Brad said suddenly in unaccented latin, “I make you uncomfortable.”
Nate caught his breath and turned to look over his shoulder at him. He could lie, but that would only make him a fool in the face of what they both knew well. “Yes.”
“Julia speaks much of your exploits. She says they expect you to be made praetor soon and be given command of your own legion,” Brad replied. “Surely you cannot be afraid of my blade.”
Nate laughed, rotating fully around to face him. “I am not afraid of your blade, Suione.”
“Really,” Brad said dryly with a small smile.
Nate held out a hand for one of Brad’s swords. Brad handed it over wordlessly and then struck up a defensive posture with the other. Nate lifted his chin and tested the weight and balance of the wooden weapon before nodding. He struck first, a test swipe that Brad caught with his sword just above his chest.
“Not bad,” he said with tilted head. Nate rolled his eyes and traded a series of quick blows as Brad pressed in. Brad had the advantage of both strength and reach, but Nate was more agile. They fought playfully but intently, neither holding an advantage for long. Brad had an untheatrical utilitarian style when he wasn’t fighting in the ring and he appeared tireless. Nate wiped sweat out of his eyes and only narrowly escaped being smacked with the flat of Brad’s blade. He deflected the blow and struck back, Brad’s parry strong enough to rattle his arm. Brad raised his brows at Nate’s expression.
Nate narrowed his eyes, and stepped back, giving himself a moment, before pressing in again with a flurry of strikes. Brad defended himself, finally appearing to lose ground. Nate feinted with his sword and then followed it with an open-fisted strike to Brad’s chest that knocked him to the sand. He knelt over him, ready to put the sword to his throat, but Brad kicked out from under him. The world spun around him and he found himself on his back, wrists pinned to the sand, with Brad leaning over him.
He breathed hard, blinking up into Brad’s impenetrable blue gaze. He was helpless in the face of Brad’s wrestling tactics. Brad shifted and his thigh lined up perfectly with Nate’s sudden awkward erection. It forced a hiss out of Nate’s mouth and he could feel his face flame up.
“Ah,” Brad said, like suddenly he understood everything. He whispered, “Do you yield?”
“Yes,” Nate replied softly, desperately wanting to shut his eyes against Brad’s unreadable stare, but unwilling to surrender that ground as well. Brad leaned down and pressed their mouths together, catching Nate’s startled outward breath in his mouth. He nibbled on Nate’s lower lip hard enough to cause pain, but than smoothed it with the flat of his tongue. Nate moaned and tipped his head back further on his neck, straining for more.
Brad pushed his tongue into Nate’s mouth and let go of one Nate’s wrists to cup his jaw. Nate sighed and arched up against him. He dragged his freed hand along the groove down Brad’s back, settling his fingertips at the dimples above Brad’s spine, pressing down to push their hips closer together. Brad made an agonized sound and tore his mouth away.
Nate’s eyelids fluttered over his eyes, and when he finally focused he found Brad staring down at him, face flushed and eyes glassy. Nate was breathing hard, heartbeat pounding in his head. Brad lashes dipped down against his cheek and he reached one long fingered hand out to run tentative fingers along Nate’s swollen lower lip. The light touch burned and Nate shut his eyes and dropped his cheek back to the sand. Brad lingered a moment longer and then rolled off of him. He got to his feet, back to Nate, hitching one of the fallen swords up from the sand. Nate was slower to get up.
“Forgive the impropriety,” Brad said softly, muscles in his shoulders tense.
Nate swallowed and said, “I see no impropriety to forgive.” He straightened his tunic and disappeared back to his room.
Re: Gladiator!Brad Part 2
Nate caught his breath and turned to look over his shoulder at him. He could lie, but that would only make him a fool in the face of what they both knew well. “Yes.”
“Julia speaks much of your exploits. She says they expect you to be made praetor soon and be given command of your own legion,” Brad replied. “Surely you cannot be afraid of my blade.”
Nate laughed, rotating fully around to face him. “I am not afraid of your blade, Suione.”
“Really,” Brad said dryly with a small smile.
Nate held out a hand for one of Brad’s swords. Brad handed it over wordlessly and then struck up a defensive posture with the other. Nate lifted his chin and tested the weight and balance of the wooden weapon before nodding. He struck first, a test swipe that Brad caught with his sword just above his chest.
“Not bad,” he said with tilted head. Nate rolled his eyes and traded a series of quick blows as Brad pressed in. Brad had the advantage of both strength and reach, but Nate was more agile. They fought playfully but intently, neither holding an advantage for long. Brad had an untheatrical utilitarian style when he wasn’t fighting in the ring and he appeared tireless. Nate wiped sweat out of his eyes and only narrowly escaped being smacked with the flat of Brad’s blade. He deflected the blow and struck back, Brad’s parry strong enough to rattle his arm. Brad raised his brows at Nate’s expression.
Nate narrowed his eyes, and stepped back, giving himself a moment, before pressing in again with a flurry of strikes. Brad defended himself, finally appearing to lose ground. Nate feinted with his sword and then followed it with an open-fisted strike to Brad’s chest that knocked him to the sand. He knelt over him, ready to put the sword to his throat, but Brad kicked out from under him. The world spun around him and he found himself on his back, wrists pinned to the sand, with Brad leaning over him.
He breathed hard, blinking up into Brad’s impenetrable blue gaze. He was helpless in the face of Brad’s wrestling tactics. Brad shifted and his thigh lined up perfectly with Nate’s sudden awkward erection. It forced a hiss out of Nate’s mouth and he could feel his face flame up.
“Ah,” Brad said, like suddenly he understood everything. He whispered, “Do you yield?”
“Yes,” Nate replied softly, desperately wanting to shut his eyes against Brad’s unreadable stare, but unwilling to surrender that ground as well. Brad leaned down and pressed their mouths together, catching Nate’s startled outward breath in his mouth. He nibbled on Nate’s lower lip hard enough to cause pain, but than smoothed it with the flat of his tongue. Nate moaned and tipped his head back further on his neck, straining for more.
Brad pushed his tongue into Nate’s mouth and let go of one Nate’s wrists to cup his jaw. Nate sighed and arched up against him. He dragged his freed hand along the groove down Brad’s back, settling his fingertips at the dimples above Brad’s spine, pressing down to push their hips closer together. Brad made an agonized sound and tore his mouth away.
Nate’s eyelids fluttered over his eyes, and when he finally focused he found Brad staring down at him, face flushed and eyes glassy. Nate was breathing hard, heartbeat pounding in his head. Brad lashes dipped down against his cheek and he reached one long fingered hand out to run tentative fingers along Nate’s swollen lower lip. The light touch burned and Nate shut his eyes and dropped his cheek back to the sand. Brad lingered a moment longer and then rolled off of him. He got to his feet, back to Nate, hitching one of the fallen swords up from the sand. Nate was slower to get up.
“Forgive the impropriety,” Brad said softly, muscles in his shoulders tense.
Nate swallowed and said, “I see no impropriety to forgive.” He straightened his tunic and disappeared back to his room.