Pilgrim Soul
MJ Lee (mj.lee@chello.se)
Archiving: Ask first, please.
Pairing: Q/0
Fandom: TPM
Feedback: Please?
Warnings: Can be found after spoiler space.
Summary: A chance encounter at a quiet roadside inn changes the lives of a Roman
general and a young slave.
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Notes: Hmm, it wasn't until I'd all but finished this fic that I suddenly realised the similarities to Layna's wonderful 'Buying Trouble.' However, I hope that everyone will agree that the resemblance is very superficial once you start reading it. I guess there is just something so irresistible at the thought of Qui as a Roman <g>.
While this was supposed to be just a tiny ObiChan ficlet - my very first too - like most things I write the damn thing persisted in developing a neo-plot and yes, I do have some thoughts of possible future stories. However, that will depend on feedback (no, no, *not* a blackmail attempt I swear!) and whether anyone actually liked it.
Oh, one last thing. I spell British, my spelling checker is American, hence confusion! :-) I also prefer British spelling for TPM fics, although when I'm writing TXF I'm always very careful to keep it all American, but there is something about TPM that just shouts British spelling to me. Yeah, I'm weird, I know <vbg>.
Many warm thanks go to Raven, Res and Eil for swift and invaluable betaing!
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Non-graphic rape and implied sexual abuse. No spoilers, very AU.
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
W.B. Yeats
Much later Quintus Gaius wondered if it was Dame Fortuna herself, the Goddess of Luck, that led him to the small inn by the roadside. The Roman General had spent the last week in the pleasant company of an old friend on his way to take up the post as Governor of Iberia. A riotous good time had been had by all, with many memories of a misspent youth dragged up, too much wine drunk and sore heads nursed.
Declining the offer of a chariot, Quintus had left before sunrise returning to his command, the army guarding the northern borders of the ever expanding Roman Empire. It was good to be back on horseback again, the big man thought urging his powerful black stallion into a canter, the cool morning breeze brushing against his face and dissolving the last of a lingering headache.
A tall man, even for a Roman, General Quintus Gaius was the scion of one of the oldest and most powerful families of Roman aristocracy. Ever since he had gained his full height he had towered above most men. Stern and hawk-faced, but for an accident in youth that had left him with a crooked nose, beneath heavy expressive brows, a pair of hooded cold blue eyes glimmered. Eyes that could freeze the bravest of men in their tracks or quell an incipient riot with a single flash of blue fire.
Rejecting fashion Quintus sported not only a beard, but also wore his hair long. Tied back with a simple bronze clasp or leather thong it had become a personal trademark, flowing like smoke upon the wind behind the General whenever he led his men into battle.
Tall, stern, and aloof, Quintus Gaius was content with walking his solitary path. A loner and outsider by choice not necessity he neither needed nor desired anyone save for a few trusted old friends able to penetrate his shields. None had ever been able to use him for pleasure or power though many had tried. He did not offer friendship and trust easily.
Apart from the usual youthful follies Quintus Gaius was a man whose heart had never been truly troubled, and so he preferred it to remain. Quintus took his pleasure whenever he felt the need. Yet the whores he bought and the casual lovers he took to his bed meant less to him than one of his prized hunting dogs or horses.
Often alone but never lonely he remained always an impervious, arrogant, Roman aristocrat and officer.
The taciturn General was a legend among enemies and allies alike. Justly famed for his skill with a sword and his tactical abilities he was equally renowned for the harsh justice and the iron-clad principles by which he lived. Quintus was known to have hung his own officers for breaking one of his commandment as calmly as he ordered the execution of captured enemies.
Yet, his men would all follow him across the river Styx and back again; a fact that never ceased to amaze his numerous political adversaries. To the suave and corrupt politicians in Rome, the austerity and morality by which Quintus Gaius lived his life was as foreign as the life of a Vestal virgin. The fact that he would never accept a bribe, and indeed had sliced off the hand of the last man brave or foolish enough to offer him one, still caused a reaction somewhere between hilarity and outrage. Still, as Senator Maulius commented acidly, Quintus Gaius could afford such morals, being one of the richest men in Rome.
It amazed many, and not only Senators, that a man who could have been one of the most powerful forces in the Roman Empire chose to voluntarily exile himself on a border far from the bustling center of power. They would never understand the freedom Quintus Gaius felt every time he left behind the perfumed, opulent wealth and power of Rome and turned his horse northwards. Here, guarding Rome's borders, defending them against the fierce attacks of the German Federation and wild Celts, was where he belonged and each visit home only reinforced his conviction.
As the sun rose higher, the weather turned warmer and the dust kicked up by his horse settled like a fine film all over Quintus' hair and face, clogging his throat.
It was an hour or so past noon that the Roman spied the modest inn set close to the road and, reining back, he slowed his horse to a walk. Laying a calm palm on the curved neck of his blowing, lathered stallion gathering the reins in one hand he turned off the paved high-way and into the arched entrance.
Although built of wood, not stone like the large inns closer to Rome, the place looked moderately prosperous and clean, Quintus decided after a swift assessment. The thought of a cup of wine quelled the last of his doubts.
Dismounting, he threw the reins to the stable slave running up and strode across the yard to sit down in the shade of the tree in the middle of the yard. The inn-keeper himself hurried out to greet him.
"General!" The round man bowed deeply, immediately recognizing the tall man even in his leather armor and dusty cloak. "I am called Talius, owner of this humble inn. How may I serve you?"
Quintus took off his helmet, pushing back a wave of damp brown and silver hair from his forehead. "Wine," he ordered curtly.
"But of course, General." Another deep bow during which the fat inn-keeper was in danger of toppling over forward, another ingratiating smile given as Talius snapped his fingers, and a slave girl brought a bronze cup into which she poured the deep-red rich wine of Brittany Minor. Another slave brought a glazed ceramic platter, no doubt the finest in the house, upon which rested newly baked bread, small salted olives, ripe grapes and some sharp cheese.
Seated in the shadow beneath the gently rustling leaves, Quintus stretched out his long legs relaxing. The girl slave returned carrying a basin with water and the tall Roman dipped the cloth in the water and wiped his face and hands. He reached for his cup again, enjoying the sensation of cool wine sliding down his parched throat. Lazily picking pieces of food off the plate, General Quintus Gaius felt contentment steal into his bones. The old poets were right; it was the simple pleasures in life that truly mattered.
However, with rest came the resurgence of another kind of appetite. While Valorius had offered his old friend every available sophisticated pleasure, Quintus had felt curiously unsatisfied with the high-class courtesans and pleasure boys. Oh, his body had been sated enough he supposed, yet their practiced arts had left him feeling strangely empty and vaguely craving something, what he wasn't quite sure.
Perhaps, Quintus Gaius mused, he simply needed a change. He had entered his fourth decade and, while content with most aspects of his life, there were at times a curious void at the center of his life. A vague dissatisfaction would steal upon him at the oddest times. Trying to analyze the lack had only brought him more frustration since he knew the cause well enough.
Quintus Gaius' first rule was to never become involved with any of the officers under his command. Emotions and decisions made in the bedroom had no place on a battle-field. Long ago he had also learned that there was no surer route to turmoil and jealousies than bedding one of his junior officers. However, while the army remained in the field, that left him with only the camp followers. And while they satisfied a passing hunger, they were never anything but a temporary convenience. What he really wanted was a trusted companion, someone he could talk to not just fuck. He sighed, dismissing the problem as an unsolvable and therefore ultimately futile issue.
Casually watching the quiet bustle of the yard and the travelers coming and going, he noticed a boy obviously belonging to the inn. The youngster was carrying a load of hay inside. Not too tall, and slender as a willow, what caught Quintus attention was the pale perfection of the boy's skin and when the boy raised his head to answer a question from a man on horseback, quite the most amazing pair of blue-green eyes the Roman had seen in years. Always fascinated by the unusual, he speculated idly on where the slave was from. The exotic good looks and graceful lines of the young body served to satisfy Quintus that the boy was most probably a whore; an inevitable part of the services provided by the inn.
However, the young slave also seemed capable enough as he helped the stable slave unsaddle and water the horses. Not afraid of honest work then, Quintus thought in approval.
Rising a hand the Roman snapped his fingers peremptorily.
Talius immediately appeared. "Yes, General?"
"The boy; have him sent to the largest chamber you have," Quintus ordered, and then as an afterthought he added, "How much?"
The small fat man blinked. "Ah, three sesterii and he's yours for as long as you want him."
Quintus dug through the leather pouch on his belt and tossed some coins at the man. "Here." He rose and stretched, strolling inside feeling the familiar tightening of his body and the excitement building deep in his guts.
Standing in the inn's best room, a low-ceilinged, yet airy, chamber with a wide bed piled high with fresh linen bed-clothing, Quintus Gaius' stern features softened in a smile as pulled out Semillia's latest missive. Re-reading the elegant, witty penmanship, he chuckled softly at her dry description of the latest Senatorial excess.
For all that it had been a political alliance, - in truth he had not even seen his future wife until he lifted the marriage veil from her face at the end of the ceremony tying them together - he had found himself more than content. A dark-haired, deceptively fragile woman with strong rather than beautiful features, Semillia had proven herself a person of rare intelligence, serenity and competence.
While she preferred to live in the countryside where she ruled their vast estates effortlessly, she also still managed to keep a watchful eye on the political pulse of Rome. Neither of them had ever pretended, or indeed desired, love. Yet, over the years they had become the closest and most trusting of friends. Quintus knew he truly loved her, as the sister he had never had. Certainly, they were both united as one in the love and pride over their son, Annius, currently serving as a cavalry commander under the command of Quintus' oldest and most trusted friend, General Macius.
The soft knocking on the door startled him. Calling, "Enter!" he folded up the letters and carefully put them back in his saddle-bag.
The door opened and the young slave that had caught his eye stepped inside. Bowing deeply, the boy crossed the room and knelt by the General's feet. "Master?" a soft, lilting voice murmured timidly.
Motioning for the young slave to rise, Quintus regarded him with cool approval. "Turn around," he ordered. The boy did as ordered, moving gracefully. And then without needing the command, the slave unfastened the simple mid-thigh tunic that was all he wore, loosely belted at the waist. Pulling the simple garment over his head, he stood naked and revealed beneath the suddenly warm gaze of the tall Roman who had purchased his body.
Feeling his own body harden in response to the sight, Quintus Gaius took his time looking, silently appreciating each detail. Gods, but the boy was beautiful enough to command a top price at one of Rome's bustling slave markets.
Skin so pale you could see a light dusting of golden freckles across the small straight nose. A slim almost hairless boy's body, the nest of gold-red curls surrounding a surprisingly large quiescent cock. Long, slender, well-formed and muscled limbs, the clean lines of thighs ending in the inviting swell of a firm ass. A beautiful expressive face, with those fascinating sea-coloured eyes set above slanting cheekbones, the firm elegant curve of full lips and a stubborn little chin divided by a small cleft.
Suddenly overcome with impatience, Quintus started to reach for the little slave who, obviously discerning his intent, knelt between long legs, reaching for the loose pants Quintus wore beneath the leather-armor. Small, skillful hands easily unfastened the belt and freed the hard cock.
Wrapping his lips around the firm length, the boy started to suck steadily, using his hands to fondle the large heavy balls that overflowed his hands.
Eyes half-closed, leaning back in the chair, Quintus emptied his mind of all thought except the sweet enjoyment that flowed through his body at the boy's expert touch and adept tongue. His hands slowly stroked across the soft, shining hair, playing with the slender braid the young slave had used to keep strands of unruly silk from getting in his eyes. However, when Quintus felt the sudden tightening beginning deep in his balls, he pulled back. He did not want to come in the boy's mouth so he growled, "Bed!"
Obediently the young slave rose and knelt taking a small earthen-ware bottle from the tunic on the floor. Returning he presented it with a deep bow to Quintus before going to the bed, arranging himself on his stomach across the width and opening his legs, slender body vulnerable and exposed.
Rising, Quintus went over to the bed, unstopping the cork as he crossed the floor. An aromatic scent wafted from the bottle, scenting the drowsy golden sunlight with a potpourri of rose, lavender and thyme.
Quintus carefully spread the smooth, cool lubricant on his erect cock and then pouring more onto his fingers, gently spread the creamy mixture across the small puckered opening, long fingers gliding inside easily to make sure the boy was prepared. The Roman had no desire to hurt the little slave. Reaching behind him to grasp his buttocks, spreading them to give Quintus easier access, the boy raised his hips slightly, gasping lightly at the first touch deep within him.
Then, grasping the slender hips in a firm grip, Quintus slid inside in one easy thrust. The only response was another soft gasp, as the young slave silently angled his body, cheek pressed into the mattress, head to one side.
Aquamarine eyes slid shut as the young slight body relaxed into pliancy and submission. The boy did not move, knowing that he need do no more now than just lie still and unresisting, as another customer used him.
Thrusting slowly, lazily, with the rich fragrance of the salve surrounding them, Quintus was in no hurry to reach climax. There were few more pleasant ways of spending a few hours off-duty, he thought, than sheathed in the tight, clasping heat of a slender body, while his fingers and mouth slowly explored smooth skin and graceful curves.
The aesthete in Quintus Gaius appreciated the lithe elegance of the slim shoulders and arched neck beneath him, red-gold hair gleaming in the sunlight slanting in through the shutters. Surrendering to a sudden impulse he gently traced the line of nape and shoulders, bending forward to taste the satin-soft skin filling his hands as he breathed deeply of the clean spicy scent of the body lying quietly beneath him.
The boy gasped, shifting slightly before forcing himself to stillness again. A tawny eyebrow arched in mingled amusement and surprise, and if the young slave had turned his head, he would have caught the sudden, decidedly wicked gleam glinting in the indigo eyes of the Roman general.
The supposed lasciviousness and wantonness of whores was, in Quintus' personal opinion, so much horse manure. In his experience the average whore was far more desperate for the coins you tossed on their bed after you'd slaked your lust, than for any mythical attraction to their customers. That fact made it all the more surprising to see the genuine desire flowering briefly across the delicate features of the boy's face and to feel the unfeigned lust rising to meet his own tensing the slender body beneath his hands. However, the unexpected response of the boy definitely appealed to him. Among his many quirks, or so his friends claimed, was Quintus Gaius' aversion to rape. If he had a choice, Quintus also preferred a willing and active partner rather than a motionless piece of meat to be moved and positioned as required.
Smiling in sudden pleasure, the Roman withdrew slightly, changing his angle and, when he started moving again, his cock slid slowly, deliberately across a place inside the boy that made the slave stiffen and then arch unconsciously, a faint moan bursting from his lips.
Reaching beneath the narrow hips, a large callused hand closed around a suddenly firm throbbing cock. Stroking slowly, in counter-point to his rhythm, he chuckled deeply at the tiny sounds of need the boy tried to stifle in the mattress. He watched in satisfaction as a flush heated the smooth skin and ran along elegant cheekbones as small strong hands wrinkled the bedding beneath. The slave threw back his head, and hips moved instinctively to pull Quintus deeper inside. The boy's movements became increasingly frantic as unnoticed by either of them, a drop of blood rolled down from his chin where he bit his lip to stop from screaming.
Quintus felt the slow gathering of the arched, tensed body joined to him, and his eyes closed in pleasure as he allowed the faster pace to bring them to mutual fulfillment. A firm ass was pushed up against him, as with a soft mewling sound, the young slave came.
Releasing his own control, Quintus allowed the internal contractions of the boy's climax to push him over the edge. Biting deeply into the irresistible curve of the firm smooth shoulder laid out like a feast beneath his hands and mouth, with a shudder and deep growl, the Roman came as well.
For a time there was no sound in the warm scented room where the golden afternoon sun painted the floor in stripes of light and shadow. The two, man and boy, lying in the rumpled bed remained where they were for a few moments, both breathing heavily. Finally Quintus realized that he was crushing the slight body beneath him and rolled over on his back, arms outflung, eyes closed, breathing deeply, supremely satisfied.
Quintus Gaius felt the straw mattress dip as the slave rose, and had to restrain a momentary impulse to keep the boy there, by his side. Then he heard the sound of water pouring, and soon the return of soft bare feet. A warm damp cloth carefully and gently cleaned him and removed sweat and grime from the tanned, scarred body, before he was patted dry. Still not opening his eyes or moving, Quintus simply lay in blissful silence enjoying the sensation of the hands on his body sliding across his skin.
Once he was dry and clean, the hesitant stillness finally forced him into opening his eyes again. The slave was kneeling by the bed, shallow-water eyes wide with wonder as they watched the tall Roman carefully.
"Master?" the boy asked in soft question, the second word he had uttered since entering the room. He had obviously learned well that most men did not desire words when submission was all that was wanted.
Quintus smiled lazily, blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he reached out a hand to slowly trace the shape of the delicate face. The slave closed his eyes, breathing out slowly, nestling into the touch, rubbing his face against the large warm palm, a tentative smile curving his lips.
Picking up his belt pouch, Quintus opened it and took out a sesterii, handing it to the boy.
The young slave regarded the coin in the large hand that had been caressing his hair just moments past, and for a moment Quintus thought he would actually refuse it. Then slowly, the boy took the money, and when he looked up again at the Roman General, his face was wiped clean, although his eyes wore a bruised, blind look before he lowered them again.
Rising gracefully, the boy murmured, "Thank you, Master." Picking up his simple tunic he pulled it over his head before he knelt again. "Is there anything else you desire, Master?"
Once more, Quintus had to subdue the odd impulse to reply, yes. It wasn't that he had any urgent bodily need of another fucking. What he actually wanted was to spend the next hour or so simply enjoying the feel and touch of the slim boy next to him, able to reach out to touch and caress whenever he wanted. Mentally shaking his head over his odd thought, Quintus said lazily, "No, you have served me well."
Yet, he could not completely quell an odd pang of regret as he watched the young slave silently leave the chamber.
Standing outside the inn waiting for the stable slave to bring his horse, Quintus considered the distance he still needed to cover and thought that if he rode hard he would make it to camp before dark.
A raucous laugh from the other side of the yard caught his attention and he turned towards the sound, catching sight of the young slave he'd bedded. The boy was serving a small party of travelers. Minor traders by the look of it. Their leader, a paunchy, drunken lout was pawing at the boy to the loud, boisterous encouragement of his companions. Suddenly the man grabbed the unresisting slave and pushed him down on the table, thrusting a thick dirty finger inside the young body.
Although the boy made no sound nor did he flinch, Quintus caught the look in crystal clear green eyes before they slid away from his face.
Acting on the kind of impulse that Macius always swore would get him killed one day, Quintus shook his head as the stable slave came up with his saddled stallion. "Take him back inside," he ordered curtly as he raised his arm and snapped his fingers.
The flustered inn-keeper, who was more than a little unnerved by the unexpected visit of the powerful Roman, bowed deeply, "Yes, General?"
"I have changed my mind," Quintus said brusquely. "I will remain here tonight. I want dinner served in my chamber and send me the slave I had this afternoon, I want to keep him for the night." His eyes narrowed at the slight hesitation and he added coolly, "I trust there are no problems with this."
The inn-keeper shook his head frantically. "Not at all, General. I," he hesitated briefly, "I will send one of my other boys to serve the party, that is all."
Quintus nodded curtly. "Do so immediately. I do not want my evening's pleasure spoiled by some foolish oaf of a commoner." He did not wait to see that his command was carried out as he walked back inside, wondering what in Hades he was doing. Yet the look in the boy's eyes remained with him.
Although he was no stranger to misery and desperation Quintus Gaius had been shaken by the blank despair that had turned the changeable eyes pure green. The boy had worn the look of someone who has surrendered all hope. When the eyes of the little whore had met the Roman's they had not pleaded for help, because it was clear that the boy could not imagine anyone actually intervening to help him.
Because he had already left, Quintus missed the scene as the inn-keeper hurried up to the party of traders all but tearing the young slave from their midst and thrusting him inside with a hissed order to go and clean, and then go serve the General. He also did not see how the initial loud protests were abruptly cut off as the inn-keeper revealed in an urgent undertone who the tall man in a dusty cloak and leather armor was. The boy however saw it all and the look of amazement shaded into a growing wonder even as he hurried to obey his owner.
This time when the door opened, there was no hesitation. Smiling, the boy crossed the floor, kneeling easily at the large feet encased in high leather boots, and the eyes when he raised them to the tall man whose head all but brushed the beams of the ceiling above them, reflected a quiet serenity.
Quintus Gaius felt something strange tighten deep inside his chest watching the emotions chase each other across the storm-tossed eyes. A small cynical voice inside the Roman wondered if the boy's apparent happiness was simple relief at having to service just one man instead of an entire party. A man moreover he already knew to be both generous and reasonably gentle.
"There is no need to kneel, boy," Quintus said in his deep crisp voice as he gestured for the slave to sit down by his side. The Roman finished the simple, but quite adequate meal, the inn had presented. Wiping his eating knife, he suddenly noticed the quick surreptitious glances at the bread, meat-pies, joint of ham, honey-roasted lamb, thick beef-stew, cheese and wine.
Correctly interpreting the look, the tall man chuckled, "Go ahead, lad."
A single incredulous glance, and Quintus nodded again a little impatiently this time, "Eat."
It needed no more than that as the slave immediately started eating in small, neat, but very eager bites.
Already having eaten his fill, Quintus leaned back with a smile, a cup of wine in his hand, content with watching the boy's obvious enjoyment.
When even a healthy adolescent appetite was satisfied, the young slave looked up and smiled at the tall Roman shyly. "Thank you, Master."
"What is your name?" Quintus asked idly, reaching across and playing with the thin braid of silky red-gold hair.
A shadow crossed the sensitive expressive face as though it was a question the boy had not heard in a long time. "I...," he hesitated and then said softly, "once I was called Benion."
"Benion? That's a strange name," Quintus frowned, "from the looks of you, I'd say you're a Celt."
Responding to the light tug on his hair, Benion slid easily into the lap of the General arching with practiced sensuality against the broad chest. "I, yes, I was born on an island far from here, it lies far to the west across the seas. Those who live there call it, the Eire."
Large hands touched lightly, possessively, wherever Quintus so chose, pausing to play with two small pointed nipples. He laughed huskily, taking pleasure from the flush rising on Benion's face, the restless movement of a firm little ass against the hardness of his own cock. "Eire? I think I've heard a friend speak of it. From what he said there is nothing there but sheep and rain."
There was longing and sadness in the soft lilting voice even as the slave yielded and melted into the knowledgeable hands of the Roman General. "That's true enough, but, however poor, it is a good place to live. We hunt and fish and it is... home." His voice filled with a hauntingly impossible yearning.
Turning the boy in his lap, bending his head and tasting the firm lips opening so willingly beneath his, Quintus drank deeply of the sweetness the small tender mouth offered. When he broke off the kiss he asked, "How did you end up here?" The moment the question had left his lips he regretted the words as Benion suddenly hid his face in the curve between neck and shoulder, a shudder traveling through the slender body.
"There was a raid," Benion whispered, voice muffled against the bronze skin. "I was visiting my sister who had married the son of the chief, when pirates attacked and burned the village and killed most of the people. They took the young women and the children as slaves." His thin shoulders shook with the power of his sobs. "My family never knew I survived. They must believe that I am dead."
Blue eyes turned dark and grim listening to the pitiful and all too common tale. Quintus Gaius did not need to hear any more. He had always despised pirates and others who preyed on the innocent and helpless. War was one thing, but raiding was contemptible. Indeed, he had always taken a particular pleasure in hanging pirates and outlaws whenever he encountered them.
The General could, all too vividly, imagine the nightmarish trip across the sea; the screams of the young women raped by the pirates, the terrified whimpers of the children. Finally, the slave-market, greedy merciless eyes, hands stripping and prodding the confused, panicky child Benion must have been. Followed, no doubt by the first master, the first rape and the beatings until the child understood what was required of him.
"How old were you?" Quintus Gaius asked softly.
Still with his face hidden in the comfort of a large shoulder, Benion murmured, "I had ten summers."
The Roman shook his head. It would have been kinder and more merciful had the boy been too young to remember. Without the memory of the past he would have adjusted more easily to his present. But at ten he had been old enough to never forget what he had once been, and what he had lost.
Although the life of a Roman General had left Quintus with few illusions about the fate of innocents caught up in war and destruction, still he had to admit himself impressed with the boy's bleak courage. The Roman had little doubt that this was one of the first times Benion had let himself remember, much less cry over his loss. Without conscious thought, large hands gentled and strong arms enfolded the young slave, soothing the shaking body in his arms.
Quintus Gaius made quiet comforting noises, feeling the moisture of tears against his skin and cursed himself for asking. He should have known better. For all his submissiveness there was something in the way Benion carried himself that proclaimed he had been born a free man, not a slave.
And whatever had made a slave out of a free-born was almost inevitably a tragedy.
"Hush, young one," the Roman finally murmured, feeling unaccustomed tenderness as he kissed the tears from the small face, tongue licking the skin dry as usually forbidding blue eyes softened in a rare warmth.
Benion smiled tremulously up at the austere face. "I am sorry, Master," he murmured, sliding slender arms around the neck of the large man holding him. His eyes still shimmered with unshed tears but his mouth smiled. "You...I...," his voice died away and he was unable to continue.
"Never apologize for mourning," Quintus said gently. "It is a natural process of life, but nor should you let grief and longing for the unattainable poison your present." A finger stroked back a loose strand of silky hair that had fallen across Benion's forehead. "Live in the here and now, young one, and you will find yourself, if not happy, then at least content."
Another shy smile was his answer. "Thank you, Master, I...just telling someone has made it better." Slowly, tentatively, alert for a rebuff, Benion laid his head on the broad chest, nestling into the warmth.
Standing up, Quintus carried his burden to the bed, placing him in the middle and standing back to admire the sight. He couldn't resist a quiet chuckle at the way the boy buried into the softness of the mattress and the bed-clothes. No doubt more used to sleeping on a pile of straw, sharing the warmth of the horses beneath him, this was an unaccustomed luxury for the young slave. Even when he was sold to one or another of the inn's customers, the Roman doubted the services he provided included the boy ever getting to sleep in a real bed.
"Delicious," he said softly, undressing and getting into bed as well. Benion immediately curled up by his side, smiling and murmuring in enjoyment when large callused hands caressed and shaped his willing, pliant body as Quintus so desired. There was not an inch of firm young flesh that was not slowly, thoroughly explored as long skillful fingers had the young slave twisting feverishly, rubbing against the hands, moaning and gasping.
Quintus chuckled, bending his head and lapping at small hard nipples coaxing them into pebble hardness, stroking repeatedly down pale flanks and relishing the increasingly frantic movement of slender hips and the dripping, erect cock rising between them.
"Master, oh, Master! Ohhh!" Benion panted, eyes wild, small hands kneading desperately at the brawny arms holding him. His spine arched, thighs falling apart, as Quintus slid down the slim body, taking the slender cock between his lips and sucking steadily. Shocked blue-green eyes opened wide. "Not, not, right," he gasped. "You should not...aaagh! Please, master!" he pleaded.
Reaching beneath the wildly moving hips, Quintus gently thrust a single finger inside the tight heat of the boy, probing and then teasingly sweeping over the spot that caused a wild choked cry of delight from the arched throat. Only moments later, Benion convulsed and came, spurting helplessly. Quintus tasted the salty bitterness on his tongue, smiling to himself as he moved up the bed and took Benion in his arms, slowly calming the still trembling boy.
But soon dazed, nakedly adoring eyes raised to meet his. "But, what about you?" Benion whispered, "Master, you did not...," he gestured mutely at the General's hard cock.
"Hush, young one," Quintus murmured, "it is not important. I will get my pleasure later, never doubt it." He nuzzled the tender hot skin, lingering whenever he wanted to enjoy Benion's small purrs of pleasure and pliant surrender.
Severe lips softening in a wry smile, the Roman realised that he had spoken the truth. He had seldom been so aroused as he was now by simply watching the little slave's startled, helpless pleasure. From the shock, he had no doubt that it was the first time anyone had ever bothered with the boy's satisfaction. For some reason the thought filled him with anger.
Taken by surprise, Quintus was intrigued when his young companion, cat-like, raised himself limb by limb until he was kneeling beside the large scarred body of the tall Roman who had bought him for a few moments passing satisfaction, watching the older man with large somber eyes.
It had sometimes seemed to Benion that he possessed nothing of his own but his name. He certainly did not own his body. Yet even that small thing had too often been lost as he was simply 'boy' to Talius and the older slaves at the inn, as well as the countless men who bought his body for a few coins. Now this Roman, this Quintus Gaius, had reminded him through his questions of who and what he once was. He was not just a body to be pushed against the nearest table or wall and fucked, or a pair of strong arms useful for carrying wood and water, sweeping the floors, mucking out the stalls, but a person.
The young slave was suddenly filled with the memory of who he had once been; of the boy, Benion, who had raced the wind while laughing in pure delight of being alive.
Like a duckling imprinting on the first thing it sees when hatching, Benion could not help but respond to the first shreds of humanity he had been offered in longer than he could remember. If it was possible for a whore to love his buyer, then the boy knew he loved this man. It was a quiet, undemanding emotion that asked nothing since Benion knew only too well that nothing would ever be offered.
The young Celt accepted, without regret or resentment that the General would forget the slave who had warmed his bed for a night the moment the Roman rode away tomorrow morning.
Benion, on the other hand knew with a soul-deep surety that he would never forget this man, the first who had ever offered him not only compassion of a sort but also pleasure. There grew in him the sudden need to match Quintus gift, but what could he offer a man like the General?
"Please," the boy whispered, bending his head in submission, struggling to find the right words. "Please, take me."
Quintus shook his head in impatience, "This is not necessary, Benion, I told you -- " but to his shock, the young slave actually dared interrupt him.
Raising long curled red-gold lashes Benion said steadily. "I have been bought and sold too many times to remember. I have been raped and the submission beaten from me. Please," his voice sank to a whisper, "please, let me give it freely as a gift this once."
He looked at the big scarred Roman with his broken nose and warm eyes. Although he had understood from Talius' reaction that the man must be important, all he really knew or cared about was the fact that Quintus Gaius was the first person within memory who had treated him kindly. "I know," he continued, voice breaking a little, "that you have bought me for the night, but please," he dared to lay a pleading hand on a large muscular thigh, "it is all I have to offer in return for your kindness."
Without waiting for an answer, Benion slid slowly down the bed and turned over on his stomach, spreading his legs and closed his eyes. He knew that the Roman would never understand the magnitude of the gift he offered or the trust it took.
No matter how many times he was sodomized, he still loathed and feared the process.
Even when the act had ceased to hurt and he had learned how to relax so as to reduce the discomfort to a minimum, still the horror of being taken had never ceased. As nameless men plunged into him, grunting in satisfaction, their hot fetid, breath drooling spittle across his back, he was reminded inevitably of the first time. Even now the memory of being flung, small and terrified across a bed, enormous hands holding him down, made him sick. He would never forget choking his screams of pain and terror in a silk-covered pillow. He had thrown up from the agony burning deep into his torn body and been beaten for it. He had known then that no pain would never again frighten him.
Despite his words, he could not repress a light shiver from traveling through his body as large hands smoothed the skin of his shoulder and a hard powerful thigh settled between his legs, nudging them apart.
Quintus had begun to speak but found he could not get the words past the sudden tightness in his throat, at the thought of such a total lack of common decency that the young slave would thank his buyer for treating him more like a human being and less like a piece of meat.
So instead of speaking, Quintus simply bent over the boy and few would have recognized the harsh Roman general in the gentle, almost delicate touch, as he scattered a band of kisses along the shoulder and bent nape. "I accept your gift, and I thank you for it, Benion," he murmured, speaking, not as a General to the whore he'd bought for a few coins, but as equal to equal, reciprocating and honouring the gift by his respect. Benion smiled, suddenly relaxing, and treasuring the words in his heart.
Large hands were wonderfully gentle as they spanned a narrow waist briefly before sliding between slim thighs and spreading them with his knee. Finally, Quintus leaned over the edge of the bed and picked up the small clay bottle...
Leaving Benion still sleeping, sprawled on his stomach across the bed, Quintus went downstairs to find the inn already bustling with activity and the inn-keeper in the midst of it all. However, as soon as Talius spied the tall figure, he broke off his berating of the cook and hurried over. "Good morning, General. I trust you rested well?"
"How much for the boy?" Quintus demanded curtly, not bothering with social niceties.
The eyebrows of the inn-keeper almost met his hairline. "You wish to buy him?"
Quintus gave him an impatient look. "Was that not what I said?"
Talius thought swiftly. Clearly the little slave had taken the General's fancy, and realising that here indeed was an opportunity to ingrate himself with the most powerful man in the province, he bowed deeply. "It would be my pleasure and honour, general, if you would consider him a gift."
Quintus gave the fat man a thoughtful look, easily able to follow the inn-keeper's thoughts. Then he shrugged, one more or less leech didn't matter, nor was the debt large, easily off-set if he so desired. "Then I thank you. Have my horse made ready. I want to leave immediately."
When he returned upstairs he discovered that Benion had left, and Quintus gathered his cloak and helmet, wondering if he was mad. His mouth quirked into a wry smile as he imagined Macius' pithy comments about his friend's too-tender heart. It was exactly like Quintus Gaius to purchase a slave he didn't need, simply because he'd been moved by a pair of expressive aquamarine eyes and a boy's quiet unflinching courage in the face of the bitterness fate had dealt him.
Shaking his head yet knowing he would do nothing different if he had the choice, Quintus came out into the yard to find the stable slave already holding his stallion. Hovering by the door, wearing a decidedly wistful expression was Benion. Obviously not expecting the General to acknowledge his presence, the young slave simply watched the imminent departure with large, sad eyes.
Quintus mounted, controlling the stallion easily. He reined back until he was level with Benion. "Well, come on, boy," he said, deep commanding voice reaching easily across the quiet yard.
Benion stared up at him, initial confusion sliding into shock and then a dawning joy. "Master? You mean...?" he gasped, as if hardly daring to believe.
Quintus smiled broadly, "You belong to me now." He held out his hand, "hurry, I haven't all day."
In a dream, Benion took the strong hand and felt himself hauled up behind the tall muscular man. Sliding his arms around the trim waist and clasping tightly in obedience to the command to 'hold on,' he pressed his cheek against the straight back in front of him.
As the easy ground-devouring strides of the stallion took him away from his old life and into his new, Benion, son of Owain the Chieftain, for the first time since the destruction of his world looked forward to tomorrow.
THE END
(for now)