The roar followed Brutus into the tunnel's sudden gloom. Sweat stung his eyes, mixing with Cassius's blood dried on his forearms. His muscles trembled with exhaustion and the aftershocks of release. At the archway, Gallus waited. The guard’s usual sternness had melted into open awe. He clasped Brutus’s shoulder, fingers trembling slightly. "By Mars," Gallus breathed, eyes wide. "You broke him."
Brutus grunted, leaning into Gallus’s steadying grip. The guard’s admiration felt solid, real, unlike the crowd’s fickle thunder. Gallus guided him away from the arena’s echoing din, down a cooler passage lined with victory laurels. "The victor’s quarters," Gallus announced, pushing open a heavy oak door. Inside, a simple cot, a low table laden with fruit and wine, and a steaming marble plunge bath dominated the small chamber. The scent of cedar oil hung thickly in the air.
Gallus hesitated, his gaze lingering on Brutus’s blood-streaked torso. "Let me attend you," he offered, voice low. "You’ve earned more than laurels today."
Brutus met his eyes, seeing the conflict beneath the awe – shame from the cell, fascination from the arena, and something else … respect? He gave a curt nod, exhaustion settling deep into his bones. "I’d be grateful."
Gallus moved with surprising efficiency. He helped Brutus unbuckle the heavy Gallic armor, the leather straps stiff with dried sweat and sand. Piece by piece, it clattered to the stone floor: the segmented arm guards, the reinforced cuirass, the thick, protective skirt. Brutus stood clad only in his sweat-soaked subligaculum. Gallus knelt, his calloused hands deftly unlacing the gladiator's hobnailed sandals. Brutus watched the guard’s bowed head, the powerful line of his shoulders beneath his tunic. There was a quiet competence in Gallus’s movements, a stark contrast to the frenzy outside.
Gallus stood, meeting Brutus’s gaze. His own hands went to the bronze clasps of his guard’s uniform. The leather jerkin, the padded tunic beneath – he shed them deliberately, letting each piece fall beside Brutus’s discarded armor. He stood revealed: a warrior's frame honed by years of patrols and drills. Broad shoulders tapered to a thick waist, muscles corded across his chest and abdomen, testament to a life lived under arms. Sweat gleamed on skin marked with faded scars. Between powerful thighs, his thick penis hung heavy and semi-erect, stirred perhaps by the raw aftermath of the arena or the intimacy of the task. Brutus’s gaze lingered appreciatively – Gallus was built like a fortress, solid and unyielding.
"Easy now," Gallus murmured, his voice rough yet gentle. He guided Brutus toward the steaming marble bath. Cedar-scented vapor curled in the air. Gallus stepped in first, the hot water lapping at his thick thighs, then offered a steadying hand. Brutus descended stiffly, the heat biting into his bruised muscles, a welcome counterpoint to the arena's lingering chill. Gallus knelt before him in the water. His hands, surprisingly deft despite their size, reached for the soaked linen subligaculum clinging to Brutus’s hips. The knot yielded easily. Gallus peeled the garment away slowly, letting it drift aside in the water. Brutus stood naked before him, the heat flushing his skin, washing away streaks of Cassius’s blood and sand. His own thick erection stirred visibly in the warm water, a response to the unexpected tenderness, the release of tension, or Gallus’s deliberate proximity.
Gallus didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss just below Brutus’s navel. His lips were firm, warm against the damp skin. He trailed kisses lower, down the tense muscle of Brutus’s abdomen, each touch deliberate and unhurried. When he reached the base of Brutus’s thick shaft, he paused, breathing warm air against the sensitive skin. Then he took Brutus fully into his mouth, sinking down with practiced ease. The heat was engulfing, wetter and softer than the bathwater.
Brutus groaned, a deep sound pulled from his core, as Gallus’s tongue explored the underside, tracing veins, swirling around the crown. Pleasure, sharp and undeniable, coiled low in Brutus’s belly, a stark contrast to the brutal claiming minutes before. Gallus’s hands slid up Brutus’s thighs, fingertips kneading the powerful muscles, grounding him as he sucked with slow, deep pulls that drew Brutus deeper into his throat.
Brutus tangled his fingers in Gallus’s short, sweat-damp hair, guiding but not forcing. Gallus responded by hollowing his cheeks, creating exquisite suction. His eyes, dark with reverence and desire, flicked upwards, locking onto Brutus’s face. Brutus shuddered, the intensity of Gallus’s gaze amplifying every sensation. He felt Gallus’s own thick erection pressing against his calf beneath the steaming water, a silent demand.
Gallus pulled back slowly, letting Brutus’s glistening shaft slip from his lips with a soft pop. Water droplets clung to his beard. He rose smoothly, water cascading down his scarred chest. Brutus met him halfway, their mouths crashing together in a fierce, hungry kiss. Gallus tasted of salt and cedar oil, his tongue exploring Brutus’s mouth with possessive tenderness. Brutus groaned into the kiss, his hands roaming Gallus’s broad back, tracing the ridges of muscle and faded battle scars. The guard’s hands slid lower, cupping Brutus’s powerful buttocks, kneading the firm flesh, pulling him closer so their erections slid together, slick and urgent.
Gallus broke the kiss, breathing heavily. He turned Brutus gently, pressing his chest against the cool marble edge of the bath. Brutus braced himself, forearms flat on the rim. Gallus’s calloused hands traced the curve of Brutus’s spine, down to his hips. He spat thickly into his palm, slicking himself before pressing the blunt head against Brutus’s entrance.
Brutus pushed back instinctively, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Gallus entered him slowly, steadily, stretching him with a fullness that bordered on pain yet bloomed into deep, radiating pleasure. Brutus gasped, head dropping forward as Gallus sheathed himself completely, the guard’s powerful thighs pressed flush against his buttocks.
Gallus groaned, a sound of profound relief and reverence. "Gods ... Brutus ..." His hands gripped Brutus’s hips tightly, fingers digging into the hard muscle. He began to move, not with Cassius’s brutal hammering, but with deep, deliberate thrusts that rolled his hips in a smooth, powerful rhythm. Each inward surge filled Brutus utterly, pressing against that deep, sensitive spot inside him with startling accuracy. Pleasure ignited along Brutus’s nerves, sharp and bright, coiling low in his belly. He arched his back, pressing himself harder against Gallus’s solid frame, craving more of that perfect friction.
Gallus leaned forward, teeth grazing Brutus’s shoulder blade. His thrusts remained measured but deep, each withdrawal almost complete before sinking back in with relentless thoroughness. His thick shaft dragged against Brutus’s inner walls, stretching him deliciously. Brutus gasped, the sensation a stark counterpoint to the arena’s violence – this was claiming, too, but laced with reverence. Gallus’s calloused palms slid up Brutus’s sweat-slicked flanks, tracing the ridges of his abdomen before finding his thick, heavy erection beneath the water. Gallus wrapped his fingers around it, his grip firm and knowing. He began to pump in time with his thrusts, the slick heat of the bathwater making every stroke glide effortlessly.
Brutus groaned, the dual stimulation overwhelming. Gallus’s rhythm was a slow, deliberate tide – inward thrusts pushing Brutus forward against the marble rim, outward pulls drawing him back onto Gallus’s hand. Each deep penetration sent shockwaves through Brutus’s core, amplified by the tight friction of Gallus’s fist around his shaft.
Gallus’s breath hitched against Brutus’s neck, his own control fraying. His thrusts deepened, losing some of their measured pace, becoming more urgent. His fingers tightened fractionally around Brutus’s length, thumb swirling over the slick crown with each upward stroke.
Brutus braced harder against the marble, muscles trembling under the onslaught of pleasure. The steam, the cedar scent, Gallus’s ragged breaths – it all blurred into a haze of sensation. His climax built, a slow, inevitable pressure coiling tighter with every deep, claiming thrust Gallus delivered.
Gallus felt Brutus’s body tightening around him. He leaned closer, lips brushing Brutus’s ear. "Yield," he growled, the command echoing the arena but softened by reverence. His thrusts became shorter, sharper, hammering that deep, vulnerable spot relentlessly. His hand worked Brutus’s shaft faster, slick water making every stroke glide effortlessly. "Yield to me."
Brutus shuddered violently. The coiled pressure in his belly snapped. A raw cry tore from his throat as his hips bucked forward against Gallus’s fist. Thick ropes of sperm pulsed onto the marble rim, white streaks mingling with steam and condensation. Gallus groaned, hips stuttering as Brutus’s inner muscles clenched around him. He drove deep, burying himself to the hilt, grinding against Brutus’s trembling back as his own release surged. Hot seed flooded Brutus’s core in thick, claiming spurts.
Gallus slumped forward, forehead pressed between Brutus’s shoulder blades. His breath came in ragged gasps against sweat-slicked skin. Brutus braced against the marble, aftershocks rippling through him. Gallus’s softening shaft slipped free, followed by a warm trickle down Brutus’s inner thigh. The guard’s hands slid up Brutus’s flanks, steadying him.
Gallus stepped back, water sluicing down his scarred torso. He retrieved a linen cloth from a bronze hook. With surprising gentleness, he began washing Brutus’s back, the rough fabric moving in slow circles over bruised muscles. Brutus closed his eyes, the cedar-scented steam wrapping around him like a shroud. Gallus’s touch lingered on the fresh bite marks Cassius had left near his shoulder – dark, angry bruises beneath drying blood.
"You marked him deeper than any blade," Gallus murmured, dipping the cloth into the water. He moved around Brutus, washing the grime from his chest, careful around the shallow cuts Cassius’s desperate strikes had scored. His knuckles brushed Brutus’s nipple, a deliberate, lingering touch. "The mob saw Cassius broken. They saw you." His voice dropped lower, roughened by reverence. "A god walking the sand."
Brutus grunted, leaning into Gallus’s ministrations. The guard’s hands were firm, grounding – a stark contrast to the arena’s roar still echoing faintly in his skull. Gallus knelt before him again, cloth moving lower, washing the blood and seed from Brutus’s thighs. His calloused thumb traced the curve of Brutus’s hipbone, then drifted inward. The rough linen scraped gently over Brutus’s softening shaft, eliciting a low hum. Gallus paused, his gaze fixed on the glistening tip. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the damp head, tasting victory and salt. His tongue flicked out, a fleeting, possessive caress.
Brutus’s hand settled on Gallus’s shoulder, fingers tightening. The guard looked up, eyes dark with unspoken questions. Brutus pulled him upright. Water sluiced down Gallus’s thick chest as Brutus guided him backward toward the cot. The guard stumbled slightly, the back of his knees hitting the low frame. He sank onto the thin mattress, his powerful thighs spread, erection stirring anew against his belly. Brutus followed him down, straddling Gallus’s hips. He lowered himself slowly, deliberately, until their mouths met in a fierce, silent kiss. Gallus groaned into it, hands sliding up Brutus’s flanks to grip his ribs.
Brutus broke the kiss, breathing hard. He reached back, guiding Gallus’s thick shaft back to his entrance. The guard hissed as Brutus sank down onto him, inch by deliberate inch. The stretch burned, deeper than before. Brutus paused, adjusting, letting Gallus fill him completely. Then he began to move. Slow, grinding circles of his hips, lifting only slightly before driving back down. Gallus arched beneath him, a choked gasp escaping his lips. His hands gripped Brutus’s thighs, blunt nails digging into hard muscle.
Brutus set a relentless rhythm. Up and down, using Gallus’s solid frame as leverage. Each descent was deep, claiming. He leaned back slightly, bracing his hands behind him on Gallus’s knees, letting the guard see the raw power in his abdomen flexing. Gallus’s gaze was locked there, mesmerized, as Brutus rode him. Sweat dripped from Brutus’s jaw onto Gallus’s chest. The guard’s own thick erection strained against Brutus’s lower back, a hot line of friction.
Gallus groaned, hips lifting instinctively to meet Brutus’s downward thrusts. His hands slid higher, gripping Brutus’s waist, thumbs digging into the hard muscle flanking his spine. Brutus hissed, the pressure amplifying the deep, stretching pleasure radiating from his core. He increased his pace, the slap of wet skin echoing in the steamy chamber. Gallus’s breathing grew ragged, his thrusts becoming desperate jerks upward. "Brutus ..." he choked out, fingers clenching.
Brutus leaned forward, planting his palms flat on Gallus’s sweat-slicked chest. He shifted his angle, grinding down deeper with each descent. Gallus cried out, head thrashing against the thin mattress. His hips pistoned wildly now, losing rhythm, driven by the tight, demanding heat surrounding him. Brutus felt the guard’s thick shaft swell impossibly wider inside him, pulsing against that deep, vulnerable spot. Gallus arched violently, spine bowing off the cot as a raw, guttural roar tore from his throat. Heat flooded Brutus’s core in thick, urgent spurts.
Brutus rode the pulsing waves, grinding slowly as Gallus shuddered beneath him. The guard’s grip on his waist slackened, fingers trembling. Only then did Brutus lift himself off, Gallus’s softening shaft slipping free with a soft, wet sound. Seed trickled down Brutus’s inner thigh. Gallus lay spent, chest heaving, eyes glazed with dazed reverence.
Brutus stood, muscles trembling with exertion. He retrieved the discarded linen cloth, dampened it in the cooling bathwater, and tossed it onto Gallus’s stomach. "Clean yourself," he commanded, his voice rough but lacking cruelty.
Gallus obeyed without hesitation, wiping the mingled fluids from his chest and belly. He moved with a strange reverence, his gaze never leaving Brutus. When he finished, he laid the cloth aside and simply waited, breathing heavily, his powerful frame sprawled across the narrow cot.
Brutus stepped forward, the damp stone cool beneath his feet. He placed a hand on Gallus’s thick thigh, the muscle twitching beneath his palm. "Turn over," Brutus commanded, his voice low and rough. "I want to take you."
Gallus’s eyes widened slightly, then darkened with unmistakable hunger. A slow, eager grin spread across his face. Without a word, he rolled onto his stomach, the cot groaning under his weight. He arched his back, thick shoulders bunching, and spread his legs wide. Then, deliberately, he raised his hips, presenting himself fully – his heavy balls drawn tight, his thick shaft trapped beneath him, and his asshole a tight, dark pucker exposed and vulnerable.
Brutus knelt between Gallus’s powerful thighs. The scent of sweat, cedar oil, and sex hung thickly in the humid air. He ran his hands over the guard’s muscular flanks, feeling the ridges of scar tissue beneath his fingertips, the heat radiating from Gallus’s skin. He leaned in, pressing his face against the cleft, inhaling deeply – musk and salt and the intimate tang of Gallus himself. A low groan rumbled in Gallus’s chest, vibrating through Brutus’s cheek.
Brutus didn’t tease. He parted Gallus’s cheeks firmly with his thumbs and pressed his mouth flat against the tight ring of muscle. Gallus gasped, his hips jerking instinctively upwards. Brutus licked a broad, wet stripe from Gallus’s balls, up over his perineum, and circled the puckered entrance with deliberate pressure. Gallus shuddered, a choked whimper escaping him as he pressed back against Brutus’s mouth.
Brutus focused, his tongue flattening against the resistant muscle, probing insistently. He felt Gallus’s body yielding, the tight ring softening incrementally beneath the relentless, wet pressure. He alternated broad licks with pointed thrusts of his tongue, spearing inward, tasting the intimate saltiness.
Gallus groaned, burying his face in the thin mattress, his fingers clawing at the bedding. His hips rocked rhythmically, grinding against Brutus’s face, seeking deeper penetration. A low growl escaped Brutus as he felt Gallus opening, relaxing, becoming slick and pliant under his demanding tongue. The guard’s thick thighs trembled, his breath coming in ragged pants that filled the steamy silence of the victor’s chamber.
Spitting thickly onto his palm, Brutus slicked his own thick erection, already hardening again. He gripped Gallus’s hips firmly, blunt thumbs digging into the dimples above his ass. Positioning himself, he pressed the swollen head against Gallus’s loosened entrance. He pushed forward steadily, relentlessly, feeling the hot resistance give way. Gallus hissed, arching his spine as Brutus breached him, stretching him with deliberate, excruciatingly blissful pressure. Brutus sank deeper, inch by thick inch, filling Gallus completely until his hips met the guard’s powerful buttocks. He paused, buried to the hilt, savoring the clenching heat surrounding him.
Gallus shuddered beneath him, a choked gasp escaping his lips. "Gods … Brutus …" he breathed, the name a reverent prayer against the mattress.
Brutus began to move. Slow, deep withdrawals followed by powerful, grinding thrusts that drove Gallus forward onto the cot. Each inward surge pressed Gallus’s trapped erection against the rough linen, eliciting sharp grunts. Brutus leaned forward, planting one hand beside Gallus’s shoulder, the other gripping his hip hard enough to bruise. He increased his pace, the slap of skin echoing sharply in the confined space. His thrusts became harder, deeper, pistoning into Gallus’s yielding body with primal force. Gallus braced himself, pushing back against each powerful drive, meeting Brutus thrust for thrust.
Sweat dripped from Brutus’s brow onto Gallus’s heaving back, mingling with the steam still rising from the bath. Brutus angled himself, driving upward, seeking that deep, vulnerable spot within Gallus. He found it. The guard cried out, his whole body convulsing as pleasure ripped through him. Brutus hammered that spot relentlessly, deep and hard, his own climax coiling tight in his belly as Gallus writhed beneath him, lost in sensation.
Gallus’s knuckles went white where he gripped the cot’s edge. A raw, guttural groan tore from his throat as Brutus’s thick shaft dragged against his prostate again. His trapped erection ground into the rough mattress, seeking friction.
Brutus leaned forward, teeth grazing Gallus’s shoulder blade. “Yield,” he growled against sweat-slicked skin, his thrusts becoming shorter, sharper, hammering Gallus’s core.
Gallus shuddered violently, hips bucking uncontrollably. A choked sob escaped him as his cock pulsed against the linen, thick ropes of sperm soaking into the fabric beneath him.
Brutus felt Gallus’s inner muscles clenching rhythmically around him, milking his shaft. The sensation snapped his own control. He drove deep, burying himself to the hilt, grinding against Gallus’s trembling ass as his release surged. Hot seed flooded Gallus’s channel in thick, claiming spurts. He held himself there, hips pressed flush against Gallus’s buttocks, riding the pulsing waves until the last tremor subsided.
Silence settled, broken only by Gallus’s ragged breaths and the soft drip of water from the bath. Brutus withdrew slowly, his softening shaft slipping free. Seed trickled down Gallus’s inner thighs. Gallus slumped forward, face pressed into the mattress, his powerful shoulders trembling.
Brutus knelt back, his gaze tracing the guard’s scarred back, the sweat gleaming in the dim light. He placed a hand flat between Gallus’s shoulder blades, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart beneath the skin.
Gallus turned his head slightly, one eye meeting Brutus’s. The reverence was still there, deeper now, mixed with profound exhaustion and a dazed satisfaction. Brutus gave a curt nod. It was enough.
Later, Gallus cleaned them both again, his movements unhurried, methodical. He brought wine – watered, but rich – and simple bread softened in olive oil. They ate in silence, sitting on the edge of the cot, shoulders brushing. The crude meal tasted like ambrosia after the arena’s dust and exertion. Gallus refilled Brutus’s cup without being asked, his knuckles grazing Brutus’s thigh.
When Gallus rose to leave, duty calling, Brutus caught his wrist. The guard paused, looking down. Brutus didn’t speak. He simply pulled, guiding Gallus back onto the cot beside him. Gallus settled, his thick thigh pressed warm against Brutus’s. He didn’t ask questions. He leaned his head back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. Brutus mirrored him, the silence between them thick with unspoken understanding, heavy as the humid air.
Days bled into a rhythm. Gallus attended Brutus’s wounds, his touch firm yet gentle, lingering on fading bruises. He brought extra rations – figs, cheese, sometimes smoked fish – slipping them onto Brutus’s plate during the crowded mess hall meals. Their eyes would meet across the smoky room, a silent exchange that shut out the clamor of other gladiators and guards. Gallus’s gaze held a possessive warmth now, a stark contrast to his usual stoic bearing. Brutus accepted it, a low hum of satisfaction settling in his chest.
Nights belonged to the victor’s chamber. Sometimes Gallus arrived bearing a flask of unwatered wine, stolen from the overseer’s stores. They’d drink slowly, sharing the cup, the silence comfortable, punctuated by low murmurs about training, the guards’ gossip, the shifting tides of the mob’s favor. Brutus learned of Gallus’s years patrolling the frontier, the scar beneath his ribs from a Pictish spear. Gallus listened intently to Brutus’s sparse recollections of Gaul, the roar of colder mountains compared to the arena’s heat.
Other nights, words fell away entirely. Brutus would push Gallus onto the cot, claiming him with a fierce urgency that spoke of battles fought and survived. Or Gallus would kneel before him, taking Brutus deep into his throat, his eyes locked upwards, worshipping not just the victor, but the man.
Afterwards, Gallus would often stay, sprawled beside Brutus on the narrow cot, his heavy arm draped possessively over Brutus’s waist, his breath warm against Brutus’s neck as sleep claimed them. The scent of cedar oil, sweat, and sex became their shared domain. Cassius’s bite marks faded. Gallus’s touch replaced them.
The arena demanded its due. Brutus fought again, dispatched a snarling Thracian with brutal efficiency. The roar of the crowd washed over him, meaningless noise compared to the silence of Gallus’s approving nod in the tunnel shadows.
Gallus was there afterwards, guiding him back to the victor’s chamber, his hand lingering low on Brutus’s back. The bathwater steamed, fragrant with cedar. Gallus shed his uniform deliberately, his thick erection already stirring as he knelt before Brutus. His mouth was a benediction.
Brutus tangled his fingers in Gallus’s hair, guiding him deeper, groaning as Gallus hollowed his cheeks. Pleasure coiled, sharp and undeniable. Gallus pulled back, wiping his beard, eyes dark with reverence. He rose, pressing Brutus against the cool marble. His entry was slow, deep, filling Brutus utterly.
Gallus drove into him with powerful, measured thrusts, hands gripping Brutus’s hips, claiming him with possessive tenderness. Brutus arched back, meeting each surge, the arena’s violence dissolving into this shared heat. Gallus leaned close, teeth grazing Brutus’s shoulder. "Mine," he growled, low and resonant.
Brutus shuddered, pushing back harder. "Yours," he rasped, the concession ripped from him, raw and true.
Gallus’s rhythm faltered. He buried himself deep, grinding against Brutus’s back as his release surged. Hot sperm flooded Brutus’s core. Gallus slumped forward, forehead pressed between Brutus’s shoulder blades, breathing ragged.
Later, cleaned and quiet, Gallus sat on the cot’s edge, breaking a loaf of coarse bread. He handed Brutus the larger piece. Their fingers brushed. Gallus’s gaze held Brutus’s, steady and deep. "Stay with me," he murmured, not a plea, but a statement of intent.
Brutus chewed slowly, the taste of barley and salt sharp on his tongue. He looked at Gallus – the scarred knuckles, the steady eyes, the possessive warmth radiating from him. The arena’s roar was a distant storm. Here was solid ground. Brutus nodded, once.
Gallus’s slow smile was a sunrise breaking over a conquered field. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Brutus’s temple, rough and tender. The silence settled around them, thick with the weight of belonging. Outside, sand awaited. Inside, for now, they breathed as one.
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