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“There is no man on earth I have hated and loved like you.”
Sophocles, Elektra trans. Anne Carson
I smile and laugh, the alcohol warming my body. I almost see the kaleidoscope of colors from whatever Daphne put in my drink. My face is numb as my body moves to the music, people touching my arms, my hair, my ass. Pinks walk around in scandalous outfits with trays of alcohol. One with beautiful blue hair tied into two ponytails winks at me as I snare my next indulgent concoction from her tray.
I hate this.
We celebrate my ascent to Morning Knight of the twelve Olympic Knights. My duty is to serve Octavia and our people, to uphold the values of the Society. I am noble, honorable, desirable as one of the youngest appointed Knights.
(Why do I feel so alone?)
I am glad Virginia isn’t here. I admire and appreciate her; however, I would be utterly embarrassed if she saw me gallivanting in disgusting clubs as if I were a child again. Yet, this is the only way I know how to cope.
For as high as the gods rise, so far do they fall.
I have not been back to Mars since the Institute. Old friends and a few cousins join me. I so wish Julian were here. As much as he could not care for partying, he would be so proud of me today, so excited about my victories. At the thought of my Julian, I can’t help but think of Him. I do not want to think of His name, but His face still invades my mind, a persistent shadow. His sharp jawline, strong eyebrows, mysterious eyes. I hate Him. I hate Him. I hate Him.
I miss Him.
I grab another drink from a passing pink, spilling half the liquor on the floor. I should not have come back to Mars. Mars is just a planet of terrible memories. My free hand finds the nearest person grinding on me, and I pull them close. I feel lips on my neck and close my eyes, imagining they were Virginia’s - no - His. The drugs must be working because I think I see His face in the sea of sins.
“Cassius.” Someone says my name as eyes search the crowd, but it is a feminine voice.
Daphne grins at me as she is in the arms of another golden stranger. Hadrian is too blitzed at whatever poison he decided to take tonight to even see me, his eyes seeing something I do not. Oh, how I know the feeling. Sometimes I still long for the escape, the other planets and realities I used to visit without my feet leaving the earth. While I am glad what I took tonight is not nearly as strong, part of me wants it, wants the escape from reality and expectations.
I think I need water.
I push away my suitor and dive through the crowd, for a way out, swimming towards the darkness instead of the light. I am suddenly suffocating, my hands clawing at the invisible rope around my neck, drowning in the inexplicable depths of my emotions. I feel the cool countertop of the bar, the violet staring at me expectantly. I think I ask for water.
I down the liquid I am handed. It is not water, and it takes seconds for my vision to swim.
I turn around to observe the shimmering colors dance and hit something with my shoulder instead. I almost spit a curse, but my voice gets stuck in my throat, a lump that turns to bile when I see who stands next to me, unaware of my presence. His face is turned away with His attention towards a woman with cropped blonde hair. Is that Victra au Julii? I must be thoroughly fucked up.
I wish I had my razor, but it is not courteous to bring one into a club. Out of all the nightclubs in Agea, why the gory hell did I have to be at the same one as Him? I want to kill Him right now, strangle Him in front of everyone. He killed my brother. He lied to my face as I loved Him. He became a part of my soul and then tore it apart when He left.
I am acutely aware of His shoulder touching mine, His warmth bleeding onto my skin. He is an open wound, His very presence bleeding all over me. I observe Him out of the corner of my eye as I ask the violet for another drink. When He speaks, I can see His lips move, feel His vibrations. His hair is much longer than when I last saw him, long enough to be tied back into a ponytail, but tonight He wears it down. He looks exceptionally attractive, muscular like one of the golds we see in promotional videos as children, the kind of God we aspire to become. His biceps are larger, shoulders filling out his shirt. He takes a sip of His drink, and my vision is clear as I stare at the way the condensation pools around His fingers.
I want to punch Him in the face, to break that stupidly perfect nose.
A handsome gold man asks Victra to dance. She looks at Him, as if she hopes He will ask her to stay, but He waves her off, tells her to have fun. She rolls her eyes and joins the dancefloor, and as I watch her muscular legs, her hips swaying as she walks away, I wonder why He does not want her to stay. She is not my type, but I would not say no. Her striking beauty is even more intense than her sister’s.
Moments later, His warmth leaves me, and I watch as He pushes His way through the crowd towards the back corner. It is very like Him to observe from afar. I take a final sip of my drink and follow close behind. I do not know what I am doing, nor do I know what I will do if He sees me. All I know right now is that I feel a string tugging me towards Him, a pull I cannot ignore despite so desperately wishing I could care less.
The crowd thins until I see His hulking shadow disappear into a back hallway. I walk past couples making out, people talking in hushed tones beneath the deep bass, golds completely numb on whatever drugs they have decided to ingest tonight. Dark shapes dance along the walls as the dim lighting shifts, adding to the mysterious ambience. I see closed doors every so often, and I think those are private rooms people rent out for whatever sins their hearts desire. I have to use the wall to brace myself as a wave of vertigo crashes upon me, and I nearly fall to my knees. This is an exceptionally terrible idea. I am a lamb walking to my slaughter.
I round a corner, but before I can even regret letting my guard down, I feel myself slammed into a wall, my head hitting the drywall hard enough to make me see stars. I forgot how strong He is. I feel my heart pounding in my chest, but not from fear. When I meet His eyes, I feel a rush of adrenaline, borderline euphoria.
“You.” He has an expression of equal shock and anger. “Have you come to kill me?”
I cannot help but smile despite the failure in my clandestine operations. “I have been standing beside you half the night, my goodman. If I intended to kill you, I would have done so already.” I purposely add a certain lilt to my highLingo knowing very well how it will piss Him off.
Instead, His expression softens slightly, golden eyes searching my face for a hidden meaning, and He almost lets His guard down. I feel the pressure of His forearm against my throat slacken ever so slightly. If my mind were not muddled by substance, this would be the perfect chance to kill Him, but His bright eyes do not carry a hint of intoxication. If I make a move, He will surely overpower me, just as He is doing this very moment. My mind surprises itself by not fighting against the thought.
“Why are you following me?” He asks.
I do not know how to answer His question because I do not know the answer. “Why are you here? You should be at the Academy.” I grab His forearm in an attempt to push Him off me, but the pressure on my throat increases instead, and His other hand is viper-quick, pinning my wrist to the wall. I swallow, feeling the restriction on my airflow. It is not enough to completely stop my breathing, but with my own intoxication, I already feel the early symptoms of hypoxia. I think I am delirious as I choke back a giggle.
“And you should be on Luna,” He counters.
I feel myself grin. “I should.”
He wears His confusion on his face, and then I see hope in His eyes. His gaze makes my heart rate increase, and I hope the cogs in His brain are working too hard for Him to hear it. He thinks I may forgive Him.
(I do not. I never will.)
I wish I could.
Yet, as I see the strands of hair fall across His face, as I see His long eyelashes blink, as I see His lips part ever so slightly, I think I forget my hatred for Him. The desire I felt when I first saw Him emerges, the same desire I tried to ignore at the Institute as I watched Him bathe from a distance. It is not a soft feeling, for I have always been a selfish boy, and an even more selfish man. Rather, my need, my want, consumes me, a burning flame spreading into an uncontrollable wildfire, nuclear fission as hot as the sun. I fear I might sear His skin, but the idea of marking Him in a way only I can just adds fuel to my fire.
When I try to swallow, my throat is dry, my burning body evaporating all the water inside me. “Shall we discuss things like men with honor?” I ask, my voice low and slightly hoarse, “Or will you continue to assault me in the hallway like a lowly Obsidian?”
He looks around, and then, seemingly reluctant, He releases His arm from my throat, dropping it to His side. I note His hands then, thick and veiny. I wonder how they would feel around my neck instead. As I straighten my clothes and fix my hair, I look around for one of those doors I saw earlier. I grab His wrist, and surprisingly, He does not resist, letting me drag him further into the dark, even as I nearly stumble over my own feet. I try different doors as we walk past. Most are locked, but when I find one that opens up, I tug Him inside. I imagine He has a bewildered look on His face as I lock the door and turn to face Him, dim purple light deepening the shadows surrounding Him.
I cannot believe what I am about to do.
“What are you playing at, Morning Knight?” He spits the last part like He just took a shot of Martian Red whiskey, unrefined alcohol burning His throat. It makes me sick to my stomach that he thinks of me as a vile thing.
“So you heard?” Part of me is glad He sees me easily succeed in life as He continues to fight my brother tooth and nail at the Academy. “It is not easy being favored by Octavia. I hear you and Karnus have had a few… issues. How unfortunate.” I let the sarcasm drip from my voice like the honey of His eyes.
“I thought you wished to talk.” He states in reply, flat. He is hiding His emotions. He is so very good at hiding things. I desire to know all His secrets, even if they tear me apart from within.
“Are we not talking, my goodman?” I step towards Him, knowing He wishes for a lighter conversation. Unfortunately, my rage burns as hot as my own desire. I won’t kill Him now, even if I were not intoxicated, because I want everyone to see when I put my razor through His heart.
They stab Caesar.
Et tu, Brutes?
(His blood is warm.)
He scoffs and shakes His head. “And to think I actually thought you wanted to make amends.” He tries to push past me, but I grab His wrist, making Him pause.
I do not know whether it is the bass of the music or the blood in my ears that makes my head swim as I grab the collar of His linen shirt with my other hand and force my lips to meet His.
Like I am a sharp blade, He jerks away, yanking His wrist from my grip. “What the gorydamn do you think you’re doing, Cassius? Are you drunk?”
Oh, how I have missed hearing His voice say my name, just as a young man misses his forbidden lover. Is that not how I feel about Him, though? Have I not wondered if His moans of pain match His moans of pleasure?
I am a sick beast.
“Making amends,” I breathe, once again unsure how to answer, conflicting emotions warring inside me, a bloody battle with no end. My feelings are a paradox of love and hate.
He stares at me, but He does not move away from me, as I feared He would. I take this as a sign to step towards Him again, and when my lips touch His, His hesitation is evident. Then, His lips part, and the tension breaks. His hands find my curly hair, His grip iron as he pulls me into Him. I did not fully understand how badly I needed Him until this very moment, my rational thoughts fading further into the back of my mind as I melt into the God man I despise.
He does not taste of alcohol, but I know I do, my whiskey breath mingling with His mint. His lips are not soft like a woman’s, but I do not think anything about Him is soft. My hand finds the back of His neck, skin hot against my fingertips. Maybe He, too, burns as I do. One of His hands on my waist moves ever so slightly underneath my blue silken shirt, thumbing at my hipbone just above my waistband. Without breaking the kiss, I push Him up against the door, the tables turned from our encounter in the hallway. He does not protest as I lick inside His mouth, a hand fisting His shirt, conscious about not ripping the beautiful piece of fabric. I want to break Him instead.
I palm the bulge in His trousers, eliciting a groan that I eagerly swallow. I relish the fact that He wants this. He wants me. I will have Him gasping my name tonight, a surefire way to fuel my star-sized ego. When I drop to my knees, He watches through blown-wide pupils. I wish I could see the gold of His hair, the gold of His eyes, but the violet light makes Him pink. How ironic.
I want to tease Him with my mouth until He comes undone, but I know we do not have the whole night together. Both He and I are with company who might eventually come looking for us, so after a few minutes of me dampening His trousers with my saliva, I unzip Him. His length is thick and girthy as I take the weight into my hands, quite literally the largest I have ever seen. I wonder if I can even take Him…
When I lick my first stripe along the side of His cock, He hisses, His hand fisting my hair hard enough to make me wince. I wonder when He was last touched. I secretly wish that I could be the only one to touch Him like this if these are the reactions He gives. I secretly wish for a lot of things when it comes to Him.
Together, we are carnal, primitive in our wants and desires, with insatiable hunger. I need to devour Him, mark Him, a predator to prey. He fights me without any real strength. His thighs tense, His grip on my hair tightens. I need to draw the moans from His beautiful mouth, so I focus on my technique, skills I have acquired over the years by practicing on pinks and cherry stems in hopes of one day lasciviously lavishing my lover.
It works, and a long, drawn-out moan escapes Him in a rich timbre. I have broken a dam inside Him because He is no longer holding back, His hand moving my head faster than I can, gasping my name. His cock stretches my mouth to the point I think I unhinge my jaw like a snake. I am exactly where I want to be as tears prick at my eyes, then His hot seed spurts down my throat. I swallow as if it is water in an oasis, and I am a weary traveller in the desert.
My jaw aches as I remove myself, and I look up at my friendloverenemy Him. His cheeks are flushed a deep red, and He looks embarrassed as He realizes His hand is still gripped vicelike in my hair. He quickly lets go and offers that same hand to help me to my feet.
“You are,” He chokes, “quite good at that.” He reaches out, and I think He might cup my cheek, but his thumb swipes a remnant of His seed from the corner of my lips. With black pupils, He pushes that thumb past my lips, and His salty taste blesses my taste buds once more as I suck His leftovers. His mouth parts, lidded eyes filled with lust.
When His thumb leaves my mouth with a pop, I reply with a hoarse voice, “I am quite good at other things, too.” My hands are already unbuttoning my silk shirt as I take several steps backwards. He follows me, my gravity too strong for Him to escape. I easily slide my shoes off as I toss my shirt to the side, my calves hitting the large sofa behind me. He follows my lead, His eyes unable to leave my body as I strip as bare as a cherub. He throws his shirt over his head, letting it drop to the floor, and I can see a familiar scar marring his abs.
”See something familiar?” He asks, his voice so low, I think I imagine the question.
My intoxication causes me to stumble back onto the sofa instead of gracefully descending upon it as I had intended, and I see the corner of His mouth quirk up as He descends upon me instead. Our kiss is still heated, but slower this time, a steady flame. I touch His muscular body with curious hands as He climbs over me, His sinful lips tracing along my jaw and neck and chest. I imagine His powerful touch leaves purple marks across my tanned flesh, a temporary reminder of our sin.
Why have we not done this sooner?
He ripped your heart out.
My fingers find that scar along his torso, a harsh, rough contrast to his smooth skin. I remember the smell of iron, the smell of sweat. I remember my anger and rage. I remember how easy it was to kill him, how smoothly the ionSword pierced his human flesh.
How easy revenge is. (How easily it takes away your humanity.)
“Darrow,” I gasp His name for the first time that night when His lips latch over a nipple. His name feels foreign on my tongue, but His eyes look at me like He sees through me, inside me, peering into my head like a gorydamn mindreader. If He ever, ever knew my thoughts, I truly believe I would slit my own throat and let Him bathe in my blood.
With one hand braced by my head as I lie on the sofa, He puts two fingers in my mouth. I already know what to do as I suck and swirl, hoping my saliva is enough. He stares at me as I feel a tentative finger push inside me, and I thank the stars or gods or whatever it is that rules this universe that I cleaned myself before going out. One is not enough for a man of His size, so I nod when He prods the second one at the rim of my hole. It has been a while, so the stretch is uncomfortable at first, but when He starts moving them slowly, I cannot help but let out a little gasp, which turns into an accidental moan when He finds my sweet spot.
The fucking bastard smirks at that. I want to rip His throat out, but He distracts me again by sitting back and spitting on my hole, adding a third finger. Even still, I do not think that is enough to fit Him inside me. He continues to work me open, eyes flicking from watching him stretch me to my face. I try to fight my human responses, but my body is alight, my mind foggy with pleasure, and I cannot stop the pitiful wimpers that leave my mouth. My core tightens even more as He abuses that spot inside me.
He is more observant than I give Him credit for because when my eyes start rolling from pleasure, He stops. I almost whine, but I swallow the noise, refusing to give Him the satisfaction of causing me pain. Simultaneously, I am glad He stops because I want to reach my pinnacle with His cock inside me, not His fingers.
“Darrow, I do not wish to play games tonight,” I say as I feel his fingers pull out, leaving my hole twitching for more.
“That makes two of us then,” He says, low and husky, as He lifts one of my legs on His shoulders, lining his cock up. I should be embarrassed by the position, as it is one that only pinks and women lie in, but He has already seen me on my knees.
(And I have already seen Him whimper and cry as His spit and tears wet my neck, His blood soaking my hands.)
When He pierces me, my body is split into two, just as He has already done to my soul. Just as I had pierced His stomach with my ionBlade. The miasma of pain and pleasure lights my nerves from my tongue to my toes, and my head spins and spins until I think I am falling into a black hole. His gravity is pulling me in, my own light fading into nothingness. His mouth meets mine, and He engulfs me in my entirety. I no longer hear the music outside our little room, only His breathing and heartbeat, which beats as fast as mine.
He is not quite gentle, but He is considerate, letting me adjust to His size before He begins his assault. He fucks like He fights - with purpose and intent. Both my legs are over his shoulders now as He bends me in half, His thick cock reaching deeper inside me than I thought was possible. I am in Heaven as much as I am in Hell.
“This is the most honest exchange we have had in quite some time, is it not?” I ask breathily, meeting His gaze.
He doesn’t answer immediately, letting out a low grunt as He thrusts particularly hard, making me hiss, my fingers gripping His thick bicep hard enough to bruise, my nails digging into His thick skin. “You are the one who decided that I betrayed you, not the other way around,” He responds. “I need to preserve my honor, too.”
My eyes flutter as he hits my sweet spot, unable to swallow the moan. “I- fuck- I never wanted this feud.” I can barely get the words out as He seemingly is taking out His frustration on my ass, thrusting solid and deep inside me. “I am doing w-what is expected of me.”
“And you think I am not doing the same?” He counters.
“Y-you lied to me, Darrow. I never l-lied - ahh ah - to you.” I try to meet His gaze again, but He looks up past me. If I did not know better, I might think He feels bad, but His pride is worse than mine. I reach up to cup His cheek, a rare moment of tenderness. “Not only did you steal my brother from me, you destroyed me.”
I love(d) you.
I hate you.
He finally sees me, guilt and pain reflecting in His eyes. “I destroy everything I touch.” He hesitantly leans into my touch, His pace slowing almost to a stop. “That is my curse, Cassius, and for that, I am sorry. But I am not sorry for surviving.”
“You are called the Reaper for a reason,” I breathe, unsure if I feel any peace at His confession. Instead, I ignore the ache of my heart as I yank Him into a kiss, our teeth clashing together, and whatever tenderness we shared is over.
I grind my hips against His, legs falling to the side, encouraging Him to pick the pace back up, and He does. His head falls into the crook of my neck, His breath moistening my skin, our sweat-slicked bodies easing every movement. His hands hook behind my knees, widening my legs for easier access. This angle lets His cock hit my prostate with every thrust, and I see more stars than in my space travels between planets. I can no longer tell if I am controlling my noises, but He is starting to lose control of Himself.
“You’re so fucking tight. I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long,” He groans, voice vibrating through me. “I’m also surprised the Morning Knight Cassius au Bellona is a pillow princess.” His voice is teasing, a contrast to how He said my title earlier.
“You have yet to let me do anything,” I try to counter, my hands pushing at His chest to get Him off of me. Gods, He is a dense gold.
He laughs for the first time that night, and I think an angel is singing in my ear. I have missed that sound. He grabs both of my wrists with one hand, and with the other, He holds onto me as we switch positions, His cock still inside. I find myself straddling Him as He sits on the sofa, and I am surprised to see how relaxed He looks. His hand no longer grabs my wrists, but instead grabs my waist. He watches me as I ride Him, His thumbs running against my hipbones, His veiny hands trailing along my thick thighs. My own cock is heavy, slapping against my stomach with every movement.
I grind my hips forward and back, the pleasure sparking inside my core each time. My hand finds my cock to jerk myself off, but He slaps my hand away, taking my length in His palm. His hands are far from soft, but the callouses create a kind of friction I did not know I liked until then. (I have never fucked a God gold like Him before.) He stops only to spit in His hand before going back to sliding His thumb over my tip, gently squeezing my length. The pleasure is immense, my hips on autopilot as I eagerly race towards my climax.
“Darrow,” I gasp, my head lulling back, bracing one of my hands on His chest. I feel my golden curls tickle my shoulders.
He moans, His hips thrusting up to meet mine. “I’m getting close, Cass. Can’t last much longer.”
My pace increases as His voice echoes my name again and again. “S’close, too. Gorydamn fuck. Don’t you fucking stop, Darrow.” My words seem to come out in one long sentence, and I cannot tell if they were even clear.
I feel a hand on my jaw, forcing me to look at a blurry godman in front of me. The stars get brighter as pleasure sparks inside me, and then I am coming, stripes of white coating my torso and His. I do not get a chance to breathe, because as soon as the hand leaves my cock, it goes to my waist, and my sweaty forehead meets His as He thrusts inside me without abandon.
The overstimulation is immense, and I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes as He uses me for His release. Our breaths are hot and heavy, my name leaving His lips again and again like a prayer until His lips latch onto mine as His hips still, His seed shooting deep inside me.
It is I who should be praying to Him.
We sit in this position for a moment as we come down from our highs, and once more, I hear the deep bass of the music outside, forcing me back to the reality of our locale. It is not regret that I immediately feel. It is fear.
We look at each other for a moment. His hair is plastered to His forehead by sweat. My hand moves it away from His eyes before my brain can stop it. I almost expect Him to grab my wrist to stop me, but He lets me brush the golden strands from His face.
I wonder if He yearns for me the way I ache for Him.
(His body trembles in my arms. My lips taste of salt.)
I lean in to kiss Him for I do not want this moment to end yet, but He turns his head. I try to ignore the sting of rejection.
“I must check on my friends,” is all He says, patting my thigh as a cue for me to get up.
I let His softened dick slide out along with His come. What a mess we have made… My thighs ache as they would after an intense workout, and I am embarrassed to admit that I feel like a newborn deer as I stand looking around for my clothes. I smell of sex, clearly letting my cock think for me instead of my brain. I end up using my own underwear, tossing it into a rubbish bin when I am finished. Going commando is not new to me.
When we are both dressed, He steps close to me so we are only inches apart.
He swallows and pauses before He asks, “Was this really to make amends or did you just want to satisfy some sick fantasy of yours by fucking your enemy?”
His question takes me aback. How should I answer that it is complicated? “I…” I trail off, unable to put my feelings into words. He simply cannot comprehend what I go through inside my mind, inside my heart. He does not know the pressures I face from my family, my mother, my dead twin.
He shakes His head and scoffs, an incredulous look on His face. “Of fucking course. You would never put aside your pride for me. Our brotherhood meant nothing to you. Tonight meant nothing to you.” He steps away from me, rage plastered on His perfect features. “You are a manipulative sycophant, Cassius au Bellona, and I regret ever laying my eyes on you. All you have done is hurt me.”
“You hurt me! You took Julian away from me! You brutalized him!” I counter, unable to stop my own anger from boiling through, but I sound like a child arguing. “I-“
He cuts me off. “I should have killed you at the Institute. You are right that this is a blood feud.” He turns away and stalks to the door, then spits on the floor. With a last look he says, “You should have slit my throat instead of my stomach, because next time I see you, we will have razors in our hands, and I will not show mercy.”
When the door clicks closed, I gather all my emotions together and… do nothing. What can I do? I am weaponless, coming off a high, and smelling like sex. I want to scream and shout. I want to follow Him and beat Him until He is broken and bleeding in that hallway, just as he had done to my brother. Instead, I dig my nails into my palms, run my hand through my hair, hoping I do not look thoroughly fucked, and make my into the hall. My legs guide me to the bar where I down another shot. I do not see Him or Victra.
Hadrian finds me several shots deep, a golden man in tow. “Where did you run off to, my goodman?” he leans in, breath tickling my ear. “Gorydamn, Cassius, you smell like alcohol and sex!”
”Are you sure you do not smell yourself?” I ask, gently pushing him away from my face.
My friend grins, running a hand through his shaggy hair, and gives me a wink. “Perhaps I do. Oh, Cass, I would like you to meet Markos.”
Markos is a peerless, hair neatly tied back into a bun, and he looks the complete opposite of my mess of a friend. He sticks out his hand in introduction. “I hear you are an Olympic Knight. I also hear you are quite exceptional with a razor.”
“The Morning Knight, to be exact,” I grin as I shake his hand firmly. “And do not let Hadrian spin fairytale stories of my heroics. He has a tendency to embellish details.”
I use that moment to shove all my doubts, all my pain, all my sins into a deep crevice inside my soul where I hope to never feel them again. I vow to myself that I will not let Darrow au Andromedus tear my soul even more. I vow that the next time I see Him, I will finish the job I started and ensure his blood stains the dirt until the light leaves his eyes. I will not let my mistake tonight decide who I am because I am Cassius au Bellona, Morning Knight, and my honor remains.