The weeks that followed passed in a shimmering haze of heat and pleasure, the days burning under the eye of an ever-watchful sun, the nights ablaze with the friction of bodies grinding together, finding each other again and again, exploring their newfound closeness. Alexander kept Clark with him for most of his waking hours, teaching him his duties as a personal servant, and it became a rule rather than an exception that the young slave would sleep in his master’s bed until morning. It had been years since Alexander had encouraged that kind of intimacy with anyone, but the fact was that he enjoyed the boy’s company - far more than he’d expected to.
Clark was a fast learner, and an eager one, not only where his carnal obligations were concerned, but in everything. The boy must have spent all those years working in the fields with a growing suspicion that he was capable of being something better, something more, and, now that the chance had presented itself, he was falling over himself to make the most of it. He approached each new thing with curiosity, with a hunger for information and understanding which spoke of a first class mind too long starved of stimuli for growth. The poetry and philosophy Alexander had the boy read aloud to him as well as the business letters he had him take down from dictation were all treated with intense interest, and more often than not Clark would ask questions which led to extensive discussions. The boy might speak perfect Latin, but he wasn’t Roman, and often the aspects of an issue that confused him were the ones that seemed most self-explanatory to Alexander himself. Talking to him opened new perspectives, and Alexander had discovered that he looked forward to their afternoons in the library as much as to their nights in the bedroom. There was no doubt that he had done the right thing when he’d decided to bring Clark into his home.
There were still many things Clark had left to learn, though; things that Alexander was convinced he would enjoy teaching. The Greek language was one of them, as were sword-fighting and archery, as well as horseback riding. Clark had spent his childhood in the forests of Germania, and said he couldn’t remember seeing a horse more than a handful of times before the day when the Romans came to demand surrender. He was naturally cautious of the animals, and Alexander had no intention of pushing him on the matter. The boy’s life was changing at what must be an alarming pace; there would be plenty of time for that lesson further down the road.
Which was why this morning, like practically every other, found him heading down to the stables alone. The heat of late had been merciless, and he preferred to go riding while the sun was still low in the sky – by the time it reached its zenith, he wanted to be back in the relative cool of his library. Even this early, though, the walk through the garden was enough to make him break into a sweat, drops of moisture trickling down his scalp to pool at the base of his skull. It was past time for a change in the weather.
And it was past time for him to return to Rome. He had enjoyed his break from the affairs of state, but his presence would be required in the Senate before long, and he needed to be there in person for the next stage in his campaign against Creticus. He would take Clark with him to the city, of course, but he couldn’t help wondering if the attraction wouldn’t fade with the change of scenery. Perhaps when all was said and done, his fascination with this particular slave boy was only a passing whim, something that would vanish with the summer heat. He didn’t think so, but part of him hoped this would be the case. Much as he enjoyed it, there was something unsettling about the strength of his attachment.
The double doors to the stable were standing open when he reached them, had probably done so all night to let cool air into the stalls. Or Marcus, the new stable boy, had opened them when he came to water the animals and saddle the mount Alexander had requested for his ride. The young man was proving an excellent choice for the position, quickly winning the animals’ trust and never failing in his duties. He would have to remember to compliment Quintus on his good judgment.
Harmodios, the young stallion Alexander had ridden the day he met Clark in the vineyard, stood tethered in the aisle, ropes running from his bridle to metal rings in the stall walls on either side. He was freshly groomed – dark coat clean and glistening, combed mane half-obscuring the star on his forehead – but not yet saddled. Marcus was nowhere to be seen.
Alexander walked over to the horse and ran his hand down its neck, felt the muscles shift under its silken hide as it bent its head to poke its nose into its master’s stomach. A friendly push, and he smiled fondly at the gesture, his free hand coming up to scratch the stallion's cheek along the leather strap of the bridle. His eyes idly swept the back of the stable – the broad, empty aisle with its worn flagstones, the closed stalls where the other horses were munching on their morning hay, undisturbed by his familiar presence.
"Looks like we’re on our own this morning, Harmodios," he said. "I don’t suppose you know where Marcus has run off to?"
A low rustle behind him, and he knew something was wrong, felt it in his bones a second too late. A second before a sharp blade pressed against his throat and stopped him from turning around.
"I’m afraid Marcus is a bit tied up at the moment. You’ll have to make do with me, master."
Perhaps it was the setting, but he recognized the voice immediately, despite the apparent impossibility of the man being there.
"Gaius. You don’t want to do this."
The edge of the knife pressed harder against his skin and a rough hand gripped his left wrist, yanked it behind his back and held it there. Pain shot up the length of his arm, settled as a fierce ache where his shoulder-joint was forced to bend at the wrong angle. Harmodios, sensing the danger, began to back away as far as the ropes would let him, eyes glazed over with fear.
"That’s where you’re wrong," Gaius said. "I do want to do this; I’ve wanted to do it since the day you sent me to be whipped and beaten in the mines over that soft boy of yours, over some pretty little barbarian who’ll be out on his ear the minute you lose interest. I’d want to do this even if I weren’t paid for it."
So, this was personal. Personal was good. It meant Gaius wanted to vent his anger, wanted to mock and humiliate Alexander before slashing his throat. And as long as Alexander could keep him talking, there might be a moment’s loss of concentration that would allow him to get away. A professional assassin would have killed him instantly, leaving no room for escape. Though, on the other hand, a professional assassin wouldn’t have been able to catch him off-guard in his own home the way a former stable boy could. Someone had put a lot of thought into this.
Alexander’s mouth was dry with anxiety, his pulse throbbing in his ears, but he tried to keep his voice calm, his tone reasonable. The more composed he sounded, the more control he would have.
"I hope whoever is paying you is being very generous, Gaius. Because if you make it out of here, you’re going to spend the rest of your life in hiding. You’d better be certain the price is worth it."
A large body pressed against his back as Gaius leaned closer to speak into his ear, a cloying smell of sweat and hay filling his nostrils, making his stomach turn.
"The price, since you’re so curious, is freedom. When you’re dead and buried, I’ll be a free man with enough money in my purse to start a new life far from here. And that makes the man who’s paying me a hell of a lot more generous than you, doesn’t it? Because you’ve never freed a slave in your life, have you, Senator? No room for that in your little power games."
"I’m generous to those who deserve it, Gaius. You could earn that generosity again if you would only take a moment to consider what’s happening here. You’re being used. You have a known grudge against me; who’s to prove you’re not doing this on your own? You’re being set up to take the fall, while whoever’s behind this will go free no matter what happens. You don’t owe that man any loyalty. Tell me his name and I’ll let you walk out of here."
Vicious twist of his wrist, and he was glad Gaius couldn’t see his face, because the pain was getting harder to bite back. When he swallowed, he could feel the blade rise and fall with the movement of his throat.
"Always so smooth," Gaius said, "thinking you can talk yourself out of anything. But not this time, master. I’m not falling for your fake..."
"Master? Master, are you...?"
Clark’s voice, the sound of Clark entering the stable and stopping short in the doorway. For a fraction of a second, Gaius’s focus wavered, the knife breaking contact with Alexander’s jugular as the slave turned his head to look at the newcomer. It was the moment Alexander had been waiting for.
With all the force he could muster, he drove his right elbow into Gaius’s stomach, making him stagger backwards with a sharp grunt. Alexander’s wrist was still caught in the other man’s grip, but he spun to his left, away from the blade, ignoring the tearing pull on his arm. The turn gave him momentum, and he used it to swing at Gaius’s head, forcing him to let go of Alexander to block the blow. Behind him now, Harmodios neighed in panic and reared up on his hind-legs, flight reflex restrained by the ropes.
"Master!" Clark cried, rushing forward to help, but in the same instant Gaius lunged at Alexander, wielding the knife, and they were falling in a tangle of limbs, the air knocked out of Alexander’s lungs as he landed hard on his back, hands clutching Gaius’s forearms to keep the blade from his body. A moment of struggle, the two of them rolling on the ground without sense of direction, fighting for the upper hand. Then he heard Harmodios neighing again, directly above his head, and in the split second it took him to realize what was happening, the world descended into chaos.
They were lying beneath the rearing horse, and even if Harmodios hadn’t been scared out of his wits, there was nowhere for his front legs to go but down. Crushing pain as a hoof connected with the small of his back, followed by clatter of metal on stone as Gaius screamed and dropped the knife. Alexander’s hands were free then, but with Gaius half on top of him, all he could do was try to cover his head as the blows fell and fell and fell.
Then strong hands were gripping his shoulders, hauling him out from under the horse, out of harm's way. Clark, of course, solid and steady behind him, pulling him to his feet, and Alexander clutched at the boy’s body for support, hanging limp in his arms for a moment before he found the strength to stand. Through the violent roar of blood in his ears, he heard the repeated sound of cracking bone and focused his gaze to see Gaius’s body tossed like a rag-doll between the horse’s hooves, head flopping back and forth on a boneless neck.
Clark moved to pull him out, too, but Alexander held him back, a gentle hand on his elbow. He couldn’t stand seeing the boy go near the panicked horse again.
"Don’t," he said, surprised at the calm in his own voice. "He’s already dead."
Clark nodded, but said nothing, an expression of shock and horror on his face. Alexander took a deep breath and tried to slow his heartbeat, stepping forward to bring the horse under control. It wasn’t until Harmodios was safely in his stall and Clark had gone for help that he allowed himself to tremble.
Alexander didn't doubt for a moment who was behind the attempt on his life, but it was well into the night before the pieces of the puzzle came together. As soon as he had collected himself and calmed the confusion that broke out among his slaves and employees when they learned what had happened, he had sent messengers to Rome and Tavia to discover how it had come about. The reply from the director of the mines, which clarified much but proved nothing, reached him while he was having his supper on the terrace behind the villa, and it was there that Clark found him an hour later, pacing the marble steps that led into the garden, contemplating his course of action. Heavy clouds had gathered during the evening, obscuring the moon and stars, but a torch was burning by the open door to the study, and in its light Alexander could see the concern on the boy's face as he approached.
"Master," he said, "is there anything I can do for you? It's long past midnight, and you've been out here for hours."
Alexander's mouth twisted in a dry smile.
"I'm keeping everyone up, hm? Please, tell Antonius to send the house slaves off to bed. I won't require anymore assistance till morning."
Clark lowered his eyes, long lashes fluttering nervously as he avoided his master's gaze.
"Um... I already told him that, master. I said if you wanted anything, I would be here. I'm sorry if that was wrong of me."
A wave of warmth swept through Alexander's heart, mingled with a fond amusement.
"Not at all. That's the kind of initiative I would expect from my personal servant." The thick, humid air had curled the boy's hair into perfect ringlets where it nestled against his throat, and Alexander raised his hand in an unconscious urge to feel them, fingers cupping Clark's neck, thumb stroking the soft strands behind his ear. "You should get some rest yourself. It's been a long day."
The look Clark shot him came very close to reproach.
"With respect, master, but I'm not the one who was nearly killed today." Gently, Clark lifted Alexander's hand away from his neck, held it between them where he could inspect it, careful fingers ghosting across the bruise left by Gaius's grip. "Are you sure you're all right? Gods, when you went under that horse... You looked so small and fragile and I was certain..."
Alexander took a step forward, fighting back the shiver in his spine, and put a finger to Clark's lips, silencing him.
"I'm here, Clark. Bruised and battered, yes, but I've known worse. I didn't break."
Clark opened his mouth to speak again, but before he had the chance, Alexander had replaced his finger with his lips, pushing his tongue inside the boy's mouth. Clark gasped and pulled him closer, hands tight around his upper arms. Solid and alive, and Alexander held on to him, chasing reassurance for them both in the sharp intensity of clashing tongues, of bodies grinding together.
The first drops of rain barely registered on the sweat-slick skin of his scalp, but then the sky opened in a deafening clap of thunder that made them both start, and water poured into their upturned faces, streamed down their cheeks, down towards the necklines of their tunics. Clark grinned and spread his arms, palms open as if to embrace the elements. In the stark glare of the next lightning-flash, he looked wild and untamable, beautiful beyond words.
Alexander grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up the terrace steps, into the shelter of the colonnade. His heart was beating fast, expanding with sudden joy and a fierce, nameless desperation, driving him on as he pushed Clark up against the nearest column, mouth finding his throat, hands roaming the plains of his chest. In the back of his mind, bone was splintering beneath the force of a horse's hooves, but in his arms was this boy, this amazing creature who cared that he was safe. He didn't know how he could ever stop touching him.
A jolt of pleasure as Clark arched against him, their cocks pressing together through layers of fabric, and then the boy was begging, ragged pleas breathed against the planes of his scalp.
"Please, master... Please!"
No specific request, but Alexander knew anyway, knew from the way Clark moved against him what it was he needed most, and sweet Venus, how he intended to comply.
With a quick motion, he spun the boy around, shoved him face first against the column. He was perhaps a bit rougher than he'd intended, but Clark moaned and let out a long, eager "Yes!" pushing his ass back against Alexander's crotch as he braced his arms against the marble. Demanding, even as he dropped his head on his hands in a gesture vibrant with submission - a tamed tiger, filled with grace and power even in captivity.
Alexander ran his hand down the boy's flank, the bare skin of his arm flashing a ghostly white with the lightning, then fading into shadow.
"Don't move," he commanded, and despite the disappointed whimper leaving his lips, Clark stayed put when Alexander let go of him and crossed the terrace to the table that held the remains of his supper. A bottle of olive oil there, and he poured some of it into his palm, lifted his tunic and rubbed it over his cock. The already hard member swelled further under his touch, and he allowed himself a few slow strokes, savoring the frictionless glide of skin on lubricated skin. His balls, when he touched them, were heavy with need.
Clark was panting when Alexander returned to him, trembling when his tunic was pulled up and the skirt tucked into his belt to keep it out of the way. The boy parted his legs eagerly, sighing when Alexander slipped his still oil-slicked hand between the cheeks of his ass, caressing his opening. But when Alexander began to push a finger inside, Clark tensed, shaking his head.
"No," he said. "Please, I... Please, just take me. I want to...feel you. Please, master?"
So much desperation in that plea, and Alexander couldn't deny him, not when the thought of it made his own cock jump, his entire body quiver with lust.
"Yes," he said, his clean hand brushing pearls of rain from Clark's hair. "It's yours."
The boy's breathing was shallow and fast when Alexander pushed into him, his fingers digging into the fluting of the column. Almost unbearably tight without preparation, but it seemed he really did want this, because slowly, steadily, he opened up, until Alexander was buried all the way inside him. So intimate that he could feel the boy's pulse throb around his cock, and when he began to thrust, Clark threw his head back and moaned. An inarticulate keening at first, but then there were words, the same ones repeated over and over again.
Raw, breathless need in his voice, and Alexander gave him what he wanted, fucked him so hard it nearly hurt, driving into him with every ounce of strength he possessed, bottoming out on every thrust, squeezing Clark's hips until he knew there would be bruises. And still the boy begged for more.
Years before, when he had still been young enough to do it without loss of dignity, Alexander had tried being on the receiving end of relations with another man. He had never enjoyed it. Even many of the slaves he'd bedded himself had only been able to embrace the act after careful training, always seeing it as a duty more than a pleasure. Clark was a different thing altogether. He seemed to be made for this, never more lost in ecstasy than when he had Alexander deep within him, willing and eager to be filled over and over and over again. The born pleasure slave.
This was new, though, this insistent wish to be treated roughly, and while it made the blood in Alexander's veins catch fire with a fierce, possessive desire, it didn't feel quite like the boy he'd come to know. Then, as Alexander shifted his angle and fucked him faster, hitting that magic place inside with a reckless rhythm that made Clark shudder from head to toe, the boy's chant changed.
"Yes, master... Gods... Please. Please make it real."
He knew then, recognized the near frantic fear in the boy's voice for what it was. And though it took every last shred of self-control he had in him, he stilled his thrusts.
A sobbing noise of frustration from somewhere in the back of Clark's throat, and he tried to move his hips, tried to urge his master on with the grinding of his body. But Alexander wrapped his arms around him, held him steady until all motion subsided. Stillness, then, his chest pressed against the boy's back, his cock sheathed fully inside him. Dark curls brushed against his face, filling his nostrils with a lingering scent of sunlight and the warm, fresh smell of summer rain. In the distance, through the sound of their breathing, he could hear the rumbling of departing thunder.
"This is real," he said. "I'm here, Clark, whole and alive. You saved me, and you're not going to lose me."
The objective part of his mind knew that was a lie - of course Clark was going to lose him, as all his lovers did - but as he said it, it felt achingly, shatteringly true. He ran his hand over Clark's chest, across his stomach, down to his straining erection, stroking it with a firm, tender touch.
"You won't lose me," he said again, catching his breath as the tension drained from Clark's body and the boy turned loose and receptive in his arms. He began moving again, then - long, slow thrusts that matched the rhythm of his hand; a deep, exquisite fuck that felt as though it could go on forever, every breath and heartbeat magnified by the ebb and flow of pleasure, undeniable as life itself. When the climax came, it wasn't in a flash of lightning, but with the breathless kiss of raindrops on heated earth.
"How is Marcus doing?" Alexander asked, absently running his fingers through Clark's hair. He was sitting on a marble bench on the terrace, leaning his back against the wall of the house. Clark was curled on the ground beside him, resting his head on his master's thigh. The thunder had died away, but the rain was still falling, a soft whisper among the leaves of the garden.
"As well as can be expected for someone who spent a whole night bound and gagged on the floor of the saddle-chamber. Actually," Clark added with a snort of laughter, "he's making the most of it. His story gets more exciting every time he tells it, and there's no shortage of young girls who want to listen to it. He'll be all right." A few beats of silence, and then the boy continued. "Master, when I went down to check on him, I saw Quintus and a few of the men loading Gaius's body on a cart. Where were they taking him?"
Alexander felt his lips curl in a predator's grin.
"Let's just say that Senator Creticus will find a very clear message on his doorstep when he gets up tomorrow morning."
Clark raised his head and looked at him, unmistakable signs of shock on his face.
"You're dumping Gaius's body on his doorstep to make a point?"
"He needs to understand that he's not going to win this. This particular lesson should be hard to forget."
"Gaius was a bastard and I'll never forgive him for trying to kill you, but he was still a human being. If I could, I would have saved him, too."
Alexander brushed his thumb along the sharp line of Clark's cheekbone, smiling softly at the restrained disapproval in the boy's voice.
"Of course you would have; that's the kind of person you are. But I have a game to play, and if I let something as abstract as respect for the dead hold me back, I'm doomed to lose. Politics is a game without rules, Clark."
Clark nodded and let his head sink back against Alexander's leg. He obviously wasn't convinced of his master's point of view, but he knew better than to argue. It was rare enough that he dared to voice a dissenting opinion in the first place; somehow it felt like a relief that he did.
"So you're sure that Creticus was behind this?" he asked.
"Yes," Alexander said. "The director of the Tavia mines tells me Creticus was there last week, touring the place with a view to invest. The very next day, Gaius escaped. That doesn't prove anything, of course, but given what Gaius said before he died, it doesn't leave any room for doubt in my mind. Creticus must have heard me talk about selling Gaius to the mines at Claudius's party and seen an opportunity to get rid of me without implicating himself."
"But why did Gaius agree to it? He could have just kept running. If he had, he'd still be alive."
"As I understand it, Creticus promised him the documents to prove he was a free man, and enough money to start a new life somewhere in the provinces."
"All right," Clark said. "That makes sense."
"...you've never freed a slave in your life, have you, Senator?"
Gaius's words hadn't meant anything to Alexander when he’d heard them, but now the thought of them sent an odd shiver up his spine.
"Clark," he said, "if you had your freedom, would you return to Germania?"
The boy was silent for a moment, apparently thinking the question through.
"No," he said at last. "There's nothing left for me there to go back to. I...I don't think of it as home anymore."
He didn't say it out loud, but the way he pressed his cheek against his master's thigh suggested that perhaps he had found another place to call home. That, perhaps, he didn't want to go anywhere at all.
"Good," Alexander said. "I'm glad you've left your barbarian life behind you. That means you're ready for Rome herself. We'll start packing tomorrow."
"Yes, master."
He could hear the boy's smile in his voice, and he didn't try to check the answering twist of his own lips. After all, there was no one there to see it but the rain.
