Chapter 10
He was tense and impatient all day—and a bitterly cold day it was. Winter was not far off, and the bite of the air was a fitting warning. The Romans and Britons alike were making haste to finish whatever outdoor tasks they could before snow covered Segontium. Construction on the city had progressed acceptably; a few projects were being rushed to completion, roofs erected in hopes that the interiors could be completed later. New work would not be begun until spring.
A few companies of soldiers were still out on campaigns to the outlying areas, and such military work would continue a little longer, until the weather became truly forbidding. Unfortunately, they were all away at the moment and no word arrived to occupy Marcus that day, and the other matters that had kept him so busy with Segontium needed little attention now. Everyone had their orders, for the most part, and there was little time for civil disputes that would need the centurion’s attention.
Ironic that just when he most wished for something to occupy his mind, Marcus found himself suddenly with so little to do.
The day crawled.
By evening, he had compiled a long list of questions in his mind, all composed with Gwen’s limited Latin vocabulary. He formed and re-formed each one several times over, choosing his words carefully. Even one answered question would give him enough clarity to alleviate many doubts.
Alas, not one of them survived his return home and his evening meal. It seemed that his first sight of Gwen cleansed his mind of all he had rehearsed. He ate slowly, struggling to remember just one question, but all he could think of when he looked up at Gwen were the doubts that had fueled them—not the carefully-selected words to express them.
He retired first, as usual. The servants had final household tasks to complete, and now that he was less busy during the day, he no longer had correspondence to read by candlelight before bed. He’d finished everything during the day.
Marcus paced his chamber, waiting, stirring the fire with every other pass. At length, he made himself sit on the edge of his bed and leave the fire alone, lest he beat the logs to ashes before their time. That was his posture when Gwen entered. Marcus looked up, saw Gwen pausing to regard him, and suddenly felt he must explain himself…somehow.
Gwen, however, spoke first—with a slight smile. “No sleep?”
Rising to his feet, Marcus cleared his throat gruffly. He crossed his arms over his chest and fought to hold Gwen’s clear gaze. He shifted, clasped hands behind his back…turned to the side, pacing toward the fire. Cleared his throat again. Addressing the fire, he said, very firmly, “Gwen.” Then…he shifted his weight. And again—“Gwen…”—not quite so firm.
A hand touched his arm, and if not for a lifetime of military training, Marcus would have startled. As it was, only his heart jumped. He hadn’t heard Gwen’s soft footsteps approach. Then, unbelievably, he felt Gwen’s hand caress upward and rest on his shoulder…and Gwen’s breath, a moment before he softly kissed Marcus’ cheek. His beard…tickled. His lips were dry. “Marcus…no fear,” Gwen whispered.
“I am not afraid,” Marcus nearly growled at the fire. Then, softening his tone, he added, “I am…merely confused.”
Fingertips brushed along his hairline, drawing Marcus’ gaze on impulse. Gwen’s face showed his own lack of comprehension, and when Marcus looked at him, he just raised his eyebrows in question. Stiffly, Marcus restated, “I not understand.”
Gently, Gwen lifted both his hands, pulling Marcus around to face him. As calm as ever, he simply asked one word. “Why?”
Huffing, Marcus turned away, pacing back to his bed. “Why? That is my question! Why are you so…so friendly with me now? Why do you smile at me and, and kiss me so warmly? I am the enemy of your people. I raped you!”
Clearly troubled, Gwen followed him, shaking his head. His frown was worried, his hands outstretched to Marcus. Very little of Marcus’ rant had used words he knew, and most of it had probably run together in a confusing stream of sounds, meaningless except for the anguished tone.
“No understand…rayped?”
Well…nearly meaningless.
He supposed that was the easiest thing to pick up on—the last thing he’d said, and the simplest sentence. “I” and “you” Gwen knew, leaving only one word to ask for. Shoulders hunching, Marcus turned and sat on the edge of the bed. “Rape.” The word was heavy, sour in his mouth. Gwen drew close and sat beside him as he explained. “Rape is…sex. Sex you not want.” Gwen’s eyes became cautious, his posture slightly pulled back, and Marcus rethought his words. Things were difficult without the ability to convey past, present, and future tense, he realized. He’d need to give Gwen words for that as soon as possible. “Galanhaf,” he offered quickly, his best explanation that the unwanted sex was not in Gwen’s future, but the past. He gestured behind himself in hopes of adding to that impression. “Galanhaf. When I…meet you. First see you. Gwen…you say no, you no want sex, but I…” He wiped a hand over his face. “I did not stop. You not want—that is rape. I raped you…hurt you. That was…bad. You feared me,” he nodded, then looked up into Gwen’s eyes. He was listening. “But now…I not understand. You smile…” He pointed to his own lips and forced them into a thin imitation of a smile, to demonstrate the word. “And…” he almost reached out to demonstrate more, before remembering Gwen knew this word, “you…you touch me.” Running out of things he could express without confusing Gwen again, Marcus dropped his hands into his lap and just stared hopelessly at Gwen. “I not understand.”
Gwen frowned, his hand coming to rest over both of Marcus’. “Marcus apologize Galanhaf, apologize hurt. Not bad.”
“Even so!” He reined himself in quickly, struggling to keep his outburst from turning into another rant. I must choose words he understands… “You…that is, I…I do not understand how you could forgive me so easily! How you could simply dismiss it all with a smile and then start acting so…so friendly toward me, as if it were the most natural thing in—”
“Marcus.” The steady tone accompanied a firm touch, stilling his gestures of frustration.
Marcus cursed himself. Fool. Your tirades will only upset him. “I apologize.”
Gwen slowly shook his head. “I…ah…fahrgive.”
Straightening, Marcus looked at him. “Forgive? You know that word?” Gwen looked uncertain, so he rephrased. “You understand forgive?”
Looking a little mystified, Gwen nodded. “Understand for-give. Learn Latin.”
Turning to face Gwen beside him, Marcus put all his effort into speaking clearly. “And…you forgive me—Marcus—you forgive…rape?” Gwen’s expression was plainly confused, troubled as he searched Marcus’ eyes, as if he failed to understand the question. Still, he nodded—with a half-shrug…wondering why the answer was even in doubt? Marcus drew in a deep breath and took hold of both Gwen’s shoulders, his eyes and voice all burning with intensity in one word—“Why?”
Frowning even deeper, Gwen shook his head. “Why why?” He rested hands on each of Marcus’ forearms, stroking gently. “Marcus…ah, wrong…not.” He paused, his head cocked slightly. “Marcus not wrong? Not Marcus wrong?” Then he shook his head, brushing that aside. “You apologize hurt. Marcus good. Rape…not Marcus wrong.”
He stared at Gwen, jaw slack. “It…it was not wrong of me to rape you?” He knew his voice was thin and high with disbelief. That cannot be right. He cannot mean that. That is madness.
Gwen didn’t seem to understand the question, but he could see the persisting lack of understanding between them. He searched for words, his eyes scanning the rafters before coming back to Marcus. “Marcus touch Galanhaf magic. Magic not bad, Marcus not bad…ah, time? Time bad. Rape…no you wrong, no magic wrong. Mis…mis-tae…khan?”
“Mistaken?” Marcus blinked. “You mean…a mistake?”
Gwen smiled encouragingly. “Mis-take. Magic mis-take. No…need for-give. Apologize hurt, Gwen understand. For-give hurt.” His hands reached out, framing Marcus’ face, holding him as Gwen searched his eyes. “No understand…Marcus sad.”
He stared in shock at Gwen for a long moment. “I am…sad—remorseful—because…because that is no excuse. I was wrong.” He shook his head slowly. “I—Marcus—wrong. No mistake, no magic. Marcus wrong. Rape wrong. Hurt you, Gwen—wrong. Need apologize.” He pulled himself free of Gwen’s hold and hunched forward. “Apologize rape.”
He fought the urge to bow his head and squeeze his eyes shut—it was a cowardly impulse, driven by the fear of facing Gwen’s response. So he forced himself to watch Gwen’s face, even if he couldn’t quite square his shoulders, thanks to the weight of his shame. Thus he was able to watch as the light of total understanding dawned in blue eyes—a clarity which was followed swiftly by shock and horror, almost to the point of disbelief. Then, in another moment, Gwen frowned again, but this time not in confusion. A new thought seemed to have occurred to him, and his eyes dropped for a moment, flickering over memories. When he looked up again, there was even more there. His eyes were wide and penetrating, as though truly seeing Marcus for the first time. And perhaps he was. Perhaps he had finally realized everything.
Marcus envied him. For his own part, he was still lost in the mystery of what Gwen’s thoughts and intentions were.
They were both silent for an agonizing space of time. Gwen’s expression turned thoughtful again, then finally curious before he asked, very slowly, his eyes searching Marcus’ own, “Marcus…why no sex?”
Confusion, for a moment, and exasperation. How can you ask me that? Isn’t it clear by now? But perhaps Gwen just wanted to confirm…so Marcus refrained from snapping. Voice low, he answered, very deliberate and slow, “I…will not…rape…you…again.”
Gwen sighed, eyes falling shut as his head bowed. When he looked up again, he was smiling—warm and soft. Understanding. Marcus thought for a moment that he’d finally understood that he was truly safe, that his gaze carried acceptance—and that the conversation was over now. Gwen would continue to live as his servant…perhaps even, one day, his friend.
But then Gwen leaned forward. His hands framed Marcus’ face, pulled him close, and left him no escape as Gwen kissed him.
It was not the kiss of a friend or even a brother. It was a soft, intimate, inviting kiss. It was like the last one, on the hilltop surrounded by standing stones…but it did not stay that way for long. When Marcus remained frozen, Gwen did not draw back. He nudged closer, teasing with lips and tongue, giving Marcus full access to his mouth. It was only a matter of time before willpower could no longer resist crumbling, and Marcus hesitantly offered a stiff response in the form of a shaky pressure of his own.
Suddenly, Gwen’s hands scraped up into his hair, pulling him close enough to crush their mouths together. All sultry invitations dissolved into an insistent, aggressive, deep kiss. Gwen was crawling into his lap, his mouth demanding, eager—his breaths hot and gasped in the scattered moments when breathing was possible.
Marcus was responding now. There was nothing else he could do. His hands grasped Gwen’s waist as he kissed back, answering Gwen’s kisses with instinct and a mindless, wild passion. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew Gwen understood this wasn’t required of him in any way. It was his own choice to do this. Why he chose it, Marcus couldn’t fathom…and didn’t care at the moment. Gwen was kissing him. Marcus could have wept.
A hard shove—his back hit the bed, and Gwen was on top of him. Marcus felt lips and tongue upon his throat, hands on his chest, and he moaned and grasped for Gwen. His arms closed around the man’s lean, hard body and pulled him even closer, and Gwen abandoned his neck and returned to ravishing his mouth.
He moaned aloud into Gwen’s mouth, his hands shaking as they ran up and down Gwen’s body—but not too far down. He wouldn’t invite himself further than Gwen had. Yet every slide of Gwen’s tongue against his, every shift of pressure and every wet caress made him shudder. There was no resisting arousal; his cock was rock-hard from almost the first moment of contact. Nor was there any hope to hide it, with Gwen on top of him like this. With every shift of his weight, Gwen would certainly feel Marcus’ erection against his thigh.
The sound of a low chuckle reached Marcus through his haze of desire, and Gwen’s lips thinned into a wide smile, lingering against his mouth a moment longer before pulling back. He opened his eyes to find laughing blue gazing down at him. His voice a pleased purr, Gwen observed, “Marcus happy.”
He swallowed. Nodded. “Yes.”
Gwen’s lips brushed his, teasing kisses as he murmured, “You like?”
Straining to get closer to Gwen’s mouth, to kiss more fully, Marcus didn’t quite follow the question. It was hard to focus in his current state of arousal. “Like?”
Leaning a little further away, Gwen touched the tip of a finger to his own lips, then to Marcus’ with his eyebrows raised in a familiar questioning gesture. “Latin?” He asked, then repeated the motion, followed by one firm, sound kiss on the mouth.
“Uhh…kiss?”
With a quick nod, Gwen asked again, “You like kess?”
He was leaning down again as he said it, and that meant that Marcus could not help but lean up. “I like to kiss you,” he breathed, voice raw with want.
Crinkles around Gwen’s eyes as he smiled softly. “I like kiss Marcus,” he murmured in return—and then did. Long and slow and deep.
If it never ended, Marcus would have been happy—and he would have been in agony. As beautiful and thrilling as the kisses were, it was impossible not to want more, not to want to be tangled together in a passionate mess. But it was just as impossible to initiate. His body kept no secrets, and though Gwen could not possibly mistake his desire, he did no more than kiss. Many, many kisses—some deep, some barely a brush of lips. Some soft, some rough and heady. But only kisses. His hands stayed above the waist, and Marcus followed suit.
When he felt Gwen pulling back, Marcus forced himself to let the man go, even as his hands shook with the desire to hold on. But he let Gwen break the kiss—slowly disentangling their mouths, lifting his weight off Marcus and allowing him to sit up again. Gwen’s eyes still smiled at him kindly, and Marcus felt his skin prickle as Gwen brushed one hand down the side of his face, leaning in once more for the briefest press of lips. Then he stood back from the bed and said only, “Sleep,” before turning away to his alcove.
It proved a difficult command to obey.
~•~
Though Marcus apparently tended to his usual duties the following day, he had no true memory of doing so.
~•~
He waited up for Gwen again that night, even more determined to speak to him. He would surely find a way to understand whatever Gwen had come to understand. He would surely ask Gwen to explain what he thought of their first encounter, and all since then. What he…what he thought of Marcus now. What he wanted. And if, for any reason, Gwen wanted something of him, Marcus would withhold nothing. He needed to explain to Gwen how much he longed to please him, to see him happy…to satisfy any need.
The moment Gwen entered the room, Marcus’ mouth went dry. The man was smiling at him—a smile like the one he’d left Marcus with the night before. Without wasting a moment, he crossed to Marcus, stood oh so close, and looked up at him. Voice a deep whisper, he said, “Kiss.”
It was a demand, unmistakably, and Marcus obeyed.
Gwen allowed the heated kiss for a few heartbeats, then pulled back, stepping backward. Marcus felt his fingers caught, hands tugged to follow, and Gwen pulled him toward the bed with no hesitation or pretense. Marcus felt unable to draw breath as Gwen sat down, then…lay back. Then smiled again, and again demanded, “Marcus kiss.”
Heart hammering in his chest, he knelt on the bed, leaned down, and kissed Gwen again.
Gwen immediately shredded any restraint he’d attempted to use by opening his mouth and insistently deepening the kiss, turning it suddenly wild. The passion of it burned Marcus down to his core. His skin flamed, his body vibrating with desire—his voice a helpless, lustful moan. He doubted himself almost at once, and desperately began to gather his willpower to ease back a bit, lest he push Gwen beyond what the man had asked of him. However, before he could, Gwen had his arms around Marcus, pulling him bodily down so that his full weight was upon Gwen. He met the heat of Marcus’ kiss with equal passion, and his own voice shuddered with an answering moan of pure want.
With that, Marcus was lost to the moment, to Gwen’s kiss. All determination to speak with the man was utterly forgotten, and his only thought was Gwen. The heat of Gwen’s mouth, the feel of his lips and tongue and teeth, the grasp of his hands. Marcus obeyed the wordless desire of Gwen’s touch, both of them gasping for breath but refusing to pull away or stop.
Marcus was erect, his hips rutting against Gwen’s thigh before he realized what he was doing. In the same moment he noticed it, Gwen thrust his own hips up against Marcus, his voice a thin groan. His hands fisted in Marcus’ clothing, pulling, and he grunted into Marcus’ mouth, “No tunic.”
Eyes wide, Marcus froze at that, pulling back just enough to search Gwen’s face. That, however, only seemed to annoy Gwen, whose brow furrowed faintly in frustration as he pulled again. “No tunic.” Then, one hand moved from Marcus’ clothes to his own and began to pull awkwardly at the fastenings.
Lifting away, Marcus rose to his knees. He was dizzy, but he had to be sure. Gwen’s eyes were hot upon him as he moved his hands to his own tunic. “You want me to take this off? No tunic?”
Gwen’s expression was something he’d never seen before—a feral sort of grin as he nodded, yanking his own clothing apart. Marcus swallowed and pulled his entire tunic off over his head in one motion. Then, he reached for Gwen. “No tunic?” Gwen licked his lips and nodded again, sitting up, his eyes raking over Marcus’ exposed body as he raised his arms.
With every effort to be gentle, Marcus quickly stripped Gwen’s tunic away as well. He hesitated then, a little paralyzed by the sight of a nearly nude Gwen openly staring at his bulging loincloth. With a quick glance, Gwen met his eyes once before looking down again, and Marcus watched as Gwen’s hand came up and cupped him through the thin linen.
He bit his own lip, but couldn’t hold back a pleasured moan, and Gwen glanced up again with a smile as he rubbed his hand over the length of Marcus. His other hand joined in, lightly rubbing Marcus’ balls for a few torturous moments before Gwen hooked a finger in the top of Marcus’ loincloth and, with a teasing smirk, pulled down.
With whatever strength of willpower he had left, Marcus made himself hold still and wait. He could barely read Gwen at the moment—whether through his own haze of arousal or Gwen’s inscrutable smirk. At least he was pleased…or Marcus hoped he was, to be smiling so.
Without speaking, Gwen shifted back on the bed until he lay fully upon it. His own loincloth was noticeably straining, Marcus saw with a thrill. It still covered him, but only because he hadn’t moved. His eyes remained fixed on Marcus; finally, he beckoned, pointing toward his groin. With a cheeky grin, he suggested, “Marcus, kiss?”
With a groan, Marcus nodded rapidly and all but fell forward, bracing himself above Gwen’s hips and bringing his mouth to the little swath of fabric and sucking. Even the simple act of moving a few open-mouthed kisses over Gwen’s length unsettled the loincloth, so Marcus pushed it aside and began to avidly kiss up and down Gwen’s shaft. Gwen’s hum of pleasure reassured him that he’d understood the request correctly, and Marcus slid his tongue out to taste hot flesh, lipping around the ridge and licking over the crown.
The scent and taste of Gwen was intoxicating, yet Marcus still feared overstepping. So, nearly breathless, he made himself pause and look up, finding Gwen’s eyes watching him with rapt attention. Gwen’s smile reappeared as their eyes met, and Marcus swallowed, attempting to focus so that he could ask Gwen in simple words if he might continue. Before he had a chance, however, Gwen flexed his hips up slightly, lifting his erect cock toward Marcus’ mouth, and that…well. He understood.
Gwen moaned aloud as Marcus took him into his mouth, sliding down more than half of Gwen’s length before stopping to suck and caress with his tongue. Marcus shuddered, his own cock aching in response to the sound. He bobbed his head, sinking lower by degrees and teasing his throat open to take Gwen down to the root.
Marcus’ eyes fell shut as he worked his throat around Gwen’s cock, listening to his faint, breathy sounds of pleasure. A touch to the side of his face brought his attention back up, but Gwen’s eyes were closed, his head fallen back as his fingers combed through Marcus’ hair and gently cradled his head. He didn’t push—simply left his hand there to feel the motion as Marcus sucked up and down, drawing out more pleasured moans.
A selfish part of Marcus wanted to take his time—to draw this out as long as he could, savoring and enjoying every moment. But Gwen hadn’t asked to be teased out of his mind—as far as Marcus could reliably interpret, he’d only asked for a mouth on his prick. And, as Marcus bobbed his head lower and lower down Gwen’s shaft, he was welcomed, encouraged with little upward hitches of Gwen’s hips. None of it meant slow down, clearly. Marcus knew from experience that Gwen didn’t have particularly boast-worthy stamina when he was being sucked—but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but what Gwen wanted, and if he wanted to slow down, he’d indicate as much.
Until then, Marcus framed Gwen’s hips with his hands and held on as he opened his throat and took Gwen’s prick to the very root. Gwen gasped and jerked in his hands, but Marcus held him still. He had just enough room to work his tongue up and down in short, firm strokes as he sucked Gwen’s flesh and swallowed around the head. He could feel the ridge of Gwen’s cockhead in his throat, but Marcus had been an apt student as a youth and had mastered his gag reflex long ago. He pulled off with a long, slow suck as Gwen whimpered, fingers clutching in his hair but letting him pull away.
Marcus looked up to find Gwen watching him with an awed expression. His cock throbbed at the sight, maddeningly hard and aching, but Marcus only swallowed, taking deep breaths. “More?” he asked, voice raw and whispered, as he dipped his head toward Gwen’s manhood again.
A frantic nod and a long, thin moan were his answer.
Smiling happily, Marcus nuzzled Gwen’s cock, kissing and sucking and touching to express his full appreciation before taking the head into his mouth again and beginning to swiftly thrust down and up, down and up, sucking and squeezing and swallowing around Gwen over and over. Unable to bear it any longer, he let go of Gwen’s hips with one hand and reached down to grasp his own leaking cock. He could taste the flavor of Gwen’s pre-release on his tongue, and the endless sounds of Gwen’s beautiful moans filled his ears. Soon.
Gwen’s voice grew thinner and more desperate as he writhed, hands clawing at the blankets, now, as Marcus fucked his own throat with Gwen’s cock. He was frantically jerking his own prick, wet and sloppy with impending orgasm. Gwen’s balls were tight, his cock throbbing in Marcus’ throat, his voice breathlessly gasping barbarian words—words that suddenly dissolved into cries as Gwen clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his pleasure. Marcus felt his cock pulse, and he groaned and sucked as warm seed began to shoot into his mouth and throat.
Body shaking, Gwen came and came as Marcus swallowed every drop of him. Mindlessly, he pumped his own fist around his cock, jerking himself at a wild pace until his own orgasm burst, and Marcus emptied himself onto the bedcovers.
Reluctantly, he released Gwen’s prick, but he remained hovering over the man’s groin, gasping the sweat-thickened air and licking his lips for every stray drop of semen—until he felt a weak tug at his shoulder. Looking up, he met Gwen’s dazed blue eyes, his smile soft and beautiful. Marcus obeyed the pull and moved up beside him, lying as close as he dared. Gwen, lovely Gwen, rolled toward him with a sigh, resting his head on Marcus’ shoulder. “My thanks,” he murmured, and Marcus nodded dumbly, staring.
After some minutes, Gwen grinned up at him and asked, “I sleep in bed?”
“Yes.” Gwen laughed softly at his wide-eyed agreement…then he curled an arm around Marcus’ waist and closed his eyes.
Marcus settled himself beside Gwen, sure that he would never rest tonight—but his languid body won over his confused mind, and dragged him down into a dreamless sleep.
~•~
Marcus woke alone. Surely, then, a dream… But the scent of sex and Gwen still clung to his bed, proving him wrong. Drifting in a haze of disbelief, Marcus dressed and appeared for breakfast.
And there was Gwen, working with Anwen and Tacita, just as on any other morning. The three of them greeted him with their best Latin “Good morrow,” in varying qualities of pronunciation, and Marcus searched Gwen’s face and manner as though studying a battlefield for hidden traps. Yet there was nothing out of the ordinary in him—no embarrassment, no fear, no special warmth.
A dream, then. It must have been.
So he told himself all day, in a vain effort to convince his own body that nothing had happened and there was nothing to hope for. The effort was wasted, and deep in his heart Marcus knew the truth, but he was too much in shock to accept it yet.
He did not know what he did that day, only that it was soon over. The days were shortening at a frightening speed as winter approached. The night fell early, and candles must be used sparingly, saved to that their supply would last until spring. Marcus retired early.
A little while later, Gwen quietly slipped into the room. He smiled at Marcus who sat before his fire, still wearing his tunic. “Tacita, Anwen, sleep.” He approached, and Marcus’ stomach clenched at a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Marcus no sleep?”
He cleared his throat, staring up at Gwen’s fire-lit face. His voice came out weak and rough. “Gwen want sleep?”
A slow, slow grin…and then suddenly, Gwen leaned down. “Gwen want sex,” he breathed, a deep purr against Marcus’ lips.
Marcus moaned and obeyed, kissing him, pulling him into his arms.
He lost track of everything but Gwen, until they tumbled into bed, Gwen on top of him and gasping for air. They were both scrambling to pull off each other’s clothing, over-eager and clumsy, like youths who had run of to tryst for an hour instead of attend to their lessons. Marcus peeled away his own tunic as Gwen stared at him, eyes wide and raking over his exposed skin. The look made Marcus dizzy with elation and anticipation. Then Gwen sat up and pulled his tunic off over his head, and Marcus forgot about himself for a moment.
Gwen was no longer all wiry skin and bones. The summer months had been good to him, and Marcus was finally able to really slow down and take in every detail. His body was still lean, but he’d filled out enough to cover the bones. His muscles showed a little fuller, too—not that his work had been any more demanding than his previous life, but his diet had been better, and his body had taken the additional meat and built some muscle tone with it. Even his body hair seemed more beautiful now—softer, still sparse, but it framed and outlined the contours of his body as though drawing Marcus’ eyes to every secret place they longed to look.
A soft moan—Gwen, his hands running over Marcus’ chest, his shoulders and arms, his stomach. As a Roman soldier, Marcus had strength and bulk few Britons could boast of; as a Roman, too, he had darker skin than Gwen had probably ever seen. Even these many months away from the Mediterranean sun, Marcus still bore a noticeably caramel color in comparison to Gwen’s fairness. Really, though, he paid very little attention to his own appearance, apart from keeping his hair cut short as a soldier must. He had grown up with dozens of other young men who looked very much like him. He’d never thought himself special at all.
Until he saw Gwen’s eyes on him.
No language barrier could obscure that raw hunger—a look of awe and desire that made Marcus’ heart race. He swallowed. “Gwen…like?” He hoped he didn’t sound as pleading as he felt.
Gwen’s shining eyes met his for a moment, then glanced back down as Gwen half-smiled, nodding. Marcus leaned up, murmuring, “I like Gwen too.” His hands caressed and pulled Gwen closer, and he kissed Gwen’s flat stomach, lips parted to lick, to adore warm skin, moving up to his chest, circling pale nipples one at a time.
As he shifted upward, Gwen shifted down; Marcus kissed his throat, then found his lips again, and Gwen met his kisses warmly. And still he shifted down, and suddenly it was Gwen’s mouth trailing over Marcus’ jaw and down his throat, sucking marks along his shoulders as Marcus ran his hands up the backs of Gwen’s thighs, dangerously high before he checked himself. Clinging to restraint, he squeezed and kneaded just below Gwen’s ass.
But Gwen was still shifting down, and as he moved his mouth over Marcus’ chest, his ass slipped into Marcus’ hands regardless. His breath caught, and he quickly skimmed his hands higher to Gwen’s lower back. “Sor—I mean, ah, apologize.”
Gwen looked up from licking Marcus’ belly, and he reached back, grabbed one wrist, and planted Marcus’ hand back on his ass—and gave that hand two quick, firm pats. Then, with very little fanfare, he tugged apart the tie of Marcus’ loincloth and removed it.
Then Gwen was touching him, stroking firmly, his clever eyes watching Marcus’ face. And Marcus squeezed Gwen’s ass and moaned aloud, too stunned that this was happening to even think.
But perhaps he didn’t need to think.
Gwen kissed him again—wet, breathless kisses—and Marcus lost track of his caution and uncertainty. He pulled Gwen close and rolled them over, and Gwen went willingly, laughing as he was tumbled into the furs. Marcus couldn’t stop touching him, ardently admiring every inch of his slim, fair body. It was Gwen who pressed their hips together, missing at first, then getting to the right general area and rubbing his hard prick up against Marcus’ aching cock.
That alone nearly undid him, but Gwen was already asking for more. He threw a leg up—Marcus felt it pull heavily at his lower back—and then he was fumbling for one of Marcus’ hands again, shoving it down underneath them. Marcus swallowed, cupping Gwen’s buttocks in his hand, and he squeezed slowly as he sought Gwen’s mouth again.
However, after a minute, Gwen seemed to grow impatient with his forbearance. Pushing gently—Marcus moved instantly—he created space enough for himself to roll over. Lying on his stomach, Gwen reached down and…and Marcus nearly came at the sight as Gwen pulled his buttocks apart, silently offering himself as he glanced back over his shoulder at Marcus with a look that plainly said, “Do you understand yet?”
To his own shock, Marcus felt himself blushing, but he nodded eagerly. Then, as his fingers skimmed Gwen’s opening, he paused. “Did you bring…um.” Gwen blinked at him. Marcus winced, searching his memory. “Oil?” He pantomimed coating his fingers with a rather obscene gesture of his other hand.
Gratifyingly, he was then not the only one blushing. Gwen smiled as he reddened and shook his head, looking caught. But Marcus was already rushing to solve the problem.
“Very well. Ah…wait.” He made a staying gesture, then jumped up and was halfway to the door before he remembered his nudity and turned back quickly. Even redder, most likely, he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around his waist, repeated the gesture to wait—and tried not to become entranced by the sight of Gwen, naked in his bed and nodding—and hurried out to the common room.
He could barely see in the dark, and as he shuffled through the cookware for the jar of oil, Marcus kept bumping objects—he knew not what. Nothing shattered, but something crashed to the floor, and then something else hit him—possibly the broom handle. He found the oil, though, by touch at first—then he sniffed it to be sure. Satisfied, he was just turning back to the bedroom when a light made him reflexively shut his eyes.
“Master?”
He blinked, squinting against the candle, and gripped the blanket tighter around his hips, hoping he was entirely covered. Anwen and Tacita stood in the doorway of their room, Tacita rubbing her eyes like a petulant babe. Anwen looked befuddled as well, but managed to ask, “Master…want hungry?”
“No,” he hurried to dismiss. “No, it’s nothing, go back to bed.” Tacita yawned and turned to do so, but Anwen looked confused. “Sleep! Go sleep! No want hungry.”
Finally, the girl seemed to understand. With an uncoordinated little bow, she returned to her closest with Tacita. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief and shuffled quickly back to his room in the renewed dark.
Gwen was still there. Gods above. He hadn’t vanished. He was still there—very real and solid and…slowly stroking his own prick. He smiled when he saw Marcus with the oil, and Marcus thought he might die of desire and happiness in that moment.
Then Gwen rolled onto his stomach again, and Marcus moaned. He dropped the blanket, gathered oil and left the jar on the floor, and then he was straddling Gwen’s thighs, parting him, touching.
With a sigh of pleasure, Gwen arched into the touch. Marcus eased his finger inside Gwen, as gentle as could be. He was determined to do well, to take every step with care, to do this flawlessly…for Gwen. But…he wasn’t sure what happened. As he stretched Gwen with his fingers, bending to place adoring kisses on his back, he somehow…lost time. His conscious mind seemed to fade away into a dream. There was nothing but heat, skin, little gasps and moans, murmurs in that strange tongue that had become almost familiar. Gwen. Gwen, Gwen…
Instinct carried him as he entered Gwen’s body, primal satisfaction swelling in his belly as he watched his prick spread his lover open—and a satisfaction just as deep lodging in his heart as soft sounds of pleasure, of welcome filled his ears. Gwen’s head was turned, and Marcus could see momentary tears spring to his eyes, but he didn’t fear. He waited, and watched as Gwen blinked them away, blue eyes now misty with desire. He saw his lover smile, and his own eyes clouded with tears of joy, and then he took everything Gwen had offered him.
Time must be passing, somewhere outside the dream, but to Marcus the whole world had become this bed and this man. This body that writhed, sweating and eager and beautiful. Their limbs tangled, he held Gwen close, skin slipped in the surging and they’d shift, twisting to cling to each other in a new way. At first he pulled Gwen up against him, then he lay upon him and held him close, then he slid to the side—both of them rocking together with the fur clinging to their wet bodies. He buried his face in Gwen’s hair, found the side of his throat with his mouth and sucked as he thrust deeper. Gwen’s voice grew tight with need, his strong hands gripping Marcus’ wrists at his chest and stomach. He pushed one hand down, and Marcus understood at once and took hold of his leaking prick.
Together—they were moving together, now. Marcus felt Gwen twisting to push himself back onto Marcus’ cock, little grunts escaping him through hitching breaths. His throat was tight…he couldn’t stop himself from saying…
“I love you.”
It was s whisper, and he muffled it against Gwen’s shoulder. Surely, he could not hear clearly enough to remember. Surely, he wouldn’t know…
“Gwen…love…I love…you.”
Then he reached his climax inside his lover, the hot rush overwhelming him as he spilled his seed within Gwen. Breath against his temple—Gwen’s face turned to him, his mouth open, seeking…
Marcus kissed him, stroked him, felt him shake and shiver and arch, felt his manhood throb in Marcus’ hand and the hot splash of his spend. He held Gwen through the climax of pleasure, and only released him when Gwen’s body went limp with satisfied exhaustion.
Hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, Marcus pulled himself together with great willpower and rose to get a cloth and fill the basin with water. Then he gently guided Gwen to roll over. Gwen submitted sweetly, but his clever eyes were awake and alive and watching Marcus—thinking. What, Marcus knew not, so he only cleaned Gwen carefully and thoroughly, turned him onto his back, and finished wiping him down so that he would sleep and wake comfortably.
He washed himself too, and swallowed as he saw Gwen watching him. His face heated and he looked away, but Gwen, it seemed, did not, for when Marcus was done and looked back at him, his eyes were still on Marcus, watching, filled with thoughts Marcus could not guess.
Then Gwen held out his hand, and Marcus went to him without thinking, and Gwen smiled when Marcus pulled him close.
Marcus fell asleep with the sight of his beloved’s smile, happier than he had ever been.