fortis cadere, cedere non potest

[al_shairan]

Several years ago, when Flavius Sulpicius Allectus is a young man returning from serving as tribunus laticlavius in Parthia. Having been away from Excolo for three years, tonight he visits the house of his patron and friend, Potitus Icilius Tetricus Crassipes...

I stand in the atrium of Tetricus' house. It feels strange, almost stranger than my return to my own home. I spent so many evenings here that it was more a home to me in my late boyhood and early manhood than my own house, but it has been years since I have been here. It looks the same, and different, and I find I am nervous.

It is not a very manly thing, to feel this way, especially not for a returning soldier. I am in uniform - I have not been decommissioned yet, officially, and I also had the idea that Tetricus might like to see it before I put it away and seek out my next position as a quaestor. I think I am done with the army, but Tetricus got me there, and it might please him to see the cuirass and striped tunic I wore as tribune. And I have the sense that I look well in it, which should not really matter to me but somehow seems to. I am quite certain Tetricus and I have put our former relationship behind us. No man of his standing would want to continue - being with a man of my age in that way, and now I am no longer so very young I should not want it. The first few months in Parthia I found I did miss being in bed with him, but that faded as it should, as my own tastes changed and grew into manhood. I am not delighted now by the idea of lying back on a couch with a man on top of me. I had - other experiences in Parthia that showed me that. Those experiences were not altogether what one expects of an Excolan man, but I think I am in all other regards manly enough for people to turn a blind eye to it. What I found was that I missed him. Our friendship has grown in our absence from one another, which is strange. Perhaps it was easier to talk when he was not distracted by my beauty and I was not so shy of his status. It is easier, often, to be honest on the page. Or so I have found. We are friends now truly, I think, more than we were before. I hope that translates into everyday life. That alone must explain my nerves, surely.

Adjusting my helmet under my arm, I wait for the slave to return with Tetricus.

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[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

His smile is - dazzling. It makes me smile in return - no, grin like a halfwit. I do not care. I have unburdened enough of my mind to him in our letters that I do not feel shame at my gladness. He smells of sweat and leather and metal, as if he had brought the sun's heat with him. The hand on my arm is strong and callused, and I feel a small shock at it; at the difference of it, I suppose.

"Thank you. Tetricus. It is very good to see you again."

He is truly glad, and I am relieved. Although in my mind I have pictured him as the youth he was, I have known that things must be different now. His beauty has not faded as he has grown, but only strengthened: a manly beauty, now. I cannot imagine being with him as I once was, the receptive parting of his thighs beneath me. It is too at odds with the man before me, and yet -

And yet we can have friendship, and may that not be a closer intimacy? A sharing of hearts, though not of flesh. There will be other boys; no other Allectus.

"Come," I say, and my throat is strangely tight, "I shall call for refreshments." I turn, and one of Calida's maids is peeking at him around the corner. She blushes when I beckon to her, but she comes, and I send her for wine. "See," I say cheerfully, "you disrupt my household with your new splendour."

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

He smiles back at me, and I do not think he has ever smiled at me quite like that. I am very aware of my own breathing, and I am almost disappointed when he breaks the moment.

"I shall call for refreshments."

A blushing girl scurries out, and Tetricus orders wine.

"See, you disrupt my household with your new splendour."

I laugh.

"Am I so splendid then?" I find myself pleased to be so described. It has hardly escaped my notice that I am a good looking man, but knowing Tetricus's tastes for boys, I am glad he does not seem disappointed with me. Not that it matters, of course, since he can hardly want me the way he has before. I, meanwhile, have realised I do want him; his touch was enough to tell me that. But the new desires I have would sit ill with him, I think.

I let him lead me to the dining room. We have spent many hours here together.

"I have fond memories of this room," I say, looking about me with a smile. "I have missed your parties." I take a cup of wine from the slave, and then she leaves us alone. I feel a nervous sort of excitement run through me. "What shall we drink to?" I ask.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

"Am I so splendid then?"

I laugh with him, enjoying his obvious pleasure in the thought. "The fathers of Excolo will have to watch their daughters. We must find you a wife soon, my friend, so they do not pine away with desire."

I am teasing him, as a friend may, but the thought gives me a curious pang. It is the swift passage of time, I think, that has brought him so fast from a boy to a man and soon to a husband and father, that makes me feel old. Such a melancholy thought for a joyous evening.

I tell the girl to leave the wine on the little round table in the dining room, and instruct that we are to be given peace. Many of the household will remember Allectus, and I do not want them dashing in here to peer at him all evening.

"I have missed your parties." It gives me a warm pleasure to hear him say so. "What shall we drink to?"

"They have been less without you, and what should we drink to but your success? Past, and yet to come. If you are not too modest, of course." It is strangely easy to tease at him like this. I lift my cup to him and drink; the wine is rich, warm and sweet.

"Come, recline with me. No, we need not send for a slave - I am sure I can assist you." I may not have experience of military matters (and he has come to know, I think, though I have never said so clearly, how that has smarted at me) but I can manage some buckles, I am sure.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"The fathers of Excolo will have to watch their daughters. We must find you a wife soon, my friend, so they do not pine away with desire."

I grin.

"I have begun to turn my mind to marriage," I say. "Though the ladies of Excolo may have to pine a while longer, for I have much to attend to before I can wed. But I will appreciate your guidance in my choice of a wife, as in all things." Guidance in my choice - it recognises both his role as mentor and my own independence. It is a more comfortable balance than I might expect.

"They have been less without you, and what should we drink to but your success? Past, and yet to come. If you are not too modest, of course."

"Only if we may drink to your own fortunes too," I say. "Is Calida well? And Dacia must be almost ready to get married," I tease. "What is she now, six?" We both drink, and I set my cup on the table.

"Come, recline with me. No, we need not send for a slave - I am sure I can assist you."

The idea gives me a thrill I am not dull enough to mistake, making memories of Parthia flare in me, but I keep them in check. Tetricus is merely making a friendly offer.

"Thank you," I say, and let him unfasten the clasps of my cuirass and lift it over my head. I can feel my pulse flickering in my throat, and I cannot help swallowing hard.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

He stands still to let me work, like a man with his body slave. It is a curious enough reversal of our roles that I may smile a little. The stylised muscles of his cuirass are cool under my hand, and I rub my fingers over them with brief curiosity.

When he is free of it the smell of his flesh is stronger, sweat and youthful health. The tunic beneath is is creased, and I smooth it across his chest with my hand.

"There," I say with a smile, "you are a civilised man again, instead of a soldier. Or nearly so. Let me - "

It is perhaps a curious impulse, kneeling to remove his greaves. But there is something ceremonial about the gesture that suits the moment, his return and his transition back to city life. His legs are strongly muscled, and I can feel an honest admiration and only a clean sort of envy.

Standing makes my heart beat harder than it should. Perhaps I am fatigued, and so I move to the couch and gesture him to accompany me. "Tell me, how do you find Excolo, now that you return to her? Are we much changed for your adventures?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

When he smooths my tunic my throat grows tight.

"There, you are a civilised man again, instead of a soldier. Or nearly so. Let me - "

He kneels at my feet, and I can hardly breathe for a moment. I remember, suddenly, things I imagined as a boy, ideas I quickly buried as inappropriate, the idea of reversing our roles and having Tetricus on his knees -

When he unlaces my greaves I can feel my heart pounding. This is foolish, I tell myself, to react so strongly to his touch. I have grown to accept that I relish the caresses of men more than those of women, and that I am more stirred by man's beauty than by woman's, but this is still a strangely intense response. I have to fight the impulse to put my hand on his hair.

Of course, he does not know what kind of lewd things I am imagining, and I feel ashamed. He sits down, and I sit with him.

"Tell me, how do you find Excolo, now that you return to her? Are we much changed for your adventures?"

"It is strange," I say. "So much has changed, even in this short time. But in some ways I think things that have not changed are stranger, because I have gone away and seen so much and they have taken no notice of it." I smile. "It is man's vanity that expects the world to change because he does." I shift a little so I can look at him. "You, friend, seem the same as always," I say with a smile. I hesitate, but I think I can allow myself to be sentimental, given the occasion. "And your letters have been a constant to me. I enjoyed Parthia, but it is a foreign, barbaric land, and that could be tiring." And lonely, and miserable, sometimes. "Your letters, more than any others, brought a civilised light to my life. In my frustrated hours I would read them and remember - home." I wonder if I have said too much, and I feel colour flare briefly in my cheeks, a boyish sort of reaction I have worked hard to repress, and so I sip my wine to cover it.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

We are close enough that I can feel his body's warmth as he speaks of his return. "Your letters, more than any others, brought a civilised light to my life. In my frustrated hours I would read them and remember - home."

I see the boyish blush, and his sentiment moves me. I move my hand to rest it on his leg in reassurance, but catch myself almost before the movement is begun. It is habit, of course, from when we were easy with each other's bodies. But though it was meant as comfort, he would be insulted by it now, might think that I would treat him like a youth to be pawed at.

But I am glad that he has shared his heart with me like the boy he was - or, rather, like the man whose letters I treasured myself. That he does not feel he must be like stone with me, the stoic Excolan.

I missed you. I try to find a way to say it that will not offend.

"I am glad of that." My voice is grave. "That they brought you some measure of," I hesitate, and then risk the word, "comfort. And I, also - when I wrote them, it was as if I could speak with you, across the many miles, though the wait for your reply was long. A slow conversation." I smile at that.

Perhaps it would be best to allude to what was, so that it is not always silent between us: to allow it to move gracefully into the past, acknowledged. "Not that that was all I wished I might do, at first," I say, and though my voice is teasing it is a man jesting with a friend, not flirting with a boy. "It was not in conversation alone that I was duller. But if I may be honest - there came a time when I found that if I had lost, yet that which I had found made me a richer man."

There is perhaps too much sentiment in it, but friendship may permit it. I think of a poem (http://rozk.livejournal.com/347471.html) that I read, praising a returned friend, and wish that I could express myself so to him. But I do not wish him to think that I will hang upon him like an unwanted suitor.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

I see how he almost touches my leg, and my breath catches. But he puts his hand away. It was probably only old habit that moved him, not - the kind of desire I might want. I must put such foolishness away. I managed not to think of it for a long time, thought that we were past that, so why do I let it rush back now? It is no doubt merely the nostalgia I feel, being in a familiar place after so long.

"That they brought you some measure of comfort. And I, also - when I wrote them, it was as if I could speak with you, across the many miles, though the wait for your reply was long. A slow conversation."

"Yes," I say. "The distance was frustrating at times. I could never decide, on receiving your letters, whether I wanted to write back at once, feelings fresh, or to savour my reply, to draw out the pleasure of writing." I realise after I have said it what sort of language I have used, and I do not meet his eyes - but I do not blush.

"Not that that was all I wished I might do, at first," he says, and I feel my heart leap up. "It was not in conversation alone that I was duller. But if I may be honest - there came a time when I found that if I had lost, yet that which I had found made me a richer man."

I am not sure whether I feel pleased or disappointed, whether he is saying he is glad he has moved on or regrets it.

"I - " I wet my lip with my tongue, unsure what to say, and I look at him. "I missed - our other intimacy very much at first. My - tastes have changed, in these intervening years, and you are right that I am more glad in the friendship we have now than the relationship we had before, because it is - more manly, more true." My throat is dry. "But I have not forgotten - " I take a breath. I know that Tetricus is a tolerant man, a man who accommodates others' tastes and is no prude. "I am not altogether changed," I say at last, but I do not dare say more, not knowing his heart, but I make myself meet his gaze.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

Why will he not meet my eyes? Perhaps my words have offended him, or simply embarrassed him with their emotion. I will not press the point -

"I missed - our other intimacy very much at first. My - tastes have changed, in these intervening years, and you are right that I am more glad in the friendship we have now than the relationship we had before, because it is - more manly, more true." I am resigned to that, and so I nod, ignoring the small clench in my chest. No man can hold back time, or the changes it brings to men.

But it seems that there is more, and his breath and his words do not come easily. "But I have not forgotten - I am not altogether changed."

Though he looks at me straight, there is a shyness in his gaze, and it moves me. Moves me more that there is that lingering sentiment in him, the old desire. It is not surprising, perhaps, that returning to the site and fellows of his boyhood should put him back in such a mind. And I cannot say it is not flattering.

I put my hand on his, and I will confess I feel warm, that it makes the blood flow so that I harden. But I am remembering the softer body of his youth. It would be strange, I think, to lie on top of him as he is now, my member between those hardened thighs; it feels like a curious sort of perversity. I would not dishonour him so for a moment's gratification.

"It is understandable, given your return," I say. I had meant to make my voice kind; I do not know how it sounds to him. "And I am - gratified." I am not sure how to proceed. It disturbs me to think that he may have become a soft man, and I cannot see it in him. There is nothing of the flaunting cinadeus with his lizard-walk about him. Surely it is only a lingering boyish affection for me.

It brings a faint nausea into my throat, but it is not disgust for him. Shameful memories of my own rise, that I have long put away. My own fears, when I was growing into my manhood. I shake my head a little, but it is not at him.

"Allectus - I would not ask that of you. Come, kiss me as a friend, and I shall be content."

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

He puts his hand over mine, and I feel myself grow warm.

"It is understandable, given your return. And I am - gratified."

And now I am warm, but for a different reason. He feels flattered, but disinterested, and why should I have expected anything different? He is being kind to me, and I cannot bear that. I clench my jaw so I do not say something foolish in response to his gracious rejection.

"Allectus - I would not ask that of you. Come, kiss me as a friend, and I shall be content."

"I am sorry," I say, and I try to force my jaw to relax, "if I offended. Truly your friendship means more to me than any - fleeting pleasure." And that is true. I will kiss him, as he asked, and not hope for more. This accord we have should be enough; few men, I know, find such pleasure in a friend's company as I have taken in Tetricus's letters these past years.

I sit up, because to try to kiss whilst leaning on one elbow is not easy. I put a hand on the back of his neck to draw his face to mine. The gesture is firm, not romantic, and I press my lips to his, hard and closed, all vigorous affection. He does not need to think me unmanned and effeminate. I am not. I mean the kiss to last only a moment, a friendly salute, but oh gods, his mouth is hot -

I hear myself breathe in, sharp sound through my nose.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

"I am sorry if I offended." His voice and his face are stiff. "Truly your friendship means more to me than any - fleeting pleasure."

"Never offended, dear friend," I say, disturbed that he would think so, and I touch his leg, reassuring. I would not have him think I am disgusted with him. Not ever that.

He sits up and draws me to him. His hand is strong on the back of my neck: no, no softness to him. It makes my heart thump strangely hard, once, like a shock. His lips are against mine, and no, it is nothing like it was when I was his lover, not even after the rough scrape of stubble was long established.

I recognise the sound he makes then. I have heard similar from him before, and now as then it plucks at my gut, and lower. I am startled - my lips soften under his, begin to part - and that is wrong, quite wrong.

I am taken by surprise by my own response, and in that moment for all my hardness I am wholly unmanned by him. Gods help me, I am. But if I push him away he will truly think that I am disgusted, he will be shamed. It is I who should be ashamed. It has been a long time since I have felt such confusion.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

He does not draw back, his posture does not grow stiff. He - yields, lips parting, and gods help me I cannot help but groan, thick sound in the back of my throat, and I pull him harder against me. I will not push him back against the couch, will not have him think I want to treat him as a boy. I want to kiss him as an equal, and so I pull him into me instead of pushing myself on him, my own mouth opening, clash of teeth and tongue and I think I have bitten his lip.

I make myself draw back, panting. I should apologise, but I am not sorry. I am only sorry if it makes him turn from me, not for the act itself.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

That is not a sound that I have heard him make, and never have I seen such force in him, either. This is so strange to me, the way he pulls me against him, and I feel an answering fierceness rouse in myself at the feel of him against me, at the ferocity of his kiss. He kisses me not as a conqueror but as a challenger, and for all my physical flaws this is a battle I can rise to. My hand finds his back, presses him hard, and I can feel the strong muscles of his chest, the thump of his heart against mine.

We are both breathless when he draws away, a hard panting like we have laboured or fought. My hand falls from his back and I stare at him, and I cannot find words, but I must force myself to speak.

"I - do not understand," I say, and it is honesty, dragged up from inside me. I cannot think of my pride now. "I - that was - "

I shake my head, press my fingers to my eyes. "You make me babble like a fool." He is still so very close. I think my lip is bleeding, and touch it with a finger: it comes away red.

I am still breathless. I look at him a long moment, and put my hand upon his thigh again. Feel the long muscle there, the heat of him. "Allectus - "

The heat is rising in my own groin and chest and face. I will not allow myself to be a coward, though I think I would be less afraid to face a man on the field or in the arena than I am at this moment to face my own friend. I move my hand to his shoulder instead, draw him in, and kiss him once again.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

He looks shocked, but not revolted, and that is something.

"I - do not understand... You make me babble like a fool."

I see that his lip is bleeding, and although it should make me ashamed instead it stirs something low and dark in me. I think of in Parthia, a young man's back scratched, another with bite marks in his shoulder, and I shiver. And then he puts his hand on my thigh. His fingers are so warm, and I can feel my chest rise and fall rapidly.

"Allectus - " His voice is low, and then he draws me in. I can hear blood pounding in my ears.

It is so fierce, this kissing, and somehow I end up lying against him, the couch just about wide enough for us to lie body to body, my chest against his - gods help me, his prick against me, my hardness pressing into him. It is fierce and feverish and savagely sweet, and those two words together should not make sense but it is so. It feels as if I have been waiting to do this for a long time without ever realising.

"I want you," I say breathlessly, against his mouth, his cheek, fingers fisted in his tunic. "As a man, both of us as men - as our words have accord in our letters - " I am not sure how to explain it, how I think that there can be greater satisfaction between men than between a man and a boy, do not know how to say it so he will not be repelled. "I am no effete," I say fiercely, and set my teeth lightly against his cheekbone. "Nor are you. Tetricus - if you do not - stop me, because I cannot trust myself - " I pull him in harder against me.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

We are pressed so close together, and there is a - a frenzy in it that we have never had before. "I want you. As a man, both of us as men - as our words have accord in our letters - "

I do not think I understand how, not entirely. I do not understand my own desire. He bites lightly at my face, and I shudder hard against him, dig my nails into his hip. "I am no effete. Nor are you. Tetricus - if you do not - stop me, because I cannot trust myself - "

"I do," I say hoarsely, both to if you do not and I do not trust myself. "But I do not know - Allectus, you will have to - lead me." I laugh, and it sounds a little wild. I push my hips into him, and is this what he wants, for us to rub together like raw boys discovering their flesh? It is not enough for me, not enough. I press my leg between his, groan at the feel of it.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"But I do not know - Allectus, you will have to - lead me."

That excites me, him offering me the lead. I was always receptive to him, never a still and silent boy underneath him, but all the same he was always the one in charge, even as I pressed my nails into his back and arched under him.

"I can," I say breathlessly, "I will - Tetricus," I say fiercely, as he piushes his leg between my thighs. "Wait," I say, pulling back, and I open the door to the dining room. There is a slave loitering in the hall outside. "Your master is not to be disturbed," I say. "We have business to discuss." I doubt he is fooled, because there is a hectic flush in my cheeks, but the gossip of slaves is better than Calida walking into this, or worse, Dacia. I close the door and look back at Tetricus, and then carefully I unbuckle my sandals, and pull my tunic over my head. I have no shame in my body - I have a few small scars, now, that I did not before, but they were well-earned, and my muscles are stronger than when Tetricus and I were first together. "Take off your clothes," I say, quietly, but my voice is firm.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

"Wait." I am frustrated when he pulls away. I sit up and straighten myself a little, hands shaking. When he returns there is a moment of silent, and then he is undressing himself. My pulse is trembling in my throat as he pulls his tunic off, his body lean and muscled and - beautiful. Yes. Beautiful.

And desirable. I would reach for him, but he says: "Take off your clothes."

It is a command, not a request. I think of balking at it, but he assured me he wants me as a man, and I have asked him to lead me in this. I stand up slowly and remove my own clothes. I should not feel so self-conscious in front of him, when he has seen me naked so often, but I am aware of the comparative softness of my own body, the heaviness of greater age. I do not see that he can find me lovely to look upon.

I let him see me, though, my stance open, and I cross to him. I put my finger on a scar on his chest, lightly: "Which wound was this?" I am so very hard.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

Tetricus takes off his clothes. It makes me tremble a little. I am not afraid, but I am nervous and I want him so much, so fiercely, that I almost feel sick with it. The strength of my own feeling overwhelms me.

He looks a little self-conscious as he undresses. Tetricus has always been aware of the weaknesses of his body, but in truth I feel nothing but a fond sort of familiarity when I look at him, coupled with a sharper desire.

He crosses the room, and he touches my chest.

"Which wound was this?"

"A training scar," I say thickly. "Practising swordplay. This was in a skirmish," I say, moving his hand to a wound in my shoulder. It was more serious than I let him know in my letter once I had recovered. It has left a small puckered scar, paler than the rest of my skin. "You have no new marks that I can see," I say, skimming a hand down his stomach. "You are as I remember." My hand rests at the base of his belly, then slips lower, circles his prick.

"I remember this," I say. "Between my thighs, and how I would strain against you, feverish for my own completion, and I would come with your hand pressed between us." My fingers tighten around him briefly. "It was very sweet. I want more than that, now. I want more of you." I lower my head to kiss his throat firmly, mouth hard, and I graze my teeth against it.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

The thick texture of scar tissue under my fingers makes me shiver again. Oh, gods, it is not anything I ever thought to find arousing, used as I am to the fine smoothness of boys and women. His chest is smooth, but the hair at his crotch is thicker and darker than once it was.

"You are as I remember." He strokes me slightly, then takes hold of me. I breathe out through my teeth. "I remember this. Between my thighs, and how I would strain against you, feverish for my own completion, and I would come with your hand pressed between us. It was very sweet."

It was, and I am unsure of how we have come from there to here, but he does not give me time to think. "I want more than that, now. I want more of you."

His lips go to my throat, his teeth. I put my hand on the back of his head without thinking, to press him there. "You have me." My voice is rough, and something in me twists through fear into fierceness. I think my control is fraying, and my hand fists in his hair. "I tried to be gentle with you, then." I do not need to be, now.

If this is to happen, let it happen fully. I use his hair to pull his mouth from my throat, and give him a small push to move him back against the couch. "Show me, then," I challenge. "Show me what you want."

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"I tried to be gentle with you, then."

"You did," I say, kissing his shoulder. His fingers twist in my hair, and I shudder. "I am glad you were. You were kind, and I needed that as a boy." I look up at him. "I do not need that now." I think my gaze must be quite dark.

I kiss his throat again, and he pulls my hair. He pushes me back against the couch, and I growl very softly, but not with anger.

"Show me what you want."

"Oh, I'll show you," I say, and my smile twists up into something sharp. I pull him down onto the couch with me. I think if he lies beneath me facing forward it will remind him too much of our encounters, and he will feel the boy. And so after a moment of fierce kissing I roll him onto his front and straddle him, and I set my teeth into the back of his neck, my fingers digging into his shoulderblades. "I want to make you shout for me," I say in a hoarse whisper against his ear. I feel I can be freer now he cannot see my face. "I want us to strain together, muscle and sweat, neither playing the boy, both wanting all of this..." My hips flex against him involuntarily, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

His strength inflames me more than I would have expected. Somehow I find myself beneath him, pressed into the couch, and he digs his teeth into my neck like a mating lion. I cannot help but feel a little lessened to be beneath him, and -

"I want to make you shout for me. I want us to strain together, muscle and swear, neither playing the boy, both wanting all of this..."

It eases my concerns, replaces them with fierce desire. I growl a bit and press back against his torso, and feel his hips drive down against me. Does he wish to - The thought is shocking, and yet I feel that I can hardly breathe. Yet I cannot think he means that.

"I want you," I grind out through teeth clenched more with desire than shame. "I want you. I had not realised how much," I add, and it is an admission to us both, and a relief. All those times his letters arrived and my heart leaped in me - it was beyond common friendship, I think.

I want to ask him when he learned he wanted this, how he learned - if it was something he saw in me - but that would require clear thought and speech beyond any ability I have now. My prick is pressed up against the couch under me, and I move under him to feel the friction of the cloth. It is not enough.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

He pushes back against me. Oh, gods, yes. This is what I want, no passive yielding. I want the strain of him, I want to push down on him, and later force into - The thought of it makes me shudder. I know many men think it is a perversion, and perhaps it is, but oh, it is sweet, and with him, Tetricus who has grown to take up so much of my heart, who has in the space of an hour made me harder than I think I have ever been before -

I have to hold myself still for a moment, and breathe.

"I want you. I had not realised how much," he says, and I sigh then, strange sense of relief in the midst of this, and I let myself kiss his shoulder quite tenderly.

"Yes," I say. "I have wanted you for so long, and I did not know it until you took me in your arms at your door."

That is enough tenderness, I think.

I slide down him, kissing the length of his spine, tongue and lips, and I bite the curve of his buttock. The skin there is firm, and it makes my stomach twist with anticipation. I put a finger in my mouth, making it wet, and I part his buttocks quite gently and touch the tip of my finger to his anus.

"Have you been touched here?" I ask, and rub lightly.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

"I have wanted you for so long, and I did not know it until you took me in your arms at your door." His lips on my shoulder are tender, and it makes my throat feel tight for a moment, but then he is kissing down my back, tongue moist and teeth sharp and scraping. They sink into my buttock and I jump.

And then go very still as something moist touches my anus. "Have you been touched here?" His finger rubs me, and despite myself I groan.

"Once," I say thickly. A sweet-faced, wicked boy in a brothel, who pressed his finger there while I fucked his mouth. I came astonishingly hard, and overpaid him so that he would not speak of it. "Never," I add, and I must force the words out, "inside."

My breath is coming fast and shallow. For all his talk of us as men, I cannot see this as anything other than shame, as unmanning. To be - penetrable...it is unthinkable.

But not unthinkable at all, it seems, because I am so very hard. I stifle a sound in my throat as he rubs me. Either I trust him to do this or I do not, and as I realise that some of the pained tension goes out of my muscles, makes space for desire. Yet I cannot imagine him putting his prick there.