Revenge is Sweet
Or, When With Romans, Do as the Romans Do
By Arami

Caesar waited impatiently, fighting the urge to pace around his tent.  He had waited a long time for this day, the day for his revenge—and revenge is so sweet.  The emperor smiled smugly to himself knowing the arrogant man would waste no time in coming to rescue Caesar’s newest captive.

Caesar parted the flaps of his tent, motioning for one of his guards. “Is the ‘special’ prisoner secured?”

“Yes, my lord, and well guarded.”

“Good.  Remember, under no circumstance am I to be disturbed unless Jupiter himself lays siege to the camp,” warned Caesar.

“I understand,” replied the centurion.  He saluted Caesar and turned away.  Caesar moved back inside to the confines of his tent.  As he approached his great chair, a white flash of light suddenly blinded him.  When the light faded, Caesar stood in the presence of Ares, God of War.

In a grandiose and sweeping movement, the Roman took his seat, grinning at the Greek god.  “Well, well.  If it isn’t the Big Bad God of War, gracing me with his omnipotent self.”

Rage surged through Ares.  His jaw tensed and his eyes were full of fire and hatred.  “Where is he?” he thundered, wasting no time with pleasantries.

“Who?” asked Caesar innocently, leaning back in the chair.  “Oh, you mean your lapdog king?  He’s fine and comfortable, and will stay that way, provided you keep up YOUR end of the deal.”

Ares stalked around the command table, his fists clenched at his side.  He knew Caesar could have Iphicles killed in an instant if he so chose.  He also knew if he harmed the Roman emperor, his centurion guards would exact their retribution using the Corinth king.

Ares stormed up to the Caesar, placing his rough and textured hands on the either side of the chair.  “If you so much as scratch him, I’ll make you wish you’d never set foot out of Rome, you arrogant, trumped-up mortal.”  Ares was mere inches away from Caesar’s bronze face.

“Nonsense,” came the curt reply.  “You’ll stay here and do what I want, and you both will be free to go—the God of War and his dear king can leave on their own accord.  Caesar traced a finger down Ares’ chest, circling the dark hairs he found there.  “But first, let’s get down to why you’re here.”

Before Ares could say anything, Caesar’s lips pressed forcefully to his own in a violent kiss.  Ares leaned forward, shortening the distance between their bodies.  After what seemed like an eternity, the two men broke apart.  Caesar had laced his hands through the long dark curls on Ares’ head.  He removed them and grabbed one of the god’s wrists, twisting and forcing Ares down from the raised podium, which the chair rested on.

Quickly Caesar worked to remove Ares’ black leather vest.  His pulse sped up at the sight of the well-defined and muscular chest.  He ran his hands over the dual planes, pausing only briefly to rub both nipples into hard peaks.

Caesar reveled in the gasps escaping Ares’ lips.  He dipped his head and his mouth encircled the right nipple.  His tongue laved the sensitive region.  Caesar’s hands gripped the god’s shoulder and Ares involuntarily wrapped his arms around the impudent mortal who was sending his senses crazy, and who was definitely wearing too much.

With a flick of his wrist, Ares made the remainder of their clothing disappear.  Caesar stopped his machinations on Ares’ nipple to notice both of their states of undress, and arousal.  Grinning like a naughty child, Caesar spoke.  “Well,” he gasped.  “I think you’re not as opposed to this as you claim.”

Ares ran his hands through Caesar’s short hair.  “Let’s just do this,” he said raggedly before planting his mouth on Caesar’s own nipple, reciprocating the man’s earlier action.  Caesar threw his head back in ecstasy.  **By the gods, this one knew how to give pleasure** he thought.  Somehow the two of them made their way to the back of the tent and Caesar’s lush bed.

Ares moved his mouth away from Caesar’s nipple to his waiting mouth.  He harshly kissed the insolent man, sucking the air from his lungs.  Ares was lying on his back while Caesar was sitting on his stomach, his hands on either side of Ares’ head.

Caesar pulled away from Ares’ mouth and began his own torturous journey down the god’s body.  He planted kisses on Ares’ neck and collarbone; his tongue left a trail around his nipples and over his ribs and stomach, leading to his final destination.  Caesar’s hand brushed over, fondled and stroked what he found there, before
replacing his hand with his mouth.

Ares sucked air through his clenched teeth and gripped the bed covers with his hands.  His traitorous body bucked wildly as he tried to thrust into Caesar’s mouth.  Caesar merely pushed him back down and gripped his hips.  He increased the pressure on Ares’ manhood.

Harder and faster Caesar continued his manipulation of the God of War until finally Ares became tense.  Ares growled and it sounded more like a caged animal than a man did.  Soon Caesar found himself filled with the seed of Ares.  He withdrew his mouth long enough to let some of it gather in his hands.  He turned Ares over on his stomach, not giving him a chance to rest.  He smeared his own straining, throbbing cock with Ares’ seed, and then dripped the rest between Ares’ ass.

Caesar kissed the back of Ares’ neck moving slowly down his broad, muscular back.  Ares waited for the inevitable and when it came, his desire—his need—ignited once again.  Caesar wasn’t at all gentle and Ares didn’t want him to be.

Caesar rocked back and forth, sheathing himself deep into Ares.  When he was completely engulfed, he reached around and fondled Ares’ once again hard cock and stroked it to the rhythm he himself was setting.

It was driving Ares mad that this enemy, this mortal, could be doing this to him, eliciting such feelings and sensations, was unthinkable to him.  Caesar drove on, rocking back and forth, faster and faster, to Ares’ core.  The tent was filled with animalistic grunts and moans as mortal and god reached a frenzied pace.

Ares had the bed covers in a death grip, while Caesar’s free hand was leaving its imprint on Ares’ hips as finally both men came in a cataclysmic release.  Caesar filled Ares completely with his seed and after four, five more thrust, was completely sated.  Ares came all over Caesar’s hand, his own chest, and the Roman bed.

Their bodies were both covered in a slick sheen of sweat and Ares collapsed under Caesar, taking the emperor with him.  Neither said a word, trying instead to catch their breath nor gasping for any air they could get.

Ares was in a state of confusion and rather than try and rationalize or figure anything out, he just wanted to get out of there.  Ignoring his sore body, he quickly got up.  In a flash, he was once again clothed.

“You have what you wanted,” he seethed.  “I’m leaving and taking Iphicles, NOW!”

Caesar was once again blinded as the tent filled with a flash of light and the God of War disappeared.  Caesar slipped into his robe and moved to recline in his command seat.  His face filled with a smug, Cheshire-like grin.  “Oh, you can leave now, Ares.  But you’ll be back.”  He grabbed a couple of grapes from the table.  “You will definitely be back.”

The End