Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my new adult WIP (Work In Progress) Love of the Hunter, an M/M mythological romance.
In today`s excerpt-Some time has passed. Apollo has decided to allow whatever may grow between him and Orion to flourish, as the goddess of love suggested. Apollo had just promised Orion, after checking his eyes and seeing more small signs of healing, that someday soon Orion would join him as he hunts for food.
This week our word prompt is ‘Building’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.
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And from that moment, the regimen was begun: a similar routine from day to day, one that would find me more and more anxious every morn to find my fellow hunter. A complete phase of the moon passes in this manner. I am happy. I try my best to not let Helios see the change in me. I am never tardy in my chores. He has no reason to flog me. I suspect he grows angry at being deprived his whipping boy.
Days are spent with Orion, Kedalion, and Eurus at the lake, laughing and talking, wading and telling tales. I sit beside the dark-haired son of the sea, our feet in the cold waters of the deep blue lake, and we talk about everything and nothing. Kedalion gathers firewood or fish, or goes off into the woods to pick berries or other greens. I am falling in love with the most handsome of the earth born. It is on one such fine day that Orion and I first kiss.
We are seated by the lake; Orion has been stripped of his swaddling and now is encouraged to let the sun touch his face whenever possible. I think the warmth and wind will help with the extremely slow healing process. Deep inside, I worry that my touch will not be sufficient. His eyes are now fully restored, but they are milky white. His arms are braced behind him, his dark curls blowing in the zephyrs off the water, his cheeks flushed with pink health. I enjoy seeing him thusly.
“Tell me a story, Far-Shooter,” he implores. I wiggle my bare toes in the water to scare off a small fish that wishes to nibble upon my digits.
“I have told you a story a day, my friend,” I counter, glancing to my left. “Perhaps ’tis time you tell me one?”
“I am no teller of tales, not like you. Your words . . . they seem to flow from you like water rolling over a fall. I love hearing you speak. The cadence, the rhyme, the emotion behind your words is natural and emotive and makes me yearn to -- to--”
I sit up straighter. Orion pushes up from his relaxed position. A lark sings and swoops over the lake, hoping to catch an insect for its mid-day meal.
“Makes you yearn to do what?” I inquire. He works his reply over, chewing the words well. I sit and wait, the sun beating hotly on the side of my face, and I cannot help but tease him. “Are my poems so bad that you yearn to dash your head against a rock? Throw yourself from a precipice? Slice off your ears with a dagger?”
I am not prepared for the lunge he makes at me. Even without sight, the hunter is accurate. His hands grab my head, and his mouth slants over mine. His lips are sun-warmed and carry a hint of the apples I brought him for breakfast. He draws back after a moment of our lips pressed together, a burning need building inside me.
“Your words make me wish to do that,” Orion whispers, his fingers gently caressing my soft cheeks. “I hope I do not overstep my bounds, son of Zeus,” he adds with concern. I smile then recall he cannot see my pleasure, so I shake my head, and then smile wider at my silliness for he cannot see my shaking head, either.
“If my poems affect you so, I shall bring several poems on the morrow and read them to you. When the last is done I shall lay you down amid rose petals and willows blows and make love to you,” I tell him, then push him back to the stony shore to kiss him deeply.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
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