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Wish Upon Orion*s Star [Raphael & Confrazzled]

C

Confrazzled

Planetoid
Joined
Jan 9, 2009
From the sultry night air of the verandah, chilled but lingering warm even in Capreaeâ??s November, Tanaquil pressed her face against the smooth, carved marble pillar, and gazed out at the shadowed garden. She rarely bothered to visit this section of the her fatherâ??s residence, its triclinium, or feasting chamber, for all that she spent so much time in the adjoining study. But today, she was not hunched straining her eyes over dusty scrolls nor languishing at the myriad of household tasks set for the lady of the house. Today, she had little to do but to eat the roast game, the sweet dates, the lush pomegranate, and smile prettily, offering the occasional conversational tidbit. But with the largely-intoxicated guest of her father, an aged governor of some remote provinceâ??Dacia? Somehow the detail had slipped her noticeâ??Tanaquil could not but feel out of place. Nor could she help darting out, after several hours of feasting, music, and merriment, for a few momentsâ?? snatched breath on the verandah. Gazing at the exquisite view.

The stars certainly blazed bright tonight, for all that it was early November. The rainy weather of the last few days seemed to dry up at last, and do so with a brilliant burst of starlight. Dianaâ??s crescent moon, veiling her face, did not even detract from their overwhelming display. And at near the horizon, three stars stood in a line. Iha knew a legend for those, or half-knew. Greek scholars had record in a volume she had read many years ago, detailing the legend in entirety. Precisely the sort of thing her absent-minded but cultured father would present to her, in order to learn. Orion. Or Orionâ??s belt. A happy laugh erupted from one of the female slaves in the feasthall, while the luteâ??s stringâ??s stilled. The governorâ??s grumbling laugh erupted, as he related in his gruff voice yet another anecdote about his youngest daughter, soon to be married off to a high-ranking magistrate in Caligulaâ??s service. A pang seized Ihaâ??s heart; though her father had forgotten his daughterâ??s hand these past eighteen years as such a prime trading chit for political favour, she feared perhaps this unhappy marriage would respark his interest. Not that he concerned much for the likes of that, worrying more for his estate and dusty tomes, forgetting her entirely half of the time . . .

â??Your own daughter, she is pretty enough, uh Cassius?â? cajoled the governor, and she heard reverberations of his hearty slap of her fatherâ??s back over the resuming music. â??Plenty of eligible men for her in the capital, even if she is getting a bit ripe . . .â?

Tanaquil blanched cool as the marble pillar, as the mosaic beneath her sandaled feet. She had known this day would be arrive, eventually, for it was the way of Rome, an unwritten rule and open secret transcribed between the lines of much of the literature she so painstakingly studied. But she did lament it, nonetheless. Yoked to some fop of a magistrate, or a distant soldierâ??s captain, or . . . another noble, spirited away to an unfamiliar country estate. The span of these options frightened her, startled words from her mouth. â??Oh, if only I could find . . . a husband as brave and true as one of yore. As Dianaâ??s Orion. Then . . . I should certainly have nothing to fear.â?

She looked away now; could not stand to peer past the few loose tendrils of her cascading chestnut hair to the stars blazing so brightly. To impossible hopes. Instead she set her dainty, sandaled feet to walk back into the lavish feasthall, and rejoin the laughter.

Later, when Tanaquil donned her linen sleeping shift, and stretched her slender, five-manâ??s foot and four-thumbwidths out on the lightly-padded bronze bed for her nightâ??s rest, curtains at the windows billowing out with the sea-sticky breeze, she had entirely forgotten her rash wish. Her mind swirling with dance steps, with reverberating lyre strings, the taste of well-brewed wine, and the shrill voices of flutes, her large garnet eyes closed, bringing a sense of peace to her heart-shaped face, and she swiftly slept.
 
There was a swirl of groggy darkness as consciousness returned to him. There was blinding light and the smell of burning gases. The man could not turn his head, nor could he control him movements. They were slow and methodical and a quick look downward with this eyes told him what he suspected. He was a group of blazing stars. The great scorpion was still behind him, still chasing him, just as if that bastard Apollo had just set it upon him.

The slow chase went on and on and on, slowly into the night until the hunter thought he'd lose his sanity. Around midnight, or so he judged, something changed. The sound of the running Scorpio was fading in his shining ears. The celestial barks of Sirius, his faithful canine companion, were slowly becoming nothing. The compulsion to run was becoming nothing and all of a sudden there was feeling in his body once again. Newly restored vision faded into blackness; there was the feeling of falling, no, flying, at speeds incredible. When finally he felt his bare feet touch ground, the hunter opened his eyes.

He was standing on a verandah. Looking down, his body had been restored. Although he was nude, the man couldn't help touch himself all over, testing to see if this uncanny experience had actually happened. It had. The great hunter Orion was reborn! He laughed at the irony of it all! Here he was, given another chance at life, and not stuck in the monotony of being chased among the heavens and stars. He'd have to buy new weaponry, new clothing. Make money somehow. Hmmm......this wouldn't be as easy as he thought.

The night breeze brought with it the smell of food and merriment. The smell of a woman. A familiar smell. Orion turned quickly upon his heel and ran into the room behind him. The sight before him was one he'd never forget. For upon the bed, she slept so sensuallly, so peacefully, so innocently. It was the girl for whom his heart longed. His beloved Diana.

Falling upon one knee, he took her hand in his and kissed it softly. "To thee I have returned, Diana. Your hunter, Orion, hast returned to shower you with the love I could not in the past."
 
But it was clear that this young woman was no Diana, for all that she was pretty enough, and a virgin. Even the moonâ??s soft glow could not frost her burnished chestnut hair to that ethereal shade of pearly gold, nor sculpt huntressesâ?? firm, athletic muscles on a scholarâ??s slenderer frame. Still, there was some little resemblance there, held perchance in the soft curvature of the lightly concealed breasts, the proportions of the sleek hips, the delicate arc to the swan-like neck, half-hidden as it was behind escaped locks of loose-spiralling, half-bound hair, in rubine lips quirked to the shape of Erosâ?? bow. Still, the womanâ??s beauty was that of a mortal, transcending the norm but not reaching anywhere near the lofty heights of Helen, and following far shorter indeed of any goddess. And yet, the allure persisted.

The startling silvery light bathed her room, illuminating the sparse but modestly luxurious furnishings, the spacious and rather minimalistic style far from favoured by the Emperorâ??s court, and her lightly-woven linen-clad flesh. It seemed to glimmer, radiating from the man, silver-foiling everything. But even the delirious young woman half-recognised this was merely that of a cloud, drawing its veil aside from the gibbous moonâ??s face. Dianaâ??s moon. If this is the effects of spiced wine, then I shall have to partake more often, a drowsy Tanaquil smiled lazily, retracting her hand gently towards herself and turning over on her side. Gesturing to him invitingly. Such a delicious dream, obviously kindled by her thoughts from the night. She arced her back a little, her garnet eyes half-lidded and content, like one women from the old Etruscan death-portraits, lounging on its sofa, and still a little darkened with the celebrationsâ?? face paints. â??I am very honoured to meet you, Orion,â? she crooked a finger towards him, as if reeling him towards her. "But I am no Diana. It is rare that a God gifts a mortal with his presence, but I assure you, you have not mischosen." It was mostly a role she played, the words of some dramatist's heroine, or ingenue. And yet, in the dreamlike state, they did not seem to fall dischordant.
 
Orion looked closely at the sleeping woman. Upon closer inspection, it became quite clear that she wasn't Diana. Nowhere near close. But she did have certain qualities, certain features that reminded him of the virgin goddess. Her form was slender and soft, as if she spent time inside, perhaps studying in books to sharpen her mind. He'd never seen a human that captivated him so much, which was fine as there was no goddess awaiting his return, no goddess to strike a misfortune upon this human beauty. The moonlight was bright and crept throught the window, like a silent assassin here to make war upon the shadows of her room. She smelled faintly of wine, from the party he presumed, and it was heavenly upon her. Yet, below the wine, there was her own unique scent. One softer and more feminine. A delight upon the palette of his sensitive nostrils; a smell that he'd always pick up on. No matter the crowd.

Her form was simply amazing. The shift did little to hide the fact that womanhood had done her well. Her curves were divine, her skin supple. Her body was rhythm incarnate, flowing from her face into her neck into her chest and stomach and waist and legs and feet masterfully. It was beautiful. Moreso to him because she was mortal. Goddesses were expected to have perfect forms, but to find a human woman with a form as close to perfect as possible, amazing.

The god noticed that she was awake. He also noticed that the wine was taking its toll upon her. She was all smiles, and what a beautiful smile it was, and rolled over to invite him into her bed. Her voice was seductive and alluring. The overpowering scent, the sensuality in her curves, the invitation in her voice. Things long forgotten started to quiver, soon bursting to life within is loins. As he slid into the bed beside the siren, his member began to harden, beginning it's advance to stand up and salute her beauty.
 
If this was a dream, then certainly she could have the god any which way she wanted. He could come to her. Work for her. Certainly, every inch of him was godlikeâ??particularly a segment of several inches. And as he stood before her lounging form he seemed sculpted from burnished bronze itself, as if a perfect statue animated and strode forth from the enclave of a temple, still properly gleaming, and with gems set for eyes. Surely this was a dream; she neednâ??t worry about incurring any goddessâ?? wrath, or being a properly bashful virgin. Did not need concern herself of her chastity at all. The sudden materialization of his warm form alongside her, in her bed further affirmed her beliefs. And the exuded aura of elation, vitality, and security . . . it seemed to emanate from him, though perhaps that was enhanced by the mostly-faded effects of the wine . . .

â??Surely you are not disappointed?â? she asked, eyes halfways slitted and narrowed, like a contented housecatâ??s, beneath the swooping trails of her dainty dark eyebrows. Her eyes took in his face, its planes and curvatures, his jaw, his brow, those bright-blazing eyes, and lingered long on his lips before they skimmed further, born along the corded muscles of his neck towards his clavicles, and beyond. And her fingers, her ink-stained ladyâ??s fingers, tentatively reached out, stroked up his bare arm, traced from her wrist to her shoulder, before finding fluttering purchase on his shoulder. Held it a bare instant or two, before letting it slide away, the soft face of her palm this time streaking across every pore, absorbing the warmth and texture of his flesh. When have I ever before waxed so bold? But yet, what a phenomenally delicious dream . . . it shall be such a pity when I wake up, she reflected, but did not speak these words, for fear of shattering it. Of shattering him, delightful vision that he was.
 
The linens felt lovely on Orion's heated flesh. How could any god turn her down? Never before had a mortal woman come on so bold. They were generally hindered by the opressive view of chastity and purity. There was no such thing amongst the gods. They were philandering, whimsical, fickle to a fault beings. Divine beings tossed and pulled along the current of the human emotions that got so many mortals into constant trouble. They were no different from their delightful creations, save for their neverending lifespan.

Orion felt big. She was so soft and feminine, he couldn't help but feel like he towered over her. As he adjusted himself in the bed, his arms bulged and knotted, his abdomen contracted and released, the muscles of his neck bunched and corded, all working together in a work of art come to life. His body wasn't as perfect as Apollo's, but this woman certainly hadn't hesitated inviting him into her bed. He brushed his fingertips through the dark waves that was her hair and slid them gently along her porcelain face. With a movement so slow, so masculine, his fingers trailed down her face, over her perfect nose, along her full, wine red lips, down her soft, pointed chin to the hollow of her graceful throat. His hand wandered over her breast, taking in its fullness and firmness, before continuing down her side, wanting to be rid of the flimsy garment that kept her body from his. Oh yes, she was a gorgeous creature and he wanted her. "What is your name, woman? Whose bed am I gracing this night?"
 
Perhaps her nose wasnâ??t so perfect; perhaps it projected a little sharp, a little beak-like as her familyâ??s agnomina alluded. Mind, the deityâ??or was he a deity? Ensconced in the stars as Orion was, and with a handful of cults dedicated to currying his favour over the course of history, even the scholarly Tanaquil was not sure whether Orion ranked among the gods themselves, or merely the immortals. A diverging thoughtâ??perhaps she would inquire tomorrow, or delve into her own research, if this trace of the dream lingered. For now, she thrust it out of mind, determined to juice every last drop of distilled enjoyment from this nightâ??s dream. Morpheus truly was being kind . . .

But he had asked her a question, and it would be rude not to answer. â??I am Tanaquil Aurelius Aquilina, daughter of Cassius Aurelius Aquilius, the noted scholar,â? she replied, tracing a single finger, now, along his clavicle, and into the little hollow as his throat. â??but tonight, let us speak not on my noble father . . .â? She shivered a little, for all that the sultry night was not chilled, not in the least. Shivered at the trails of tingles his softly-skimming fingers left in their wake, like rivulets of starlight, strong even through the flimsy cloth of her shift. Surely this far surpassed the touch of any mere mortal?

Tanaquilâ??s own fingers wandered, cupping together, slipping with ease to the back of his neck, toying and twining with the little curls found there, at his nape. Leaning herself back and down, into the lavish cushioning of her bedclothes, she regarded him, contemplated how just to make her interests plain. Drawing him closer, so close that his two starry eyes blurred to one, that his lips hovered a bare handsbreadth from hers. â??And I assure you, my thoughts stray very far indeed from my name, and my household . . .â? The kiss hung there, poised upon the very precipice of her plump, rubine lips. Would he pluck it, she wondered?
 
Orion smiled as she toyed with the hair at his neck, not missing the open invitation, nor did he miss the subtle hint. He pondered if he should tease this woman, this daughter of Scholar Cassius. The lights in his eyes were bright and the delight in his smile genuine. A strong tongue glided over his lips as he leaned in and captured hers with his own, locking them in a passion-filled kiss. The ruby red lips tasted every bit as good as they looked. His drifted close and slowly rolled so that she was lying against her pillows and bedclothes, as he gently, subtly got on top of her.

His large hands slowly and rythmically plunged into her dark tresses, getting tangled in the beautiful curls, seeking refuge in the jungle, hiding against her scalp. His fingers slowly kneaded the skin there, slowly transferring the pleasure he felt into the ends of his fingertips. Orion was proud of his hands, years of practice doing various things had transformed the digits into masters of pleasure and he luxuriated in the fact that he could give it.
 
The flick of his tongue over his lips set her lips stretching, smiling broader, for it warned her what was to come next. But for all of this predirection Tanaquil did not succeed in anticipating the heady rush, the tanging taste, for the kiss, if anything, was sweeter than ambrosia upon her lips, and far more delectable than anything she could have imagined. It set her flesh a-tingle as nothing else ever had. Tanaquilâ??s lips softened, parted easily beneath Orionâ??s, granting his tongue access to wherever it wished to explore. But the young woman herself did not bear placidly the kiss; rather dove in with mounting force, her lips undulating beneath the pressure and pearly teeth occasionally grazing across his lower lip as the kiss grew progressively more greedy.

When have I ever dreamt a dream in such detail? Tanaquil marvelled, Such exquisitely delicious detail? For it seemed that her imagination had painted this Orion aright, down to the swordsman and archerâ??s calluses roughening his palm and fingersâ?? pads. They caught a little in her curls, working them looser from the half-tumbled knot; soon it would be splayed all about the two of them, draping over the pillows. But Tanaquil did little to think on these, so focused was she on the scalp-prickling of the soft concentric circles, far more pleasurable and intense than such a slight action had any rights to be. Her own grip tightened on his nape curls as her hands, clenching momentarily in a spasm of pleasure, before releasing them and drifting, both and open-palmed, to skim across the muscular planes of his scapulae and unexplored upper back.
 
Orion devoured the young maiden with rising greed and lust. His massaging fingers found firm purchase within the dark tresses of Tanaquil's hair and pulled her thrashing lips to his all the harder. His tongue swept into the hot warm passage of her mouth, softly massaging her before brutally taking it into a whirling dance of tempered passion. The taste was heady, almost intoxicating to the immortal. How could such a woman not be taken, not be claimed by some poor wretch of a man? He growled in his passion, feeling his manhood push against her stomach.

With increasing lust, Orion slowly began pulling off the straps of her sleeping garment. He feared ripping the piece to shreds in his great lust. Finally parting with her lips, the god trailed fiery hot kisses down her jaw to the bottom of her lobe, kissing and sucking it gently. His hand worked ever so diligently at pulling her gown off slowly, making sure to tease and tantalize her tastes and desires to the fullest using a softness that the calloused texture of them generally hid. He was a hunter. She his prey.

Tonight, he would have her.
 
Tanaquil proved not an exceptionally elusive hart. Her lips curled into a smile, or tried to, but as such it was thoroughly disrupted by their shared kiss. How often is the hunter so doggedly pursued? Who hunts the hunter? She dared. At least here, in Morpheusâ?? realm. Tanaquil would needs remind herself to send a prayerâ??perhaps gift a small sacrificeâ??to the god of dreams at the household shrine in the morn. But how quickly did her mind turn to another god, the one before her, atop her body and under her stroking hands, his scapulae, his sleek-muscled back, the soft scoop of his spine, and then his pert, tight-clenched rump. Could not help squeezing, as if she tested a plump grape.

Nor could she help her soft coos as he trailed his kisses over her, light and low like a mourning doveâ??s. She gasped as his fingers, too, joined in the fray, teasing her sleeping shift from her frame. Slowly. Too slowly. Her own hands she raked lightly over his back, drawing them once more to her own frame, fumbling with the ties and folds of the draping shift, furling it from her. Such a light linen shift had never seemed to restrictive or complicated before! And yet the dream insisted that she perform this in excruciating detail, as that hardness pressed to her stomach and she felt at it each heartbeat.

At last they worked it away, between the pair of them and the fine-woven cloth fell forgotten even before it slithered to pool upon the floor. Now Orion could gaze upon her exposed form in entirety, the lax, flat plains of her torso, the round hillocks of her pert breasts, darkened nipples still limp in the sultry night air, the darker, sacred ravine beyond, and, of course, the shapely legs, belonging to no runner but toned enough. If, of course, his eyes ventured so far. And if, of course, he chose to drink her in with anything other than those sapidly suckling lips.
 
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