Chapter Text
Praetorian Guards surrounded the boy; it seemed a scene so out of the ordinary, the bunch of men, clad in iron chestplates and white cloaks, their hands always on the hilt of their swords, dutifully watching such a helpless type.
A cast of disheveled, creamy light-blonde curls cascaded before his reddened, teary eyes. The boy was short, something around 5’2, and regardless of his meaty thighs and hips, overall he was skinny.
“Where is my daughter?” Cornelia Tacitus’ grim tone resonated within the walls of the Emperor’s chambers. The Lady Lioness, as she was often referred to, looked around, taking in the scene—the grand room, filled by sunlight shining over its marble, its porcelain, and its silk, contrasting with the bloody doom on its lush bed.
Two bodies, one laid in standard resting position, the other collapsed on top of it, both tainted by crimson stains that, upon further inspection, became clear it originated from the woman’s body; the one collapsed over the elder man.
“Oh gods…” Even an undaunted type like Cornelia gasped at the sighting of such a barbaric scene; it was her daughter, neck slashed open, collapsed on top of the lifeless body of her own husband, the Augustus, Rome’s Emperor, Cicero. “What happened?” She howled at the guards. “WHAT HAPPENED?” Her shriek was irked with despair and fury.
“We… We… We... do not know, M’ Lady.” One of the Praetorians cast his head down, running from the woman’s scorching gaze. “The boy…” He felt sheer relief in being able to deflect to someone else. “He saw it all.” It was pathetic behavior on his part.
Cornelia marched, iron-willed, past the men surrounding her grandson, the short little Caesar. “Boy…” She forced his chin up, linking their eyes to one another. “Tell me what you saw.”
Callistus didn’t utter a single word; instead he looked around, his sapphire-blue eyes scanning the room. Cornelia read him easily.
“Leave. All of you.” She commanded the Praetorian Guards.
“M’ Lady, we must await for the Undertakers; it’s part of our duty.” A Praetorian argued.
Cornelia Tacitus launched a rancorous glance at the man. “Then you shall wait... But on the other side of the door.” She dropped her voice into an angry hiss.
Right away, they conceded and obeyed the woman’s command, leaving her alone with her teenage grandson and two dead bodies. “Now tell me... What did you see?” She instantly turned her attention back to the boy.
Callistus sighed, holding back new tears. “She was out of her mind.” To no avail, as soon as he started speaking, a full, shinny, single tear rolled down his face. “She mumbled things... Incoherent things, absurd tales. It was a complete nightmare.”
Cornelia embraced Callistus, holding his face against her ample breasts. “It´s okay, boy, keep going.”
“She… She suffocated him. I tried to stop her, but she had a golden dagger. I don’t know where she got it from. She pointed at me, threatening me to stay away. Then… After she made sure my father was dead... She… She… Oh gods.” The boy held onto Cornelia’s dress, crying like a little child.
“May the gods have mercy on her soul.” She prayed under her breath.
“There’s more, grandmother.” Callistus raised his head, actively pursuing Cornelia’s gaze. His dubious words captured the woman’s attention; she laid a gentle hand over his hair. “Among the nonsense my mother spewed... She…” The boy gulped. “She said I was a... bastard.” New tears gained life. “Is that true?”
Cornelia stood up, clasping and twitching her own hands, walking in circles.
“Did she really tell you that?” She inquired.
“I swear.” The boy replied.
“Gods… She really lost it then.” Another phrase under her breath. Cornelia circled back to Callistus’ side; she took his hands. “Fertility was your mother’s biggest torment.” She was quick to wipe the mounting tears in her grandson’s eyes. “We had temples built and attended cults of Juno Fluonia and made offerings to Mena. But the goddesses played a wicked game with your mother.”
Callistus closed his eyes; he was smart enough to know where this was going.
“At some point, she became convinced that the root of the problem was Cicero’s seed. So…”
“That’s enough, grandmother.” Callistus pulled his hands away from his grandma’s grasp. He wiped his eyes and nose. He stood up and finally breathed in some air.
“Did she tell you who the man was?” Cornelia pressed further.
Callistus felt suffocated by the talk; a big share of his life had been revealed to be a filthy lie. He needed to back away a bit, to run far from it. He knew he couldn’t leave the Palace, nor did he actually intend to; he just wanted to be done with that night and not see those two rotting corpses ever again.
“Callistus.” Cornelia’s harsh tone shoved the boy back into reality.
“No.” He denied it in a whisper. “She didn’t say who he was.” It was a lie, one of many he had told to that point. “Let’s be done with this, grandmother.” He pleaded.
“Soon, child, soon.” The Lady Lioness stood up as well, reached, and grabbed her grandson’s arm. “I need you to tell your story one more time, just one more time.”
═════════ ❃ ═════════
“She was hysterical, cursing Juno, cursing the Emperor; it was a deplorable scene.” Callistus told in a subdued tone. The boy sat, uncomfortably, at the center of the Senate Assembly. Hundreds of eyes rested on him, scrutinizing his every word, every movement, or lack thereof.
“Tell us again, what was she so mad about?” Senator Octavius brought forward the question.
“Fertility issues…” The boy was vague.
“Such as?” Senator Marius further inquired.
The boy sighed. “My mother…” Vague would not do; he needed to take it up a notch. “She was pregnant but couldn’t hold on to the child.” He paused strategically. “It was not the first time it happened. She tried to conceive a new heir for months. The goddesses were cruel with her; hysteria took its root inside her heart and mind.”
“A tragedy, indeed, and not an unheard one.” Consul Brutus interjected. “We all feel for your lost, young Caesar.” He rested a hand over Callistus’ shoulder.
“I appreciate your words, Consul.” Callistus stood up. “And I much appreciate you all; the Senate is an important piece of this Empire, and it’ll remain every bit as essential to Rome during my ruling as Augustus.” The boy pressed ahead, his voice gritty, hoarse, yet inflexible.
Gasps and whispering echoed in the air.
“All rise.” Consul Brutus’ ordered. “Rise to salute our new Emperor,” he instigated his peers. “Augustus Callistus Cicero.” As the hundreds of men rose to validate Callistus’ ascension, Brutus leaned in closer to the boy. The towering, forty-something man grinned and whispered in the newly-crowned Emperor’s ear, “You did well, boy. Lady Cornelia will be pleased.”
═════════ ❃ ═════════
The moon cast a silvery glow through the Lady Lioness’ skin; her night tunic was made of the finest white linen, free-flowing and see-through. She stood by her balcony, sipping wine. Her heart suddenly quickened as she heard a soft creak from the door.
Before she could turn to inspect, she was shamelessly fondled, her waist and one of her breasts groped. "Cornelia," her lover murmured. "You look breathtaking."
She could feel his virility overpowering her. He’s dressed in a cheap cloak, useful to hide his identity, but it did little to conceal his muscular frame.
Cornelia smiled, a hint of mischief playing at the corners of her lips. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Brutus. I need more than flattery tonight," she whispered.
Brutus’ hands gave no sign of restraint; he pulled up her tunic’s bottoms and aimed straight for her sex, fingering her labia. “Your boy did great at the Senate; you coached him well. It’s all done. He rules.”
“Oh,” She moaned, bucking her hips against the Consul’s hand as he found her sensitive spot, stroking it expertly. “So it’s done. We rule Rome.” The words sent additional waves of pleasure through her body.
"You like that, don't you?" he taunted, increasing the pressure of his fingers.
"Yes!" she gasped. “Yes, ohhhh, yesssss.”
═════════ ❃ ═════════
The heavy doors of the Emperor’s chambers sung open.
After the funeral, Callistus chose to take over his late father’s quarters, shocking some in the court. His rationale was simply, and terrifyingly cold, the place was bigger, “the only proper room for an Augustus.” He said.
“Augustus.” General Bartimos entered the dimly lit chamber adorned with rich tapestries and flickering torches. Bartimos, in spite of his age, moved with an unexpected agility that belied his seventy years. “I’ve completed the task you gave at your father’s burial.” He announced.
Callistus, sprawling on a plush lounger at the far end of the room, looked up; he sipped his goblet of wine and then let a smirk form. “That’s good.”
Bartimos placed a parchment on a green-colored glass table.
“How did you find the information?” The Emperor inquired, now sitting straight, goblet still at hand.
Bartimos approached Callistus, his boots echoing on the floor. He stood before the boy, his tall frame casting a shadow over the young ruler. "I went into the Army Achieves," he answered, his voice deep and resonant.
Callistus sipped his wine. “Did anyone else see you?”
“No.” Bartimos shook his head.
The young Emperor stood up; his long, black velvet tunic covered his entire frame. His youthful features were innocent, yet his eyes shone with a mischievous glint. "General, come closer," he beckoned, his voice smooth yet commanding.
Bartimos complied, his expression unreadable.
Callistus leaned forward, his gaze strong. "I’m grateful for your services." He rested a hand on the elder man’s iron chestplate. “And your discretion as well.”
"There’s no need to thank; it’s my duty." Bartimos assured him, his tone firm.
"Good," Callistus smiled, his eyes flickering with an unexpected heat. “Now, there's something else I desire."
Bartimos raised an eyebrow; his interest piqued. "What might that be, Augustus?"
Callistus got on the tip of his feet, closing the distance between them. His hands reached out to touch Bartimos' shoulders, feeling the hardened. "You, General. Right here, right now."
Bartimos inhaled sharply, his heart pounding in his chest. The risk was undeniable, but the thrill of it all was heady. "Are you certain, my Emperor? This is...unconventional."
"Unconventional, perhaps," Callistus murmured, his fingers trailing down Bartimos' torso, "but I find it most appealing.” In the end, the elder had no other choice; he couldn’t deny his Emperor’s command.
Without waiting for a response, Callistus pulled Bartimos down onto the lounger, their bodies pressing together. Bartimos hesitated for a moment, then responded, his hands gripping Callistus' hips firmly. The young emperor kissed him, his lips soft and demanding.
Bartimos deepened the kiss, his experience evident as he guided Callistus into a passionate embrace. Their tongues intertwined, exploring each other with fervor.
Callistus broke the kiss, his breathing heavy. "Undress me," he commanded, his voice husky with desire.
Bartimos obeyed, his hands efficient as they removed Callistus' tunic, exposing his skinny, smooth body. The young emperor lay back, his eyes closed, allowing Bartimos to lavish attention on every inch of his skin.
"Now you," Callistus panted, opening his eyes to watch as Bartimos stripped off his own armor, layer by layer. The older man's body was still robust, though marked by the passage of time.
They shifted positions, Callistus positioning himself on all fours, presenting himself to Bartimos. The general hesitated, his concern for Callistus' well-being warring with his own desires.
"Do it," Callistus urged, his voice piqued with anticipation.
Bartimos positioned himself behind Callistus, his hands gently guiding the younger man into position. In a slow, deliberate motion, he entered Callistus, both gasping at the intensity of the connection.
“Oh.” Callistus moaned, his head dropping forward as Bartimos began to move, each thrust measured and deep. “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.” The sound of their flesh meeting filled the chamber—a primal rhythm that echoed off the walls. “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.”
Bartimos watched Callistus' reactions, his own pleasure mounting with each passing moment.
As they continued, Callistus felt a surge of ecstasy building within him. “Oh. Oh.” He pushed back against Bartimos, urging him on with a desperate urgency. "Harder," he yelled, his voice breaking. “Oh, harder, old man.”
Bartimos obliged, increasing the force of his thrusts. The room seemed to spin around him; the world reduced to nothing, but their bodies joined in this forbidden act. Suddenly, Bartimos' movements faltered. His face contorted with pain, and he clutched at his chest, gasping for breath. Callistus turned around, his eyes wide. "What is it? What's wrong?"
The elder man struggled to speak; his breathing labored. "My heart..." he managed to gasp out, his body trembling uncontrollably.
Callistus swiftly helped him lay on the lounger. “Shhh. Calm down.” He whispered. As he laid the older man down, Callistus proceeded to straddle the General’s lap.
“What… What are you…?” Bartimos didn’t even have enough strength to finish his sentences.
“Don’t fight it. Don’t fight it.” Callistus thanked Venus for keeping the old man’s blood flowing and his manhood still hard. He lowered himself, his tight rear entrance once again enveloping Bartimos’ shaft. “Ohhhh,” Callistus’ hole swallowed up the last inch.
“No… No… Ugh, ugh.” The elder General’s gasps became more guttural.
Callistus closed his eyes, placed his hands over the man’s chest for support, and started moving, riding him. “Ohhhh,” he smiled.
“No… No… St–.” Bartimos’ gasps and groans reminded Callistus of something. It remained him of the sound Cicero made when he was dying. The sound Cicero made while Callistus held the swan-feather pillow over his face.
Empress Valeria, the hysteric adulterous, was already dead when Callistus was busy sending the Emperor to Mors’ arms.
Callistus got unnerved and manic by his mother's unexpected guilty confession; he saw it as a betrayal, a show of extreme weakness and selfishness on her part. “How dare she?” He thought. How dare she put him in such a precarious position? How dare she rob him of his preconceived notion of birthright? She had to pay. Cicero and his impotent seed had to pay.
“Yessss, yesss daddy, I’m close, daddy, daddy love me daddy, ohhhh.” Callistus moaned as he reached his climax.
Bartimos’ body went rigid; the old man shot his seed as his heart exploded.