The Pompeiian Horse

12. MEANINGS

MAY

Ehren grabbed Janus abruptly by the shoulders and whirled them, straddling him after the meaning of the last words exploded in Ehren's chest. Bruises and conventions be damned. He needed to let the Centurion know he was not alone in his ordeal- that Ehren was also struggling with things forbidden to them. He loomed over Janus with both hands still pinning massive shoulders down. "Savior of mine," he murmured as he lowered his lips to meet Janus's, and their first touch swallowed the Centurion's moan.

Janus freed his shoulders with a brusque movement that had him seizing Ehren's face to take control of the kiss, of their blending, of the frantic dance their bodies began. He pulled their mouths apart when they were about to suffocate. "No. You saved me. Your memory was the only thing keeping me alive, knowing that if everything else was wrong, at least once, I did something good."

Those honey-colored eyes were pools of fire, and Ehren wanted to drown in them. Pelvises ground, cocks seeking contact, but Janus had too many clothes compared to Ehren, who only wore a loincloth. His position did not allow them to unroll the white toga encircling Janus's long tunic. Ehren was ready to shove the toga sideways and ride Janus to oblivion, but he could not risk sullying the Centurion's mark of Patrician status.

"I want you inside me."

What?

Ehren must have been hallucinating.

"I want you inside me," repeated Janus. "Fuck me. Make me yours." His voice had been low, grave, sure. He pushed Ehren aside and jumped from the bed, unraveling the lengthy toga and removing his long tunic with quick ease. He stood there naked and hard, facing Ehren. "Do you accept me?"

Shocked beyond disbelief, Ehren could only nod and offer his hand.

Janus reached the bed and crawled until he was close to Ehren's crotch. He kissed the proffered hand before releasing it, then undid the loincloth with resolute fingers. Janus lowered his face, taking the solid cock in hand and inhaling along the shaft- his eyes closed, his smile delighted as if he was breathing in the most precious and fragrant flower. He opened his eyes as he pulled the skin back and with a wicked grin licked the slowly dripping tip.

Confusion seized Ehren's brain; Roman men did not do that to one another, especially not to a whore. Still, his barely coherent thoughts scattered as the heat of Janus's mouth engulfed his cockhead. He groaned, and instinctively his hands sought Janus's curls. A muffled moan of approval vibrated throughout his length.

After endless moments of blinding ministrations, Janus surfaced- his lips swollen and irresistible. "Oil?" he asked. His eyes shone eager in the imperfect light of Ehren's room, and his face was radiant, striking in the dancing shadows.

It was difficult to concentrate beyond Janus's face, the way the light shifted over battle-honed muscles, but Ehren commanded his body enough to signal toward a pot on a low table not far from the bed. The man over him smiled and moved with ease to his target, every contour moving sinuously, enticingly as he left the bed.

Janus returned and poured the sweet-scented oil over Ehren's cock like a priest making an oblation. He coated the rigid member completely, his hand deft and eager. Each movement had Ehren closer to the abyss, but he needed to wait, to let Janus take his pleasure, and in the process take Ehren to obliteration.

"I'm going to ride you hard," the Centurion growled, commander of his Legion ready to raze an enemy fortress.

Ehren swallowed the lump in his throat. His eyes followed Janus's big hand positioning the cock to his entrance, saw and felt the breach of that tight ring. The guttural sound Janus made with every inch his body took was maddening- cruel in its absurdity and beauty.