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z_fic2011-04-09 11:08 pm
zoicite.livejournal.com) wrote in z_fic2011-04-09 11:08 pm
Entry tags:
Fic - Prometheus Bound - The Release
Fandom: Prometheus Bound (the musical [2011])
Pairing: Prometheus/Oceanos
Word Count: ~4,300
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Prometheus is chained up and tortured as per the mythology. Also, consent is dubious in parts.
Summary: "Come, tell me what I can do for you. Tell me and you will never be able to say you have a friend you can rely on more than Oceanos."
The Release
Take care not to vex the heart of Zeus. This had been Prometheus’s advice to Oceanos when last they were here on this rock that bordered the sea. And who knew better than Prometheus the truth of these words? His brother Atlas, maybe. Menoetius, perhaps.
Take care not to vex the heart of the king lest you suffer the fate of your Titan brothers.
“Your misfortune will be my teacher,” Oceanos had assured him before falling away from Prometheus’s prison on his winged beast.
And here he was, returned. Oceanos stood once again before him, gazing down at the sorry state of the Titan, Prometheus.
“You have not learned the lesson,” Prometheus noted.
The Daughters of the Aether watched them from a nearby peak, huddled together like birds seeking shelter from a strong wind. Prometheus heard their cries on the air, ignored them and waited for Oceanos to speak.
“I wish you to reconsider my offer,” Oceanos said. “Let me go to Zeus on your behalf. Though truly I do not need your consent as my case would be better made without it.”
Prometheus pulled at the chains that bound his arms, pulled at rings of adamantine pierced through unyielding granite. Oceanos had learned nothing from him, had listened to nothing.
The Daughters seemed to echo his thoughts. Nothing. Nothing.
“Do not do this, friend,” Prometheus entreated him. “There is no bargain to be made here. I will not submit and Zeus will not bend.”
Oceanos knelt beside him, reached out to caress Prometheus’s face. “What do you see that you know this?” Oceanos asked, his expression open and inviting.
“I know the will of a tyrant,” Prometheus said. “I don’t need to see to know that you will fail in this.”
Oceanos started, pulled back as though ready to hit Prometheus, but Prometheus did not flinch and Oceanos fell forward once more.
“How then?” Prometheus asked.
“I will convince him that you can be punished another way. A better way. He will turn you over to me.”
He reached for Prometheus, took Prometheus’s face in his hands and pressed his mouth to Prometheus’s mouth. Prometheus tried to turn his head away, but Oceanos held him there, his hands firm as his tongue lapped at the shores of Prometheus’s lips, begging Prometheus to give in, frustrated when, stubborn, Prometheus refused.
Defeated, Oceanos subsided and Prometheus leaned back, his head pressed to the rock that held his leash. He regarded Oceanos, swallowed harsh words and said, “Then you don’t propose freedom at all.”
“It is an improvement,” Oceanus said, diplomatically. He pressed his thumb to Prometheus‘s lip, leaned in, his next words spoken so close that Prometheus could feel the words forming against his lips. “A release.”
Oceanos smiled, the curve of his mouth teasing and wicked as he stood, looked down at Prometheus and added, “Of sorts.”
Prometheus shook his head, closed his eyes to block out the sight of Oceanos. When he opened them again Oceanos was gone.
**
Oceanos appeared again some time later. Prometheus had lost count of the days, could not be sure how long it had been. He’d been dwelling on things to come, secrets told to him that had saved him from fates far worse than this, when Oceanos appeared again as though formed out of the rain that had battered at Prometheus for days.
“You have returned,” Prometheus said, then looked away. “Or do I dream you here?” He’d imagined the rain filling the sea that crashed at the shore below him, the water rising until the nymphs came to visit him upon his rock, their tails splashing in the surf as they sang.
“Do you often dream of Oceanos?”
“I dream of many things,” Prometheus said, dismissive. Was this why Oceanos was here? Had Zeus heard what Prometheus told to the mortal Io when she‘d stumbled upon him here? Had he heard Prometheus talk of Zeus’s downfall? No. Zeus would send someone else. Someone more violent, more persuasive than Oceanos. “How have you avoided this fate? How have you escaped this rock when it was your hand that aided me in this so called rebellion? Have you plotted against me from the start?”
“It pierces my heart that you could think so,” Oceanos said. The rain appeared to soak into his skin, find a home there. Each droplet stuck to his face for a moment before it disappeared so that he appeared to cry at the plight of Prometheus, so that his heart appeared to break as he said his next words. “It wounds me to see you stretched thus, tied, to see the way they watch you and laugh. I could not have wanted this for you. I do not want this for you.”
“And you would help me,” Prometheus guessed.
“In a fashion,” Oceanos agreed. He bent over Prometheus, pressed his mouth to Prometheus’s neck. Oceanos sucked the water from his skin, from his shoulder, his chest. He crouched over Prometheus like a vulture over a carcass, tasting the exposed flesh at his ribs, now hip, now thigh.
“A new sort of torture,” Prometheus said as Oceanos made a point to avoid those places where he knew Prometheus might long for such attention.
The song of the Daughters carried on the wind, there with Prometheus always, and Oceanos started, looked east. “The Aether weeps for you,” he said. “We all weep for Prometheus.”
“Not all,” Prometheus corrected.
“Not all,” he agreed and returned to his work.
Oceanos kissed Prometheus’s ankles, his sore sore wrists, then finally he stretched along the length of Prometheus, turned toward him and kissed his mouth. Prometheus opened against him, let the sea crash at his side, spill over his parted lips, a river of want and lust that cascaded down his throat, coursing straight to his loins. Oceanos‘s hand curled between Prometheus’s thighs. He found the answer he sought and he smiled, his teeth pressed sharp to soft lips.
“So at last you see how it will be then?” he asked.
“A new sort of torture,” Prometheus repeated, his voice loud over the sound of the rain and the wind. “Superior to that which has been promised for me thus far.”
“I will make you burn,” Oceanos promised, his hand working at Prometheus, igniting him.
Prometheus twisted into Oceanos‘s palm, his breath heavy as he tried to control this betrayal of body.
“Water destroys flame,” Prometheus reminded Oceanos, his words accompanied by a gasp.
Oceanos laughed and released him then, leaned back to stare up into the rain, his hands folded over his own chest. The crag was quiet but for the rush of water, the sound of Prometheus’s own breath loud and harsh in his ears. The Daughters watched, silent from afar.
“And so I will destroy you,” Oceanos concluded, the words rising up through the downfall, up toward the heavens.
**
Oceanos returned again and again. His kisses dripped onto Prometheus’s tongue, saturated his skin so that alone on his pedestal Prometheus writhed with them, with the memory, with the anticipation of the moment of Oceanos’s return.
The Daughters of the Aether watched this new torment of Prometheus, could not help. They touched one another, ignited and put out their own flames in his stead. He watched their sorrow and their pleasure and he burned.
Again and again Oceanos came and begged to intercede on the behalf of Prometheus. Again and again Prometheus refused and was left aflame. He shouted against Zeus, against Oceanos. He railed against the chains that bound him to no avail. He suspected, no, he knew, that Oceanos had gone to Zeus without his consent, that through this Oceanos would prove that there was more torture to be had in the caress of a hand than in a thousand bolts of lightening.
“Why do you return to me when nothing ever changes?” Prometheus asked with Oceanos curled around him again, pleasure coursing through him in waves that would never crash against a shore.
“Things change where you cannot see them change,” Oceanos said.
“You remain in Zeus’s favor then?”
“I am learning to navigate this new regime,” Oceanos chose his words carefully, his voice quiet. “I’m learning not to make your mistakes.”
“And I am right again and nothing has changed between us,” Prometheus concluded. “Why have you come?”
“Prometheus,” Oceanos sighed. “You’ve given hope to the humans yet you kept none for yourself.”
“What hope is there in your promises? In your plans?” Prometheus asked. “You have promised me nothing but a different vein of torture. And why, old friend? Did we not once stand together as kin, you and I? What comfort am I to find in your visitation?”
“You haven’t been listening,” Oceanos said, shook his head.
“Then speak louder,” Prometheus suggested. “Your audience is captive.”
“I can provide you comfort,” Oceanos said. “If you would only let me. Tell me what to do.”
Prometheus turned his head away. “More tricks. Is this what you do in the Hall of the Gods? Promise them pleasure, promise release, and then leave them bound and unfulfilled. Is this how you stay in the favor of Zeus? Do you leave him wanting as you leave me?”
Oceanos’s eyes flashed dark as they watched Prometheus. He would leave now. Prometheus would be alone again soon enough.
Oceanos did not leave.
He came to a different decision. Oceanos turned and straddled Prometheus, knelt over him and then bore down, taking Prometheus within him, a hand on Prometheus to guide him. Prometheus cried out at this unexpected new torture, this new momentary pleasure. He pushed up and away from his bed of stone, up and into the heat of Oceanos.
Oceanos leaned forward, his body working itself on Prometheus as he braced his hands on the rock at either side of Prometheus’s head. His eyes burned for Prometheus. His mouth fell open and Prometheus longed to feel the wet heat of it on his own, tried to push forward toward it but was stopped by adamantine, by Oceanos’s hand.
He rode Prometheus as he did the beast that bore him here and Prometheus bucked beneath him, pulled at his constraints, tried to get closer, gone so far now from the control he’d once possessed, lost long ago.
Oceanos had memorized the limits of Prometheus’s bonds, so close now that Prometheus could feel the moist touch of his breath on Prometheus’s skin, still too far to taste. Oceanos surged forward, giving Prometheus what he wished for just a moment, wet tongue sliding against his own, before Oceanos pushed himself away again, head thrown back toward the heavens, forcing Prometheus deeper within him as he moved. Prometheus groaned into it, concentrated on release. He must beat Oceanos to this summit or be left wanting once more.
Oceanos’s hands were at his own loins now, sliding, pulling, and Prometheus watched as Oceanos worked this unfair advantage. He closed his eyes, felt Oceanos hot and tight around him, pulling pleasure from him, swallowing it greedily within himself. Prometheus envisioned his chains as they broke free from the rock, the scream of the metal as it twisted and snapped. Prometheus free finally to grasp as Oceanos, turning him and thrusting back in, again and again until exhausted and thoroughly spent.
Too late he felt the heat of Oceanos on his stomach and opened his eyes to see Oceanos pulling the seed from his phallus as he shuddered and writhed over Prometheus. Not enough time, not enough, and Prometheus thrust desperately beneath him, his hips pushing up, up, but he was too late. Prometheus had lost this race.
Oceanos slid off of him and away. His fingers pressed his seed into Prometheus’s skin.
“No,“ the Daughters of the Aether whispered. “No.“ As though they knew Prometheus’s heart, knew that he was closer now than ever before to giving up everything if only he could be returned to that enveloping heat, there to find some release at last.
“You were always the best of us,” Oceanos said. Prometheus was unsure what he meant, couldn’t care to question him.
“I will not beg you,” Prometheus said, his breath heavy against the rock. “This is a test. A test that I would not fail.”
“Say that you’ll surrender yourself to me,” Oceanos insisted. “Zeus will grant me this.”
What had Oceanos done for the tyrant to be so sure? Surely not more than all that Prometheus had done and yet here he was, chained and tormented, humiliated, aflame.
“Go,” Prometheus snapped. “For I do not wish to see you here again.”
Oceanos stared down at Prometheus, at the seed of the god drying on his skin, at his phallus, proud and erect, ignored.
“Your body does not agree with your tongue,” Oceanos noted.
“Then satisfy it,” Prometheus said. “Do not tease me further. Satisfy it or go away.”
Oceanos moved toward Prometheus and for a moment Prometheus thought that Oceanos might give in. His body betrayed him again, the anticipation visible to anyone who looked on. Oceanos saw and paused, the lust easy to read on his face before he turned away and rose to his feet.
“Do not return,” Prometheus said, voice threaded with finality, and Oceanos left without another word.
**
Oceanos did not return. Now and then Prometheus heard whispering in his ear, felt fingers on his spine, turned to find himself alone. The waves crashed on the rocks far below him, the sound curling around the stones to form his name. He smelled a salt breeze and felt his body curl in on itself, traitorous, in longing. Still Oceanos did not return.
Finally, eyes closed against the glare of an afternoon sun, Prometheus sensed that he was truly not alone. He opened his eyes and squinted up at the sky. Oceanos’s name was at the tip of his tongue, but it dried there when the visitor came into focus.
His skin shone with the approval of the tyrant king, his mouth curled into the grin of a child.
“You,” his visitor said, words sour as they erupted from his throat. “The cunning one. The one who stole fire.”
Hermes, messenger of Zeus, come at last to taunt him, come to tell him of new torments, new punishments for daring to speak in a cryptic tongue of the fall of Zeus from power.
Prometheus expected this. He had been waiting.
**
The Daughters of the Aether writhed on the rocks around him. Defiant, they chose to share in his pain, in his torment, that he might not be alone in this. The thunder crackled around them, the lightening chipped at his pedestal, coursing through him. The pain electrified his limbs, burned through his heart. And then Hermes was gone, the Daughters vanished, and everything was darkness and pain. The rock pressed in around him on all sides, the smell of earth and stone filled his nostrils and choked him. Prometheus’s voice went hoarse from screaming until he opened his mouth and no sound emerged.
And then he awoke, spit out by the mountain, chained once again to its surface.
The sun shone bright on his prison, the Daughters around him, singing of his return. Over their voices he heard the flapping of wings and attempted to sit up, to catch sight of Oceanos’s beast in the sky as it approached.
The air was empty.
There was no beast, only a fierce cry on the wind.
And then the eagle came.
Every day, his claws sharp and his mouth like a knife. Prometheus, his voice returned, cried out, screamed to the heavens. He had not earned this. He did not deserve this. It was Zeus who should be chained for the crimes he had committed, for the horrors he had let pass in the name of power. Not Prometheus whose liver this eagle craved. Prometheus chanted the name of Heracles, wrote it into his mind, never letting the vowels of the word slip from his tongue to form sound.
There was no illusion of caring with the eagle, only hunger and pain and loss. He longed for Oceanos, for the promise of a hand at his groin, the taste of that tongue. How stupid Oceanos had been to think there was no torture worse than that.
The eagle pulled at his flesh and Prometheus opened his eyes and saw Oceanos, standing over him, his face passive as he watched the eagle feast on his mark.
“Oceanos,” Prometheus whispered.
The eagle cocked its great head. Oceanos was not there. They were alone.
**
The next time that he opened his eyes to see Oceanos standing before him, the sun was just rising over the horizon. The eagle was gone.
“I dream of you again,” Prometheus said, turned his head away, weary.
“Not this time,” Oceanos replied, his brow furrowed in concern.
“Then you are late,” Prometheus said. He knew how he must look. What a pitiable sight he must be.
“I thought that you no longer wished to see me,” came Oceanos’s reply. If Prometheus was not so weary, if he was not bound, he would surely hit Oceanos, knock him from this precipice and watch him fall to the rocks below.
“You know of my eagle,” Prometheus assumed.
“I have been told.”
“Then you know that you are too late. Nothing can convince Zeus to release me hence.”
“I can,” Oceanos insisted. Time had passed. Generations, Prometheus guessed, but nothing had changed.
Oceanos knelt over Prometheus, the same old song. His hands on Prometheus’s skin felt familiar still, as though it had been mere days since they’d last argued on this rock. Oceanos ran his fingers over the jagged line left by the eagle. Prometheus was nearly whole again, reformed. The eagle would return once the skin was smooth, once the itching, the healing, had ceased. Then it would begin anew. Oceanos ran his tongue along the line of the transitional scar and Prometheus shuddered with it, wished he could pull away.
“Let me go to Zeus,” Oceanos pleaded, whispered the words into Prometheus’s ear as his hand slid from Prometheus’s scar down toward his groin, encircling him with the warmth of his fingers, feeding the flames that flared within Prometheus once again. He was burning with it, just as Oceanos had promised him back at the start of this. Oceanos had kept his word. “Let me free you from this endless torment.”
“This talk is pointless,” Prometheus sighed. Was it their fate to repeat themselves here? Over and over again until the end of eternity, these same words, these same caresses?
“Let me free you,” Oceanos insisted. His fingers slid into Prometheus, pushing, testing. “Let me have you.”
Prometheus knew by now how Oceanos planned to leave him if Prometheus once again refused. Knew what came next, Prometheus bound to this place, his pride intact, yes, but his body at war, fighting for release.
And then the eagle would come again.
“Do you volunteer to take my place?” Prometheus asked. “You know that this is the only way.”
“No,” Oceanos said. “There is another. If you’ll let me - “
“The tyrant king does not lie.”
“Keep your voice low,” Oceanos hissed, and the Daughters of the Aether hissed back on the wind, displeased at Oceanos‘s tone, displeased by his return.
Oceanos would fail. Oceanos had failed. Zeus would never consent to the release of Prometheus. And Prometheus could not protect Oceanos. The wind whispered of the coming of Heracles. It whispered of the distant heir that would dethrone Zeus. One day. One day. Zeus would never consent. Let Prometheus have this temporary release instead.
“Yes,” Prometheus said, pressing deeper on Oceanos’s fingers. His breath gasped and hitched as he spoke his words. “Take me from these chains and do with me what you will.”
Oceanos paused, surprised by the words that had been spoken.
“You mean this?” Oceanos asked. His fingers worked at Prometheus with more intent than they had a moment before, confirming to Prometheus that this surrender would reward him with the release that he sought. Anything else would be in the hands of Zeus.
“Have I ever given you reason to doubt my honesty?” Prometheus asked him.
“No,” Oceanos said. “No, as long as I have known you, you have not.”
“Go then,” Prometheus said, even as he tried to lure Oceanos closer. “Persuade Zeus and take me as your own. Release me, Oceanos.”
Release, the Daughters repeated. Release, the words rang in Prometheus’s ears. Release.
Oceanos moved quickly. Done wasting time now that all this time had passed, Oceanos covered Prometheus with his body, tasted his mouth. The salt and water of Oceanos’s tongue were not forgotten by Prometheus. They were welcomed, cherished. Oceanos pushed his fingers smoothly into Prometheus, again and again as Prometheus grunted into his mouth, reveled in the friction of Oceanos moving against him. Finally Oceanos replaced fingers with phallus, hard and thick as it pierced Prometheus, as it stretched and slid within him.
The Aether gasped when Prometheus gasped, sighed when he sighed, shuddered with him. The Daughters drew closer to his prison, hands at their breasts and between their legs. Closer, closer, until their fingers, wet with arousal, reached out to press to the back of Oceanos, urging him onward, release, release.
Oceanos’s tongue plunged again into Prometheus’s mouth, plundering, ravishing, and still Prometheus needed more. His arms pulled at his chains, his body rocking with the force of Oceanos’s thrusts within him. Prometheus bit at Oceanos’s lips, his kiss harsh and rough in an attempt to spur Oceanos on, give him more, take what little Prometheus had left.
Oceanus called out Prometheus’s name as he quaked over him. His heat filled Prometheus and he shuddered against him, spent. Prometheus refused to give in, continued to move beneath Oceanos, to impale himself again, again, release, release.
“Help me,” Prometheus entreated, frustration winning out, no longer so proud that he couldn’t speak the words. He couldn’t risk turning Oceanos away from him again, to be left in this state.
“Prometheus,” Oceanos said. His voice had lost all of its edge, sounded tender and hoarse to Prometheus’s ears. Naked. He kissed Prometheus and his mouth promised things that it hadn’t before in all of the kisses that they‘d shared, things that made Prometheus twist and curl. Oceanos continued to move in Prometheus, even as he shook with it, sensitive and empty. It wouldn’t be enough.
“Help me,” Prometheus whispered the words, knew how it must sound, the surrender of a Titan, even in this small insignificant thread of the fabric.
Oceanos slid away from him and Prometheus made a sound of protest, of loss, empty and burning for release. He pulled again at his chains and Oceanos reached out to still him, a hand on his chest. His tongue traced a path across Prometheus’s hip and then his mouth found Prometheus, enveloped, wet sucking heat, and Prometheus cried out and knew it would be over soon.
And then, with Oceanos’s mouth wrapped around him, pulling pleasure from him in waves that rolled nearer and nearer the shore, Prometheus realized the truth of Oceanos. Oceanos promised Prometheus torment, but he did not have torture in his heart. His heart had been pierced not by pain, not by revenge, but by an arrow of Eros. The only thing that Oceanos could truly promise Prometheus was worship, adoration.
Oceanos sucked at Prometheus, suckled and caressed, and Prometheus felt it, the spot where his heart had been pierced as well, the place where he longed to worship in return. Once realized, Prometheus felt the release whip through him in streaks of light brighter than Zeus’s bolts. His heart exploded with it and he spilled into Oceanos’s mouth, his seed coursing over Oceanos’s tongue. Finally, finally. The release echoed through him, reverberated off the walls of his flesh, surging through him again until it too found its escape down the open throat of Oceanos. Prometheus shut his eyes tight to the heavens and felt Oceanos swallow all that he had to offer, felt his mouth hungry, searching for more.
Over now, fading, Oceanos let Prometheus fall from his lips. His hands found him again, held Prometheus tight to him, molding their bodies together as though Oceanos wished them to merge into one being.
Prometheus kept his eyes closed to the heavens and wished that Oceanos had not come.
As Prometheus could see straight into the heart of Oceanos, so would Zeus. As Prometheus saw now what lay dormant in his own heart, so would Zeus.
Zeus would feel this from Olympus, feel the way that Oceanos cradled him in love, his true motivation in all this revealed. Zeus would see the way that Prometheus licked at his skin when it was presented to him, would know that Oceanos’s proposal was laced in falsehood, that releasing Prometheus to the tortures that Oceanos proposed would be no different than bestowing his foe with the greatest of gifts.
“I will go to Zeus,” Oceanos said with conviction, his hands still gripping Prometheus to him as though he could not bear to let him go. “Zeus will give you over to me.”
“Yes,” Prometheus agreed. Oceanos would never persuade Zeus. Zeus would not bend. And if Oceanos failed, he would suffer the fate of Atlas, the fate of Prometheus.
Would his punishment be worse than that of Prometheus? Would Oceanos welcome the eagle over the fate that would sure befall him? Prometheus sucked salt from Oceanos’s shoulder, remembered the mortal Io, remembered Heracles. It had always been for Heracles to release Prometheus from this fate. It was never Oceanos. And when Oceanos failed, when Heracles fulfilled his task, Prometheus would find Oceanos, search him out, release him from the shackles Zeus would set forth. He would free Oceanos, let this lust wash over him, worship and adore. Even in Tartarus, should that be where they find their end.
Let Oceanos try. Let Zeus lash out. Let Prometheus rage, let him reciprocate.
The cry of the eagle pierced the sky and the Aether shrieked out her response. Prometheus heard the flap of the wings on the wind and he closed his eyes and felt his heart swell with the cruel emotion of blind hope as he wished for Oceanos to prevail.
Pairing: Prometheus/Oceanos
Word Count: ~4,300
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Prometheus is chained up and tortured as per the mythology. Also, consent is dubious in parts.
Summary: "Come, tell me what I can do for you. Tell me and you will never be able to say you have a friend you can rely on more than Oceanos."
The Release
Take care not to vex the heart of Zeus. This had been Prometheus’s advice to Oceanos when last they were here on this rock that bordered the sea. And who knew better than Prometheus the truth of these words? His brother Atlas, maybe. Menoetius, perhaps.
Take care not to vex the heart of the king lest you suffer the fate of your Titan brothers.
“Your misfortune will be my teacher,” Oceanos had assured him before falling away from Prometheus’s prison on his winged beast.
And here he was, returned. Oceanos stood once again before him, gazing down at the sorry state of the Titan, Prometheus.
“You have not learned the lesson,” Prometheus noted.
The Daughters of the Aether watched them from a nearby peak, huddled together like birds seeking shelter from a strong wind. Prometheus heard their cries on the air, ignored them and waited for Oceanos to speak.
“I wish you to reconsider my offer,” Oceanos said. “Let me go to Zeus on your behalf. Though truly I do not need your consent as my case would be better made without it.”
Prometheus pulled at the chains that bound his arms, pulled at rings of adamantine pierced through unyielding granite. Oceanos had learned nothing from him, had listened to nothing.
The Daughters seemed to echo his thoughts. Nothing. Nothing.
“Do not do this, friend,” Prometheus entreated him. “There is no bargain to be made here. I will not submit and Zeus will not bend.”
Oceanos knelt beside him, reached out to caress Prometheus’s face. “What do you see that you know this?” Oceanos asked, his expression open and inviting.
“I know the will of a tyrant,” Prometheus said. “I don’t need to see to know that you will fail in this.”
Oceanos started, pulled back as though ready to hit Prometheus, but Prometheus did not flinch and Oceanos fell forward once more.
“How then?” Prometheus asked.
“I will convince him that you can be punished another way. A better way. He will turn you over to me.”
He reached for Prometheus, took Prometheus’s face in his hands and pressed his mouth to Prometheus’s mouth. Prometheus tried to turn his head away, but Oceanos held him there, his hands firm as his tongue lapped at the shores of Prometheus’s lips, begging Prometheus to give in, frustrated when, stubborn, Prometheus refused.
Defeated, Oceanos subsided and Prometheus leaned back, his head pressed to the rock that held his leash. He regarded Oceanos, swallowed harsh words and said, “Then you don’t propose freedom at all.”
“It is an improvement,” Oceanus said, diplomatically. He pressed his thumb to Prometheus‘s lip, leaned in, his next words spoken so close that Prometheus could feel the words forming against his lips. “A release.”
Oceanos smiled, the curve of his mouth teasing and wicked as he stood, looked down at Prometheus and added, “Of sorts.”
Prometheus shook his head, closed his eyes to block out the sight of Oceanos. When he opened them again Oceanos was gone.
**
Oceanos appeared again some time later. Prometheus had lost count of the days, could not be sure how long it had been. He’d been dwelling on things to come, secrets told to him that had saved him from fates far worse than this, when Oceanos appeared again as though formed out of the rain that had battered at Prometheus for days.
“You have returned,” Prometheus said, then looked away. “Or do I dream you here?” He’d imagined the rain filling the sea that crashed at the shore below him, the water rising until the nymphs came to visit him upon his rock, their tails splashing in the surf as they sang.
“Do you often dream of Oceanos?”
“I dream of many things,” Prometheus said, dismissive. Was this why Oceanos was here? Had Zeus heard what Prometheus told to the mortal Io when she‘d stumbled upon him here? Had he heard Prometheus talk of Zeus’s downfall? No. Zeus would send someone else. Someone more violent, more persuasive than Oceanos. “How have you avoided this fate? How have you escaped this rock when it was your hand that aided me in this so called rebellion? Have you plotted against me from the start?”
“It pierces my heart that you could think so,” Oceanos said. The rain appeared to soak into his skin, find a home there. Each droplet stuck to his face for a moment before it disappeared so that he appeared to cry at the plight of Prometheus, so that his heart appeared to break as he said his next words. “It wounds me to see you stretched thus, tied, to see the way they watch you and laugh. I could not have wanted this for you. I do not want this for you.”
“And you would help me,” Prometheus guessed.
“In a fashion,” Oceanos agreed. He bent over Prometheus, pressed his mouth to Prometheus’s neck. Oceanos sucked the water from his skin, from his shoulder, his chest. He crouched over Prometheus like a vulture over a carcass, tasting the exposed flesh at his ribs, now hip, now thigh.
“A new sort of torture,” Prometheus said as Oceanos made a point to avoid those places where he knew Prometheus might long for such attention.
The song of the Daughters carried on the wind, there with Prometheus always, and Oceanos started, looked east. “The Aether weeps for you,” he said. “We all weep for Prometheus.”
“Not all,” Prometheus corrected.
“Not all,” he agreed and returned to his work.
Oceanos kissed Prometheus’s ankles, his sore sore wrists, then finally he stretched along the length of Prometheus, turned toward him and kissed his mouth. Prometheus opened against him, let the sea crash at his side, spill over his parted lips, a river of want and lust that cascaded down his throat, coursing straight to his loins. Oceanos‘s hand curled between Prometheus’s thighs. He found the answer he sought and he smiled, his teeth pressed sharp to soft lips.
“So at last you see how it will be then?” he asked.
“A new sort of torture,” Prometheus repeated, his voice loud over the sound of the rain and the wind. “Superior to that which has been promised for me thus far.”
“I will make you burn,” Oceanos promised, his hand working at Prometheus, igniting him.
Prometheus twisted into Oceanos‘s palm, his breath heavy as he tried to control this betrayal of body.
“Water destroys flame,” Prometheus reminded Oceanos, his words accompanied by a gasp.
Oceanos laughed and released him then, leaned back to stare up into the rain, his hands folded over his own chest. The crag was quiet but for the rush of water, the sound of Prometheus’s own breath loud and harsh in his ears. The Daughters watched, silent from afar.
“And so I will destroy you,” Oceanos concluded, the words rising up through the downfall, up toward the heavens.
**
Oceanos returned again and again. His kisses dripped onto Prometheus’s tongue, saturated his skin so that alone on his pedestal Prometheus writhed with them, with the memory, with the anticipation of the moment of Oceanos’s return.
The Daughters of the Aether watched this new torment of Prometheus, could not help. They touched one another, ignited and put out their own flames in his stead. He watched their sorrow and their pleasure and he burned.
Again and again Oceanos came and begged to intercede on the behalf of Prometheus. Again and again Prometheus refused and was left aflame. He shouted against Zeus, against Oceanos. He railed against the chains that bound him to no avail. He suspected, no, he knew, that Oceanos had gone to Zeus without his consent, that through this Oceanos would prove that there was more torture to be had in the caress of a hand than in a thousand bolts of lightening.
“Why do you return to me when nothing ever changes?” Prometheus asked with Oceanos curled around him again, pleasure coursing through him in waves that would never crash against a shore.
“Things change where you cannot see them change,” Oceanos said.
“You remain in Zeus’s favor then?”
“I am learning to navigate this new regime,” Oceanos chose his words carefully, his voice quiet. “I’m learning not to make your mistakes.”
“And I am right again and nothing has changed between us,” Prometheus concluded. “Why have you come?”
“Prometheus,” Oceanos sighed. “You’ve given hope to the humans yet you kept none for yourself.”
“What hope is there in your promises? In your plans?” Prometheus asked. “You have promised me nothing but a different vein of torture. And why, old friend? Did we not once stand together as kin, you and I? What comfort am I to find in your visitation?”
“You haven’t been listening,” Oceanos said, shook his head.
“Then speak louder,” Prometheus suggested. “Your audience is captive.”
“I can provide you comfort,” Oceanos said. “If you would only let me. Tell me what to do.”
Prometheus turned his head away. “More tricks. Is this what you do in the Hall of the Gods? Promise them pleasure, promise release, and then leave them bound and unfulfilled. Is this how you stay in the favor of Zeus? Do you leave him wanting as you leave me?”
Oceanos’s eyes flashed dark as they watched Prometheus. He would leave now. Prometheus would be alone again soon enough.
Oceanos did not leave.
He came to a different decision. Oceanos turned and straddled Prometheus, knelt over him and then bore down, taking Prometheus within him, a hand on Prometheus to guide him. Prometheus cried out at this unexpected new torture, this new momentary pleasure. He pushed up and away from his bed of stone, up and into the heat of Oceanos.
Oceanos leaned forward, his body working itself on Prometheus as he braced his hands on the rock at either side of Prometheus’s head. His eyes burned for Prometheus. His mouth fell open and Prometheus longed to feel the wet heat of it on his own, tried to push forward toward it but was stopped by adamantine, by Oceanos’s hand.
He rode Prometheus as he did the beast that bore him here and Prometheus bucked beneath him, pulled at his constraints, tried to get closer, gone so far now from the control he’d once possessed, lost long ago.
Oceanos had memorized the limits of Prometheus’s bonds, so close now that Prometheus could feel the moist touch of his breath on Prometheus’s skin, still too far to taste. Oceanos surged forward, giving Prometheus what he wished for just a moment, wet tongue sliding against his own, before Oceanos pushed himself away again, head thrown back toward the heavens, forcing Prometheus deeper within him as he moved. Prometheus groaned into it, concentrated on release. He must beat Oceanos to this summit or be left wanting once more.
Oceanos’s hands were at his own loins now, sliding, pulling, and Prometheus watched as Oceanos worked this unfair advantage. He closed his eyes, felt Oceanos hot and tight around him, pulling pleasure from him, swallowing it greedily within himself. Prometheus envisioned his chains as they broke free from the rock, the scream of the metal as it twisted and snapped. Prometheus free finally to grasp as Oceanos, turning him and thrusting back in, again and again until exhausted and thoroughly spent.
Too late he felt the heat of Oceanos on his stomach and opened his eyes to see Oceanos pulling the seed from his phallus as he shuddered and writhed over Prometheus. Not enough time, not enough, and Prometheus thrust desperately beneath him, his hips pushing up, up, but he was too late. Prometheus had lost this race.
Oceanos slid off of him and away. His fingers pressed his seed into Prometheus’s skin.
“No,“ the Daughters of the Aether whispered. “No.“ As though they knew Prometheus’s heart, knew that he was closer now than ever before to giving up everything if only he could be returned to that enveloping heat, there to find some release at last.
“You were always the best of us,” Oceanos said. Prometheus was unsure what he meant, couldn’t care to question him.
“I will not beg you,” Prometheus said, his breath heavy against the rock. “This is a test. A test that I would not fail.”
“Say that you’ll surrender yourself to me,” Oceanos insisted. “Zeus will grant me this.”
What had Oceanos done for the tyrant to be so sure? Surely not more than all that Prometheus had done and yet here he was, chained and tormented, humiliated, aflame.
“Go,” Prometheus snapped. “For I do not wish to see you here again.”
Oceanos stared down at Prometheus, at the seed of the god drying on his skin, at his phallus, proud and erect, ignored.
“Your body does not agree with your tongue,” Oceanos noted.
“Then satisfy it,” Prometheus said. “Do not tease me further. Satisfy it or go away.”
Oceanos moved toward Prometheus and for a moment Prometheus thought that Oceanos might give in. His body betrayed him again, the anticipation visible to anyone who looked on. Oceanos saw and paused, the lust easy to read on his face before he turned away and rose to his feet.
“Do not return,” Prometheus said, voice threaded with finality, and Oceanos left without another word.
**
Oceanos did not return. Now and then Prometheus heard whispering in his ear, felt fingers on his spine, turned to find himself alone. The waves crashed on the rocks far below him, the sound curling around the stones to form his name. He smelled a salt breeze and felt his body curl in on itself, traitorous, in longing. Still Oceanos did not return.
Finally, eyes closed against the glare of an afternoon sun, Prometheus sensed that he was truly not alone. He opened his eyes and squinted up at the sky. Oceanos’s name was at the tip of his tongue, but it dried there when the visitor came into focus.
His skin shone with the approval of the tyrant king, his mouth curled into the grin of a child.
“You,” his visitor said, words sour as they erupted from his throat. “The cunning one. The one who stole fire.”
Hermes, messenger of Zeus, come at last to taunt him, come to tell him of new torments, new punishments for daring to speak in a cryptic tongue of the fall of Zeus from power.
Prometheus expected this. He had been waiting.
**
The Daughters of the Aether writhed on the rocks around him. Defiant, they chose to share in his pain, in his torment, that he might not be alone in this. The thunder crackled around them, the lightening chipped at his pedestal, coursing through him. The pain electrified his limbs, burned through his heart. And then Hermes was gone, the Daughters vanished, and everything was darkness and pain. The rock pressed in around him on all sides, the smell of earth and stone filled his nostrils and choked him. Prometheus’s voice went hoarse from screaming until he opened his mouth and no sound emerged.
And then he awoke, spit out by the mountain, chained once again to its surface.
The sun shone bright on his prison, the Daughters around him, singing of his return. Over their voices he heard the flapping of wings and attempted to sit up, to catch sight of Oceanos’s beast in the sky as it approached.
The air was empty.
There was no beast, only a fierce cry on the wind.
And then the eagle came.
Every day, his claws sharp and his mouth like a knife. Prometheus, his voice returned, cried out, screamed to the heavens. He had not earned this. He did not deserve this. It was Zeus who should be chained for the crimes he had committed, for the horrors he had let pass in the name of power. Not Prometheus whose liver this eagle craved. Prometheus chanted the name of Heracles, wrote it into his mind, never letting the vowels of the word slip from his tongue to form sound.
There was no illusion of caring with the eagle, only hunger and pain and loss. He longed for Oceanos, for the promise of a hand at his groin, the taste of that tongue. How stupid Oceanos had been to think there was no torture worse than that.
The eagle pulled at his flesh and Prometheus opened his eyes and saw Oceanos, standing over him, his face passive as he watched the eagle feast on his mark.
“Oceanos,” Prometheus whispered.
The eagle cocked its great head. Oceanos was not there. They were alone.
**
The next time that he opened his eyes to see Oceanos standing before him, the sun was just rising over the horizon. The eagle was gone.
“I dream of you again,” Prometheus said, turned his head away, weary.
“Not this time,” Oceanos replied, his brow furrowed in concern.
“Then you are late,” Prometheus said. He knew how he must look. What a pitiable sight he must be.
“I thought that you no longer wished to see me,” came Oceanos’s reply. If Prometheus was not so weary, if he was not bound, he would surely hit Oceanos, knock him from this precipice and watch him fall to the rocks below.
“You know of my eagle,” Prometheus assumed.
“I have been told.”
“Then you know that you are too late. Nothing can convince Zeus to release me hence.”
“I can,” Oceanos insisted. Time had passed. Generations, Prometheus guessed, but nothing had changed.
Oceanos knelt over Prometheus, the same old song. His hands on Prometheus’s skin felt familiar still, as though it had been mere days since they’d last argued on this rock. Oceanos ran his fingers over the jagged line left by the eagle. Prometheus was nearly whole again, reformed. The eagle would return once the skin was smooth, once the itching, the healing, had ceased. Then it would begin anew. Oceanos ran his tongue along the line of the transitional scar and Prometheus shuddered with it, wished he could pull away.
“Let me go to Zeus,” Oceanos pleaded, whispered the words into Prometheus’s ear as his hand slid from Prometheus’s scar down toward his groin, encircling him with the warmth of his fingers, feeding the flames that flared within Prometheus once again. He was burning with it, just as Oceanos had promised him back at the start of this. Oceanos had kept his word. “Let me free you from this endless torment.”
“This talk is pointless,” Prometheus sighed. Was it their fate to repeat themselves here? Over and over again until the end of eternity, these same words, these same caresses?
“Let me free you,” Oceanos insisted. His fingers slid into Prometheus, pushing, testing. “Let me have you.”
Prometheus knew by now how Oceanos planned to leave him if Prometheus once again refused. Knew what came next, Prometheus bound to this place, his pride intact, yes, but his body at war, fighting for release.
And then the eagle would come again.
“Do you volunteer to take my place?” Prometheus asked. “You know that this is the only way.”
“No,” Oceanos said. “There is another. If you’ll let me - “
“The tyrant king does not lie.”
“Keep your voice low,” Oceanos hissed, and the Daughters of the Aether hissed back on the wind, displeased at Oceanos‘s tone, displeased by his return.
Oceanos would fail. Oceanos had failed. Zeus would never consent to the release of Prometheus. And Prometheus could not protect Oceanos. The wind whispered of the coming of Heracles. It whispered of the distant heir that would dethrone Zeus. One day. One day. Zeus would never consent. Let Prometheus have this temporary release instead.
“Yes,” Prometheus said, pressing deeper on Oceanos’s fingers. His breath gasped and hitched as he spoke his words. “Take me from these chains and do with me what you will.”
Oceanos paused, surprised by the words that had been spoken.
“You mean this?” Oceanos asked. His fingers worked at Prometheus with more intent than they had a moment before, confirming to Prometheus that this surrender would reward him with the release that he sought. Anything else would be in the hands of Zeus.
“Have I ever given you reason to doubt my honesty?” Prometheus asked him.
“No,” Oceanos said. “No, as long as I have known you, you have not.”
“Go then,” Prometheus said, even as he tried to lure Oceanos closer. “Persuade Zeus and take me as your own. Release me, Oceanos.”
Release, the Daughters repeated. Release, the words rang in Prometheus’s ears. Release.
Oceanos moved quickly. Done wasting time now that all this time had passed, Oceanos covered Prometheus with his body, tasted his mouth. The salt and water of Oceanos’s tongue were not forgotten by Prometheus. They were welcomed, cherished. Oceanos pushed his fingers smoothly into Prometheus, again and again as Prometheus grunted into his mouth, reveled in the friction of Oceanos moving against him. Finally Oceanos replaced fingers with phallus, hard and thick as it pierced Prometheus, as it stretched and slid within him.
The Aether gasped when Prometheus gasped, sighed when he sighed, shuddered with him. The Daughters drew closer to his prison, hands at their breasts and between their legs. Closer, closer, until their fingers, wet with arousal, reached out to press to the back of Oceanos, urging him onward, release, release.
Oceanos’s tongue plunged again into Prometheus’s mouth, plundering, ravishing, and still Prometheus needed more. His arms pulled at his chains, his body rocking with the force of Oceanos’s thrusts within him. Prometheus bit at Oceanos’s lips, his kiss harsh and rough in an attempt to spur Oceanos on, give him more, take what little Prometheus had left.
Oceanus called out Prometheus’s name as he quaked over him. His heat filled Prometheus and he shuddered against him, spent. Prometheus refused to give in, continued to move beneath Oceanos, to impale himself again, again, release, release.
“Help me,” Prometheus entreated, frustration winning out, no longer so proud that he couldn’t speak the words. He couldn’t risk turning Oceanos away from him again, to be left in this state.
“Prometheus,” Oceanos said. His voice had lost all of its edge, sounded tender and hoarse to Prometheus’s ears. Naked. He kissed Prometheus and his mouth promised things that it hadn’t before in all of the kisses that they‘d shared, things that made Prometheus twist and curl. Oceanos continued to move in Prometheus, even as he shook with it, sensitive and empty. It wouldn’t be enough.
“Help me,” Prometheus whispered the words, knew how it must sound, the surrender of a Titan, even in this small insignificant thread of the fabric.
Oceanos slid away from him and Prometheus made a sound of protest, of loss, empty and burning for release. He pulled again at his chains and Oceanos reached out to still him, a hand on his chest. His tongue traced a path across Prometheus’s hip and then his mouth found Prometheus, enveloped, wet sucking heat, and Prometheus cried out and knew it would be over soon.
And then, with Oceanos’s mouth wrapped around him, pulling pleasure from him in waves that rolled nearer and nearer the shore, Prometheus realized the truth of Oceanos. Oceanos promised Prometheus torment, but he did not have torture in his heart. His heart had been pierced not by pain, not by revenge, but by an arrow of Eros. The only thing that Oceanos could truly promise Prometheus was worship, adoration.
Oceanos sucked at Prometheus, suckled and caressed, and Prometheus felt it, the spot where his heart had been pierced as well, the place where he longed to worship in return. Once realized, Prometheus felt the release whip through him in streaks of light brighter than Zeus’s bolts. His heart exploded with it and he spilled into Oceanos’s mouth, his seed coursing over Oceanos’s tongue. Finally, finally. The release echoed through him, reverberated off the walls of his flesh, surging through him again until it too found its escape down the open throat of Oceanos. Prometheus shut his eyes tight to the heavens and felt Oceanos swallow all that he had to offer, felt his mouth hungry, searching for more.
Over now, fading, Oceanos let Prometheus fall from his lips. His hands found him again, held Prometheus tight to him, molding their bodies together as though Oceanos wished them to merge into one being.
Prometheus kept his eyes closed to the heavens and wished that Oceanos had not come.
As Prometheus could see straight into the heart of Oceanos, so would Zeus. As Prometheus saw now what lay dormant in his own heart, so would Zeus.
Zeus would feel this from Olympus, feel the way that Oceanos cradled him in love, his true motivation in all this revealed. Zeus would see the way that Prometheus licked at his skin when it was presented to him, would know that Oceanos’s proposal was laced in falsehood, that releasing Prometheus to the tortures that Oceanos proposed would be no different than bestowing his foe with the greatest of gifts.
“I will go to Zeus,” Oceanos said with conviction, his hands still gripping Prometheus to him as though he could not bear to let him go. “Zeus will give you over to me.”
“Yes,” Prometheus agreed. Oceanos would never persuade Zeus. Zeus would not bend. And if Oceanos failed, he would suffer the fate of Atlas, the fate of Prometheus.
Would his punishment be worse than that of Prometheus? Would Oceanos welcome the eagle over the fate that would sure befall him? Prometheus sucked salt from Oceanos’s shoulder, remembered the mortal Io, remembered Heracles. It had always been for Heracles to release Prometheus from this fate. It was never Oceanos. And when Oceanos failed, when Heracles fulfilled his task, Prometheus would find Oceanos, search him out, release him from the shackles Zeus would set forth. He would free Oceanos, let this lust wash over him, worship and adore. Even in Tartarus, should that be where they find their end.
Let Oceanos try. Let Zeus lash out. Let Prometheus rage, let him reciprocate.
The cry of the eagle pierced the sky and the Aether shrieked out her response. Prometheus heard the flap of the wings on the wind and he closed his eyes and felt his heart swell with the cruel emotion of blind hope as he wished for Oceanos to prevail.
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...
I...
This...
*flails incoherently* I do not have words good enough to describe how epically awesome this is and how far beyond my expectations it went! *_* (And my expectations were pretty damned high, for the record.)
“You haven’t been listening,” Oceanos said, shook his head.
“Then speak louder,” Prometheus suggested. “Your audience is captive.”
*snerts* I do love that snarky tone. :D
Also, loved your use of the Daughters of the Aether. *_* Ethereal, just like their name, but a chorus of accompaniment to Prometheus' torment and joys, just the same. I love how he's aware of what they're doing, even when he can't see them. (And naughty, naughty Daughters... ;D)
And oh... oh, the end. *_* *_* *_* So. Ridiculously. Sweet. Lovely. WonderfulTragicBeautiful. OMG. And I love that Prometheus is plotting revenge before it's even happened. You give over to love quickly once you know it's there, eh? And of course, one is forced to wonder if this entire situation is but one more planned torture by Zeus -- after all, what greater pain is there than being forced to watch that of a loved one? *arches an eyebrow*
THIS WAS FANTABULOUS AND I WANT A HAPPILY EVER AFTER FIC!!
(Even though I'm sure I won't get one... but I want one. Just saying.)
Thank you sosososososososo much for this! *_* You are the awesomest. ^_^
...
(OK, I think I'm done, now...)
Edit: And did I mention how ridiculously hot the sex was? I should mention that. *_* *_* You know what? I think I'm going to stop editing this comment and just go read the whole thing, again. ^__________________^
OK, I was wrong -- one last thing (for now). I love how that very first set of paragraphs almost serves as foreshadowing, with Oceanus promising to let Prometheus' fate be his teacher, that he won't make the same mistakes... and yet in the end, he makes the exact same one. By feeling sympathy for one who Zeus abhors and seeking to relieve him of pain, he guarantees that he will suffer the same fate as Prometheus did when he felt sympathy for mankind and sought to ease their pain. Very nice touch. ^_^
I was wrong, again! O_O;;; I also love the way you made use of Oceanos' powers throughout the whole story, comparing him to the waves, the whole water extinguishing fire bit and not to mention the rain absorbing into him. *flails* OMG, love. *_*
I need to stop or this will be longer than the fic, but I KEEP FINDING THINGS TO FLAIL AT.
Each droplet stuck to his face for a moment before it disappeared so that he appeared to cry at the plight of Prometheus, so that his heart appeared to break as he said his next words.
Ummm... No. Prometheus... I think his heart is breaking there, actually. Just... you know... so you know. ^_~
“Prometheus,” Oceanos sighed. “You’ve given hope to the humans yet you kept none for yourself.”
This reminds me of one of my favorite set of lines in the actual play:
Your wits are scattered by this untoward despair.
They wander. Like some bad physician taken sick,
You fall into despondency and cannot tell
What kind of remedy might make you whole again.
I am OBSESSED with that verse and this little segment just brought it to life for me. *_* I love the implication within it that Prometheus could free himself if he could only bring his formidable mind to bear on the problem.
I really need to leave this comment alone, now. O_o;;; Really. Your Inbox is probably flooded with "Edited reply to..." e-mails by now. :-P
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But yes! I'm thrilled that you liked it and that it exceeded your expectations, whatever they may have been! I sort of feel intimated responding to this feedback, geesh. It really is almost as long as the story!
Um, ok, let's see. I totally did not intend to go all mushy at the end of this! Oops. Apparently I kind of fail at jerky sex slave stories? It really wasn't going to be a love story when I plotted it in my head (I mean, what little plot there is)!
I had fun with the Oceanos water imagery, so I'm glad you liked that! And the Daughters of the Aether. I figured they deserved to have a little fun too. ;)
Oooh, that passage from the play is great. I need to go back and read the whole thing now. I only read the chunks that seemed relevant while writing. (although actually, the translation you got from the libs must be different than the free e-text version cause i just did a search for that passage and it's not popping up)
Thanks so much for the crazy fantastic feedback!!!! (and yes, I did ignore the bit about a sequel on purpose :P )
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Yeah... I had actually thought of like 2 other things I wanted to say, but I made myself stop because it was getting ridiculous and now I don't remember what they were. -.-;;; BUT THIS WAS SO GOOD AND I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF! Also, it was late and I was tired and that tends to make me giddy and talkative, so... Well. Yeah. (And tonight is no better, because I have had rum cake. A lot of rum cake. And my mom's rum cake is... well... very rummy. *_* So, this has the potential to be interesting.)
(And if you feel intimidated, then that's only fair, because after reading this I'm intimidated. I CAN NOT WRITE SEX THIS GOOD EVER. EVER, dude. O_O;;;)
*laughs* You have to love when a story has its own ideas of where it wants to go and it doesn't tell you until you get to the end and go, "Wait, dude, what? How the hell did we get here? I thought we were going there!" ^_^ And what's really funny... those usually turn out to be the best stories -- like "couldn't have plotted that out better if I'd meant it" kind of good. And it was jerky sex slave story for at least half the plot. OK, maybe a third. Either way. ^_^
Re: water imagery: It shows! ^_^ That was a really lovely, poetic thread throughout. And the Daughters... oh, the Daughters... *chuckles* There was a moment when I read how they were touching Oceanos' back to urge him on when I could almost picture the outtake: Oceanos whipping around and glaring, "Girls. Please. I got this. I don't need your help. Go. Away." XD
It's one of my favorite sets of lines. The funny thing is that this translation wasn't the one I was looking for -- the card catalog lied. And I was initially disappointed when I realized that it was the wrong one, but maaaaaaaaaan... I am now in love with it. It reads so easily you don't even realize that it's poetry. Much nicer than the one they're selling at Barnes and Noble. *nodnod* *looks up the translator* Translator: Warren D. Anderson; copyright 1963. And that set of lines is like... right after Oceanos leaves, I think. Lines 472-475. (The line numbers should be the same even if the translation is different.) It's halfway through the speech Prometheus gives expounding on the gifts he gave man and he completely ignores the Daughters when they say it. It's kind of... poignant.
*coughs* Like I said... obsessed. And yes, you should read the whole thing! The play is just... it's just... you need to read it. *nodnod* I am kind of obsessed with Aeschylus now and plan to go find other things he wrote, preferably translated by the same guy if I can find them. ^_^
No problem! I figured since I was likely the only feedback you were going to get, I'd better make it good. ;D Plus, it really was deserving of it. And you were all worried about the ancient Greek formality and stuff. *scoffs* Silly. You did great! (And yes, I totally did notice you ignoring that. But a girl can hope, can't she? *bats eyelashes*)
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Wait, the card catalog? Did you use an actual physical card catalog? Those still exist?
Ah, the translation I found online is Smyth 1926 or something.
Here's how it translates that bit:
"You have suffered sorrow and humiliation. You have lost your wits and have gone astray; and, like an unskilled doctor, fallen ill, you lose heart and cannot discover by which remedies to cure your own disease."
(also, apparently most academics now agree that Aeschylus didn't actually write Prometheus Bound and attribute it to an unknown playwright, just so you know. Dunno if that ruins your Aeschylus reading plans or not!)
And shut up, I bet you can.
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:-P No. Online card catalog. Still. It lied. The one it said was there wasn't and this one was. Honestly, though, as stated... I'm not entirely disappointed by that. ^_^
Yeah. The B&N translation reads similar. Mine is prettier. ^_^ More poetic.
(Aw, duuuuuuuuuuuude. Suck. I guess I'll have to judge that for myself, then -- whether his other plays are worth reading. ^_^ I'm kind of back on a massive Greek mythology kick for some reason... ;) Can't imagine why... And he basically writes all in that genre, so even if he didn't write PB, his other works are probably still worth reading. ^_^)
Dude. No, I can't. O_O
...Yet. ;)
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