Constructing a Syllogism
"I have often wondered," Caesar said, "what Ares sees in you."
Caesar was calm, his tone of voice meditative, and it infuriated Iphicles. He wanted to yell. He wanted to punch Caesar right in his smug face. As if he knew what Iphicles was thinking, Caesar smiled and ran a single finger over Iphicles' lips where they were cruelly distorted by the gag in his mouth. "Besides the obvious, I mean."
Staring at the ceiling was preferable to watching that bastard smirk at him all night, so Iphicles tilted his head back between his bound arms and set about ignoring a man who wouldn't be ignored. The ceiling was painted. Why that should surprise him, he wasn't sure. Wealthy Romans were notorious for decorating every inch of their living space. It was nice, though. The chamber made his private rooms look tiny by comparison. Idly, Iphicles wondered how many artists it took to do something like that. Or how many slaves it took to cut and shape each piece of stone needed to build those columns by the doorway. They rose up on either side of it like ram headed sentries. Janus grinned at him form the center of the arch, reminding him that this was only the beginning of what looked to be a very long night.
A sudden fiery pain in his left nipple snapped Iphicles back into the present. When he stubbornly refused to lower his eyes to meet Caesar's, the fingers that had twisted his nipple tangled in his hair and yanked his head down.
"Pay attention, Iphicles. How do you expect to educate me if you aren't listening to the questions?"
The struggling was just for show. He knew it, so did Caesar. Surprisingly, Caesar didn't mention it. He just caressed the cuffs that held Iphicles' wrists to the wall behind the wide couch and gave him an arch look. Iphicles gave up the fight and settled for glaring daggers at the man. With an unbelievably annoying tut-tut noise, Caesar started a leisurely exploration of Iphicles' naked torso. He ran his hands over Iphicles' neck, then down his chest, pausing to palm his nipples. Chuckling as they hardened, Caesar swept his fingers over Iphicles' belly, dipping one finger into his navel, making the muscles there jump and twitch.
"Now where was I? Oh yes. Ares. I just don't understand. You're pretty enough, I suppose, in an overblown sort of way. But that can't be it. Beauty fades, and so does the pleasure one takes in it." Caesar waved a hand at the sumptuous room surrounding them. "I hardly notice this any more, though I can see you still appreciate it. But while art appreciation might be an endearing quality to Aphrodite or Apollo, I hardly see it appealing to Ares."
He was fingering one of Iphicles' hipbones now, contemplative almost, and Iphicles couldn't flinch away from the touch like he wanted to. It made his skin crawl to have this man's hands on him. It was also strangely arousing. And Iphicles hated that more. Caesar ran his hand down one thigh, coasting along the fine hairs there, then trailing back up the inside to rest warmly against the flesh just below Iphicles' groin. "It's not like you're hung like a stallion, either." Caesar touched Iphicles' cock lightly: tiny, fastidious touches. He measured it with his hand, then tugged on the foreskin, and watched carefully as the flesh struggled to life. Iphicles made a protesting noise behind the gag, loud and strident, and Caesar glanced up at him as if surprised he was still there.
"It's nice," Caesar said looking into Iphicles' narrowed eyes. "But nothing special. Just like you. I mean, what are you? You're not a warrior. You're not even a real king. You didn't earn your throne. It had to be given to you by a drunken old man."
If Iphicles were free right then he would cheerfully strangle Caesar. He felt his face heat, felt his body jerk, and berated himself for letting his reaction show.
Caesar hefted Iphicles' balls in one hand while he continued. "The truth hurts, doesn't it? You're nothing to write home about. So I just don't get it." Every muscle in Iphicles' body strained to get away from that insinuating hand and voice, but there was nowhere to go. If he had his mouth free, he could easily tell Caesar that he had no idea what Ares saw in a second-rate king who was Hercules' lesser-known brother. But he couldn't talk, and his body was telling all sorts of lies too. The barely there touch that skated over his balls and back, teasing his ass, maddened him. He wanted it to stop, because he didn't want it to stop, and hadn't he always been a mass of contradictions?
The touch was gone suddenly, and Iphicles wasn't sure if his sigh was relief or disappointment. Caesar moved away from the bed far enough that Iphicles had a view of his whole body. Then he stripped. The heavy Imperial robes came off slowly but surely, baring a lean but well-muscled body. Caesar clasped his hands over his head and arched his back, stretching and relaxing his muscles. Iphicles was fascinated in spite of himself. Compared to the bulk of someone like him, or Ares, Caesar looked almost delicate. Naked, you saw that wasn't the case at all.
The other thing Iphicles noticed was that Caesar's cock was hard. Very hard. It strained against its own skin, and the damp head was plainly visible. Caesar saw him looking, and dropped a mocking hand to his crotch to lift and stroke himself. Iphicles turned his face away, and Caesar laughed at him.
"I saw the two of you once, you know?" That was news to Iphicles, and he looked back at Caesar, caught by a note in his voice that hadn't been there before. Caesar walked toward the bed, running his hands over his own smooth skin, watching Iphicles watch him. "It was in Athens, the last time we all decided to make nice. You were in that giant slab of black rock he calls a temple."
Crawling onto the couch and kneeling between Iphicles' spread thighs, Caesar resumed stroking his cock. The motion was mesmerizing. Up and over to thumb the head, down the ridge on the underside, spreading fluid as he went. Iphicles tried to swallow and the gag was harsh against his dry lips. Iphicles' own cock had resisted his commands and grown to full hardness, throbbing and aching.
"I was there to make offerings. I wanted Ares' support against Xena, you see. You'd be amazed at how many battles that bitch has won simply because Ares was there, watching, making sure she was safe. That's another one that leaves me wondering. Still, that's beside the point." Caesar's eyes were half closed now, a hint of shockingly pink tongue showing between his teeth as he panted. His hips were rolling, pushing his cock into his fist, and Iphicles could feel the heat of him. Their skin almost touched every time Caesar moved up into his hand, and Iphicles found himself straining towards instead of away.
"So I was in the temple, and I thought I should make my offering personally, instead of just leaving it on the altar. The chamber in the back is good for that, as I'm sure you know. You were there with him. Both of you naked, sweaty, and he was sucking you like there was no tomorrow. Ares. A god. Sucking you. That's when I knew I had to have you. I had to find out what was so all fired special about you." Caesar moved forward, spreading Iphicles' legs even more, pushing into them with his knees. He pushed his cock into the hollow of Iphicles' hip, and it was so hot it should have burned. Bracing a hand on either side of Iphicles' chest, Caesar leaned down to lick at Iphicles' stretched lips.
"Is it the way you taste?" he breathed onto Iphicles' face. "Is there something about the salt of your sweat that makes him come back to you?" Caesar sipped delicately at the hollow of Iphicles' throat, his tongue lashing out to taste in tiny licks. Then he bit viciously into Iphicles' collarbone, making him jump, making his cock leap. "Is there some magical elixir in your blood that addicts him?" Caesar caught the drop of blood Iphicles could feel sliding down his chest from the miniscule wound, then closed his eyes and swirled his tongue around his mouth, savoring it.
He was going crazy. Iphicles was shaking, his blood fired by the thought of that day in the temple with Ares, the rough glide of Ares' tongue on him. The image mixed with the one in front of him, the one that wouldn't let him close his eyes; Caesar bending to lick at Iphicles' nipples, thrusting against Iphicles' groin. He thrashed as much as the bonds allowed, felt a ring of bruises pop up on each wrist, and the sweet throb of the pain only added to his arousal. His lips tried to move, his mouth tried to beg, and they couldn't. A frustrated whine was the best he could manage.
A tilt of the head, and Caesar met his look with one just as hot. "You do taste good, little king. But not good enough to entice a god. What is it?" Caesar lapped at the lush trail of hair leading from Iphicles' navel to his crotch. Iphicles wiggled, trying to push the touch lower. Caesar's cock left a trail of wetness down his thigh as the man slid down to rest with his chin on Iphicles' hip. "What is it? Certainly not something so mundane as this." He cupped a hand around Iphicles' cock, and any blood left in Iphicles' brain immediately moved south.
Stroking gently, in the same rhythm he'd used to stroke himself, Caesar pumped Iphicles' cock and humped himself against Iphicles' knee. The twin sensations were so damned good, and Iphicles gave himself over to them, surrendering to the white-hot pleasure. When Caesar closed his lips around the tip and sucked, Iphicles gasped behind the leather strip in his mouth, and his body heaved and rolled. He could still see Caesar's face if he strained, could see the closed eyes, the oddly serious expression. The man did everything like a conqueror, and Iphicles let himself be conquered. Caesar fondled his sac, then rolled his balls lightly. Sucking strongly, Caesar ran a finger around the opening to Iphicles' body, teasing the sensitive nerves there, making Iphicles shake and moan. The finger that Caesar pushed inside went easily, Iphicles' body opening and receiving it gratefully.
"So hot. So tight. I know men who would pay a fortune to use a body like yours." Caesar pumped him roughly now, adding hard friction to his heavy sucking. Iphicles could only take so much. And he'd reached his limit. When Caesar's questing finger found that place inside him that only Ares had found before, Iphicles came. Came hard and fast, and screamed behind the gag. Caesar drank him down like the whore he was, and Iphicles felt that hot rain of Caesar's completion against his leg.
Looking at the ceiling again, Iphicles marveled at his own stupidity. He'd given it up to Caesar, and he'd never get it back. He stayed there, passive and unresisting when Caesar unchained him, and removed the gag. He didn't say a word while Caesar examined his wrists, or moved from the bed to pour a cup of wine to ease his sore, dry lips. When Caesar reached out and turned Iphicles to face him, he simply stared. Caesar was looking at him with the oddest expression. It was knowing, but not mocking, as if Caesar had reached some sort of understanding. The silence stretched until Iphicles could no longer stand it. He had to ask.
"Well?" Iphicles winced at the croaking sound of his voice. "Did you figure it out?"
That odd look remained, and Caesar shook his head ruefully. "Yes. I think I did."
"Good for you. What is it that makes me so fucking special?"
Shaking his head, Caesar smiled, just a little. It made Iphicles' blood go cold. "You give Ares something I never could."
He wasn't sure what that meant. "Like what?"