by Rob Rosen
But they were all, hopefully, asleep in their own little encampment adjacent to this field. Still, there was no time to waste. Keane set about plunging his cock into his lover’s ass. The grip of the channel was exquisite. He watched his straining length disappear again and again into the willing hole. The belt and empty scabbard still hung about the soldier’s boyishly trim waist. He had turned his head away, his long colorless hair spilling across his high shoulders. His pronounced spine flexed among the flat muscles along his back. His ass shivered as Keane thrust into him.
Again, he increased the tempo. The soft pats of Keane’s balls against the soldier’s backside quickened. Pleasure welled through him, its intensity almost painful. The improbability of this scenario only added to the excitement. Maybe the last thing he’d expected on this quest was the chance to fuck one of the guards—and this one in particular, this lovely male with the thin, pale form.
The guard’s head whipped from side to side, all the muscles of his body clenching. Keane felt that tightness. He realized that the man was jetting a second time on the ground. In that same instant, he felt his own first wrenches of joy. Hot fluid erupted, seeding the soldier’s ass. The bliss clawed across Keane’s bare body, and he had to clamp his teeth together to keep from crying out.
All around, the dim night flared for him, lighting up with a radiant paleness, as though his lover’s strange flesh had, for that moment, become his whole world.
He did not try to escape. The guard, therefore, didn’t need to gut him with his sword. The two men remained still a moment, and then disengaged. They stood and dressed, their movements silent. Nothing stirred from the camp but the snores and mutters of exhausted travelers.
Before he returned to his bedroll, Keane put a hand to the guard’s arm and asked, “What is your name?”
He might not have answered. The sex might have been their only intimacy, and once done, the soldier could have regarded him with contempt, as if the act had been meaningless. But the eyes beheld him, and there was a warmth within the pink depths. “I am Digby,” he said.
Keane kissed him, gently, on the lips. Then he returned to the camp and Digby resumed his watching. Tomorrow, so the captain had said, they would come within sight of the keep of the rival lord. Also within sight would be the end of this crazy quest, which would no doubt mean death for most, if not all, of this criminal company.
Air burning in his lungs, the pain searing his muscular chest, Keane staggered onward. He was a creature of exhausted instinct by now, dripping with sweat and blood. His sight was awash with frantic white motes, and lifting each foot for another forward stride required a titanic effort.
Yet, he still clutched the prize. His hands remained locked about the handle of the treasure box.
They had succeeded. Keane had reached the special chamber at the end of a labyrinth of corridors, all of it tremendously disorienting. He had slain the final guardian, snapping the man’s neck. The rival lord’s soldiers were good ones, but they weren’t prepared, it seemed, for the work of professional thieves. The band of criminals had studied the castle from without for a full day, over the protests of the elite guard’s captain. He had wanted them to have at the place immediately, probably with an eye toward getting this impossible task over with.
Instead of failure, however, they’d achieved success! The giddy thought swirled in Keane’s head as he stumbled on, feet falling on rocky terrain now. He had somehow gotten past the outer wall.
With the weighty chest in his hands, he took another fumbling step, then his nerveless legs simply gave out. He dropped heavily, falling onto his side. He would not let go of the ornate metal box, no matter what, not even if the members of the rival lord’s army—any that were still alive—came in pursuit. There had been more treasure in that secret room, but this was the best of it. He had seen inside the chest, the coins of every size, jewels in a sea of colors.
He was still lying there, gradually growing aware of the sunlight and the sounds of birds, when he heard the crunch of footsteps on the turf. The passageways of the keep had run with blood. His fellow thieves had done their jobs, whether or not any of them had lived. Their reprieve from their penal sentences had always been conditional: they had to succeed at this quest and they had to survive it. Maybe none of them had done that. Maybe only Keane. And now someone was coming.
“Somehow, I knew it would be you.”
Keane’s eyes were open, but he was only now starting to see again.
“Digby…”
The pale man knelt beside him, his sword undrawn. He reached out, but not to take the treasure box; rather, to smooth back the damp hair from Keane’s brow. The soldier offered a tender smile.
“Are you injured?”
“I…” Keane drew several breaths. The burning had eased somewhat. “I don’t know.”
“I think you would know,” Digby said. Strong hands cradled Keane’s shoulders, bringing him up into a sitting position. Keane blinked dazedly. The smoking keep stood some distance away across a swath of stony ground. No one from their company was nearby, nor any of the rival soldiers.
Neither were any others of Keane’s lord’s guard within view. Had they been sent to look for survivors? Would the captain even bother what that, Keane wondered?
“Now we can go,” Digby said. He was holding Keane, rocking him gently. His lips brushed Keane’s dark hair.
“Go?” Keane heard himself ask inanely. Yes, of course. Go back over the lake and across the moors. Take the greedy lord his prize.
“Yes,” said Digby, still embracing him. He had made no move to take the chest. Something was wrong with his uniform, Keane slowly realized. The insignia had been removed. He couldn’t make sense of that. Digby said, “You and I. The captain put me on to preparing the day’s rations for him and the other two. So prepare them I did. They’ll sleep for…oh, quite a while, if the apothecary was even remotely right. Plenty of time for us to get away.”
Keane’s mind could barely begin to grasp what the soldier was saying. He managed to ask, “Go where, Digby?”
The white-fleshed male smiled down at him. “Wherever we like. There are other lands. Two enterprising fellows like us ought to be able to make their way. And we’ll have plenty to spend as we go.” He nodded at the elaborately molded box.
The formerly loyal member of the lord’s guard—now himself a thief, evidently—finally reached to the treasure chest and opened it. Keane had already seen to the lock. Digby grinned at the bright wonders within. Pink eyes aflame, he said, “It is our future. It’s beautiful, Keane. Very beautiful.” The light in his eyes formed into a single tear, which spilled onto Keane’s cheek. Keane smiled up at his lover.
Digby helped him onto his feet, and together they headed off to the south, away from everything they had ever known.
MORE USE ALIVE
Jonathan Asche
The Roman leaned over the Gothic warrior’s shoulder, his beard brushing the side of his captor’s neck. “How could you betray me?” he growled.
Gerung chuckled. “Were it not for me, you would end up with an arrow in your throat, just like your horse.”
He then kicked his own horse and the animal broke into a trot. Though now a prisoner, the Roman—Lucanus, son of Trajan Papirius, as he had haughtily informed the other men of Gerung’s tribe—shared Gerung’s saddle, over the protests of Asbad, the more ruthless of Gerung’s tribesmen. “A prisoner should be forced to walk!”
“The night grows long,” said Valimer, the chieftain and Gerung’s father. “You want to make it even longer?”
Leather straps bound Lucanus’s wrists and he had to struggle to keep his balance astride the horse as it moved deeper into the forest. He was nude—”A prisoner has no right to dress as a nobleman,” Gerung had said as he tore off Lucanus’s tunic— and felt the cool night air against the broad expanse of his bare back and the heat of his captor’s body warming his front. The rhythmic bouncing of the horse created a pleasurable fric
tion and caused Lucanus’s cock to swell against Gerung’s buttocks. The Vesi warrior made no comment, but clucked his tongue to urge his horse to move faster.
The tribe’s camp was hidden in the hills, shielded by trees. Most of the members were in their tents, though a few, hearing the return of the warriors, came out to learn the fate of the Roman who had been spotted outside their camp an hour earlier. They laughed when they saw the naked man riding on the back of Gerung’s horse. Lucanus looked past them, ignoring their jeers.
Gerung volunteered to keep the prisoner in his tent. His father at first protested, arguing that Lucanus should be put in a tent with some of the other soldiers, but Gerung persevered.
“Who would you trust to not mistreat him? Asbad?” Gerung had asked.
Inside his tent, Gerung lit a lantern. Lucanus sat in the corner, the lantern’s dim glow highlighting the ridges of his muscular body, making him seem more a bronze statue than a man.
The Roman was seething. “I should tell them everything,” he hissed.
Gerung’s smile was patronizing. “They would not believe you.” Lucanus was undeterred. “Take me to your father. I will tell him.”
Gerung took off his helmet and undid his belt. “Let him enjoy his wine. We can make your story more interesting in the meantime.”
A scowl remained on Lucanus’s handsome face a moment longer, replaced with a smile when he realized what Gerung was inferring. “Then should you not untie me?”
Gerung peeled off his rough woolen tunic, revealing a tautly muscled torso. “Later, perhaps,” he said, sweeping his long tawny hair away from his face.
The young warrior knelt in front of his prisoner and leaned in, softly kissing Lucanus’s plush lips. He pulled away. The two men looked into each other’s eyes and traded smiles. Gerung kissed the Roman again, harder this time. Lucanus responded with equal force.
Gerung reluctantly pulled his mouth away. A glistening thread of their spit bridged their lips, breaking when Gerung spoke. “You understand why I convinced my father to take you prisoner. Asbad would have killed you otherwise.”
“I do see the advantages. If only my horse was spared.”
“Even if it had lived, you would not be leaving with it. Father is no doubt angry at Asbad for wasting such a fine beast.”
“So then, when will I be leaving?” Lucanus asked.
A mischievous glint appeared in Gerung’s eyes. “It doesn’t appear you want to,” he said, reaching for Lucanus’s stiffening cock. “In fact, I may never want to let you go.”
Lucanus chuckled softly as Gerung stroked him. “You can hold me as long as you like if it’s my cock you are holding,” he purred, tilting back his head and lowering his eyelids.
Was it only two days earlier that Lucanus had first spotted Gerung at the stream near the road to Perusia? It seemed a lifetime ago when he saw the young barbarian through the trees, splashing around in the water. Lucanus had slowed his approach, his caution not so much because he recognized the other man as belonging to the enemies of the Empire but because Lucanus wanted the freedom to admire him. He had always believed the people of the Gothic tribes to be dirty and ugly, but this one was as beautiful as any Roman, with taut muscles and pale skin. Even from a distance, Lucanus could see Gerung had a handsome face, his dark blond beard failing to mask its youth. The boyish face and manly body—to say nothing of his godlike cock—had so transfixed Lucanus that when the barbarian climbed onto the shore, he did not consider that it might be a sign of trouble.
The warm, wet caress of Gerung’s tongue on his cock brought Lucanus out of his reverie. A groan escaped his lips. Gerung took his mouth away from Lucanus’s throbbing prick long enough to look up at him and smile.
“You best be quiet,” he said, his hand gently stroking his captive’s shaft. “The others might think I’m torturing you.”
“But you are torturing me,” Lucanus panted.
“I’ve only just begun.” Gerung returned his mouth to the Roman’s stiff prick, swallowing it whole.
Gerung had a talented tongue. Lucanus learned this the day he first met him, but only after he learned Gerung was quick with a blade, the young Vesi appearing suddenly, naked and dripping wet, beside Lucanus’s horse.
Lucanus told him he only wanted to let his horse drink, but when Lucanus dismounted, it became plain that the Roman wasn’t just wanting to slake his horse’s thirst.
The naked barbarian laughed. “Your sword is almost as hard as mine,” he said in stilted Latin, lightly tapping the jutting protuberance at the front of Lucanus’s tunic with the flat side of his sword, “but mine is sharper.”
The steel blade against his cock simultaneously excited and terrified the Roman. He laughed nervously and then genuinely.
“We should be equally matched,” he said and pointed at the other man’s still rising cock.
Gerung blushed, and then lowered his sword. He and Lucanus exchanged names, but not any details about where they came from or their stations. They knew all they needed to know: they were enemies, yet they were drawn to each other.
Still, Gerung was suspicious when Lucanus stepped toward him. He raised his sword defensively. Lucanus kissed him and Gerung’s sword fell to the ground, all before Gerung sank to his knees.
Now, in Gerung’s tent, the barbarian was sucking ravenously on Lucanus’s cock. His long, unruly hair fell across the Roman’s muscular thighs, covering Lucanus’s lap. Were his hands free, Lucanus would have pulled back Gerung’s hair and watched his cock disappear into the young man’s hungry mouth. With his hands restricted, he could only squirm and tremble as the pleasure became greater and greater, until it was practically unbearable.
“Eia!” he cried, moments before his cock erupted in Gerung’s mouth.
The young Vesi was as hungry now as he was the first day he wrapped his mouth around Lucanus’s cock, gulping down his hot seed and refusing to release the Roman’s cock from his mouth until he had swallowed every drop. Deep groans burst from Lucanus’s mouth, followed by a quick intake of breath, as if he were trying to suck the noises he made back into his lungs. Only when Gerung had drained his balls and pulled his mouth away from his captive’s cock did Lucanus’s groaning finally cease.
Gerung sat up, grinning impishly. His wet lips glistened in the dim lantern light. His eyes danced.
“If only I could always eat as well,” he teased before leaning in to kiss Lucanus.
The taste of his seed on Gerung’s tongue and the warmth of the barbarian’s lips sent a tingle up Lucanus’s spine. “Please untie me,” he whispered. “It truly is torture not being able to put my hands on you.”
“We should all be so lucky to be so tortured,” Gerung said pointedly before rising to his feet. The front of his dusty brown trousers bulged obscenely, enticingly. Gerung untied the drawstring of his braccae and slowly pushed them down his hips.
Lucanus licked his lips reflexively upon seeing the Gothic warrior’s cock spring free. Though Lucanus was the more generously endowed of the two men, Gerung’s prick was, to the Roman’s eyes, near perfect, from the uniform thickness of its shaft to the voluptuous curve of the glans.
Gerung stepped out of his pants and flung them aside. Lucanus’s cock jumped, revived by the sight of the naked Vesi walking toward him.
“If you cannot touch me with your hands, your mouth will have to,” Gerung said, stopping in front of the Roman.
The tip of Gerung’s prick brushed across Lucanus’s forehead, leaving behind a silvery trail of his juices. Lucanus inhaled the woodsy musk wafting from his lover’s succulent, pendulous balls.
Lucanus’s lips trembled. In his limited experience, with slaves and the young men who sold themselves in town, Lucanus had resisted sucking cock. He had refused on the day of that first meeting too, claiming it was a weakness to taste another man’s meat.
“Weakness or fear?” Gerung challenged playfully. “I thought you Romans were afraid of nothing.”
Lucanus had
tried to steel himself against the barbarian’s teasing that day, but relented. Though it was temptation, not Gerung’s taunting, that made him finally put his mouth on another man’s cock. He did so hesitantly at first—brushing his lips across the tip, tentatively running his tongue around the corona—before sliding the stiff organ into his mouth. Lucanus soon came to the conclusion that if sucking cock was a form of surrender then he would gladly surrender to Gerung.
“I can still see you that day of our first meeting, jerking away at the first burst from my cock.” Gerung chuckled softly as Lucanus’s mouth closed over his throbbing manhood. “Looked like someone threw a pail of milk in your face.”
Lucanus pulled his mouth away from his captor’s cock. “I should think by now you wouldn’t have enough in your balls to fill a pail.”
“No, only enough to fill your mouth,” Gerung grunted before stuffing his cock back between Lucanus’s moist lips.
The tent was quickly filled with Gerung’s soft moans of pleasure as Lucanus’s tongue circled the swollen crown of his cock. Lucanus struggled against the leather straps binding his wrists, wishing he were free to move his hands over the other man’s body, to feel the firm ridges of muscle beneath smooth skin, the curve of his buttocks, the softness of his hair. Yet, the restriction of his hands also heightened his arousal. His cock was stiff and pulsing, as if Lucanus were experiencing the young warrior’s body for the first time.
Gerung thrust his hips, pushing his cock deeper down the Roman’s throat. Lucanus rolled his eyes up to see Gerung smiling down at him.
“Maybe I’ve tortured you enough,” he said, combing his fingers through Lucanus’s thick hair. Then he pulled his cock from Lucanus’s mouth, laughing when the Roman leaned forward to recapture it with his lips.
The Vesi picked up a knife. A vague feeling of unease crept into Lucanus’s chest as Gerung approached him with the blade, though he knew he had nothing to fear. Still, Gerung had only been his lover for a few days; Gerung’s people had been enemies of the Empire for a lifetime.
