Author's Notes: Still messing with Greek myth, and Narcissus's tale. Just a slightly different take to it, to paint the victim as the villain this time around.
Bitter
He watched as he always did. Had always done, since the first time he had seen that delicate, gentle little boy. He had known he would be beautiful, with time, could see it in his boyish features and smooth skin. Waiting hadn't mattered, he had enjoyed watching him grow, watching him mature, become strong and yet not too much so.
A very beautiful boy, a very gorgeous man.
He didn't usually linger so long on one person. Yet here, he had waited twelve years, the boy being eight the first time he had glimpsed him, himself eighteen. He had waited, watching, wanting, until he was sure he was ready. This sweet sacrifice, was his alone, he had claimed him long before those slender limbs had grown long, that face chiseled like a fine statue.
He was sure even the gods hungered for the boy, but he was his and his alone. Zeus could sit upon his high throne and sulk.
He had approached him, on the eve of his twentieth year of life. The other had answered the door, cordial, smiling softly, eyes a bit chalked like was the fashion, to make them larger, lips tinted a bit with some fruit, either intentionally or not, just to seem sweeter and all the more tempting.
His his his.
He had wished him a fine evening, and had stated who he was. Ameinias
The name had rolled so sweetly from that curious tongue. Like a seductive caress from the most innocent of lips.
He had then stated why he was there, and that smile had faltered, waned swiftly as the other frowned vaguely, "I am sorry, sir, I am taking no suitors at this time."
He had known, he had watched, jealous as the many had come to touch and claim his prize, both men and women alike. He had killed a few, who had gotten too close, though made sure that the connection was never to his pet. He didn't want guilt marring the taste.
Besides, this boy had brushed aside all that sought him, an odd thing, though inwardly, the older felt that the other knew he was already claimed. His alone, even if the youth stated it was a swear of chastity before Zeus.
"I am not seeking just to suit, I am seeking more," a little smile, poison from his very lips, honey sweet.
A tired look, likely put out, though he could tell he was interested, "Come in, and we shall sort this."
That sorting ended up in a façade of friendship. He pursued him, but was ever so careful not to push too far. A kiss here, a caress there, an accidental squeeze. He grew bolder with time, working his way in, letting his prize grow comfortable to him, trusting.
He had moved too fast, just once. He pinned him to a wall and had taken what he had only before stolen. Had ripped it, wanting, desperate. Only to be stopped.
A sword was delivered to him the next day, with a gentle note that he was not to be seen again, and to take the sword which had more value than its owner. That had angered him, and so his plot to defile his reputation began.
The very word Narcissus would be a thing to pity and scorn, and he would still get his prize, bitter in hate, rather than sweet in love, in the Underworld if not in life.