the reluctant lobotomist (fourfreedoms) wrote,
the reluctant lobotomist
fourfreedoms

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So, I have no self-control, you get to see the next chapter now

Title: Repeat it (Until You Get It Right)
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. If they were we all know the show would be very different.
Summary: Sam finds out his heroes were lovers, and Dean shares some startling information.
Pairing: Wincest
Chapters: 2/?
Genre: AU, past-lives!fic
Rating: NC-17
Acknowledgements: Still love you, Flo. Probably don't even need to tell you.
Notes: Sanderides is Sam's past life version and Alexion is Dean's past life version.

Prologue



When Sam was twelve and studying ancient history in his social studies class they watched a video on Greece. The entire class cringed as the nasally announcer discussed how homosexual love affairs were a common practice, even Sam, who’d never thought such a thing could be common place or considered beautiful. He felt his face grow hot and suddenly a lot of the stuff he’d read over the years about the Alexander’s court made sense. Could you love a man in that way and still be a man?

Dad said the gays were equal, just like everybody else, but being gay was like being diseased. John thought people who had cancer should expect the same treatment too, didn’t mean he thought the cancer was a good thing. Sam wasn’t sure what to think.

When he got home that evening he asked Dean about it. “Did you know that Alexander and Hephaistion were…you know?”

Dean had no idea what he was talking about, or at least he pretended not to know so that Sam actually had to spell it out awkwardly. He flailed about, tripping over his sentences, and mumbling, while Dean stared with an amused quirk to his lips.

“That they were gay, Dean!” Sam finally burst out, his face as a red as the bedspread he sat upon.

Dean sat upon the twin opposite, pulling off his sneakers. “Well yeah, everybody back then was like that.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “But how could they…I mean it must…well it’s so…”

Dean laughed at Sam’s faltering attempt to convey his point. He was sixteen and out with a different girl practically every evening. “It’s not so bad, Sam.”

“You’ve done it?” Sam practically screeched.

Dean blushed dark enough to match his brother. “No!” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “No, I mean, it’s not so bad with boys…”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Dean lay back on the bed, his head turning to Sam. “Guys give way better hand-jobs than girls do.”

“TMI, DEAN!” Sam shouted, a little mortified at the same time he was deathly curious. Dean was practically cackling with laughter.

“Just telling it like it is,” Dean chucked a pillow at Sam. “I think it’s probably because guys have experience with their own dicks. Girls get all freaked out by them, and they do it too hard, or too loose, or it feels like they’re trying to give you rug burn.”

“Have you given a boy a—a hand-job?” he hugged the pillow to him as he spoke, trying to hide behind it.

Dean bit his lip; his eyes on Sam were intense. “Yeah…”

Sam didn’t understand the feeling of intense anger that welled up in him at the sight of Dean’s eyes going blank like he was thinking back on it, his lips curling in fondness. He couldn’t stop the “Why?” that burst out of him.

“What do you mean, why?” Dean asked, grinning. “It felt good.”

Sam blushed again at the look on Dean’s face and turned away from his brother, lying back on his own bed.

“Why all the questions, Sam?” Dean asked, his voice still teasing. “You’re not thinking of doing any of this are you?”

Sam nearly had to fight the ‘only with you’ that desperately wanted to burst past his lips. “No, just wondering.”

Dean rolled to his feet and pounced on Sam, his strong thighs straddling Sam’s narrow hips. “I don’t believe you, Sammy! Now who is it?” he cried, and started tickling Sam furiously. Sam twisted and wriggled beneath his brother, trying his hardest to kick Dean off of him, but Dean was larger and heavier so it was a foregone conclusion that Sam would be there for as long as Dean decided. His lungs felt like they were going to burst, and the sensation was becoming almost painful, but still Dean continued.

“Nobody!” he cried between laughs, kicking and struggling, hoping to connect with anything that would make Dean stop. “I swear, Dean! Stop!”

Dean chuckled at his struggle and let up. “Oh, all right,” he sighed like he was doing Sam the greatest favor, and then pinned Sam’s arms up next to his head before Sam could roll free.

“Deeaaaaaaan!” Sam whined, rolling and bucking on the bed, Dean laughed again, relaxing his weight against Sam’s legs, holding him down to the mattress with his hips. Sam stilled, his chest heaving against Dean’s own. His ribs ached and Dean was heavy, there wasn’t enough air. Their eyes met and Sam found himself analyzing every golden fleck in Dean’s glass green eyes, the way the dark fringe of Dean’s eyelashes turned blond at the tips.

“No more tickling,” he muttered and shifted under Dean to get a little more air, legs tangling together. It woke his brother up. Suddenly Dean was rolling off him to land on the floor with a loud thump. Sam peered over the edge of the bed at him, but Dean’s eyes were intent on the far wall.

Sam got the message that whatever had just passed between them would never be spoken of out loud. He sighed as Dean left the room without even a backward glance; so much of their lives were like that—unwritten pages on a blank book, questions that were always answered by silence or harsh words. Sam felt so lost sometimes, drifting through his life with only his sophisticated snarky and often silent older brother anchoring him down. He didn’t want more than Dean. Not really. But there were times that he wanted more for Dean, and for himself, than what they had or were ever going to get.

That evening after a quiet and tense dinner Sam high-tailed it out the door to the library. Dad barely glanced upwards before the screen door slammed behind him. Sam sprinted, his backpack smacking against him, and his loose jeans more hindrance than help. He didn’t even bother with the children’s library. They didn’t stock anything in the way of sex. Sam knew because Dean had frequently pointed it out when they were younger.

He scoured the library for information on Alexander and Greece just as he had done four years before. By the time he was done looking, he was staring at a mound of text books in the little carrel he’d chosen for himself. A lot of it was too intense to get through for him. Words like too large mouthfuls strung together in such a way that Sam wasn’t even sure it was English. He got the gist pretty fast though and felt a little scared.

What if John was wrong? That gay men weren’t unmanned at all. It was the first time he thought to question any of the ideas that slid out his father’s mouth. The first time he asked himself what he thought.

John was wrong. Sam knew it. It said in big letters in the header of one Greek history that it was sometimes used as a key military strategy. Right there. If it so possessed him he could check the book out, show John, prove him wrong. Sam’s heroes were not unmanned. The core of the Theban army called the “Sacred Theban Band” was entirely made up of pairs of homosexual lovers, and it was Alexander’s own father Phillip of Macedon who’d only just beat them back at Charonea. It was a flight of fancy for Sam. He would never show John. He wasn’t so sure why he cared anyway. Sam liked girls for sure.

He nearly died when he caught a quote from the penguin classic version of Plato. He looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was staring at the book in his hand and then turned back to the page.

“Men who delight to lie with them and to be clasped in men’s embraces…are the finest boys and young men, for they have the most manly nature…Their behavior is due to daring, manliness, and virility, since they are quick to welcome their like.”4

He swallowed at the thought. He couldn’t ever imagine doing that with his friend Eric from across the street. He wrinkled his nose. Why would they want to give up breasts for each other, because breasts were pretty wonderful. But then girls liked guys, so there had to be other things. But yeah, there was no way he was going to do that with Eric just so that he could be more ‘daring’ on a hunt. Thoughts came unbidden of the slope of Dean’s back, the sprawl of his legs, and the smooth porcelain of his skin interrupted by freckles. He choked and tossed the book aside, trying to tell himself that he was revolted. What did that Plato dude know anyway? He’d never been a warrior himself.

But Alexander, who had been a warrior, had done that with a man—it said so pretty plainly on page 3 of the DK reference text he’d looked at first. He sighed and thunked his head on the table dramatically. Everything was so confused. The librarian, hanging out behind her desk shot him a sharp look and then turned back to scanning in returns.

Sam shook his head and picked up the last book, trying to distract himself with its dark thread bare cover. He wasn’t sure why he was bothering at all. It was a play, the name written first in Greek across the top and then again underneath it in English. The Appronidic chronicle5 by Sophocles, he read in his own head. If it was anything like the Iliad, Sam wouldn’t make it past the page where all five thousand ships with however many men they carried were described ad infinitum.

He held it in his hand, looking off into space. Was Sander gay? Did he kiss boys? The book fell open in his palm and he looked down and blushed again. From the actions described in Roman Face on the page before him, the answer was pretty damn yes. That Sophocles dude had a totally dirty mind.

He was so distracted with the vivid, albeit somewhat inscrutable impossible picture Sophocles painted that when the library bell tower started ringing, he jerked in surprise. He looked down at his watch with a start. He should have been home over half an hour ago! And he hadn’t even asked Dad permission this time. He started gathering all his stuff and shoving the books back into the places he thought they belonged until all that was left on the table was the damn dirty play. With a wary glance around the room and without stopping to think why, he stuffed the small leather-bound book in his backpack.

Sam ran home, barely stopping for traffic lights, and the play burned a hole in his backpack. He nearly turned around three times and considered bringing it back, but then he saw how late it was on the electric billboard in front of a first national bank and changed his mind. It wasn’t like he couldn’t return it tomorrow. Or the next day.

*

Sander had a really hard time with people. He knew it. He was shy and silent and his brothers back home had constantly teased him about it. People who didn’t know him well were always under the mistaken impression that he was apathetic instead of merely reigned in. His mother had thought it an admirable skill, impossible to read, more dangerous. His father though had found him boring, lacking in charm. It was easy enough for him to foster him off, to serve Alexander, and build alliance.

He only missed his mother.

He knew it bothered Alexion. The other boy was a force to be reckoned with. He’d thought, at first, that it was because Sander missed his parents and he constantly took baby steps around him. It drove Sander insane. There was little doubt that he wouldn’t see them again till he was an adult. But he’d been raised for war. This was his duty.

His mother was a Sauromatian6 princess; she’d taught him to shoot and fletch. Alexion had finally gotten up the nerve to ask about her when they were sent out of the palace for a week on survival training. They were lying under the stars after they caught fish for food, Sander well away from the water, when he asked. Sander had rolled over in a sudden fit of confidence placed his palms over Alexion’s chest and squeezed.

“She has both her breasts, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said between laughs, leaning on the older boy.

“You mean they don’t—for their—to improve their draw?” he asked, eyes wide.

Sander shook his head. “No she didn’t, I don’t know if they actually do that, my mother never talks about it.”

“But doesn’t it make it harder to shoot with breasts?” He put his arm underneath his head and looked down his body at Sander.

He shrugged. “She manages okay. She’s better than my father.”

Alexion changed the subject. “You’ve got to stop missing them, participate a little more with the rest of the boys.”

Sander sighed. “I’m just—I’m more fond of reading papyrus than playing kyria.”

Alexion sighed and nodded, patting Sander on the back. When he woke up, Sander’s head was pillowed on his shoulder, soft dark hair brushing his cheek. He felt warm all over.

Alexion didn’t know why he liked the younger boy so much, but something, something in his rare smile, the way he fired his bow, the way he took Alexion’s behavior with a grain of salt, just kept him around.

The first time they went into battle as standard bearers and rear-guardsmen, Alexion killed three men. It was the first time he’d ended a life, he was only fifteen. Sander brushed his hair back and stroked his back as he vomited. He didn’t tease or try to comfort, he was merely there.

When Alexion hit sixteen he was oft found under a maiden’s skirt, and so Sander started spending more and more time with Alexander who avoided maidens like a wasting sickness. In fact Olympias nearly started locking her young son in the room with pretty young girls, hoping any one would take his fancy. Sander with his silence and his endless scrolls on everything from fish to stars was a welcome friend.

It was starting to grate on Alexion. It was like Sander wasn’t all there when he was with him, and what was left was hostile and irritable. Alexion wrestled with himself, he felt odd around Sander, like he could feel Sander’s words and actions in his own skin, like the heat of Sander’s gaze was written inside him. It made him feel awkward and uncomfortable, itchy even.

They fought on the campaign trail. They fought in the officer’s mess. They fought in the middle of sparring, Sander’s sweat soaked hair hanging in his eyes and his eyes burning. He didn’t know what that feeling in his stomach was, when Sander’s muscles drew up tight and his strikes became quicker, stronger, harder to predict.

Sander was drawing further and further into himself, and the other boys were starting to take notice. They got into it with the entire court assembled one night at dinner, and the other boys had to hustle them apart. Alexion left the dinner, guzzling thick honeyed wine and trying not to punch something.

“What has got you in all turned round, Alexion?” Alexander asked when he found him in his rooms.

“I’m perfectly fine,” was his terse response.

“Whatever is happening between you and Sander, fix it!” Alexander shouted back before slamming out of his room.

He spent a good two hours looking all over the palace the next morn. Sander was well hidden wherever he ended up. He knew the palace better than Alexion did and it was clear he found it no hardship to evade him. He found him four hours later hidden away in the stables, cooing at his horse.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Alexion asked from the stall door, his full lips pulled into a tight smile.

Sander sighed and leaned into the horse. “Alexion,” his tone was strained and he refused to turn and face his friend.

“Yes?” he replied, stepping further into the room.

“Don’t do this—not now, I just can’t—”

“Can’t what, Sander?” Alexion interrupted, his eyes on Sander’s long fingers. “You’re my brother—I don’t know what to do with myself when it’s like this…”

“Just go! Go back to Mynerche, Kryseius, or whoever maiden it is that has caught your fancy today!”

Alexion grabbed Sander’s shoulder and whirled him about. “Where is this coming from?”

Sander’s palms came up and braced themselves on Alexion’s chest. “Just leave it—it’s better that way.”

“How can I leave it when you act like this?” He pressed Sander back into the wooden slats of his horse’s stall, their knees knocking awkwardly. Sander winced and struggled against Alexion, but Alexion pushed him tighter against the wood. “Tell me!” he implored.

Sander stilled against him, his voice going deadly quiet. “Take it then.”

Alexion was stunned when Sander connected their mouths with a fierce punishing kiss; he stepped back and away from Sander allowing him to finally squirm out from between him and the wall. He turned his back on Alexion, going back to his attentions with the horse. Alexion stood unmoving, his hand at his mouth. He was shocked and scared and his lips tingled so fucking much it almost hurt. He desperately wanted to do it again.

“Does that end it all?” Sander asked, his shoulders hunched in despair. “I thought it might.”

“I—why didn’t you just tell me?” Alexion finally spoke, his lips still buzzing with sensation. The haze was starting to clear and comprehension was dawning. Sander wanted him. He was jealous of the women. Bitter. And Alexion, Alexion wanted to kiss him again. He was running his fingertips across his lips and staring at the wood of the walls.

“So you could act like this?” Sander replied bitterly, startling Alexion. “Alexion, I am four years younger than you, and you show no little fondness for women.”

“Don’t be a horse’s ass!” he pulled Sander back around, a hand sliding up to grip the back of his head. Sander’s pretty pink lips gleamed. He leaned in and crushed their mouths together, his arm slipping around Sander’s waist to draw him closer.
“I have no little fondness for you.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Sander locked up in his arms, his palms coming up flat on Alexion’s chest to shove him away. Sander stumbled back from Alexion, anger evident in his jerky movements, Alexion stood confused. “What are you—”

“Not like that!” Sander shot back, his expression grim. “I want that only if you want it!”

“I don’t—”Alexion started, but Sander was already out the door, stomping back to the palace. His heart fell. Gaia help him, he couldn’t figure Sander out for the life of him. He stared at the stable doors and wondered at the direction life was going to take now.

Alexander found him later, lying listlessly in his quarters. “Sander came running by earlier with a face like Hades.”

Alexion groaned and rolled over on the bed, presenting Alexander with his back. Alexander huffed out a breath and sat down beside him, jabbing him sharply in his side. “No you don’t, tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s unimportant,” Alexion muttered into the fabric of his bedclothes. He was tired.

“Yes, that it probably is.” Alexander replied, stretching out beside Alexion. “Nevertheless, I want to hear it.”

Alexion rolled back over, with a large sigh. “Sander wants to bed me.” For some reason the thought provoked a blush, and he turned his face away before his liege could see it. He was no blushing virgin.

Alexander picked up a cushion and hit him with it. “He doesn’t just want to bed you, block-head, he loves you!”

“I—what?” Alexion stole the cushion from Alexander before he could hit him with it again. “But I—like you and Hephaistion?”

“Yes like—hey! You’re not supposed to know about that!” Alexander protested.

“I’m not an idiot!” Alexander shot him a look. “All right—so maybe I am, but I still have eyes, and I’ve seen the way you moon at each other.”

“Romantic, aren’t you?” Alexander said dryly.

Alexion hit Alexander with the cushion this time. “I’m trying here!”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Never mind—the question is whether you love Sander the way he loves you.”

Alexion look at the ceiling. “I—he makes me feel—I don’t know. I kissed him earlier and—”

“Oh Zeus in heaven, how did you bollocks it up?” Alexander responded. The expression on his face was bland, but Alexion could tell he was laughing.

Alexion glared. “I thought that’s what he wanted. I told him that I was fond of him and he—he pushed me away and got upset.”

“You are indeed an idiot!” Alexander replied, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Why am I always the one who gets stuck doing this?”

Alexion threw his arm over his face. “I don’t know.”

“Look, Alexion, he wants everything you have to give to be given freely, not because you feel obligated. The way you said that made Sander think that you were forcing yourself to do something he wanted.”

“Oh,” Alexion said lamely. How could Sander be that thick? They’d spent half their lives together. More, almost.

Alexander sighed at him and then his expression changed, becoming mischievous. “Was it a good kiss?”

His blush deepened. “It’s not like I—”

Alexander interrupted him before he could finish, his eyes trained on the ceiling. “I imagine it would be. He’s a good looking boy, those shoulders and those hands…”

“Would you stop!” Alexion shouted, affronted.

Alexander looked at him pointedly. “Why, I don’t believe it! You’re not jealous all!” his voice was sarcastic enough to cut diamond.

“No!” Alexion blushed and rolled away from his friend again.

“Yes, you are!” Alexander crowed.

Alexion let out a sigh of disgust. “But how could I not notice?”

“You said it yourself, you’re an idiot.”

“I have never had one naughty thought about Sander in the entirety of my existence!” Alexion sat bolt upright, ignoring all the awkward images that had indeed risen in his mind every time he went near Sander only to be quickly spirited away again.

“I don’t believe you!” Alexander sat up, next to him.

“I have never had a dalliance with a man and you’re refusing to believe I’ve never been paralyzed with desire for him?”

Alexander shoved at him and retorted, “You were jealous! Well, let me tell you if it weren’t for Hephaistion I would initiate him into the ways of Eros myself.”

“Great Ares above, Stop that!” he chucked the pillow back at Alexander, his muscles tensing for a fight. Alexion’s lips narrowed into a grim line; the more he thought about it, the more he realized it made his blood burn.

Alexander stood up, gleeful. “I’m willing to bet he’d come to it with the alacrity that he shows for all his lessons, that he’d gasp for it, for me.” Alexion had a horrible picture in his head of Alexander running over Sander rough shod in his virgin bed.

“My liege, do not make me draw my sword on you!” He rolled to his feet, instinctively beginning to melt into a fighting stance while hand reached towards his weapons rack.

“Oho! I win.” Alexander shouted with a whoop, taking in Alexion’s annoyance. “You want the honor of deflowering him, you know it.”

Alexion sighed, realizing that he’d been played, and fell back on the bed. “How is it that you are the same man who commands armies?”

Alexander ignored his question, arms crossed. “Go to him, Alexion.”

“But I...”

“And do make sure he can still walk, we have to go all the way to Aegia tomorrow,” Alexander called over his shoulder as he exited Alexion’s chambers. Alexion fell back on the bed and groaned. The gods must’ve been punishing him when they assigned him such a crazy crass overlord. He thumped his pillow with a heavy fist and sighed. What if Sander spurned him a second time? He’d look like an idiot.

He rolled to his feet. There was no shame in loving Sander. There had, for years, existed a kinship that extended beyond mere companions between them. Aristotle might give Alexion a break the next time he saw him if he knew. With one last backward glance he left his rooms. It was a long way. He and Sander had been quartered in different parts of the palace. It gave him a lot of time to think about how he would approach it. The last thing he wanted was for this to end in another wicked fight.

He passed Ptolemy and Perdiccas talking in the hallway and they both shot him knowing looks. He glared back. They only smiled. Sweet sanity, was everybody apprised of his affairs? He’d find Alexander later. His liege could count on it.

He pushed the door to Sander’s room open with a whisper and stopped. The young man was just emerging from a bath, completely unaware of his audience. He moved slowly, like exhaustion and the weight of his worries lay heavily upon him. Alexion found his mouth moving soundlessly as he stared. Sander’s back was turned as he stepped out of the large tub, water sluicing down the line of his back and over his buttocks. The late-afternoon sun illuminated his skin, giving it an odd glow around the edges. He looked ethereal, otherworldly. Alexion found there was no air left in the room to breathe, that or he’d forgotten how.

Sander bent to pull on his simple cloth under-garments of fine-spun cotton, his well-trained muscles moving sinuously. Alexion had seen him unclothed before—they wrestled naked on the courts, but it wasn’t exactly polite to stare pointedly at your sparring partner. Here, now, in the light, Sander seemed like the most beautiful creature in the entire world, surpassing even Olympias’s7 cold perfect beauty. Alexion wanted to thump himself, he’d be composing Orphean odes next, turning his sword in for a brush and ink. He almost lost his nerve then, was just about to back out and leave. Sander was still oblivious to the fact that Alexion was watching him dress, it would be easy to go. But then Sander whirled around, dagger flying through the air to thump in the wood of the door jamb.

Alexion eyed the quivering blade with raised eyebrows and raised his palms. “Right, don’t peek when you’re naked, I’ve learned my lesson, and I’ll just be going now.” Sander flushed a fetching pink—the line of heat extending down his skin. Alexion pursed his lips and made to turn around, but Sander’s voice stopped him.

“I—” he plucked at the cotton over his chest, and Alexion’s eyes to followed the path of his hand. “Why are you—”

“I—er—” He started lamely, how could he say this so Sander wouldn’t just toss him out or poke him a few times with the dagger he had just proved he was so handy with. “I didn’t kiss you because I wanted to make you happy. I kissed you because I wanted to make me happy!”

“Oh you do have a way with rhetoric,” Sander replied, his arms crossed. His expression loosened, however, a slight smile tilting his lips. He was still pink with embarrassment and could barely stand the onslaught of Alexion’s gaze.

“What is it—What is it you wanted?” he mumbled quietly, unable to look Alexion in the eye. Alexion stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Sander looked more nervous than a rabbit. He wanted to smile.

“You,” Alexion said simply, tilting Sander’s chin up to meet his gaze.

Sander’s eyes slid closed, his cheeks darkening to a deep rose. Alexion grinned before lightly brushing his lips across Sander’s eyelids. Sander let out a breath of air and drew his fingertips up Alexion’s sides, fingers catching in the weave of his tunic. “I’m not a maiden. I won’t break.”

Alexion chuckled. “But I have a weakness for beautiful things, and all beautiful things should be treated delicately.”

“Don’t flatter, Alexion.” His lips skimmed across Alexion’s neck, leaving a path of tingling awareness in its wake. Alexion could already feel the unrelenting ache inside himself subsiding, burned away by Sander’s feather light and oh so tentative touches. He forgot sometimes that Sander had never lain with anyone. He was doing a pretty good job right now—must have gotten his hands on some ancient and crusty sex manual in all his days in the library. That would certainly inspire Alexion to read.

“Me? I never flatter.” he replied breathlessly, drawing Sander to him insistently, arching his neck against the questing mouth. He was dizzy and consumed by desire and lust and he wanted it to go away but at the same time he wanted it to never end.

Sander’s long-fingered hands were skillful as they drifted over him: thumbs flicking his nipples, nails dragged down his back, and soft light touches over his collar bone. Sander paused in his ministrations, looking down at Alexion’s upturned face. “Mouth sweet enough for a maiden.” He ran a callused fingertip over the bow of Alexion’s lip.

Alexion’s tongue curled out to lick a long swipe down Sander’s finger, who yelped and pulled his hand away even as his pupils dilated. Alexion laughed and leaned in to connect their mouths in a real kiss, their tongues tangling together slickly. He tasted of water and desert air, and every drag of their tongues across each other went straight to his groin. Sander’s finger’s dug deep bruising grooves into his shoulders, and Alexander would look at him on the morn and know with little doubt what had happened. Let them, he thought, as he slid a thigh between Sander’s, glad that they were of a similar height.

Sander’s kisses were hesitant and cautious even as they were rushed; he followed Alexion’s lead easily, trying to bring their bodies as closer together. Alexion nearly fell over when Sander’s even white teeth closed over his lower lip.

“Where’d you learn that?” he asked with a shuddering breath as they parted, worrying his swollen lower lip with his tongue.

Sander’s flush came back in full force, his eyes intent on Alexion’s mouth. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”

Alexion let Sander’s hoarse tone wash over him. “How did I never notice?” he asked, wonder evident in his voice, as his fingertips ran along the line where the cloth of Sander’s tunic met his shoulders.

Sander leveled a look at him, even as he pushed into the touch. “You can be really thick sometimes.”

Alexion ignored the jibe in favor of more pressing matters, like getting the damn tunic off. He fumbled with the silver knot pinning it together as Sander watched him amused.

“I hope you do a better job with the girls, Alexion, because truly this is a poor showing.”

Alexion narrowed his eyes, and slid his hand under the hem of Alexion’s tunic and along the inside of his thigh. “Poor showing, eh?” Sander’s smile widened. Should’ve figured the little bastard was trying to bate him.

Just like that the knot unpinned itself, he grinned, not so clumsy after all. He pushed the cotton under-garment off of Sander’s shoulders, allowing it to flutter to the ground, puddling at Sander’s feet. Sander’s blush was clearly never going to go away. Alexion wanted to laugh, but he doubted his young friend would take that all too kindly. He tried to turn his back but Alexion stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, his fingers kneading reassuringly.

“I want to see.”

Sanderides’s skin was a pale gold everywhere from long hours toiling in the Mediterranean sun. The dark teen’s lanky frame was only grace where most boys who’d had such a body would be awkward angles and too much arm. His cock was already half-hard and Alexion could well imagine those leanly muscled legs wrapped tightly around his hips as he cried out in pleasure. Alexion shook his head to draw himself back into the present. Sander’s eyes were tightly shut to Alexion’s perusal, hoping against hope that Alexion liked what he saw, his hands twitching slightly at his sides.

“You really are beautiful…” he stated, almost reverently, his hand gliding down Sander’s chest.

Sander rolled his eyes and licked his lips; goose bumps were raised on his skin, and after a moment of working up the courage he mumbled, “Fair’s fair, Alexion.”

Alexion pressed his fully-clothed body to Sander’s own. “Yes?” Alexion inquired, like he didn’t know what the other boy was talking about. If Sander wanted him to disrobe he was going to have to say it.

His eyes snapped open and narrowed, catching on to Alexion’s teasing, “Oh, nothing. I suppose I’ll just enjoy myself alone over here.” He walked to the bed, presenting his back to Alexion.

“I—what?” Alexion responded finally, a little bewildered. “You will not!”

Sander’s glance over his shoulder at Alexion’s body was pointed, and Alexion stopped his joking. Carelessly he tugged his tunic off and threw his belt aside. Oh he’d get him, sneaky thing that he was. Alexion would make him forget his own name, but only after he showed him who had the upper hand.

Jogging up behind his dark-haired friend, he jumped onto his back. Sander laughed as they tumbled onto the bed. They started an impromptu wrestling match—rolling and writhing together on the bed, Sander desperately tried to gain an advantage, but it was to no avail. Alexion pinned him down with his hips and held both of his arms to the soft pallet.

Their raucous laughter ended at the intimate contact and the all the heat of five minutes ago returned. Sander’s lips were still pulled into a smile, his expression giddy and his eyes full of something—something Alexion was afraid to put a name to.

He rolled his hips upwards against Alexion’s in a way that no virgin boy should know how to do, their cocks sliding together. The burst of sensation was almost overpowering. Mt. Olympus, he was never going to let Sander leave his rooms again. Alexion determined he was going to go to Alexander first thing in the morning and ask about introducing some legislation on the subject, the minute he could regain his powers of speech, that is.

“Don’t taunt me,” he stated raggedly, crushing their lips together, fucking Sander’s mouth until his moaned. Sander was so easy. Everything Alexion did was good. He tweaked a nipple and watched as Sander’s back bowed up underneath him, his legs parting to cradle Alexion’s weight.

“I would never…” Sander replied, chest heaving, when Alexion drew away again, but he was the same old Alexion with the corner of his mouth tilting up in a smirk he couldn’t hide. He pulled Alexion down again sucking his tongue into his mouth the same way he would crystallized sugar off a candied grape. Alexion was unused to such forward treatment, all of the girls he’d tumbled had been enthusiastic and involved, but they were passive in their participation. They didn’t take and grab and want and need and push and grind and completely fuck his brain to brokenness. They also weren’t ever this good.

Alexion’s hand slid down between their bodies to grab Sander’s fully-erect cock. He was afraid it was going to be awkward, instead of soft radiating heat and smooth wet lips parting beneath his fingertips, there was a cock so similar to his own, but it wasn’t. He knew this. It wasn’t like playing with your own dick. “I’ve never done this before…” Alexion’s thumb flicked over the cock-head as he gazed intently at Sander’s face to gauge his reaction.

The dark-haired teen tossed on the cushions, panting softly as he responded, “I know.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Alexion whispered, taking his hand away and raising himself up onto his elbows so that he could look Sander directly in the eye. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Alexander would probably skin him alive too and then love all over him, and arg, the images were horrifying.

The younger teen8 deadpanned, and this was no good. Sander should be driven beyond the powers of his usual snarkiness. “You spend the majority of your day pounding me into the sand, and now you’re worried about hurting me.”

Alexion cleared his throat and smiled at the double entendre, trying to ignore the designs that Sander’s clever fingers were tracing on his back. “This is different, Kyrios.”

Sander bit his lip at the endearment, and slid his thigh up Alexion’s left flank. “I know, but I want it, let it hurt.” Alexion looked down between their bodies, blushing now himself, unsure of what to do next. Sander noted his lack of knowledge and gestured at a low table next to the bed. “Use oil.”

“You really have been thinking about this…” the green-eyed teen sprawled over his companion’s side and reached for the oil.

“I asked Hephaistion months ago.”

Alexion nearly dropped the oil, jealous at the thought of such a conversation. “What?”

Sander ignored him, his dark curls plastered to his forehead with sweat from the heat. “Use your fingers first.”

Alexion dropped a kiss on Sander’s sternum before moving slowly down his body, his nails dragging a path in his mouth’s wake. Sander let out a moan and Alexion’s grin nearly split his face. So it turned out that boys and girls weren’t so different, aside from the obvious things, and Alexion knew how to pleasure girls. He slicked his hands with oil, tracing a line with his index finger from Sander’s inner thigh to the cleft of his ass. Sander’s muscles flexed and jumped under his touch.

“Should I turn over?” Sander’s dark lashes were sooty crescents on his cheekbones.

“No,” the burnished-blond replied, pushing Sander’s thighs further apart with one hand. “I want to be able to look up and see your face.”

He tentatively rubbed a finger around the rim of Sander’s entrance. Now or never, he thought determinedly. Slowly, he pushed the tip in, watching in amazement as it slid home. The heat was incredible, Sander felt like a very furnace from within.

Sander made a high-pitched noise when he flexed his finger and he immediately jerked up to look at him. “Painful?”

“N-not at all,” Sander stuttered out. “Your knuckle hit something.”

Alexion felt his dick only get harder at the blissed out expression on Sander’s face. With a look of intense concentration, he flexed his finger again and Sander’s hips rose off the bed. “Hmm, interesting.” He carefully pushed in another one, and did the same thing, the little noise Sander made in the back of his throat answer enough as to whether he liked it. “Very interesting.”

Sander propped his weight up on his elbows, his eyes half-lidded in enjoyment. “I don’t think it’s possible for you to be any less romantic.”

Alexion looked up at him, his expression innocent, and Sander burst out laughing. “Y’know you’re really not contributing,” Alexion replied grumpily, biting the inside of Sander’s thigh, and then swiping his tongue over the hurt.

“I’m nervous is all, what if—” he stopped abruptly and turned his head away. He was having a very hard time stringing sentences together as Alexion’s fingers continued to move inside him. But Alexion knew him, perhaps too well, and he stopped his motions.

Alexion smoothed his free-hand down Sander’s side. “What if what?”

Sander squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “What if you don’t like it?”

“Not enjoy it?” he parroted back dumbly. There was so much of Sander to enjoy, his velvety skin, his darkly-lashed eyes, his strength, the way his pretty lips parted, his silent refusal to show Alexion he was in pain. “Are you mad?”

“No, but I—look it’s a legitimate concern.”

Alexion snorted and withdrew his fingers with a slick pop, and then dragged himself up Sander’s body, trying not to cry at the feel of Sander’s skin dragging over his cock. “Legitimate concern?” He drove his hardness down into Sander’s hip. “Do you feel this?”

He grasped Sander’s hand in his oily one, and pushed it down to touch his cock. Sander’s hand curled around it tightly, and he groaned, dropping his head down on Sander’s shoulder. “You know what makes sex feel good, don’t you?”

Sander didn’t answer, but he continued stroking along Alexion’s length, tearing a moan from his chest. “The heat, the friction, but most of all the pressure—the way you grip me inside—” he broke off and bit his lip, lost in imagining it for a second as Sander’s fingers danced over him. “How could anyone not enjoy making love to you?”

“Is that what we’re doing? Making love?” Sander asked, loosening his grip, till it was all but a gentle glide. Alexion shuddered against him and didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to answer that question. He was immensely thankful when Sander let it go.

“Alexion, you should do it now,” Sander said, hands running up Alexion’s back to bring his best friend’s hips hard against his own. Alexion made a high pitched noise he would never admit to later, and he buried his face in Sander’s neck. Sander let him, and for a moment they just rubbed their bodies together, but then he reached for the bottle of oil that Alexion had discarded on bed.

“If I hurt you—” Alexion whispered as Sander slicked him with oil. He tried not to surge forward into the sure hand; otherwise this would be over too soon.

“It’s unimportant, if it hurts, then that’s part of it,” Sander said back, all of his maturity for his fourteen years showing through in the soothing tone of his voice.

Alexion positioned himself at Sander’s entrance and looked down at Sander whose eyes managed to look earnest and blissed out at the same time. With a deep breath he slowly started to push past the tight ring of muscle.

Sander’s teeth dug into his lips at the discomfort and Alexion swooped in for a kiss, thrusting his tongue into Sander’s mouth, distracting him. He nearly praised the gods above when Sander relaxed and pushed back against him. He paused for a long moment to allow him to adjust, but he couldn’t help the little roll of hips when Sander shifted against him. Sander moaned as Alexion’s cock brushed that spot inside of him and Alexion’s eyes were practically watering from how tight Sander’s inner muscles were gripping him. This was a bad idea, Alexion didn’t know how to not thrust home into this warmth hard and fast until they were both so completely satiated they wouldn’t be able to move.

“Come on, Alexion, I can take it,” Sander said softly, brushing his lips across Alexion’s cheek. His eyes found the thin line of a scar across Sander’s shoulder from a charioteer’s whip in Asia Minor. He glanced downwards at the puckered groove from an arrow wound low on his ribs. He remembered that battle, Sander had been thirteen, shot and barely wavered, slid the arrow back out with a thought and just kept going. He knew pain. His eyes said as much.

Alexion nodded, his arms trembling with the strain of holding still, and then he gave in. He started a slow rolling rhythm that had always made girls fall apart in his arms and moan wildly. Sander’s head was thrown back, the long column of his throat exposed, and Alexion couldn’t help himself. He had to mark it, to prove that all of it, all of Sander, was his, and he knew, even if he would never say it out loud, that it would never belong to anyone else.

Sander’s legs tightened around his hips at the first touch of teeth. Alexion couldn’t prevent the high keening sound from escaping him as he sank even deeper inside Sander. He was trying very hard to hit that spot inside with every stroke, and he was pretty sure he was succeeding. All manner of filth was spilling out of Sander’s mouth, trash talk that was tantamount to what they hurled at each other during a wrestling match, and who ever would’ve thought that would be sexy.

Sander’s blunt nails scored lines down his back when he leaned down to lick at a trail of sweat running over Sander’s chest. He was close, Alexion could tell. Seed was smeared over his abdomen when Sander’s prick rubbed against it. Sander’s inner walls tightened around him as he arched his back off the bed.

“Gods!” he cried and Alexion thought, with some pride, that the entire palace might have heard him. Sander’s tightened around him again, practically vibrating, and Alexion choked. His own climax was ripped out of him, dick pulsing and nerves searing. He made a noise in the back of his throat and collapsed boneless on top of Sander.

Sander was still, so still that at first Alexion worried, but then he realized the other young man had fallen into a deep sleep, his mouth open and his breathing even. He smiled tenderly, brushing Sander’s hair off his forehead. He could live with this, for this. Alexion rolled off of Sander, curling his body around him, and watched the sunset through the window. It seemed like more had happened tonight than he could get a hold of. Was that good or bad? He looked down at Sander again, who grumbled in his sleep and rolled towards the edge of the bed. Alexion laughed and then succumbed to sleep himself. Soon they would have to get up, don their chlamys and armor, leave for Aegia and prepare for battle, and who could ever say what would come out of that?

But their thoughts were not on the future.

*



4Burg, B. R. Gay Warriors : A Documentary History from the Ancient World to the Present. New York, NY, USA: New York University Press, 2002. p 9.
http://site.ebrary.com/lib/yale/Doc?id=10032536&ppg=20

5 So the Apronidic Chronicle doesn’t exist. Why should it? Sander and Alexion don’t. In any event, even if it did, Sophocles would never have wrote it. First of all he wrote plays, not long exhausting oral poems, and second he was far too preoccupied with the wrath of the gods and fainting virgins to give much about war. However, I could imagine him waxing lyrical about love, so there you have it.

6 The Sauromation people were a nomadic tribe situated somewhere around Asia Minor. They were renowned warriors and their women fought along side the men. Just like many nomadic tribes of the region, they were horse people, and therefore had a special talent for equestrian archery, some say the women had their right breast’s seared off at birth to give their sword-arm a greater advantage as was the custom of the Amazons. This is probably nothing more than retrojection.

7 Olympias was Alexander’s formidable mother, she was reportedly a great beauty and that is why Phillip of Macedon had been so taken with her, despite the fact that marriage to her was not the strongest political alliance. And later it would probably haunt him. A lot. Seriously. If you think Angelina plays her like a bitch, then you don’t know the half of it.

8 So it might squick you a little that a fourteen-year-old and an eighteen-year-old are contemplating having sex (although I doubt it, you’re all wincest fans), I should like to point out that in ancient Greece this was a fairly narrow age gap. Sander might have been the boytoy of some decrepit Senator. However, that is not this story. Also warrior lovers generally didn’t have such a large age gap, seeing as they trained together, ate together, rolled around together etc. all with people close to their age-group.

Chapter 3
Tags: au, slash, wincest
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