Drabble for geministar01
Title: Training
Characters: Dick?/Tim?
Rating: PG-15 or R? Nothing explicit
Setting: Ancient Greece AU
Warnings: implied under age sex, dubious consent issues.
Length: Drabble
Author’s Notes: This is the drabble as written according to geministar01’s prompt and yes I was watching a History channel documentary on the Spartans. I hope you enjoy :)
He sat on the straw pallet, alone in the dark. Intellectually he knows what is to happen, he even understands why, but it doesn’t’ keep his slightly frame from trembling with palatable fear. The training for all Spartan warriors is intensive, with attention paid to cultivating relationships among the legions. It’s a way to assure both trust and loyalty. So far he’d only participated in the drills, same as the other youths. Now, however, the first week is past and it’s time.
No one had told him this of course, but he’s a smart boy with sharp ears. He knows; and it only makes the fluttering of his stomach worse. The small, dark haired teen thinks over all the warriors he’s met. Some…some of them would be good--maybe even gentle?--while others, he shudders at the thought.
The door to his room opens, allowing in the flickering torchlight of the hallway beyond. A dark shape fills the lit space, foreboding and ominous. His first instinct is to shrink back, but that would be cowardly; unworthy. So the boy forces himself to sit as he is and wait. The figure closes the door behind himself and the room is plunged into darkness once more. The only thing that betrays the other’s presence is the sound of his quiet, relaxed breaths.
Though he strained to hear, there is no sound of approaching foot steps. So he couldn’t be faulted for nearly jumping out of his skin as the other sat on the thin mattress next to him. Then strong, sure fingers are lightly touching his shaved scalp, warm and tender. A small piece of himself begins to relax. When the fingers slipped down to cup his cheek, the boy leans into the touch, closing his useless eyes.
“That’s it,” the gentle baritone soothes, caressing something deep inside him, giving approval.
The boy wants the other’s good opinion, to do right and be worthy. Steeling himself, he turns his face into the touch, pressing dry lips to the man’s palm. He has no choice in this, it is part of the training. Yet it can still be his decision.
He imagines he can hear a compassionate smile in the warrior’s voice when he speaks again. “I will teach you to fly, Little Bird.”
Characters: Dick?/Tim?
Rating: PG-15 or R? Nothing explicit
Setting: Ancient Greece AU
Warnings: implied under age sex, dubious consent issues.
Length: Drabble
Author’s Notes: This is the drabble as written according to geministar01’s prompt and yes I was watching a History channel documentary on the Spartans. I hope you enjoy :)
He sat on the straw pallet, alone in the dark. Intellectually he knows what is to happen, he even understands why, but it doesn’t’ keep his slightly frame from trembling with palatable fear. The training for all Spartan warriors is intensive, with attention paid to cultivating relationships among the legions. It’s a way to assure both trust and loyalty. So far he’d only participated in the drills, same as the other youths. Now, however, the first week is past and it’s time.
No one had told him this of course, but he’s a smart boy with sharp ears. He knows; and it only makes the fluttering of his stomach worse. The small, dark haired teen thinks over all the warriors he’s met. Some…some of them would be good--maybe even gentle?--while others, he shudders at the thought.
The door to his room opens, allowing in the flickering torchlight of the hallway beyond. A dark shape fills the lit space, foreboding and ominous. His first instinct is to shrink back, but that would be cowardly; unworthy. So the boy forces himself to sit as he is and wait. The figure closes the door behind himself and the room is plunged into darkness once more. The only thing that betrays the other’s presence is the sound of his quiet, relaxed breaths.
Though he strained to hear, there is no sound of approaching foot steps. So he couldn’t be faulted for nearly jumping out of his skin as the other sat on the thin mattress next to him. Then strong, sure fingers are lightly touching his shaved scalp, warm and tender. A small piece of himself begins to relax. When the fingers slipped down to cup his cheek, the boy leans into the touch, closing his useless eyes.
“That’s it,” the gentle baritone soothes, caressing something deep inside him, giving approval.
The boy wants the other’s good opinion, to do right and be worthy. Steeling himself, he turns his face into the touch, pressing dry lips to the man’s palm. He has no choice in this, it is part of the training. Yet it can still be his decision.
He imagines he can hear a compassionate smile in the warrior’s voice when he speaks again. “I will teach you to fly, Little Bird.”