Liberation. It was every Spartan's dream. Liberation meant no longer having to suffer the long impossibly hot days toiling without recess. Liberation was shade from the desert sun that burned sweat soaked skin. Liberation was to be free from the slavery imposed on them by the tyrant, Muad'Dib. Free from cages. Free from shackles.
“They are such men aren’t they?” Leto said wistfully, his head resting in his heads as he leaned on the balustrade. He and his sister, Ghanima, were standing on a terrace above the garden, watching the Spartan slaves work at building a great labyrinth for them to walk through in the garden. The sunlight reflected off their muscled bodies as they lifted the heavy stones that would make up the walls.
Ghanima looked over at her brother; her brow rose in a quizzical expression. These Spartans... they were all men, yes. That she could agree with. They were large, smelly, dirty men. That they were ‘such’ men would not be the first words – with complimentary intonation – from her mouth and her brother's apparent taste in men was startling to say the least.
“I mean, look at them,” Leto gushed on. “They’re more… robust than some of our guards." He let out an infatuated sigh.
Ghanima sighed along with him, though almost definitely for different reasons. Leto was biting his lip in this way he did when his mind was – to put it politely – wondering. “Thinking of changing your palate, dear brother?” Ghanima knew well the rumour her brother had taken half the palace guards to bed.
“Perish the thought!” Leto said, aghast. The very idea that he wanted to take a slave into his bed was vile, tempting as their bodies may be.
Ghanima shook her head. “You won’t fool me with that virginal maiden act you are failing terribly to pull, Leto.” She pressed herself against her brother’s back. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that you are extremely vocal in your pleasure, dear. Even Irulan knows what a slut you are.” She accented the word with a subtle thrust of her hips into Leto’s rear.
Ghanima giggled when Leto jumped. He didn’t exactly flush. He did, however, bite the tip of his finger and say, ‘surely not,’ with a cheeky smile.
Both brother and sister laughed.
“Anyway,” Ghanima began again as she moved to stand next to him once again, leaning back against the stone railing. “If you decide to fuck a slave, I’m going to steal your Duncan.”
Leto snorted and looked over at his sister through heavy lidded eyes. “That man is in love with me, he wouldn’t touch you.”
Ghanima feigned a hurt gasp. “Well!” She exclaimed dramatically, on hand on her chest. The truth was Duncan Idaho was much too honourable to even consider taking one of his charges to bed. Also, he was married to their Aunt. It just wouldn’t be a good life choice in general.
Leto shook his head at Ghanima. “Besides, I can still have some fun without fucking them.”
Curious now, Ghanima had to ask: “How so?”
“You there! Spartan!”
Stelios sneered, letting out an annoyed grunt as he lifted a heavy stone. The word retained little of it’s once noble dignity. These taskmasters always called out ‘Spartan’. ‘Spartan’ synonymous with ‘slave’.
He’d chosen to ignore the voice at first, they were yelling from so far away it was probably not directed at him, but upon hearing the shout again, Stelios and the men around him turned from their labour to cast incredulous eyes on the one who was calling out. The young prince, dressed in the fine golden robes Arrakeen royalty, stood above them on the upper balcony. Both he and the princess next to him wore soft, cool fabrics of the purest whites and gold. Even from the distance Stelios could see him smirking down directly at them, short brunet hair tangling the slight breeze.
The prince cupped his hand to the side of his mouth. “You, with the hair!"
Stelios raised a single brow at that. The other Spartans around him, cropped hair and bald the lot of them, stood tentative for a short moment, before they turned to continued with their work. They let out short snorts of laughter as they past Stelios, who was standing there still holding a large piece of brick.
“Yes?” Stelios bit out, his tone rebellious. He smirked for he could see the taskmaster’s hands twitching on their whips as he glared up at the prince.
“You look like you have strong hands,” the prince yelled down at him again as Stelios threw down the boulder he’d been about to place. “See yourself to a guard!" The prince gave the order speedily before turning away from the ledge and disappearing back inside the palace.
Stelios stared up at the empty spot the balcony where the prince had been standing, utterly confused. What did the princeling want him for? His gaze only fell when a gloved hand grabbed his arm.
“Come on then, dog,” the guard grunted out. Stelios was pulled along, away from the curious and worried eyes of his fellow Spartans.
Ghanima stood staring at her brother with a slack jaw. "You're not seriously going to do this are you?" she demanded. “He’s a Spartan, Leto. It’s... well...” She was at a loss for words.
It is taboo is what it is, Leto thought with a giddy smile. He took Ghanima’s arm in his. "Just a little massage, darling!" he gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “At least tell me you approve of my choice.”
Leto would never admit it, but he had noticed that particular Spartan before - the blond with a trim, but gorgeously muscled body that was practically drool worthy.
Ghanima rolled her eyes. The man wasn’t horrible, but... a Spartan? “I hope, for your sake, he cleans up well,” she muttered.
Stelios let out a rough gasp as a bucket of cold water was thrown over him and then another. He’d been brought into some part of the stable to have the dirt and grime washed off him with a bristly cleaning scrub that was intended for use on a horse. He hadn’t been given the opportunity to bathe in a fortnight, so lord knows he needed it.
After another splash of water, the guard who'd brought Stelios into the palace moved in close and gripped his hair, using it to yank his head back. "You're going to see the prince. Gotta have you washed up good," he said in a dark tone.
Stelios let out a manic burst of laughter. "Jealous?" he breathed, still grinning even in the awkward position.
With an angry grunt, the guard roughly released his hair and spat. "Spartan dog," he hissed.
Stelios had just enough time to chuckle and enjoy the guard's reaction before another splash hit him in face. Another man was on him again, ripping at his hair with the coarse brush.
After a somewhat vicious scrub down from a few of the palace guards, Stelios was brought up to the - nicer - servants bathing quarters. He was spritzed with heavy scented perfumes and dressed in a clean white fabric loincloth. It must have been customary of the bathing staff because the young men who dressed him were wearing the same garment, only the also had sheer white tunics tied at the waist with golden cord.
The many of the servants left once he was dressed apart from one young man who Stelios quickly learned was the prince’s usual bathing attendant. The boy was a dainty young thing, much like the prince himslef, but he looked positively aghast that Stelios had even been allowed indoors. Stelios found his petulance amusing even if the boy’s words made his eyes roll to the back of his head with frustration.
“You,” the boy started, his voice already taking on a piqued quality, “have been requested to attend his imperial highness, prince Leto, in his bath this evening. The prince’s bathing and massage ritual plays a most important part maintaining his highness’s health.”
Stelios bit back a smirk. “No sensual aspect then?”
The boy sucked in a sharp breath; his eyes wide, staring at Stelios as if he’d just suggested they take a long walk out into the desert with no food or water. “You will not harm the prince nor will your touch him without approval,” he stammered on, obviously pretending not to have heard Stelios. “You will not speak to the prince unless ordered to. You will not enter the prince’s bathing waters. You will sit at the edge of the bath to service him. And you will do everything the prince says.”
Again, Stelios smirked. “So many rules, your prince must be hard to please.” He chuckled at the indignant little noise the boy made. If the prince was anything like his servant, at least Stelios would have some fun before someone had his head.
His briefing was over apparently and he was made to follow the bathing attendant out of the servant’s quarters and up into the glorious halls on the floor above. All the way up the stairs, Stelios couldn’t keep his eyes off the sway of petit servant’s beautifully rounded ass. He could see everything through the practically sheer fabric the servant wore, probably what he usually wore every day while bathing the prince - that lucky shit.
“The view is astounding,” Stelios murmured, his tone light and teasing.
The boy blushed furiously as he quickly realized that Stelios wasn’t looking out a window. He hurried them up to the bathing chamber, walking slightly ahead of Stelios to speak with the guard at the door who would be taking him back to his cell later - the prick.
Stelios bared his teeth at the guard as he and the attendant passed him into the baths. Much to his pleasure and amusement, the guard drew back slightly.
The bathing chamber was a vast circular room with a large crescent shaped tub carved into the stone floor. Steam was already rising though the room, but the light playing off the sheer blue drapes gave the sweltering air a cooler feel. The walls and high, vaulted ceiling was covered with sky coloured marble and polished wood and blue tiled mosaics patterned the floor.
“Stay here until the prince arrives. The bathing implements are in that box,” the bathing attendant pointed to the long flat wood container that Stelios could see the tops of various bottles, towels and clothes. “Any oils on the left are his imperial highness’s preferred oils, though he may ask for another. If he does, refer to them by smell.” With that said the attendant left with muffled murmur about dogs and their noses.
Stelios barked at the boy just as he reached the door and chuckled when he jumped. The boy scurried out of the bathing chamber, much to Stelios’ amusement. Served him right. With a satisfied smirk, Stelios waited for the prince to make an appearance.
He did not have to wait long; Leto appeared followed closely by another attendant. The poor servant scurried along behind him, picking up the garments Leto was already stripping out of and letting drop carelessly to the floor.
“Magnificent!” Leto exclaimed upon seeing Stelios, all dolled up as it were. “I told Ghani you would clean up well.” He turned to his attendant and eyed him wearily over the pile of clothes he was carrying.
“Leave us,” Leto said, shooing the boy away.
Stelios stiffed a laugh as the boy rushed off with Leto’s clothes. A part of him wanted to return the prince’s complement. Leto was stunning.
Stelios remembered the first time he’d seen the young prince, back when they were both just boys. The newly come of age Spartans had been taken from their meagre homes to the palace where they were made to kneel before Muad'Dib. Stelios couldn’t remember much of the sermon they’d been given - something about how their forefathers had sworn their services to the tyrant and his empire. But, what Stelios did remember was wide, concerned-looking blue eyes staring at him from behind dark floppy brunet hair. He had smiled at the princeling and the poor boy had startled and hid behind a lady’s skirts.
Now years later, the prince was a creature to behold and, standing bare before Stelios, he could only be described as ravishing. Leto held himself with a regal grace. He was smaller than the men Stelios knew who toiled laboriously each day, but his slim body held hidden power to it that Stelios felt he should admire.
Forcing his own body to control itself, Stelios reminded himself that this was the prince or Arrakis and the son of Muad'Dib. Leto was beautiful, but he was also the enemy. That recollection erased any arousal Stelios had felt only moments before – well, for the most part.
Leto watched Stelios’ face turn to take on a grim expression. “No need to look so glum,” he pouted, with one hand on his hip. “One would think you’d be happy to be out of the sun for a bit.”
Stelios tried to contain an amused laugh, but it came out his nose in a huff. He was supposed to be grateful now? Grateful? Hiding a sneer with his head bowed, he walked past Leto over to the edge of the bath to start preparing the long flat of bathing oils, soaps and towels.
Stelios could hear Leto tittering at his actions, but chose not to react to it in favour of avoiding any sort of execution related backlash. While he was preparing the oils, doing his best to remember everything the attendant had told him while ignoring the prince's presence, the gentle splashing sound of water came from behind him. He looked back to see Leto sliding into the pool, but quickly turned away again when Leto gave a breathy moan and a pleasured flush graced his cheeks.
Stelios remained on the edge of the baths. He pulled two bottles from the left side of the flat, rectangular box and placed them next to a cloth made of the softest fabric he’d ever felt. It slid though his fingers like silk but was still thick enough to absorb water. Spartans were men who afforded themselves little luxury, but in this Stelios strangely found he envied the prince this little one.
Behind him, Leto splashed in the water again.
“Come into the water with me, Spartan,” He ordered, swimming towards the edge where Stelios kneeled.
Breaking the rules already. Stelios lowered his head to hide the upturn of his lips. What else could one expect from a spoiled prince?
With a warriors grace he climbed into the bath, sending water splashing over the edge of the pool, much to Leto’s giggling amusement.
Stelios had been in the water barely a second when he realized that the prince was staring at him expectantly. He’d been told not to touch or speak without welcome. So he waited for an order of some sort.
Leto eyed him with a single raised brow. “You do know how bathe, don’t you, Spartan?”
Stelios started at the prince deadpan. It was obviously a rhetorical question, but that didn’t stop him from thinking Leto was a bit of a condescending little shit.
Leto rolled his eyes as he let out a dramatic sigh. Lifting one leg out of the water, he raised it, offering to be cleaned. With an impish smile, he let his toes massage Stelios' muscled chest, trailing along his collarbone before resting the ankle on his shoulder.
“Wash me,” Leto said simply. “You must at the very least understand Fremen?”
Stelios glared at the princeling. He took Leto’s ankle in his hand roughly and reached for the cloth and one of the larger vials of scented oil.
Leto let out a surprised gasp followed by a short laugh. “No need for savagery, Spartan,” he tutted.
Taking a deep breath, Stelios calmed his movements. He let the oiled cloth glide over Leto’s pale skin, careful not to tug the precariously balanced prince off of his seat on the underwater ledge. The entire time, He did not speak to Leto. He did not think it was permitted never mind wise to do so without a direct invitation.
Leto, on the other hand, was incredibly noisy. It was hard, but Stelios tried to ignore his shameless moans. The obvious pleasure the prince was getting out of having Stelios wash his lithe figure was astounding.
“Your hands are so strong! I knew they would be,” Leto breathed, as Stelios massaged the bottoms of his feet. He bit his lip, unsuccessfully trying to hold back another soft groan. “Your touch… my god, don’t stop.”
Stelios ran his well oiled cloth up one of Leto’s calves than the other. The kneading pressure of his calloused hands had the prince sighing and writhing against him like a wanton whore especially once Stelios reached his thighs.
Stelios had to resist pressing the foot he’d let drop back down under the water into his loincloth and rutting against it like a madman as he continued the massage. Ringing out the cloth, he tossed it aside to carry on with only his bare hands, much to Leto’s obvious enjoyment. Stelios progressed from his thighs to his soft belly then further up to his chest.
Leto arched his back, pressing himself against the Spartan as his fingers found and wrapped themselves in that blond mane of hair. His nipples pebbled as slick thumbs slid over them. Whimpering softly, Leto tugged at his hair to urge him on.
Stelios stopped any sound that tried to force itself from his chest. The sight of Leto’s writhing body shining with the heavy-scented oils and arching out of the steamy water had him aching behind his now practically transparent loincloth. He could see, Leto wasn’t faring any better, the prince’s erection was bobbing just under the surface of the pool, twitching every time Stelios' fingers touched an erogenous zone.
Leto. His skin was so soft and milky white. He smelled lovelier than any woman or man Stelios had ever met before. He was beautiful... but he was the son of the enemy. Stelios was kicking himself for his own desire. Still, he could not deny that the fair prince’s soft moans and the way he licked his startling red lips between breaths were doing something for him.
The breathy whisper forced Stelios' thoughts to come back to the present. He was leaning over Leto, their lips were bare inches from each other and the air between them grew hot. Stelios was panting as Leto’s glowing, blue eyes opened slowly.
“My sleeping clothes,” Leto murmured, eyes flicking over to the open door that led to his bedchambers.
Stelios’ eyes followed his, seeing at a distance that there was a silky shirt and a pair of sleeping pants laid out on the Princes’ bed. With a sigh, Stelios did as he’d been asked. Slowly, he pulled away from Leto’s flushed body. He himself was still tingling from their moment, but it had passed.
Stelios stepped out of the bath; not missing the way Leto bit his lip at the sight of him. The white loincloth the sevants had forced him into was practically transparent, leaving nothing to question Stelios’ manhood.
When Stelios returned with the sleeping clothes, Leto was out of the pool as well. He stood, drying himself off. His back was to Stelios and, as he finished, he held the towel splayed just across his hips, covering himself modestly all of a sudden.
Leto looked back over his shoulder towards Stelios. “Well? Aren't you going to dress me?”
Stelios couldn’t help but let his jaw drop open for a moment. This pampered child, he thought to himself. With a subtle shake of his head, he nodded and helped Leto into his sleeping clothes.
Leto turned to him then, fully dressed while Stelios was still virtually naked. A big smile lit up the young prince’s face. “Now, carry me to bed!”
Pampered. Stelios resisted the overwhelming urge to raise his brow at the boy or laugh. Instead he simply obeyed. Stelios lifted Leto easily, smirking a little at the princeling's surprised gasp.
Leto's breathing became uneven again, as it had been in the bath. “You're very strong,” he murmured as he placed one arm around Stelios' broad shoulders while one hand came up to press against his chest for 'balance'.
Stelios carried Leto though the threshold of his chambers to the large canopied bed taking up much of the room. He laid the prince down on the soft mattress.
As Stelios stood over Leto, there was a moment of tension in the air between them. Stelios could see something in the prince’s eye, some sinful little gleam. There was something inside Leto just begging to be despoiled. When Stelios leaned forward over him, settling him into the warm sheets, Leto’s body practically arched up.
Stelios considered just taking what seemed would be freely given. Every muscle in his body ached to lean across the bed and kiss Leto, but then the prince spoke.
“You are dismissed, Spartan,” he said, quietly as if the words didn't want to come out.
Stelios smirked at the audible remorse in Leto's voice, but he did not pry. Standing tall, he nodded his head in a curt bow.
“You may return to your-” Leto stopped, his eyes widening. He obviously had no idea where Stelios slept. He probably had no idea where any of the slaves were kept when they weren’t labouring under the hot sun to build his little garden. Stelios didn’t bother telling him about the tiny dungeon like pit. Let the boy keep his innocence, he thought with a pang of resentment.
“You’re dismissed,” Leto repeated instead of finishing, an embarrassed flush rising up on his cheeks.
“Gratitude,” was the only phrase Stelios offered that night. He wasn’t even sure what he was thanking Leto for or why, but he felt like it was expected. And the way Leto shivered at the sound of his voice made it worth it.
When the double doors closed behind the Spartan, Leto let out a whooshing breath. He lay in bed his mind racing as he thought on the events of the evening: the way the Spartan's hand had felt, the rough, unpractised caress of one who knew only hard labour. How did those hands feel so much better than those of any servant trained in the art of massage?
Leto let his fingers slip under the covers to touch where he had been aching all evening. He pressed his hand to the front of his sleeping trousers and spread his legs slightly. Reaching under the drawstring at his waist, Leto imagined the Spartan leaning over him as he had done only minutes before. He hissed as he touched himself; his bare skin moist and still lightly coated with oil.
Slick with it, Leto's hand slipped easily over his cock. As he pleasured himself, he thought of the Spartan; his tanned skin and hard, muscled body. Leto spread his legs a bit more and imagined the Spartan crawling up is bed to lie between them. He imagined the delicious weight of the Spartan's body against his smaller frame and, biting his lip, he stroked himself faster.
Leto reached orgasm with the vulgar image of the Spartan’s hands on him instead of his own. His body shook from the pleasure and he arched off the bed. Once the initial shock passed, he fell back against his pillows with a blissful sigh.
Leto was only just coming down from the high of his climax when there was a knock at the door. Before he could ask who it was, the ornate doors opened wide.
“It smells like an expensive brothel in here.” Ghanima giggled as she burst into the room. She came towards the bed and plopped herself down at the end of it.
Leto sat up, keeping his blankets close to hide the mess he’d made of himself from his sister.
Ghanima stared at him expectantly. “Your Spartan just left.”
“Obviously.” Leto rolled his eyes. “And don’t call him ‘my Spartan’, he’s just... a Spartan.”
“Mm hm.” Ghanima smirked. “How was your evening?”
Leto had the decency to blush. “It... I...”
Ghanima eyed her stammering brother curiously. “That well, hm?”
Leto huffed. “Ghani, I’m sleeping,” He said curtly before flopping back onto his pillows.
Ghanima tittered. She stood from the bed and walked around to kiss Leto on the head. “Well, if you’re not going to be any fun then I’m off to bed. Good night, brother.”
Leto sighed, relaxing back down into the mattress as Ghanima turned to leave. “Good night, sister.”
“You smell like a woman,” Leonidas teased when Stelios was returned to their underground cell. The other Spartan was smirking from where he leaned against a wall scratching his black beard.
As slaves, the Spartans were kept in an underground pit near to the palace barracks; a cellar-like dungeon. There was one great gate that kept them inside; otherwise only scattered walls and makeshift, canvas drapery within in the cells separated them.
“What did the princeling do to you, poor Stelios?” Leonidas came towards Stelios. He stopped smiling when he noticed the other man’s stiff mean. “Are you alright?”
Stelios looked at him pointedly. “We need to call the men together, quickly.”
Leonidas frowned, but still he nodded and complied with the strange request.
Three hundred Spartan men met at the fire pit in the centre of the dungeon where a large hole in the roof high above them allowed for the smoke to rise up as well as for food to be lowered down. With the knowledge that the guards could be listening they spoke a secret tongue. Even if they were overheard, the guards would have no idea what they were saying.
“Why have you called us here like this?” One man asked from the back of the group.
“Like you had anything better to do!” Another retorted.
“We have only a few hours for sleep!”
Leonidas silenced their bickering rabble with a raised palm. “I have called this meeting so that we may begin preparations for an uprising.”
There was silence among the men dispersed with quiet murmurs of disbelief. This seemingly fool hearty proposition from their leader had raised many questions. The most prominent one being:
"Listen to my brothers,” Stelios proclaimed, interrupting the men from their thoughts and worries. He stood among them, gazing into the tired eyes of each man there. “I struck no deal with the Arrakeen tyrant, Muad'Dib! What's more, I refuse to continue paying for the faults of my forefathers with my own sweat and blood. We rise up, or we die as slaves."
"Stelios is rights," Leonidas proclaimed. He stood from his seat by the fire and gazed over his fellow Spartans. "No longer will this empire murder our mothers and make whores of our wives! Our freedom will not be given to us, so we will have to fight for it."
“I will stand with you,” Astinos declared, standing from his seat next to Stelios.
Stelios clapped Astinos on the back before looking to the rest of the men for consensus. Around the fire, the men murmured quiet cheers, nodding to one another and the leaders of the rebellion before them.
“I will as well,” Astinos’ father, Artemis, said as he stood with him. “This old man still has some fight left in him,” he murmured with a smirk.
“Tonight we will plan our route to the armoury of the palace guard,” Stelios raised his cup of gruel above his head triumphantly. “Drink this godless slop for the last time, my brothers, for tomorrow we dine in Muad’Dib’s halls.”
“Stelios,” Leonidas said calling the man aside once they had all re-entered the cells. Men passed between them, their faces full of more life than any had expressed in years.
Stelios stepped away from the bars he'd been leaning to join Leonidas. “There is worry in your eye,” he noted. “There is no need, we will find victory tomorrow.”
Leonidas frowned, one tentative hand stroking at his beard. “Your words speak to the heart, but are they just false hope?” He wondered. “False hope can boost moral, but it cannot open locks.”
“No, but keys can.” Stelios produced a slim piece of metal from a fabric fold in his loincloth. “I stole this,” he held the object up in front of Leonidas, “from the guard. I knew- I knew we may never have another chance.”
Still with a creased brow, Leonidas stared him down. “This is…?”
Stelios grinned. “It is the key to the gate! We will simply walk out of here!”
“The key?” Leonidas’s eyes widened. “How did the guards not notice?”
“The first guard, the one who took me into the palace. I’m sure he has noticed it missing by now, he probably hasn’t told his superiors for fear of punishment.” Stelios couldn't stop himself from laughing as he shook his head. “The glorious fool.”
“Excellent, Stelios. When we are free, our children will sing songs of this act.” Leonidas struck a heavy pat against Stelios' shoulder and turned back to the crouched men with a wide grin on his face. He held the key to their freedom in a tight fist. “Now we make our plan and tomorrow night we break free of this wretched place and take this city.”
The rebellion was not civilized, but it was swift and the Spartans were victorious. In the dead of night three hundred Spartan men escaped from their holding cell. They had built so much of the palace themselves that they had little trouble making their way though it. The soldier's weapons stores were easy enough to find, and there were few guards standing watch so deep behind the safety of the palace walls. No one saw it coming.
The Spartans cut down the palace guards without hesitation and moved on to their task masters next. Anyone who they found who surrendered without a weapon drawn were kept safely aside to be tried later, but they were few, only servants and the men who woke from their beds to find a sword pressed to their throats. Before the nights end the Spartans had gained control of the palace without raising a single alarm, for there were no soldiers left to raise it.
The Spartans broke though the scarcely guarded palace halls. The entered rooms drawing servants, king’s advisers, officers and diplomats alike from their beds, placing them in the great hall to await judgement. The royal wing of the palace was all that was left
“What of the imperial family?” Stelios asked Leonidas, as he stood before them as their leader.
“The royals have barred themselves cowering in their rooms. I say we breakdown the doors and slay them in their beds.” Leonidas had lost his wife and child to Muad'Dib's rule; Stelios knew he had little mercy left in him to show.
Still, Stelios placed a calming hand on his leader's shoulder. “The wife and children of Muad'Dib are faultless in most respects. Their naivety is no excuse, but surely any survivors should be tried fairly with the others, my lord.” He would not say, but he did not want to see the young prince killed. No. He and Leto had unfinished business.
Leonidas frowned, but he did take a moment to pause and think on Stelios' words. “You have more tact than I, Stelios,” he said finally. "Clemency should always be shown to those deserving.” With that he gave his order.
“Kill Muad'Dib,” Leonidas shouted over the rabble of Spartan men. “Make an example him, but the other royals are to be well kept. They are to be our bargaining chip with the common people and this city’s allies."
Stelios smiled at Leonidas' plan. He left his leader's side and made way for the royal wing of the palace. When he reached the door out of the hall, he stopped, noticing the young attendant who was sitting quietly among their captives. It was the boy who had briefed him upon bathing the prince the day before. “You boy!”
The attendant looked up with fearful spice-blue eyes before looking away submissively. “Yes, sir.”
Stelios snorted, amused by the pushy youth's sudden submissiveness. “Don’t ‘sir’ me, boy. Where is your prince?"
“Swordmaster Duncan had him locked in his chambers.” His eyes wide with fear, the boy gave up the information with no further prompting.
Stelios nodded, pleased with his compliance. “Astinos,” he called, bringing his good friend to his side. “I must away. Watch this boy; see to it that he isn’t harmed.”
Astinos combed some of his dark hair back off his face and smiled down at the little servant. “With pleasure,” he purred, causing the boy swallowed and looked away, a flush painting his cheeks red.
Stelios smirked at the two before heading off down the halls to find Duncan's body. It was easy enough to relocate; a decorated soldier Stelios had brought down himself. Stelios respected the man’s skill, though not how he used it to enforce the laws of a tyrant. Still, the man fought with honour and so Stelios let Duncan lie preeminently among the rabble of the household guard.
“Rest well, Duncan,” Stelios murmured. With that, he took the keys from Duncan's belt that could only be the keys to the imperial bedchambers.
Retracing his steps from the night before, Stelios made his way though the luxurious halls, passing his men who were laying out the bodies of the dead from both sides. At the end of the hall there was a great wooden door that had been locked to protect the members of the imperial family. Stelios unlocked it and made quick work of the two remaining guards on the other side. Several of his men ran past him as he cleaned his blade of their blood.
“Do not harm the imperial family!”
The other Spartans paused for a moment. They had obvious qualms with this order, but still they nodded and Stelios knew he could trust these men.
He recognized the first door on the right as the door to Leto's chambers. Stelios tried two of the keys before finding the one that turned the lock. The door opened and he made his way though the threshold cautiously.
His entrance into Leto's chambers was an eventful one. The prince sprang from behind a pillar and attacked him with a dagger-like letter opener as soon as the door had closed behind him. Leto had a skilled hand even with such a small blade clenched in his fist. Stelios was barely fast enough to deflect that first blow. Mid-attack, he grabbed Leto's arm and used the smaller man's momentum to spin and trap him with his back to Stelios' chest.
Leto struggled against the hold, kicking Stelios in the shins. "If you barbarians have harmed my sister I will tear out your hearts with my bare hands." he hissed, his words strong even though Stelios had him hard-pressed to move.
There was a little hike in Leto's breath as Stelios spun him around to pin him against the adjacent stone column. The prince recognised him. Stelios could tell by the look the prince was giving him that their evening together had not been so easily forgotten.
With Leto's wrists easily trapped in his large hands, Stelios forced him to drop his knife. Once it had fallen uselessly to the stony floor with a dull clatter, he kicked it away before returning his attention to the young prince.
"We have done and we will do nothing to harm your sister, my prince.” Stelios continued to explain when he noticed that Leto was eyeing him with suspicion, “Unlike your tyrant father and his followers, Spartans do not harm women and children."
Leto spluttered. “My fath-! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Stelios let out a humourless laugh. “Naivety is a poor defence, my prince.”
Still, Leto shook his head defiantly and Stelios knew why. Stelios realized Leto probably knew as much about his father's malevolence as he did about where the Spartan men slept. He knew Leto would not easily be able to accept that his father was not a good man. Tyrant though he may have been, he was the boy’s father.
"I do not care! I-I will not suffer this treatment, S-Spartan." Leto barely had time to finish when a hand slammed into the wall next to his head.
“Your palace is taken, and your men are lost! Please do tell me how you believe you are to be treated,” Stelios growled.
“I will not be threatened like this,” Leto replied with a similarly dark tone. “I am still a prince and I will be treated as such!”
Pulling back from his overbearing stance a little, Stelios laughed again. “I think you need to be shown your place,” he said, bemused.
“I know my place! I am the prince of-”
With an annoyed glare, Stelios again caged Leto against the marble pillar. His elbows landed on either side of the shorter man’s head.
“You’re not a prince,” Stelios murmured. “Not. Any. More.”
There was a long silence between them as Stelios' words seemed to sink in.
Leto swallowed audibly, his head bowing. “So... what will you do with me then,” he whispered.
Stelios looked him over, pleased with Leto’s newfound submission. “Haven’t decided yet,” he admitted. “Just thought you would appreciate my personal attention in the circumstances.”
With a shaky breath, Leto asked, “In the circumstances... will you kill me?”
Leto seemed surprised by Stelios' quick reply. Surprised, but very much relieved.
The relief didn't last long as a manic grin spread over Stelios atypically handsome face.
“I won't kill you, however, I may reap the spoils of war, as it were.” Stelios ran his fingers along the pale skin at Leto's collar that was left exposed by the part in his robe.
Leto shivered. Was it from disgust? Pleasure? He couldn’t say himself.
Stelios pressed his hand to the centre of Leto's chest and leaned forward. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his heated breath caressing the shell of Leto's ear. “I will stop. I will stop and I will take you to your sister and the rest of those who are to be put on trial.”
Stelios' words reminded Leto of the events that had just taken place. His palace – his home – had just been sacked by the Spartans. Now this man – this man he had demeaned and used as a slave – he was standing before him. Asking.
Leto looked up at him. He was quiet for a moment.
“May I at least know the name of my defiler?” His voice was barely a whisper.
Stelios smiled into Leto's collar. “I'm called Stelios.”
“Well, Stelios... you give a very good massage.” Leto cleared his throat. “We have not been formally introduced, but you may call me Leto as this is an… informal arrangement.”
Stelios chuckled at his name among other things; the princeling's regal airs were amusing.
“I don't know what you're finding funny.”
Stelios stopped laughing and grinned down at him. “In my culture, Leto is a woman's name.”
“Well,” Leto said, affronted but brave, “I am no woman.”
“I had noticed,” Stelios said with a smug grin, “in the bath.”
Leto looked away, biting his lip. He let out a short gasp when Stelios pressed him more firmly back against the wall. One of the Spartan's thickly muscled thighs pressed between his legs, forcing them to spread.
“What are you doing?”
“Surely I don't need to explain-” Stelios slipped one hand over the curve of Leto's behind, squeezing one of his firm cheeks.
“Stelios!” Leto choked out.
Stelios paused in his movements. “I can stop.”
Leto stared at him. His expression turned ambivalent as he questioned his own wants.
Stelios let go of Leto's wrists, leaving his hands to fall limp at his sides.
The gesture confused Leto. He looked up at Stelios though lowered lashes. One of his hands came to rest on the muscled thigh between his legs. Gasped as Stelios pressed forward in response, rocking against him again. His newly released hands came up to grip the Spartan’s muscled sides.
When Leto was panting, his entire body relaxed with pleasure, Stelios moved in. He took advantage of Leto's open lips, thrusting his tongue between them in a crushing kiss.
Surprised, Leto's eyes opened wide for a moment. He let out a shocked whimper, but that was all. Very soon his eyes grew heavy and closed once again as Stelios continued to ravish his lips.
Leto found himself kissing back. As if on their own his legs wrapped around Stelios' trim hips, pulling his larger frame closer. He moaned loudly as his clothed cock pressed tight to Stelios' muscled abdomen. He could feel the Spartan's hardness against the centre of his, pressing insistantly.
Stelios chuckled as he pulled back from Leto's lips. The prince was flushed as if he'd drunk too much wine. He leaned against Stelios like his legs would give out at any moment.
“I had though it was your plan to fight me,” Stelios commented with a cheeky smile.
Leto blushed furiously. “I-I might still.” In his own defence, he didn't truly feel any want to struggle and the doing would be pointless. So why bother?
“I would not mourn if you didn't.”
Leto threw his head back and moaned as Stelios' lips descended on his neck. The Spartan ravaged him with open-mouthed kisses to the erogenous skin.
Suddenly, Stelios lifted him. Leto was gasping against the Spartan’s lips in surprise as he walked them over to the large bed in the center of the room.
The air left Leto's lungs as Stelios let him fall to land on the soft mattress below. He moved back until he was lying against the mountainous pile of pillows at the headboard. When Stelios moved to join him on the bed, Leto felt all of his darkest desires unfurl. The Spartan was crawling towards him, taking his ankles into his strong hands and parting his legs.
Stelios pulled the prince to him in this position so Leto wasn't buried so deeply in his pillows.
“Take off your robe.”
Stelios gave him a bemused look. “I would lay with you. Take off your robe.”
Agahst, Leto cried out, “You will do no such thing!”
Stelios leaned over him; his closeness had Leto biting his lip again, this time with anxious desire.
Stelios pressed his lips close to Leto’s ear and in a deep voice simply repeated:
“Take off your robe.”
The third time was the charm. When Stelios pulled back slightly, Leto started stripping off the thin fabric of his robe making a show of it. He heard Stelios let out a low groan as he undressed and, in that moment, Leto realized something that felt so obvious in that moment.
He wanted this. He wanted Stelios
He wanted Stelios holding him down. He wanted the Spartan to have him like a well-paid whore. To take him. Yes - he had wanted it since that fateful night he’s brought the man in to bath him.
As Leto bared himself completely with little hesitation, he eyed Stelios' loincloth pointedly. God, how he wanted this.
Stelios grinned. He saw Leto's eyes twitching back any forth between his face and his still clothed cock. “My turn?”
Leto bit back a noise as Stelios released himself from the leather confines. The Spartan's heavy, eager cock arched out and Stelios took hold of his flesh, stroking it slowly.
Leto blushed furiously and looked away. What was he doing? He should be fighting Stelios not... submitting to him.
Leto wasn't given time to over-think his plight. Stelios was on him, crawling between his spread legs and pressing his weight between Leto's shivering thighs.
Leto moaned at the sensation. He couldn't stop himself from rolling his hips, grinding to get a better feel of the hard muscle between his legs.
Stelios rutted against Leto, their hips thrusting together in time to an inaudible beat. He let his body cover the prince's smaller form as he trust, his hands fisting in the sheets on either side of Leto's head. Leto's finger nails bit into the skin at his chest, raking down providing a delicious hurt.
Suddenly, Surprising Stelios with his strength, Leto pushed him up and then rolled him onto his back.
Taken aback, Stelios gripped Letos arms as the younger man sat straddling his hips and, for a moment, it seemed like he was going to restrain Leto again.
"What are you playing at?" he asked cautiously, his voice laced with suspicion. Had the prince found another weapon? Was he trying to get Stelios into a weaker position?
Leto blinked down at him innocently. "I wanted-" he stopped, biting his lip.
Stelios grinned at Leto's reddening cheeks and his hold on the prince's arms quickly loosened. He placed one thumb on Leto's lower lip to stop him from worrying the delicate flesh between his teeth. "Tell me."
"I wanted to try something."
Stelios grunted at the sight before him. Leto's red lips stretched beautifully around the girth of his cock. It was obvious the prince had had some practice… a lot of practice.
"This look suits you. My cock in your mouth." He chucked. "Never thought I would have a prince suck me."
Leto pulled back until just the head of Stelios' huge cock was stretching his lips. He looked up at Stelios with heavy lidded eyes, a blush spreading across his already heavily flushed cheeks. Getting his own back, he worked the Spartan's cock with his lips and tongue until Stelios was groaning. Leto felt Stelios clutching his hair urging him take that impressive length down his throat.
“Gods!” Stelios shouted just as Leto's lips caressed the base of his cock. “Stop. Stop.”
Leto felt Stelios’ grip on his hair tighten and pulled back. He let Stelios' cock fall from his lips, licking the swollen head as it slapped up against his muscled abdomen. “Was it good?”
Stelios chuckled. “Too good, but I have other plans for tonight.”
Leto hummed with pleasure as Stelios sat up to pull him lap. “I do not know if I care for these plans,” he teased.
“Then tell me to stop,” Stelios whispered again.
Leto shook his head then gasped as Stelios reached back. His hand wrapped around Leto’s upper thigh and then moved upward, squeezing. He parting Leto’s cheeks and his fingers delved between them, rubbing the pad of one lightly over his hole.
Stelios slid his cock between the curves of Leto's perfectly rounded cheeks with a hand on Leto's lower back, holding him down to the bed. Leto squirming under him trying to press back against his cock only made for delicious suspense. The crown caught on the furled muscle as he stroked it over Leto's waiting hole. Leto cried out and Stelios stopped teasing. With the slightest pressure, he pushed just the tip into Leto.
Leto's toes curled as pleasure shot though him. He gripped the sheets and stifled his cries into a pillow. Stelios had stopped teasing and was moving on to pure torture. Leto gasped as he felt the Spartan behind him, fucking him with just the head of his cock.
Stelios groaned at the sensation of Leto's tight heat around him. He pulled out completely until just the tip of his cock was just kissing Leto's greedy hole then pressed back inside watching as Leto stretched around him. Steadily, Stelios repeated this action until the former prince was visibly shaking.
In one movement, Stelios thrust his entire length into Leto.
Leto couldn’t stop the pleasured moans tearing themselves from his throat. He could feel the air being forced from his lungs, rushing out of him in gasping cries in time with Stelios’ pistoning thrusts. His body was rocked forward with each one.
“Leto...” Stelios moaned. The Spartan flattened himself against Leto’s back, his grip tight on Leto’s hips as he pulled him to meet each thrust.
Leto looked back over his shoulder to see that Stelios was in a similar state to his own.
“Are you alright,” Stelios panted.
“No.” Leto arched his back. “Fuck me.”
Stelios growled and caught Leto’s lips over his shoulder. The kiss was heated and messy. It only broke when both were desperate for air, gasping against each other’s lips.
Leto’s arms grew tired and his elbows gave way under him as Stelios’ rutting continued. Leto fell forward, his chest on the mattress, but Stelios’ firm grip on his hips kept them raised. The change of angle allowed the Spartan’s thrusts to hit deeper. Leto could feel his climax building up to its imminent peak.
Then, Stelios turned him onto his back so suddenly Leto felt a bit dizzy. He stared up at Stelios with wide spice-blue eyes. His mouth opened to cry out, but no sound came.
The Spartan leaned over him, covering Leto’s smaller frame with his. Stelios slid his cock back inside the tight heat of Leto’s body.
Leto could only throw his head back and gasp. He wrapped himself around Stelios; his ankles coming to cross over the Spartan’s lower back, tugging him in with each pounding thrust. He could feel the press of Stelios’ fingers on his hips, knowing there would be bruises as the man held him in place.
Stelios urged Leto’s arms around his shoulders and pulled the smaller man up off the mattress. His thrusts continued as he sat with Leto bouncing rhythmically in his lap. The sound of blood pumping in his ears was only exceeded by the steady slap of skin against skin.
Leto threaded his fingers into Stelios’ long hair and gasped against the Spartans parted lips as the sensation of his cock pressed between their bodies finally overwhelmed him. All too soon Stelios skin was slick with sweat and Leto’s come. Leto’s body shook with the shock of his orgasm. Stelios rolled them both back down onto the bed. Taking one of Leto’s legs and pushing it up to his chest, he fucked Leto though his it.
Leto watched Stelios as he approached his own climax. He watched the Spartan’s eyes focus on where their bodies were connected, where his cock was thrusting between them. As the pleasure built, Stelios’ pace increased. Leto felt a heavy hand press to his stomach, anchoring him to the sheets.
Stelios stilled with a low moan that Leto echoed when he felt the wet pulsing of Stelios’ release inside him.
"I suppose you’re done with me now?" Leto asked breathlessly, post orgasm. "I am neither a woman nor a child, I don’t know what keeping me will satisfy." He looked over at Stelios, but there was no fear in his eyes. They lay on their sides facing one another. Stelios was holding him with a strong arm wrapped around his waist and his cock still retaining some of its hardness inside Leto.
"I will not kill you, Leto." Stelios rolled his eyes at having to reassure him.
The Spartan confused Leto. What use could the prince of a fallen house be? "I don't understand you, Stelios,” he whispered. “I can’t imagine what you want from me.”
Stelios sighed. He let his head fall to the pillow so he could look into Leto's confused spice-blue eyes. "My prince,” he started, “since I first laid eyes on you I have longed to put you in your place.” Stelios chuckled. “Once a noble standing high above, now a bed warmer for his former slave. I will let you live and give you the opportunity to feel what it is to be dominated completely as I have been." With a toothsome smile he added, “besides, I grow fond of having you beneath me, my prince. I would miss this.”
Leto sucked in a sharp breath. He could feel Stelios growing hard inside of him even though it had only been minutes. "Please, Stelios! I need to rest, my body cannot take it again so soon!" he said this in protest even as he arched to press more firmly to Stelios' larger form.
Stelios chuckled maniacally. "Slaves do not get rest, my prince," he whispered. His hot breath caressed Leto's ear, drawing a keen shiver from the young prince. “Tell me to stop.”
Leto didn't say a word.
Stelios fucked him again and a third time later that night Leto woke to the delicious feeling of Stelios' cock still inside of him. The never-ending barrage of pleasure built to point close to ecstasy. Each time Stelios would say 'tell me to stop' and Leto would answer with silence until finally his silence turned into impassioned cries of ‘don't stop!’.
The Spartans took control of Arrakeen, squashing any who rebelled violently against them and promoting those who received them. Many those who had once worked under Muad'Dib were given the choice to leave the city if they so wished and many declined that offer choosing instead to live under the new Spartan rule.
After the night they spent together, Stelios reluctantly gave Leto that same option. To his pleasure – and considerable relief – Leto declined. Once again dressed in all his Arrakeen pomp, for Stelios enjoyed seeing the princeling in his pretty clothes, Leto sat close to Stelios and the newly elected king, Leonidas, at the head of the table during their morning meal. Leto told him he had decided he would rather stay in the city.
“I think I will find more pleasure in the company of Spartans than I will taking my chances in the desert,” was his cheeky response.
And to that, Stelios could only smile.