Billy Travers could tell you the exact number of buff warriors that comprised the Sacred Band of Thebes, but when it came to the important stuff (such as remembering to pick up his now ex boyfriend’s laundry) he was utterly hopeless.
Which
is why Billy found himself in the stuffy archives of the History Museum at 9:34 PM
on a Friday night, 237 thesis pages deep, and one boyfriend short.
The
archives, pungent with the smell of old books, hosted a ‘private collection’ of
various classical oddities—mostly pre-Colombian, meso-American ceramics, Bronze
age tools, and several Greek marbles on loan from overseas. Here, Billy toiled away
on his thesis, trying to forget his failures.
Trying to forget James...
Busts
and statues of men who had accomplished more in their lifetimes before hitting
their twenties (Billy was pushing twenty-seven) stared down at the grad student
in cold analysis, as he re-read the most recent text on his shattered phone
screen.
Hopefully you’ll AT LEAST remember to pick up your KEYS…plus all
these boxes of weird, hentai comics…seriously, this shit is gross.
“Ugh,”
Billy grumbled, scratching his hair under his Peach-emoji baseball cap. “It’s
called bara and yaoi, James. Get it right.”
A
nerd trapped in a jock's body, Billy put the word ‘buff’ in
history buff, though he didn’t consider himself anything special. He devoured
peanut butter protein shakes as much as he devoured ancient Greek poetry. He
could squat half the contents of one bookshelf of the Library of Alexandria (a
loss he was still upset about). And, while he didn’t yet resemble the
chiselled, marble heroes on the plinths lining the museum walls, Billy felt
like he could pass for a slightly shorter, doughier version of Perseus. Bulk
cycles were tough, and Billy had been on one for the last five years. If
anything, Billy was as pale as those cold statues—by way of his Celtic
heritage, though his jet-black, buzzed hair was nothing like the luscious,
curly locks of a Homeric hero.
Alone,
and feeling thoroughly unheroic, Billy stared blankly at the his
decade-old laptop, stickered over with anime musclemen, and some
anthropomorphic muscle bears, wolves, and bulls for good measure. Part of this
master’s internship meant archival work, a mostly tedious process of inputting
data into spreadsheets. To their credit, the museum directors provided a flexible
schedule. As long as Billy hit his weekly hours, he was as good as gold.
Naturally,
he’d managed to fuck that up too, which is why he was now pulling a
Friday all-nighter, with a dissertation due in less than a month.
It
was still better than marinating in misery and failure, Billy decided, shoving
another handful of potato chips into his mouth. The museum was big on providing
complimentary snacks—one of the best perks of the gig.
Over
the last half hour of Billy’s life, a blinking cursor marked the opening paragraph
of a chapter on same-sex love during the Han dynasty. The rest of the text
refused to reveal itself to Billy’s caffeine-addled, emotionally exhausted
brain. How could he possibly think to write about love when he was so bad at
it himself. This was Billy’s second breakup of the year…and it was still March!
Billy's eyes fell upon a certain statue in his sightline, an impressively detailed—kind
of sexy—carving of winged Eros, the Greek god of desire, and patron
deity of all things gay. It was He, after all, who put the ‘ero’ in homoerotic.
When Billy had first stumbled upon this dusty corner of the archive, he’d
considered the statue a sign of good fortune. Now, Eros’ mischievous lips,
curled in a frozen smile, seemed only to mock him.
This is hopeless! Billy pounded his fist against the table and
glared daggers at a statue of a playful satyr (and the satyr’s bulbous,
lovingly rendered erection). And worse, I’m horny as hell. No boyfriend. No
progress. No future.
Billy turned his wrath towards the god he
blamed the most. “You stupid twink! If you weren’t…like…a rare artefact, I’d totally smash you to bits.” Thus
spoken, Billy grabbed a can of the neon-colored, protein-fuelled energy drink
he’d been chugging and took a long, angry swig.
“Sounds to me like you just want to smash.”
Billy nearly jumped out of his skin. “Who said
that?” Great, now the archive was haunted. Or worse, he was about to be burgled.
So much for that new security guard who was supposed to be starting tonight...
Knuckles tighten, Billy addressed what he hoped was just a hallucination. “I…warn you, I was on my high school’s
wrestling team!” Spent most of my time watching the team captain when we
were changing in the locker room...but still!
A concussive shockwave ripped through the
archive, and the scream of shattering marble nearly knocked Billy out of his
chair and out of his skin.
“Yeah? Totally invented that sport, you angsty, pass-around, muscle bottom.”
"Vers!" As Billy tried to stop his heart from
exploding, the shapely silhouette of a young Mediterranean man emerged from the
plume of dust in the broken statue’s wake. He was an otherworldly hunk, with
the body and face the likes of which Billy had only seen in the most
exquisite, Eastern European porn. Flawless skin, curly, golden hair, and
eyes so green they almost glowed. The smile of an angel and the body of
a devil.
No, not a devil, a god. A god of ‘love’
to be exact.
He was also a whole lot beefier than Billy
expected—not that he was complaining. The naked man—uncut, and of a modest
length—disapprovingly folded his arms over his pillowy pectorals. “Heard you
talking shit, bitch.”
He spoke English in a vaguely, modern Greek
accent (which left Billy with a whole host of questions) but the himbo
historian mostly decided he was experiencing a nervous breakdown.
“You…you just destroyed a priceless work of
art,” Billy stammered. No future, and now no job!
The naked man—young, but not uncomfortably young—resembled his statue right down to its carved abdominals and sinewy muscles. He scoffed. “Bitch, I AM that priceless work of art. Feast your eyes, mortal, on the very incarnation of sensual perfection."
The god struck a godly pose. Suddenly, Billy was no longer afraid, but hardcore horny...to a mouth-watering degree.
Nearly sparkling, the delicious twunk flashed Billy a flirty smile. "Like what you see? Well, you SHOULD! Because I am Eros, God of Desire, or Cupid if you’re nasty…or Roman. Or nasty and Roman. Per my profile I am married–open. Bisexual. Vers-Top. Looking. 6,047 years old but not a daddy."
Billy blinked. This wasn't happening. “I’m…Billy.” He shook his head
and looked down at the can still clutched between his fingers. Damn, bro,
when did they start putting ayahuasca in these energy drinks?
“Ohhhh, this is a cute look,” Eros—actual
Eros—said, waving a finger in Billy’s general direction, specifically at Billy's cut-off jersey and comfy workout shorts. “Is this what the boys
are wearing these days?” The god closed his eyes briefly, wet
his finger with his peony lips, and stuck it in the air. “Wait. Wait. I’m
getting the vibe. I’m getting a download. Okay, got it. Let’s do fashion!”
SNAP!
The snap of Eros’s fingers caused Billy to
flinch, and next thing he knew, the god of love was wearing a pink crop-top
that read ‘Your Dad’s Shirt’, coupled with red booty shorts and a winged pair
of sneakers. To compliment his new ‘look’, he had somehow transfigured the
tattoo of an arrow piercing a heart onto his left bicep.
“It’s giving Hermes,” Eros mumbled, twisting
his ankle to the side to examine his newfound footwear. “And I do not
mean the fashion house.”
Billy’s head spun. “I…need to sit down.”
“You’re already sitting down,” Eros said with a
friendly grin, friendly enough that Billy no longer felt like he was about to have his organs ripped out of his chest for bad mouthing a Greek deity. The god scurried over to the desk and leaned over, either
inadvertently or deliberately pressing his perky chest onto Billy’s head as he
examined the history major’s laptop and phone.
“I see someone's been burning the midnight
oil.” Eros picked up Billy’s phone, without asking, and glanced at the screen.
“Oooh, what’s this? Ugh, dump him.”
“He dumped me first, and I had it coming. HEY,
THAT’S MY PHONE.” Billy went to snatch it from the prying god’s hands, but
instead found his head wedged between the deity’s armpit and chest in a
headlock as Eros turned the phone camera to face them. “D-d-damn, you’re
jacked!” And your pit smells so good!
“I get it from my dad.” The god of love
flirtatiously stuck out his tongue. “Selfie!” And, after the ensuing
camera click, began narrating his texting. “#GodOfLove #NewFriends #InstaGay.”
Billy didn’t even care anymore that a mythic
being had stolen his phone (and social media). “Oh man, this has gotta’ be a
weird dream!”
Eros rebuffed the remark. He slid his finger
across the phone, either scrutinizing Billy’s naughty uploads or—worse—swiping
at his dating app profiles. “Dream-come-TRUE, maybe. Damn, you really burnt through
every stud I’ve thrown at you. I’m almost impressed! You’re a difficult
client, you know that?”
So, it was your fault! Billy bit his lip to curtail his accusations. He knew enough of Greek mythology. Those who clapped back at the gods tended to get a thunderclap back of lighting to the face. Or got turned into a flower. It was kind of a toss up with that pantheon.
Thankfully, Eros was the kind of god perfectly
content with a one-sided conversation. Bored with Billy’s phone, he flitted his
hands towards the computer. “I assume this sad, little diatribe is yours? Sweet
Zeus, you’re almost bad at getting to the point as Plato–now there was a
hunk. You know Plato wasn’t even his real name, right? It was his wrestling
nickname. Literally meant ‘big pecs.”
Billy’s denial at the present state of events
turned to existential panic. ‘Gods’ existed, for starters—and then there was the
problematic pile of dust and broken marble where said god had once stood in
immortal repose. “Where’s that new security guard?” Billy panicked. “I’m so
fucking screwed…”
Either Eros hadn’t heard him, or didn’t care, preferring to prattle along. “And believe me, Big Bill, that philosophical hunk had some serious daddy jugs. Not really a fan of his whole Platonic ideal thing–tried convincing him it was bad for business–but we can’t win ‘em all. Anyways, onto your punishment!"
It took Billy a second to realize the god of love had centered his attention back onto him. "P-P-PUNISHMENT!?" Billy stammered.
"Duhh! What kind of self-respecting god would I be if I didn't punish you for HUBRIS! Y'know, since
you seem to be pinning all your relationship problems on little, pretty, perfect, me…”
Billy did not appreciate that
‘playful’ look in his eyes. Billy was confident enough in his physique that he
could strongarm the average, street-heckler, but this was a god.
Grovelling was the only way out of this mess.
“I’m…sorry! Don’t smite me, please.” Not
that I have a hell of a lot to live for…
Fortunately, Eros only rolled his eyes.
“Please, himbo, you seem to know your lore. When did I ever smite anyone? I
prefer to drive people to madness and unbridled desire when they piss me off.
So, you’re lucky you’re cute, Billy-blue-eyes, because I have something fun in
mind for you.”
“Haven’t you already tortured me enough?” Billy
boldly asked. The caffeine from that energy drink appeared to be fast-tracking
all his stages of disbelief. Forget the dissertation, the broken statue, or the
recent dumping—an immortal being with vast knowledge of the universe (maybe)
now stood before him! Billy wanted to ask him everything. Mostly, though, he
wanted to ask him out.
If Eros was insulted, he didn’t show it. He
simply chuckled sweetly at the jab. “Tortured? Oh honey. I sent you stud after
stud—and believe me, you’ve been punching way above your weight,
Hercules. You’ve somehow managed to fumble the bag every single time! I can’t
help it if you fall in love every three seconds before you even know
what you’re getting into. OH WAIT, maybe I can.”
Damn, he must have gotten cranky inside that
statue. “Hey, I am NOT the
problem in my relationships.”
Eros looked at Billy like they both knew that
wasn’t true and waited for him to correct himself.
Which he did. “Okay, maybe I’m sometimes the
problem.” Billy jerked his thumb towards his laptop. “But I’ve just spent the
last semester reading about all the homos who came before me, throughout the
eons, and I promise you, o’ golden-haired one, that I am not nearly as
dramatic as some of these ancient queens. At least I didn’t start a war over
some dumb twink or chuck my boyfriend off an Egyptian barge!”
“Hey, that’s no way to talk about my friend
Hadrian–he had a lot of big feelings! Big walls too." Eros sighed. "Seems to me, fairest
William, that you have a serious case of projection.”
“It’s actually just Billy,” Billy sighed,
briefly removing his cap to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Mom really digs
Billy Ido-.”
Eros
hadn’t heard him. “Typical mortal. Blame it on the god. Tell you what, let’s
turn your punishment into a game. If you win, I will not only admit to perhaps
slinging more arrows at you than the average Joe–and I can’t help it, that juicy butt
of yours has a lot of surface area–I will also bestow upon you a reward. A
chance at redemption. A chance at…true love.”
Deals with deities seldom ended happily for
mortals, but Billy felt his heart tugging him towards the proposal. “Love? Bro,
I’ve given up on that. Besides, take a good, hard look at the world today. How
long have you been in that damn statue? Because, if you’re supposed to be ‘love
incarnate’, then you’ve been sleeping on the job.”
Billy paused, swallowed, and caught his breath,
not realizing that he had balled his hands up into fists. “We needed you
a long, long time ago.”
Billy suspected a callous, flippant god such as
Eros would dismiss the accusations. Instead, he watched the deity’s lovely eyes
waver and gloss. The being that spoke softly to Billy, finally, truly,
sounded older than he appeared.
“I am the child of Love and War; my very
existence is a contradiction. Am I not so different than you mortals?” He
gestured to the artefacts living the archive shelves—the ceramics with their
engravings of great lovers, as well as the tips of spearheads. “The history of
human kind is nothing more than a dance of destruction and desire. Now, I offer
you the chance to see it all for yourself. Who knows? Maybe that thick head of
yours will learn something.”
“Learn what? What are you suggesting?
The beautiful god tilted his beautiful head
towards Billy’s laptop. “Want to finish that silly little dissertation of
yours, schoolboy? I got some real field research for you. Behold.”
Either a slight of hand, or an authentic
conjuration, produced a curious piece of jewelry threaded between Eros’s creamy
fingers. It was a chain necklace, not unlike the sort that Billy’s friends from
the S&M scene liked wearing out to clubs—only this one’s padlock was in the
lovely shape of a heart.
Wary, but interested, Billy took the necklace
from his surprise guest’s hands. “Aw, cute accessory. Kinda’ kinky too.”
“It's for bad boys like you,” Eros sidled alongside Billy. "Bad boys who need to be punished." It was only after the god placed his hand slowly, tenderly, deliberately, on
the base of Billy's neck—beneath his t-shirt collar—that Billy understood he
couldn’t move now, even if he wanted to. It was the same sensation he’d
experienced during his first kiss, a total, rapturous paralysis. This,
from only slightest touch of the god of love.
“Let me tell you a bedtime story about this
necklace…” Eros removed the chain-and-lock from Billy’s hands and draped it
across his neck, though he did not press the bolt down to fasten it. “When my…mostly
misunderstood grandfather, Chronos, was cut down by the gods, his dominance
over time itself died with him. Time flowed normally. People aged and died. His
death also bore my mother, bringing love into the world, so I GUESS he
was good for something. The Olympians melted down his scythe and fashioned
weapons and wonders from its power. This little item in my hands belonged to my
mama, but I thought it looked better on me, so I stole it from her.”
Eros slid his hand around Billy’s face and
pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh. Don’t tell.”
Billy felt his cock twitch and instantly grow
harder. Eros’s breath on his back brought back the caress of every lover that
had laid next to him, and all the lovers yet to come.
Mercifully, Eros finished his story, but still
he held the chain tightly to Billy’s neck. “It allows its wearer the ability to
travel into the past, and any potential futures, based on their point of
temporal origin. Furthermore, you will understand all tongues spoken to you, and you will be
understood as well.” He cleared his throat. “Also, don’t worry about bringing
chlamydia back into the past or anything like that. I’ve got that part
covered.”
"I just got tested last week, anyway." At last, Billy found his breath. “That’s…that’s some
serious sci-fi, bro. T-time travel? Really?”
“Look, you don’t get this much exposition from
most porn, so let’s maybe count your blessings, stud-pudding. As I am this
necklace’s key holder, you–my little, naughty pup–will go wherever I
send you, across time and space. The game we play is simple: hook up with seven
of history’s hunkiest…”
Billy’s eyes widened at the word. “Wh-wha?”
“Hungest.”
Billy swallowed, feeling his erection engorge.
“HUH?”
“Horniest.”
Now, he was leaking. “Y-Y-YEAH!?”
“Heroes. Learn a thing or two from those across
the ages who also questioned their place in the grand tapestry of love.
All I require is that you be my messenger and aid them with their love woes.”
It was everything Billy could want. He had
never been good at love, but when it came to giving advice—and giving
head—he was king. “So…like…tea with Oscar Wilde and then back shots with Oscar
Wilde?”
Eros grinned. “No celebs, sorry. Also, I have
it on strict authority that Oscar was a top. Look, I can’t trust you not to
influence the flow of history. Besides, famous faces are always a
let-down—except mine of course. No, the real movers and shakers are always the
unknowns; the heroes behind the scenes that time forgot.
“And don’t worry, kid—I won’t leave you
stranded on the Titanic or anything like that. You already survived one plague, so don't worry out ending up somewhere
like England during the Black Death either. I’m not a total bitch. Sound
good?”
Billy looked around the room, at the remnants
of history. “I mean…is it safe to just leave my laptop here?”
Eros blinked. “That’s your concern? Ugh.
Presuming you do survive I’ll send you back here at the exact point in time
that you left—once you’ve completed your seventh labor of love. Now…all you
must do is consent. Do you consent?” Eros dangled the chain, temptingly.
What did he have to lose? Billy took a deep
breath, giving in to his worse judgment. “Well, since this is probably all
just a stress-dream I’m having…yes, sir!”
Click.
“Hmm.” Eros gave Billy a hungry, flirtatious
look, and patted him gently on the cheek. “It’s decided.”
Perhaps it was the cocktail of hormones the god
of desire had fed him, but Billy was feeling brave. He did his best to turn on
the charm. “And do I get to have fun with you if I win?"
“HA!” Well, that answered that question.
“Oh hon, I am wayyyyy too much god for you. Your balls and g-spot would literally
explode.” With a wink, Eros held his fingers up for Billy to see. “Seven eras.
Seven hunks. The times I’ve selected aren’t too, too perilous mind you,
but just dangerous enough to keep it...interesting.”
Billy nodded, suddenly bursting with
excitement. “You’re on. Wait, can I at least bring snacks?” He glanced towards
his little, black backpack with its embroidered bear-paw patch (Billy wasn’t a
bear, per se, but he was working on it).
“Eh.” Eros shrugged, permitting Billy his bag
of treats. “Just don’t leave any condom wrappers behind to confuse the fuck out
of archaeologists."
Billy tossed all the desk drawer’s power bars,
chips, and drinks he could fit into the satchel, zipped it up, and slunk the
backpack over his beefy shoulders. “No worries–I’m on PreP!”
“Attaboy.” Eros stepped forward, admiring the
chain around Billy’s neck. He flicked it. “That looks very sexy on you, I must say.”
And, before Billy could respond with gratitude, the god of lust grabbed the
chain and yanked it forward, forcing a gasp from his captive, and placing his
face dangerous close to his.
“Now…I own your bitch ass,” the god
growled. “Good luck. Make sure you remember to boil your water in the
past–believe me you do NOT want to catch dysentery, especially if you’re
bottoming. Oh, and try not to die.”
Buyer’s remorse’ kicked in…badly. Billy shook
his head. What was he doing? This was insane! Billy went to open his mouth to
protest…
…but found the lips of the god of love pressed against him. Eros kissed him, wet, soft, and passionately. It felt halfway between being electrocuted, and half taking a hit of pure ecstasy injected directly into his veins (which, the author wishes to note, is not how ecstasy works, but that’s how Billy felt).
Every endorphin released at once. Billy’s head spun, as did the room
as did the world
as did time itself…
No comments:
Post a Comment