and you named this one alexandria, didn't you?

[mushroom]

It's Porn Battle season! And there are Horrible Histories prompts oh my I wonder who put those there.


conquered the known world
Horrible Histories; Alexander the Great/Hephaestion
NC-17; the state of Skinnymandria is in question. A continuation of the two whole minutes of canon we have.

The meeting ends with Alexander (as ever) triumphant and Hephaestion (not uncommonly) tense and frustrated, and he allows himself a steadying breath before fixing his gaze on the far wall of the tent and, saying, with the clipped tone of years of military command, "I'll go check on the men," so it doesn’t feel like running away. Alexander doesn't seem to notice, and when Hephaestion is forced to glance at him he's staring at the map again. Right.

He leaves without another word, but he only takes three steps, around the table and halfway towards the tent flap before abruptly Alexander says, "Wait, no, hang on. We're not finished here."

"Aren't we?" Hephaestion sighs, but turns around anyway, and sometimes he forgets how stealthy Alexander can be as he's suddenly there, close enough to lay a hand against the plate of his armour and normally they would be no question of holding his ground but the gleam in Alexander's eyes is familiar and terrifying and he steps back without thinking, retreats and the twist of Alexander's lips grows sly.

"I was thinking about Skinnymandria," he says, his tone light even as his eyes are dark, and as he steps closer Hephaestion follows, keeping the thin space between them until he finds Alexander has backed him up against one of the wooden poles holding up the tent, solid and sturdy against his spine and all he can think is trapped and oh, Achilles, he knows that tone, the way Alexander gets when he wants something. Obedience is suddenly too dangerous a tactic to use against him, too much like surrender, but when Alexander doesn't press the advantage he's forced to prompt, "yes?"

"I think it's already mine," he says, not quite teasing and Hephaestion feels a dull roar of panic start to burn somewhere low in his chest.

"No," he tries, pre-emptive and pointless. Alexander holds his gaze. "Absolutely not."

"Right of conquest," Alexander says in a hot, harsh whisper close to his ear, swooping close and it takes a moment for Hephaestion wonder at how much sense his words actually make - Alexander's always been the one to push the tension between them but Hephaestion has always resisted for the sake of self preservation, there's never been any winner in this - "You didn't stand your ground."

"Strategic retreat," he counters, slipping into the familiar lines because this is easy in comparison to the overwhelming heat of Alexander bearing down on him. Except, of course, Alexander doesn't play fair, and his lips brush the hard stretch of muscle below his ear. Hephaestion swears.

"Alexander," he tries, a sharp breath as he nuzzles into the crook of his neck. Alexander ignores him, his mouth cool against his slick skin, barely moving as he just breathes him in, and Hephaestion corrects himself, "Alexander the Great. Stop--"

Alexander just hums in response, now mouthing at the hollow between his collarbones and Hephaestion has lost completely, tilting his head back and letting it thump against the pole as he grasps Alexander by the thick of his arms, his fingers digging in as he whispers, "Sir," in a shaky breath and Alexander bites into the flesh on his shoulder, tracing his tongue over the dents and saltsweet skin. "You can't just," he whimpers in a last-ditch attempt, trying to draw his shoulders back which only arches his spine and pushes them closer together, his hands tense almost to the point of shaking.

"Hmm. No, I think I can," Alexander says, exploring up the side of Hephaestion's neck before dragging his lips from the corner of his jaw to his mouth, slick with the heat. Hephaestion surrenders - lips parted, his head tilting forward at the insistence of Alexander's hand at the base of his skull, and Alexander claims him with the slide of his mouth against his, precise and reckless and devastating. He begins to unlatch Hephaestion's armour with one hand, pulling off arm shields and buckles and unravelling him with quick ease while kissing him deeper, swallowing his unsteady gasps as he licks inside his mouth. Hephaestion follows, loosening his grip on Alexander's arms to tug off their armour until they remain only in their tunics and the scant air between them is heavy and humid.

Alexander smiles then, tight and wicked and with conquest in his eyes, and there's the low answering tug in the seat of Hephaestion's stomach, the relentless call to battle. Hephaestion surges forward, kissing him again all the fury and desperation of months of restraint, of close quarters and comradeship and constant submission, and he can feel the curve of Alexander's grin against his lips and it makes him furious. He pulls him forward with rough hands around his hips, grinding closer and the ragged exhale Alexander gives against his mouth is the sweetest sound of victory, the crack in his defence and oh sod this, he thinks, I get enough of this talk when we're strategising.

"Be more naked," Alexander demands, oblivious, grabbing the hem of Hephaestion's tunic and tugging it swiftly off and over his head, shedding his own as he steps forward and Hephaestion finds himself completely bare and backed up against the pole once more, open and exposed, his shoulders pulled back as he lays his hands flat against the wood behind him. Alexander crowds close and kisses him, his teeth catching on his bottom lip as his hand slips down Hephaestion's chest, his fingers catching over his ribs and his palm burning hot, until Alexander holds him still with one hand, his thumb tucked into the hollow of his hip as his other (finally) grasps his cock and Hephaestion whines into his mouth, a breathless keen as Alexander shifts closer, chest to chest so he can feel every lungful, and brings his own cock in line with his, wrapping his fingers deftly around both.

"A good military leader always listens to his advisors," Alexander whispers, impossibly hot against his ear and Hephaestion hates him so much sometimes. "Anything you'd like to say?"

He briefly considers shoving him off and possibly murdering him in his sleep, but then Alexander shifts his hand, loosening and tightening his grip so he can rub his thumb over the tip of his cock and Hephaestion just moans instead, a low growl at the back of his throat, and Alexander keeps teasing with short flicks of his thumb, his hand perfectly steady, until Hephaestion acquiesces with a rough, "please."

Alexander kisses him again at that, swallowing his sharp sighs and the hard line of his mouth, and he starts to move his hand - still teasingly slow, the slightest changes in pressure, little enough that Hephaestion quickly growls and covers Alexander's fingers with his own, squeezing tightly for a moment that they both gasp and then he forces him to move, drawing his free arm around Alexander's waist and pulling him in so his knuckles drag against the hard plane of his stomach - all friction and fever as Alexander finally goes quiet, mouthing sloppily against the corner of Hephaestion's lips before he tilts his head and kisses him properly, tongues working in time with the pull of their hands, speeding up as Hephaestion's breath catches and Alexander moans, pressing closer so their hands are trapped, intertwined, and it's just heat and pressure and the sweet slide of their mouths as Hephaestion comes first with a strangled gasp, tense and arching and his fingers clench, clinging until Alexander follows with a snap of his hips.

It's quiet in the tent, just the muffled sounds of heavy breathing calming as Hephaestion rests his forehead against Alexander's shoulder and Alexander leans his cheek against the damp mess of his hair, his eyes closed and he can feel the thrum of war wearing off, draining down through his skin and muscle and bones and leaving behind heavy, sated exhaustion. "To bed," Hephaestion mumbles somewhere into his collarbone, and Alexander agrees without fuss, his tired limbs still strong as he leads them both through to his private quarters of the tent.

They settle on the cushions, Alexander pulling Hephaestion down so he sprawls over him, his thigh slipping between Alexander's but for the moment they just lie there, quiet and content.

"Alexander?" Hephaestion starts, and the soft hum he gets in reply is a small triumph. "You still need to stop naming cities after yourself," he says, content and bold to the point of listening to his military instincts, the beat to press an advantage at the propitious moment.

"Mmm," Alexander agrees, the hum a soft vibration against Hephaestion's cheek. "I think I will call this one Skinnymandria," he murmurs, and the resulting tussle swiftly falls into long, slow kiss as Alexander takes charge.

"Cheat," Hephaestion sighs, as Alexander presses his mouth against the underside of his jaw.

"Conqueror," he corrects, and kisses him again.