A fic based on a commission I purchased from nogutsnoglory at tumblr, i.e., .com
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Summary: AU Ancient Egypt, with Koriand'r (Starfire) and Dick Grayson (Robin I, Nightwing, Batman) as Cleopatra and Marc Antony. A PWP Lemon. Explicit. Please enjoy.
She watched her people sail across the harbor, sails unfurled to catch the waning evening wind. Most carried fish and other ocean delicacies; others bore the fruits of long-standing trade routes established centuries earlier by her ancestors. Her molten green gaze flicked to the ships docked in her harbor and her bourgeoning good mood tumbled. Garish, unpleasant ships built by foreign hands docked in her harbor. Built by twisted, infected hands that reached and scratched and grabbed for all they could; scrabbling for her land and her home as if they know better than she what to do with things they knew nothing of.
It was almost amusing, she told herself, that they thought to cow her through alliance by marriage. Males never could quite understand that marriage never silenced the woman, only changed the source of their voice. And when ones husband was the Caesar of the Roman Empire, one's voice had a lot to say. Koriand'r was the Pharaoh of Great Egypt, son of the gods, and her voiced would never be silenced or amended, no matter if a man stood as Consort or she ruled with only the gods to guide her, and she used that fact openly.
Speaking of men, she hummed softly and allowed the one who had been pretending to sneak up on her to wrap his arms around her waist and bury his face into the crook of his neck.
"If I hadn't known you knew I was here the whole time, I would say you were losing your touch, Pharaoh." He murmured against her neck, gently pulling her cascade of flame-like curls to the side to inhale her scent directly.
She chuckled low in her throat and rested her hands on top of his own, embracing the warmth of him as easily as breathing. If there was one passable thing about the Roman Empire, it was Richard.
"Certainly not, General," She answered easily, rolling her head to the side to look at his eyes, as beautiful as the Mediterranean in high summer, "One must keep sharp with so many potential enemies in our midst."
He made a soft, noncommittal sound against her shoulder and she sighed against him, rubbing her thumbs over the backs of his hands, "I do not expect you to share my opinion, my love. You needn't worry over my displeasure for your people. I am sure some of them are quite respectable."
"But none that you've met, hm?" He answered quietly. She felt the sad smile that tugged at his lips against her skin and shook her head, pushing his hands away only to turn around and cup his face.
"My love, if there is anything that can make Rome bearable, it is you. Please do not look so hurt, I cannot bear to see you suffer."
He smiled then, that soft, sweet quirk of his lips that always made her heart soar, to insist that his every desire be granted, if only to never see sadness mark him ever again. "I know, my Pharaoh, I just wish you could be happy. That all of your sorrows weren't the fault of my Caesar and my people." He clasped his hands to her wrists, "I would give you the world, if I could."
She laughed and kissed him, pulling him close and tipping his head back to allow the kiss to deepen, to lick at his lips until he parted them to let her in, their tongues stroking each other even as she felt his hands roam.
"What a silly man you are," She murmured as they broke apart, and she pressed their foreheads together, catching his eyes once more, "I have you. What more can I possibly need?"
He laughed, surprised and open, and pulled her against him, leaning up to kiss her again. His hands slid to her bare back, and slid under the sides to slip forward and over her breasts, thumbing the dark peaks until they hardened as soft waves of pleasure rolled toward her core. She growled appreciatively, nipping at his lower lip and busying herself with drinking in his mouth her fingers working at his own tunic, unclasping the large, jeweled broach that kept it over his chest. Her own fingers found his nipples and he made a surprised noise in the back of his throat, pulling away from her.
She grinned wickedly, and tweaked them again, just a little, as she watched the flush on his cheeks deepened and spread down his now bare chest.
"My dearest Richard, surely this is not the first time you have experienced this sort of pleasure?" She murmured, smiling so very sweetly. Her vibrant green eyes were alight with amusement as he coughed and grinned a bit sheepishly in return.
"Well, no, it isn't. I just wasn't expecting it from you, my dearest," She arched a brow coyly, and watched his pupils fatten as he shifted his weight forward, pressing himself back against her body with lithe ease, "But is this all you will have us do tonight?"
She laughed and took it as the challenge it was; shoving him backward and away from her but toward her opulent bed. Their bed, no matter what the court may try to say.
His grin sharpened and he allowed himself to be pushed, stopping as his knees hit the edge of the bed until she growled and shoved him onto it directly, crawling after him to claim his mouth once again as she settled herself on his lap. Their bodies fit together easily, his cock aligned with her core, as if the gods had made them just for one other. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as his did to her waist, their kisses wet and consuming even as their bodies moved, hips rolling together in rhythm; an instinctual, perfect, dance. Thin linen was the only thing that kept them apart now, and she would gladly burn all of the linen in the world at this moment to have him inside her again. But as his hands moved lower to cup her buttocks, to move the linen aside, her fogged mind swung into motion again, reminding her of earlier thoughts and carefully drawn plans.
"My love," She rasped as they parted once more, his tongue and teeth finding her neck, suckling and nipping at the sensitive skin, "I would ask a favor of you,"
She felt his hands tighten on her waist and shuddered as he licked a long stripe from her neck down the slope of her breast before answering. The familiar, delicious throb of his cock beneath made her want to squirm, to free them both again, and rut in the pleasure they could have.
But she had a plan and it would be worth it to deny herself, if only to pleasure him.
"Yes, my heart?" He murmured against her skin, tasting her and kissing his way between her breasts as if he couldn't get enough of them. She knew the feeling quite well.
"Turn over my prince, onto your belly."
He paused and looked up at her, his eyes searching, curiosity flaring in his gaze even as his eyes darkened. He knew she would not ask more than he could give, more than he could ever want to give.
He released her and she rose up on her knees to allow him to pull away, farther up the bed, and her core ached for the loss. Moisture slicked her thighs, and at any other time she would be more than happy to accommodate, to throw plans and thought to the winds, but this was not any other time and she would find pleasure in this from his own.
She watched avidly as he turned over, hands splayed at his sides; a gesture of complete trust. Oh, how she loved him. This man; this beautiful, perfect creature she had never thought possible to exist or even be within her reach, granting her the most primal of pleasures. She would never cease in thanking the gods for his presence in her life.
"First, let us be done with the trappings of formality and court, yes?" She tugged at his robe, sliding it free of him with a bit of his help and leaving him all but bare save a leather loincloth. She chuckled and plucked at it, for once appreciative of Roman dress, "Perhaps I can forgive your people; if only for providing me with the opportunity to admire your physical gifts as well as your intellectual," She murmured, lust flaring as he rumbled a laugh of his own, his muscles tensing and flexing most appealingly.
She grinned and bent over him, pressing a kiss to his neck, between his shoulders, at the base of his spine. Her fingers pressed between him and the bed, untying the pieces of the loincloth and giving his erection freedom, though not what it would crave best. He hissed and shuddered, resisting the urge not to thrust into the sheets, she imagined, and she bit her lip against the fantasy that tugged at her mind. A memory bloomed forth; of his cock inside her, of her sitting in his lap as he thrust deep, his hands in her hair and teeth against her breast as she rocked down to meet him, her pleasure-filled cries loud and decadent in the night air.
She licked her lips and shifted away from him to the small table beside her bed where a bowl lay, carefully covered by treated linen; one didn't want to contaminate such a thing with insects, after all. Inside was a mixture of syrupy texture. A clear, and pleasantly smelling liquid whose recipe she had garnered from an old friend seasons back, though she had never had much opportunity to use it before this.
Regardless, she brought the bowl back with her and settled it carefully nearby, ready at hand. She set her hands to her lover's hips and gently coaxed him onto his hands and knees, with many amused glances and arched brows. She knew he had watched her as she retrieved the bowl, had seen she carried it back with her, but he hadn't questioned her. His trust for her made her throat tighten and her heart soar; she would have done anything to keep it, to please him, as surely as she had breath inside her.
He rumbled softly in his chest, his voice soft and questioning. She felt him tense, then purposefully relax. "My love, are you sure—"
She pressed a kiss to his spine, just above his cleft, and massaged his hips soothingly, "Yes, my prince, I am sure. Are you?"
He chuckled then, a quick, high thing that made her pause for a single moment until he continued, "For you, I would do anything; and gladly."
She laughed then, a pure, delighted thing, and shifted her hands to his buttocks. She massaged them for a moment, surely something so perfect deserved a moment of its own appreciation, before spreading them just enough to catch sight of his dark hole. She watched it flare and clench against the sudden shift in air and licked her lips. Which first?
His quiet indrawn breath made the decision for her. She reached beside her and dipped her fingers into the liquid in the bowl, rubbing her fingers together gently to warm it as she brought them to his cleft.
With smooth, delicate motions, she rubbed the liquid against him, working a soft, quiet noise from him. She smiled, relieved he hadn't found the sensation so displeasing as to ask to stop, and continued, dabbing for more of the liquid and spreading it further up and down his cleft. Her motions had him hissing and shuddering for it, his thighs fanning open just a little more with each stroke. But she wasn't finished yet. Her fingers pressed at his hole, massaging and coaxing, pressing one finger deeper, until the soft resistance gave way and he grunted, just a little, and rocked forward, as if surprised.
"My dearest," she heard him rasp distantly, her thoughts too focused on pressing further, of seeking that elusive spot of pleasure she knew could be found within, "It has been a long time since I've done this sort of thing. Are you sure—"
He let out a strangled gasp as her tongue joined her fingers, flicking against the delicate skin and licking once, twice, before pressing deep to join the single finger inside him. She felt his groan more than heard and tightened her grip against the motion as his buttocks tried to clench against it. She pressed deeper with her finger, her tongue dipping into him, tasting and licking as she searched, distracting him with other sensations. He rocked back into her suddenly, jolting her and she paused long enough to hear his groan of dismay. She felt her teeth bare into something too predatory to be a smile, and felt blindly for his shoulder and arm, dragging it back to help her keep him open before searching for more lubricant even as she pressed her tongue to him once more.
He gasped and clenched again as she brought more of the liquid to him, into him. When she slid another finger inside, he grunted and rocked back once more, but she was more prepared this time and moved with him, her fingers pressing deeper in time with his movements. He groaned again as she urged him to keep himself open, fingers slipping deeper as her tongue eased their way. She twisted them inside, spreading her fingers to widen him; just a test, perhaps a tease, and he let out a choked curse and bucked against her, knocking her back just a little with surprise at the force of his movements, his pleasure at her ministrations. He groaned again and his body trembled, shuddering and flexing toward her even as she watched; heat and arousal spearing deep through her as she watched his motion edge toward desperation.
She leaned back just a little but kept her fingers inside him, flexing and spreading him inside. His grunts and straining movements coaxed her as deep as she could go, her long fingers spreading him as far as they could. His body shuddered and rocked against her, hips jutting forward and back; perfect.
She watched as his cock leaked, his seed dripping slowly onto the bed. She licked her lips, his taste on her tongue, a dark, musk-filled scent that could drive her mad, and nearly did when she couldn't have it. Another time and she would have gladly taken his cock; would have sucked it into her mouth and shown him her pleasure to do so. But not this time; not when each motion of her fingers had him moving, jutting his hips for the sensation, as if he could never have enough. She added her own thrusts from her fingers, moving against his motions, and he went wild for it, groaning low in his throat and collapsing onto his elbow, working himself against her harder, pressing his upper body into the bed as if to escape from the pleasure even as his body ached for it.
"My love, my dearest—" he choked and cried out as her fingers shoved deep, out of time with his own thrust and rubbing hard inside him. She wanted to find that elusive spot, that piece inside men that gave the most pleasure, that sent them over the edge and left them panting and spent but begging for more. She wanted to find it and bring him to completion, to give him the best ecstasies she could ever gift him, to drink from his pleasure and be the cause of it even though she ached for him. A physical, near painful throb at her core that had her clenching her thighs together, and resisting the desire to throw him onto his back and have him immediately; riding him, driving them both to completion and finding an ecstasy that was their own, breathtaking and transcendent, a pleasure which only sought to bring them together once again, seeking more. Her desire thrummed deep, her own inner liquid slipping down her thighs even as she ignored it and continued, drinking in his cries and the motions she forced from him, an instrument only she could touch and make sing.
He was beautiful, resplendent, and she would never, ever have enough of him. Not even death would free her of him.
He jolted suddenly, shocked and gasping, cursing into the sheets even as he tried to rock back harder, her fingers slipping against something soft, delicate and strange; something that had him punching the sheets and twisting back for more. His cock leaked again, dribbling a thick strand onto the sheets and she responded as anyone would; shoving deep to hit that spot again, to bring him to completion, perfect and startling as it always was.
He grunted and whined high in the back of his throat, his hips jerking and shuddering as he tried to stop, to hold back. How naughty of him! To try to hold his own pleasure away, to draw it out when all she desired, all she ever desired, was to give him only pleasure and all that she could. He moaned and fisted his hands in the sheets, fighting her even as his body continued to try to move, his cock leaking a steady stream.
"Koriand'r," he rasped, flushed and weak, his voice hoarse with effort, "My love, my heart's desire, please do not have me come without being inside you. I can't bear it."
She stopped then, staring at him, her core tightening with a throb of wicked pleasure, more of her own liquid slicking down her thighs as her thoughts blossomed with familiar memories and sensations; her own body trying to drive her mad.
"Never, my love," She whispered, alight with fire within and without, withdrawing her fingers so suddenly he jerked and cried out again, gritting his teeth first against the sensation of it, then the lack. She murmured something soothing, or at least in the tone of it, and set his hips to flip him over, his assistance near the only reason they managed a semblance of coordination. She sank onto him in one smooth stroke, far past the need for her own preparation. She moaned, long and low, as his cock sank deep, her body flooding with the pleasure of it, the perfection inherent to this act.
His first thrust made her gasp, sinking even deeper into her and she rocked to meet him, feverish need coupled with long practice. She felt her inner muscles tighten from sensation and memory, heard his distant gasp and grunt as he thrust again, setting a pace that left her moaning and straining to catch up. She shuddered as his fingers sought and found her nipples once more, peaks strained taunt and keenly sensitive, jolting pleasure deeper, ratcheting her tighter and sending her closer to that edge. She could feel him pulsing inside her, so close, so very close, but he held back with a tremendous force of will, refusing to spill himself before she found her own pleasure.
Oh, how she loved this man. This perfect, perfect man, who sought her pleasure more than his own; who she dreamed of at her side until Anubis took her and then the eternity beyond that. Nothing could be more perfect than this. She could never be so blessed as in this moment, more in love and more loved.
She felt his fingers slip against her folds, as they sought and found that tiny nub that sparked her pleasure and fanned it from a wildfire into an inferno in just a few strokes, her entire body locking with the force of it, inner muscles fluttering and clenching around him as she threw her head back and screamed her ecstasy for the world to hear.
She felt him spill inside her as the aftershocks shuddered through her, once, twice, a third time, his cock throbbing as his thrusts grew weaker, his entire body straining and taunt with the pleasure of it, his ecstasy echoing and augmenting her own. She gasped and shuddered again, letting her body collapse onto his.
She pressed herself into him, relishing in his scent, gorging herself on the sound of his rapid heartbeat and heaving chest; sweat the made his skin slick. She would never have enough of him. Could never have enough. And her only solace was the knowledge that he could never be as well.
They lay there, entangled, for an innumerable amount of time. Night was falling around them, Re setting the sun to rest, but still they did not move save for Richard to drag the thin sheet of bed linen over the both of them. She dozed for a time, content to be wrapped in his embrace, and felt his lips press against her forehead, his hands smoothing her sweaty hair before cupping her shoulders and drawing her toward him, as if she needed to be coaxed to him.
She lifted her head and pressed her lips to his, smiling lazily, triumphant.
"Did you enjoy your favor, my love?" She murmured into his mouth, her hands shifting free and upward to rub his nipples gently; a friendly reminder. He chuckled and kissed her again, a deep, satisfied kiss that left her no doubt as to his pleasure or his gratitude.
"Nothing could have pleased me more, my dearest," He responded softly, pressing his lips to her once more. They split into a beautiful smile and she kissed him again, just to trap the memory of it within her forever, "Though I must admit to wondering how you could have possibly known how to do such a thing."
She laughed, tilting his head up to kiss his neck and taste the familiar salt of his cooling sweat, "Shall I tell you the story of how I came to know, my love? It is quite a tale." She sucked at his throat and he groaned softly, hands tightening their grip appreciatively.
"I am a terrible listener, I'm afraid, my heart. Perhaps you will have to tell it to me through example."
She felt his grin against her shoulder and, with an answering laugh of her own, did just that.