My Wicked Gladiators

by Hawkeye, Lauren

  I again felt sorry for the man. But I could do no more, and I comforted myself with the knowledge that perhaps he was not as upset by the entire matter. I retreated even as Hilaria ordered Christus to take his place behind her. I heard the slither of flesh on flesh behind my retreating back, and then a grunt of pain—or of pleasure, it was hard to say.

  Perhaps they were the same in her view. And I found that sad, for though I was sure that some of one could enhance the other, somehow, in Hilaria’s case, I thought one might be dependent on the other.

  At least I was free of it. I would go for a bath, go try to cleanse some of the unctuous sensation from my skin before they finished and I had to escort her to the door. And while I bathed, I knew very well that I would slip my hand between my own legs.

  I would remove the friendship ring first and the twisted relationship that it signified.

  I needed to see Marcus, needed to see Caius.

  The next night could not come soon enough.

  Hilaria left before I could be summoned, slipping out of our home like a thief hours after she had arrived in it. I could only begin to wonder at the mental state she would be in after what she had just demanded, but in the end it was none of my business.

  Marina was to tidy the chamber, as per Lucius’ instructions. Drusilla was meant to escort Christus back down the stairs, back to the men’s quarters, but could not be found.

  “She is ill.” Marina told me this with a careless shrug of her shoulder, the long tail of her hennaed hair flipping through the air with the explanation for Drusilla’s lack of appearance. The two women had never been friends. “Shall I go get her?”

  She sounded as if she would rather scrub out my chamber pot. I started to roll my eyes at the silly girl but stopped myself from performing the childish gesture.

  “No, no.” Surely if Justinus was permitted to lie abed when he was sick, then the slave who held equal position could do the same. “Let her rest. I will take him down.”

  Marina goggled at me as if I had suggested escorting the man to Orcus’ hell. “That is not appropriate, Domina.”

  I raised my eyebrows, angry at the silly girl for contradicting me, which was very much not appropriate. “I will decide what is appropriate, thank you, Marina. And what I think is appropriate is for Drusilla to rest, for you to clean this room, and for me to escort Christus below.”

  The chit looked as if she still might argue, but I schooled myself into a glare that I only partially felt. She was right, and the second angry flip of her hair told me that she knew it. It was not appropriate for me to take the man below. It would be best for me, if I could not bring myself to rouse Drusilla, to send Marina below, and have her clean the room after.

  There were two reasons that I did not like that course of action. First, the silly girl was so loose with her . . . affections . . . that sending her amongst scores of hard-bodied men was akin to waving honeyed fruit under the nose of someone who needed to become less thick in the middle. Chances were good that I would not see her for hours and would have to fetch her myself anyway, since neither Lucius nor Justinus was home.

  Second, I was dying inside, needing to catch even a glimpse of Marcus or Caius. I knew that I would see Caius the next day, but I had come to have deep enough feelings for both men that the anticipation filled but half of my soul.

  The realization of those feelings staggered me. I tucked it away to examine later, when I was alone.

  Gesturing to Christus, who was still naked, I stalked across the floor of the main hall. I knew that he would follow. Truthfully, I wanted to walk behind him, for though I had no particular feelings for the man, it was a rare gladiator who was not built like a god.

  I was not entirely immune to the way that his muscles, with their sheen of sex sweat, glimmered in the early evening light. It would not be an unpleasant thing to run my fingers through those inky spikes of hair, either, or to look into the honeyed depths of his eyes. I could smell the aroma of hard sex on his skin, and it made my nipples peak. I forced myself to swallow the lust down. The man had been through enough this evening, servicing Hilaria. I would be appropriate, no matter how starved I was for touch. And with Christus, that was all that it would be—touch. My feelings for him did not extend beyond physical appreciation, unlike what I’d felt for the two other men who occupied my thoughts.

  The skeleton key was where I had found it last time. This meant that Justinus could not have told Lucius that I had ventured below before. If he had, not only would I have been punished, but the key would have been moved, hidden, or likely carried on Lucius’ person, along with the key to the wine cellar. But it was there, free for me to take, to use. It fit in the lock just the same, too.

  I should have let Christus slip through the gate, then locked it back up and gone to check on Drusilla. That would have been the appropriate thing to do. The prudent thing. Instead, I waited until the man who had been forced to be Hilaria’s plaything had moved halfway to the baths and then slipped through the fence of iron myself. It creaked slightly as I closed it behind me, and I winced at the noise, which grated through the air. I knew that the baths were straight ahead—that was where I had found Marcus and Caius before, and I could see steam and smell the tang of minerals in the air that wafted from that direction.

  Through the baths, on the other side, were the men’s quarters, the small, cell-like rooms that they were allowed to consider their own. That was where many of the men would be right now, I knew. They would be playing games of chance, betting their winnings, or perhaps touching each other, those who favored the touch of men. Some might be sleeping, some might be awake. I could go there, could look for Caius. The fact that all of the men were locked down here, however, made me slightly more cautious than I had been last time.

  Yes, they all knew what their punishment would be for touching me, harming me. However, a lifetime at the arena games had well taught me that when in a group, the lust for blood, for . . . other things . . . could overtake common sense, even in individuals who were normally quite sane.

  No, I would stay away from the men’s quarters. That would be wisest. But my trip was not wasted.

  I knew, again from hearing Lucius speak, that the heavily desired champion’s quarters were on this side of the ludus. If Marcus was there, I would be able to see him. To touch him, even if just for a moment.

  Quietly, I made my way down the narrow corridor that led away from the baths. Torches lit my way, brilliant apricot and azure flames casting halos and giving birth to shadows that hinted of secrets. As I walked, I felt excitement begin to light a similar fire in my veins, felt my arousal grow.

  I had not been able to see Marcus for far too long. Now, even just a kiss would be like ambrosia to my agitated soul.

  This corridor was much shorter than the one that led in the other direction, and it had only one opening, one arch, more ornately carved than most things in the ludus. It was hung with a curtain, not as heavy or as fine as the velvet one upstairs, but still a luxury that I knew the other men were not granted.

  The actual walls were another boon. From what I had been told, the generic cells contained bars, not solid divisions, so that there was no privacy, not ever—not when sleeping, not when pissing, not even when fucking.

  This had to be the champion’s quarters. Since the current champion was Marcus, I had enough bravery within myself to gather a fold of the curtain, which turned out to be coarsely woven and rough, in my damp fist. I pulled it aside, just enough to see in. It was not wise to startle a gladiator, even if there was no weapon at hand.

  What I saw startled me, instead. Shook me to my very core.

  On the narrow bed, something else this room had that I suspected the others did not, were twined two male bodies. Two hard male bodies, both of which had become as familiar to me as that of my husband’s.

  It was not a wonder that they did not hear me, d
id not see me. They were busy.

  Caius and Marcus lay pressed together, arms and legs wrapped and entwined. Their mouths kissed feverishly, seeming hot with need, open wide and giving.

  Marcus scrabbled his fingers over Caius’ head, massaging, grabbing, looking for ruddy hair long enough to twine his fingers in, to pull the other man closer. Caius sighed into Marcus’ mouth at the touch, running his hands down Marcus’ back, stroking, caressing, until he reached the taut globes of the other man’s ass. He dug his fingers into the man’s muscle, hard enough that I winced, knowing that I would have bruised under the same pressure. But Marcus groaned at the touch, and it was a sound of pleasure.

  I felt lightheaded, watching the two men who were both my lovers make love to each other. My cunt grew slick, and my breasts felt heavy, swollen.

  How I wished that I was in that room, instead of just an observer on the side. How I wished that my body was in between theirs, my skin glowing nearly white against the dark caramel that the sun had turned theirs.

  But I could not, somehow, intrude on the moment. It was private, intimate, and I knew that I really should have turned away, have gone back upstairs. But not only did the sight before my eyes arouse me beyond measure—the two men who made love to me with their hands all over one another—it made me insecure, needy.

  I watched because I was searching for a sign that they did not mean more to one another than I did to them. How could they want me—and I was fairly certain that they both did—when they clearly had so much more with one another?

  I had thought to ask Marcus tonight what the manner of their relationship was. This was clearly not the time. No, not the time at all, as I watched the two warriors roll one way, then back again, the two men fighting for a momentary dominance.

  Marcus finally pinned Caius on his back and sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Clearly pleased with himself, he straddled Caius’ hips, then leaned forward and placed his palms flat on the other man’s chest.

  Caius grinned up at him, and I saw that rakish nature of his in the curve of his lips. He liked being overpowered, that much was clear. And yet I knew that he also liked to have me in his control. Perhaps for him it was the best of both worlds.

  I should have been jealous, but instead found myself hot and needy.

  I thought that Marcus meant to kiss Caius again, on those beautiful bowed lips, but instead he pressed his mouth against skin that I knew was leather soft, right under the jaw. He worked down from that spot where the pulse of a strong heart throbbed, down to press hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses over a hard chest that was lightly dusted with whorls of hair the color of the sun. When he reached the concave dip of Caius’ pelvis, where the bones of the hips jutted out on either side, he pressed his face into the skin, as if absorbing the heat and the scent.

  “Marcus.” Caius moaned, a sound that I knew all too well. I had heard it myself, whispered against my skin.

  I was struck again, as I had been in the baths, at the degree of caring, of . . . could it be love? I did not understand. Had they known each other before coming here, to the ludus? If they cared so much for one another, why did they need me?

  The answer was plain as day, and right before my eyes. They did not. And yet both professed to desire me, and I felt that it was more than my body that was wanted.

  I was so confused. The only thing that I was truly clear about was the fact that I ached, so badly did I crave one of their cocks, tunneling in and out of me.

  I wanted to be a part of this heated scene, rather than just an observer.

  I wanted to take part in that love. I wanted to feel safe and warm and cared for. Instead I debated with myself again, telling myself to go back upstairs. I did not. I swallowed a moan, clutched at the coarse fabric of the curtain tighter and continued to watch.

  “Be still.” Marcus kissed small, light kisses over Caius’ abdomen before pressing one final kiss to the head of the other man’s cock. Opening his mouth wide, Marcus slid the length of Caius’ erection against the rasp of his tongue. Caius moaned once, long and loud, and struggled against the body that held him down. Marcus ordered him back down, his tone to be obeyed. Caius fought back for a moment, a long moment in which muscles strained, before subsiding into a silence that was tense with expectation.

  Spreading his knees wide in an effort to range himself low over his lover’s body, Marcus let his weight be supported by his thighs, the muscles of which I could see quivering under the strain. With one hand he grasped the cock that was half in his mouth, wrapping a fist tightly. The other hand reached between the man’s legs to stroke over the globes that fell softly against the coarsely woven sheet.

  Caius let out a strangled cry.

  “You like that?” There was amusement in Marcus’ voice as he repeated the movement, a lightness laced with comfort that I had never heard in his interactions with me. Even as something that felt much like jealousy lanced through me I whimpered softly, unbearably aroused.

  I could not stop myself. Though I felt so uncertain, I allowed a hand to stray to my breasts. I massaged the swollen flesh there, hoping to relieve some pressure.

  I did not dare place my hand between my legs. I was too afraid of being caught.

  Time slipped away from me as I watched Marcus suck on Caius’ cock, the soft, wet sounds the only noise to break the thick silence. The golden head slid up and down, and the strong hand moved in time, so that Caius was never without stimulation at any time. Caius began to tremble, his muscles standing out in sharp relief. He was about to come, I knew, and was trying to hold back.

  Marcus knew it, too. “Ssh.” He soothed his lover. Taking his hand away from the sack that he had been softly stroking, he slid his hand between his own legs, fisting his own erection. There he began to pump, harder and faster than I would have imagined could be pleasurable. He began to groan at the same time that Caius did, and his hips thrust forward, thick wetness spilling onto the sheet only moments before Caius grabbed the back of Marcus’ head, shoving himself in roughly, as far in as he could.

  The smell of sex became ripe in the air, and I very nearly whimpered. I wanted, so badly wanted, to be in that room, with those two men.

  Biting my lip, wrestling with emotions that I could not quite identify, I took a step back, meaning to close the gap in the curtain, to leave. I had lost all track of time and I knew that at the very least, nosy Marina would have noticed my prolonged absence. At the very most, Lucius would be home, and I would be in a lot of trouble. I found myself strangely lethargic about the threat.

  Whatever Lucius did to me, could do to me, it paled in comparison with the odd mix of feelings that were rioting through me right then, the most prominent being exclusion.

  Before I could close the curtain the final crack, before I could shut the door on this particular tableau, Marcus laid down on top of the other man, spent. Caius ran his hand over Marcus’ back, equally drained, and the satisfaction and contentment that seemed to seep from the very pores of both very nearly did me in.

  Though I felt as though I should be crushed, I found that I was not. I could not place words to my feelings, but I did not feel despair.

  As I contemplated this and quietly stepped back I thought I saw Caius raise his head, look in my direction, right at me in fact. But the curtain had already fallen shut, closing me out even more than I had already been, so I turned and walked away.

  The whisper of jealousy made its presence known as I again understood that this was not my life, and would never be. Stolen moments to make things bearable were all that I could hope for. And perhaps I was being selfish, for I knew of many who would envy the position I was in.

  My last thought—as I ascended the stairs that would bring me back up to my part of the house, to my world—was that damn it, it was not enough.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  By the time the sun fell the next night, mar
king the hour for my mating with Caius, I was feeling needier than I had ever felt in my life. And it was not just physical need. My emotions were in turmoil, and I did not know how to quiet them.

  I was again beginning to suspect that it was me who was barren, not Lucius. This would be my third cycle with Caius. If this last hour had not gotten me with child, then I did not have much hope.

  I hoped that the heat between us would burn the feelings away. I was ready, more than ready, when Caius entered the room. I had stripped off the thin layer of lace that covered my body, and was seated on the edge of the chaise, my legs opened in invitation.

  “Domina.” Caius’ eyes locked onto the expanse of my naked flesh. I watched him peruse the length of my body, and the feel of his eyes seared me like a hand placed in an open flame. I saw him quiver with need and knew that he would not be able to control it.

  Marcus might be able to refrain, to hold back, but not my Caius.

  He crossed the room in several long strides and took me into his arms. His mouth met mine, and the kiss was feverish, like that same flame, exactly what I had wanted. I reached between us, reached into his subligaculum and rubbed a hand over the silky tip of his cock, which was already fully erect. A muffled noise escaped from his mouth into my own. Releasing his flesh, I tugged clumsily with the strings of his leathers, pulling until they loosened and fell to the floor.

  His hands filled themselves with my breasts, cupping them, pinching the jutting peaks between forefinger and thumb. When I again took his cock into my hand, this time rubbing it between both palms, he bent and drew one of my nipples into his mouth. Words choked me, sticking in my throat, and all I could do was gasp. He scraped teeth gently over the tip, causing the surrounding flesh to pucker. I moaned at the heat and wet that surrounded my skin.