In His Arena 1: Slave Eternal (24 page)

And yet, what was the point?

In three days, the Grand Melee would be upon them. Fifty gladiators would enter the Empress’s Theatre. Only one man would walk out alive.

Lucan had no illusions it would be him.

He glanced at his work once more. A pastoral scene. Sklava had asked him to imagine it—rolling hills beneath blue skies. Somehow Lucan had put sheep, a horse, a farmhouse into the painting. She’d asked for none of these things, but Hektor had.

It was his dream here, laid out on canvas.

Lucan’s mind had come to it naturally, the way his heart had come to Hektor naturally.
I cannot die without him knowing.
Again, Lucan’s brush slipped. This time he let it fall from his fingers. He stood.

He had Sklava’s full attention now. “Lucan?” By her tone, the master painter seemed to sense his distress.

“I am sorry.” The words fell numb from his lips. “Sorry!” And then he fled, pushing back the curtains and dashing out into the heat and brilliance of the day.

The Grand Palestra was laid out in concentric circles, and House Lucia was on a middling tier. Lucan had to traverse many stairs, a long, winding spiral designed to tire a body, designed to make a man crave drink and food. And lo, there were the merchants, getting in his way, threatening to stall him and divert him from his task. He brushed past them quickly, as politely as he could, refusing summer-wines and sweetmeats, pushing aside spiced fishes and figs. He passed House Priassin, with its white marble columns and soaring archways, then raced past House Menelaus, ignoring the rotted-meat stench that hung about its darksteel gates and the foot of the Doomsayer’s Fane.

He rounded the tier—ascending, ascending—and spied House Actaeon, its flight of caryatids supporting the grand portico. Several more minutes of climbing, and finally, he stepped beneath that portico and into the shade, and when the house guard bristled their pikes in his face, a baritone voice cut through the heat and shade.

“Let him pass.”

Reluctantly, the guard released Lucan and stepped aside, the vents in their visors making them seem like armor come alive more than men.

Hektor stood there, naked to the waist, sweat glistening on his chest. Lucan watched a tiny trickle slither down over his muscular abs and around his navel. He licked his lips, but he would have rather licked that droplet and tongued every groove of Hektor’s muscular torso. Swallowing hard, Lucan mastered himself. He had not come here for sex.

“I would speak with you,” he said, and was surprised his voice came out smooth and unshaking.

Hektor gestured past the archway, and Lucan preceded him into a white marble quad. The caryatids stood as an honor guard, flowing from the portico into a line of statuary that made up the walls of the courtyard. Within, fig trees and huge fronds towered up to take what sunlight filtered down and turn it into shade. There, a few benches and a table sat beneath the fronds. Hektor went to sit. As soon as he settled, a serving boy was at his side.

The boy was lean and clear-eyed. He glanced at Lucan, and Lucan saw the jealousy there. He wanted Hektor. Lucan sighed. Did every man and boy in Arena have designs on his man?
My man.
It felt good in his mind. It would feel even better to say it, and yet, he couldn’t. Not yet.

He didn’t even know if Hektor wanted him in return.

Hektor sent the boy away with orders for wine, and waited in awkward silence until the lad brought it back. Two clay cups, an earthen vessel, and the silence broken only by the liquid sloshing into the cup. Lucan could not help but be transfixed by the redness of it, glistening in the early morning light.

Red as blood.
In three days, the arena will run with it. If I don’t tell him now…

He looked up and met Hektor’s gaze. He saw the man’s desire, all his wants, all his cares, the shadow of fear in his eyes—fear for Lucan.

So much. Too much. Lucan could not say any of the things he wanted to say. Hektor watched him, sky-blue eyes questioning, lingering on Lucan.

He fears that I am in love with him. I am in love with him.

Lucan wanted to reach out to Hektor, to smooth that silky black hair, to feel his lips—hard, yet so soft—crush against his own, to feel his corded arms around Lucan’s body, for him to hold and soothe away the fears, the terror that tomorrow would bring.

The Ebon flared hot beneath his flesh. How long would it stay hidden?

He wanted suddenly to plead with Hektor.
Please.
He pictured Hektor reaching out, taking him into an embrace. But it was not to be.

Lucan moved to stand.

“You wanted to speak with me.” Hektor’s baritone was strained, and Lucan felt the brush of his calloused hand on his own. He looked down. The touch burned him. More than any Ebon brand.

Hektor stood, pulling Lucan up with him. For a long moment, he gazed down upon Lucan. “I…” That fear eclipsed the light in Hektor’s blue eyes, but beneath the darkness, lust, love, confusion—a thousand different emotions—burned bright. He laid a hand on Lucan’s chest, his palm flat, as though he meant to cover the brand should it rise.

“Lucan…” Once more, Hektor let his words trail off. He seemed to be struggling—to control himself, to let himself lose control. “I can’t.”

And with those words, it was over.

Crushed, Lucan turned his back. “I understand.” But he didn’t. Not by a long shot.

Hektor’s hand lingered on Lucan’s, and Lucan pulled away. He made it only three steps before he heard Hektor come after him.

A strong hand on Lucan’s arm turned him back. Hektor stood there, breathing hard, the love and lust overcoming the fear in his eyes.

In the next moment, he was claiming his kiss with bruising force, grabbing the boy’s jaw, forcing his tongue inside. Lucan gasped with the taking, digging his fingers into Hektor’s powerful biceps.

Hungry, desperate, Hektor pushed him back. They stumbled. Lucan’s thighs struck the table. Hektor’s hands were on his hips, lifting him. Lucan went willingly, sliding back along the cool marble, already opening his legs. His cock twitched and then began to rise, hardening, tenting his tunic.

Hektor glanced down and licked his lips. With one big hand, he groped Lucan’s cock through the cloth and began stroking him to full arousal. A groan escaped Lucan as pleasure shot through his body. He let his head sink back, his blond hair spreading out on the table.

That Hektor would take him in the light of day, while they were facing each other, made Lucan hotter, his cock harder. In some ways, it made his heart softer.
He loves me.

Hektor stroked and caressed and then slowly peeled back Lucan’s sweat-sticky tunic. Gasping in need, Lucan felt himself spurt precum as his mentor exposed him and ran one finger across the slit of his cock-tip.

A flash of sky-blue eyes, and Hektor bent his dark head to taste his wanton student. The velvet caress of his tongue swiping the length of Lucan’s shaft sent a violent jolt through him. The table groaned as he punched his hips up, trying to delve all the way into Hektor’s mouth.

Hektor chuckled. “Soon enough. Soon enough.” He gave Lucan one long, lingering lick and then left him hard and wanting. Running rough hands up Lucan’s spread thighs, Hektor stepped closer to the table, the bulge in his tunic huge.

The thought of that massive, stiff rod invading his hole made Lucan shudder and squirm on the table.
To the Abyss with waiting.
He sat up and reached for his desire, pushing Hektor’s tunic aside until that hard, heavy pole was in his hands. Grasping Hektor by the cock, he pulled him in, stroking every inch of his length, watching him lengthen, stiffen.

He wanted him—in his mouth, in his ass. He was desperate. He stroked and pulled, running his thumb hard over the crown, dancing his fingers along the slit, swirling through the silky fluid there.

Hektor groaned deep in his throat. His cock leaped, and a jet of fluid ran over Lucan’s fingers. Lustily, his gaze on his mentor’s, Lucan brought his hand to his mouth and sucked Hektor’s cum from his skin. And then he lay back, spreading wide, his legs in the air. He could not have offered himself more plainly.

A moment’s hesitation, and then Hektor tore the tunic from his student’s sweating body. Naked, displayed like a delicious, sensuous feast, Lucan writhed.

Deep within his chest, a pain began to sear him. He fought it back.

The Ebon burned, responding to his lust.

And yet, this was not mere lust. This was love. True love.

He looked up into Hektor’s sky-blue eyes. The kiss was warm, wet, Hektor’s tongue probing first gently and then rougher as his hands came down on Lucan’s hips, pushing him harder into the table, splaying him out. Hektor stepped in. The brush of his muscular legs against Lucan’s inner thighs sent his mind awhirl.

Gently, Hektor pumped, nudging his rod against Lucan’s body—his thighs, his balls, his crack. He took himself in hand and rubbed the creamy tip across Lucan’s skin, anointing him with precum.

Lucan could not help imagining Hektor jerking off and coming right there, his jism spraying all over Lucan’s ass. As though reading the lust on his face, Hektor began to pump his cock with long, purposeful strokes. Lucan reached, tried to touch him, but Hektor pushed him back.

“Let me show you my desire for you.” The words were a raspy growl, and he began to pull harder and faster. His cock jerked in his grasp, twitching, the head glistening wetly. Hektor punching his hips into his hand, his shaft sliding through slick fingers, velvety-wet and rock-hard. His thighs trembled, his eyes rolled back, and he spurted ropes of pearly cum on Lucan’s body—on his thighs, his ass, his balls, and then finished on his belly.

The heat of it burned Lucan even more than the sear of the Ebon.

Moaning, shuddering, Hektor gathered the last spurts in his hands. But when Lucan urged Hektor to feed him his cum, his mentor only commanded, “Tilt your hips.”

When Lucan obliged, Hektor parted his ass cheeks and smeared the silky jism on Lucan’s hole. The warm stickiness of it made Lucan squirm in pleasure, and then his mentor dipped one finger into him. The cum wasn’t enough to make him wet, and the invasion brought Lucan a measure of burning pain. He preferred that pain to the burn in his chest. He reveled in it, pushing his ass back to suck up an inch more.

“Naughty,” Hektor chided and pulled away.

Desperate, burning in need, with the pain of the Ebon looming, Lucan squirmed sensuously. He wanted more, he wanted Hektor filling him up, stiff cock thrusting in, stretching him in wild, rocking pushes, bringing him a pleasure that would make him forget about his dark thoughts, about the dark mark on his chest.

He panted with the wanting of it, and reached for Hektor. Once again, his mentor only smiled and pushed him down, following him with sultry kisses. He laved Lucan’s nipples, pulling on them with his teeth.

Lucan clasped him close, and the Ebon burn began to spread.
No. Please no.

If Hektor saw it, he might flee again, and if he left Lucan in such a state… Lucan knew he would lose his mind.

Wet kisses and the swipes of Hektor’s tongue soothed the burn, but Lucan felt it threaten with each sigh, each kiss, each roll of his hips. Yet, he could not stop.
Please hold off. Please. It’s love, not lust.
That had to make a difference, didn’t it?
Please…

Hektor trailed those hot kisses down Lucan’s body, massaging his chest and abs, his stomach. Without warning, he grabbed the boy by the hips and pulled him up.

Lucan went with his man’s urgency, thrusting, his pole sucked into the soft, wet heat of Hektor’s mouth. Pleasure shot through him to the root. Moaning, he pumped his hips, watching his cock slide in and out of Hektor’s mouth, watching the man’s mouth distort grotesquely. His balls grew taut, and he fought off his orgasm.

Hektor pulled away, his mouth coming off Lucan’s cock with a soft
pop
. “Now,” he rasped, stroking his student, pushing him toward the edge, toward completion.

Lucan threw his head back, the buildup of pressure in his cock, in his balls driving him wild. Hektor pulled him, pumped him. He cupped Lucan’s balls and fondled, and then Lucan was coming in hard, shuddering spurts all over Hektor’s hands. “There,” Hektor soothed. “There you are.”

With no more pretense, he stood and threw Lucan’s legs over his shoulders. He stepped in, spreading him wider, watching with hooded eyes as he opened up. Hektor slipped his hands between them and worked Lucan’s hot cum into his hole, stretching him, readying him for the taking.

Moaning, Lucan squirmed. The pleasure, oh, the pleasure. And the pain.

The Ebon was searing up through his skin. The fever ignited across his chest, and the black glow began to blossom, tiny pinpricks that would soon burst open. He brought his arms up across his chest as if he could forestall it.

The tip of Hektor’s cock nudged his hole.

Lucan whimpered and rolled his hips. “Yes.” He clasped Hektor’s shoulders. He wanted desperately to drag him in, to feel the weight of this beautiful man grow heavier as he sank into Lucan inch by glorious inch. “Fuck me.”

Hektor pushed, a grunt working its way from his throat as he began to drive into Lucan’s willing ass. Lucan cried out. The pleasure lit through him, and with the burn of it came the burn of the Ebon.

It opened up, a deadly bloom across his chest.

The look of love and lust faded from Hektor’s eyes, his growl of pleasure turning to anger, and where he had been preparing to thrust all the way into Lucan and ride him to ecstasy, he stopped. Halfway in. Unmoving, his gaze drinking in the dark mark as though it were the blackest betrayal.

“No,” Lucan moaned. “No, please.”

But Hektor slid out of him.

Panic rioted through Lucan. He jerked to a sitting position “No!”
I love you. I need you.
All that came out was, “I want you.”

Hektor’s eyes were dark, the Ebon reflected in them, a black blaze that turned his intentions dark. He still held his stiff cock. “No. You want
this
.”

Lucan followed his mentor’s gaze. The Ebon raged through him, and in another breath, it took him over. His tongue darted out, licking his lips.