Chapter Text
“Did you see what the prize was for the gladiatorial contest tomorrow?” One of the guards asked another, as they walked past Stíofán’s room.
Stíofán knew from the voice it was Pierce, and so with him must be...
Hammer made an affirmative sound. “The does? Sure did. I hear they’re the cast-off fauns from the Matchmaking Stable - didn’t make the grade but still fine enough to look at if the ones I caught sight of going into the lanista’s office are anything to go by. I had to slip away for some privacy if you take my meaning.”
“You horny devil,” Pierce laughed. “Well, you can get your chance. Rumour is the spares will be sent to the red light district. You can have your fill if you can afford it.”
“And to think one of these animals gets to keep one free of charge...” the voices faded as they drifted down the corridor.
Stíofán rubbed a hand over his horns where he sat on his pallet. He’d heard of course. The lanista had delivered them the news earlier in the week, to give them a reason to train harder. He also had a suspicion that there was the hope of offspring that could be trained for the Ludus. Stíofán wasn’t going to fall for it. He’d fight of course, but it would be for his reasons.
Mainly his freedom.
One day he’d return home, leaving the heaving, stinking, filthy city of Rome behind, and return to the rolling hills of his home, Hibernia to the Romans, Īweriū to his people. If only he had never left to trade in Londinium. He never would’ve been drugged by the man he had been beating at dice and traded for an amphora of wine to be a slave in Rome. But it had happened, and now there was only this. Earning a pittance, trying to buy his freedom.
They could offer him all the pretty does they wanted, nothing would make him complacent. Though he had to admit, the smell of ready-to-mate doe on the breeze was delicious. He could well understand why they considered it a temptation. There were a lot of lonely nights in the Ludus, the sounds of the other satyrs pleasing themselves not uncommon.
But, Stíofán could wait. One day he’d be home and have a plot of land to raise a family on, and a fine bride who’d give him kids of his own who would never know the debauchery and cruelty of this lot.
He just had to be patient.
So no, he wouldn’t be fooled. He’d fight as he needed, and he’d take the money on offer, add it to his pot. He wasn’t the kind to have his head turned by some faun. He had a plan, and he was sticking to it.
The horn sounded loud, echoing across the stadium as the crowd roared. The morning’s entertainment was over, and it was time for satyr-to-satyr combat. The line up before the consul was familiar, the large grey centaur sitting in a box high above them, the weapons handed out to his preference.
What was different was the pen to the side. Inside were around fifteen does, all huddled near the back. The scent was almost intoxicating, getting Stíofán’s blood racing despite his best attempts. Each satyr was allowed to go inspect, get a look at the goods before fights would start, and Stíofán took his turn after Hammer gave him a jab in the kidneys.
As he approached, he noticed many of the does perk up in interest, which was flattering. Stíofán knew he cut a good figure, the years of fighting making his body tight and lean, muscles on full display. He was younger too, still only in his twenty-third year, compared to most of the others who were now old men, haggard and grizzled, though strong enough to put up a good fight.
As he got close to the pen, several of the fauns came to the forefront, leaning on the fencing to better show off their assets. Stíofán could see several pairs of fine furred legs, flashing beneath fine silks, and finely polished hooves and horns. They were all very fine, Stíofán thought. If these were the ones the Stables rejected, he couldn’t imagine what the higher-level ones looked like. Some of the more brazen ones wagged their tails, making it clear they were ready to mate, and Stíofán was forced to breathe through his mouth to keep the desire from shooting south.
Perhaps he had been a little hasty.
As he walked the long line of the pen, he noticed one in particular. He was at the end, fleece black with white flecks. Stíofán could see ample thighs, and dainty hooves, and the suggestion of a shapely behind beneath the fabric he wore. Stíofán looked up from his perusal, finding himself looking into a pair of inquisitive eyes. The doe looked at him, ears flicking beneath dark curls. Stíofán felt desire pool in his belly. This one. This one he could imagine fighting for. He let himself imagine it, the faun baring himself to Stíofán in his cell, being able to mount him after a long day of fighting, and the sweeter side of having a bride, having someone to talk to, banishing the loneliness Stíofán usually felt as he dreamed of home. As he let himself look at the doe again, their tail flicked twice, and Stíofán had to focus so as not to embarrass himself. He let himself drink him in for just a moment more before he returned to the line. That doe would be his. He swore it.
These games had come with a twist, they soon found out. Instead of simply fighting each other, a champion from a different Ludus was here, a large, heavyset man by the name of Ivor. He was big, very big, but Stíofán could already tell he’d be slow. He’d looked over the does, a mean smile on his face, and as the one he already thought of as his flinched, Stíofán realised there was no way he would let Ivor anywhere near him.
It was a simple system of disqualification, the winner went on to the next round until one remained.
Stíofán was the best fighter there, so it was easy for him to move through the rounds until he and Ivor stood, awaiting the signal to begin.
He could hear the crowd chanting his name as he and Ivor circled each other. The fight was to first surrender, so Stíofán knew he had to go in hard and fast since he was already too tired to simply wear the other satyr down.
Hoplomachus, they called him, the old sword and shield they’d given him reminiscent of the Greeks.
He raised his sword, slashing it against the buck’s arm, dodging a return strike. He could smell the fight on him, the satyr was not going down without a fight. Ivor was large and Stíofán could use that to his advantage. The next time Ivor went for him, he dashed to the side, jumping up to wrap his arms around the other satyr’s neck. He let himself go limp, his weight dragging the other down to the ground, with a heavy thud.
“You little bastard!” The other buck roared in outrage, trying to get himself upright.
Stíofán rolled to his knees before the big, unwieldy guy got to his hooves. He threw himself over the buck’s chest, clinging to the wide expanse as the satyr fought him. He took advantage of Ivor’s lack of grace, straddling his chest and pointing his sword at the thick neck beneath the heavy helmet waiting for the call. He saw the gesture finishing the fight and stood, his arms out as he showed off a little to the crowd, the bright sun warm of his naked chest, and his fleece damp with sweat.
“Your gods did not smile on you today, Ivor,” Stíofán said, trying not to sound too smug, but by the sour look on the other Satyr’s face, he didn’t manage it.
Half of this job was popularity and as much as he hated it, he knew he couldn’t afford to shun it. He gave a few poses for laughs and appreciative stares, but as he courted the cheers of ‘hoplomachus!’, his eyes flicked over to the doe watching curiously from the side of the arena.
He gave him a heated look, and the doe’s tail wagged twice. Oh yes, he’d made the right choice.
After the announcement, Stíofán followed the others to get cleaned up. He washed the dust and sweat from his body, even as the complaints reached his ears behind him.
“Can’t believe I missed out on a doe, I’ve been here ten years and this young buck just up and nabs the first decent opportunity I’ve had. My balls are about ready to explode the amount of use they’ve had.”
Stíofán tried to ignore it as he stripped off, making sure to scrub the dry blood from his hocks.
“Maybe Stíofán’ll let you have a turn when he’s done, share the loot,” another cackled and Stíofán could feel his shoulders tightening.
“Yeah, maybe. Hey Stíofán, any chance you could let that sweet piece of fleece come by my cell tomo--” He choked, his air suddenly cut off by Stíofán's hand around his throat, his horns digging against the other satyr’s cheek.
“Anyone touches the doe, hell, you so much as look at him while you’re thinking anything like that and I’ll gore you, no questions asked.”
“Hey, he was just kidding, relax,” the satyr next to him said, hands up in supplication.
“Was he?” He let his horns press a little harder. “I sure hope so.”
“I was! I was, I promise.”
Stíofán held him for a moment longer and then pushed him back. “You bucks enjoy the rest of the afternoon.”
He gave himself a rubdown with the provided rags, rewrapped the fabric of his subligaculum around his waist and then wandered back towards the sleeping quarters.
“If you change your mind, I’d pay a fair price,” he heard yelled to him as he turned the corner. “Think about it, we all know you’ve been saving.”
He brushed the idea aside though it wasn’t as if it wasn’t an option. The lanista had made it clear that within the walls of the Ludus, the doe was his. Outside, he was owned by the school just as anyone else.
As he got close, he could feel his muscles tensing. That beautiful creature would be in his room, waiting for him. It was almost too good to be true.
He reached his door, and with a deep breath, pushed it open.
The doe stood in the middle of the room, those same pretty eyes fixed on Stíofán.
Stíofán cleared his throat. “Hi.”
The faun’s mouth moved as if to speak, but before any sound could be heard, the doe’s eyes went glassy and he collapsed to the floor.
“Oh fuck!” Stíofán slammed the door behind him, rushing over to check the faun’s pulse. “Fuck, fuck, he’s dead, he’s--”
There was a steady pulse beneath his fingers and Stíofán breathed a sigh of relief. This close he could see the doe’s dark eyelashes, smell his warm spicy scent. And the way he’d fallen, the soft fabric covering him up had slipped, giving Stíofán a clear view of sharp collarbones and the long line of his neck. Stíofán licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. He moved to his storage chest, pulling out a rag and dipped in his water bucket. He knelt back down, and wiped it over the doe’s face, letting the cool water splash gently down his cheeks.
Eventually, eyelids fluttered, and the doe blinked, pushing himself up as he came to. He looked around and then looked at Stíofán, eyes wide. “Oh.”
“Hi,” Stíofán said, hoping to make a better impression. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I'm fine, just got a little excited there for a second,” the doe said, looking embarrassed. Stíofán grabbed the small pitcher of wine and offered it to him, watching with interest the way his throat moved as he drank.
“That wasn’t the best impression,” the doe said, readjusting the silk so it lay better. “I am Antonius.”
“Stíofán.” He placed a hand behind Antonius’ back and helped him to his hooves. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” The doe looked around the room. “I suppose this is my new home.”
“Only the finest for the fighters of the Ludus,” Stíofán said dryly and Antonius flicked back to him. He became aware of a hot, heady perfume coming off the doe, made to entice a buck. He was starting to feel drunk on it.
“So it would seem.”
Stíofán knew he ought to feel embarrassed. And maybe two years ago he would’ve. But losing his freedom had taken much of his ability to feel shame. He shrugged at the doe. “It is what it is.”
The colour was coming back to Antonius’ cheeks, fortified by the wine. “It is more privacy than we are given at the Stables. You have a solid door for one. And no one to share with.”
“You don’t?”
Antonius shook his head. “We share large quarters with many of us all together. Before this, I shared a sleeping mat with two others.”
“Then this will seem like a luxury,” Stíofán joked, and the doe gave him a soft smile.
“You were very impressive, by the way, hoplomachus. That big brute Ivor didn’t stand a chance.”
Reminded of the fight, Stíofán felt the energy still bursting beneath his skin, seeking an outlet. Stíofán stepped forward, wrapping an arm loosely around the doe’s waist, pulling him up against his chest. “Well, I had a good incentive. I don’t think I’ve seen a more beautiful doe in my life.”
“Oh,” the doe said, eyes big as he looked up at him. “Really?”
Stíofán leaned down to blow gently on his neck, feeling Antonius shiver. His own interest was becoming plain, his cock pressing against the front of the knotted fabric he wore, straining between his furred legs. He tried not to groan at the feel of it pressing against the doe’s thigh. “Mhmmm. I smelt your sweet scent and all I could think about was getting you here, mounting you until you bleat loud enough for everyone to hear.”
Antonius flushed red, his face as though aflame. “I haven’t ever--”
“I figured as much. I doubted they’d let you fool around with bucks at the Stable, am I right?”
Antonius shook his head, pressing a little closer to Stíofán. “We’re kept away, there’s always an older faun present.”
Untouched. Stíofán could feel the desire rushing southward. He was hard enough to pound iron. “I like it. That I’ll be the first Buck you’ll ever have.”
“You do?” Antonius looked up from beneath his lashes, in a clearly practiced move, but knowing it was taught didn’t make Stíofán any less hungry for him. “So I...please you, then?”
“Very much so,” Stíofán rasped, and he tugged gently at the silks. “I’ll be even more pleased when I can see beneath these.”
He turned Antonius around, so they were chest to back, his hand drifting down to the edge of the shift. “I want to do everything to you, but for now, I need to be in you.”
He could feel the doe’s tail wagging against his crotch, the sign that his body was ready and Stíofán groaned. The doe shifted slightly, and his curly locks brushed Stíofán’s nipples, the sensation against his bare chest just pushing him higher.
“You can-- I’m ready--,” the doe whined, as Stíofán pressed the heel of his hand firmly against the front of the shift. “Yes, please.”
And that was nice, really nice. Stíofán let himself thrust against the tight rear a couple of times, grunted as he did. He was getting too worked up, and if he wanted to mount the way he’d planned he needed to move past the warm-up.
He walked them to the pallet, pushing the doe forward onto his hand and knees, and feeling the arousal ramp up, as he watched him instinctively arch his back, presenting himself to Stíofán. “That’s it, like that.”
Antonius looked over his shoulder, the cute horns and dark eyes were bright under the glow of the candles that lit Stíofán’s room. He could hear the sounds of the others returning to their cells, and it pushed him to get on with it, lest any of them think of coming to take this gorgeous creature from him.
He flipped the shift up, revealing the plump cheeks Stíofán had known were hidden away and the bright fluffy tail that wagged as he looked his fill. Stíofán’s cock was throbbing as he felt below the tail for the hot, wet entrance he knew would be there. It was tight, virgin tight, but so slippery with slick, and he shoved two fingers in, enjoying the squeeze of the internal walls, as the doe clenched around them. He was big, he knew that, had seen plenty of the other satyrs when they trained and fought. It would be a lot to take. That thought made his cock twitch.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He shoved in, sheathing himself in one push, making the doe gasp. He ran a hand over Antonius’ back to calm him, giving him a moment to adjust as he savoured the feeling around his dick. It was the closest thing to heaven Stíofán had ever experienced.
When he could wait no longer, he started to thrust, slow and steady, the warm fleece so soft beneath his hands, heightening the pleasure.
“That’s it, yeah, take it,” he growled, enjoying the soft gasps the doe made with each push in. “I’m glad I won you. You would’ve made a fine lay for the sailors down at the port, but you were made for me, weren’t you?”
The doe nodded, and Stíofán gave a strong thrust just to hear him moan. Stíofán reached down to push at Antonius’ knees to widen his stance and let him deeper. It was a stretch - Antonius was smaller than him, making it a strain to spread around Stíofán’s hips, and Stíofán liked it, the feeling of power that came with it.
He liked it too that Stíofán was uncovered, but Antonius was still wearing the shift, as if still pure even as Stíofán took that innocence from him. “I bet you imagined yourself some senator’s bride, hmmm? Laying on a couch, partying every evening, your every whim catered to. Instead, I’ll be between you legs, taking my pleasure, morning and night. My live-in whore.”
The doe whined at that, though Stíofán couldn’t tell if the thought was pleasing or shocking. “I can’t wait to have you suck me, those pretty lips brushing over my dick, it’ll be incredible.”
He picked up the pace, shoving his hips against the furred behind. The tail flicked in his vision and he reached down, grasping it in his hand and tugging on it. Antonius yelped.
“Too much?” Though he didn’t let go. He grasped it tighter and jerked it.
“No!” The doe yowled pushing back, and Stíofán grunted, starting to fuck harder.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he breathed. His other hand flailed until he could grasp one of Antonius’ horns, pulling until the doe’s head was back, making his body tense and giving Stíofán more leverage. He released the tail so he could grab the other horn, and he put his back into it. He was slamming into the faun, Antonius making loud ‘ungh’ sounds with each push in, and Stíofán could feel himself getting closer and closer.
“Bleat for me,” Stíofán growled. “Come on, bleat. Let everyone hear you, tell them you’re mine. Bleat!”
Antonius tried to shake his head, whining, but Stíofán held his head in place. “Let me hear it. Bleat!”
He punctuated the command with a particularly hard thrust.
“Baaaaaaa,” Antonius bleated, the sound rushing out in a gasp, and Stíofán’s chest roared with triumph.
“Again!”
“Baaa-aaa-aaaa!”
“That’s it, fuck, you’re so gorgeous, yes, yes, yes--” Stíofán kept up the speed, until he felt his pleasure crest, pumping the doe full of his essence. There was a lot, it had been a long time since Stíofán had been able to till a field and he collapsed forward, Antonius huffing beneath his weight as his strength, which had been so prominent since the fight, left him.
He panted, the cool air on his body making his fleece ruffle. He rolled to the side, on his back, the doe now lying flat, as his arms gave way, and tried to regain his breath.
Now that the need was gone, he felt a little embarrassed. He’d said many things, but had only thought them in the heat of passion. Now it felt as though the doe might think him callous now that they were no longer joined.
He got to his hooves, wetting the rag once more and offering it to the doe who looked up at him with those dark eyes. “Clean yourself. I’ll fetch our meal.”
He slid a tunic over his head and then he left, slipping out the door. He got a lot of jealous looks as he went, and he couldn’t help but puff out his chest. Obviously, they’d heard loud and clear that Antonius was his. He returned to the room, two hearty bowls of mash and more wine in his hands.
The doe was curled up on the palate, waiting patiently, his shift back in place. Stíofán a little twinge of arousal at the idea that he was back to looking so demure given what they had just done, but it was too early for anything further yet. Stíofán sat down beside him, handing him the bowl. “Here, I bet you’re hungry.”
That had turned out to be an understatement. Antonius had scoffed the bowl back before Stíofán had taken even a few mouthfuls, and in the end, he’d eaten just half his own before passing the rest to the doe.
“They not feed you at the Stables?”
Antonius hummed. “They do, though they like to keep us thin, so we don’t look greedy to potential matches. ‘Better to become fat as a matron, not a maiden’.”
Well, that was no good. Stíofán made a note to ask for extra mash, get the doe fattened up some. “Well, we’ll fix that. Also, I feel we should-- I mean, you know we cannot be married in the eyes of the law?”
Antonius looked at him curiously, and Stíofán felt compelled to explain. “I’m a slave, not a citizen.”
“As am I,” Antonius told him. “You think they could send citizens to become whores? My family sold me to the Stables. I understand we are married only in spirit.”
He looked disappointed and Stíofán wanted to alleviate it. “Well, there’re three meals a day, so you’ll be well fed. I’m sure we can talk to the lanista about finding you something to keep you occupied.”
Antonius sipped his wine with a nod. “Seems like a busy life. You must love being a gladiator.”
Stíofán snorted. “Hardly. I’m getting out of here. I’m going to buy my freedom and go home.”
“Home?”
“Īweriū. North of Britannia.”
“Were you born there?”
And so Stíofán found himself telling Antonius the whole story. How he’d left his Ma to take goods to trade to Londinium with his best friend Bucky. How Bucky had gone back to the room they’d rented but Stíofán had stayed hoping to win another sestertius in a game of dice. How he’d woken up on a boat in chains, and been sold at a market in Rome to the Ludus.
“When I get enough, I’m gone.”
Antonius was quiet for a moment, swishing the wine in his clay cup. “What happens to me then?”
And huh. Stíofán hadn’t really thought of that. He could never afford two.
“Oh, ummm--”
“Don’t worry about it, I get it. I’ll work something else out.”
Stíofán didn’t like the sound of that. What if Antonius started eying up other Bucks in the yard? Seducing them with his doe eyes and soft curls, and well-trimmed beard.
Antonius must’ve noticed his discomfort because he gave him a smile. “Really, don’t worry. I was expecting much worse than this. Selling my body by the port, or at worst being stuck with that behemoth Ivor or one of those old, ugly bucks here. Doing this with you isn’t when the buck in question is a looker.”
Stíofán looked at him. “You like the way I look?”
“Very handsome. It’s why I caught your eye back at the pens.” Antonius looked away, his cheek tinted pink.
Stíofán looked Antonius over. “It was much the same for me. Loveliest thing I’d ever seen. Worth more to me to have you than the money I could’ve earned.”
Antonius blinked. “Oh. That’s--wow.” He flushed a very pretty pink.
Stíofán realised they hadn’t even kissed and decided to remedy that. He leaned in, giving Antonius time to recognise what was happening, and pressed his lips to the doe’s.
They were soft, well cared for. Stíofán knew his own would feel rough by comparison, the skin dry and tanned by the sun. He wrapped his hand around the back of Antonius’ neck, feeling him shiver as he deepened the kiss. This was nice, Stíofán thought. Nice to have a touch that wasn’t a whip or the slash of a sword, or a hit during training. It felt intimate, in a way their coupling hadn’t. The doe seemed to like it, making an inquisitive sound as his tongue came to brush over Stíofán’s. Stíofán let him in, letting his other hand drift up and down Antonius’ arm. He deepened the kiss, feeling a thrill when Antonius’ moaned quietly into it, pleased the other enjoyed it as much as he did. The feeling relit the fires of his arousal, which surprised him. He had not been this easily riled since he’d been on the brink of manhood, but now he was raring to go.
They kissed a little longer, Stíofán encouraging Antonius to explore. He shivered as soft hands drifted over his chest and his shoulders, coming up to rub over his pointed ears and horns. He was getting lost in the feeling when the hands pulled away, and he blinked, coming back to himself.
The doe looked up at him, gaze heated. “I believe there was something else you said you’d like,” Antonius said, and then his head was dipping down to Stíofán’s lap and --- oooh yes.
A warm wet mouth dragged along his cock, the heat and soft slide almost indescribable. It felt as though all the sensation in his body was locked onto one single point, and as the doe bobbed his head, the pressure moved along every inch.
“I knew you’d be good at it,” Stíofán sighed, resting a hand in the thick hair. “Give it a good suck, yeah that’s--oh that’s good, ungh !”
Antonius seemed to fall into the rhythm, dragging and sucking, hot and tight and Stíofán couldn’t do much more than grunt. “Use your hands, come on sweetheart.”
A tentative hand cupped his balls, scritching through the fur, and it heightened the feeling even more. He gripped the hair in his hand tight, using it to hold the doe in place as he began to thrust.
“If it gets too much,” he grunted, as sparks of pleasure danced all along his body. “Hit my leg.”
The doe nodded, and Stíofán went for it, pushing in long and deep, enjoying the suction on the withdrawal. He was getting closer and closer, but he wanted to claim Antonius again, mount him. He pulled him off and he almost reached the peak, breathing hard, his cock wet and straining.
The doe sucked in air, looking surprised, but Stíofán tugged at him. “Straddle me, I want inside that sweet ass of yours.”
Antonius groaned and swung a hock over, and Stíofán was pleased to see the doe’s own cock erect. He liked servicing Stíofán, it aroused him.
That made Stíofán happy. He wanted the doe to like him, to want him like he wanted the faun.
Antonius wiggled in his lap, rising and dropping down so that Stíofán slid deep inside. Stíofán’s eyes nearly crossed, the tight grip clamping down when he was so close to the mark.
He grabbed Antonius by the hips to keep him still, the faun whining in his ear. “I need to move, please.”
“Ok,” he moaned, loosening his hold. “Ride me.”
The doe nodded, bouncing up and down, letting out little moans as he did. It was beautiful to watch, but Stíofán wanted more.
“These,” he said, grabbing at the silk. “Off, I want to see, please.”
Antonius nodded, not even pausing in his rhythm as he undid the clasp, removing the covering and baring warm, soft skin to Stíofán hands. “Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.”
He rubbed his thumbs over the line where skin met fur, brushing over the whorls there.
“You’re doing good, so good.”
“It’s so much,” Antonius moaned, rising up and down faster. Stíofán wondered if his tail was wagging. He hoped it was.
He was so caught up in the pleasure that he didn’t notice for a moment what had happened. Antonius abruptly stopped bouncing, body stiffening. His eyes unfocused, and when Stíofán thrust up, still caught in their pattern, Antonius tipped sideways, falling off Stíofán’s dick and onto the floor.
“Shit!” Stíofán yelped, rolling to his hooves. He reached out to give Antonius a shake.
It only lasted a moment, and Antonius was blinking up at him.
“Ok, that’s the second time you’ve done that. What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, I just—“
“It’s not nothing. You’ve fainted twice in an hour. Tell me what’s happening.”
Antonius looked defiant but then sighed. “I’m an Aquileian Fainting Satyr.”
“A what?”
Antonius huffed. “An Aquileian Fainting Satyr. It’s a common condition amongst the tribes of Aquileia. Well, actually that’s how it’s described, but we don’t really faint, just kind of go stiff and flop over for a moment and then we’re fine.” He shrugged. “It skipped a generation in my family, so when they realised I had it, they figured I’d have a better chance at the Stables. When the Stables realised, they figured I’d make them more money as a prize for a gladiator or a whore. No senator or general wants a bride who topples over at the drop of a hat.”
Stíofán could see the sense in that. Wouldn’t do for a matron to embarrass their alpha during an important meal or at the baths. But well, for Stíofán it was hardly more than an odd novelty.
“That’s really something. I’ve never seen that before.”
“Yes, well, you wouldn’t have much cause to. And it only happens sometimes, when I’m stressed or surprised. But forget it, it’s not a big deal, I’m used to it. Now, where were we?”
“To be honest, it sort of threw me out of the mood,” Stíofán admitted, gesturing to his now flaccid cock. “It was strange to see.”
Antonius sighed. “Well, you’d better get used to it. Happens pretty regularly.”
“Right,” Stíofán offered, still feeling a little bewildered. “Maybe we could wrap your head in padding or something so you don’t keep knocking it on the floor.”
Antonius stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing. “I’m glad you care so much about my charming personality.”
“Well, I don’t know much about you yet, I’d hate to lose the chance.”
That made Antonius’ laughter peter off, face taking on an odd expression. “Really?”
Stíofán nodded. “Yes. I know we can’t be married, not by Rome’s law, but I think of us that way. I’d like for us to be like that.” He felt a little embarrassed now. “I know I said some things when we were coupling, but that’s just talk in the moment. I’d like to get to know you too.”
The doe looked surprised but nodded. “Ok. In which case, maybe you could start by calling me Tony? It’s what my family used to call me.”
Stíofán nodded with a smile which Tony returned. They sat staring for a moment before Tony shivered, and Stíofán realised he was probably not as warm as he’d been. He grabbed the blanket from his pallet and wrapped it around the faun, pleased when it got him a grateful smile.
“So please, tell me about yourself?”
So Tony did. He told Stíofán about growing up in Aquleina. He came from a wealthy, old family in the area, who had hoped to make a strong political marriage of Tony to one of the magistrates, but his condition had made itself known, word had spread quickly, and Tony’s parents had made a choice they thought would best help his future. He didn’t seem to blame them which was odd and Stíofán queried it.
“They didn’t know,” Tony shrugged, ears drooping. “The Stables all but promise matches, you only become a slave if your costs can not be regained in a dowry, which they always advertise outside of Rome as uncommon. When the Stables realised my little problem, they opted to save themselves the sestertii.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Stíofán said, placing his hand over Tony’s, and the doe gave him a weak smile.
“Thanks. I’m sorry you were kidnapped.”
“Yeah me too,” Stíofán said, and they both chuckled, both seemingly taken by the absurdity of it.
It was starting to get late, the sounds of revelry starting in the courtyard as the others celebrated the end of the games with wine and song. Tired, and not wanting to take Tony out for the first time while everyone was in such high spirits, Stíofán suggested they sleep.
He lay down on his pallet, watching as Tony washed his face with water and then curled up alongside him. He figured he would go without a blanket, though a chill was settling in. Instead, Tony flicked the blanket out and covered them both, moving so his back was flush with Stíofán’s. It was warm and intimate, and Stíofán fell asleep quickly.