Alexander woke up the next morning drifting in a sea of warmth. The rays of the rising sun falling through the window stroked his naked back, and pressed along the front of him, one long arm resting heavily across his hip, was Clark, sleeping like a baby. Face beautiful in sleep, and he couldn't help raising his hand to brush away a lock of hair from that smooth forehead.

His slave. His lover now, young and eager and willing. He couldn't remember ever owning anything this perfect.

Carefully, so as not to wake his Endymion too soon, he trailed his fingers down the contours of his muscled torso to the edge of the sheet that lay draped over his hips. He toyed with the uppermost crease for a moment, ran his fingertips back and forth along it, feeling fine fabric and far more delicate skin. Then he seized it and folded it out of the way.

A work of art, the curve of hip beneath it. Ridge of bone so well defined it begged for the touch of lips and tongue, dipping towards a treasure Alexander suspected he might never get enough of.

Already in his sleep the boy was half hard, and it was impossible not to want to feel that silken heat in his grip again. Reaching down, Alexander traced a single finger from root to tip and back again. Clark gave a low sigh and his eyelashes fluttered, but he didn't wake. Alexander slid his thumb over the head and felt the boy grow in his hand, lengthen and swell with readiness, and his own cock stirred in response. With the lightest pressure, he began to stroke.

Clark arched into the touch, and just before his eyes sprang open in a burst of golden green, his tongue darted out to lick his lips. The expression was sublime, and Alexander felt his heart stop, then quicken, as every drop of blood in his body rushed down to fill the hardness in his groin.

The boy's gaze was startled, but only for the briefest moment. Then a smile spread across his face and his eyes lit with pleasure.

"Good morning, Clark." Alexander's voice was an amused purr.

Clark swallowed hard, then bit his lip as what looked like a bone-deep shudder ran through him. Alexander kept his hand moving - evenly, steadily - watched and waited.

Finally, the boy found his voice.

"Good morning, master."

It was a brave attempt, but the words were so broken they were barely audible.

"Sleep well?"

"Yes, master."

"Good. Then tell me, Clark..." Forward tilt of his hips that brushed the tip of his own erection against the boy's stomach, rewarded him with another of those lovely shudders. "...are you up to continuing where we left off last night?"

"Gods, master...please, I... Please."

It came out as a breathless moan, followed by another bite to that full lower lip. Venus, those lips...

Alexander shifted so that his free hand could reach Clark's face. With the tip of his finger he traced the exquisite line of the cupid's bow, and felt a sharp intake of breath under his touch.

"Do you remember what I did for you last night? With my mouth?" Clark blushed a most attractive shade of scarlet and gave a nod that was barely more than a bat of his eyelashes. "Of course you do. I would like you to do the same for me." The look on that pretty face was the sweetest mixture of fear and desperate want. "It's all right, Clark. I won't hurt you, I promise. Come here."

Letting go of Clark - and, oh, the sigh at the loss of his hand was a promise - he scooted up the bed until he was sitting with his back against the headboard, knees bent and legs parted to make a space for Clark between them. The boy moved to settle there, on his knees, nervous and hesitant and leakingly hard. Slowly, Alexander ran a hand along his own erection, felt it twitch at his touch. The green eyes stared as though they'd never seen anything like it. Probably they hadn't. He wasn't as large as Clark, but to a near virgin about to give his first blow-job, the sight was bound to be intimidating. Like every spooked thoroughbred, the boy needed reassurance.

"Clark, don't worry. You don't have to do everything I did last night. Just go with what you feel. I'll make it as easy for you as I can."

That seemed to do it, because with a shaky smile, Clark bent forward, and licked. Slow, tentative swipe of his tongue over the swollen head, and Alexander's fist clenched hard around the base. Then Clark was everywhere, as though a floodgate had burst at the first taste and now there was nothing but hunger, wild and fierce.

The sensations were incredible, the sight even better than in his fantasies. Wet, pink tongue sliding up his length, circling the tip, teasing the edge of his foreskin. Rich, perfect lips nuzzling hard cock, nibbling at the throbbing vein along the underside. Big hands settling on the insides of his thighs, dark against the pallor of his skin. No expertise at all, just eagerness, and it was enough, more than enough, to make him burn with ecstasy. When Clark's mouth closed around him, his head fell back against the headboard with a loud thump.

"Yes, Clark, that's it. That's it..."

He twined the fingers of his free hand in the boy's hair, not pushing but encouraging, and Clark moaned around him, the vibration sending bolts of white-hot lightning up his spine. He wasn't going to last more than a couple of minutes, and he couldn't possibly care less.

Then Clark began to suck, and the whole world fell away. Alexander was vaguely aware of the stream of incoherent words flowing from his mouth, but he couldn't have stopped it if he'd tried, couldn't have stopped his hand from pumping the shaft of his cock with urgent, desperate strokes while the boy worked the head.

"Fuck, yes... Harder, Clark. Suck me harder."

And the boy complied, hollowed his cheeks with effort, sucked his aching cock so hard it almost hurt. It was perfection, raw need coiling tighter in his balls with every heartbeat, until he couldn't hold it in and his back arched with sudden, heavenly release. Through his own moans, he could hear Clark swallow, choke, then swallow again. When the tremors subsided, he was still in the boy's mouth, being licked clean.

With a gentle pull on his hair, Alexander made him let go, guided him up for a deep, thorough kiss. His own taste on those luscious lips made his blood hum with possessive satisfaction, a joy nearly as deep as the orgasm itself. Clark whimpered into his mouth, pushed as close as he could get without actually pressing his body flush against his master's. And, oh yes, there were still thrills left to be had here this morning.

Alexander pulled back, pushed Clark away with a firm hand on his chest. A moan that hovered on the edge of being a whine, and, really, those wide, green eyes were magnificent when they begged.

"Master, please... Don't make this end yet. Please."

Merciful goddess, the boy really had no idea why he was wanted here. What was there to do but smile?

"Easy, Clark. I'm far from done with you yet. I will always take care of you, you can count on that. Okay?" The boy nodded, relief only slightly easing the desperation in his eyes. "Good. Then come closer and let me show you. I want you straddling me. Yeah, that's right. Sit back and let me watch you."

It was quite a sight. Clark astride his lap, long, muscular legs parted around him, chest heaving with rapid breaths. Mind-meltingly beautiful, and Alexander was grateful he'd already gotten his own release - this way he could devote his entire attention to experiencing the boy's rapture, as well as the thrill of being the one controlling it. It reminded him of holding the reins of a first-class race horse.

He ran his hands up Clark's thighs, paused at his hips to rub his thumbs along the sensitive crease where legs met groin. Clark pushed into the touch, the head of his cock flushed and glistening, but Alexander ignored the silent pleas and continued upwards, sliding his palms over the ripples of the boy's stomach. Firm muscles quavered under his caresses, shook violently as his fingertips brushed hardened nipples. Clark was biting his lips again, eyes drifting shut in breathtaking bliss, and when Alexander rolled his nipples between thumb and forefinger, his head fell back, exposing the flawless curve of his neck. Leaning in, Alexander flicked his tongue over the vein on the side of his throat, felt the pulse beating frantically under thin layers of skin. He bit down, and heard Clark cry out above him. Strong hands clutched at his shoulders and Clark arched into him, every semblance of control wiped away. When he let go, dark bruises were already forming where his teeth had been.

"Please. Please, master... I can't..."

Clark was nearly sobbing with need, twisting so much on Alexander's lap that it was hard to hold his sweat-slicked body in place, every muscle tense with unbearable frustration. He was magnificent in extremis, and Alexander wanted to keep him there just a few moments longer.

Sliding his left hand down Clark's torso, he by-passed the aching erection once more and closed his fingers lightly around the boy's balls. Hot and silken under his touch, and so desperately tight it made him wince in sympathy, even as the predator in him curled its lips in a wicked smile. When he began to massage the sac in his grip, Clark cried out. Not a single, finite sound with a beginning and an end, but a drawn-out, ceaseless keening, rising and falling with their movements, with Clark's unsteady breathing, constant and beautiful like the roar of the sea. With a sharp tightening of his throat, Alexander realized that it wouldn't stop until he allowed the boy to come, that it was as far beyond any conscious thought as the nails that were digging into his shoulders, clawing red marks into the pristine snow of his skin. A wild beast, this gorgeous creature wrapped around him, lost to everything but sensation, and Alexander wanted to feel it all, wanted to set fire to every nerve in Clark's body and watch him burn.

His right hand made its way round to Clark's back, slid down the curve of his spine, into the cleft of his ass. When his fingers brushed the delicate skin of his opening, Clark's entire body bucked against him, hands tightening so hard he knew there would be bruises, that he would feel them that night, tender under the weight of his tunic. With a last, near-savage squeeze he released the boy's balls and grabbed his cock, felt it jump in his hand, thick and wet and eager. One stroke, two, then a third, and Clark was coming, the keening in the back of his throat shattering into a single intelligible word.

"Master!"

Bathed in golden sunlight from the window, his face in rapture was that of a young god ascending to heaven in a burst of otherworldly flame. The sight was so piercing that Alexander felt a stab of pain in his heart when Clark collapsed onto him and it was snatched away. But then there was gentle warmth encircling him and the outline of a shaky smile against his neck; and his heart stirred again with something very much like joy. He stroked the boy's hair and was rewarded with a contented sigh.

They lay like that for a long time, and he had just started to think that Clark had gone back to sleep, when the boy pulled back a little and sought his gaze.

"Master," he said, "where are we going today? You said last night that you wanted me to go with you someplace. Or...perhaps you've changed your mind?"

It was easy to see where that sudden wave of insecurity was coming from.

"No, Clark, you haven't disappointed me. You're still coming with me. My friend Claudius - Senator Claudius Amelius Passer - is spending a few days at his villa, and tonight he's giving a dinner party. We have important business to discuss, and I'll be spending the night there. I will, of course, have to bring a personal servant to cater to my needs. You might find the experience educational."

"Yes, master. I'll do my best to be of service. But...I've wondered... Why don't you already have a personal servant?"

Intelligent boy, finding the right questions, the ones that cut closest to the bone. It was a quality he could admire, though it still jolted him.

"I did have one. It turned out he betrayed details of my life to my father. Since then I've preferred not to give anyone too much access to my secrets, not even a slave."

Clark looked uncomprehending.

"But why would your father want to spy on you? I mean, you're his son."

Alexander's smile tasted bitter and familiar on his lips, but the gentleness of his own voice surprised him.

"My father was a famous man, Clark. A great man. He brought Rome more glory than most people had dreamt of. But he was not, by any stretch of the word, a good man. When I began to challenge his idea of what I ought to be, he answered with cruelty and contempt. You should thank the gods you never had to meet him."

"I'm sorry," Clark said. And as an afterthought he added, "I wish you could have met my father."

"He was killed by Roman soldiers?"

There was no reason for it, of course, but a shiver of guilt ran through him at the thought.

"Yes, master. Along with the rest of my family and most of our village. The survivors were taken away and sold as slaves."

"You have good reason to hate us."

Clark shrugged, his face as close to emotionless as Alexander had ever seen it.

"You want all the world to be like Rome. My people were too proud to change. What happened was inevitable."

"You've changed. Adapted to our ways."

"I was very young, master. And I didn't have much choice."

"There is always a choice."

Clark gave a humorless snort.

"I suppose there is. And there were times when I could have taken it. But I guess I wanted to live. And I wanted to understand. My whole world had been turned upside down - I wanted it to make sense again."

"And does it make sense now?"

"Yes. Yes, I think so. At least..." A flutter of eyelashes, a deepening of the green beneath them. "At least it did until I met you, master."

Alexander laughed, and the clarity of the sound wasn't like anything he was used to.

"Good. I like broadening your horizons, Clark. But if I'm to do any more of that today, we should really get out of bed. When you're dressed, you can go to the kitchen and tell them I'll take my breakfast in the study. We'll leave shortly after noon."

"Yes, master."

As Clark got up and dressed, Alexander reflected that perhaps this was one slave he was prepared to risk letting into his life. He certainly couldn't imagine anyone who was further from the corruption of Rome than this boy.




"So you think we'll have to hire more workers than usual for the harvest?"

"Yes, Senator," Quintus said, holding open the gate at the bottom of the garden and letting Alexander step through it first. "There are more grapes on the vines than I've seen in years; once they're ripe we'll need all the hands we can get to pick them before they go bad."

Alexander nodded, pausing to let the overseer catch up with him. They were heading for the stables, Quintus coming along to see him off on his little trip and taking the opportunity to discuss business on the way. Alexander had sent Clark down earlier to see that his chariot was made ready, and he was almost purring on the inside, looking forward to driving his best horses in the company of his favorite slave. He couldn't think of many better ways to spend an afternoon.

"You have my permission to hire as many workers as you think necessary, Quintus," he said. "If the wine will be as good as you think, the profit margin will be more than adequate, anyway."

"Very good, Senator. There are still a few weeks left until we need to start hiring, but still, it can't hurt to... What is it, Senator?"

Alexander held up his hand for Quintus to be quiet, straining to hear the sounds from the stable which had caught his attention. Voices raised in emotion, Gaius the stable boy and Clark. At first he couldn't make out what they were saying, but as he neared the open stable doors, the words became distinguishable.

"...none of your business!" Clark was saying, but the words were sharper than his tone. He sounded wounded, like whatever Gaius had said had hit a mark.

"Oh, come on. It's not like we don't already know." Gaius's voice was insinuating, sarcastic, thick with something very close to contempt. "Everyone knows you're the master's little plaything now."

"It isn't like that! I mean..."

"Yes, what is it like, Clark? Do you enjoy it? A pretty boy like you, I bet you love taking it up the ass; I bet you already know how to beg for it. Or does he shove it into that sweet mouth of yours?"

There was a pause, a dense moment of silence just long enough for Alexander to imagine the tell-tale blush on Clark's face. He felt a flame of white-hot rage ignite in his own gut, and quickened his steps.

"Oh, he does, doesn't he?" Gaius chuckled. "So tell me, is it easier to swallow when there's no hair in the way? Or don't you have any real men to compare with?"

Alexander reached the doors of the stable, Quintus in tow, and came to a halt just inside the threshold, reading the scene before him. The chariot had been prepared, and its team of white thoroughbreds stood tethered to a rope that ran across the wide aisle between the boxes; Heracleitos, the leader, scraping his hoofs impatiently against the stone slabs underfoot. Clark was standing with his back pressed up against one of the boxes, as if he had run out of space to retreat. His face was flushed with embarrassment and anger, and the neckline of his tunic had slipped down on one side, fully exposing the black mark of Alexander's love-bite. He looked very young and completely out of his depth. Gaius stood in front of him, a hard leer on thin lips, well into the boy's personal space. Neither of them had noticed that they were no longer alone.

"Maybe," Gaius said, raising a hand towards Clark's face, "you'd like to learn the difference?"

The fury in Alexander's veins was numbing, so fierce it left no room for anything but calm and purpose. His voice when he spoke was cold like the sharpened edge of a sword.

"What difference would that be, Gaius?"

The stable boy whirled around, hand dropping before it could touch Clark's skin. The abject terror on his face was evidence that there was some sense left in the man after all.

"Master, I...I didn't touch him. I would never..."

"Of course you didn't. If you had touched him, you would already be dead." It was the truth, he realized somewhere beneath the layers of rage - unequivocal and deeper than thought. He turned to look at the boy. "Are you all right, Clark?"

"Yes, master. It was nothing, really."

Green eyes wide with relief, but also dark with fear. Of course, he hadn't seen his master angry before, didn't know what he might do.

"I'll be the judge of what constitutes 'something', Clark. Quintus."

The overseer took a step forward, instant obedience like a soldier accepting an order.

"When I return tomorrow, I want this piece of vermin gone." Alexander's gaze was fixed once more on Gaius, his voice even and deadly. "You will take him to the mines at Tavia and sell him as a laborer. If they don't want to buy, you will hand him over for free. Find someone else to care for the horses."

Quintus started to reply, but Gaius beat him to it. The man was still standing, but from his posture and the look on his face, he might as well have been crawling on the floor.

"Master, please! You're a virtuous man. You know how they treat the slaves at Tavia - it's not a fit place for a dog! This is my home, I was born here. You can't send me away!"

"I'm a virtuous man, Gaius, not a merciful one. You should have thought of all that before you opened your mouth to insult me. I'm afraid you've already sealed your own verdict. Now, I have somewhere to be. Clark, is my bag in the chariot?"

For a moment, the boy appeared too stunned by events to keep up with the change of topic, but then he shook himself and answered in a firm voice.

"Yes, master."

"Then it's time we got going."

Alexander walked past Gaius without another look, untied the horses and stepped onto the chariot, gathering the reins in his hands.

"Come on, Clark. Get up behind me and hold on tight. Quintus, you know what you have to do."

The overseer gave him a nod and placed his hand on Gaius's shoulder, pulling him out of the way to the side of the aisle. As soon as he felt Clark's weight shift the balance of the chariot and was sure the boy had a good grip on the railing that ran along its upper edge, Alexander flicked the reins and made the horses shoot forward. The breathless rush of speed as they left the stable and the yard behind in a cloud of dust was his rage escaping its leash and taking physical form.




They'd been on the road for half an hour before either of them broke the silence. The chariot, though not as light as the ones racing at the Circus, nevertheless was designed for speed over comfort, and holding oneself upright and the team of horses on the road didn't leave much room for conversation. It was what Alexander needed, though, this dissolution of concrete thought, of too sharp feeling, into liquid, flowing sensation. The landscape streaming past in a blur of colors, the wind beating his face, the rapid rhythm of the horses' hooves on the road, and behind him, the solid presence of Clark's warmth inches from his back… It was simple and comforting, and by the time the traffic on the main highway forced him to slow to a walk behind a cart loaded with vegetables, he had started to regain his equilibrium. Which was fortunate, since Clark chose that moment to speak.

"Master, could we talk? About what happened back there?"

Alexander cast a quick glance at the boy over his shoulder.

"There's nothing to talk about. Gaius won't be bothering you anymore."

A brief silence, and he could hear Clark gathering his courage for whatever it was he wanted to say. Then:

"Is it necessary to send him away, master? He didn't really do anything."

"He would have done plenty, Clark. Trust me on that."

"I wouldn't have let him. I can take care of myself, you know. I wouldn't have let him go on the way he did, except it took me by surprise. Now I know what to expect, I can deal with it. You don't have to punish people for my sake."

"It's not about you, Clark. It's about respect. If I let people get away with treating me or my property like that, it wouldn't be long before my political career was at an end. Gaius will go to Tavia. The rest of you will learn from his example."

Heracleitos tossed his head restlessly, nearly falling into a trot, and Alexander shortened the reins with a sharp pull. Silently he cursed the road that was too narrow for them to overtake the damn vegetable cart and speed up again. His muscles were tense with the need for movement.

"Master," Clark said, his voice low and soft. "Would you look at me?"

"I'm driving here, Clark."

"Please, just stop for a moment and look at me."

There was an urgency in the boy's tone that made him curious, made him indulge the wish despite the annoyance tightening his skin. Slowing the horses to a halt, he tied the reins around the railing and turned around.

Clark was close, too close in the confined space, beauty so radiant in the sparkling sunlight it brought a bitter taste to his tongue. Alexander leaned back against the front of the chariot, arms crossed over his chest, and raised an eyebrow in query.

A blush spread over Clark's cheeks, but when he spoke it was with conviction, words simple and solid, so gentle they could have drawn blood.

"Master, the things Gaius said about you… I don't think like that. I don't know how anyone could. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and the way you make me feel... I don't want anything else." Green eyes pale as grass in the afternoon light, so earnest, and he remembered how they'd watched him the night before, how they'd drunk his every movement like raindrops falling on parched earth. He swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. "I wouldn't let anyone else touch me."

He was upright in the space of a heartbeat, pulling Clark to him, crushing their lips together, thrusting his tongue into the wet heat of that mouth. Clark moaned, surrendered, offered the eagerness of his body up like living proof of the words he'd just uttered. And Alexander hadn't known, hadn't wanted to see until Clark showed him, that after all these years a part of him still feared that what Gaius had said was true, that he would never be more than his deformity. It was insanity, that this boy should understand the cause of his anger better than he did himself, but right now he didn't care, didn't want to care, only wanted the balm of Clark's devotion which soothed the throbbing scars in his soul. When Clark's hands rose to cup his naked scalp, he felt something break inside his chest.




Claudius Amelius Passer was one of the richest men in Rome, and his country villa, which shone like a white gem among the surrounding olive groves, was designed to make sure no visitor could miss that fact. Marble sculptures copied from Greek masters lined the drive up to the house, and the façade of the building itself was adorned with a frieze that, in gloriously painted relief, depicted the flight of the sparrows which had given the family its name.

As Alexander halted his chariot before the steps to the front door and a slave rushed forward to take the horses, Claudius himself descended to meet him. Like his younger colleague, he was dressed in his senatorial tunic, and the broad purple stripe down the center of his chest which denoted his rank also emphasized the bulk of his stomach.

"Alexander, old friend! It's good to see you!"

Alexander stepped out of the chariot with Clark behind him and met his friend half way, clutching his arm in greeting.

"You too, Claudius. How are Calpurnia and the children?"

"You know Calpurnia - there's nothing that gets her in a better mood than the prospect of a party. She's really looking forward to seeing you. And the girls, they look more like her every day. It won't be long before I have suitors standing in line outside the door."

"At least they don't take after you, then."

Claudius laughed, loudly and jovially.

"No, they're very fortunate in that respect. Look, Alexander..." His expression shifted from humorous to serious along with his tone. "...there's something we need to talk about."

With a pointed look, he eyed Clark, who was standing at the foot of the steps with his master's luggage thrown over his shoulder. Alexander couldn't help a surge of pride when the boy kept still, back straight but eyes respectfully lowered.

"This is Clark, my new personal servant. You may speak freely in front of him."

Claudius quirked an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"All right, then. Creticus is here."

"Here? What's he doing here?"

"I had a general invitation out to our colleagues in the Senate, and he just showed up. I couldn't very well turn him away without it being an open declaration of war. But he knows, Alexander. He knows what we're doing and that you're behind it. I've tried to make it look as if I'm acting on my own, but he was bound to figure it out. He knows I haven't got the brains or the ambition. He's been dropping hints about 'our friend Luthor' since he got here."

"So he wants to show us that he intends to fight back." A thin, sharp smile spread over Alexander's lips, the grin of a shark. "He's welcome to try - I never did enjoy a battle that ended too quickly."

Claudius shook his head.

"Sometimes, Alexander, I'm very relieved to be on your side."

"You should be. After all, it is the side of victory." Alexander squeezed his friend's shoulder and let his smile grow warmer. "Let's go inside. I need to freshen up before dinner, and we can talk more openly in your study."

"I've put you in your usual suite," Claudius said as they entered the villa and passed through the entrance hall towards the marble staircase that led to the second floor. "I take it you want your servant staying there, too?"

There was no doubt what Passer was really asking, though the tone of the question was as carefully blank as that of Alexander's reply.

"Naturally."

"Of course. I hope you'll have a good time, in spite of certain other guests."

"No one could ever complain about your hospitality, Claudius."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Claudius climbed the last portion of the stairs slightly out of breath, Alexander and Clark following just behind him. "We had Calpurnia's father staying with us at the town house last week. I don't think he was especially..."

The sentence was cut short, and as Alexander rounded the corner to the upstairs hallway, he saw why. Claudius had come face to face with Metellus Flavius Creticus in the narrow space, and the sudden silence was heavy with animosity. Dark, gleaming eyes traveled slowly from Passer to Alexander, fixing him with a piercing gaze.

"Ah, Luthor." The voice was pleasant, almost jocular, but the eyes were cold, like a naked blade against his throat, demanding surrender. Alexander didn't blink. "Showing yourself in company again, eh? We've missed you down in Rome, but then I hear that busy mind of yours never strays far from the affairs of the city."

"Of course not, Creticus. You wouldn't want me to leave her well-being in the hands of fools and incompetents, now would you?"

His smoothest, most amiable voice, and he could see the words drop like acid in Creticus's mind.

"No, indeed. We all want what's best for Rome, and I'm sure we're prepared to do whatever it takes to achieve it. No matter what, or who, may stand in our way."

A smile like a wolf baring its teeth, and Alexander smiled back, flashed his fangs in a dazzling grin.

"Yes," he said. "We all work hard for the people of Rome. I, for one, wouldn't want to see any of that work go to waste. Which is why I always make sure my efforts bear fruit."

Creticus's gaze faltered, then hardened into a new sharpness.

"With so much hard work, it's lucky we can find time to rest now and then. I hope your vacation in the country has been..." A shift of his gaze from Alexander to Clark, measuring eyes traveling up and down the boy's body before returning to their starting point. "...relaxing."

The white-hot rage was back in Alexander's gut, burning him, demanding an outlet. But he could also feel Clark stirring beside him, huge frame tensing in a gathering of strength so tangible it seemed to curve the air around him. Suddenly, protecting the boy from doing something stupid was far more important than acting on his own anger.

"It's been absolutely invigorating," he said, smile still in place. "Perhaps you should try getting some more relaxation yourself; you seem quite...wound up. Now, if you'll excuse us, Claudius was about to show me to my suite. I'll see you at dinner, Creticus."

With that, he swept past Creticus down the hallway, walking straight ahead so that the other man had to step aside to avoid collision. He didn't need to look behind him to be conscious of the inappropriate glare Clark sent the Senator, but the boy did follow without a word, taking his cue from Alexander and containing his anger. It should annoy and perhaps worry him that a slave of his was ready to show defiance to any free citizen, but instead Clark's behavior gave him an odd feeling of safety. As though he had found a new ally he could trust to watch his back.




The sound of the door to his rooms clicking shut as Clark closed it behind them was its own peculiar form of music. Alexander would go down to meet Claudius in his study as soon as he'd washed up, but right now there was only he and the boy, and he needed that, needed the surprising stability of it, the permission he gave himself to relax around his new servant. Normally he could handle the crude assaults of a bastard like Creticus without even thinking, but today anger came too easily, was too close to clouding his judgement. He had to calm down and retrieve his focus before dinner, or he and not Clark would be the one to do something stupid.

He crossed the room to the open window and rested his hands on the windowsill, leaning into the late afternoon sun. A fragrance of roses and sage drifted up from the garden below, and in the distance he could hear the sound of laughing children from the slave quarters. A simplicity there he sometimes wished he was able to embrace, but even as that thought flashed in his mind, he knew it had nothing to do with what he truly wanted. He'd had his goals mapped out for a long time, and the way there lay through men like Creticus. Beneath the mind-games and the conspiracies, that path was simple enough. And besides, the more complex the mind-games, the more he tended to enjoy them - another trait passed on to him by his father through years of creative upbringing. He was a Luthor, and there was no game he couldn't control.

"Master," Clark said, "where do you want the luggage?"

Including this intriguing game of desire and spiraling emotion he found himself playing with his beautiful slave.

"Just put it anywhere," he said, turning to sit back against the windowsill. "I don't care. But I want you right here."

Instant blush on Clark's face, and an expression that didn't quite know if it dared to be a smile. Then the boy was there before him, close enough to touch, and the warmth radiating from his body was the mirror image of the sunlight on Alexander's back. Eyes locked on Clark's, watching for every small reaction, he reached down and found the hem of his slave's tunic, slipped his hand underneath it and let it slide gently up a muscled thigh. When his fingers found the curve of the boy's ass and felt it flex under his touch, Alexander's cock began to swell in response, pulse with need for that untouched piece of heaven. Not enough time for that now, though, and there were so many other ways to enjoy this glorious body. He let his right hand join his left, cupping Clark's ass, kneeding it, fingertips dipping into the cleft. When green eyes widened into gold, he didn't have to look down to know that the boy's erection was begging for his touch.

Through sheer power of will, he kept his voice absolutely steady.

"Take off your clothes."

"But, master..."

"Don't you want this, Clark?"

A dip of his fingers deeper into Clark's cleft, emphasizing the tease in his voice, and the boy trembled, shuddered so violently it was a wonder he managed to stay upright.

"Gods, yes... So badly, master. But the window.. Anyone could see..."

"Is there anyone out there?"

"No, not right now, but..."

"If there were, it wouldn't make any difference. Don't you get it yet, Clark? Everyone who sees us together knows. They can tell just by looking at you that this is how I make you serve me. And I want them to know, Clark. I want them to look at you and be absolutely certain that they will never touch that beauty, that everything you are belongs to me. Because you are mine, aren't you?"

Breath coming in shallow pants, eyes wide open but barely conscious, mind and body floating on the seductive stream of Alexander's words, succumbing to the pull of their undertow.

"Y-yes, master. Please...just... Please take me."

"Oh, I will, Clark. I will take you and claim you and make you mine in ways you've barely begun to imagine. But first you need to take off that tunic for me."

Clark nodded, brought his hands to his belt, fumbled with the buckle before managing to open it and drop it on the floor. He hesitated for a moment, then grabbed his tunic and pulled it over his head. When the eye contact broke, Alexander allowed his gaze to drink in every part of the vision before him.

All that golden skin bathed in sunlight, waiting for his touch, aching for it; the boy's eagerness so obvious, his cock so hard it pressed against the flat planes of his stomach. Alexander licked his lips and swallowed, felt his own arousal grow under the fabric of his tunic. Leaning in, he ran the tip of his tongue over Clark's nipple, circled it until it stiffened under his care. When he took it between his teeth, Clark's moan translated into the sweetness of honey in his mouth. He sucked harder and savored the taste, the texture, the way the boy arched his back to get closer.

"Master," he kept saying, word like a prayer on those coral lips."Master...please...master..."

And Alexander answered his prayer, gave him the gift of his hand, right there where it was so clearly needed.

Pre-come wet and smooth on his fingertips as he pushed the foreskin back, and then he was sliding through it, pumping Clark's cock in his fist. Slow, deliberate movements, pressure just enough to be overpowering, not enough to bring release. Flick of his thumb across the head on every upstroke, ripple of delicate skin over steel against his palm on every downstroke. Clark's hips catching the rhythm, surging forward into his hand, backward into the fingers still caressing his opening. Learning pleasure with breathtaking ease.

Alexander leaned his forehead on the boy's chest and closed his eyes, immersed himself in sensation. The feel of Clark's body under his touch - soft, sensitive ass, solid cock in his grip. The sound of his breathing - rapid, jagged, laced with moans and incoherent words. The scent of him - summer air and sweat, and sharp, wild lust, heady and intoxicating. And, behind all those impressions, the steady throbbing of his own heart, a humming vibration deep inside which sang the knowledge that he owned this, that it was his to bring forth and enjoy any way he wanted to.

Then Clark's hands found the back of his head, stroked the bare skin of his scalp, and everything shifted. The touch was too intimate, too personal, throwing him back into that moment on the road, pulling something apart inside him. A wave of inexplicable panic shot through him, blended with a sudden piercing need, and he stood up, Clark's hands falling away, leaving a chill that drove him. He grabbed the boy by the shoulders and spun him around, slammed him into the wall next to the window. Utter confusion on that perfect face, eyes near black in the instant shadows.

His.

"Master...what...?"

Tearing his belt off, nearly ripping his tunic pulling it over his head, and then there was heat, flushed skin slick against his own as he pressed Clark into the wall, held him there, fingers buried in his curls.

"You wanted to be taken. I'm taking you."

Desperate whimper from Clark's throat, and Alexander silenced it with his mouth, claimed his dominion. Fierceness in the kiss like the hunger of lions, their bodies grinding together, hard cocks sliding between them, seeking friction, chasing release. A different kind of intimacy here, raw and primal, easy to control. Easy to forget yourself in. Clark writhing against him, begging against his lips when he pulled back to breathe, pounding his fists into the wall behind him as Alexander slipped his hand down and rubbed their erections together, wrapped them both in his palm and set a pace that couldn't be denied. Thud of flesh on stone repeated over and over again, until Clark went rigid against him, threw his head back and came. Unstoppable pleasure shaking that magnificent body, and Alexander didn't last much longer, his climax rushing through him in a white-hot blaze, violent and all-consuming, his seed staining the boy's chest a final mark of ownership.

And if his lips lightly brushed Clark's forehead when he pulled away, that was nothing but another form of branding.




"Master," Clark said. "That man, Creticus, why does he hate you?"

Alexander was standing over a basin of water in the corner of the bedroom, wiping the last traces of their pleasure from his body with a wet wash-cloth. As he answered, he didn't interrupt what he was doing.

"It's politics, Clark. I told you that it's a cut-throat game."

"Yes, but...what was all that about, in the hallway? I mean, if he's going to take it out on me, I'd like to know what's going on. If you don't mind telling me, of course."

Alexander put the wash-cloth down and turned to face Clark, who was sitting naked on the bed, waiting for his turn to clean up. The honest curiosity in the boy's expression made him smile; it really would have been a waste to keep him working in the fields, for more than one reason.

"No, I don't mind telling you. As my personal servant, helping with my correspondence, writing down my speeches, you'll soon be familiar with most of my political activities, anyway. There's no reason why we shouldn't start here." Clark had put out a clean tunic for him, and he paused to slip it on, arranging his belt as he continued. "My father was a soldier. He didn't have or seek a place in the Senate himself, but he had men like Creticus who did his bidding there, looked after his interests. After his death in battle, and my own election to the Senate, Creticus wanted the two of us to forge a new alliance. I turned him down. Since then he's been working against me at every turn, using whatever influence he has to get other Senators on his side. But soon he will be up for re-election, and I intend to make sure he doesn't get a second term."

"How can you do that, master?"

"Creticus can never be elected without the support of his clients, and... You know what clients are?"

Clark nodded.

"His dependants. Free citizens who rely on his protection and give him their votes in return."

"Exactly. That mentor of yours seems to have taught you well about our society. So... Many of Creticus's clients are cloth makers. On my advice, Claudius has recently bought all the larger dye factories and lowered the prices for all customers except those associated with Creticus. With that handicap, they won't be able to compete. As their patron, it's Creticus's place to see them through the hard times, but he doesn't have the necessary cash. Claudius and I, on the other hand, do. In another month or so, when the financial damage is becoming undeniable, we'll begin to spread the word that Senators Luthor and Passer would be very generous to any new clients who came their way. The end result will be beneficial to all, except Creticus, who'll find himself without the votes he needs to stay in office."

"That's..." Clark shook his head incredulously. "I'm beginning to understand why people always told me you were dangerous."

"I take the game seriously, Clark, and I play for keeps. You'd do well to remember that."

Wonderful how he could bring a blush to those high cheekbones just by changing the tone of his voice. That was a more harmless game he might never grow tired of.

"I will, master. But... I thought the point of the Republic was that the people should rule. If you manipulate the elections with money...that doesn't seem fair."

The sheer naiveté of it made Alexander laugh. He doubted he'd ever met anyone so innocent about politics.

"I think I'll have to take back what I said about your mentor - you still have a lot to learn about the workings of power. Clark, Rome is built on corruption. If you want to do anything for its people, you have to dirty your hands, otherwise you might as well surrender and leave men like Creticus and my father in charge. And believe me, all they want is to further their own ends. With Creticus gone, I might actually be able to do some good in the Senate. And once I'm Consul, my ability to change things will be even greater. But getting there, like everything else at the heart of the Republic, is a matter of fighting to the death. If you pull your punches, you're guaranteed to lose."

"I don't know how you can live like that, master, not trusting anyone, always thinking two steps ahead. I wouldn't know how."

Alexander crossed the floor to the bed and took Clark's face in his hand, tilted his chin up until their eyes locked.

"You don't have to know how. That's my job, what I was brought up to do. All you've got to do is care for my needs, and I will take care of you. And who knows, maybe I'll even end up with someone I can trust."

The brilliant smile on Clark's lips made him wish he could believe anything was that simple.