Title: Sea Trade
Author: Khylaren
Contact: Khylaren@yahoo.com
Rating: PG13
Fandom: Original – Greek Mythos
Pairing: Slash implied

A/N: Written in response to an LJ Meme: 
Give me 3 words of your choice and I will write a drabble (100-500 words) using those three words. May be orignal fic, may be fanfic, take your pick. Weavinghugo (aka, Ladyhawkshadow) gave me: Greek, Love, and Sea

~ * ~

Angelos gathered his small net and cast it into the sea, whistling cheerfully as Apollo’s bright rays shone down on his back. It was early morning yet, and the sky was a brilliant blue. A light, steady breeze lifted his dark curls and dried the sweat from his brow. It was a perfect day for fishing, despite the hint of clouds far off to the east.

He gathered his net again, drawing it into the small boat and inspected his catch. Several good-sized fish flopped helplessly on the deck, and he selected the largest of them all and released it back into the sea as a gift of thanks to Poseidon for his generosity. Tossing his catch into the hold below, he cast his net once more. 

Heavy clouds had gathered and moved in during the course of the afternoon, darkening the sky by the time Angelos had caught enough fish to sell at market and to feed his family. His father was home with his younger brother and mother, unable to accompany him today because he had broken his arm. It was up to Angelos to feed his family until his father was well again. He did not mind sailing by himself; it was his first love, and he had been sailing and fishing since he had been big enough to reef a sail and cast the net. His father had taught him well – well enough that he recognized a storm brewing when he saw one.

Gathering his net for the last time, he tossed his catch with the others and headed for home, keeping an eye on the storm that was quickly gathering momentum. The wind pushed hard at his sails, and he had to fight both the sails and the tiller to keep his course. The waves that had been so calm earlier were now slapping the sides of his little boat, some actually reaching high enough to spray him and soak the deck. 

He pushed his boat as hard as he was able, but he could tell that he would not reach the port before the squall reached its height. He searched his memory quickly and recalled a small island, no more than a large grouping of rocks really, that might serve as a temporary shelter from the storm.  He adjusted his heading and made for the island immediately; the waves were now rising quite high and nearly a foot of water had gathered in the hold from the spray.

Angelos had the island in sight when his boat was struck by a wave that pitched him sideways. He had not even time to grab hold of anything when another wave, this one higher than the last, struck again, and he found himself knocked into the water.  

He swallowed a mouthful of saltwater before his head broke the surface; his boat had capsized in the last wave and was quickly sinking. With no other choice, he swam for the island, fighting wind and sea with each stroke.

Gasping and exhausted, he at last reached the island and flung himself on the rocks. The wind and waves crashed around him and he closed his eyes against the fury of the storm. 

How much time passed before the storm exhausted itself, Angelos did not know. He was barely aware of much of anything beyond the feel of the ground beneath him. He was dazed and weary, and must have fallen into sleep, for the next thing he knew, the sun was shining once again and there was no sign that the storm had ever been.

Angelos sat up and gasped in surprise. He was not alone on his little island. A man, clothed in strange green clothing, gazed down at him from his seat on the rocks above. His hair was long and wild, the color of sea-grass, and his eyes were the dark color of the sea at dusk. 

“Who are you?” the man asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I am Angelos, son of Demitrios,” he replied, trying not to stare, for the man’s ears were long and delicately pointed at the tips. “I am a fisherman. My ship was taken by the sea during the storm, and I washed up here.”

The man tilted his head slightly and appraised him. Suddenly, he smiled. “You are Greek,” he said with a nod. “And far from a safe port. I know your family well.” His smile faded and he gestured to the now-calm sea. “I am sorry for your boat. She was a worthy vessel.  Your father built her when he was a young man; she was his first boat.”

Angelos blinked, wondering if he had hit his head on the rocks. “How do you know that?” he asked. “How…who are you?”

The man smiled again and rose from his seat. He offered a hand to Angelos and pulled him to his feet easily. “You cannot guess?” he asked, laughing softly. 

Angelos shook his head. “I know you are not Poseidon, for my father has spoken of his meeting with the King of the Sea often enough I would recognize him if I ever met him, I think.”

The man laughed again. “No, indeed, I am not he. I am Palaemon.”  He drew Angelos closer and studied his face with interest. “You are handsome, Angelos, and well made. Perhaps you would like to come and live in my home and keep me company?”  His teeth were white against his tanned skin as he smiled. “I have a fondness for fishermen.”

Swallowing, Angelos shook his head. “I must decline, regretfully. My family needs me right now, for my father cannot fish with his broken arm.”

Palaemon regarded him with disappointment. “Very well, I do understand. You are a good son, Angelos. Still, if I am to guide you back to safe harbor, what will you give me as payment, hmm?”

Angelos shook his head, casting about for anything he might give to Palaemon in return for his aid. Nothing of his boat had survived, and his pockets were empty. “What would you have?” he asked finally. “There are many fine treasures in my house on shore. I could bring you whatever you asked for.”

The God shook his head. “I have no use for earthly treasures, or from the sea for that matter, for those I have aplenty.”

“Then what can I give you?” Angelos asked, frowning. “Everything I had with me is at the bottom of the sea with my boat.”

Palaemon studied him a moment, and then smiled. “A kiss,” he said softly. “Since you will not come with me, I will be content with that. For a true kiss from your sweet mouth, Angelos of Greece, I will take you back to your harbor.”

He considered it for only a moment, after all, it was not a bad bargain; Palaemon was handsome enough, and Angelos did not have a wife or lover to worry about betraying. One kiss for safe passage was more than fair, and he nodded readily enough. 

Smiling, Palaemon drew Angelos in his arms, and cradled his jaw with one large hand. His thumb drew softly over Angelos’ lower lip, before he bent his head and kissed him. 

Palaemon tasted of the sea and of crisp, bold sea-breezes. His lips were both firm and yielding, and Angelos found himself giving into the kiss readily, opening his mouth under Palaemon’s coaxing and allowing the God to taste him fully. Angelos’ body melted against Palaemon’s, and he wrapped both arms around the God’s shoulders to hold himself steady. Palaemon’s tongue teased his, and Angelos felt his loins stir in eager response. One hand slid down Angelos’ back to press him even closer, and he could not help but groan in response.

Finally, Palaemon released him, stepping back with obvious reluctance. The God’s eyes were bright, the color of shallow seas. 

“The price of my aid has been met,” Palaemon said softly. “Will you not reconsider my offer?”

Angelos swallowed again, trying to ignore the sudden and persistent throb between his legs. “If it were not for my family…”  He shook his head and sighed with regret. “I cannot. They need me.”

Palaemon smiled, brushing his fingers across Angelos’ cheek. “Then I shall send you home, my handsome fisherman, and will think of your kiss on storm-tossed nights.”  Dropping his hand away from Angelos’ face, he whistled sharply, three long notes. Soon, three dolphins popped up from the water, clicking and blowing in response to his call.

“These will take you home, Angelos,” Palaemon said. “You need merely swim in their presence and you will reach your port in safety, without tiring, or drowning. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” Angelos said, bowing his head. “I cannot help but feel a kiss is but little payment for your help.”

Palaemon smiled widely. “Ah, but my dear Angelos, consider this: should I find you in such straights again, I may not be so easily persuaded to let you return to your harbor.”

Angelos smiled as well. “And I may not be as keen to return home,” he replied.

His answer startled the God into laughter. “Well, then,” he said. “Perhaps I shall ask Poseidon for more storms.”  He moved to the edge of the island and turned, giving Angelos one last, considering look. “Farewell, little fisherman,” he said softly, and with that, he stepped into the sea and Angelos saw him no more.