Title: Thrown to the Cliffs

Type: Slash, FirstTime, Oneshot, DubCon, Angst, Whump, RST

Rating: NC-17

Fandom: Spartacus: Blood and Sand

Pairing: Crixus/Varro

Setting: Somewhere between "Delicate Things" (Season 1, Episode 6) and "Great and Unfortunate Things" (Season 1, Episode 7).

Word Count: 5925

Summary: With Spartacus absent, attending to duties given by Dominus, Naevia happens upon her lover Crixus, rallying others to his side to humiliate Varro during feeding hours, resulting in Varro leaving most of his rations and seeking his own private counsel. Knowing Varro to be kind, and a committer of no crime, Naevia unhappily confronts Crixus and demands that he make apology. Perhaps with his only weakness being love, Crixus yields to her will and sets swift course to make amends with Varro, employing the German brothers to trick Varro to meet him in Barca's cell, though he did not plan for what came next. It seems however, Spartacus has taught his friend well, as Varro proves more than resourceful, when need arises.

Warnings: Do not read if you are offended by violence towards a character, although this is by no means a darkfic, and the violence is not very sinister or graphic. There may be historical/mythological references in parts. DubCon element is mild, there is no actual rape. Also, some elements of cumplay. This is a co-write, so may sound choppy in parts (if you decide to read on knowing this, don't complain about it). Language used is similar to that which is typical of the show, so be patient and re-read certain parts if they confuse you on first reading. Crixus was written by me, ikarusphoenix, and Varro by letit_linger (go show her some lj love). As always, please comment, comments are ultrasugar!

Varro stood in the middle of the cell, looking indignant as he realized the trickery at work. "Make it swift then, Crixus, as your torment knows no honour."

"You are here not for torment, but for...apology...to be given", Crixus could barely speak the word so unfamiliar too his tongue, boiling over it.

"Apology? From one as you, I would not expect such a thing. Surely this is no more than a guise?" Varro was disbelieving, rightly so, and felt that this was only to add to his humiliation.

"If it were merely guise, would my tone sound so without ease?" Crixus found it difficult to stifle his temper, let alone give apology, and it being disbelieved somewhat rattled that cage, "Expect what you care to, but know that is not my master.", he still held no refrain to talking harsh, frank words.

Varro folded his arms over his chest, still frowning in doubt. "What would inspire these words?" And if only an apology, had Barca's cell been necessary, as well as sealing the two inside?

"I have seen error in my ways. I would not see it ignored.", Crixus said, after an uncomfortable pause, making sure to keep his distance from the Roman in case fury took his whim, "You have words to speak, then speak them.", if Varro was still angry from earlier display, Crixus would not have him go without speaking his piece on it.

Varro examined him through narrow eyes, curious as to the nature of the apology still. "If your apology holds truth, then I would have kind words." Perhaps something only Spartacus could get away with demanding. "Unless you speak falsely."

"How would you have me show its fucking truth? Must I cut eyes from seer and shove them into your fucking head?", Crixus did not like his delicate attempts to making amends being pissed on, and such was clear as his words heightened to a bellow.

A step back from caution, rather than fright, but Varro kept his head. "A compliment, if your apology is your own." The intent was honest, but the source was perhaps not. "Else I would deny it and be released from this cell."

Crixus' fist found empty bird box, as did his foot find lower one, breaking the wood with worrying ease and causing wings of nearby birds to flutter in their cages, "What other mouth speaks but my own!", he took a while to gather breath and rested his arms against the stone of closest wall, leaning into it, facing away from the other man.

"Words from your lips, yes. But I would hear that which you favour of me, as they caused such change of heart." Varro frowned at the splintered boxes, stepping toward the opposite wall, staring at the Gaul's back.

"What I favour of you!", Crixus hit the wood of the bird boxes again in a loud thud, at least making sure not take fists to Varro's face, turning to him again, looking well-baked with anger, "You think me a wife for courting? You seek compliments from a man such as me?"

"If there is nothing you favour, then so is there no inspiration for your apology. I would have it's reasons." Varro shook his head, looking toward the bars, seeing no one near. "I have no need for courting, as I have a wife; you are not so." Merely an observation, though it could easily be taken in a wrong sense.

It took everything Crixus has not to lunge forward and rip this Roman's head from his shoulders, but then Naevia's voice resounded within his mind, with words he could not deny. The sound of his feet kicking off the dust of this cell was all that filled the long silence after, until Crixus found voice once more. "You are...soft of tongue. And you have wit." That was the best he could do for now; in standards of manhood, combative ability and bold character, Varro did not impress him.

Varro still held doubt in Crixus' apology, though it was genuine, and it was somewhat a high risk to push the Gaul further. He nodded and stepped forward, hesitating only a moment before placing his hand on a meaty shoulder. "Gratitude for your apology, Crixus."

With grip placed on Crixus' thick shoulder by hands just as large but softer, the Gaul found himself parting with further compliment, and in surprising truth too, "Your form gives chase to my own, and your head is blessed with crown of snow. Your touch is gentle, and your smile...", Crixus stopped himself, realising not only what he was saying, but what he was about to say.

These words seemed that of a calmer man, light in truth and easy in delivery. "Further gratitude," Varro said with his typical grin. "I would not have believed a Gaul to part with kind words." His hand squeezed the shoulder before dropping, the tension seemingly have fled the cell.

Crixus' hand grabbed opposite shoulder for just a second, an impulse reaction to return the gesture given. Confused at how softly he received Varro now, the Gaul stood before the door of the cell boldly, to disallow exit, "I would have more words with you."

He saw no threat in the stance, and had only taken a step toward the door, now stopped. "Speak them, then, as I would find pleasure in their delivery."

Crixus could see now why the Thracian so favoured this Roman, this fair and burly Roman with both grimace and flawless flesh that did well to resemble a small child. Even with little reason, Varro brimmed with only good intention, pleased even to have Crixus behave as new friend, when disbelief should have set obstacle, "What do you...what is there to like of me?", he asked, oddly curious to hear answer.

Varro's lip turned upward at one corner, a soft chuckle coming shortly after, though not one of malice. "You are deadly with your blade, and ever vigilant in your will to prove status. Absent ill-will, perhaps an ally worth trust." He spoke honestly and with ease, more willing to part with such truths than the Gaul had been under duress.

"I have paid no reason to make such purchase.", Crixus looked to a side, words deeply spoken as always yet with new nerve to them, dryer than usual. He had only ever treated the Roman with disrespect and vitriol, far from him to forgive so easily. Then he caught his own eyes making gaze unprompted, startling at the moment of it, for he was sure that he was not the only one to notice, unmarked pearly skin his new enemy, "I-", Crixus could not continue.

"Yet they are no less true. I would not bear a falsity against you in spite." Varro caught the gaze that was perhaps unintended, but delivered regardless. "Your eyes seek further things to find favour in?" A surprise that Crixus lost his words, and that showed in modest shock upon the fair Roman's face.

"Do not speak to gazes unmeant.", the Gaul's reply fell short of full tone, taken off guard by the admission made of his own treacherous eyes, "I lay only with woman-", he found himself rooted enough to part with aggression again, "-do not take clay your own and shape me with such bent form.", he strove to express detest for the notion of homosexuality, though such did not exist in title and was not uncommon.

Varro's grin widened once more, finding humour in the spoken words. "I did not intend such implication; the words were your own." Varro was curious to the Gaul's need to prove otherwise. "You find companion in one who takes pleasure of no woman, yet he stirs no disgust in your eyes."

"He does not think me wanting him.", Crixus quickly shot, as though the statement was prepared, as too was it's viciousness, "You admit yourself as he, then? One who suckles at cock of boy?", Crixus may have been primitive in his thinking, but at times still wise, and Varro's words seemed to compare him to the Beast of Carthage in ways so presumptuously certain. Still, a conversation, and not an argument, despite Crixus' infamous volume and roared words.

"If I took mouth to cock, it would not be to one young, as Pietros." The Gaul could take of that what he would. "Perhaps you deny yourself, eager to show the weight of your balls in measure to the rest of the gladiators." Varro did wonder if the thought of another man had ever tread through Crixus's mind, short lived as it may have been.

"Have no concern for it. No fuck would leave my loins lighter than those atop your thighs, nor smaller.", his eyes pinned to Varro's own with blunt point as he made sure his manhood never be thought a thing to be reduced, boasting his girth as he did so, in a way so uncommonly casual, "You do not deny it then. You and the Thracian?"

Varro laughed once, his head tilting slightly as he considered the Gaul's words. "And if I did not? Does Crixus hold jealousy with a thought that needs no proof?" Why did he require the claim to be denied or proven if not by some curiosity? "I would not part with words of it, false or true."

"To envy a false champion...not within the standing of one that is true.", Crixus corrected the smiling Roman's thinking that he could ever envy the so called bringer of rain, not hating the Roman for the widening of his lips, for unknown reason. A bout of hearty laughter came, so loud that it may have echoed through time itself and given pirates of future a basis for their sounding amusement, "You need not admit it. All know of it. That you are ashamed to proves you more fitted to the drink of seed than Barca or his sweet young boy."

If any of the Gaul's obnoxious habits caused the Roman weariness, his laugh was not among them. It was honest and clear, even when delivered through cruelty. "Then I will not admit, nor will I deny." Varro took a step forward, perhaps as challenge, but not overtly so. "But it has weighed heavily on your mind, if you press the matter so?"

"No matter of you or the lover you take. If an issue, my mind would lift and hurl it with ease, as too my arms would you and your puny Thracian fuck if mood found need be present.", Crixus simmered down a little, pleased enough with his defiant countenance, his words of kinder tone when spoken again, though his hand now pressed against the firm flesh at the center of the Roman's chest, strong enough alone to push him slowly back, and not just from the step that the Roman had dared to take. Crixus moved with him, the slowness of his forced repositioning to prove a point of strength that one quick shove would not have, so well. Varro now pressed against the wall, Crixus' hand remained on him as though other man's flesh his own, "Apology was made, and accepted. Do not think new conflicts escape us." Crixus' eyes mocked Varro, for as large and strong as he was, he might as well have been a slim and feeble boy against force of the Gaul.

His feet moved in a shuffle backwards, where remaining still would have sent him to the rough floor and at the full mercy of the Gaul, who held infamy for having none. His grin faded, sudden stop at the wall causing him to glance to the bars again, though it seemed they were alone until Crixus had had his say. "Then time, perhaps, to forge alliance and leave such conflict behind.". His expression was less forgiving than his words, though, as his hand touched upon the Gaul's wrist. Varro would not be helpless to a contest, and would respond if violence dictated. "Such things are beyond brothers, are they not?"

"Perhaps if you find spirit to grin as fool once more...such expression absent now.", Crixus noted how the Roman's wrongly adorable smile had fled him, now that he was overpowered by a truer Crixus. Better for it, as the smile did not belong upon face, nor it's attitude of victory, "Now you seek alliance, and with zeal. A better place for you, to know it and reside to it, before a man raised far higher above you."

"In status alone, and dependent upon it as a child to mother's breast." The Gaul was rabid in his need to restore title as champion of Capua. "Such a thing blinds, though does it give cause to the anger held?" He referred to Crixus' unwavering hate of Spartacus, and by extension himself.

Crixus roared with thunderous depth for a moment, angered at not only the Roman's words but also his assumption that he could risk them. The Gaul whipped Varro's hand from his wrist as though no more than a fly that flew too near, and took grip of his throat. "Watch your words with me, large fucking child, for I will break you just as soon as I would have your forgiveness."

Varro had become brave in the Gaul's lighter tone, and would have the former champion take agreeable understanding through the insult, though it would never be so. He took hold of the forearm extended from his throat, face contorting angrily. "Our conflict was born under unnecessary words. Let us part and leave it to these walls." The Roman stretched his neck to ease the pressure on it, but refrained from responding in kind; the act would only further instigate Crixus, and a battle beneath the ludus would be detrimental to both, neither would truly be victor.

"Give reason for my pardon, and not for frailty absent protection of Thracian cunt.", Crixus finished angrily, before even thinking of releasing his choke upon the other Gladiator, who clearly knew better than to challenge him with brawn, though himself not weak or spineless pacifist.

"I need no protector, and I offer no ills." Varro's anger grew with insult to Spartacus, no matter how often it poured from the Gaul's mouth. "Your mercy would not be granted for any reason I may find." The Roman pulled his neck again, his back scraping along the stone walls. "Find favour in my crown of snow, then, and my soft tongue," he turned Crixus' own words against him from spite.

Varro had presented the wrong test to the fierce Gaul, in his choice of cadence. Crixus struck the blonde man with the full of his palm, across face and head, and then again with the back of same hand. "I come to you with sentiment eager of peace, and this is how you would choose to defile it! Spartacus has taught ill of his new wife, in giving her boldness that fits to no piece." Part of the Gaul wanted Varro to fight back, but then he knew such would not end well for him. The sound of his open palm strikes did well to speak of what his fists could do if mood escalated.

Varro's cheeks stung fiercely, as too did his temples ring, and his gaze lowered, though the curl of his lip lay plain. Varro's fist raised to strike Crixus in return, but he remained still, the restraint shown nearly breaking and surely ending him. "I did not bar door and prevent you departure," he spat. "My gratitude was given, and apology was well met." His fist opened gradually, palm finding rest upon the Gaul's shoulder once more. "Let us end this then and part ways."

"As well you sought to mock me with smile held to insanity your own; that I might covet your flesh.", Crixus reminded Varro that he was not so innocent in this as he would profess, both menacingly powerful hands giving downwards shove to the Roman's shoulders, forcing him to take seat of floor, with back to the wall, "You leave when I say it."

Varro's flesh found the stone floor quickly and with no delight. The Roman turned his face upward with an angry gaze, one leg bent as if to give leverage to rise. "And what use would you make of me Crixus? Let your fists find flesh and end your fury sooner." Palms to the wall, Varro pushed up, meaning to stand again.

"I believe you right in thinking yourself absent any worth to bargain for my patience. Duty now yours to prove wrong us both.", Crixus presented an impossible gambit, for all he could now think of was making bruised, cowering mess of the man at his feet, no matter the promises he might grant.

His jaw clenched, and his movement halted as he slowly rose, bent at the waist in an awkward, laughable posture. Varro's eyes shut, and the Roman calmed, seeming to make peace with himself. Once opened, they found Crixus' face, and his body was lowered once more, kneeling before the Gaul. "Remove your subligarium," he said after a moment, his gaze now lowered, "And I will pull favour from you."

Crixus, with each and every gesture, halted in a moment's disbelief. The Roman would take mouth to him in bargain for his trust. At last, something Crixus could hold over him, as well as current champion, but perhaps at cost made with too foreign a coin, "You think yourself well enough with act of tongue to soothe the dragon of my rage?"

"If you find my tongue unsatisfying, I would gain kind another way." Varro's resolve was firm, and he was truly willing to bargain the Gaul's seed for his return to the common cells. An act that would follow him till his end, but one which would preserve his health to see another battle. His eyes raised, expectant in nature, awaiting Crixus' response.

With eyes bloated by curdling fire, Crixus pierced through Varro's own, as though the man's insisted course disgusted and insulted him. "You would do so reluctant-", that notion displeased Crixus, who only ever gave phallus to one who would have it with true desire, "-unless...the act is known to you, and with liking.", a blunt statement more than a question put, though an answer was needed. If Varro had tasted the meat of phallus before, then he was open to such things, and if open to it, how could he not have took pleasure in one such as Crixus; a beast to be well wanted in such ways.

Varro smiled, though for once it was not fluid and kind, but drawn, as if from the taste of something sour. "You are a man to be envied, and under proper circumstance, I would do such gladly." There was no deceit that could be made to avoid the ease of the Gaul's mind in these matters. "I have. Admittance made, receive it well." Varro's hands rested on his own thighs, face again calm and waiting.

"Then purse lips around my flesh, and feast with hunger the same as held for friend not present.", if Varro was going to suck unborn children from his cock, then Crixus would have him do so with the same passion held for Spartacus, wanting to know how well the Roman would treat the Thracian's piece, and not his own. "If terms are accepted-, The Gaul paused for just a second, in disbelief that he was to say the words that came, "-remove constraints yourself. Know this, flaxon Roman, as many teeth as I feel, are as many you will lose.", one final threat given, in case Varro dared bite upon appendage entrusted to him.

He did not hesitate in his movements, hands deftly undoing the subligarium and allowing it to fall to the stone floor. Varro stilled his words, and though he had seen the Gaul in full flesh before, it had not been held before his face as now. With one hand taking the base of Crixus' cock, Varro parted his lips, taking the girthy length into his mouth. Though it was not as lengthy as Thracian cock, it was perhaps thicker, though Varro had no thoughts too specific for absolute confirmation. It was cock nonetheless, and the Roman had struck the bargain. He pulled his mouth from it after it had grown stiff and fattened, pulling the tip between his lips again and sucking on it, his hand slowly pumping the shaft.

With closed eyes, Crixus parted with a soft, low groan, though not one that spoke of uncomfortable sensitivity. He wanted blame for this to be Varro's alone, and thus raised both muscular arms and folded them behind his head, making all touches belong to the Roman. "Take it all. Let me see no inch of it fall from lips.", he grumbled, feeling the soft moving wetness of Varro's mouth tend to him compliantly. His hands betrayed him, absent obedient sword, lowering to hold the Roman's face at either side in a way just short of firm, thumbs barely caressing the soft flesh of his newborn cheeks. He looked down upon a new, unsought realisation; Varro looked more handsome still with the Gaul's breadth filling his mouth. "Do you take pleasure in this? Does your own length rise to meet my own?", even now, Crixus still held barbaric dominance, from casual posturing to shaded tone voice.

With one glance upward, Varro pulled the remaining length into his mouth, his tongue pressing flat along the underside of the Gaul's cock. He found ease in the action, swallowing eagerly, almost. The touch to his face came as surprise to him, and caused him to hum pleasantly around the cock; he found pleasure in the gentle strokes, and it did indeed cause a stirring in the Roman's groin, the realization causing a light chuckle that rumbled up from his throat and into the cock within. Varro pulled away for only a moment. "Though unsuspected, I yet come to rise." His grin seemed to have returned, as well, as he pulled the thick appendage into his mouth again, sucking with an eager pace.

For the first time this day, Crixus was not insulted by the Roman's absurdly wide, childish grin, instead a smile his own being anchored by it, "Show me.", Crixus wished to see his effect upon the blonde's own phallus, as well as he was curious to see the measure of the man when aroused. He wished to take credit for it.

Varro did not remove his mouth from cock, but fumbled with his own covering blindly, though the movement was familiar as sand underfoot. Exposed, his length rose, a generous size to match his stature, as pale and pristine as fine Roman skin granted. Even as his mouth moved and suckled on Crixus, a hand went to excitement his own, stroking slowly and causing muffled moans to issue from him.

"Stand and let me see.", Crixus demanded softly, ushering the taller man to foot, closely parallel to him. Crixus looked down but once, his eyes lingering a moment, before returning them to Varro. "You are not such a small man. My insults were not well chosen.", of course, Crixus was he who had cock most impressive, but not by too much that it would cause embarassment; he was impressed with what hung from the groin of new friend. A fine dick for fucking, though uncircumcised like many of the time, unlike Crixus' own. The Gaul smirked, knowing to take advantage of the sensitivity, hand with grip that could turn rock to diamond, rolling over the strange erection until the foreskin that covered it no longer visible. He continued to pull at it with full strokes, making sure to graze the pale head roughly every time, smirking as he held gaze with the Roman. "My touch is to your liking?"

Surprised by the request, Varro stood, following the gaze down for a moment, appreciating the manner both cocks stood, strong and proud as any who bore the mark and took the primus. His smirk returned, faltering only a moment at unfamiliar touch that was given without prompt, and taken with surprise. One large hand took hold of the nape of Crixus' neck, the other quick to return the touch. Varro breathed with depth appropriate to training, his eyes never leaving the Gaul's face. "Your grip would be the end of me, and I would have it so." Varro tightened his hand around the other Gladiator's length, then taking the risk to bring their lips together in a passionate kiss, the hand upon him driving him to it.

Crixus looked to the arm of the hand that claimed his neck, as though unsure whether to welcome it, or perhaps unsure as to why he did. It pleased him though, a sense of belonging, of being wanted, and not with demand ravenous or unruly which had become all he he'd known. Crixus did not kiss Varro back, so much as he allowed himself to be kissed by another man. Confused thoughts only seemed to fuel his own arousal, even those negative that knew this wrong. The Roman kissed with purpose and ambition, and yet the passion of it was soft; tender and graceful, innocent in place of crude sin. Crixus did not want to like that he liked it, but he did, and so no issue could be made. His hand slid across Varro's thick side, grabbing meanly at the firm flesh of found buttock. Varro's rear was a thing Crixus could not deny noticing, he had even complimented it in jest to Beast of Carthage, but much like Barca, he knew this ass to be an exceptional one. It certainly felt as good as it looked. He used his new grip to pull Varro a little closer to him and hold him there, leaving room for further stroking between them. "Your kiss is a sweet thing, not pale to honey and wine. Does it find Spartacus in ways the same, or do you take to my lips with fear and restraint?", Crixus wanted Varro free of obligation, except for one that was natural.

Varro was not displeased when Crixus did not return the kiss, he had expected as much, if any clear thought were passing through his mind. His thumb scraped gently along the sheared dark hair that lay close to Crixus' flesh, the grip he held on the Gaul soft as his kisses. Varro continued to tug at his cock, his quiet moans serving as approval to the attention on his own. The Roman was surprised once more by Crixus, the rough grip on his ass not unwelcome. The closeness dictated by the Gaul put further fervour into his strokes, heat flaring up between their bodies. "My lips are soft, until need for harshness comes," he quipped, indicating that he was only sweet in delivering first kisses. "And how does your cock find me?" His grin was bright as ever in his curiosity in the Gaul's arousal.

"Is it not still hard within your fucking palm?", Crixus' only offering of sexual approval, initially, but then he shed a warm smile that did not climb too highly, and a breath of laughter, an admission of his own manly reluctance to give compliment, and a personal poking of fun at it. He gave Varro one intense glare, as though word from a demon had found his ear and insisted he act on it's behalf. Dangerously close now, Crixus slapped away Varro's own hand from his thick, meaty weapon and with his own, held both cocks together, proceeding to stroke them both in a way which allowed each phallus to know the hot, sordid friction of the other. His pace quickened as he pulled eyes from his own handiwork to look at Varro again, this time with smile of serpent ready to bury fangs and poison. "Our swords draw well together, do they not?", he sought to amuse and titillate the Roman. Short of his own sexual imagination, he had a good teacher in the way of things between men, in Barca, if such friend only parted with tale for sake of pastime.

Varro's grin was contagious, it seemed, and he returned with a small chuckle of his own. The quick change of the Gaul's expression startled him, as did the following actions. His eyes widened and his jaw was left slack, the hand removed now gripping shoulder tightly. The fair Gladiator found his voice, as well as intense pleasure pulled from this union. "Drawn well in arms, and in heated battle," he responded with veiled moans beneath his words. Varro lowered his head, resting his cheek upon Crixus' shoulder as he was stroked with the other man, feather-soft kisses finding the flesh there.

"Does he touch you like this?", Crixus asked, images projecting to the backdrop of his mind, of Varro and his Thracian together in moments of varying passions, heated and breathless, bodies well glazed with sweat as he and Varro now.

"Your touch is firmer, unrelenting." Not to say Spartacus was too light with the Roman, merely that Crixus was much less gentle. "His touch is never absent mine." Varro also very much enjoyed the sensations fed into his cock from this. He lifted his head, breath falling heated on Crixus' ear as he murmured further. "This moment holds only your touch, and it is one I would not forget."

"I will not have your memory weak of grip.", with a life it's own, Crixus head cocked of it's own accord so that it leant against Varro's cheek as the blonde man lay small, gentle kisses to his chest and shoulder. An intimate gesture, but one so innocent that Crixus felt it exotically strange.

"Tell me how he tastes.", Crixus both whispered and heaved heavily, the spoken words intoxicating their speaker with jolts of lust, forcing him to quicken his pace upon the two large dicks within the unforgiving confines of his brutal hand.

Varro's hands massaged lightly at Crixus' neck and back, his body heaving with each stroke given. "He tastes of freedom," he chuckled, hips jerking forward to meet with the Gaul's, "The very salt of the earth, and Neptune's waters." A hiss escaped between his teeth as the grip surrounding their cocks became enraged in passion. "To taste him is to fly with the wind, to a place outside of these walls.". His breath came quicker, his fingertips sinking into the Gaul's flesh roughly as his passion continued to rise. "Your hand seeks to throw me beyond the cliffs," he grunted, almost, in panting tones.

"Then his flavour defies his purpose.", though his words were not angry, Crixus left no room for doubt in that he was a Gladiator, loyal to his cause. Spartacus' delusion of freedom did not rest with Crixus well. Then, unbridled arch of lips came once more, ignited by the Sun itself, to Varro's own nearing, "Too much for you then? You will plummet to the rocks without fight? Does my touch have you so closely edged?", not only did the soft artistry of the Roman's words please and inspire Crixus for their well placed poetic way, but the thought of plucking the ambrosia of orgasm from the Roman helplessly caused his pallet to moisten.

"And I fall gladly," he replied, his hips now moving into Crixus, "The lightest push drags me there, and I go willingly." The kisses laid on neck and shoulder pressed with an edge as Varro neared his climax. For his words waxed, though, the Roman now only swore under his breath, Crixus' hand pulling seed roughly from his cock, coating hand and stomach in its release.

As Varro came without precise warning, Crixus released grip of his own cock, now coated thickly in Varro's warm white seed, and went on to stroke the dull pastel helmet of nervous flesh a few times before finding an end to it. He then lowered himself down to the floor, and grabbed Varro by the wrist, giving no time to recover from orgasm, pulling him down next to him, now laying across the floor. "Now you pull promised favour from me, Roman.", Crixus' dick slick with cum not his own, he found strange excitement in it, and what else could come of it.

Varro was still as his climax subsided, eyes then opening at the Gaul's movement away, though he understood the meaning. He lowered his head to Crixus' chest, his gentle kisses fluttering down the muscles until lips found cock once more. With a glance upward, Varro swallowed it again, tasting his seed upon it but suckling eagerly despite of, or more accurately because of, the taste.

The Devil's act that came from Varro, the virtuous one, sent Crixus' body to quake, the fairly faced Gladiator with locks of pallid gold sipping at his own orgasmic sap, which now flavoured the hard cock that throbbed in his mouth. One of the Gaul's hand's rummaged through the hair of Varro's bobbing head as he sucked upon the cock with restless enthusiasm, like he wanted it's bittersweet milk in thirsty manner. "Say his name. Say it to me.", Crixus asked, though his words broken like torn paper, as he felt his loins contract and open up, ready for release.

Varro groaned low rumbles around the cock, his head tilting into the touch as Crixus gave it. The surprises this night were endless as the Gaul gave command, one that seemed would ensure his cum to issue forth. The Roman lifted his head from the length, one hand stroking over it quickly. "Spartacus," he said, drawing the word out as a splendid fiend, his gullet eager to know a new and surely potent taste, forbidden before.

A long, gravelled groan came from Crixus, ripping at the pits of his throat as it continued. A forked stream of thick cum pumped from the cock as Spartacus' name was spoken so smoulderingly. Before he could witness more then two jets of his own orgasm being juiced, mouth was upon him again, "Fucking...Roman...cunt!", Crixus said between breath, sounding like sex itself.

The first ropes that erupted from Crixus' cock escaped Varro, but he swallowed it whole again, gulping down the rest that spilled out and threatened to make full his mouth; his pace barely kept up. His grin at the curse could be felt as he somehow managed to suck the remaining cum down, lifting his head only after the streams had halted. Varro wiped his mouth with his forearm, his gaze wandering over the spent Gaul. His hand found some mess pooled on Crixus' abdomen, and he licked that from his fingers. "How would you find me now? A man to hold your favour?" Varro could not help his grin from breaking again.

"Varro-", Crixus said with quickly replenished breath, laughing quietly for a change before continuing, "-your Thracian has made a sly whore of you, as well as he has sharpened your tongue. I would give you favour for it, and in time...you would pull it from me again.", his tone now one that coaxed more so that intimidated, Crixus stroked Varro's face as delicately as he would have a woman's, a dark and secret pleasure in knowing that he had soiled the lover of Spartacus without his knowledge or consent. But perhaps Varro had earned this be kept secret, after all, all be him a beast, Crixus knew sweetness when it came.

THE END