19. CORIOLANUS

CORIOLANUS

The Present

C HRISTIAN struggled to keep pace with Corey; he felt dragged along as they moved further from Queen St. West towards the Harbourfront. “Where are we going? And please slow down! Corey? Did you hear me? Slow down!”

Without acquiescing to Christian’s desperate appeal to provide a strolling experience rather than a towing one, the god looked back and stared blankly at the flustered young man. They were nearly at one of his preferred feeding places, far from the luxury condo at Bloor-Yorkville, where he currently resided. Corey preferred his privacy and solitude and never brought guests or dinner home.

Christian’s unease grew with each passing moment as they accelerated exponentially. Nothing about the situation made sense.

“Corey, where are you taking me? Why are you looking at me like that? It’s freaking me out. How can you run so fast? You can’t possibly see where you’re going! Please, slow down!”

As the god continued to increase his speed, Christian’s legs eventually came away from the ground, unable to keep up with the inhuman pace. He was practically flying, attached to Corey by nothing more than an increasingly vice-like grip.

“So many questions,” Corey smirked, and he pulled the panic-stricken mortal into a snug bear hug; it did not take enhanced senses to tell the fearful, inexperienced young man needed succor and reassurance. The embrace was affectionate and soothing, even erotic, as the god, while still running, stroked Christian’s face and then moved downward towards his bubble butt, cupping it firmly.

Corey knew the myriad of sensations swirling inside the mortal—fear, desire, panic, lust—all heated the blood, sweetening the flavour of the Ambrosia. A delicacy soon to be tasted.

With the scent of lake water in the air, Corey knew he was nearly at the tucked-away alley on the Harbourfront that no one ever seemed to frequent but him. Most people did not even know it existed; it was narrow and shrouded in darkness, nestled between two mid-sized, chunky, red-brick buildings. And it was usually surprisingly clean, but unlike some ancient fuss-buckets, this god never minded getting a little dirty now and then.

In this quiet place, the god had taken many prey and drank deep from the well of human life. Then, when satiated, he abandoned them, allowing the men to return to the light; he rarely thought of those mortals again.

“Look up, handsome, because we’re—”

And then, like a sucker punch to the gut, a very familiar smell filled Corey’s nostrils, catching the god completely unaware and overwriting all other scents in the immediate area; this caused him to arrest all movement instantly. Christian remained snuggled in his arms, breathing heavily, highly disoriented but unharmed.

The overwhelming fragrance was not Lake Ontario water, street garbage or the pungent aroma of cooked mystery meat mixed with mustard and relish from a hot dog vendor. It was a manly musk: spicy yet sweet, fresh yet — ancient .

It can’t be. He wouldn’t dare—!

And then, the aroma evaporated into nothingness as quickly as it had come upon the god.

Corey reached out with all his preternatural senses, attempting to locate the figure who belonged to that scent. Still, he saw nothing, heard nothing and smelled nothing—at least, not anymore. Not a whiff remained to give credence to his suspicion that another immortal, a very particular one, was near.

Corey then searched psychically, reaching outward into the city with invisible tendrils of mental energy, attempting to locate the mind that belonged to the individual who secreted that familiar and infuriatingly delicious scent. His power stretched from the lakeshore to Toronto Island and as far as Scarborough, though he knew that was likely overkill.

And his efforts came to zero; he sensed nothing out of the ordinary. The aroma had indeed vanished like it was never there at all.

And Corey began to think that perhaps that was true.

You’re losing it, foolish god. You’ve been on my mind much of late, Olympius, even influencing my choice of prey tonight. Here in my arms, a mortal who bears but a flicker of your exquisite beauty, but still enough to bewitch me and confuse my intentions. My mind’s playing tricks on me. My torment at wanting you but hating you is fucking with my senses. Something close to your scent, probably manufactured, triggered me. No, you aren’t here, my love, my tormentor. And that’s how it must be.

“Forgive me, Christian,” Corey said gently to his freaked-out date, still enveloped in his unbreakable embrace. “I didn’t mean to halt our travelling so abruptly.” The god returned to stroking Christian’s hair soothingly. “I don’t like it here anymore. Let’s go elsewhere to continue our date. I know a place that’s a visual banquet of delights for the eyes.”

“Corey—did you drug me?”

The god sighed. Though barely a whimper, the biting accusation was not unexpected. How else could a modern-day mortal who did not believe in ancient deities explain these incomprehensible experiences? Comic book characters, not humans, possessed superspeed; not even an Olympic gold medalist could move so swiftly as to inadvertently lift a grown man off the ground and run with him still attached by a single hand.

For Christian not to think he had suddenly gone insane, the presence of drugs in his system had to be the cause for such madness.

And this was not the first time a mortal accused the god of this.

“What you’re feeling has nothing to do with drugs, believe me,” Corey promised. “I would never drug you or anyone. Please trust me, Christian, and I’ll introduce you to sensations you’ve been too timid to partake in. I can also offer an erotic experience no drug could hope to duplicate. Are you ready?”

The god softly whispered to the man to be calm and unafraid; he did not compel compliance. Corey wanted the prey to have agency in his choice.

With little movement, still clutching to Corey’s muscular body, Christian softly replied, “No, I don’t want to turn back. Please take control, take me, and do what you like. Be my—my master. I can’t resist you. No— I don’t want to . I trust you—sir.”

Excellent. The god was beaming. “There’s no turning back now.”

Corey whisked Christian away from the Harbourfront toward downtown to Graffiti Alley, the three-block, one-kilometre-long stretch from Portland to Spadina, running parallel to Queen Street. It was a far cry from the small hidden alley he originally planned to use for feeding .

At this time of night, the area was practically dead, aside from the occasional street denizens who smartly kept to themselves.

Corey saw the perfect feeding spot at the alley’s midpoint: a recessed doorway, no longer used, elevated off the ground about one and a half metres, on the side of a wildly painted brick building.

As the god arrested his movement and stood in place on the ground in front of the doorway, he gently removed Christian from his torso, which he had been clinging to like his life depended on it, and set him against the structure.

“How are you doing this? What are you? Are you even—” Christian hesitated, not just afraid to ask the question, but the words felt stuck inside his throat. Was he too terrified to go further, to discover the truth?

Or was he excited?

“Yes?” the god smirked, feeling quite confident he knew what the man would ask.

“Are—are you even human? Are you an angel—or a demon? Or—” Christian stared deeply into the glowing eyes of the moderately pale figure before him, “—are you a vampire?!”

Corey groaned loudly. And there it is. The fucking vampire thing again!

“Countless mortals have perceived me as all of the above, yet I’m none of those things. In human society, I’m whatever their fears, desires, or faiths will have them interpret me as. Monster. Demon. Vampire. Saviour. I’m of the ancient world, of Titan blood, a night god with dominion over darkness, but I was given no specific title in my deification.

“My Maker calls me warrior-god , but it’s no crown. I’m the patron god of nothing, as is my choice. Though I’ve had many names, I began my godhood as Coriolanus, formerly a great mortal General in Rome’s ancient military, but that’s all dust and memory. To you, my sweet Christian, I’m Corey—predator, lover, fiend, master—and you’ll do as I command. Now, get down on your knees.”

Christian craned his neck and stared intently into the face of the sexiest, most handsome, and scariest being he had ever encountered. He felt drunk yet completely alert at the same time. He thought anyone’s first instinct, including his own, should be to run upon realizing they were in danger for their life, perhaps their soul, if such a thing existed. What other possible reaction could anyone have in the face of such inconceivable horror?

But Christian stood firm. His panic and fear had melted away, replaced entirely by exhilaration and an appreciation for his supposed captor’s incomprehensible beauty and dangerous sensuality. He needed to remain in the god’s majestic presence. He had no choice, for this was his truth: Christian wanted to obey.

“But Corey, out here in the open? What if someone comes by?”

“Do it!” the god commanded, his voice elevated. “I gave you an order, mortal! ”

Christian obeyed. Authority and power radiated off the god’s body as ripples of heat. The energy directed at Christian was oppressive yet undeniably sensual. And he liked it.

“Yes, that’s it,” Corey stated seductively. “Good. Down on all fours now. Yes, just like that, very good. Keep looking up at me! Focus on nothing but me—my touch, my smell, the sound of my voice.”

Leisurely, Corey ran his hands across Christian’s back, feeling the mortal’s taut muscles through his clothing. He then moved downward to his favourite male anatomy: the juicy ass. He squeezed the man’s round globes and pulled them apart, hearing the pant seam down his crack tear, unable to withstand the intrusive force.

Then, reaching underneath, Corey grabbed Christian’s crotch forcefully, yet with some restraint. The god did not want to damage the mortal due to a miscalculation of strength. The baggy jeans proved no barrier; the god could feel the blood pumping through the man’s swollen, throbbing cock despite the denim material.

Christian arched his back and moaned in response to the attention given to his body.

With one gloved hand, Corey moved his exposed fingers through the mortal’s black, wispy tresses while massaging his stiff prick through his jeans with the other gloved one. The god’s keen sense of touch could tell that Christian possessed a fat uncircumcised cock, but not too long, just right for swallowing.

Corey tugged on Christian’s hair hard and then let go. He went on to quickly slap the man’s bubble butt twice, then held off, waiting for him to beg for more.

He did.

Without another thought or word spoken, Corey took hold of Christian’s designer pants with both hands and tore them from his body.

“What the fuck!” Christian was stunned, unable to figure out how his pants could have so easily been ripped off, literally torn apart, and not hurt him in the process.

Before Christian could react further, the god grabbed the back of his neck and held him firmly in place on all fours. “Quiet, mortal! And don’t—fucking—move.” Mumbling and squirming were not required or desired of him.

Corey took his other hand off Christian’s junk and placed it firmly around his throat, the two massive hands now effortlessly touching, effectively collaring the man. “I said there’s no turning back. And you so eagerly agreed.”

Christian understood: he absolutely had. And he meant it, which he showed with a docile whimper and a submissive look. He moaned as the god lifted the pressure off his throat to move those strong fingers through his still windswept tresses once again.

And though he understood that there was no choice in the matter, for he was in the presence of an ancient deity, captivating yet terrifying, Christian acknowledged his odd disinterest in his own agency; he was more than willing to go with the flow, completely trusting that the god would not hurt him— too much , and in the end, it would all lead to ecstasy.

“Yes, I know you desire me, mortal. You want to experience the dark pleasures of the flesh— my flesh . But not nearly as much as I want you. Take off the rest of your clothes, but do it slowly and sensually. Make me want you. I must feel you love your body, not just see it.”

As Christian clumsily got up from all fours, he scraped his knees.

The blood! The god licked his lips at the sight of newly torn flesh. His predatory fangs immediately elongated; it was an involuntary reaction to his unbridled excitement. If these superficial wounds bothered Christian, he showed no sign of struggle. The god inwardly praised the young man’s fortitude.

Placing his hands on the top buttons of his shirt, Christian began a lustful, teasing dance. It was awkward and not nearly as erotic as Corey’s had been earlier at the club. Still, the honesty of the performance and the determination on Christian’s face to be sensuous as he removed his remaining garments enraptured the god more than any of the top-tier burlesque performances he previously experienced.

Pointing straight out, Christian’s hard cock tented his tight boxer briefs. Corey wanted to dive for the package and suck and suck—until the engorged member flooded his mouth with delicious red Nectar.

But it was not time yet; the god had infinite patience.