Page 7 of The Night Belongs To Lovers

“Did you find comfort in the solitary life you had chosen, cutting yourself off from the bosom of your family? Do not deny that, Coriolanus, for I heard you disown them. And did they not deserve it? You planted the seed that would forever sever your connection to humanity. You paved the way for my entrance.”And I have waited years for this moment. I have waited ages for you!

“Alas, however much you could distance yourself from people, you could never distance yourself from your weakness. Mortals need others around them for support. You denied this fundamental part of humanity, and so it destroyed you. Your declaration ofindependence made clear your utter failure, but your perverse dependence on your mother made you unable to recognize your need for involvement with others. Others, outside your incestuous union.”

Wishing to hear no more, Coriolanus tapped into his newfound strength and pushed Olympius off him. Indignant and enraged, he rose to his feet faster than any mortal’s gaze could have perceived. Again, his power—his godhood—came upon him so naturally, so tremendously; it made Olympius’ blood heat with pride and desire.

Accustomed to a god’s quickness, Olympius moved effortlessly with the force of Coriolanus’ aggression, floating across the ground away, unharmed.

Knowing he bore a superficial resemblance to Veturia, as his hated mortal father, now long-dead, was of her Roman bloodline, Olympius had cultivated Coriolanus’ fury so that he would lash out at him in anger and frustration. He hoped Coriolanus would finally break the last bond that held him back from godly perfection upon realizing everything said about his mortal weakness was true.

“Cut the cord, my beloved. Free yourself from parental authority. Embrace your hatred, your rage, your unbridled desire for vengeance. Strike out at me—if you dare. Or have I wasted my gift of godhood on a coward?”

Coriolanus stood only a short distance from Olympius, biting his lip in frustration, blood trickling down his chin. His wild, piercing eyes danced with the fury of unmitigated hate as they turned red, filling with the magical ichor his Maker hadimbued him with.

“Do your will,” Olympius taunted, smirking with arrogance.

And then, it happened.

CORIOLANUS

The Present

COREYplaced the prey’s trembling hand on his groin and rubbed up and down the outline of his thick, stiff shaft with it. Slow, then fast, moving it for him as an experienced lover does for the scared yet excited virgin they plan to defile. Then, as he had hoped, the mortal took over, fondling him of his free will.

Corey moaned emphatically with pleasure, enhanced by a degree of embellishment to incite enthusiasm and excitement in both the crowd and his chosen mortal. “Yes! You make me so fucking hard! Keepgoing! Faster!”

The young man, utterlydickmatizedby this point, responded with a more ferocious assault on Corey’s barely-covered bulge.

Then, drawing again upon his godly power, Corey entered his prey’s mind, probing a little more deeply than before, experiencing his wicked thoughts and desires alongside him. In his vivid imagination, the man was sucking on Corey’s cock like a trooper, moving his tongue over the slit, trying to taste the sweet opaque fluid dripping from the tip.

Eternally severed from human procreation during the Becoming, Corey could no longer make those bodily fluids; no god could. It was just like his inability to sweat. Though there was no way his prey could have known this. Still, Corey got off on the idea of cumming, the texture and taste of mortal man’s sexual fluids. The visual stimuli provided by his prey’s thoughts only enhanced the heat of the moment. How fucking hot the young man’s lust for him made Corey feel: truly desired and worshipped.

After a minute of intense physical intimacy, Corey broke the mental connection, gripped his prey’s hand and roughly threw it back at him. Then, he deftly took his leg back from the guy being used as a footrest—the one who had massaged his limb the entire time Corey was focused wholly on another man. The god had treated the guy like an object, ignored and disregarded, yet he sensed implicitly that the leather-clad man loved every second of it.

How humanity could and did sexualize anything, including abasement, confounded the god, but there was never judgmentattached. He believed in the empyrean realm of sensation for mortals and immortals, whether it made sense to him or not.

Corey moved further down the stage until he stood directly in the centre of the mirrored back wall. While again licking his lips seductively, this time exaggerating the look of pleasure on his face while exploring his mouth with his tongue, he scraped up his thighs with his powerful fingers, creating tears in the material through which more enticing flesh could show.

Cupping his package and shaking it in the butch manner Tony had shown him earlier, Corey questioned the crowd aggressively, teasingly. “You want it?”

The screams that erupted everywhere quickly answered that question, not like the god had any doubt.

As he waited for the men to quiet back down, Corey moved in synch with the pulsating techno-pop that flowed from the overhead speakers; the music’s not-so-complex syncopations and cross-rhythms proved relatively accessible, even to someone like Tony, whose performance earlier showed he was not much of a dancer. But when you had a cock as big as his, it all evened out in the end.

Once the muted yet emphatic tension returned, the anticipation Corey felt emanating from the audience became highly intoxicating. The flood of heightened emotion, the throbbing of their near hysteria at the realization that he would soon be naked, penetrated the god’s mind. But this time, the euphoric effect nearlyoverpowered his senses. It was a welcome high he had not felt in a long time but one he could not allow to overtake him.

He had to remain in control; now was the moment to take his performance to the next level.

Gripping the sides of his pants firmly, Corey tore them off in one mighty feat of strength, causing the audience to break their slack-jawed silence again. This time, the god welcomed their vocal objectification—desired it. They clapped and hollered for more; he graciously obliged.

Crouching down on all fours, Corey crawled back to his chosen prey like a hungry beast, eagerly anticipating the feast ahead.

As he went along, he humped the dirty floor, revelling in the sordidness and baseness as his fine, muscled ass flashed the other side of the room. It was an ass you could bounce a quarter off of but still possessed enough cushiness to use as a pillow. Hard, his mushroom cock-head rammed against the stage through the G-string.

The floor was polished wood, which was great news for a mortal, but it did not matter to Corey. The toughness of his godly flesh was far beyond the harm factor of speeding bullets and slashing swords; the threat of wood splinters was a joke.

When scarcely half a metre away from his prey, Corey stopped, spun onto his back, his weighty boots firmly holding him in place, and spread his legs.

As the young man’s eyes widened with shock, his face betraying a look of lust mixed with uncomfortableness, Corey thrust his crotch toward him. The black G-string that remained to conceal the god’sgoods was not doing a great job of that, which was totally on purpose. To his grand enjoyment, it further mesmerized his chosen one and the randy crowd.

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