by Rob Rosen
“Face me,” I barked, and he turned back around, his hands clasped in front of his prick. I looked for the erection his hands were hiding, but could not be certain if I saw one. I did however smell sex coming from him, which was just as good. He was ripe and willing, I was certain. I have, of course, been with enough men to know. Still, I had to deal with the law first. Valentinius had been sent to me by the judge of Interamna as a repeat offender and a recalcitrant. He was also winning converts to Christianity all over Umbria, which the priests of the true religion did not like. The number of civil and religious complaints against this man made my head ache. Still, I could not see why I had to deal with him. Why couldn’t the judge? I had heard stories of miraculous cures of an ailing daughter. More witchcraft. But Valentinius was far too comely to waste. I decided to use logic instead.
“Do you need me to explain why I decreed that there be no more marriage?” I asked, with disdain.
“I believe I understand that already, Caesar,” Valentinius said, bowing his head, which was good. I enjoyed looking at his blue eyes, like aquamarines set into the alabaster of his skin, but every servant should drop his eyes—as well as his clothes—now and then in front of his lord.
He began to speak again, his tenor voice pleasing to my ears. “You think, very kindly I am sure, that it will be easier for your soldiers to fight if they do not have loved ones at home to worry about. And since anyone can be a soldier, no one should marry.”
“Exactly!” I said. “Then, if you understand my policy, why do you disobey it by performing marriages?”
“Because we are not animals, Caesar,” he replied, his blue eyes flashing with their first hint of the anger that must’ve been brewing under all that studied calm.
“There I disagree with you, priest. Men are animals, whatever else they might be. As I will soon show you,” I said, smiling at his dismay. “Guards!” I yelled, and they were immediately inside the doors, swords and spears at the ready. “Take this man to my body servants and have him cleaned and dressed in proper clothes. Give him better quarters than the cell, and food to eat, but make sure no one sees him without my permission and that he does not leave without my summons.”
I saw them smile at one another. It did not matter. I could have winked at them to acknowledge what they thought they knew. In the field, I might have. But, in Rome, I merely watched as they forced Valentinius away with more consideration than before, letting him walk, merely holding onto his arms. I pictured myself doing the same, but in another context.
The state advisors made to enter, but I waved them away and had the doors closed again. I would think awhile about this bishop of the Christians, both of his body and his beliefs. He had broken the law, my law. As Caesar, I was affronted, but, as a man, I wanted Valentinius, criminal or not. The law could wait a while longer, I decided. I jerked myself off, sitting on my throne, thinking of Valentinius’s pink skin and fine ass.
The next day, I listened to my advisors present the business they thought only Caesar should decide. I could have done all this from camp, but they urged that I see Valentinius and know firsthand the threat the Christians were becoming. If all Christians were like Valentinius, the true gods were lost, but, somehow, from what I had heard, I doubted this was true. Christians were weak, hiding their weakness behind their beliefs—with a few exceptions, such as like Valentinius. My thoughts were of him while my political advisors railed against his fellow misbelievers. And so I called for him at dinner.
He arrived dressed in a short, simple toga, which left one half of his chest and most of his short legs exposed. The nipple was tight and ready to suck. The legs looked strong enough to hold me close while I took my pleasure—which I absolutely intended on doing.
His red hair had been cut and curled in the Roman way. These Umbrians might be our cousins, as some scholars believe, but I am more inclined to follow Pliny in this; they look like Celts to me.
His guards, by now well informed by previous watches, let Valentinius walk unattended toward me. He stopped a discreet distance away. I beckoned for him to approach. My guests around me waited, silent, wanting to hear us speak.
“How do you find your new accommodations, bishop?” I asked him, with a sneer.
“Much more comfortable. Thank you, Caesar.” He bowed his head, the epitome of the meek and mild, and used my title. I liked him better when he confronted me with his eyes and mouth.
“Look at me when I speak, boy!” I commanded, and he raised his blue eyes to my brown, comprehension flooding from them into me. Desire surged down my body. I had to clear my throat and swallow hard before I could continue. “Sit there,” I told him, indicating a space below me that was reserved for protégés. Other men at the banquet had them, feeding them delicacies from their own tables. I did not intend to feed Valentinius, at least not from my table.
Conversations resumed. My boy ate slowly and deliberately as if he were not hungry.
“The food does not agree with you, Umbrian?” I asked him, aware that all other conversations had once again stopped.
“No, Caesar, the food is delicious. I never eat like this in Interamna.” He looked up, taking a grape into his mouth. I squirmed inside my loincloth and confining toga. If we had been alone, I would have been out of both faster than a blade slashing, and then had him out of his. This one knew how to play a man. Well, for now I would let him.
Glaucus spoke to me. “Is this the Christian then, the one who is still performing marriages?” I nodded. “He doesn’t look like a Christian,” Glaucus said, leering at Valentinius.
Valentinius turned to him and asked, “And what does a Christian look like, General?”
Glaucus’s face darkened, and I thought it was wise that swords were not allowed at dinner. I had seen that look on his face many times in battle, and witnessed men die because of it. But Glaucus saw my concern and understood. He returned the priest’s smile and mildly answered, “A good question, bishop, and here is my answer: nothing like you.”
Valentinius bent his head to hide his blushing. I found the sudden decrease in his self-confidence alluring.
When I was done with my meal and stood, my companions also rose, to go home to their wives or to chambers in my palace with their young men. Valentinius stood and waited below me for my command. I said good night and other pleasantries to my guests and one word to him: “Come.” I then walked across the parlor to the open doors, Praetorian guards preceding me. Valentinius followed. I heard the gossip behind us begin.
At the doors to my bedchamber I waited for the Praetorians to open them. Inside, I dismissed the guards. They would wait outside, listening, I was sure. I determined to give them an earful. They would hear my grunts and this boy’s moans all night if I had any say—which, of course, I did.
I beckoned Valentinius closer. He obeyed, standing close enough for me to feel his body heat, knowing he felt mine. The top of his head barely reached my shoulders. Then again, I am Illyrian and tall, like most men from across the Adriatic. I undid his belt and let it fall to the floor.
“You understand what I am doing?” I asked him, my hands on the clasp of his tunic.
“I have renounced sex,” he said in reply. My hand dropped and I folded my arms across my chest, looking down at him severely.
“It is my understanding that you have given up sex with women,” I said. “Is that not your vow?” Valentinius looked confused. “Have you even had sex with women?” I added.
“I must not have any kind of sex,” he said, his voice small, as if he were not sure he believed himself.
I bent my face down to his, close enough to kiss him if I so chose. “Oh, really?” I said. “Tell me then, please, what did your Jew say about sex between men?”
He swallowed hard. “Nothing,” he admitted. “But Saint Paul…”
“Say nothing of your saints!” I thundered at him. “They are just more proof that your religion is a sham. A saint for this and a saint for that. How is that different fro
m my religion?” Valentinius did not seem to have an answer. Without another word, I released the clasp of his tunic. It joined the belt on the floor at his feet, exposing his body and undergarment.
“Remove your sandals and your subligaculum,” I commanded, breathless with anticipation. When I saw the red of his pubic hair, I rushed out of my own clothes and swept him up in my arms, striding to the bed and tossing him onto it. In a moment, I was on top of him, my larger cock smashing into his, my mouth bestowing crushing kisses, my tongue pressing its advantage. His mouth was sweet and his prick hard under mine. His body belied his previous words. He desired this as much as I desired him.
I worked my way down his neck to his chest, licking first the left nipple, then the right, holding his shoulders down with my sun-darkened hands, which looked massive against his smaller frame. My teeth bit his skin and teased his nipples as I heard the first response from him: a low moaning from his chest that quickly rose up his throat and into my ears. Men not animals? I thought. I would show him otherwise before the night was through.
My cock slipped between his legs while my mouth sucked at his chest. He gasped. I hoped he was afraid, hoped more that he was a virgin. I do so love despoiling virgins. I prodded the mounds of his ass, feeling his soft skin. In a moment, I had his legs in the air and I was rubbing spit into his hole and along my lengthy cock. And then there was the delicious entry, his asshole unyielding at first, but a stifled scream came from him, and at last I was in. He was a virgin, to be sure. I waited a moment or two, generous, letting him grow accustomed to a cock inside his ass, but my generosity had its limits, and soon I was plunging into him, stabbing like a sword, hearing his delirious yelps each time. I banged against him, making him string his cries together like a set of pearls before me. Then I abruptly held myself completely still inside him, my prick scraping the tender skin of his insides, letting him catch his breath.
“Take hold of your cock,” I commanded, and he complied, jerking himself slowly, as slowly as I fucked him, then faster as I pumped faster in and out of him, in and out, plunging deep into his very Christian soul. I pushed his short legs all the way back and out as far as my long arms could stretch them. He could not have been closer to me at that point unless we had been one person.
I heard myself grunting as I fucked him. I heard him whimper and moan, then cry out, though clearly not in pain. His seed then shot out of his cock and up his body, hitting his chin before dripping in great white gobs to the bed below. I pounded into and against him, feeling my own hot seed burst from my cock and push far up his ass. I could see he felt it, his eyes widening in amazement. He was mine now. Whatever happened next, we both at least knew that.
I continued fucking him, enjoying the afterglow of coming, the continued contrast of my hard inside his soft. I smiled at his relaxation, his face blissful, his eyes closed. But they soon opened again, observing me. He looked down my face and body to where it merged with his. I pulled his head up so he could watch my cock slowly disappear into him and reappear to repeat the process. I leaned down to kiss him, feeling his lips and tongue respond. He may have renounced sex, but he could enjoy it when it was offered to him.
My cock hardened again and I began his second fuck, a less urgent one this time. At its end, by the gods, I had him humming.
I could not get enough of Valentinius that night, nor for the several nights that followed. I should have dealt with him quickly and returned to my camp. The battle for my homeland had to be fought, as well as other battles on other fronts. But the Christian bishop of Umbria was a bewitching young man, with his red hair, pink nipples and tight, tight ass. I especially loved to see him bouncing on top of me, riding my cock while I pinched and pulled his nipples and jerked his cock to climax when I felt myself about to ejaculate inside him.
And so I overstayed my time by weeks and months, fucking Valentinius most of the night, not getting enough sleep, but feeling energized the next day, just the same. Still, when my military advisors, men I trusted absolutely, said in Februarius that we should return to camp, I listened to them—although I did not want to stop fucking Valentinius, which is why I came up with a plan.
“You will return to camp with me as my concubinus,” I told him one day after the midday meal. He understood what the word meant, I was certain, but said nothing. “Speak!” I commanded.
He looked at me with those liquid eyes of his. “I must return to my flock in Umbria,” he calmly replied, although I’m sure he must have foreseen the effect his words would have on me.
“Your flock?” I yelled at him, and then controlled myself. I was Caesar, not his husband to be debated with. “Boy, you have no flock. I am your flock. You belong to me and will do as I say.”
“I belong only to God,” he said, trading calm for calm now. “I was elected the Bishop of Interamna, and must perform my duties.”
I violently shook his small frame. “Oh, you will perform your duties, my boy. In the field, with me. You will sit with me and eat with me and fuck with me when I say so. I was elected the Emperor of Rome; that trumps your bishopness!”
He let me shake him until I was ashamed of myself.
“I am sorry,” I said.
“I forgive you,” he said, and then, after a moment, added, “God forgives you, too.”
“For what?”
“For everything,” he answered. “Would you like to hear the good news now?”
“Yes, the good news that you know your place and will follow me willingly to Illyricum,” I said, sounding bitter to even my ears. I admitted to myself that I loved this damnable priest and wanted him with me, forever and always.
“I have to return to Interamna,” he insisted, stubbornly, his eyes cloudy.
I decided to compromise, which I don’t normally do. “We can stop there on our way. You can pass your duties on to others. Then we will continue to war.”
“I do not believe in war,” he said. “I believe in love.”
“I do not care what you believe in,” I answered, yelling again. “You are my servant. You will be my concubinus. There will be no more discussion. We leave tomorrow.”
He was quiet as I walked away toward the door. Too quiet, in fact. I turned back to face him. He looked at me, so beautiful, so young.
“Won’t you hear the word of God?” he pleaded, tears forming in his eyes. I wanted so badly to wipe those tears away, but I restrained myself. He had gone too far. He had asked that question too many times.
“I have heard the words of your god, at least the words from your Jew. Tell me, Valentinius, what did Jesus say about marriage?”
“He said many things, my lord,” my lover replied, avoiding my glare. He knew what I meant.
“Did he not say that men and women should not marry?” I asked.
“Yes, Caesar, but he meant…”
“Don’t dissemble. A law is a law. Your god said men and women should not marry. I say men and women should not marry. There is no difference. Yet you insist on disobeying me and your god. How is that, Christian?”
“If you would only let me explain…”
“No explanation is necessary. I have read every word your Jew spoke. I find myself in agreement with him on several points.”
Valentinius looked overjoyed. “Then you will convert! You will become a Christian! Oh, my love, what blessed words!”
Neither he nor I had ever said anything of love. My heart leapt at the word from his mouth, but my mind was intent on other things.
“No, I will not convert,” I said, with a finality I hoped he heard. “Your god is false. I believe in the true gods. Prepare yourself. We leave tomorrow at dawn. We will rejoin my army, then leave for Interamna and, after that, Illyricum.” I strode toward the door of his chamber, not expecting any further words from him.
“I will follow you to Interamna,” he said quietly from behind me. “But I will not go on to Illyricum.”
“You will or you will die!” I shouted, not turning around again.
My anger surprised me as well as him. I heard the guards try the door, then think better of it. “You have until the tenth hour tonight to decide,” I said over my shoulder, then pushed the doors open, knocking the guards aside before returning to my own rooms.
I did not visit him again that day, but at the tenth hour he asked to come to me. When he arrived, I dismissed the guards. Valentinius stood silently in front of me, head bowed. I commanded him to look at me and speak. When he did, his words cut my heart.
“My god is a god of love. I believe in love. That is why I perform marriages, to help people codify their love, to proclaim it to all assembled. I cannot stop doing that,” he said. “No matter what the punishment.”
I held my anger and my tongue, thinking all the while. I was outwardly calm when I finally spoke, but my heart was racing. “You believe in love?” I asked, and he nodded. “Do you love me, Valentinius?”
He looked up at me, his face strong, his eyes direct. “I do, Caesar,” he said, without a quaver in his voice.
I rose and took him in my arms. “Call me Claudius, my beloved, and if you do love me, cease being a priest, stop performing these marriages and come away with me.”
“I cannot, Claudius,” he said, his body yielding to mine, as his mind would not.
“Then you die tomorrow before I leave,” I said into his ear. “Guards!” I called, pushing him away from me. He fell onto the floor, not daring to look up.
They came quickly and took him back to the cells. I called for my advisers and told them of my decision. They all agreed, all except you, Martinus Sentiri. I did not see Valentinius again that night or ever. I joined my men at dawn and rode for our camp. I did not ask about his death, but was told it was a brave one. He did not once cry out. He did not succumb to his terrible beating, and had to be beheaded. He died a hero, making me proud that I had loved him.
Now, already his Christians call him a saint, their god of love. I believe them and do nothing to silence their talk. I want Valentinius to be remembered. Besides, I am too busy with war and, in any case, I hurt too much. In time, I know, the hurt will lessen. In time, I will no longer miss my beautiful boy; I will find someone else to fuck. But I will not love again. How could I? The god of love loved me. What mortal can expect more than that?
