My Wicked Gladiators

by Hawkeye, Lauren

  Caius’ jaw clenched, just the slightest bit. That small movement was all that it took for me to understand much about this man’s temperament, and he certainly had one, one that was held in check in a manner much less firm than Marcus’.

  He was angry at the unwanted caress. Being a gladiator, he had no choice but to bite back the words that surely wanted to spring forth from his lips.

  I was not sure what to do. Certainly Lucius would not mind Hilaria’s actions, but they did not sit properly with me. I knew it was most likely because Caius had golden hair, just like the mystery gladiator who had given me such pleasure.

  In the lights of the torches that were set into the walls of the room, that gold held a sheen of ruddiness, just as the hair of my masked warrior had.

  Had it been Caius, then? Oh, I was so dreadfully confused.

  Watching her fingers on his taut skin caused a tightening in my abdomen, similar to the sensation brought on by thinking of her touching Marcus.

  What was wrong with me? I had no reason to be upset.

  “Do you ever hire your warriors out, Alba?” Hilaria’s hand stayed where it was, and I marveled that Caius’ cock did not rise under her touch. “I would dearly love to fuck one.”

  I felt as though something heavy had fallen on my head. “Hilaria!”

  She laughed, squeezed Caius’ cock through the thin cow’s skin lightly and moved her hand to my waist. I thought I saw the man’s eyes flick toward my face, thought I saw the faintest hint of a sneer on his lips, but his face became stony and still again so quickly that I thought I must have imagined it.

  I did not feel that his disgust had been for me.

  “Alba, do not be so shocked.” I knew I should not have been. Hilaria enjoyed a sexual freedom that married women and young innocents did not.

  But still . . . to pay us to fuck one of our men? I knew that such things happened at the other ludi in Rome, but it had never happened in ours.

  Yet.

  “What are you two desirable women laughing about?” Lucius’ arm was around my waist without warning, and I steeled myself to not flinch from his touch. He toyed with Hilaria’s fingers, and she giggled.

  Like his flirtation with Iuliana, this had never bothered me before. But knowing the things I now did about my husband, the seemingly innocent gesture made my skin crawl.

  “I have a query.” Hilaria smiled beguilingly at my husband, the glance more intimate that I thought proper.

  I gulped past the lump in my throat and willed myself to relax into Lucius’ embrace, even as words spilled from my lips rather desperately. “Oh, let us not bother the man with such girlish affairs.” Though my every muscle urged me to yank myself out of my husband’s embrace, I quieted them. It would not do for me to remove myself from his touch abruptly, at least not in public.

  “Do tell.” Lucius cocked an eyebrow at the other woman and added a lascivious smile.

  Hilaria leaned in close, and I was not sure if I should take offense at her overt flirtation with my husband, or if it was light and innocent as it had always been.

  “I wondered if you could be convinced to hire out one of your men. For . . . special services.” She smiled then, the smile of a woman who knew she would get what she wanted.

  I looked at Caius. I could not help it. What did he think, I wondered, at his “services” being bartered like this?

  His eyes met my own, but that was the only acknowledgment of me, and it struck me what a true blue they were, a pure blue that contained no hint of any other color, as the eyes of many did. They flickered away again before I could but blink, but somehow the man had managed to convey to me an attitude of defiance, as if he would die before showing that any of this bothered him. I thought that I saw his hands clench into fists, as well, but then he was again as if carved from stone.

  He knew the trouble he would be in if Lucius caught him doing anything but standing stoically.

  I turned my head and saw Marcus standing seven men farther down the line, at the very end.

  He, too, was still, a golden statue.

  “Did you have a man in mind?” I could practically see the greed oozing out of the pores in Lucius’ skin. If he could get Hilaria to agree to a high-enough sum, it would pay for this party, this celebration of something that had occurred simply by chance. This party that, by my husband’s own admission, we could not actually afford.

  “I would love to have a go at your champion.” She slid her gaze down the line of men, and I was reminded of a serpent, slick and sinuous. “But I suspect you would say no.”

  “True enough.” Lucius sipped at his cup, which from my vantage point I could see was filled with water and not wine.

  He had likely had more than enough of the latter the night before.

  “You know that a gladiator needs his seed for strength in the arena.” Hilaria pouted at Lucius’ words, but she seemed resigned to the fact that she could not have Marcus, and the knowledge made me weak in the knees with relief.

  I may not have been able to have him again, but it did not mean that I wanted his cock sold to the highest bidder.

  “This one shall do just fine.” Hilaria again reached out to caress Caius’ hard pectoral muscles. Her touch made me feel sick, though I could not have said exactly why.

  I was sure that Lucius would agree. Was sure that a sum could be agreed upon.

  Why did I care?

  “No!” My husband spoke with such vehemence that I jumped. I looked at him with puzzlement, and Hilaria with astonishment and annoyance.

  “Why ever not? You have your champion.” The woman gestured with her head to the end of the line, where Marcus stood. “I am sure I can afford whatever you would charge for this one.” Her eyes raked over Caius, lingering on the little that was hidden beneath his leathers.

  “And if our champion is killed?” I wondered if Hilaria had heard the same pause before Lucius spoke again, as if he had needed to make up a reason that she could not purchase Caius. “Caius is our next hope. No, no, you may choose from any man, except those two.”

  “Hmm.” Hilaria stepped back, and studied Lucius. I was sure that she suspected what I did, that he had another reason.

  “Why don’t I let you think on it?” I had already known that Hilaria was used to getting her own way—she no longer had a husband to answer to, after all.

  What I did not know was why I cared so much about whether it was Caius or not.

  “I can assure you that my mind will not change on those two.” Lucius smiled apologetically, but I could feel the tension in the arm that was wrapped around my waist.

  This was risky, refusing the woman her desire. She was higher class than we were, and she could make Orcus’ hell seem pleasant in comparison with our lives, if she so chose.

  “Let me appease you.” Quick as the snake that Hilaria had reminded me of earlier, Lucius moved his arm from around my waist to hers. “A mock battle!”

  He repeated the words, louder, until everyone in the room had heard and had stopped their chatter, giving him their attention.

  “Marcus, our champion!” Lucius gestured, and my one-time lover stepped forward out of the line. “And Caius, his closest match!” From behind me, the second man moved out of line, and the naked skin of his arm brushed against my own. Our eyes caught, and he dared to let his face relax into a smile, one both wicked and fierce.

  I shivered involuntarily, heat suffusing the area that had been touched, as my husband turned to Hilaria, who stood with pursed lips.

  “Will you accept my offering, lady?” He lifted her hand to his lips, a gesture I had seen him perform a million times before. Only now did it look unctuous.

  “Very well.” She finally, reluctantly, acquiesced, and allowed herself to be pulled to one side, to make room for the men to fight. As she brushed past me, however, she squeezed my ar
m and giggled in a whisper. “We will convince him yet, will we not, Alba?”

  It might have been only a mock battle, a game for fun and entertainment, but our guests smelled blood.

  “Oh, use real swords! Do!” Hilaria pouted as she spoke, the sight of the fake swords obviously offending her bloodlust.

  Doctore, the former arena fighter who trained our men, had given Marcus and Caius wooden training swords to use in the game, but Hilaria was having none of it. “It is not exciting if it is not real.”

  I could see that Lucius was about to argue—it was just a game, after all, so what should it matter, but the pout on Hilaria’s lips reminded us both that we had refused her once already, and as such must tread carefully. She could influence Baldurus in a way that would not be beneficial for us, if she so chose.

  “Very well.” Lucius gestured for Doctore to replace the wooden swords with lethal metal ones. “But everyone must stand clear. It would not do for someone to get hurt on such a wonderful occasion.”

  The crowd that had clustered around the perimeter of the room tittered, though the words were true enough. In a space so small, someone, anyone, could easily get hurt, something that I reminded Lucius of in a whisper.

  He shook me off impatiently. “What would you suggest, then? If she cannot have Caius, then we must appease her with someone.” Then he was off, speaking to his two top gladiators, leaving me to stand beside the smirking Hilaria, wondering why he was so adamant that Caius’ services not be sold.

  My thoughts were distracted when the two men entered the empty space from opposite sides of the room. Everyone was distracted from their conversations, it seemed, because the room fell instantly silent, all eyes trained on the men who stood facing each other on the veined marble of the floor.

  Even if I had not had reason to look closely at the pair, I would not have been able to help myself. They were spectacular—breathtaking. Two golden demigods, skin darkened from the sun, muscles honed to rock solidity by incessant training. Both had flaxen hair shorn close to the head, though Caius’ contained a hint of red, and Marcus’ was solid gold. Both were tall and intimidating. If I did not pay attention, I could easily have gotten confused, wondering who was who. But after a few minutes of intense scrutiny, they were easily identified.

  Marcus had features as sharp as the blade in his hand. His eyes were dark as tar, and he looked as dangerous as he was.

  Caius, on the other hand, could have passed for a full god himself, with an innocent face and eyes as blue as the sea. It was misleading, I knew, for he was nearly as formidable a gladiator as Marcus, though more reckless and hot-headed, it seemed, especially when compared with Marcus’ stern control. I knew I had not imagined his anger minutes before, though he now seemed eager to work out his rage in the fight.

  I found heat pooling between my legs as I compared the two. I knew Marcus’ body, knew how his hands felt on my skin. Knew the sensation of his cock between my legs.

  Did I know Caius as well? Was that why Lucius has been so adamant that Hilaria not have him?

  I found myself wishing so, wanting both of them, though I knew that my masked man could have been either of the duo, or any of another handful of fair-haired gladiators.

  But watching the two as they began their demonstration, as they began to parry and thrust with steely intent, I was caught up in the fight, as much as any of the others who stood around me cheering.

  They were beautiful to watch, specimens equal in form to the gods. They fought differently—Caius was quicker to react and therefore made more mistakes, but he was stronger, and Marcus evaluated before moving, leading to less movement and less energy spent—but they were very nearly matched in skill.

  It was like watching a dance, a dance that drew me to them. I fisted my fingers around my cup, for fear that I might actually reach out and touch one of them.

  For the first time, I found myself wishing that Caius was the masked man, if only because then I would have had them both. But I knew that if that was true, then I would have to try very hard not to summon Marcus to me again.

  My thoughts made me feel shameful. Marcus had not had a choice, and the man I was mating with did not, either.

  I was so deep in my thoughts that I did not see what had happened, did not know that anything had until the people around me, our guests, gasped as one. Startled, and with some emotion punching me low in my belly, I stepped forward to see.

  Caius knelt on the ground, his hand clutched to his abdomen. Blood leaked out from between his fingers, a crimson trickle that scented the air with copper.

  Dressed for display at the party, not for a battle, neither had been wearing a cingulum. Now Caius had a wound that the thick leather belt could have protected him from.

  I was at his side before I could even think of what I was doing, kneeling beside him. Ever anticipating my needs, Drusilla followed quickly, a coarse towel in her hand, which I took with gratitude.

  Before I could touch the man’s skin, he released his wound and swung out briefly with the flat of his sword, striking Marcus across the shins and causing the surprised warrior to stumble, then fall to the floor. To my astonishment, both men laughed, in rollicking gales, even as Caius pressed his hands again to his side, wincing with pain.

  Nudging them aside, I placed the towel that Drusilla had handed me over the wound. I caught the eye of the man as I did, and jerked back when I saw him leaning toward me, his lips barely open.

  I stared at the red that was spreading over the wound, doing my best to appear nonchalant. The man had been a whisper away from kissing me, I was certain. Kissing me, in front of everyone here.

  I had wanted him to.

  “Alba.” Lucius tugged on my arm, pulling me to my feet. On his face was barely masked anger and embarrassment. As usual, Justinus stood just behind him, his lips schooled in that detestable smirk.

  I saw Marcus and Caius both over my husband’s shoulder, both crouched on the floor. Caius looked startled at his actions, even angry at himself.

  Marcus’ expression was unreadable, as it so very often was.

  “Let me go!” I spoke quietly enough that none of our guests could hear. If I embarrassed my husband in public, he was well within his rights to punish me. “This is ridiculous. Arena swords at a party? We are lucky that this is all that happened!”

  I turned back to look again at the injured man, who had the towel pressed to his gash tightly. He nodded at me, his face now a studied blank. “Gratitude, Domina.”

  “Yes, gratitude.” Marcus bent and placed his large, scarred hand on his comrade’s shoulder, while looking up at me. His eyes revealed nothing of our tryst, but still sent a jolt through my body when his stare met my own. His look was penetrating enough that it took a full moment before I noted the tenderness with which he touched his fellow gladiator.

  And then I was permitted to look no more. Lucius pulled on my arm again. “This is not appropriate, Alba.” Straightening, I looked up into his angry face and bit my tongue. He spoke to me as if were a petulant child, and I did not like it.

  “Fine.” But Lucius was already moving away. Doctore and Marcus helped Caius to his feet, and they left the room. Lucius consoled Hilaria, who was not happy to have her entertainment thwarted yet again, by ordering Marina, one of our slave girls, to straddle a gladiator whose name I did not know on a table in the middle of the room, for everyone to watch.

  The gladiator untied his subligaculum quickly, letting it fall to the floor. He laid on his back eagerly enough, pulling Marina atop him roughly. With strong arms he ripped her thin serving tunic in two. It fluttered to the floor, leaving her skin bare.

  Those who gathered around her roared with appreciation. They had been promised excitement, with blood and with swords, and this was nearly as good.

  The man clasped Marina around the waist and roughly lowered her onto his already erect coc
k. She gasped at the intrusion—he had spent not even a moment preparing her—but after several thrusts I saw her skin begin to flush and a haze of lustful enjoyment begin to cloud her eyes.

  There were women, I knew, who enjoyed their sex rough. It seemed as if Marina counted herself among them.

  Though I was repulsed by the events, I could not look away.

  The gladiator’s skin began to shine with a sheen of sweat, and the moisture picked up light from the torches that the slaves had just begun to light. His grunts echoed through the cavernous room, cutting through the murmurs of our entranced guests like a scalding blade through flesh.

  Beside me, Hilaria let out a small noise of excitement before lowering her hand discreetly to the shadowy cleft between her legs.

  I was not sure why she bothered being coy. Everyone in the room appeared to be coming under the spell of arousal as they watched the scene unfold before us, as the gladiator pushed Marina off of his cock and onto her hands and knees before thrusting into her again, though by cunt or ass I could not see.

  The wild look in the slave girl’s eyes said that, whatever the method, it aroused her.

  I supposed I felt the same as our guests, aroused by the sight before me. But though heat pooled between my legs, I no more would have reached between them for release than I would have fucked my husband in public.

  I merely watched with the others, sick with knowing that Lucius had made this happen, and as drunk with lust as everyone else.

  The gladiator began to thrust faster, harder, and Marina began to moan low and loud. With a hoarse shout he came, thick liquid spilling down Marina’s fair skin as she whimpered.

  She was not given her own release, the gladiator pushing out from beneath her as soon as he had spilled his seed, and this broke the spell for me. Disgusted with my own behavior, for I knew I should have left, or at least tried to leave, before this had even started, I turned away, leaving a horde of people swimming in a soup of lust.