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Title: Locked in battle
Chapter: One
Author: Vengeful Black Dreamz
Summary: Two Greek Boxers find themselves fighting attraction while going through the biggest event of their lives.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don’t own most of the characters, history does. These guys were actual Olympic athletes.
Notes: Most historical data in this is true… I think
Email: ‘vengefulblackdreamz at yahoo uk’
“The standard of Elean’s Palaestra has really gone down,” Theagenes drawled, as he jogged up next to Melankomas.
“Yes, they’re certainly not what I remember in my father’s days.” The flaxen haired boy replied.
Mel continued to walk up to the main building that contained the administrative office to announce their contingent’s arrival. The building’s entrance was simple and the only ornate thing it contained was a rough mosaic of Achilles in a godly pose. Mel felt himself sneer at the drab and uncultured confines of the building. His father may have a no nonsense outlook on vanity but he certainly didn’t let his standards go down this drastically. Noble families couldn’t afford to look shabby.
He walked into another airy room that had a young man sitting at a table with a name tablet in front of him. Without looking up he called out, “Name?”
Mel gave him a haughty, exasperated look.
“Melanomas Milo-agusto, of the Cairan agency.”
The man still didn’t give him the pleasure of acknowledging his existence.
Mel resisted the urge to stamp away like a spoilt child. He placed his strongly sculpted hands on each edge of the undersized table and leaned in closer.
“Could you tell me where, Trainer Polydamas is?”
Stunning grey eyes peered back at him and Mel felt his throat constrict at the sight. His urge to swoon was minimized only by the coldness the eyes exuded.
“He’s outside, training pupils,” the man replied, blankly, and resumed his job.
Mel wanted to throttle the man but decided behaviour of that kind would not be conducive for his team.
Mel was a man who lived for his sport. He had chosen athletics because it was thought of as the most honorable path for a young man to follow. His father had also illuminated his family name by remaining unbeaten, even at retirement. Mel had not only inherited his father’s skill but also his devastatingly good looks. In his youth, his father had plenty of men and women enchanted by his looks and fame. From the looks of things, Melankomas was going in the same direction.
Mel was famous in his own right. He was known for his endurance that was constantly tested throughout the strenuous training regime he performed everyday. “The body is your temple,” Mel’s father had once told him, and Mel had paid heed to this advice completely. Dedication that Mel exuded was rare in young men his age. He had been known to perform endurance increasing acts requiring him to stay in one position for days.
Even with the many noble virtues joined to his name, Mel, had been unable to resist one flaw; vanity. He was skilled, brave and beautiful and he knew it. He walked with a confident swagger and rarely associated himself with anyone having a less then noble standing.
Mel walked out of the building with his infamous strut.
He could see several trainers, with long sticks, pointing out incorrect body positions and other faults to the raw looking athletes. Most of those men looked hardy and experienced but one man stood out in particular. He was a tanned, olive skinned man with strapping muscles and a hawk like gaze. He was teaching a nervous looking man the correct positions for warm up exercises.
“Master Polydamas,” The older man placed his intent gaze on the boy.
“Yes,”
Mel, quite uncharacteristically, showed humility towards the world renowned trainer by bowing his head down solemnly. “My name is Melanomas Milo-gusto of the Cairan agency and I am honoured to be in your presence, trainer Polydamas.”
The man raised his eyebrows in surprised and then gave out a gruff short laugh. The trainer’s jumpy pupil fell down from his awkward position, in surprise. Apparently the man rarely laughed or let go of his surly attitude. The trainer pulled the novice up with one easy motion.
“You’re Milo’s son,” The man asked Mel with a twinkle in his eye.
Mel hesitated before giving a short sharp nod. The gargantuan man shook his head, indicating that Mel should follow him. He tapped his training stick on one stretching red head and then started walking towards a stone bench. Mel stared in unmasked awe as the man’s muscles flexed with each movement. Polydamas had been known to once kill a lion with his bare hands on Mount Olympus in a quest to imitate the labours of Herakles, who slew the Nemean lion. Mel had assumed that ounce of information was sheer fallacy but looking at the man he knew he had been wrong.
The man sat down on the crudely carved bench and motioned for Mel to sit down beside him. The rest of Mel’s Cairan friends also began to flock next to him. Theagenes crouched down beside the seated men.
“Welcome to our humble palaestra; I have heard great things about the Cairan training grounds and the athletes it produces.”
Mel smirked proudly at the comment, “I’m sure we won’t disappoint.” The rest of the squad murmured in agreement.
The burly trainer surveyed his audience and nodded in approval.
“Indeed,” The man agreed softly. He shot up suddenly with a clap on his thighs. “I must be going then. My nephew will lead you to your quarters.”
The man nodded to someone standing behind them and the group turned backwards to see who the trainers were referring to.
Mel’s lips parted in slight surprise. The grey eyed man he had met earlier was leaning against a pillar, waiting impatiently.
“Follow me,” He spoke shortly after surveying them all.
Mel observed that the conservative clothing was hiding a broad and solid body. The man walked in strong strides and the Cairan contingent had to race behind him to catch up.
Through the crowded and foul-smelling streets they passed until they came to a large ancient building. The sounds had diminished some what and the area had better sanitation but it still wasn’t up to Mel’s standards. The pipes were rusty and it’s entrance was shabby at best.
In his practiced disgusted tone Mel drawled, “Is this the place where we’ll be staying?”
The grey eyed man raised his eyebrow. His eyes narrowed straight into Mel’s and said “Yes,”
Mel couldn’t back down when a challenge was so obviously being given to him. “Do you not understand who I am?”
The man sneered as he nodded. “I know exactly who you are Melanomas Milo-gusto; I think it’s you who doesn’t know who you are.”
A couple of athletes standing around them made amused sounds and expressions. Mel had never had anyone so unimpressed by his status or his abilities and he was left completely speechless by the man’s rebuttal.
“If anyone has any more objections…” The tall man looked around but everyone made noncommittal sounds and the man took them positively.
“Good, then I’ll leave you to your home for the duration of your stay here.”
With the same abruptness as his uncle’s the man started to leave the group.
“Wait,” Mel shouted at the retreating back.
Grey eyes once again met his blue ones.
“You haven’t told us your name?”
Mel was surprised to find uncertainty lurk in those eyes, “My name is Diagoras son of Chrysostom.”
His uncle’s eye held a mischievous glint, “And just as good looking as you described him.”
Diagoras’ cheeks that were already red from exertion now gained a darker shade.
“Oh, stop it, uncle, that was years ago. I was just a child.”
Polydamas merely chucked in reply.
“That child sure was infatuated with the boy who liked to throw mud at him.”
Di made a sullen face and he refused to make any comments.
His uncle muffled further laughter as he picked up a strigil to scrap off all the excess dirt and sweat off his body.
“All those poetic lyrics you waxed about his golden hair…”
“Polydamas!” Diagoras’ eyes flashed in warning.
The huge man giggled uncharacteristically causing his nephew to roll his eyes.
He couldn’t believe that his uncle remembered something that had happened so long ago. When his father had been alive he had taken Diagoras to the Rhodes sports fair where they had stayed for a few days. Many men were competing in the various competitions being held that day. His father unlike his uncle was a statesman. He preferred to watch the mindless sporting events rather then compete in them. One day when his father was mingling with his new found wine buddies Di had wandered off farther then usual.
He had been sidestepping over bull remains when a splat of mud hit his face. Di looked up shocked. His new toga was completed ruined by the attack. In front of him stood a gang of boys, who looked to be about his age, laughing at his predicament.
“Who did this?” Diagoras asked furiously, still trying to wipe off the mud.
“I did, what are you going to do about it?” A golden haired boy came forward haughtily.
Instead of his usual fiery retorts Di only stared back. He had never seen anyone who looked so luminous in his whole life. The boy had the most stunning light hair and the most vivid blue eyes.
“Whatcha you looking at?” The boy sneered.
“Nothing,” Diagoras hastily lowered his eyes.
“See that man there,” The boy pointed at a man wrestling in a circle, completely taking down his contender, “He’s my father and if you mess with me he’ll beat up your daddy.”
The dark haired boy silently agreed that the wrestler could indeed take down his father very easily but said nothing.
They watched the boy’s father being carried around by a mob of supporters as he won the match.
“That’s what I’m going to be when I grow up,” The boy sighed.
Diagoras just shifted sand under his feet. As the boy and his group began to leave to join the assembly of cheering men Diagoras impulsively bit his lip and asked, “What’s your name,”
The boy gave him a disdainful glance but obliged, “Melanomas Milo-agusto”
I hope you guys enjoyed reading it.
BD
