Submission
The decision did not feel like a choice. The boy who believed in defiance was gone. The boy who thought love could be a shield vanished. That boy was a liability. He would get Theron broken. He would get me killed. So, I killed him myself, that boy, in the hopes that I could survive this. That WE could survive this. I knew what was coming and I needed to prove my worth and protect the man I loved.
I found Brasidas at the training ground at dawn, as I knew I would. He stood with his back to me, a silhouette of unyielding power. I did not hesitate. I walked to him and knelt in the dust.
The act of kneeling was the hardest thing I have ever done. It felt like tearing out a part of my own soul and offering it to him on the ground between us.
He turned slowly. I did not look at his face. I kept my eyes fixed on the worn leather of his sandals.
“You were right,” I said, my voice emptied of all emotion. It was the first lie, and the most important one. “My defiance was a disgrace. To my brother’s memory. To Sparta. I… I place myself in your hands.”
The silence that followed was longer and more terrifying than any blow. He was weighing the truth of my words. I forced my body to remain perfectly still, a statue of submission.
Finally, he spoke. “Get up.”
I rose. I still did not meet his eyes.
“Look at me.” His words were a direct contrast to those Theron had spoken to me just yesterday. Theron’s words were of safety and love; Brasidas used them to scare and demand.
I forced my gaze upward. His eyes searched mine, looking for the lie. I had buried it deep. All he saw was a blank stare.
“We begin now then,” he said.
And he began to break me.
It was not the brutal, angry punishment of the days before. This was worse. It was a cold, systematic dismantling. He corrected my stance with impersonal prods. He forced me to hold a shield until my muscles screamed and failed, then made me hold it again. When I stumbled, there was no shouted insult, only a silent, relentless pressure to continue.
He was testing the limits of my surrender. I gave them to him. I let my body be pushed to the edge of collapse. I let him see the sweat and the strain. But I did not let him see a single flicker of the fire inside.
Hours later, covered in dust and sweat, my body a single, throbbing ache, he stopped me. He stepped close, so close I could smell the oil on his skin and the metal of his armor.
“This is your duty now,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “To be remade. To become what he was.”
He reached out and his hand, calloused and brutal, gripped the back of my neck. It was not a gesture of affection, but of ownership.
Every instinct screamed to pull away. To spit in his face. To think of Theron.
Instead, I closed my eyes. I made my body go limp in his grasp. A perfect, passive vessel.
“I understand,” I whispered.
“Do you?” Brasidas’ voice was right in my ear. He had moved directly behind me, his large hand still grasping my neck but suddenly with less force. I felt his breath on me, the sudden size of him surrounding me. The bulge of his chest brushed against my shoulder as he closed the gap. His right hand suddenly appeared at my waist, and I felt his manhood now pressing against my back. It was firm, engorged, ready to claim at last what was his right.
And in the dark behind my eyelids, I built a wall. Stone by stone, I built it around the memory of Theron’s touch, around the sound of his voice, around the secret promise we had made in that corner of the supply room. Brasidas could have my body. He could train it, discipline it, even touch it. But he wasn’t going to touch my feelings for Theron.
I let a small breath out as he pressed against me harder. “Yes.” I whispered. I knew this day would come eventually. I wanted to have some control over when, in the hopes that it would be gentle.
“Show me.” He whispered back, letting his lips touch my ear so dangerously close that I couldn’t help but shudder. “Like your brother did.”
I let my hands reach back, feeling the powerful thighs of my erastes so close to my own. The coarseness of the hairs on the marble slabs of muscle sending signals to my body that I didn’t want to admit. He was still a man, a massive one, and my body was unwillingly reacting to him. My own breath caught in my throat as his left hand on my neck slackened even more, and his thumb began to caress my lower neck, almost as similar as Theron’s.
“You smell like him.” He whispered into my neck, his beard scratching against me and I felt myself freeze. This was a different whisper than before. This was an altogether different touch.
While I stood there feeling his arousal against my back, his right hand slid around me, to the ties of my tunic and began a surprisingly quick undoing. I stood still as my teacher removed every ounce of cloth from my body. He never moved, only increased the pressure of himself against my back, showing me how big and firm he could get. Not only was his body a sculpted piece of granite, his cock seemed to be made of even harder material. The length of it alone made me fearful of what was to happen.
His hands caressed me momentarily, before they were on my shoulders, pushing me forward to the wall, to the opening at the ledge. He bent me forward, pushing my head down as my backside arched to give him access to me. I stared through the opening, down at the olive grove, where Theron had first claimed me in an ironic moment of realization, as I heard the sounds of Brasidas shedding his garments.
I closed my eyes and braced myself. This was my duty. I knew it would come eventually. But I would never be his. I belonged to Theron, heart and soul. Brasidas could use my body. But the man who loved Theron, the strategist, the cunning fox… that man was hidden away in a place Brasidas would never, ever reach. My body was his. But my heart and soul was my own. And I would not break.
His entry was not gentle. I clenched my jaw and my hands became fists as the pressure and invasion overtook my body. Pain erupted inside me as his grip on my shoulders tightened, his thick fingers digging into me as I tried not to shake.
He pushed himself all the way inside me, punching so far into me I lost my breath. He was thicker, longer, and more forceful than any experience I had to date with my gentle lover. I could feel the tears at my eyes as I willed myself deeper to my secret place, trying to hold on to my own memories of what this should be.
Brasidas let out a low groan that sounded like a victory. His hands tricked me, releasing me from their initial death grip, and sliding down my back in light caresses. His body bent over me, the feeling of the matted hair on his barrel chest against me, his beard at my neck, his lips placing soft, careful kisses across my back and shoulders as he held himself deep within me, as if controlling himself for a moment.
“You are mine.” He said so softly I almost imagined the words, a sudden confusion in my head at the tenderness of his words. My own breath caught in my throat as I heard his inhalation behind me and his lips moved to my ear. “I have dreamed of this.” I shivered at the words, my body responding to the heat of his breath and the tenderness of his voice while his hands, those giant strong calloused hands, moved up to grip my bare pectoral muscles now tense and tight.
He began to move, not with the force I was expecting, but with a slow, deliberate calculation, his hands releasing my chest, moving all over my torso in a claiming I didn’t understand. I kept my eyes closed as he used me. This was my duty. I belonged to him. Erastes and erominos. Sparta’s acceptable union. And slowly, I could feel myself relaxing, of my body giving in to a man I did not choose.
But then his sounds increased along with his rhythm. He seemed to get lost in me. He was breathing hard, almost passionately. His hands reached around to find me aroused, erect, and a willing participant. His fist wrapped around me and he matched the rhythm of his thrusts with the movement of his hand. I found my own voice making sounds as his bearded face nuzzled into my neck and my own member hardened even more in response to his grip.
“I am here.” He repeated again, his tongue suddenly dancing out like a snake invading the canal of my ear and I exhaled slowly.
His body now slammed into mine, mine instinctively pushed back against him. As our bodies moved in synch, as our breaths matched the feelings suddenly overwhelming us both, I felt the surge of fluids coming through me as his own climax neared its conclusion.
With a shudder I erupted as his hand worked my tool, bucking my body enough to cause his own completion. He roared out, his arms two powerful limbs of muscle gripping me against him tight, his forehead crashing into the chasm of my shoulder blades as he humped himself into me with sudden, forceful jabs. Those hands of his that could crush a skull grabbed my chest with such tenderness as his arms wrapped around my body with such strength I lost my breath. As he panted into my back, his thick beard rubbing the skin, I heard the word escape his lips into my back.
“Alexandrios.”
I must have mistaken the sound, for it was my brother’s name that seeped from his lips. It had to be, but I was a mess of my own as my own eyes stared out the opening to the olive grove at what I had just done. My hands unclenched as he seemed to awaken behind me, his hands two powerful pieces of weaponry once again as they grabbed my shoulders to hold me still as he withdrew himself from my battered and bruised anus.
I collapsed at last, my knees giving out as I heard him stomp away. As I looked over my shoulder I saw him, all of him, naked from head to toe save for his sandals at the end of his monstrous thighs and those thick, dense calves. His body was a work of art carved from stone, his manhood still thick and glistening from his own seed. He moved to the opposite wall, grabbing a discarded cloth to wipe first his cock, then the sweat from his chest before he turned to me. With a glance of shyness, he swallowed hard and then tossed the used cloth to me.
“Go.” He said rather casually. “You will need your strength for what’s to come now.”
I reached for the cloth and wiped the drippings from between my legs as he turned away, showing me the stacked muscles and the curved roundness of his firm meaty backside. I was sore, bruised from the training, and aching from the inside now as the scent of him filled my nostrils. I stood up as tall as I could to redress in silence, keeping the tears from my face to not give him the satisfaction of seeing me. I exited quietly, trying to keep my composure until I was almost to my home.
I passed by the olive branch, laid out in plain sight, a signal my love left for me.
What composure I clung to now disappeared with the vision of Theron’s request. So in the private seclusion of a garden, with the memory of the olive grove from the window ingrained in my mind, my composure faltered. The courage from the day before with my Theron gone in an instant at the sudden realization of what my duty to my erastes now felt like. I could not go to Theron like this. I could not let him see the fracture of my resolve.
How was I going to survive this?
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