Passion in the Desert
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
2,233
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
2,233
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 2
PASSION IN THE DESERT - Chapter 2
Gwillym had been served dinner outside in the secluded alcove nestled between his larger quarters and the smaller tents that his servants and guards shared. The unforgiving sun had just set a few minutes before he ventured out, leaving the sky awash in brilliant red, orange and pink hues before it would be swallowed up by the approaching twilight.
A calming breeze ghosted lightly over the prince’s skin and caught the edge of his soft, cotton caftan, cooling him as he sat at the small table, unable to concentrate on his food. The venison that he had reluctantly allowed Rowan to serve him was left cold and untouched and he had only nibbled at the fresh fruit and dates laid out on the gleaming silver plates in front of him.
Gwillym sighed heavily. He pressed his palms together and steepled his fingers in front of his face, tapping them absentmindedly against his lips. A few golden strands of his neatly tied back hair escaped from the jeweled ribbon he wore and swirled around his face like thin tentacles writhing softly in the air.
Troubled azure eyes drifted slowly across the table to gaze at the empty place setting where Rowan was allowed to sit and sup with him daily and he sighed again. Gwillym was faced with the unpleasant task of deciding whether to reprimand Rowan for his uninvited and more than enthusiastic welcome home or to just ignore his impertinence altogether.
Rowan was dressed informally in his serving gown with his hair pulled back loosely in a plain, but elegant tortoiseshell clip. His face was powdered perfectly in the mask that all royal courtesans before him had worn and his cheeks were rouged lightly, matching the lip color he had so painstakingly picked out to please his prince. His long, elegant fingers were adorned with rings that Gwillym had gifted him with and he had bathed in a light fragrance that wasn’t overpowering in its scent.
As was his duty, he knelt beside his well-stocked serving table with his head lowered in respect, waiting for Gwillym to summon him. He had made sure to pick the sweetest fruits, an assortment of fresh and dried meats, a variety of bread and cakes, and finally, chilled wine or water to insure that the prince was well fed. On a good day, after he had served dinner, Gwillym would invite him to stand or sit at his leisure and would give him permission to start a conversation, but there were no words exchanged between them this night.
Rowan trembled as he watched Gwillym intently, trying to read his mood. He was afraid, excited and apprehensive, knowing that he would more than likely be reprimanded for his indiscretion against the prince earlier, and he knew that Gwillym was struggling mightily with his emotions. The prince could be cruel in his punishments, as he had proven with his enemies, but he could also be kind as well. Rowan closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to the Ancient Ones that his master would be merciful.
Only one cycle older than his master, Rowan had been his friend and confidant since his fifth cycle. It would be Fate that would draw them together after Gwillym’s mother had died during childbirth delivering a stillborn fetus, leaving the king in a downward spiral into madness over his loss. Unable to care for the little prince himself, young Gwillym was left to his own devices and had spun out of control.
Originally indentured servants to the king, Rowan’s parents had advanced over the years to become well-loved members of the queen’s court. Their deep affection for and service to Gwillym’s mother had earned the small family living quarters adjacent to the royal chambers and it was there that Rowan would learn the lessons that would one day allow him to be a part of the royal household.
After their beloved queen had died unexpectedly, the kingdom watched in sadness as the king slowly sunk into a deep depression and all but abandoned little Gwillym. If not for Rowan’s parents begging for permission to provide the prince with a stable environment and education, he would have been banished to the military for training until he reached puberty.
As Gwillym grew into manhood, he had shouldered more and more of his father’s responsibilities until one dark winter’s evening, during a howling sandstorm, the heartsick king took his own life. Gwillym was devastated but after the mandatory period of mourning for the king, he threw himself into his role of prince and protector, becoming the scourge of his enemies and a hero to his people.
At eighteen cycles, as was the Aurelian custom, Gwillym had claimed Rowan as his royal companion at Red Moon. The symbolic taking of a consort would quell Gwillym’s sexual urges somewhat and please his followers, but the prince knew that if he did not mate during the coming sacred days, he would be cursed by the gods, doomed to die unloved and alone, roaming the earth in his spirit form forever.
Once again, Gwillym could feel the pull of another Red Moon and it was so much stronger than he had ever known before. The innate urge to mate consumed every fiber of his body and soul and burned so intensely that it was all that the prince could think of during his waking hours. His fevered dreams were of his beloved Anxo, and it was through these dreams that Gwillym knew he was destined to lay claim to the big blacksmith as his mate for all eternity.
Suddenly, Gwillym was torn from his thoughts by a sigh of the wind that brought a familiar, tantalizing scent past his nostrils and his head snapped toward Rowan. His azure eyes slowly slid to amber and bore into the royal courtesan who was standing by his station with tears flowing down his rouged cheeks, blood forming a crimson pattern on the long sleeves of his shirt.
“Rowan? What... have... you... done?” Gwillym growled deep in his throat as his fingers dug into the armrests of his chair for control over his awakening demon.
Rowan staggered toward Gwillym and fell to his knees at the prince’s feet, having taken the matter of punishment for his earlier indiscretion into his own hands.
“Please, Lord...” he begged, weeping softly as he extended his arms to Gwillym and offered him his bleeding wrists. “Forgive me... for I would bleed unfettered and gladly die if you did not love me again...”
Tiny rivulets of blood from the deep self-inflicted knife wounds had followed Rowan to Gwillym’s side and were now dripping profusely into an ever-growing stain in front of the two men. Gwillym struggled hard for self-control as his now full-blown red eyes followed the trickle of Rowan’s blood as it dripped down onto the sand, forming a small, crimson puddle. He snarled in frustration as the sight and smell of it made his mouth water and his teeth itch, and he grew hard.
Rowan knew exactly the effect fresh human blood would have on Gwillym and he knew that the prince would not be able to resist its call. “Please, Gwillym... my beloved,” the older man whispered softly. “Accept this offering as penance for my disrespect ...”
Gwillym slid from his chair, unable to stop himself and knelt down in front of the willing human sacrifice. “I should kill you for this, you fucking imbecile!” Gwillym hissed through glistening fangs. Then, like his father and all the royal Aurelian males before him, the vampire shape-shifter slid into game face and drained his courtesan into unconsciousness.
~ tbc ~
Gwillym had been served dinner outside in the secluded alcove nestled between his larger quarters and the smaller tents that his servants and guards shared. The unforgiving sun had just set a few minutes before he ventured out, leaving the sky awash in brilliant red, orange and pink hues before it would be swallowed up by the approaching twilight.
A calming breeze ghosted lightly over the prince’s skin and caught the edge of his soft, cotton caftan, cooling him as he sat at the small table, unable to concentrate on his food. The venison that he had reluctantly allowed Rowan to serve him was left cold and untouched and he had only nibbled at the fresh fruit and dates laid out on the gleaming silver plates in front of him.
Gwillym sighed heavily. He pressed his palms together and steepled his fingers in front of his face, tapping them absentmindedly against his lips. A few golden strands of his neatly tied back hair escaped from the jeweled ribbon he wore and swirled around his face like thin tentacles writhing softly in the air.
Troubled azure eyes drifted slowly across the table to gaze at the empty place setting where Rowan was allowed to sit and sup with him daily and he sighed again. Gwillym was faced with the unpleasant task of deciding whether to reprimand Rowan for his uninvited and more than enthusiastic welcome home or to just ignore his impertinence altogether.
Rowan was dressed informally in his serving gown with his hair pulled back loosely in a plain, but elegant tortoiseshell clip. His face was powdered perfectly in the mask that all royal courtesans before him had worn and his cheeks were rouged lightly, matching the lip color he had so painstakingly picked out to please his prince. His long, elegant fingers were adorned with rings that Gwillym had gifted him with and he had bathed in a light fragrance that wasn’t overpowering in its scent.
As was his duty, he knelt beside his well-stocked serving table with his head lowered in respect, waiting for Gwillym to summon him. He had made sure to pick the sweetest fruits, an assortment of fresh and dried meats, a variety of bread and cakes, and finally, chilled wine or water to insure that the prince was well fed. On a good day, after he had served dinner, Gwillym would invite him to stand or sit at his leisure and would give him permission to start a conversation, but there were no words exchanged between them this night.
Rowan trembled as he watched Gwillym intently, trying to read his mood. He was afraid, excited and apprehensive, knowing that he would more than likely be reprimanded for his indiscretion against the prince earlier, and he knew that Gwillym was struggling mightily with his emotions. The prince could be cruel in his punishments, as he had proven with his enemies, but he could also be kind as well. Rowan closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to the Ancient Ones that his master would be merciful.
Only one cycle older than his master, Rowan had been his friend and confidant since his fifth cycle. It would be Fate that would draw them together after Gwillym’s mother had died during childbirth delivering a stillborn fetus, leaving the king in a downward spiral into madness over his loss. Unable to care for the little prince himself, young Gwillym was left to his own devices and had spun out of control.
Originally indentured servants to the king, Rowan’s parents had advanced over the years to become well-loved members of the queen’s court. Their deep affection for and service to Gwillym’s mother had earned the small family living quarters adjacent to the royal chambers and it was there that Rowan would learn the lessons that would one day allow him to be a part of the royal household.
After their beloved queen had died unexpectedly, the kingdom watched in sadness as the king slowly sunk into a deep depression and all but abandoned little Gwillym. If not for Rowan’s parents begging for permission to provide the prince with a stable environment and education, he would have been banished to the military for training until he reached puberty.
As Gwillym grew into manhood, he had shouldered more and more of his father’s responsibilities until one dark winter’s evening, during a howling sandstorm, the heartsick king took his own life. Gwillym was devastated but after the mandatory period of mourning for the king, he threw himself into his role of prince and protector, becoming the scourge of his enemies and a hero to his people.
At eighteen cycles, as was the Aurelian custom, Gwillym had claimed Rowan as his royal companion at Red Moon. The symbolic taking of a consort would quell Gwillym’s sexual urges somewhat and please his followers, but the prince knew that if he did not mate during the coming sacred days, he would be cursed by the gods, doomed to die unloved and alone, roaming the earth in his spirit form forever.
Once again, Gwillym could feel the pull of another Red Moon and it was so much stronger than he had ever known before. The innate urge to mate consumed every fiber of his body and soul and burned so intensely that it was all that the prince could think of during his waking hours. His fevered dreams were of his beloved Anxo, and it was through these dreams that Gwillym knew he was destined to lay claim to the big blacksmith as his mate for all eternity.
Suddenly, Gwillym was torn from his thoughts by a sigh of the wind that brought a familiar, tantalizing scent past his nostrils and his head snapped toward Rowan. His azure eyes slowly slid to amber and bore into the royal courtesan who was standing by his station with tears flowing down his rouged cheeks, blood forming a crimson pattern on the long sleeves of his shirt.
“Rowan? What... have... you... done?” Gwillym growled deep in his throat as his fingers dug into the armrests of his chair for control over his awakening demon.
Rowan staggered toward Gwillym and fell to his knees at the prince’s feet, having taken the matter of punishment for his earlier indiscretion into his own hands.
“Please, Lord...” he begged, weeping softly as he extended his arms to Gwillym and offered him his bleeding wrists. “Forgive me... for I would bleed unfettered and gladly die if you did not love me again...”
Tiny rivulets of blood from the deep self-inflicted knife wounds had followed Rowan to Gwillym’s side and were now dripping profusely into an ever-growing stain in front of the two men. Gwillym struggled hard for self-control as his now full-blown red eyes followed the trickle of Rowan’s blood as it dripped down onto the sand, forming a small, crimson puddle. He snarled in frustration as the sight and smell of it made his mouth water and his teeth itch, and he grew hard.
Rowan knew exactly the effect fresh human blood would have on Gwillym and he knew that the prince would not be able to resist its call. “Please, Gwillym... my beloved,” the older man whispered softly. “Accept this offering as penance for my disrespect ...”
Gwillym slid from his chair, unable to stop himself and knelt down in front of the willing human sacrifice. “I should kill you for this, you fucking imbecile!” Gwillym hissed through glistening fangs. Then, like his father and all the royal Aurelian males before him, the vampire shape-shifter slid into game face and drained his courtesan into unconsciousness.
~ tbc ~