Caveat Emptor (Closed for Apollo Wilde)

[Talon]

That feeling of desire was mutual if judged by Tiberius’ reaction to her words. He wore it plainly across his features, unashamedly. It was clear by how he looked at her even as she spoke of her fears of what pain another coupling, so soon after the marathon of last night, might bring. It was as it had been that first morning, and again that evening as he strode from his couch to hers, pulling his tunic over his head. A hunger; deep, dark, primal, the drive to breed, to fuck, to seek the carnal satisfaction that only the burying of his sex inside her, deep, painfully deep, blissfully deep, until one could not properly distinguish cock from cunt, would bring. There was his physical response, too, beyond that hungered look; the stirring of his sex beneath the water, the deepening of his breath in low, huffing exhales that spoke to the heat building in the center of his chest, in how his hands stroked reverently up and down the swell of her hips.

Though there was much uncertainty in her life just then; that of her new husband, removal from her family, the state of her future. And yet, even one so inexperienced as she could read his signs like an old crone casting knucklebones. She needed only to speak the word… no, not even speak, a suggestive look would have been enough, the faintest sign of her consent… and he would have released the full force of that dark hunger upon her. There along the stairs, up against the columns along the outside of the bath, down in the water, out in the antechamber, bent over the bench where bathers left behind their clothing, out in the hall, from behind, his hand clutched at the nape of her neck, her cheek pressed up against the wall…

The changing of subject helped, for the moment at least, to dredge his thoughts up from the lustful mire they had begun to sink down into. As she turned to face away from him, Tiberius’ hands busied themselves with the kneading of her muscles as she spoke once more of Marcus, starting first with the area of her chest above her breasts. He was neither rough nor gentle in this, but firm, his thumbs meeting together at her sternum before working their way out to each side and along the upper swell of her breasts with a slow, sensually methodical pace.

“If Marcus' mind had decided upon a course of vengeance after the events of last night, he would not be so long in the reaping of it.” A flash in his mind’s eye, of the terrible man Tiberius knew and perhaps Gaia imagined. The clang of battle, the stink of sweat, shit, piss and blood. A breach in the line, a sluggish response to fill the gap with fresh Roman bodies. Enemies charging through, first one and then another, spears at the ready, the vanguard who sought to take advantage of a momentary breakdown in defenses. Like the strike of lightning, as if materialized from thin air, Marcus was there, a swing of his sword batting aside the first man’s spear, the return slash biting deeply into his chest, opening him from neck to navel, his innards spilling out into the mud at his feet…

Tiberius blinked forcefully and drew a breath deeply through his nose before clearing his throat to speak. “He was not so drunk as to be unknowing, not at the very end, at least. We would not still be alive and free if he truly believed we had betrayed his trust.” Said as a statement of fact, not of fear.

Having worked their way around to her ribcage, Tiberius’ fingers ceased for a moment their kneading there where the flesh was most sensitive, moving on then to trace around the outward swell and down underneath, pressing lightly with the heel of his palms as they stroked outwards along where her belly met the underside of her breasts.

Speaking of their mutual death as the cost of the pleasures of the night before seemed too heavy for such a moment, so Tiberius did not linger overlong in the examination of it. “And what is this about you worrying over being last in his heart?” His hands shifted then to her arms, starting first near her wrists, careful to avoid the wounds there, working his way up, stroking the musculature in her forearms with probing thumb on one side and forefinger on the other. “You think because he was married before…” He deliberately chose not to say twice, thinking it might only pour salt into an open wound. “... that you must come after the others? I have not been married even once, but this does not fully make sense to me. Is it merely that you imagine yourself so terrible a wife that you could not possibly ascend to the top of that list?”

“Not that such a list need exist. But even so... what is so terrible about you, that you make so poor a choice of mate? Because you enjoy sex too much?” Tiberius laughed then, not cruelly, as if he were making fun of her, but merely at the ridiculousness of such a thought. “Perhaps that much would be true if your husband were a eunuch. Marcus still has both of his orbs, last I checked… which was recent, mind you…” His hands worked at her elbows then, fingers stroking the point of each before moving higher, his thumbs pressing into the muscles at the back of her arms with more strength now, penetrating past the softness at the surface that belied the burgeoning muscle beneath. “Remember when he bent over on the couch there beside us…” Tiberius almost giggled, if any noise the giant made could be described as such, as he recalled the sight. “... his ‘purse’ just dangling there…” His hands moved away from her arms a moment to circle to her front, one forming a downward facing ‘v’ with two fingers, the other a fist, combining to form what looked to be a crude stick figure with a massive scrotum hanging between his legs demonstratively. “You’ve got to give it to the man, he's got one the size of Crassus’ on him, hard to miss, that.” Said the man whose own 'purse' dangled so loosely between his thighs it seemed he was at risk of crushing them beneath his rump each time he took his seat.

Tiberius’ laughter resolved as his hands moved back to her upper arms, fingers working now at her biceps. “No… there is no such thing as enjoying sex too much, cub. That hunger, desire, whatever you want to call it… it’s a gift, to you and everyone you share it with, given from Venus herself. She has blessed you, not only in body but also in appetite. This hunger alone does not make you a whore or slattern or anything of the sort… lean forward a bit…” Tiberius’ hands began to crawl up the outside of her shoulders and in toward her neck as they massaged at fatigue-weary muscle. “... even if your husband likes to call you such while he is inside you. If he spoke it in anger I would worry. In pleasure, men and women both will say things they don’t strictly mean. It gets the blood pumping, and the heart racing… oft times it is nothing more serious than that. It does not mean he thinks any less of you as his wife, or that you have no true place in his heart.”

“Think of it like this. Remember last night, when first I laid between your thighs? You bid me to fall with you, and promised that you would catch me?” Tiberius paused a moment in his stimulative workings to lean forward and press a kiss against the top of her head as if in silent thanks for her offer. “… well… have you truly allowed Marcus to catch you?” He leaned back, pausing a moment to let his question sink in, his hands now joined at her neck in working the muscles there where it melded with her shoulders. “Trusted that he would? If he has told you he loves you, why not believe him? Don’t take his absence this morning to mean your absence from his heart. He is not like me…” A chortle. “...thankfully. He is a man of duty, of honor. It is a thing of blood, one that in him runs particularly deep. He does what he must to preserve the honor of his family name and legacy… which includes you now, you know. And your future children.”

“Me?... hells. Even if Augustus himself threatened to hang me up by my orbs if I didn't report for duty, I’d choose to spend the morning in bed with you.” A scoff. “... we're just different, that’s all. To my mind, it says nothing of you, but of each of us men.”

Fingers worked up her neck there to either side of her spine, pausing a moment to knead the spot where the head joined with the neck before moving over to her ears, stroking them as his thumb pressed into the outer groove that ran along the back and top to curve around to the front.

“I think you have the right of it, though. If there is something that bothers you, you should not let it fester inside. Go and speak to him, then, with mind and heart open to the answer he will give. Afterward, if you're still not satisfied, I'll seize him 'round the neck and you can tweak his nipples until he sings the truth as you want to hear it. Fair enough?"

 

[Talon]

His hands moved back down to her shoulders then, patting her a few times as if to signal the massage was complete, snaking his arms around her once more as he pulled her back against his chest. “Should things go the other way, though, I can’t say you wouldn’t look good in furs. And it would be a shame to grow out your hair…” His head leaned down, a growl beneath his breath in mimic of the beast whose fur might be taken to clad her in, as he pressed playful kisses into her neck just below her ear. “... shaven is a good look on you.” One arm was once more draped across her upper body to keep her held back into him, the other free to roam, to wander at her belly once more, his touch decidedly more sensual than it had been before. It did not stop there, though, circling only once before drifting lower, working his fingers through the hair she still kept at the top of her sex. “I like that you’ve kept this, though… ” His fingers brazenly teased at those curls, taking a few here and there to stretch them out to their full length, gently, careful not to tug forcefully, as if he were curious to see how long they could become when fully straightened.

He reassured her, then, with a whisper before continuing. “I know she is too sore…” Teeth nibbling at the lobe of her right ear. “... and yet still I want nothing more in this world than to pin you down and fuck you like I know you need it. A cunt like this…” His fingers strayed just a bit too far south, then, brushing over the plump lips of her labia majora there at the top where her clit lay still concealed between. “... deserves tribute. For me to fill that hungry womb of yours up with my seed until it spills from her…” A grunt of frustration as she felt a nudge from his hips, pressing the hardening length of his cock between their bodies. His fingers at her pubis stroked through that mess of curls as the hand at her chest seized its fill of her right breast, too large for him to hope to fully encompass, posing a challenge even to those massive mitts of his. Where her expression of desire had seemed pure, his was filth. “...even if it does split you in two…”

A whisper of a threat there, just beneath the surface.

Banished, as next he spoke. “Speaking of…” the rumble of a chuckle vibrating her back as his head leaned back with a parting kiss to her neck. “How was it last night? You know, the both of us, at the same time, cunt and ass. Do you even remember?” The hand at her pubis was at her belly again, stroking her there absentmindedly, even as its twin still held to her breast. “A veteran move, that… not everyone can fully take one the size of mine, let alone with another like Marcus’...” His hand lifted from her belly, mimicking the grip he’d had around Marcus’ cock as if to demonstrate the thickness. “... he’s got a thick one on him. Strange curve to it, too, but you can work around that. Not that I need to tell you…” He chuckled. The lack of discomfort with which he discussed another man’s sex seemed odd, though fully in line with Tiberius’ sensibilities, or lack thereof. “Perhaps I really should have a look down there, just to make sure there’s no permanent damage…”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

She’d given a slight start as his hands shifted over her body. It was one of surprise - not fear. He was touching her familiarly, yes (and perhaps there should be an idea of insult there, if she truly were proper), but…there was nothing quite sexual under it. Her initial response was that of a soft groan, kneaded out of her flesh as he pressed into her sternum. It was getting harder to listen to Tiberius - not that she didn’t value his words, but the combination of his bulk, his touch, and the warmth of the water were enough to start to dull her senses, lull her into rest. Only once did she give another small start -

“ ‘Alive and free’? Is Marcus truly that kind of man…?” Her voice was lowered as she tucked her chin down, giving Tiberius more access to her neck and shoulders. They were far tighter than any rich woman’s had any right to be. The mention of Marcus caused a small twinge, muscle wrapping tightly round bones and nerves. “I will not lie, Tiberius - I scarcely knew of little more than his name when I was told I was going to be married. My father holds him in great regards, as does my brother Lucius - and that enough alone was good for them.” No bitterness in her voice; she clearly was not one who outwardly chafed against her family. “And there was such a rush to the wedding itself that I’ve had no true opportunity to know the man.” “Battle brother” - that enough should’ve been explanation and then some of Marcus’s past, but it did not fully register until now. After all; she had not seen him during the attack, only in the aftermath. And she had not questioned her father of who her husband was. “You might think it strange, being married to a complete stranger,” her voice was softer now as the excess of the night had begun to heal, “…and I suppose in some circles, it is. Both of my sisters were wed in a proper way. You should’ve seen the courtship of Agrippina. Line of suitors long enough to wrap around the villa twice and pave the way to Rome four fold. I thought the whole thing silly. And then to end up married myself and full of fear of being last in my stranger husband’s heart.”

Words cut off by a muffled moan - he’d hit a sweet spot in her shoulder, where her neck joined her body. “Mmm…right there, please…And because….” Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. She couldn’t lie to Tiberius. A laugh. “Not quite - though perhaps a bit, that I could desire too much sex from him. But because outside of that, he’ll find me greatly wanting. What do I know of running a house, of figures? I was an afterthought in my own family; I would not be surprised to be one here, either. But here, my inability will actually bring greater shame - to someone you’ve said that honor is of great importance. How does one live, being good at one thing and poor at so many others? But perhaps you’re right. I haven’t bid him to fall into me. Truth is,” she pressed further back into him, into the bite of his fingers, “I think I’d break to catch his fall. Or he wouldn’t let himself. He’d crawl down, inch by inch. You…and gods forgive me, Tiberius, make me want to open myself. Marcus, outside of our bedchamber, we are as if strangers. And I want some sense of tenderness from him. We must both be vulnerable, but my vulnerability is to be expected - that of a first time wife, a wide-eyed innocent.”

Laughter, not quite as hardy as before, but full all the same, at his suggestion to torment Marcus. “Maybe I will take you up on your very kind offer. Such torments were not unheard of when I was a child. But alas, I no longer am quite the right age to offer such things. I rather relish the idea of having you as my personal enforcer.” A bit of a swivel to face him now, a hint of that impish imperiousness there.

Her face flushed - deep and hot enough to for there to be a noticeable spread of brick red across her dark cheeks - and a hand, self-consciously enough, went to caress her bald head. She hadn’t expected a compliment there; if anything, she was more than aware of how strange, if not even looked down upon, it was for her head to be completely shaven. To expose more of her face, her neck - the strangeness of her all. Marcus hadn’t commented on it - and to her, that felt natural; that things would fall in stride. That she was in Diana’s good graces still. The flush would only deepen, turn lewd, as his hand drifted lower and tugged at her pubic hair. If her gasp hadn’t been enough to stoke his fire, perhaps the unconscious shift of her sex into his hand would do it. And if that still was not clear enough, as she swallowed the lump in her throat, her right hand would join over his, and kept it there, fingers curled in the coarse hair. The kiss he placed on the back of her neck was further encouragement, encouragement that hadn’t faltered even when he’d asked about their pairing last night.

“The magic of Bacchus!” she’d laugh, for truly, she had no idea how she’d managed it either. A little sobriety there; playful redirection as her right hand kept his own against her sex, sliding it lower to part her labia as he’d spoken of damage. “I remember it. Would like to experience it again, perhaps with a little less wine…But it’s probably wishful thinking. The product of an overly hungry womb, it would seem.” Of two completely different minds she seemed to be: on the one hand, the concern that she’d upset Marcus, that she was too wanton to be good for him. And on the other, the insatiable desire to want to experience more, to see, to learn, all of the ways she could orgasm, to bring her body to pleasure, to bring his body to pleasure. To be so skilled and so desirable that neither man would want to look elsewhere, but know that she was ready, willing: all they would need do was look at her, find a bit of privacy, and she would flip up her skirts with ease. Yes, as long as it was fun, and brought pleasure, both physical and mental, why wouldn’t she want to indulge more? “But it feels good. You feel good. Marcus feels good. And I want more of that.”

Her left hand found the one cupping her breast; she took it in her own. Gently removed it from her chest, and brought it to her chin, his thumb pressed against her lower lip. Scarcely had he had to press down before she was nipping at it, catching the rough pad with dainty teeth. A not so dainty grind of her hips, pushing his hand further into parting her labia. “I would like very much for you to check,” muffled words against his thumb, before her lips closed around it, sucking, the suggestion of a tongue there, her hips pressing further into his hand. She was sore, both front and back, but the tugging at her pubic hair had sparked desire she hadn’t expected. Her nipples, despite the warmth of the air and the water, hardened as sucking of his thumb turned into a dressing of it with her tongue, exploring the digit, pressing against it. Her right hand against his under the water struggled to manipulate his a bit better, torn between keeping him pulling on her pubic hair, or to slip further between her labia where she could feel that low fire starting in the pit of her stomach. What would it take for her body to be able to take him, to handle him again? Everything in her was pushing her to mount him, damn the pain, damn her body, and merely sit, letting him bury his cock deep within her, pushing it up higher and higher until she saw white and there was no breaking apart their bodies.

My gods, what has happened to me?

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“Tiberius,” and his name would be little more than a pleading whimper, “I should be concerned about my husband. About Marcus, and what he thinks, and I should find him and discuss what went on last night, but,” and she sounded on the verge of tears, pressing ghostly kisses against his thumb, “I need to…I want more,” the hiccuping of her voice was the shattering of pride, of the natural instinct to try and be more modest, but not so drunk as to belt out what she needed. “I cannot organize my thoughts like this,” a shifting beneath the water, the release of his hand so she could straddle his thigh. A firm press of her hips on top of him, and a small shudder, causing her head to cant back onto his shoulder. Straddling his right hip, she was almost his height, though the tips of her toes brushed the fine tile of the tub. An experimental wiggle of her hips, forward then back -

An exhale as he could feel the flexing of her sex on his thigh - she’d found the right spot. Grinding shamelessly into his thigh, her back to him, she eagerly put one of his hands back to her breast, encouraging him to toy with her nipple, her hand blindingly guiding his own, wet fingers slipping over taunt flesh multiple times until she found just the right hold, encouraging no softness. “Make it hurt a little,” so soft it was almost a whisper, as if she wasn’t sure herself of what she was asking. What her body was telling her that she needed. Marcus was gentle and soft and safe, and Tiberius, she still wasn’t sure, but his very largeness made her want to both subdue him and be subdued, here was someone tall and big and strong enough to nearly fold her in half, to completely challenge her, and the thought of it put fire in her veins. When would she have had enough, she wasn’t sure, wasn’t sure if she ever would.

If she turned around to face him, she’d be lost. Not that close to his face, to his lips, a shift in her hips and she’d be aside him, his cock lined up perfectly like the night before and then he could use her, yes, not make love, or anything so sweet, but to be used like Cassia had warned her about, but how strange that at first it’d filled her with terror, and now she wanted nothing more, not to be tossed aside afterwards, but completely and utterly exhausted, to be cradled and cosseted when he was done, to be sweet-talked to, petted and treated fondly until she was ready again, wouldn’t it be lovely to spend days like that, until her belly grew large, to be spoiled -

But who could she tell these desires to? Tiberius had said that himself and Marcus were different men; that she could tell, not just of breeding, but of personality. Would it be proper of her to stay abed until she was with child? To knowingly cast her eyes a certain way every time she looked at Marcus to enflame his own desire, to coax him away from whatever business, sorrow that lay outside of these walls to ensure that he produced an heir? Wouldn’t it be easier to just think like that, instead of embracing the very real world that she’d only hinted of, that her thoughts had only strayed to in the depths of those nightmares? Why couldn’t she think straight, beyond the throbbing of her head and sourness of stomach and breath and this demanding cunt that fairly growled like an empty stomach at the promise of a meal in the proximity of a man’s sex?

Not just any man’s, came that internal voice, as if this made it any better, trying to ease it, to reassure familiarity before logic came creeping back, a battle brother’s, someone who knows Marcus, who too has kissed him, and in that remembrance, she flushed deeper, unable to stop the next words out of her mouth, “I would like to see you and Marcus like this, only made better with me threaded in the middle…"

 

[Talon]

A low hum in the back of his throat, of the sort that signaled agreement, as Tiberius leaned closer in, his lips pressing against the flesh of her shoulder there where it met her neck as she reclined her head back into him. He kissed her again, this time shifting lower down along the ridge, his mouth working against silk-smooth flesh, his hand, half-cupped around her breast, busied its fingers with the stimulation of her nipple, seeking to make it hard, forefinger flicking back and forth over the dainty nub, thumb hovering there menacingly, having first traced a half-circle around her aureola. He bit into her shoulder, then, enough that she could feel the sharpness of his canines, as thumb and forefinger finally met, her nipple, as firm as if he had dragged a cube of ice across it, trapped between them. He pinched, hard, torquing it within his grip as the force of his bite intensified a moment before pulling away suddenly to be replaced once more by the softness of his lips.

“Mmmm… I would like to see me and you like this, Cub, only with my prick buried to the hilt in that tight little cunt of yours…” Filth, somehow made more filthy by the lustful rasp that colored warmly his deepened tone. The fingers wrapped around her nipple relented then, too, thumb once more tracing around her aureola as if it sought to take the full measure of its dimensions. The hand that had been removed from between her thighs by the movement of her repositioning slithered across her hip, cupping to the area of her belly that swelled below her navel with a sort of casual familiarity. A kiss further down the ridge, down near the cap of her shoulder, as he continued.

“... though having it instead be Marcus would be a close second.” Another pinch of her nipple, this time a touch more gently, enough that it be restrained, that there was enough purchase for him to twist it within his grasp.

Her words, in his phrasing, passing between his lips was enough to trigger memory. This was not the first time she had alluded to him and Marcus being together. He recalled their first proper meeting, not in the baths, or out in the hall as she’d offered to flash him her backside to jog his memory, an offer he still intended to have her make good on the next time she was all done up in her finery. It was when first they had truly met, masks off; him not merely the dumb brute, drooling at the sight of her tits, and her, no longer the spoiled, pampered little cunt who thought her chamber pot leavings didn’t stink. Back when still she was more unsure of herself, of her lustful feelings, than even now, and had said to him as she moved to be nearer her husband’s side; You’ve another chance to seduce Marcus, and I will gladly help.

Once was a coincidence, said perhaps because she thought it would excite him in the moment, or perhaps to assuage the hurt of a potentially listening husband that he be included in his wife's carnal plans. But twice, here, without a chance of Marcus’ ears overhearing? There was something deeper there, something that begged examination.

Let us push the boundaries a bit, then…

“Perhaps it would be better with the both of you…” A tender kiss once more morphed into bite, the twisting of her nipple this time not so severe, but sustained. “I’ve fucked husbands and wives before, but never both from the same union…” The twist relented but the grip remained, his mouth now trailing back up her shoulder until his lips could be felt where one took the measure of their pulse. The hand at her belly strengthened its hold, pulling her back more solidly into him, such that any hope she would have to pull away from him would mean pitting her strength directly against his own. “What do you think it would take to convince a man such as him?” Coy, perhaps, as to what it was that Marcus would need to be convinced of, but that was a part of this particular game. “Could you do it?” Kisses pressed against the curvature of her jaw beneath her ear. “Would you?”

Tiberius took the lobe of her ear between his teeth, nibbling gently at it as pressure was again applied to her nipple, the hand at her belly sliding down, slowly, shifting to point downward his fingers as they crept through the untamed mess of tightly curled little hairs that had previously so captured his attention. “You would, if I asked it of you.” Given as a statement of fact, exuding confidence. Fingers that slid easily through lust-slickened curls crested the mound of her sex, cupping over plump labia, compressed together to fit between thighs widened in accommodation of straddling his own, fingers that now pressed down against the very same clit she had been desperately grinding against it but a moment prior. He could not deny her pursuit of pleasure there even would he have wanted to, not when it could be instead his hand she ground her cunt against with the very same motion. He could, however, choose with what she gained it, and he did, leaving his hand there cupped possessively. The board had been set, and now was the time for the opening play. “Do you need me to say it plain, Cub?”

Cunt corraled and tit teased, he renewed the strength with which each hand pulled her back against him, his lips at her ear, once more whispering of debauchery most foul. “I want to fuck your husband up the ass... and you’re going to help me do it.”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Somehow he was able to get closer behind her, the press of his chest into his back, water slick skin molding into one another. He was a wall behind her, comforting, pulling her in deeper, and she was tiptoeing closer to that edge, soreness of her body be dammed -

A soft girlish gasp from her as his fingers found purchase on her nipple, toying with it. The following of his teeth to her shoulder and her body went boneless, nearly collapsing against him. Where had this come from, this desire for a flicker of pain? Had it started when she first took Marcus, his member swollen, not ripping her open, but breaking her, perhaps, just a bit, breaking her so he could remake her around him? Even the ministrations of his tongue hadn’t been enough to ease the way his body carved into hers. Here it was, time slipping by, certainly she was no longer quite the virgin bride and it still carried pain, but a pain that made her heart flutter and want it, that particular sting that was his and his alone, that pushing of all of her boundaries -

And this Tiberius! Larger even that Marcus, and somehow, she’d managed him and that pain as well, the type of pain that resonated deep in her molars, felt that he was barging in, not asking politely, apologetic for the pain he was causing with the promise of pleasure at the end of it, but simply taking, less concerned about her own pleasure than his, and shouldn’t she, somewhere, be insulted to be used like that - so callously - or was it a part of her that knew that this was what she was actually made for, to be used, bred -

There was her husband’s name again, and that strong flare of jealousy, fed by the remnants of last night’s wine. This would escape her in a low growl, characteristic of him, but on edge, feral from her. A suggestion that there would be no warning before she struck, and that it was only by some rare grace that she offered that much. She already had to compete with the perfect image of a departed wife - and goddess only knew what else could be hiding further in the past - she would not compete here.

“…You’ve had the both of us,” a slight hint of wounding there; her too inexperienced to entirely mask it. Easier that she wasn’t facing him, though she could feel the tell-tale burn round the bottom of her eyes. “Or perhaps I was merely a block in the road to get to your true desire.” She dug up a weak chuckle from her core, her hands slipping from his, so softly as to be imagined. “Not that I could blame you - you’ve got more reason to love him than I.” More ghosts, more specters from a distant past that she’d never be a part of. More and more and more slipping through her fingers and she couldn’t truly be upset. She was the outlier here.

“I don’t think I could offer assistance there,” there was an undeniable waver in her voice, though to her credit, she moved as if nothing ailed her at all. Trying to think of something witty, she wriggled free of his grasp with the universal signal of “let me up” - that rapid tapping of an open palm against the top of his thigh. “Alas, you might be out of luck; he didn’t seem too interested last night, even with all of the wine.”

Free from his grasp, she suddenly dunked herself underwater, washing tears that she told herself weren't there from her eyes. Surfacing again, she suddenly wished for the reassuring curtain of her hair on wash days, when it was freed and billowed around her face in an endless cloud, the start of her body taken to pieces by the water. Now she felt entirely too naked, too gangly and awkward. Too unworthy of the reason for why she shaved her head - and self consciously, she rubbed a hand across it against the grain. It stung; she’d done a sloppy job this morning.

Putting distance between them, but not so much to see entirely uncharitable, when she turned to face him, it was with a smile that cracked at the corners of her mouth. It wouldn’t do to cry; not over so much spilled wine, not over the bird that had flown out of the cage, unable to be caught again. She was a married woman now, no longer under the protection of her father’s home, and with that, came accepting the responsibilities of her station. Last night had been a complete Bacchanalia - with the free flowing wine and tongues and other…such body parts. And it had been fun. Out of character for herself - how had it felt so right? Was she still so naive, to think that this man, this battle brother, could’ve accepted her as is, or was it all an act, merely to use her physical offering to get what his own could not? She had to trust someone, that much she knew, had to find some ally in this strange land where she was unceremoniously deposited. And she’d told Tiberius of her feat with the bow - and he’d believed her.

Or acted like it, at the very least. Surely if he was so inclined he could verify her story, but why would he be that interested? Would he understand her reasoning for not wanting to tell Marcus? Perhaps she should be the one to break the silence. If Marcus was to be her husband, then she would have to trust him. He already had her heart, that much he had to know.

“Time to change the dressing,” more to herself, the steam wafting from the water. She took in a deep breath, fought back the lingering nausea. Oh, if Natta was here! She found herself longing for the mint water that she would make whenever she was a child and her stomach turned sour.

If I’m to be here, to make any step forward, to try and understand myself and what happened, I must be honest. I cannot hide behind pretexts forever.

“…Tiberius,” and her unshed tears made her eyes all the brighter, glimmering brown irises against the hungover pink of the whites, “I…would like to think, that, maybe, you weren’t using me to get to Marcus. Last night was…” she sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck, tilted her head back. Nearly fell over backwards due to the shifting in her weight. Oof. The wine still wasn’t entirely out of her system. Would it ever be? “I don’t think I regret it, save for the excess wine. It felt…like taking a deep breath, or waking up after being asleep for a while. That I could be me,” she folded her hands in on themselves; pressed them between her breasts. “I should tell Marcus about the attack. Between you and him, and he and I, there have already been too many secrets. Too many things in that past that I can’t fight with; who can shoot a ghost with an arrow? There’s just me…I’m the new one here. Trying to make her way, trying to make a new life. And if this is to be my home, this place, these people, then I must start it with honesty. Too much has been nearly ruined between me and him by my making assumptions, for being too naive and not knowing what I should be, but trying to be something that he would want. I guess I’m still a child, falling like this, eagerly chasing after these new exciting, good feelings. I want more of it, and more and more, and still more until I’m sick off of it, until I could hardly move, being so full - but I must learn discipline as well. Maybe…in time, if I’m hopeful, if I’m…me, he’ll get used to it. And we could build something.”

She dug her fingers into the back of her neck, a pale imitation of the massage he’d given her earlier. “I want to believe that you’re honest and open with me, too. Even with your desire for Marcus,” another rueful smile. That was something that she had to think on, “Though I suspect, maybe a bit - maybe a lot, that you may be feigning openness with me to get closer to him. And under a more sober light of day…” She trailed off, unable to think of much else. Could Tiberius take Marcus from her? Surely with her actions last night, it wouldn’t be entirely unthinkable - a steady battle brother over the capricious ways of a strange new wife. Could she begrudge him that? Could she stand aside, or would she wait at their shared table for any crumb of affection that Marcus would throw her way?

“I hate this,” she sniffled, choking back a wave of hysteria. Where had that come from? “I wish things made sense!” Slapping the top of the water, she huffed. “I don’t know which way is up, who to trust, or what to do! Would that I could just go back to bed, wrap myself in the sheets, go to sleep and wake up in my old bed in my father’s home, even to the nagging of my mother, because at least then I was cocooned somewhere safe, and now there’s too much for me to figure out that I have not the slightest bit of how to do so. I want to be loved, and I didn’t know that’s what I wanted before, yes, loved, deeply and truly and consumingly, because I want to do the same, and I want my body to join with another’s and erase the lines between us so that we’re earth and sky, only the difference in our skin setting us apart. And yesterday, and the days before that, I was happy just to run with the wind in my hair and crushed grass under my feet. What is this life, now? Mystery upon mystery. Tiberius, if you have any affection for me, you’d drown me in this bath now and spare me the rest!”

 

[Talon]

Tiberius made no move to stop her as she pulled away from him. It was not his place, walking a fine line as he was. Were she his wife perhaps things would be different, many things would be different, in fact, though thinking longingly of it was hardly worth expending the mental energy. It would never come to pass, not in a hundred lifetimes, even should both he and she be given them, so why waste time in the contemplation of it? She’d have hardly looked twice at him had they first met passing each other in the street, not beyond ensuring he wasn’t about to accost her. The realization of that fact did not exactly sadden him, it was never really in question, but perhaps for a moment there, it had, for once, if only just this once, felt nice to have something resembling proper intimacy.

And just like that, it was gone.

No matter… Tiberius’ eyes followed her as she moved further away from him. … this thing between us was never due a happy ending. Marcus is half-Greek, after all… his mother’s people have a penchant for just this sort of tragedy.

He could hardly suppress the smirk that creased his right cheek at the corner of his mouth, such that the ghost of it was still upon his lips as she turned back to face him. Orbs the color of arctic ice searched her visage for a sign of her state, his eyebrows furrowing until they nearly met in the center above the bridge of his nose.

Is she that… damaged?... by what I said? By the gods, it was just a bit of dirty talk…

Tiberius growled under his breath as he braced himself against the step behind him with an elbow, legs stretching out into the water, his other hand reaching down to scratch himself between his legs. With all of the sexual tension having evaporated from the room like so much steam, his nudity once more seemed a matter of comfort rather than sensuality. He made no move to hide himself, but neither was he preening, merely taking a moment to reposition things appropriately as he shifted. While not appearing angered, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Here he was, a starving man, his belly gnawing clean through his middle until it ate at his back, having had a succulent cut of lamb dangled over his head, its juices dripping from it, onto his lips, onto teeth gnashing, clacking together as each bite they drew closer, so close he could feel the heat of it, mouth opening wide, wider, palette watering… only to have it pulled from out of reach by the cruel hand of another just as the taste of victory was to be his. It was enough to make his orbs ache, and should he be left walking gingerly for the rest of the day, well, the blame would be hers to bear.

Not that he thought that for a moment such an argument would compel her, perhaps had he brought along a pitcher of wine, but now? Such knowledge would be but the coating of honey upon her cake.

His eyes had moved from her, considering the tile work along the edge of the bath, when she’d spoken his name finally. Summoned back to her, again they probed her features as he listened silently to her words. He offered some feedback, if only in reaction; the raising of an eyebrow here, a nod when he’d found himself in agreement, and a frown when he hadn’t. But he remained silent throughout, giving her the chance to speak without interruption. He supposed he owed her that much, at least, given it had been his words that had set her off.

So she suspects I merely used her to get closer to Marcus? That remark had wounded him, in particular, perhaps more than she intended, perhaps not, but it struck deep, at a weakness unfamiliar even to him. Towards his hurt, he gave no outward sign, not beyond the frown as she spoke her words. She must remember very little of the night before… did I not tell her of how I felt? Not in full, perhaps… but could she not see it in my eyes? Feel it in my touch? I’ll catch you…bah!

Gods… I sound just like Marcus…

Tiberius scoffed at her request for him to end her suffering right there in the bath, absentmindedly scratching at the day-old growth of beard along his chin as he considered his response. That spot deep inside still stung, and he needed a moment to collect himself lest his words be more barbed than he would want them to be. “Well, Cub, I would, perhaps, but knowing my luck, you’d come back each night to haunt me in my dreams.”

He stood then, joints creaking and popping as he rose to his full height, looking down at her there in the water a moment before he began to descend the stairs leading down into the bath. Stepping down into the water fully, Tiberius began to move deeper in, his hands raised, palms opened as if in a conciliatory gesture before pointing towards the deepest part of the bath. “Don’t worry, Cub, I’ve no intent to further molest your person… to bathe, is all, if you would find it permissible to be closer to me for a few moments.” His words dripped with sarcasm, complete with the rolling of his eyes as he’d finished, Tiberius shaking his head as he moved furthest away from her as it was possible to be while remaining in the deepest parts of the bath, cupping handfuls of water up to his chest and shoulders to be scrubbed there flesh against flesh.

“We were all young, once. Even your husband, believe it or not…” He was not quite turned away from her, but neither would she be able to fully see his front as he lifted his left arm to scrub at the patch of hair there underneath. “We the old do not begrudge the young their feelings, even if we no longer remember what it was to be so full of them.” Shifting over to his right arm, he continued. “Marcus might not be the most open with his, but I can tell by the way he talks of you…” He bent forward then, opening his legs up wider, one had cupped over his sex, pulling both his organ and the fleshy sack that hung beneath away so he could properly wash there between his thighs with his other. It was distinctly non-sexual, like watching an animal groom itself, though, as was his usual way, neither had he moved to conceal himself, nor did he seem to care or take notice if she had watched him doing it. He was bathing himself, simply that. “... he refused to comment on the wedding night, and how things had gone between the two of you, even when your ears were at no risk of hearing. Seems odd, now, given what later happened…”

Tiberius looked up then and over towards her, him frozen there, one hand gripping his sex, the other rubbing along the crease where thigh met pelvis, looking just then like some primate who’d been caught in the act. He cleared his throat, returning his gaze and attention both to what he had been doing. “That is unusual, between men, and it means he cares what others will think of you.” He frowned, using both hands now to peel back the abundance of skin that covered the head of his cock, exposing it to the air long enough to wipe clean the area behind where the ridge was, meticulous in his pursuit of cleanliness, most particularly there between his thighs. The thought of what it was he was cleaning from himself, what remnants from the night before would still be there, struck him, though he gave it no voice. Clearing his throat again, he moved on.

“Marcus is not like most…” Now finished with that particular region of his body he bent further down towards the water, using both hands to gather enough to wet the hair atop his head. “... and he is also...” He dumped another handful of water onto his head before standing back to his full height, his fingers scrubbing through his hair. “... more reasonable than the stick up his ass would lead one to think.” Satisfied, he bent to wet his hair one last time before slicking it back with his hands as he turned to fully face her, brushing a hand across his face to clear it of water droplets before next he spoke. “Perhaps in the speaking of truths to him, you will realize that the expectations that you are being crushed beneath are not his, but yours. If nothing else, at least you’ll properly know which rules to chafe against after, rather than shackling yourself with worry to the phantom of a husband who disapproves of your every breath.”

 

[Talon]

Tiberius sighed, his gaze shifting to look down at the surface of the water. “Speak to me truth now, Gaia…” He stood, bared before her, not only his sex, the very thing that defined a man, but also his chest and the heart that lay beneath, vulnerable, exposed. “... practice on me, that you be made ready for what words you would share with Marcus.” His eyes raised then, ice blue orbs aflame as they locked with hers. “Did you truly mean what you said? That you think I have used you, manipulated you into trusting me so I could use you to grow closer with Marcus?” Emotions that had been repressed began to flare up then, roiling in his gut as it churned. “Say what you will of me, of my ways, of how distasteful you find my company. I would believe those things, easily, and all of them… but you would question what we shared last night?” He cleared his throat, blinking forcefully, looking away from her as if he found it hard in that moment to hold her gaze. “I cannot think that… that it meant so little to you, to be so easily discarded.” Tiberius swallowed, hard, as his eyes returned to hers. “Marcus is my brother, Gaia… what I feel for him is different. Complicated, yes. But different. I would not have us be as husband and husband, even were that something within my power to make happen. It’s nothing at all like with you… when I look at you, when I touch you, when I smell you… it’s just different, is all.” What had seemed like anger nearer the beginning had resolved from him, banished finally by the clearing of his throat. “So tell me, Cub, of your truths. Tell me that I am not as blind, deaf, and dumb as the look on your face would say you believe me to be…” A cautious smile cracked into the side of his lips as he studied her reaction.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

He might’ve well cut her with how his gaze sliced through her. Whatever extra words she could’ve spilled were stoppered before her mouth could move further.

She wasn’t sure if she’d expected anger; raised voices, or perhaps (even worse), agreement that yes, he had used her to get to Marcus, and she’d fallen into his trap, and now, when the men were together, he could spill poison into Marcus’s ear about how slatternly of a wife he married; what a poor match! Laughable.

But it wasn’t any of that. The same unspoken tug in her gut, the one that in her quietest moments she recognized as the will of Diana, told her that she’d made a mistake. And it was the same pull that kept her eyes on his - her own widened, a startled fawn, luminescent with unshed tears. The raw emotion wiped years from her visage - she stood before him, all the world for a scared little girl. Pitiable at the same time begging for reassurance, the guidance of a firm, wiser hand.

I’ve got to make all of this right. Even if I can’t do it all in one moment, I’ve got to take steps forward. As I’ve spoken like a fool, I’ve got to give him space to do the same.

She buried her face in her palms; took in a deep breath. They smelled of sick, sweat, dirt, even though they’d been under the water. Pulling her hands down her face, she caught the thick rings of dirt under her nails. She was, in no uncertain terms, filthy. Where she’d picked up the dirt, she had no idea.

“Of course I would haunt you,” the words came so quickly out of her, startled like a chuckle. “I don’t want to be away from you.” The last was unbidden, so swift that she didn’t have time to be ashamed. As he seemed to be moving away from her, granting her unspoken request for space, she had to force down the pang of it. She’d needed the space; he was granting it. What a creature he was. And as he set about his toilet, she shifted to the other side of the spacious tub, allowing him space to move. Unlike him, though, she actually moved to the small set of stairs on the other side of the spacious tub. It would make sense that there would be more than one entry point - and benches on either side. At some point - between my foolish fits, I’m sure - she thought, ruefully, the slaves had moved some toiletries - nothing that was personal to her, but the things that guests would need. Slipping out of the water, she padded silently over to the bench, her back to him.

Water ran down in crystal trails, turning her deep russet skin into glistening wood, bringing out the hints of red and yellow that lay beneath the brown. It would be a mistake of the highest order to assume that due to her dark skin that it was a flat brown; no, it was as pliant in color as the hide of an impala, firm, supple, clinging to the outline of the defined muscles in her legs. Without the trappings of her clothing, she seemed less human, more carved sandstone, echoes of her family there, the distance of great beauty. The lines of her shoulders met into a firm ripple at the base of her neck, then, the line of her spine a flowing curve, pressed deeply into the clay of her back, before flaring out into her lower back and the flat spheres of her individual buttocks.

Retrieving a small vase, she sniffed it cautiously. Tipped it towards her hand, revealing a small trickle of pale yellow olive oil. Warming it in her palm, she listened to him, though she was not directly facing him, her attention solely on the oil in her palms, then, she began to work into her skin, one arm, then the other. The motions were practiced, familiar - even though a bath slave would typically be the one applying the oil, massaging it into her skin in a further bid to keep it particularly smooth and pliant, she had no problem with doing it herself. Had vague memories of being held on the laps of other women, the soft sound of their laughter as they rubbed her down as well, from the crown of her head to the bottoms of her feet. Her heart lurched. How she’d taken those times for granted! Thought that she’d never miss them.

What I’d give to have Natta here, or even Agrippina…

Further rubbing into her arms, paying careful attention to her elbows, her fingers. Then her neck, her chest before her breasts, then her breasts - not sexual in the slightest, but in the firm motions of someone who was looking for a very specific result. And, almost as if she’d forgotten that he was there, she lifted her breasts in her palms, gently turning the flesh this way and that, studying the darker circles of her areola, the small bumps that occasionally dotted the smooth flesh there. And not for the first time, she found herself marveling in her own skin, in how the color of it shifted and changed, how it wasn’t consistent.

From her breasts to the roll of her stomach, she continued rubbing the olive oil dutifully into her skin.

I’ve made many assumptions about men - not just Marcus, but Tiberius. And who has fueled those rumors? Cassia’s hateful tongue, Natta…but Natta she was trying to protect me. Cassia was just being the viper she is. Agrippina, too, tried to give me advice before the marriage…but what little do I actually know! My books have told me one thing, things that my eyes have yet to witness, things my ears have yet to hear. I should not be so ready to believe all of what I hear. What did father say? ‘Believe half of what you see, and none of what you hear’?

The smallest shadow of a grin, thinking of how her father said it so often that it almost seemed as a charm to ward off gossip.

What have I seen?

Very little. The attack…And the less I think of that, the better. I’ve seen how Marcus treats me. Seen how this man, this Tiberius, speaks to me.

She would shift on the bench, stretching her leg out as if she were a dancer preparing to take the stage. Shameless, but something she’d done for years, enjoying the strain in her muscles, of seeing the limits of her body. But even in this position, she was able to watch Tiberius - and the vigorous rubbing of her hands slowed to stopping, so focused was she on watching him. Nothing salacious in that gaze, but open curiosity and wonder.

He’s just so big.

With his broad back turning more towards her, she had to tamp down the urge to get up and simply hurl herself at him, wanting to cling to his neck and hang off of him as she would the thick branch of a tree. His largeness invoked playfulness, something that she was still trying to fully understand - though more effort was spent on physically corralling herself from taking the leap.

I’ve got to grow up sometime - though I don’t want that day to be today. Does he know, could he sense, how badly I want to jump on him, have him carry me on his shoulders and run away?

A muffled laugh that she tried to hide with her arm as she reached for a strigil. Finding one, she flipped it easily in her hand, and began the task of scraping off the excess. I’m going to have to bring my things in here. It seems such a waste to scrape this off instead of letting it sit on the skin like we do at home.

“…You would know him better than I.” No sarcasm there, or the defeated tone of a woman who was resigned to her fate. If anything, there was a brightness there. She was now bending over, right leg folded over the left, the left foot planted firmly on the floor, as she rubbed oil into her calf, her foot. “I will say nothing more of you than you display an incredible patience with an idiot of a girl.” When she looked up, she was smiling. “And why would you think that I find you distasteful?” Again, that startled snort, “You are rough around the edges, yes, but I am as sheltered as a blind song bird, unseeing to the bars that are around her.”

She switched legs with the slightest exhale, and repeated the motions on her left, reaching down further to massage between her toes.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Then he asked about the night before, and she stopped. Looked up at him, her expression quite unreadable, the smile evaporated into the long trails of steam flooding the room. Without fanfare, she stood, carefully, as not to slip on her oil slicked feet. Slipping through the steam, she had the nimble stealth of a cat, unnatural and unsettling on a woman of her status. Less nobility, more wild, a whispering of savage blood that not even generations in the Empire could erase. Moving in the water, she was oil atop it, flowing easily towards him. She stopped only when she was face to face with him, her eyes staring boldly into his. Was there a small shine of anger, or was it determination?

It was neither - a mere estimation of what she would have to do to get what she wanted. Only blunted a bit by the water, she suddenly leapt - using the small boost to wrap her arms around his neck (years of roughhousing as a girl would make it second nature) and press her mouth firmly to his, as hard as if she was going to force air into his lungs. It wasn’t a lustful kiss, all slick tongue and clacking of teeth in eagerness; it was the firm, almost authoritarian press of reassurance, that there was no doubt in her mind how she felt about him. If she spoke more, she’d be laying a trap for herself, she knew it - but maybe that was part of all of this as well, stumbling and falling and allowing herself the grace to do so, to understand that the tugging in her gut was still leading her somewhere, hadn’t guided her wrong so far -

One kiss turned into two, then three, then four - then immeasurable, her mouth parting from his only for her to catch her breath before diving back in, her kisses on him like birds swooping after butterflies, one after the other, each speaking louder and louder, until her arms began to shake, her calves aching from holding her up on the very edge of her tip toes, her trying her best to keep them on some sort of even ground.

“First,” she panted against his mouth. “I beg your forgiveness, for thinking that you could use me. Even if you did, it wasn’t that I was unwilling.” Another kiss, against his lower lip, followed by others, punctuating her words. “Second - what happened last night…I do not have proper words for it. So I won’t try to use them. Trying to speak what I feel has only created more confusion or let my foolish thoughts go free. I’ve been a fool, Tiberius, a right fool that doesn’t know the sky from the ground. I will continue to be a fool, that, I am sure of - but for now…I want you to talk to me. You feel for Marcus differently from me - why? How? How long have you known him? How did you meet him? Tell me, Tiberius, tell me of Marcus, tell me of yourself, for I want to know every little bit of you, and of him, and of where I am. I may not be able to experience the past, but if I’m going to imagine the worst, then at least let me have some evidence based in truth.” A softer smile there as she had to lower herself, loosening her arms so that she could stand on her own feet, but still keep contact with him.

If I cannot trust myself, let me at least trust him - and in time, Marcus. I will pray, I will ask for guidance.

This close to him, the affection of the kisses, stoked the warmth in her belly again. She hoped that he couldn’t feel it.

…And I will try my best not to let my sex further cloud my mind.

Easier said than done; I feel as if I’ll soon be insatiable…but if this is the only way that I can feel loved, to feel drowning in it, perhaps I should let myself go…Diana, Venus - how have I gone this long in my life without knowing how deeply I wanted to be loved? That I wanted to pour myself over someone, to cradle them close? And now I have these two, and I feel the golden chains they’ve looped round my heart, my throat, and try and fight them as I might, I’m only drawing closer to them…

 

[Talon]

Relief. Tiberius felt relief, most of all. He had feared a moment that what they had shared the night before really had been just so many words, that the light of day had seen the deeper feelings, the ones expressed in the exchange of whispers and longing looks, burned away. What had passed between them physically had been extraordinary, he could scarcely remember a more satisfying sexual experience in recent memory. But of the feeling, the bond, that lingered after? That connection was worth so much more to him than a mere night's pleasure. He could find sexual partners easily enough, if he could not lure them to him he could pay for their service, simple enough. But she… she was different. This was different.

Had he been merely man, Tiberius would have melted into her embrace like so much wax warmed by a lit wick. When she lept up onto him she was met not by a man of wax, however, nor flesh, but stone, warm as if only just spat out from deep within the bowels of the earth, hardened like a thing of timeless strength and endurance. There was passion there, not only in how her lips pressed to his, but in the ferocity of her grip, arms around his neck held such that even he might have had trouble pushing her from him had he wished it. Though judging from the way Tiberius’ hands fit neatly there in the small of her back, thumbs pressed against the two shallow dimples just above the cleft of her rump as if they had formed only to guide them there, his fingers gripping to the swell of her upper buttocks as he pulled her more tightly into his chest as they kissed, removing her was the furthest thing from his wish. This was fast becoming the way with them, that words could not adequately speak to what it was that they shared, that the feel of her flesh on his, the warmth of her breath, said more than the most impassioned speech. The moment her lips met his, all had been forgiven.

It was more that she had kissed him in the beginning, though he was not passive, her hunger stoking his own, not only feeding it but intensifying it, such that as she broke the kiss to finally be granted the desperate relief of renewed breath that her lungs surely screamed for, he was still nibbling at the plumpness of her bottom lip as if he sought more. His icy gaze held hers as she spoke of forgiveness, of foolishness, words that fully soothed away what little hurt yet remained after the proper apology that had been her kiss. Her eyes, deep brown pools, enough that a man could get properly lost searching for the bottom of them, captured him such that as she kissed him again it came as a surprise, though a welcomed one, made evident by the way he laughed beneath his breath as she nibbled at his lower lip. As she finished, he pressed his forehead to hers as if proximity would help convey his thoughts to her, his stout nose nuzzling hers where they met at the tip as she settled down off of the tips of her toes.

“You are no more fool than I, Cub, or Marcus. As always, I should more carefully weigh my words before I speak them…” A pleasant rumble in his throat, the slumbering lion expressing contentment with the comfort of the shade, though it was his that she stood in. “... and for that, I too am sorry. You are more than merely a tight cunt and a fine pair of teats, to me…” As crass as his words were, from a man like Tiberius it bordered on high praise, indeed. His forehead pressed against hers again, nudging at her. “... I feel a deep affection for you…” He could not find a more fitting word, though it hardly managed to express the true depth of his feelings. “...one I would not want you to mistake as false. I have wanted to be near you, like this, since the moment I first set eyes on you…” His lips suckled at hers. “... you ask how it differs from Marcus, this feeling?” Tiberius cleared his throat, his brow creasing as if he were himself pondering how best to describe it. “I love Marcus first like a brother. He has saved my life, and by way of his guiding hand, I have risen higher than a man like me had any right to. It was by my doing, yes, but he set me on that path, and at each fork, he was there to point the proper way. As for my attraction to him?” He scoffed against her lips, the warmth of his breath cascading down over her chin. “Well… I think you would agree he is an attractive man, no? How is it that I would not be interested? But I will speak deeper, such that you might come to know, or at least have some measure of mystery removed from it.”

“You see, Cub, for me, there is no finer thing than sex, nothing that brings to me more a sense of satisfaction. Not food, or a fat purse filled with shiny coins, or a nice new tunic with fine embroidery along the edges…” He smiled, nuzzling once more at her nose with his. She could see the sparkle in his eyes as he spoke of what was his passion, like a craftsman detailing his trade. “It is about more than conquest, more than merely acquiring another notch on your belt, to have something to brag about, or to spread about my seed as if to father a whole army of bastards. It is that there is no more intimate a connection than when you are inside someone, or when you take them inside you… they will speak to you of things they would not tell their closest confidant, of what pleases them, of what makes them feel good. And in making them feel pleasure, you take your pleasure too, and in the best of times, it is the both of you trying to make the other feel their most. What is not fine about such a thing…hmmm?” He laughed, humming with what seemed pleasure, as if speaking of such things was a topic of joy for him. “After all, has not Venus blessed me? Not only between the thighs…” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “... but also in appetite, such that it would be a shame to squander gifts divinely given. She has not spoken to me, not so directly, but I think it best pleases her, the indulgence of pleasure, and I would see her gifts returned in exuberant praise, as frequently as I can give it.”

“I was not born with this realization, mind you. At first for me too it was a thing of mere indulgence. Fucking scratched an itch that even fighting never had, for as brutish as I might look, I have no great taste for violence, such that it feeds within me some deep hunger.” His fingertips played on her buttocks, tapping out an arythmic pattern as he spoke. “That is, until I crossed paths with a woman while on campaign in Cantabria. Old, grey in her hair and wrinkles on her brow, but still spry, and supple as a woman half her age. A priestess, she was, and she spoke to me of Venus, of what joys the goddess bestows upon us mortals, and something in her words rang true. There is a god amongst my mother’s people who is her like, though he is a man, and those who give offerings to him give in hopes of making their wives grow round in the middle with child. It never felt quite right to me that it be a man, a god of pleasure, for most men know nothing of the pleasuring of their women, and care to learn of it even less. Sex is a thing of greed for them, of taking pleasure from someone rather than sharing with them in it. For women, the very act itself is one of acceptance, openness, of giving of one’s body to another… though I don’t suppose I have to tell you, I recognize her ways in you…” Tiberius smirked, playfully frowning as he nudged her forehead again with his, preemptively warding off the potential misinterpretation of his comparison. “... not of the old priestess, mind, but of the goddess herself. Though she too had a fine pair of teats, if memory serves…” His teeth nipped at her upper lip as his forearms pressed more tightly to her hips, pulling her further into him.

“I don’t imagine our Marcus feels the same of the goddess, though, for he is a man squarely of Mars, if any of the gods at all. He is pious, in his way, but to him, I think acceptance that he is not fully in control of his destiny would be enough to unman him.” He cleared his throat as if preparing to speak words he’d heard a thousand times given him in the voice of another. “‘Tiberius, what is a single night of pleasure worth when weighed against your legacy? The whores will no longer speak of you once your coin has stopped weighing down their monger's purses. But Praetor Attius? His name will ring through the halls of history as a man of the VIth, of they who helped Ceasar bring peace to Rome and all of her tributaries.’” Though his voice was deeper than Marcus’ would ever be, it had something of his tone and cadence in it. Tiberius scoffed disbelievingly. “I would mock the idea more soundly if I didn’t think Marcus believed it to be truth. If he would but let me, I would show him pleasures' worth, I would give to him such that he’s never before experienced. Not that he takes no satisfaction from lying together with you…” He chuckled beneath his breath. “... if you had seen his face last night, at the end…” Tiberius for a moment made an exaggerated face of orgasmic pleasure, grunting a few times before giving an enthusiastic moan of fake pleasure. “Oh Gaia!” He laughed a moment at his silliness before continuing. “Had you seen him, there would be no question. But with me, it would of course be different. Does it not feel different when you take a man in your cunt than when you do up your backside? Or in your mouth? It is like that… a man, who has known only the pleasure of women, to him I could illuminate many new ways of achieving pleasure. But for Marcus, I believe he thinks such things overly wanton, and beneath a man like him.”

 

[Talon]

“You know what pleases him, most of all? Duty. He wants to feel its weight upon his shoulders, to feel he is nearly crushed beneath it. To what end?” Tiberius shrugged, pursing his lips in the contemplation of his question. “I don’t suppose even he would know. It is just a thing, dwelling deep in him, as deep as the desire for pleasure does in me. It is of his very core…” He scoffed, his features lightening. “I will give you a story if you would like to hear it. Come…” He leaned forward, against her, as his hands roamed down over the swell of her backside until his hands gripped there where it met the backs of her thighs. Lifting her to straddle him with her legs around his middle, and with an ease that spoke to the strength inhabiting those arms that rivaled her thighs in thickness, he held her securely, seeming not in the least put out by bearing the additional burden of her weight. He moved backward, slowly, such that he could lean back to brace himself against the edge of the bath once he had drawn near it. He smiled at her, that sideways grin of his, as he stole from her a quick kiss before continuing.

“We were in the foothills of the Alps, once…” He launched directly into his story, his eyes for a moment cast downward as he searched his memory for detail. “It was spring, so it had been assumed that the worst of the winter snows had passed. Chasing after a group of Gauls who’d had the mind to raid a few villages that had been given Rome’s protection. A thousand, all told, or somewhere near. So we march out, right? All goes according to plan, in the beginning. The weather was good, and the men with legs fresh from rest. I was a Centurian, then, and Marcus Legatus. Young, but accomplished, not our first time out with him riding beneath the banner. There was a shift in the weather a few days in; the evenings grew dry, the clouds dark, sure signs of snow even if not given by bird or entrail. But Marcus insisted we press on, for one of the villages raided had been originally taken by him. It had been his word of protection given, his promise of safety broken. It was personal.” Tiberius scoffed, shaking his head. “More cautious men might have turned back then, but he would hear no talk of it, so onward we pressed. By the middle of the fifth day, it had started sleeting. More water than ice, but bitterly cold, enough to sap the heat from your bones. That night it turned to proper snow, and over the next day, it dumped continually on us such that it nearly buried us in our tents.” Tiberius chuckled, a hard memory made humorous only through hindsight.

“Snow up to your arsehole, there was, and though it stopped after a full day, what remained would only melt a bit in what little of the sun shone through the heavy clouds, only to freeze over again once it had grown dark…” Tiberius chuckled again. “For three full days, we were stuck in that camp, with hardly enough dry wood to start fires to keep the frostbite from taking our fingers and toes. Felt like home to me, but those Roman boys… proper tough, bloodthirsty bastards the VIth, but to every man, there comes his limit. Sitting around, waiting to freeze your orbs off? That’s most men’s limit. But not Marcus’…” His tone warmed, tinged with humor. “That last morning, when it had finally cleared enough for us to break camp, in he came bursting into my tent. The sun had hardly risen, yet, still cold as a Vestal Virgin’s cunt out, and he comes marching in, having trudged through knee-deep snow to get there, his eyebrows frozen, icicles hanging out of his nose. And he just looks at me, and barks ‘Centurian Attius; report’”. Tiberius chuckled, the laughter ringing out into his words as he continued. “And that just fit the man perfectly, to my mind. Stubborn, one might say… but also steadfast, and determined. He wanted vengeance, needed it, deep in his core, as these fools had by way of their actions made him break his word.”

His tone darkened and grew more serious. “And vengeance was had when we finally caught up to them. We offered no quarter and took no prisoners. Though we took no loot, either, as what they had was accumulated from the villages Marcus had sworn his protection over. Me? I took a scar, here…” He looked down between them, gesturing to one of the many lines that marked his chest with his chin. “A dagger, nothing too deep… and the sack off a big bastard that sought to test himself against my sword. His cock was nothing to speak of, but he had a pair of orbs on him that would make a bull jealous. I burned them in sacrifice to Mars, if I recall, though I might also have lost it in a game of dice on the way back to Rome.” Tiberius shrugged. “No matter. Once we had returned home, Marcus allotted each of the men his share of the spoils from his treasury and returned all that which had been taken by the Gauls. Why, do you think?” He allowed Gaia a moment of silence to consider before giving his answer.

“His legacy, of course. He knows the men would not take kindly to going in for a fight without taking from it reward, so he gave to them of his own wealth. He knows the village would have no recourse if he chose to take what had been taken from them, but how would they speak of him, after? A few thousand denarii, hardly enough to put even a noticeable dent in his fortune, is a low cost to pay for fame.” He sighed as if the memory had evoked in him something akin to nostalgia. “And such is the story of Marcus. Though there are others, some more humorous, should you wish to hear the telling of them...” He leaned in to kiss her, gently, as his eyes searched hers for reaction. “...though just now I would swear I felt your belly rumbling. What say you to the Domina hosting her guest for a bit of breakfast? I have a few things in mind that might help soothe you after a night of overindulgence, and perhaps we can gossip more of Marcus over a fat, juicy hen and a nice warm loaf of bread. Hmm?” His hands squeezed at her rump as he bounced her playfully in his arms.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“Magnus swore up and down that I wouldn’t be able to hit the hornet’s nest from where we were. And of course, I couldn’t let that stand.”

Muffled voice from above, then, with a loud rustling of leaves, Gaia swung upside down from a fat limb. Her grasp on it was solid, what, with her ankles clasped about it and her arms as well. It’d been a sight to watch her get to that height to begin with - she’d eyeballed it, tongue sticking out to press against the upper corner of her lip. “Here; hold these,” and she shoved the basket she’d been carrying into his arms. Then, with a bit of a running start, she hopped up, using the base of the trunk as a sort of step, grasped the lowest hanging branch, and then was up it. For a while, there was nothing but the sound of rustling leaves and the occasional grunt from her as she made her way up higher, popping out from cluster of leaves to cluster of leaves, each a space higher, waving down at him with a toothy grin. When it seemed that she could go no higher, she began to clamber back down, noisily enough, and then, decided to start her story closer to the ground.

“So,” she was quite content, hanging upside down as natural as moss, “Of course I threw the rock, and of course I knocked down the hornet’s nest. And of course we both got a scolding and a good series of whacks, and then I was abed for two weeks to nurse all of those stings. And of course mother only gave me a day of rest before I had to study. At least I didn’t have to weave anything.”

Slowly, she unhooked her ankles from around the branch, holding on with her arms alone, before letting go and dropping down to the earth with an ooph of expelled breath. “But you know,” she was beaming now, with the fond distance that memory has, “Magnus actually admitted he was wrong after that. And he had to do my chores for a week. Turns out for all of his mouth, he’s quite the adept weaver. Mother actually complimented me on how good my work was. You couldn't mention 'palla' around him for months afterwards without him turning red."








Breakfast had been a relatively quiet affair - after bathing, she’d returned to the triclinium, looking tired, but with a brightness in her eyes that spoke of recovery. Foregoing some ochre for her lips, her eyes were dutifully lined in kohl. The addition of the dark lines hugging her lashes had the desired effect: brought out the whites of her eyes, brought them to the forefront.

With quiet urging and lowered voices, she encouraged more stories out of Tiberius, listening, often, with her chin in her palms, her food forgotten, as she absorbed the stories of valor and bravery. If, at any moment, she suspected Tiberius would think she wasn’t listening, she would prompt him with an “And then?” or repeat a detail, making sure that she was remembering it right. She ate one-handed easily, giving Tiberius her undivided attention - it really was quite the feat, watching her tear pieces of bread, dipping them in olive oil, and nibbling on it without so much of a spilled crumb or errant drop of oil.

It was when breakfast was over and they were out of the triclinium that her shoulders dropped tension, and there was more of a lightness in her step. “I think a bit of fresh air will do us both well,” she’d offered after the meal, and, begging his pardon to gather a few things, left him to his own devices. When she returned, it was with a parasol, a strange bundle strapped to her back, and rattan baskets hanging from each arm. Loud enough for the slaves to hear, she said, “I think some time out on the grounds will do me some good. As well as give me better opportunity to see the land here. Perhaps I can think of ways to improve it - as well as see what bounty may lay undiscovered.”

When she looked up at Tiberius then, it was with the placid smile that would soon mark her status as a highborn woman, that slight worldly smile of closed lips that expressed amusement, but no more than was proper. It was a fair enough smile, to be fair, but compared to the wideness of her unrestrained laughter, it was a pale comparison. Lacking, if not dainty.

She’d lead him through the grounds, making idle comments about one thing or the other, twirling her parasol idly in her hands as she shoved a basket into his hands, the other in hers, as she would occasionally stop amid a patch of weeds, carefully parting the grass with knowing fingers. A ‘hrm’ would escape her as she inspected her findings, on occasion actually dropping her rear to the ground to get a better look. Then, with either a quirk of her lips or brows, she would stand, either empty handed, or with a “Hold this, please,” shoving her basket back in his hands (with no mind paid to the one he was already holding) as she knelt and actively began to dig in the dirt.

“This is oregano,” she’d supply, or “Look at all of this mint; I can’t believe it grows so wild here. I’m going to take a bunch of it for the garden at the villa,” or, “That’s such a pretty flower! I haven’t seen it before,” and she would delicately stroke the petals. Unlike the playful creature that had begun to characterize her time with him, all of her observations of the earth were solemn, reverent without her saying much. In the way she cupped each leaf, turned it delicately between her fingers, or simply hold herbs to her nose and breathe deeply, she was far less of the high borne Roman lady and more of a rustic creature, far more at home in the sylvan fields than trapped within the confines of the home.

In no time at all, she’d filled one of the baskets, piled high with various plants and the occasional mushroom. Her wandering would take them further from the villa, from the reassuring sound of the sea and more into the scrubby pastures, flecked with fat white sheep and brown and white goats. More than once, she’d raised her hand in greeting to the boys tending them, with one of them calling out to her, “Good day, Domina!”





She ran her hand over knee high grass, using the brim of the parasol to shade her eyes from the worst of the sun. Still, she kept walking, until the grass began to give way to rough rock and the shade of the trees overhead began to darken the path. Under diamonds of sunlight cut by the myriad of leaves, she finally closed her parasol, and set it down against a rock. With the familiar way she walked, it seemed as if she knew innately where she was going - this clearing, with the burble of a clear stream cutting through the rocky soil, framed by massive oaks that had to be centuries old.

“Finally,” and there she was again, with that wide grin that she’d come to favor him with. “I didn’t talk much at breakfast because,” she tapped her ears and eyes. “I may be the new Domina, but I don’t doubt I’m under quite a bit of judgement. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if I were the first,” a hint of sorrow there, quickly paved over, “And before you say it’s just my imagination, I assure you, it’s not. I’m something new; people are bound to talk. I’d consider myself very lucky if the worst of it spares my ears.”

She sat down on the stump, stretching out her legs. Taking off her palla, she took a few golden pins from it and hiked up her stolla up around her knees. Holding an errant edge with her lips, she began to pin it, forming loose pants that exposed her legs up to the knee. With the way she was smiling as she did it, it clearly brought back memories. Memories she hadn’t shared with him before, but now, let them spill freely.

“I used to sneak out with my brother, Magnus - not sure if you met him at the wedding. He’s fat and jolly like a satyr. He was born before me; I’m the last child. The baby. And quite the handful, if the rest of the family is to be believed. But since there’s only a few years between the two of us, we ran wild together. And then, whenever Lucius came home - I’m sure you met him. Lucius hasn’t met a man that he couldn’t charm. His height helps,” and she held her hand high above her head. “Tallest man - maybe even taller than you. Not as broad, though. Lucius…” She trailed off, her smile growing smaller, but all the warmer. “Lucius is my favorite. He’s the one that taught me everything, and the one who packed this.” She took off the strange burden from her back, and unwrapped the lacing with careful fingers. In the midst of the hide and linen was a bow, shining and well-cared for. There was a small quiver included, made of soft goatskin, and as she stood up now and took the bow in her hand, there was a familiarity there that couldn’t be faked. “I was surprised that he’d done it, to be quite honest. There was always the risk that Marcus or someone of his household would be particularly curious and run across it, no matter how well Lucius thought that he’d hidden it. He might’ve paid a slave off as well - I wouldn’t put it past him.” She softly stroked the edge of the bow. “To this day, I couldn’t tell you why he decided to teach me how to box or wrestle. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t thank Diana that he did. But odd, considering, right? He and Marcus are about the same age. Actually…”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

She pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek, weighing her next words carefully. “Lucius asked me, a few days before the wedding, if I’d agreed to it to help him gain higher status in Rome.” Her eyes went distant - how long ago those days seemed. “I told him that I entered into the marriage of my own accord, but in all truths, I didn’t have a choice. My father came and told me that Marcus Valerius Aetius asked for my hand, and there was no question of it. My sisters, my brothers - they got to choose who they married. I’d never thought that I’d join hands with anyone, and I was terrified. I threw up most of the day of the ceremony, you know,” her eyes focused on a large tree in front of her and standing from the stump, she walked over to it. Stroked the trunk thoughtfully. “Oh, I was so nervous. I thought it was a horrid trick played by the gods. Imagine, going from being forgotten, to suddenly, ‘You’re making this match with this wonderfully well heeled man you’ve never met,’ and that’s your life!” A twisting of her mouth, biting down on bitter thoughts.

“I knew nothing of the man. I know slightly more now, such as the shape of his sex,” the last said with a bit of a sly grin, “And that he’s wealthy, but little more than that. And now I’ve got a battle brother bundled with a husband, and not just any battle brother,” she turned now, pressing her spine against the tree, gesturing to Tiberius with the bow, “A battle brother that wishes to rival my skills in showing my husband pleasure! How am I to compete with that?” It was said with a mock pout; she no longer felt threatened as so much as…curious, if that was the right word for it. “I’ve given plenty of thought to your questions before, and in the light of speaking truthfully, taking a man up the…ass,” the word was spoken very carefully, as if she’d get her teeth stuck in it, “Wasn’t as pleasant as I thought it would be. And I have no idea why I thought it would be, it’s unnatural for a woman, right? I just…wanted to be entirely full of him. If I could have three Marcuses, one for my mouth, my sex, my ass, I would take it. I want to swallow him all, as much as I can. So I can see why you say that it would be the closest to you can be to someone. But in his case…I also feel that…it’s the only way I can keep a hold on him. I know I must be truthful - I said I would - but I’m quite scared. We’re strangers - and perhaps that strangeness is what keeps the attraction between us. He’s handsome, I will certainly give you that, but…it’s not as if I haven’t been around handsome men in the past.”

Hesitant - unsure of her memory. “But it didn’t matter then. I had no need for men - or for women, before you start thinking the wrong thing,” and she jerked the bow up at him. She turned to rest her side against the mighty tree. “It..wasn’t something I thought about. I never felt the tugging…or that urge, if you want to put it that way. It seemed messy, painful, and more trouble than it was worth. And no one looked at me like that anyway. You should’ve seen the house when Agrippina was of courting age. Men sent her letters stained with their tears. Their tears, Tiberius! Would fight over who got to stand in the wake of the breeze of her palla, come to blows over if she looked this way or that for longer than a moment. Even Cassia, viper she is, had her share of men clambering over themselves for her. And both of them seemed to know what to do with that attention. Cassia would suck it from men and grow fat on their compliments - Agrippina took them like the gods accept sacrifices. They would give me candy, or some sort of pretty thing, thinking to endear me to them to better their chances. I used to keep them in a little treasure chest with shells on it. Not that it helped their cause one way or the other, mind you...But…they got to choose. Well - as so much as they could. So, can you imagine,” and she started to walk away from the tree. It was far too noble of a thing for her to use for practice, “That the moment Marcus lifted my veil and kissed me, it felt that my sex had been struck by lighting! Like, ‘Oh, this is what she’s here for.’ It was such a strong feeling,” she began to pad forward, towards a goal just beyond his eyes, “That I actually accused Marcus, right there on my wedding night, of using a love philter on me. As you can imagine, he took to that very well. Freshly kissed and already fighting with my husband. Such a fantastic start.”

She picked her way over large stones, coming to stop in front of a once mighty tree, felled by a lighting strike, or perhaps a strong wind. The break in its might trunk came higher than either one of them stood, the great length of it weathered and smooth from exposure. “Perfect,” she murmured, more to herself, and took a few steps back. Lifted her bow in one smooth motion, notching an arrow with the familiarity of a whore applying rouge.

Inhale. Exhale. Drop the shoulders. Imagine the line drawn through her center, focus with the center of her chest. A pause, and she let the arrow fly. Though there was no bullseye drawn, the arrow lodged within dead center of the trunk. She lowered the bow, smiling to herself. Her unspoken prayer had gone answered. She must tell the truth. She must move forward.

“I’m only recently introduced to Venus - and like my favorite sweet, I feel I’m going to gorge myself on it until I’m sick. I cannot get enough; so much that even the smallest sniff of it clouds my mind. But, in moments like this, when I have clearness of mind, that I wonder if I’m acting out of fear. This is a role I have not been prepared for,” she was drawing another arrow now - the quiver had been quite full -, prepping the bow. “All of my knowledge of what happens between men and women was given to me on my wedding day - Cassia saying I was going to be used like the lowest whore, and Agrippina trying to tell me that it’s splendid and loving always, and one of the best parts of being married, and the books…” She felt her face reddening. “I read a bit of poets, some old things out of Egypt. And I thought, if it’s so wonderful for those to write about and sing about, there must be something horrifically wrong with me to never feel any interest in. Maybe to act like I was interested, as to fit in. But here, like this,” she lifted the bow, drew back her arm. Let go. The arrow landed beside its twin.

“This is where I feel the most at ease. When everything can be shrugged off, and I can be Gaia, the most true Gaia. And yet, even as I’m here, with you, my friend, I want to..” she trailed off, sheepish. “You know.” Cutely bashful now. “It feels good. I can’t deny that. And so few things in life do. So of course I want more of it. And any way that I can get it, should it be fun. But…not with just anyone. You, I was struck, by the first time I saw you. Like we’ve known each other before, or that I’ve run with your spirit in the wee hours of the morning.” She spoke with a surety that had seldom colored her words before. “Yes. That I’ve run with you before. And I was too ashamed to say something like that out loud - for fear of being thought of strange. You might find it strange, in the end, but it’s how I felt. Marcus…I’m not sure. I want to watch over him, to protect him, but I don’t know who he is. I sense, as you’ve said, he is a man of duty, who is concerned with his name. And while I…” her brows knit, as she searched for the words, “I can say that I understand why it is important to keep a name pure, of high moral standing - I don’t truly understand it. You and I, Tiberius, we have a precious kinship. One that I wish I could form with Marcus…but I fear that his devotion to duty will keep that from us. Husband and wife are like two fingers on the same hand, I suppose.”

She let go of the arrow. The third landed beside the other two, a near perfect line across the the trunk. She lowered her arm, shifted back on her heels to look at her work. “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure things out - but I doubt he’ll be as open with me as he is with you. But I’ll try all the same.” Turning to face him, she had that wrinkled smile on her face, the one that suggested the edge of tears. Of tamping down a sorrow she didn’t have the words for. “When I hear of Marcus’s devotion to honor….I wonder, ‘Is that all there is’? Is this all my life is going to be? And the thought scares me.”

She went to retrieve the arrows, pulling them free with some effort.

Gaia said very little afterwards, instead letting the sharp twang of her bow speak.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“How I feel for him is different from how I feel for you,” lowly said as they began the trek home. The air was starting to cool, and she suspected that her absence would be noticed and tongues would start to wag for too long. But as an additional alibi, she’d spent some time lurking round the stream, wading when the water got deeper, rock poised in her hand.

Her aim with rocks hadn’t changed with age. One fish, then two - and each she handed to Tiberius with a squeal. “I hate fish,” she squeaked, wrinkling her nose and quickly washing her hands in the stream, “I like to eat them, but I hate everything else about them! Hurry, take these off my hands.”

And so it was with two fresh fish on the top of the second basket that they were walking back, her still with parasol in hand, basket of greens perched dainty on her arm. “I feel a great kinship with you that being…in bed only makes stronger. You are a safe place for me, a cool place in the woods where I can rest, hide from the sun. I, perhaps, am putting too much weight on your shoulders, and I do not want you to feel obligated to feel such a way for me. But I want to be honest with you - since that’s going to be the trend from this day on,” a phantom of that toothy smile from the tree as she looked up at him, the lengthening shadows of the early evening dancing across her skin, dyeing her pale green stolla in shades of midnight blue. “But I want you to know that. And…” she flushed now, “If you wish to show Marcus such pleasure…I will try my best to help. Though I think he would be loathe to be on the receiving end. Perhaps, then, you could use me as a teacher? Show me what you would do to him, and I could do it? You know,” her tone grew lighter, curious, as her brows lifted, "How does it work between men? One must be on the bottom, right, and the other on the top, but do you switch? How does it feel on the bottom? Is it better to be on top?" Her eyes brightened further - there was the other Gaia, the one perpetually driven forward by curiosity. "Ooo, I would want to know so much more, please tell me, the next time we have a moment together."

Then, in a louder voice as they approached, Mikkos standing outside, seeming to be looking for them, “Ah, Mikkos! Tiberius caught some fish-” a sharp elbow to his side for him not to contradict her, though from the wise grin of Mikkos, clearly he didn’t believe her - “And I thought that they might pair well with dinner. Before we left, I spoke briefly with the kitchen for ideas for dinner. I assume that Marcus has made it home?”


“He has, Domina,” Mikkos held out his arms to take the two baskets, “It looks like you’ve had a productive day out.”


“I did,” she shouldered her palla further up on her head. “The land here is quite fertile. I found wild mushrooms, and all sorts of herbs growing wild. I’ll be taking the mint and the lemon balm-”

Mikkos’s warm face paled a bit. “Lemon balm?”

“Yes! I was pleased to find it - and the bees didn’t seem to mind that I gathered it.”

Mikkos turned a stern eye to Tiberius. “…I am to understand that Domina faced a beehive to gather lemon balm?”

“Oh, it was not such a big thing; I was in and out in the blink of an eye. And with all that I gathered, we can grow some here and add it to the garden. The garden is quite lovely, as I remarked before, the roses are second to none - mother would be so envious! But it is a garden that is largely for beauty, and it is a waste to not use some of the land to cultivate healing herbs here when we are surrounded by some of the most helpful. Over the next few days, I hope to start a small herb garden here. I think I can teach some of the kitchen girls how to take care of it in my absence - so many of these plants, you’d be surprised, if you take off the bottom leaves, and let them sit in water in the sun, will sprout roots, and then you can plant them!”

Blinded by her cheerfulness, Mikkos clicked his tongue, smiling as he shook his head, “As you wish, Domina. I will go to the kitchen now.”

“Thank you, Mikkos,” the older man left the two of them, and turning to Tiberius, she looked up with him with that small smile, “Let’s clean up and then meet for a well-needed dinner. You’ll likely get there before me.” She lifted her hand, tempted to give him a reassuring stroke of his arm. She caught herself. They were too close to eyes, ears, that would be looking to do them harm. “I’ll see you soon.”





When she returned to the triclinium, she was dressed in a pale yellow stolla with shimmering gold flowers painstakingly woven into the light fabric. Amber earrings glinted from her ears, dangled from her throat framed in delicate gold. Under the candlelight, her skin fairly glowed, luminescent and smooth. There was something markedly different about her - a slowness in her steps, a steadiness that felt like a great cat at the circus, eyeing the prey thrown to it. Not predatory on her, but a sureness, a quiet mystery between herself and the floor she walked on. In her hands, she carried a large pitcher, her hands small around the looping handles.

“I made some mint and lemon balm tea - it’s a remedy for sour stomachs. I’ve added just a bit of honey to make it go down easier. As much as wine might call to us this evening, I suggest that we keep it at bay with this. Marcus, I hope that you don’t mind, but I asked for the kitchen to purchase some ginger. I know it’s expensive, but I promise, under the right circumstances, it can be a one time purchase. I’ve had some success with growing it in the past.”

Less clumsy girl from before, she took on the role of gracious hostess with no small amount of ease, pouring the two men liberal cups of the tea before serving herself. Leaning over each man, there was a secret in the trail of her perfume, something to the quirk of her smile that suggested untoward thoughts. Perhaps it was the way she let her eyes linger, far more appreciatively than in the past, on Marcus, for almost enough to be uncomfortable. Or the way that her stolla brushed against Tiberius's arm, or the near inaudible chime of her necklace as she lowered herself in front of him, pouring with the tiniest of glances upwards to him, a catching of those blue eyes before she looked back to the flow of tea.

I’m going to try hard, she thought, resisting the urge to bite down on her lower lip as she settled herself on the couch, to be Marcus’s friend. Should such a man have a thing. Perhaps if I start there…things will be easier. Ah, but that time out in nature settled my stomach and eased my fears. And now, to the brink -

“So, Marcus - did you know that I could use a bow and arrow? Been practicing since I could hardly walk, truth to tell. I still keep up with it - and, seeing as you're both men of no small military might, I thought I'd propose something that's been going on in my head about it. I'd like to learn how to shoot from a moving target,” as casual as if she were mentioning the weather, she took a great sip of the tea. “I’d told your men to keep it a secret from you, my use of the bow. I thought I'd make a more terrible impression than I already had. Manius, in particular, I told, and I know he witnessed it - Mikkos, as well." Her words had spilled out of her, light as bubbles, and she leaned back on the couch now with a careless crossing of her legs. "But I thought if you’re going to be my husband, you might as well know all of the strange things about me. Now that you’ve made your purchase, I’m afraid there’s no returns.”

She turned those bright eyes on him, waiting for his response - to see if he thought she was joking.

 

[Talon]

“I swear to all the gods, Mikkos, both those above and below… not another drop of wine. Ever.”

“So you’ve said, Dominus… thrice now, if my aging mind does not yet fail me.”

Marcus scrubbed violently at his mouth with the back of his wrist. The roughness of the leather bracers against his lips was an unpleasant feeling for sure, but one he felt he’d earned, if for nothing else than the crime of being weak to the influence of too much drink. Not on his actions, or at least, not anymore, for he had regained the full of his faculties well before they’d set out that morning, but on his stomach. Purging was a sign of weakness, or at least so he felt, and the wine still haunting his belly had seen them stop to enable him to do just that on their return journey to the villa.

“I’m half-tempted to banish it from my presence, henceforth… if I recall correctly, was it not Xerxes who ordered the sea be whipped with chains on account of its refusal to allow a bridge be built over it?”

“I believe it was, Dominus. Three hundred times, and then burned after with hot irons.”

Marcus straightened, scrubbing his still clean hand through his hair as he held out the other to receive the waterskin that Mikkos held dutifully within range. He looked over to the older man then, pausing a moment before taking a drink from it. “And would you judge me mad if I ordered every wine cask in the villa be emptied into the baths and whipped for its insolence?”

Mikkos frowned in consideration before answering. “Not overly so, or at least, no more than Xerxes.” He clicked his tongue. “Though it would be a shame to risk the staining of such fine tile. Freshly set, no longer than two years ago.”

Marcus took a long swig from the waterskin, swishing the water about in his mouth a moment before turning to spit it into the grass beside him. “What is the risk of a few stains against the loss of my honor? Bah… you never indulge me, Mikkos. Ever the pragmatist.”

Mikkos frowned again, this time directing it towards Marcus. “Do I not, Dominus? I remember a time when your mother’s friend came to visit from Capua… Tertia, I believe her name was. You asked that I inform you when she went to take her evening bath…”

Marcus scowled, grumbling. “I was twelve, Mikkos… “

“... and overly curious. I remember well, Dominus.”

Marcus shook his head. “None too well, apparently, for did I not also forbid you to speak of it again?”

Mikkos' grin bore no small measure of smugness. “So you did, Dominus.”

Marcus turned, starting towards his horse, and Mikkos’ mule, which stood a dozen or so paces from them along the trail they had been following that ran from the settlements to the villa. “Well… did you?”

Mikkos was fast on his heels, quick to catch the half-full waterskin that Marcus lobbed back over his shoulder at him. “That very night, Dominus. As was my duty at the time, I informed your Mother of your intent to spy upon Tertia in the baths.”

Marcus stopped in his tracks, half-turning back to face the man keeping pace behind him, an incredulous look upon his visage. “So that’s how she knew!”

Mikkos, raising an eyebrow, squared his shoulders, hands gripped together around the waterskin held at his waist as if he were prepared to take a blow if Marcus had chosen to deliver him one. “Of course, Dominus… did you think her prescient?”

Marcus’ brow became a thundercloud. “I didn’t know what to think! I’d hardly gotten a look, no more than perhaps a foot or calf, before she came storming around the corner. You know she made me sit outside the baths and wait for Tertia to finish, then apologize to her for having peeped on her? And for what… a calf?”

Mikkos’ eyebrows climbed up his forehead as his lips pursed. “Fine calves, the lady Tertia had…”

Marcus grumbled. “Calf, Mikkos… singular. I only saw the one.”

Mikkos shrugged. “Then you would know better than I of their fineness, Dominus… oop, I beg pardon. You would know better its fineness. Singular.” Mikkos nodded assuredly. “...Dominus.”

Marcus eyed him a moment, all but scowling all the while before he finally shook it off with a scoff. “Let’s get back to the villa before the sun sets…” He eyed Mikkos a moment before turning back to walk toward his horse. “... and before I have you whipped three hundred times for your insolence.”

Marcus stopped suddenly after having taken a few steps, half-turning his head to speak over his shoulder. “And speak nothing of this… bath situation… to Gaia.”

Had Marcus bothered to face him, perhaps he would have seen the amusement sparkling in the older man’s eyes. “Of course, Dominus. To the Domina: not a word.”

 

[Talon]

*~*~*~*~*


Despite his strong desire to reunite with Gaia, Marcus was glad she was not present at the villa when he and Mikkos had finally arrived. He felt filthy and was quite sure he smelt and looked it, too. He was in desperate need of a bath and a change of tunic after his afternoon spent sweating and retching the wine from his system.

Besides, he needed the time alone to think the sort of thoughts best processed in solitude.

And so it was that he found himself in the baths, sat low on the steps, submerged almost to his neck in the steaming water, eyes closed as he sought to address the most pressing of his thoughts: what to do about his wife and his battle brother.

Not separately, but together. That they had been together, intimately, only the night before. And that morning… and potentially after, outside of his reckoning.

He could think of her, on her own; Gaia, beneath her veil, its particular shade of yellow hiding all but the white of her eyes from him. Her hair, glorious in the complexity of its styling, worn like a crown atop the head of the woman who would soon claim dominion over his heart. Of her, in her night dress, sheer, hiding only the true color of her body from him, but not its shape, its wonderful shape, her perfect shape.

And he could also think of him, on his own; Tiberius, clad in his full soldierly regalia, arms, and armor agleam in the light of the midday sun. In his familiar tunic, white, stained purple here and there by way of careless spill from the goblet he kept clutched in hand.

But them, together, and his thoughts were only of their sex. Not the act itself, of coitus, but of their literal sexes, joining together, his into hers, monstrous phallus invading minute yonic. So vivid was the picture in his mind's eye, that had he been of a deft hand with a brush, he would swear he could depict its exact likeness in the most realistic of frescos. Oh, to be able to do such a thing… He cursed then perhaps for the first time his lack of artistic talent, for to see the looks on their faces as they took to the triclinium for the evening meal, only to see what adorned the back wall, painted over fresh plaster…

The thought was enough to draw an audible chuckle from him. That was Gaia’s influence, he thought. Not that she had so ribald a sense of humor, it was just that around her, he found himself indulging in such thoughts more often. Was it her youth, that inspired it in him? Perhaps, for he thought it was not a thing she consciously sought. Were it left up to her, perhaps it would be better if he never birthed such a thought. It was he who had corrupted her, had breached the innocence of her mind, leaving her open to the suggestive influence of his darkly masculine libido. When he had taken her from her father’s home, she was but a flower bud that had yet to bloom. He had taken from her her maidenhead, all but robbed it, as she’d sought that night only to bring him comfort in his time of injury. He had no care for hers, for how the trauma of being ambushed on her wedding day had made her susceptible to his wiles.

Could he not have waited, even a night or two longer? Would it have been too much to ask, that instead of further upending her world, introducing her to another realm entirely, yanking from her eyes a veil much thicker than the one that had adorned her face that day, that he just held her, and let her find security, even if in the arms of the man that had set in motion the events by which she now found herself a stranger in her own home?

You think yourself Tiberius’ better, Marcus’ inner voice chided, when in reality, he just wears his degeneracy more plainly.

Hard to argue against, that. Not when he had spent the better part of the day thinking of how he could hardly await the arrival of night, for then he’d surely be home, and in his bed, with his wife’s thighs wrapped tightly around his head.

And again, when he should be thinking of her, not of the perfectness of her sex, of how he craved its taste, or of her rump and how shapely it was, but of her, of the woman to whom these were but traits, parts of her body that, yes, might be to him desirable, but to her, were merely features that nature, and the combination of her mother and father, had seen fit to adorn her with. Shameful. That he was so base a man, that he could not look past such things, that he obsessed over her like a teenage boy seeing his mother’s friend nude in the baths.

Better not to speak of it then.

Marcus frowned, a single eye cracking open to cautiously survey his surroundings as if he half-expected to find someone there in the room with him, so foreign was the idea to him. He closed it, settling his head back.

Leave the business of the phallus and the yonic for another time, when the two of you have a better opportunity to properly explore what happened between the three of you.

Marcus took a deep, calming, centering breath in through his nose.

Besides… if you speak of it, honor demands you admit you enjoyed it.

Marcus sat up then, shaking his head, taking a handful of water into his hands and splashing it against his face as if that had any hope at all of staving off such pervasive thoughts.

“It was the wine…” Marcus spoke to no one in particular as he stood, the sound of water churning beneath his feet filling the chamber as he climbed the steps out of the bath. “... it was the gods-damned wine. Tiberius slipped something into it, surely. Powdered boar phallus or some other such nonsense…” Marcus mumbled under his breath as he made his way into the antechamber, stopping to don a fresh loincloth without having even properly dried himself. “Bad enough I can’t help but have his prick intrude upon my thoughts…” He sat, angrily weaving the straps of his sandal around his ankle. “... as if that weren’t enough to lead a man to drink, he has to go and put another in his belly…” Slapping sandaled foot to the tiled ground, he lifted the other and began affixing the straps of its predestined footwear. “... I’m of half a mind to paint the likeness of my prick on the ceiling above his bed so that it be the first thing he sees as he rises each morning…see how he likes it!” Marcus laughed to himself as he pulled on a clean tunic, standing to fasten his belt around his waist. “Knowing him, he’d simply say, ‘I thought it would be bigger’…” Marcus scoffed, running fingers through wet hair to slick it back atop his head.

For as angered as potential eavesdroppers might have judged him to be, Marcus was the very image of calmness as he strolled casually out into the hall.

Him I will thump upside the head when next I see him… but her… I can hardly wait to see Gaia next…

 

[Talon]

*~*~*~*~*


It had been, for Tiberius also, quite the day.

One of secrets shared, and emotions unburdened. Of bonds strengthened, and loads lightened.

He’d half expected to find a flower braided into his hair as he ran his fingers through it, alone in his room for the first time in what seemed an age. And had he found one, he would have only half-cared, or not at all, in the event it complimented his complexion. Chuckling to himself under his breath, he laid out all of the tunics he had brought along with him across the top of his bed.

It was a day of sisters and brothers more than lovers, though he hadn’t minded, not in the slightest. He had listened, carried, and assisted, in no particular order. He had also offered compliments where due, such as when she demonstrated her rather impressive skill with a bow. That she was, as one might say, merely ‘good… for a woman.’, was not the case, for she was better than all the men he knew, too. He had said as much to her, and upon her attempt to downplay, he had assured her that it was truth. He had nothing in the way of constructive feedback to offer, his skill with blade far outweighed that with bow, but he had made mental note of her lack of proper targets. A thing he could build with his hands, he thought, that she might appreciate the giving of. His support in the form of something tangible. A gift worthy of a sister.

Tiberius stood there, weighing his options. He had another clean white tunic in his customary style, but as he stood over it, brushing wrinkles from it with the back of his hand, he felt it perhaps a bit simple. He wanted something… not fancy, but something that Gaia would find pleasing, or at the very least, give her the impression that he cared enough to try. He had a dark brown tunic, enough to nearly be black, but that was older and had the markings of repair in some places. His only other option was a finely cut tunic of green, dark like the leaves that remained always in shade, reminiscent of something a hunter might wear should he intend to stalk in the deepest forest. It was ill-suited to a man like Marcus, beyond the sizing, of course, for it was not nearly a fine enough cut for a Senator, but for a simple soldier, it seemed fanciful, with dark golden scrollwork along the neck and hem. It had been included in his pack as an alternate for his wedding attire should perhaps a goblet of wine be spilled down the front of his original.

The choice made, Tiberius stripped off his tunic, dipping a cloth into the wash basin that sat beside his bed to wet it before cleaning the creases of his body, first behind the ears, then around the trunk of his neck, then down into the pits of his arms. The water was cool, though to him, fresh from the outside, it felt refreshing.

He could also give her the gift of training, he’d thought as he’d accompanied her that morning. She had already that spark of physicality within her; climbing trees, shooting bows, sprinting halls. She might never be a soldier or want to be one, even, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t impart to her some soldierly wisdom. The sort of things he would have taught to his daughters or his sister, had she not been born a brute. Roughhousing with her brothers had given her a solid base, and he wouldn’t discount her ability to protect herself in any fair fight, she’d fended two trained assassins off, after all, but fights were rarely fair. And if the word had gotten back to whomever it was that had dared arrange her attempted kidnapping that she had done so, next time they would send more. Women were constantly underestimated by men when it came to fighting, but it was likely the next batch would be better prepared. And so she would need to be, too.

He would teach her also less savory things. Things of which her husband would likely not approve… well, that is until she performed them on him. If that was to be the way for him to finally be given a chance to take his pleasure in the giving of it to Marcus, then he would see her become the peer of the most talented whores in all of Rome.

Such things, though, were better left for the light of a different day.

And how about how she caught those fish? The thought brought a smile to Tiberius’ lips. A more skilled hand than I. If it cannot be gathered by yanking it up from the ground or bashing it over the head… He chuckled. Tiberius considered that comparing her feats to his, unless they were of strength, perhaps, was no great measure of her skill. It was not as if she had plucked lightning bolts from the clouds with which to spear her catch, after all. But surprising, still, not only that she knew of them, but that she was well practiced. Not on account of her sex, strictly, but also her station. She’d surely never needed to do such things, cultivate such skills, to feed herself or her family. Why had she bothered learning them at all, if not for need?

An enigma, the woman was.

His sister was, he reminded himself with a quiet smile as he turned to dress himself for the evening meal.

 

[Talon]

*~*~*~*~*


The soak in the bath had done wonders for Marcus’ constitution, such that he seemed nearly a new man when he entered the triclinium in preparation for the evening meal. He’d made no specifications as to what it would be; this was Gaia’s household, proper, and though he couldn’t help but feel he’d tossed her in the strong part of the sea by her heels, he somehow figured she would manage. She was her father’s daughter, after all, and something as simple as the overseeing of an already well-run household seemed almost beneath her. Besides, it was not a test, or at least not in the strictest sense, as if there were a pass-or-fail state. But he was, if nothing else, curious as to how she had dealt with things while he had been away.

Judging by the way Mikkos buzzed about, all knees and elbows, two fingers of one hand and one of another sliding against thumb to slap against palm in that rapid, rhythmic snapping of his, sounding for all the world like the galloping of a horse that chased after members of the staff he had deemed were not moving fast enough, Gaia had things well in hand.

Donning his favorite of tunics, a sea of sapphire with scrawling silver scrollwork lining the coast, he had decided it best to summon the bath attendants to prepare his person for the evening meal. Nails freshly trimmed and buffed, scruff shaven clean, his hair, combed forward and teased up in the front with a bit of citrus-scented animal fat to keep it in place. Stout silver bracelets at his wrists, gold and silver bands adorning each of his fingers save the one which held a square cut ruby securely in its setting that evoked the talons of an eagle at each of its four corners. A necklace formed of silver disks sat draped over each shoulder, at the center of each a rectangular cut of topaz roughly the size of a man’s thumb down to the first joint. Around the fresh dressing on his upper left arm was tied a fine bit of silk, what had once been part of a colorful swatch of fabric left behind after the making of a garment perhaps, something his dressers had added to mask the presence of the bandage beneath. A bit much, he thought, for so ordinary an occasion, though it was less for him and more for her. It would be unthinking of him to attend a meal in anything less than proper attire. As had been the night before, he assumed she would dress the part of her mother’s daughter, and be expecting to find him wearing something that did not make her seem out of place.

First in the triclinium, at least of those who would be dining, for to and fro skittered servants with plates and platters of all manner of description, Marcus stood just inside the threshold, his eyes taking in the breadth of the room, lost a moment in thought, oblivious to the staff who subtly slid past the obstacle of his stilled form with bowed heads and murmured apologies as they went about their duties. Catching movement from the corner of his eye his head turned, considering the servant rushing past as if he had been surprised by their presence.

“Dominus…” He hadn’t even noted whether it was a man or woman, so far beneath his care was such a detail, though it had, for a moment, felt as if they had been intruding on a private space. Not his person, that they had drawn too near, but the room entirely.

Marcus cleared his throat as he moved towards the table against the wall that held upon it a bevy of pitchers and goblets from which to choose one’s form of preferred refreshment. He fixed the first pitcher his eyes gazed down into with a frown, thumping it with a finger as if to chastise it for having had the audacity to have been so filled with wine.

“Not a single drop… ever.” Marcus mumbled as he reached for the first pitcher of water his gaze fell upon, pouring from it to fill a goblet. “I should trust my instincts more…” He turned, sipping from the vessel now in his hand as his eyes considered the room again.

Gods… but that was something. She was something…

He laughed reflexively, choking on the bit of water he had been in the course of swallowing, lifting his free hand to press a braceleted wrist to his lips to suppress a bout of sputtering. He felt a twinge in his chest, in the center, there, just beside his heart, as his thoughts turned to her.

Yes, she is something… and I cannot wait to see her again…

A knot formed in his stomach, carnal hunger stirring, as the hairs stood up along the back of his neck.

I wonder if she would permit me to lay with her again like that… Heat, raging at his core, radiating outward, surging down his limbs, ears and fingers and toes tingling… what if I don’t ask, but instead demand it of her? That before she gives her husband his proper due, before I shoot my seed deep in her belly, she will give to me what I desire most, what I hunger for, what I crave… he could feel his arms trembling as his hands tightened into fists, nails biting into the flesh of his palm, fingers gripped tight to the cool steel of the goblet, the fabric of his loincloth shifting as the integrity of the knot at the center was tested, his sex pulsing, filling with blood… I should go and find her now. Find her, take her by the arm, and pull her back to our chambers. No matter if she has already dressed, I need only what can be had by pulling her stolla up, there against the wall, her cheek pressed against it, my hand at the nape of her neck. And that ass… gods be praised, that ass of hers, pointed back at me. She’ll think I want to have her cunt, but no, that comes later, that comes after she has earned it, well after I have had my fill of that tight little asshole of hers gripped around…

“...Dominus…?”

Marcus’ eyes widened, looking in that moment like a man who had felt someone pass over his grave, body frozen, gaze shifting towards the slave who had approached to his left. It was a woman, of no more than twenty years, meek. A faint passing of recognition, but from where exactly he couldn’t be sure. The raising of his brow, and the sternness of his gaze, was enough of a response for her to feel acknowledged.

Philomena dropped her head, her eyes cast downward. She had heard rumors of what had happened to the bread baker the night before and was not eager to draw her master’s ire, or at least no further. “Dominus… will you take seat? I… I can fetch your water, for you… Dominus…” There was a note of concern in her voice, as if more than over her own safety, as her eyes flickered up to the patch of silk that marked where he had been injured in the ambush.

Marcus let a breath out through his nose as he considered the girl, feeling the heat bleed from him slowly, and with it, the sudden rise of anger. She was younger than Gaia, young enough to be his daughter. He felt the sudden urge to reach up and pinch at one of her cheeks. Strange… why should I know her, this one? He swallowed to wet his throat before speaking. “Yes, girl…” He handed to her his now half-empty goblet. “Water, only, for the rest of the evening…”

Philomena nodded, taking the goblet from him before casting her gaze down at the floor again. “Yes, Dominus.”

“Not a single drop of wine…”

“Yes, Dominus…”

Marcus frowned. “And do relax, girl…” He felt a twinge of guilt for not having used her name, though he would not ask it of her. Perhaps Mikkos, later. “I’m not going to have you flogged.” Philomena flinched at that particular word. “You are doing a fine job. I will tell Mikkos to include a ration of honey with your next meal.”

Philomena dropped into a curtsy before she turned to fill his goblet fresh full.

Marcus’ gaze followed her a moment, not longingly, as a man eying a woman, or an eagle its next meal, but as the shepherd overlooked his flock. No more than a moment, though, for as soon as she had moved away, his thoughts returned to Gaia.

I wonder what she is doing, just now…

 

[Talon]

The arrival of Tiberius found Marcus sat astride his chosen couch, the same as the evening prior. Tiberius had donned a single golden bracer on his left wrist to compliment his choice of evening wear, a fine piece set with a large ruby at its center he had taken as loot while on campaign, the one of what had once been a set, it’s twin lost somewhere during a drunken binge, surely. Marcus remembered that it had been a part of some King’s collection, a horde that Marcus had allowed Tiberius to take first pick from on account of his bravery shown in the battle that had taken place beforehand. A good soldier, Tiberius had once been.

Marcus’ eyes followed him as he gracefully dogged out of the way of a servant who was carrying a large metal tray, spinning as he turned to head straight for the refreshment tray, just as Marcus had. He could imagine his choice of beverage would not be the same as his had, and though it was tempting, the thought of forbidding anyone from having wine with their meal, he could not deny that Tiberius could handle his drink better than most. He likely felt no ill effects at all from the night before. Maddening, the thought, nearly as much so as having the image of the man’s prick burned into the back of his mind.

Nearly.

“Marcus!” Tiberius all but whistled as he whirled about, as happy as a girl who’d just been given a puppy. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the giant of a man broke down in a bout of giggles right there on the spot. Tiberius glanced at him as he lifted a pitcher of wine from the table. “We missed you this morning…” The sound of liquid filling a vessel. “... I assume duty called.”

Marcus cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the other man even as his attention was turned away. “Yes… there are men who live and tend the lands here, them and their families. Good men…” Though the statement was not pointed, one could almost draw the conclusion he meant when measured against present company. “... I would not rob them of their due attention from the lord of their land. Gifts for the recent marriage, a meal prepared by their wives, the airing of grievances… the normal sort of thing, not much different than it had been in the Legion, only absent the rank and titles.”

Tiberius pursed his lips as he nodded, filling another goblet. “Veterans?”

“No, not the most of them. Former seaman, mostly. None that you would know.”

Tiberius set down the pitcher, taking both of the goblets he had filled in hand before turning to move back towards the couches.

“I’ll not be partaking, and I don’t imagine Gaia…” Marcus began, seeing the man with the two of his cups.

“I don’t imagine either, they are both for me…” Tiberius interjected, grinning as he sat down on the couch, smile turning quickly to frown as a bit of wine from the cup he held in his left hand spilled over the rim and splashed onto his tunic. “... so I don’t have to get up as often…” He looked at Marcus, one eyebrow slightly cocked, seemingly puzzled as to why the logic of his reasoning would be in question.

“Fair enough…” Marcus nodded.

It was easier than he thought, looking at Tiberius, talking to him. He hadn’t had a single thought of…

Tiberius grumbled, leaning forward to set his goblets down atop the table before suddenly throwing himself back against the couch, his legs splaying open, a hand moving down between his thighs, moving about as if he were readjusting himself. He looked like a toddler having a tantrum, or perhaps a seizure. “Gods…” Tiberius bit his lip as he looked over at Marcus. “... these things pinch. How do you walk around all day with your cock tucked in like this…”

Marcus seemed taken aback. “What, you mean in a loincloth?”

Tiberius nodded.

Marcus laughed under his breath. “Well… why are you wearing one, then?”

Tiberius grunted, breathing a sigh of relief, his eyes for a moment fluttering, half-lidded. He had found the trouble spot. He shrugged, resettling himself in his seat as he leaned forward to take up one of the goblets. “... I don’t know… I just felt like being fancy…”

Well, no thoughts past the one, that is.




Upon Gaia’s arrival, both men stood in acknowledgment.

Marcus looked upon her as he had that day at the wedding, as if having seen her for the first time, his eyes wet, a slight smile on his lips. She was a vision, adorned in a color that suited her complexion perfectly. He was glad he had chosen to dress well, this night of all nights, for she looked the very image of a highborn lady. Not only in what she wore but how she wore it, and how she moved. She was regal, yes, but also with an air of sensuality, as if to look so nearly divine, to be such a feast for the eyes of her husband, was to her no effort at all.

Gods… Marcus thought… when I get her alone I’m going to tear that stolla off her with my teeth…

Tiberius beamed with pride as he looked at her, wearing a horrifically wrinkled tunic that looked as if it had been rolled tightly into a ball and stuffed into a saddlebag, wet. But there was only the one stain, up near his left breast. He held a hand to his chest, half-mimicking a bow, a knowing look in his eyes when they met hers.

Gods… Tiberius thought… I’ll bet those teats are just screaming to be let free… hmm…nice fabric, though. I had a tunic that color once… didn’t take to wine all that well…


Retaking their seats as she walked amongst them, Marcus frowned for a moment as he considered her statement regarding ginger. It felt at once as if she had asked permission, and yet, at the same time as if she were merely informing him. It was her right, and she sounded as if she intended to be frugal with it, so he would not begrudge her such things. It just struck him as odd to have been something Gaia would have said. Now her Mother… “Of course, dear wife…” He answered, absentmindedly, as she had already brushed past that topic and moved to another.

Marcus accepted the offer of tea eagerly, nodding in emphatic agreement with her call to keep the drinking of wine for another day where Tiberius frowned, though he had put down his goblet, sniffing cautiously at the tea as if he thought perhaps it might harm him.


Marcus’ look grew serious as she spoke of knowing how to use a bow, his brow creasing in the middle, eyes hard as they held hers, looking as if he weighed her words as she spoke them. He had heard of women using bows, and even spears, and swords, of course, but that it was her, it seemed to strike him as puzzling. He cleared his throat, about to say something, before deciding against it and instead taking a sip from the goblet of tea she had poured him.

Tiberius chimed in. “It’s not half-bad…” He nodded in a sort of reluctant approval, looking between the both of Gaia and Marcus, one after the other. “The tea, I mean…”

Marcus’ eyes narrowed as he looked over at Tiberius, considering him a moment before turning back to his wife. “I can hardly ask you to forget a thing you have already learned…” He paused, looking deeply into her eyes a moment as if heavily considering what next would be said. “... and neither would I, had I the power to.” He smiled at her, warmly. “And you have my consent to continue, under our roof, so long as you maintain the same measure of caution that saw it kept so long from my knowledge.” She hadn’t strictly asked his permission, but he had given it all the same.

Marcus cleared his throat, his gaze softening. “Speaking to shooting a bow from horseback, the Parthians ended Crassus’ line with an army of such men, or so I’ve read from the accounts of the battle. A strong tactical advantage, the combination of range and mobility, particularly when used against a force comprised primarily of heavy infantry.” Marcus glanced over at Tiberius then, who merely shrugged and took another sip from his cup in return. Looking back to Gaia, he glanced her over thoughtfully. “History aside, I am quite satisfied with my ‘purchase’ thus far, as it were. Though I value the telling of truth as highly as the next man, I do not find this particular lie… if you want to call it that… overly egregious. It is still early enough that you did not labor long in the keeping of it.”

Marcus wet his lips with his tongue as he leaned back further into his couch. “The question of how easy it was for you to win my men’s loyalty from me is another entirely…” He took another sip from his tea, smiling a moment as he said, offhandedly. “...this is good, by the way…” before continuing. “... exactly how is it they came to know of it, that they would be charged with the keeping of such a thing from me?”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

She couldn’t hide the wrinkling of her nose at ‘of course, dear wife.’ Wrinkled impishly, catching the distasteful odor of those words. So much for the illusion of a high born wife. Squinting an eye to chase the words away, she tucked it away - or thought to, before she blurted, “What a terribly dowdy thing to say,” without a hint of humor. “Please refrain from saying that again. I’d rather you call me a whore, if you meant it, then such forced endearments.”

Once she was comfortable in her seat, the lines of her body rose and fell against the billowing folds of the stolla. Firm line of thigh here, curve of stomach there. The comfort would scarcely last, as she bolted upright at Marcus’s words, her brows risen so high that they nearly climbed up to her shaven hairline, and her mouth gaped open. Rapidly blinking, she struggled to compose herself, fiddling with the heavy gold belt shaped like fish, studded with tan shells that sat low on her waist.

Well, I’ll be. Tiberius was right. Her mouth snapped shut, and suddenly, she laughed, high, light. “You were right,” she tossed to Tiberius, still hardly believing it. Leaning forward to take another deep draw from the tea, she sighed in contentment. Such herbal remedies were common at home - various tinctures from dried herbs, or water mixed with flowers beaten and dried with honey. Turning her attention back to Marcus, it was with a wide, nearly adoring smile. Her faith in him had been restored -

Or perhaps he thinks you jest, sneered that little voice in the back of her mind.

Well, she wouldn’t pay it any mind - not yet, at least. “I’m glad you like the tea; my mother taught me how to make it. Despite her disdain for the fields, she has a way with medicine that is second to none.” At the thought of her mother, the medicine that she learned at her hands, her smile faltered. It wasn’t homesickness - not that familiar pang, but the desperation in her use of those skills, far too soon in recent memory. Absently, she rubbed at the healing scratches, now starting to scab over, on her right arm.

“They know because they saw,” her voice was small now, inching close to fear. She looked down; closed those dark eyes of hers.

And began to speak.

She retold the story of the attack from her perspective - her terror, then, the chill in her stomach that bade her forward. How she’d found the bow, her mad dash across the grounds, getting the assassins in sight. Rolling beneath Tenebris’s hooves, how she was able to get up and run from there, able to draw again. In the re-telling of it all, her grip on her goblet had tightened so her knuckles paled, and there was a tremor to the tea within it. Despite her occasional pause, deep swallowing, and obvious fear, she pressed on. Told of how Manius and Lucius, the young soldier, had bound the men, but the slave woman brought her to Marcus.

“…It’s thanks to my mother’s tutelage that I was able to counteract whatever was laced on that arrow. And too much time spent among animals and watching when they got into things that they shouldn’t,” looking up, she attempted to smile. It wrinkled in the middle, her remembered fear too much to iron out. “I’d asked Mikkos, Manius, to keep quiet about it, as it would be unseemly for a woman to have done so much.” A deep inhale, then. She said she was going to be honest. “And I thought it might bring shame or embarrassment to you, had you known what happened. Better for you to think that your men were the ones that saved us all. They, in part, played no small role.” She looked down at the rippled reflection of her face in the tea, distorted by dancing candlelight. “I wish I could say that I wielded some commanding power, some strength of voice, that made your men swear to silence, but I cannot say that I did. They did so out of a kindness to me, I think. The young one, Lucius, tried to give me his medal. The eagle of valor, can you imagine, giving me such a high honor?” the last bit said with a shaking laugh. “I couldn’t take it. I gave both Manius and Lucius my bracelets - the large gold ones that I wore. I thought it was the least that I could do as a sign of my appreciation. Though perhaps they might’ve been shocked into silence by what they’d seen.”

She took a small sip, wetting her lips, her tongue. Felt the mild sweetness of the honey run down a dry throat. “I tended to your wound until you awoke,” her face grew warm. “You know well what happened after that…I was lucky, really. Just scratches from running barefoot on the rocky ground and scratches on my arms from drawing a bow without a guard. Neither injury that I’m unfamiliar with,” forcing lightness into her voice, she looked up at Marcus, then, to Tiberius. “…I’ll use my fear from that…attack to explain my next actions. I went to give absolutions to Diana - I will always wake early for that; if you awake and do not find me in bed, that is why - and afterwards went to bathe…and Tiberius entered the baths as well.”

An abrupt laugh from her. “It’s ridiculous, in hindsight, but I thought he might be there to attack me - or more precisely, you. So I tried to wrestle him in the waters and found myself roundly defeated! It wasn’t until I kicked him between the legs that he bellowed his name - and far too late did I realize my mistake.”

Nervous laughter gave way to a jerkier sound, before it crept lower and deeper, turning into a deep belly laugh, until tears streamed down her face, the pressure of the uncertainty of it all, combined with the sheer absurdity that time granted her, were too much. “I kept all of this from you, thinking that it would make you think less of me. That I would be a poor match. And to that, I say, well, I never asked for it - but I thought, to at least make the best of it. I was fully prepared, and perhaps I still am, for the worst, based on what my gorgon of a sister Cassia said about married men; especially those sight not seen. And Agrippina, oh, that goddess in human flesh, she tried her best to ease my worries - so when you see her next, be thankful: she was the one that held me when I vomited from fear on the wedding day. She did her best-” Tears were spilling down her cheeks now, and she was unsure of why: sorrow, yes, happiness, silliness, it all whirled round and round, forcing its way out of her by eyes, “And I thought to make my life, your life, whatever lay ahead of me, easier, by trying to be what I thought you might want out of a wife. Out of what I thought I was supposed to be to you. As not to shame my father - though I perhaps bear him some resentment.”

The words flowed now unchecked, her deeply stoppered emotions free - and without wine to blame it on. “I had no say in the marriage, Marcus - I’m sure you must know that by now. I told Tiberius of such in our time together. That I was not given a choice, that my brother thought that I’d agreed to the union to potentially help his own career. I will tell you the same as I told him - I would do a great many things for him, my beloved, my precious light, but this was not one of them. I had no other proposals, no other hope of being married. I was forgotten, and I preferred it that way. As doting as my father was, this was something that he knew I could not disobey. And forgive me, Marcus, but I hate him for it.”

Spat out sharp now, as her hands were balled into tight fists onto her thighs. The thin gold bracelets she wore, dripping with amber, seemed less jewelry and more ornate chains. “To be a bird without a cage and to think yourself free, beholden to no one, and then, one day, you fly into the bars and realize that the illusion of freedom was far worse than knowing the bars were there all along. I know nothing of you - save from what I have poked and prodded Tiberius into telling me - save that you were married before and your standing. And I am sure that you know nothing of me as well; I’m not so foolish as to think that you’d caught sight of me, unknown, and demanded for my hand. My blood is not so blue, my family not so well-heeled, that this was a good move for you. So it must be out of some desperation that drove you to me.” There was no spite; only a world-weary understanding. The exhaustion of one playing a game that they were learning the rules along the way. "So let us begin again with that knowledge."

“I am here, you are here, you are here,” the second ‘you’ in deference to Tiberius, “Because Lucius got some idea in his heart, placed by the Goddess herself, I firmly believe, that he should teach his sister, so many years his junior, how to use a bow. And if it takes hating my father to bring me to such men as yourselves, then so be it. Though I could not have foreseen any of this for myself, I am…stumbling my way towards being happy with it all. With you, my husband, and you, Tiberius, battle brother and now brother to me as well. He has given me good council, Tiberius has - in how to approach this. To approach you. But it couldn’t have come to pass until I was honest with him, something that I was afforded by him before you. So if not love, we can at least be as comrades. It is the best that I could hope for - and perhaps not so bad. I told myself today that if I could not be a good wife, then at least let me be a good friend to you,” the smile had returned, still wavering, a leaf clinging to a branch in high wind. She wiped at her eyes, smearing the kohl.

“Ah, blast it,” she sighed, scouring the table for a napkin, and began to dab at her eyes, trying to wipe the worst of it away. “I didn’t mean to cry. Sometimes I think I have control of my emotions, only to find that I’ve been at their whim this entire time!” A deep breath - the soft pop! as she slapped her cheeks with her open palms, her bracelets jangling musically. “Well, while I’m at it - I also caught the fish we’re having tonight. Tiberius helped!”

 

[Talon]

Marcus had held a napkin out towards her as she made to grab one, and as she took it to see to her tears, he scooted forward in his seat and moved to her couch to sit beside her before wrapping an arm over her shoulders. He scoffed as he shot a glance Tiberius’ way. “Now that, of everything you’ve said, is the one thing least likely to be truth. Unless by ‘helped’, you mean merely, ‘managed not to be a hindrance’.”

Tiberius’ arms shot up in mock exasperation. “Hey… I carried them! And I only peeked down her stolla the once, as she bent to pluck them from the stream…” He stuck his tongue out to wriggle it towards Marcus teasingly.

Marcus squeezed the flesh of her thigh reassuringly as he fixed his eyes once more on her. “Listen, Gaia… so we both start things from the same blank page, I would tell you the truth of how it was that this marriage came to be, the whole of it, from the beginning, if you will hear it.” He nodded solemnly before continuing, his hand moving from her thigh to search for its like in hers. “I will not pretend to have known who you were, or even what you looked like before the moment I lifted the veil from your eyes. It was not passion, nor a desire to find the woman who would bear me an heir that drove me to your father’s household. It was an obligation. Not to you, or your father… but to Caesar.” If judged by the look on his features, it would seem that Marcus bore the man no ill will. “He is to issue another of his decrees soon, of the sort that defines what it is to be a citizen of good standing, morally and otherwise. It states that all unmarried men and women of a marriageable age will be penalized, increasingly, so long as they remain in such a state. Increased taxation, most of all, though with such a thing, naturally there would also be a sort of stigma that came with this new ‘status’, even more than there already is, should one fall under it. As for how I came to know of it before it has passed officially…” He waved a hand dismissively. “ I was given something of an advanced warning, likely on account of my relationship with Augustus. It would seem that he wants those within his inner circle to appear to already be living the ideal he is championing with such a proclamation, or perhaps the warning was given as a genuine act of friendship. You can choose which of the two you think is the more likely, I know not myself, and neither care not, in all honestly.” Marcus shrugged as if he were speaking of the coming and going of the tide, or the blowing of the wind, or any other such natural phenomena.

“I knew of your father and his having sired multiple daughters, and from the last of our business dealings, that he was seeking a match for at least one of them. I figured that with the sharing of my knowledge of the impending decree, which he too would violate once passed, having himself an unmarried daughter, I would earn favor such that he would agree to wed any unmarried daughter to me. The both of us would be in good standing well before the decree passed, then, removing any possibility of having to face the ramifications of violating it. Two birds with one stone, as they say. That you would be the stone… well. You can blame me if you wish, or your father, or Augustus… but either way, as you can see, it is not you alone whose life was uprooted at the behest of others.” Marcus’ brow raised as a half-humored smile crept across his lips. “I was not seeking marriage. Would not have, were it not for the sake of satisfying this decree. I suppose it is Virgil then who is the one who fully won out at the end of the day…” His eyes softened as they flickered over her visage. “... though I would say now, with the full knowledge afforded me by hindsight, that I am glad such a thing forced my hand. I would never have had the opportunity to know you, were it not for that. There are times when good fortune brings you something unexpected, like bad weather that hinders only your opponent.”

Marcus sighed, shaking his head slowly. “And now you know the full of it. It changes nothing for me, of how I feel for you, neither my truth nor yours, but you will have to decide for yourself how it is you feel after hearing mine. We can be as friends… and I think I would like that, even though it sounds a queer thing to say, I will admit.”



Tiberius bit into his fist in his best attempt to stifle a yawn. His eyes were mostly on Gaia as Marcus spoke, watching for her reaction, though they had wandered over to his battle brother, too, at times.

These two… Tiberius thought, shaking his head… as if the two of them were not already the perfect match. Just look at them… he smiled... She’s just as smitten as he is, and together the two of them seem as if they are determined to talk each other out of finding happiness.

He cleared his throat, then, loudly, as if commanding both of their attention. “Listen you two…” He wore a stern look as he sat forward on his couch. “... seeing as we’re all friends, now, the three of us, let's play a little game. And don’t worry…” He held his hands out as if to preemptively stave off objections… “... we can all keep our clothes on for this one. Speaking of… I go out of my way to wear my finest tunic…” He waved a hand across his chest demonstratively. “.. and not a single compliment…” He clucked the tip of his tongue against his teeth. “... absolute brutes, the both of you.” He shook his head as if in disappointment.

Marcus made as if to speak. “Loo-...”

Tiberius again clucked his tongue. “Upp upp upp… too late, the moment has passed. And I wore a clean loincloth and everything…ungrateful…”

Marcus rolled his eyes “We all know that thing is going to end up tied around your head before the night is through.”

“That’s beside the point… Marcus!” He barked out suddenly.

Marcus, taken aback, moved with a jolt as if he half expected something to be thrown in his direction. “What?”

“Look at Gaia. Just look at her, would you? … good. Now, tell us one thing you like about her appearance. And don’t just say she’s beautiful, I mean, give us an observation. Truth, as we are all now in the habit of telling.”

Marcus sighed reluctantly as if it pained him to indulge the other man, but failing to find a good reason to complain, he considered her a moment before speaking. “Her eyes…” The thumb of the hand that was gripped with hers rubbed against the backs of her fingers. “... your eyes.” He said as he looked into hers. “It was the first thing I saw of her, the only thing I could make of her features beneath the veil. There is a spark there, in them. Wisdom beyond her years and yet a sense of youthful curiosity.” He swallowed to wet a throat that had suddenly become dry. “... I was…” He cleared his throat. “... and continue to be… entranced when I look into them.”

“Good! A bit of an easy choice, if you ask me… but a good start!” Tiberius tapped the side of his nose with a finger. “Now say one for me.”

Marcus frowned, looking over to Tiberius. “What?”

“There are three of us here, Marcus. Did you think I was merely here to be your audience? If I’m going to be sat here listening to the two of you prattle on all night, the least you could do is find a kind word to say about my appearance.”

Marcus grumbled under his breath. “Fine… you have nice hair, I guess. The coloring, and how it curls…”

Tiberius’ face lit up. “Again, boring, but hey… starting easy for the first round. See? Was that so hard, paying me a compliment? Good. Now… my turn.”

Marcus groaned.

“Marcus… you’ve a nice rump on you, for a man. What’s that look for? I’m not speaking of the crack running down the center of it, I can see the shape of it with your tunic on! It’s just got a nice shape to it, that's all.”

Marcus, just then blushing more than he might like to admit. “So you've said.”

“And Cub… “ Tiberius leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, appearing to deliberate a moment over what would be said. “You have nice hands. Not too dainty, but also not mannish. Strong enough to pull a bow, but also soft enough to be pleasant to touch. They’re nice, is all.” He offered with a shrug.

Tiberius smiled genuinely as he met her gaze, giving her a conspiratorial wink with the eye that was turned away from Marcus’ viewing. “Your turn, Cub… share with us something you like about Marcus’ appearance.”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Through the lightening curtain of her tears, she laughed a bit at Marcus’s comment of Tiberius. I wonder, is this how men speak of each other when they’re truly friends? I would expect such teasing from boys; not from adults. “He was more help than you might think,” said as she dared to move closer to Marcus, looking for the reassuring warmth of his body. The most primitive way of communicating – perhaps the best, if she was seeking to truly start from the beginning. She listened, daring to actually lean against him as he spoke.

Hearing of it so plainly – I’m not surprised, not in the slightest. But what does surprise me is that I have no hurt feelings towards him due to it. He is truly a shrewd man, as I initially suspected. And I cannot fault him for that. The fault still lies with my father.

Reminded of him again, her mouth tightened as she forced it loose to drink from her cup. I may end up taking this to my grave, if I let myself be burdened by it. But I cannot help but to feel slighted; to be forgotten, and then hoisted off to maintain standing. And for what more could father have wanted for? Is this what ‘honor’ results to, in the end?

“Well,” her voice wavered, only the slightest, as Marcus finished, “that would make two of us, then – not seeking marriage. So we’ll make the best of it,” and she slapped his thigh, treating him as a comrade rather than a husband. “And with it, all of the gilt and garnishes that comes with it. I’d only ask one thing further of you: if I’m to bear your children, and one of them be a girl – let her be wise to whatever her future may hold. I will not see her married off as I was: sight unseen – and I don’t care who would make the decree. Jupiter himself could demand it, and I would deny it, unless it was a match that she found agreeable. Are we clear?”

Tempered steel under the gentility of her language, a slight hardening of those eyes. “I would consider myself lucky in having a rational, shrewd husband, but luck is a fickle thing. And as much as we would hold onto honor, we’ve no promised future.” The last bit surprising from such a normally ‘sunny’ woman. “A plague could come and wipe all of us out, turn all of this,” she waved her hand to the inside of the triclinium, “to dust. And no one would be ever the wiser that we ever walked the earth. So we all would do best in remembering that. And enjoy what we have, for however long that we may have it,” clinked the edge of her goblet to his. “And trust that the earth alone will remain.” A genuine smile there, something of a twinkle returning to those dark eyes. The worst of the storm had been weathered, and there was the promise of a sunny sky on the horizon.

“And,” decidedly chipper now, as if there had not been tears, “worse comes to worse, I can always run off and live with the wolves. That was my original life plan, you know.” Taking a deep drink of the tea to finish off her goblet, she ran the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip. She leaned forward to refill her goblet, “I was thinking about it up until the ceremony, actually. My hand was in yours and I was planning my great escape, of which I will not tell you anything of, so you will not know what signs to look for.”

If her words weren’t enough to change the subject, Tiberius’s were, and she laughed heartedly then, eating her fill of joy. Setting her goblet down, she untangled herself from Marcus long enough to stand and place a firm kiss to his cheek, her voice as intangible as the fingers of her perfume, “You look splendid this evening. I would be remiss in not mentioning it,” she was away again then, resuming her spot next to Marcus.

With her normal tone of voice, colored by merriment, she suddenly pouted. “You’re right – I have behaved atrociously to my husband’s battle brother and guest.” A flicker of something wicked in the fullness of her lips, “Perhaps a punishment should be in order.” It could’ve been easily misheard, from the way she cheerily leaned forward to pluck a bit of bread from a platter, swirling it in warmed olive oil. She would pop the morsel into her mouth, watching with curious eyes as Tiberius took charge of the conversation, more like she was a spectator than participant.

“Wait – you can’t be serious, can you?” Hesitant laughter now as she inched a bit away from Marcus. I’d suggested punishment – I didn’t say who needed it! And Tiberius certainly seems to be pushing for it. How would I do it? Would I make water on his bed, or pass wind on his pillow? Thorns in the sandals? Ah – he was serious. And Gaia’s discomfort grew, churning her stomach and bringing heat to her face as she continued to subtly, then not so subtly, inch away from Marcus. “It’s a cruel game you’re playing, Tiberius,” a bit of that steel in his name, red hot and malleable, but there. “I don’t like to be on the receiving end of such teasing-”

Why would he ask something like this? Surely he knows that I do not like compliments, if they could even be called that – and now looked at me, trapped! I see why a fox would be willing to gnaw off his own paw to escape –

And caught fast she was, Marcus’s hand holding firm to hers, his voice bringing her face to his. Her expression was little less than sheer panic, wide whites, her body twisted as ready to take flight from the couch that they were on. He was talking about her eyes – eyes that were steadily looking everywhere else but him. Breath returned only when the attention was gone from her, and it took every measure of her strength not to grasp the front of her stolla, to breathe as usual. Marcus’s reluctant observation of Tiberius helped, but it was not enough to settle her nerves. It was when Tiberius turned to her, something about my hands – that she was up, one of those hands he’d praised balled into a fist, and she not so kindly punched his shoulder. It wasn’t a soft hit either, if the redness left by her fist was any indication. “This is a silly game and I hate you for it,” she sniffed, doing her best not to kick at one of his mighty calves. “How dare you put me on the spot like this; I should strangle you where you stand.”

Hands were on her hips now as she huffed, looking down at him. “I should take my leave of the two of you as it is – I try to be kind, and you put me on the spot,” and now she was looming over him, placing a foot solidly on the couch next to him. Taking advantage of the added height, she leaned over him, with a convincing frown on her face. “What goes in that mind of yours, asking such awkward things? Is this to make everyone at ease with what happened last night? I don’t need these games to accept it! I had fun! It was fun! And I’d do it again, any time that it was asked of me – so you don’t have to resort to this sort of foolishness.”

How does he like it, then?! Someone standing over him, putting him on the spot! Making him pay for such silly words!

…She tried to ignore the smaller thrill, the small still flame that was beginning to awake in the pit of her stomach. Softer now, she continued, “I don’t like comments about my appearance. I know I’m not a beauty, not like my sisters. And I would rather not be reminded of it.” Vulnerability beneath the bluster, her eyes pleading his own to drop it, to discuss something, anything else. “So long as I don’t bring outward shame to Marcus, that’s good enough. I never expected to be the subject of love songs, or sleepless nights.” She stepped off of the couch now, straightening out her stolla. It fell against her body in waves of pale yellow light. “So is that it, then?” She turned to face Marcus now, “Was this an attempt to sooth any hurt feelings from last night? If I, the center of such activities,” and a hand was placed on her chest in a gesture to cause any seasoned orator to frown in envy, “Can state plainly that I enjoyed them and found no shame in my actions, then you two, battle brothers, should feel even better, having known each other much longer than I’ve either one of you. And probably not the first to have been brought pleasure between the two of you, either. It was quite the wedding gift,” an impish grin. “If it will soothe annoyed or nervous minds, consider it an offering to Venus.”

 

[Talon]

Tiberius withstood the heat of her gaze as well as he had the strength of her fist, smirking up at her as she moved to hover over him with that cocksure grin of his, eyes half-hidden beneath his brow even as he leaned back to settle further into his seat. A hand slid down to tug slowly at his crotch, readjusting himself from over his tunic, as his eyes moved down suggestively toward her middle with a lifting of his brow, admiring her body as nakedly as if his eyes could see beneath the layer of her clothing. His tongue darted out from between his lips, wetting them before he mumbled beneath his breath. “Careful, Cub…”

Gaia could hear his disappointed groan as she turned back towards Marcus, who bore the look of a man successfully ambushed, his frown one more of confusion than disappointment. “I…” He reached a hand up to press his finger and thumb into his eyes, rubbing a circle around them once before pinching the bridge of his nose. The same hand dropped, lifting again quickly as it made to point in Tiberius’ direction as if making an accusation. “I was just indulging him in his childish game!”

“Hah!” Tiberius’ laugh, enough to startle with its sudden boom like the thundering of a spring storm, echoed off the high ceiling of the triclinium. “I’d much prefer to know the Marcus that dwells in your imagination, Cub… the fun we could have had…” He leaned back more fully, raising his arms to drape them over the back of the couch with a regretful sigh, goblet held in one hand with fingers gripped around the mouth of it. An odd sight, this man so large, so unrefined, ill-cared for tunic almost more an eyesore than a compliment to his figure, he looked the image of a raider who had sacked the villa and now sat at the owner’s table, clad in borrowed finery, to enjoy the fruit of his spoils. “... this one, he turns to mush as soon as the topic of coitus comes up.”

Marcus’ frown deepened as he sat forward in his seat, his back straightening, his head canted to the side as if he felt he did not want to meet either of their gaze at that moment. “I do not! I simply don’t find it proper to speak of it so… casually.”

“Mmmhmm…” Tiberius sounded ill-convinced, his head turning to watch as the fingers of his left hand scratched idly at the wine stain on his chest. “And what do you think of what she said? Do you agree?”

Marcus scrubbed a hand through his hair. “What was there to agree with, exactly?”

Tiberius’ gaze for a moment flickered to Gaia’s face as his fingers worked, studying her reaction intently. “She said she enjoyed what happened last night…”

Marcus drew in a deep breath, letting the air out through his nose with a huff. “As is her right, I will not deny her that… “ He looked at Tiberius. “Well, I won’t! What do you expect me to say, that I enjoyed watching my wife have sex with another man?”

Tiberius shrugged, taking another sip from his goblet of tea. “Doesn’t seem all that strange of a thing to say… hells, I enjoyed watching her have sex with another man.”

Marcus scoffed, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t understand…”

Tiberius grumbled, the irritation clear in his voice as he spoke. “Say it plain, Marcus, for the both of our hearing.” He gestured towards Gaia with a nudge of his forehead.

Marcus looked at Gaia for a long, quiet moment, seeming as if he were expecting something from her. This was confusing, all of it, to a man like him. How she was acting, how they had been together the night before. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t some… hedonist, some barbarian, who acted according to whim, who went always with what felt good. He was the master of himself, no other.

Marcus, apparently satisfied with what he found in Gaia’s eyes, shifted his gaze to Tiberius. He was serious, now, no longer caught flat-footed, he looked as if poised to strike. Dangerous. “I understand her desire to know, but what of yours? Are you asking merely because you want to fuck her again?”

Tiberius’ eyebrows lifted. “And if I did, would it anger you? Would you even be surprised?”

“No more games, Tiberius…” It was as if Gaia were no longer present, the two men now staring at each other, wolf and bear facing off as they encircled a prime piece of meat. Marcus’ words came as a growl, as if in warning. “No more veiled insinuations or sarcastic half-truths.”

It was a battle of wills between the two men, each not wanting to be the first to express their desire, the two staring into each other’s eyes.

“Fine…”

Tiberius stood suddenly, slamming his goblet down onto the table that sat between the three couches, the ring of metal on metal as the contents of the table were jostled by the force. He was swift as he turned towards Gaia, a hand moving around her side, beneath her arm, to wrap its fingers around her throat. With that grip he pulled her back into him, his other hand trapping her arm to her side as he gripped her middle. Should she flail with her left arm, he had but simply to raise his own to control it at the socket. Should she attempt to free her other, there would be the resistance of his bicep to keep her upper arm pinned against her ribs. Tiberius’ fingers tightened around her throat, their span enough that his fingers could press into her flesh at either side where her jaw curved beneath her ear.

“What in the hells are you doing? Have you gone mad?” Marcus stood, reaching out a hand to grab at Tiberius’ wrist as if to pull his hand away from Gaia’s middle.

“Yes!” Tiberius barked, forceful enough that Marcus was taken aback, his brow creasing in the middle as he once more locked eyes with the bigger man. “You ask me if I want to fuck her again? I think of nothing but. Not since that morning in the bath…” He pulled her back into him more tightly, her head resting against his left collarbone, the top of her head not even reaching the ridge of his shoulder, what must unmistakably be his sex pressing against her backside, growing more firm by the moment. “Since we’re in the mood for telling truths, I suppose I will share mine…”

“She told you of how she kicked me between the legs, but she did not speak of what I took as repayment. I took her subligaculum. Not the clean one, mind…” He leaned his head down, sniffing at the crown of her head as if taking in her scent. “... but the one she’d worn there. I did it mostly to embarrass her, but I couldn’t resist sampling it once I had it. And I didn’t know who she was, at the time…” Tiberius groaned lowly in his throat. “But even if I had known, it would have gone no differently. It’s not the sort of thing you can resist…” The hand at her middle pulled her lower half back into him more tightly. “Fuck, Marcus… I don’t have to tell you, I can see it in your eyes. Have you thought of anything but, since the two of you shared a bed together?”

Marcus shook his head, slowly releasing his grip on Tiberius’ hand. “... No.”

Tiberius nodded enthusiastically. “No… you spent the whole day thinking of her, and now you’ve come home, and how does she greet you? She comes in here, speaking of truths, cleansing her soul of lies… all the while, like some little brat, waving that cunt of hers beneath our nose like we could not take from her what we want, should we choose.” The grip around her throat tightened. “Tell me, Marcus, as you’ve asked me and I already answered. Do you want to fuck her again?”

Marcus grunted. “I want to taste her…” he said with the rasp of a growl beneath his words.

“Mmm… and what is stopping you?” Tiberius pressed a cheek into the top of Gaia’s head. “You wouldn’t mind if your husband had a taste of dessert before he takes his dinner, would you, cub?”

Marcus didn’t wait for her to give further consent, kneeling in front of her to lift the hem of her stolla and duck his head beneath it. There was a warm glow from the light of the room seeping through the yellow of the material, granting him some utility of sight, but in truth, he hardly needed it. His hands gripped to her thighs a moment to steady himself as he shifted to bring himself closer, sliding up then to hook his fingers into the waistline of her subligaculum. He tugged down, forcefully, pulling until the undergarment was halfway down her thighs, his hands shifting around to her backside, uncaring of what parts of Tiberius they brushed against in that moment as he gripped a handful of her rump and pulled her into him, his head tilting up, lips and chin and nose fitting neatly into that space between her thighs, impacting with enough force that he nearly bit his tongue, the tongue that licked, uncaring of the roughness of her coarse hair there as it sought to garner from her flesh the flavor of her arousal, sliding wetly against the lips of her labia majora, against the mound that formed there with her legs still held together, unable to go deeper, the tip of his nose dragging against that patch of wild hair there above her sex, his head tenting the fine fabric of her stolla, visible at her middle like a mockery of a pregnant woman’s bulge, if not sat just a bit low.

Tiberius’ powerful arms tightened around her, restraining her upper body against the chance that she sought to free herself. “Come now, Cub… are you telling me you can’t think of something about your husband that you find attractive?” His tone bordered on sarcasm as she could feel the firm rod of his sex, more aroused than not, pressing against her backside near the middle, just beyond the reach of the hands that still held a firm grip as Marcus pulled her into him.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Tiberius’s low threat met with a raised brow from her.

I wonder what he means by ‘careful.’ Is there more of a beast behind those eyes?

Not that she would have time to ponder on it too much before her attention was back to Marcus. Seeing him caught on the back foot like this was enough for her to literally cock her head to the left, doing her best to discern what was taking place in front of her. Here was a man, several years her senior, and he was stammering like a teenager. Though he had spoken little around her - outside of the bedroom - it was strange to hear cautious cadence replaced with emotion.

Her eyes bounced from man to man as they spoke though she remained in the middle. Outside of crossing her arms over her chest, she made no other movement. Over the course of the conversation, though, her attention inevitably drifted back to Tiberius. He had no issue with dominating the conversation, and was working towards something, she was sure of it.

There’s no wine to blame fevered lusts on now. Come now, Gaia - if you had the chance, and your husband’s permission, would you lay with Tiberius again? ‘Fuck,’ as they’re so fond of saying?

A snort as her nose wrinkled, lip curled. Of course I would. I don’t know why I even humored thinking otherwise.

Hearing the note of severity in Marcus’s voice was enough for her to turn back to him. Was this evening getting out of hand? She took the slightest step backwards, quickly ended by running into the dining table. The small progress she’d made away from Marcus was just as quickly regained by the jump she made when Tiberius slammed his goblet down on the table. Whatever thought that she might’ve humored about making a swift exit - cowardly, even for me - were swept aside. Thick fingers at her throat, the solid mass of man behind her - she couldn’t so much as squeak in protest.

Surprise melted into raw desire; hot, untamed. A quiver ran through her, masked by the airy folds of her stolla. There would be no mistaking, however, the way she parted her legs, the way she dared lift her chin, exposing more of the long column of her throat. A flash of pink; her tongue running across her lower lip as her eyes, half-hooded, shifted back to Tiberius under the long fringe of lashes. She was caught quite fast: and made no move to change it. Swallowing, her throat bobbed under Tiberius’s firm grip.

What was there for her to say? That this grip on her, so possessive and immovable, made her knees shake? That hearing Tiberius’s voice, booming next to her ear, so plainly about his desire made her sex clench? Two stars draw within the same constellation: how did he know how to handle her, with that bit of roughness that made her simply wilt under his hand? No cocky or smug smile would be appropriate here; she was caught within the labyrinth of the massive man.

Against his lips, the top of her head was already starting to feel prickly; the haste of her toilet that morning combined with the natural speed of which her hair grew. Oily slick, sweat mingling with the richness of her perfume, the slight burnt cork odor of her kohl. Despite the warmth of the room, she wasn’t sweaty - only her body felt unnaturally warm beneath the pale yellow linen of that stolla, finery made for hotter climates. The firm ridge of her subligaculum, strophium, solid lines beneath her stolla felt plain against his body. If they were to protect her femininity from the world, they suddenly seemed very small - too feeble and too little to guard her from the wolves now snarling at her back and front.

Tiberius’s words swam in her head, occasionally daring to get close to the surface of her mind. Did he mean it? Was he so entranced? Why wasn't there room now for her self-doubt to whisper poison in her ear? Was it because she was held so firmly; who else would he handle in such a fashion? Who else would implicitly trust him, know that his size could bring pain, but that it would never be turned against them? Though he was the one with his hand on her throat, she felt as if she had the head of a massive lion in her lap, her hand clasped in the great mouth, occasionally lapped at by a rough tongue, teeth dull points against the softness of her palm.

And Marcus in front of her, the honorable senator, a starving wolf eyeing his rightful prey. Scared to make the first step, still calculating. Still trying to determine the best way out of this, to explain away his animal nature as a slip; something to be ashamed of.

There is a man that would rather plummet to his death than accept a soft place to fall. A rueful thought as those eyes closed, less in humility and more in enticement. “A ‘brat’, am I?” The first words shared in long moments, the half-hearted show of shuffling shoulders to shake his grip. “After we played together so nicely in the forest today, I see where your heart is - right there, between my legs,” a haughty toss to Marcus as he now dove beneath her stolla. “I taunted no-Ah!”

Voice breaking with the first stroke of Marcus’s tongue. Her subligaculum was a sodden mess, as damp as if she’d left it on the side of the baths. Her sex bared, the slightest squeeze from Tiberius’s hand would cause fresh arousal to nearly pour from her; freed from its captivity, her cunt drooled, fresh trails of clear, thick, sticky arousal bleeding down her thighs. It damped her stolla in the front now, dark lines blooming in uneven pools. Marcus would not labor long without help; even with Tiberius holding her firm, she was able to shift weight to one leg, raising the other. Marcus, unbidden, would inch closer, looping it over his shoulder, the swollen folds of her labia majora parting with a new burst of fluid, overripe fruit spilling nectar with the slightest press of the knife.

Her vision shook, blurred around the corners of her eyes, Tiberius’s voice coming through fogged ears. “You…” she struggled to find her voice, masked by the eager grunts coming from beneath her stolla, overly slick callused hands grasping her thighs so hard she knew she’d have bruises -

“You still jest,” the ghost of a smug smile there, her head tilting back against the top of his chest. The left leg, still holding firm to the ground, trembled, the only sign of the extreme effort she was putting into standing.

If he were to turn me loose, toss me to the floor and flip up my stolla just to have me on the floor, I wouldn’t refuse him. If Marcus were to stand now, my stolla about my waist, and rut into me standing like this, held by his battle brother, I wouldn’t refuse him either -

“…I like the way he uses his tongue,” a low, throaty purr from her, pure sex all the more strange coming from that until recently chaste lips, “In both mouths,” her back arched lithely into Tiberius, pressing her body in a smooth arc into him. “I like the way he opened my sex and carved his way into it.” A pause, her pelvis weakly bucking into Marcus’s mouth as encouragement, “I like his smile, rare as it is…” A hint of soft, shy sweetness there. “And I would agree on his rear, though I also like his nipples-” Voice slipping shamelessly into a whine, her body going loose-limbed within his grasp, “By the gods,” she cried, breaking, “His thighs,” not quite an afterthought, but a sudden realization, “His thighs, they’re powerful,” she was squirming shamelessly now, caught between actually trying to get loose and to grind her hips further into Marcus’s tongue, “Have mercy, please,” her voice shook, close to tears, “Either turn me loose and have me on this floor, free me so I can pleasure both of you - I cannot stand this any longer!”