Vessel of the Gods

"Like, my little world, stay out?" Maurie says.

"Finders keeper?" you say.

The two of you stare through the doorway and down the sloping hallway into the temple.

"We're basically just stalling at this point, right?" Maurie asks.

"Little bit." You admit. You take a breath and slap your hands to your thighs.

"Well, enough waiting, let's go pay tribute to the gods." You announce and you and Maurie make your way into the temple.

###

The Anthestaria is exactly the party you expected it to be. Long stone tables heaped with every food you could imagine - platters of goat cheese with figs and honey, focaccia and olives, grapes and little delicacies you could only identify by taste. In the middle of the tables, a wide dance floor opened where revelors, many lithe beautiful men and women, danced and leaped, their tunics and chitons flying up each jump to reveal muscular thighs and well turned legs.

Musicians played with lute and lyre, drum and pipe, horn and voice, whipping the assembled into a bacchanalian state. The flickering light of the braziers gave the temple such a feeling of being out of time, out of space, an eternal never ending night when everyone feels the blood pumping through their veins and the possibilities are endless.

The only feature that dared intrude is a square window in the ceiling, opening up onto the heavens above, allowing a patch of moonlight to pour down onto one of the hapless wall, a pale shaft of light piercing the orange smoke and flicking light.

Off of the main dance floor were a number of adjacent rooms, each with a floor three feet lower than the doorway, with little steps leading down into these alcoves. They are covered with pillows and large flat cushions. In one, a hookah draws a crowd of three bemused older men. In another, a single woman conducts a slow, sensual dance for a couple, sprawled out on the pillows.

There is a door to the latrine and a big double door to the inner sanctum. So far, no sign of Damien Marquis, just the head priest conducting affairs - which at this point in the evening meant hopping up and saying "good show" after each song comes to a shaky but enthusiastic conclusion.

You pick at the food, more to keep up your strength and enjoy a swallow of the wine, which is smooth and strong. Maurie pops a few olives in her mouth and turns to you in surprise.

"These are so good!" she mouths over the music. "Is it safe?" She asks. You nod. She quickly makes a plate. You make a slow leisurely circuit around the temple, taking in the sights. What to do?

You take Maurie's hand and lead her into the side room. She moves swiftly without drawing attention to herself, although retaining the plate in her hand, you notice with some chagrin.

"Looks like we have a little while." You take the steps down into the cool space, the sounds of the party more muted. You draw a thin gossamer fabric across the entrance and wave Maurie towards one of the cushions, setting her at ease. Maurie sits, winces, pulls off her gun holster off her leg and sets the weapon with your bandolier in the corner.

"Might as well get on the same page about a few things." Maurie suddenly looks alarmed but you swipe a fruit off her plate and stretch out on the cushions beside her. You bite down on the ripe tomato... no, too sweet for that, a melon? Something between a kiwi and a cherry tomato and cock your head.

"Out with it." you coax. "I know you have so many questions." Maurie laughs, nearly coughing on a bit of goat cheese. You hand her a goblet of wine, tucked into the alcove. She takes it gratefully, brushing the tears from her eyes.

"Okay, like, I get most of this." She begins, gesturing to the party outside. "Guy creates his own little world inside the briefcase. Why travel coach when you can spend your time on your own private Grecian isle where the people love you and throw a party in your honor?" You nod.

"Hence the big temple and the wine nooks." You reply, her eyes light up.

"Wine nooks!" She sips. "This is really good wine." A figure passes by the archway, silhouetted in the light of the feasting hall. A dancer, with thick brown curls and a full figure. You wave her off, she shimmies on. Maurie continues.

"But why does the food taste so good? Or... things feel so good. So alive." She struggles to keep a level expression but the blush touches her cheeks.

"You mean the sex?" You purr, leaning in, playful.

"I wouldn't know." She defers. You give a little shrug.

"This world is a painting." You explain.

"A painting?" She asks.

"Romanticism, really. The colors are brighter and deeper and more vivid than real life - the emotions more intense, the feelings more real than real life." A moth, pale blue and glittering in the light, twirls and dances into the room, dancing amongst the dust motes.

"It is the world rendered through the eyes of your passions and made real." You extend your hand and the moth alights on your finger, fluttering and beautiful. You smile at Maurie who watches in wonder before it flutters off.

Maurie takes a long sip of her wine before finally speaking.

"Although, considering the setting, maybe neoclassical would be more appropriate."

"Agent Maurie Tenneson, you were paying attention in your art history class after all!" The two of you dissolve into rueful giggles. "Alright, alright." She says, refilling her glass. "But are they all like this?" You nod.

"Yes. They aren't always pleasant to experience but they are intense - loud and thrilling and arousing and glorious." She peers into your face, intent.

"But the sex... " she begins.

"Here we go..." you square up to her, somewhat cross-legged on the cushions.

"Does your husband know that you go off and have sex in these worlds?"

"Your first question is whether my husband knows?" You ask incredulously.

"Well... I mean..." she back pedals.

"I'm literally making contact with alien species and you are wondering if I have a permission slip from my man?" You give her a big smile, she holds up her hands in mock surrender.

"My bad, my bad."

"Well, for starters, I don't travel to these worlds to have sex with people." You pause, reflecting on the statement to make sure it is true. Mostly. "In fact, most of the time I fell into these worlds, not really planning to end up here. But yes, sex has happened." You catch her eyes across the rim of your wine goblet. "And it has been incredible." your voice is low and breathy.

"You know what it is like here, the fire in the air, the driving desire." She blushes, deep and dark and looks away.

"There is something." She mumbles.

"And who doesn't want to visit somewhere else, some other time or place? To be someone else and enjoy all that has to offer?" You are suddenly aware of how close she is, the soft fabric of chiton hanging loosely around her lithe frame, moving as she shifts in her seat.

"Have you ever wanted to live someone else's life? To be someone else for a day." You lean in and touch her arm. "Or for a night?"

"Oh more than anything." She whispers. "To be touched, to be with..." she looks up, trailing off.

You lean in and kiss her, firm but tender, your lips lingering quite unwilling to part. You push her back onto the cushions, you hand roaming her slender body as she arches up to press against you.

"Oh fuck, I shouldn't..." you kiss her throat, sucking gently as her voice fades to moans, tangling her hands in your hair, pulling you to her.

You rise up, reaching behind her neck to undo her chiton and pulling it down to her waist. Her nipples are dark, thick nubs topping perfect little breasts. She jumps beneath as you suck greedily at her nipples, rolling their hard tips with your tongue.

"Ohgodohgodohgod" she mummers in your ear, tossing this way and that. You reach down and start fumbling with the fabric around her waist. She catches your hands.

"I... I have never really done this before." She admits, her eyes heavy lidded with lust.

"It's okay." You lean in, planting a reassuring kiss on her lips as you unhook your own chiton. "I'll show you the ropes." She gasps as you reveal your breasts and cradle her head, pulling her to your chest. Her hands reach around, pulling your firm butt to her, kisses frantically across your body.

You pull the rest of her chiton away and push her back down into the pillows, lifting one of her slender muscular legs high up into the air. She smiles as her knee comes towards her head.

"You are lucky I was a gymnast." She says. Her tousled blonde hair, well, now with dark roots, is splayed around her head like a halo. Her sex, with short, well-trimed black hair is already wet and glistening in the evening light. You gently trace her lips, soft like rose petals, and feel her shudder beneath you.

With your leg between hers, you slowly lower your pussy to hers, feeling the intense heat and gasping at the sensation when you touch. You grind forward, slow and deliberate, and she moans, a soft, breathy thing, that leaves the blood roaring in your veins.

You press into her again, wet and yielding, your clit crying out for the stimulation. Mairie pulls you in tight with her leg.

Rocking back and forth, you quickly set a rhythm, her cries becoming louder and more urgent, her plum sized breasts bouncing wildly as you thrust your hips to hers. She reaches up and pulls at your nipples, as you throw back your head, lost in the sensations.

"Yes, yes, YES!" She cries out, desperate for your body, lost in your fucking her.

Faster and faster you grind, you lick your thumb and work her clit frantically, setting her off like a firecracker. She cries out, her body jerking beneath you. Right then, her eyes flick open, and she holds your gaze, mouth open in an soundless scream of pleasure, as she gazes upon you with wonder and desire and awe. It sends you over the brink and your own orgasm hits you - full and bone shaking, driving the breath from your lungs.

"AAGGGGHHhhaaaaaahhhh" you moan, as the electrical jolts of the orgasm slowly echo through your body.

Slowly, you drift back to this time and place. You look down at Maurie, who is staring up with adulation. She twists her hips, spilling you out on the cushions by your side and keeping a leg thrown over your body. She nuzzles her head into your arm and shoulder sighing.

"So that's what it is supposed to feel like." She says wistfully after a few moments of rest.

"Hmmm?" You say dreamily.

"All through high school, college, I never really did much of this. Sex I mean. Not that there weren't opportunities, it's just... never really felt right. Like it was for me. I did it a few times, with boys I like, but it felt like it was for them and not me." She looks into your eyes, deep and intense.

"I just needed the right person." She rests her head on your chest, you run your hands through her hair, making sympathetic noises.

"I have no idea what I'm going to put in the report." She says finally.

"Let's get the bad guy, then you can put whatever you like." She pulls herself up and nods.

"I'm sorry," she begins. "I'm not really... I don't really share." You pull her into you, kissing her deeply.

"Thank you for sharing with me." She gives a little shiver and nods.

" 'kay."

You retie your chiton as you hear the familiar jangle of ankle bells as Danae comes hustling up.

"There you are, just in time, Io Hermes!" She grabs you and Maurie's hands, "He has asked for our performance in the inner chamber, come on!"

###

Together the three of you hustle, Danae's bells beating out a tattoo on the marble floor as you come to the large double doors in the main feasting hall. The head priest is still holding court while the villagers dance and drink and feast with no sign of slowing. The moon light pours into the room, adding an eerie white glow amongst the brazier orange flickering light.

Danae takes a deep breath and then gives a tentative knock on the door.The door opens a crack and the three of you slip inside. The room is dark, lit by only two torches on high stands. In the center there is a small sunken stage, no more than ten feet by ten feet, surrounded by four columns with ornate mosaics. The smaller chamber, with the pillars and low light, give it an intimate feeling, especially compared to the cavernous feasting hall.

Before the stage there is a chaise lounge, dyed deep purple. Sprawled across it is Damien Marquis, his well-tailored business suit had been swapped out for a decadent toga, baring his toned chest, where he sips wine and watches with interest as you enter the chamber.

On either side of him stood two guards. Large men, in roman-style leather skirts, and nothing else, stood in attendance on either side of the lounge. One his skin as dark as night, bald with a wide smile held a heavy pitcher which he was currently using to fill Marquis' cup. The other, olive-skinned with shaggy dirty blonde hair, held a platter of food.

So maybe attendants rather than guards? No, they carried short swords, a gladius you vaguely remember, at their belts and their muscular physique spoke to a casual acquaintance with violence. Or maybe sex. You glance back at Damien, making flirty eye contact with the cup bearer. They are dressed in the roman style, could be both sex and violence.

Danae has already taken her place in the middle of the room. You and Maurie fall in behind her, assuming the position and taking the small jangling bells to attach to your wrists and ankles.

Marquis sits up, smiling at the three beautiful women before him and claps his hands.

"Yes, and what beautiful thing do you have to offer the vessels of the gods today?" He says enthusiastically.

Danae juts out her chest and purses her lips.

"For you, blessed Marquis, we have the performance of the three sisters of Aphrodite," she bites her lip, her positively bouncing with excitement.

"I love it already." He grins. "Begin!" He tosses back the rest of his drink and stretches out.

Danae begins singing, her lilting high soprano ringing off the pillars and drawing forth pangs of longing and lust. You and Maurie follow in the steps, trying to harmonize and mostly, just sway when she sways and twirl when she twirls. You feel the men's eyes upon you, clinging to you like smoke. There is magic in these steps and song and ritual and feel the spell being woven around you.

You glance over to Maurie and share a secret smile - the cautious FBI agent is actually getting in on the act, swinging her slender hips and shooting the guards flirtatious glances. You feel their gaze upon you and the tension in the air builds.

All at once the song rises to a crescendo, with shaking hips and jangling bells and then is done as Danae punctuates the last note with a deep bow that nearly has her tumbling out of her chiton

Marquis rises, clapping loudly. "Bravo! That certainly was a treat!" You can see both guards shifting uneasily, their leather skirts barely covering their swelling crotches. Marquis swaggers forward, clearly enjoying the view, his James McAvoy features fixed in an arrogant smirk.

Marquis sweeps down to you three, taking Danae with a hand and says,

"Me?" You ask, surprised, glancing nervously at the slender Maurie and buxom Danae. Marquis holds your gaze, a playful smile on his lips. "Yes - Marcus, Aurelius, can you give us the room?"

Danae shoots you a jealous glance, Maurie goes and fetches her bag of clothes and brings your bandolier over.

"Are you going to be okay? He's dangerous." She whispers as she hands you your stuff. You glance back at the bare-chested Marquis, tossing his wavy brown hair out of his eyes and pouring another full glass of wine.

"Yeah, I think I can handle him - you poke around while I keep him occupied and see what you can find." She nods and swiftly shuffles from the room, followed by Marcus and Aurelius.

You turn back to find Marquis patting the lounge next to him.

"Come, let's get to know each other." His smile is warm and friendly but there is a glint in his eyes that makes you nervous. You sit, perched next to him and take the glass of wine he offers.

His toga is loose, giving the impression of the man only wearing an elaborately wrapped sheet that could come apart at any moment. You notice a scar along the side of his chest, a white spider-thread, vanishing down towards his waist.

You tear your eyes away from his body and back to his bemused features.

"Tell me, what is your name? I don't recognize you from the village." You fold your hands in front of you and try to look unassuming.

"Oh, my name is Brenna, I traveled here for the festival." He peers into your face and you feel your cheeks grow hot. He is very handsome, with dark intense eyes.

"And are you enjoying the celebrations?" He asks.

"Very much, sir." You respond. He nods,

"It is good to give tribute to the gods and those who serve them." His lingering gaze left little doubt about the sort of tribute he was interested in.

"Tell me, what does a vessel of the gods do?" You ask.

"Well, I'm not always the vessel of the gods." He answers, "When it is not time for the festival, I'm a merchant. A man of commerce." His voice is warm.

"What do you sell? Wool? Grain?" Somewhere in the recesses of your mind Ryan's voice rises unbidden - "wood for sheep?", you swallow a smile and keep your face smooth.

"Far more valuable than that. No, what I buy and sell are things more valuable than the Phonecians purple and more dangerous than the Athenian fire." He gives you a conspiratory grin. "Would you like to see?"

"Absolutely!" He springs up from the lounge and offers you an arm and together you make your way to the hallway at the back of the room. It slopes downward as you make your way deeper into the mountain before opening up into a wide antechamber.

The first thing you notice is a pillar of moonlight shining down from a window in the ceiling. It shines on the opposite wall where a number of hash marks have been carved with numbers beside them. A flag stand with a British flag has been placed next to one of the hash marks, only five feet away from the square of moonlight on the wall.

In the middle of the room was a large pile of assault rifles and pistols, intermingled with bags of cocaine, haphazardly piled in the center of the room. On the far side of the room, a bar stocked full of modern glasses and liquors and next to it a rather comfortable looking couch.

"What is all this?" You say, trying to keep in character, but he is already strolling over to the pile of guns and drugs.

"To put it mildly," he turns to you, brandishing a pistol. "I'm a merchant of death. This is a sword that can slay a man across a field. Like Zeus' own thunderbolts, captured in a bottle."

He wanders over to the bar. "People pay handsomely for that sort of thing so I bring them their weapons and..." he pours himself a scotch and gestures towards the pile, "... other profitable items and they give me their coin." He gestures towards the couch.

"Come, sit." You dutifully trot over there and perch up on the couch. He sits next to you, his toga hanging open, his drink already somewhat gone. His eyes have the slightly unfocused look of a man who has a good buzz going. Good, maybe he will keep talking.

"Did you build this place?" You ask. From the couch, you can get a good look at the opposing wall with the moonlight patch and the hashmarks. Definitely a clock of some sort. Of course! He needs to know when his flight has landed. No sense in jumping out at the wrong time and ending up stuck in the lost and found. The flag stand is moveable - that must be the moment and time. Oh shoot, he's been talking.

"... not so much built, as acquired. A friend of mine, Selena, she... provided me with the raw materials and the blueprints and Lyratus did the rest." You grope through your memory trying to place the names - sensing your confusion, he continues. "Lyratus is our master of ceremonies for the festival. He maintains the temple while I am away on business. Selena...well, she's a friend from another village."