Pater Familias
NC-17. 12/24/2005.

Hunter was never Delos' father, and Maya knows he's got enough children of his own, but he seems more than willing to adopt. Delos thought he wanted to keep him from power but he only wanted to teach him, in his way, in the way of parents who send them off to war to show them how the world works. In a violent careless fatherly way.

And it worked, though the constant hovering grates on Delos, even now, years later when he has free reign of his kingdom. Hunter not saying anything is Hunter approving and Hunter praising him is Hunter wanting something more.

Delos doles out favors to his ancestors, cousins, kin, in the manner of his people, but he does it out of less obligation to Hunter. Oh, yes, there is plenty of obligation, but there is something else, something deeper, underneath. Is this the way one loves a father? Delos doesn't know, doesn't care; Hunter touches his shoulder when he controls his blue fire with precision, cutting a neat hole through an ancient tree, and Delos' body burns in the knowledge of Hunter's approval.

Hunter always takes him to his bed, never letting himself be drawn to the king's chambers in the way of business of state, and Delos is somehow grateful for the intimacy of the smaller room, the rougher linens and colder floors. The room is a fitting effigy of Hunter in his mind: coarse and extreme but somehow comforting, familiar.

Hunter's mouth is a study of contrast: sandpapery cat-tongue, more harsh than even those of most lamia, Delos included; soft cheeks, lips; smooth straight teeth. A mostly unexceptional description for an exceptional mouth, exceptional kiss that Delos is perfectly willing to lose himself in. Delos likes the taste of Hunter's skin, all of it: the tender places of his throat, so trustingly offered when no blood can ever be spilt. The softly-furred expanse of his chest, the gradated softness down to his hips. Hunter closes his eyes, always, when Delos' mouth first touches his cock, but soon they are open, intense, demanding.

Delos is a leader, a guardian, and he is always giving orders, but in this one space he is free to take them, just as when he was a boy, before Hunter came to him, and forced him to freedom. He is down on his knees for Hunter and grateful to be there, to drop the mantle for a while.

Sometimes Delos positively aches for the feeling of Hunter inside him, on his back as a king can never be, Hunter animal-crouched over him, deep in him, Hunter growling into and licking at his ear. "Call me daddy," he'll say, and Delos will say it, moan it, beg "Daddy daddy please" until they are both done and heaped together. Delos will never asks why he wants the words, what they really mean to him, what they should mean to Delos. It doesn't matter. Hunter is here, and this is what they have, and it seems enough for both of them, for now.

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