After the Symposium — T.C. Mill

“Please,” Hyacinth said.

Kleio sat back on her heels, fighting a smile as he pleaded with her. “No. I’m not some cheap prostitute.”

“No, you’re an expensive one,” said Anaxander, who hadn’t bothered to hide his grin.

“But you said…”

“I said I might. Under some conditions.”

“What conditions?” Hyacinth asked.

She looked between the two men. “I’ll do it, if you let Anaxander have you afterwards.”

Anaxander’s smile vanished, and he wouldn’t meet Hyacinth’s eyes as the younger man turned to him.

“Please,” Kleio said. “Everyone knows you two want each other. I don’t get a kiss of attention while everybody is watching you share a couch, staring longingly, trying to hide certain responses with the folds of your tunics—really, it’s time for the storm to break.”

Hyacinth swallowed. Anaxander was flushing, a very becoming rose bloom across his olive skin.

“And in return…” She knelt between Hyacinth’s knees, lips parted invitingly.

He nodded.

Not that there had been any question of it. Kleio helped him fumble out of his clothing—he was clumsy with desire, silly fresh young thing—and pulled her own shift over her head, savoring the touch of perfumed night air on her bare skin. She heard Anaxander’s sharp intake of breath.

She dropped a cushion before the couch where Hyacinth knelt and went down on it. He watched her descent with wide eyes. She couldn’t help but find his unfeigned surprise and delight endearing. Her own pulse fluttered pleasantly as she rolled her tongue over the head of his cock, then closed her lips around it.

Hyacinth gasped, then sighed as she took him in deeper, her tongue exploring his length. It was a good feeling really, having him hot and silken and firm against her lips. This was supposed to be a low service, demeaning to a courtesan of Kleio’s standing, but at the moment she couldn’t imagine why. She flicked the tip of her tongue, drawing a small, helpless moan from Hyacinth. The friction as he slid over her lower lip raised tremors in Kleio’s own flesh, running down her body to the apex of her thighs.

Cupping his stones, she ran a finger up the back of the sack, very lightly, and slipped its tip over his opening teasingly. Hyacinth went rigid. She stopped, looking up to meet his eyes questioningly. When he nodded, she gathered drops of scented oil from the vial she always kept near her and slicked her fingers and then his body, all the while keeping her mouth moving over him, pleasure as a counterpoint to the strange feelings, even discomfort, she knew she was causing him. Kleio was gentle, but there wasn’t time to be leisurely, or he’d be climaxing in her mouth before Anaxander—now watching from a nearby couch, breath bated—could join them. The thought of bringing Hyacinth over the edge on her own brought another of those delicate tremors over Kleio, but now was no time to be greedy. She withdrew her fingers, gesturing Anaxander over. Their hands brushed over Hyacinth’s hips, and then the sound of two pleasured gasps shot over Kleio’s nerves. She’d have made one of her own if her mouth wasn’t preoccupied, coaxing Hyacinth back to hardness after the shock of Anaxander’s entry had softened him somewhat.

Then Anaxander began to move, and Hyacinth made echoing thrusts of his own against the back of Kleio’s mouth. It had been a long time since she’d taken anyone in that deeply, and after a few moments she had to pull back, releasing him. Hyacinth didn’t seem to notice. His head was thrown back until it rested on Anaxander’s shoulder, his soft hair brushing his lover’s lips.

Kleio sat back, just watching. The nub between her legs began to throb, spikes of hot pleasure and want rippling over her as she studied the jerk of Anaxander’s hips, heard the sighs drawn from Hyacinth’s mouth. They were getting lost in each other, savoring this closeness at last. Pride and a warm affection joined the pleasure welling in Kleio’s chest, stealing the breath from her lungs. She was very glad to have brought them together, not least of all for the very pretty picture they made, Hyacinth kneeling in Anaxander’s lap, skin golden and pink against the deep indigo silk of the couch—but she found herself wondering if they had room for her.

Hyacinth’s cock pointed up, red and velvety as rose petals as she took it in her hand. It was iron-hard, welcoming to the empty ache inside her. His eyes fluttered open, met hers, and he signaled his acceptance by wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her into the shape they were making. His other hand was pressed to the couch, as if trying to hold him in place lest he take flight, and Anaxander’s hand rested over it, their fingers entwining.

Kleio’s sigh as he filled her was as much from relief as pleasure. At last, at last—she slid a hand between their bodies and pressed her nub, fingers rubbing at just the right angle, tips growing slick with her wetness. A hand on her shoulder steadied her—Anaxander, reaching around Hyacinth’s body. Their eyes met over the youth’s shoulder, and Anaxander smiled. He was not a great lover of women—and with men like Hyacinth around him, who could lay any blame?—but he made a fine friend on a night like this, a corner of Kleio’s mind observed. Then it observed she was about to come undone completely, and it was right. She rode down hard on Hyacinth and cried out. The climax left her limp and sated, but not too sated for a warm glow as Hyacinth’s release filled her. She separated from him as Anaxander threw his head back, a shout escaping him that may well have awakened the slaves in their quarters. Then she was lying back on the couch, watching the two men fall against each other. Hyacinth’s head had returned to Anaxander’s shoulder. As he got his bearings back, Anaxander nuzzled his neck and licked a line of sweat from his cheek.

“Tastes good, doesn’t he?” Kleio murmured.

“Very.”

Hyacinth only sighed, pressing back against Anaxander’s body—then he winced. The two carefully, and rather reluctantly, separated themselves. Kleio reached for her girdle and the vials in its pouch.

“I have something here, a lotion—it soothes after the first time.” At a thought, she added, “and at any other time, should you need it.” She looked back at them. “Perhaps you should take the whole bottle.”

At first she didn’t think she’d been heard. Then Hyacinth reached out and took the lotion from her, only to offer it to Anaxander with the clear intention of having the other man apply it.

“Thank you, Kleio,” he said, even as he positioned himself to give Anaxander’s fingers better access. “You’ve been very generous.”

“On the contrary,” she murmured, his sighs at his lover’s touch sending more jolts to her most tender places, “I’ve been well paid.”

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T.C. Mill is a student of philosophy and incurable romantic. Future career plans include saving the world, possibly aided by a law degree. In the meantime, she raises a herd of stuffed animals with distinctive personalities, writes her next story on the world’s smallest netbook, and reads science fiction, fantasy, historical fiction, and fanfiction for various movies and BBC television series. Dreamspinner Press has published her science fiction novella “A Spell of Passion or Fear” and her fantasy novelette “After the War” as ebooks. Find more from T.C. Mill here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=407.