Graffiti

I'd been watching him for a week.

He was the new boy in town, freshly exported from Laconia, screwing his face up in thought at assembly as he tried to understand Theran-accented Greek. Leonidas sent him with the highest recommendations, and it was easy to see why; though trim, he could put a sword halfway through a shield with one overhead swing, and though more than a few of us watched him demonstrate it, most of our eyes were fixed on the flex in his arms as he brought the sword down.

His name was Amotion, and everyone called him The Young—nineteen summers old, freshest of the garrison. He showed it, too: mortified and red-faced when we caught him masturbating in the empty barracks, murmuring some woman's name over and over. If he'd been here a while longer he'd have known he could come to one of us, but all the city-bred thought you should only *truly* fuck younger boys. Something about intercourse between adults being a waste of energy. That line of thinking never really caught on out here in the sticks.

What mattered to me was his curly blonde hair. His toned and, I found out when he stripped for exercise the first time, shaven body—what odd practices they had in Laconia! And his voice, still halting and nervous around us, but so sure and reverberating in his war cry that my cock bulged obvious in my loincloth. He saw it one day—I helped him with a spear thrust during drills and stared at him the whole time—and took to blushing, eyes blatantly fixed on my crotch. I pulled the cloth aside, grasping myself stroking it firm in the sun; he gasped at the tear of precum I leaked, and I grinned at him.

"Krimon! Amotion! Why have you stopped?" asked our lieutenant, coming up behind me. I could hear the laugh he held back over the thud of his sandals in the dust, and didn't stop idly squeezing my dick.

"I—" Amotion stammered.

"I was showing him the proper grip, sir," I said, putting myself away and turning to attention. The lieutenant nodded sharply and continued on to a sparring pair further down the row, chuckling to himself.

We went back to practicing, Amotion saying nothing but howling all the louder once we sparred. That voice...

I could imagine it moaning.

A week after he arrived, I slapped his shoulder at the gym. He was panting from a workout, and looked up at me, puzzled.

"Come with me, Young," I said. "I want to show you something."

He followed me, confused but blushing something fierce, out of the gymnasium. It rested on the cliffs at the edge of the island, so we'd have the most sun for exercise; I led him away through the grasses surrounding, down the nearby trail, and along the cliff edge.

Watching the water crash against the rocks below, and so close to the edge as the path narrowed, he grabbed at my side.

"Easy," I chuckled. "It widens in a few more feet." I didn't push him away or chide him for being nervous; his hand, still oiled from wrestling, felt good. I stopped short once or twice, letting him bump into me, feeling him grip me tighter to steady himself.

Finally the path widened into a dead-end below the cliff outcrop. The flat rock rose above our heads, and a mild breeze stroked us both with ocean scent. I stepped away, turned towards him, ran my fingers along the cliff face. He followed them, pretty eyes reading what they traced. Growing wide.

He looked to me with those eyes and I couldn't take it anymore, stepping close, grabbing him by his naked hips and pressing myself to his slowly growing cock.

"How do you know I will?" he asked.

I reached down to fondle him, hand slipping up and down his length. He loosed a soft moan, lost in the crash of a wave below.

"I knew when I started carving it," I murmured, running my other hand through his hair.

We kissed, and I turned him. We stumbled to the cliff face, my back against the rock, and his slimmer body squirmed into mine. He slid his dick between my thighs; I clenched them around him, watched him fuck himself against me.

"Right," I said, kneading his ass. "first, you get on top of me..."

...

Amotion looked glorious in the sun.

The sunlight made his shadow dance lewdly on the rocks behind him, made his oiled body shine. His stomach was taut; his lovely back arched. I watched a drop of oil run down his wrist, over a finger, onto my chest. He pressed his hand there and pushed himself up, pulling nearly all the way off, ass clinging to my dick. It made us both groan. His eyes met mine and he sank back down hard, whimpering. Gods, his cock looked good, bone-hard and rubbing furious against my belly on the next downstroke; mine was buried in him, gripped so tight I wondered if he'd snap it off.

"You're a perfect Spartan," I managed, running my hand down his belly, reaching for his cock. He stared at me with eyes blazing through his blonde hanging curls, tried to say something back. The way I hammered up at him and twisted his shaft in my hand wrenched away his words, forced out another moan.

I pushed him up, off, rolled over on top of him; there was a frenzied, slick hot moment as our cocks rubbed together, my lips at his throat. He felt so good I hesitated, just grinding my dick into his, drawing precum from us both and slicking our lengths even more. Then he spread his legs beneath mine, yearning; I growled, grabbed them, put them on my shoulders. I fixed my eyes on the vivid disappearance of my length into his ass, watching our junction til his balls were at my stomach. Then I leaned in, proved him so wonderfully flexible, forcing those tense legs nearly behind his head. I wondered if he'd cover his own face when he came, bent into himself like this, and laughed and fucked him harder. Him on top was nice—godly, in fact, watching his Apollo frame shudder atop me—but it didn't match the scrawl on the rocks beside us; didn't fit the context. From the keening moans and the way he clutched the ground, he liked this better, too, my little hard Spartan bitch in the sand. I kissed him hard, felt him give tongue back like a proper soldier.

The kiss was as much for practicality as it was desire; I'd fucked half the men in the gymnasium farther up the ridge already, but that didn't mean I needed any of them coming down here now. Not when lithe Amotion was reaching the heavens underneath me, not when I was getting closer with every throb up his gorgeous tight ass—

He gasped—"Krimon!"—against my lips, toes curling over my shoulders, and his entire body went rock-rigid tense. I could feel him coming before I saw it, the pulses clenching him around me, but the sight was even better: cock swelling and twitching, thick bolts of white spattering against his chest, throat, and to my delight vividly across his face. The sight of that hitting his lips, the way he licked at it in his ecstasy—not to mention the inescapable tightening of his ass—drove me over, and he moaned anew as I flooded him with my own come, every hard jolt of my hips making him shiver some more. The last bits I marked him with, streaking across his dick, smearing us both with cum.

We lay panting and happy, slowly working our soft cocks together as we kissed. The huge, engraved letters on the rock face beside us took me a week to etch, but the results were definitely worth the effort, and I reached to trace them again...

"Dr. Alexander!" Came an irritable voice. The lush surroundings, hard cocks, and cum-faced Spartans faded. I was left with howling wind, a digital camera, and a colleague tapping my shoulder.

"Yeah?" I turned to face him, hoping the sudden uncomfortable bulge in my jeans wasn't terribly obvious. The end of my reverie—another anthropologist, and certainly no Amotion—folded his arms.

"You going to photograph those rocks, or just stare at them all day? They've got temples farther in we need to look at."

I sighed and traced the letters once more, then snapped a picture. At his insistence followed him up the ridge. While he blathered about ancient gymnasiums and project funding, I stole a glance over my shoulder, took one more look at the jagged carved Greek:

KRIMON FUCKED AMOTION HERE.

I could see them in my mind's eye, pressed tight together.

And here I was a couple thousand years late.