I have the full permission of the author to post this free erotic story.
[intlink id=”272″ type=”post”]Find out more about Lydia here[/intlink].
Note from the author:
This story takes place on the eve of advancement before the Greek-Roman battle of Heraclea in 280 BC. The main characters are Macedonian and part of the allied army of Macedonia who advance with King Pyrrhus of Epirus. I tried to be largely realistic pertaining to the sexual conventions of the time, which makes it a little less typical than most erotic fiction. I hope you enjoy it!
***
Karanos grew tired of hearing old men speak of portents, so he made a quiet and—he hoped—discreet departure from the circle of soothsayers gathered at the back of the hall. They had a dozen ‘signs’ to speak of and a dozen interpretations of what those signs foretold for the siege on Rome. It would look poor on Karanos as a general to ignore the edict of the gods, though most of the men under him would scoff just as readily. Karanos was rugged, able-bodied and hale, as were the men who took his orders. They knew victory came from force and skill, not what the gods deigned beforehand.
Yet, no one went into battle without the soothsayers wailing beforehand. Nor, without a proper feast.
The fruits and meats had dwindled on the platters. Jugs of wine had grown hollow. Many were lounging on couches or had gone off to rooms. However, enough remained awake to keep the celebration going. The hall of Nikanor, son of Laomedon, was alive with music and voices even in the deep of night. Nikanor probably did not know half the people gathered, but they knew him. Karanos had not seen his old friend for nearly an hour; he had gone off into the crowd and Karanos did not follow, for he knew he was not the only man eager to bend his ear. Later, when the night was quiet, he would speak with him at length. Of course, they also had the long advance ahead on which they would have plenty of time for words.
Nursing one more cup of wine, Karanos made his way around the hall. Some were much further into their cups than he, others seeming perfectly sober and decidedly somber. The women danced and the men grabbed at them. Many smiled at him as he passed or gave him a fond word.
Near the front of the hall Thetima, Nikanor’s mother, sat upon a high-backed ornamented chair. Her silver hair was plaited and adorned with a crown of golden leaves. She wore a cloak the color of the midnight sky at full moon. She was bent forward, working on something in her lap. As Karanos drew near, he saw she was stringing small, pearl-skinned seashells upon a cord.
“Your hands are nimble,” Karanos said. “You have the skill of an artisan.”
She looked up, a tight smile on her thin lips. Her face was gaunt, her eyes strange and distant, but she was fine and beautiful and delicate, like a spider’s web.
“You flatter me, General Karanos.” She looked back down at her lap, boring a hole through one of the shells with a long, thin needle. “Are you enjoying the hospitality of my hall?”
“I am.” Karanos knelt before her on one knee, out of respect, and to get a closer look at her work. “A fine farewell for your son, and all the men.”
She said nothing to this, only continued to work. Karanos watched her, feeling lightheaded. He needed to put down his cup.
“Where has your son gotten off to?” Karanos finally asked. His knee began to ache and he rose. “He never had much taste for celebration, did he?”
“He’s probably gone off to one of the upper halls where it’s quieter.” She paused in her work, laid it upon her knees, and gathered the cloth she had spread across them. “To tell you the truth, I could use some quiet myself. Come, Karanos. We shall find him.”
She rose, her shells gathered in the cloth. He offered her his arm and she took it. Her touch was light. She smelled of incense and flowers.
In an upper hall, they did indeed find him. Smaller it was, with painted ceilings and pillars down each side. An enormous hearth at one end held a crackling fire. Numerous couches sat about and on one of these Nikanor reclined, tipping his cup and talking with the soldiers of his phalanx. Sitting next to him was a man named Zeuxis, one of the companions in the Macedonian army, a dark haired, swarthy man who was a close friend of Nikanor. Nikanor lifted his cup in greeting and Karanos lifted his in return. Nikanor was younger than Karanos, but only by two years. Never one to follow fashion, Nikanor grew his hair long to his shoulders like the old warriors, sun-bleached and thick, a contrast to Karanos’ dignified, close-cropped curls. Like Karanos though, Nikanor was sturdy, tall, and well muscled. Thetima led them to a couch opposite her son and there she sat.
“Sit with me, Karanos.” She patted the cushion beside her and untied the cloth. “Talk to me about King Pyrrhus and Rome.”
Karanos did, while attempting to stave off drunkenness. The serving girls kept sweeping past and refilling his cup, and it seemed the more he talked, the more he drank. Thetima worked on her shells and said little. Nikanor was deep in conversation with Zeuxis and paid them little notice.
“I fear my son will not return from Heraclea,” Thetima finally said lowly. “Like his father he will die in battle. He has never desired the rank his father achieved, but he has always desired to die in glory as he did. It is his fate. He has decided it for himself.”
Karanos grew uneasy when Thetima spoke of such things. He guessed she possessed more foresight than any of the old men downstairs. She did not crow it, only spoke it in soft tones, which made it all the more genuine.
“I will endeavor to watch over him as much as I can,” Karanos said. “I will try to preserve him so he may make his journey back to you.”
“Nikanor needs no man’s protection.” The tight smile came back to her lips, her gaze ever intent on her threading. “It is others who need protection from him.”
Karanos looked to Nikanor again. Tonight was a night of celebration and farewell, not a time to brood. Karanos was determined to save that for later, when night fell darker than it did now.
Time passed and Karanos sunk deeper into the cushions of the couch, his limbs heavy with wine. The dancers sat upon the men’s laps and laughed, their voices tinkling with the music. A few tried to draw Nikanor’s attention but he waved them off. When Zeuxis finally rose and went to another couch Nikanor sprawled out, one foot on the cushions and the other on the stone floor. He wore a simple unadorned chiton without a cloak, no special dress for his farewell celebration. His feet were bare. Karanos felt a fondness deep inside him and smiled. Nikanor’s lack of convention made him ironically more appealing, to everyone. Nikanor stared at the ceiling, head reclined on the arm of the couch, his hands folded and resting upon his stomach.
One of the dancing girls came by, swaying her hips, and stopped beside Nikanor’s couch. She reached down and put a finger to his chest and Karanos heard her speaking lowly. Nikanor drew her down by the arm and whispered something in her ear.
Thetima spoke. “Women love my son, but he does not suffer them well.”
Karanos glanced at her, and then back at Nikanor. The girl suddenly stood upright, frowning petulantly, and moved away from him. Clearly, whatever Nikanor had said did not please her. Nikanor stared up at the ceiling again.
“He has no time for such pursuits,” Thetima said, never looking up. “Love for a woman is weakness. Do you love your wife, General Karanos?”
Karanos blinked, his cup hovering near his lips again. “I do. She has borne my son.”
“And does your wife understand your life? Your life of war and killing?”
“Of course not. But I do not ask her to. I would rather she not realize the truth of such things.”
“So I think Nikanor feels, that any wife he took would suffer.” Thetima gave a soft sigh. “He could not bear to expose her to it and yet he could not keep it from her. For it is who he is.”
Karanos thought on that. “I understand. But it is lonely without a wife. Even if they do not understand, at least they are there.”
“Is she here?” Thetima paused in her threading. She held a shell up to the light and examined it. “Is your wife here to ease the loneliness?”
Karanos did not speak.
“Of course she isn’t.” Thetima rested the shell on the cloth again. “She is not here because you would not expose her to it. And so you are lonely, when you sought not to be. This is the problem Nikanor knows full well. He could only ease his loneliness with one who understands his life. So it is with many men of Macedon. You lay with each other to share wisdom, but it is not only that. ”
Karanos was surprised to hear her speak so.
“Do not look so startled.” She glanced up at him, her eyes as calm as a windless sea. “Long have I been in the midst of men. Long have I heard tales and jests when they thought it did not matter if I heard, for I was only a woman. I do not fault you for it. You must take your peace where it is offered. I know of men and their ways.” She drew a small pouch from her side and from it, dumped a pile of glittering glass beads. “Loneliness must east itself where it may.”
Karanos wished for more wine in his cup.
“You desire my son,” she said.
It was bold of her to speak of such a thing and he had to restrain himself from chastising her, for she was not his mother and it was not his place. Nikanor sat up suddenly on his couch, placing both feet on the floor, and leaned down to retrieve his cup near the leg of the couch.
“I know men your age do not desire one so old as my son.” Thetima began stringing the beads with the shells. “I know this desire only arises from a need for understanding and companionship. But you have a past with him, one that you do not speak of.”
“Why do you say this!” Karanos was finally unable to withhold his outrage. “Do you seek to shame me?”
“No, my intention is not shame. It is a warning.”
Karanos frowned, studying her profile. “A warning?”
Suddenly, a draft passed through the hall. It made the lamps flicker and the fire burn brighter for an instant. Karanos felt a warm tingling on his arms and wondered how much wine he’d truly drank.
“How long has it been since you last saw Nikanor?” Thetima asked. “Five years? Six?”
“Too many.”
“Things have changed a bit since then.” She glanced up.
Karanos turned to see where she was looking and his gaze fell upon the doors. They had just opened, accounting for the draft. A young man entered the hall. He wore a deep blue chiton that fell to mid-thigh, pinned twice at the shoulders so they peeked through the resulting gaps, narrow and golden. His legs were long and lean, bronze as the rest of his skin, the laces of his sandals lashed to the knee. He wore his hair long like Nikanor’s, though it was darker and straighter. Around his neck hung a shelled necklace similar to the one Thetima wove. He was Amyntas, son of Timandros, and Karanos had known him as a boy. Thetima cared for him after his parents were stricken down by typhus and in letters to Karanos, she often spoke of his growth. He was going with them to see his first battle.
“Amyntas!” Karanos lifted his cup, though it was empty, to the youth in greeting. Amyntas nodded in return. The firelight on his skin and in his eyes made him glow like a bronze-cast sculpture.
“So potent he is,” Thetima murmured. “Do you not feel it?”
“What do you mean?” Karanos asked softly.
“He is young, and full of power. He is also as the lion that adamantly guards its territory. Beware, Karanos. Study well before you assume old dalliances. He was but a child when last you saw him. He is a child no more.”
The other men greeted Amyntas, and he them. Nikanor made no sound or move. He remained lounged on the couch, tugging idly at a lock of hair. Amyntas came near him and stopped. Karanos gazed upon Amyntas and wondered at Thetima’s words.
Clear they became when Amyntas fell elegantly upon the couch and draped his long, sleek legs decisively across Nikanor’s lap. He held his hand out for a cup from one of the serving girls. His eyes fell on Karanos, and though his smile was friendly, his gaze was fierce.
As fierce as a lion’s.
* * * *
The celebration sputtered out and most went off to their beds, full of wine and sure to regret it when loading the ships in the morning. The lamps burnt low. The music went silent. Thetima departed with a kiss upon Karanos’ forehead. Afterward, he sought a balcony and fell into thought sitting upon it, staring at the stars. A few of the men, Nikanor among them, were still awake in the upper hall. Karanos could hear their voices, carried to him through the open doors and windows. He went back to them after a time, too restless to go to bed.
The men were in a tight group close to the fire, most of them sprawled on couches with girls next to them. One woman fussed over a man who was clearly falling into a stupor. Karanos passed quietly, searching for his friend. Nikanor was on a couch further away, so far from the fire shadows fell upon him. He was not alone. Both Zeuxis and Amyntas were on the couch with him. Zeuxis was sprawled and dozing on one end; Nikanor rested on the other, legs spread so one draped over Zeuxis’ legs, the other dangling off the couch. Amyntas sat upon Nikanor’s lap, facing him. It was such a scene of casual closeness an ache swelled in Karanos’ chest.
Karanos’ mind went to earlier that day, when he had watched Nikanor and Amyntas practice with their sarissas in the garden. It had taken Karanos by surprise how tall and beautiful Amyntas had grown, and he supposed, even at that moment, he had been aware of Nikanor’s equally grown fondness for the young man. The softness of youth that clung to Amyntas in the sunlight fell away in the shadows of the hall to reveal something feral. His head rested upon Nikanor’s shoulder, eyes closed, lips parted. His tongue was out and Nikanor wiped a thick liquid across it with his finger. Drawing closer, Karanos saw a small silver bowl at Nikanor’s hip. Honey and opium, he guessed. Nikanor was fond of it. One hand rested possessively on Amyntas’ hip, while the fingers of the other brushed across his wet lips as his mouth closed. They both looked groggy with exhaustion, or sedation, or desire—perhaps all three.
Karanos sat down on the couch across from them. Nikanor spared him a look; his lids were heavy, his eyes glassy beneath them. Amyntas did not open his. Nikanor tilted his head to the youth and their lips met briefly. The act was tantalizingly inappropriate, for Nikanor to kiss a man not of his family, though perhaps he considered Amyntas as close. Suddenly, everything felt dream-like. The air was hazy and scented with sandalwood and pitch. The edges of the furniture and the pillars seemed to blur, making the colors run together. Maybe it was the wine, or the late hour, but Karanos felt as though he were floating, the crackling fire and soft murmur of voices far away.
Zeuxis stirred on the couch and his hand drifted lazily over the bend of Nikanor’s knee, then came to rest on the crisscrossed laces of Amyntas’ sandal where they cut into his calf. Zeuxis must have been awake, for his fingers toyed idly with the laces for a moment. Karanos found himself wanting to be on that couch, among the tangle of warm limbs and sleepy companionship. He felt very alone.
Nikanor nudged Amyntas off him so he rested at his side, and began caressing him, his hand drifting in slow movements across his chiton. Karanos watched, transfixed. With each pass, it moved lower. It began at his chest, where two small, jutting peaks pressed against the cloth, picked out by the firelight. Then down to his belly, which sucked in at the touch. Then lower still, over the girdle lashed about his slim waist. When Nikanor went below it, Karanos drew a sharp breath.
Amyntas’ legs twitched and spread. His bare toes curled at the open tips of his sandals. Karanos watched Nikanor’s hand crawl over the skirt of his chiton, seeking the bottom of it. Karanos told himself to look away, that he was being improper, but it was impossible. The skirt slid up, and the sight of lean, sleek thighs stirred him. When Nikanor’s fingers skimmed the taut inner muscle of one, the soft gasp that came from Amyntas’ lips made Karanos gasp as well. Karanos’ gaze flicked upward and he realized with a start that Nikanor was watching him. Nikanor’s eyes danced in the firelight, a smile tugging at his lips. Karanos swallowed thickly.
Nikanor’s hand moved higher, up under the skirt, and inward. What he touched, Karanos could not see. He only saw how Amyntas’ back arched, his heel digging into the couch. The movement stirred Zeuxis again and his fingers traced once more the leather laces of Amyntas’ sandal. Karanos could not see Zeuxis’ face, to see if his eyes were open, but he remained languid, as though dozing.
Nikanor lifted his head and whispered close to Amyntas’ ear. Amyntas lifted his head and opened his eyes, focusing them on Karanos. Karanos looked down. But only for a moment. When he looked back up, Amyntas’ legs had spread wider and he could see Nikanor’s hand beneath the skirt, moving and fondling. The view was still largely obscured but even more tantalizing for it. Nikanor kissed and then grazed his teeth across Amyntas’ shoulder through the gap in the chiton.
Karanos saw a movement to his right and then suddenly his lap was full of soft, warm flesh and perfume filled his nose. A female voice spoke close to his ear.
“Are you lonely, General?”
He looked up and recognized the girl who had been fussing. Her companion was snoring on his couch. Dark hair tumbled over her dark shoulders, and she was beautiful, he supposed, though not so much as his wife. His hand fell upon her thigh, exposed by the gap in her long chiton. He said nothing to her but did not dismiss her from his lap. He looked at Nikanor and Amyntas over her shoulder. Amyntas’ eyes slid shut once more as Nikanor’s hand continued to fondle beneath his skirt.
Karanos knew the girl must be able to feel his arousal against her plump bottom, for she squirmed against it. Her breath was heavy and warm against his neck. He allowed her to think his eagerness was for her. He closed his eyes and cupped the warm swell of her breast, trying to think of his wife. Instead, he thought of Amyntas’ thighs. He wondered if they were damp with sweat and if he kissed them if they would smell of musk.
“Shall I entertain you General?” The girl murmured in his ear. “Would you like me to touch you?”
His manhood twitched against her. It was not her hand he thought of but his response made her think so. His view was unobstructed once more as she slid to her knees before him. He stared unabashedly. Nikanor’s hand was moving rhythmically, pumping beneath the skirt. Amyntas was squirming, eyes screwed shut, teeth worrying his full lower lip. Zeuxis seemed fully awake, his fingers stroking slowly and purposefully up and down Amyntas’ calf.
Karanos felt his chiton pushed up but did not look down. A warm hand enclosed him and he groaned quietly. Silken hair spilled over his thighs. Nimble fingers stroked his hips and legs. Nikanor’s hand still moved. Amyntas’ skin glistened, his cheeks flushed. Karanos noted how they melted into one another, how their legs tangled, how their hair mingled, how even the fabric of their clothes wound together. He also noted Nikanor’s bare foot against Zeuxis’ inner thigh, rubbing slowly. Zeuxis’ fingers in turn circled and caressed and lingered on Amyntas’ leg, then briefly moved to Nikanor’s knee.
Karanos was brought back to himself by a soft exclamation as the girl praised his arousal. Whether she was truly engaged or putting on an act, he didn’t care. The sight he was most interested in came to a halt. Nikanor slipped his hand from beneath Amyntas’ skirt and whispered something in his ear. Karanos could see Amyntas’ arousal beneath the fabric, firm and jutting. Amyntas nodded, unwound himself, and climbed to his feet, a graceful vision of long limbs and slender beauty. He stepped over the couch with a wide swing of his leg and Karanos caught a glimpse of bare buttock.
Nikanor stood as well, his arousal equally obvious. Then with a swift movement, he lifted Amyntas from the floor, scooping him up in his arms. Truly, it was a sign that Amyntas was his eromenos, his beloved. Nikanor strode off with Amyntas in his arms, legs dangling and hair swinging. Zeuxis stretched out fully on the couch with a soft sigh.
Karanos touched the girl’s hand. “Enough,” he said. “Enough for now.”
The girl released him. She smiled up at him solicitously. “Shall I please you further, General?”
He gazed down at her. His body wanted him to say yes. He wanted to put her back on the couch. He wanted to push her legs up and thrust into her, until thoughts of Amyntas’ spread thighs, Nikanor’s wandering hands, and wet mouths and wet skin all spilled out with his release. Instead, he covered himself and attempted to regain his composure.
“No, not now,” he said. “Thank you.”
She looked disappointed. He rose to his feet and walked to the couch Nikanor and Amyntas had vacated, watching them disappear through a small door at the back of the hall. Zeuxis stirred and looked up at him, his eyes hazy.
“His room is two stairs up,” Zeuxis said.
Karanos stared down at him a moment, his heart racing. Then he abruptly departed and followed them at a determined pace.
* * * *
The house was vast with many rooms and corridors, confusing in the dark, as most of the lamps had burnt out. Many guests slept there that night and Karanos had to be careful which door he opened. He thought of returning to Zeuxis to ask what room was Nikanor’s, but as he happened to pass through a doorway onto a terrace, he found he did not need assistance.
The terrace, situated at the end of the house, overlooked the sea through high, wide arches. Waves crashed on the rocks below with a dull roar. The air was cool and refreshing after the stuffiness of the house. No lamps were lit, but the moon was nearly full and cast everything in a silvery glow—the potted trees that lined the walls, the tapestries that shifted in the breeze, the couches that sat about, and Nikanor and Amyntas, upon one of those couches. Amyntas’ soft moans drifted to Karanos on the wind, and he approached slowly, cautiously, lest they not desire his insinuation.
Lust had apparently won over slow seduction. Amyntas knelt upon the couch, his hands braced on the arm. His chiton was pushed up to his waist and hung down in front, obscuring that which Karanos longed to see. Nikanor gripped the youth’s hips tightly, knelt behind him, thrusting against his backside. Nikanor did not look up as Karanos approached, though Amyntas did, his hair swinging about his face.
Again, as in the hall, Karanos watched silently with his arousal burning. Amyntas gazed at him, and some of the tender youth had come back to his face. He looked pained, though the pleasure in his eyes outshone it. His lips parted and the sounds that came from them were helpless and guttural.
“Did you come just to stare?” Nikanor’s voice was gruff. His hand slid from Amyntas’ hip to his shoulder and gripped it to make his thrusts firmer. Amyntas winced, his lips curling. His eyes fluttered shut.
“What do you wish of me?” Karanos’ voice was rough with desire. “I will not touch him without your leave. Nor you, without his.”
Nikanor slowed his thrusts, and then withdrew. Amyntas made a soft sound of displeasure as Nikanor sat back heavily. Nikanor’s chiton rested in a puddle next to the couch. His manhood, thick and glistening, jutted from his lap. He wrapped his hand around it and gave it a few smooth strokes as he looked up at Karanos.
“You have my leave. Amyntas, show my oldest friend what you have learned.”
Amyntas sat back in front of Nikanor, panting shallowly. Then, wordless, he reached for Karanos, reached for his hips and grasped them, and Karanos nearly came undone.
His hand was far more skilled than the girl’s was. His grasp was firm but his touch delicate, exerting enough pressure to tantalize but not over stimulate. His thumb worked to expose the head and swiped it with each pass. Karanos gripped the youth’s shoulders and tried desperately not to fall over, as Amyntas’ hand moved swiftly and with purpose. His other held the skirt of Karanos’ chiton up, gathered at his hip.
“He is skilled, is he not?” Nikanor asked, with pride.
Karanos understood then, the purpose of the permission was for Nikanor to boast his teaching. Karanos chuckled breathily and said, “I thought I recognized your technique.” Amyntas increased the pressure and speed and Karanos swayed on his feet. “Allow me to sit, dear Amyntas!” He implored. “I fear your ardor is too much for me to stand.”
Amyntas released him at once and moved back. His hair was streaked with moonlight, his eyes glittering with it. Despite his submission, he remained fiery and potent. Karanos sat, at the end of the couch opposite them. His body felt weak as water.
“Do you wish to know him?” Nikanor asked, over Amyntas’ shoulder. “Get your pleasure from him?”
“Do I not get a say in this?” Amyntas asked, haughty and fierce. “I am not a catamite!”
“No, you are not.” Nikanor was adamant. “Karanos has been my friend many long years. He is close to me as a brother. What is mine is his. I only wish him to see how beautiful you are and how well I’ve taught you.”
“Only by your leave Amyntas,” Karanos said gently. “I would not touch you if you do not wish it.”
Amyntas fell silent and considering. After a moment, he seemed to embrace the idea, and stood. Karanos smiled at the vanity that spurred him—he learned that from Nikanor as well. Amyntas undid the girdle around his waist. He unpinned the chiton at his shoulders and let it fall. He stood then bare before Karanos, wearing only his sandals, the lashes cutting into the thick muscles of his calves. His body was lean and finely hewn. His skin looked dusky touched by the night. His belly was tight and flat, his shoulders broad, his legs long. His organ stood proudly from a thick nest of hair at his groin, not too long and of average thickness, a respectable size. The head was uncovered and glistening.
“Do you find me beautiful?” Amyntas asked. His voice was deep and husky. He was nearly at the age it would no longer be proper for Nikanor to keep him in his tutelage. What a grievous loss it would be for his friend when that day came.
“Unspeakably beautiful,” Karanos murmured, his gaze sweeping him. Amyntas’ hair hung thickly over his shoulders, his face obscured in shadow. “Come, let me know what prize my dear friend has uncovered, if you will.”
Amyntas crawled without hesitation onto his lap and straddled him. His skin was hot and smelled of musk and sweat. He smelled like a boy. A man. He squirmed against Karanos and his hand sought his still turgid organ between them.
“By the gods,” Karanos whispered, nearly unable to speak.
Nikanor loomed over the youth’s shoulder, a shadow hovering, watchful and appraising. Karanos felt the brush of his friend’s hands as his arms encircled Amyntas’ waist. The thick scent of oil filled the dark space between their bodies. A moment later, Amyntas tightened his slick, powerful thighs around Karanos’ manhood. The sensation made Karanos thrust upward with a gasp.
“Lay back,” Nikanor ordered.
Karanos sprawled on his back and felt Nikanor push his legs apart behind Amyntas. Amyntas leaned forward, his hair brushing Karanos’ chest. Karanos rocked his hips. The angle made him brush the young man’s length each time he slid through his thighs. Karanos felt four hands roaming him, caressing and exploring, and he reached out, not knowing or caring what skin and which limbs belonged to whom. “By Aphrodite,” he gasped.
Amyntas gave a sharp cry that mixed with the rush of wind and crash of waves like nature’s own music. Nikanor had entered him again. Karanos groaned, organ twitching, rubbing smoothly against the youth’s firm length, against the hot weight of his bollocks beneath and the slick crevice behind them. He felt the two jerk above him and he reveled in the sensations, body aching, stretching for release.
Amyntas cried out unabashed with each thrust, Nikanor’s breathing harsh above them as he worked the young man mercilessly. All skin pressed to Karanos’ body was slick and hot, and grew hotter still, until it seemed a fire engulfed them. Karanos was the first to spend, for he could not restrain it. He cried out harshly as he spilled, head thrown back, white-hot sparks dancing behind his eyelids. Nikanor waited until the last shudder went through him, then he lifted Amyntas fully to his knees and took him hard and fast. Amyntas dropped his head to Karanos’ chest, where his hair rested thick and damp, and let out one loud cry after another, his fingers scrabbling at the couch.
Nikanor gave a short, sharp cry as he too spent, then he growled and groaned deliciously as he rolled his hips in the aftermath. They were sounds Karanos remembered well and he smiled to himself, nearly chuckling.
Amyntas was released and allowed to flop limply onto the couch, on his back. Karanos struggled to a sitting position, dizzy and buzzing with sated bliss. Amyntas was still erect. He whimpered softly, knees drawn up and spread. Sweat glistened on his moon-washed skin.
Karanos felt his desire nearly sparked again as he watched Nikanor move to take care of the boy. It was not customary, but it was clear the adoration between them would not allow Nikanor to leave him wanting. Kneeling before him, Nikanor took Amyntas up in his broad hand. The switch of his wrist and jerk of his arm was just as graceful and sure as the youth’s movements had been on Karanos’ organ. Under these ministrations, Amyntas did not bear out long. Soon there was a tightening in his thighs, still slick from the sex act, and a slight lifting of his bottom. He cried out. Nikanor stroked fiercely.
Amyntas released like a fount, spurt after spurt, thick and glistening. It ran over Nikanor’s fingers. A few pearly drops splashed on his wrist. Nikanor smeared it from head to base, coating him in his own seed. Karanos fell back against the couch once more with a satisfied groan. Such a glorious sight he had never seen, these two in their pleasure, and love.
The couch was long and wide enough for all three. A tangle of sweaty limbs and bare flesh, and Karanos felt lonely no more. The smell of musk was heavy on the air, mingled with the salt of the sea.
“I am glad you’re both coming to battle,” Karanos said. “It will be a tiresome journey and an even more tiring fight. There is no one would I would rather see day after day.”
Nikanor and Amyntas rested at the other end of the couch, arms around each other, their legs tangled with Karanos’ legs. “Then we must take our rest where we can,” Nikanor said. “And this young one’s education can continue.”
“Do you mean education of the spear, or education beneath you?” Amyntas asked boldly. “I hardly think I need much more of either.”
Karanos chuckled, shifting. He closed his eyes and smiled. “Young and impudent,” he said. “So much like his teacher at his age.”
Nikanor grunted. “Unfortunately.”