Pillow
talk on the triclinium was mercifully one-sided, not simply because Serge, a natural performer, enjoyed
talking about…Serge, but because Billy didn’t want to inadvertently open
himself up to questions that might reveal his true nature as a proud,
twenty-first century homosexual.
As
Sergius obsessively caressed Billy’s back, the gladiator told him how he’d been
taken into slavery as a child. He had won his freedom in the arena many times
over but chose to remain a gladiator. Billy, perhaps overly applying his modern
ideologies, asked why Serge willingly participated in a world of constant
violence and bloodshed, with death always the more likely outcome than not.
Serge
was not offended at the question. Not at first, anyway. “Because it is all that
I know, all that I am, and all that I could possibly be.” Then, he paused. “And
because of ‘him’.”
Billy
thought he knew who ‘him” was. “Brennus? Yeah, he really wants to be your
apprentice, Serge.”
The
big man winced. “Oh, how I know.” Serge let out a long, tired sigh. “In my
hometown, it is said that only truths must be spoken where lovers lie, and so I
will tell you the whole of it, Billy."
So, Serge did. Billy listened, attentively, eating grapes and pawing chest.
“I
took on an apprentice before," Serge said, looking into the firelight. "I taught him everything I knew. It kept him alive…until
it didn’t. He was to be freed after his last fight, but the Generous One of the
Underworld must have coveted him more than I. One’s heart can only endure so
many cracks before it shatters, small friend. All I can do is make sure Bren is
protected while I convince him to leave this place behind. Thus, why I treat
him with indifference.”
Billy
scrunched up his face. “Wait, really?”
Serge’s
squinting face and guilty grimace turned him into the largest of cats,
swallowing both canary and cage. “I may have orchestrated our indiscretions to
further deter Bren’s affections. One cannot sow on salted earth, and all.”
Billy
bolted up in the bed. “Oh, you want to talk salt, Mr. Poet!?” He fumed. It was
probably unwise to take a tone with a man who could crush his head between his
legs like an egg, but Billy’s Bostonian scrappiness could not dull his tongue
lashing. “Well, I’m a bit salty hearing that I was just used as a…as a PLOT
DEVICE!”
Serge’s
head shrunk into his thick, thick neck. He pressed his forefingers together,
unknowingly doing a stellar impression of the ‘begging eyes’ emoji. “Salt, my
stallion, or sweet?” Serge nibbled on Billy's neck, teasingly.
Until Billy pushed him away and responded to his flippancy by flipping him off. Two handedly.
“I presume that is a rude gesture where you come from,” Serge coughed, turning his nose up. “Nevertheless, I shall remind you that it takes both kindling and flint to make a fire. And by the gods, my stallion, did we both blaze! Aside, I am no barbarian, small friend. Had you denied my amorous overtures back in the arena—as would have been your right—I would have thought nothing of it. You would still be sheltered, guarded, fed, and offered all the comforts of my protection."
Serge wiggled his eyebrows, lustfully. "Still, I think you made the wiser choice, eh?”
Billy sighed. “Okay,
see, this is why I stopped dating Italians.” He slapped his hand against his
forehead in frustration. At long last, the player had been outplayed, and old
school-style no less! “So let me get this gay, Sergius. Basically, you and
Brennus are in this deeply toxic situation where he’s too afraid to shoot his
shot, and you’re too afraid to put him at risk, SO YOU BOTH LET MEN WITH SWORDS
TRY TO CUT YOUR APPENDAGES OFF…FOR FUN?” Wow, men really haven’t changed in
the last millennium.
“Do
not presume it’s as simple as all that, small friend!” Serge hunched his
shoulders back, a warrior going on the defense. “And, nay, toxic? As
in…poisonous? My stallion, there is nothing poisonous about fighting for honor
and glory!”
Modern
sensibilities or no, Billy strongly disagreed. He knew it was dangerous to
speak his opinions out loud, but that hadn’t stopped him before. “You’re
letting these old, rich fucks force you and enslaved men to fight each
other to the death. You fail to see how that’s a tiny bit problematic?”
Billy knew plenty about future gladiatorial rebellions, of course, but that
didn’t matter. Right now, he just needed to convince this gladiator to
give up the game and get with the guy.
However,
Serge was not a man open to convincing. He reminded Billy of his Italian
ex-boyfriend, explosive in both his opinions and gesticulations. “Small friend,
to die on the battlefield is an honor. To disparage the way of the arena is the
talk of cowards! After I saw you take down The Gorgon, I presumed you a man of
grit. Foolish, to be sure, and no doubt eccentric—but brave. Now? You
insult me, telling me how I should live my life as some common weakling!”
Visibly
annoyed, Serge hopped off the couch. “The guards will still want to interrogate
you,” he sniffed. And, just like Billy’s Italian ex, the storm clouds so
swiftly parted, yielding to a warmer, emotional climate. “But to the dogs with
what they want! Still, beyond the reach of my gladius I cannot guarantee
your safety. Despair not, however. I would not lose such a pretty plaything.”
He
winked, and slapped Billy’s butt, willing him off the couch. “A powerful man is
a forgiving man. I sense your misguided words were born out of consideration,
not ignorance. Speak no more of it and we shall agree to bury our battleaxes in
the sand. In any case, we have unfinished business, you, and me. I
believe the editor is hosting a fete tomorrow evening in honor of the grape
harvest. I expect the wine to follow and the inhibitions of men to be loosened
by the will of Sweet Bacchus.”
Upon
hearing this, Billy had to throw out his hand and stabilize himself against the
wall. This keeps getting better and better. Thankfully, post-nut clarity
brought Billy back to his mission at hand. He’d gotten with the gladiator, but
he sensed his goal in this era had not been fulfilled.
Serge
picked Billy’s jeans, shirt, and jockstrap off the ground, handing them over.
“I will fetch you some local garments, and then I shall put you under the
protection of one of my companions until the time comes for tomorrow’s
activities.” Serge smiled and tugged his breechcloth back over his waist,
veiling a masterpiece. He smiled at Billy. “Remember, you are still mine
until I release you from your duties. Now, follow along—”
The
crackle of firelight, and the exertion from being humped by a beast of a man,
had made Billy sleepy. “I dunno, Serge…I think I’m overstimulated. Maybe I
should stay here and—"
“—To
the wrestlers guild!”
“COMING!”
