11. CORIOLANUS

CORIOLANUS

The Present

“ I heard you were looking for me.”

The mortal stopped dead in his tracks.

Corey could tell the young man was too scared to turn around, so he whispered sweet words of encouragement, phrases transmitted so silently they were too faint for mortal ears to hear. If one knew how to work the power, and Corey did, they could pull a human mind and heart like the strumming of bass strings.

Soon, the mortal turned. Slowly, but he turned.

And said nothing.

“I guess I was mistaken. Sorry to have bothered you.” Corey turned to leave, but it was all a feint; he knew he was not going anywhere.

“No!” the mortal cried out. “Please, I—was. Yes, I was. Definitely.” His words were stuttered and uncertain but warm and laced with obvious arousal.

As his prey’s excitement increased, the god could see the blood rush to his face, creating a mouthwatering flush. Corey wanted to bite into him like a ripe apple, one cultivated solely for a god’s enjoyment.

“Hi. My name’s—uhm—Christian. It’s Christian. You’re—”

“Corey. So Christian, how about we take this somewhere more interesting, elegant, and intimate.”

Grinning devilishly, the god moved his hand slowly down his chest and stomach until he reached his waistline. He lifted the front of his shirt out of the confines of the snug belt to show off a delectable tummy, taut and furry, the hair trimmed to a fleecy texture. The god’s treasure trail was an enticing preview of sexy things to come. Or so he wanted the mortal to believe.

Corey beckoned with his free hand to follow. “Shall we, Christian?”

The young man’s internal temperature rose from excitement and disbelief that this erotic encounter was happening. He appeared visibly scared, but it was a good kind of fear. The kind Corey liked. The sort that originated from inexperience but quickly morphed into an all-consuming desire to end that naivety. That eager anticipation of finally making the scary unknown known by embracing opportunity and actively participating in something new and thrilling.

Filled with nervous excitement, Christian took a few deep breaths before saying, “Okay, Corey. Cool.”

The god snickered, but in a flirty way so it would not sound arrogant or mocking. He was delighted by the outcome of his pursuance but also felt it was a crime for it to be so easy, this art of seduction. Christian was utterly mesmerized by the dancer he lusted after. A hot guy he had no idea was a twenty-five-hundred-year-old god. But that was the kind of power accessible to The Eternal: to control mortals and put them under their sway.

However, in this case, Corey did not need to employ preternatural muscle directly to manipulate the situation; this mortal was acquiescent of his own free will. It was Corey’s masculine beauty that initially compelled the man to desire him at the strip club. That, and the allure of his stage presence. But what mortal could resist the radiance of his tongue-wagging, dick-hardening performance?

It was always a rewarding, heightened experience for the god to channel his power through a medium, be it a talisman, a weapon, or an art form. In tonight’s case, a dance. The element of stripping had truly focused and amplified his energy; the erotic sensations felt by all were immensely pleasurable, though nearly overwhelming at times for him. If he attempted this type of performance again, he would need to be better prepared for the audience’s immense sexual output so it would not feel like psychic feedback.

Corey gave Christian a more intense once-over than he had done at the club, gauging his features more appreciatively now. The moonlight deliciously accentuated the man’s Eastern European features. Christian wore his lean swimmer’s build and shorter stature well; he was very sexy.

However, the young man’s clothes were too loose-fitting for Corey’s liking, hiding too much of his body. Though the god preferred skin-tight, sensual materials, the fashions he wore himself, nothing Christian had on subtracted from his attractiveness. His innocent face was breathtaking—more handsome now than when Corey first gazed upon it under the harsh lights of the strip club.

The moonlight illuminated Christian’s loveliness perfectly, practically French-kissing him. But Corey had no interest in kissing those full lips that looked as soft as rose petals. He wanted a sensual bite somewhere more intimate, inviting the crimson Nectar to fill his mouth and flow down his immortal throat.

The god’s thirst increased by the second.

Corey had to acknowledge the undeniably odd part connected to selecting this man tonight: Christian was not his typical prey, the burly, bearish, butch males who looked like him. This mortal’s lithe physique, high cheekbones, and the mischievous, playful glint in his eye were all so out of left field.

All this reminded Corey again that Christian bore similarities to Olympius .

Damn it, you sentimental fool! Blinded by this mortal! To choose him tonight! Did Fortuna direct this one to me? Or did she send me to that particular club tonight to encounter him? Why must I be perpetually tortured by this fucked-up love, even reminders of it?

Corey was no patsy to love, but he felt that if the enigmatic goddess was involved, who was he to question the deity of fortune and luck? She was even the goddess of fate, though she was not as powerful as the Weird Sisters in that regard. He knew it was a fool’s errand to attempt to deny the Wheel of Destiny. Fortuna had never manipulated a situation before. At least he never noticed blatant interference. And Corey reminded himself that his mortal was not Olympius, no matter his cursory likeness. He needed to move past this prejudiced interpretation and enjoy the mystery of his prey.

“Where will we—I—I mean, where do you want to go? I mean, did you have someplace in mind, Corey? And, uh, is anything even open at this hour besides Fran’s? Or were you thinking someplace more—ah, oh fuck, I’m so bad at this.”

Christian again spoke charmingly awkwardly, taking the god out of his pained thoughts. Corey knew the young man did not have a natural stutter; it was all nerves. He took that as a compliment. The mortal’s virginity, youth, and anxiousness were pleasing to the god, shining through his fa?ade of maturity. It made Corey want him all the more.

He was so—pure? No, Corey did not think that was quite it. It was more like Christian was as yet uncorrupted by life. Considering his whereabouts that night, he was no babe in the woods, all innocent and unknowing. He understood vices and the desires of the flesh but had yet to be overly exposed to them, becoming jaded.

He doesn’t know what I truly desire from him. The sexual, the lurid, it always makes mortals tense at some point. I must appear as this paragon of sexuality to him, a master to his acquiescence, a willing teacher to the unschooled pupil.

Corey would be all that tonight for Christian—all that and more.

But he did not love the mortal and would never show that through fakery as he did flirty seduction. Love was always absent with the prey and from the hunt and the feeding. It was survival instinct and physical pleasure only, never true intimacy. He had only ever felt that for one being, and he still felt it despite his ire, even after two millennia.

“Don’t be so nervous, handsome. I only wish to talk—for now. I know a quaint little place over on Queen St. West that's open until 4 a.m. I’d love to get acquainted if you’re not too tired.”

“No, I’m not tired! Not one bit.” With wild excitement spread across his face, Christian reached out to shake hands.

Corey clasped the mortal’s hand and met his lustful gaze with godly eyes that thirsted in kind. Christian smiled coyly, rather coquettishly. Corey could tell the man wanted to crumble into his arms but respected that he did not, not wanting to appear weak or lesser compared to him.

Despite his not-well-masked inexperience, he was a man, not a boy, and wished to appear assertive and virile; Corey liked that bravado in the face of still apparent self-doubt. It showed he had courage and a backbone.

After he reclaimed his hand, Christian continued smiling impishly.

Corey noticed during the handshake that the man had rubbed an index finger against the material of his leather glove. He loved the sensation of mortal flesh massaging the leather barrier to his skin. It was a coded message that the god understood and received welcomingly: Christian wanted to feel, experience, and welcome desire. Corey appreciated the subtlety of such actions; he always caught their deeper meanings.

It was only a short walk to their destination.

Though only discover the Italian eatery a few years back, Corey loved it like an old friend. The Mediterranean ambiance was a small reminder of the homeland he loved but had betrayed him. It was self-flagellation, but it felt oddly comforting to the god. He often laughed at the thought that a therapist would have a field day with this pathos.

As this was the 21st century, Corey often came to this bistro with male prey and rarely had issues dining romantically with a same-sex partner. At least, the appearance of dining for him and the romance was simply an enjoyable indulgence, fabricated and fleeting. It was all a pale imitation of what he felt for Olympius but safer for his heart.

Admittedly, Corey relished the occasional mundane human’s negative attention, that not-so-subtle sneer as he walked to his table holding hands with his male companion .

And whether they acted with amusement or disgust, the god knew that the ridicule too often came from their own deep, hidden urges and fantasies brought to life in front of them. Things they were too afraid to indulge in. Yes, the envy of those who openly did what they feared to do.

Though he could control the intensity, Corey’s godly presence emanated from him majestically, without provocation, forever inducing varied sensations in mortals. Some engaged with the energy more viscerally than others. And his unapologetic sexuality and individualism occasionally unnerved mortals, especially the connoisseurs of intolerance and small-mindedness. It all seemed too absurd to the god: the mortal world’s hostility, fear, and ignorance.

So much had changed since Corey was a mortal General who led battalions in Rome thousands of years ago, but so much had stagnated, remaining unconquered, too. Like bigotry and indifference. And unfettered arrogance, a trait he knew Olympius was intimate with.

Entering the bistro, Corey summoned the ma?tre d’ over. After a pleasant greeting, they were immediately seated at the god’s usual place, near the window to the front of the restaurant; it had the best street view. If people were already seated there, Corey would have swiftly dealt with that as he had done before. No one ever seemed too put out when they felt an incessant cold draft or took a solid dislike to their suddenly uncomfortable chairs, causing them to seek another table .

Christian sat down first, not waiting for Corey to pull his chair out, as it never crossed his mind that such a gesture would be expected. Corey had not forgotten that, in this age, chivalry was practically dead, and for him to do such an act for another man was still relatively uncommon. Whatever, he enjoyed doing it when he remembered to act quickly. Not this time, unfortunately.

Despite the healthy after-hours crowd, the place felt quieter than usual. When the waiter approached the table, Corey ordered a bottle of the restaurant’s finest house wine—red, naturally, though he knew he would not be imbibing any. He liked the rich colour.

Christian asked for a light beer.

Really? Did you want a platter of wings, too? Corey psychically suggested the young man disregard his desire for beer in favour of wine. Christian immediately called back the waiter and cancelled his order. It was manipulative, yes, but harmless, and Corey figured it would not kill the guy to elevate his palate. Especially as it would come through the blood during feeding, allowing the god to experience the flavour. “You’ll love the wine here, trust me.”

Christian was practically beaming —at Corey, at the menu, at the entirety of the establishment as he gazed around the place with wide-eyed fascination.

Corey sensed the man had little experience with big cities and even less with dating. Again, the god found the mortal’s youthful exuberance adorable and not wholly unexpected, as his reaction to his stripping had revealed earlier .

“So why were you looking for me after my set, Christian? You waited a long time.”

“Because I wanted to meet you, talk with you. Maybe even get—ah—oh fuck it! I was hoping for a private dance. I loved your performance. I mean—wow! And it seemed like—well, like you were dancing just for me.”

Corey snickered playfully, unable to help himself. “Perhaps I was.”

“I knew it! The way you moved was so suggestive. I’d never been to a strip club before, but I was excited by the idea of it. I didn’t have the nerve to go by myself. When my housemates suddenly suggested we come downtown to this club, I couldn’t get on the subway fast enough.”

“The mystery of the unknown? The desire to experience something taboo? How did it make you feel?” The god knew precisely how Christian felt from the heat of his blood coming through his skin and the hardness in his pants, but he wanted to hear him express it verbally. Words had the power to get him hot.

“I fucking loved it. Completely. I mean, it took hold of me and wouldn’t let go. Not the others, just you. You were amazing! My friends took me because they thought I’d enjoy it, my first time and all, and god damn, did I! I wish you’d have come out for a second act. That’s not too tacky to admit, is it? I mean, considering what that act was supposed to be. Oh fuck, am I coming off pervy? ”

Corey rolled his eyes playfully, not in annoyance, and laughed heartily. “Not in the least. But even if you were, I had my asshole and cock out for the world to see tonight. I’m good with a little pervy.”

Christian winked flirtatiously, immediately appearing more at ease.

“It’s none of my business why you didn’t return anyway. I can’t see you being nervous about anything, though. Not after that performance, especially. But I guess cumming on stage is next-level shit. Anyway, like I said, it’s not my business. So, Corey, um—have you been doing it long? Exotic dancing, I mean?”

“Nope. Though it wasn’t amateur night, it was my first time. And I’d hardly call what I did exotic dancing, but thanks for endeavouring to elevate it. It was a dick-out, show-hole strip routine, and I’m completely okay with calling it that. It was an erotic avenue I wanted to explore. I like to try new things. It helps to conquer the potential monotony of an—of life.”

The god had nearly said an immortal’s life , which would have confused Christian. Corey realized he had to get a grip on himself and be more lucid. As distracting as Christian’s Olympius-like beauty was, he needed to maintain control, continuing to direct the night’s adventure where he wanted it to go.

“Yeah, I can see that in you, Corey: an adventurer, a daredevil. You’re pretty amazing, you know. I can’t even begin to explain what I’m feeling right now. I must sound like such a dork to someone like you, someone so experienced. But I’m just going to say it—I wanted to take you right there on the fucking stage.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Christian looked blatantly shocked by the statement. The god, sporting a mischievous smile, saw the little wheels in the mortal’s head turning, and he wondered if the man was pondering if such an option was even permitted, let alone available to him. The idea was hot, no matter the permissibility.

Then, with a wicked grin, Christian replied, “Maybe because I knew you wouldn’t allow me to. At least not then, with a crowd of spectators. We had the connection but deserved an intimate setting—like starting there, building trust and closeness, and then moving elsewhere.”

He’s learning fast. Corey perceived these statements to mean that Christian understood who the captain of this ship was, the one in control. He was only allowed to experience Corey as far as he wanted him to. Yes, this mortal knows his place, and he’s playing the game surprisingly well.

The god deduced it was time to take this developing familiarity to another level and crank up the intensity of their discourse.

“Tell me who you are, Christian. Don’t be coy or subversive. And I’ll know if you’re lying to me.” Corey curled his lip and grinned as wide as the Cheshire Cat. “I have a talent for reading people.”