Archive of Our Own

Something is troubling Marcus.

Esca has suspected as much for a few days, but it was not until this evening that he has become certain. Although Marcus is a man of few words, he is not generally given to brooding, but he is doing so now, frowning at the plants as he tends to his garden. He has been distracted and slightly cross all day, and now he is taking it out on the weeds, which is as good an outlet as any.

Esca would ask what troubles him, but he has known Marcus long enough to predict the answer he would receive. They have known each other for a little over three years and have been lovers for nearly a year, and they have spent almost all of that time in each other’s company. By now, Esca knows Marcus will insist that all is well right up until his leg gives out, or until he falls asleep mid-meal. This present mood does not appear to be related to his leg, or indeed to his health at all, that Esca can divine, but he must merely be patient. Marcus will speak of it when he is ready, and not before.

Until then, Esca can cook the fish that he caught at the stream, along with some leeks and the herbs Marcus likes, for their evening meal. Dinner is well underway when Marcus enters their small roundhouse.

“I would have done that,” Marcus says, for they both know that, of the two of them, Marcus is the better cook.

But that does not mean he should be the only one who does so. “You were busy in the garden,” Esca replies.

“I’ll fetch more water, then.”

Esca turns to look at Marcus. The well is not far from the house, but carrying water is typically Esca’s task, especially at the end of the day when Marcus’s leg is more likely to be fatigued. But Esca does not embarrass Marcus and ask. He merely holds Marcus’s gaze and sees that his friend is offering out of kindness and not guilt.

Over the meal, Esca tells Marcus of the troublesome stallion of a wealthy merchant he is working to tame. It is a beautiful animal, but the owner will not leave Esca to his job, insisting instead upon watching and providing his own inexpert opinions upon the process. Marcus listens and reacts with sympathy, though Esca can tell there is something on his mind.

Not until the meal is finished and the dishes are cleaned and they are mending their winter clothes by the fire does Marcus finally come out with it.

“Esca,” he begins, setting aside the cloak he has been poking at, “there is something I must ask you, and yet I fear the answer as much as I need to hear it.”

Esca frowns, trying to imagine what Marcus might be referencing. “I hope that you would not fear to ask me any question.”

“It is not precisely fear, I suppose, only…” Marcus trails off, evidently gathering his courage, and Esca gives him the time he needs, attempting not to indulge in his own trepidation at what the question may be. At length, Marcus continues, haltingly, “You have said to me before that you have, in the past… enjoyed greater… variety.”

“Variety?” Esca repeats, not understanding.

Marcus swallows, his face held carefully neutral. “With your lovers, I mean. Before me. More… variation in activities.” Then his mouth twists, and he huffs with frustration. “Things I find difficult to speak of, clearly.”

Ah. With that, Esca knows exactly what question Marcus is about to ask—he is working himself up to ask for Esca’s mouth.

It is not entirely unexpected. In truth, Esca has often considered the question himself, whether he would be willing. As time has passed, and he and Marcus have grown as close as any two people can be, he wants there to be nothing, no act of intimacy, that he holds back from Marcus. Every day, every time he and Marcus reach for each other, the memories of his former masters seem farther away, less painful to contemplate. Still present, yes, and never without pain entirely. But Esca does not wish to let those memories—or, indeed, those masters—dictate the actions of his present self, and what he might share with the man he loves.

And Marcus has never yet asked for it. In point of fact, Marcus has asked for very little. It is more often his practice to ask Esca what he wants, and they proceed from there. In the months they have spent learning each other’s desires, Esca has confirmed the fact that Marcus finds deep satisfaction in following instruction, in giving pleasure eagerly and joyfully as it is requested of him, with his hands or his cock or the press of his body. He makes few requests for himself—in bed or out of it, really.

Thus, when Marcus does ask for something, Esca knows it is something he desires with all of his heart. It is easy to imagine the elation and gratitude, not to mention the utterly stupefied expression on Marcus’s face, that will result from Esca laying Marcus down and fulfilling such a forbidden desire.

For all these reasons, Esca has decided that if Marcus asks, Esca will at least try to suck his cock. If, in reality, the act is too uncomfortable for him, too reminiscent of what was forced upon him when he was a slave, he does not fear telling Marcus that he cannot continue. In truth, he imagines Marcus might sense his discomfort first and bid him stop. And so, for the love he bears Marcus, for the satisfaction he wishes to give him, Esca will say yes.

And then Marcus asks, “Was taking another… When you lay with your… Was… was doing the fucking something you enjoyed, as well?” When Esca does not immediately answer, he continues, “I know you have not done so in a long time. Is it something you yearn for?”

Esca’s jaw falls open with shock. He knows he must respond quickly, lest Marcus mistake that shock for disappointment or disgust or a dozen other things that Esca does not—could not—feel for Marcus, not now. “Is that what has been troubling you?”

Marcus’s brow furrows. “Was it so obvious?”

“I—I knew something was on your mind, but not what it was. Forgive me, I did not—” Esca shakes his head, trying to wrap his mind around a question he did not expect in the least. “That is to say, yes, in the past, I have enjoyed doing the fucking.”

“I see.”

Esca quickly tries to reconcile this question with the way Marcus has been acting. “But you must know it is not something I expect with you. From you.”

The furrow remains. “But do you desire it?”

“Marcus, surely you know, just as you did not want to cause me shame, I would never want to do so for you.” Now Esca shoves aside his own mending and moves closer, taking Marcus’s face in his hands. “As you have said, I live among Romans now. Just because I feel no shame in being taken does not mean I expect you, who has abided by Roman custom all your life, to feel the same.”

“Yes, of course,” Marcus says, though the smile is slow to form on his face.

Esca aches to see this hesitation, and he kisses Marcus, hard and quick. Does Marcus truly imagine that Esca yearns for that particular act so badly that he would seek it out with someone else? He simply cannot allow Marcus to think so. “I want no one but you, Marcus. I will say it as often as you need to hear it.”

“I confess, it does me good to hear it from your lips,” Marcus murmurs, and Esca kisses him again, softer and slower.

“I can give you a demonstration as well, if it would please you,” Esca whispers back, his hand trailing down the front of Marcus’s tunic. He is, he must admit in the privacy of his own heart, somewhat relieved that Marcus did not request his mouth, but Esca would be quite delighted to bring Marcus off in any of the other ways they both enjoy so thoroughly.

The smile that presses against Esca’s lips now is far more genuine than the one before. “It would please me greatly.”

&&&

Two days later, the merchant’s stubborn horse bucks while Esca is attempting to mount him.

Esca is not injured, but he is thrown to the ground and the wind is knocked out of him. While he lays on his back, regaining his breath and staring at the clouds overhead, he suddenly realizes that Marcus may have been trying—in his own awkward, circuitous, Roman way—to ask if Esca would fuck him.

And Esca, misunderstanding, denied him without a second thought.

“Fuck,” Esca groans, and somewhere off to his right, the stallion whinnies in sympathy.

&&&

Naturally, it is not as simple as racing home and telling Marcus that, yes, of course Esca will fuck him, however and whenever he likes. That if he must choose one role or the other for the whole of his life, Esca would choose to have Marcus’s cock inside him, but that does not mean he does not sometimes desire the reverse. That, even if it is only idle curiosity, Esca would be honored to indulge it. That if Marcus wants Esca’s cock, Esca will give it to him with the greatest of devotion and tenderness and care for Marcus’s heart as well as his body. Or, if it would suit Marcus’s needs better, that Esca will hold him down and tell him what a filthy whore he is and fuck him at a merciless pace until they both are satisfied.

No, Esca cannot say one word of that, much as he might like to.

In the first place, Esca is not completely sure that indeed was what Marcus was asking. He may have merely been seeking information or he may truly, as Esca initially assumed, have been worried that Esca would seek this pleasure elsewhere. Or he may genuinely be curious but not yet ready to speak his curiosity aloud. If pushed on the topic, he might retreat into denial—such a desire is no easy thing for a Roman man to acknowledge.

Above all, Marcus has been so careful to avoid pressuring Esca for any act of intimacy, and Esca owes him the same courtesy. No matter what, Esca must tread carefully.

“I have been thinking,” he says that evening as they lie in each other’s arms beneath the furs, lax and sated.

“Hmm?” Marcus hums, head lifting where it rests on Esca’s chest.

Esca soothes it back down with a kiss to Marcus’s scalp. “About what we spoke of the other night. You reminded me how much I have enjoyed doing the taking, with other men. ”

“Oh,” Marcus responds, his body going unnaturally still.

“Do not mistake me,” Esca says quickly, thumb stroking the back of Marcus’s neck. “I want no one but you. These were lovely memories only. I do not seek to relive them with anyone else.”

Marcus relaxes a little in Esca’s arms. “Oh.”

“I told you that I lay with a few of my shield-brothers. As you have said, our ways were different, and who fucked whom could change with the occasion, with the desires of the participants.”

There is a pause, and then Marcus asks, with evident curiosity, “Is that so?”

Esca chuckles, holding Marcus a little tighter. “Indeed. A man could take either role without shame, though occasionally with a bit of friendly teasing. Some had strong preferences, but others chose whatever suited them that day.”

“And it is enjoyable for all men, the…? Well, I would call it ‘the woman’s role,’ but demonstrably, it is not.”

“Some men certainly enjoy it more than others, but most find at least some pleasure in it. There is no reason why any individual man might not enjoy being fucked, no matter his size or station.”

“I thought that might be the case, from what you had said, but to hear it spoken of in no uncertain terms…” He feels Marcus’s throat contract as he swallows. “It sounds so strange to me.”

“It was delightful.” In truth, it was not so perfect a picture as Esca is sketching for Marcus. There were occasionally cruel words and jealousies and inequities, but Esca does long for the greater degree of freedom the so-called barbarian life afforded—for Marcus as much as for himself.

“And you… You did both.”

“I did,” Esca says, trying not to squirm with excitement now that Marcus has continued the conversation as Esca hoped he might. “As you have no doubt surmised, I prefer the feeling of being penetrated.” He pauses for breath, not wishing to sound over-eager. “But with the right man…”

Marcus, too, expels a hard breath, and Esca waits for him to find his words. Eventually, he does. “How did you determine the right man?”

Perhaps a bit of humor is warranted. “I simply lured him to my bed and pounced on him.”

“You… what?”

Esca chuckles, kissing the top of Marcus’s head indulgently. “The right man was the one who asked me, Marcus. Or whom I felt a particular desire for, and asked him. As I said, I felt—I feel—the desire to take less often than the desire to be taken, but it was no less a joy to indulge when I felt it.”

“And…” Now Marcus’s words come out slowly. “The shield-brother you spoke of once, who was special to you. The big one. Did he ask you?”

In truth, he never did. That man had not enjoyed being fucked at all, and Esca was all too happy to be impaled upon his prick when they had the time and the privacy. But Esca thinks that the present situation might call for a small falsehood, lest Marcus need reassurance that large, strong warriors can also relish the chance to spread their legs. There were certainly a number of such men in Esca’s tribe. “He did,” Esca says without elaboration.

Marcus makes a soft, pensive sound, and then remains quiet, as if thinking. Esca does not push Marcus further, on that point or any other. The fire and the furs are warm, and they are both comfortable and drowsy, and they do not talk more that night.

&&&

Esca used to tease Marcus, in the beginning.

The morning after he first rode Marcus’s cock, Esca woke up a bit tender between the legs and sore in the meat of his thighs—appealingly so, but he had groaned as he rolled over to face Marcus, and Marcus’s face had taken on a anxious expression. “Are you in pain?”

“Mmm, horrible pain,” Esca had mumbled, flopping over onto Marcus’s chest to savor the closeness a bit longer. “You have injured me grievously with the sheer immensity of your cock. I may never recover.”

Marcus’s chest vibrated with a resigned grumble, and Esca could easily imagine him rolling his eyes. “I was not speaking in jest.”

“Nor was I.” It was a slight exaggeration, to be sure, but Esca had yet to bed a man who did not like having the size of his manhood praised.

“Esca.”

“Ensure you never take your trousers off in the stable. The horses will be jealous.”

“Esca.” A sharp poke to his side had let Esca know that Marcus expected a real answer, and when he pushed up on one elbow to look Marcus in the face, he had seen uncertainty there, and worry. Perhaps not that he had truly injured Esca, but that something had changed between them in the act of penetration.

And indeed it had, but only for the better. It had deepened the trust they shared and introduced a new form of intimacy. Esca had shivered to remember how it felt to have Marcus lose himself in Esca’s body, mastered entirely by Esca’s commands and his own pleasure. And yet, or perhaps because of that very loss of control, there was real concern in Marcus’s eyes. “A pleasant soreness only,” Esca had said, tracing Marcus’s pouting lower lip with his forefinger. “Like muscles worked well by a good day’s labor.”

“Truly, you are well?”

“Marcus, I am not merely well, I am happy. And very satisfied.”

“Oh. As am I.” Marcus’s eyes had softened then. “I confess, I overtaxed a few muscles myself. Ones I have not used so strenuously in some time.”

“And so we will have to work them more often, to build their strength,” Esca murmured, leaning up to place a gentle kiss where his finger had so recently traced. “Though likely we should take a day or two to recover.”

“From all, ah, exercises, or…?”

Esca had grinned, shifting one thigh to rest between Marcus’s legs and feeling Marcus beginning to stiffen anew. Evidently he is not the only one reliving the memory of the previous night. “My hands are not sore in the least.”

“Nor are mine.”

Esca thinks of that conversation from time to time, of what was said and not said. That Marcus continues to respect him as an equal, even though he is a former slave who happily plays the cinaedus at nearly every opportunity, is no mean thing. Nor is the fact that Marcus enjoys giving pleasure, rather than merely taking it for himself. Marcus is not given to extravagant displays of affection, but his heart is open to Esca in a way it is not to anyone else—nor has it ever been, Esca suspects. And if Esca is honest, the same is true for him.

So Esca ponders all these things. Truthfully, he thinks of little else.

&&&

The next few weeks feel to Esca a bit like the first few weeks after he and Marcus first lay together. There is now something new that Esca wants, something that he thinks Marcus might want as well, but again, he must plan his moves carefully. When he is tempted to frustration, he reminds himself how rewarding this waiting was the first time around. He cautions himself that the result may be different, as Marcus’s desires are as yet untried, and he may find the reality of them too much to bear.

Still, Esca chooses to feel the fluttering in his chest as excitement. He believes now that Marcus does indeed want Esca to fuck him, but it is entirely possible Marcus might not quite be able to admit it to himself yet. Merely the fact that he would consider it, that he would broach the topic at all, is a mark of the depth of his trust in Esca, and Esca wants to honor that trust as far as possible.

And it certainly does not hurt that every look, every touch, feels provocative in the light of this new information. Esca is ravenous for Marcus’s touch, even more so than usual.

“You’re like a mare in heat,” Marcus chuckles breathlessly, nuzzling the back of Esca’s shoulder. He is bent over Esca’s body, his cock starting to soften where it remains buried inside Esca. They should move, as Marcus’s leg will not tolerate this position much longer, but Esca likes the way this feels even after he has spent— Marcus’s prick still filling him, Marcus’s broad chest pressed against his back, Marcus’s arm under his belly, holding them together while Esca helps support both of their weight with his hands. This is yet another thing he thought he would never want again, being put on all fours and taken from behind. But as long as they start face to face, Esca sometimes likes to move into this position when he feels the need for Marcus to fuck him harder and deeper. Marcus’s callused hands on him, Marcus’s gasps and moans, Marcus’s lips smearing against his skin simply could not belong to anyone else. What he suffered as a slave is the farthest thing from Esca’s mind when they do this.

“Perhaps I am in heat,” Esca sighs. As Marcus takes some of his weight off of Esca and shifts to draw away, Esca whips an arm back to hold him in place, getting a delightful handful of his ass in the bargain. “Just a little longer, please, if your leg can bear it.”

Marcus gives a hum of assent, resting his cheek against the nape of Esca’s neck, and they remain locked together for a few blissful moments. The air around them feels warm and humid, scented with sweat and oil and Esca’s seed all over the furs beneath him. One day, one of them may remember to put a tunic or some other bit of cloth down first, but Esca was far too preoccupied with getting fucked hard and well, and spending with bone-shaking force when Marcus wrapped a hand around him. Esca’s mouth is dry from gasping and crying out. If he is giving greater voice to his bliss now that he is trying to tempt Marcus to the same, at least they do not have any neighbors close by.

All too soon, Esca can feel Marcus’s thigh begin to tremble, and he knows Marcus must move his leg or it will begin to cramp. He shifts beneath Marcus, spurring him into action, and they carefully separate. They clean up with a nearby tunic, and Marcus does not let Esca get far, tugging him back until he is spooned against Marcus’s chest, both of them on their sides. Only Esca’s elbow rests on a patch of dampness, and that is acceptable.

“It thought perhaps you would not let me have my cock back this time,” Marcus murmurs, his breath ghosting over Esca’s ear. “You threatened me with that, a long time ago, and I have never forgotten it.”

“I would keep you inside me always, if I could.”

“That might make life outside of this bed quite awkward.”

Now that they are settled together, Esca’s limbs feel loose and heavy, as do his eyelids. He can feel the approach of sleep, already coming to claim him. “You give me such pleasure, my Marcus,” he says, words starting to slur together.

“It certainly sounded that way.”

As he begins to drop off, Esca’s lip twitches up at what he hears in Marcus’s voice: the faintest strains of envy.

&&&

“Did I or did I not inform you that this stallion must be broken to the saddle by the kalends?”

Esca’s short fingernails dig into his palm as he endeavors to master his temper. This upstart merchant, Sextus Aelius, fancies himself a horse trader and yet knows less about horses than most children. “One horse is not the same as any other.”

“That is not what I asked you,” the man insists, setting his hands on his hips.

“You did inform me of that, and I informed you that I would do what I could by such a date. But this horse is clearly from wild stock.” Esca should stop his words there, but he does not. “And has, I strongly suspect, been mistreated with the lash by an ignorant novice.”

The merchant’s nostrils flare, and his face goes red. “I will not be spoken to in that manner, let alone by a British slave.”

“I am no slave,” Esca growls, imagining his feet growing roots into the ground so that he will not advance on this man as he desires to.

“Once a slave, always a slave, you puny excuse for a barbarian,” Sextus says, stamping over to the horse to grab its reins.

The horse drops its head and shies back, yanking the man forward until he drops to his knees in the mud. Esca should not laugh, but he cannot help himself.

When Sextus rises from the mud, his eyes have gone cold. “As you have done no work for me, do not expect any coin.”

Scoffing, Esca says, “I have worked with this horse every day for a fortnight.”

“And you have nothing to show for it.” Sextus pulls himself up to his full height, permitting him to literally stare down his nose at Esca. “I intend to let it be known among the respectable classes that you have no skill at all.”

Esca does not keep a knife in his belt, but that is no matter; he would barely need to move a muscle to put Sextus’s face in the mud, Esca’s elbow on his neck. But Esca did not survive seven years of servitude by giving into his baser instincts, and hurting this man—as briefly enjoyable as it might be—would gain him nothing. “If you do so, you dishonor only yourself. Sir.”

Sextus snorts. “Remove yourself from my property.”

Esca can see the man will not be reasoned with, and anyway, he is too angry to think clearly. So, biting his tongue until it bleeds, he does as he is bid.

As Esca rides home, old Awen’s plodding as sullen as her rider, his anger slowly gives way to anxiety. He does not earn a great deal, but Marcus’s income alone is insufficient to support them, particularly if they wish to save up for future plans. And Esca does nearly as much work for barter as he does for coin, giving the baker’s daughter riding lessons and helping the saddler find new clients. The people who know him well should not be swayed by the word of a single merchant, but if the man is persuasive, Esca may find himself unable to obtain new work. Marcus is too proud to accept more help from his uncle, who fed him and sheltered him as he recovered, and Esca does not want to be the cause of Marcus needing to ask for it.

His demeanor is gloomy as he reaches their house, but he spies movement in the garden before he can go inside. Marcus is there. Evidently, the moneylender who employs him did not need him for a full day’s work. That is not without precedent, but nor does it bode well for their savings.

Marcus is sitting on his backside, hands filthy up to the elbows, and staring intently at a stalk in front of him. As soon as he hears Esca’s footsteps, his face lights up and he gestures. “Esca, look, look!” As Esca approaches, he brushes leaves aside and points to the stalk, on which is hanging a tiny green pod. “The late frost did not kill the pea plants after all!”

The grin on Marcus’s face is luminous, full of joy and pride. It is not even marred by the dirt smeared across one cheekbone or the sweat on his temples—on the contrary, they seem to enhance it. There was a time when Marcus thought his body was broken and his life had come to utter ruin, and now here he is, taking such delight over a lovingly-cultivated pea plant. He might be the most beautiful sight Esca has ever seen, and for the moment, all worries and dire predictions leave his mind. Esca drops to his knees and flings his arms around Marcus’s shoulders, squeezing tight.

“I love you,” Esca says with such conviction that his eyes burn behind closed lids. “I do not say it often enough. With everything that is in me, I love you.”

He feels Marcus’s arms twine around his back, holding him with equal strength. “Just as I love you,” he says, his tone confused but sincere.

Esca feels his throat start to close up with strong emotion, so he simply buries his face in Marcus’s short hair, smelling sweat and loamy soil, and holds on. He cannot say how long they stay that way, but Marcus does not loosen his hold until Esca does. There is a question on Marcus’s face, but before Esca answers it, he wipes the dirt from Marcus’s cheekbone and kisses him soundly, pouring all the emotion he cannot quite give voice to into the kiss.

When he pulls back, Esca finds he can speak again. “You know the merchant who is new in town? The one with the unruly stallion?”

“You have told me of him, yes.”

“He is unsatisfied with my work and no longer requires my services.” Esca sighs. “And he refuses to pay me for what I have already done. And he has threatened to spread gossip that I am without skill and unsuitable to hire.”

“Hmm,” Marcus says, frowning. “Shall I slit his throat for you?”

At first, Esca merely blinks, trying to puzzle out whether Marcus is serious—and then the corner of Marcus’s mouth turns up, and Esca snorts. Marcus’s jokes always catch him unaware, but the tightness in his chest eases. “That would be very obliging of you, but I imagine it would cause more problems than it would solve.”

“As ever, you are the more prudent of the two of us. We could file a suit against the man for the money he owes you, if you wish.”

“I think it would be the word of a tattooed barbarian and former slave against his,” Esca groans. “I did make some progress with the horse, but I am uncertain I could prove it to a judge.”

“Whatever you decide, you have my support.” He takes Esca’s hand and squeezes it. “Surely you know the slander of a near-stranger will mean nothing to those in town who know you.”

Esca attempts a smile. “I had hoped that would be the case. I do not know who may put stock in Sextus Aelius’s word simply because he is Roman and I am not.”

“Wait, Sextus Aelius Curio?” Marcus’s eyebrows rise. “Is that the name of the merchant?”

“You know him?”

“He visited our offices only last week.” Marcus grins sharply. “He has requested a loan, but he has not yet provided witnesses as to his character. If my employer should learn that he is a man who does not pay his debts…”

That gets a real laugh out of Esca. “How fortuitous.”

“It would not get you your money, but it would see justice served, in a way.”

“That is enough.”

Still holding Esca’s hand, Marcus tugs gently until Esca is close enough for another, longer kiss. It is outdoors, in the middle of the day, and though they have no neighbors close enough to see, nor is their little house surrounded by woods or empty fields. Esca knows it is not inconsequential for Marcus to kiss him this way, here and now.

But then the sky clouds over, threatening rain, and even without paid work for the rest of the day, there are always things to do. Since Awen is still saddled, Esca visits the baker, confirming that Floria’s next lesson is in two days and returning with bread for supper. Marcus cooks stew with the broth that he has been simmering from rabbit bones all afternoon. They talk for a bit in front of the fire, and then merely enjoy each other’s company. The lust that has so possessed Esca over the past weeks is at a lull after the events of the day, but he imagines it will return when they retire.

However, when he goes to check on the horses before they turn in, he discovers a loose nail in the stable that has resulted in a cut on Auriga’s leg. He is obliged to both fix the nail and clean and bandage the wound, which takes him nearly half an hour by lantern light.

When he returns to the house, Marcus has fallen asleep beside the fire. With a chuckle, Esca rouses him just enough to get him to their pallet, where he nestles beneath the furs and quickly resumes his slumber. When Esca slips in beside him, there is sufficient light from the fire’s embers to see Marcus’s sleeping face. He looks so young in sleep, so peaceful, though Esca knows Marcus feels more peace in the waking world these days than he has in a long time.

“I would give you anything you wanted, Marcus,” Esca murmurs to his sleeping form. “Anything at all. If you would only ask.”

&&&

By the next morning, Esca has decided: he will not force Marcus to ask. He will not force Marcus to do anything, of course, but perhaps Esca can bring the issue to the fore as long as he does so with a delicate touch and proper timing.

It is several days before Esca feels the time is right. On a day when the weather is exquisitely warm, they walk through the woods to a secluded stream and bathe in the water. They wrestle a bit, too, which turns into playful kissing. With his legs wrapped around Marcus’s hips, Esca thinks of applying that delicate touch here and now—but outdoors is not the place for it, and the water is chilly enough that Esca can tell Marcus is not entirely comfortable. So he contents himself with numerous kisses, and with tweaking Marcus’s pebbled nipples until Marcus squawks and dunks Esca’s head under the water.

When they return to their roundhouse, they are in high spirits as well as clean from head to toe, and Esca is unwilling to wait for the sun to go down to have Marcus in bed.

“Ah,” Marcus sighs as they enter their home, “as diverting as that was, I suppose we should fix the stable roof while the weather is good.”

“I disagree,” Esca says, heart already starting to kick up with anticipation. “You should take off your clothes and lay on the furs, and let me touch you as I could not in the open.”

The dumbstruck expression on Marcus’s face is almost comical, but he does not argue. However, as he pulls his tunic over his head, he says, “Only you would be aroused by a plunge into cold water.”

Esca chuckles. “If you think it was the cold water that aroused me, you are much mistaken.”

Bare to the waist, Marcus strides over to their pallet and tugs at the ties on his braccae, but pauses to glance over his shoulder at Esca. “I would have you join me, if that is not obvious.”

“I suppose I will,” Esca teases, sidling over to stand next to him without any haste.

“I would have you naked, as well.”

As Marcus gets comfortable on the furs, Esca manages to remove his own tunic, but he is too distracted by the sight of Marcus’s body spread out for him in the daylight to do more. He is so lovely, his body softer and thicker now that he no longer lives the austere life of a soldier, and a bit of luxury suits him splendidly. He is still as strong as ever, as is apparent in the flex of his arm as he tucks one hand behind his head. He gazes up at Esca with desire so fierce and open that it nearly stops Esca’s breath. That is the look, the one that makes Esca feel like a giant, and it grows no less potent with each occurrence.

“Well?” Marcus asks when Esca is silent for a touch too long. “Did you command me here only to gawk at me?”

“Perhaps I did,” Esca murmurs, not quite able to maintain his teasing tone from before in the face of such resplendence. He had a goal in mind when he set this in motion, but not a detailed plan to get there, and Marcus’s idea, lightheartedly as it was intended, is inspired. As he kneels down next to Marcus, he says, “Perhaps I desire to watch you as you touch yourself.”

Marcus’s brow furrows. “You do not desire to touch me?”

“Oh, I will touch you all I like,” Esca says, realizing the brilliance of this idea as he speaks. “Just not your cock. You will do that yourself.”

A bit of color rises on Marcus’s cheeks—as beautiful as he is, he has never seemed quite comfortable with being gazed upon—but he does not object. “May I use oil, centurio?”

He means to be facetious, Esca can tell, but the swelling of his yet-untouched prick is a sign of how much Marcus enjoys being given instructions. There are times when Esca wonders whether Marcus might sometimes want to address him as domine, but he never does, even in jest. Probably that is too heavy a word between them, but Esca will gladly play the commander to Marcus’s dutiful soldier. “You may,” he says.

As Marcus leans over to retrieve the jar they keep nearby, Esca shuffles further down the pallet until he is near Marcus’s legs. He cups a hand beneath one knee and bids Marcus lift it until his foot is flat on the mattress. When Marcus has lifted the other knee to match, Esca moves between them and sits.

Marcus pours a few drops of oil in his cupped palm, but when he goes to set the jar down, Esca shakes his head. “More.”

Marcus’s eyebrows rise, but he obeys, adding more before looking again to Esca for approval.

Oh, how Esca relishes moments when Marcus looks to him for approval. “More.”

Again, Marcus obeys.

“That is sufficient.”

When Marcus wraps his hand around his half-hard cock, oil slides down the thick column of flesh, and Esca’s mouth floods with saliva as Marcus spreads the oil until his prick is coated. The reaction surprises Esca, and he swallows hard against it, determined to concentrate on Marcus. Since they began this, he has never stopped himself from reaching for Marcus when he felt the desire to touch him, and it is remarkably difficult now. But he has a plan, and he wishes for Marcus to be relaxed and deep in his pleasure when he implements it.

Marcus hardens quickly under the touch of his own hand and Esca’s watching eyes. The oil is now beading in the thatch of hair at Marcus’s groin and sliding down his balls to drip on the furs beneath them, and the sound Marcus’s hand makes when it begins to speed up is deliciously vulgar. Marcus even laughs, shifting to resettle on the furs. “It sounds like…”

“Like you are fucking me?” Esca asks with a wicked grin, looping an arm around Marcus’s good leg and dropping a kiss on the inside of his knee. “Like you are pumping into me with such abandon that your balls slap against me?”

“Yes, that is it,” Marcus sighs, letting his head tip back and his hips rock up into his hand.

“How does it feel?”

Marcus appears to think about it before answering. “Slick. Wet. There is no friction at all, only pressure.”

“Tighten your hand,” Esca instructs, rubbing his own palms slowly up and down Marcus’s thighs. The action makes Marcus’s knees start to fall farther apart, and while there is only so far Marcus’s bad thigh will stretch, Esca can tell he is merely relaxed and not taxing the muscle.

Marcus makes a sound of gratitude as he complies. His prick is fully hard and straining up into his hand—though if it is leaking, Esca certainly cannot tell for all the oil. Gods, Esca could probably strip off his own braccae and mount Marcus’s cock with no preparation, feel Marcus spear into him in one long, brutal thrust. But though Esca’s insides clench with the thought, he has not forgotten his aim.

“Take your other hand,” Esca says evenly, “and get it slick. Then rub your chest.”

Marcus does not reply with words, but he nods and gathers excess oil on his hand, smearing it across his chest. Esca does not have to tell him to leave his hand there—evidently, it feels good enough on its own, and he glides his hand around until there is a sheen of oil over much of his torso. It is a beautiful sight, rippling muscles beneath his gleaming skin, even more alluring when Marcus begins to rub at his nipples. Esca knows how the calluses on those fingers feel against his own skin, and he nearly moans in sympathy.

Esca glides his hands lower and lower, until his fingers are resting in the creases between Marcus’s hip and thigh. The oil has dripped here, and there is even more on Marcus’s balls, so Esca wets his fingers as he cups Marcus’s sac with both hands.

At that, Marcus’s eyes pop open, though his hand barely slows. “Th-thought you said you would not touch me.”

With a lazy smile, Esca replies, “I said I would not touch your cock. And you are doing an admirable job of it yourself. You may increase your pace, if you like.”

Marcus nods, his eyes falling closed again as Esca rolls Marcus’s stones carefully in his palm, tracing the seam with his fingertips. This particular touch is something Marcus is quite fond of, which is why he has also allowed Esca to press his fingers to the stretch of skin hidden behind. Esca does so now, and Marcus’s breath hitches, his hand speeding up. His cock is flushed a deep crimson, the prominent vein on the underside practically pulsing.

With a careful eye on Marcus’s reactions, Esca begins a gentle massage of this warm, secret place on Marcus’s body. He does not have to ask to know that he is the only person who has ever touched Marcus here. Though he wants to offer Marcus new pleasures, he does not want to take advantage of that trust, so he moves slowly. After a moment, he shifts Marcus’s balls to his other hand so his fingertips can reach farther between Marcus’s legs, circling up and down, up and down, a little farther down each time.

Esca can feel the instant when Marcus realizes what Esca is doing. Marcus’s thighs tense, his eyes open, and his hand stops—but he does not let go of his cock. “Esca,” he says, and Esca is not sure whether his tone is one of warning or pleading. He is not sure whether even Marcus knows.

“I will not penetrate you, I swear it,” Esca says solemnly. “I wish only to show you how it feels to be touched here.”

For the space of three breathless heartbeats, Marcus does not react. But then he nods, the tension in his thighs lessening slightly. He does not close his eyes again, but his hand resumes its motion.

Esca does not rush for his goal, but rather continues his slow and steady progress until his fingertips begin to brush the tight pucker of Marcus’s hole. Marcus sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out shakily as Esca’s fingertips move lower still, centering their gentle circles on the closed rim. Esca shifts forward slightly; he can no longer see what his hand is doing, but Marcus must spread his legs wider to accommodate him, exposing himself more fully to Esca’s touch.

“Oh,” Marcus breathes. “That is… Oh.”

“Yes,” Esca says, his own heart starting to race. The next few moments will determine so much, and he must not push Marcus too far. He must let Marcus come to him, like a skittish colt to an apple, if he wants it.

And he does.

As Esca’s own bowstring calluses provide the slightest bit of friction through the oil, the tension in Marcus’s body eases. As his hand speeds up further, his hole even relaxes, not quite opening, but fluttering against Esca’s fingertips. He increases the pressure very slightly, and a broken moan issues from Marcus’s mouth. It is not even so much the sensation, Esca imagines, but the forbidden nature of the act. Marcus has been tempted, and the reward for succumbing to temptation is so much sweeter than an ordinary touch.

Esca does not need to do more than change up the motion of his fingers, stroking back and forth over Marcus’s hole rather than circling it, to make Marcus whimper. Marcus’s hand is flying over his shaft now, slinging droplets of oil all over the furs. His hips are surging down with enough force that Esca worries about keeping his promise not to push his finger inside, but soon enough, Marcus’s body goes still as a cry erupts from his mouth. As his cock begins to spurt, Esca presses against Marcus’s hole as firmly as he dares and feels it pulse against his fingertips, as though trying to draw Esca inside him. Somehow, Esca resists that pull, knowing that he is likely to have another chance to indulge it in the near future.

When Marcus’s hand finally slows to a stop, his chest heaving with breath, Esca slowly removes his hand from between Marcus’s thighs. Marcus’s eyes are closed, so Esca helps him stretch out both legs and then rests his palms on Marcus’s hipbones and allows Marcus to come back to him on his own time. Esca knows that he kept his promise, and he knows Marcus enjoyed it as it happened, but he is not entirely certain how Marcus will react now that he is spent.

Eventually, Marcus’s eyes open, still unfocused and blown black. “Esca,” he croaks, holding his hand out.

As soon as Esca takes it, Marcus yanks him up. Esca goes sprawling across Marcus’s torso, landing in a great deal of oil and semen, but he does not care in the slightest.

Though the angle is initially awkward, Marcus kisses him and kisses him, one oily hand digging into the hair on the back of Esca’s head and holding him close. Suddenly, all the arousal Esca had been trying to ignore comes flooding in, flush as he is against Marcus from chest to groin. His penance for not removing his braccae earlier is that they are now filthy, but as soon as he manages to loosen the ties, Marcus yanks them down, distinctly ungentle over Esca’s turgid prick, but Esca is so glad to have any stimulation at all that he groans.

He only manages to shove the offending garment down to his knees so he can find leverage and position his cock in the cut of Marcus’s hip. Everything is so slick already, he feels like he could rub himself over Marcus’s whole body with no resistance—and then Marcus’s hands close over Esca’s buttocks, pulling him into a quick, grinding rhythm.

This is the closest Esca ever gets to fucking Marcus, kneeling between his spread legs and rutting against him, and it is always so good, the way that Marcus feels so delectably responsive under him. And now there is the possibility of more, of kneeling between Marcus’s thighs in order to work his cock into Marcus’s tight, welcoming hole, thrusting in and in…

Esca comes with a deep, shuddering sigh, Marcus’s fingers digging into the meat of his backside and holding him close.

Presently, he becomes aware that Marcus’s chest is trembling, that soft sobs of breath are issuing from his mouth. For one horrible second, he fears that Marcus is crying, but when Esca lifts his head, he is pleased to see that Marcus is chuckling.

Glancing down between their bodies, Marcus asks, “Do we have time to return to the creek?”

Esca’s mouth crooks up in a grin. The extra oil had seemed such an inspired idea at the time, but it has created a truly impressive mess. The furs beneath them may never recover. “We do, but I am not walking there like this, nor am I putting a clean tunic on over it.”

“The well it is, then.”

“A moment, please,” Esca says, propping himself up on one elbow. His hands were planted in the furs when he rubbed off against Marcus earlier, so there is only a little oil remaining on his fingers as he reaches up and traces over Marcus’s cheekbone. He does not wish to dampen the mood, but he must address what happened between them. What Marcus trusted him to do. “There is much more satisfaction to be had, if you wish it,” Esca murmurs.

When Marcus takes his meaning, his eyes dart away, and Esca’s heart freezes. But his gaze returns, and though he looks uncertain, he does not appear ashamed. “I know.”

“But I must know for certain that you desire it.”

Carefully, Marcus nods. It is not quite an enthusiastic assent, but an acknowledgement. He knows this is something Esca will neither force upon him nor beseech him for.

And, for now, that acknowledgement is enough. Esca slides forward—it is hardly difficult, given the amount of lubrication between them—and kisses Marcus again, soft and sweet and lingering.

Eventually, he pulls back and sighs. “Well, let us deal with this mess before we become stuck together.”

&&&

After that, Esca can do nothing but wait. He must give Marcus time to think, and simply hope that shame does not worm its way back into Marcus’s heart. If they are to speak of it, he must wait for Marcus to raise the topic.

He does not expect Marcus to do so while they are bouncing down the road on a cart pulled by their two horses, Awen and Auriga, on the way to Marcus’s uncle’s villa. Upon reflection, Esca thinks Marcus chose such a moment deliberately—they are alone, but the setting is hardly a private or romantic one. Nor is it likely to become so once they reach their destination. Perhaps Marcus wishes to speak of such things away from the possibility of actively doing them.

“If you were to…” Marcus starts, then trails off. “If I…” He huffs. “If it were to be done, how would you do it?”

“What?” Esca asks, distracted by the sight of a rabbit near the treeline and confused by Marcus’s total lack of specificity. He glances at Marcus, but Marcus keeps his eyes trained upon the road in front of them.

“If we were to… exchange roles.”

Given the lack of context, Esca must think on this, and it is the flush high up on Marcus’s cheekbones that finally clues Esca in to his meaning. “Oh. Well, I suppose… that would be up to you.”

“I have no expertise in this,” Marcus insists, as though Esca were unaware. “I would not know where to begin.”

“Beginning is not difficult,” Esca says, pointing his gaze toward the road so that Marcus will not feel as though he is being examined. And, evasive as it is, he mimics Marcus’s oblique rhetoric. “It can begin as it always begins, with closeness and touch. And oil, of course. We would progress slowly and carefully, as you required.”

“I am not afraid,” Marcus snaps. “Nor am I one of your horses, to be tamed with sweet words and a bit in the mouth.”

Esca knows how lightly he must tread here. “No, but you are very precious to me. I would cause you neither shame nor pain.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Esca sees some of Marcus’s tension ease. “You are precious to me as well. That is why…”

He trails off, but Esca does not need him to finish the sentence. “You have trusted me with your life. Now I think you are trusting me with something even more important—your honor. I hope you know that it is safe with me.”

“I do know it,” Marcus says, glancing at Esca quickly before cutting his eyes away again. His whole face is flushed now, and his voice is low, but he continues speaking. “And I… I think between us, I am able to say that it is not truly a matter of honor, nor one of shame. That it is instead a matter of trust, and of shared pleasure. But only between us.” He sighs, shoulders slumping. “You know how such things are spoken of between Romans.”

“Between some Romans, yes. I would wager, though, that there are many more who enjoy it than would admit to it. Even the manliest Roman citizen may secretly relish taking it up the arse once in a while.”

“Esca.”

The look Marcus sends his way is nothing short of scandalized, and it is all Esca can do not to laugh. Instead, he very carefully hooks his smallest finger through the same digit on Marcus’s hand where it rests on the seat next to him. “I forget, sometimes, that you think all Romans are as proper and forthright as you are.”

“You make me sound conceited,” Marcus grumbles, turning back to the road.

“Just the opposite. You are only ever yourself.” Esca would lean over and kiss him, were they not out in the open. “You are the best of them, Marcus, and you will remain so no matter what transpires between us.”

Marcus’s cheeks are still flushed, but Esca thinks it is for a different reason now. Without turning away from the road, he takes Esca’s whole hand in his and squeezes.

&&&

The visit with Old Aquila is, as always, exquisitely awkward. If the bafflement he had expressed when Esca and Marcus had first stumbled, filthy and exhausted and victorious, back to the villa and removed the Eagle from Marcus’s pack was comical, it was nothing compared to the face he made when Marcus announced that he had already freed Esca and would need to complete the manumission as soon as possible. Although they were not lovers at the time, Esca knows—and he is fairly certain Marcus does not—that Old Aquila had assumed they were, and moreover that Marcus was smitten with Esca.

Ultimately, Old Aquila may have had the right of it after all, but that does not make these visits any easier. Nor do the glares Esca receives from Stephanos when neither Aquila is looking. It is not that Stephanos is jealous—in fact, Esca suspects he is of the opinion that Esca should have refused his freedom and remained Marcus’s loyal slave, as befitted the scion of a conquered people. And Stephanos is certainly of the opinion that patron and client have no business living together in the same small roundhouse. Esca is of the opinion that Stephanos can go soak his head in the horse trough, but he keeps this opinion to himself.

Even Sassticca directs a chastising scowl at Esca when he dines at the triclinium with Marcus and his uncle, though if she makes any comments out loud, she does so where neither Esca nor Marcus can hear. Esca can tell Old Aquila is not entirely comfortable with the dining arrangements, either, but Marcus has cheerfully stated that he will pick up his food and eat in the stables rather than join any table where Esca is not welcome. Relatedly, Esca has remarkable difficulty keeping his hands off Marcus when they visit Old Aquila, but he manages it. And anyway, the old man is courteous, if not quite warm.

They end up staying longer at the villa than intended, and the sun is beginning to set by the time they finish loading some old furniture and extra gardening tools into the cart.

“If you leave now, you will be on the road after dark,” Old Aquila says. “Stay the night and keep an old man company.”

Marcus glances briefly at Esca—they would both prefer to spend the night in their own bed, but traveling after sundown with a loaded cart would make them a target for bandits. “Only if it is not too much trouble, Uncle.”

“No trouble at all. Your chamber is still as you left it.” His face betrays a complicated series of emotions before he continues, “And Stephanos can make up the guest chamber for Esca easily enough.”

Stephanos nods placidly at Old Aquila, but when he turns to face Esca, his expression is nothing short of murderous.

“I would have offered to do it myself,” Esca says, after all the lights have been doused and everyone else has gone to bed and Marcus has snuck into the guest chamber. “But I think that would have annoyed Stephanos even more.”

“We should have brought this bed into my chamber and pushed them together,” Marcus says with a grin. Esca is seated on the bed with his back propped against the wall, and Marcus is laying with his head on Esca’s thighs, his smile just visible in the light of a single lantern. It is remarkable to see Marcus so relaxed and happy in this villa, where he once suffered such pain and loss after his injury.

Esca snorts. “Are you trying to murder Stephanos? Because I think his heart would give out if you suggested something so scandalous.”

“Stephanos ought to be kinder to you.”

“Stephanos is entitled to his opinion of me,” Esca says with a chuckle, rasping his nails through the short hair at Marcus’s nape. “I was a very poor slave, and I have caused your uncle to worry about you.”

“Surely not any longer.”

Esca sighs—he has never heard Old Aquila say as much, but he imagines the man wants more of a family and legacy for his nephew than a former slave and a one-room roundhouse and a dream of one day breeding horses. If he suspects Esca is the reason Marcus is not even attempting to seek a wife, Esca will never truly endear himself to the man. “It is the lot of the older generation to worry about the younger.”

“I suppose you are right.” Marcus is silent for a long moment, but Esca can see that his eyes do not close. At length, he asks, “Does it bother you, returning here? I am not so oblivious as to think it is neutral ground.”

“It is… awkward, to be sure,” Esca says carefully. He knows matters of family are difficult to discuss for both of them, as is his former enslavement. “But withstanding the evil eye from Stephanos and a bit of tongue clucking from Sassticca is no great bother. After all, your uncle is your only family in Britannia.”

“That is untrue,” Marcus says, sitting up. “You are in Britannia.”

“Oh,” Esca says, dumbstruck. Somehow, he had not expected that.

“I love my uncle, and I will forever be grateful to him for taking me in—and for bringing you here, a gift I can never repay.” Marcus cups Esca’s cheek, running a thumb over his cheekbone. “But you are my family, Esca. You are my home.”

“And you are mine,” Esca says, voice barely more than a whisper.

Marcus kisses him then, tender and sweet, demanding nothing. He lingers for a long time, pulling away only to return for one more kiss, and then one more. When he finally desists, Esca tugs him into an embrace, burying his face against Marcus’s neck. He finds himself speaking desires aloud that he would never even have previously considered, desires that he never thought to voice to another man, let alone a Roman. “I would sleep in your arms tonight,” Esca murmurs, “though I know I cannot. We cannot.”

For of course this is not their little roundhouse. It is one thing for Old Aquila to suspect and Stephanos to insinuate; it is quite another for two grown men to be discovered in the morning light tangled together in bed. Even this much of an embrace, though the rest of the villa is quiet and dark, is not without risk. Truly, Esca does not begrudge this small bit of discretion they must show while staying in another’s home as guests, but nor does he want to let Marcus go. And, if he is honest with himself, he is now accustomed to falling asleep with the comforting warmth of Marcus nearby. More than accustomed. With a sudden, uncomfortable flutter beneath his ribs, he wonders if he can slumber without it anymore.

“Perhaps a compromise is in order,” Marcus says, kissing Esca’s ear. “I will stay until you fall asleep, and then I will quietly return to my chamber.”

“You will fall asleep, too.”

“I will not,” Marcus retorts, and Esca feels his lips curve into a smile against his temple. “You forget I was a soldier, used to keeping watch.”

“In bed?” Esca teases, the flutter in his chest abating. “In the tender embrace of another soldier?”

“Indeed, it was a vital part of our training,” Marcus says through a chuckle, already starting to ease them both down to the narrow mattress. It is not quite wide enough for two, but Esca is half lying on Marcus’s chest, his body molded to Marcus’s as though both were damp clay.

Briefly, he worries that he will not fall asleep anyway for concern about Marcus doing the same, but Marcus’s arms are warm and heavy around him, and Marcus’s chest rises and falls with steady, even breaths. Without meaning to, Esca’s hand has found its way beneath the hem of Marcus’s tunic, searching out the intimacy of Marcus’s bare skin against his. When he realizes what he has done, he freezes—he does not mean his touch to arouse, but even so simple a gesture may be too much. But Marcus makes a sound of disapproval when Esca goes to pull his hand away.

So he keeps it there, his thumb moving back and forth over the skin of Marcus’s hip, back and forth, slower and slower, until finally it stills in sleep.

Later, he barely drifts into wakefulness when Marcus moves out from under him, depositing him gently on the mattress and pulling the blankets over him. Soft lips press to Esca’s forehead, and that is all he knows until morning.

&&&

After their discussion on the road, Esca is certain that Marcus wants to be fucked, that the thought is always in Marcus’s mind, even if he does not give voice to it. All that remains is for Marcus to indicate that he is ready.

One night, there is a nervous energy in the air as soon as they both return to the roundhouse, and Esca imagines Marcus will ask that evening. Indeed, Marcus does not water his wine at supper, and perhaps he is drinking up his courage in preparation. But he drinks a bit too much of that courage, and by the time they retire for the evening, Marcus’s eyelids are already heavy.

Even so, Marcus attempts to reach for him, and Esca goes only as far as kissing him tenderly, holding Marcus’s hands between them so Marcus will not start something he is clearly too tired to finish. “Another night, my dearest,” Esca whispers, trying out the endearment on a night Marcus will only half-remember come morning. It feels strange in his mouth, and his cheeks heat, but the sound of it is not so unpleasant.

“Mmm” is all Marcus has to say for himself, somewhat grumpily, but he settles down to the pallet and his breathing evens out before Esca can pull the furs up over them both.

Another night, Esca is so ravenous for Marcus’s cock that he honestly forgets there are other options. He shoves Marcus down into the furs and barely allows him to coat his prick with oil before Esca is straddling Marcus’s hips and riding him at a punishing pace, glorying at the way Marcus fits so perfectly inside him. It is not until he is cleaning his own seed off Marcus’s chest that he realizes Marcus may have wanted something else. But far from complaining, Marcus seems happy to roll Esca onto his side and thrust between his thighs, finishing at an easier, more languid pace and holding Esca close for a long time afterward.

When the time is right, Esca thinks, he will know. They will both know.

&&&

On a day like this, when the sun is shining and the air is warm, the forum is packed. All the usual vendors are selling their wares, plus a few traveling merchants with carts packed full of cloth or tools or useless trinkets, hoping someone might be willing to render up a bit of coin.

It frustrates Esca that Marcus is far better at conserving their money. He knows that Marcus would let him hold the purse without question, but he also knows he is prone to dropping a coin on one or more of those useless trinkets. His tribe completed nearly every transaction through bartering, and of course he had precious few coins when he was a slave. Thus, the ability to trade one useless little disc of metal with a disagreeable Roman face on it for a miniature carved chariot, not so different from one he used to play with as a boy, still feels like a magic trick. And Marcus would never deny him such a purchase, were he to ask.

But if Esca has to ask in the first place, he knows he will not do so, and they will not leave the marketplace with something so frivolous as a toy. Instead, he asks Marcus for enough to buy them both skewers of seasoned meat and waits in line while Marcus gathers the rest of the items on their list: thread for mending and a new handle for the garden spade.

Meat skewers in hand, Esca maneuvers through the crowd carefully and finds Marcus standing under the shade of a nearby tree. Of course, given the crowd and the sun, he is not the only one under there, but it allows him to surreptitiously lean against the trunk to take some of the weight off his leg, which is a bit stiff today. Marcus’s purchases are in a sack at his feet, and when Esca approaches, he sees one wheel of the very toy chariot he had spied earlier poking out of the sack. “Marcus,” Esca sighs, making his tone as exasperated as he can to disguise the squirming glee in his chest. Marcus bought him a gift. “We do not need such a thing.”

“No one needs such a thing,” Marcus says cheerfully, reaching for his food. “But I thought to buy gifts for the neighbor’s children, and the trader could be convinced that if I purchased three of his wares, a fourth was surely warranted at half-price.”

“And what was that price?”

“Very reasonable, I assure you.” He takes a bite of meat and chews thoughtfully. “Now I suppose I will have to whittle you a tiny British charioteer to ride inside.”

Esca laughs. “Will you give him a Roman companion as well?”

“Esca, you have seen my whittling. You’ll be lucky if you can tell it is a man and not, say, a horse.”

“Does a chariot not need a horse to pull it? Or several horses?”

“Oh, what have I done?” Marcus groans dramatically. “I have committed myself to whittling you a tiny, featureless army.”

“Yes, I imagine it will take you quite a few years. Best start soon.”

Grinning, they finish their food and leave the shade of the tree. And when they do, Esca hears a snarled voice off to the left.

“You.”

He turns to see Sextus Aelius, the local merchant who had refused to pay him and threatened his livelihood. But the man is glaring at Marcus, not Esca, as he approaches.

“You ruined my reputation with your lies!”

Marcus stands up straighter. “Do not make spurious accusations, sir.”

“It is nothing of the sort. I was sitting in the room when you told your employer that I do not pay my debts.”

“And that was no lie.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose he told you otherwise,” Sextus spits, acknowledging Esca for the first time. “You believe anything your little barbarian catamite tells you, eh?”

The marketplace is crowded, and this conflict is beginning to attract attention. For the insult, Esca would draw his dagger, but he dares not threaten violence against a Roman in a crowd. He can do nothing but glare, his skin flushing with anger. Sextus’s words are technically true, but Esca would strike him dead for the ugliness in them.

Marcus, though, takes two steps forward, placing his body between the merchant and Esca. “This man is a hero of Rome and a well-respected member of the community. More than that, he is my client and friend, and he is truthful in all matters. If you insult him, you insult me.”

Sextus snorts derisively. “So I insult you as well. What do I have to fear from a cripple and a slave?”

“Then you will apologize to both of us.”

A small crowd has formed around them, eager to witness and gossip about the outcome of this encounter, and surely Sextus knows it. He is nearly as tall as Marcus, though thinner, and he steps up to Marcus without fear. “I will do no such thing. It is you who should apologize to me.”

“I will give you one more chance, sir.”

Sextus sneers, revealing stained teeth. “Or what? You will—”

Before he can finish his thought, Marcus has hooked the man’s ankle with his good leg. When Sextus stumbles forward, Marcus grabs him by the wrist and, in one smooth motion, whips the merchant’s arm behind his back and holds it there, bending it at a vicious angle. Sextus yelps in pain, but Marcus merely grabs him by the hair and turns his head to face Esca. “This is your chance,” Marcus says through gritted teeth.

“This is assault!”

“Not yet, it isn’t,” Esca says, keeping his voice level. “He hasn’t even broken your elbow.”

Marcus tugs harder on the merchant’s arm, and he whimpers pathetically, tears springing to his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Esca can see that some of the onlookers are chuckling behind their hands, but he keeps his gaze firmly on Sextus.

“Shall I count to three?” Marcus asks. “And allow the women and children a chance to avert their eyes? One…”

“I apologize,” Sextus squeals. “I am sorry for the insult.”

Esca nods with as much dignified condescension as he can summon. “And the money that you owe me for two weeks of working with your horse?”

“I—I do not have it.” Marcus increases the pressure on his arm, and Sextus hollers, “It is the truth! I am badly in debt myself.”

Marcus’s eyes turn to Esca, searching for a signal. Esca’s heart races, his head swimming with giddiness—at a tilt of Esca’s head, Marcus will snap this man’s arm like a twig. He draws the moment out, letting his mouth twist with feigned pondering, then glances around. “As you have now revealed your true character to all these good people, I suppose I shall be merciful. I forgive your debt to me. Now go away and trouble us no more.”

At that, Marcus releases his arm, and Sextus falls to his knees. Someone in the crowd cheers jokingly, and a few others follow, but now that the little spectacle has ended, they disperse fairly quickly.

The most difficult aspect of the entire encounter is refraining from tackling Marcus in the street and covering him with kisses.

&&&

Somehow, Esca manages to restrain himself until they cross the threshold of their roundhouse.

“Let it be tonight,” Esca says, panting, his hands on Marcus’s cheeks. “Let me give you what you desire.” He sees Marcus take in the words and quickly parse their meaning. When Marcus does not immediately answer, Esca continues, “Of course you may refuse, or you may wish to wait for another time, but if you desire it now, you need not even ask.” He searches Marcus’s face for any fear, any revulsion, and does not find it. He kisses Marcus again, softer. “You must only say yes, and it will be yours.”

Marcus draws in an unsteady breath, but his eyes are firm with resolve. “Yes.”

Esca is so overjoyed that, at first, he cannot even speak—instead, he makes a truly embarrassing squeak of a noise and presses kiss after kiss to Marcus’s lips, his cheeks, his chin. In between, he gasps, “If it is— too much— you must only— say the word— and I will—”

“Esca, Esca,” Marcus laughs, though he does not push Esca away. “I know. If I say the word, you will stop.”

“You will feel only pleasure, Marcus,” Esca says, popping up on his toes to mash his lips to Marcus’s forehead before pulling Marcus’s head to his shoulder and holding him tight. “Only pleasure. And trust. And love.”

“And love,” Marcus echoes, nuzzling against Esca’s neck.

Things begin to move quickly, and before long, they are both nude and positioned carefully on the pallet: on their sides, facing each other, with Marcus’s bad leg raised to rest over Esca’s hip. Both of Esca’s hands are slick to dripping with oil. One works between Marcus’s legs, pressing and circling lightly at the closed furl of Marcus’s hole, getting him accustomed to the touch once more. The other is wrapped around Marcus’s cock, giving a slow, tight stroke that he knows Marcus favors to begin with. He intends to keep Marcus as close to the knife-edge of arousal as possible to banish any thought of shame.

Shame does not presently seem to be a problem, though, as Marcus is already panting, his breath ghosting over Esca’s parted lips. “Esca,” he groans, unable to say more.

“I am here,” Esca says, nearly breathless himself, close to shaking with anticipation. He reminds himself he must go slowly, must pay attention to each sound from Marcus’s lips and each twitch of his muscles. In all likelihood, he will only get as far as fucking Marcus with his fingers tonight to acquaint him with the sensation, but even that will be nothing short of astonishing. Marcus is here, spreading himself open only for Esca, and Esca will honor his courage with patience. Marcus’s neck curls until their foreheads are pressed together, then Esca bumps Marcus’s nose with his own until Marcus gives a shaky laugh.

Esca said he would not make Marcus ask, and he does not. He merely increases the pressure of his fingers where they circle Marcus’s entrance and murmurs, “When you are ready, my Marcus, relax yourself and push out. And keep breathing.”

Marcus makes a sound of acknowledgement. This close to Marcus on the pallet, Esca can feel the tension in Marcus’s body, just as he can feel Marcus trying to fight against that very tension. And so Esca focuses his attention on his other hand, massaging the foreskin around the head of Marcus’s cock until a bead of moisture leaks out. Marcus’s breathing deepens, the stiffness in his body starting to ease, and his hole flexes against Esca’s fingertips. Gently, Esca works one into the tempting heat inside, only as far as the first knuckle.

Esca feels Marcus begin to tense up again, but he does not change the motion of either hand. “That’s it,” he croons. “Tell me how it feels, if you can.”

“Strange.” Marcus gives a dry chuckle, though Esca can see his pulse racing at the base of his throat. “I do not know how to describe it, but it certainly does not hurt.”

Emboldened, Esca pushes in further, the second knuckle sliding past Marcus’s rim, and Marcus’s breath catches. Without giving him time to speak, Esca withdraws his finger until only the tip remains inside Marcus, and then he thrusts forward again, to the same depth as before.

“Oh,” Marcus says, but it sounds like an expression of enlightenment rather than pain or pleasure. “So that is how it feels.”

“Yes,” Esca says, his heart speeding up, for he cannot quite read Marcus’s reaction with their faces this close together. He thrusts once more with his finger, slowly. “Do you find it agreeable?”

“I… I think so. It is certainly not disagreeable.” Esca does it again, several times in succession, his own cock growing achingly hard, for he is inside Marcus. He may as well intrude into the realm of the gods. But he has no hand free to touch himself, nor does he want to rut against Marcus’s belly like a wild beast.

“I would give you more,” Esca says, closing his eyes to focus on the rhythm of Marcus’s breathing, the feel of him under Esca’s hands.

“I think… yes.”

Pressing in with another finger takes effort. Though Marcus is once again bearing down as he had before, he grunts quietly when both fingertips pass his rim, his prick beginning to soften in Esca’s other hand. At the same time, his body goes rigid again, his breathing tight and labored.

Esca does not push farther, but he keeps stroking Marcus’s shaft, distracting him with a kiss. “You feel so good to me, Marcus,” Esca whispers against his lips

“Esca…” This time, there is real uncertainty in Marcus’s voice, and Esca worries the shame may be trying to creep its way back in.

“Everything is just as it should be,” Esca says quickly. “You have seen me pause when I first take you in. You will become accustomed to this feeling.”

“I trust you. I do trust you. But it…” Marcus sighs, and Esca can tell he is trying not to squirm. “You were right—this is not pain, precisely. But when I do it to you… Well, the pleasure you feel is quite obvious.”

“Have patience, love,” Esca says, suddenly fighting to keep a smile off his face. “There is more.”

“So you have said,” Marcus mutters with exaggerated indignation. “Repeatedly. And yet…”

If Marcus is talking—and even engaging in a bit of teasing—then he is not overwhelmed by shame, so Esca encourages it. “Did you show so little patience when you were first learning to ride, hmm? Did you hop right in the saddle and kick the poor horse into a gallop?”

“Will you toss me from my seat and into the bushes if I displease you, then?”

“I might,” Esca says, nearly distracted into stillness at the thought of Marcus astride him, riding his cock with the same easy confidence as he rides Auriga, hips rolling smoothly to match Esca’s rhythm. Suppressing a moan, Esca must caution himself to have patience, as well.

“Keep moving your fingers,” Marcus says, breaking Esca out of his reverie. “It feels better when… when you are moving.”

Oh, how Esca’s chest swells with pride at Marcus for requesting what he desires. He rewards Marcus with a few slow, gentle pumps of his wrist, dipping his fingers in and out, while the thumb of his other hand draws tiny circles beneath the head of Marcus’s cock. “Like this?”

Marcus does not speak an affirmation, but he nods, his eyes falling closed, and Esca keeps going, keeps fucking Marcus with his fingers while stimulating his cock. Marcus’s breath is coming a little harder now, and his prick remains firm in Esca’s hand, even as Esca sinks his fingers in to the hilt. It may be time for more. “Marcus?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me if this pleases you.”

On his next pass, Esca crooks his fingers, finding the gland inside Marcus’s body and brushing across it.

Marcus’s hips hitch and his eyes fly open. “Ah.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I…” Marcus’s brow creases with confusion and he blinks. “It certainly does not displease me. Do it again?”

Esca’s fingers find that spot again and rub until Marcus’s breath catches.

“What an unusual…” Marcus appears truly stunned. “I have never felt anything like it. I do not know how to describe it other than… intense. Is this why you enjoy being fucked?”

“That is part of it,” Esca says, not sure if he should or even could attempt to describe the experience beyond the simple sensation of Marcus’s cock pistoning against that spot inside him. The enjoyment is more than merely physical, but Marcus does not yet have the context to grasp it.

“I think… I would have more of it.”

Chest fluttering with excitement, Esca slides his fingers free and presses three of them back at Marcus’s rim. Marcus nods eagerly, though Esca can feel a bit of genuine discomfort stiffen his body when Esca works them inside. Esca eases his pain by pleasuring him both inside and out, palm swiveling over the crown of Marcus’s cock as his fingertips thrust in.

The discomfort evidently subsides, as Marcus begins groaning softly, his hands kneading into the flesh of Esca’s shoulders. The almost-possessive firmness of the touch is making Esca’s own prick grow impossibly harder. He shifts closer to Marcus without even meaning to, hissing when the tip of his erection brushes Marcus’s belly, leaving a drop of moisture behind. Esca grits his teeth and keeps his focus on the work of his hands, until—

“Can you do this with your cock?”

It is Esca’s turn to blink, surprised. “What?”

“If… When you fuck me,” Marcus says, his words steady with resolve, “it will feel like this?”

“Perhaps— The sensation is quite similar—” Esca finds himself stammering, his brain echoing with the words when you fuck me in Marcus’s voice. “Y-yes, it will feel much like this.”

“Then for the love of the gods, Esca, fuck me already.”

“I had thought,” Esca starts, trying to remember why he is not already doing so. “I had thought only to use my fingers now, and then at a later time…”

Marcus gives a frustrated huff, his gaze sharpening into a scowl. “You said I would not need to ask, and now you will make me ask twice?”

‘Fuck me already’ is hardly a question, Esca thinks, but he cannot say the words, for Marcus is pulling him close for a hard, demanding kiss, bringing their bodies flush so that Esca’s stiff, barely-touched prick grinds against Marcus’s belly. Of course he will not deny Marcus this, not when he is near to erupting with desire himself.

After some quick repositioning, Marcus ends up half on his side, his good knee tucked up to his chest with Esca draped over him. As Esca pulls away from an awkward, neck-craning kiss, he curses his lack of forethought into a better position—though perhaps he had been afraid to think it through too thoroughly, for fear of creating expectations. He has to relinquish Marcus’s mouth to line himself up, and even the sight of his own cock dripping with oil and positioned to enter Marcus has Esca trembling.

He should say something, something loving and tender, something to convey how much it means to him that Marcus is trusting him with this. But he must hope that Marcus already knows, because what comes out of Esca’s mouth is, “This should not hurt. If there is any pain, you must—”

“I must stop you, I know,” Marcus finishes impatiently. “I have never before had to admonish you to stop talking and simply— ohhhhhh.”

Esca, too, cannot hold back a groan as he pushes inside Marcus for the first time, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head at the sweet, clenching heat of him. Though it takes all of Esca’s self-discipline, he pauses with only the head inside, allowing Marcus to adjust. His cock is no thicker than three of his fingers, but he well knows it creates a different kind of sensation, and the sound Marcus made was not entirely one of pleasure.

Marcus’s head is half-turned on the pillow, and Esca can see that his eyes are closed, his breath coming in deeply through his nose. He is tight around Esca, of course, but not brutally so. “I am well,” Marcus says after a pause, though there is a thread of strain in his voice. “And I wish you to move now.”

This time, Esca will trust that Marcus knows his own desires, and he slowly, haltingly thrusts in to the hilt, gasping when his hips come flush against Marcus’s round, firm ass. He whispers Marcus’s name, then bends to kiss his shoulder to mark the occasion, for he can find no more words. But Marcus needs no more words—he needs Esca to do as he promised and fuck him, so that is what Esca does.

Finding the best angle is not easy in this position, especially as Esca knows he will not last no matter what he does, but a rapid, downward pump of his hips makes Marcus gasp. “Like that,” Marcus yelps. “Just like that.”

Esca only makes it a few more thrusts before he has to stop, panting and digging his short nails into his palms to stave off climax. He has not lasted such a short time with a lover since he was barely more than a boy, all his hopes for giving Marcus hours upon hours—or at least a few measly minutes—of ecstasy rapidly crumbling. In this position, neither of them can even get a hand on Marcus’s cock to help him along. “M-Marcus,” he groans, embarrassed, “I cannot— I will spend within seconds.”

“Then do it,” Marcus says, craning his neck back to look at Esca with hungry, dark eyes. “Whatever you can give me, I will take it.”

Arms already shaking, Esca nods. He closes his eyes, hoping that blocking out the sight of Marcus’s body positioned in such hard-won surrender will buy him a few moments more, but that only allows him to hear more clearly the sounds Marcus makes when Esca thrusts hard and true. They are like nothing Esca has ever heard from him before, amazed and euphoric, and they pull the coiling tension tight in Esca’s belly. He cries out and clenches his hands in the furs until they cramp, desperate to give Marcus as much as he can before his stones draw up tight to his body and he peaks with an intensity that borders on pain. The thought that he is spilling his seed inside Marcus’s body makes the sensation even sharper.

Fortunately, Esca is not so incapacitated by his climax that he loses awareness of Marcus beneath him. For Marcus’s body is still shot through with tensed arousal, still burning with need, and Esca will not leave him unsated, not for all the world—especially now. Withdrawing from Marcus makes both of them wince, but it is necessary, and Esca resolves to make up for it presently. He helps Marcus stretch his leg out, helps roll him on to his back, intending to stroke Marcus to a quick orgasm with his hands.

But when he has Marcus in hand—his engorged cock brand-hot and throbbing against Esca’s palm, the plump crown streaked with wetness—and he hears Marcus’s desperate, panting breaths, Esca’s mouth suddenly feels cavernously empty. His mouth waters as it had weeks before when he had watched Marcus oil himself so generously. Here and now, Esca wants, and he is no longer in the habit of denying himself what he wants.

He is not quite aware of opening his mouth or bending down over Marcus’s body—the next he knows, the silky head of Marcus’s cock is gliding over his tongue, the width of it is stretching Esca’s lips, filling his mouth beautifully. Marcus’s flesh pulses against Esca’s tongue, and Esca takes in as much as he can before tightening his lips to suck. He draws deeply against the blood-hot girth of Marcus’s shaft, tugging his head up to let it slowly slide through the circle of his lips, flicking his tongue at the underside of the head as it passes back through. His eyes open, focusing on the shiny-slick prize in front of him, a thin strand of saliva connecting it to his lips.

Further up on the bed, Marcus makes a soft, broken sound, his face a mix of astonishment and black-eyed hunger.

And Esca wants to do it again.

He lowers his head, careful to cover his teeth with his lips, and repeats the motion, down and up. This time, he does not let Marcus’s cock slip fully from between his lips before sinking down again. And again. And again. Marcus is heavy on his tongue, thick against the back of his throat, and he lets the saliva flow freely from his mouth, dripping down the shaft until it reaches his hand. This he uses to ease the stroke of his hand, stimulating what his mouth cannot reach. When he next lifts his head, he fits his lips tight around the crown and swirls his tongue as he sucks, earning a drop of salty fluid and a shout from farther up the bed.

Though Esca is still too spent to harden so soon, his gut quivers at the sound. Gods, he had somehow forgotten the power of this act, when freely given. Though the sensation of Marcus filling his mouth and sliding through his lips is enjoyable, the bulk of the satisfaction is in Esca’s mind and heart, which rejoice at both giving Marcus pleasure and rendering him fully in Esca’s control. Marcus gasps and trembles beneath him, the sounds that issue from his mouth never quite forming words, and he cannot seem to decide where to rest his hands. But he does not yank at Esca’s hair, nor does he thrust up to try to force himself into Esca’s throat, and for that, Esca is grateful.

Esca feels the tension in Marcus’s body near the breaking point, but there is nothing in his heart that tells him to stop and pull his mouth away. Both of Marcus’s hands are gripping Esca’s biceps now, and he is trying to speak Esca’s name in warning. That Marcus has even this much control is admirable, but more than anything, Esca wants Marcus to come to completion in his mouth. He sucks hard on each upstroke, pumping the shaft with one hand while pressing behind Marcus’s stones with the other until Marcus goes still beneath him.

The taste, Esca must admit, has not improved since last he did this, but the fact that it is Marcus’s essence makes it almost sweet. Marcus shouts his climax to the heavens, and Esca rides the curl of his hips, sucking and sucking at the hot, pulsing organ in his mouth until Marcus sounds as though he is sobbing. There is so much to swallow, and Esca cannot keep up. Marcus’s spend escapes his mouth, dripping back down Marcus’s cock and coating Esca’s chin, and yet Esca does not let up.

Not until Marcus starts to shudder and his cries start to sound like pleas. Only then does Esca let Marcus slip from his mouth. He keeps gentling Marcus down with a loose grip on the shaft as it begins to soften in his hand.

Weary and trembling, Marcus slumps back to the pallet, taking great ragged breaths. He is the very picture of debauchery: chest heaving, eyes closed, lips open, skin glazed with sweat, body slack with spent desire. If Esca sat back on his heels and glanced down, he knows he would see his own seed trickling out of Marcus’s well-used hole.

But Esca cannot sit back. He cannot even move.

His decision to take Marcus into his mouth had been an utterly impulsive one. As much as Esca has pondered the topic, he has never spoken of it aloud, and of course neither has Marcus. Esca does not doubt that Marcus enjoyed it in the moment—the evidence lingers thick on his tongue—but he is unsure how Marcus will feel about it now. The only thing more taboo to a Roman man than getting fucked is sucking a cock, and Marcus may not be able to dismiss the notion that Esca is somehow sullied.

Just as Esca has the thought, Marcus’s eyes open. “Esca,” he murmurs hoarsely.

At the sound of his name, Esca swallows awkwardly. He ought to inquire about Marcus’s comfort, ought to reassure him, ought to do something, but he has been struck with the sudden fear that Marcus may not want to kiss his soiled mouth, now or ever again.

But the look on Marcus’s face is not one of disgust. His eyes remain dark with lingering arousal, his lips wet and open, and he reaches for Esca with a gentle hand, fingertips tracing the line of Esca’s jaw. His eyes, Esca cannot help but noticed, are focused entirely on Esca’s mouth.

“I think,” Marcus says slowly, running his thumb across the flushed, swollen pout of Esca’s lower lip, “that for you to have done such a thing, it must have been something you wanted very much.”

“It was,” Esca says, his voice low and rough. “It is.”

“You should have the things you want, when it pleases you to have them.” He swipes up a drop of his own seed where it has run from the corner of Esca’s mouth, then hovers his thumb in front of Esca’s mouth. “It pleased me, as well.” There is no expectation, only an offering—and Esca takes it, drawing Marcus’s thumb into his mouth and sucking it clean.

Marcus’s whole body trembles with a hard shiver.

That spurs Esca into action. He reaches over Marcus’s body for the clean, damp cloth he thought to place beside the pallet before they began. Ducking his head, he wipes his mouth first, his lips raw and tingling from their recent toil, even more so after Esca has quickly scrubbed his lower face clean.

Then he returns to his position between Marcus’s thighs and swipes a few stray drips of seed from Marcus’s belly. After ensuring that Marcus’s bad leg is relatively comfortable, Esca carefully lifts Marcus’s balls—but when he goes to wipe between Marcus’s legs, Marcus shies back.

And he is grimacing abashedly. “Must you?”

“I will be gentle,” Esca soothes. “And things start to become… unpleasant, if you do not clean up soon after.”

“You do not always clean up so soon after.”

“And I deal with the unpleasantness when you aren’t looking.”

“Then I will do it,” Marcus says, holding out his hand for the cloth.

Esca shakes his head. Marcus’s hesitation seems to be mild embarrassment, nothing darker, and Esca would not have him think any part of this act should be hidden or secretive. “Let me attend to you, Marcus. Please. I want to.”

That seems to hold sway with Marcus, given what he had so recently said, and he nods, spreading his legs and laying back.

Esca is gentle as can be, reaching between Marcus’s legs, but as soon as the cloth touches his skin, Marcus hisses and flinches away.

Immediately, Esca’s heart shoots into his throat and his head goes light with fear. He had been so careful about stretching Marcus, about making him comfortable. “Are you hurt?”

“Most grievously,” Marcus groans, but when Esca glances up, Marcus is barely suppressing a grin. “The agony is like nothing I have ever felt. It is all the fault of your monstrous cock.”

All at once, Esca feels foolish and relieved—and dreadfully irritated. “By all the gods, Marcus—”

“Truly, it has cleft me in twain,” Marcus continues. “You must fetch the surgeon to stitch me back together.”

“You choose now to jest with me,” Esca grumbles, but in truth, he is delighted to see Marcus smiling and sprawled out limp with satisfaction.

Marcus reaches out, brushes his fingers over Esca’s cheek. “I apologize.”

But there is nothing for Esca to forgive, so he turns his head to kiss Marcus’s palm. “Then allow me to finish my task.”

Marcus nods, and though he still appears slightly hesitant, he permits Esca to clean him. There is no more hissing or flinching, even when Esca runs a gentle fingertip over the swollen, tender rim of Marcus’s hole. He never would have dreamed Marcus would tolerate such a thing, let alone desire it so keenly that he would place his very honor in Esca’s hands. The gods must have known what they were doing, the day Esca stepped into that arena.

When he finishes and sets the cloth aside, Esca allows Marcus to pull him up the pallet and into his arms. He even kisses Esca’s well-used lips. “You were right,” Marcus murmurs, tucking Esca’s head against his chest and kissing Esca’s scalp. “A pleasant soreness only, though in a strange and awkward place.”

“It may be a little worse in the morning,” Esca says, powerless as always to resist the comfort of Marcus’s embrace, melting into it. “Though the pain should not be sharp.”

“You were so marvelously gentle. I would not trust anyone but you with this.”

Esca sighs, allowing himself to sense the fatigue starting to steal over him. He has not felt so many things in so short a span of time in quite a while, starting when they first lay down together. “I know it.”

“What new pleasures will you show me next, I wonder.”

Esca snorts softly. He says, “I do not have so many more secrets to reveal.” But he thinks, The pleasure of taking your beloved into your mouth. The pleasure of making him tremble with nothing more than a flick of your tongue. The pleasure of tasting his essence and knowing it is yours alone. Esca has only recently rediscovered this pleasure himself. There will be time to share it, when Marcus is ready.

“I will treasure each one,” Marcus says.