by Lisa Henry
Senna shrugged. “I should have asked Tigellinus before he left.”
“Take him,” Nero said generously. “Everyone else has. Tigellinus won’t care.”
Senna thought Tigellinus would have refused out of spite alone, but he smiled. “Thank you.”
Nero frowned slightly. “Tigellinus isn’t in charge, you know.”
Senna’s stomach twisted. “Of course he isn’t, Imperator.”
Nero sighed. “Sometimes, sometimes I think . . .”
No, not now. The last thing Senna wanted was a show of conscience from Nero. Or, if not conscience, at least awareness that somewhere along the way he had lost control. He had become a thing he would have hated when he was young and talked about art and poetry. Senna didn’t need to see the ghost of his friend. Not now, when he’d found the slave he needed.
Axios, Corbulo had said. A lie.
Senna forced a smile. He reached out and clasped Nero’s hand. “Go to bed, my friend. Lovely Sabina awaits you.”
Nero’s answering smile was genuine. “Yes, I will.”
Senna watched him go, a pair of slaves and several guards forming a knot around him, and then rose from the couch. A slave woman darted forward to help him adjust the heavy folds of his toga.
“I’m going for a bath,” Senna told her. “Find the German slave Canis and send him to me.”
Senna was already in the caldarium, the hottest of all three pools in the bathhouse, when Canis appeared, blinking in the steam. It was late. The bathhouse was empty except for the slaves whose job it was to see to the comfort of the bathers and for those who worked out of sight to keep the hypocaust fires burning and the hot air flowing through the underfloor flues.
“Canis,” Senna said, moving over to sit on the submerged steps.
The boy regarded him warily.
Senna gestured him over. “I want you in.”
The slave nodded. He pulled his plain tunic over his head and stepped into the bath. He winced as the hot water burned his bruises and scrapes, and hissed when it touched his ass. He danced from foot to foot on the steps, clearly torn between the need to escape the heat and the need to dive right in and protect what remained of his modesty.
“Sit,” Senna said.
His hands covering what looked to be a good-sized cock, the slave obeyed. He grimaced.
“It will pass,” Senna said, his voice pitched lower than he’d intended. “The heat will be good for your muscles. They still ache, yes?”
The boy nodded.
“Come over here.” Senna held a hand out and waited until the slave, his fingers trembling, took it. Senna drew him closer so they sat side by side on the step. “Do you remember my name?”
“Novius Senna,” the boy said. His gaze wavered and dropped. “I thought I dream you.”
Jupiter. Those eyes.
“It’s been three days since I told you what I wanted, and I’m not a dead man. I take that as a good sign.”
The boy looked up again.
Senna reached out and took a twist of barley-colored hair between his thumb and forefinger. He rubbed it gently, teasing the strands apart. “Do you remember what I asked you?”
Solemn eyes as green as dark peridot. “Yes, master.”
“And?” Jupiter, Senna wanted him closer. Wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to haul him out of the water and fuck him on the hot tiles.
The slave dropped his voice to a whisper. “I still hate them, master.”
“Good,” Senna growled. “What’s your name?”
The boy’s jaw dropped. “My n-name?”
Senna curled his lips into a smile. “I presume you’re not really called Dog.”
“Aenor,” the slave said, wide-eyed.
“Aenor,” Senna echoed, testing the sound of it.
The boy shifted, the water rippling around him. He hunched over. The light from the hanging lamps gleamed on his pale, damp skin and shimmered on the dark surface of the water. The dark, the quiet, the shifting clouds of steam made for a moment of unreality. Senna leaned forward, reached out to cup the boy’s face in his hands. He brought their lips together.
Senna felt the boy’s reluctance. Aenor didn’t actively resist, but he held himself stiffly as Senna kissed him. Senna rubbed his thumb along the boy’s clenched jaw and teased the seam of his lips open with his tongue.
Aenor made a small noise in the back of his throat that spoke of a hundred different things: fear, desire, confusion, uncertainty.
Senna’s cock filled, ached.
He released Aenor slowly and smiled at the look of shock on the slave’s face. “Nobody has kissed you?”
The boy’s eyes were large. “No, master.”
Senna leaned forward and did it again. This time he caught the boy’s bottom lip gently between his teeth and worried it for a moment. The boy sucked in a surprised breath, and Senna laughed again and licked at the slight indentations his teeth had left on the boy’s lip. “You like that?”
Aenor flushed and dropped his gaze. He hunched over.
Senna tried to read the expression on the boy’s face, but couldn’t. “Tell me.”
The boy sucked in a shuddering breath.
If the boy rebuffed him, Senna told himself he would back away. He would, because it was more important to have Aenor as a co-conspirator than a pleasure slave. He tensed as Aenor’s gaze flicked up again.
“Yes,” the boy whispered. “I like it.” He bit his lip and shivered.
Relief spread through Senna.
“Good.” Senna stroked the side of Aenor’s face, following the line of his jaw with his thumb. “But it’s not why I want you.”
Not the only reason.
Senna looked around to make certain the bathhouse slaves had trailed away. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Could you do it, Aenor? Could you kill Nero?”
“Yes.” Aenor shifted. “But why not you? You are his friend. Close.”
“He doesn’t trust anyone,” Senna said, “his friends least of all. But you, Aenor, they think they have you defeated. They think the fight’s gone out of you, but I know that isn’t true.”
“Sometimes true,” Aenor whispered.
Senna smiled and tugged gently at a damp tendril of the slave’s hair. “Not anymore.” He slipped his fingers to the scratches on Aenor’s collarbone. “He likes to play games with you, Aenor. We’ll give him a game.”
Aenor swallowed.
“A game on a stage,” Senna said, his touch gentle on the boy’s skin. “Let him dress up as Caesar. You will be Vercingetorix, the king of the Gauls, surrendering, naked.”
Aenor frowned.
“Under his chair,” Senna said, “a knife. I can hold the guards off for a moment, but you will need to be fast.”
“I can be fast.” Aenor bit his lip. “Then I die.”
“Yes.” Senna said. He pressed his palm over Aenor’s left pectoral, over the small nipple that hardened under his touch, and felt the heartbeat underneath. “We both die.”
Aenor’s eyes widened. His chest rose and fell quickly.
“We both die,” Senna repeated. He could lose himself in Aenor’s gaze if he let it happen. A part of him wanted to. Aenor’s gaze was open, searching, and Senna was so used to wrapping himself in layers of intrigue and deception that the boy’s scrutiny made his heart beat faster. He forced himself not to fight it.
“Tigellinus binds me,” Aenor said.
“Not this time.” Senna’s hand trembled and his cock throbbed under the water. “Vercingetorix has to put up a good fight first.”
“Yes,” Aenor said. “You tell me what to do. You put knife there, and I kill him.” He shuddered. “They laugh. He rips me with claws and they laugh.” Tears spilled from his eyes.
Senna pulled him close. He lifted his arm, water dripping like a melody, and tangled his fingers in Aenor’s wet hair. He pressed his mouth to the boy’s ear. “You’ll get your revenge, Aenor. We both will.”
The boy nodded, burying his face in Senna
’s neck.
Senna ran his other hand down the knots of the boy’s spine. He turned his body, afraid Aenor would feel his cock pushing against his hip, afraid he would ruin this.
“Master,” the boy murmured. He wriggled, his hands sliding between them.
Jupiter! Senna almost came on the spot when Aenor’s knuckles brushed against his straining cock. He might have passed it off as accidental if Aenor hadn’t immediately moved to curl his fingers around it. The boy’s other hand slipped lower, cupping Senna’s balls.
“It’s not why I want you,” he managed, his voice cracking.
“Please,” Aenor sighed. “Please, master.”
“Out,” Senna gasped. “Out!”
They scrambled from the bath in a burst of water and a tangle of limbs. Senna gripped Aenor by the wrist. Despite his earlier fantasies, the floor in the caldarium was too hot. It burned the soles of their feet as they crossed it.
A slave woman in the frigidarium averted her gaze as they entered.
“Towels, oil,” Senna snapped at her, and she scurried away. He slid his fingers around the back of Aenor’s neck and pulled him close. “You are more beautiful than all the pretty, simpering boys in this place.”
Aenor drew a shaking breath. He squeezed his eyes shut.
That he could still be shy astonished Senna.
“What do you see when you close your eyes?”
Aenor leaned close to whisper, his breath hot on Senna’s ear. “Secret place. The Teutoburg Forest. I am strong there.”
“You can be strong here as well.” Senna tilted the boy’s head back and kissed him.
“Yes,” Aenor whispered against his lips.
The slave woman returned. Senna, one arm wrapped around Aenor’s wet body, gestured at the floor. She placed the towels and the oil on the tiles and slipped away.
“Hands and knees?” Aenor asked.
“No.” Senna drew Aenor down beside him, and Aenor slipped into his embrace. He nuzzled at Senna’s throat, and Senna sighed. Their cocks pushed against one another, hard, wet, and already leaking pre-cum. Senna slipped his arms around Aenor, splaying his fingers to feel the muscles in his back move. He darted his tongue out to lick Aenor’s throat.
Aenor murmured something, and Senna felt the words vibrate under his lips.
Senna positioned Aenor on his back, and leaned over him. He ghosted his lips over the wounds on Aenor’s collarbone, and then moved down to his chest, where he lapped at the planes of Aenor’s flesh. His cock throbbed as he closed his lips around a nipple, and he was gratified to hear Aenor gasp. Senna sucked, flicking the hard nub underneath his tongue, intoxicated by the small noises Aenor made. Had anyone shown Aenor anything apart from cruelty?
“Master,” Aenor murmured. “Senna!”
Senna drew back, smiling at the sound of his name on Aenor’s lips. “Are you ready for me, Aenor?”
Fear battled with want behind those wide green eyes. Aenor bit his lip and nodded sharply.
Senna rewarded his courage with a kiss. He ran a warm hand from Aenor’s damp chest down to his abdomen. His fingers skirted Aenor’s cock, and his eyes danced when Aenor groaned.
Senna bundled a towel up. “Let me put this under you.”
Aenor shifted, and Senna shoved the towel under his hips. Aenor’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Relax, Aenor,” Senna said. “Remember you are brave.”
“Yes.” Aenor’s eyes flickered shut.
Senna slid his hands up Aenor’s legs, putting slight pressure on the boy’s knees until he parted them. Senna leaned down and brushed his lips against Aenor’s. “Good boy.”
Senna reached for the jar of oil. He shifted, positioning himself between Aenor’s knees, reassuring him with gentle touches, with murmured words and soft kisses. Aenor lifted his head to meet each kiss, his lips open. Senna’s tongue touched his, and Aenor’s eyes flashed open again. He moaned as Senna reached into the damp heat between their bodies and stroked his cock.
Senna twisted and dipped two fingers in the jar of oil. He withdrew them wet and glistening, and then pressed them up against Aenor’s puckered entrance. He worked them against the tight muscle for a moment, his other hand splayed against Aenor’s abdomen. Soothing, gentling, pushing slowly forward. Aenor could take this.
Senna bit back a groan at the memory of Tigellinus pushing the massive marble dildo into Aenor’s body.
Aenor sighed, relaxed, and accepted Senna’s fingers. He gazed at Senna through hooded eyes and chewed his lower lip. “Yes, please.”
Senna shifted, positioning the tip of his cock against Aenor’s entrance. He pushed past Aenor’s defending muscles, and Aenor arched underneath him and cried out.
“Senna!”
Senna’s breath caught in his throat as he drove slowly into Aenor’s tight heat.
Aenor twisted his head from side to side. He canted his hips and lifted his legs, his body undulating in the lamplight.
Senna sucked in a deep breath and held it. If he moved now, he’d come.
He was aware of water lapping gently at the edges of the frigidarium pool, and of the play of light and shadow on the mosaic walls reflected from the surface of the dark water.
Aenor moaned. “Please, fuck me!”
Senna twisted his fingers through Aenor’s hair. “Do you mean that?”
Aenor arched toward him. “Yes!”
Senna kissed his lips again and drew back. He hooked his arms under Aenor’s knees, pulled back, and thrust. His cock pressed inside Aenor in a way that made the slave tremble and cry out in his native language.
Senna began to thrust more quickly, and Aenor lifted his hips off the tiles to meet each one. His whole body was shaking around Senna’s burning cock, his hands opening and closing around nothing.
Everything else receded. Senna stared wide-eyed at Aenor, trying to see everything—the way he moved, the sheen on his pale skin, the marks his teeth left on his bottom lip, the rise and fall of his chest—before it was over.
Couldn’t.
Couldn’t watch him without coming, but he wanted Aenor to come first. Wanted to show him there was pleasure in the act. Wanted to be different for him.
He was afraid he wasn’t going to last.
“Jupiter!” Senna’s neck corded, and his whole body stiffened suddenly. “Aenor, come!”
Aenor shuddered as he obeyed, hot strings of semen landing on his abdomen and chest. His muscles clenched tightly around Senna’s cock, and the sensation was enough to push Senna over the edge. His spine tingled, his balls drew up, and every muscle froze. Gasping for breath, he came in a rush of heat and fell forward into Aenor’s trembling embrace.
He curled his fingers through Aenor’s, his knuckles sliding on the tiles. He breathed heavily, relaxing into the closeness and the warmth of the younger man’s body, looking into those green eyes and trying to see what lay behind them.
“Are you with me?” he murmured.
Aenor widened his eyes. “Yes.”
It wasn’t until later, dozing off in his litter on the way back to his house on the Caelian Hill, that Senna wondered what he’d really been asking. Was it just a co-conspirator he saw in Aenor—a victim whose pain was easily coaxed into the shape of vengeance—or was it something else?
One look and I knew, Lucan had once said.
Senna’s heart thumped.
He’d asked if Aenor was with him—then, on the floor, in that moment of trembling peace—and the slave had said yes. It had sent a burn of pleasure through Senna that had nothing to do with the carnal and everything to do with the way their fingers had been linked and their gazes had locked. More naked in that moment than when they’d been fucking.
Could Senna trust that?
How much could a moment mean?
The following day Senna returned to the Golden House. He was almost glad to reach the massive bronze statue of Nero and enter the porticoes that marked the entrance to the palace grounds. The cit
y seemed restless, on edge, although Senna couldn’t say why. It felt like more than his own state of mind coloring his perception. Fresh graffiti was scrawled across the outer wall. A caricature of Nero crawled open-mouthed on his knees after another caricature’s exaggerated cock: Tigellinus.
Senna hardly noticed it. It was tame, given some of the slurs he’d seen. And pointless. Nero would never see it. He traveled between his private palace on the Quirinal Hill and the Golden House in a closed litter, flanked by Praetorians. And if those Praetorians ever fell away, Nero would have more to worry about than obscene graffiti.
Senna found the slave Callistus in the sunlit atrium of the Golden House, a bundle of papers under his arm and a harried look on his face.
“Novius Senna,” Callistus said, his tone respectful. He was a tall man, possibly of the Greek heritage his name suggested, and he wore silver rings on his fingers.
Callistus was Tigellinus’s man. He was in charge of entertainments at the Golden House. Whether musicians or dancers or some cruel idea of Tigellinus’s that amused Nero, Callistus handled the logistics. Senna wondered if they both looked at each other and saw something distasteful.
“I want to organize something,” Senna told him. “A show, for the emperor.”
Callistus’s face was guarded. “What is it that you require, Novius Senna?”
“The use of the gold and silver grove, and the German slave.”
Callistus raised his eyebrows. “As you wish. But the emperor is tiring of the German.”
“He won’t when he sees what I’ve got planned.”
Senna left Callistus staring after him, certain that word would get back to Tigellinus. From Tigellinus, it would travel straight to Nero, and Senna knew the promise of a new amusement would excite him.
The ghost of regret caught Senna as he passed through a gallery. The mosaics glittered in the sunlight. In the niches, sculpted nymphs covered their modesty with scanty draperies. Nero had built this palace as a place of wonder and delight. Senna had helped him plan it, along with Petronius and Lucan.
It was supposed to be Arcadian: gardens, lakes, groves, and grottoes. Flocks of sheep would graze on verdant pastures in the middle of the city, and the gardens would be full of birdsong and music. It should have been a place for poets and artists, for beauty and laughter and love. It was rotten now. Even Petronius with his filthy mind and his ribald jokes would have been shocked at what Nero had become.
