Making Rome Great Again or how I was born as Constantine IX, Emperor of the Romans ch 42 (Historical Fiction SI)

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Otto stared at the walls. Five distinct types of stone made up their surface, each likely from a different era. He was certain that the methods used to craft them had long since been lost; a relic of a better time in a better age. How magnificent this place must have been in its prime, vibrant and brimming with the full grandeur of the Empire. This, after all, was the Mausoleum of Hadrian, the final resting place of one of Rome's Five Good Emperors. Even as a tomb, it radiated the might of Rome, a testament to a world where even the dead rested in splendor. Otto had once thought of using one of the relics here for his own tomb when his time came.

He should have died.

His plan had been sound: fortify his position and force the Greeks to break themselves upon his defenses. They were better equipped, yes, but their numbers were not infinite. He suspected they were overconfident and he could use it against them. When Constantine spread his forces thin, it looked like it. They should have won. But that wasn't the case.

He and his men were baited. They focused on trying to get Constantine that they neglected their other lines, and the Greeks swung around like a hammer.

His jaw tightened. He bit his lips until he tasted iron. Greek Fire was nothing compared to the heat that burned in his heart.

True, his father had suffered a devastating defeat in the south against heathens of all people. Yet even that defeat had been honest, fought with the tools of war that men understood. But the Greeks...they burned his men alive, treating them as if they were animals, tricking and misleading them.

And now, the Eternal City groaned under their weight. His captors had granted him quarters at the highest point of Hadrian's Tomb, a room with a commanding view of the city. It was no kindness. It was a cruel gesture, a calculated insult to force him to watch as they seized control of Rome, to let him feel the helplessness of it all.

He-

Felt a a sharp jab in his side.

Light green eyes that looked blue at certain lights, fiery red hair that was inheritance of their father, and thick eyebrows that came from their mother. And she pointed down at his tray of food.

[SPOILER="Sophia, Abbess of Gandersheim"][/SPOILER]

"You haven't eaten," she pointed out.

Otto glanced away, his gaze returning to the city below. "I'm not hungry," he muttered.

Sophia's brow furrowed. "Don't be foolish, Otto. Your men still look to you. Your empire still needs its leader."

At that, Otto let out a bitter laugh. "A leader?" His voice cracked as he turned to her, despair etched into every word. "What kind of leader am I after this? After they burned my men alive, after they made me watch as Rome fell? What kind of emperor can I be now?"

Sophia stepped closer, her hand resting on his shoulder. Her grip was firm, grounding him even as his emotions threatened to spiral out of control.

"Snap out of it, Otto," she rebuked him, her voice cutting through his despair. "We cannot afford this. You cannot afford this. If you fall apart now, the Greeks won't just dictate terms. They'll grind you under their heel. They'll strip what little we have left, humiliate us further, and leave us with nothing. Is that what you want? To make it easy for them?"

Otto swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "You talk as if we still have a choice," he muttered, his voice low, almost a whisper. "What choice is there? The army is scattered, Sophia. We have no forces left to rally. What can I possibly do?"

Sophia stepped back, crossing her arms as she regarded him with a mixture of irritation and resolve. "You still have your mind, Otto. You still have your title. And you still have me. That's more than enough to start with."

For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes darting between her face and the plate of food she had brought earlier. Finally, he sank down into the chair beside the table, his movements slow and reluctant. He picked up a piece of bread, holding it between his fingers as if it were some unfamiliar object. Then finally, he ate.

Sophia sighed in relief.

With their army scattered, Sophia predicted a few things. Their Northern Italian vassals would likely revolt and attempt to strike out on their own, maybe even offering the Emperor in Constantinople recognition or an agreement to leave them alone. The Slavs would try to rebel again now that the Empire lost most of its army. Finally, the more ambitious of the German Princes would try and assert more of their independence or worse, wrestle the regency from their aunt Matilda. She could not account for certain people in their shared prison so they were either dead or rushing north to for that purpose. But with Otto still alive, the worst of the damage would be mitigated and they still had friends. The Bishops and Archbishops would not dare forget who put them in their positions, and their cousin was still in Pavia and the true legitimate Pope.

But...

Sophia was not an idiot. She became the Abbess of Gandersheim for the position allowed her benefits that would be lost to her if she simply became someone's wife. She knew the game and how it was played. 

"What do you intend to do?" Sophia asked, taking a seat across Otto. 

Otto remained silent for a long moment, chewing the bread with mechanical motions, his eyes still fixed on the table. He looked like a man trying to summon strength that no longer existed within him. Sophia waited patiently, her sharp gaze watching him, weighing his every twitch and hesitation. 

Finally, Otto set the bread down, his hands trembling slightly. He exhaled a slow, shaky breath. "I don't know," he admitted. His voice was quiet, almost too quiet, as if saying the words aloud made the truth unbearable. "I don't know what to do, Sophia. The Greeks..." He stopped, shaking his head. "They've already won."

Sophia's lips thinned, a flicker of irritation flashing across her face. "Have they?" she asked sharply. "Have they truly won? They've taken Rome, yes, but that does not mean they can hold it. We still-"

​Otto met her with a flat look. "Sophia, you know of the news from the east. Jerusalem is reclaimed. The Greeks have been resurgent in just a few short years. This is not a Constantinople that is beset on all sides, but one that is expanding."

​Sophia drew in a breath. "Then what? All is lost?" 

Otto's face softened. "This is why I brought you with me, to advise me on what we could do." 

Sophia leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, her fingers laced together. "I've never negotiated with Greeks before, brother. This is new." 

Western Lords were predictable, simple. Appeal to their honor, to their masculine pride, let them underestimate her. But Greeks? They who had eunuchs and women-empresses? They were a queer people who would not look at her as anything more but an equal. 

"You are the best in this situation," Otto encouraged her. "I wouldn't have anyone else by my side but you."

Despite herself, Sophia smiled. Otto cared for her in ways most men wouldn't for their own family. She wiped the smile off her face, and nodded. "Very well, my Kaiser. I shall be your diplomat." 

​Otto brightened for the first time since his defeat. "What do you think they will ask of me?" 

Sophia leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Let us start easy," she said. "Ransoms are a given. A ransom for you alone would drain our treasury."

Otto looked like he sucked on a sour lemon. "I really should have died."

"Your funeral would have cost the same. Don't be foolish," Sophia tutted. "Now, if they do make demands of us, you do not necessarily have to capitulate to it. Stall, frustrate them for better terms. You are still the Roman Emperor. Your title has weight, and the longer that they hold you, the more time granted to your supporters to rally."

Otto listened, and nodded. "Frustrate them. Understood." 

​He turned to the corner, towards a crown sitting on a tray. "We mu-" 

Their ears shook as the sound of a iron grill opened, followed by the thudding of boots. Sophia froze, her head snapping toward the sound of the iron grill. The cadence was slow, deliberate, purposeful. 

She turned sharply to Otto, her expression tightening as her mind raced. "Quickly," she hissed. "Fix yourself. Stand tall. You're still an emperor, no matter what they think. Let me handle the talking, brother. I'll signal you when it's time to speak."

Otto's brows furrowed, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. But then he straightened, nodding. He brushed the wrinkles from his tunic, smoothing the fabric with trembling hands. His movements were stiff and tired, but the dignity of his station began to settle over him like a familiar cloak.

"Very well," he said quietly, his voice steadying. He stood and turned towards the window, clasping his hands behind his back. He lifted his chin slightly, gazing out over the city below as though the noise behind him didn't exist.

Sophia watched him for a moment, satisfied. Otto might have been broken, but his pride wasn't entirely gone. She adjusted her own clothes, smoothing her veil and stood by the table, hands clasped neatly in front of her. She was the picture of composure, though her mind churned beneath the surface.

The voices grew louder as the boots approached the door. She could hear Greek now, the elegant flow of their language carrying an air of authority. One voice was deeper than the others, commanding yet conversational. It carried the smoothness of a man accustomed to power.

Constantine.

Sophia braced herself as the door opened with a groan of iron hinges. Several men entered the room, their polished armor catching the dim light of the chamber. Two guards flanked the doorway, their hands resting on their swords, though they didn't draw. Behind them came Constantine. For a moment, Sophia's composure broke. She could handle gloating, she could handle arrogance. But Constantine had affixed a easy disarming smile on his face as if they were guests to his mansion!

He began to speak, and one of the men translated. 

"Caesar wishes to know about your lodgings," the interpreter began, his voice calm and measured. "Are they adequate? Is there anything you require?"

Sophia glanced at Otto, his gaze fixed on the window as though he hadn't heard a word.. She turned back, and offered a small, polite smile.

"Tell Caesar that we are grateful for his concern," she said, her tone carefully even. "But what we require most is to discuss terms. Surely, that is why he is here."

The interpreter relayed her words, and Constantine's smile widened slightly, his hands clasping behind his back as he responded in Greek, his tone as light as if they were having a pleasant conversation at a banquet.

"Caesar says there is a time and place for such discussions," the interpreter translated. "This is neither."

Sophia's smile didn't falter, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Then tell Caesar," she said crisply, "that we insist on knowing what is being planned for us. Surely, as your so-called 'guests,' we are owed that much."

The interpreter hesitated for a moment, glancing at Constantine, who gave a nod of approval. He relayed Sophia's demand, and Constantine's reply came just as smoothly as before.

"Caesar says," the interpreter began, "that your future has already been decided. South, to Bari, or East to Constantinople."

Sophia's composure cracked just slightly, her brows knitting together as she took a step closer. "Sent south? To Constantinople?" she repeated, her voice rising slightly despite her efforts to remain calm. "This is unacceptable! My brother is the Roman Emperor, the King of the Germans and the Italians! Not an exotic animal to be paraded before your court!"

Otto hands tightened.

Sophia's fists clenched at her sides, though she quickly relaxed them and drew a breath, forcing herself to maintain her composure. She glanced up towards Constantine. "You cannot move my brother, the Roman Emperor, to Constantinople. It would be a provocation of unimaginable magnitude!"

Constantine's expression remained calm, but his eyes flickered with interest as he listened to the interpreter relay her words. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing for the interpreter to continue as Sophia pressed on. 

"My brother's removal to Constantinople would destabilize the entire region," she continued, her voice rising slightly with the force of her argument. "Northern Italy would be in disarray, there would be rebellions all around! Without him, the West would be thrown into chaos!" 

The interpreter finished, his voice steady but lacking Sophia's conviction. Constantine listened carefully, before offering a faint smile in response.

"Caesar says," the interpreter began, "that he understands your concerns. However, such matters are for the Emperor to decide, not him. He is but a servant of the Emperor's will."

Sophia's jaw tightened, but she refused to let her frustration show. "Then relay this to the Emperor," she said sharply. "If my brother is sent to Constantinople, it will be seen as nothing short of an act of aggression. The bishops and archbishops of the empire will rally the faithful against you. The nobles who have lost sons and fathers here will not forget how they died. You will earn nothing but the enmity of a people who do not forgive or forget easily."

The interpreter translated once more, his voice growing slightly more hesitant under the weight of Sophia's words. Constantine stood still, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression serene as though he were watching a pleasant debate rather than hearing a warning. When the interpreter finished, Constantine tilted his head. 

"Caesar says," the interpreter relayed. "that your words are impassioned, Lady Sophia. But passion does not dictate the course of empires. The Emperor in Constantinople does. You speak of resistance, but does the House of Otto really have that much supporters? Does the House of Otto muster the same troops that Rome does?"

Sophia's jaw tightened, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to maintain control. Constantine's calm arrogance was infuriating, but she reminded herself that anger would only weaken her position.

She inclined her head slightly, her tone sharp but polite. "Perhaps Caesar underestimates the strength of faith and loyalty in the West. The army may be lost here, but the hearts of our people have not. They will not bow so easily, nor will the Church allow itself to be cowed by threats of violence to a foreign conqueror."

Constantine's smile remained unshaken, though a flicker of interest passed through his eyes. He responded in Greek, his tone as smooth and measured as ever, and the interpreter continued. 

"We are not a foreign conqueror, but a Empire who has returned to its native homeland. Do not speak to me of loyalty, when Rome rebelled twice against you and cast off your cousin from the papal throne. Rome does not love you." 

Otto hissed at that, he turned around, and with a red face, cried in Greek. "I would have won if you hadn't cheated! If you hadn't used your devil devices! This is not a victory, Domestikos, but a reckoning!" 

Sophia's eyes widened, her entire being screaming at her to stop her brother, but he continued. "I swear on my house's blood, that for as long as I live, I will be a bane to you and your false empire! There is only one Rome, and that Rome is me!" 

Constantine's expression shifted. 

"Caesar says," the interpreter began, hesitating briefly before continuing, "that you misunderstand your position, King of the Germans. The title of Emperor belongs to only one man, and that man sits in Constantinople."

The air in the room choked, Otto froze for a moment, his face going pale before flushing red with fury. His fists clenched at his sides, trembling as he glared at Constantine.

"I am the Roman Emperor!" Otto bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber. "By blood, by coronation, by divine right!"

Sophia's breath caught in her throat. She could feel the blood drain from her face as Otto's words spilled out, each one more dangerous than the last. She took a step toward him, her hand reaching out as though to physically pull him back, but he was too far gone, his rage consuming him.

"You think you've won?" Otto continued, his voice rising with each word. "This is only the beginning, for as soon as I am free of this place, free of you, I will see your false empire undone!"

"Enough, Otto!" she snapped, her tone sharp and commanding. "Do you want to get killed?" 

"I don't care!" Otto yelled. "I am not letting this...Greek lord over us!"

Constantine remained non-plussed, though his eyes narrowed slightly with a flicker of irritation at Otto's unrelenting fury. He leaned slightly toward the interpreter, murmuring in Greek. 

The interpreter, clearly uneasy, hesitated before speaking.

"Caesar says," the interpreter began, "that the King of the Germans has had a long day and should rest. Perhaps, with time, the hot air will leave him, and he will see matters more clearly."

Constantine's gaze shifted to Sophia, and for a moment, there was almost a trace of sympathy in his expression. He inclined his head slightly, his voice softening as he spoke again in Greek.

"Caesar wishes to excuse himself," the interpreter relayed. "He trusts Lady Sophia will remind her brother of his position and of the consequences of further provocations. For now, Caesar bids you both a good evening."

With that, Constantine turned on his heel, his polished boots clicking against the stone floor as he strode toward the door. His guards followed closely behind, their armor glinting faintly in the dim light. The iron door groaned open and then slammed shut behind them, leaving the siblings alone in the suffocating silence of the chamber.

Sophia stood frozen for a moment, her mind racing and her heart pounding as the echoes of Constantine's footsteps faded. Then she rounded on Otto, her composure cracking as anger and fear surged to the surface.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" she hissed, her voice sharp and trembling with barely-contained fury. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

Otto, still red-faced and breathing heavily, sank into the nearest chair, his shoulders slumping as the fire drained out of him. He buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled and bitter. "I couldn't stand it," he muttered. "Hearing him call me that...hearing him deny everything I am. Everything we are. I couldn't-"

"You couldn't control yourself!" Sophia snapped, cutting him off. She stepped closer, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "We are in no position to be exploding right now, no position to make any threats. We have to be careful."

Otto looked up at her, his expression a mixture of anger and shame. "You heard him," he said, his voice rising again. "He called me King of the Germans. He denied my crown, my right, everything I've fought for! How could I stay silent? How could I let him-"

"You could have stayed silent because it's the only way we survive this!" Sophia interrupted, her voice trembling with frustration. She paced away from him, her hands pressed to her temples as she tried to calm herself.

Otto's shoulders slumped further, and he turned his gaze to the floor. His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists on his knees. "So what am I supposed to do, Sophia?"

Sophia stopped pacing and turned to face him, her expression softening slightly, though her voice remained firm. "You endure," she said quietly. "You bide your time. You let them think they've won, let them underestimate you. And when the time comes, when we have the advantage again, then you strike. But not before. Not like this."

Otto looked up at her, his eyes filled with despair. "I don't know if I can do that," he admitted. "I don't know if I can stomach it."

Sophia stepped closer, kneeling in front of him so they were at eye level. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm and grounding. "You don't have a choice," she said softly but urgently. "You're not just fighting for yourself, Otto. You're fighting for your people, for your crown, for everything we've built. If you let your pride destroy you now, you destroy all of that too."

For a long moment, Otto said nothing, his gaze fixed on the floor. Then he nodded slowly, his shoulders sagging as the fight drained out of him.

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The fires of the torches burned, their flickering light casting long, wavering shadows across the rooftop. The hum of distant voices and the occasional clatter of hooves on cobblestone drifted up, blending with the soft splash of water as Constantine settled deeper into the tub. Steam curled into the cool night air, dissipating into the stars above. The same stars Constantine was turning towards.

The view above was a treat that the most rabid of star-gazers would kill for. No light pollution, no satellites blotting out the view. No, he saw the heavens in a world that while old was also very, very young. 

Otto reacted to his captivity predictably though Constantine could not blame the man. He too would feel the same way if his men were burnt and he lost the city he claimed Emperorship over. With his sister, he understood why Otto brought her along to be her mouthpiece. Her patience was saintly, truly a credit to the training she received. But that aside, he did think about the points she raised. It sounded like the end of the world for the West and frankly, that was the whole point of it. Let the Northern Italians and the other independently-minded vassals go apeshit trying to break free. After all, ruined neighbour trying to kill itself meant one less blood thirsty soldier they had to fight. 

But...he felt his uncle had something else to say about that. 

Knowing the Emperor's personality, he was quite sure his uncle with pursue a detente with the Germans. If he could do that with the Bulgarians, and they were a thorn on the Empire's side for generations, then he could likely do that too with Germans who, previously, we shared a alright relationship with. It was a stereotype that Basil was a warmonger...well, he was a war monger. But he was a smart one. He did not start fights if he didn't have to. 

He-

Alert filled Constantine as he heard steps from behind. Then, a familiar voice spoke. 

"Is there room for one more?" Stephania de Crescentii asked. 

Constantine turned to see Stephania standing by, her body hidden by a dark cloak, though the cloak hugged her figure. Under the moonlight and against the torchlight, her pale face was illuminated. 

"How did you get past my Varangians?" Constantine asked, wondering whether or not to summon them. Pretty she might be, she would still be capable enough to assassinate him if she wanted to. 

"I have my ways," Stephania replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "A Crescentii should know how to navigate Rome."

Constantine's brow furrowed. He was either going to get one hell of a good time or get stabbed to death, though he did not exactly think the Crescentii were that dumb. He gestured toward the tub with a faint shrug. "If you've gone through the trouble of sneaking past my guards, I suppose it would be rude to deny you. But you'll have to explain yourself first."

Stephania stepped closer, her cloak swaying as she moved. The faint scent of jasmine trailed behind her, mixing with the steam rising from the tub. She paused at the edge of the water, her fingers dipping into the tub. 

"Explain myself?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I simply thought you could use company. After all, I had promised to give you a tour of Rome."

Constantine leaned back, and nodded, his eyes boring into Stephania as she took a step back and let the cloak slip from her shoulders, revealing a simple yet elegant tunic underneath that clung to her form. Her body was small but her stomach was soft, smooth. Two pink nipples stood erect against the fabric, dark shadows forming around her areolas as the water soaked through. She sank into the tub with a contented sigh, the steam rising around her like a lover's caress, her legs brushing against Constantine's under the surface. 

She did not leave his eyes. 

"I would love that," he nodded, keeping his nerve. "A tour of the city would allow me to-"

Sephania settled deeper, her knees parting just enough to press against his thighs, her foot trailing lazily up his calf. She tilted her head, dark hair clinging wetly to her shoulders. Her hand dipped below the surface, fingers grazing his inner thigh with tender intimacy. "Are we really just going to be talking about tours or are we going to get down to it?" she whispered, her voice sly. 

Constantine raised an eyebrow, then shrugged his shoulders. "Fair enough," he rumbled.

In an instant, the space between them vanished. Constantine's hands shot out, gripping her waist and yanking her onto his lap in one fluid motion. Stephania gasped, then laughed as she straddled him, her soaked tunic riding up her thighs. She ground down against the hard length of him already straining beneath the water, her breasts pressing into his chest, nipples scraping like points of fire through the fabric. 

"So impati-mmmph!" Stephania's teasing words dissolved into a muffled moan as Constantine's mouth claimed hers in a deep, devouring kiss. His lips moved with possessive hunger, tongue sweeping past her teeth to tangle with hers in slow, languid strokes that tasted of steam and salt and the tang of Rome's night air. She melted into it, her fingers threading through his wet hair, pulling him closer as their breaths joined.

Constantine's hands roamed her body like a conqueror staking claim to new lands, large palms gliding over every curve with deliberate sensuality. He cupped her ass first, fingers sinking into the soft, yielding flesh beneath the clinging tunic, kneading with firm squeezes that made her hips twitch against him. Water sluiced between them, warm rivulets tracing paths down her spine as he dragged one hand upward, tracing the flare of her hips before splaying wide across her belly. His thumb circled her navel lazily through the sodden fabric, feeling the quiver of her muscles beneath.

She arched into his touch, breaking the kiss just enough to gasp against his lips but he chased her, nipping at her lower lip before trailing his mouth down the column of her throat. His kisses were worshipful; soft at first, lips brushing like feathers over her pulse, then firmer open-mouthed sucks that left purple marks on her pale skin. He laid his tongue along her neck, savouring the jasmine scent of her arousal while his free hand ventured higher. Fingers found the swell of her breast, hefting its weight, thumb rolling over the hardened nipple in circles until it pebbled tighter, straining against the translucent cloth.

Constantine had not touched a woman since the campaign began and it showed. His other hand slipped between her thighs under the water, parting her folds with two thick fingers, stroking her slick entrance in feather-light pets that teased without entering. She whimpered into his ear, thighs clenching around his wrist as he played her like an instrument, circling her clit with agonizing slowness, dipping just the tip of a finger inside to curl against her walls, then withdrawing to join his ravaging on her breasts. Pinches, tugs, soothing laps of his tongue across both nipples now freed as he yanked the cloth down, exposing her to the cool night breeze and his ravenous gaze.

Stephania's breaths came in shallow pants, her nails scoring light trails down his chest, but Constantine craved more. With a low growl, he gripped her hips and rose from the tub in one powerful surge, water sheeting off his frame like a god emerging from the sea. Droplets glittered on his shoulders, his chest, and the thick, throbbing length of his cock. 

Stephania moved automatically. Her lips parted wide, and her tongue darted out, wrapping around his head. Inch by inch, she took him deeper, her mouth a furnace of wet heat, cheeks hollowing with each head bob. She teased the ridge, then took it deep into her throat until her nose brushed his pelvis. She felt his hands on her hair and the tightening of his fingers on her skull. He was not going to be gentle and she laughed her appreciation, her tongue pulsing as she took it. She felt it building, the swell of his cock thickening on her tongue. He was close, she could taste it.

But just as his moans pitched, deep and beastlike, he pulled out with a wet pop, leaving her lips tingling and swollen, a glistening string of saliva snapping between them.

The world spun in a blur of motion. Strong arms hauled her from the tub, her back slamming against the cool marble of a nearby bench. Constantine loomed over her, a towering silhouette of power glistening with the torchlight, his eyes dark with feral intent as he gripped her knees and spread her legs wide. There were no words shared between them, only a understanding that tonight, she was going to be ravaged. 

Constantine dropped to his knees between her thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh just above her knees. Stephania's breath hitched, her chest heaving as she watched him lean in close, his hot breath fanning over her womanhood. A teasing gust made her clit twitch and her hips lift instinctively toward him. Then his mouth descended like a beast unleashed, lips sealing over her entire mound in a broad, possessive kiss that sucked her folds into the wet cavern of his mouth, tongue plunging deep with long, greedy strokes. 

"Oh! Oh~~~!" Stephania wailed as he groaned against her, the vibration rumbling through her pussy like thunder rolling low in her belly. She felt every flick, every swirl as he devoured her, nose nudging her clit while his tongue speared inside, curling to scoop her arousal and drag it upward in filthy, savoring laps. Her hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling the wet strands, pulling him closer with her walls clenching around nothing and aching for the stretch of his cock. 

Time blurred in the haze of sensation; he went and went, teasing her to madness with feather-light laps that barely grazed her nerves, then attacking with full force. Her thighs trembled around his head, muscles straining against his iron grip, breaths fracturing into whimpers and pleas as the coil in her belly wound tighter, hotter, every nerve singing under his beastly devotion. Sweat beaded on her skin, mingling with bathwater and her own dripping arousal. Then finally, she gave up.

Stephania shattered, back bowing off the bench as her orgasm ripped through her like lightning, gushing hot release that he lapped up greedily. He didn't stop, nursing her through it with softer laps, drawing out every aftershock until she sagged limp, oversensitive and trembling. His lips glistened as he lifted his head, eyes twinkling with something.

"W...water..." she croaked, throat parched from cries that had surely woken up Rome. She hissed in irritation as she heard Constantine laugh with dark satisfaction. He turned fluidly, sweat dripping from his frame, and reached for a nearby silver cup resting on a low table. Going beside her once more, he cradled the back of her head with one broad hand, tipping the cup to her lips with surprising gentleness.

"Drink," he murmured, watching her swallow greedily, the cool liquid soothing her ravaged throat. He set the cup aside, thumb brushing a stray droplet from her lower lip, his gaze searching her flushed face. 

"You alright?" he asked, a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes.

Stephania did not know why that made her stomach leap. 

"M-more than... alright..." Stephania nodded weakly, managing a sated smile. 

Her words cut off in a sharp yelp as Constantine moved like lightning, strong hands flipping her onto her stomach in one effortless twist, the cool marble kissing her cheek and breasts anew. Her ass lifted instinctively into the air, thighs parting on the bench's edge, slick pussy exposed and vulnerable, twitching still from her release. 

"Caesar wait, I'm sensitive!" she protested breathlessly, half-hearted even to her own ears, but the words dissolved into a gasp as she felt the thick, hot length of his cock slide between her folds from behind. Not entering yet, but gliding through her, nudging her swollen clit with every teasing pass. She sucked in a breath and a quiet scream as as he notched the blunt head at her entrance, then thrust forward in a slow, inexorable slide. 

She clenched around him involuntarily, a whine escaping her lips as Constantine wasted no time on tenderness; this was pure claiming, primal and animal, a man pounding his seed into a woman to mark her as his territory. His hips snapped forward with piston-like force, each thrust slamming deep and withdrawing only to ram into her again. 

Stephania's moans spilled out, broken and animalistic. From high, keening whimpers that cracked into feral challenges, daring him, calling him to fuck her like a whore, to turn her pussy into his, to make her scream. 

"Hnnnng...claim me! Mark meeee!" Stephania hissed through gritted teeth, her voice a snarl. She hissed again as she felt his hands wrap around her neck from behind, arching her spine slightly. His lips brushed her ear, hot breath fanning the lobe before his teeth sank in. 

She whimpered.

"You want to be claimed? You want to be seeded?" Constantine growled into her ear, his cock swelling thicker inside her, rutting her, fucking her, breeding her. 

A dark desire rolled through Stephania. This was not her mission. But long had she craved a child, Crescentius's couldn't provide despite their nights together. She should have not said it but sense in her mind was dead. She could not think properly not when her walls were milking him greedily, hips bucking back to take him deeper. Her whimpers turned to desperate, mewling pleas. "Yessss! Fill me....take me! Make me a motherrrr!" she wailed, body quaking as bites peppered her shoulder, ear, neck. 

With a final roar, and to her disappointment, he pulled out suddenly, and unleashed thick ropes of seed across her back. They heaved there, breaths ragged, bodies slick with sweat, water, and fluid. Stephania's face fell against the marble and she thought he would get off her until Constantine reached up, cupping her chin with sudden tenderness, turning her flushed face to his. Then, he claimed her lips with a long, deep kiss. 

A kiss Stephania felt, told her that her ordeal was not over. 

Her cries would be spread throughout the night.

+++

A/N: Hah. Seggs.

Next updoots are going back to kingdom building.