The prisoner knelt in chains, his once-fine robes torn at the shoulders where the guards had ripped them. His wrists, thick with muscle from years of wielding a sword, bore raw marks from the iron cuffs. Yet his head remained high, his dark eyes fixed on the man seated above him — Cyrus, conqueror of nations, lounging on a golden throne with the ease of a lion who had already tasted blood.
"You stare," Cyrus remarked, stretching his massive frame. The oil lamps flickered against his bronzed skin, catching the scars that mapped his conquests. "Does my face displease you, Croesus?"
A muscle twitched in Croesus' jaw as he fought the instinct to lower his gaze. The air smelled of cedar wood and sweat, thick with tension. "Should it?" His voice was rougher than he intended. "You've won. Enjoy the view."
Cyrus' laughter rumbled through the hall, deep and unhurried. He uncrossed his legs slowly, the movement deliberate, letting his silk robe slide open to reveal a thigh corded with muscle. "Oh, I do," he murmured. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he dismissed the guards. Their footsteps faded into the echoing dark beyond the throne room, leaving only the whisper of fabric and the hitch of Croesus' breath.
The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring, until Cyrus rose. His sandals clicked against marble as he descended the dais, stopping just close enough for Croesus to feel the heat radiating off his body. Calloused fingers — swordsman’s fingers — tipped the defeated king’s chin up. "Tell me," Cyrus said, thumb tracing the line of Croesus' lip, "did you dream of this while you ruled? Your enemy’s hands on you?"
Croesus' pulse jumped under his skin, betraying him. His chains rattled as he shifted, the sound stark in the stillness. "I dreamed of your head on a pike," he lied, watching Cyrus' nostrils flare with amusement. The conqueror’s scent, musk and iron, filled his lungs.
Cyrus chuckled, his grip tightening. "Liar." He dragged his thumb lower, scraping over stubble before pressing into the hollow of Croesus' throat. The pressure teetered between threat and caress. "A man who keeps gold lions as pets doesn’t dream of blood. He dreams of being devoured." His other hand slid into Croesus' hair, fisting the dark strands with a possessiveness that burned.
Croesus swallowed hard, his pulse hammering against Cyrus' touch. The throne room blurred at the edges — too hot, too close — yet he couldn’t look away. Cyrus’ breath ghosted over his lips, warm and spiced with wine. The scent coiled low in his belly, shamefully familiar. "You misjudge me," he gritted out.
"Do I?" Cyrus’ grip twisted tighter, forcing Croesus’ head back. The gold cuffs around his wrists bit deeper, but the pain was distant, drowned out by the slow drag of Cyrus’ knuckles down his neck. "Then tell me," he purred, "why your thighs tightened when I stepped closer. Why your breath stuttered just now." His palm flattened over Croesus’ chest, pressing against the rapid thud beneath. "Your body speaks truths your tongue denies."
Croesus hissed as Cyrus’ fingers traced the edge of his torn robe, nails scraping lightly over his ribs. The touch burned — too much, not enough. He jerked against his chains, metal clanging, but Cyrus merely smirked and leaned in until their lips nearly brushed. "You could have executed me," Croesus managed, voice rough. "Why this?"
Cyrus’ grin was all teeth. "Death is common. This?" His palm slid lower, over the taut plane of Croesus’ abdomen, and the defeated king shuddered. "This is victory." The words were a hot whisper against his jaw, followed by the sharp nip of teeth. Croesus’ hips bucked forward instinctively, and Cyrus laughed, low and dark. "Ah. There it is."
The sound of tearing fabric split the air as Cyrus wrenched the remnants of Croesus’ robe apart. Cool air washed over his bared skin, but Cyrus’ touch was hotter, branding him. Calloused hands traced the ridges of his muscles, possessive and rough, as though mapping territory already conquered. Croesus’ breath came ragged, his body taut — not with resistance, but anticipation. A traitorous part of him ached for it.
"Look at you," Cyrus murmured, his voice thick with amusement. His fingers dug into Croesus' hips, holding him still as the Lydian knelt before him. The conqueror’s breath ghosted over his exposed flesh, sending shivers up his spine. "A king on his knees for me. Did your oracles foresee this?"
Croesus swallowed a curse as Cyrus' thumb traced the shell of his ear, then slid wetly into his mouth. The taste of salt and power bloomed on his tongue — unmistakably Cyrus. His own body betrayed him further, heat coiling low in his gut despite the humiliation.
"Oracle bones crack," Cyrus mused, withdrawing his thumb to drag it down Croesus' throat, "but flesh remembers." He pressed forward until the cold marble bit into Croesus' knees and Cyrus' arousal burned against his stomach through thin silk. The contrast made him gasp.
Cyrus seized the chain between Croesus' wrists. With one sharp tug, he snapped the iron links like dried reeds, the broken metal clattering across the floor. Croesus' arms fell limp, blood rushing back into his fingers, but Cyrus caught them, pinning them behind his back with a single hand. His other hand gripped Croesus' jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. "Tell me you want this," Cyrus growled.
Croesus exhaled sharply through his nose. His thighs trembled against Cyrus' straddling weight. The conqueror smelled of battle — leather, sweat, the faint metallic tang of blood not quite scrubbed from his skin. The scent coiled in Croesus' lungs like smoke. "Would you believe me if I did?" he bit out.
Cyrus' grip tightened, his thumb pressing into the hinge of Croesus' jaw hard enough to bruise. "Try."
The command vibrated between them, raw and undeniable. Croesus' pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out even the distant hum of the palace beyond the throne room. His wrists burned where Cyrus held them captive; his skin prickled under the conqueror's gaze like prey caught in torchlight. A drop of sweat traced down his temple, and Cyrus tracked its path with predatory focus before swiping it away with his tongue. The wet heat of it sent a jolt through Croesus' spine.
"Tell me," Cyrus repeated, his voice dropping to a whisper that scraped over Croesus' nerves. His free hand slid lower, fingers splaying over the rapid rise and fall of Croesus' ribs. "Or do you need persuasion?" One blunt nail scraped a nipple, and Croesus jerked with a bitten-off groan. Cyrus' grin widened. "There. Honesty suits you better than defiance."
The throne room's torches flickered, casting long shadows that twisted like living things as Cyrus pushed Croesus backward onto the cool marble. The fallen king's bare back hit the stone with a shock of cold — his gasp choked off when Cyrus followed him down, leather harness creaking as he braced one forearm beside Croesus' head. Their hips aligned, and Cyrus rolled his own deliberately, letting the thick, hot length of him grind against Croesus through silk.
"You're still thinking." Cyrus' whisper was mocking as he nipped at Croesus' lower lip. "I can hear it in your breathing." He slid a knee between Croesus' thighs, forcing them wider, and the involuntary noise Croesus made was half-growl, half-plea. Cyrus chuckled darkly. "Good." His free hand palmed Croesus' full, throbbing erection, squeezing until stars burst behind his eyelids.
Cedar oil and sweat filled Croesus' nostrils as Cyrus worked open the ties of his own robe. The scent of him was overwhelming — musk and heat and the lingering iron of conquest. When Cyrus pressed their bare chests together, Croesus arched into the contact like a man starved, his skin igniting where it touched Cyrus'. The conqueror's cock, thick and heavy with arousal, slid against his hip, leaving a hot, slick trail.
Cyrus' lips curled as he dragged a hand down Croesus' flank, fingers digging into the meat of his thigh. "You're trembling," he murmured against Croesus' throat. His teeth scraped over the pulse jumping there. "Is it fear, Lydian? Or hunger?"
Croesus bared his own teeth, hips stuttering upward as Cyrus' thumb circled the head of his cock. "Your imagined —" His words fractured as Cyrus squeezed, his grip ruthless. "Your imagined — ah — conquests —"
"Are they imagined?" Cyrus pressed his mouth to the hollow of Croesus' collarbone, tongue tracing the salt-stained dip. His free hand slid beneath the fallen king's thighs, lifting his hips effortlessly. The scent of arousal thickened between them, sharp and musky. "You're dripping for me." His fingers skimmed lower, brushing over tight, heated flesh, and Croesus' spine arched off the marble with a strangled cry.
Cyrus curled two fingers inside him without warning, the stretch burnished slick with oil Croesus hadn't even noticed him reach for. The conqueror's breath hitched against his skin, betraying his own unraveling control. "Tighter than I thought," he admitted roughly, twisting his wrist to stroke deeper. Croesus' thighs clenched around his arm, muscles quivering.
Torchlight gilded the sweat-slick planes of Cyrus' shoulders as he withdrew his fingers, replacing them with the thick press of his cock. Croesus dug his heels into the marble, back bowing as Cyrus seated himself to the hilt with one relentless thrust. The stretch bordered on pain — Cyrus was bigger than any man he'd taken before — but the conqueror's bitten-off groan shattered his resistance.
Cyrus stilled above him, trembling with restraint, his forehead pressed to Croesus'. Their breaths tangled, humid and uneven. "Look at me," Cyrus murmured, thumbs stroking the hinge of Croesus' jaw. When their eyes met, something raw flickered in the conqueror's gaze — not triumph now, but wonder. He rolled his hips experimentally, deepening the angle, and Croesus' gasp became a moan as Cyrus found that spot inside him with terrifying precision.
They moved in slow, deepening waves, Cyrus' thrusts measured to prolong the unbearable friction. His calloused hands gentled, mapping Croesus' body with reverence — tracing the curve of ribs, the dip of navel, the sweat-slick hollow of his throat. When Croesus arched up instinctively, Cyrus caught his mouth in a kiss that tasted of shared wine and something sweeter, his tongue sweeping in unhurried strokes that matched the rhythm of their joining.
Cyrus rolled them sideways without breaking contact, their legs tangling as he pulled Croesus atop him. The Lydian braced trembling hands on Cyrus' chest, gasping as the new angle sent the conqueror's cock even deeper. Cyrus cupped his face, thumbs wiping away the sweat beading at his temples, murmuring praise against his parted lips. "Slowly," he coaxed, guiding Croesus' hips into a rocking grind that made them both shudder. The oil lamp's glow painted their skin gold, highlighting the muscles flexing in Cyrus' abdomen as Croesus rode him with growing confidence.
Their mouths met in unhurried kisses, Cyrus licking into him with the same deliberate patience as his thrusts. When Croesus moaned, Cyrus swallowed the sound, fingers threading through his hair to cradle his skull as if he were something precious. Every inch of skin they could reach became territory to relearn — Cyrus tracing the scars on Croesus' shoulders from old battles, Croesus mapping the contours of Cyrus' ribs with reverent palms. The conqueror's breathing hitched when Croesus skimmed fingertips over his nipples, earning a liquid roll of Cyrus' hips that drew a mutual groan.
Cyrus slowed further, shifting to press Croesus onto his back again without breaking their connection. He braced himself on one elbow, the other hand guiding Croesus' thigh higher over his hip, deepening the angle to something unbearable. Their foreheads touched as Cyrus began moving in earnest, each thrust punctuated by a soft exhale against Croesus' lips. The heat between them built gradually, Cyrus' muscles trembling with restraint as he dragged his cock almost entirely out before sinking back in with torturous slowness. Croesus arched beneath him, fingers digging into Cyrus' biceps, every nerve alight.
Their kisses were unhurried explorations — Cyrus tracing the seam of Croesus' lips with his tongue until they parted willingly, their breaths mingling in humid bursts between shared sighs. Cyrus cradled the back of Croesus' neck, his thumb stroking the pulse point there as their mouths moved together, languid and wet. When Croesus gasped, Cyrus swallowed the sound, his tongue sliding against Croesus' in a rhythm that mirrored the rocking of their hips. The oil had warmed between their bodies, smoothing every motion into liquid heat. Cyrus' free hand roamed Croesus' flank, pausing to thumb circles over his hipbone before sliding lower to wrap around his cock in time with a particularly deep thrust.
Cyrus broke the kiss only to press his forehead to Croesus', their noses brushing as he exhaled shakily. "You take me so well," he murmured, the words rough with restraint. His grip on Croesus' cock tightened fractionally, twisting on the upstroke in a way that made Croesus jerk and moan. Cyrus grinned, slowing his own thrusts to maddening shallow rolls just to feel the answering tremble in Croesus' thighs. The marble beneath them was slick with sweat and oil now, the slide of skin against stone whispering counterpoint to their ragged breathing. Cyrus dragged his lips down Croesus' throat, pausing to mouth at the hollow where his pulse fluttered wild as a trapped bird.
Their bodies moved in a rhythm older than empires — Cyrus pressing deep, Croesus arching to meet him, the wet heat between them building with each unhurried undulation. Cyrus traced the shell of Croesus' ear with his tongue, savoring the hitch in his lover's breath when he followed the curve to the sensitive spot just beneath. Every inch of skin became terrain to be relearned — Cyrus mapping the old battle scars along Croesus' ribs with reverent fingertips, Croesus threading his hands through Cyrus' hair to hold him close as their mouths met again in a kiss that tasted of shared wine and something sweeter.
The oil lamp's glow painted their sweat-slicked skin gold, catching the flex of Cyrus' shoulders as he braced himself to shift angles, sliding a hand beneath the small of Croesus' back to lift him into a deeper join. Croesus gasped, his thighs tightening around Cyrus' hips instinctively, pulling him impossibly closer. Cyrus answered with a slow roll of his pelvis that drew a shuddering moan from them both. The drag of his cock inside Croesus was deliberate, each millimeter of friction calculated to prolong the unbearable pleasure. When Cyrus' thumb brushed over Croesus' nipple, he arched into the touch like a man starved, his hips stuttering against the conqueror's in wordless demand.
Cyrus caught his mouth in another kiss, swallowing Croesus' ragged exhale. His lips were softer now, moving with unhurried devotion against Croesus', their tongues meeting in languid sweeps that mirrored the rhythm of their bodies. The kiss tasted of shared breath and salt, of fleeting laughter when Cyrus nipped playfully at Croesus' lower lip — not hard enough to break skin, but enough to draw a quiet, delighted groan. Cyrus' hand mapped Croesus' flank with reverence, fingertips tracing the dip of his waist before sliding down to cup his thigh, guiding Croesus' leg higher over his hip to deepen their connection.
Croesus gasped when Cyrus rocked forward, the angle shifting to press deeper still, brushing that place inside him that sent sparks licking up his spine. The conqueror's chest pressed flush against his, their sweat-slick skin sticking together with each rolling thrust. Cyrus murmured something against his throat — words in Persian too low to catch, but the tone alone made Croesus shiver. He tangled his fingers in Cyrus' hair, pulling him back into another kiss, this one messy and open-mouthed, their tongues dueling together before Cyrus gentled them with a sigh.
The oil lamp guttered, casting long shadows that danced across Cyrus' shoulders as he braced himself on one forearm. His other hand slid between them, fingers wrapping around Croesus' cock in time with his next slow thrust. The dual sensation wrung a ragged cry from Croesus' throat, his hips jerking forward into that perfect friction while simultaneously pressing back onto Cyrus' length. Cyrus growled approval, his grip tightening just shy of pain, his thumb swiping over the leaking head with each stroke.
"You feel that?" Cyrus murmured against his collarbone, his lips brushing the skin. His hips snapped forward to punctuate the question, drawing another gasp from Croesus. "How full you are?" He punctuated each word with a deliberate roll of his pelvis, the thick drag of his cock inside Croesus stealing his breath.
Croesus couldn't answer — couldn't think. His fingers dug into Cyrus' shoulders, blunt nails leaving crescent marks in the sweat-slicked skin. The conqueror chuckled low in his throat, the vibration traveling straight to Croesus' core. Cyrus' free hand tangled in Croesus' hair, tugging just enough to sting, forcing their eyes to meet as he thrust deeper, impossibly deeper. "Say it," he commanded, voice rough.
The words tore from Croesus' throat like a confession. "Yours." His hips jerked helplessly against Cyrus', chasing the unbearable friction.
Cyrus' breath hitched — the conqueror undone by a single syllable. His grip tightened in Croesus' hair as he drove into him with a ragged thrust that stole the air from both their lungs. The marble beneath them was slick now, their sweat mingling as Cyrus rolled his hips in slow, grinding circles that rubbed his cock against that devastating spot inside Croesus with every movement.
"Again," Cyrus demanded, his voice raw. His thumb swiped over the head of Croesus' leaking erection, spreading the wetness down his length in torturous strokes timed with each inward push.
Croesus arched, his thighs trembling as Cyrus' cock dragged against that unbearable place inside him again. The conqueror's breath came in ragged bursts against his collarbone, betraying his unraveling control. "I am yours," Croesus repeated, the word cracking as Cyrus' hips snapped forward.
Cyrus groaned, low and guttural, his fingers tightening in Croesus' hair. The throne room echoed with the slick slap of skin, the wet sounds of their bodies moving together. Croesus' vision whited out as Cyrus' thumb circled the head of his cock in ruthless strokes, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.
"Say it once more," Cyrus demanded, pressing his mouth to the pulse hammering in Croesus' throat.
But this time, his lips were soft — no teeth, no claiming bite. Just the warm, lingering pressure of skin against skin, tender as a summer breeze. Croesus shuddered, unprepared for the sweetness of it.
Cyrus kissed him like a man savoring honeyed wine, slow and deliberate. The conqueror's tongue traced the seam of his lips with infinite patience until they parted willingly. There was no demand here, only quiet devotion, Cyrus' breath mingling with his in humid bursts between sighs. His fingers loosened their grip in Croesus' hair, sliding down to cradle his jaw instead, his thumb stroking the hinge of it as if memorizing the shape.
The tenderness undid him more thoroughly than any display of dominance. Croesus arched into the kiss with a broken sound, his hands clutching at Cyrus' shoulders not to push away, but to pull him closer. Cyrus answered with a soft hum against his mouth, his hips rolling forward in a slow, deep thrust that had them both shuddering. The hand between them gentled its strokes, Cyrus' calloused fingers now gliding along Croesus' cock with reverence rather than urgency, his palm hot and steady.
Cyrus licked into his mouth like a man savoring ambrosia of the gods — slow, languid strokes of his tongue that tasted of shared breath and something sweeter beneath the salt. His lips were impossibly soft, moving against Croesus' with unhurried devotion, their sighs mingling in the narrow space between them. Even his grip on Croesus' thigh softened, fingers tracing idle patterns on sweat-slick skin as they rocked together in a rhythm that felt less like claiming and more like worship. The throne room's torches flickered, casting long shadows that danced across Cyrus' face when he pulled back just far enough to meet Croesus' gaze — his dark eyes held no mockery now, only quiet wonder.
"Cum for me," Cyrus murmured, so low the words barely carried over the whisper of skin on marble. His thumb circled the weeping head of Croesus' cock with devastating precision, smearing precum down the length in slow, slick strokes timed to the roll of his hips. "Let me feel you spill while I'm buried inside you." His voice roughened on the last word, hips stuttering forward as though the image alone tested his restraint. The drag of his cock inside Croesus was relentless now, every thrust brushing the former adversary's hair-trigger prostate, now pulverized into a helpless jelly of pleasure.
Croesus shuddered, his toes curling against cool marble as Cyrus' free hand slid beneath his thigh, lifting his leg higher to deepen the angle. The stretch burned deliciously — Cyrus' thick girth carving him open with each slow withdrawal, only to spear back in with a fullness that stole his breath. He could feel the conqueror's balls tightening against his skin, the hot weight of them drawing up as Cyrus' thrusts grew uneven. "I want to feel you clench around me when you break," Cyrus growled against his throat, his mouth grazing the tendon there. His palm cradled Croesus' jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. "Let me watch you come undone."
The words punched through Croesus' chest like an arrow. His hips jerked helplessly, his cock pulsing in Cyrus' grip as pleasure coiled impossibly tight. Cyrus' thumb swiped over his slit again, spreading the wetness in slow circles, and Croesus' vision fractured. He arched off the marble with a cry, his climax cresting in white-hot waves as Cyrus fucked him through it, his thrusts turning jagged. The conqueror's breath came in ragged bursts against his collarbone, his fingers tightening almost painfully around Croesus' cock as the Lydian milked every last drop of sperm from him.
Cyrus' groan was guttural when Croesus clenched around him, his rhythm stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt. His forehead dropped to Croesus' shoulder, his entire body shuddering as he spilled inside him in hot, pulsing bursts of sperm. The sensation drew a broken whimper from Croesus, oversensitive yet unwilling to let go — not when Cyrus' hips still rocked in shallow grinds, prolonging the aftershocks for them both.
The conqueror's breathing was ragged against his throat, his grip on Croesus' thigh softening to a languid caress. When Cyrus finally lifted his head, his dark eyes were molten with something more complex than satisfaction. He traced Croesus' parted lips with a calloused thumb, his touch unexpectedly tender. "Still alive, Lydian?" he murmured, the teasing edge of his voice undercut by genuine concern.
Croesus swallowed, his throat raw. His thighs trembled where they bracketed Cyrus' hips, his body still pulsing with aftershocks. The marble beneath them was slick with sweat and cum, their hairy torsos sticking together where Cyrus' abdomen pressed against his softening cock. "Barely," he rasped, and the corner of Cyrus' mouth twitched.
The conqueror shifted, withdrawing carefully — Croesus hissed at the loss — before collapsing beside him on the broad dais. Cyrus' chest rose and fell steadily, his olive skin gleaming in the torchlight as he propped himself up on one elbow. His free hand traced idle patterns down Croesus' sternum, fingertips pausing to circle a nipple just to feel him twitch.
"Dine with me tonight," Cyrus murmured, his thumb brushing the sensitive peak until Croesus shuddered. "Not as prisoner and king. As lovers. Please."
Croesus' pulse jumped beneath his fingertips. He glanced toward the chamber doors where guards would soon return — where courtiers would whisper about the fallen king warming the conqueror's bed. "Your people will —"
Cyrus caught his wrist mid-protest, pressing it against the marble with deliberate slowness. "We can bathe and dine in my private chambers," he repeated, voice roughened by exertion but unmistakably firm. "No attendants; just the two of us washing each other." His thumb rubbed across Croesus' inner wrist where the skin was thinnest. "My deaf-mute servant can deliver our dinner. He has seen me bury myself in Persian nobles and Median ambassadors. Your thighs will shock him less than my restraint."
Croesus exhaled a surprised laugh, the tension bleeding from his shoulders as Cyrus leaned down to nip at his collarbone. The conqueror's breath hitched when Croesus carded fingers through his sweat-damp curls, an unspoken surrender that made Cyrus groan low in his throat.
Beyond the chamber doors, footsteps echoed — guards changing shifts — but neither man pulled away. Instead, Cyrus dragged his tongue along the shell of Croesus' ear, whispering filthy promises of how he'd spread him across silk cushions later that evening. The words were crude, yet something in his tone made Croesus shiver, something perilously close to affection.
"You're insatiable," Croesus muttered, though his fingers tightened in Cyrus' hair. The scent of their sweat and sex hung thick between them, mingling with the smoky torchlight.
Cyrus chuckled darkly, dragging his teeth down the column of Croesus' throat. "Only for you." His palm slid lustfully over the Lydian's flank, fingers digging into the muscle there — a silent reminder of possession that made Croesus' breath catch. "And we are each other's to enjoy, aren't we?"
Before Croesus could answer, the chamber doors groaned open. Cyrus didn't even glance toward the sound, his body shielding Croesus' nakedness with casual dominance as a guard entered. The scrape of sandals halted abruptly. A nervous throat cleared.
"My king —"
"Out." Cyrus didn't raise his voice, didn't shift from where his thigh pressed intimately between Croesus'. The command rolled off his tongue like honeyed venom, sharp enough to make the guard retreat without another word. The doors clicked shut again, leaving them in silence save for their mingled breaths.
Croesus arched an eyebrow, tracing the rigid line of Cyrus' jaw with two fingers. "He'll talk."
"Let him." Cyrus captured his wrist again, pressing a biting kiss to the pulse point. "Unless you'd rather I summon him back — let him see how the Lion of Lydia pants beneath me?" His free hand slid down Croesus' torso, callouses catching on damp skin, stopping just short of where their bodies still throbbed with oversensitivity.
Croesus' hips jerked instinctively, drawing a dark chuckle from Cyrus. The Persian king watched his face intently as his fingers wrapped around Croesus' half-hard length, stroking lazily. "Already?" His breath ghosted hot over Croesus' parted lips. "Perhaps I should take you right now while the guard listens at the door. Let all of Persepolis hear how thoroughly I've conquered you."
A shudder ran through Croesus at the words — humiliation losing the battle with the arousal twisting in his gut. He swallowed thickly, fingers tightening in Cyrus' hair. "You're a demon," he breathed, but his body betrayed him, his cock twitching eagerly in Cyrus' grip.
Cyrus grinned, predatory, thumb swiping over the leaking head just to hear Croesus curse. "No," he murmured, leaning in until their lips brushed. "Your demon." His hips ground down, his own renewed hardness pressing against Croesus' thigh. The contact drew a ragged groan from both of them, the promise of another round tightening the air between them.
The distant clatter of armor outside the chamber made Croesus tense, but Cyrus merely tightened his grip, his rhythm never faltering. "Ignore them," he growled, nipping at Croesus' lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. "They're nothing. Only this matters — only us." His words dissolved into a groan as Croesus bucked up into his fist, the friction deliciously rough.
Cyrus' free hand slid beneath Croesus' thigh, lifting it higher to expose him further. The wet sound of skin on skin filled the chamber, mingling with their staggered breaths. Croesus arched off the marble, his head tipping back when Cyrus' thumb circled his slit, smearing precum down his shaft with torturous precision. "Cyrus —" His voice broke, fingers scrabbling at the Persian's shoulders.
"Look at me." Cyrus' command was velvet-wrapped steel, his grip tightening just shy of pain. When Croesus obeyed, Cyrus rewarded him by twisting his wrist on the upstroke, drawing a choked whimper from the Lydian king. The torchlight caught the wild dilation of Croesus' pupils, the sweat beading at his temples. Cyrus drank in every twitch of his face, every involuntary spasm of his abdomen.
The scent of their mingled arousal clung to Cyrus' throat as he bent closer, inhaling sharply when Croesus suddenly gripped his nape and dragged him into a crushing kiss. Their lips mashed together, tongues tangling wetly as Cyrus quickened his strokes. Croesus' thighs trembled, his heel digging into Cyrus' lower back — an unspoken plea for more.
Cyrus broke the kiss with a ragged chuckle, dragging his teeth along Croesus' jawline. "You want my cock again already?" His free hand slid lower, fingertips grazing over sensitive flesh still loose from their earlier coupling. The choked noise Croesus made when Cyrus pressed two fingers inside him vibrated against Cyrus' collarbone. "Gods, I love that you're so eager," he growled, twisting his fingers in a way that made Croesus' spine bow off the marble.
A distant horn blast echoed through the palace corridors—some military formality Cyrus should have attended — but he merely tightened his grip on Croesus' hip, sinking his fingers deeper. The slick sounds of penetration mixed with Croesus' broken gasps filled the chamber as Cyrus worked him open with relentless precision. "Tell me," Cyrus demanded, watching sweat trickle down Croesus' heaving chest. "Tell me you want it."
Croesus' fingers scrabbled against the marble, his thighs trembling around Cyrus' wrist. "You — ah — you know I do," he panted, hips jerking when Cyrus crooked his fingers just right. The Persian conqueror smirked, withdrawing his fingers with a lewd pop that made Croesus whimper.
"Words, lion," Cyrus murmured, dragging his saliva-slicked fingertips down the length of Croesus' cock. The Lydian's breath hitched violently as Cyrus smeared wetness over his flushed tip. "Or shall I leave you like this?" He punctuated the threat by releasing Croesus entirely, leaning back to admire the mess he'd made — the way Croesus' body arched off the stone, chasing the lost contact.
Croesus snarled, fingers knotting in Cyrus' beard to yank him closer. Their foreheads knocked together as he hissed, "Fuck me before I stab you with your own dagger." The threat would have carried weight had his legs not been splayed shamelessly wide, his cock dripping against his abdomen.
Cyrus laughed — a rich, dark sound — before pulling lightly on Croesus' lower lip with his teeth. "That's what I wanted to hear," he murmured against the Lydian's mouth, rolling his hips to grind their straining lengths together. The friction pulled twin groans from them, Cyrus' hands sliding under Croesus' thighs to hike them higher.
The torchlight caught the sheen of sweat between them as Cyrus lined himself up, pressing forward in one smooth thrust. Croesus' back arched off the marble, his gasp swallowed by Cyrus' kiss as the Persian buried himself to the hilt. The stretch burned deliciously, Croesus' body still tender from their earlier couplings, yet opening eagerly for him. Cyrus groaned deep in his chest, fingers digging into the meat of Croesus' thighs as he rocked deeper.
"Gods — still so tight," Cyrus rasped, his breath hot against Croesus' throat. He pulled back slowly, savoring the drag, before snapping his hips forward again — harder this time. The slap of skin echoed through the chamber, mingling with Croesus' punched-out moan. Cyrus chuckled darkly when Croesus' fingers scrabbled at his shoulders, blunt nails leaving pink trails. "Louder," he commanded, thrusting again with deliberate brutality. "Let them hear."
Croesus bit his lip, his hips jerking involuntarily as Cyrus angled deeper, hitting that spot that made his vision blur. The Persian king grinned wolfishly at the telltale twitch in Croesus' thighs, the way his toes curled against Cyrus' lower back. "No — ah! — they'll —" Croesus' protest dissolved into a whine when Cyrus suddenly slowed, circling his hips torturously instead.
"Let them," Cyrus murmured, dragging his tongue along the shell of Croesus' ear before nipping the lobe. His thrusts turned obscenely slow, each withdrawal deliberate, each penetration calculated to wring broken sounds from the Lydian. The scrape of Cyrus' beard against his throat sent shivers down Croesus' spine, his cock leaking shamelessly between them.
Outside, muffled voices approached — council members no doubt seeking Cyrus for some tedious matter of state — but the Persian king merely hooked Croesus' knee over his elbow, driving deeper with a groan. Sweat dripped from Cyrus' brow onto Croesus' heaving chest, the droplets tracing paths through the dusting of golden hair. Croesus arched, fingers digging into Cyrus' biceps as the conqueror's pace turned punishing, the slap of flesh echoing louder than their mingled gasps.
The chamber doors rattled with tentative knocks. Croesus tensed, but Cyrus growled "Ignorant dogs," against his throat, his hips never faltering. The pain-pleasure made Croesus cry out — just as Cyrus intended — his voice carrying clearly through the doors. Cyrus chuckled darkly at the sudden silence beyond, then rolled his hips in a slow, filthy circle that wrenched another shuddering moan from Croesus.
"You see?" Cyrus murmured, dragging his mouth down Croesus' sternum. "They'll think twice before interrupting us again." His thrusts turned brutal, his grip bruising on Croesus' thighs as he chased his own pleasure. Croesus arched helplessly, his cock leaking untouched between them, the head flushed an angry red. Cyrus smirked down at him, sweat dripping from his chin onto Croesus' heaving chest.
The knocks came again, more insistent this time, but Cyrus merely hooked his arms beneath Croesus' knees, folding him nearly in half as he pistoned into him. The angle punched the air from Croesus' lungs, his cry ragged as Cyrus' cock dragged over that spot inside him again and again. The Persian king's breathing grew ragged, his rhythm faltering as his climax built.
"Cum for me while I breed you," Cyrus snarled, his voice rough with need. His fingers dug into Croesus' thighs as he slammed home one final time, his regal sperm spilling hot inside the Lydian king. Croesus shuddered violently, his own climax ripped from him untouched, painting his stomach in thick streaks of semen as Cyrus milked him through it with relentless thrusts.
Outside, the knocking ceased abruptly — replaced by hurried footsteps retreating down the corridor. Cyrus collapsed atop Croesus, his sweat-slick chest heaving against the Lydian's as his softening cock twitched inside him. Neither man spoke for long moments, their ragged breaths the only sound in the chamber save for the distant crackle of torches.
Eventually, Cyrus stirred, pressing a lazy kiss to Croesus' collarbone before withdrawing carefully. Croesus hissed at the loss, his thighs twitching as Cyrus' seed trickled down his inner thigh. The Persian king smirked, running appreciative fingers through the mess before rising and extending a hand.
"Come," Cyrus murmured, pulling Croesus upright with surprising gentleness. Their bodies parted with an obscenely wet sound that made Croesus flush — his hole still loose and leaking Cyrus' spend. The conqueror didn't bother wiping the evidence from their bellies or thighs, merely guiding Croesus by the wrist toward the chamber doors.
They stepped into the torchlit corridor naked as the day they were born, Cyrus' broad shoulders parting the shadows like a ship's prow through dark water. Croesus kept pace despite the slick discomfort between his thighs, their bare feet padding silently across cool stone. A passing servant gasped and averted his eyes, nearly dropping an amphora of wine. Cyrus merely chuckled, palming the small of Croesus' back — marking him before witnesses as casually as one might pet a favored hound.
The bathing chamber doors stood unguarded, the cedar wood warm under Croesus' fingertips when he pushed them open. Steam curled around their ankles as Cyrus barred the entrance behind them with a heavy iron bolt. The sound — final and resonant — sent an unexpected shiver down Croesus' spine. Here, in this humid sanctuary smelling of cedar oil and mineral salts, Cyrus' empire shrank to the space between their bodies.
Cyrus guided him toward the sunken pool without words, his palm a brand between Croesus' shoulder blades. The water swallowed Cyrus' sigh as he stepped in first, the surface rippling outward like liquid gold in the lamplight. Croesus hesitated — not from reluctance, but from the sudden, arresting sight of his conqueror submerged to the waist, droplets catching in his chest hair like scattered pearls.
"Still shy?" Cyrus murmured, reaching back without looking to grasp Croesus' wrist. His thumb found the racing pulse beneath the skin, pressing knowingly. "After everything?" The tease lacked its usual edge; his fingers traced idle patterns up Croesus' forearm instead, stirring something perilously close to tenderness in the Lydian's chest.
Steam curled around Croesus' thighs as he stepped into the scalding water, hissing as it stung oversensitive flesh. Cyrus chuckled darkly, pulling him closer until their knees knocked together beneath the surface. The conqueror's hands slid up his flanks, thumbs brushing the underside of his pectorals with deliberate leisure. "Look at you," Cyrus breathed, gaze raking down Croesus' body where the water distorted his silhouette into something dreamlike. "Like a god cast in bronze."
Croesus scoffed, but the protest died when Cyrus leaned forward to lick a bead of sweat from his collarbone. The Persian's tongue traced the hollow of his throat, hot and wet even in the steam-choked air. His teeth grazed Croesus' pulse point just hard enough to sting—a perfect counterpoint to the soothing heat enveloping their lower bodies.
"You're insufferable," Croesus muttered, fingers tangling in Cyrus' damp curls as the Persian's mouth moved lower. Water sloshed against the pool's marble edges when Cyrus suddenly knelt, his beard scraping over Croesus' abdomen as he nosed through the golden trail of hair. The Lydian's breath hitched violently when Cyrus' tongue swirled around his half-hard cockhead, the sensation amplified by the mineral-rich water lapping at his thighs.
Cyrus hummed approvingly around him, one hand sliding back to knead Croesus' ass with possessive familiarity. His other hand pinned the Lydian's hip against the pool's submerged bench, fingers digging into sweat-slick skin with just enough pressure to make Croesus gasp. The conqueror's dark eyes flicked upward, always watching, as he took Croesus deeper, his throat working around his prong with practiced ease.
Croesus' fingers tightened convulsively in Cyrus' hair when the Persian's tongue swirled under his crown, a filthy, knowing lick that had his thighs trembling. Water sloshed over the edge as Cyrus abruptly stood, bracketing Croesus against the bench with his muscular frame. Their cocks brushed underwater, both thickening again despite their recent release. Cyrus captured Croesus' jaw, tilting his face up with rough tenderness.
"Turn around," Cyrus murmured against his mouth, nipping at his lower lip. When Croesus hesitated, Cyrus chuckled darkly and gripped his hips, bodily spinning him to face the pool's edge. Steam coiled around them as Cyrus pressed flush against Croesus' back, one arm wrapping possessively around his waist while the other slid down his stomach.
Cyrus' teeth grazed the nape of Croesus' neck as he palmed his hardening length beneath the water. "Still so eager for me," he breathed, fingers stroking lazily. Croesus arched into the touch, his breath fogging the marble edge. The conqueror's free hand drifted lower, fingertips teasing the stretched rim still slick with his earlier release.
A shudder ran through Croesus when Cyrus pressed two fingers inside him right there in the steaming pool, water easing the way as he crooked them just so. "Cyrus —" His voice cracked as Persian lips traced his shoulder blade, the scrape of beard contrasting with the liquid heat surrounding them.
"Tell me you want it," Cyrus murmured, twisting his fingers — not a demand now, but something perilously close to a question. Croesus gasped as those clever fingers brushed that spot inside him, his hands scrambling against wet marble while Cyrus' other hand stroked him in counterpoint.
The Lydian king arched, water sloshing over their hips as Cyrus' teeth bit down on the corded muscle of his shoulder. "I — ah — I will never refuse you, my lover," Croesus panted, pressing back against the invading fingers. The admission sent a tremor through Cyrus' chest — something raw beneath the dominance. His grip on Croesus' cock tightened fractionally.
"Good," Cyrus growled, withdrawing his fingers with a wet sound that echoed in the steamy chamber. He guided himself to Croesus' entrance with one hand, the other splayed possessively across his abdomen. The first breach was slow — agonizingly so — water easing the way as Cyrus sheathed himself inch by inch. Croesus' knuckles whitened against the pool's edge, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
Cyrus' hips snapped forward suddenly, seating himself to the hilt with a grunt. The slap of wet skin against skin mingled with Croesus' punched-out moan. Water rippled violently around them as Cyrus set a punishing rhythm from the start, each thrust driving Croesus' hips against the submerged bench. His grip tightened on Croesus' cock, his thumb swiping over the leaking tip in time with his thrusts.
The steam thickened around them, clinging to Cyrus' lashes as he watched the way Croesus' back muscles flexed with each impact. He leaned forward, sucking the nape of Croesus' neck as his pace grew erratic. "Feel that?" Cyrus growled, his breath scalding against Croesus' damp skin. His free hand slid down to press against Croesus' abdomen, imagining the outline of his own cock buried deep inside.
Croesus choked out a broken curse, his thighs trembling as Cyrus' grip tightened around his length. The water sloshed violently as Cyrus pistoned into him, each thrust punctuated by the slap of skin and Croesus' gasping breaths. The Lydian's fingers scrambled for purchase on the wet marble, his knuckles whitening.
Cyrus' lips kissed the meat of Croesus' shoulder, his chuckle vibrating against sweat-slick skin. "You take me so well," he growled, his free hand sliding up to pinch a nipple roughly. The sudden pain-pleasure wrenched a ragged cry from Croesus, his body bowing backward into Cyrus' chest.
The conqueror's thrusts grew erratic, water sloshing over the pool's edge as he chased his climax. His fingers tightened around Croesus' cock in warning. "Cum with me," he commanded, his voice rough with need. The order sent Croesus over the edge instantly, his sperm streaking the steaming water as Cyrus slammed home one final time, his groan muffled against Croesus' nape.
Their panting breaths fogged the humid air as Cyrus withdrew slowly, his softening cock slipping free with an obscene sound. Croesus' knees buckled, but Cyrus caught him effortlessly, guiding him onto the submerged bench where the warm water lapped at their spent bodies. The Persian traced lazy patterns through the mess on Croesus' abdomen, his touch unexpectedly tender.
"You'll never bore me," Cyrus murmured against his temple, lips brushing damp golden hair. His calloused palm slid up to cradle Croesus' jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. "Not in a hundred years. Not in a thousand." The raw sincerity in his voice made something tight unravel in Croesus' chest.
Cyrus' thumb wiped away an escaped tear before Croesus even realized it had fallen. "I want you at my side until the gods themselves grow old." The Persian king's confession hung between them, shimmering like the steam rising from the water. Croesus turned his face into Cyrus' palm, lips pressing against the life line with sudden reverence.
"Then bind me," Croesus whispered against his skin, the words tasting of surrender and victory intertwined. His fingers found Cyrus' wrist, tracing the raised scar from their first battle — the wound he'd given him before their world tilted on its axis. "Not with chains or oaths, but ..." His voice broke as Cyrus' hand slid around to cradle the back of his skull, their foreheads touching beneath the curling steam.
Water rippled between their thighs when Cyrus shifted closer, his laughter warm against Croesus' lips. "But?" The single syllable held centuries of unspoken things — the weight of empires toppled, beds shared, and this impossible tenderness neither could name.
Croesus exhaled shakily, fingers tightening around Cyrus' wrist where the old scar pulsed under his touch. His thumb traced the raised flesh in slow circles, mapping the memory of their first clash — spear meeting shield, blood spilled on dusty plains. "But you must promise me one thing," he said at last, lifting his gaze to meet Cyrus' dark eyes. "When it ends —"
Cyrus' hand tightened abruptly in his hair, silencing him with sudden ferocity. "Do not speak of endings," he growled, his voice roughened by something far deeper than lust. The bathwater rippled violently as he hauled Croesus forward, their foreheads knocking together hard enough to bruise. "You are mine until death itself comes begging at my gates."
Croesus laughed breathlessly against Cyrus' lips — not in mockery, but in surrender to the impossible truth of it. "Then I am yours," he murmured, pressing their joined hands over the old scar. The water around them stilled as Cyrus exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip shifting from painful to possessive as their fingers interlaced.
The steam between them carried Croesus' next words like a vow: "Not as your captive, not as your advisor — but as the man who will stand beside you when cities crumble and armies scatter." His free hand rose to trace the furrow between Cyrus' brows, smoothing the conqueror's scowl with calloused fingertips. "Who will warm your bed when winters freeze the Euphrates solid. Who will —" His voice broke when Cyrus suddenly captured his wrist, pressing a fierce kiss to the pulse point.
Water sloshed against marble as Cyrus pulled him closer, their legs tangling beneath the surface. "You already do," the Persian murmured against his skin, teeth grazing Croesus' inner wrist where veins stood blue beneath golden skin. The intimacy of the bite — not marking, but acknowledging — sent heat unspooling low in Croesus' belly.
Their reflection wavered in the rippling water, distorted into something mythic by steam and lamplight. Cyrus' broad palm slid up Croesus' nape, fingers threading through damp hair. "Tell me again," he demanded, the roughness in his voice belying the request beneath the order.
Croesus arched into the touch, water sluicing down his chest as Cyrus leaned in, their lips barely brushing. "Yours," he exhaled, tasting the word like unfamiliar wine — heady and strange on his tongue. He felt Cyrus' cock twitch against his thigh, half-hard again despite their recent release.
A sharp knock shattered the moment. Cyrus growled deep in his throat, huffing against Croesus' collarbone before pulling away with obvious reluctance. He crossed the bath chamber in three strides, throwing open the cedar door to reveal his deaf-mute manservant waiting with bowed head. Cyrus signed sharply — fingers flicking through the steam in precise movements Croesus couldn't decipher — before returning to the pool's edge with a predator's grace.
"Come," Cyrus murmured, hauling Croesus upright by one wrist, water cascading off their bodies. He tossed a linen wrap at Croesus' chest with casual ownership. The fabric smelled faintly of cedar and saffron — unmistakably Cyrus' own. "I'll have you properly fed before I ruin you again." His teeth flashed in a grin as Croesus cinched the fabric around his hips with deliberate slowness, letting Cyrus watch the water drip down his thighs.
The deaf-mute servant reappeared silently, bearing a bronze tray laden with honeyed dates split open, figs swollen with their own syrup, and two goblets of wine steaming with mulled spices. Cyrus snatched a date, pressing it against Croesus' lips until sticky juice ran down his chin. "Eat," he commanded, licking the golden trail himself before pushing Croesus backward onto the bed with one broad palm.
They devoured the feast like starving men, Cyrus tearing bread with his teeth to sop up lamb fat while Croesus sucked pomegranate seeds from the conqueror's fingertips. Wine dripped onto Cyrus' chest when Croesus tipped his goblet too far; the Persian retaliated by pinning him down to lick the spillage, his beard scraping red trails across Croesus' sternum.
The deaf-mute servant cleared the tray silently, leaving them tangled in damp linens that smelled of sex and saffron. Cyrus rolled onto his back with a contented grunt, dragging Croesus half atop him like a living blanket. The Lydian exhaled sharply when Cyrus' calloused palm found the small of his back — pressing just hard enough to make his spent muscles sing.
"Still so tense," Cyrus murmured against his temple, kneading the knotted flesh with surprising gentleness. His other hand carded through Croesus' sweat-damp hair, blunt nails scraping pleasantly against his scalp. The rhythm was hypnotic — rough enough to remind Croesus of the conqueror's strength, tender enough to unravel him completely.
Croesus exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead against Cyrus' collarbone where the scent of cedar oil clung stubbornly to golden skin. He traced the old spear scar bisecting Cyrus' ribcage — a wound from their first battle — with idle fingertips. The Persian's heartbeat thudded steady beneath his touch, slower now than when their bodies had been locked together in the bath.
Cyrus' arm tightened around Croesus' waist, his fingers splayed possessively across the small of his back. "Still awake?" His breath stirred Croesus' hair, the words slurred with encroaching sleep. The oil lamp guttered low, casting elongated shadows across their entangled limbs — Cyrus' muscular thigh hooked over Croesus' hip, their ankles tangled beneath rumpled linens.
Croesus hummed noncommittally, pressing his ear to the steady drumbeat of Cyrus' heart. The rhythm slowed gradually, the conqueror's chest rising and falling in deepening increments beneath him. He traced idle patterns through the coarse hair dusting Cyrus' sternum, smiling when the Persian's breath hitched momentarily at a particularly sensitive spot below his nipple.
Their sweat had cooled to a faint sheen between them, linens sticking to the small of Croesus' back where Cyrus' broad palm still rested possessively. The oil lamp's dying glow painted the Persian's collarbones molten bronze, his features softening in sleep into something unexpectedly youthful. Croesus studied the way Cyrus' lashes fanned dark against his cheeks — no longer the calculating conqueror, but simply a man sated and spent.
Cyrus' arm twitched around him in sleep, fingers flexing against Croesus' flank as if even unconscious, his body refused to relinquish its claim. The Lydian exhaled through his nose, pressing closer to the furnace heat of Cyrus' chest. Somewhere beyond the draped windows, a nightingale trilled — the same melody Croesus' mother had hummed to him as a child in Sardis. The memory should have stung; instead, it settled warm beneath his ribs, tangled with Cyrus' rhythmic breathing.
Moonlight bled through the lattice, striping Cyrus' torso like a captive tiger's pelt. Croesus traced the patterns absently, fingertips skating over old battle scars and still-tender bite marks from their earlier coupling. Cyrus grunted in his sleep, rolling them abruptly until Croesus lay pinned beneath his bulk. The Persian's thigh hooked possessively over Croesus' hips, his beard scraping the Lydian's clavicle with each somnolent exhale.
Outside, palace guards changed shifts — the muted clatter of spear butts against marble barely audible through cedar doors. Croesus inhaled Cyrus' scent — sweat and saffron and the iron tang of sex — letting it fill his lungs like a drowning man gulping air. Somewhere beyond Persia's borders, new rebellions smoldered, fresh kingdoms awaited conquest. But here, wrapped in Cyrus' crushing embrace, Croesus found himself hoping — just this once — for a bright future with his new-found lover.
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