the_cupbearer: (Default)
2017-09-03 10:33 pm
Entry tags:

PSL: Pan

The beach outside his Los Angeles home was Ganymede's place to find calm; not on sunny, still days, or even the humid nights when the stars popped out of the clouds to give shifting light.

This minute it was raining, stormy and violent outside with rolling thunder deafening even the noise of the city as the sun sank lower towards the horizon. Ganymede was outside in it, already soaked to the skin; barefoot and in light linen trousers split along the front he was dancing along the shore, buffeted about by the wind and laughing at the flashes of lightning. He was a little drunk, but not enough to make him forget how dangerous this situation was, and he reveled in the knowledge as he danced.

The near-empty bottle of wine was heavy in his hand as he pitched it into the surf, turning in the sand and letting the crazed tilt of the world drag him to his knees, plastering his hair to his neck and shoulders.
the_cupbearer: (plaintive)
2017-08-29 11:46 pm
Entry tags:

what-if: revolution (the party)

Ganymede had long been aware of his beauty, and the ease with which very little manipulation of that could and did affect men. Especially men who ought to know better. So it was not surprising at all to him that when the whispered word went out for 'flowers' who might be available for a particular kind of party...well, Ganymede had always been in some way near those circles.

The night of the engagement came, and he made sure he was clean-shaven and presentable, though he did not deign to dress as a woman to pass the entry of the house--considering he knew the address, and the house's occupant as well. He spent some time with the few cosmetics he kept, using mica powder to make his skin shimmer and kohl to emphasize his eyes. In no time at all, it seemed, he was on his way to the gathering, shown to the servant's entrance (not on the main street) where he could properly disrobe. He probably wouldn't, so far as he'd been apprised, actually be sexually participating in the activities of the party: he would be mostly something for the men present to look at, or touch, as they touched themselves and each other. A masturbation party then, though to Ganymede's recollection those sorts could turn into an orgy very quickly and with little provocation.

Either way it would be worth it to see the looks on the men's faces.
the_cupbearer: (weight of royalty)
2017-08-23 12:47 am
Entry tags:

Model AU part 1

Ganymede was lying strewn across a chair, extraordinarily low-slung jeans molded to his hips and the loose-weave sweater he wore held up by one hand, eyes locked onto the camera being pointed at him. Modelling wasn't something he found particularly difficult work--it was easy if you knew how to manipulate your body's angles, and he did--and it paid fairly well.

He had a multitude of tiny gold-thread braids in his hair, and dozens of gold rings on his fingers, and one thick chain draped across his neck as he stretched and looked through the lens: he was supposed to be mimicking arousal, but he couldn't help that every time he worked with John Andre he ended up feeling it too. Ganymede held it back long enough to finish the latest roll of film, and was busily taking off the jewelry before he could take a break and stretch out for a few minutes.

Unfortunately removing the heavy chain necklace had also wiped off some of the cosmetic he'd used that morning to conceal a dark, blooming bruise around his neck. It wasn't a huge secret that Ganymede was both sexually active and something of a masochist, though he argued that modelling itself would qualify you for that; it just wasn't often he showed up to work bearing the marks of it.
the_cupbearer: (smoke)
2017-07-12 01:11 am
Entry tags:

what-if: convince me of this revolution

It was late evening, in one of the many taverns that dotted the city of New York: Ganymede sat alone with a meal and a pipe, listening vaguely to the conversations around him, most of which were predictably centered on the ongoing war. He didn't have much faith that the colonists would truly win, would honestly separate from Britain and not collapse to anarchy soon thereafter, but being the sort who valued not being tarred-and-feathered, he kept that opinion to himself.

He was writing, actually, a long letter to a friend back on the continent whom he hadn't seen in years. He hoped Johannes was still alive at this point to even receive it.

And Ganymede might have stayed peacefully alone, if he hadn't been at the table with the only empty seat in the place.
the_cupbearer: (modern life)
2016-11-04 11:28 pm
Entry tags:

Man from UNCLE psl

Ganymede, for the last several years masquerading as Alan Kingsley, stretched in the studio, part classroom and part dojo floor, that was his place at the U.N.C.L.E headquarters; he was employed there teaching hand-to-hand combat, and though he had a rather unusual way of doing things his students tended to be successful once past his class.

It was a job, and one he liked, though he did appreciate days off from the minor bruising and aches generally caused by men who didn't know what they were doing and tried to throw him. It never worked out all that well for them. He'd been asked to come in for an agent to train with him, not an unusual request, and so there he was, in comfortable loose pants with his hair braided back, stretching and pulling out the tension in his limbs. For a moment his pose was impressive; Ganymede was balanced on one bare foot, the other pulled up behind him and grasped by both hands, extended over his head and continuing the circle of his spine. Kuryakin was due at any moment, and he preferred to get to business. He'd never been much for the passing comments of nicety as far as Ganymede was aware, though he'd never spoken to the man himself.
the_cupbearer: (weight of royalty)
2016-05-30 11:15 am
Entry tags:

(no subject)

Ganymede was breathtakingly, stunningly beautiful. It was seldom put any other way, and that was why he kept the windows to the carriage dark, gauzed by thin blue-black cloth to obscure the view inside. He was moving into another house, the same routine he'd kept for years and years; today was in many ways no different than the neverending procession of months and decades forward and behind.

He stepped out of the well-oiled door, the hinges making no noise in the atrociously early morning, and looked down the road as he set foot on the street, already moving towards the house's entry. His skin was turned into pale burnished gold by the early sun, his long hair neatly queued and tied back into an elaborate braid wound with silver. He stopped at the base of the short stairs up to the door, momentarily enchanted by the look of the city in the quiet just-pre-dawn, before many people came calling to sell their wares, after many of the street whores had given up selling their bodies. He knew both professions well.

This would be an interesting move.
the_cupbearer: (businessman)
2014-07-30 11:06 pm
Entry tags:

for [personal profile] littlemanbigheart

The cities all tended to blend together after a while; Ganymede would find himself doing the same things in all of them, looking out the windows from where he was leaning against the bar with a ledger book and a pen in his fingers, thinking. Being a business owner, part time bartender, and quasi-part time about a dozen other things made life busy, he supposed. Busy enough that he sometimes didn't immediately notice when someone wanted his attention. He'd heard the jangle of the bell, certainly, as the door opened, but he was focused on the numbers in front of him.

"Can I help you?" he asked absently, pulling his glasses off his face as he turned to look.
the_cupbearer: (puppies)
2014-04-27 02:28 pm
Entry tags:

for [personal profile] inkpaintform

Central Park is a great place to run one's dogs; Ganymede has several himself, a total of nine salukis that all love to run as he throws lures for them, though on coming back the puppies tend to jump up and swarm him. Their mother, however, is somewhat more sedate and only noses his forehead as he lays back on the grass, laughing.

He's an attractive young man, shown as he gets up, edging the dogs aside and shaking his head with the flash of silver from a tiny slave earring, chain snugging the shell of his ear.
the_cupbearer: (maybe flirting maybe not)
2014-02-11 12:54 am
Entry tags:

As They Make Their Way - for [personal profile] immortal_pirate

It's in a whorehouse when they meet next.

A brothel in San Francisco, where Ganymede goes by another name and has another history, and flits like an especially attractive little bee from flower to flower, person to person, different men in the same room pulling him into their laps for a kiss or grope. He's accepting of being taken advantage of in certain ways, being smiled at and catcalled for as he begs a moment to slip away, still laughing as he gets a drink of water in the hall, where it's quieter.

When the door opens, he watches through the mirror, smile still tugging at a corner of his mouth as he sees the hand on the doorknob develop into an arm, a shoulder.

And a face that's altogether too familiar.
the_cupbearer: (god's eye)
2012-03-06 11:32 am
Entry tags:

For Morgan

The beach along the northwest coast of the United States is one Ganymede is familiar with, in passing. The pebbles are big enough that he can feel each rounded shape under his feet, the thin soles on his sandals warping around the obstructions. The hound beside him walks just as peaceably over the damp ground, thin and mottled with colors as her master rests a hand on her head.

He remembers being here several times, years and years ago, always flirting with the sea but never trusting it--or Poseidon, its god--enough to lose sight of the shore. He skips a few stones across the water, listening only to the dull roar of it breaking across the rock and concrete levees. The sky is gray and heavy with dark streaks, but hasn't decided to spit rain yet. He wouldn't mind if it did; the rain is calming, something that's been constant all of his life. One of the only things that constant.
the_cupbearer: (shirtless)
2011-07-11 12:35 am
Entry tags:

For Zeus

Ganymede stood in the bedroom of his apartment in New York, looking over the city that truly never slept; it was some atrociously early hour of the morning--at a guess, he'd say five--and he was just out of the shower, half dressed as he watched the sky lighten with the predawn glow over the horizon. It never got truly dark anymore, a fact he lamtented, but there was precious little he could do about it.

So he stood and watched the neon signs and billboards blink out one by one with a sigh, shirt still resting on the mattress behind him. The whole wall of the bedroom--that entire side of the apartment in fact--was a mirrored and shaded wall, so he could see out, but no one could see back in.