AUTHOR'S NOTE: Allow me to warn you that this does contain EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT between two men. So if you don't like it, I advise you to not read this.

It was not foreign within the confines of Roman society for a rich man to take a slave. When he did so, sexual acts were often included in the slave's obligations. And if it were a concubine, those acts were anticipated. Such perverse deeds were characteristic of human nature, and the lusty desires it so often engendered.

But what was peculiar about the relationship between Marcus and his slave, Esca, was that no sexual connotations existed, and if they did, no manifestation of them occurred. Perhaps it was because of the fact that Marcus had rescued Esca from death because of his opposition towards bloodshed for the sake of mere entertainment. He had been a warrior, a killer of many, and yet did not take one's life in vain or with any lightness. And when the only way to save Esca was to take him as a slave, even then he did not enforce the duties of slavery upon him. Although it was not unusual for his Uncle Aquila to suggest that he ought to partake in such masculine norms. "He's only a slave, boy, do what you will with him." He said to Marcus one evening, after discovering with much perplexity that he had never taken a lover during his time served as garrison commander of his legion. Indeed, it was quite common for centurions to engage in sexual acts with their subordinates to quench bodily lusts and maintain their virility.

But it was not that Marcus had any qualms with these realities of Roman military life, he simply had not found someone he desired to commit such a private, personal act with. That is, until recently. From the moment he had seen Esca standing proudly in the amphitheater, though caked in mud and bound in chains, as he was beaten for the petty diversion of Roman citizens, he felt something stir within him. His chest tinged with a pain that he mistook for the heat, and his stomach pitted by what he thought was hunger. Nonetheless, he was moved by the slave's boldness. But taking him on as his own domestic prisoner was not his intention. The slave, whom he later discovered, was named Esca, claimed he was indebted to Marcus for saving him. He dutifully did whatever he was instructed to do in a methodical and almost cold manner. And as Marcus observed the slave, he found it difficult to stop, as Esca had arrested his thoughts entirely. In the beginning, these thoughts were neither intimate nor sexual, until one evening.

It had been about a week ago that he witnessed the young Briton bathing in the pale moonlight. He hadn't intended purposefully to spy on the slave; he was only on his way to the latrine when he heard the faint sound of splashing water by the servants' quarters, and his eager curiosity drove him to find its source. And what a beauty that source issued forth! Esca was turned towards the wall, so he could not see Marcus watching from behind him. His shapely backside glistened with wet lather, and his shoulders arching forwards, exposed the sinews that rippled beneath his pale skin. Marcus felt the same feelings he had experienced at the amphitheater, along with a far more intense one. His loins had grown hotter than the sun itself, he was certain. They pulsed as though they were sore and aching. Never had he felt so intrusive, so invasive or deceptive. But never had he felt so alive, so moved and lustful as he did just then.

Since that fateful night, Marcus had been tortured constantly with that same, forceful yearning. He would lie in bed all night fraught with that insatiable hunger. As Esca redressed his leg wound, he wanted the young man's tender touch to linger there forever, but it did not. As Esca poured his wine, he wanted to say something witty, but words failed him. He wanted his chest to stop aching, and legs to stop trembling, but alas his heart pined still and the pain remained. After he could stand his corporeal plagues no longer, he confided in his uncle about it, to which the older man replied, leading us into the present, "He's only a slave, boy, do what you will with him."

"But uncle, how can I do what I cannot comprehend?"

"Have you not seen the black figure vases, or read the works of Xenophon and Herodotus?"

"Yes, but I…"

"Well then, just do as they do. Now, no more of this talk. I will send Esca to your room at sunset. " Marcus spent the reminder of the afternoon preoccupied with what the falling of the sun might bring, and therefore watched to sky with much anticipation, until it finally began to descend into the distant hills.

"Master, your uncle sent me here." Esca's voice interrupted his thoughtful anxieties, and the following dialogue commenced:

"Oh, yes. Indeed," Marcus re-joined.

"Does your leg need tending?"

"No, it's fine."

"Should I bring you something?"

"I don't want anything."

"Well…?"

"Perhaps you can take a look at the leg." He finally acquiesced, still too afraid to confront those feelings surging inside him.

Esca crouched down and carefully removed the old bandages. He went away for a while but returned with a silver tin of ointment. He applied the slightly cold, viscous concoction ever so gently with his nimble hands. Hands with fingers like Apollo's, plucking softly at the strings of his enchanted lyre. Each time Marcus felt the slave's fingertips graze his skin, shivers ran through his body. He shuddered in both agony and delight as the heat he had experienced that fated night went charging through his loins yet again.

"I'm sorry master, have I hurt you?" Esca asked anxiously, taking note of the man's pained expression. He did have a sincere partiality for his master, who had saved his life so many moons ago.

"No." Marcus barely croaked through stuttered gasps. But O, how he had! A riveting pain radiated over his physical and mental senses by the man's touch—his mere presence was tortuous, in fact.

Esca began to re-bandage his leg and Marcus observed in quiet awe. The slave's arms went in circular motions, muscles flexing in slow, undulating movements. He could even feel the hot breath caressing his skin as Esca released a sigh of relief when the wound was finally dressed. Marcus envisioned Esca's slender, naked form, as he had seen it that night, and it was all too much. Esca was there, touching him and unaware! His manhood began to ache and throb as blood pulsated through it, until the sensation was unbearable. When Esca rose to leave, Marcus felt his heartstrings pulling, and without thinking, he grabbed the slave's arm. "Wait," he whispered in anguish, "don't go."

Esca looked at his master's pain-stricken face and then at the prominent erection rustling beneath his toga. He was so taken aback by the scene that he dropped the ointment tin, which clattered noisily on the marble floors. He went to retrieve it, all the while cursing mildly for his clumsiness. Not that he was shocked by his master's body; he had seen it completely bare before, while robing him in the mornings. It was a striking body, the epitome of masculine power, though tanned by the harsh summer sun. But never had he expected to see such a stern, sullen man aroused, this man whom he had once hated with all his being, and now viewed almost as a companion.

Marcus reached for Esca again as he bent down to pick up the tin. "Leave it," he commanded in a more forceful tone, his eyes glaring. "Are you not my slave?"

"Yes, master." He said with shock and some bitterness, tinged with fright.

"I have never asked much of you. So please, just do as I say." Esca nodded obediently as Marcus instructed him to undress. He removed his coarse woolen tunic revealing the smooth, pale skin of his torso beneath. His arms were diminutive, in comparison to the broad-shouldered Roman, yet still lean and trimmed with fine-tuned muscles attained from slave labor. His chest puffed out, and his eyes were shadowed by a brooding brow, as he was determined to feel neither shameful nor willing, but still suffered some bewilderment given the unexpected demand from his master. Esca then removed his pants; his genitals lightly bouncing from the fabric with a forceful tug. Esca—usually unaffected—could not refrain from blushing as he had never been looked at as feverishly as now. Marcus's lustful eyes explored the young slave's statuesque body. Although he was a Briton, he had all of the attributes that were so desirable to the Roman's standards of male beauty, just as Aristophanes described in one of his most famous playwrights. His body was like Eros', almost pre-pubescent, with its scarcity of body hair and the perfect, minute form of his phallus fringed in flaxen curls, though merging upon the bounds of adulthood with its well-toned shapeliness. Marcus, still sitting on the bed, reached for Esca, who stood stoically in the shadows cast and rays flouted by the setting sun.

Marcus hesitantly touched the young man's lean abdomen, which instinctively quivered against his master's hands. They caressed the shallow grooves of his Adonis belt, extending to the pubic bone, and then he cautiously stroked his flaccid bulge. Flaccid, at first; however, the initially unyielding slave was soon betrayed by his own body. As Marcus enkindled that same urge inside him, his tiny, aching flesh began to swell and lift into an erection. Marcus brushed his full, moistened lips against it tiny peak. He whimpered and thanked the gods as Esca responded with a stifled grunt. The slave's knees grew weak and trembled, and before his legs gave out completely, he rested his hands heavily upon the centurion's strong shoulders. Marcus wrapped his large hands around the back of Esca's neck and drew him closer, until their foreheads met. They shared an intense glare riddled with both passion and torture, and then, at last, a kiss. But do not be misled, for it was neither tender nor poetic, but fierce and virile. Marcus had large, pouting lips that smashed forcefully against Esca's pursed and narrow ones. Their angular, stubbly faces chafed and shifted, and their necks swayed like awkward swans, mixed with desperate, guttural gasps for air. Their struggles for affection with one another continued as Marcus lifted his slave, his companion, his only love, urgently onto the bed and in a single, swift movement, disrobed himself. Night had already fallen, and only the moonlight illuminated the beads of perspiration dripping from his bronzed skin, and the eagle necklace swinging slowly from his bowed neck. Marcus looked down at Esca, whose slight form was sprawled across the linen sheets, shuddering, as Marcus fondled him. His chest heaved in and out, exposing the impressions of his ribcage with each unsteady breath. Marcus watched the beautiful scene as his manhood became so engorged with blood that veins protruded with excruciating soreness down its shaft, bulging stiff and distended. Esca beheld his master's enlarged phallus in fascination. It was enormous, a quality usually considered repulsive among the Roman people, and yet it was so smooth and perfectly molded, pointing assuredly into the air like a gilded sword—he saw no flaw in that. His hand trembled as his reached out for it, and traced his fingertips along its swollen length. A high-pitched moan escaped from the Roman's throat.

"Master, if you would…" The slave entreated desperately in a raspy half-whisper.

"Esca. Esca." Marcus whispered back as he lowered himself onto him, their bodies grazing one another in electric tremors, rendering them breathless, and then gradually beginning to roll rhythmically like the ocean's tide. The feeling of Esca's body writhing beneath his own was arousing within self, but the sensation of their two rigid shafts rubbing against one another with each synchronized thrust of the hips, was euphoric. Marcus clenched his thigh muscles and instinctively rolled his pelvis forward, his swollen head treading softly across Esca's supple scrotum and then with a final, forceful thrust, across his pink crest of riveting pleasure. It sent quakes and shudders of trilling blood through him. Relentlessly, he repeated this motion, all the while never breaking his steely gaze from his lover's dark blue eyes. Esca gasped, biting at his bottom lip and throwing his head back in agony as Marcus glided over his body, rousing his erection with his own, again and again and again. He quickened his speed as they each drew closer to what felt like the ends of the earth. Their eyes still locked and faces twisted into furrowed expressions. Marcus bent Esca's left arm, painted with the delicate tribal mark of Brigantes, over his head, revealing the slave's small tuft of pit hair bedewed with sweat. Esca laid his other arm behind his head, smiling weakly as Marcus lowered his chest onto his, entwining their fingers. His luscious lips sucked upon the slave's ruby red mouth, sending them back to their hungry, jerking plunges. They panted like wild, humping beasts as Marcus slipped his right hand beneath Esca and squeezed his pliant buttocks, which he had been so enraptured by when he first saw him bathing in the pale moonlight. He gripped it yet harder, using it to press Esca forcefully against him as his body snaked compulsively. He roared and thrashed like a ravenous warrior in battle, quickening until his body riveted into Esca's, then merely shook and trembled. His leg muscles flinched painfully whilst his fertile liquids seeped out onto Esca's iliac crest, in his final culmination of orgasmic spasms. Marcus gazed into Esca's tear-studded eyes as the young slave quivered like a reed within his master's warm embrace. He'd never felt such a sensation as overwhelming and unbearable, yet blissful and instinctive as then. He let out a rasping moan as surges of pleasure ached through his loins and spurted out in a thin cream-colored ribbon on Marcus' flexed abdomen. Hot tears streamed down his face as the intense tremors subsided and the final remnants oozed forth.

Esca gasped for breath as his chest heaved and heart hammered against it like a caged bird, aflutter. Marcus let out a few satisfied exhalations and lay down beside him. Both were spent by their exertions, and slightly embarrassed by their loutish displays of carnal bestiality. Esca rose reluctantly after lying still for some time, and began to redress.

"Where are you going?" Marcus asked.

"I'm going back to the servant's quarters. It is where I belong." There was a note of sadness in his voice. But he was dutiful, obedient, and detached, just as any good slave should be, though it was difficult to be apathetic after sharing such a passionate moment—his first passionate moment—with none other than his noble master.

"Stay with me." Marcus insisted as he rose from the bed still unclothed.

He was stunned by the Roman's request, while the lovemaking had been quite impassioned, he did not know much about the matter, and thought that it was perhaps merely for satiating the man's selfish desires. "Master, I cannot." Esca mumbled, unsure of how he should react, given his lowly position.

Marcus felt like Achilles himself, cut through by the slave's cold rejection. Had he not embraced and made love with him but moments ago? Perhaps it was simply him fulfilling his duties. And after all, Marcus had been the one that demanded it from him. O, what had he done, to invest his feelings, desires, and expectations in a slave? "Fine!" he yelled indignantly, "You're right, I apologize. Just… just leave." Esca departed and Marcus cried out in self-disgust. The slave heard his master's tormented cries and pondered turning back. He paced the halls several times, torn between the rationale of his mind and heart. He remembered the touch of Marcus, the smell and the taste of his warm skin. It was infuriating! Never before had he fathomed such a quandary of love; but in the end he chose his heart. He plodded silently towards the archway, with his graceful deer-like gait, and entered the room. Marcus was lying in the bed, covered in a fur blanket, with his broad shoulders and gleaming chest exposed. As Esca stole softly towards the bed, he knocked something with his foot. It was the metal tin he'd dropped earlier. It rolled on its side and then rattled as it struck the floor, promptly stirring Marcus from his slumber. Given his military past, he responded defensively and dove for his dagger. But after peering into the darkness, though having blurred vision, he recognized that slight and familiar form lurking in the obscurity.

"Esca?"

"It seems that I forgot the ointment." Esca gazed at Marcus longingly, despite his wretched excuse for perjury. Marcus dropped his dagger and returned Esca's penetrating glare, filled with that same hopeful yearning. Marcus stepped slowly towards him, so that they were only inches apart, frozen in place, until Esca broke from his chains of uncertainty by taking that final step. In frenzied lust, he brazenly pulled Marcus' towering body forward and brought the Roman's face to his. Their noses jolted one another as Esca ran his bottom lip against the wide-set jaw, flecked with short hairs that lightly scraped it and then journeyed to his mouth. He'd never noticed how perfect and succulent his lips were, like a ripened grape during the mid-autumn harvest. Marcus kissed back with insatiable hunger, covering Esca's thin, reddened buds with his own, and sucking vigorously. He then rubbed his puckering lips against the rims of Esca's ears, until they were flushed with pink tenderness at their apexes. Esca rested his hand on Marcus' neck, giving him the deep and languished look that was so frequently exchanged between them.

"Master, I—"

"Please, call me by my name. Call me Marcus." He interjected, beholding his beautiful lover concubine with blissful listlessness.

"Marcus… Marcus. Marcus." He repeated in ecstasy as his beloved companion lifted him up into his strong, burly arms, carrying him to the bed and laying him down gently. He stripped Esca bare and joined him beneath the warm refuge of the covers, their naked, masculine figures entangled for the remainder of the moonlit night.

So yeah, maybe tell me what you think in a review, if you feel like it. Constructive criticism is also welcome, as I would always like to improve. Thanks for reading guys!