Work Text:
The atrium was cold and empty. Caesar rubbed his hands together and blew on them to warm them. He hoped he didn't have to wait long, and forced himself to stop fidgeting and wait as if the cold didn't bother him. By the time a bored servant came to fetch him, he barely had feeling in his toes. The poor manners of his propraetor had to be ignored and Caesar concentrated on his duty.
He found Marcus Minucius Thermus in his office. This room was heated well, though crowded with furniture and scrolls, and Caesar thawed out as he stood in front of the desk, waiting to know what the propraetor wanted of him. He'd been in his service now for some months and had met him only once. Caesar knew his worth, and his assignments thus far had not been equal to his talents.
"Sit down," ordered Thermus, looking up from his work. He continued for a minute longer before putting down the parchment and looking at Caesar. "You've been doing well so far, yet I daresay you feel copying documents and contracts is a bit below you, hmm?"
"I have learned much, sir," replied Caesar, politely and falsely. It seemed that the propraetor was rather more shrewd than he seemed at first glance and Caesar would not underestimate him. Service in Asia was boring and offered him few opportunities to prove himself, but he was far from his enemies, and that was the important thing.
"There is an opportunity for you to show your skills," continued Thermus. "We have need of a fleet, and one of our Kings is in need of encouragement to continue his preparations. You will go and carry on negotiations in person, to Nicomedes in Bithynia."
"It will be my pleasure, sir," said Caesar, carefully hiding all signs of the excitement he felt. Not only was this an independent commission, but it would, of necessity, require travel to the very edge of Rome's influence. He would start his task of changing the face of Rome. He knew nothing about Bithynia, but he would make it his business to know everything about it by the time he arrived.
"It might be your pleasure," said Thermus, with a shade of distaste crossing his face. "You will definitely be asked to provide it, though. Who knew that employing such a pretty youth would prove so fortuitous?"
"Sir?" asked Caesar, stiffening at the reference to his face. He knew he looked young still, and hated to be thought weak for that.
"You will do what you need to get those ships completed, Caesar. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir," said Caesar. He understood the order, and he would search out the implication. He was not one to go blind into anything.
"Go on, then," said Thermus. "I've left your orders with the quartermaster, who will give you what you need."
Caesar left with all due ceremony, mulling over the possible meanings of Thermus's speech, but pushed it from his head in a flurry of preparation. Lacking private means, he would have to join an official transport to Bithynia, and the next one was leaving the next day. Caesar cursed inwardly, but a larger part of him was excited to be gone. Not only was he eager to excel in the execution of his commission, but he was keen to see the land and look on the edges of Rome.
He worked late into the night, preparing himself. The quartermaster gave him over half the things he'd asked for, but money wasn't one of them. Caesar cursed the slimness of his money bag, thinking of all the inevitable things he would need to provide out of the meager contents. It was entirely possible that this King Nicomedes would be looking for money, which he would not be able to give. He carefully collected together his personal belongings and prepared to leave. As the transport left, he couldn't help but feel a return of his initial excitement. Whatever difficulties lay ahead, this was his first moment of independent action, and he would make the most of it, for his own advancement, and Rome's.
>>>>
Nicomedia was bigger and more sophisticated than Caesar had expected. The Roman barracks were as crowded and noisy as all were, but the baths were clean and the soldiers alert and well-disciplined. The city streets were wide and people bustled everywhere. The market contained bright, well-woven carpets and woollen garments. A comely whore smiled at him and whispered her price in his ear. He would have to choose rather older, less pretty ones, if he wanted to lay with someone here. He frowned at the added complication to his money troubles; he would find it hard to stretch his gold in this surprisingly cosmopolitan city.
He presented himself to the senior officer of the barracks, who greeted him without much enthusiasm and assigned him to a small room on the outer edges. It was clean but simple, and Caesar scowled at the lowly rank his assignment to this room showed. Caesar thanked him equally unenthusiastically. It seemed the ambassador of the propraetor was not a distinguished person in this city, and Caesar was not important enough in his own family or achievements to be singled out for honour. He ground his teeth at his lowly station and fumed inwardly as he dressed carefully and set out for the palace.
The king's secretary was happy to see him, in a small room that was carefully furnished. He had not been kept waiting, and he couldn't help but compare his reception here with the cavalier treatment he'd received from Thermus. It was not appropriate to the honour of Rome that these Asians should be more courteous.
The secretary did not keep him waiting. He was charmed to pass Caesar's credentials on to his king, delighted to assure him that the king would be enraptured to see him at the earliest opportunity. Caesar was insensibly soothed by his enthusiasm, though, as he left, he couldn't help but wonder if he had been being mocked. He strode round the streets, optimistic that this might prove a simple task. He took in all the features of the city and the people who lived there. His curious gaze took in the fashions of the city, the lack of surprise or deference in the population, most of whom must be used to Romans in the city. He kept walking, too restless to go back to his rooms.
He found himself on the walls, low and made of mud-brick, but well made and strong. He leaned on the parapet in the westering sun and stared out at the plain below, at the small harbour where a few ships were out of the water and work seemed to be progressing slowly. The shipyard made a beautiful sight as the shadows lengthened and the red sunset touched the high, carved prows. He sighed and did his best not to despair.
Caesar went back the next morning, and the next, and started to think that Nicomedes was not, perhaps, as enraptured as his secretary had made him out to be. He turned over many options for his future, all of them unpalatable, and contained his impatience as best he could. He would not betray his misgivings; he would not contemplate failure. He was here for the good of Rome, and that would prevail. He knew he was good enough for this challenge.
The third morning, standing at the gate and contemplating yet another fruitless walk to the walls, Caesar saw a runner in the uniform of the palace approaching. His heart beat faster. He was at least to have a chance to plead his case, then. The gracious, effusive turn of phrase he mentally dismissed, concentrating on the key points; Nicomedes would see him, this morning, if he was not already engaged. Caesar smiled grimly at this piece of politeness. He was prepared to dislike the King, to find him as petty, drunken and boorish as any other vassal king must necessarily be.
He found Nicomedes, instead, to be a handsome, warlike man in his thirties, who received him in another pleasant room with a rather good mosaic on the floor. Caesar nearly forgot the words of greeting he'd taught himself, but recovered and passed on the formal greeting from Marcus Minucius Thermus. If Nicomedes was enraptured to see Caesar, he was hiding it well. His eyes were keen and appraising, and more than once Caesar fought the urge to straighten his tunic under the thoughtful consideration in his gaze. Nicomedes listened silently as Caesar outlined the request from Thermus.
"I am afraid," said Nicomedes, with no discernible trace of regret in his voice, "that it is currently impossible to work any faster on the ships, tragic though it is that I must disappoint Thermus."
"Currently impossible?" asked Caesar. He cursed himself for the shade of eagerness in his voice, but Nicomedes didn't seem to hear it.
"Why yes," Nicomedes said. He didn't elaborate, leaving Caesar at rather a loss as how to proceed. This man did not look to be the type who could be bribed with gold, even if Caesar had some to spare. His brain worked furiously to find persuasive arguments, but his mind was blank. He was mortified to find himself unable to utter any of the noble speeches he'd planned on the way. There was something about the way Nicomedes looked at him, a little mocking, but still appraising, and it made him self-conscious and fumbling.
Nicomedes seemed to take pity on him and broke the silence. "Perhaps, while I commission someone to investigate matters at the shipyard, you might be persuaded to go hunting with me tomorrow."
"Hunting?" echoed Caesar.
"Yes, with spears, as one does. Unless, of course, one prefers archery."
The feeling that he was being mocked grew stronger. "I am conversant with hunting," Caesar said, trying to sound confident and indifferent to Nicomedes's amusement.
"Then I should be delighted to have your company tomorrow, at first light," said Nicomedes, and all Caesar had to do was bow himself out and walk back to the barracks in a stew of fury and mortification. Nicomedes had the air of a man who found Caesar young and amusing, but he would not stand for that. He was accounted a good hunter, and he would demonstrate his prowess tomorrow. He would be calm and smooth and confident. He was much younger than the King, poor and ambitious, but he was a patrician of Rome, and he would remember that. No vassal king was going to intimidate him.
>>>>
Caesar made sure he was at the stables at the palace in good time, discreetly advised by the cheerful secretary. Nicomedes was already there, though, carefully inspecting his horse's harness. He welcomed Caesar politely and offered him the loan of a horse. Caesar accepted as gratefully as he could, relieved at Nicomedes's tact. As he became acquainted with his horse, he watched Nicomedes with his own. His hands were strong but gentle as he stroked the horse on the neck, and his voice was soft and blandishing as he coaxed the bridle on. Caesar looked away, to his own horse.
Others arrived for the hunting, Bithynian noblemen all, who greeted Caesar with apparent pleasure after Nicomedes's general introduction. Caesar was struck by the graciousness with which he was met; in Rome, men would be much more formal, more restrained, until the fine details of your social standing were clear. It felt awkward, and he was half uncertain, half superior at his better breeding.
Caesar had borrowed hunting gear from the armoury at the barracks, and was grateful he had when he saw the weapons that the Bithynians carried. They were all longer and heavier than his, better for greater ranges, he supposed, and one or two were equipped with slings. He hoped he would get a chance to show what he could do up closer.
The day progressed pleasantly, with Caesar gradually forgetting his defensive wariness and enjoying the warmth of the sun and the freedom of the wind around him. This type of expedition had been common for him in his youth, but he'd not had the leisure or means for it for a long time. There was something beautiful about the long, undulating hills and the relative lack of ceremony. He had no luck, his companions indeed preferring a longer range than he could compete with, but even this did not irk him. When Nicomedes reined his horse in next to him, Caesar was able to thank him sincerely for an excellent day.
"I am glad you have taken pleasure in it," Nicomedes replied. "I was grieved to see that you are unfamiliar with the weight and range of our weapons. Perhaps you would care to become familiar with them, and then join me on another hunt?"
Caesar considered the invitation. He did not want to outstay his welcome, but how else would he get the opportunity to press his errand? He glanced at Nicomedes, to find him intently watching Caesar. He felt suddenly flustered and off-balance under the dark gaze, swallowed hard and regained his calm.
"I do not think we have Bithynian weapons in our armoury," he said.
"It would be my pleasure to open my armoury to you," Nicomedes said. "I can generally be found there in the morning. My secretary will furnish you with the details. It would give me pleasure to introduce you to the strength, accuracy and grace of our weapons and fighting."
"I would be delighted to accept," said Caesar.
"Excellent," said Nicomedes. His face was full of satisfaction, and his eyes ran over Caesar with that appraising look again. Caesar could almost feel it tingling over his skin and he knew his answering smile was awkward. He hated himself for his lack of poise.
>>>>
This set the tone of the next two weeks. Caesar was a frequent guest at the palace and slowly relaxed there and lost most of the feeling that he was being mocked. Nicomedes grew daily more friendly, though there were times, many, and increasing, when Caesar shivered from the weight of his gaze. He'd even found himself watching Nicomedes, watching his strong, subtle hands and his lean, well-muscled legs. Nicomedes was every inch the king, with his unquestioned command that even Caesar found himself falling in line with, without thought for his Roman dignity.
Caesar walked home one evening, late, unaccustomedly tipsy, and reflected on the dinner he'd just had. It had been simple fare and just a dozen people. Caesar had no great love for lavish feasts, and had happily sat next to Nicomedes on this informal occasion. He laughed gently as he remembered some of the banter. He felt both comfort and discomfort when in the presence of Nicomedes, but he guessed that was the lot of the diplomat, trying to gain a concession from someone who could never be a friend, just an ally.
He was considering the weight of possible decisions, when a whore detached herself from the wall and approached him. He looked over her lush form and wondered if a fuck was what he needed. He'd not had a woman since leaving Thermus's camp, and perhaps his restlessness would be eased by a warm body.
"You look lonely, Prince," she said. "Perhaps some company?"
"I am sure I could not afford you," Caesar said.
"For a handsome boy such as yourself, I will be very reasonable." She touched Caesar's chest, running her hand down the front of his tunic, lower, hand hovering over his cock. Looking into her dark eyes, feeling her strong hand twist in his grasp, he made the decision to go with her.
"Very well," he said. "Name your price."
It was one worth paying, in his opinion, as she led him down an alley to a small house and into an even smaller bedroom. She closed the curtain behind them and pushed him down onto the small bed.
"What do you want?" she asked, starting to slide her robe off her shoulders. Caesar usually had simple, straightforward tastes with whores, but he licked his lips when an idea came into his head. Cupping her round arse in his hands, he pulled her closer.
"I want your arse," he said, and she showed no sign of surprise, merely laughing and dropping her robes to the floor. She shoved a jar of oil into his hands and got onto the mattress on her hands and knees.
"So decisive now, sweet Prince," she said. "Give me some oil and I'll let you see what you look like when you're on your knees."
He ignored her words and watched, pushing aside his tunic and slowly stroking his cock as her fingers slid in and out of her arse. He was quickly hard and urgent, and stripped off his tunic. Slicking his cock in some oil, he mounted the bed behind her and pushed her hands aside. She laughed again as he worked his cock into her arse.
He found the tightness of her arse intoxicating, loved the feel of her skin under his hands as he squeezed tight the flesh and tried to take his time with her. He had to close his eyes as he increased his pace, and the image that popped into his head was big hands spanning a rather lighter arse, two men, and he was unable to clear it from his head. He threw back his head and moaned, clearly seeing Nicomedes thrusting in and out of his own upraised, supplicant arse, and he was unable to stop himself from coming with a groan and a flurry of savage thrusts.
He pulled out, blinking, and dropped back to the mattress.
"So now you know how it feels on the other side, little Prince," said the whore, finding a bowl and a cloth under the bed. "I hope our extravagant king takes a bit more time with you, though."
Caesar looked at her in confusion, and then her words made sudden sense. He saw Nicomedes in a whole new light, saw himself in a whole new light. Pulling his tunic on in silence, he threw the money he owed on the bed, snatched the cloth from her hand and cleaned himself quickly, and all but ran from her squalid room.
>>>>
Caesar pleaded an indisposition in his note to the palace the next day. He paced up and down his room in a self-loathing fury. So many things made more sense now: Thermus sending him here, to start with, all the way to Nicomedes's unexpected friendliness. He prided himself on his observation, but he'd not seen this coming, and cursed himself. It wasn't the Greek love itself; despite what Rome thought, it was as common as ever, and he'd never seen any point in railing against it or thinking less of people driven to it. It was the calm assumption that he was here to barter his honour for a fleet of ships that he objected to.
The further irritant his state of mind was the realisation that he would welcome Nicomedes as a lover. He couldn't stop himself thinking about being held down by those strong arms, coaxed into further intimacies by his voice. Picturing the two of them together, bodies flush against one another, the thought of Nicomedes's cock, and Caesar was filled with both lust and fury. He'd never dallied with Greek love, and he was angry to have misjudged himself.
He wanted to run from the position he'd found himself in, but his orders were clear. He had to see the fleet finished. For a moment, he hoped he'd misinterpreted everything and Nicomedes was not expecting him to buy the fleet with his arse, but he thought about the attention Nicomedes had paid him, his kindnesses and courtesies, and, above all, the way he looked at Caesar, and knew he wasn't mistaken.
It was lowering to think that not only was he being expected by his commander to buy the fleet at the cost of his honour, but he was eager to do so. It was mortifying to think that he had no choice, and that, out of everything, came back to haunt him over and over again. He had to get the fleet, and the only way to do it was to become Nicomedes's lover. There was no other way, and so it didn't really matter whether he wanted to or not. He could be willing or unwilling, and Nicomedes would have him just the same.
Eventually, Caesar calmed and began to turn over his options in his head. He sat down on his narrow bed with its rough blankets and forced himself to think logically. He was here for Rome, after all, and the start of his climb to power within it. The fleet meant potential power, that was certain, for he had already been drafted to a position in one of the ships. He would have the opportunity to seek some advantage there, and he knew he could exploit whatever came his way.
The rumours would be unfortunate, but he knew that, whether he now submitted to Nicomedes or not, the rumours would circulate. The whore in the alleyway had been proof of that. He would have to face speculation, but his reputation was smirched already. Going through with the deed would not alter the gossip at all.
Finally, he sat on the bed and considered whether the stratagem was likely to work. Each time he'd asked Nicomedes about the fleet, or advanced one of his arguments in favour of a swift completion, Nicomedes had promised that he had someone investigating at the shipyards. Surely Caesar's submission would bring an end to the investigation and a start to the action. Was it a fair price to pay?
Again, Caesar's sense of honour revolted. He'd already lost years as a puppet of one family or another. He was poor, an exile, and with only energy and intelligence to help him improve his lot. This was further indignity. On the other hand, it was something he wanted, despite the pressure, and he'd had little opportunity to take things he wanted. He laughed softly to himself. He was in the horns of a dilemma where, no matter what choice he made, the outcome would be the same. He'd be the cupbearer of the king, and the fleet would be built. The only question was how willingly he would go into the bargain.
>>>>
It was in this state of indecision that Caesar presented himself at the palace the next afternoon. Nicomedes took one look at his face and declared him not yet recovered from his indisposition. He walked Caesar inside, to his private audience chamber, and sent for refreshments.
Nicomedes lounged in his chair while Caesar sat upright in his, scarcely more at ease than he'd been the first time he presented himself at the Palace. The slave who brought the food was dismissed, along with both Nicomedes's bodyguards. Caesar swallowed hard and looked at Nicomedes. His decision was made. He would forget the coercion and take what he wanted.
"I have asked you many times if the work on the Roman fleet can be sped up," said Caesar. "I occurs to me that perhaps…." He trailed off, not quite sure how to phrase a sexual offer in a way that wouldn't offend a king. Meeting Nicomedes's eyes and seeing the interested, slightly mocking, gleam there, Caesar tailed off for a moment. He tried again.
"I would like to make it clear that I am willing to put myself to any service, in the discharge of my duty to Rome," he said.
Nicomedes laughed, and Caesar knew a moment's fear that he'd made a terrible mistake. Sobering quickly, Nicomedes smiled at Caesar, this one openly lustful and full of promise for what Caesar could expect.
"One of the many things we do better than Rome is the elegance with which one of our youth make themselves available for a liaison," Nicomedes said.
"I am only sorry that Rome has not Asia's tastes," Caesar replied, somewhat stiffly.
"Indeed," said Nicomedes, "but I understand you are a swift learner."
"So, with regard to the fleet," started Caesar, but Nicomedes cut him off with a gesture.
"Forget about that fleet. I have already prepared the orders and have wasted enough time waiting for you to come to the point. Come."
He left the room through a small door, half hidden behind a screen, and Caesar followed him, heart beating uncomfortably fast and his mouth dry. He had a glimpse of a luxurious room before he was pushed up against the doorway and kissed. He opened his mouth automatically, responding to the insistent pressure of Nicomedes's lips and teeth. He kept his hands by his side, not sure if he was allowed to clutch him close. Nicomedes worked his knee between Caesar's thighs and left his lips to bite his neck. Gasping, Caesar forgot his restraint and grasped Nicomedes's arms as he arched against him.
This was better than he could ever have expected. Better than any whore, better than the respectable urges of his marriage bed. Nicomedes knew exactly what he was doing, was strong and purposeful, and it was intoxicating. Caesar rubbed up against him, all restraint forgotten, and moaned as Nicomedes kissed him once more and pulled up his tunic. He stripped Caesar of his clothing, then pushed him onto the bed.
Caesar lay back on the bed, naked, watching as Nicomedes took his clothes off. He sucked in a breath as Nicomedes stroked his own cock, seemingly impossibly big now that Caesar was going to be intimately acquainted with it. Nicomedes climbed over him and kissed him again, rubbing their bodies together, and Caesar forgot everything but pleasure as he ground up against him. The friction between them made him moan as his cock rubbed against Nicomedes's belly.
Nicomedes climbed up further, kneeling over Caesar and angling his cock over Caesar's mouth. He opened, taking Nicomedes cock into his mouth and sucking clumsily. Spit slid from the corners of his mouth as Nicomedes took hold of his hair and directed him. Caesar opened up to him eagerly, finding Nicomedes's cool control exciting. He'd never thought he'd want to be on his back for another man, but he loved the tight grip in his hair, the insistent, choking weight of Nicomedes's cock in his mouth. His mind would rebel against his submission later, but, for now, he groaned and sucked as best he could, uncaring of his dignity.
Pulling free, Nicomedes slapped his cock against Caesar's lips before taking hold of it and stroking. Caesar watched, looking up Nicomedes's body as his hand worked his cock. Reaching out, he touched Nicomedes, stroking the top of his thigh, his balls, while his other hand sliding down his body to his own cock.
Nicomedes's hand flew faster and he spilled on Caesar's face with a low groan. Taking hold of Caesar's throat, he looked down at him. Caesar blinked up at him, still desperately lustful, cock hard in his own hand, perversely enjoying his filthy face.
"Finish yourself off," said Nicomedes. Too urgent to hesitate, Caesar did so. He was faster than he wanted, too obvious, he thought, but his orgasm gripped him tightly and he spilled over his belly, arching up against the restraint of Nicomedes's hand.
Caesar lay quietly on the sheets as his breath returned to normal and he wondered at the enormity of what he'd done. He felt good, though, mopping his face with a corner of the bed covering and wondering at the possessiveness of Nicomedes's actions, and his own enjoyment of them. Next time, he would retain a little more dignity, he promised himself.
"You will dine with me tonight," said Nicomedes. His voice was smooth with satisfaction, underlaid with a command that made Caesar squirm uncomfortably on the inside at his submission to Nicomedes. "Then," continued Nicomedes, "I shall have you."
Caesar couldn't help but respond as Nicomedes cupped his cock in his hand and stroked it a few times. He wriggled back against him helplessly, and choked on a moan, before abruptly becoming still and remembering his dignity. Nicomedes chuckled, and Caesar closed his eyes as he imagined a future of himself on his knees, and half-wishing it wasn't such an attractive prospect.
>>>>
Now that there was an agreement, the ships progressed rapidly, even to Caesar's inexpert eye. He was taken to see them, once or twice, climbing up the sides and walking along the half-pieced wood. Some were finished, and they loomed above him from the water's edge, where he could imagine the long, graceful sweeps eating through the water at the sound of the drum from the deck. They were deadly, long and lean and perfect for the fighting they were to do. Caesar could see why Thermus wanted them so much.
Nicomedes's desire for him was just as deadly, now that it had been agreed to. Outwardly, life continued as before. Caesar kept his rooms at the barracks, but most evenings he staggered home sore and sated, to fall into his bed and lie awake late in the night. He had maintained no Roman dignity at all, no matter how he struggled. As soon as Nicomedes touched him, he was desperate for the blazing lust between them, and welcomed every act.
The brazier in the dining room burned low and Nicomedes caught Caesar's eye. He rose to his feet and his guests bowed before him, withdrawing one by one. Finally, only Caesar was left. He bowed to Nicomedes too, unsure whether he would be going home or not. Nicomedes wound his fingers in Caesar's hair and pushed him to his knees before sitting back in his throne and pulling Caesar's face into his crotch. Caesar couldn't help but rub his face against the thickening outline of Nicomedes's cock through his barbarous trousers. Nicomedes stroked Caesar's head gently.
"The fleet will be ready at the end of the week," said Nicomedes. Caesar breathed in sharply. He'd not realised it was so close. The fleet would be ready, and he would leave on it, back to war and death and the possibility of glory and advancement.
Nicomedes pressed Caesar's face more firmly into his groin and Caesar obligingly mouthed along his cock through the light cloth covering it.
"I shall be sorry to see you go," said Nicomedes.
Caesar made a muffled noise. He was not sure if he was sorry to go or not. He had found many pleasures here, but he felt lost also, his own ambition and determination seemingly always squashed by Nicomedes's strength of will.
Nicomedes stood again, pulling Caesar to his feet with him. This time Caesar kissed him, looping one arm around his neck and lightly tracing his chest and stomach with the other. Nicomedes kissed him back roughly, snaking one arm around him to squeeze his arse and probe down the cleft with his fingers. Caesar groaned into the kiss, his momentary sense of initiative gone.
Nicomedes led Caesar to the bedroom and pushed him onto the bed. Caesar wriggled, struggling to get out of his inconveniently rumpled cloak while Nicomedes shed his tunic and trousers easily. He laughed at Caesar's struggles and slid his hand under his tunic and roughly stroked his cock. Caesar moaned and eventually freed himself. Nicomedes pressed him into the bed and kissed him, letting Caesar grip his shoulders and rub up against him. Caesar loved the weight of Nicomedes over him, the lush kisses compared to the raw friction of the way they rutted together. Then he was flipped over and Nicomedes's fingers were working into his body with oil, stretching him open.
Caesar couldn't help but groan as Nicomedes slid inside him. It always felt so good, being so vulnerable and open to Nicomedes, and he thought Nicomedes loved that moment too, judging by his fervent curses and the way his fingers dug into Caesar's skin. He loved to push back against Nicomedes and try to set the pace, but it always finished with Nicomedes's hands gripping Caesar's hips as he held him down and came inside him.
Caesar slumped face-down on the bed, hard cock pressed into the coverings. He felt Nicomedes's fingers back inside him and moaned at the sensation of being filled. He rubbed himself against the sheets. Nicomedes ordered him to touch his cock and make himself come, and Caesar was too far gone to even think about his own will. He came with his face pressed into the bed and his arse in the air, and he couldn't imagine anything better.
>>>>
The fleet was ready and Caesar climbed from Nicomedes bed for the last time. He was to leave with the fleet, back to join Marcus Minicius Thermus. He wiped his sweaty skin and turned to look at Nicomedes again, still lounging naked against the sheets. He looked magnificent, and Caesar felt the urge to climb back into bed and let Nicomedes fuck him one more time, let him add to the tender pleasure of his arse and his tingling skin.
Instead, he straightened up and reached for his tunic. He was done. He would walk away, not be torn. He was still his own man.
"You are not a man who takes submission well," said Nicomedes. "Yet you have done so for the last two months, despite your natural desire to assert yourself. Here is a man who understands his duty and his ambition."
Caesar had not expected Nicomedes to speak so openly of their arrangement. To find his motivations named so clearly was a shock, though he knew, had always known, that Nicomedes was clever and perceptive. He wondered why Nicomedes was speaking of this now and looked at him to see that familiar appraising expression on his face. He had come to hate that, the way that Nicomedes could always see through him and make him bend to Nicomedes's will.
"Never fear, I will examine you no longer," said Nicomedes. "You have been a complicated delight."
He licked his lips as he said it, and Caesar realised, again, that Nicomedes had enjoyed his inner conflict, had encouraged that hint of reluctance and defiance, and had delighted in quelling it. Caesar himself had loved it, his submission was acutely pleasurable, though he burned afterwards to remember his abandon. He filled with slow anger, but pushed it away. Nothing could be gained from his anger. Nicomedes observed him and smiled again, but this time there was just a trace of regret in it, and Caesar wondered if perhaps Nicomedes had wanted him for more than just the conquest.
"I hope you enjoy the things I have taught you," he said, "and not just the pleasures of the bed."
Caesar paused, completely dressed. He was the perfect Roman; cool, infinitely superior, intelligent and ambitious. He would go far, he knew.
It was true that he had learned much from Nicomedes, though he would never willingly admit it. Nicomedes was devious, manipulative and utterly in control of himself. He knew how to use his power to make people think they were free, think they were making their own decisions. Caesar knew he would use these lessons for a long time, yet he wished he'd not had to learn them, wished their arrangement could have been something more tender.
Caesar looked at him, still sprawled on the sheets with his cock lax on his belly, somehow looking every inch the king. He felt such a complicated mixture of desire, resentment and love towards this man that he was unable to even begin to explain it. He knew that Nicomedes probably already understood it much better that he could even begin to. He hesitated, looking for the perfect words to express all this.
"Go," said Nicomedes. "You have a world to win, after all."
His voice had the familiar mocking cadence, and it stiffened Caesar's spine. He would conquer the world, for his own glory and Rome's, and Nicomedes would always be a vassal king. He would make sure of it.
>>>>
Caesar stood in front of Marcus Minicius Thermus and waited until he finished his report.
"And did you enjoy your commission?" Thermus asked, slight sneer on his face.
"I found it extremely educational," replied Caesar.