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Louis remembers very little of the summer solstice.
The summer solstice is a joyous occasion. An honor to the gods and to their village. At the end of the night, servants hand out cups of tea to the young adults of the village, the most virile, the most attractive, and suitable. A blessing from the gods – and even more so for the one that is chosen.
It’s an annual feast, full of festivities and drinking and music – but Louis remembers little beyond the wooziness and haze clouding over his eyes as the sun slowly slips below the horizon.
His limbs feel heavy, unmoving at his sides.
To be the chosen one is the highest honor in their village. To be the one that bridges the gap between the mortals and the gods and sacrifices their life for the village to remain fruitful, safe, and happy.
When he can’t support himself anymore, he feels himself fall from his seat, toppling out of the chair and to the ground with a crash. His breath is knocked out of him as he hits the ground and he can hear the sudden commotion in the room, voices filling the space louder than they were just moments before.
Then he feels someone at his side, turning him over to lay on his back so he can only stare at the ceiling. “It’s okay,” A woman’s voice assures him. He blinks and tries to look around. His eyes move but the rest of his body ignores his desires and stays completely immobile, unmoving no matter how much he wills even the slightest wiggle of his fingertips. “You have been chosen. Such an honor.”
He feels himself being lifted bridal style, limbs and head hanging uselessly. Finally lifted from the floor, he can see everyone looking at him.
He should be grateful.
He should feel joyous, a divine kind of excitement to serve his community, to be the catalyst for the safety and growth of their nation for the rest of the year.
Instead, all he feels is a kind of empty dread.
He’s carried through the forest, stripped and shaved and bathed in the bath houses just outside of the temple, but his mind can barely focus on the movement around him. The edges of his thoughts are fuzzy, undefined and easily fleeting.
He thinks he must have fallen asleep at some point during the preparation, still unable to move and barely able to think, because when he wakes he’s being carried up the one hundred steps to the temple of Eros.
At the top, a priest awaits their arrival, hands clasped behind his back and eyes trained on them as they approach.
“Good evening,” He greets. The man carrying him passes him to the priest, jostling him and leaving a barely noticeable ache in his shoulders. It’s the only interaction between them before he and the priest enter the temple, massive marble doors sliding closed behind them.
“Your sacrifice is the highest honor,” The priest says, breaking the silence between them as carries Louis through the large, echoing hall of the temple. “I am sure you have heard that many times throughout this evening, but as Eros’ sole Hierei, I hope it brings more comfort.”
Louis can feel the smallest ability of movement coming back to him. He can feel the tips of his fingers moving. Even that on it’s own feels like a success.
“You will regain full movement within the next hour. It is meant to be temporary, to allow an easy transition.” Louis makes a noise in his throat. His noise of protest comes out as barely more than a huffy whine.
He’s placed on his knees, supported by something solid behind him that he can’t turn to see.
“The sedative will help with the pain. This,” He pauses, taking a chalice into his hand, “Will help with the first of many offerings you must give to Eros.” The priest tilts his head back, pouring a thick liquid down his throat that makes him sputter, nearly choking around the feeling of it in his mouth. His head is held tilted up, forcing him to swallow.
The other man moves around the room just to the side of him, footsteps echoing around the temple. Louis feels more movement coming back to him in agonizingly slow waves. The numbness in his body feels like needles, prickling over every inch of his body that he can’t move and only more intense in his fingers and toes where the movement is slowly seeping back in.
As the movements come back to him, the sensation of everything feeling louder, brighter, stronger – the soft silk of his slip dress feeling like a constant touch over his entire body. He huffs, moving away from the wall with a burst of energy.
He topples over but rolls to his side as he hears the priest approaching once again.
He’s lifted, squirming against the hold, but the feeling of hands-on his body makes the heat in his stomach coil tighter, sparks of electricity traveling down his spine and over every inch of him.
He’s back on his knees, this time on what looks to be a prayer altar, only a few feet away from the statue of Eros.
Metal cuffs lined with soft leather are locked around each of his wrists, pulling his arms away from his body. There’s enough give that he can move – just barely, as he’s lifted again. This time he’s maneuvered backward, eyes widening as he sees an intricately carved cock, sculpted from the same smooth marble that the statue of Eros was crafted from.
“I don’t understand –” He whimpers, knees positioned on either side of the cock, pulling on the restraints only tightening them against his pull. The words sound more like a garbled moan as the sound pushes past his lips, throat and mouth still not willing to move the way he wants.
“This will help you give the offering of your desire to Eros.” The answer gives him little clarity, but he’s pressed down until he can feel the marble between his cheeks, and then he’s left alone. His knees feel shakey with his still barely there ability to hold himself up, but he forces deep breathes in through his mouth, out through his nose, doing everything he can to keep himself upright.
The sudden wave of arousal that sparks through him makes his knees buckle, the tremor spreading his legs just enough that he sinks down two inches until he feels the marble inside of him.
It’s slick with oil as the head of the cock slides into him, knees trembling he holds himself just there, just with the head of it past his rim. The chains on his arms tighten with another clink and he’s held in place, not able to pull himself off of the hardness inside of him and only able to let himself sink deeper.
Heat coils in his stomach and he squirms against the cock pressed so deeply inside of him, unable to find a comfortable position that doesn’t nudge against his prostate and send his entire body reeling with wanting to fight the feeling and chase it all the same.
He’s hit with another overwhelming wave of arousal, heat spreading through his entire body. The last of his resolve snaps and he goes limp, letting the marble cock fully impale him, ripping a moan from his throat as the first orgasm hits him.
His tongue touches his upper lip and it’s the only thing he can feel beyond the tension inside of him that grows tighter and tighter as the seconds pass.
He can do little more than rock himself against it, fists clenched so tightly and his own dick unrelenting and still hard against his stomach. Another wave of heat pulses over his entire body and it’s all he can do to ride the next wave of constant sensation to orgasm. He can hear his own whines and moans and breathless whimpers all around him. It serves only to egg him on, keeping his sore knees moving, keeping him rocking back and forth with no energy left to lift himself up and down.
He slumps back, panting, trying his best to catch his breath. His eyes feel heavy and he lets himself give into the darkness.
His arms are twisted uncomfortably at his sides when he comes to.
He squirms and it sends a jolt of pain and something he can’t quite figure out through him – and then he remembers. He remembers how he’d been set down on the marble carving of a cock facing the god that overlooks the prosperity of love and desire within his village.
His mouth feels like he’d just eaten a mouthful of cotton and his stomach twists painfully. He’s thirsty, limbs aching from the unnatural position, and his mind reeling from the sudden change in the course of his life.
He takes a moment to study the statute in front of him. He should feel honored to be one of the few people ever allowed to see it up close, to spend this intimate alone time with a god in his holy place.
Up close, the statue is beautiful. His face is beautiful with a deep kind of soulful gaze and it seems as if every hair on his head was given individual attention. Louis feels a sudden urge to reach out and touch him, run his fingers along with the chiseled abs and gorgeous musculature of his thighs.
Instead, with his arms still bound, he closes his eyes and bows his head to pray.
The prayer fills his mouth, familiar and comforting. His mother had taught him the words as a baby, speaking it over him and surrounding him with baptisia and sunflowers, praying to the gods that had blessed her with a healthy child to help him grow and stay safe from harm. It feels comforting now, to ask the same gods for protection and peace with his final days ahead of him.
He finishes his first prayer and reluctantly takes a moment to look up and survey the space around him.
He’s been to temples of the gods hundreds of times in his life.
This temple has been entirely off-limits. Except for once per year for one person within the village.
Eros has been told to be private, preferring his worship to be in the form of sacrifice and devotion outside of the temple. And the people of their village have done nothing but comply, with the never-ending streams of new mothers and weddings and beautiful couples finding love and prosperity.
He remembers what the priest said – what he’s expected to do.
He swallows against the dryness in his mouth and again lets his eyes wander over the likeness of Eros in front of him. He thinks he should be feeling shameful, embarrassed, and awkward, to be in front of a god in such a state. Yet, he doesn’t. He can’t bring himself to feel any kind of shame about sex or even his sex-rumpled appearance.
There’s dried cum on his stomach and chest from before he’d fallen asleep. Without windows or any view of the sky, he’s unsure how much time has passed, but the dull ache in his body hints that it’s been at least several hours.
Against the ache in his thighs, he raises himself up on the cock still inside of him and slowly sinks back down. Somehow it’s still slick inside of him – perhaps a divine intervention – and he’s grateful.
It feels nice, the drag inside of him bringing back hints of the heat and desperation that spread through him like fire.
Willing up memories of how he’d felt only hours before – that unending desperation – he feels himself harden. The marble cock rubs against his prostate and knocks a moan from his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut and rocks himself to rub against that spot, clenching his fists and trying to imagine how it would be to have hands on him, breath on his neck, lips against his.
The speed his orgasm comes over him is startling. It knocks his breath from his lungs and makes his body crumple, bottoming out on the too-large cock beneath him as his legs tremble.
He exhales, body twitching through the orgasm.
Waves of dizziness wash over him all at once, haziness settling over his vision.
He hadn’t thought dying would come so quickly – or maybe he just hadn’t had the time to give it enough thought.
His eyes scan the now-familiar temple around him. Solid structures no longer feel like they have defining features. Eyes sweep over the space around him and it feels too bright all over again. He can’t see anything around him, it all feels like simple shapes – impressions of what it should be.
The dryness in his mouth feels all-consuming and the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up, making him shiver.
And then he sees movement.
The priest, maybe, coming to see if he’s going to keel over dead in less than one day of being a sacrifice.
He has enough of his sense about him to think about how that would be fitting. Of every person, for the gods to have chosen to be the sacrifice for their village, the one who didn't want it and barely believed it, would die before he could fulfill the purpose.
His mouth moves around a noise, but he can’t form words.
Thoughts feel distant like he can focus on them if he gives everything to them – but it’s too far away. He can feel the cool marble of the floor against his knees, can feel the strain of his shoulders where they’re bound beside him, but even those feelings feel far away.
The only constant and steady, perfectly clear sensation, is the feeling of the cock inside of him.
Shapes slowly take form again the longer he focuses on them, eyes narrowing as he focuses fully on the source of the movement.
And in a sudden moment, there is full clarity of the scene around him.
In place of the statue is a man in the same position, standing tall and powerful and exuding an aura that makes Louis feel weak. His eyes scan over him quickly, but his thoughts can’t keep up. His mind feels slow, still distant.
The man smiles and it lights something up inside of Louis. “Hello there,” He says, voice slow and deep and hypnotic. Louis feels like he’s swimming through oak resin, thoughts working slowly and fixated only on the man in front of him. “Aren’t you a lovely sight.”
Louis blinks. His eyes continued to scan over the man in front of him.
“Um,” He manages to force out. Words feel foreign. Moving his mouth around sounds feels like climbing a mountain.
“Ah, no need for that. Let’s bring you back a little.” The haze over his mind fades just slightly, thoughts coming back in slow waves of consciousness. The statue in front of him is gone, replaced instead with a man exactly of its likeness, with startling green eyes and smooth tan skin. “There, how’s that?”
His thoughts feel slightly less weighed down in an instant and he blinks, swallows, and tries his best to bring everything back into focus.
It’s a question. He thinks it should be rude not to answer – but his eyes dart back to where the statue had been only moments previous and back to the man and he feels worry seep over him.
“Eros – I am honored to be your sacrifice, to – to assist in bringing passion and –” He feels green eyes on him and stutters the final few words of his gratitude, but the sinking feeling only feels deeper.
“You are different from the others that have been brought to me.” Louis tenses. He worries he knows what the man in front of him will say. “You don’t believe what you say.”
The dread consumes him all at once. Shame rolls over his body in nauseating waves. Faced with a god right in front of him, he feels disgusted in himself for ever having thoughts of doubt. And yet, even now, he can’t manage to shake them.
“Eros, my lord –”
“Every year I am brought someone who gives me their passion, body and soul,” He starts, kneeling down to be at eye level with Louis. “To have someone with just their body to offer… that is passion at its core.” Louis can’t meet Eros’ gaze. He feels exposed. Vulnerable. The biggest secret he’s ever had out in the open between them.
“It is a blessing to have my body to offer to you, Lord Eros,” He whispers, heart rabbiting in his chest. Green eyes rake over his entire body and he thinks he can feel the intensity behind his gaze against his skin.
“Call me Harry. I prefer my human name when in the human realm.” Louis looks at him with wide eyes, trying to decipher if the request is anything more than just that – but he nods.
“Of course – Harry.” The name feels foreign in his mouth, but he could never imagine disrespecting a god.
Harry smiles that same smile and it sends the same wave of light and bliss and pleasure through him. He waves a hand and the chains around his wrists unclasp, his arms falling to his sides, numb from lack of movement.
Little waves of pain spread through his arms and his shoulders, but it’s soothed quickly when Harry runs a big hand over the bare skin of his shoulders, skin leaving a pleasant trail of warmth and simmering heat in its wake.
His mind feels thick, foggy again. He blinks twice, vision blurring and refocusing each time.
Louis watches as Harry stands in front of him, kneeling down just enough to maneuver him as he feels fit. Harry moves him easily, hands at his sides lifting him like he’s weightless.
Maybe he is.
He feels like he’s flying.
“Oh,” He exhales as he’s moved to straddle Harry’s lap, bare skin of his chest against the bare skin of Harry’s stomach, legs suddenly wobbly. He’s there – big hands at the small of his back catching him, holding him steady as he’s lifted and carried across the room.
He feels the coolness of the wall behind him, then Harry’s hands guiding his legs to wrap around his middle. Harry’s right hand holds him steady at the back of his neck, a firm and grounding grip, as the other moves to stroke over his cock. He’s wet and leaking, the glide smooth and easy. He’s never been touched by another person – never so much as seen another man naked outside of the bathhouses. He knows what some men get up to in their personal lives, but he’s never so much as considered partaking.
Suddenly, he can’t remember why he never did.
He feels like his entire world has been narrowed down to the searing heat from Harry’s touch and the feeling of being boxed in between him and the wall. Harry’s lips are soft as they press kisses down his neck, biting and sucking until he can feel the sweet sting on his skin.
He feels two fingers press inside of him, twisting and bending until the air feels punched out of his lungs. Harry takes his other hand away from his thigh and instead wraps a hand around each of his wrists, bringing them above his head. “There. Just like that. Don’t move.”
Harry’s fingers move inside of him again and another wave of heat blossoms through his stomach, legs twitching and hands balling into fists, unable to move from where Harry set them against the wall.
He’s already stretched open, the marble cock leaving him loose enough that Harry’s fingers don’t feel necessary, but he thinks that’s the point. The slow, tortuous almost-enough leaves him desperate for more.
Whimpers fall freely from his mouth and Harry obliges him. A third finger fills the space beside the first two, fucking him open. His thighs tremble, eyes squeezed shut so tightly he can’t be sure if he’s dizzy from Harry’s touch or how tightly wound up he feels.
“Laid out so beautifully for me, aren’t you?”
Louis feels the way he lines himself up to press against his hole, his eyes opening to meet Harry’s. He bottoms out inside of him in a single, smooth thrust, knocking a gasp out of Louis as his head falls back against the wall.
And then he stills.
He takes a deep breath, then another, feels the way Harry’s fingers move over the love bites on his neck, down over his nipples, then feels his fingers tracing how his hole stretches around Harry’s cock.
Harry spreads his legs just slightly, the movement jostling Louis’ body against the wall, and then he’s pulling out. He can feel the way every inch glides against him until just the head is left inside of him. His breath feels shaky from the emptiness, the desperation to be filled again.
He rocks back inside with a slowness Louis thinks could kill him. He needs more, needs everything, thinks he might die without it.
“Look at me, sweet thing,” He hears, eyes opening again. He hadn’t realized he’d shut them, too focused on the feeling of Harry. Then he thrusts into him again, harder, faster, the drag of him overwhelming and too much and perfect all at once.
There’s whimpering bouncing off of the walls – echoing in the large, empty space around them. Louis squeezes his eyes shut, pleading and desperate, as he realizes it’s him. He squirms, the motion only making him feel more helpless, and writhes as he feels the big and warm hands of the god spread out over his sides.
He can’t decide if he’s trying to run away from the feeling or so desperately chasing after it.
“You are a vision,” Harry says, hands holding him still. He can feel his breath on his neck and it sends a shiver up his spine.
All he can think about is the way he feels himself being split open on Harry’s cock.
“Harry,” He whimpers. He wants to touch him, or his own dick, anything, but everything is so heavy. He’s drowning in everything – swallowed by a sea of sensation and all he can do is float in it.
He struggles to remember what he’d been thinking only hours – maybe even minutes – before. He thinks he can’t remember what it was like to be anything except a vessel for divine cock.
He moves his hands from above his head, reaches out to touch Harry’s chest. It doesn’t last long – a big hand is wrapped around both of his wrists and pins them back above his head just as fast as he moved them. His body goes limp, entirely insensate beneath the god above him and he just lets himself be moved to his wim, lets himself be used how he’s best fit.
He feels teeth on his neck again, Harry’s tongue soothing over the bites as he leaves them.
“Come for me, darling,”
He comes hard and without warning over his stomach and he thinks he loses track of where he ends and Harry begins, of what anything was or is or should be outside of them. He feels when Harry comes, too, feels the way the room feels electrified, like the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Harry’s cock stills where it’s buried inside of him and Louis feels every muscle inside of him go lax. But Harry’s hand goes back to his cock, thumb tracing circles over the head before he goes back to pumping it between a loose fist slowly.
“Can’t,” Louis croaks out, oversensitive. Every stroke of Harry’s hand against his spent cock makes him try harder to squirm away from it. Harry just watches him with that same curious expression, but he doesn’t stop his movements.
He jerks his hand over Louis’ cock faster, thumbing at the head and spreading a mixture of precome and come over his length. He comes again too quickly, cock barely even twitching and only half hard.
Then he goes limp, falling against Harry’s chest, breath heaving.
He doesn’t think he falls asleep, still too aware of Harry’s movements and the feeling of the hard floor beneath him, but he doesn’t think he’s fully awake either. Drifting somewhere. Floating away like water on a stream.
He welcomes it.
Louis comes to himself slowly. He’s moaning, little whines and puffs of breath pushing past his lips and hips rutting uselessly against the floor beneath him. His thoughts filter through slowly – all he can think about is how every part of him feels hot, burning with a kind of pleasure that sits simmering just beneath his skin.
He’s alone, unbound, and left right in front of the altar where he’d first been left.
And yet, he can feel hands on him. Harry’s hands are on his chest, fingers brushing over his nipples, they’re on his back, holding him in place, they’re so lightly tugging on his hair, they’re pushing his legs apart and gripping his thighs all at once and – he comes with a scream, hips stuttering against the cold floor.
It hit him so quickly and so suddenly that he barely has time to register the tightness in his entire body, the thin layer of sweat and the way his cock is still hard.
Harry is sitting across the room from him, eyes dark as he watches him. He feels himself flush under the heat of his gaze.
Louis can still feel his hands on him as if Harry were actually touching him, the feeling of fingers brushing against his hole and stroking over his overstimulated cock at the same time.
His mind fills with thoughts of how Harry held him, big hands at his hips moving him how he wanted, lifting him up and down on his cock like he was nothing but a vessel for his own pleasure.
He can feel every bit of it, can feel each of Harry’s fingers pressing into his sides, can feel his back against his chest, can feel the breath on his neck. He scrambles to sit up, trying to regain any kind of composure through every overlapping sensation.
He feels flush and knows his entire face must be bright red, can only imagine the deep flush that must be spread over his entire body. The ghost-hands change direction, smoothing down his chest and nudging him to lay back down, spreading his limbs out into a starfish as his back hits the ground.
And then he can’t move.
He feels fingers over his nipples, a hand around his neck, fingers pushing between his lips and a heavy weight on his tongue. Feels hands sliding up the insides of his thighs. All he can think about is the way Harry held him down, bent and moved and fucked him in the way he felt fit – and that’s all it takes before he’s coming again, entirely too spent and exhausted even after just waking up.
He inhales slowly and exhales deeply, allows himself to feel the way a thrum of tension sits beneath his skin, feels the low simmer of arousal that seems to be constant when he’s in Harry’s presence.
With an entire life dedicated to pleasing the gods, Louis thinks, he’d never understood exactly how much power they had over humans.
“Oh, darling,” Harry tuts, a small grin on his face. “That’s barely the beginning of my power over you.”
Another wave of arousal zips through his body without warning.
It’s sudden and all-consuming, a shocked cry tearing from Louis’ throat as his fists clench and he feels his stomach tighten. He’d barely started to feel settled, had barely even started to come down, but without so much as a build up he’s teetering off the edge again – another orgasm tearing through him, more intense than anything he’s ever felt.
He thinks he screams, can feel the way every muscle in his entire body tenses and goes tight and feels hot and tingles all at once.
His cock is soft, dribbling precome and laying limp against his stomach as he stares wide-eyed at the ceiling, vision going a little fuzzy at the edges.
He feels another ghost hand slip up his chest and then he’s right back at that peak, orgasm slamming right into him without warning, without buildup, nothing but the knife-sharp and cutting feeling of pleasure.
“Ha - Harry -” He stutters, forcing himself to move, a slow crawl across the floor.
His mind is blissfully blank. Nothing but Harry, nothing but the pleasure to worship him fully, wholly, entirely.
He feels fulfilled. His divine purpose, as if his soul was made for this.
There’s a knowing smirk on Harry’s face as Louis moves to take his cock in his mouth, the weight on his tongue grounding. Everything falls into place as he feels fingers card through his hair, feels his head being moved. He doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to do anything but be and allow himself to be used.
Louis comes again, cock twitching pathetically against his stomach, and collapses entirely weightless, boneless, thoughtless at Harry’s side. Fingers card through his hair, soothing and gentle. He drifts into a sated sleep, legs tinged with muscle soreness and exhaustion creeping through every part of him.
He sighs softly and feels the way Harry’s strong arms move him again, pulling him to his chest, arms wrapping around his middle and settling both of them into a comfortable position.
When he wakes, hands chained at his sides, impaled on the same marble cock, kept in place and staring at the statue in front of him, he wonders if it was real at all.