#tkatb1

[jamgetsbred]

The King and The Bull

Got bored, wrote a kinky re-imagining of Theseus and The Minotaur. Comments are welcome but bear in mind I'm not going to edit this to hell since it's for fun! I write academic papers enough so my hee hee porn writing isn't going to be held up to the same scrutiny. Thanks!

SUMMARY: Theseus is a young prince of Athens tasked with the impossible: achieve immortality by writing himself into the stars through his heroic deeds to cement his name, the one thing he ever chose for himself, in song forever. His first task after establishing his connection to his father's bloodline?

Slay the Minotaur, a monster of Crete that devours fourteen young people every year.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Transphobia mention (very brief beginning confrontation, trans identity is a central theme of this story), Blood, Viscera (mentioned in Labyrinth fight), Physical harm, Death mention, lice (mentioned on the ship), rats (also on the ship), all sex is consensual

KINKS: Monster fucking, breeding kink, biting, blood, rough fucking, pregnancy risk, praise kink

Chapter II here

My son.

Theseus’s heart nearly stopped as he heard his mother call his name. 

“Theseus, my son, please.” 

His anger felt like Prometheus clawing his way through his chest with flaming hands. Every inhibition in his body burned in the face of his rage. He turned and met her tears with a smile that spread to his eyes. 

“Please? Please? You beg me now, of all times to grovel?” His laugh was the bark of a hound. Aethra recoiled as if he’d slapped her. 

“You will die, Theseus. You will die if you go to Crete, you foolish boy!” 

“Boy! Ha! I am only valuable to you in death. Yes, all of a sudden when my fate is assured you’re losing a son. Would you have begged Clymene not to go to Crete?” 

“And I’m sure you feel like a man in this moment. Abusing your mother! Taking my only child from me!” 

“Taking your child? I am a son of Poseidon born to a mortal woman. I am your only tie to Olympus personified. I am not taking your child; I am taking your pride.” Even Achilles, a man gifted with the speed of Hermes, could not have struck Theseus quicker. Aethra’s hand trembled as her son kept his eyes fixed on the pillar he now faced. His cheek felt like molten lead; the same melting rage set his jaw and raised his voice. The person that spoke was unfamiliar to both of them. 

“You,” He took a step forward. There was no need to touch her. “Are a wretched woman, who made my childhood a torturous existence. A half life. What did you raise me to be? Nothing more than a bride. You did not raise the son you claim to lose now, the son that marches to Crete, the son that will kill the Minotaur. Where will you be when my name is written into the heavens? You will be an afterthought. My glory will be my own. You, Aethra, will be forgotten to ash and dust.” 

Her hands and shoulders shook as she wept, her coughing and spluttering making her body double over. She grasped his hand, then his ankle as he tried to step away. 

“You will go to Crete.” 

“I will.” 

Theseus left the house with a sword and a scroll strapped to his belt. Bound for Athens, and a ship with black sails. 

Chapter I

Even with his father’s gifts Theseus couldn’t help but be faced with his many miseries. The chains clamped around his wrists and ankles dug weeping blisters into his skin. Blazing sun fried his nose, cheeks and scalp; his fiery hair didn’t offer much protection for the young hero. Worse still, even with his skin flaking off around him that didn’t compare much to the rats. Wretched vermin that fucked, ate, birthed and died all around the brig. For weeks he listened to this cacophony of sounds: rats, coughing, weeping. He was somewhat sure by day three he could hear his bones creak from the cold. 

By the second week he was caked in his own sweat and filth, gasping for any breath from the air holes he could find. His body felt like it was being pulled apart. The tunic he wore was certainly a mess; his breasts were raw from how little protection it offered from the splintering hack job of a floor. Yet he still grinned; because there were children here: sacrifices to the Minotaur as young as ten. Theseus braided hair, spun handmade tops, and taught them songs. Other older sacrifices like himself in their early 20’s joined him. The littlest one, Penelope, reached for his hair as he tried to pick the lice out of her scalp. 

“Are you going to save the Minotaur?”

He chuckled, smoothing her hair. “No, I’m going to save us. I have to kill the minotaur, Penelope.” 

Penelope’s face scrunched as he flicked a bug into the darkness. She huffed, crossing her arms. 

“What if he’s nice? His Papa put him in there. What if he didn’t hurt people? What if he’s just sad?” 

Theseus smiled around the hairpin between his lips. “The minotaur is a beast. Killing him will end his pain. I’m helping him by helping us.” 

It was quiet at first; but the prince of Athens could hear the waters slow and the ship's low, droning groans as it began to lose speed. He was the first person to shout “BRACE!” as the ship’s abrupt halt nearly sent them flying. Penelope clung to his neck while he grabbed onto Orion’s wrist to keep him from breaking his spine against the steel bars of their cell.

 Finally, the ship settled. 

Only one or two soldiers came to collect them. Two men that looked like prisoners in uniform spat at their feet, huffing as they opened the cell. 

“Rise, oh children of Athens. To your deaths you go. March, march.” Theseus carried the two youngest; poor Adrian couldn’t lift his head, and Priscilla barely opened her eyes. The guard didn’t bother to re-chain them, simply allowing them to shuffle along to the deck to meet their killers. 

Sure, maybe he hadn’t expected fanfare, but maybe..a little pomp for the sacrifices that fed their monster would’ve been appreciated. Instead, Theseus looked upon (really, squinted at; the sun cast everything in a white curtain) a silent crowd. Three figures stood on the dock awaiting them. King Minos he knew of from his father. A tyrant of a man who demanded an endless flow of Athenian blood in exchange for the single split skull of his son. He knew less of Ariadne or her sister. Of course he’d only been told by the sailors what most men would probably want to know: only tall tales of beautiful eyes and firm bosoms. One soldier was obsessed with Ariadne’s ankles, so much so that Theseus at one point wished he’d worn the longest dress possible himself. 

Minos was an ugly man. His smile as Theseus was pushed forward off of the gangplank was like an open suture.  

“Ah, the Prince of Athens. Welcome, Son of Aegus.” Son was spat at him like a gauntlet was thrown. All of Crete held its breath. 

Theseus simply grinned and bowed. “King Minos. Yes, a prince of Athens is no greater in value than her people.” 

“Yes. So it seems you aren’t of great value at all. Die well, Princeling.” Some of the peasants gasped, some of the men roared with laughter. Theseus’s smile remained plastered onto his face, painting himself with pleasantness. Most would look for his smile- but only one person in all of Crete followed his eyes.

Princess Ariadne’s gaze had been fixed on him since he exited the boat, but now he saw her plainly. She was delightfully pretty- the same way he’d been groomed to be when he was younger. Fit to fade into the decoration of a room. But Ariadne’s personality was easy to see for those who saw her earrings in the shape of stars, the pendant of Daedalus around her neck. Her dancing skirt. Her worn sandals. He searched for what he needed: the slight bump on her right finger. 

She can write. She can read. She probably learned under Daedalus, master of the labyrinth himself. Theseus tucked that into the back of his mind. Right now it was difficult to think as he made the long walk to the palace carrying two children with no sandals on hot stone. So instead his mind wandered to other things as buildings passed, and the people’s faces watching the death march blurred together. He thought of glory, of men- women- men? At his every beck and call. Crowds would roar his name, babies would bear the name he’d made for himself in attempts to capture his glory. His father Poseidon in the heavens would make him immortal among the stars. Only when he reached the palace did he stop to take in his surroundings; which were mainly white marble. Every so often he’d see columns with beautiful golden veins, but for the most part Minos kept a plain home. The real prize could be heard throughout the palace, and felt in his feet. At first Theseus thought it was the earth shaking; but then, Penelope whispered as she trembled.

“He’s screaming.”

“What?”

“Big bull man.”

Theseus listened closer now; she was right. Anguished moans echoed off of the walls. It felt like the sound crawled up his spine and over his skin. 

Horrid creature, he thought. Soon he and the other sacrifices were piled into their new accommodations: plush beds with high columns and pressed silk clothes prepared for them sitting on top of the covers. Combs were left in the bathroom along with fresh olive oil soap along with various beauty tools to scrub under nails and cut hair. 

“Do with this what you will. Enjoy.” The guard who had escorted them exited, leaving Theseus and the others to prepare themselves. By the time he’d scrubbed all of the dirt, sweat and grime out of his skin and fixed his hair up into something remotely respectable (he’d just snipped until it looked right) and pinned his tunic into place with his fibula the sun had descended to sit just above the horizon. Of course, he could also tell it was time for the feast by the way everyone had started to lift their nose to the smell of meat. But Theseus didn’t bother moving from where he sat on the edge of his bed. He stared at the blank wall across from him- imagining the minotaur. Half bull, half man; how could he kill the living personification of a god’s wrath? He couldn’t even kill the hatred that festered in his own heart. 

But emotion could not be killed. Flesh could. The minotaur was half man- and that was man enough. 

Now I just have to find a sword. 

He’d wished for a bow and arrow, but shooting into pitch black would be a waste. Moreover, he needed to know he hit his target if he could not rely on sight. Morbid as it was he needed to feel the flesh rend to steel; arrows would not be heard over a roaring monster. 

“Athenians, please join us at the feast in your honor.” A more polished guard stood in their doorway with a lumbering stature and broad chest. Theseus rose, being the first to follow. He needed to get the internal map of these halls in his head; look for landmarks. A chill came over him when he passed the third hallway with little to no adornment. 

He has purposefully left us with nothing to remember. 

Finally Theseus saw the gentle dancing of various lamps and was hit with a wall of smell; people chatted as many flitted about the banquet table to get their fill. Lords and their wives, Minos’s court, and very few wealthy peasants all took turns gawking at the new elephants in the room. They were all made to sit directly beside the King, who spread his arms wide in his chair carved with images of his monster. His son. 

“Welcome to Crete. Feast upon our good will to you; as you have provided for us your lives, we provide you with one last meal. Feast well. Drink well.” He raised a goblet, to which most of Theseus’s comrades answered except for the littler ones or those too bitter about their own destruction to look up from their untouched plates. Theseus himself did not toast, instead turning to Penelope, who fidgeted with her plate of beef. 

“Look at him, Penelope,” Theseus whispered, smirking. “He’s so prideful he needs a dinner throne.” 

“I bet he has a bathroom throne!” 

“Oh, I’m sure his chamber is gilded.” Across from him, Eleni snorted. She was his age and had shared the burden of taking care of the others on the ship. Even she couldn’t be bothered with Minos’s merriment- mocking him was much more fun. Her lip quirked just a bit. Enough for Theseus to catch it as he brought his cup of wine to his lips.

“Eleni, there’s a joke in you somewhere.” 

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, red rising to her cheeks. “I don’t have one.”

“Of course you do. A prideful King sits in the most ornately carved wooden chair that he’s currently soaking with gravy. You could take up hours on the Agora with that material.” 

Just as she was about to speak, it was Orion who ceased his giggling fit to shout “MINOS SMELLS!” 

For a moment you could hear the sound of the distant wind. All of the previous faux pleasantness had been sucked out of the room like a vacuum; all eyes on Minos. That was, until Theseus’s laugh boomed like a lightning strike. He patted Orion on the head. Maybe it was the wine he’d been sipping that brought the humour back to his cheeks. Not a single Athenian eye was dry- of all the wit and cleverness their people were renowned for, Orion had killed a King where he sat by calling him stinky. 

“To the smelly King Minos, who demands more than he ever lost!” Theseus hollered, raising his cup. 

“To King Minos, tyrant and pissant!” 

Laughter now roared from every corner of the hall. Minos was floundering in a sea of insults, which as a host he was expected to take as good natured fun. But his cheeks were aflame, and it looked like he was ripping Theseus apart several times over in his minds eye. Gone was the awful smile that greeted them on the dock. 

Searching the room, Theseus caught Ariadne’s gaze with the ghost of his smirk still on his face. He winked at her before he stood. 

“I’m afraid I must rest. A long journey and a short feast makes for a pleasant sleep. Excuse me, gentlefolk, to my dreams.” He only broke contact with the Princess when he turned on his heel, moving now just assuredly enough that a guard did not try to escort him. A captain stepped forward as he crossed the threshold. 

“Sir,”

“I know the way. Thank you, Captain. I would like one last moment to myself before my demise, if you can find it agreeable.” 

He huffed. Theseus continued to walk and found that the man did not follow. Instead, as he rounded a few corners he heard lighter steps. If he hadn’t hunted in his youth as much as he had to he would not have heard them at all. 

“Prince of Athens.” 

Her voice was like a melody. So the Princess had followed him.

“Princess of Crete.” Theseus turned and bowed low; his nose almost kissing the marble beneath him. “I am Theseus, son-”

“Son of Aegus. Son of Poseidon. Your mother is Aethra. I know of you, Prince of Athens.” Ariadne’s gaze warmed the back of his neck and ears. “Rise. Really, I’d like to see you without wine on your upper lip.” 

Theseus rose, taking her hand in his. It was soft except for the callous on her middle finger where she placed a pen. “A pleasure, Princess.” He kissed the freckle on the top of her knuckle. 

“What I speak to you about it..Not all pleasurable, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?”

“You mean to kill my little brother.” 

A passerby would’ve thought Demeter had cursed the very hall they stood in. Suddenly the marble which had been a pleasant coolness on his burnt heels turned to ice. His skin prickled. No one had spoken of the minotaur as a person; only a beast. To kill someone’s little brother was different than slaughtering a wretch. In this case they were one in the same. 

“I..I do.” 

“You have no weapon.” The honey in her eyes had turned to a calculating blaze of fire. “And you did not come here to die. You came here for him.”

“I came here to stop the killings. Your brother’s life is not worth the hundreds of souls he will consume as he ages.” 

“Certainly not.” She looked at him from his toes to the crown of his head. “He is not a verse in your song. He is a living thing.” 

“I-”

“You will hear me. Princes are notoriously deaf to the pleas of women, but you will hear this, Theseus Aegemedes. If you want to kill my brother, you must first know his name. His name is Asterion. He is twenty years old, like you, and he loved to play when he was a child. He would pretend he was a hero, Heracles. He is now older, meaner, and blind in one eye after one of our soldiers struck him with a spear when he was still small.” 

“Why do you tell me this?” 

Ariadne bit her lip. From the way she flinched he could tell she’d drawn blood. Her nails dug into her palms. 

“Because…I love him.” 

“If you loved him, you would not have told me his weaknesses.” 

“I love you, too. Or maybe I love your courage. Glory didn’t bring you here, to Crete. To your death. You came with barely a plan, and your name.”

He laughed; it was honestly half of a sigh. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Princess. Glory did bring me here.”

“Then you are a dull witted man for an Athenian King.”

“Prince,” He corrected. “And yes. I...Have had to earn my name, in more ways than one. This would cement me as who I am. Theseus. It is all I want people to remember.” 

“And in all the ages of Greece, not a single Prince or King would want to be remembered for his kindness? Would you scorch all of Crete for your name too, or just those you find monstrous? Justifiable to kill?” She stepped forward, looking up at him. He could’ve sworn the lanterns burned brighter now. “Where does that stop, Theseus?”

“I-” 

“It doesn’t. Memory is a living thing. You would always need another monster. And eventually, it will become you.” Her shadow seemed like its own beast as it curled in the firelight. He felt like she could consume him whole. Her words alone flayed his flesh from his bones, down to his core. He hadn’t realized he was weeping until she brushed the tears away from his cheek, smoothing over his tan skin with her thumb. She found the scar on his lip and held her attention there. 

“You’re not a monster, Theseus. Has anyone told you that, in all of your labors? You were never different. You were never accepted, either. Just as you are.” His heart began to race. There was no way she could know- no- he’d kill her before she told anyone else. He could so easily grasp her throat and squeeze. Squeeze until she stopped, until all of this went away. 

“What do you know of me? What do you know of the things I’ve felt?” He could kill her. She would take his secret to her grave. 

“Because I was always a Princess. But only when I grew did they call me Ariadne.” The fire inside of him that threatened to consume them both in its wake died with her admission. She knew more of his experience than he ever thought. Gently, she kissed the scar on his lip. “I know you are good, Theseus. You’ve lost yourself in what it means to be a hero, what it means to be a man. Sometimes the most heroic thing a man can be is kind. You will go to the labyrinth.” She opened his tunic and he didn’t stop her. From under her skirts she produced a gladius and thread which she pressed against his chest. 

“You- you give me my life?”

“I give you your life. Because I know yours is worth the hundreds you will save; and my brother's life was over once he entered that wretched hole. He is more of a ghost than man. Save him, Prince of Athens, and you will make a fine King. Here is my gift to you; go tomorrow not a lamb, but a lion, Theseus of Athens.” 

He wished he could live in her arms forever as she kissed him once more. Theseus tried to remember the sweetness of her lips and the taste of fresh figs. Eventually they broke from each other, with Ariadne cradling his face in her hands with such tenderness you could’ve mistaken them for a couple. 

“Go, Theseus.” 

“I’ll come back for you.”

“I know.” And so the Prince of Athens turned from her, Ariadne, Princess of Crete, to walk to his chambers. He left her standing there in all of her radiance; from the beautiful plaits in her brown hair to the gold on her fingers. Because he would come back. She would wait for him. 

When Theseus eventually found his quarters, he slowly slid down the wall with the gladius and red thread in his hands. His lips pulled back against his teeth as he wept. 

Must a man be cruel? Does brutality make a King? Or can I be kind, but where has kindness gotten me among my fellow men? Mocked. Chided. He’d attempted to hug his father once and had been struck. Yet, his heart also tugged when he thought of how much better he could’ve grown up in a world that was gentler. How many times had he been harassed by men at the market growing up? Ariadne was right. He stared at himself in the reflection of his sword. Eventually he would run out of monsters; he would grow old and ornery. He would grow selfish and stupid and prideful. 

He did not know how to be a man without all of the machismo that came with it. But he could learn. He could try. 

Theseus had been lion and lamb both, in his lifetime. Now he wondered who sat in front of him; what sort of hero he could call himself. 

Only one way to find out. 

A final gift, this time from himself to Asterion. Theseus spent the rest of the night crafting a burial shroud. The least he could do was kill him with kindness. 

Chapter II

#tkatb1 #yeet sex happens later sorry lads