Part four of a complete free scene from The City War, my new novella being published by Riptide Press.
“Aristus doesn’t approve of me, does he?” he asked, as Brutus kissed the scars on his shoulders, moving downward through the sparse hair on his chest to lick at his nipple.
“It doesn’t matter what Aristus thinks,” he said, smoothing his hand over Cassius’s lean stomach, the sword calluses on his palm catching on the smooth skin.
“I doubt that’s true.”
“Aristus would disapprove of any man in your position.”
“But I like this position.”
“Of course you do, hedonist,” Brutus said, laughing into his ribs. He felt his way by touch and taste over the hard bone and muscle, taking his time even though Cassius was panting and twisting, trying to hurry him up. Cassius had never managed the broad, solid boxer’s strength that was so prized in the army; he was thin and quick, sinewy where Brutus was thickly muscled. Almost still boyish, particularly when he moaned softly and whined for his prize like a child.
“Brutus, please.” He drew up his knees and twisted them against Brutus’s waist like a wrestler, trying to pull him farther down.
“Please what, my own?” Brutus pinned down his thighs. His pretty, curving cock was already swollen and hard, warm when Brutus circled his fingers lightly around the base.
“Please, please,” Cassius growled. “Suck me.”
“Aren’t you a poet.” Brutus nuzzled his cock, not quite giving him the satisfaction of his mouth.
Growing up, he’d been taught this was something only whores did; Aristus certainly wouldn’t have allowed it. The first time Cassius had done it to him, the two of them fumbling in a dark tent on the night before a battle, he’d been shocked and so aroused he’d had to muffle his mouth to keep from shouting.
Try it, Cassius had urged. You might like it.
It’s not proper.
Since when have I ever been proper? Cassius had asked, licking his lips, amused. I want your mouth, Marcus, I want to see you look up at me while you’re sucking my cock. I want to run my hands through your pretty gold hair while your wet warm tongue . . .
Brutus had groaned in capitulation, embarrassed at first, but it was hard to be ashamed with Cassius. His pleasure was too genuine, his amusement with proper Marcus Brutus too great to allow much room for propriety or manners.