Monster Anthology [MxM]

Ravenous Hunger

CONTENT WARNING: toys, knots, sex with a non-humanoid

Greece, 1353 BCE

His father slammed a fist on the heavy wooden table of their home. The rafters shook, releasing dust and dirt, as his father roared, "You'll marry that girl, and you'll do it with a smile!"

That girl, as he so eloquently put it, stood beside her own father near the door. The waif of a girl—hardly more than fifteen—did not look him in the eyes and stared down at her sandals in a feeble attempt to hide her trembling. Her father stood with arms crossed over his broad chest, his draping, fancy tunic and cloak a stark contrast to his family's attire.

Smithing may have been a needed profession, but it wasn't lucrative; hardly any in the small valley could pay for the blacksmith to fix or make items. It boiled down to barter, and that left no coin for frivolous things like fancy clothes or sandals.

Swallowing back his emotions, Chares straightened his spine and glared down at his father, lifting his chin.

"It's my life, and I can do what I please with it! I don't wish to marry her, and I don't want to be a blacksmith!" Chares declared, not for the first time.

And like all the other times, his father's face purpled with anger, and he bared his yellowed teeth, his blue eyes stormy. "No son of mine speaks to me that way!"

This was it. The words he'd been waiting for. It was why he had stowed a pack with his meager belongings under his cot.

"Then I guess I'm not your son," Chares growled out, not backing down. His mother, bless her, wasn't around to hear this; she had taken his sisters to the river to bathe and wash clothing.

His father slammed his hand down again, cracking the innocent wood, and stalked around the table. Then, letting out a thunderous, violent growl, the enormous blacksmith slammed that same fist into Chares's face. Though he was no lightweight, Chares didn't have the same muscle mass as his father, and he rocked back into the wall. The skin around his eye pounded and throbbed with each breath he took, but he refused to back down.

Instead, he forced himself to glare out of the injured eye at the much taller, much broader man.

"You will marry that girl—"

"No," Chares ground out.

Another growl reverberated through the blacksmith, and he pulled his hand back to strike Chares again. But this time, Chares ducked the swing and dove into his small room, one barely large enough for his cot and a couple of personal items. Knowing his father wouldn't be far behind, Chares grabbed his pack and climbed out the window, out into the late spring air.

"Chares! Get back here, boy!" his father howled after him as he sprinted over their small fence and into the forest around the village.

Get back there? Not a chance.

Not when someone so much better was waiting for him.

Athanasios...

Just thinking that name conjured his face in his mind's eye. The piercing dark red eyes. Horns of moonlight threaded through with gleaming obsidian. A mane of jet-black hair.

That calm, gentle smile.

He could almost feel the caress of those giant, calloused fingers on his shoulders, on his sides, on his thighs. Instead of wind streaming through his hair, it was Athanasios's breath as he took in Chares's scent. Instead of the thorns of bushes along his legs and thighs, it was Athanasios's hands and teeth exploring him. Instead of running through the forest, he was wrapped in Athanasios's arms against a chest covered in short, soft hair.