Maximus opened his eyes as Commodus pulled back. Shimmering hazel, half - closed, stared at the Emperor. His newly - accepted mate, the father of this child, and perhaps the most frustrating individual that Maximus had ever met. Even that, though, was fonder these days, and his affection for the younger man was apparent as he lifted his arms to place them on Commodus' for support. At the utterance of my Empress, Maximus bit his lip.
❝Our boy ...❞ he murmured. It was a son, of course — it could be nothing else. Before he could add more, Commodus swept in to tease his breast with his mouth. Maximus wondered at the way one of his hands slid up to Commodus' shoulder, begging to hold the back of the Emperor's neck. Was this a new instinct that he would have to grow accustomed to ? It opened a terrible, yawning hole in him, worse than the physical ache of his over - filled breast : he wanted something to hold, some tangible proof to cherish of his love with Commodus and devotion to Rome. Inside of his belly, the baby kicked, and that feeling worsened.
❝You are right, Commodus,❞ Maximus replied softly. ❝We can not offend the goddess ... especially not when she has been so generous. ❞ He leaned forward, kissed the corner of Commodus' milk - sweet mouth, and untangled himself. Maximus walked to their beautiful bed. Coarse fingertips skated over the blankets. His other palm curled around his rounded stomach.
For a moment, Maximus was the perfect Empress. Posed so delicately, one hand moved to the upper part of the bed to balance his changed body. He was clothed in imperial purple, draped in expensive cloth, and wore gold on his wrists. The exposure of his breast and gentle rubbing of his belly were almost teasing.
❝Your son is growing well, Commodus,❞ Maximus said. ❝My lady — Cassias — tells me everything your royal physician will not. That the baby is already large in size, in spite of the time it has left. With this ...❞ Maximus laughed self - consciously, unable to help the glance down toward his shining nipple. ❝He will be a giant when he goes to war.❞
Commodus had always found Maximus impossible to tear his eyes away from. The years, he felt, only made that more and more true. As his mate sat, and as one hand curved over the belly so diligently holding their child, his heart fluttered in a way Commodus might have thought foolish if it were for anyone but the man so perfectly posed for him.
Gods, he truly was made for me.
And how lovely his Maximus looked, clothed in the fineries of the empire and dripping with the sustenance meant to feed the pup. As Commodus approached him, he gripped his breast with an unkind hand-- not quite mean, but rough enough for his fingertips to dig into that swell of meat and milk. Some of its white squirted out, smearing his palm with a wetness that dripped down his wrist.
The mention of their son made him laugh. "Our boy will have a size to match his greatness, then-- that greatness promised him the moment my seed took inside you.
"He will be perfect." Like always, Commodus was unflinchingly convinced of this, and as arrogant as ever. But for a heartbeat, his expression softened, and a quiet admission came between them: "And you will be a perfect mother, Maximus, I know it.
"Even your body knows this, ready as it is."
When Commodus released Maximus' teat, there were indentations left in his touch's wake. A rough palm came to caress the underside of his breast, and as it curved it made that flesh look fuller, rounder. Once more, eyeing a bead of milk, Commodus felt his mouth water, and with one hand slipping up Maximus' skirts to push his thigh aside, he wasted no time taking the space between his legs.
"Mine."
His tongue swept over the swollen, leaking bud, flicking it playfully up and down. Commodus sighed at the taste before his lips began to suck, and the pleasure that warmed his green eyes became hidden away once he shut them.
Commodus always loved to feast on Maximus, even before this. Still, the way milk filled his mouth was new, and the way it slid down his throat as his Adam's apple bobbed with every swallow was novel, too. He squeezed with his hand, forcing a squirting rush of milk onto his tongue, and he sucked long and slow in a steady pressure.
Dimly, he could hear himself moan. Milk settled in his belly, and he felt his manhood throb because of it.
