to daggers than cushioned pillows. But he still remained, composed and stilled, with those infuriatingly appealing blue orbs causing the Colchian to stare on more than one occasion. He had told him that in years prior he was the intended target of a weapon he threw with strength and vigor, but he still remained. He still stayed behind. Why? Why did this man stay behind? And why was it causing the Magnemean so much consternation every time he noticed the handsome features on the other’s face?
There was little point in denying it. From an objective point of view, Achilleas was a quintessentially handsome man. He was impressively tall, with firm features and a strong, muscular built that could inspire wild fantasies in the dreams of many a fair maiden. His eyes were as blue as the Aegean sea and his black, thick head of hair gave way for a crown that any man of royal blood should have behold as essential. But he wasn’t the only remarkably good-looking man that the Colchian had met before. He had taken others of his gender to bed before, just as he had taken women behind the secret walls of their firmly-shut chambers. But none had really made him assuage his intensity at any moment past. If anything, they had all inspired another form of passion that Damocles too enjoyed quite often before the war’s offset. So the question still remained. Why was he being so fucking nice to this damned Taengean? And then…he realized the reason.
He enjoyed his company…
Throughout their interactions, the Taengean had not looked down on him for being of a lower class. At the very least, even if he did, he didn’t appear to be as gripped by the dismissive stare of his haughty equals. Their discord was not born out of inherent hatred or dismissal, but out of unspoken disagreements and poor channels of communication. He had meant what he said before, Achilleas seemed to exemplify real nobility and honor, a view that didn’t cause the Colchian to feel a need to prove himself or justify his actions through grandiose reasonings. He had been honest and truthful, and that had not scared the other away back to his own tent. In all honestly…it felt nice.
“…Don’t go…” he softly pleaded with a voice that was entirely different from the loud, boisterous one others would quickly recognize as his own. What was he doing? Why had he told him to stay? Never, not once, had he asked that of another person before him. And yet, here he was, asking another man to remain exactly where he was. Without asking for any permission from the other man, Damocles grabbed the other’s cup and put it besides them, leaving his own next to it so as to focus on the man in front of him. Afterwards, he turned his body sideways, closed any distance between them and lifted the other man’s chin upwards so his blue eyes could meet his own grey ones. “Close your eyes…” whispered the enclosing Colchian as he stood but hairs apart from the other’s face. “...And stay with me..” His right hand made for one of Achilleas’s cheeks, tenderly cupping that youth’s clean-shaven face with previously unexpected affection before moving closest still and letting his rough, neglected lips press firmly against the other’s for the first time.
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Mar 17, 2020 22:20:54 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Mar 17, 2020 22:20:54 GMT
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Ever since that boy that sat just mere inches away from his side had taken him away from the ravenous, crocodile-infested waters of the Nile, Damocles has noticed something different about himself. He couldn’t really put his finger on what exactly the source of the difference was, but it was evident, noticeable even. He was more reserved and subdued, less subject to the instincts that raged inside him whilst utilizing words and gestures he had not thought of beforehand when dealing with another. Normally, he would not filter his emotions or thoughts, casually wearing his heart on his sleeve for others to poke at it. And yet, things were different now…
At first, he thought it might have been his attempt at negotiating some sort of truce and possible friendship with the royal-blooded man. Seeing as they had been on less-than-hospitable terms with each other before but were not bound by circumstance to cooperate, it made sense for him to want and go amend the errors of his past with pleasantries and small acts of kindness. Despite the passions of his character, Damocles considered himself a rational man, one that weighted the costs and benefits of each action before indulging in a course of action. It was therefore a more-than perfectly reasonable justification as to why he had tempered his impulses and desires.
And yet, why had he been so blunt and honest with this…stranger? Fundamentally, regardless of their otherwise cordial words, Damocles had not known any details concerning Achilleas. Apparently, he could read the emotions on his face pretty well, but that was not an essential understanding on the other man. He didn’t know this man. He had no real idea what were the things that made him move and turn. However, whenever he looked at those strangely captivating blue eyes he felt the sudden urge to ask more questions than he had cared for minutes prior. Just like the Hydra, every time he discovered one more thing about Achilleas, he wanted to explore two more aspects of the man sitting at his right.
Nobody had really caused him to ponder such many things and actions before. He had been calculated and strategic in the past, always trying to ascertain the most he could garner from the other. But, he couldn’t find reason why this man behaved this way. He had been…unkind to him before, chastising and criticizing every one of Achilleas’s accomplishments no matter how big or small they were. And he had been disrespectful and imperious, if he was being honest for a moment, with his words more akin to daggers than cushioned pillows. But he still remained, composed and stilled, with those infuriatingly appealing blue orbs causing the Colchian to stare on more than one occasion. He had told him that in years prior he was the intended target of a weapon he threw with strength and vigor, but he still remained. He still stayed behind. Why? Why did this man stay behind? And why was it causing the Magnemean so much consternation every time he noticed the handsome features on the other’s face?
There was little point in denying it. From an objective point of view, Achilleas was a quintessentially handsome man. He was impressively tall, with firm features and a strong, muscular built that could inspire wild fantasies in the dreams of many a fair maiden. His eyes were as blue as the Aegean sea and his black, thick head of hair gave way for a crown that any man of royal blood should have behold as essential. But he wasn’t the only remarkably good-looking man that the Colchian had met before. He had taken others of his gender to bed before, just as he had taken women behind the secret walls of their firmly-shut chambers. But none had really made him assuage his intensity at any moment past. If anything, they had all inspired another form of passion that Damocles too enjoyed quite often before the war’s offset. So the question still remained. Why was he being so fucking nice to this damned Taengean? And then…he realized the reason.
He enjoyed his company…
Throughout their interactions, the Taengean had not looked down on him for being of a lower class. At the very least, even if he did, he didn’t appear to be as gripped by the dismissive stare of his haughty equals. Their discord was not born out of inherent hatred or dismissal, but out of unspoken disagreements and poor channels of communication. He had meant what he said before, Achilleas seemed to exemplify real nobility and honor, a view that didn’t cause the Colchian to feel a need to prove himself or justify his actions through grandiose reasonings. He had been honest and truthful, and that had not scared the other away back to his own tent. In all honestly…it felt nice.
“…Don’t go…” he softly pleaded with a voice that was entirely different from the loud, boisterous one others would quickly recognize as his own. What was he doing? Why had he told him to stay? Never, not once, had he asked that of another person before him. And yet, here he was, asking another man to remain exactly where he was. Without asking for any permission from the other man, Damocles grabbed the other’s cup and put it besides them, leaving his own next to it so as to focus on the man in front of him. Afterwards, he turned his body sideways, closed any distance between them and lifted the other man’s chin upwards so his blue eyes could meet his own grey ones. “Close your eyes…” whispered the enclosing Colchian as he stood but hairs apart from the other’s face. “...And stay with me..” His right hand made for one of Achilleas’s cheeks, tenderly cupping that youth’s clean-shaven face with previously unexpected affection before moving closest still and letting his rough, neglected lips press firmly against the other’s for the first time.
Ever since that boy that sat just mere inches away from his side had taken him away from the ravenous, crocodile-infested waters of the Nile, Damocles has noticed something different about himself. He couldn’t really put his finger on what exactly the source of the difference was, but it was evident, noticeable even. He was more reserved and subdued, less subject to the instincts that raged inside him whilst utilizing words and gestures he had not thought of beforehand when dealing with another. Normally, he would not filter his emotions or thoughts, casually wearing his heart on his sleeve for others to poke at it. And yet, things were different now…
At first, he thought it might have been his attempt at negotiating some sort of truce and possible friendship with the royal-blooded man. Seeing as they had been on less-than-hospitable terms with each other before but were not bound by circumstance to cooperate, it made sense for him to want and go amend the errors of his past with pleasantries and small acts of kindness. Despite the passions of his character, Damocles considered himself a rational man, one that weighted the costs and benefits of each action before indulging in a course of action. It was therefore a more-than perfectly reasonable justification as to why he had tempered his impulses and desires.
And yet, why had he been so blunt and honest with this…stranger? Fundamentally, regardless of their otherwise cordial words, Damocles had not known any details concerning Achilleas. Apparently, he could read the emotions on his face pretty well, but that was not an essential understanding on the other man. He didn’t know this man. He had no real idea what were the things that made him move and turn. However, whenever he looked at those strangely captivating blue eyes he felt the sudden urge to ask more questions than he had cared for minutes prior. Just like the Hydra, every time he discovered one more thing about Achilleas, he wanted to explore two more aspects of the man sitting at his right.
Nobody had really caused him to ponder such many things and actions before. He had been calculated and strategic in the past, always trying to ascertain the most he could garner from the other. But, he couldn’t find reason why this man behaved this way. He had been…unkind to him before, chastising and criticizing every one of Achilleas’s accomplishments no matter how big or small they were. And he had been disrespectful and imperious, if he was being honest for a moment, with his words more akin to daggers than cushioned pillows. But he still remained, composed and stilled, with those infuriatingly appealing blue orbs causing the Colchian to stare on more than one occasion. He had told him that in years prior he was the intended target of a weapon he threw with strength and vigor, but he still remained. He still stayed behind. Why? Why did this man stay behind? And why was it causing the Magnemean so much consternation every time he noticed the handsome features on the other’s face?
There was little point in denying it. From an objective point of view, Achilleas was a quintessentially handsome man. He was impressively tall, with firm features and a strong, muscular built that could inspire wild fantasies in the dreams of many a fair maiden. His eyes were as blue as the Aegean sea and his black, thick head of hair gave way for a crown that any man of royal blood should have behold as essential. But he wasn’t the only remarkably good-looking man that the Colchian had met before. He had taken others of his gender to bed before, just as he had taken women behind the secret walls of their firmly-shut chambers. But none had really made him assuage his intensity at any moment past. If anything, they had all inspired another form of passion that Damocles too enjoyed quite often before the war’s offset. So the question still remained. Why was he being so fucking nice to this damned Taengean? And then…he realized the reason.
He enjoyed his company…
Throughout their interactions, the Taengean had not looked down on him for being of a lower class. At the very least, even if he did, he didn’t appear to be as gripped by the dismissive stare of his haughty equals. Their discord was not born out of inherent hatred or dismissal, but out of unspoken disagreements and poor channels of communication. He had meant what he said before, Achilleas seemed to exemplify real nobility and honor, a view that didn’t cause the Colchian to feel a need to prove himself or justify his actions through grandiose reasonings. He had been honest and truthful, and that had not scared the other away back to his own tent. In all honestly…it felt nice.
“…Don’t go…” he softly pleaded with a voice that was entirely different from the loud, boisterous one others would quickly recognize as his own. What was he doing? Why had he told him to stay? Never, not once, had he asked that of another person before him. And yet, here he was, asking another man to remain exactly where he was. Without asking for any permission from the other man, Damocles grabbed the other’s cup and put it besides them, leaving his own next to it so as to focus on the man in front of him. Afterwards, he turned his body sideways, closed any distance between them and lifted the other man’s chin upwards so his blue eyes could meet his own grey ones. “Close your eyes…” whispered the enclosing Colchian as he stood but hairs apart from the other’s face. “...And stay with me..” His right hand made for one of Achilleas’s cheeks, tenderly cupping that youth’s clean-shaven face with previously unexpected affection before moving closest still and letting his rough, neglected lips press firmly against the other’s for the first time.
Achilleas had not meant to imply that he would take his leave immediately. He was just being careful, setting parameters because the wine already had taken the edge off, and he could not afford to be sloppy or unprofessional. Friendly and civil yes, but drunk and uncouth would not do for a Captain of Taengea’s forces, nor for his father’s son.
But it appeared his meaning had been taken awry by the Colchian, and the Taengean lifted his gaze in surprise at the other man’s words. Almost a plea, they seemed entirely incongruous with the brazen and cocksure soldier that had been his experience with the man prior to this evening. But then so did many things that Damocles had shown him. The depth of responsibility and compassion he felt for those men he had lost,his complimentary words to the son of a man he had fought with those years before. “Why?” he asked.
Achilleas was confused. Not only by the strange dichotomy between the two faces of this same man, but by the fact that he paid altogether too much attention to them for it to be just curiosity that drove him. That had driven any of his actions this day or night. Frowning slightly, the Mikaelidas Lord dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. He ought to leave and he wished even more that he had not drank so quickly.
And yet the Taengean did not shift as the other man reached and took the cup from his hand, let his fingers release the bronze chalice and followed it with his eyes as it was set down on the coarse mat on the floor of the other soldier’s tent. He felt the movement beside him and yet somehow did not dare look. Heart thundering in his chest, the atmosphere had become charged all of a sudden, fizzing with possibility so he almost didn’t dare breath when a warm and calloused hand caught him under the chin and tilted his face so he could not help but look at the other man.
There was no pretending now, there was so little space between them that the intent could not be mistaken, and the rational side of Achilleas was protesting vociferously in his mind. But something else...something new and curious kept him rooted in place, and his tongue had flicked out to moisten his lips without his even realising it. He wanted it, wanted the Colchian man to follow through with this course he had set them on. And so when Damocles’ whispered command to close his eyes fell,he complied.
Which meant he shouldn’t have jolted when the man’s kiss landed, but he did, too keyed up and tense to do anything but. Different.The lips that pressed to his own were rougher, and the coarse feel of the soldier’s dark, cropped beard was alien too, though not unpleasant. He didn’t know what he had expected, had half-thought that maybe there would be some revulsion, that the attraction he had felt was false, but it wasn’t so. Tentatively, as if he were not yet sure of the decision, his hands moved from where they had hovered uselessly in his lap to settle at the waist of the other man, which was different again. Different but..good. Emboldened by such a realisation, he kissed back, pulled the Colchian man a little closer. For once, the Mikaelidas heir gave over to the instinctive reaction over and above the rational.
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Mar 18, 2020 13:02:13 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Mar 18, 2020 13:02:13 GMT
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Achilleas had not meant to imply that he would take his leave immediately. He was just being careful, setting parameters because the wine already had taken the edge off, and he could not afford to be sloppy or unprofessional. Friendly and civil yes, but drunk and uncouth would not do for a Captain of Taengea’s forces, nor for his father’s son.
But it appeared his meaning had been taken awry by the Colchian, and the Taengean lifted his gaze in surprise at the other man’s words. Almost a plea, they seemed entirely incongruous with the brazen and cocksure soldier that had been his experience with the man prior to this evening. But then so did many things that Damocles had shown him. The depth of responsibility and compassion he felt for those men he had lost,his complimentary words to the son of a man he had fought with those years before. “Why?” he asked.
Achilleas was confused. Not only by the strange dichotomy between the two faces of this same man, but by the fact that he paid altogether too much attention to them for it to be just curiosity that drove him. That had driven any of his actions this day or night. Frowning slightly, the Mikaelidas Lord dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. He ought to leave and he wished even more that he had not drank so quickly.
And yet the Taengean did not shift as the other man reached and took the cup from his hand, let his fingers release the bronze chalice and followed it with his eyes as it was set down on the coarse mat on the floor of the other soldier’s tent. He felt the movement beside him and yet somehow did not dare look. Heart thundering in his chest, the atmosphere had become charged all of a sudden, fizzing with possibility so he almost didn’t dare breath when a warm and calloused hand caught him under the chin and tilted his face so he could not help but look at the other man.
There was no pretending now, there was so little space between them that the intent could not be mistaken, and the rational side of Achilleas was protesting vociferously in his mind. But something else...something new and curious kept him rooted in place, and his tongue had flicked out to moisten his lips without his even realising it. He wanted it, wanted the Colchian man to follow through with this course he had set them on. And so when Damocles’ whispered command to close his eyes fell,he complied.
Which meant he shouldn’t have jolted when the man’s kiss landed, but he did, too keyed up and tense to do anything but. Different.The lips that pressed to his own were rougher, and the coarse feel of the soldier’s dark, cropped beard was alien too, though not unpleasant. He didn’t know what he had expected, had half-thought that maybe there would be some revulsion, that the attraction he had felt was false, but it wasn’t so. Tentatively, as if he were not yet sure of the decision, his hands moved from where they had hovered uselessly in his lap to settle at the waist of the other man, which was different again. Different but..good. Emboldened by such a realisation, he kissed back, pulled the Colchian man a little closer. For once, the Mikaelidas heir gave over to the instinctive reaction over and above the rational.
Achilleas had not meant to imply that he would take his leave immediately. He was just being careful, setting parameters because the wine already had taken the edge off, and he could not afford to be sloppy or unprofessional. Friendly and civil yes, but drunk and uncouth would not do for a Captain of Taengea’s forces, nor for his father’s son.
But it appeared his meaning had been taken awry by the Colchian, and the Taengean lifted his gaze in surprise at the other man’s words. Almost a plea, they seemed entirely incongruous with the brazen and cocksure soldier that had been his experience with the man prior to this evening. But then so did many things that Damocles had shown him. The depth of responsibility and compassion he felt for those men he had lost,his complimentary words to the son of a man he had fought with those years before. “Why?” he asked.
Achilleas was confused. Not only by the strange dichotomy between the two faces of this same man, but by the fact that he paid altogether too much attention to them for it to be just curiosity that drove him. That had driven any of his actions this day or night. Frowning slightly, the Mikaelidas Lord dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. He ought to leave and he wished even more that he had not drank so quickly.
And yet the Taengean did not shift as the other man reached and took the cup from his hand, let his fingers release the bronze chalice and followed it with his eyes as it was set down on the coarse mat on the floor of the other soldier’s tent. He felt the movement beside him and yet somehow did not dare look. Heart thundering in his chest, the atmosphere had become charged all of a sudden, fizzing with possibility so he almost didn’t dare breath when a warm and calloused hand caught him under the chin and tilted his face so he could not help but look at the other man.
There was no pretending now, there was so little space between them that the intent could not be mistaken, and the rational side of Achilleas was protesting vociferously in his mind. But something else...something new and curious kept him rooted in place, and his tongue had flicked out to moisten his lips without his even realising it. He wanted it, wanted the Colchian man to follow through with this course he had set them on. And so when Damocles’ whispered command to close his eyes fell,he complied.
Which meant he shouldn’t have jolted when the man’s kiss landed, but he did, too keyed up and tense to do anything but. Different.The lips that pressed to his own were rougher, and the coarse feel of the soldier’s dark, cropped beard was alien too, though not unpleasant. He didn’t know what he had expected, had half-thought that maybe there would be some revulsion, that the attraction he had felt was false, but it wasn’t so. Tentatively, as if he were not yet sure of the decision, his hands moved from where they had hovered uselessly in his lap to settle at the waist of the other man, which was different again. Different but..good. Emboldened by such a realisation, he kissed back, pulled the Colchian man a little closer. For once, the Mikaelidas heir gave over to the instinctive reaction over and above the rational.
For the longest time, Damocles had told himself that the world was his and everything that he longed for only had to be reached out for and taken. And that was exactly what he was doing just now. Forgetting about the rest of the world for a quiet, single moment, about the dangers of hushed conspiracies and whispered rumors, the Colchian seized the man before him with unrestrained desire and sizzling longing. He was not a quiet, or subtle man, but he knew a thing or two about waiting for the right time to strike, and when he looked at that beautiful man just moments prior, Damocles knew it was just that moment. Granted, he had been subtle and smooth, inviting the other to his kiss before engulfing Achilleas in the heat of his rough, fiery, touch and smoldering, slow-burning lips.
The shadows of the younger man’s face fell closely upon Damocles, allowing the Colchian to take note of the subdued, quaint woody scent that emanated from the other man. He had never really noticed just how earthy the handsome Taengean smelled, detecting hints of cypress oil, petrichor and sage in his subtle, unspoken aroma. His heart beat turned faster and faster, only steadying once the silver-eyed man felt the other’s hands pull him on place, silently confirming his suspicions and initiative as a correct and carefully calculated one. With his freed hand, the tanned-skinned man settled his hand on the other’s form, sliding down Achilleas’s side with inquisitive, curious hunger before settling by his rear, sneaking past his waist and seizing his backside with a free, maddened grip that dug against the other’s flesh.
Meanwhile, the Colchian took the confirmed invitation of the stoic man’s returned kiss and elected to push through his tongue, pushing against the other man’s in a contest of delightful conquest where neither really was a loser and everyone was a winner. He had plunged into a sea of unexpected desire, awakening within him a sense of long-neglected urgency he hadn’t paid attention to before. Passion overpowered his senses, causing Damocles to seek to expand his attracted invasion of the other’s mouth and lips with assertive, leading, pulsating sweeps that encouraged the other man to respond in captivating ripostes. No stranger to such form of kissing however, the Colchian did not jam or thrust his tongue in an naïve, intimidating and broadly inexperienced manner, teasing and pulling at the other’s nerves, whilst leaving enough room to do as he pleased in the manner he found most comfortable.
Using his prodigious, monstrous strength, Damocles pulled the other man to him, settling Achilleas on his lap as he moved to deepen their kiss in a manner that only fanned the flames of his alluring, fierce touch. Once settled on him, the muscular Colchian slowly moved the hand that cupped the Taengean’s face to his the back of his head, tangling his fingers between the wavy, curling locks of black that so drove him to such a state of madness. There was little point in making any sense of whatever it was that enthralled him so much. And, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t particularly care, nor wanted to know of such inconsequential, insignificant triviality. He kissed him once, then twice and once more thrice, each time heightening the fire of his fingertips, the longing against his taut, brawny body and the quelled, redirected rage of his rough, undelicate tips against the mesmerizing, sweet, velvety lips of the other. Their were few times when he had felt such an impression, such an tremendously magnetic attraction that neither reason nor Gods could explain.
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Mar 20, 2020 22:17:52 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Mar 20, 2020 22:17:52 GMT
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For the longest time, Damocles had told himself that the world was his and everything that he longed for only had to be reached out for and taken. And that was exactly what he was doing just now. Forgetting about the rest of the world for a quiet, single moment, about the dangers of hushed conspiracies and whispered rumors, the Colchian seized the man before him with unrestrained desire and sizzling longing. He was not a quiet, or subtle man, but he knew a thing or two about waiting for the right time to strike, and when he looked at that beautiful man just moments prior, Damocles knew it was just that moment. Granted, he had been subtle and smooth, inviting the other to his kiss before engulfing Achilleas in the heat of his rough, fiery, touch and smoldering, slow-burning lips.
The shadows of the younger man’s face fell closely upon Damocles, allowing the Colchian to take note of the subdued, quaint woody scent that emanated from the other man. He had never really noticed just how earthy the handsome Taengean smelled, detecting hints of cypress oil, petrichor and sage in his subtle, unspoken aroma. His heart beat turned faster and faster, only steadying once the silver-eyed man felt the other’s hands pull him on place, silently confirming his suspicions and initiative as a correct and carefully calculated one. With his freed hand, the tanned-skinned man settled his hand on the other’s form, sliding down Achilleas’s side with inquisitive, curious hunger before settling by his rear, sneaking past his waist and seizing his backside with a free, maddened grip that dug against the other’s flesh.
Meanwhile, the Colchian took the confirmed invitation of the stoic man’s returned kiss and elected to push through his tongue, pushing against the other man’s in a contest of delightful conquest where neither really was a loser and everyone was a winner. He had plunged into a sea of unexpected desire, awakening within him a sense of long-neglected urgency he hadn’t paid attention to before. Passion overpowered his senses, causing Damocles to seek to expand his attracted invasion of the other’s mouth and lips with assertive, leading, pulsating sweeps that encouraged the other man to respond in captivating ripostes. No stranger to such form of kissing however, the Colchian did not jam or thrust his tongue in an naïve, intimidating and broadly inexperienced manner, teasing and pulling at the other’s nerves, whilst leaving enough room to do as he pleased in the manner he found most comfortable.
Using his prodigious, monstrous strength, Damocles pulled the other man to him, settling Achilleas on his lap as he moved to deepen their kiss in a manner that only fanned the flames of his alluring, fierce touch. Once settled on him, the muscular Colchian slowly moved the hand that cupped the Taengean’s face to his the back of his head, tangling his fingers between the wavy, curling locks of black that so drove him to such a state of madness. There was little point in making any sense of whatever it was that enthralled him so much. And, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t particularly care, nor wanted to know of such inconsequential, insignificant triviality. He kissed him once, then twice and once more thrice, each time heightening the fire of his fingertips, the longing against his taut, brawny body and the quelled, redirected rage of his rough, undelicate tips against the mesmerizing, sweet, velvety lips of the other. Their were few times when he had felt such an impression, such an tremendously magnetic attraction that neither reason nor Gods could explain.
For the longest time, Damocles had told himself that the world was his and everything that he longed for only had to be reached out for and taken. And that was exactly what he was doing just now. Forgetting about the rest of the world for a quiet, single moment, about the dangers of hushed conspiracies and whispered rumors, the Colchian seized the man before him with unrestrained desire and sizzling longing. He was not a quiet, or subtle man, but he knew a thing or two about waiting for the right time to strike, and when he looked at that beautiful man just moments prior, Damocles knew it was just that moment. Granted, he had been subtle and smooth, inviting the other to his kiss before engulfing Achilleas in the heat of his rough, fiery, touch and smoldering, slow-burning lips.
The shadows of the younger man’s face fell closely upon Damocles, allowing the Colchian to take note of the subdued, quaint woody scent that emanated from the other man. He had never really noticed just how earthy the handsome Taengean smelled, detecting hints of cypress oil, petrichor and sage in his subtle, unspoken aroma. His heart beat turned faster and faster, only steadying once the silver-eyed man felt the other’s hands pull him on place, silently confirming his suspicions and initiative as a correct and carefully calculated one. With his freed hand, the tanned-skinned man settled his hand on the other’s form, sliding down Achilleas’s side with inquisitive, curious hunger before settling by his rear, sneaking past his waist and seizing his backside with a free, maddened grip that dug against the other’s flesh.
Meanwhile, the Colchian took the confirmed invitation of the stoic man’s returned kiss and elected to push through his tongue, pushing against the other man’s in a contest of delightful conquest where neither really was a loser and everyone was a winner. He had plunged into a sea of unexpected desire, awakening within him a sense of long-neglected urgency he hadn’t paid attention to before. Passion overpowered his senses, causing Damocles to seek to expand his attracted invasion of the other’s mouth and lips with assertive, leading, pulsating sweeps that encouraged the other man to respond in captivating ripostes. No stranger to such form of kissing however, the Colchian did not jam or thrust his tongue in an naïve, intimidating and broadly inexperienced manner, teasing and pulling at the other’s nerves, whilst leaving enough room to do as he pleased in the manner he found most comfortable.
Using his prodigious, monstrous strength, Damocles pulled the other man to him, settling Achilleas on his lap as he moved to deepen their kiss in a manner that only fanned the flames of his alluring, fierce touch. Once settled on him, the muscular Colchian slowly moved the hand that cupped the Taengean’s face to his the back of his head, tangling his fingers between the wavy, curling locks of black that so drove him to such a state of madness. There was little point in making any sense of whatever it was that enthralled him so much. And, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t particularly care, nor wanted to know of such inconsequential, insignificant triviality. He kissed him once, then twice and once more thrice, each time heightening the fire of his fingertips, the longing against his taut, brawny body and the quelled, redirected rage of his rough, undelicate tips against the mesmerizing, sweet, velvety lips of the other. Their were few times when he had felt such an impression, such an tremendously magnetic attraction that neither reason nor Gods could explain.
It seemed as though that little bit of daring on Achilleas’ part was enough for his fellow soldier to decide that he needn’t hold back. The Taengean found himself swept up in the other’s fervour: there wasn’t room to think, nor space to draw breath. A surprised yelp as Damocles’ hand palmed his ass was swallowed in the kiss, he wondered if maybe if it was too much, too fast. What was he doing?!
Thoughts scattered with the slip-slide of a tongue against his own, determined and dominant in a way that the Taengean was unused to. Fingers clutched in the fabric at the man’s sides, released and moved to trace the hard, muscled body beneath. Different again and Achilleas gave in to it, would have let himself become lost in sensation had it not been for what happened next.
For with his renewed vigour, the Colchian man attempted to draw his counterpart closer, probably unthinkingly, but for one unaccustomed to being manhandled in such a way it was a shock for Achilleas, and he grew tense in the other’s hold, resisting being flung about or being hauled upon the man’s lap like some girl. He was no flimsy thing himself, young, strong body carved from hard training if not hard labour, and it wasn't hard to free himself.
Clearing the fog of touch and want and need, the realisation of what he was doing, what he was allowing, slammed into the lord with the force of a blow, and he tore himself back from the other man, shoved at him. Cheeks flushed, Achilleas rose to his feet, smoothed his chiton self-consciously, as if the act of doing so might also smooth the riot of feelings that plagued him then.
Embarrassment, anger, want, shame… they all pushed at him in turn and the young lord struggled to quell them all. This was unbecoming, unmerited,such lack of control could not be tolerated.Never mind what he had...what had...
Painfully aware of the hulk of a man whom he had just pushed away, Achilleas knew he ought to say something but there hardly seemed any words fitting. He swallowed, unable to meet the gaze of the other man, but forcing sounds past a mouth suddenly dry anyway.
“That should...I should go. Good night, Lieutenant. May Ares be kind to you tomorrow on the field of battle” Each word felt hard-fought, but like a small victory and with the last delivered, the Taengean was already backing away, as if he could not leave fast enough. And leave he did, spilling out into the cool night air like it was a balm to the feverish feeling that had overcome him. Achilleas did not return to his own tent immediately, to keyed up too entertain sleep, too many questions he was asking of himself.
What had just happened?
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Mar 22, 2020 13:57:21 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Mar 22, 2020 13:57:21 GMT
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It seemed as though that little bit of daring on Achilleas’ part was enough for his fellow soldier to decide that he needn’t hold back. The Taengean found himself swept up in the other’s fervour: there wasn’t room to think, nor space to draw breath. A surprised yelp as Damocles’ hand palmed his ass was swallowed in the kiss, he wondered if maybe if it was too much, too fast. What was he doing?!
Thoughts scattered with the slip-slide of a tongue against his own, determined and dominant in a way that the Taengean was unused to. Fingers clutched in the fabric at the man’s sides, released and moved to trace the hard, muscled body beneath. Different again and Achilleas gave in to it, would have let himself become lost in sensation had it not been for what happened next.
For with his renewed vigour, the Colchian man attempted to draw his counterpart closer, probably unthinkingly, but for one unaccustomed to being manhandled in such a way it was a shock for Achilleas, and he grew tense in the other’s hold, resisting being flung about or being hauled upon the man’s lap like some girl. He was no flimsy thing himself, young, strong body carved from hard training if not hard labour, and it wasn't hard to free himself.
Clearing the fog of touch and want and need, the realisation of what he was doing, what he was allowing, slammed into the lord with the force of a blow, and he tore himself back from the other man, shoved at him. Cheeks flushed, Achilleas rose to his feet, smoothed his chiton self-consciously, as if the act of doing so might also smooth the riot of feelings that plagued him then.
Embarrassment, anger, want, shame… they all pushed at him in turn and the young lord struggled to quell them all. This was unbecoming, unmerited,such lack of control could not be tolerated.Never mind what he had...what had...
Painfully aware of the hulk of a man whom he had just pushed away, Achilleas knew he ought to say something but there hardly seemed any words fitting. He swallowed, unable to meet the gaze of the other man, but forcing sounds past a mouth suddenly dry anyway.
“That should...I should go. Good night, Lieutenant. May Ares be kind to you tomorrow on the field of battle” Each word felt hard-fought, but like a small victory and with the last delivered, the Taengean was already backing away, as if he could not leave fast enough. And leave he did, spilling out into the cool night air like it was a balm to the feverish feeling that had overcome him. Achilleas did not return to his own tent immediately, to keyed up too entertain sleep, too many questions he was asking of himself.
What had just happened?
It seemed as though that little bit of daring on Achilleas’ part was enough for his fellow soldier to decide that he needn’t hold back. The Taengean found himself swept up in the other’s fervour: there wasn’t room to think, nor space to draw breath. A surprised yelp as Damocles’ hand palmed his ass was swallowed in the kiss, he wondered if maybe if it was too much, too fast. What was he doing?!
Thoughts scattered with the slip-slide of a tongue against his own, determined and dominant in a way that the Taengean was unused to. Fingers clutched in the fabric at the man’s sides, released and moved to trace the hard, muscled body beneath. Different again and Achilleas gave in to it, would have let himself become lost in sensation had it not been for what happened next.
For with his renewed vigour, the Colchian man attempted to draw his counterpart closer, probably unthinkingly, but for one unaccustomed to being manhandled in such a way it was a shock for Achilleas, and he grew tense in the other’s hold, resisting being flung about or being hauled upon the man’s lap like some girl. He was no flimsy thing himself, young, strong body carved from hard training if not hard labour, and it wasn't hard to free himself.
Clearing the fog of touch and want and need, the realisation of what he was doing, what he was allowing, slammed into the lord with the force of a blow, and he tore himself back from the other man, shoved at him. Cheeks flushed, Achilleas rose to his feet, smoothed his chiton self-consciously, as if the act of doing so might also smooth the riot of feelings that plagued him then.
Embarrassment, anger, want, shame… they all pushed at him in turn and the young lord struggled to quell them all. This was unbecoming, unmerited,such lack of control could not be tolerated.Never mind what he had...what had...
Painfully aware of the hulk of a man whom he had just pushed away, Achilleas knew he ought to say something but there hardly seemed any words fitting. He swallowed, unable to meet the gaze of the other man, but forcing sounds past a mouth suddenly dry anyway.
“That should...I should go. Good night, Lieutenant. May Ares be kind to you tomorrow on the field of battle” Each word felt hard-fought, but like a small victory and with the last delivered, the Taengean was already backing away, as if he could not leave fast enough. And leave he did, spilling out into the cool night air like it was a balm to the feverish feeling that had overcome him. Achilleas did not return to his own tent immediately, to keyed up too entertain sleep, too many questions he was asking of himself.
What had just happened?
Forgetting to think for a moment, Damocles allowed himself to be swept up by the swirling spirals of chaos that unraveled inside of him. He could not allow himself to make sense of the chaos that happened, nor did he find it within himself to really care for such ignorable, little details that really had no place here. His hands clenched and tightened against the other, burying against his body as if calling for him, asking for him to let go of any reservations and hesitation, just like he had done. It was pointless to fight the urges that overwhelmed him, and Damocles knew this abundantly well. Perhaps, that was why, even when the other made for his robes and slid part down his sides so as to make for the muscle that lied beneath, the Colchian did not shudder or jump, but accepted it all in strides, cold touch and all.
Unexpectedly, despite slight coldness he felt between grasping, sliding fingers, Damocles was quite content with the other man’s hands against his chest. It was not the most common of experiences ever, but it wasn’t a touch he did not entirely enjoy. In fact, upon feeling those curious, inquisitive fingers lay against the firmness of his strong, taut body, the Colchian tightened his own grip around the other’s curls, deepening the embrace of their lips with welcomed titillation. Curiously enough, despite the cut of his coarse, but close-cropped beard, Damocles couldn’t help but feel a slight, firmly clash against the other’s clean-shaven face. Mayhaps, in coming days, he should tend to his features and trim it. Then again, he was at war, even if it was just a background forethought right in that instant. Surely, such small detail did not matter for much.
Between their exchanging kisses, Damocles could not help bur realize a subtle dryness hidden beneath those slightly chapped, thin, narrow lip. Though it was easy to detect the subtle, woody smell that carefully dusted across the impressively-built man, by the time he had seized a third kiss, the eager Magnemean detected a hint of sweetness upon the other, probably a leftover of the Taengean wine they had shared beforehand. Admittedly, he quite liked the subtle taste of it all, with his ever-conspiring mind already forming a long list of jokes that made fun of the other man’s skills at the art of kissing. He didn’t have a logical explanation for whatever was happening. It just felt right. It felt good. And yet, before he could savor the moment for what it was, the Colchian was caught unaware.
Without knowing what to think, the Colchian felt those same pulling hands suddenly crumble up and push back, abruptly causing Damocles to cast open his eyes in shocked stares. His breath hitched and stopped, while the strong features of his face googled in an uneasy surprise. Bewilderment was painted all over his lugubrious, long, oval-shape face, matched only by a gawking stare that said it all. His blunt, calloused hands returned back to him, and his bright, grey eyes affixed themselves against the other man’s wayward blue ones. Then, reality set in.
Before he could come to properly match his actions with weighed explanations, the muscular, bare-chestested Colchian borne witness to the Taengean’s nerves. It was obvious that things had not proceeded as they had expected, and based off the exasperated, haggard look on the other’s square face, it all seemed as if it had devolved to the worst way possible. He didn’t say any words, for the man moved faster than he could stumble back to his senses. Yet, in time, he recognized himself and pulled his words out to proper form, channeling from him only when the strong, brawny man made for an impromptu exit.
“Achilleas! Wait!”
Was the only thing he could say, reaching out with an outstretched hand as if that would pull the other back to place. What had happened? Why did he run away? Had he done something wrong? Rarely had Damocles seen a person sprint so fast from him. Instantly, he sprung up, only to realize that his clothes were loose and slid fast off him. By the time he organized himself in a presentable fashion, it was too late. He was too late.
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Apr 10, 2020 22:05:53 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Apr 10, 2020 22:05:53 GMT
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Forgetting to think for a moment, Damocles allowed himself to be swept up by the swirling spirals of chaos that unraveled inside of him. He could not allow himself to make sense of the chaos that happened, nor did he find it within himself to really care for such ignorable, little details that really had no place here. His hands clenched and tightened against the other, burying against his body as if calling for him, asking for him to let go of any reservations and hesitation, just like he had done. It was pointless to fight the urges that overwhelmed him, and Damocles knew this abundantly well. Perhaps, that was why, even when the other made for his robes and slid part down his sides so as to make for the muscle that lied beneath, the Colchian did not shudder or jump, but accepted it all in strides, cold touch and all.
Unexpectedly, despite slight coldness he felt between grasping, sliding fingers, Damocles was quite content with the other man’s hands against his chest. It was not the most common of experiences ever, but it wasn’t a touch he did not entirely enjoy. In fact, upon feeling those curious, inquisitive fingers lay against the firmness of his strong, taut body, the Colchian tightened his own grip around the other’s curls, deepening the embrace of their lips with welcomed titillation. Curiously enough, despite the cut of his coarse, but close-cropped beard, Damocles couldn’t help but feel a slight, firmly clash against the other’s clean-shaven face. Mayhaps, in coming days, he should tend to his features and trim it. Then again, he was at war, even if it was just a background forethought right in that instant. Surely, such small detail did not matter for much.
Between their exchanging kisses, Damocles could not help bur realize a subtle dryness hidden beneath those slightly chapped, thin, narrow lip. Though it was easy to detect the subtle, woody smell that carefully dusted across the impressively-built man, by the time he had seized a third kiss, the eager Magnemean detected a hint of sweetness upon the other, probably a leftover of the Taengean wine they had shared beforehand. Admittedly, he quite liked the subtle taste of it all, with his ever-conspiring mind already forming a long list of jokes that made fun of the other man’s skills at the art of kissing. He didn’t have a logical explanation for whatever was happening. It just felt right. It felt good. And yet, before he could savor the moment for what it was, the Colchian was caught unaware.
Without knowing what to think, the Colchian felt those same pulling hands suddenly crumble up and push back, abruptly causing Damocles to cast open his eyes in shocked stares. His breath hitched and stopped, while the strong features of his face googled in an uneasy surprise. Bewilderment was painted all over his lugubrious, long, oval-shape face, matched only by a gawking stare that said it all. His blunt, calloused hands returned back to him, and his bright, grey eyes affixed themselves against the other man’s wayward blue ones. Then, reality set in.
Before he could come to properly match his actions with weighed explanations, the muscular, bare-chestested Colchian borne witness to the Taengean’s nerves. It was obvious that things had not proceeded as they had expected, and based off the exasperated, haggard look on the other’s square face, it all seemed as if it had devolved to the worst way possible. He didn’t say any words, for the man moved faster than he could stumble back to his senses. Yet, in time, he recognized himself and pulled his words out to proper form, channeling from him only when the strong, brawny man made for an impromptu exit.
“Achilleas! Wait!”
Was the only thing he could say, reaching out with an outstretched hand as if that would pull the other back to place. What had happened? Why did he run away? Had he done something wrong? Rarely had Damocles seen a person sprint so fast from him. Instantly, he sprung up, only to realize that his clothes were loose and slid fast off him. By the time he organized himself in a presentable fashion, it was too late. He was too late.
Forgetting to think for a moment, Damocles allowed himself to be swept up by the swirling spirals of chaos that unraveled inside of him. He could not allow himself to make sense of the chaos that happened, nor did he find it within himself to really care for such ignorable, little details that really had no place here. His hands clenched and tightened against the other, burying against his body as if calling for him, asking for him to let go of any reservations and hesitation, just like he had done. It was pointless to fight the urges that overwhelmed him, and Damocles knew this abundantly well. Perhaps, that was why, even when the other made for his robes and slid part down his sides so as to make for the muscle that lied beneath, the Colchian did not shudder or jump, but accepted it all in strides, cold touch and all.
Unexpectedly, despite slight coldness he felt between grasping, sliding fingers, Damocles was quite content with the other man’s hands against his chest. It was not the most common of experiences ever, but it wasn’t a touch he did not entirely enjoy. In fact, upon feeling those curious, inquisitive fingers lay against the firmness of his strong, taut body, the Colchian tightened his own grip around the other’s curls, deepening the embrace of their lips with welcomed titillation. Curiously enough, despite the cut of his coarse, but close-cropped beard, Damocles couldn’t help but feel a slight, firmly clash against the other’s clean-shaven face. Mayhaps, in coming days, he should tend to his features and trim it. Then again, he was at war, even if it was just a background forethought right in that instant. Surely, such small detail did not matter for much.
Between their exchanging kisses, Damocles could not help bur realize a subtle dryness hidden beneath those slightly chapped, thin, narrow lip. Though it was easy to detect the subtle, woody smell that carefully dusted across the impressively-built man, by the time he had seized a third kiss, the eager Magnemean detected a hint of sweetness upon the other, probably a leftover of the Taengean wine they had shared beforehand. Admittedly, he quite liked the subtle taste of it all, with his ever-conspiring mind already forming a long list of jokes that made fun of the other man’s skills at the art of kissing. He didn’t have a logical explanation for whatever was happening. It just felt right. It felt good. And yet, before he could savor the moment for what it was, the Colchian was caught unaware.
Without knowing what to think, the Colchian felt those same pulling hands suddenly crumble up and push back, abruptly causing Damocles to cast open his eyes in shocked stares. His breath hitched and stopped, while the strong features of his face googled in an uneasy surprise. Bewilderment was painted all over his lugubrious, long, oval-shape face, matched only by a gawking stare that said it all. His blunt, calloused hands returned back to him, and his bright, grey eyes affixed themselves against the other man’s wayward blue ones. Then, reality set in.
Before he could come to properly match his actions with weighed explanations, the muscular, bare-chestested Colchian borne witness to the Taengean’s nerves. It was obvious that things had not proceeded as they had expected, and based off the exasperated, haggard look on the other’s square face, it all seemed as if it had devolved to the worst way possible. He didn’t say any words, for the man moved faster than he could stumble back to his senses. Yet, in time, he recognized himself and pulled his words out to proper form, channeling from him only when the strong, brawny man made for an impromptu exit.
“Achilleas! Wait!”
Was the only thing he could say, reaching out with an outstretched hand as if that would pull the other back to place. What had happened? Why did he run away? Had he done something wrong? Rarely had Damocles seen a person sprint so fast from him. Instantly, he sprung up, only to realize that his clothes were loose and slid fast off him. By the time he organized himself in a presentable fashion, it was too late. He was too late.