Chapter 2.8 - Rome is Where the Heart Is

Billy’s first night in the Republic drew to an exhausting close. Bunking with beefy wrestlers wasn’t as sexy in practice as Billy had hoped. It was sweaty, for one. And, while Billy enjoyed men with a little natural musk, it was hard getting used to so many bodies unaccustomed to both deodorant and daily bathing. Despite that, plus being wedged between two other men in a line of uncomfortable, stone ‘beds’, Billy succumbed to Hypnos’s spell.

Breakfast consisted of an old-school kind of grain porridge that tasted as good as it looked, which was not very good at all. When nobody was looking, Billy snuck off to a corner of the guild to discreetly ravage a power bar and slurp down a juice box. He prayed Bato and Astanyx’s ingenious plan for the evening would work, otherwise Billy’s snack stockpile was in danger of rapid depletion the longer he stayed in this era.

Billy spent the morning watching hunky, naked men grunting and rolling around in the sand with each other. Big-hearted Bato offered to re-awaken Billy’s wrestling knowledge, but the modern man’s spirit just wasn’t in it. He was, truthfully, worried that he was now in over his head, fiddling in the lives of people who had died nearly two-thousand years before his birth.

The other men were content to leave Billy to peace, and one of the gruffer brutes among the guild had insinuated that this was because he was under the protection of Sergius Sextus. Billy doubted he would ever see the man again. That was, until, the hairy Adonis appeared at the entrance to the kitchen (Billy had volunteered to make himself useful, and as the ingredients used in meals offerings were sparse and simple, found it easy chore to take up).

Before Billy could blurt out an apology about sleeping with Brennus, the bearded hunk tossed him what appeared to be a giant sheet of grey fabric. 

Sergius sniffed. "Put this on," he said.

Billy unfolded the garment and found it to be a somewhat 'grim reaper-like' robe. "What is it?"

"To hide your pretty face as I take you out for fresh air," Sergius, his bulky frame filling the doorway, said. "We need to talk."

Even under the woollen cowl, the smell of the sea perked Billy's nostrils.

   Billy hadn't expected to be taken out of the guild by a man who had essentially dumped him there as a burden, and had left on cold terms. If Sergius had wanted to snap his neck, he would done so by now, Billy thought.

Today, the air in the market was fresh, and the sky bright. Calenum was no Rome, of course, but it was far more than a pit of sand and an amphitheatre. Along the coast of the rocky Tyrrhenian Sea, the jewel of Campania terminated in a glittering harbor, where merchant vessels from all over the Republic came to port to offload wares from shores near and far.

"The whispers in the guild say you and Brennus had a most spirited wrestling match," Sergius said, steering Billy away from a patrol of guardsman. 

As much as Billy wanted to explore the stalls and vendors of the market, he knew it was best to keep a low profile. "And if I told you he came on to me?"

Instead of slamming Billy into a stack of amphorae, Sergius laughed. "I'd believe it," he said. "A rumor like that wouldn't have reached me ears so quickly unless it was deliberately started by its subject. Brennus thinks he can exert some sort of control over me by making me jealous, I imagine."

Billy sighed. "Gay men never change."

"In any case, I hold no ill will towards you." Sergius winked. "Even if you and I do not see eye-to-eye on the nature of combat. In any case, I thought we might discover if there are any fleets bound for Rome. I don't think you are safe in this city, and the gods smile favorably on those who assist strangers. I want you somewhere safe."

As much as that warmed Billy's heart, the reality was that nowhere was safe. He didn't need to get to Rome. He needed to get back to 2024.

In any case, Billy felt safe under Serge's protection. The fish mongers and oracles and scholars and laundresses gave the gladiator a wide berth (and not merely because he was larger and wider than the lot of them).

Still, certain whispers were far more generous in their assessments of the man, especially those of the eligible youths. Billy overheard the chatter:

“He’s handsome.”

“Yes, that’s the wrestler who gave up the sword! He’s quite intimidating, isn’t he?”

“Could you take him in a fight?”

“I’d much rather take him in my bed!”

“Perhaps we could wrestle him down and take him there together.”

“His lover would cut your throat if you dared it. I hear he’s scarier.”

“Well, I’ll just have to take him to bed as well!”

Serge scratched his beard and pretended he hadn’t overheard the miscreant scholars. "It seems I am quite popular. Better the attention on me than you, little one."

Billy sulked. "I'm not that little."

 Their destination was the tavern near the wharfs, where local rabble was more likely to pick a fight with him—all in the hopes of raising their esteem in the eyes of their drunken, mariner companions. Serge told Billy he almost preferred it. A good scrap was a fine method of getting one’s blood flowing (or spilled, as it were).

As soon as Sergius approached the tavern, someone cried out his name. It wasn’t an angry cry either, which was unusual—but welcome. Serge whipped his head towards the desperate sound but made sure to keep one hand on his dagger, and the other nudging Billy behind him.

"Let me do the talking," Serge told his ward.

A swarthy, bearded man, wearing the vestments of a merchant, approached Serge in a state of sweat-soaked breathlessness. “Praise be to Jove,” the man wheezed. “I knew I’d spotted you, Sergius Sextus. You do stand out among a crowd.” 

Serge removed his hand from the dagger at once, instead placing it over his heart, a respectful greeting. “Oh, good Claudius!” He raised an eyebrow at the normally dignified man’s state. “Hitting the wine a little early, are you?”

The good fellow shook his head. Behind him, Billy noted a few straggling mariners, and even a member of the guardsmen out on patrol—all of whom appeared shaken and upset.

“I come to you as cold and sober as the Stygian Sea,” Claudius said, once he’d caught his breath. “Sergius, strong of physique and heart. Brennus, our Celtic brother-in-arms, has been captured by King Mido’s brigands.”

Billy placed his hand over his mouth to keep from gasping and drawing attention to his presence. 

Strangest of all, Serge looked relieved. "Captured," he said. "Captured means 'alive'." He stepped forward, tempted to grab the gentleman by the scruff of his toga and ring the truth out of him—but there was no need. “When did this happen?!”

Not but several minutes before Serge arrived, Claudius said. In addition to Bren, Phryxia, a keeper of cups and a kindly sort, as well as one of the bordello’s handsome lotharios, had likewise been netted and dragged swiftly to the pirate’s vessel. The make of the ship, as well as the armor of the fiends, was known to the tavern-goers—who identified the scoundrels before they set sail.

Claudius guided Serge and Billy down towards the docks. “The Midoans are no friends to the Praetor, who has already threatened their mad king previously with invasion for vexing our ships. It seems the unruly sort have a penchant for kidnapping young men and women along the Republic’s coastal communes, but for what purpose? Regardless, Calenum needs no excuse to unleash our fleets onto Midoan shores.”

Sergius looked to Billy, doing his best to keep himself strong. He nodded. Billy didn't know what that meant, but his heart must have, because he felt it sink into his stomach. This wasn't good.

“If others would deign to join the hunt," Sergius said to his friend, "then so be it. As it were, I've already raised any army."

Claudius blinked. “What? Where?”

Stiffening his back, Sergius rose like a lion on his haunches over the longshoremen and the dockside riffraff. “It stands before you in the form of a man. I would venture to the depths of Pluto’s Manse to rescue Bren.”

Under his breath, Billy whispered, "Damn it."

 Seemingly without fear of wait lay ahead, Serge’s eyes fixed to the waves across the beckoning horizon. “Now, Claudius, I will need you to grant me swift passage on a fitting vessel.” The gladiator nodded to Billy. "My servant here and I must make bounds for Mido at once!"

Billy looked into Serge's face. "Are you kidding?"

"I never jest," Serge said back, giving Billy a friendly pec bounce. "Come, adventurer, let us test your mettle!"

next chapter

Chapter 2.7 - The Schemes of Sulla

 

Praetor Sulla’s eyes were as cold and hard as the gladius hanging off Octavian’s waist. Inside the fire lit villa of Rome’s usurping dictator, the young soldier saluted his master, presently splayed across a couch.

Even in age, the Praetor was still handsome. He sipped from his goblet, weary from the strange turn the gladiatorial fight had taken down at the amphitheater. The Praetor had hoped to return to Rome, not merely to fortify his rule, but because it was a city of order. The countryside and coasts were still far too unruly for his liking, even after many attempts at taming.

The Praetor acknowledged his man. “Have the Guard apprehended that interloper who made a farce of that competition?” Indeed, that strange, barbaric man who had trudged onto the sands had been an amusing, if not unruly division. Despite his entertainment value, he had still transgressed, and Sulla could not allow the stranger’s actions to go unpunished. It would make him look weak.

Octavian spoke clearly. “Our soldiers have made enquiries, your excellency. We believe Sergius Sextus is hiding him within the palaistra.”

The Praetor raised an eyebrow at that. Not that he was one to salivate over every brutish gladiator to grace the arena, but he knew of Sergius and his exploits.

The Praetor scoffed. “Why would he risk his illustrious career for some fool?” Then, as his eyes fell on an engraved pottery picturing all manner of decadence, the answer dawned on the tyrant. “Never mind. I have eyes, after all. The man is ruled by his genitals.”

There was a time when Sulla might have likewise been swayed by a pretty face and large muscles, but those days were well behind him now. Men of esteemed were expected to act with dignity and conceal their vices.

Octavius, noble and loyal, asked the obvious. “Should we capture Sergius, your excellency?”

It took everything in Sulla’s power not to laugh at the mere thought. May the gods have mercy on the men who’d attempt that. “No,” Sulla sniffed. “Let us not be heavy handed in this matter. Still, it vexes me. I have done so much to keep our hold on Rome, from spiralling into unrest and disorder.”

The open-air chamber overlooked Calenum’s harbor. Sulla turned his face towards the salty wind and the white caps of the roiling tides. Where most men saw nothing but endless ocean, Sulla saw a world of unknowns, begging to be tamed. To be ruled.

Up here, on the hills, the world below and all its people looked so small. Sulla turned his nose down at the city sprawl. “Do these plebians not realize how delicate the balance? The burden placed on my shoulders. I have only just crushed that worm, Marius, under foot. I have finally restored Rome to its glory. Set a course. Yet it seems there are those who would yet defy my rule.”

A never-ending battle, this empire. With enemies everywhere.

Turning his back on the sea, Sulla moved back into the torchlit room and asked Octavian, “What of the news from off the coast?”

“The Band of Mido has been active, your excellency. More kidnappings in the harbor.”

At this, Sulla pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Already, forces in his midst sought to undermine him. “Have we no platoons? No navy? Mido is a tiny island of barbarians. Do not tell me that our best soldiers truly believe those children’s stories of the monster that lurks there?”

Octavin opened his mouth to speak, but Sulla held up his hand. “Wait. An idea comes to me. Two birds. One stone. We cannot arrest Sergius Sextus directly, nor his kept boy. He is no enemy to Rome. But the Midoans, and their so-called monster must be put to heel. And Sergius would be the man to do it.”

Octavian knew to choose his words carefully. “If I may, your honor, he won’t agree. He takes no payment for his battles. He cares not of his freedom. He lives for the sword alone.”

A cruel smile crossed Sulla’s face. “All the more reason I admire Sergius Sextus. He has ties to none. No family to speak of. A man like that is quite hard to compel. But there is the handsome Celt, Brennus. I have seen him battle. Quite the warrior, that one. I know Sergius cares for him dearly.”

The Praetor’s eyes flashed with malevolent brilliance. “A pity if he were to be kidnapped by the Midoan pirates.”

Octavian lowered his head. He was a smart one. Quick on the uptake. “I shall arrange something, your excellency.”

That should have been the end of it. In fact, Sulla was content to lay back down on his couch and dismiss the man, but then came the twitch at the back of his skull. It was a half-remembered dream, or some whisper among the villa, eating away at Sulla’s peace. The Praetor believed in messages sent from The Twelve Counsel high above. Their signs and blessings had led him to conquer Rome, after all.

“A god speaks to me, Octavian,” Sulla said, quenching his thirst with wine. “I know not which one. But it speaks to my heart. It tells me that this strange man who appeared in the arena, the one with peculiar pendant around his neck, is someone that does not belong here.”

Here. What did that mean? These tugs and pulls and shadowed meanings from the gods were never quite clear. But Sulla knew, just as he knew daylight, that the handsome man who had locked eyes with him back in the amphitheatre was from someplace far off and dangerous.

With Octavian dismissed, and Sulla finally alone, the man ordered the servants to fetch wine and made way for his private chamber. At the foot of the long, stone steps, the Praetor. Though age had taken its toll on his mind, it hadn’t on his body. But like so many things, this was all by his design alone. Unlike the slovenly youths of the modern day, Sulla trained himself like any soldier.

The Praetor entered the perfumed, torchlit room, to find his desires waiting. It was like a mosaic, every part perfectly place. Bound to three parallel slabs of marble, the muscular young men looked like fallen statues in the twilit chamber. One was fair, and curly haired. The other, with thick, dark ringlets. The third, with deep, bronze skin. Per Sulla’s orders, all three men had been oiled, inside and out.

Behind each man loomed three titans, men of formidable musculature and even more formidable endowment. They, too, had been specially selected. Their bodies differed, from one olive-skinned brute bearing a forest across his mountain chest, to an alabaster-skinned bull, and an Abyssinian with skin as rich as night. Their faces were all obscured by mask in the shapes of equines, for good reason—because their manhood matched that of any of the realm’s most virile breeding stallions.

In a realm where smaller members were a sign of a civilized and proper man, here stood Sulla’s private chamber of breeding beasts. All three men starved, of both food and sex, so that their minds were melded towards one singular focus: that of breeding. Sulla wanted rutting beasts, and he got them. All three men dripped pearls of white onto his floor.

Sulla had already begun stroking himself by the time he signalled for them to begin. The giants grunted and threw themselves on top of their quarry, forcing their cocks to widen and part their lover’s openings. Soon, the chambers filled with squeals, and grunt, and moans, and cries of ecstasy and agony in equal measure.

And Praetor Sulla watched, all things by his design.  

THE END

Chapter 2.6 - Naked Combat

 

After some serious pleading, eye-bat lashing, and a double bicep flex, Billy convinced Bato to make it a ‘private’ wrestling tutorial. Unless I’m getting my ass handled, I don’t need an audience to see my ass getting handed to me.

Besides, this was more about buying time than enjoying a tussle in the ancient world. Feeling naked even before taking off his clothes, Billy followed the giant Ethiopian man—whose frame nearly blocked the stone corridor—to a small room with a sand pit, and an open ceiling for lighting. Billy, sighing, leaned over and removed his socks and shoes, grounding himself by the sensation of sand between his toes. The later noon sunlight brought Billy some peace and relief, but the sand reminded him of the arena, and nearly dying.

The truth was that Billy hated getting naked unless the situation was sexual, not because he was a raging horn dog (he was) but because of the control. During sex, nudity was power. It was strength. It was confidence. Outside of some erotic entanglement outside of judging eyes, Billy couldn’t imagine anything less sexy than having to prove his athleticism, naked, to some random Roman dude.

Turned out, the Roman wasn’t so Random—and he was Celtic too. As Billy kicked himself for internally griping about scenarios his more adventurous friends would have probably killed to experience, the familiar face of a bulky redhead with alabaster skin and knotted muscles rounded the corner, drawing the curtain behind him for privacy.

Billy’s heart jumped, and then immediately fell into the pit of his stomach. He shuffled in the sand, nervous, but tried to sound excited. “Brennus! I haven’t seen you since we—”

Right away, it was clear Bren was in no mood for hello’s. “Drop the pleasantries,” he said. “As well as your pants, for that matter. We’re here to wrestle.”

Oh, he is so going to kick my ass. Billy bit his lip and scratched his head. He laughed. “How about we play cards instead? Or I can take out my Switch and we go around of Spellbreakers. I can teach you how to parry moves.” Having said this, Billy cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at the thick, redhead. “You know, now that I think about it, you actually remind me of one of the characters, Ci—”

Brennus sharply cut him off and advanced further, closing the space between them. “You’re not going to wrestle in your clothing, are you?” With that, Brennus dropped his breechcloth to the floor and kicked it away.

Suddenly, Billy forgot what he was saying. “Sorry, I forgot what I was saying!” Because his focus was on Brennus, thick-cut, pasty body, and the fat knob hanging from a golden covering of bush. Bren wasn’t as endowed as Serge, but he had a girthy, uncut cock and a pair of huge, low hanging balls that made Billy drool.

Thankfully, or perhaps because it hadn’t been long since Billy’s last release, his better judgment took hold. Remember what Eros said. “Look, B, I’m not one of those gays. I wasn’t trying to steal your man.” He paused. “On purpose.”

The Roman era jock wasn’t buying it. Emerald eyes narrowed maliciously. “Stop blabbering and take your clothes off.”

“Alright, alright!” Billy did as he was told, with just a touch of shyness. Now that he’d gotten a very good look at his would-be opponent, Billy decided that he was more attuned to his ‘weight class than he’d first thought. In fact, Billy suspected he had more muscle and weight on Bren—no doubt thanks to coming from an era of protein drinks and easily-accessible nutrition.

Dare I say, I might actually have the advantage here? I mean, all I gotta do is just get on top of him with my chest, right? That’s how normal wrestling works.

Billy looked down and found he wasn’t as shy as he’d thought. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he sighed.

Bren smirked. “Your words say one thing, but your body speaks another language.” For that matter, Bren was sporting a pretty soldi stiff one himself. His round, pink cock head pulsed. “Cupid blesses us with his favor. Truly, this will be a great match…if not a quick one.”

If Billy had zero self-control, he might have started ‘sword fighting’ with Bren instead. “Right,” he said, trying to remember what a ‘grappling stance’ looked like. “So is there like a bell or—”

“HRRRRAH!”

Like a charging, white bull, Bren shot forward into the sand, kicking up particles and wrapping his meaty arms around Billy’s equally meaty quads. Bren pushed his head painfully into Billy’s side and the big boy went down, into the dirt before he knew what was happening to him!

Caught literally with his pants down, Billy at least had the instincts to turn over—which of course meant sticking his big, juicy butt out for Bren. Guard, guard! Billy kept telling himself, gripping the sand.

Bren’s response was to jump onto Billy’s brought back, wrap his arms around Billy’s neck, and push his face down into the sand in a wicked full nelson. This, while Bren wrapped his meaty legs around Billy’s thighs, to try and prevent him from leveraging his weight.

“I didn’t think this would be submission style,” Billy squeaked. “Holy shit, you got a grip.” Billy wasn’t sure if he was imaging Bren rubbing his cock against his lower back, essentially humping him, or if he just wanted to imagine it.

Bren’s frustrated voice stung Billy’s ear. “It’s whatever style I want it to be, Billy.” He clenched down harder. “Come on! After seeing you hold your own out in the arena, I thought you might at least have some more fight in you.”

Billy thought about barking back, and making his situation worse, but then Bren rolled him over, twisting Billy to his side and essentially cradling Billy in his grip.

Billy tried squirming, but Bren kept his grapevine and his nelson on tight. “Aghhh!” Billy cried out, wincing. On the inside though, his body and his brain were in conflict—the war over pain versus pleasure. This is just like the end to Lords of the Locker Room!

Straining against the thick, Celtic beefcake only served to make him even harder. “You love it,” he sneered. “I can feel your heat against mine. Is this what you did with Serge?”

“N-no!” Billy cried out in agony. But he wouldn’t give up. He’d taken cocks up the ass bigger than this beefy, bossy, bottom, bitch. “Agh! Is this because I slept with your crush?“

“Partially,” Bren growled. “I’m taking out my aggression. And I want to make Serge jealous. Also, you’re also cute when you’re in pain.”

Billy went to say ‘thanks’, but then Bren turned him over onto his side again, releasing him. The relief, and mercy, was only temporary though. Before Billy could recover, he found his head wedged between two massive, white anacondas—Bren’s meaty thighs. Even worse, Bren was closing his quads around Billy’s neck and driving his face into.

“Mmmmff!”

Heaven and hell, all in a giant, pasty, birth-mark kissed bubble butt. At least Bren bathed.

Billy couldn’t see it, but Bren was happily content, yawning and flexing, and hardly applying much pressure at all. “I’ll release it once you kiss it!”

He thinks this is humiliation, Billy thought, struggling to breathe. But really, it’s the best day of my fucking life!

Suddenly, Bren’s expression changed. His lip quivered. “H-hey, I said kiss it only. What are you? Oooh that feels good. Too good.”

Blushing, Bren released Billy from his imprisonment, only to reposition his pelvis on Billy’s face, dragging his wet cock and musty ball sack over Billy’s mouth. “Taste me,” he said. “Taste your conqueror.

With Bren’s fat cock and balls smashed against his face, Billy scowled. “This is why redheads scare me,” he said, before he wrapped his mouth around Bren’s glans and put on a submission technique of his own. He inhaled the Celt’s heavy cock like it was an ‘extra meat’ filled burrito on taco Tuesday, thickness and girth be damned.

Bren didn’t expect that! His eyes rolled back into his head. So used to Bren was in inflicting pain, that he’d never expect an opponent to turn the tables by inflicting pleasure instead! “What-what kind of technique is this!?”

Billy had him where he wanted him, and he felt like a damn champion. He stupefied Bren with some of his own special, mouth wrestling techniques. The twirling tongue. The up-and-down. The chicken head bob. Bren’s cock cried ‘mercy’, in every release of salty precum. Each expulsion was a victory for Billy.

But Bren wasn’t going to surrender that easily. Forcing himself not to release, and lose this fight, he leaned forward and declared, “We’ll see who yields first.”

Mouth full, Billy’s eyed widened as he felt something amazing happening to his own, pulsing ‘weapon’ in this arena. Bren was a master of the mouth himself! Though less proficient, he took Billy in easily.

The two opponents went at it, in a lock-up of tongues and mouths. Billy’s mind sparked endorphins, reeling from the feedback of Bren swallowing and sucking him, and him suckling the meat boy’s fat cock. He could have staid in this position for hours.

But Billy intended to win this match. And, fortunately (or unfortunately_ so did Brennus. With neither men relenting to the other, but their bodies vibrating, suggesting that the other might lost his load any moment, the two beefy studs dove in faster, with an insatiable hunger for the other—both of them thinking they might swallow the other hole.

In the end, there was no yielding. Bren’s moans of pleasure melted into Billy’s, a loop of pure ecstasy. The two equally matched, white bulls flowed into the other, with Billy letting out a high-pitched hum, and Bren moaning sweet vibrations into Billy’s throbbing shaft, coaxing out more and more cum.

The two studs came in each’s others throats at the same time, with stifled groans and overflow of white trickle from their lips. Neither thought of spitting, though Billy thought he might actually drown from how much Bren unloaded. It must have been awhile since his last release. Bren, clearly, had the easier time of it.

It was easily the angriest, most intense ‘69’ of Billy’s life, but damn if it didn’t feel fantastic!

Bren and Billy released each other, gasping, at the same time. They scrambled to their hands and feet, like cats mid fight. Their sweaty faces met, and then their eyes. Billy saw the sticky white thread dangling from Bren’s puffy, parted lips. Speaking a wordless language, the fighters turned, in a moment, into lovers. Billy and Bren kissed each other, tasting the other’s seed, and fighting with their tongues.

The two men, groaning and growling, clawed at each other’s back, getting fistfuls of muscle, fat, and ass. When they were both content, they broke away—as did the spell—with either man looking at the other as if they weren’t quite sure what had just happened.

Bren composed himself first, wiping his mouth. “Well,” he said. “Seems we are more well-matched than I thought. Your techniques are unorthodox, certainly show promise.” He smirked. “I imagine you will be quite popular with the other wrestlers.”

I’ll need a fucking stomach pump before I get out of this era, Billy thought, sickly in his post-nut clarity. “Yeah. I definitely feel like a winner.”

“Mmm. No. Technically you were flat on your back, so I won.”

Billy sighed, with Bren still fresh on his breath. “Let’s not do this again. Are we even?”

Billy expected Bren to deck him across the face, or (hopefully) put him ina sleeper hold. Instead, Bren said something…unexpected. “Far from even. We are equals, Billy!”

Billy blinked, but before he could say anything, the massive wall of Celtic meat pounced on him, pinning his hands and violently making out with him.

“Let’s go to the brothels!” Bren said, with horny mischief. “We can have a night the whole night. Any men we want! Any men we crave. It’ll piss Serge off, so much! What do you say? Some more fun?”

This was far too much! With sand now nestled in places Billy dared not think about (it must have been Eros’s divine intervention that stopped him from getting only cum in his mouth) Billy winced. “Bren, I am not the one you’re meant to fall in love with!”

Back to the old, squinty, testy Bren again. The gladiator stood up. “Who said anything about falling in love?” he said. “I enjoy your body, Billy. And your spirit. We would have a time together! And I can drink and fuck the thoughts of that oversized ox, Serge, away!”

Drained and defeated, Billy laid back in the sand and looked up at the orange, setting sky hanging over the wrestling guild. “Is anybody in this time period well-adjusted?”

NEXT CHAPTER

Chapter 2.5 - Locker Room Talk

When Billy stepped into the torchlit chambers of the gymnasium, he suddenly remembered the meaning of the Greek word ‘gymnos’. Naked. Granted, the local flavor here was decidedly Latin, but the Roman counterpart wasn’t far removed from its Hellenic roots.

A pair of buff, nude athletes fell into the pit of sand, mid-grapple, right in front of Billy’s eyes. The living statues—oiled and rippling with sinewy muscle--grunted and grabbed at each other’s sweaty bodies, trying to get on top of the other. The man on the bottom, a toned, curly haired blonde, bridged to avoid the pin, inadvertently giving Billy a great look at his cock and balls.

Billy tugged at his new, loose-fitting tunic, ensuring the rope around his waist was properly secure. Damn, are they all hung like horses here, or what?

State of the male anatomy aside, Billy shuddered to think how he would need to adjust to the Roman Republic, if he was going to be holed up here for a few days (or however long it took to fulfill his mission). Mostly, he dreaded the old-school lavatories. A sponge on stick, steeped in a bucket of vinegar, was not simply an unacceptable replacement for toilet paper, but borderline hostile to bottomkind. Potable water was not readily available either. Thankfully, Billy still had one or two clandestine sports drinks bottles he’d tucked into his backpack at journey’s outset.

Shy, and feeling a bit socially awkward (he was still adjusting to the whole ‘being in the past’ thing) Billy looked around the wide room. Men—in all shapes, sizes, and colors—lounged around naked and carefree, stretching, talking, or rough playing. It was like being in a less homophobic locker room or hanging out on a nude beach. The casual atmosphere took out some of the eroticism.

If this was nothing more than an ancient locker room, then it was easy for Billy to identify the big man on campus. All the lads approached Sergius with stars in their eyes, happy to share his breathing space. While Serge busied himself with his ‘fan-club’, Billy’s eyes fell upon a familiar idol nestled in a nearby alcove. It looked exactly like the statue of Eros in the museum. He suddenly remembered the god of love specifically mentioning his double-duty as the patron god of wrestling.

He would invent a sport completely focused on dry-humping and grabbing another man. Billy made sure nobody was watching him before he approached the statue of Cupid, glaring at it deeply. “I’m sure there’s no way you can hear me, but I have a major bone to pick with you.”

An echoing voice emerged from inside Billy’s skull, even though he knew it was the statue’s doing. “AGAIN, BITCH?”

Billy flinched. So, the mischievous god could hear him after all! “Stop doing that! Wait, how are you doing that? I thought you had to possess someone.”

“What part of divinity do you not understand, himbo? Time and space? Easy shit. By the way, saw what you did with Auru. Nice work! As you can see, I decided to spice things up for your second challenge.”

“Yeah, well it’s pretty damn spicy, Eros. Or do I call you ‘Cupid’ here?” Billy looked over at Serge, in the middle of teaching the cute, wrestler boys how to strike bodybuilder poses. “Anyways, the gladiator was hot to trot. 10/10, would do again. I get to move on now, right?”

“Heh. You forgot the part where I mentioned you also have to sort out your hero hunk du jour’s ‘love problem’. Remember Brennus, that scrumptious redhead with the big butt? You know, the guy whose man you TOTALLY STOLE RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM LIKE A HORNY SOAP OPERA MINX?”

Billy groaned. “Is that a hint of Greek guilt I detect?”

“I’ve turned people into goats for far less, Billy, and do NOT ask me if I’m joking. As much as this little game of ours is designed partially to bring me sadistic amusement, and partially to punish your himbo hubris, it’s also meant to TEACH YOU A LESSON ABOUT LOVE.”

The sour taste of shame and guilt washed over Billy’s tongue. “Hey, Serge came on to me.”

“Oh, and I’m sure his big, girthy gladius polished itself, hmm? HMMM?”

“There was…a non-zero amount of gladius polishing, yeah.”

The marble statue’s face was beatific, but somehow Billy felt the rage seep through. “Fix this mess, Billy, or good luck living through the Social Wars. And I do not mean Twitter vs Instagram!”

“I know what the Social Wars are, Eros, I’m a HISTORIAN!”

“And you’ll be a dead one if you don’t sort this ‘ish’ out, Billy Travers! I’ll keep it simple stupid. Your goal is nothing short of getting Brennus together with Circuit-Party Maximus over there.”

“Sure, fine, whatever—but won’t my actions here have consequences on the future? My presence in the past means influencing Bren and Serge’s destiny, right?”

“Destiny? Lol. Not that I’m going to give you a crash-course on time paradoxes and that sort of thing, but you are now part of the natural course of events, Billy-babe. As long as you don’t go assassinating the emperor, or having sex with your grandfather—”

“Why would I have sex with my grandfather?”

“—Then you’ll be fine.”

Easier said than done, of course, but hardly impossible. “Okay, I understand my assignment. But let’s say I do manage to get those lovebirds—those extremely violent, scary lovebirds—together? Who’s to say that relationship won’t flicker and end.”

For a moment, Billy wondered if Eros had ‘flickered out’ himself, snubbing him and dispossessing his icon. “All relationships end, Billy,” he said. “That’s not the point of love. Or trying for it.

“You have my blessing and my promise to be free of this era once your task is accomplished. And my words are as good as gold. Now, on you go! Get the gladiator and his guy together; I’ve got a Pilates class to attend. MWAH!”

Annoyed, but hardly surprised at Eros’s nonchalance, Billy clenched his fists and leaned towards the idol like he was about to bite its head off. “Wait! Don’t you—” He stopped quick when he noticed a shadow fall over him. Billy looked up—and up higher still—into the face of a man whose skin was as dark as night, and with a smile as bright as the moon.

Billy felt his heart skip a beat. “Oh…hello there, very, very large man.”

The very, very large man in question was an East African Hercules with skin like the night and a mouth full of pearls. “Ah, I see he prays to flighty Cupid—as we all do.” The giant greeted Billy by tapping is fist against his chest—a chest that could have given ol’ Serge a run for his denarii. “I am guild maestro Bato, a proud citizen of Rome, dear friend to Sergius, and the strongest man in Ethiopia!”

“I believe it.” Billy looked down, wondering why the wrestler had bothered tying anything at all around his waist, especially with that giant anaconda peeking out beneath the hem of his breechcloth.

A handsome, tall, curly-haired fighter strode past them. Like Bato, he was minimally garbed, and his body was likewise impressive. He’d bandaged his chest with wrappings, up around his right shoulder.

Bato pulled him, quite literally, into the conversation. “This is Astanyx,” Bato said, enthusiastically, slapping his back with a loud thunk! “He has a PUSSY! Graceful Apollo was drunk when he made him, but he’s more man than anybody else in these stables.”

Astanyx laughed at the remark, which told Billy everything he needed to know about his friendship with Bato. “Well, if you didn’t advertise it out loud, Bato, I certainly would. It’s true, that my strength is formidable, and that noble men and women alike have patroned me outside these gates.” He cupped his hand to his mouth and bent forward to whisper to Billy. “They even bottle my sweat as aphrodisiac!”

Billy found both wrestlers delightful and warm (and hunky). Okay, trans-affirming Rome, I see you.

“I have been asked by our dearest moron, Sergius, to be your bodyguard for the day,” Astanyx promised Billy. “I will ensure that our men don’t give you a hard time or use you as a practice dummy.”

“Unless you want them to, of course!” Bato added heartily. Billy felt the giant’s laughter reverberate through the stonework beneath his feet.

As much as ‘all of that’ sounded just swell to Billy, he remembered Eros’s instruction. “Bato. Astanyx. I am very concerned about your dearest moron.” He looked behind them. Sergius had left the building, likely to go lift weights, or train, or whatever gladiators did when they weren’t gladiating.

“As are we,” Astanyx lamented. “Brennus, too, is a cause for worry. I have asked the handsome Celt to forego the trident and join us here in the guild, but he refuses. He is adamant he can win Serge’s heart by way of impression and esteem. Brennus would gladly challenge Mars himself to a contest of swords without a single care, yet the very thought of speaking his love to Sergius seems to turn the boy green.”

Bato was in firm agreement (which made sense, as everything about the man was firm). “Everyone but Serge can see that he and that flame-haired beauty are intertwined by the threads of fate. Yet, they are both gladiators. Combat is their language, not harmony.”

For Billy, it was obvious Astanyx was the tactician of the guild. A chalk slate hanging on the wall behind them, scrawled with detailed move formations, was most likely his work. “Sounds like you two know them best. What do we do?”

Capable Astanyx paced back and forth, trying to untangle the puzzle that was Serge and Bren. “One man cursed with an overabundance of confidence and ego,” he said, weighing the facts with one hand, “and the other man full of reckless abandon. That is, until it comes time to face his rival—his

 own emotions. Indeed, the Greek playwrights couldn’t envision such a tragic farce, Billy.”

“Make no mistake,” Bato said, “my desire to bring those two warriors into the palaistra’s fold is not born out of pure altruism. I need good wrestlers, and I know fine stock when I see it. Still, I greatly adore those two boys. It would be a shame to see them ruined by their own stubbornness!”

“Wow, your biceps are the size of my head.” Momentarily distracted, Billy re-directed his train of thought back onto the rails. “So, we’re all on the same page—er—papyrus. Bato, what do you say to making like the Greeks and getting a little Socratic session together in order to help our buddies?”

Astanyx and the guild master looked at each other in confirmation. The giant man stroked his strong chin. “Hmm. Let us formulate something. Until then, Billy, you are under our care. Now, you’re overdressed. Lose the tunic and get in the pit and we’ll find you a strong lad for you to practice your mounts.”

Suddenly, Billy forgot all about the task at hand. “Am I…allowed to make requests?”

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter 2.4 - Pillow Talk

 

After towelling off, Serge insisted Billy lay against him, while he—an impossibly buff, hairy, beautiful, bearded porn-star of a Roman man—handfed Billy grapes from a bowl. 

    Thank goodness, Billy thought, savoring how much sweeter grapes tasted in the past. Feels like I haven’t eaten since 23,000 B.C.

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!”

NEXT CHAPTER

Chapter 2.3 - Crossing Swords

 

Billy supposed he should say something before he got too carried away, but considering Serge was already literally carrying him away, the point was probably moot.

The stucco house abutting the amphitheatre may as well have been a bordello for all Billy knew. A group of gruff men flanking the entrance saw Serge and let him pass, one of them giving out a hearty-wolf whistle. They knew who he was, and, even more importantly, what he was doing with that handsome man in his arms.

“Wait, what about Bren?” Billy asked, afraid he’d just snatched his new friend’s gym crush right from under his nose. Billy’s eyes adjusted from harsh sun to the romantic, twilit ambiance of braziers and incense.  “And don’t you dare say, ‘who’?”

Serge laid Billy down on a Roman-style lounge, cushioned with pillows. With a deep-bellied sigh, Serge tossed his laurel crown to the corner of the room. The chamber ceiling was low enough that Serge, presently undressing, had to stoop low enough not to bump his head against it.

“I know well the man, and admire him dearly,” Sergius told Billy. He removed his arm bracers, shin guards, and helmet, dropping them onto a pile of rugs and bedding next to the couch. “And if gray-eyed Minerva has granted Brennus any wisdom whatsoever, he will know to lay down his weapon and cease his foolish aspirations.” Sergius plucked a small, clay pot from the ground and placed it on the adjoining table, on which sat a bowl full of plump, delicious grapes, and dates.

Billy couldn’t decide if he was hungrier or hornier. Serge decided for him. “Raaagh!” the enthusiastic gladiator roared, reminding Billy of a certain cave dweller he knew. He grabbed Billy’s jeans and began eagerly tugging on them. “Forget this talk of my would-be-apprentice. Your countenance stirs my loins, small friend! Hmmm…you dress in the finery of a distant land. How do I remove such beautiful vestments?”

Billy gladly helped him, undoing his top button and unzipping himself. Serge appeared quite fascinated by the concept of a zipper. “Yes, yes, I am totally about this. What is this place, by the way? Some kinda’ Roman love hotel?”

“This is where the nobles take us gladiators,” Serge said with a sly wink, tugging Billy’s jeans off. Billy heard his phone, safely tucked inside the rightmost pocket, fall to the ground with them. “Should enough denarii cross an editor’s hands, we gladiators sometimes give our audiences…private demonstrations.” Serge laughed, his belly and pecs jiggling with his musical baritone. “By which I mean, FUCKING!”

“Yeah, I figured that out pretty quickly. So, you mean to tell me that you’re basically pimped out?” Billy bluntly surmised.

This did not seem to bother the handsome Roman in the slightest. “Indeed. You, however, will receive me, ex gratia. My treat.”

Which, of course, was great, but Billy still felt slightly guilty about the ordeal, knowing Bren’s affections for the literal, Roman god looming over Billy at present. “Sure, sure. Thing is, Serge, I’m a tad worried about you and your fr—”

Whatever Billy meant to say no longer mattered. Maintaining his cheery smile, Sergius tore away his breechcloth. His thick, uncut, Roman cock unfurled itself like an Olympian descending from the heavens in a cloud of soft, black bush. Billy clamped his hand over his mouth, in awe of Serge’s…sword, joining him in his nudity by taking off his jockstrap.

The Roman eye-balled the curious undergarment for a moment, considered it with a thoughtful sniff, and then tossed it over his shoulder. “Enough talk, small friend,” he said, pinning Billy’s hands to the couch and began by rubbing his beard across his newly won ‘prize’s’ neck, stoking the fire. He glanced down briefly, with immense satisfaction. “Though it appears you are not so small.”

Billy blushed. It had been a long damn time since a man had made him turn red. Sergius removed his hands from Billy’s wrists. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, the hairy bunk motioned for his guest to sit up. “I spied your grappling ability with The Gorgon. That curvaceous body of yours, those hindquarters, and that vacuous expression in your eyes—the hallmarks of a wrestler! I myself was once enamored with the sport, ‘til I became a gladiator. Now, you must honor me by showing me your strength!”

Does he end every sentence with an exclamation point? “Haha…oh geez.” Oh, geez? Come on, playboy! Serge’s ‘Roman rizz’ had reverted Billy back into a virginal freshman, or rather, a vestal virgin. “I only did it for a little while, and I wasn’t even that good! I enjoyed getting pinned more than doing the pinning, for one.”

“Handsome, and modest!” Serge held out his massive arms in a grappling stance, eagerly waiting for Billy to take him on his challenge. “Give me all you got! Don’t hold back!”

Billy sensed how this might pan out and bit his lip, half out of frustration, and half out of sexual frustration. Regardless, he clasped his hands over Serge’s. Serge’s fingers clamped down on his fingers like manacles.

With a grunt, Billy pushed, indeed giving it all he got. It was no use. Serge easily overpowered him, laughing as he pinned Billy to the bed with his bulk, nearly smothering and crushing him the process. “I will have to give you some more lessons,” Serge growled, rubbing his beard against Billy’s neck, making his body tingle. “Now, I shall make you submit to my power—not by brawn alone, nor pain, but with relentless, agonizing pleasure.”

Serge’s tactile tactics with his beard soon transitioned into kissing and mouthing the space between Billy’s ear and shoulders, causing the outsider to roll his eyes back into his head with—well—agonizing pleasure. That, coupled with Serge’s fur, muscle, and heat, all pressing against him at once, was enough to rob Billy of speech.

“This…feels…so good. Fuck.” Billy grew instantly hard, his ‘spear’ meeting Serge’s, only to find his own weapon pinned, dominated, and defeated by Serge’s pulsating shaft. The gladiator cemented his victory with a spurt of precum, dripping from his wide head to anoint the tip of Billy’s cock. An involuntary twitch later, Billy matched Serge with his own secretion. Billy watched the thick, white thread between their glands bridge their masculinities together, before tragically parting. Drunk with this imagery, Billy wanted only more.

Sergius raised his thick eyebrows. “Did you honestly think your pretty cock stood a chance against mine?” Seemed that Serge’s aura of dominance extended from the arena to the bedchamber. Yet, unlike the ferocity he showed in the sands, the romantic side of Serge was more methodical, slow, and tender. He let his lover stew in his moans, before gliding his palms down Billy’s chest, stomach, and legs, in sensual admiration of him.

“From what country has produced such a fine stallion as yourself?” Serge whispered softly, punctuating the statement with a kiss on Billy’s inner thigh, and then another onto his lips. Billy wanted nothing more than only to fasten his mouth to Serge’s (kissing men with beards was always a fun time) but Serge wasn’t going to let him gain the upper hand. Not yet.

Sergius caressed Billy’s most sensitive areas with the back of his hand. “Jove fashioned you with such splendid details. These strong legs. This beautiful belly and chest.” Serge imparted a kiss for each observation. “Why did he do such things? All to drive me mad with lust? If this is punishment, then from this day forward I shall do nothing but profane.” Serge, not one for cheap talk, acted on his ambitions by lifting Billy’s legs up and burying his bearded face into Billy’s ass, where the sublime texture of his beard forced Billy’s hole to contract and expand.

Billy had to clamp his own hand around his mouth to prevent himself from screaming. Thankfully, he regained enough control of his senses to finally form speech. “Serge, I swear if you eat me out, I will cum.” He would have gladly allowed the gladiator to gladi-ate, otherwise.

The man with the aquiline nose and hazel eyes glanced up from his prey, with curiosity painted across his handsome face. “Eat…you out? I am not familiar with the bedchamber customs of which you speak.” He crawled towards and on to top of Billy, like a stalking lion.

No longer in danger of prematurely climaxing, Billy leaned forward and kissed Serge briefly, but the playful gladiator took Billy by the forearms and pinned him back to the bed again, where he stayed in a state of blissful helplessness.

“Still,” Serge said, “the implications suggest a feast, and there is much to devour here in front of me.” Sergius only removed his hands from Billy wrists so he could continue rubbing him wherever it was most stimulating. He gave Billy a warning glance when he dared tried to move, even when the touch of his beard on hip sent Billy spasming.

“Behave,” was all Serge needed to utter.

Billy did.

Serge regarded Billy’s body as an unexplored land to be traversed, all its hills, mountains, and crevasses. Instead of flags of conquest wherever Serge found a territory he most desired, he planted a kiss.

“Do you hail from the Isles of Tin to the far North?” Serge asked, teasing Billy by tracing circles around Billy’s hole with his thumb. “The lands that Radiant Apollo favors most?”

“Worse,” Billy answered. “America.”

The firelight turned Serge’s olive skin into polished bronze, and made his soft eyes shine brighter. “Hmm. I have not heard of this colony. Are all the men there as handsome as the stallion that lays wanting and ready before me?”

Billy swallowed. “I’m…about average.” He looked down and was almost embarrassed at how much he was leaking.

Serge noticed this, and deliberately dragged his massive cock across Billy’s, drawing forth another moan and coating him another layer of precum (seriously, this guy was like a broken faucet). “It is as if wily Cupid himself has delivered you unto my loins.”

“Bro, you don’t know how right you are,” Billy said. With Sergius arching over him, Billy couldn’t help but focus on his enormous chest, and his soft, pink nipples—which poked tantalizingly out of a forest of fur. “Um…may I suck on—”

Serge answered him abruptly by shoving Billy’s entire head into the valley of his chest. He smelled like musk and an unidentifiable, earthy incense—an essential oil, perhaps. Billy buried his face in a wilderness of supple, hard, furry muscle, and was suddenly very content with the idea of suffocation. By no means a selfish lover, Billy returned Serge’s stimulations in his own fashion, licking ‘figure-eights’ across Serge’s nipples. He was pleased, knowing he could make a gladiator moan.

“Yes,” Serge sighed. He kept Billy’s head where he wanted it, and Billy responded in turn by suckling on Serge’s teats like a calf with an unquenchable thirst. He worked on one chest, then the other, making sure both were properly worshipped until Serge’s nips were thoroughly pumped and perky. Billy nibbled, licked, lapped, and groped.

Satisfied that Billy was trapped and contained between the iron pillars of his thighs, the gladiator reached over and scooped up a palm-full of olive oil from the jar. He guided his fingers, slowly, towards Billy’s lower extremities.

Billy winced as he felt Serge try to enter him. “Esh. I’m still a bit sore.” And there’s no way I am taking a gladius like that without more foreplay.

Serge ceased his intent at once and withdrew his fingers from the battlefield. Far from disappointed, he smiled down at Billy with gentle affection. “Then, allow me to show you how we gladiators and athletes have fun after our contests.”

Sergius wrapped his smooth, oiled hand over Billy’s shaft, causing him to gasp as a result of the intense, velvety stimulation.

“During long nights in the barracks,” Serge continued, “the more seasoned of us—matched with our apprentices—would do this to each after a long day of training. All that time spent locked in each other’s limbs left us with a great yearning, you see.

“You will find this a fairer arrangement. A taste of the champion, for now, until my stallion has healed his hind.” Sergius coated his own impressive member with oil, from tip to base, Then, most curious, he spread the oil across his inner thighs.

His application of oil onto Billy’s cock felt like a brief, pleasurable detour into milking, but he wasn’t sure where Serge was going with this other secret technique of his. “What is—”

Instead of his hands, or mouth, Serge wrapped his upper thighs around Billy’s cock—a move that the twenty-first century stud found both unorthodox and esoteric. That was, until Serge’s formidable spear slid across Billy’s root and shaft, triggering every nerve in his body while he moved his cock into the warm, honey-deep nest of his quads.

It was a two-pronged assault—an entirely new method of penetration (for Billy, anyway). His brief, loud, “OH FUUUUUUCK” was silenced by Serge covering his mouth over Billy’s lips.

“Hush,” he commanded, before slipping his tongue inside his mouth, invading him orally.

Billy’s moans were swallowed up, and all the better for it. The feeling of being milked by Serge’s oiled, hard thighs, and the gladiator’s cock rubbing over his own with each pull and push, was enough that Billy would have otherwise cried out.

Billy knew he wouldn’t last long. Forget the battle in the arena, it was now a battle not to cum—and explosively at that. Serge wrapped his massive arms around Billy, pulling him into his furry, warm, hard body; nearly drowning him in his muscles. Trapped in the throes of ecstasy, Billy wasn’t sure if he’d cum first, or if his ribs and spine would snap in half from being simultaneously bear-hugged and frotted into oblivion.

Just when Billy thought he might hold out for a few seconds longer, Serge switched things up, plunging his cock into the space just beneath Billy’s balls, fucking him without fucking him. Billy recalled seeing pictures of this kind of ‘thigh fucking’ before on old Greek and Roman urns. He promised himself to devote a whole chapter to it, if and when he got back to his dissertation.

One thing was certain: field research sure was going swell!

Speaking of swelling, Serge finally withdrew his leaking, pulsating spear. With the same fiendish, war-like passion he’d shown in the arena, he grabbed Billy’s hands and forced them back onto the couch. Serge then mounted him, dragging and thrusting his lubricated cock over Billy’s. Billy had never felt so erotically emasculated by another man before; his own manhood dominated violently by a more superior tool.

He couldn’t last. “AhhhhHHGGGG!” Billy cried out.

Serge’s eyes sparkled, matching his smile. “My stallion brays,” he said, breathlessly. “He must be in heat. Maybe he’ll show me how much of a prized horse he is. Do you accept your defeat at the hands of Sergius Sextus, my small friend?”

“Fuck YES!” Billy practically shouted, expelling a huge blast of milky white all over Serge, spurting loads across his furry chest, fertilizing his forest with his seed.

Serge didn’t let it go to waste. One hand massaged the dripping load into the twin mounds of his pecs, and the other used it as added lubricant, stroking his sword. At the apex of Serge’s orgasm, he repositioned himself to straddle Billy’s chest, mercifully distributing his leg weight over the sides of the couch as to not crush his romantic partner’s chest. Billy was in total worship of him. The oil and sweat coating his body had turned him into a living, bronze statue of a Roman god.

Serge reached up and flexed his biceps, veins rippling across the curves of his muscles, pulsing in time with his hands-free orgasm. “I am victorious!” he growled.

Hands-free, Serge shot like a staggered firehose, pumping thick, watery loads of gladiator semen all over Billy’s prone body, completely flooding him. Billy would have considered this filthy if it hadn’t been so damn hot. Serge’s orgasmic pose was enough to give Billy’s cock one last, little aftershock spurt—the cherry on top.

Billy, shivering with endorphins, was stunned into silence.

Serge bent his head over, like he’d just fought a hard-won victory. When he’d regained stamina, he looked up, a softer expression across his face. He collected a white pearl of his own cum onto his index finger, which he pressed onto Billy’s lips, before taking it back from him in a long-held kiss.

Billy could have lived in that kiss.

NEXT CHAPTER