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redcherrykook · 2 months ago

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──𐙚 think i need someone older (s & f)

olderBoyfriend!Jungkook x inexperienced!reader

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content: some plot first, loss of virginity, age gap of 9 years (he´s 30), thigh humping, little dry humping too, cowgirl, he talks her through it, dom!jungkook, "sweet girl, baby, love", "gguk" lowkey insecure reader, praise, making out, breast play, clit play, creampie, unprotected, hickies on him, big c!ck Jungkook, small karaoke session, he´s whipped and wants to take care of her, short mention of alcohol (bc of that fucking bar he has omg), allusions to reader being short, she's very feminine

note from cherry: i tried to do justice to the people who wanted this, i hope you´re satisfied mwah! sooo sorry if it´s not giving lmao writing this was lowkey exhausting, also sorry for typos as always

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Jeon Jungkook is exactly like his preferred alcoholic beverage; whiskey. strong, rich, smooth, smells like oak and a hint of vanilla caramel. Much like your introduction to the drink, you met this man in a bar.

A real man- none of those barely twenty-year olds that paraded around in their sagged sweatpants and with a bright tap of unlimited unopened snapchats lighting up the dark corners of the bar. Jungkook is pure masculinity, a chest so full with security, so grounded in his abilities that it was practically impossible to ignore how his large, brown galaxy eyes focused on your face, zeroing in on your cupid´s bow while you licked the stinging remains of your moscow mule away- he paid for it, of course.

Once the enticing conversation that felt almost comically easy faded, you expected him to try and take you to his house- mansion, as he revealed in a sidetracked sentence. Although you were looking forward to seeing the small metal pearls below and over his eyebrow move as they crinkle in pleasure, the tight ropes of virginity had not yet been released in your 21 years of living. Shackles that keep you tied down- as promised out of your own, admittedly senseless morality, not to be opened by a stranger. The key to your cuffs belonged to a lover.

It was unforeseeable, nevertheless natural for him to droop his heavily tattooed arm around your waist while escorting you out of the establishment. The sleeve of his white button down folded up along his forearm for you to see the beauty of his skin, wondering just how many more of those carefully crafted works of art he´s hiding beneath the business casual attire.

Once engulfed in the harsh, bitter wind that itaewon possesses, his arm only drew you in closer, so near in fact, you were able to notice a small scar on his cheek, one you hadn´t been able to notice in the curse of a dimly lit place. The more your eyes adjusted to him, so grew your anger at the lighting inside your place of first meeting- it had done an injustice to the man you had already been disgustingly attracted to, stole the wholehearted, inescapable allure of such a mature presence.

The gentleman looks down into your awaiting eyes, only to ask if he may have your number, upon your agreement, he proceeded to tell you that he would be walking you home, wanting you to arrive safely since it must be dangerous for a woman to walk the streets of a party district at 2 am in the morning.

That encounter was four months ago, and only a month after that initial conversation, he had completely taken over you. Swallowed you whole in just how well he treated you.

Insistent of using his black card to buy you anything you remotely showed liking in, dedicated to communication, random flowers that showed up at your office and a constant offer of a ride in his luxurious black mercedes-benz GT63s; no matter how long it took- even if it was a inconvenience, sometimes taking longer to get to you than it would have taken you to simply retort to public transport.

"I told you i´d make it for you, didn´t I baby? hm?" his velvet smooth voice rings, from how he´s standing, with his body pressed against your back, towering over you, you could feel the hardened muscles of his torso meeting you. His large, slim hands reach to either side of your waist, to the glass filled with ice that you´re holding in between your own, gently removing them to resume the task that you were occupied with. Your eyes glance to the bulging of his bicep, that loose, casual tshirt did nothing to hide just how big he had gotten due to his newfound hobby.

you whine- almost, biting down on your lower lip to prevent just that from happening, "thank you gguk" you say, turning to peck the very muscle that´s invading your line of sight. He hums, a low, satisfied sound from the back of his throat.

"c´mere baby" patting one of his muscular thighs, his eyes drift to your figure walking towards him, iced tea in hand, just like he had made it for you. Sweet, light, refreshing, much like your presence in his life. Almost like a sign from the stars that his hearts content was somewhere, bundled in the form of a shorter girl with eyes that could entrance any sailor- far less siren like, no, wide with love and purity. Just what he had yearned for in any women he had met before you-whether tangled in meaningless sheets or involved in a month long, semi serious relationship, Jungkook was yet to cross paths with the one woman that would make him turn so desperate, he would have begged for their happiness on his knees. It might be romantic, even a tad dramatic to admit that from the very first word that left your pink glossed lips, he knew better than anyone else that he was in deep, deep trouble. Upon seeing the curve of your waist, hearing that soft, lulling voice, that embarrassingly obvious fact only intensified after finding out just how delightful you truly were, it made him want to rip his hair out- do anything in the possibility of his grip to see even a glimpse of your smile, of that lighthearted, cheerful giggle you let out regularly. He was drawn in my your feminine nature, by the way you let yourself fall into his caring embrace.

He´s quickly directed back to reality as soon as your legs make it to either side of the thigh he had patted earlier, a familiar position for this equally familiar occasion. Muscle memory sets in for him, grabbing the large karaoke remote to hand to you while he turns the microphone on. "Can you sing something to me first?" the question sets his bunny smile off, nodding instantly "Sure love, chose a song for me" he says. Your mind floods with ideas, but you settle for a song you´ve heard him hum millions of times, mindlessly going about.

"Malibu nights?", jungkook questions excitedly while the instrumental sets in, he knew the answer, but his heart swelled with joy at the notice you took to this song. After all, he loved to sing. Another layer to him that has you melting, growing into the embodiment of love that is endlessly cherishing what little fractions were revealed to your eyes in each fleeting moment. His honey voice reaches beautiful highs and lows you can only compare to something angelically otherworldly in nature.

It made you want to know just how deep he could growl, how far his sounds can drop with the dirty nothings you would love to have whispered in your ear. You felt filthy for letting your mind wander to such extends when all he did was sing, lulling you into drunken harmony with him. Still, you consciously lean back into his body, letting him wrap his arms around your waist, encircling it with his vanilla oak scent.

During the past four months, you were doomed to have to shatter his hopes, reveal the truth that somehow felt shameful ; that you´re fully untouched. Nothing further than a bad makeout had yet graced your skin, it made you feel even smaller admitting something so vulnerable to a man that carries almost an entire decade of experience more. Much to your comfort, his hands found the curve of your cheeks immediately, telling you that there is nothing to be embarrassed about, he would hand you the full control, you set the pace.

Internally, Jungkook drooled at the idea that the woman of his dreams was to have her first, the most memorable, sexual encounter with him. Your body belonged to him, devoted to only remember the touch of his lips, the curve of his cock, how he would mold you to his shape without the intrusion of another man having tried the same. Not that he would have wanted you any less if that had not been the case, but for one time in your relationship, he was oh so selfish to want you all to himself, aroused that your first person induced orgasm was going to be his and his alone. The prophecy fulfilled when on one, alcohol induced night a week ago, two of his long, tattooed digits made their entrance into your tight hole, relentlessly filling you until your soft thighs shook, until after your third high, he licked his fingers clean and let you taste yourself on his tongue.

The tunes get lost in silence, he sets the microphone down, having felt the warmth of your mound beneath the tights while you tried to subtly gain friction, scooting back on him. His palms find your thighs, tightly flushed around his muscle. They´re shamelessly wandering up and down the thin material that prevents his hot, calloused fingers from feeling up your smooth skin.

"Wanna do that again, love?" jungkook mutters, his pillowed lips latch on to your exposed neck, right at the gentle curve that paints the beginning of your shoulder, soft, faint kisses that leave a trail of barely sounding sighs behind.

"Do what?" feigning innocence to avoid internal humiliation, you ask him, knowing he wouldn´t let it go, not until you told him to. The sound of his husky chuckle sounds right on the sweetspot of your neck, he sucks a little harder, encouraging you with the constant rub to your thighs. Instinctively, the heat inside your panties grows as do the intensity of your desperate moans, your hips push back on his thigh, seeking the solidity that grants you the portion of satisfaction your needy button longed for

"that" he simply says, having found an anchor in your hips now, your plaid skirt bunches around his hands, slowly- tortuously so when met with the deliberate little humps he helps you to complete on him. You practically whimper once his tongue glides across your skin, dragging from your shoulder, up your neck, intertwined with his open mouth, loud kisses that don´t seem to stop.

"that´s it... do you even know how cute you sound?" he smiles, and you feel it, you feel the smile rise to his lips with every additional kiss, every noise you grant the hungry male. "gguk, wanna see you" you whine- the high pitched noise has him twitching in his training joggers, semi errect but about to stand stiff, just as noticeably as that night seven days ago, having formed a huge tent inside his slacks, there was no hiding his attraction, no use to conceal his utter need for you.. nor his size, not that he would be capable to anyways.

To your request, he helps you turn around, now facing that dim glow on your slightly embarrassed features, taking note of how you nibble on your lip with every grind forward, "that feel good sweet girl?" he asks, ghosting his lips over yours faintly, just enough to see how much you need it, "mhm.. really good" you mumble back, chasing after his lips that he can't deny you of any longer, the kiss is gentle, but nourishes your heat further

"wanna feel even better?" the pit in your lower abdomen grows at the tone of his voice, something much stronger is seeping through his system, something that screams dominance, you nod- naturally wanting to get lost in it. Jungkook's hands stop assisting you, instead, they take to your shirt, "can i take this off of you baby?" he waits for that little hum of yours before swiftly tugging it away from your form

It's almost frightening how quickly your mind reverts back to wanting to run away and hide, your arms fly across your chest, everything you felt so good doing stops and he stops too,

"don't hide, you're perfect, you're so fucking sexy" his eyes trace your skin, hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your arms away, revealing your chest hugged into your bra, and jungkook almost forgets how to breathe properly,

he groans- groans that delicious deep noise that makes your head spin, even more so when you feel his appreciation for your body, hands pulling you closer by the waist so can bury his head into your cleavage. "so beautiful" he mutters, darting his tongue out to lick the slit between your tits, "wanna touch all over you, make you feel so good" he says, finding the clasp on your back to open it with one hand. a silent reminder of his experience, one you did not have in the slightest but somehow, it felt even better that way

"mh.. feels good gguk" you can't help but moan at the forgein sensation, his lips wrap around your hardend nipple, groaning sweetly while he sucks on it, carefully swiping his tongue over the little nub- your other breast is securely fitted into his palm, thumb playing with it just like he does with his mouth, mirroring every little flick

"feels so good doesn't it? you smell so good baby" his lips move to do the same to your other breast, switching sides with a trail of saliva sticking to his lips,

In that moment you feel so sensitive, so lost in his secure hold and at the same time, so small in his skillful dominance that you simply relish in the feeling, grinding your soaked core into his thigh over and over, long, hasty drags over his muscle while his lips work magic on your skin, squeezing a little tighter, sucking a little harder because every stuttered whimper fuels his urge to take care of you

"that's it baby.. keep going, you're so good" your hands find his dark chocolate locs, threading through it with the need to ground yourself. it feels as though every time your clit meets him, instead of getting you closer to sensational relief it adds to the ache, feeds into your desire to take and take more of him, be consumed by his strength

"want this off please" your excited fingers fiddle with the hem of his oversized shirt, earning a smug grin from your boyfriend as he detaches from you, discarding of his top

Although you have seen him shirtless before, it's impossible not to salivate at the sight, at his toned broad torso that curves into a unfairly small waist, large arms flexing when he reaches for your tits again, massaging them once more,

"like what you see pretty?" he says, teasingly cocking his head and biting at the metal ring on the corner of his lip, you blush- the slick drools out even more between your thighs, "so hot gguk, annoyingly hot" he chuckles, joining the sound with your airy giggle, but he sucks in a breath as soon as you shift in his lap, now fully straddling him, naked chest pressed to his with your head burried in his neck, "hmm.. what are you up to baby?" his hands find your back, soothing himself not to pounce on you because the strain in his pants is staggering his breath, your errect nipples are rubbing against his skin and it´s making him shiver, desperate, oh so desperate for you

but he knows all to well not to overwhealm your sweet, virgin body, to let you take all the time you need until he can feel every breath of your submission

"wanna feel you gguk, can i?" jungkook almost purrs at how innocently you ask, suppressing the need to grind his hips into your heat from below, "of course baby, anything you want. it's all yours"

he meant it, every vein cursing through his body belongs to you, working, pumping blood through him for the sole purpose of loving you, taking care of you. "all mine?" you hum, aroused by the confidence he emitts, your hands trace up his torso, creating a small distance between your bodies to feel up the hard lines on his abdomen with laboured breath of your own, lips finding every small patch of his neck that make him hum, make his sighs of pleasure slowly turn into groans "all yours my love" the answer wasn't necessary, not when you already started to leave traces of you on his skin, faint, red bruises on his neck that he's impatiently waiting to run around with

"you feel so fucking good, need to feel more of you, will you let me sweet girl?" his words are intoxicating, washing away any doubt or fear and replacing it with a intense craving of sexual desire "please gguk i'm so wet for you" the sound reaches his ears and shuts down his entire system, his hands carelessly rip down your skirt and stockings, leaving you in those tiny grey boyshorts that he looses his mind over "baby how did you hide all this from me?" his hands caress your thighs, your hips, up your waist and to the soft flesh of your stomach with hungry, insatiable eyes that long for a taste of your every inch

"all yours" you mimic him, sounding just like him with your sultry, shy voice, already wanting to remove his own bottoms which he catches on, ridding himself of the nuisance "yeah, all mine. this is all mine" he says, smiling softly

Your drenched underwear meets his errection as he pulls you back on his lap, hands sitting on your waist, you look so vulnerable- almost fragile in his grip, shyly moaning because the curve of his cock presses into your skin like it was molded for you, needy folds clinging to your underwear and your clit throbs- throbs begging for another taste of friction

"I don't know how to do any of this" he suddenly he hears you mumble, seeing how you're playing with your fingers that sit on his lower abdomen, your head is turned to them, a slight pout decorates your features

jungkook feels the need to sob- to take away whatever is making that pretty head of yours feel so threatened even though you're the best thing he has ever felt, the only person he ever wants to lay his hands on ever again

"that's okay baby, hey, look at me for a second will you?" you comply, craving his lead, his security to catch you, most of all that gentle, masculine dominance that floods your senses effortlessly

"you're doing so so well pretty, you don't have to worry okay? i'll take you through it, make you feel so good" he says, cupping your cheeks in his palms while sitting up a little to press kisses to your nose, your forhead, your lips and cheeks,

unable to contain your smile, you nod, gaining back the heartbeat in your willing feminity to let him take care of you, "thank you baby" you say with upmost honesty, pressing your lips to his in a kiss of adoration

"mhm.. come on, let's get this off of you love" his whipers lingers on you, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear before pulling it off your lifted legs, he moans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick attached to the cloth and glistening over your feminity

"so beautiful, do you even realize how lucky i am? how thankful i am that this sweet, sweet girl is all mine to love?" he says softly, so softly that your eyes gloss a little bit, feeling so utterly vulnerable in front of him, so sexy in the most feminine way possible. blush creeps up your cheeks, his hands find your inner thigh, dancing around the sensitive skin "you're too sweet gguk"

he returns your smiles, lifting your hand to kiss it before intertwining it with his own, lacing his fingers into you because being apart from your body feels like torture in this moment. but you're eyes are busied elsewhere, locked on the large outline that stands rock solid insides of his calvins, a small, wet patch that indicates his arousal decorating the very top

"go ahead baby, take it off" not needing to be told twice, you help yourself to his boxers, tugging them down in one, slow motion that leaves him biting his bottom lip, he pushes them down to his ankles, kicking them off

both of you sit like this for a moment that feels like eternity, raw, bare and without a chance to hide in front of the other's desperate gaze, comfort, pure love that's inseparable with a pulsing you can no longer ignore, not when he´s so big, so broad and decorated with a vein alongside his curved shaft

he grabs at the flesh of your ass, pulling you to sit your gushing cunt over his stiff length, cursing at feeling how soft you are, how much arousal truly spills from your body

"you're so.. big gguk.. m'scared" your whine makes him coo, stroking your head while a possessive grip that stays on your hip, his left hand tethering to your hair in the meantime, "don't be, you were made for me sweet girl, made for it" your head falls to his shoulder, arching your torso into his body with a small hump to his leaking cock, "that's right baby, feel it, feel how hard i am for you" spurred on by his encouragement, you tighten your hands on his bicep, rolling your hips over his, his entire shaft is coated in your essence, angry pink tip meeting your swollen clit repeatedly, so much so you feel your thighs shake, feel an impending orgasm waiting to flow over your body,

Ripping yourself of that sensation, not yet- you tell yourself

"want it gguk, want it so bad" jungkook hums, kissing your neck messily, cock throbbing beneath you, "want what pretty? talk to me" he says, his own desire to claim you all to himself becomes unbareable with each passing second that you stay put

You shift forward again, whining, "please gguk" he groans, twitching at how desperate you sound, entranced with how needy you've become for him, he didn't even have to make you beg for it, you just did

effortlessly perfect for him, "come on, tell me my love" but he has to hear more, he needs to hear the dirty confession falling from your pure lips

"want your cock jungkook, please" there it is- that submissive, whiny plead for him, it makes him feel alive, throwing his head back on the black leather couch momentarily "good girl, fuck baby you're so cute" he praises, taking the base of his cock into his hand but something stalls him, "do you want me to eat you out first? make it nice and slippery?" his teeth graze your ear, kissing over the shell of it, "no gguk i want it, want it now"- another nibble, "anything for you"

Your hips lift, hovering your tight, clenching hole over his thick manhood, hands sweaty and grasping at his firm shoulders, he spots your anxiety, wishing nothing more but to ease it

"sit down on it baby, it's gonna sting okay? but you're so good, I know you can take it" more, more reassuring words that you drink in, just as you sink down on it, wincing as your brows meet in frustration

"hurts.." you mutter, fingers digging into his tanned skin- you can't bring yourself to move down further, clenching your muscle tightly around only his fat tip that feels like it's splitting your drooling pussy open. his hands find your back again, "ssh baby.. i know... but you'e such a good girl, i know you can take every inch of my cock"

It takes a couple more kisses to your shoulder for you to sink down fully on his length, painfully so- having your hands claw into him, your lips trembling in confusion of why it feels so good to have him stuffed into you so deeply you can feel it inside your tummy, stretching into every crevice of your gummy walls. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, fulfilling, deep pressure that you could get lost in- bathe in

Jungkooks feelings have synchronized with yours- he's unsure where you end or where he begins but you're clamped down on his cock, your skin already wet with sweat as it sticks to his unforgivingly, moans and shaky breaths fill in the silence, a unspoken question lingers, awaits for you to answer it

until you do, taking his large hands to your hips before pressing yours against his full pecks, a glint of confidence spites your eyes that makes jungkook want to hear you cry out his name over and over again

"oh fuck- baby you-" you whine, rolling your hips forward, mouth parted when you feel him move inside of you, slolwy, deeply "that's it my love, take your time, so sexy like this" his voice is far from stable, you moan again- the grinding becomes faster, assisted by his hands that pull you onto him just the way you like it- just like he said, you have it all, its all yours

"what- what if you can't come?" he needs to contain a laugh at that- the question is so absurd to him, so unimaginable that it makes him slightly angry why you couldn't understand that he could cum from seeing you alone, from one kiss to your chaste lips- he's already twitching at how sloppy, how loud your cunt is around him

"I almost came from seeing how needy that little pussy of yours is, you feel how hard i am don't you? all because of you baby" he mutters in response, you flourish at it, getting familiar with the grinding motion but you need more, you deserve more- so you start bouncing on him- up and down, slamming your own, curved hips down onto him. he's mesmerized by your pleasure, watching how your brows are knitted, how your lips leak with drool and airy moans, how your tits bounce- he gropes at them, cupping them greedily, his hands itch for your skin, for you to let yourself go on him

"good girl.. look at you, a natural at riding my cock- don't even need my help" you shake, exhaustion already growing in your eager hips but you cannot stop, you don´t want to stop taking every inch of his cock back into you, lifting your hips only to take him back in, "you're filling me so much" you moan into his mouth, having formed a unity with his lips that welcome you like home, "just like that pretty, little humps for me" he mumbles back, interlacing his tongue with yours

he tugs at your nipples with his inked fingers, reciprocrating the moaning, he mirrors you, throbs when you clench, explores your mouth when you part for him impatiently. it leaves you to no choice but to become his own reflection, your hips ground themselves in a stable rhythm as your fingertips roll over his own nipples, unexpectedly he whimpers, bites down into your shoulder cautiously

"That's it baby, driving me fucking crazy" he grinds his hips up into you, unlocking a feeling of bliss that leads you to errupt into pornographic moans, your hand flings to muffle them, eyes rolling back into your skull,

Jungkook is making love to you, letting you reach a state you would not have been able to imagine, not even in the slightest when all you have ever felt are your fingers hastily, uncoordinated on your bundle of nerves. still, he can feel you´re holding back, afraid to be loud- to take up space, but he's having none of it

"Dont be embarrassed sweet girl, you sound addicting, so cute, give me every little noise" sinful sensuality floods you with his encouragement, "gonna make you cum for me, deserve it don't you think?" you don't- in fact, you can't think, long gone into pleasure while his hips piston into you from below,

he slaps your clit gently, your walls clench from how good that feels, "i asked you something baby" he repeats, distracted by your droopy eyes that threaten to shut him out at any moment, "answer me sweet thing, do you deserve to cum hm?" he taunts, rutting his hips with a slower but harder motion, force that hits your g-spot- reels you back into the moment, you head moves frantically "yes, yes please i need to cum"

Jungkook groans in satisfaction, "that's right.. best little cunt, all mine" he goes back lapping at your chest, licking his way to any patch of skin that your addictive smell lurs him to- he feels all over your skin, sneaking his fingers to where your bodies morph into one so he can draw tight circles on your clit, stimulating you to cry out his name,

"Jungkook.. i- i can't stop it i-" you stutter, thighs tensing around him, the feeling is so overwhealming that you can't keep your head up, can't warn him more than that since you're already letting your dew sprinkle out- letting the shocks roll over your body

"just like that.. make a mess on my cock baby, you did so well, come for me" he rasps, his heavy balls release into your tightness at the thought that crosses his mind- the knowledge that he had made you orgasm, that your virginity belonged to him solely,

It embraces the both of you, fills you with a sense of euphoria that none of you wish to end

As the high washes over you, you break out into a small shudder, aware of his milky cum that splurts your walls white, aware of the oversensitive area between your legs that jungkook's fingers slowly stop touching, landing to your unstable and sore thighs instead.

his heavy breathing is woven into yours, contrasting how slowly, lazily he manages to caress your naked skin, finding comfort in your warm body

the small whisper of his name catches him off guard, he hums, pulling back to cup your face, "are you okay my love? feel good?" his eyes rank over your tired features, glowing before his very own eyes,

"so okay. I love you" you breathe out, pressing a kiss to his button nose,

"I love you too baby, so proud of you" his nose nuzzles against yours, "you were so so good"

your shy giggle lights up his face like it always does, "thank you.. for taking my virginity... felt so good" you mumble with your bottom lip tucked away between your teeth- it awakens his soft- still nestled cock, his hands grip your ass- feeling the flesh spill beneath his fingers "thank you for your trust baby, but god, you're gonna make me lose it" jungkook says into your neck, nose tracing the delicate line of your shoulder,

"why? is it too much?" unbeknownst to you, Jungkook rolls his eyes in annoyance, how could you be so fucking adorable?

"Let me show you why" he answers, making your head perk up a little,

"Wanna lay down for me pretty? I can give you another one, as many as you want. You deserve it, wanna spoil you, fuck i wanna give you everything you want" faintly audible as he's speaking into your skin, having already laid you down onto the cold cushions of his unreasonably expensive leather couch.

#redcherrykook #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook smut

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joelscurls · 1 year ago

Text

give in to temptation

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

words: 5.5k

summary: you're in a relationship now — a good, healthy relationship — that doesn't stop you from texting your ex Javi late at night.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, post Narcos s3, porn with plot, smoking, alcohol consumption, explicit smut, sexting, infidelity (I do not condone cheating, but unfortunately it's hot when it's with Javi), reference to masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, use of pet names (cariño, querida, baby, etc.); lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: hi! enjoy 5kish words of dubious morals bc I couldn't get this idea out of my head :)

Humidity clings to the walls, bedsheets strewn across your legs damp with sweat. You kick at them aimlessly, and the cotton grips tighter to slick skin.

In the curve of your palm rests your phone, ringer switched off and brightness turned all the way down — the last thing you want is to wake your boyfriend, dozing next to you as you text another man.

Your fingers are clammy where they wrap around metal, sweat pooling in the divots between your knuckles.

This is wrong; you know it’s wrong, just like every time preceding this one. But the guilt does nothing to slow the adrenaline racing through your veins. If anything, it makes your heart thump harder.

That, and the words pixelated on the tiny screen of your flip-phone.

Javi [2:03am]: I’ve been thinking about you all day, cariño. Got me so hard.

You’d met Javier Peña just over a year ago.

A young woman alone at the bar, you’d drawn him in like a moth to a flame. He had dark brooding eyes and a savior complex that’d been made more apparent with each story he’d shared about his time as a DEA attaché in Colombia, from which he’d recently returned.

Do you miss it? you’d asked, nursing a martini.

Like hell, he’d said. But I have nothing left to give.

I don’t know if I believe you, you’d countered with a wink.

Not an hour later, you’d found yourself in his living room, dress hiked up to your waist as he devoured you.

Sex with Javi was easy, mindless. For a while, his body served as a refuge for you after shitty days at work and arguments with your overbearing mother. A lone beacon in the fog, he was always more than willing to help you forget the stressors in your life. And your own name.

It was passionate, and filthy, and sticky — left your legs trembling and your head dizzy — each and every time.

With him, you didn’t have to talk. Didn’t have to think. It was just sex, with no strings and no labels. Your relationship, if you could call it that, was perpetuated by the transcendent pleasure you felt in the spaces between words, when your mouths were preoccupied.

But when your birthday came and went and you found yourself another year older, an aching feeling settled in your gut — a feeling that time had begun to pass more quickly than it used to. And on its heels came the desire for something more, something you knew Javi was not willing to provide: a relationship.

The decision to end things was mutual, amicable. It was the easiest “breakup” you’d ever gone through. Maybe because it wasn’t a “breakup” at all.

A few weeks later, you’d met Nathan, a law student with a polite disposition and an eagerness to settle down. He’d treated you well, the type to open doors for you and ask about your day. On all fronts, he was a good man — a little boring, but good.

After a month, you made it official. After two, he moved into your place.

And you stopped thinking about Javi, about the way his large hand had fit perfectly around your throat, the way he’d been able to coax you to orgasm in two different languages. No, you only thought about the man in front of you, the one with the steadily growing collection of argyle ties and the unstamped passport.

Sex with Nathan was admittedly different. He didn’t make you cum as quickly or as easily; your body didn’t crave his with the same amount of fervor it had Javier’s. But it was loving, sweet, what any woman would want…should want.

And it was normal that you thought about your ex sometimes when your current partner laid his weight on top of you, that you imagined a different mouth slotted against your neck or on your tits. Because certainly, everyone did that every once in a while. It was harmless.

As long as you never uttered his name out loud, he’d remain only in your head, lost to time to exist there forevermore.

But then came the day in the grocery store, on your date to the cereal aisle to restock Nathan’s favorite, bran flakes. He’d materialized like a ghost of good sex’s past.

You didn’t dare speak to him, didn’t trust yourself to. Under the bright fluorescent lights, you’d felt your palms begin to sweat, your throat constrict, eyes glued to the selection of boxes in front of you. But while Nathan debated between store brand and name brand, you’d snuck another cautious glance at him.

Javi’s expression was unreadable. He’d looked between you and Nathan as if he were trying to solve a rubix cube. One he was becoming increasingly frustrated by. He’d gripped the handle of his shopping cart so tightly, the skin on his knuckles appeared near translucent.

And then he’d disappeared, tiny wheels on the carriage screeching, noise barely audible over your pulse.

The first text came later that night.

Are you seeing someone? it’d read.

Yes, you’d replied. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk.

You’d quickly established ground rules: messages would only be exchanged after midnight, never two nights in a row, no calls, and — most importantly — Nathan would never find out.

Okay, Javi had said. Just one more rule: don’t use his name with me.

To your right, Nathan snores, the singular catch of an inhale in his throat, and the noise jolts you, face heating as if you’ve been caught.

Then he shifts, turns on his side, away from you. You feel a strange wash of relief. A semblance of privacy that you shouldn’t be after.

You respond to Javier with your tongue between your teeth.

You [2:04am]: thinking about me doing what?

Javi [2:06am]: Riding me. Your tits in my face. My hands on your ass.

Your breath catches, attention abruptly pulled to the incessant throbbing between your legs.

You definitely shouldn’t sneak to the bathroom and touch yourself. Shouldn’t send Javi a grainy photo of your fingers in your panties. Shouldn’t make yourself cum with your ex-lover’s name on your lips.

Not for the third time this week.

But when your cunt inadvertently clenches around nothing, your judgment is suddenly clouded.

With one last glance at the sleeping form beside you, you clamber to your feet and tiptoe down the hallway, wetness dripping down your thighs as you go.

The bathroom door closes with a quiet click. You fumble for the lightswitch, eyes reflexively squeezing shut when the room brightens.

You hover over the sink, steadying yourself against porcelain with one hand while you type furiously with the other.

You [2:10am]: yeah? you wanna suck on my tits?

The mirror parallel you reflects something out of a thriller, your pupils fully dilated and your forehead glistening with sweat. You almost don’t recognize the woman staring back at you in all her depravity.

You slump to the floor. Rest with your back to the side of the tub.

Javi [2:11am]: Dying to. Always felt so fucking perfect in my mouth.

Desperate fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, into your panties. The phone balances precariously in your other hand, thumb stumbling over buttons on the keypad.

You [2:12am]: I miss your cock.

Javi [2:13am]: That’s right, querida. Best you ever had, huh?

You [2:13am]: Yes. Always made me feel so fucking good.

Javi [2:15am]: Fuck. Are you touching yourself?

You swirl two digits at your entrance, amply coating them in your slick before dragging them up to your swollen clit. You can’t stifle the moan that slips past your lips.

You [2:16am]: yes

Javi [2:16am]: good girl

The phone distractedly tumbles from your grasp, clinking against tile as you begin to work yourself toward the brink.

And then — there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

The room spins, walls suddenly shrinking in on you as you wrench your hand out of your panties. Nathan’s voice on the other side is muffled, by the exhaust fan and by the ringing in your ears. But you can just decipher his words, his voice laden with sleep.

“Babe? Are you okay? I thought I heard-“

“Fine, I’m uh, I’m fine,” you say, scrambling to your feet, wiping wet fingers on your shorts.

The doorknob jostles, and it dawns on you then that you’d forgotten to fucking lock it.

“No! Don’t come in,” you sputter. The door hitches, less than an inch cracked. “I just had a stomach ache, but I’m okay now. I’ll be back in bed in a minute.”

“Oh.” He yawns. Pulls it shut again. “Okay.”

You brace yourself against the sink, struggling to slow your racing heart.

With a flush of the empty toilet, Nathan’s footsteps recede down the hall and out of earshot. You wash your hands, then, fingers shaking under the stream of lukewarm water.

You dry them hastily, not bothering to pick up the towel when it slides off the rail and onto the floor.

You [2:21am]: gotta go. sorry.

Javi [2:22am]: ???

Nathan is far too kind the following morning. He sets a plate of buttered toast and a mug of peppermint tea out for you on the kitchen table, and presses a nauseatingly gentle kiss to your forehead as you eat.

His amber eyes scan you like he’s searching for any indicators that you’re still hurting, fingers anxiously carding through his sandy hair.

You’re sure he’s clocked the dark circles marking your undereyes — not that he knows the real reason for them.

“I’m fine,” you promise when you feel him staring.

“Are you sure?” he probes. “The noise you made was…intense; you sounded really pained.”

Pained? Not exactly.

“I know.” You stuff the last bite of toast into your mouth. Tilt the empty plate toward him.

“But I’m okay; see? Even have an appetite this morning. It was just a weird bug or something.”

The lie burns on the way out, scalds your throat. But Nathan buys it. Doesn’t ask any further questions.

Still, he tells you to take it easy today on his way out the door.

You can’t look him in the eye when you insist that you will.

You call out of work, too sick with self-loathing to show your face in the office. Instead, you mope around all day, attempt to distract yourself with the overflowing hamper of laundry in the closet.

It’s futile though, your brain paralyzed by thoughts of Nathan finding out about the affair, and the clothes remain unwashed.

He returns that evening with a plastic bag in his clutch, the local pharmacy’s logo printed on the front.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a brand new heating pad. “I realized last night that we didn’t have one of these laying around.”

You know, at that moment, that you need to end things with Javi.

Nathan is good to you. He loves you with actions, not just words. Thinks of you before he thinks of himself, in every situation. And you — you’re cheating on him. Taking advantage of him. Not even trying to be what he deserves.

You’ll try harder. To love him, to think of him. No longer will you give in to brainless, animalistic needs. Surely, you can mimic the passion you have with someone else if you just try.

Try, try, try. You can do it.

Sleep evades you that night, coming in brief stints and leaving you breathless when you wake.

In those conscious moments, the analog clock in the corner of the room taunts you, glaring red neon making your head pound.

After three straight hours of tossing and turning, you decide it can’t wait any longer.

You fish your cellphone off the nightstand. Snap it open.

You [3:23am]: We need to end this before things get ugly.

You’re sure he won’t be awake this late; not without reason. But then — the screen blinks.

Javi [3:24am]: Nothing’s going to get ugly. Please, cariño.

You [3:24am]: I almost got caught last night. I don’t want to hurt him.

Javi [3:25am]: Can we talk about this? Javi [3:25am]: In person?

Your heart palpitates. For a moment, you swear it stops altogether.

You [3:26am]: What the hell? No Javi, I can’t.

Javi [3:27am]: C’mon. Just talk. Don’t you think you owe me that?

Your eyes flit to Nathan.

You watch him for a long moment: the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slouch of his shoulders, the gape of his mouth.

He’s well and truly asleep. You’re sure you could sneak away without him waking. Slip out the door and get a cab to Javier’s, talk things through, and be back in bed before the sun rises — before Nathan even knows you’ve left.

And then everything will be just as it was before you messed this up. You can leave Javi in the past, where he belongs.

Of course, you’re not just going to talk. Deep in your bones, you know that. Know that when he’s there in front of you, you’ll be too weak to resist any of his advances.

Still, you play coy. Ignore the spring of excitement tightening in your abdomen.

In a move of finality, one which you know you won’t be able to come back from, you stand. Make your way into your closet to pull some pants and a t-shirt on, your cell phone clutched in your hand.

You [3:30am]: Fine.

Javier sends you his address — as if you’d have forgotten it. As if the name of his apartment complex isn’t permanently etched behind your eyelids, along with the wide slope of his shoulders and the plush of his bottom lip.

When the cab pulls up to the curb, the driver is visibly concerned. His bushy, gray brows thread together and his narrowed eyes catch yours in the rearview more than once on the drive across town.

It’s only when you reach Javi’s building and hand over your fare that the man speaks.

“Are you alright, sweetheart? Quite late for you to be out on your own.”

His voice crackles, the smell of cigarette smoke heavy on his breath, and it’s strangely comforting.

“Yeah,” you promise as you push the door open and step out.

He rolls his window down, anxiously watching as you maneuver your way to the front door. And then he’s driving off, headlights vanishing into the thick night.

Javier lets you up on the first buzz. He’s waiting for you in the entryway of his apartment, leaning with a large hand pressed to the doorframe.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him: shirtless, bronze skin cast in the dim yellow light of the corridor.

His eyes rake over you the moment you’re in front of him, lingering when they catch on your collarbone, your breasts, your legs. He looks so imposing like this. You find yourself unable to move; frozen under his silent, lustful gaze.

“Are you — can I come in?” you ask meekly.

He nods then, a slow lift of his chin. Steps backward into darkness. You will yourself to take one step, and then another, following him over the threshold and past the point of no return.

It feels so odd to be here, in his space, with the intention of doing anything other than fucking. If you look close enough, you swear you can make out the shape of your body imprinted in the couch cushions, can hear lingering echoes of climaxes reached with your face shoved into one of his decorative pillows — can feel them, too.

Arousal pulls between your thighs. You ignore it.

You wonder how many other women have been here since you, have taken Javi in their hands or their mouths or their cunts. How many names that aren’t yours has he chanted in the throes of passion?

And — moreover — why do you care?

You don’t. You definitely don’t.

Javi pours you a glass of wine, fills a crystal with whiskey for himself. He flicks a lamp on, casting the room in an orange glow, and settles into the couch You follow his lead, perching yourself on one of the arm rests apprehensively.

“So,” you start. “About what we’ve been…doing-“

He cuts you off with a quirk of his brow, a flinch of his jaw.

“Javi,” you try again. “This has to — we can’t-”

“You’re sure you want to break it off, cariño?” His voice comes out low, dark.

And the thing is — you’re not sure. You wish you were, wish you had the strength to tell him definitively that it’s over, to go home to your boyfriend and block Javi’s number on the way out.

But the flex of his bicep when he hooks his arm behind his head, the knowing smirk playing on his lips, his cock — which you can’t see, but know is long and thick under his jeans — it all makes your head feel heavy.

You let the weight of it drop between your shoulders, hang there as you silently search for just a particle of sanity left in your being. You come up empty.

“Fuck,” you hiss, claw your fingers into your scalp. “This is — fuck.”

Leather groans under Javi’s weight. He stands. Steps in front of you.

You don’t dare look at him, not until he pinches your chin between two fingers and forces your gaze to meet his. His eyes are charcoal-black, something devious swimming behind blown pupils.

“Baby,” he croons. “Why did you really come here?”

You play dumb. “What do you mean? To — to talk.”

His thumb skates along the underside of your jaw, soft and placating.

“We’re not really gonna talk — are we?”

Your head spins, mind clouded by Javier’s words, his touch. You sense yourself losing resolve just as he pulls you upright by both hands.

You’re so close like this; can taste the whiskey on his breath, can feel the warmth of his exhale against your skin.

His mouth moves to the shell of your ear, voice a mere whisper when he speaks again.

“Wanna know what I think, querida?” he asks, palm flattening at your lower back, pushing you flush against him. “I think you came here because texting wasn’t enough anymore, huh? Think you missed me.”

And the truth is, you have missed him — painfully so. You’ve missed the timbre of his voice, the caress of his hands, the stretch of his cock. All just in reach, tangible for the first time in so long.

Your need for him borders on carnal. The feeling snakes its way up from your stomach into the cavern of your ribcage, splays its weight across your delicate, pounding heart.

And then the rational part of your brain whirs weakly to life.

What are you doing?

“I have a boyfriend,” you say. You’re not sure who you’re reminding.

“Mhm,” Javi mutters, deft fingers peeling the fabric of your t-shirt up, up, up your body. You don’t stop him.

“And does your boyfriend —“ he kneels down, presses a kiss where exposed skin meets denim — “make you feel as good as I do, cariño?”

You can’t answer that. It wouldn’t be right. Because any of this is.

“Javi — I,” you try, cut off abruptly by dull teeth in the flesh of your waist. You yelp, the sweet sting quickly dissipating as he pauses. Pulls back.

“You can say it,” he goads with a wicked smirk. “I won’t tell him.”

“He — no,” the words leave you before you even feel them in your mouth, and then you’re cursing yourself. You can’t take it back — it’s too late. Javi knows, you know. The only one still in the dark is Nathan.

Javier says your name. His tone is different, soberingly serious.

“Tell me to stop.”

Fuck.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeats, “and I’ll stop.”

“I can’t,” you whisper, so quiet you barely hear yourself.

“Cariño-”

“I can’t,” you stammer, louder. “I — fuck, Javi. Please.”

“Please?”

He knows what you’re asking for; he just needs to hear you say it.

“Please fuck me.”

In an instant, he’s standing back up, grasping at your sides and impatiently guiding you onto the couch. He brackets you against the cushions, one hand splayed next to your head on the backrest, the other popping the button of your jeans open.

You lift your ass as he tugs them down your legs, pulls them past your ankles and leaves them in a heap on the floor. And then he’s moving down your body, kneeling at your altar and prying you open for him.

You surrender to him willingly, desperation growing when he pulls your panties aside and gazes at your glistening sex, transfixed by you.

“This gorgeous pussy,” he hums, leaning down to taste you.

“Yeah?” you breathe. “You miss it?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he groans. Dips his tongue into the apex of your heat, refamiliarizing himself with your nectar before licking a languid stripe up to your throbbing clit.

You writhe under him, beg with wordless whines and whimpers for more. He knows your sounds, knows their tells, soothes you with a gentle shh against your cunt.

His lips wrap around your clit, then, envelope it completely as he starts to suckle, and the sudden sensation makes you buck your hips.

“Javi — fuck, oh — holy-”

He retreats, mouth shiny with your arousal. “What is it, baby? Your boyfriend doesn’t eat your pussy like this?”

“He doesn’t,” you admit breathlessly. Javi clicks his tongue. Faux-pouts at you.

His lips reattach to your clit and you curse.

“Fuck, Javi, he — he’s never-“

The half-admission stops him in his tracks. He stares back up at you with narrowed eyes.

“Cariño, don’t tell me he doesn’t go down on you?”

Your face heats. “He — he says he doesn’t like to do it.”

Suddenly, Javi looks livid.

His fingernails dig into the meat of your inner thighs mindlessly. You watch his lip twitch and his eyes roll to the ceiling.

He’s unaffected by much these days — but Javi clearly doesn’t take kindly to a man not pleasuring his woman. Especially when you are the woman in question.

“Pendejo,” he murmurs.

“Javi,” you whine. “Please.”

Your pleading voice seems to snap him out of it. Or at least remind him of the task at hand.

He returns his attention to your dripping pussy with one final huff. “Gonna take care of you baby, don’t worry.”

You anchor yourself with fingers of one hand twisted in the dark, sweaty curls at the crown of his head. Two digits on the other pinch at one of your hardened nipples, just as Javier begins to swipe his tongue back and forth over your clit.

“Fuck,” you sigh, draping your trembling legs over his shoulders.

He licks your cunt like he fears you’re going to melt, lathes over your clit again and again with the wide flat of his tongue. The wet squelch of him slurping at you, eager to catch every last drop of your arousal, bounces off the walls obscenely.

You hope, fleetingly, that his neighbors are heavy sleepers. Better yet, that they’re out of town.

Maybe he’s putting in extra effort because he knows now that your boyfriend isn’t doing this for you at home. Or maybe he’s just better at it than you remember. Regardless, you find yourself completely overcome with ecstasy, close to falling apart on Javi’s tongue in a matter of minutes.

As soon as he curls two fingers into your cunt, you’re gone, cumming so hard your vision pulls and your thighs shake.

You sing Javi’s name like a hymn. It rolls off your tongue effortlessly, naturally. Like it’s made for you to recite.

He lets you come down, soothes you with gentle hands stroking along your thighs, soft lips pressed to your sensitive mound.

When your breathing evens, he lifts off of his haunches, motions for you to lay flat on the couch with your neck supported by the armrest. And then he shucks his pants off, his cock immediately springing up to his stomach, a trail of precum dripping down his navel.

You’d forgotten how gorgeous it was — the heady, pink tip shiny with arousal, veins running along the underside of the thick base prominent. It twitches in interest as Javier leans down to kiss you, prods against your slick inner thigh when his tongue presses into yours.

You hook your legs around his back, desperately attempting to pull him closer, attempting to drag him into your achingly empty cunt.

He grins against your lips, hand moving between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance.

“Impaciente,” he mumbles.

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please Javi, need it.”

“Yeah?” He pauses with his cockhead right at your seam. “How bad?”

“Fuck — so bad, need it so bad.” Your nails burrow deeper into flesh. He hisses.

“God damn, querida; that much, huh?”

“Yes, Javi,” you groan. “Please just-”

He bottoms out in one deep thrust, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs. You moan in unison, his head falling against your shoulder as he slowly begins to move.

Your cunt sucks him in greedily, clenching around him over and over again. It’s intoxicating, the feeling of his cock nudging your g-spot with every roll of his hips. You wonder how you went so long without this. Fear you won’t be able to again.

He pulls all the way out and snaps into you before setting a new, brutal pace, one that leaves you babbling underneath him.

The room grows palpably warmer, white heat licking at your neck, your chest, your back — where it sticks to leather. You find yourself lost in the way your bodies move together; a dance you’ve done so many times before; one you’d perfected all those months ago.

“Shit,” Javi slurs. “Take me so well, cariño. Like you’re — ahh — made for me.”

I am, you want to say.

“Fuck,” you moan instead, “so good, baby. Feels so fucking good.”

And it does. You’re going to snap soon, going to cum for a second time, soak his cock.

You tighten around him, a silent warning. He slips out and you whine at the loss. But then he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, spreading you wider for him and delving back in at a new angle that makes you scream.

You can feel it building now, like a snowball in your abdomen. You can’t fight it, can barely warn Javi, his name spilling brokenly from your throat as your orgasm crests.

He talks you through it with praises whispered in your ear. So beautiful, princesa — that’s it. So pretty when you fall apart on my cock. There you go; let it all out, baby.

Fucked-out and boneless, you beg for Javi to please cum inside.

He growls, low and primal, gripping tightly to the flesh of your waist as his thrusts begin to falter. “That what you want, querida? Want to — shit — want to go back to your boyfriend with me dripping out of you?”

“Yes,” you chant thoughtlessly, yes, yes, yes.

“Dirty. Fucking. Girl.” he grits, each word punctuated by a jerk of his hips.

He spills inside you with his teeth in the crook of your neck. There’s so much of it, filling your cunt, leaking out around his cock and onto leather. It sates you in a way you didn’t know possible, as if your womb needs to be claimed by him and only him. Nobody else will do.

You almost resent the feeling of your eyesight returning and your breaths steadying. You don’t want to come down — not if it means you need to go home.

But the sky outside is turning purple, bruising with the threat of a new day on the horizon, and you know your time together is nearly up.

“Javi,” you mutter, his chest still heaving against yours, cock softening inside you.

“Up.”

He shifts, pulls out in a devastating loss, and retreats to the opposite side of the couch.

You begin to knead the muscles in your aching calves, Javi fumbling with the pack of cigarettes on the side table next to him. He takes one out and lights it, the end glowing faintly.

“What do we do?” you ask. He rubs at the crease in his forehead, definitely set there by years of chasing after drug cartels. Maybe also by running away from meaningful conversation with you.

“You can’t go back to him,” he mumbles.

You scoff. “I can’t? I have to Javi, Nathan is my-“

“Don’t say his name,” he snaps, abruptly ashing his cigarette and turning to face you. He looks wrecked, his eyes wide and his lips downturned.

“What do you want from me, Javi?” you bite, pulling your panties back into place and reaching for your jeans where they lay on the floor. “You want me to be at your beck and call forever? Cheat on him until one of us dies?”

“I —“ Javi sighs. “No.”

“Then what?” You pull your pants on: one leg, then the other. Pull your shirt back down to cover your breasts.

“I — want you.”

You nearly choke on your own saliva.

“What?”

“All of you,” he clarifies. “When I saw you with him for the first time in that grocery store — my heart sank. I didn’t — didn't realize how serious my feelings were for you. Fuck, I shouldn’t have let you end things that day.”

He stands. Braces pleading hands on your shoulders.

“I know I’m an asshole,” he continues. “I thought I could never be someone’s partner. That I wouldn’t…wouldn’t be good. How could I be when I’ve done so much bad in my life?”

You sink into his touch. His words.

“Javi-“

“No, cariño — I need you to hear this. I want to be good for you, know I can be. I’ll do anything. I just — I can’t let you get away again.”

You feel as if you’ve just been struck by an arrow. Or, more accurately, a train. Your bones hurt and your insides twist.

You’re silent for a long moment, watching as his eyes desperately search yours. You know you need to say something eventually, put him out of his misery, but you’re too afraid to find out what happens next.

The undeniable fact that you want to be with him too is almost too much to bear. You’ll have to break it off with Nathan, split his heart in half. He doesn’t deserve it, you think, over and over.

But then, maybe you don’t deserve to remain unhappy. Unfulfilled.

Maybe you need to hurt him once in order to stop repeatedly hurting yourself.

“You’re good, Javier,” you say then. “You’re a good man. You deserve good.”

“Yeah?” his voice cracks. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He retracts them with a deep breath in.

You grab the sides of his face. “Yes. And I — I want you too.”

Javier kisses you, so deep you think your lips might bruise. There’s finality in it — you’re his and he’s yours — and no longer will you pretend that’s not the case.

He drives you back to your place, unwilling to let his girl get in another cab alone before daylight.

Laredo looks beautiful at dawn, all dozing buildings and empty roads. You pass by your workplace and groan at the realization that you’ll have to be back there in a few hours; you can’t call out again. A stack of unfiled reports will surely be waiting for you atop your desk.

That dread doesn’t last long, though, not when you look to the man in the driver’s seat, the one who makes your mouth water and your heart skip.

When he catches your gaze, corner of his mouth turning up at you mischievously, you know for certain that everything will work out just fine.

Javi turns onto your street slowly, moreso than he needs to, a possessive hand gripping your thigh.

“Will you let me know how it goes?” he asks when the car pulls up to the curb.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I mean, I think it’s safe to say it won’t go well, but-“

“I know. But if he gives you any more trouble than he needs to, you call me.”

Your eyes flit up to your bedroom window, blinds drawn up and curtains pulled aside. The room is still dark, Nathan no doubt still asleep.

You’ll go up in a second. After you kiss Javier one more time.

He seems taken aback when your lips catch his, maybe because it’s crazy to do this here, now. But you can’t help it. Can’t keep your hands — or your mouth — off of him now that you have him.

He relaxes into it after just a second, licking into your mouth to deepen the kiss, his hand moving from your thigh to the back of your head to hold you against him.

And then — he abruptly pulls away.

“Shit,” he curses, staring wide-eyed at the window.

You follow his eyeline, freezing when you see what he sees: Nathan, tall and shadowy, looking straight at you.

“Well,” Javi laughs nervously, “I think he knows.”

end notes: ty so much for reading! pls consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment if you enjoyed :)

tag list: @janaispunk @kajashe @amanitacowboy @planet-marz1 @littlegrungegirlaf @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @wethairjoel @catchallfangirl @pamasaur

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myownwholewildworld · 14 days ago

Text

The Road to Rome

main masterlist | ao3

pairing: marcus acacius x war prisoner!f!reader. summary: Gaul, 52 BC. Julius Caesar and his bloodthirsty army have won the final battle of the Gallic Wars atop Mont Auxois, after sieging the oppidum of Alesia for more than a month. with the war coming to a bitter end, you, the daughter of the defeated Vercingetorix of the Arverni, are taken hostage. General Acacius is tasked with bringing you to Rome, letting you believe you’ll only be an entertainment to the masses. little do you know, that’s not the case at all… author's note: well... here's my submission for @almostfoxglove angst challenge! the lovely moodboard was made by freya, and this beautiful song served as inspo too - i've included as many elements as possible from both! i know it's a beast of a oneshot, so i apologise in advance. i just couldn't stop writing. hope y'all like it, likes, comments and reblogs appreciated! <3 tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. historical accuracies and some inaccuracies. appearances of historical figures. slow burn angst (bear with me pls). enemies to lovers. explicit smut. one bed trope. sleepy shenanigans. as for the rest… creator chose not to use archive warnings, just know there’s no happy ending here. no descriptions of reader other than a female who can be carried by marcus (he's a strong boy). no age gap. wordcount: 28.1k divider by @\saradika-graphics

A chance encounter in the woods of Mont Drouot had changed the course of your life forever. Your curiosity for General Acacius had sealed your fate.

Eyeing him from the cover provided by the trees, you had aimed your arrow at him. Ever so watchful, you had listened to the nature surrounding you, alert to any signs that he might be accompanied by one of his men. Alone he had trudged forward, until his back stiffened and came to a halt.

His vacant eyes—brown like those of Baco, the Gaulish boar-God—had shot to yours through the dense vegetation. Under his intense gaze you felt paralysed for an eternal second, your skin bristling with anticipation. His head had tilted, as if he was amused with your attempt to put an end to the war the Romans had waged on Gaul.

Steeling yourself, you had briefly looked down to the arrow’s point, slotting it in position. But the moment you glanced up, Acacius was gone, vanished like an anima haunting the realm of the living.

That had been your first mistake — not killing the Roman General right there and then. His death would not have stopped Julius Caesar from showering death upon your tribesmen, but it might have had set him back enough for your people to reconvene.

Your second mistake had happened soon after the first. Another fortuitous meeting, one where you had been at his mercy. You had fallen down a hole dug up in the side of the mountain, set by the Romans in the hope of some easy food. Acacius had found you with a twisted ankle, trying to crawl your way out of the pit. He had dropped a rope, which you tied around your waist, and lifted you up. The moment you set foot on the cushioned ground, you feared the worst, but he let you go without a word nor warning.

Your third mistake had been seeking him out in the battle that unfolded on Mont Auxois, near the Gallic oppidum of Alesia. The culmination of an eight-year long feud between Julius Caesar and your father, Vercingetorix of the Arverni. Had you refrained from your compulsion, you would have died a warrior’s death alongside your comrades.

But Acacius had intervened in the nick of time, right when one of the Roman legionnaires was about to behead you as you stood mighty and proud.

“Don’t. She’ll be useful,” he had said, tone gravelly with apathy.

Those words still rang in your ears. How badly you wished he hadn’t stepped in — for the alternative was way worse than death itself.

And now here you were, tied to a wooden post outside of the Roman camp. Men eyed you from a distance — some lewd gazes, others with a disgusted look. In return, you straightened your back, bestowing haughtiness upon your posture. It didn’t matter how desperate your situation was, you would affront your future with the arrogance they all deserved.

You paid them no mind, undeserving they were of your attention. Instead, you blindly patted the dirt around the post, grabbing a flat stone. Cupping it between your hands, you twisted it around until its sharpest edge met the rope and slowly worked at it to free yourself.

One of the Romans walked by your side, followed by another. He stared at you with disdain, with a superiority you knew was lacking. Your hands stopped, worried they would see what you were trying to do.

“Gaulish bitch,” he sneered, teeth bare. “You’re nothing more than a stray dog and as such should be put down. Your brutish people deserved what they got, crushed by the Roman yoke. You’ll yield or you’ll die.”

When he sniffled and hollowed his cheeks, you knew what was to come. You turned your face the moment he spat in your direction, his nauseating saliva skidding down the skin on your right cheek. Slowly you veered your head his way, eyes devoid of emotion, while a smile crept up on your mouth.

Fast as thunder, you swung your bound feet under him, causing him to fall to the boggy ground in the blink of an eye. He snarled like the animal he was, hands deep in the mud that he unburied to reach for your ankle. Before he could, you kicked him in the face with your bare heel.

Your heart was pounding so wildly, the adrenaline rushing through your veins like wildfire consuming a forest, anticipating their every move. You glanced up at the other man, his fist coming down quickly towards your face. You swiftly dodged the blow, his hand hitting the wooden post. The second man started howling in pain, all caused by his own doing.

You couldn’t help but cackle loudly.

“Is this what you mean by the Roman yoke? You pathetic, little men,” you mocked them, fearless. “Is this all you got?”

As they stood up, your heart came to a standstill. Not because of terror, but because all your senses had sharpened. You were overly aware of everything around you, of them too. Your fingers resumed their doing, slashing the rope that tethered your hands to the wooden post.

You would never fold, never let them see the anger that brewed inside you. Your family had taught you better and you would never tarnish their memory by succumbing to two trivial men. No matter the outcome.

“What is going on here?” his voice stopped the commotion before it escalated any further.

A voice you could recognise anywhere, even though the first time you actually ever heard it was on the battlefield, barking orders like the General he was.

Slowly you looked up at General Acacius, eyes squinting with defiance. He towered above you, but his attention was directed at the two men. His arms folded at chest level, a cocked brow staring them down. He exuded imposingness, as if he was highborn. There was something about his posture, the way he carried himself, that made you swallow hard to dissolve the lump in your throat.

“Are you deaf?” he insisted when the two apes didn’t respond.

“General, the prisoner was provoking us for no particular reason,” the one who tripped with your feet lied.

Another laugh escaped your lips, face tilted up to the cloudy sky. The fucking audacity these men had was ridiculous. Being born in a society where men and women were equal, you almost found amusing their piteous attempts at belittling you.

“Oh, fuck me. Do you truly believe I would talk to any of you of my own accord? It’s like talking to pigs,” you sneered, rolling your eyes.

The two men began talking loudly and rapidly, pointing at you while their angry tone grew and grew. You understood Latin, but when they screamed like pigs in the slaughter, they stopped making any sense.

“Silence,” Acacius ordered, one steady hand extended in front of him with the palm facing downwards. “This is not how we treat our prisoners, not under my command. I was watching you both as you approached her, do not take me for a fool,” he kept on berating them.

They took a step back, brows knitting together and eyes averted with shame. It was obvious that Acacius was way above them and were embarrassed to be caught in a lie.

“Be gone now. I don’t want you anywhere close to her,” he barked, the extended hand now pointing to the forest’s boundary. “You will be standing guard tonight, the whole night.”

Then they both glanced at you, pupils blown with anger. As they walked away, you gifted them with a haughty smirk. One of them turned around—ready to hit you, you presumed—but the second man held him back and pushed him towards the trees.

When you canted your head, grin still painted on your lips, you realised Acacius was studying you intensely, as if he was trying to dive into the windows to your soul. The smile was quickly replaced with a pout and a frown when he crouched down in front of you, elbows resting on his knees.

“Men do not like it when a woman is confrontational. You would do well if you toned it down,” he offered his unrequited advice calmly, the drawl of his voice weirdly… soothing.

“Fragile men, you mean,” you corrected him, straightening your posture and lifting your chin up.

Unexpectedly, Acacius cracked a tiny smile, one corner of his mouth slightly curving.

“Yes, fragile men. There are many of them around here, so be careful,” he conceded, the half-smile lingering.

“Many of you, you mean,” you pushed the limits because you didn’t know any better.

Acacius let out a chuckle, shaking his head. It transformed his features, softening the deep wrinkles that scored his sun-kissed skin. His head had tilted to one side, his warm brown eyes locked in on yours — and then you felt it again, your body taut, your skin bristling. The intensity of his gaze almost felt like a thunder hitting you right in the centre of your chest, leaving you gasping for air.

Suddenly, his hand reached for your face, and you tried to lean back away from his touch, for your head to hit the wooden post behind. You scowled, uncertain of what he was about to do, but that didn’t stop him.

With his thumb ghosting your cheek, his eyes searched for yours — an unspoken permission. Acacius took your silence as an affirmation, and then his thumb brushed your skin, cleaning the spit off your cheek.

The delicate gesture took you aback, unsure of why he would show you such care. The contact of his thumb on your skin was thrilling, a strange sensation crawling up your spine all the way up to the nape of your neck. Your skin bristled even more to the point of pain, as if you had been thrown in an icy lake, and your breaths quickened.

You didn’t like this — the power his body emanated; the power he had on you.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” you spat out, erasing the remnants of softness from his face in an instant, the blanket of war cascading down his expression.

Whatever gentleness you had thought to see in his orbs, was gone now.

“I am awaiting Caesar’s verdict. There are other prisoners—”

“Others? Who?” you pressed, your heart racing now at the possibility of not being the only survivor.

“A few men. Including Vercingetorix of the Arverni,” his words dragged, his eyes watching you closely.

You couldn’t stop the way your body stiffened at the discovery of your father being alive. Your pupils had widened, and your heartrate had spiked even more.

“Vercingetorix?” you asked, wanting confirmation that your mind was not playing games on you.

Acacius nodded slowly, his brows slightly touching each other, eyes squinting.

“Do you know him personally?”

“No,” you replied quickly. Too quickly.

Your heart would not stop pumping, so hard you could feel your heartbeat on your temples now. You tried taming your expression, forcing yourself to calm down and pretend that the news of Vercingetorix’s capture didn’t faze you at all.

“You’ve got the same eyes,” Marcus thought out loud, scratching his stubble absentmindedly.

“No, we don’t,” you blurted out, your throat squeezing.

The man was like a hound with a chewed bone. You could see he was not going to let it go so easily — he knew you were lying. His eyes squinted and then clicked his fingers, the cracking sound momentarily distracting as you focused on his hands.

Big as paws, so broad he could easily wrap them around…

Focus.

“Why didn’t you kill me when I fell in your hunting trap?” you attempted to divert his attention from the issue at hand. “Or are you a really shitty hunter, letting your prey go so easily?”

Marcus’ brow furrowed even deeper, and you wondered if he would bite the bait. You couldn’t have him asking any more questions or he would find out the truth.

Or were you too late for that? You could only imagine what the Romans would do if they discovered you were Vercingetorix’s daughter. They would use you in despicable ways to get your father to bend to their will. As fierce as your father was, he had a tender spot for you. If he knew you had survived and been taken hostage, Vercingetorix would try to strike a deal to cut you lose.

But it would be in vain — Rome was thirsty for blood.

“You could say my hunting days are long gone. I don’t enjoy the thrill of the chase anymore,” he bluntly responded, towering above you as he stood up. “Get some rest if you can.”

“Easier said than done when I have to watch my back at all times,” you sneered, rolling your eyes.

Because if you fell asleep, your guard would be down. And you didn’t trust those two men — you knew, saw in their eyes, that they would come back for payback.

Acacius gifted you with a stern look, all the previous softness and nonchalance forgotten. This was the General you had gotten a glimpse of in the battlefield. One, you suspected, that knew more about you than you wanted. One that wouldn’t stop until he uncovered the truth of your ancestry.

Without any other word, General Acacius turned around and disappeared behind the bright red flap of a tent.

You couldn’t just wait around to see what would happen. You had to break free, or they would kill you. Or worse, use you as leverage.

With renewed strength and determination, you resumed the slicing of the rope that bound you to the post.

“How sure are you of your suspicions, Acacius?”

He had debated whether to speak of his conjecture or not. Nothing should hold him back from sharing an inkling with his old friend. If he was right, then they could get Vercingetorix to finally surrender the last enclaves of the Gauls — the bastard had not spoken one word since his capture. The war would be over, and he could return home.

So, if this was the right thing to do, why was he now doubting himself?

Your blown pupils still haunted him, the way you whispered “no, we don’t” in a hush when questioned about the shade of your eyes. As soon as your expression faltered, Marcus knew he was onto something. And he hated himself for it — for not being in a position of freedom where he could just pretend he hadn’t heard the fleeting panic in your voice.

Marcus wished he could lie to Julius Caesar; say he might have misinterpreted the signals. But he couldn’t — he was indebted to the man in front of him. Marcus owed Julius his life and loyalty for taking him under his wing and giving him the chance to make a name for himself when no one believed in a puny farmer boy from the countryside.

Thanks to his friend and his own hard work, Marcus had climbed up the military ladder, having been decorated with the title of General ten years ago. Marcus had many victories under his belt, having proved his worth with sweat, tears and blood.

“I am positive she is Vercingetorix’s daughter, Caesar,” he ended up answering, straightening his back. “I went to pay him a visit. The moment I described her, his expression flinched. It’s her.”

“You have questioned the man yourself?” Caesar asked with a smirk, lazily resting on the chaise lounge. He nodded in reply. “Hope you’ve beaten him good.”

Acacius was not one to resort to unnecessary violence if he could avoid it. There was enough blood on his hands as it was, didn’t need another notch on his conscience. So, when he visited the Gaulish chief, Marcus only used carefully delivered words to disarm his enemy. It had worked, because even if Vercingetorix hadn’t said a word, his reaction was all confirmation he needed.

He didn’t reply, standing tall in front of Caesar with his hands laced on his back, waiting to be discharged so he could call it a night and get some rest.

“We’ll use her as leverage,” his friend thought out loud.

Dread sank to the bottom of his stomach. Caesar could be… awfully creative sometimes.

His thirst for power, for notoriety, was very well known among the political sphere that surrounded Rome. Caesar had amassed gold and immense power over the last six years on Gaulish land. Julius had told Marcus in the past that this seemed to worry his allies in the First Triumvirate. With Crassus’ death last year, it was only Caesar and Pompeius Magnus who kept the political alliance intact.

But Marcus knew Julius wanted more — he’d heard his friend spoke of future plans that could hinder the Roman Republic. Those talks strayed far from what Marcus thought Caesar stood for, but they were more recurrent now, bordering on coup ideology.

Where Marcus would stand when, or if, that time came… He wasn’t so sure. He’d supported Caesar in so many of his quests and conquests, it would feel like a betrayal to the only man who believed in him.

Perhaps it’ll never come to that, he always reminded himself.

“Leverage? How so?” Marcus forced his voice to sound flat, uninspired, when, in reality, an uncomfortable feeling settled in his tummy.

“Glad you asked, Acacius,” Caesar’s smirk only reinforced his fear. “Since Crassus’ death last year, I fear my alliance with Pompeius Magnus might suffer. Although I trust my sister Julia will keep him bound and loyal, I need to ensure more allies and reinforce the ones I already have,” his friend explained, sitting up on the chaise lounge. “You are to bring the hostage to Rome. We’ll marry her off to General Marcus Antonius’ brother, Gaius.”

Dread mutated within him, rage taking over.

If there ever was a man to walk this earth whom Marcus despised, that was Gaius Antonius. One year younger than his notorious brother, the man was as despicable as one could get. A drunk philanderer, Gaius could always be found in one of two places: in a private house drinking himself to death and gambling, or in a brothel satiating his lust. The man’s manners were lacking, his ill fame well-deserved. Always so confrontational, looking for a fight to entertain himself.

Everything Marcus hated culminating in one singular person. The times they had run into each other, Gaius had always been so condescending that Marcus had to rein in the need to gut him right there and then. Antonius’ younger brother had mocked him for his humble origins, telling Marcus it didn’t matter how hard he tried, he’d always be a farmer.

So delivering a woman—any woman—to that shitbag of a man… it didn’t sit well with him at all. It would be a life sentence for you — because if you didn’t die at Gaius’ hands, you might as well wish for a quick death.

And what was worst, Caesar knew all of this, but still asked anyway.

A true friend wouldn’t, Marcus ruminated but drowned such treacherous thought.

“That would take weeks, General. With all due respect, I’ve got other responsibilities that—” Marcus started his plea, hoping to be released from such a mission.

“You’re the only man I trust, Acacius. I wouldn’t ask otherwise,” Caesar cut him off, standing up in front of him. One of his friend’s hands landed on his shoulder, gently squeezing. “I confide this assignment to you because I know you’ll get it done. Your word, Acacius?”

Marcus was between a rock and a hard place. Fear gripped him tight, his throat running dry with unspent poison pooling on his tongue.

He didn’t want to do it. But there was no way out.

“My word, Caesar,” he husked, slightly bowing his head down.

The agreement that would seal his fate.

“Why the long face, Acacius?” Antonius taunted him as he bit into the meat gripped between his fingers, the bloody juices running down his wrist and forearm. “You’ll get enough gold to retire after your mission, Caesar always pays.”

Payment was not an incentive for Marcus. He’d never wished for fortune nor recognition. He had enough money to live comfortably, a modest home where he could wind down and recover from the consequences of war. He didn’t fight for money — he fought for conviction, for the glory of Rome, for what he thought was right.

Or, at least, that was what originally had him enrol in the legion. After over two decades of bloodshed, Marcus had had his eyes open, his stance not as clear anymore. War had changed him, for better or worse. He didn’t regret his achievements, but the lives he had to saw to get where he now was.

His young self had been blind to the crude reality of war, eager to prove himself a worthy warrior. Now, with a few souls on his back and dirty hands, Marcus saw the events of his life under a different light.

“Not all of us are motivated by coin,” Marcus grunted, leaving the empty goblet on the makeshift table. “Some of us are happy with what we’ve got.”

“That’s the old you speaking, Acacius,” Antonius cackled, palming the wooden table. “You’re so righteous sometimes, it pains me.”

Marcus didn’t reply, chewing his dried bread until his jaw hurt, a dull ache shooting up to his cheeks.

It didn’t feel that way sometimes — righteousness seemed to evade him now. Because if he was certain of his own morality, he wouldn’t go through with the mission Caesar had bestowed upon him. He wouldn’t deliver you like cattle to the slaughter. Your destiny—your defeat, watching your people perish at the mercy of a Roman sword—seemed punishment enough.

But he truly didn’t see this panning out any other way. In the grand scheme of things, Marcus was just another pawn in an intricate plan he was not apprised of. Despite his station, he still had to follow orders. Disobeying them—or worse, interfering—would have him dead before dawn cracked in the horizon.

Getting killed over a stranger—an enemy—seemed ludicrous. Everything he had worked so hard for, for naught. There was no room for kindness in the midst of war.

“If you’ll excuse me, General, I shall retire to my tent,” Marcus excused himself, getting up off the bench. “Vale (farewell), Antonius.”

Marcus made his way through the camp, fires lit with legionnaires around them, sharing old wives’ tales and anecdotes from battles, their yearnings and hopes for the future. For being late, the encampment was still very much alive, the quiet chatter filtering through the smoke-dense air.

Trudging on, his tired muscles begged him for a break. War was relentless, hard on the body and the mind. But no matter how fatigued he was, Marcus couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. Although the war appeared to have come to an end, the thought of being on his enemy’s backyard was still present on his foremind.

As he walked past the post you were tied to, something caught his attention. Frowning, Marcus came to a halt, head slightly tilted with suspicion — a tingling sensation on his neck alerting of something out of place.

No, not something. Someone. Because when he looked in your direction, you were not there.

Marcus approached the empty spot and kneeled, finding that the ropes that kept you bound had been severed. His hand palmed the poorly lit ground, finding a sharp stone.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, standing up and flagging down a passing archer. “Give me that.”

The moment you saw Marcus distractedly saunter towards you, a rush of energy bloomed within you. It was now or never.

No one was coming to rescue you, because there was no one left to pick up the dusty sword of freedom. Waiting was pointless, so you had to take matters into your own hands.

When the last thread of the rope that bound you was cut loose, you crawled through the mud and ran for your life towards the forest. Barefoot, tired and thirsty, lungs burning now, you kept on running without looking back. Branches brushed against your skin, slicing your face, arms and legs. Spikey stones stabbed your soles, but that didn’t stop you either.

“Halt!”

The steadfast command almost made you obey the order. But doing so would mean going back to being a hostage at the mercy of men who had higher praise for sheep than women. Death was the least of your worries — and you would not suffer at the hands of cruel tyrants.

A quick glance over your shoulder confirmed that General Acacius was catching up with you, fast as a wolf stalking its prey. Despite the ache, the agony, you pushed forward, dodging trees and bushes in an attempt to lose him. These were your woods, the land you had grown up on, and as such you knew them like the palm of your hand. A few more minutes and you would reach a low cliff overlooking the river Oze. Just as you had done in your youth, you would jump in and let the current take you as far away as possible.

“Stop, dammit! Don’t make me shoot you an arrow!”

The warning in his now breathless voice made you look back again, realising that Acacius had a bow with him.

Panic started bubbling in your chest, adrenaline taking over your bloodstream like lava. Strained lungs and with your heart pounding in your throat, you focused on the path ahead, your feet rushing under you like thunder.

The whistling hiss of an arrow flew by your ear, kissing your cheek and drawing blood.

But that didn’t stop you, running as fast as your feet would take you. Focused on the path ahead, ignoring Acacius’ warnings, you glimpsed a clearing in the trees. Your freedom was close, just a few yards away the small cliff greeted you like your own personal salvation. So close, you could almost see the darkness spilling over the precipice.

You were going to make it — freedom tasting sweet on your tongue, despite the blood dripping onto your lips from the cut on your cheek.

As you leaped towards the abyss, another buzzing sound flew towards you. This time the arrow found its target, sinking in the back of your right shoulder as you plunged into the void underneath screaming in agony.

Dark water swallowed your body as you plummeted to the riverbed. The current was strong and unforgiving due to the latest torrential rains, battering you around and slamming your body against the hard edges of the rocky bottom. Your back hit a boulder rather harshly, your lungs vacating the little oxygen they held into the stream.

This was how you were going to die after all — not on the battlefield, not at your enemy’s mercy, but taken by the goddess Nantosuelta herself. The blurry lines of your vision began collapsing as your mind drifted away, eyes shutting and limbs limp floating around you.

Something surrounded your waist like a vine, but instead of pushing you further down, it pulled you up until your head breached the surface. The cold air kissed your face, and you coughed to clear your airways, water spilling over your lips in spurts.

“Hold onto me!” General Acacius shouted at you, gripping you closer to his broad frame.

You blinked, confused at first. Then it hit you: the Roman General had jumped after you, dragging you out of the bottom of the river. He was trying to save you from drowning, even if that meant dying with you.

Still feeling dizzy, muscles unresponsive, you managed to drape one arm around his neck whilst Acacius battled with the current. It was only ten minutes, but to you it felt like an eternity — you both went under a couple of times, but Acacius never let you go, his arm hugging you tight like a vice.

Finally, General Acacius hauled you out. You both fell to your knees as soon as you reached the shore. Having gulped down at least a pint of water, you heaved and retched until the burning sensation travelling up your throat was unbearable.

Then you dropped to one side, curled up on the river’s edge. Exhaustion coursed through your body from head to toes while your breathing calmed down. Acacius was besides you, sitting back on his heels with a bewildered look.

“Why… did you… save me?” you managed to slur some words together.

His expression softened, running a hand down his tired face.

“I don’t know,” he husked out. “I couldn’t let you die.”

His features folded as soon as he spoke the last words, avoiding your eyes. He couldn’t let you die this way, you assumed he meant, implying he was willing to let you die a different way.

“You’re bleeding,” he changed subjects, pointing to the arrowhead sticking out just above your clavicle.

“I wonder whose fault that is,” you sneered, sitting up on the ground.

The reality was you didn’t feel the pain. Your body had gone into overdrive, focusing your remaining energy on keeping you alive.

“I told you I’d shoot, and you didn’t listen,” Acacius grunted, dragging his knees towards you. “Let me see.”

Not having the mental capacity to retort back, you let him inspect the wound, his wet fingers carefully caressing the bloody skin around the wooden shaft.

“It’s gone through cleanly. I’m going to snap the arrowhead so you don’t hurt yourself. Ready?” He didn’t give you much time to process his words, because soon enough he did exactly as he told you.

Through gritted teeth, you hissed in pain, jaw clenching so hard you might break a tooth.

“You bastard,” you sneered, but your animosity didn’t make him flinch.

In any case, he was closer than he was before. His wet silvery curls dripped onto your tilted face as you looked up at him with anger lighting your eyes.

“I need to remove the shaft too but can’t do it here, you’ll bleed out. I need to stitch you up as soon as it’s out,” Acacius spoke calmly, ignoring the fury simmering in your face.

The walk back to the Roman camp was excruciating. Pain shot from your shoulder in all directions, but you pushed through it. Acacius had a tight grip around your waist as you hugged his shoulders to stand up, keeping you close to him, his hand laced with yours.

Luckily, no one was there to see your rather pathetic entrance. You only crossed paths with a couple of legionnaires who nodded in acknowledgement to Acacius, and soon after that he directed you to a tent.

Once inside, you stood in the middle of it awkwardly. The red textile walls were bright, but the rest of the decoration was spartan. A bed that would barely fit two people, a wooden trunk with a lit candle as a nightstand, a wonky dresser, two chairs and a couple of chests. There was a small cauldron in the middle of the room which had red embers in it, its warmth spilling into the space.

What caught your attention was that there were no personal effects in sight. This could perfectly be the sleeping quarters of a low rank soldier, and you wondered if Acacius had mistaken his tent for someone else’s.

“Take a seat,” he pointed towards one the chairs.

You were so knackered, you happily obliged, letting yourself fall onto the chair. You were drenched, your leather garments soaked and heavy, but still didn’t feel the snappy cold bite your skin.

Your gaze tracked Acacius as he ambled towards one of the chests. But you quickly looked away when he undid the knots that kept his chestplate in place. The clink of metal told you he was getting rid of the top part of his armour.

Despite your efforts, curiosity won. In the corner of your eye, you saw his bare back — his back muscles undulating under his damp skin, shoulders flexing as he pulled the linen shirt over his head. His waist was sculpted, slightly thinner than his chest. Two pronounced dimples on his lower back distracted you from the battle scars dotted around his frame.

Enemy or not, the man was a treat. You’d have to be blind to say otherwise.

Unfortunately for you, Acacius didn’t turn around — just opened the chest, rummaged through it and fished a fresh linen shirt that quickly covered his body. The damp skirt remained though, and you guessed the General was not as comfortable with you in the tent.

Acacius veered towards the dresser, going through the contents of the first drawer and leaving different items on top. When he turned around to face you, he was holding a bottle of wine that he extended towards you.

You blinked at him blankly.

“Removing the shaft is going to hurt like hell. The alcohol will numb your senses and if you’re lucky enough, you might not feel too much pain,” Acacius explained while you grabbed the bottle, cocking a mighty brow.

“So, you want me drunk. Here, alone with you,” your words dragged, hinting at your distrust. “It’s only fair if you get drunk too.”

Acacius huffed and puffed, sitting beside you on the empty chair, and stole the bottle from your grasp, the cork stopper flying.

“So untrusting. If I hurt you while patching you up, then don’t complain,” he grunted before bringing the bottle to his lips.

You were momentarily mesmerised by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. His neck was thick and chiselled, stubble covering his jaw. You wondered if it would be prickly to the touch, your fingers testing the girth of his neck.

To suffocate him, obviously — nothing else.

“I’ll take my chances,” you retorted, shrugging. The slight movement of your shoulders made you grimace. “Pass me that.”

Minutes went by as you and Acacius shared the wine, taking turns on emptying the bottle. He didn’t say a word, and you guessed he wasn’t a big talker. You were comfortable with silence, but a doubt nagged at you.

There had to be a reason for his rescuing. Why would he risk his life to save yours otherwise? If he thought you were nothing, no one of relevance, he should have let you drown. But he hadn’t, and you doubted it had been out of pure altruism. Acacius didn’t know you at all except for the few exchanges you had had in the past. You were even — you hadn’t killed him in the woods, and in return he had dug you out of the hole you fell into.

“Has Caesar come to a decision about me?” you blurted out, the only explanation for you to be here right now, alive.

Acacius gave you a long look, his hand quick to rob you of the alcohol. His eyes remained locked with yours as he drank. The void in his orbs was pretty telling, but you needed confirmation from him — confirmation that you had said too much when he mentioned your father. That you fucked up.

“I spoke to your father,” Acacius drawled, studying your expression. There was no point in denying what was obvious, so you didn’t interrupt. “He didn’t sell you out, but it was pretty obvious I was onto something when I started talking about you.”

“Have you tortured him?” you voiced your worry, brows pinching.

The General slouched back, almost as if he was offended by your question. You had seen the aftermath of their grilling — broken fingers, dislocated jaws, bent-backwards knees. It wasn’t wrong of you to assume the worst of him.

“No,” he responded flatly, drinking again and passing the bottle. “Caesar has decided a new future for you. You are to be brought to Rome. You’ll come with me.”

Your heart literally stopped beating. If it wasn’t for the wine already working its magic, you might have stood up and emptied the bottle on his face. But you didn’t — instead, you glanced at him, lips pressed contemptuously.

“And what will I be doing there, dare I ask? Are you going to throw me in a cage and parade me around town like an animal so your citizens can look at a savage eye to eye?” you sneered, grabbing the bottle to quench your rage.

If you hadn’t closed your eyes, you might have seen the guilt flashing on his eyes. But you didn’t, too focused on drowning your mind so you wouldn’t think about what the future laid ahead.

“Your father will be going too,” he offered as consolation.

Your eyes did spark up at him, the idea of seeing your father one last time somewhat calming.

“Will he be coming with us?” you ventured, your hopes too quick to rise.

“No, he’s a bigger risk. A small entourage will accompany him,” he answered, fingers curling in your direction in a silent plea to give him the wine.

“Oh,” you didn’t hide your disappointment.

You handed him the alcohol and his fingers lingered around yours for a second. Perhaps it was the wine, but you caught sadness in the way his eyes watched you. Pity, probably, conscious of what your life might look like in a few weeks’ time.

“We’ll be going alone. I trust that the thought of your father’s wellbeing will deter you from trying to escape. Otherwise, I’d have to chain you and it’s not something I’d like to do,” Acacius grumbled, voice slightly slurred.

So your father’s life depended on you — on obediently following this man to your enslavement. Life was fucking cruel, but you would never be the reason for your father’s death, of that much you were sure. There wasn’t much of a decision to make there.

“Alright,” you mumbled back, straightening your back. “When are we leaving?”

“Tomorrow at the crack of dawn,” Acacius tilted his head towards you, a downcast expression eagerly studying yours.

Silence fell like a blanket again, each of you immersed in your own thoughts. When the bottle finally ran out, Acacius got up and walked towards the dresser, collecting the items he’d placed on top of it. His stance was not as firm anymore — shoulders relaxed, feet slightly wobbly thanks to the alcohol flushing his system.

“Are you ready?” he asked, dragging his chair towards you once he sat back down.

You nodded, stiffening your posture. You prayed the wine worked its miracle.

Marcus could tell how drained you were by the end of it. His hand had not been the most stable, considering the amount of grape juice he had chucked down. He regretted drinking so much, but was able to stitch you up in the end. Not his best work, but it would do, keeping the wound close to avoid infection.

Your head tipped, and Marcus was quick enough to hold your forehead so you wouldn’t fall forward. He wasn’t sure if you were drowsy because of the alcohol, the pain or because your body finally left its alertness state, or a combination of it all. What he did know though was that you needed some rest.

He wasn’t as heartless as you thought — couldn’t bring himself up to drag you outside and tie you to the wooden post again. Not when he suspected the two men would come back for payback.

Without many more options, Acacius scooped you up from the chair, careful not to wake you, and laid you down on his bed. You immediately sighed with relief when your frame sank in the straw mattress, engulfing you in its warmth. You nuzzled his pillow, inhaling deeply before your pinched brow smoothed out.

You looked so different when you slept. Your hair covering your face, long eyelashes kissing your cheeks and your mouth slightly agape, taking in soft breaths. Younger too, although Marcus believed you both were around the same age. Perhaps you were older than him, considering how weathered his golden skin had become under the scorching sun for years.

He hated himself for omitting the truth, for not telling you what would be of you once in Rome. Marcus let you believe that you would be a slave, an entertainment to the crowds, but your reality would be much more darker than that. He didn’t know you, but could safely bet that you would strongly object to being married off as a war trophy. Anyone would.

Were you married? He scanned your fingers from the distance but saw no wedding band. Perhaps it wasn’t common in your culture to wear one.

Marcus frowned — despite having lived on this land for over a lustrum, he didn’t really know much about its inhabitants and your customs. Though he wasn’t here to make allies, but to destroy the life you and your ancestors had built.

He’d never thought of it that way, always pushing such logic aside so he could do his job. As Caesar would say, “Veni, vidi, vici.” It was fucking cruel, an injustice really, but his hands were as tied as yours.

Eventually Marcus drifted off to an uncomfortable sleep, almost falling from the chair twice before he hauled over one of the chests to prop his legs up.

He’d close his eyes for a second, just to recharge for a bit, then would stand guard the rest of the night to assure your safety — and captivity.

��Acacius,” something tugged at the linen of his shirt, and his eyes slowly fluttered open. “It’s dawn.”

The words seemed to come from far away, not registering on his mind. He hmphed and shut his eyes again, knackered from a restless night. Five more minutes, that was all he needed.

“Oi, hey!”

A slap on his shoulder startled him awake, sitting up on the chair instantly as he quickly scanned the room — a throbbing headache haunting him.

Then he saw you, sat on his bed with your feet dangling from the edge, an inquisitory glance shot his way.

“Fuck,” he groaned, realising he’d fallen asleep for longer than intended. “Shouldn’t have drunk so much,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m no better,” you hushed, watching him intently. “But the wound seems to be healing alright.”

Marcus straightened up, pulling his chair closer, hand reaching for your shoulder in unspoken permission. You slid down the neck of your leather garment, showing him the injury. His fingertips teased around the laceration, and under his touch you shivered.

He quickly removed his hand; afraid his caress was doing more harm than good.

“Sorry. It’s a bit inflamed but otherwise seems fine.”

You nodded in mute reply.

At the same time both of you stood up — so close, you bumped into each other. Marcus almost kicked you off your feet and you tumbled back. Before you fell back onto the bed, Marcus grabbed your forearm and pulled, crashing you against his chest.

The sudden proximity brought with it your scent — earthy cinnamon with a floral hint, sweet and musky. Marcus couldn’t control the need to inhale, to take you in for a brief instant. He hadn’t let himself be close to anyone in a very long while, not when war was at the forefront of his mind. Simply didn’t have the time, always busy with battles, training or strategizing for what was next.

Your closeness briefly reminded him of a life he once yearned for. To settle down, to marry, to have a family — his kids waiting for his arrival, hugging his legs while he patted their heads in loving reassurance. But when the opportunity of proving himself worthy knocked at his door, he seized it and parked his other desires, incapable of seeing a way to reconcile those two very different lives.

Why had your mere presence suddenly unearthed those thoughts? He was only curious about you, knew perfectly what his role was — your captor, the one in charge of delivering you like cargo to another man, one he despised.

Marcus forced himself take a step back, avoiding your inquisitive gaze, letting go of your forearm and turning around in haste.

“We’ll only bring what’s necessary,” he husked out, busy with stuffing the saddlebags.

“Uhm, okay…”

Your lower back hurt. Your thighs far stretched over the horse’s back, a stinging pain pooling on your crotch. Your ass was sore due to the gentle yet constant bouncing.

You had been riding for three days. The ascent on horseback to the height of the Alps was draining. Cold, icy air bit your skin, the leather skins Acacius had secured not enough to keep the freezing temperatures away. Last night a blizzard almost wiped you out off the face of the Earth. The temperatures had dropped so much, you couldn’t help yourself but curl up against Acacius at night in an attempt to keep your body as warm as possible. He’d huffed in reply, but didn’t push you away.

Today you had only stopped at dusk after Acacius spent at least an hour finding the right spot — away from prying eyes, from a possible ambush. He did well on keeping clear of crowded paths, so well you had not seen another soul in the last seventy-two hours.

If you had a small hope of someone rescuing you, it was now dwindling. And even if that happened, you couldn’t just leave your father to his fate. So despite how many times that delusional scene played in your mind, you knew you just couldn’t act on it. You had surrendered to your destiny, whatever it was.

“We’ll set up camp here for the night,” Acacius gritted out, the first words he had spoken to you since dawn reddened the sky this morning.

He’d been given you the silence treatment since your departure three days ago, got even worse since last night. As much as you tried to discern the reason for his taciturnity, your mind ended up going back to the moment he held you close to his chest. To how your body pressed against his as both of you tried to get some rest.

Had he also felt the rushing of blood pumping on his eardrums? Had he also gotten goosebumps? Had his breath also hitched in the back of his throat?

Did he or was it only you? You’d never know. The man had become an icy wall — one you couldn’t penetrate, no matter how much you poked at it. You talked and talked to fill the silence, and his only answers were “hmm” to show disagreement and “mhm” to say yes. At one point you grew tired of his muteness and gave up altogether.

It was almost as if Acacius was unhappy to be there, as if you dragged him there when it was all the way around.

“You know, you could’ve just asked somebody else to take me to Rome. It’s not like I forced you to be here. Rather the opposite,” you gritted out, huffing and puffing while grabbing one end of the flat tent to start building it.

As expected, he just ignored you, helping out from the other end of the tent as you worked together to erect it. Grabbing a rock, you hammered the last iron spike to the ground, testing the tension of the rope.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he gritted out, crouching to go through one of the saddlebags and handed you a piece of dried meat.

You squatted down too and accepted the offering, chewing away and mildly wincing, the saltiness upsetting your tastebuds.

“A Roman General didn’t have a choice,” you repeated after him, cocking a brow. “That sounds ridiculous. I don’t have a choice, pretty sure you do.”

“I still follow orders. And when Caesar asks, you can’t say no to,” the inflexion on the word made you look his way, slightly tilting your head to one side with curiosity.

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I can’t.”

You hmphed, shaking your head with certain disdain. You knew little of Roman politics, but as far as you could tell, both Acacius and Caesar had the same rank. One submissively accepting orders from the other without rebuttal didn’t make sense.

“You’re his lapdog,” you didn’t say it to mock him, it was just an observation based on facts. “With no freewill, no choice. Sounds like we are both hostages to the same oppressor.”

“It’s not as simple,” Acacius sighed. “The current political climate in the Republic is… complicated.”

“So, Caesar is in the middle of a political storm back home, but he’s here giving us hell for no reason whatsoever other than showing his power to his rivals. Bet he’s got better things to do then.” When Acacius didn’t reply, you pressed, “Don’t you have better things to do than warmongering? A business to look after back home? A family, perhaps?”

The last question slipped. You were not prodding, didn’t care about what his marital status was, if he had a woman waiting for his safe return. No, nothing like that.

So if you truly didn’t, why did you look at him expectant?

He briefly glanced at you, his attention shifting to the wineskin he just pulled out of the saddlebag and then to the two horses tied up nearby. His avoidance made you frown. Had you hit a nerve of some sort?

“I don’t. This is all I know, all I ever wanted,” Acacius muttered before leaning his head back to aim the trickle of wine into his mouth.

The way he carefully delivered the words… there was a lie hidden between them. You didn’t know though which one of the two statements was the deceitful one. Or both, perhaps.

“If you say so,” you shrugged, conscious that you wouldn’t get him to talk any more than what you already had.

You shared the dried meat and the wine in silence. The biting cold sent shivers all over your body, skin bristled and teeth chattering by the time you were done eating. With no fire going to keep you warm, you were dying to retreat back to the tent.

“Should call it a night,” you mumbled, grabbing your saddlebag to bring it in with you.

Acacius grunted his accord, standing up. “I’ll check on the horses and I’ll be right back.”

He turned around as you scurried away, the temperature inside the tent as freezing as it was out there. It was going to be a rough night, especially since it seemed to be colder than last. You shuffled around, putting on more layers and rearranging the different animal skins until you were cozily beneath them. Your jaw tightened and let go of a grunt, a cloud of mist forming around your lips. Still you shuddered uncontrollably, a futile attempt to rise your body temperature.

A few minutes later, Acacius entered the tent, and you were no closer to falling asleep. In fact, you were so cold, you were wide awake. In the gloom of night, you barely made out his silhouette as he prepared to lie down beside you. The General quietly buried himself under a pile of skins.

Not a word was crossed, the dead tranquillity of the night broken by your chattering teeth.

“Stop that,” Acacius grumbled, half asleep, swatting you gently. “You’re too loud.”

“It’s not like I can fucking stop it, can I?” you gritted out, frustrated with his ease to drift away. “It’s freezing, dammit.”

The General rumbled and huffed, dragging his body towards you. He lifted the skins off himself, did the same thing with yours and joined you under the blankets, throwing them all over you both. The added weight of the skins, heavy and warm, was most welcomed, but it was Acacius’ body what made your temperature underneath the covers spike up.

The man was a damn furnace.

Driven by self-preservation, your hands found his forearm and clamped around them.

Acacius hissed.

“Your fingers are like icicles,” he complained, but didn’t move away.

“If you think my hands are freezing, wait to feel my feet,” and with no remorse, you brushed his shin with the sole of one foot. Your engaged muscles started to soften, his warmth pouring into you.

“Shit,” Acacius mumbled, his jaw tightening in the darkness, but again remained still. “You may well be at risk of frostbite.”

You grunted in agreement, unknowingly seeking him as you curled up against his side. His body temperature would be enough to keep the both of you warm through the night. You began to relax, your jaw now slack and teeth quiet. Slowly you fell into a peaceful slumber, the first night you actually got some much-needed rest.

When one of your eyes fluttered open, you were unsure of how many hours had gone by. It was still pitch-black outside, only the chirping of crickets breaking the quietness around you. The breaking of dawn still a few hours away, enough to paint a smile on your face at the realisation that you could sleep some more.

You nuzzled Acacius’ chest with your nose, inhaling deeply as your eyes slowly shut.

It was then that you noticed that you were almost on top of him: your cheek gently pressed against his sternum, your arm hugging his waist, your leg resting across his with your knee right on…

Your eyes shot open, quickly looking down, your senses flaring alive.

Your knee crammed right on his groin, softly pressing on his manhood as if that was where it belonged. He was hard. Asleep still, but his cock was wide awake. You could feel him pulse against your kneecap.

Your heart picked up a pace while a hot wave washed over you, slick starting to pool between your thighs and your nipples puckering against his ribs. A normal reaction, you told yourself, considering the position you were in.

One you shouldn’t be in. Conscious of your own bodily response, you sneakily tried to remove your knee from his growing bulge, biting down your bottom lip as your fingers sank in his right hip. But Acacius didn’t let you, his hand wrapping around the back of your knee and pressing it harder on his erection, a raspy grunt hitching somewhere in his throat.

You whimpered inaudibly; afraid he would fully wake. With his hand firmly holding your leg against him, there was no point fighting this need growing within you. His sleepy coercion was enough agreement.

With half-lidded eyes, lips flat in a pout, you began to gently rub your knee against the linen covering his cock, feeling it coming alive with every brush. His broad hand was still grasping around your knee, almost guiding you, showing you how to make him harder.

Acacius groaned above you, and you quickly glanced up at him — his brows pinched, but otherwise still asleep. You pouted in frustration, a thick slick trapped between your pussy lips. Damn you for getting horny right now, it was his fault really.

Gripping his hip, you pressed your body against his, to the point where your hot cunt was rubbing against the side of his thigh. Inevitably but carefully, you humped his thick thigh, your clit catching in your undergarment causing a delicious friction that sent a thunder up your spine.

This felt too good to be sinful. Your clit was writhing, pulsing for release, as you kept on buffing your pussy on him, while your knee kneaded his now throbbing bulge. Your breasts were sensitive, perked up nipples tracing invisible lines on his ribs. Your only regret was that both of you were still clothed — you needed the skin on skin to get off, to let go. Needed to feel him in all his glory, palm him attentively until he would come on your hand…

Acacius suddenly squirmed and you swiftly stopped everything, feigning to be asleep when his eyes opened.

Marcus stirred awake, his heartbeat so loud in his eardrums he could barely hear anything else other than the rush of blood. It took him a few seconds to catch on with his own body, to feel his throbbing cock fighting against its enclosure.

He was hard, the morning glory making its presence known. Only then did he realise the actual reason his dick was begging for release: he had grabbed your leg, fingers curled behind your knee, and had pressed it into his bulge until his cock was ready to unload.

Marcus froze in place, ashamed of himself, of using you in such wicked manner. But his stiffened erection clouded his mind, his judgement — he needed to move away from you before he came in his pants like a teenager.

Carefully he undraped your arm from across his waist and lifted your knee up, scooting to one side until he was out from underneath the skins. The cold air bit his bristling skin, a remarkable contrast with the heat on his groin. He looked back at you — peacefully surrendered to your slumber, expression sweet and relaxed, blissfully unaware of how close he’d been to spill.

He ran a hand down his face while the other rearranged his uncomfortable cock. For a moment he fisted himself, digits wrapping around his achy balls, before he decided to walk outside of the tent to get his shit together.

The road to Rome was going to be excruciatingly long, of that much he was sure.

The journey through the Alps took the good part of a week. Its rocky cliffs and treacherous paths needed to be treaded carefully. Acacius relied on you when going up the north face of the mountains, but on the descent he had more experience. You both worked together through the issues that arose, on calming down the horses whenever they got spooked.

It’d been a draining experience, but with the Alps on your back, you could breathe again. Temperatures had slightly gone up, so the last two nights had been more forgiving. Meaning, the physical gap between Acacius and you when you laid together at night had grown again.

You blamed it on the solitude — for the last ten days, Acacius was the only person you had spoken to, the only person you had seen. Perhaps it wasn’t long, but considering how closeknit your tribe was, this had been the longest you had gone without having your people around.

And, truth be told, he’d not been intrinsically bad with you. Yes, he’d hunt you down in the forest and brought you back to camp so you could be the next freak on display for the Roman mob, but from what you gathered, he was being bossed around by Caesar. You wondered what kind of relationship the two had — did Acacius feel indebted to the other man? Was that why he was doing Caesar’s dirty bidding?

You had dismounted your stallion and were guiding him to the nearest river, where Acacius’ stud was drinking. You left them alone as you walked back the few yards to where the General was setting up a small pyre for a fire.

“Is that wise?” you questioned, the spot you were in rather open.

“We are almost fifty milia passuum (Roman miles) west of Mediolanum (Milan). This land is ours, has been for more almost two centuries now. We have nothing to worry about here,” he explained matter-of-factly, unsheathing his sword and kneeling.

You watched him intently as he grabbed a quartz stone nearby, tested its weight and shape on his hand. Acacius began striking the steel of his gladius against the sharp edge of the rock with quick, powerful and deliberate downward motions. Sparks flourished, short-lived at first, dying off before landing on the dry tinder.

“Come over here,” he gave you a nod, then pointed to the pyre with his chin when you crouched down in front of him. “The moment a spark falls into the tinder, blow some light puffs of air onto the bundle.”

You shook your head in agreement and bowed down, ready to do your part. Acacius gave the steel a sharp hit, and a big spark ignited, falling like a feather into the wood. You blew air gently onto the red spot, and the fire slowly turned the wood to embers.

“Where are you from?” you asked with certain curiosity, hands extended in front of you to warm them up.

Acacius’ posture stiffened almost unnoticeably as he mindlessly nudged some of the glowing coal with the tip of his sword, eyes transfixed on the flames.

“My family come from the city of Barium (Bari) in the south. They worked the land,” he shared, scratching his beard. “I left home when I was just a lad, only returned a few times a year to help out with the farming.”

“How does the son of farmers end up being a renowned General at the head of a Roman legion?” you pressed with interest, a part of you wanting to get to know him, to see the real man behind the General.

“With blood, sweat and tears,” he retorted snappily, brows knitting together as if he had taken offense in your words.

You frowned, mildly confused by his reaction.

“What have I said to upset you?”

Your inquiry took him aback, and you assumed he thought he’d not been so obvious. But you were quick to pick up on people’s subtleties.

“Nothing,” you instantly cocked a brow. Acacius sighed, “I’m not ashamed of being the son of farmers. My parents were extremely hardworking people. But classism in Rome…” he shrugged, “…is ever so present. Some people are not being able to see past that. To them, I’ll always be a terrone. I guess I’m always on the defensive when the topic surfaces.”

“Terrone?” you asked, befuddled.

Acacius gave you a stern nod.

“It’s a derogatory term some people use to refer to those who work the land, typically in the south of the Republic. Like Barium, where I originally come from,” his dark gaze drifted up, locking with yours while red sparks danced between the two of you.

The intensity in his brown eyes held you down for an instant. He was sharing a piece of him with you, a vulnerability he didn’t show often. You could tell Acacius was battling with himself, divided between trusting you and knowing he shouldn’t.

You felt the urge to put his mind at ease, to somehow let him know you wouldn’t betray this shred of confidence. The Gods knew you didn’t owe this man anything — in any case, quite the opposite. But something about him, about his demeanour… Acacius wasn’t bad, not like the others.

Acacius was just a pawn who had become knight for the greater good, who lately had found himself with more blood on his hands than what his guilt-ridden conscience could handle.

You saw that hint in battle, his blows more defensive than offensive…

In how he’d spared your life before he knew who you were.

In how he cleaned the spit off your cheek, offered a joke or two to lighten the mood.

In how he stitched you up and let you use his bed while his back suffered on a chair.

In how he’d kept you warm throughout the harshest of nights.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” you hushed, eyes averted for a brief moment before you glanced up at him through your long eyelashes. “I am genuinely curious. It’s not every day that someone breaks the chains of society.”

Even in your culture, roles were profoundly embedded in society. Families born into guilds usually carried on with the legacy of those who preceded them. Rome wouldn’t be too different.

“Since a young age I knew I wanted to become a soldier. It always appealed to me, helping the Republic keep our people safe. The training makes you or breaks you, a lot of people drop out because of it. The sons of recognised Generals are trained since birth, and those who aren’t are in clear disadvantage. I used the long days in the farm as my training,” he spoke softly, eyes distant as he got lost in his own memories. “A few years into it, I met Gaius Julius Caesar. Took me under his wing, his family too, especially when my parents died and our farm burnt down, and I was orphaned. But I still had to work very hard to prove I was worthy. That every achievement was solely down to me, and not to the people I was associated with.”

You were so invested, you could almost picture a younger Acacius in front of you, warring against the tethers of society, making a name for himself. There was something really evocating, inspiring even, about his story of overcoming. And to lose his family in the blink of an eye, just like that, it had to be the hardest blow of all.

Had the fire not been between you, you’d reach for him and squeeze his forearm. But you didn’t, probably for the best.

“Is that why you feel… obligated to follow Caesar’s command?” you ventured, hugging your shoulders and rubbing the exposed skin.

“As I said before, it’s complicated. He’s the Proconsul, I’m not. The political climate in Rome is tense. The Senate and the Consuls fear a power grab. With the war with the Gauls coming to an end, Caesar believes that the Senate will rob him of his title and mandate him to disband his army,” he explained. “And if anybody knows Caesar as I do, he won’t surrender his power so easily.”

So conquering your land, massacring your people, was just a move from Caesar to seize more power. A pissing contest with the Senate. A game to that fucking bastard.

Was it a game to Acacius too?

“And where are you in this mess?” you couldn’t stop the question from leaving your tongue.

The General took in a deep breath, his shoulders sinking in his frame, while he poked at the fire with the sword.

“I have a job to do. I volunteered to come the moment Caesar put his proposition forward,” he shrugged, visibly uncomfortable with your prodding.

“Did you also volunteer to take me to Rome?” you lolled your head, eyes squinting.

“No,” Acacius grimaced. “Caesar asked me to.”

“Asked you? Or ordered you?”

“What’s the difference?”

“So loyalty doesn’t beget loyalty. Sounds like you’re just a pawn on his board. Dispensable,” you didn’t mean to offend, just state facts. “It seems to be a one-way relationship that does not really benefit you.”

“We should rest,” he said abruptly, standing to his feet and stomping out the fire. “Tomorrow we’ll head towards the Apuan alps so we can get to Florentia (Florence). It’s a newly founded garrison town. We should be able to find an inn there to spend the night and getting some proper warm food before heading towards Rome.”

You didn’t press, knowing that you’d given him enough food for thought. Not that you were going to change the outcome with your discourse, but at least you could make him see that being blindly loyal to someone would only mean his eventual demise.

But were you not blindly loyal to your people, your father? Wasn’t loyalty what brought you here?

Well. Fuck.

The word alps was triggering. Just when you thought you were done with rocky mountains…

“How long is this whole trip going to take?”

“To Florentia, I estimate six days. From there to Rome, it should be mostly flat, but still a stretch. Another five days, I wager,” he responded while veering around, heading towards the horses as he did every single night before going to bed. “Go get some sleep.”

“Your wish is my command, General,” you mumbled mockingly, getting up and sauntering towards the tent.

Six days? Six fucking days? Sure. More like fucking ten.

Acacius had been overly positive with his estimate. Although the Apuan alps were not as treacherous as the alps shielding the Republic from the neighbouring nations, it had been one hell of an expedition.

You’d even been attacked by a pack of hungry wolves. Acacius’ horse had been injured, then the man himself had taken a bite on his wrist that almost tore his thumb apart in his attempt to rescue his stud. It had been, by far, the most stressful days since you departed from your land over two weeks ago.

But now with the gates just a few yards away, the memory started to fade. The stone path beneath your stallion’s hooves announced your arrival to the guards posted on the front. The palisade was mainly of wood, but they had begun to replace sections of it with rock. The compound was surrounded by a moat, the drawbridge shut.

“Quis es (who are you)?” the sentinel shouted from his position on the palisade.

“Salve,” Acacius stopped in front of you, extending his arm with the palm down in greeting, “I am General Acacius, transporting a hostage to Rome under Caesar’s orders. I seek refuge in your garrison, some provisions and some rest, so we shall leave in the morrow to resume our travels.”

“Ordo (written order)?”

Acacius nodded, one hand rummaging through the saddlebag until he extracted a carefully rolled papyrus scroll.

“Lower the drawbridge, let General Acacius in,” the guard announced.

The hinges of the gate creaked horribly until the wooden plank bluntly kissed the ground. Acacius moved forward and you followed quietly, feeling a thousand eyes on you. A few miles back, Acacius had insisted on tying your hands to the saddle just for show, otherwise the legionnaires wouldn’t let you in.

The same sentinel had come down the palisade and Acacius handed over the papyrus. The man, with a weathered face and a nose more crooked than Acacius, unrolled the parchment and read it a few times. Once he was satisfied, he handed back the papyrus to Acacius and pointed forward.

“If you follow this path, you’ll find the inn,” then the guard gestured to another man, who quickly appeared in front of you and grabbed the reins of your horse. “The hostage will be held in the carcer (prison).”

Your widened eyes shot to Acacius in a panic. No way in hell he was going to let you sleep in a cell, right? Surrounded by enemies who would show you no mercy.

Your sights locked, Acacius’ darkened orbs squinting before he pulled from the reins of his monture until he and his horse shielded you, towering in front of the guard who had come forward to take you away.

“The hostage will be with me at all times. I am not to lose sight of her,” he almost barked at the sentinels, who quickly withdrew. “Those are my orders.”

A rush of relief coursed through your veins, your heartbeat calming down. When the guards returned to their positions, Acacius looked over his shoulder right at you and gave you a nod as if to ask, “are you alright?”

You ducked your head in reply before Acacius led the way to the inn.

The inn was a small sun-dried brick building with two levels, with a small stable on its side. It wasn’t too big, but the noise coming from the inside meant that it was probably packed. Acacius approached the stable lad and when he dismounted, you did the same. Both of you untied the saddlebags of your respective mounts.

“Here,” Acacius said to the boy, handing him two denarii. The boy’s bright eyes widened, looking at the coins in disbelief and then at him again, his cheeks sunk in his face. “Take good care of our horses. Mine’s injured, the wound needs to be taken care of regularly. Feed them, let them drink, give them a good brush. Alright?”

“Yes, of course, sir!” the lad almost screamed too enthusiastically, then grabbed the reins of both studs and disappeared inside the stable.

“That was a lot of money,” you noted as you both walked towards the door, your hands still tied.

“Did you see how thin he was? He didn’t look older than ten,” Acacius shrugged as he pushed open the doors and walked inside with you on his heels.

Your stomach twisted for a second — had he gone hungry in his childhood too? Had Acacius seen himself in that emaciated lad? Your heart shrunk a bit at the thought of a little Acacius begging for food on the streets before he decided to take charge of his future.

You couldn’t tell now if that had been his reality in the past — his shoulders broad, muscular arms and chiselled back. He’d done well for himself, even if it had been at the expense of others.

Shaking your head to come out of the trance, your hearing got hit with loud chatter. Wooden floor, adobe on the walls, and the furniture made of oak. The place was brimming with life, and Acacius had to slither through the crowd to reach the counter. He caught the attention of an older woman and exchanged some words you couldn’t hear at all. The Romans were fucking savages, so loud it was irritating.

“Come on,” Acacius whispered in your ear as he placed his hands on your shoulders and guided you through the crowd to the back of the inn.

There he opened a door, moved to a side to let you in first, and you walked up the creaky stairs. A minute later, a set of keys clinked on his hand and opened a smaller door. The inside of the room was rudimentary but had all the necessities. A chest of drawers, a fireplace that was already running, an empty wooden bathtub, a couple of chairs and a bed.

One bed. For one person.

You turned around to look at Acacius while he closed the door behind you.

“There’s only one bed,” you pointed out, brows pinching.

“I know. It’s the only available room they had left.”

“The only available room? So… we are supposed to share this one room? The both of us? One single bed?” You didn’t want to sound astonished, but you definitely were.

Acacius scoffed, taking a few steps forward to throw the saddlebag onto the bed.

“It’s not ideal. But we’ll have to make do.”

Perhaps you were unhappy with the situation, but you could tell he was not very excited about the prospect either.

Your sight moved to the bed again, dreading the night. Not because you thought it’d be uncomfortable, but because the night when you almost came humping his thigh was still too fresh in your mind. You were not sure you could spend another one like that, too horny to nod off.

“I’ve asked the owner to prepare you a hot bath. They’ll bring up boiled water in a few minutes,” he grunted, going through the saddlebag to grab some items.

“And you?”

“The River Arno is nearby,” he answered bluntly.

“It’s freezing outside,” you complained, although the idea of a hot bath did sound very appealing after your travels.

“I’ll be fine,” he dismissed your concerns, veering around to face you. “I’ll wait for the maids to bring over the water and then I’ll lock the door.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. You hadn’t even attempted to escape in two weeks, and you were so deep in Roman territory now, it was safer to remain by his side than trying to get back to your land.

“You heard what I told the sentinels. If they see me without you, they’ll question where you are,” he was quick to explain.

“I suppose that makes sense,” you grumbled, watching him approach you.

Acacius extended his hands toward you, his calloused fingers wrapping around your wrists, sending a shiver down your spine. His touch was hot yet gentle. He was standing so close to you, you could smell him — sweaty and dirty, but so masculine you felt a pulse between your thighs.

You had to focus on taming your body’s reaction, pressing your knees together to contain the slick pooling in your pussy. Surely this could only be attributed to the fact that it had been a long time since you laid with a man.

Pouting as he undid the rope binding you, your eyes fixed on how his fingers untwirled the jute. Once freed, Acacius’ thumbs stroked the dents on your skin, smoothing them out, your hands gently resting on his palms as he soothed the redness away.

Your heart pounded against your chest so loud you wondered if he could hear it. With your mouth slightly parted, you looked up at him, your gazes crossing and locking. And for a moment, the whole world disappeared around you. You could only see his weathered features, the bushy beard and moustache framing those lips after weeks in the wilderness… And his eyes, darkened and lustful.

His orbs drifted down to your waiting mouth, heartrate spiking madly now. You were sure he was going to kiss you, the hunger and flickering desire in his irises told you as much.

Then a firm knock on the door snatched the moment away.

“We bring the water, General,” a soft female voice announced.

The icy water of the Arno should have put out the fire burning within him. But when he emerged from the river, he was still… hard.

It felt wrong, extremely wrong. You were his captive; a war prisoner being delivered to another man to do with you as he pleased. And despite how much Marcus hated Antonius’ brother, his hands were tied. He’d given his word to Caesar — a bow he could not break, not without fatal consequences for the both of you. Disobeying Caesar’s orders would be classed as treason. And traitors were not tolerated in the Republic.

Desiring you was so fucking wrong. Especially when he’d lied to you about your future in Rome, about what would be expected of you. His omission of the truth had rooted in your brain, brewing for so long now, he just couldn’t come up and tell you the truth. Perhaps it was better this way, so you would be at ease for as long as possible.

Brushing his hair back with his fingers, Acacius sighed heavily before bending down to grab his belonging off the ground. He put on a fresh subligaculum and then a simple linen tunic.

When he returned to the inn, he found two bowls with a steaming stew of meat and vegetables, some bread, a jug full of wine and two empty cups on a tray. He took it off the floor and knocked on the door, unsure if you would be clothed.

“Come in,” you shouted from the other end of the door.

Marcus unlocked the door and went in, turning around to put on the latch. When he veered to face you, you had some linen clothing on, the almost translucent fabric still clinging to your wet skin. Your legs were naked from the mid-thighs down, your bare feet tapping the wooden floor as you finished braiding your hair while sitting on a chair by the fire.

He couldn’t help himself but taking the sight of you in. You looked gorgeous with the glowing of the fire reflecting on your skin, a natural beauty with a fiery aura dancing around you. It wasn’t only that though — what he had seen of you as a person, Marcus liked too. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

A sudden throb invaded his groin when he realised your nipples were poking through the linen, the outline of your breasts shaped by the fabric stuck to your skin. Reining in the need to do something—anything—Marcus just stared at your silhouette.

“How was the dunking?”

Marcus shot his eyes to yours, afraid he’d been caught undressing you in his mind, devouring you. You had tilted your head to one side, studying him.

He steeled his posture, shook his head and put the tray down on the dresser.

“Good,” he grunted, an uncomfortable hardness taking over his cock. “Your bath?”

“Amazing,” you sighed with a smirk. “Is that food?”

Marcus nodded, passing you a bowl before he grabbed his and sat down on the other chair.

You ate in silence for the good part of half an hour. When you both were done, Marcus took the empty plates and goblets away, stacking them on top of the dresser. It was pitch-black outside, silent. Everyone had already left the inn.

“Right,” he mumbled. “You take the bed; I’ll make do with some skins by the fire.”

He was already by the saddlebags, grabbing all the animal skins to fashion a bed on the floor.

“Are you serious?” you groaned, standing up from the chair. “We can share the bed, Acacius. It’s not like we’ve been sleeping apart…”

When he turned to face you, you briefly bit down your bottom lip, your teeth sinking in the plushness the way he wanted his to dig in your lip. His resolution faltered when you clasped your fingers around his wrist and pulled, guiding him to the bed.

“Are you sure? It’s very small. We won’t fit,” he reasoned.

“It— We will fit,” you rasped, sitting on the bed.

He knew this was a bad idea, a really bad one at that, but his brain was numb. So he followed you.

You stirred in your sleep. Miraculously, you had managed to drift away even with Acacius hugging you tight from behind, ignoring the way your body screamed at you for not doing anything about it.

Your brows momentarily pinched in confusion when you sensed that there was no one behind you now, no arms draped over your frame pushing your back into his chest. You patted behind you to find an empty and cold spot.

Mildly disoriented, you sat up on the bed, rubbed your eyes and waited for your vision to adapt to the darkness, since the fire had already died out. Looking around, you found Acacius lying on the floor on top of some skins, facing towards the cold fireplace.

Was this man stupid? Had he waited for you to fall asleep to then go sleep on the fucking floor? He was more stubborn than you were. The sight made you mad, so much so you snatched the pillow your head had been resting on and threw it at him with force.

The moment the feathery pillow hit him, Acacius sat up very quickly, turning around with a bewildered expression.

“I thought we were under attack, dammit!” he growled at you.

“You are!” you screamed, grabbing the other pillow and tossing it at him.

This time, he dodged it. Infuriated, you gathered the bedlinen and pulled until it untucked from underneath the mattress, and you stood up with everything bunched up on your arms.

“What the hell are you doing?” Acacius husked out, visibly confused.

So stupid.

“Well, apparently we are sleeping on the floor now because someone thinks the bed is not good enough,” you grumbled, unceremoniously dropping everything in front of him.

“The bed is good enough, but I just couldn’t…” Acacius trailed off, and you looked at him with a cocked brow as you sat down in front of him. “I couldn’t fall asleep, didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Why?” you inquired, folding your arms below your breasts.

He cleared his throat, his eyes betraying him the moment they landed on your boobs.

Then you realised. Was he hard? Had sleep evaded him because he was too worried it would happen again? That he would unconsciously rub you against him? Because if that was the case… well, you had no complains.

“Never mind,” he muttered, jaw tight.

“I do mind,” because why fight what both of you wanted?

You shuffled around, kneeling and sitting back on your heels. Your hand landed on his powerful thigh, his muscles flexing under your touch. Your fingers slid up his inner thigh, dangerously close to his bulge.

“Careful there,” Acacius croaked, his fingers curling around your wrist to stop your advances.

Batting your eyelashes with a knowing grin, you moved your palm further up to where his leg joined his hip, your knuckles brushing the tent on his tunic. You leaned in, mouth hovering over his.

“Let’s stop pretending anymore, shall we?” you whispered, the plumpness of your lips caressing his as you spoke.

Before Acacius could reject you, your tongue prodded at his mouth, swiping his bottom lip. When he groaned, he gave you an opening — the moment his lips parted, you dove in. Your tongue finally met his, fighting one another as you breathed him in.

Acacius let go of your wrist, his hand flying to the back of your neck, holding you close as he plunged in, tasting you. You pushed your knuckles into his growing bulge and the General’s chest rumbled with satisfaction. That was your cue to spread your palm over his groin and knead it slowly.

He was big, girthy and hot. Your fingertips traced the shape of his cock over the textile, then cupped his balls and squeezed gently.

“Fuck,” Acacius moaned, and your pussy reacted with primal need.

You were drenched, the dampness your thighs harboured for him just grew. Your cunt ached for his touch, for the moment you’d been dreaming about for so long now.

Acacius must have read your mind, because his hands gripped your hips and manhandled you until you were sat on his lap, straddling him. He pushed you down, your clothed cunt stroking him — the outline of his throbbing cock softly pressing against your slit.

Draping your arms around his neck, you kissed him again, your hips swaying back and forth on top of him, causing much needed friction. Acacius palmed your ass, his fingers grabbing the flesh as he guided your moves.

“Undress,” he pleaded, raggedly breathing now.

With no shame, only desire, you leaned back a bit, grabbed the hem of your linen dress, and pulled the whole garment over your head. That was the only piece of clothing you had on, so when you casted it away, you were completely naked on top of him.

“Not even a loincloth on?” Acacius managed to sputter out, tipping his head forward until his face rested between your boobs, kissing your sternum. “And you were asking why I couldn’t sleep…”

You snickered, palm on the back of his head to press him onto your chest, fingers raking through his greying curls.

When Acacius kissed one of your taut nipples, your head tipped back, a moan bubbling up your throat as he worked your button expertly. At the same time, he pushed your hips back down, your bare pussy leaking and leaving a slick spot right on the linen covering his erection.

Scrubbing your pussy against him, your thudding clit catching on the fabric and his tongue working wonders on your nub, you didn’t think you’d last — a thunderous feeling shooting up your spine right from your core. Thighs trembling, you rode him dryly, imprisoning his head with your arms and ramming his face against your bosom.

Until you came. A moan filled your mouth and spilled over your lips, resonating between the adobe walls, as the fire in your drooling pussy reached its highest temperature. Warmth spread in all directions, your energy faltering as your hips stuttered. Acacius took the lead right then by grabbing a handful of your ass cheeks and sliding you back and forth on his lap until you were shivering above him.

“Did that feel good, hm?” he pecked your nipple before looking up at you.

His brown eyes had softened, enticing and indecent. You gave him a mindless nod, still feeling the throbbing of your pussy, as one of his hands left your buttock and navigated over the swell of your globe, reaching down.

His middle finger slipped easily along your glossy seam, from your gushing hole to your clit. Acacius petted it gently, pressing tight yet lazy circles as his palm cupped your cunt.

The fire within you was rising again.

“Acacius,” you groaned, your heart pulsing in your clit under his attention.

“Marcus,” he offered in a hush, lapping at the tip of your breast. “My name is Marcus. I want to hear you say it when you come again, sweetheart.”

The revelation was an intimate surprise, considering that Romans always referred to themselves by their cognomen, sometimes by their nomen and very rarely by their praenomen. But you didn’t dwell for long, his lone finger teasing your slick slit with a calmness you didn’t feel.

You pushed your ass back, your back arching and your face resting on the crook of his neck, when that same lonely digit traced the outline of your opening, taunting your faltering resolution as your mind went numb.

“You’re so wet, mel. So ready, so eager…” Marcus grunted, the first phalange going in and robbing you of a heavy sigh. “So tight and warm, welcoming even… You want this so badly, don’t you?” he asked for your reassurance and when you obliged with a shy nod, his finger buried down to the knuckle. “Oh, baby, so needy,” he tutted at you.

Wiggling your hips involuntarily, you forced his finger in and out of your leaking entrance, commending him to get on with it already. The General took the hint and began to finger you rather unhurriedly. The pad of his finger pressed on your inner wall as it slid in and out, picking up a pace.

By the time he inserted a second finger, you were already panting and squirming, throbbing for release. Marcus built up the pace gradually, until the palm of his hand was audibly slapping your perineum, and the squelching noises of your pussy filled the room.

There it was again: the spike in your heartrate, the maddening pulse in your clit and a tongue of lava seeping through his fingers, pooling on his covered cock.

“Marcus, fuck, I—” you hiccupped, nuzzling his jugular.

Acacius kissed your foreheard, a gentle gesture contrasting the relentless rhythm of his hand. “I know, corculum, I know. It’s too much for this sweet pussy of yours, isn’t it? Let go for me.”

At his command, you did, wailing his name with wanton abandonment while your pussy quivered around his meaty fingers, squeezing them in a tight grip as he curled them, pulling another orgasm from you.

Mind fuzzy, you kissed his pulse point, your fingers grabbing a fistful of the linen covering his chest, scrunching the fabric. Unclenching one hand, you flattened it on his tummy, pushing it down until you cupped his manhood over the tunic.

“Fuck me, Marcus,” you pleaded, tone tinged with longing whilst giving him a gentle squeeze.

Acacius growled at your not-so-subtle request, eager to get started. He helped you off his lap, standing up to remove the tunic, his subligaculum quickly following.

And there he was, towering above you, fully naked for the first time. He had several scars dotted around the map of his skin, gifts from the battlefield. But that wasn’t what caught your attention the most.

You gazed up at him in awe — his muscles sculpted, hugging him tight. Strong arms, veiny forearms, broad hands. Chiselled pectorals, a tense tummy although no marked abs, and then… a hairy trail running down from his belly button in a pronounced V line.

You followed the path of pleasure with your hungry eyes until they landed on his erection. He was as girthy as you had imagined, a good size, a throbbing vein feeding his cock on the underside. Some thick curls framed his dick, drawing your attention to the heavy balls underneath. And then the tip, angrily flushed and leaky with a pearl of precum topping it.

Your mouth watered at the sight in front of you. Still kneeling, pussy bewilderingly aching now, you leaned in for a kiss as one daring hand peeled his skin back completely to marvel at him in all his glory. Your lips pressed against his red mushroom head, fingers curled around his shaft with devotion.

You wanted to suck him off. The little taste on your mouth had you salivating, needy for something to keep you quiet. His musky scent had the world swirling around you, almost as if you were drunk.

Before you could part your lips to house him in your warmth, Marcus extended his left hand to you, palm up, the one that was still wrapped in a bloody linen cloth to protect the wound on his thumb.

With a little pout and some resignation, you took it careful not to inflict pain, springing to your feet. He didn’t speak, and neither did you, when he laced his fingers with yours and tugged at your hand. Marcus approached one of the chairs with you in tow, sat down and manspread. You were quick to understand, climbing onto his lap like the floor was lava.

“You are so beautiful, feel so good,” he muttered, lapping at the flesh of your boob while his hands settled on your hips. “And I know you’re going to feel even better riding me, sweetheart. Look even more gorgeous.”

Your cunt gushed at his words, rearing to come. When he aligned his tip with your entrance, you whimpered in need, the intimate kiss on your core driving you mad.

“Impale yourself. Show me how much you want this, mel,” he almost begged, voice throaty.

You didn’t need any further persuasion. Grabbing his pulsing shaft, you held him in place whilst sinking slowly. His cockhead slid in easily and the next few inches quickly followed. His dick stretched your walls apart, blessing you with a delightful burning as you buried his cock in your pussy down to the hilt.

You moaned to the heavens once he was fully seated. You felt so full, he was staggeringly omnipresent inside you. All your senses flared alive, so much it was almost overwhelming.

Marcus had tipped his head back — his jaw almost dislocating as he groaned, fingers digging at your hips, leaving his imprint behind. You blinked rapidly to clear your eyes from their glossiness, raked your fingers through his hair and tugged at it so he would open his eyes and look at you.

The moment your sights locked in, a strange warmth spread through your chest. Despite your dire situation, you felt safe with him, at ease. Regardless of what the future held for you, at least you would have this memento to think back to. This brief crack in time, when nothing nor no one else mattered.

“You’re handsome, Marcus. And very gifted,” you giggled, trying to put behind those thoughts now.

You cradled his face and kissed him exaggeratedly slow, your hips leisurely moving back and forth. Soon enough, you were riding him with all your might, the slapping of skin on skin ricocheting in a sinful cacophony. Up and down, back and forth — your hips didn’t miss a spot in your pussy left untouched by Marcus’ cock. You were so wild, you had to grip the arms of the chair until your knuckles ran white.

Acacius held your breasts throughout, pinching your nipples from time to time, latching onto them when your untamed rhythm allowed. Chasing the highest of highs, you felt the climax building up — a pulsating fire growing in your lower belly, your pussy trembling around his girth, swallowing him whole while your juices soaked him.

“I’m so close, s-s-s-o… fucking… close…” you mewled, your brows knitting together in concentration.

Marcus jumped into action to help you get there. His right hand darted between your bodies, middle and ring fingers flicking your throbbing clit as you rode him. Then your nub caught between his fingers — the pressure, the friction and the gentle fondling tipping you over the edge of your orgasm.

That was the last straw for your nervous system. You started coming, wailing his name as your whole body quaked above and around him. Your glistening cunt clamped down around him like a vice, squeezing him so tight you thought you would harm him. Your breathing quickened to the point of burning as you crashed down from your climax.

Quietly, you glanced down at him. Marcus’ jaw was so tight, you feared he might break a tooth. His cock was throbbing so hard, you knew he was close to release but didn’t want to come yet. You bowed down for a kiss, and the General eagerly reciprocated, his dick still cozily warm and hard inside you.

Some tears had escaped your eyes, wetting your cheeks, due to the intensity of it all. Marcus brushed them away before cupping your ass cheeks and standing up. He held you, pressed against his chest, and you draped your legs around his waist, so the intimate contact of your sexes would not break.

He walked a few steps, and then unceremoniously dropped you on the bed. The wooden plank beneath the feathery mattress squeaked loudly, but you could only focus on him. On his darkened eyes feasting on you.

The cold air nipped at your bare, sweaty body, your nipples perking up. You covered them with your palms, spreading your legs to welcome him again.

That was all confirmation Marcus needed from you — he grabbed your ankles and pulled, your ass on the edge of the mattress, and he dove in your pussy in one energetic thrust. Wrapping your legs around him again, you let him set the pace this time.

Acacius sank his knees on either side of you and blanketed your frame, your chests flush, only your hands in between as you cupped your breasts. He dug his elbows around your head and pumped into you with sharp, deep strokes at first. Every time he slid out and back in, you gasped, eyes shutting in ecstasy. Then the pace picked up and Marcus began railing you like a man possessed on the worn mattress.

He was in so deep, you could feel him nudging your cervix. First painful, but then a welcome kiss every time his thick tip stroked the very centre of your being. Marcus pumped in and out of your spent pussy in quick succession, resting his sweaty forehead on yours, his dampened curls caressing your skin.

It was too much. The feelings, the overstimulation, the constant hammering… For a brief second, you looked down and saw his cock plunging in and out, your cunt sheathing him like he belonged… like he owned.

“I don’t think I can come again,” you stammered, your whole body shaking under him. “Marcus… by the Gods I swear…” you sobbed, tears brimming again.

“Of course you can, mel. You will,” the resolution in his hoarse voice left no room for doubt.

The General bit your chin, the sensitive spot on your neck, then your earlobe, all the while fucking into you with renewed vigour. He was everywhere there was to be, a hand slithering down your belly to pet your unattended clit again.

You fell apart even when you thought you couldn’t give him one more. You came again, for the fourth time tonight. Creaming around his hard cock, you cried his name, a lewd melody ringing in his ears. If you had looked down, you would have seen the white rings of your pleasure pooling at the base of his manhood, but you were too focused on taming your beating heart.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful when you come, so blissed out,” Marcus pecked your wet cheek. “Where?”

For a heartbeat the question didn’t register in your mushy brain, so fucked out into oblivion your limbs felt like putty. His shaft pulsed extremely hard inside you, announcing his imminent orgasm. So he repeated again, this time more aggressively, “Where?”

“Mouth. My mouth,” you barely husked out. “I want to taste you. Fully taste you.”

Before he spilled inside you, Marcus pulled out rather harshly, standing up. You sat up on the bed, still feeling dizzy from your climax, and palmed the back of his thighs to push him towards you.

His cock was soaked, the thick curls all dampened and dripping with your shared arousal. Parting your lips, you welcomed his tip in the warmth of your mouth, just as you had desired not that long ago. You suckled on his palpitating cockhead while he stroked himself. Swat his hand away so you could push his length all the way down in your throat.

He tasted so manly, so musky, your head spiralled out of control as you sloppily slurp around his girth. Saliva, your slick coating him, and precum pooled in your hollowed cheeks until it all overflowed, dripping off the corners of your mouth.

A guttural groan and a hard pulse later, Marcus finally came. His white, warm seed hit the back of your throat in thick ropes, his taste bewildering as he emptied his nuts in your mouth. You milked him dry until the last drop spurted out his slit, and then you kept on going.

In a trance, you sucked him off until his cock softened on your tongue. And only then, you let go of him, gulping down his spent like it was a secret treasure. A trophy.

You fluttered your damp eyelashes to get rid of the tears and glanced up at him shyly.

His warm palm cradled your cheek, and you nuzzled against it, satisfied and content. His right thumb swiped your tears away again before he settled down on the bed, dragging you to rest on his chest.

Neither of you said a word — there was no need to speak after that.

But did he fuck you again?

Yes, he did. Two more times. Until both of you were utterly spent and couldn’t thread two thoughts together.

Every night that followed, Marcus spent hugging you and fucking you into oblivion. The dreadful cold nights out in the wilderness again were still relentless, but now they were warmer as long as he had your naked body pressed against his.

It was wrong of him to take advantage of you this way. In the moments of weakness after you blissfully fell asleep, he’d question himself. Told himself he was a monster for letting you believe that your life in Rome was going to be somewhat untroubling.

But he was now so down deep in the lie, he couldn’t tell you the truth. Marcus feared you’d curse him to death, that you’d try to escape once you learnt what was expected of you. How you’d question his true intentions if you knew of his rivalry with Gaius Antonius.

He’d even question himself on that too. Was he losing himself in you every night as a “fuck you” to Gaius? Because he’d had you before the other man did?

Or did he indulge in the pleasure you offered because… he actually liked you? Did he chase another high and did he chase the warmth growing in his heart every time you came apart with him, for him?

Guilt ate at his conscience. He was a damned man either way. Marcus couldn’t have you even if he really wanted to take you home with him. He was under oath, he’d promised you to the man he hated most. Going back on such promise would mean treason. And Rome did not tolerate traitors. Caesar would not tolerate traitors. And Marcus well knew what the punishment for such treachery was.

Death.

The word lingered in his mind as he unknowingly embraced your sleepy form tighter. Despite how much he wished and hoped for a different outcome, the truth was his hands were tied before he knew you.

A pawn. That was what you had called him. He truly was a dispensable tool. It didn’t matter how far back his history went with Caesar, how hard he’d worked for his station, how many unthinkable acts he’d committed for the glory of Rome.

The truth was… he was no one. Especially if he bit and betrayed the hand that fed him.

But… were you worth the risk? He would never know. Such leap of faith for someone he’d just met a month ago was too reckless.

And besides, you probably didn’t feel that way, just wanting to enjoy your last few days of freedom. He could ask you, Marcus thought, but what was the point of meddling with a perfectly working symbiosis? Why destroy the last remnants of peace you both could have?

Needless to say, sleep evaded him for the rest of the night, his intrusive thoughts haunting him till dawn.

You stirred awake not long after, turning around in his embrace, your face buried in his chest. After pressing a soft kiss on his skin, your eyelashes fluttered, revealing your bright orbs to him. A warm smile promptly took over your lips.

“Good morning,” you whispered, your lips pecking his chin. “Did you sleep well?”

“Morning, beautiful,” he muttered, mouth brushing your forehead. “Yes, I did. You?” he lied through his teeth.

“Like a log,” you smirked at him, and then stretched your back with an exaggerated yawn.

“Tonight we’ll arrive in Rome,” he hated to bring up the subject, especially now when doubt still nagged at him. “But since it’s quite early and it will only take us a couple of hours on horseback, I was thinking… that maybe I could show you something?”

Your worried look quickly transformed into excitement. You threw off the pile of animal skins and blankets that kept you both warm and jumped to your feet, dressing yourself.

“Is that a surprise, Acacius?” you taunted him, the tip of your tongue peeking through your teeth.

“Perhaps,” he couldn’t help but grin, your easy demeanour casting away his worries. “Let’s break our fast first and then I’ll show you.”

Soon after that, you were both sharing some wine, cheese and bread that Marcus had bought yesterday when you stopped in Vetus Urbs (Viterbo) for provisions. The birds were chirping nearby, a light breeze weaving through and rustling the leaves of trees. Just a few yards away, the vast Lago di Bracciano (Lake Bracciano) extended to the horizon, with calm and blue waters.

He could tell you were eager to get started with the day, because you finished your food quickly and then scooted over to his side. He checked the wound in your shoulder, the one he himself had inflicted. It still gnawed at him, being responsible for causing you harm. As if to erase his wrongdoing, Marcus bowed down and brushed your now healed lesion with his lips.

You sighed in contentment, ready for your turn.

Marcus let you grab his left hand. For the past few days, every day after breakfast, you would reciprocate and unravel the cloth covering his hand, inspecting the wound. It hadn’t festered thanks to your diligent efforts to help him keep it clean. The torn flesh around the injury was healing nicely, although it would leave a scar behind. Not that he minded, another one added to the collection. One to remember your little trip together.

You poured some wine on the wound, then some water from the lake. But when you were about to wrap it with clean linen, Marcus shook his head.

“We are going in the water, don’t want to get it wet,” he explained, standing up to his feet.

“In the water?” you barked, bunching up your eyebrows. “Are you mad? Do you know how cold it is?”

“I know. But it will be worth it, trust me,” he winked at you, a sly smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

Under your attentive watch, he removed all his clothes, folding the items neatly and putting them down on a rock. The cold air nipped at his skin, but he didn’t mind — if anything, Marcus welcomed the bitter cold. Considering how hot he’d burnt last night with you in his arms, he needed to cool down a bit.

Marcus rotated on his heels, gazing you up. Still clothed.

“Are you not coming then? I promise it’ll be worth it.”

You huffed and puffed, your lips pouting as you removed your garments. “It better be.”

Intertwining his fingers with yours, he tugged at you, slamming your bare body against his chest. You felt too good in his arms, soft and warm despite your cold bristling skin. Marcus leaned in for a gentle kiss, almost a puritanical peck, before walking towards the water. He tiptoed on the edge, testing the temperature, and then plunged in. His head disappeared momentarily under the water, and then resurfaced for a gasp of air.

You were on the shore, hugging your shoulders, so beautiful you looked like Venus herself. That was probably a heresy, but Marcus didn’t care — you had no comparison in his eyes. Your body was a place of worship, but the caring personality behind the façade was a sacred temple.

So, why was he secretly planning on desecrating his house of worship, you? He was a heartless, selfish bastard.

“Come,” he offered you his hand, which you swiftly accepted, joining him in the water.

You shivered, teeth chattering, and shot him an untrusting glare. “Okay, so here I am. What’s the surprise?”

He laughed at your eagerness to get out of the water, shook his head too.

“So impatient, mel. We have to get there yet,” he pushed you further into the water, following. “You see that dent in the rock over there? It leads to an underwater cave.”

“Diving? Nuh-uh, you’re trying to kill me!” you shouted in jest, a playful glimmer in your eyes.

“Just follow me, will you?”

With that said, Marcus swam towards the rock that was inaccessible from the shore. He made sure you were right behind him, and when you got to where he was, he grabbed your hand and dove.

The dive only lasted a minute or two, soon reappearing in the underwater cave. It wasn’t too big, around fifty square meters. Stalagmites hung from the ceiling, droplets eroding the rock underneath. It was peacefully quiet, only the gurgling of water breaking the silence. A crack in the ceiling allowed a lonely sunray to illuminate the cave. The walls of the cave were covered with colourful seashells and starfish, this little paradise brimming with life despite how isolated it was from the outside world.

Marcus climbed out of the water and helped you up onto the slimy rock.

“Careful, don’t slip,” he warned, holding you by your waist.

“Good heavens, it’s steaming in here!” you exclaimed, the thick humid air almost making it impossible to breathe properly.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” he hugged you to his side, pointing at the two bubbling pools, one deep and one shallow, in the middle of the cave. “It’s a geyser. This lake formed on top of a volcano, which has been inactive for centuries now, but the warmth and lava below ground has created several hot springs around the lake.”

“Marcus, this is beautiful, thank you for taking me here,” you turned around in his half embrace to kiss him, paced and sweet. “Let’s go!”

Marcus almost had a heart attack when he saw you slipping on the edge of the rock, but in the last second you managed to keep your balance before graciously jumping into the water.

When your head emerged, he was able to breathe again. You looked so carefree, enjoying and living in the moment, it tugged at his heart.

“This is fucking amazing, the water’s so hot. Come join me, please!” you splashed the water, a small wave coming at him, wetting his feet.

Marcus happily obliged and dove in immediately after.

For two hours, you swam around or perched yourselves on the rocky shore, relishing this precious moment. And when the subtle dance of your bodies became too apparent, you joined each other’s company on the shallow pool, only a few inches of water lapping at you both. Marcus took you in his arms, nestling you down on the smooth rocks, while he coaxed your thighs apart for him, exposing your core to his attention. Soon enough he was rutting into you, not maddingly but lovingly, showing you how much he wanted this moment to last. How much he wished you both could stay here forever, far away from responsibilities and honour.

You draped your legs around his waist, taking him in as deep as possible, sheathing him tightly. Your hiccups soon turned into full-blown moans, shattering around him, clenching and gushing, while he fucked you through your orgasm. With the last remnant of decency, Marcus managed to pull out of you, his load messily landing on your lower belly.

You giggled, giddy and satisfied, before you both were at it again, working together towards another climax, both of your moans and groans echoing in this tranquil oasis.

When you both were totally spent, you just laid there to gather some strength and return to the real world. It was obvious neither of you wanted to leave, this quiet retreat would be your secret. The places your minds would escape to when your bodies couldn’t.

Grudgingly, you dove together and reappeared on the other side, swimming back to shore.

In silence but both smiling, you walked out of the water.

In the dead quiet of the cave, Marcus had made up his mind. He had to say something, explain to you what was going to happen, and how much he regretted not being able to do something about it. You deserved the truth, even though it meant breaking the trust between you. Even if it meant letting you go now. Perhaps you’d forgive him, perhaps you’d understand that he had no say in the matter. Perhaps...you’d see he truly cared for you.

When you were both fully clothed, Marcus turned around to face you, anxiety spiking in his heart and mind to unknown levels, throat closing up with fear.

“Listen, mel, I need to tell you som…”

“General Acacius, how great it is to see you,” a grave masculine voice suddenly interrupted him.

With his heart crammed into his throat, Marcus veered around.

Gaius Antonius was standing right in front of him atop a brown horse, one of his men right behind him, with a nasty smile showing his crooked teeth.

The shift in the atmosphere was palpable. Since that man and his guard had interrupted, Marcus had gone quiet. It was pretty obvious from his body language that Acacius didn’t stand the man in front of him. His shoulders had squared, neck tense and jaw very clenched. It almost looked like Marcus was going to punch the man with no warning, but thought better of it.

Even after they left, the General didn’t dare look in your direction. It didn’t matter how much you tried to get him to talk back, he just didn’t.

So riding quietly besides him gave you plenty of time to sink in your thoughts and dwell in the little words the two men had exchanged.

“I’m looking forward to get a taste of my gift,” the Roman you came to know as Gaius Antonius had said, his cruel eyes flickering to yours briefly.

Something in his dead orbs sent an unpleasant shiver down your back. His features were not easy to look at and his physique was too imposing, bald, tall and extremely built — he reminded you of the one-eyed monsters the old druidesses of your tribe would talk about to scare the kids away from real danger.

You had felt very uncomfortable in his presence, to the point where you had hidden behind Acacius so Antonius would stop gazing you up.

His words still rang in your ears, a dark omen settling in the pit of your stomach. Why had he looked at you directly when he had said “my gift”? Now that the fear was almost forgotten, you just remembered he had also winked at you before licking his lips obscenely.

Your heart jolted in your chest, belly churning at the thought taking form in your head.

No, it can’t be. Marcus wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t bring you to be entertainment for a specific man, not a pastime for a crowd.

Marcus would have told you if that was the case — you two had shared enough time together, built rapport. In the last few weeks, you’d also seen a side of him that was very appealing to you, a version of him you wouldn’t mind getting to know better. His kind, playful side, the one that cared for you and your wellbeing. The one, you thought, that perhaps felt for you the same way you did for him.

With how close you two had become, Marcus wouldn’t betray you like that, wouldn’t sell you out to another man as if you were a plaything he could discard. He’d said you were going to be paraded around like a savage animal so the townspeople would see an untamed wildling for the first time. And as vile as it sounded, it wasn’t the worst-case scenario for someone like you, so even though it wasn’t great, you’d accepted the idea.

No, he didn’t say that. I did. And he didn’t confirm nor deny it. You’d been too drunk to see it then.

Your eyes widened with horror as your heart climbed up your throat, a landslide of panic coursing through your veins.

“Marcus—” you muttered with a trembling voice, even your hands holding the reins were shaking.

“We’re here,” he cut you off, still avoiding your sight.

Your eyes darted down the path, a huge gate with columns framing it right in front. It was tall, with men posted to either side of the arch, wearing full, bright armour and helmets.

A frightening feeling of doom, of plain claustrophobia, took hold of your soul. It was as if walls were closing in around you, confining you to a tiny space. Deep breaths were not helping either, if anything they made everything worse.

“Marcus, please, listen—”

“We’ll talk after leaving the horses in the stables. They are really tired and mine needs his wound to be looked after,” again, he interrupted you.

A burning sensation went up your neck, and you could feel the tears threatening to spill. Holding onto the last remnant of hope, you pushed all the emotions down — you still trusted Marcus, despite how distant he felt right now.

Ten minutes later, you both dismounted the stallions, removed the saddles and the bridles. It was dark and it reeked of nature, but you were too anxious to wait any longer.

As Marcus attempted to turn around and leave, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pulled from him to stop him in his tracks.

“You said we could talk now. Please,” you almost begged, your low tone almost breaking in the last word.

With a heavy sigh, Marcus faced you. His eyes, bright before, were now of an opaque brown shade. If regret had a colour, it would be exactly the same as his irises. His lips were furrowed into a pout, his brows pinching with loud concern.

And when your eyes finally locked, you knew. You knew you were not overthinking the situation — it was exactly like it seemed.

“No,” you husked out, letting go of his wrist as if his skin burnt yours, your hand flying to your face to cover your mouth. “No. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Wrong about what?” he gritted out, averting his eyes with visible remorse.

Was the bastard really pleading ignorance? Was he such a coward, he wouldn’t tell you himself? After everything you’d gone through and shared? After so many long, cold nights spent in his embrace? Did any of that mean anything to him?

Apparently not.

“Why am I here? I’m not here to be a hostage kept in a cage, am I?” your voice was barely audible as you tried your best to contain the angry tears.

“No,” Marcus paused after his whisper. “You’re here to be married off to Marcus Antonius’ brother, Gaius. You’re a gift to the Antonius family, to keep Caesar’s allies happy.”

The explanation fell on you like icy water. Even your heart had stopped beating, your lungs vacating all oxygen within them in a painful exhale.

This couldn’t be happening. Acacius couldn’t be this heartless and cruel. Had he been faking all along just to gain your trust, to make you feel comfortable in his presence? How could he kiss you, make love to you every night, knowing that to him you were just cargo?

And then, the prospect of bedding that man… Vile rose up your throat — you were sure you wouldn’t be able to stomach it. He looked like a brute, cruel and dominant. And although you had a strong spirit, even the best soldiers ended up succumbing to the crushing force of bestiality.

“Did you know?” you begged of him, hugging yourself. “Did you know the plan all along?”

Finally, his expression folded — his cloudy eyes were bright with unspent tears, lips pressing into a sad pout. He moved towards you, hands extended to hug you, but you quickly retreated. You couldn’t have his hands on you, you needed to focus.

“I did,” he replied, dropping his hands when he read your body language. “I did, and I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, I was going to… But…”

“But what?!” you screamed, the dam holding your tears breaking. A trickle of droplets cascaded down your cheeks, shouting again, “but what, Marcus?!”

“But I was afraid you’d leave. I’ve grown fond of you, I really have. I didn’t want to lose you, at least not yet. This morning, before Gaius arrived, I was going to tell you, give you a way out…” Marcus combed his unruly curls back with his fingers, obviously desperate for you to understand.

“Were you?” you mocked him with a sneery laugh, sweeping the tears off your cheeks. “Sure you were. So why didn’t you when they left, huh?”

“We were being followed, mel. They never left,” he reasoned. “That’s why I didn’t talk to you. Gaius and his henchman were watching us. I didn’t want him to think that… there is something between us.”

“There was,” you immediately corrected him, despite the instant hurt showing in his eyes. “There was something between us, Acacius. Not anymore.”

It broke you saying such a thing, especially when his words had filtered through, making you consider his truth. But even if he wasn’t lying, it wouldn’t change a thing. You were still here, delivered to a man who would destroy you and your soul.

“You have every right to feel that way, I understand, but please—”

“No, I’m done listening to your lies. You’re a coward, Acacius. A fucking pawn. The day you realise how dispensable you are to your fucking precious Caesar, you’ll have no one by your side. He’ll discard you just like you’re discarding me now, when you become an inconvenience,” you snarled at him, your pain speaking for you.

You wanted him to hurt more than you were right now. If his downcast features were any indication, he probably was. But he deserved every fucking word you threw at him. He’d betrayed you like no one else had before. You thought he was different, that he was good.

How wrong you were.

“I know, mel. I do know. But please let me explain—”

“General Acacius,” a deep voice interrupted your argument, both of you straightening your backs as if nothing of importance was happening.

Three guards had entered the stables and were right behind you. One of them grabbed your elbow rather harshly, almost tripping you over.

“The hostage needs to be readied to formally meet Antonius. We are taking her now,” the same man spoke.

A myriad of emotions ran through Marcus’ face, a full range of regret, grief and sadness. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that he truly cared for you. That this was breaking his heart as much as it was crumbling yours. You felt stupid for holding to a shard of hope, but you forced yourself to let go of the illusion.

General Acacius was like any other man — evil, greedy, heartless.

“Hope the gold is worth the pain,” you whispered, almost mouthed the words so only he could listen. “Take me away from here,” you told the guards.

When they hastily turned you around to drag you out of the stables, you didn’t look back, didn’t put up a fight either.

Only when you were thrown in an unknown, empty room, you allowed yourself to cry your eyes out and bang the walls of your enclosure, damning the man who brought you here.

He’d been witnessing your spiral into hell for weeks now. How the light abandoned your eyes, dull and devoid of any emotion. How your skin was coloured with fresh bruises every day, the ones around your neck more visible than others. He knew for a fact that Gaius would put a chain around your throat, the atrocious man bragging about it in front of him every chance he got.

How you would avert your eyes, evading his every time he tried to make visual contact with you. As if he was dead to you, rightfully so.

And with every encounter, his resolution faltered, and his heart chipped some more. Marcus blamed himself — for lying to you, for not being brave enough, for not setting you free when he had the chance, for not fighting for you, for not stopping the guards from taking you away from him. He saw in you all the failures he’d done, all the pain he’d caused. And it was eating him alive.

How badly he wished to travel back in time, to prevent all this from happening. But he couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t mend the harm his inaction had brought about.

Marcus couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t stand by, seeing your soul slowly die. He was a fucking coward, you were right — too afraid to lose his station because all the effort and sacrifices would have been for naught.

But at what cost? He couldn’t lose you, although deep down he knew he already had. What a sick bastard he was.

“General Acacius,” Marcus Antonius greeted him. “Caesar sends his congratulations, the gold for your successful will be delivered to you tonight.”

He’d been focused on you for so long, the chatter of the hall had dropped to background noise. The room in the Antonius household was packed as people feasted and drank, celebrating the return of Marcus Antonius’ legion.

Marcus gave the General a stern nod, bringing the wine cup up to his lips to avoid talking. His throat felt dry with shame. No amount of coin was worth your suffering.

Antonius lingered; some small talk being exchanged although Marcus barely paid any attention to the man. When the other General tired of his unresponsiveness, he moved on to speak to his brother.

His chest burnt at the sight of Gaius. Marcus hated himself but despised Gaius even more so. How could have he delivered you to him despite knowing how brutal he would be with you?

“Go get me some more wine from the cellar, slave,” Gaius snapped at you.

You swiftly left his side, turning the corner into a corridor.

This was his chance.

Marcus slithered through the crowd like a snake ready to bite, leaving his empty cup behind. When he reached the hallway you had disappeared into, Marcus checked over his shoulder before disappearing into the shadows.

A staircase at the end of the corridor spiralled down into the underground, and he walked down the steps, pushed the heavy door and entered the cellar.

The room was lighted by some lit torches on the wall, the sweet scent of wine filling the room. As his eyes adapted to the almost darkness, Marcus scanned the place.

A quiet sob betrayed your presence. Sauntering, he found you in a corner, bloodshot eyes welling up as you hugged yourself.

He stood there, right in front of you, like a scarecrow. Frozen with guilt, unable to decide what to do, what to say, to soothe you. But when you looked up to him through your damp eyelashes, you made the decision for him.

You lurched forward into his chest, and Marcus instantly wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you close while you cried your sorrows in the crook of his neck. His heart was pounding so wildly, he feared he might drop dead at any second. Finally, Marcus found his hoarse voice, whispering soothing words while stroking your hair.

The fact that you went to him so eagerly, so uninhibited, broke his heart some more, the edges cracking and collapsing into itself. He didn’t deserve to hold you, to calm you, when he was the only reason you had been suffering unimaginably for this long.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, throat clamping down, tears threatening to fall. “I am truly sorry for being a coward, for not choosing you when I could. I was so afraid of the repercussions, of losing everything I worked so hard for…”

Marcus forced in a deep breath, the tears falling free at last. You were still sobbing, now more audibly so, and when you unglued your face from his neck to look up at him, Marcus’ breath hitched somewhere in the back of his throat. The state of you, up close, was… gut wrenching. Bruises, some fresh lacerations, but what gnawed at him the most was how lifeless you looked, so drained of purpose, of wit.

“I know it means nothing now, but I love you. From the moment I set eyes on you in that forest for the first time. And it’s taken me a shamefully long time to realise that,” because one didn’t know what they had, until they lost that one person who brightened their dark days. “You should have shot me an arrow, kill me on the spot, and you wouldn’t have suffered this much because of me.”

It felt like an empty, meaningless confession. No number of words could mend the havoc of his doing, the wounds of your heart. Only actions could.

“I know I have no right to ask, I lost that privilege the moment I lied to you. But… if you were to take me back, I’d take you away tonight, now. Damn, even if you don’t take me back, just say the word… I’d make sure you’d leave here tonight,” he husked out, heart in a fist.

You didn’t speak for what felt like an eternity. Your eyes studied his face, weighing your options. And he hoped you’d take up his offer, regardless of your feelings for him. Marcus would risk everything to right the wrong he’d caused.

“You lied to me. You let them take me away,” you sobbed, furrowing your eyebrows. “You just stood there… have been standing there in front of me for weeks… and you did nothing…”

It wasn’t accusatory, you were just stating the facts. Ones he couldn’t and wouldn’t fight you back on, because you were right.

“I did. I don’t have any excuse to offer for my behaviour other than I’m just a stupid coward.”

“You are…” you trailed off, but didn’t lean back away from him, staying still in his embrace. “But you’re here now,” you swept away the tears, some determination returning to your eyes. “You were too scared, and I was too proud. While I don’t condone you lying to me, I can see why you would. Your hands were tied as much as mine. And with Gaius and his henchman following us all the way from Bracciano to Rome… there truly wasn’t a way out there where both of us left unscathed.”

Marcus’ heart had stopped pumping blood the moment you started talking. He could honestly not believe his ears. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness, not after how badly he’d handled everything. It just felt damn wrong.

“While it might take some time for me to forgive, if I ever fully can do so, I do understand the situation you were in,” your bottom lip trembled, your words choking out.

“Oh, mel,” with tears in his eyes, Marcus dropped his hands from your shoulders. “I don’t want you to forgive me, I deserve every ounce of resentment. I deserve your hate.”

“I don’t hate you, Marcus. I love you and that’s what’s made everything way worse,” a feeble, tiny smile curled your lips whilst your delicate fingers wrap around his wrist. “And if you do love me back as you say… take me away from here, please. I can’t take it anymore. He will… he will break me for good if I stay.”

His heart jolted. He truly wasn’t deserving of you, of your love. Not after everything he’d done — or didn’t do. Closing the gap, Marcus hugged you again, pressing a soft kiss on the crown of your hair, allowing himself to inhale your sweet scent.

“I’m getting you out of here tonight.”

Marcus had kept his promise. He’d broken you free of the Antonius’ household that same night through an underground tunnel that connected the cellar to a nearby temple. The religious servants that worshipped Mars had left for the night, so escaping had been relatively easy.

Leaving Rome, however, had been a totally different matter. It was obvious that Gaius had noticed your absence, because the next morning a small entourage of legionnaires accompanied your captor to Marcus’ home. Luckily, Marcus had seen it coming and instead of going home with you, you both stalked out his place from an empty house nearby.

You had to wait till nightfall to flee, grabbing some indispensable belongings and also Marcus’ gladius, bow and arrows. Going northwards to your homeland was out of the question, given that Gaius and his brother would expect exactly that. So with a heavy heart, you accepted that you’d never return to the place you were born. Instead, Marcus had suggested to travel southwards to his hometown, Barium.

It had taken you five days to get there, feet swollen and exhausted from so much walking. Circumventing the town, you had reached Marcus’ family home. The farm had been abandoned, vines growing on the burnt façade of the small two storey farmhouse. The fences were destroyed, thick and lush vegetation taking over the farmland surrounding the building.

When you first landed eyes on the dilapidated house, Marcus’ face had torn with sadness. He didn’t speak as he approached cautiously and neither did you, giving him time to process. It had to be really hard seeing his childhood home crumbled down to its foundations, a pool of happy memories long forgotten coming back.

He showed you around, the inside of his home as bad as it looked on the outside. It was obvious people had taken the last possessions of his family, leaving behind the things that were not salvageable after the fire. The walls were still black with soot and ash, some parts of the ceiling had collapsed, the thick wooden beams becoming dust the moment you touched them.

The house was destroyed, the land barren. And Marcus stood there — steadfast, impassible. Or, at least, trying to contain the emotions running wild through his tired features.

Despite his betrayal, his lies… you felt for him. The first few days in that cell after the guards had taken you away left you with too much time in your hands. Time to overthink, to analyse, to worry yourself to death. In the end, you had come to realise that, although he could have done things differently, you understood why he couldn’t bring himself to be honest with you.

Because truth be told… you didn’t know what you’d done had the roles been reversed. If the battle after the siege of Alesia had ended in your favour, if you had taken Acacius hostage and brought him to your father… Would you have disobeyed your father’s orders of executing him? Would you have gone up in arms against your own people for someone you didn’t truly know?

Probably not. Definitely not.

So, you could only make peace with what had happened. Never forget but perhaps work towards forgiveness. Because, whether you liked it or not, you loved him. Despite how much you tried to flatly refuse that notion, you did. You fell for him, for the little details, the unspoken care, his easy demeanour. His gentleness. His heart, a bit rough around the edges, but the perfect fit to yours.

It was almost derisory. A trick of fate placed him in your path, an imminent collision of stars. Unavoidable. Final. As if Cathubodua Herself had put Marcus in your path for a reason.

“This was my room,” Marcus’ low whisper brought you back to the mundane plane.

It was a small, rectangular room. A broken window let the light in, shining on the tiny dust particles floating around. A bed with wooden posts, a wardrobe, and a chest. There was rubble everywhere, but otherwise pretty much intact.

Acacius walked through the debris and knelt in front of the chest. Taking in a deep breath, he lifted the heavy lid. You peeked above his shoulder, getting a glimpse of his past.

He chuckled; a sad gurgling noise stuck in his chest.

“My mother loved Saturnalia. It’s a festivity we celebrate in December to honour Saturn. Every year she’d made a sigillarium for me. She had a theme going on, they were always shaped as soldiers from the Roman army,” he took a terracotta figurine out, his thumb caressing the piece with reverence. “A centurion, a tribune, a legate… On my last birthday here, with them, she gifted me this.”

Marcus raised to his feet, handing over the figurine he was holding close to his heart. You took it with extreme care, afraid it would break between your fingers. The perfectly preserved sigillarium was that of a General with a black armour, a golden Medusa on the center of the breastplate. Just like the one Marcus wore in battle.

“Excuse the terrible paint job, I was never born to be an artist,” he joked, but you could see the anguish in his brown, tearful eyes. “I was so obsessed with becoming a General one day, I even wrote my name on the sole of its foot.”

You turned the piece around to inspect it and there it was, his name scrawled by a young hand.

“It’s beautiful,” you muttered, heart up in your throat. “Sounds like your mother was an amazing, loving woman.”

And he’d lost her. His father too. How alienating that had to be for a young lad with no other family.

“She… was,” Marcus barely husked out, briefly overtaken by grief. “It’s been a long time since I thought about all of this.”

You put the figurine back in the chest and laced your arms around his waist, hugging him close. He soon enveloped you too, his good hand landing on the back of your head.

Time went by, neither of you too sure for how long you both stood there. Until the hug naturally came to an end and Marcus kissed your forehead.

“Right. Enough reminiscing. Let me clean this room up a bit, we’ll spend the night here and decide what we’ll do in the morning.”

“I can help—”

“No,” he cut you off instantly. “You’re hurt, mel. You need to rest and recover.”

Gaius had put you through hell, the bruising map of your skin changing colour every single day. However, the worst wounds were not the ones visible to the naked eye, but the fragments of soul you’d lost.

And despite the pain, the emotional toll you’d taken, you were not going to let it get to you. Raised to be strong, to overcome challenges, you wouldn’t give up on yourself so easily. Not while there was a reason to keep going. In the last few months, you had lost nothing and everything. But you were ready to get it all back.

Before you could retort, Marcus guided you to a chair and got to work. Hours passed while you talked and shared snippets of your past lives, of family and friends, of childhood memories, while Acacius cleared the room. It was weird how easy it was to talk to him, how the conversation flowed naturally, never running out of topics to discuss.

“Yes, blood baths,” you said, the topic at hand having devolved rapidly into some darker matters. “Literal blood baths.”

“And you just… what? Soak in it for a while?” his confusion was so evident, you laughed.

“Yes, Marcus. It’s believed it invigorates you before a battle.”

“And whose blood is that?”

“Usually animals. Wild boars and the like,” you omitted the fact that some did use human blood, but you were not sure that his righteous mind could take that information and be normal about it.

“Usually?”

Well, he did pick up on it. You just shrugged and couldn’t help but cackle when he paled a bit at the realisation.

“I’ll stop asking questions now,” he shook his head as he laid the animal skins on the bare mattress, the room finally clean.

“For your own good, yeah, might as well.”

“Let’s eat something. Something that doesn’t bleed, preferably,” he jested, offering you a hand to stand up from the chair.

After picking up some vegetables and fruits from around the farmland, Marcus and you reconvened to show each other your findings. Some fruit trees had survived the fire as well as bushes. There wasn’t much though, considering how cold it was outside, but you would make do with what you had.

You dropped a makeshift basket on top of the chest and stepped aside for Marcus to see.

“I see you’ve gone for the berries and nuts,” he said, picking up a chestnut. “These are so sweet, here, try.”

He cracked it open and passed it on. You nibbled it, surprised of how sweet it actually tasted. The ones you had had before were bitterer, drier.

“Oh, wow, that’s amazing,” you ate the rest of it, almost licking your fingertips. “Look how plump these cherries look, I’ve been dying to try them since I picked them!”

Your hand darted forward, grabbing a handful of dark purple cherries — they looked so juicy and shiny. As you brought them to your mouth, Marcus’ fingers wrapped around your wrist, his eyes slightly widened with a sudden fear you didn’t comprehend.

“The bush you picked these from, did it have lilac bell-shaped flowers?”

“Yes?”

“Do not eat those,” he stole them from your hand, throwing them back into the basket. “That’s deadly nightshade. It’s very poisonous. A few of those berries and you wouldn’t live to tell the tale.”

“Oh,” you stuttered, your heart pumping wildly as you swiped your hand on your clothing. “I didn’t know.”

“Let’s go wash our hands in the stream nearby, then we’ll eat. Need to make sure there are no traces of those berries on your palms, okay?” he gently put a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his eyes soft again.

Perhaps it wasn’t a feast fit for kings, but it was definitely tasty. Marcus had found some pomegranates, figs and pears, and along with the chestnuts, cranberries and almonds you’d found, you both were full.

Night had fallen with a thick blanket, the stars bright and clear in the sky with a full moon illuminating the farmland around the house. Despite how desolate it all looked, it was tranquil and beautiful. You could see yourself living off the land, growing old, so far apart from humanity no one would bother you.

As you laid in bed with Marcus, you wondered what he would think of that. All his life he’d worked hard to escape this very destiny, and by whims of fate, he’d ended up exactly where he’d started.

“I like it here,” you ventured as he covered you both with the warm animal skins.

Marcus stirred under you, finding a comfortable position, but it was obvious your statement had unsettled him a bit.

“It’s not too bad,” he replied, nuzzling your hair. “I suppose that when you’re a child, everything looks worse than what it actually is. I never realised how much I missed this place until we set foot here this morning. I did have everything I wanted and needed. I wonder what my life would have looked like if I stayed, if I’d have been able to…”

He trailed off, but you knew what he meant. If he would have been able to save his parents, to put out the fire before it engulfed everything. Your heart squeezed a little — it was hard not to develop feelings for a man like him. Even when he’d let a beast take control of you. At least, he had rectified that.

“It’s never good to dwell in the what ifs, because you’ll only hurt yourself with scenarios that might or might have not happened,” you offered him some words of wisdom, kissing his jawline while your thumb traced invisible circles on his sternum. “Besides, if you had never become a General, you wouldn’t have met me.”

“And wouldn’t that have been a good thing?” he blurted out with his eyes glued to the ceiling, his guilt showing again.

A side of you agreed with him. But, at the same time, deep down you knew it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. The Romans would have won anyway, your people starved out after a month-long siege. Someone else would have taken Marcus’ place, someone who would have felt no remorse in delivering you to a beast and disposing of you, without giving you a second thought.

“We will never know,” you nuzzled the crook of his neck, his warmth seeping into your body. “And that’s the point I’m trying to make. It doesn’t matter. I believe in fate, in Cathubodua. She knows the outcome of every warrior in battle. Everything that has happened to me, to my people, was destined to be.” It didn’t make it easier though.

Marcus let go of a heavy sigh, his lips brushing your forehead with a gentleness that tugged at your heart. Because as divided as you were, as messy as this all was, your love for him was undeniable. Perhaps it was fated. Perhaps you had to suffer before you could live the life you wanted with the man you loved.

“Your goddess is definitely capricious. But I guess it makes sense,” his hand rubbed your shoulders, soothing your bristled skin.

“She gives the toughest battles to Her strongest warriors,” you joked, because that was what your father used to say.

“Well, She isn’t wrong about that. You’re the strongest person I know, that’s for sure,” he rasped, your sights locking in.

When he leaned in for a kiss, you met him halfway. The dance of tongues quickly mutated into something more intimate, more passionate. Every time you playfully retreated, he’d come and find you, dragging your tongue into his mouth. Marcus propped his elbow against the mattress so half his frame would blanket you while you just melted under his touch.

His free hand played with the hem of your shirt, unsure of what to do. The fact that he just didn’t assume what you wanted reassured you that he was, indeed, a good man. With your palm against the back of his hand, you slithered both under your garment, and when his fingers finally cupped one of your breasts, you let go.

“Are… are you sure? I don’t want— I don’t want you to think— I don’t want to hurt you. I’m happy with just holding you tonight, knowing that you’re here with me,” he confessed with a trembling voice that warmed your heart.

“I’m sure, Marcus,” you peppered kisses on his lips, his chin, his neck — anywhere your mouth would reach. “I’ve missed you.”

With a feeble smile, Marcus leaned down again, your lips fitting perfectly as his thumb swiped your nipple gently. The fondling on your breast became more pleasant with every stroke and once your taut button was all worked up, Marcus proceeded to pay the same attention to your other boob.

In no time you were breathing heavily under him, wanting to get rid of the barriers between your bodies. You fought with his shirt, and sensing your desperation, Marcus helped you get rid of it and everything else, until you both were bare in front of each other.

Marcus was kneeling on top of you, his thick thighs to either side of yours. He looked so mighty, so perfect, it was hard to ignore how handsome he was. Built like a god, you’d worship him in his temple every single day if you could. And while you devoured the sight in front of you, his weeping cock ready to take you, his eyes lingered elsewhere.

You were so lost in the moment, you’d forgotten the map of bruises dotted around your whole body. But Marcus hadn’t — you could see his irises darkening with every bruise he discovered, every mark on your skin. For the last few days, you’d done your best at covering them, but now it was unavoidable.

Gaius had done a number on you, he’d been relentlessly brutal. Every night you’d fear his mood. When he’d get you out of the crate he’d thrown you in, you knew there would be hell to pay, even though you had nothing to do with it. The month spent with him had been your darkest time, his imprints on your skin ones you wished away every night.

“I’m so sorry,” Marcus ran a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose. “You didn’t deserve this. I should have acted sooner. Damn, I should have told you when we were at Lake Bracciano, give you the opp—”

“Marcus,” you called, gently removing his hand from his face so he would look at you. “What’s done is done. Let’s not think about the what ifs now, alright? I’m here now, wanting you inside me, erasing the imprint of…” you choked for a second, unable to put it into words. “Creating new memories. Can you do that, please?”

“I swear to the Gods that I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, mel,” Marcus leaned forward again, his chest flush with yours as his fingers caressed your neck. “I love you.”

Even though it was the second time you had heard those three words strung together, this time around it felt… warm and hopeful, not desperate and hopeless.

Your hand landed on the back of his neck to push him down, your mouths crashing again.

Marcus painted a love map on your skin, his lips pressing kisses on every bruise he could find, awakening the side of you that had been dormant since the moment you left his side in the stables. Soon enough his kisses travelled south, too far down. When he settled flat between your thighs, nipping below your belly button, one of your hands darted to his head, grabbing a fistful of his curls.

“It’s okay, cor meum (my heart). Let me make you feel good, please,” he cooed, and you couldn’t resist.

Freeing his hair, Marcus slithered further down until his mouth kissed your inner thighs. A little shy, you tried hiding your core, but his insistent pecks along with his broad shoulders coaxing your legs apart melted away your last defences.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled, his warm breath fanning your glistening skin. “You are so wet already, sweetheart, and I haven’t even touched this sweet dripping nook yet.”

Before you could say anything, he lapped at your entire slit in one stroke, leaving you gasping for air and moaning his name. Marcus didn’t stop there, urged on by your little whimpers as the tip of his tongue found your hooded clit. He twirled and swirled and latched onto it, your clit throbbing in no time as Marcus ate you out expertly.

Drunk with lust, he nuzzled the tip of his nose on your nub, almost sending you over the edge when he inhaled sharply, feasting on your womanly scent. His mouth soon found your leaking hole and stroked it softly, outlining the circle of your entrance with the tip of his tongue. The moment he dipped it in, you mewled uncontrollably, grabbing onto the animal skins for dear life.

Marcus fucked you with his tongue until the tense coil inside you snapped, a million stars bursting behind your eyelids. Holding onto his hair now, you pressed his face into your pussy, screaming and shaking as you shamelessly came on his mouth. He drank your release eagerly, lapping you clean.

A last kiss on your stimulated kiss, then on your mound, and Marcus finally emerged from in between your legs with a triumphant smile, his moustache and stubble soaked with your cream.

“You taste so good, want to try?” you almost missed his question, your heart beating so hard it was deafening, but you managed to nod.

Marcus climbed up your body and bowed down for a kiss, which you eagerly reciprocated. He tasted sweet — no, you did.

“I need to be inside you, sweetheart. I can’t hold it much longer,” Marcus said almost between gritted teeth.

Gazing down, you saw his throbbing cock resting heavily on your mound. The head was glistening with precum, dripping onto your skin, leaving a beautiful pearl behind. Your cunt gushed at the prospect of housing him, needing him as much as he did you.

Wrapping your legs around his waist and with your heels dug in his buttocks, you pushed him into you. Understanding the unspoken invitation, Marcus aligned his seeping cock with your slick hole and slowly dove in, your walls parting, sheathing him as you were meant to be.

Fully seated now, Marcus kissed the tip of your nose to then rest his forehead against yours. You felt so full, so blissed, there wasn’t room in your mind for anything else. His weight on top of you provided an extra layer of warmth and protecting, his forearms framing your head.

Neither of you spoke, but when Marcus pulled out and back in, you both moaned in unison. His pace was cautious, loving, gentle. His hips waved as he softly fucked into you, drinking your moans in a messy kiss. But it wasn’t long until his slow rhythm devolved into something more urgent, more primal.

Marcus thrusted in more harshly now, the tip of his cock dragging along your anterior wall, hitting the right spot every time. He was pumping into you so hard now, that your whole body swayed under him, no matter how strong you held onto his shoulders. The slap of skin meeting skin and your shared arousal gurgling every time he hammered into you sent you into overdrive.

You climbed to the top of your pleasure, Marcus helping you get there quickly. With one last push, you finally came crashing down, your pussy juicing around his girth while your inner walls hugged him tight, clenching and pulsing wildly, commending him to follow you into a blissful orgasm.

“You’re too damn tight, holding onto me like that,” Marcus grumbled, fighting against his own climax now. “Mel, please let go, I can’t—”

You shook your head no, digging your heels into his ass cheeks again so he would continue to fuck into you, chasing his own climax. Finding relief within you. You squeezed your walls around him, wanting to milk him.

“Shit, are you sur—?”

“Marcus,” you cut him off, eyes hazy with desire, mind numb. “Come inside. Fill me up, warm me up.”

With a strangled moan, Marcus’ head fell in the crook of your neck whilst he rutted into you like a man possessed. His cock pulsed inside you, and you consciously clutched around him at the same time you raked your fingers through his sweaty curls.

Until he finally spilt inside you, his warm seed coating your walls with his pearly white. And when you thought he was done, Marcus surprised you with yet another spurt, his spent filling you up to the brim.

Marcus crumbled on top of you, his softening cock still snug inside your pussy, his whole body weight crushing you. But instead of suffocating, it felt calming, soothing. For a long while you both stayed there — you drawing invisible lines on his back, and him kissing every bruise until you both fell asleep on his tiny childhood bed.

Hooves. A clip-clop sound in the distance, slowly approaching. The wind carried a command, “They’re here, find them.”

At first, Marcus thought it a dream. But soon he realised it was no product of his imagination at all. The voices were very real, threatening the peace of his home. Even though he knew who they were, he still needed confirmation.

Getting up from bed, careful not to wake you yet, Marcus peeked through the window. His fear materialised the second he recognised Gaius and three of his goons. They were on foot, although Marcus was sure of what he heard, therefore suspected they had left their horses hidden away somewhere nearby.

You both had to leave. Now. There wasn’t much time to do anything about it — chances were not good when you were doubled in number, and you were still recovering from your injuries. He could take some lives with his, but would prefer not to get to swordfight if he could avoid it.

Lurching forth, Marcus tapped your shoulder with urgency, his thumb brushing your cheek as your eyelashes fluttered open.

“Mhm?” you mumbled, sleepy, as you rubbed your eye with the side of your hand.

“They’ve found us. Gaius is here, mel. We need to leave,” he urged you, helping you up when your orbs finally popped open with alarm. “Listen to me. We’re going to be fine. Their horses must be on the back, tied by the river. We get there, being as stealthy as possible, and we leave.”

“Marcus,” you exhaled, panicky, as you stood up.

He could see the memories flooding your mind, your eyes blurry with pain. His heart cried for you, for the harsh times he’d put you through. But you were right, there was no time to dwell on the past, he couldn’t change it. But he could protect you now, learn from his mistakes.

“Grab the bow and arrow,” he hurried towards the pile of armour, putting it on as fast as he could.

You gave him a hand, tightening the leather strips to secure the breastplate in place, and then took the weapons, while Marcus seized his gladius. Right behind you, Marcus guided you through the rubble to get to the back of the house. The voices were closer now, prominent as they talked to each other, clearing the rooms they’d already checked out.

The backdoor connecting the kitchen with the backyard was blocked with debris, so Marcus helped you up the window. When your feet landed on the ground, he perched himself on the windowsill.

“Acacius!” Gaius’ guttural groan made him turn before he jumped off the window.

The man’s features were distorted by rage, spit flying off his mouth when he repeated his name again. The sight of him made his blood boil, his primal instinct asking him to make him pay for what he’d done to you. But he couldn’t risk your safety again. Perhaps one day he could act on it.

With his heart pumping hard, Marcus veered around and jumped off the window. Your widened eyes told him you’d heard your captor’s voice now. The horror they emanated just made his chest swell with regret.

The men were too close, he doubted you both could lose them in a chase. Had he reacted sooner, perhaps you could have escaped the house before they set foot in it. But now, with them on your heels, chances were slim.

If he wanted to give you a fighting chance, to delay these men, he knew what he had to do. And, surprisingly, the decision was easy to make, as easy as breathing really. It was the least he could do for you and if he made it out alive, then he’d make sure to find you afterwards. But the reality was, he knew he wouldn’t survive fighting four men on his own.

“No matter what, you run. You run for those trees and don’t look back,” he desperately asked of you. “You hear me? You keep running.”

“Marcus—”

“You keep running,” he punctuated every word. “Promise me.”

“I… I promise,” you muttered, squeezing his hand in yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now run. I’ll be right behind you,” he pushed your shoulders.

As soon as your feet rushed beneath you, Marcus stopped a few metres behind you. Swirling around on his heels, gladius on hand and standing his ground, Marcus faced the men giving you chase.

If this was how he died, it was a noble way to go.

Running on pure adrenaline, you ran as fast as your feet could take you. Your heart was thudding in your chest, climbing up your throat, your lungs burning. Everything hurt, this strenuous effort not aiding your healing at all.

“Marcus—”

When you turned around, just a few feet away from the forest’s boundary, you realised he was nowhere to be seen. You scanned your surroundings nervously but couldn’t locate him. He said he’d be right behind you, so where the fuck was he?

Coming to a complete halt, you looked in the distance and your heart plummeted to the depths of your stomach. Marcus had stayed behind to win you time. To sacrifice himself for your freedom.

“No, no, no, no,” you chanted as your heartbeat rang anxiously in your eardrums.

Desperation took over you, not being able to come to terms with what was happening. You wouldn’t let him do this, not if you could avoid it. Dying for you was not the way to mend your wounds, it would only make them deeper and more painful.

No, you were not letting him do this.

Retracing your steps, you ran back towards them. As you approached the fight, closing in the distance, you saw three bodies peppered around on the ground, unresponsive and bloody. From the distance you couldn’t tell who they were, but when your frightened eyes landed on the two figures exchanging blows, you knew they were Marcus and Gaius.

When you were only fifty meters away, a bunch of branches crunched beneath your feet. The noise, which should have gone unnoticed, alerted Marcus of your presence. His focus redirected at you for a second, eyes wide with fear for your safety, opening his flank to Gaius.

“Marcus, no!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, trying to alert him of Gaius’ next blow.

You shouted too late. Gaius struck Marcus to the floor, your lover’s sword jangling when it landed far from his hand.

Time stilled, everything happening at very slow motion.

Gaius towered behind Marcus, grabbing his hair to have him on his knees.

You stopped right in your tracks, pulling the bow above your head.

Marcus’ eyes locked in with yours, a silent plea for you to keep running, to stay away from this, all while Gaius placed a sword right in front of his neck.

You slotted in the arrow, aim clear, your target Gaius’ forehead.

Gaius laughed.

You let go of the shaft, the arrow flying fast towards them.

And just in the nick of time, before the arrowhead met Gaius’ head, your captor sliced Marcus’ throat.

“NO!” you wailed, dropping to your knees, fingers digging in the ground while your heart got obliterated right in front of you.

The arrow kissed Gaius’ forehead, then he tumbled back and fell backwards, the sound of his bodyweight not being half as satisfying as it should have been. When Gaius’ fingers let go of Marcus’ head, Acacius dropped to his side, a river of red staining his armour.

As fast as you could, you rose to your feet and skidded through the mud when you got to Marcus’ side.

He was still bleeding but was long gone. Life had abandoned his brown orbs, now dull and opaque. Marcus was still warm as you cradled his battered body close to your chest. For the first few minutes while you held him, you felt nothing. But when his body began to turn cold in your embrace, reality set in.

He was dead. The man who brought you here, the man who lied to you, the man who saw his own weakness and decided to change, the man you loved, the man who sacrificed himself so you could escape.

Perhaps the outcome would have been different had you not alerted him of your presence. What if he hadn’t heard you? What if he hadn’t been distracted? What if he had won Gaius, had you obeyed his orders? What if his death was your fault after all?

“It’s never good to dwell in the what ifs, because you’ll only hurt yourself with scenarios that might or might have not happened,” you had told him not long ago.

There was no point to overanalyse everything that had happened. What was done, was done.

Still hugging him, you cried your sorrows and regrets until the day bled into nightfall. When your eyes finally ran dry, you dragged Marcus’ dead body inside. You managed to lay him on his back on his childhood bed, and took the time to clean the blood off his skin. Sutured the gash on his neck too, changed his clothes for fresh ones, and checked Marcus’ belongings.

He still had some coins in his saddlebag. You found two denarii, which you grabbed before returning to his deathbed. Carefully, you placed the coins over his shut eyes — you knew some of the Roman rites, having seen them being performed after battles. It was payment for the ferryman who would carry Marcus’ soul over to the Underworld.

Then you snatched the sigillarium he’d shown you last night—the one his mother gifted him of a General with his name carved in the sole of its boot—and placed it on his chest. You hoped his parents were right there waiting for him, welcoming him with open arms.

You knelt by his side, keeping vigil, while your thumb gently stroked the back of his hand.

Your future was uncertain but clear at the same time. You were deep down in enemy’s territory, with no way of getting back to your homeland. Alone, with no friends and Marcus dead. Your father would probably be paying now for your escape, for Gaius’ and his men’s deaths.

There weren’t many more options at hand.

So you stood up, sauntering towards the baskets with the remaining fruit from last night. The purple berries were still there, and Marcus’ clear words suddenly came back to you.

“A few of those berries and you wouldn’t live to tell the tale.”

It was apparent now why you would have picked them. Destiny knew.

With no doubt left stalking you now, you picked ten of them and one by one brought them to your lips. Slowly you chewed them, the rich sweetness of their flavour a welcome taste on your tongue. It was true what they said, that death was sweet.

You returned to the bed where Marcus was lying and climbed on it, you curled up against his side and kissed his cheek one last time. Taking a few deep breaths, you let yourself fall in an eternal slumber.

Perhaps you’d meet him in that underground cave, perhaps he’d be waiting for you.

Perhaps this was how it was all supposed to end, what was fated from the beginning. What was truly meant to be — a lovers’ struggle, a lovers’ tragedy.

A lovers’ end.

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