Nate turned back to look at him. Brad dropped his eyes, his striking blonde lashes lit up like gold when the firelight caught them. He shifted his grip on Nate’s wrist and ran his thumb over Nate’s pulse. Nate couldn’t help shivering. Brad raised his eyes again. “I want…” he says and cut himself off.
Nate hesitated for a long moment, holding Brad’s gaze, and then finally went for it, crowded between Brad’s thighs, catching his chin in his hands. “You can have.”
Brad let him kiss him. Nate had no illusions about this. Nevertheless, it was a victory. Brad’s mouth was surprisingly soft and yielding. Nate realized for all he had imagined and examined and worked himself to hardness thinking about that day in the atrium, that he remembered very little but the sound of Brad’s breaths in his ears and the harsh press of their bodies. The reality was better.
Brad ran his hands down Nate’s back, the sound of his fingers skimming over fabric the only noise in the quiet dark room. He pulled Nate closer to him, and Nate couldn’t help wrapping an arm around his neck, mindful of his wound. A moan broke its way past Nate’s lips and Brad bit at the corner of his mouth in response. It was like going too fast in a chariot. Nothing had ever felt like this. Memento Morii. Remember, you are but a man. Nate hooked his fingers inside the flimsy layer of Brad’s tunic, nails scraping over warm skin. He breathed hard through his nose, devoting all his attention to worrying at Brad’s lip and stroking over the long planes of his skin. He deliberately grazed the edge of his thumb against Brad’s flat nipple, savoring the small almost imperceptible way Brad’s hips jumped against his.
A sudden shattering sound forced them abruptly apart. Nate shot him a look, taking in Brad’s flushed face, his glassy blue eyes, the way he tightened his fists on the edge of the table. Nate shook himself and went out into the hall to see what had happened. A slave had dropped a jug of wine and was quickly picking the pieces up, cursing herself for her clumsiness. Nate shook his head and went back into the room. He found Brad, back turned to him, pulling his tunic back up over his shoulder.
“At least let me bind the wound!” Nate protested.
Brad’s gaze was flat and he said, “I should get back to your sister.”
Nate wilted inwardly. He stepped clear of the door so that Brad could pass him. “Yes, I imagine you should.”
More Gladiator!AU, Part 2/2
Nate hesitated for a long moment, holding Brad’s gaze, and then finally went for it, crowded between Brad’s thighs, catching his chin in his hands. “You can have.”
Brad let him kiss him. Nate had no illusions about this. Nevertheless, it was a victory. Brad’s mouth was surprisingly soft and yielding. Nate realized for all he had imagined and examined and worked himself to hardness thinking about that day in the atrium, that he remembered very little but the sound of Brad’s breaths in his ears and the harsh press of their bodies. The reality was better.
Brad ran his hands down Nate’s back, the sound of his fingers skimming over fabric the only noise in the quiet dark room. He pulled Nate closer to him, and Nate couldn’t help wrapping an arm around his neck, mindful of his wound. A moan broke its way past Nate’s lips and Brad bit at the corner of his mouth in response. It was like going too fast in a chariot. Nothing had ever felt like this. Memento Morii. Remember, you are but a man. Nate hooked his fingers inside the flimsy layer of Brad’s tunic, nails scraping over warm skin. He breathed hard through his nose, devoting all his attention to worrying at Brad’s lip and stroking over the long planes of his skin. He deliberately grazed the edge of his thumb against Brad’s flat nipple, savoring the small almost imperceptible way Brad’s hips jumped against his.
A sudden shattering sound forced them abruptly apart. Nate shot him a look, taking in Brad’s flushed face, his glassy blue eyes, the way he tightened his fists on the edge of the table. Nate shook himself and went out into the hall to see what had happened. A slave had dropped a jug of wine and was quickly picking the pieces up, cursing herself for her clumsiness. Nate shook his head and went back into the room. He found Brad, back turned to him, pulling his tunic back up over his shoulder.
“At least let me bind the wound!” Nate protested.
Brad’s gaze was flat and he said, “I should get back to your sister.”
Nate wilted inwardly. He stepped clear of the door so that Brad could pass him. “Yes, I imagine you should.”