Page 4 of The Night Belongs To Lovers

Coriolanus’ will was strong; the betrayed warrior overcame the spectre of oblivion to be born anew.

Upon the newborn god’s eyes opening, the older immortal was struck dumb by the brilliance of these newly eternal orbs, a spectacular sight to behold. They were now a deeper brown than before, a radiant copper, practically glowing in the darkness of night.

And no undesirable visions assailed him. Only exquisite masculine beauty lay before the god, and he was thankful for it.

And Coriolanus? He now looked upon a world far more wondrous than he could ever have imagined, yet one all too horrifyingly familiar. This familiarity, or at least hated lingering memories, brought the warrior to his senses. Now satiated and invigorated by the enchanted blood, he relinquished hold of the god.

Through scarlet-stained teeth, the warrior roared without restraint in shock and unbridled euphoria.

“Deus Meus!”

CORIOLANUS

The Present

Althoughthe main performance space was awash in light, most of the gay strip club was dim, creating an intimate setting. Those seated closest to the stage, the prime real estate for patrons,shared in the luminescence provided to the performers. The rest of the eager audience were in shadow.

Corey, as the god was calling himself in this era, gathered that the intent was for the throng of male spectators to look mysterious to the dancer until they came forward into the radiant setting to offer monetary tribute and have a quick feel. The effectwas wasted on him, as they all stood out like dozens of lit candles in the dark to his enhanced sight. No—more like campfires.

He was shirtless, wearing only combat boots and skin-tight black PVC tearaway pants over a G-string. Earlier, management informed Corey that it was customary for their dancers to come out on stage in just a pair of shorts and a G-string as men were not all that interested in the showmanship of stripping—that long, drawn-out tease.

Corey also heard from several dancers that the audience wanted quick visual access to the goods and, later, private access if they had the money and desired to spend it. As Tony, one of the club’s regular strippers, said so eloquently to him an hour earlier:This ain’t no Vegas burlesque show, bruh—it’s downtown Toronto and tonight’s Sperm Assault Wednesday.

He still went with the pants. He wanted to put on a show everyone would remember.

Corey was not nervous; he was a god, after all, and feared nothing. He was excited to begin, wanting to get everything he could from this venture and feel something new. But more than just prancing around a stage in a lycra thong and teabagging some dude’s face for a twenty.

Sure, that had its base appeal—it just was not enough. With this performance, Corey wanted to do something closer to the bastard child ofMagic MikeandShowgirls: visually stimulating and bodily provocative, with just a little sexual campiness.

No matter what he wore, it would be a new experience, for this was physical, raw, and deliciously mortal. In over two thousand years, Corey had, strangely enough, never done anything like this.

He had manscaped in preparation for the night’s performance, but not too severely, trimming his body hair just close enough to the skin so his defined musculature could stand out. Corey’s naturally black hair was cropped short to the sides and back with enough remaining atop to produce a charming wave-like effect, causing the god to appear younger than his human-looking mid-thirties. It was an intentional choice. It would all grow back by dusk the next day to how it looked at the time of his Becoming; it always did.

Corey had trimmed his beard as well, close to the skin, which he never liked, but numerous dancers, especially “gay-for-pay” Tony, had strongly recommended it. The guys with facial hair were a hit with the daddy lovers and the bears but garnered less attention from the heavy-wallet-carrying older customers. These men would drop hundred dollar bills down on youthful-looking guys, twinks especially, without a second thought.

Even without his usual thick facial hair, Corey could hardly pass for a twink. Though his objective was to fit in, to discover what it meant to experience this alongside the mortals who did it professionally, his look was secondary to his ample sexual charisma.

Corey understood the older men’s desire to be near what mortal aging had robbed them of. And at any price. Still, he would never trade a grown-ass man’s masculine power and sensuality for the innocence and rosy blossom of boyish youth. Give him hair, brawnymusculature, and a fat ass any day. He loved cocks, of course, especially girthy ones with foreskin, but he was an ass-man first.

The only exception to this hirsute preference was his Maker, who looked eternally eighteen—the age at which he had been made a god. Smooth, more beautiful, and more desirable than any god or mortal Corey had ever seen. However, that deep connection on a physical, emotional, and spiritual level, one never experienced with another, had caused him too much pain over the centuries. And so, he kept his distance.

Corey had sampled many mortal men, an internationally diverse banquet. He loved exploring their bodies, relishing the vast differences in their maleness while draining each one’s essence, the necessary feeding to sustain his godhood.

This brand of intimacy was generally consensual and mutually desired but sometimes less so when his targets were of dubious character or sought to do him harm. Thankfully, wisdom and the self-control that comes with time had largely quelled his more animalistic urges and lack of discerning appetites.

Though sometimes, the vile and the villainous were more fun to play cat and mouse with.

Corey caught his cue from the announcer in the DJ booth that he was about to be called up to perform. Everyone at the club called the guy “Big G,” a nickname that Corey hoped they would never describe to anyone again the vulgar reason behind it. If only he had been spared the pleasure.

“Gentlemen, please welcome our next dancer to the main stage. It’s his first time, boys, so be gentle. Or not. I’m sure he won’t mind. Here’s Corey!”

The god noted how Big G emphasized his name’soandesounds, giving it a sleazy connotation.

Corey walked onto the stage slowly, predatorily, to meet his eager audience, gazing out into the dimmed room like a hunter. Easily penetrating the darkness with his augmented vision, he stared into the faces of those who would soon desire him unequivocally, both the licentious and the carnally inexperienced.

Running his hands down his torso teasingly, Corey continued his sexually predacious movement toward the centre of the stage. He smiled devilishly, occasionally winking, a flirt to make certain ones feel more special than others. A manipulative move he completely understood would elicit feelings of unbridled jealousy in those not picked. Corey was confident it would make them want him more and try harder to get his attention.

The god bathed in the audience’s delight; their eyes, wide as saucers, poured over his flesh, enraptured by his physique—what he had allowed them to see thus far. Years of intense training in the ancient Roman military had given him his impressive form, forever set, frozen in time by his Becoming.

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