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____Pandora's Prize_____(OctopusPrince x Xinavee)

Samir had been perfectly silent the whole walk, his eyes down cast appropriately. It was easy, to follow the sound of Arwen's foot steps without looking at him, and he did not want to look at him, the betrayal he felt roiling in his gut. When they were surrounded by Roman lords and ladies, Samir felt the eyes on him easily-- he had been trained to be aware of a longing glance, a stare of interest, and he felt so many eyes on him that it was all he could do not to tense.

This was not the beautiful, long and decorated halls of his homeland-- he was surrounded by the enemy, by those who contently bore the blood of his people on their hands and kept his people's gold in their vaults. Samir followed when Arwen grasped him, but still, defiantly, he refused to look at the other man, even when his touches brought a distinctive comfort, the curve of Arwen's strong hand around his throat, the brush of his thumb across his lips.

'Does he dance?' the question came, and Samir rose his eyes to look at Eros, their gazes meeting blue on grey. The way Eros examined him then was revolting, those eyes sliding down the length of his body that he could see from Arwen's side, then back up to his eyes.

"I hear Persian slaves are all excellent at dance... I want to see if your new pet has any skills." Samir could tell just by how people moved around Eros that he was the patron of the household, and that he was a man that got whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. A petty, spiteful inclination caught Samir's thoughts and he raised his hand to rest against Arwen's check, stroking there for a moment as he spoke directly to Eros.

" I do dance, my lord." He spoke, his accent thick but his words pretty and lilting. He slid his hand up Arwen's chest, not visible to the man who was undressing Samir with his eyes, and his own hand brushed the gladiator's throat, thumb curving along his jaw. He brushed his much softer, thinner fingertips over Arwen's lips, a reciprocation of the gladiator's touch of choice, before he moved around him all together, and Eros seemed to delight in his approach, clapping his hands so that the floor was cleared. A pair of players appeared from what seemed like nowhere to accompany him. He had not noticed it, that they were playing music quietly over the lull of conversation, but just then, as the crowd quieted and eyes fell upon him, their plucking to inform each other of the song to play was the only real noise to be heard.

Samir took up the space on the floor, and settled his weight into his heel, his other leg bent to brush the curve of his foot to his steady, standing ankle. He extended his hands out, fingers along and elegant, and he waited for the music. He would make Arwen regret ever even thinking of giving him up- he would make Arwen long for him with abandon he decided, because damn the gladiator, for even thinking to sell him off in the first place. They were both slaves, yes, and they could be pulled apart in an instant, in fact, the way Eros looked at him, it seemed like a certainty, but Samir would not let Arwen give him up easily. He had won Samir-- how dare he give him up like any other idle treasure.

The music began and Samir's hip cocked to the beat without even an inch of the rest of body moving, the control he had over his pelvis impeccable and rhythmic. Just the hip first, then both hips, his center rolling tantalizingly as he brought his raise foot back and tipped onto it, letting his head fall back and his spine roll, hips still moving easily as he sank back, his hands reaching out slowly to touch the ground before he tossed his weight over them in a slow backward walk over, landing on his feet and giving a beautiful turn, taking another position on one foot and letting his hips move to the music while his arms swayed through the air, curving and shaping around the rhythm as though his body had conjured the music into being rather than the instruments. Romans knew nothing of dance, as far as Samir was aware- their slaves preferring a disjointed, jerking sort of dance with the occasional sensual roll of the body rather than the pulsing, sensual movements that Persians were taught by heart.

Samir did not need to look, to know that all eyes were upon him, he did not need to check to know that the lust of both men and women in the room was palpable. Even the loud, brash gladiator who had a pair of ladies in his lap had quieted to watch, his hands wandering up their sides and thighs as the dance provoked arousal in all three of them. To see a body move so sexually was appealing, even if one did not desire the body dancing specifically, and yet, Samir's fair features, his blend of hyper feminine and gentle masculine could coax just about anyone, and it did.

He turned, he leapt, he rolled, arched and tumbled, and when the music was through, he took up a pose, not even having to breathe hard from the excursion. There was no clapping, Romans did not clap for slaves or appreciate talent the way Persians did, but there was a roar of commentary that Samir ignored. Instead, he turned slowly, and looked Arwen dead in his face, his expression full of defiance.

Will you sell me now, Gladiator? Look at all you will lose.


He was distracted from his defiant look at his desirable master by a touch from Eros, who had left his chaise to come closer. The man, predictably, had gone for his hair, reaching around Samir's head to grasp the length and bring it over closer, fingers tangling in it and tugging, just a little, to pull Samir nearer.

" Very impressive, for a Persian whore." Eros praised backhandedly, reaching his free hand to brush his fingers across Samir's throat and chest, catching the light glaze of sweat on his skin and sucking the salt off of his fingers, hissing a lustful breath through his teeth at the taste.

" You were won in the Coliseum, but I imagine I can get that brute over there to sell you to me for a fair price-- he wouldn't know what to do with you if he was given guided instruction... You're used, and probably a bore, but you're certainly not boring now, are you?" Samir was perfectly still as Eros caught up his face and kissed him, prying his mouth open with his tongue to taste him. This man tasted of wine, of salt and sugar, but Samir wanted to gag, to bite off his invading tongue, to resist. When Eros pulled away, the Roman licked across his lips like he'd found something delicious, and he seemed momentarily distracted, his eyes wandering just over Samir's shoulder.

Samir arched a little as he felt delicate hands slid along his back, nails raking his skin. " Husband," A voice crooned behind him a chin resting on his shoulder and hands finding his hips, sharp nails digging in to the skin in a way that made him hold his breath.

" Calvastia?" Eros answered, Samir forgotten as he looked into the bright, icily blue eyes of his wife who was obviously abusing the slave between them with her nails.

" You'll have to wash your mouth out thoroughly before you kiss me again. This Persian filth will make your tongue taste like dirt." She chided, her tone playful and threatening-- Samir felt like he had a snake coiled on his back, just from the air of her.

" Are you certain of that, my beauty?" Eros asked coyly, and without any concern for Samir, he tipped to kiss her over Samir's shoulder, his hands finding Samir's hips just above hers. Eros' wife playfully refused the kiss with a mellow giggle, the woman's nails nearly drawing blood, while the man's hands teasing with longing touches, and Samir could do nothing but breathe until they both parted from around him, Calvastia catching one of Eros' hands to pull him away from Samir and the crowd. Samir watched, the intention between the two obvious-- it seemed a bit of jealousy had roused Eros' wife to want him... Samir could only hope, quietly within himself, that the same prick of jealousy had struck Arwen, that he too would be dragged away. Even to be punished for the actions of others, would be preferable. Samir would take what Arwen gave, should he strike him, whip him, break him, and bare it in such a fashion that would make him even more worthy of being kept.

He was brought a goblet of wine by a tender eyed slave, who communicated without speaking that she felt sorry that he had to endure such an exchange, and despite his tumultuous thoughts, he smiled at her, nodding a little, before taking a long sip of the drink.

A pair of ladies had taken interest in Arwen while watching the dance, standing near to him and touching him without concern for his interest, Samir's sensuous dance mesmerizing them too in a way that made their hands wander the gladiator's flesh flirtatiously. " What a fine prize you won, Gladiator," one of them purred at him, stroking the muscle of his arm, " With how you fight, it's no surprise you claimed a slave of your own of all things..." The other woman, more bold in her approach, grinned teasingly at Arwen, " I doubt his body yields to your needs the way a woman's can-- it's a shame that you were given a male slave, even if he is rather pretty for a heathen. That hair of his would make such a fine wig, don't you think, Mattia?" The woman who had wrapped her grasp around Arwen's bicep giggled at the idea, " It's so dark though-- I wouldn't want to look sickly with such hair on my head." She complained. Both women continued to laugh at the idea, and then they were distracted, being called over by other women and abandoning Arwen like a toy that had lost its appeal to go over to their friends to gossip, leaving Arwen to himself with Samir's back turned to him, sipping from the goblet and surprisingly left untouched after Eros and his wife had abandoned Samir.
 
Arwen did not force Samir to look at him as they paused at the side of the parlor. It seemed the whole march towards the palace had been tinged with tension. Without Samir, each step back would be a desolate, lonesome journey with only the enemy to surround him.

The light touch of Samir’s hand upon his chest, his lips, only added to the longing sadness, until Samir shifted around Arwen and walked towards Eros. He might have lifted his hand to pull the slave back, but a pain cut through the warrior as Samir walked towards the Lord, wondering if already the slave was looking for a new, more powerful master. There were many among the throng of lords and ladies. Some white bearded and soft, others young and given to frivolity, while still others held more vicious intent. Arwen looked over all of their faces as the dance continued. Anywhere and everywhere other than at his slave. Of course he could dance, Samir held an elegance simply by standing still, in the way he walked and the way he breathed or raked his fingers through his hair.

As though Samir brushed his hands against Arwen’s face and begged him to turn to him, Arwen’s gaze was pulled towards his movements as the music quickened, and Samir flipped and spun, the music growing more intense and suddenly it stopped. And THAT look.

Was he mad?

Arwen blinked, not understanding what it was that could have ruffled that cool elegant grace, but there it was, a note- no, a blatant defiant lift of that fine chin. Didn’t Samir realize he was in this menagerie of condescending counterfeits for him? His determined stride would have taken Arwen quickly to Samir’s side had it not been for the Roman gladiator who blocked his way.

“So, you think you are a gladiator now that you have killed a few men? There is more to ruling the ring than making a few heads roll.”

“I have never said that I was a gladiator, everyone else has.” Arwen responded, shifting to the side to see Eros kissing Samir. A boiling possessiveness rolled deep within Arwen’s gut as the Roman shoved him a bit, to bring Arwen’s attention back to the man.

“I’ll delight in knocking that hubris out of you, foreigner.” The Roman sneered as Arwen moved by only to be caught up by a pair of Ladies who wrapped their fingers about his biceps and cooed at him as though he were some panther in a petting zoo. They giggled and flirted, and insulted in their jealousy of Samir before being distracted and leaving Arwen alone with Samir.

Arwen stepped closer to Samir, not touching him, or even saying a word for a long moment as he simply felt his nearness, the heat of his body against his chest. Still no touch, and yet Arwen’s proximity, the possessive stance he presented, that dangerous glint within the golden eye that seemed to glow like a wild beast towards the men and women that glanced Samir’s way had the guests taking steps away.

“Have you chosen your new master Samir?” Arwen asked, in a low, rumbling voice, for Samir’s ear alone. “Will it be the old man, easily manipulated and easily pleased? Or perhaps the babe in father’s clothes, too new to know he is ridiculous.” Arwen rounded on Samir like a predator with his prey before lashing out to grasp the chain about Samir’s neck and yank the slave against him, “Or will it be the one who dared to touch - my - lips” Arwen’s free thumb brushed against Samir’s lips making it clear it was Eros kiss he spoke of.

“It is not your choice. You are mine, Samir and only I can release you.” Arwen bowed his head as his hand wound deeper within the chain holding his fingers along Samir’s cheekbone and jaw as he whispered so close into Samir’s ear that his lips brushed against the shell of his ear, his lobe and the silk of his hair, “If I am to be cursed to live in this retched place, I curse you as well, Mine, to endure it beside me.”
 
Samir had looked up at Arwen with that same defiant expression, an unimpressed indifference to his accusations of Samir finding a new master, all of which he met with silence until his chains were pulled at and he was tugged closer. Then Arwen was claiming Samir's lips were his, and that he was his, and that he would damn him to his side. Mine, mine, mine. If Samir did not have the sense to be poised, he would've smirked in his victory over the other. Arwen was but a man-- and Samir's little trick to rouse his jealousy, though he had not intended to be kissed or manhandled by the odd couple of Romans that had come upon him, had worked like a charm. He reached his hand up to rest against Arwen's chest, tipping his head so that he might whisper back.

" You are my master. Only you. I danced so that you might know it... What longing others have for me matters not at all, as long as you will long for me. This is a curse I will gladly bare, you have won me, and I will burden myself with all you desire if you will just keep me as your own. Do not sell me to these Romans, I beg you, master." His lips brushed to Arwen's jaw and earlobe while he spoke, finding the words he had wished to say before, now that his feelings had formed. He did not care that eyes might fall upon them in such a moment of intimacy-- he leaned into Arwen to display the gladiator's ownership as well as his own loyalty, and rested his cheek against Arwen's shoulder.

" I am capable of so much more than dance... and I would be blessed more than cursed, to be in the service of a man who also suffers bondage than to be broken and raped at the hands of Romans. And I wish to know your mind, to be a prize worth all you must endure as a warrior to entertain these wretched eyes." His words were incredibly quiet, whispered against the crook of Arwen's neck so only he would hear them. " Please... please keep me... You say this now because I have been kissed and touched by another, but when we return to your home, I will give to you all you ask of me, if you will not change your mind and keep me under your will." He hoped that such passionate words would not earn him Arwen's anger, he had spoken more just then than he had their entire time together, and for that he quieted, pressed submissively against Arwen's chest and pressing small, feather light kisses to his throat as a delicate apology for his defiance, as well as a supplication for Arwen's attention.
 
No anger nor retribution marred the warriors face as he opened his arms and enfolded Samir into his embrace. Another time the defiant look upon the slave’s face, the seeming indifferent glint of his eye might have raised Arwen’s hand, or a whip in punishment, but the truth was, Arwen had warred within his own convictions almost as soon as the decision to sell Samir had crossed his lips. The urge to turn back to the house had been with Arwen throughout the whole walk to the palace. Arwen still wanted to leave the palace as quickly as possible, however, it was less to escape the company of the Romans, and much more to do with wanting to indulge in the company of Samir.

THIS was something more. Completely unexpected and to be honest, unwanted, but now that Arwen had decided to keep Samir, no, not keep, not to house him like a lost pet, but to accept Samir as his own slave, Arwen would not change his mind again. Closing his eyes as he felt the gentle kiss of the slave upon his neck and jaw, Arwen looked down at him as Samir bowed his head upon the bare chest of the warrior, resting his cheek so close to Arwen’s heart.

Lifting his hand to cup Samir’s jaw and turn it up towards him, Arwen would bow his head, the mismatched eyes dancing between the clear pale grey of Samir’s as he parted his lips and nuzzled Samir’s mouth. So light. The touch might have not happened at all, save for the way it left a tingle of heat behind. A waking of nerve endings against Arwen’s mouth that had him licking his lips at the sensation.

“You say your dance was for me, Samir. I take it and say give me ‘MORE.’ I do not mean perfection,” His finger would lift to trace along the delicate plush tiers of Samir’s lips where moments ago Arwen had brushed his own. He wondered if they too sizzled for more, “I only mean all of you. Everything. Bare. Raw. Truth. “

The scarred hand would reach down to cup Samir’s rear as Arwen pulled him tighter against his chest and bowed his head again, this time to bite at Samir’s bottom lip, to nip at the upper one as well, “open for me Samir.”
 
Samir, despite the want for it, was surprised by the physical attention offered to him just then. Arwen did not necessarily seem to carry any sort of shame, but he was rather reserved, and what little Arwen had offered Samir physically had been in total privacy. This was a room full of people, and Samir felt, honestly, like he could melt to the floor and let Arwen have him on his back right then, Romans be damned to watch and lust after what they seemed to share by pure instinct. There was a desperation for trust, for a connection-- and Samir grasped onto it within himself like a vice.

Arwen's lips the first time had made him arch to meet them, had made his insides flutter with warmth. The second contact, if not for all of his training and poise, would have had him buckling into Arwen's hold. He had never had his lips bitten at before, and the slight, poignant sting of it, the firm press of Arwen's mouth, the command to open... Samir obeyed without hesitation. He opened his mouth invitingly and keened, eyes falling closed and hands wandering without need of them. He slid one hand along Arwen's shoulder and neck, cupping the back of his neck and the base of his skull behind the thick of his braids, and his other hand lightly dug nails into Arwen's pectoral, testing the flesh as he tried to take himself up from a puddle of desire and focus on his master.

Now that Arwen had said he would not give him up, Samir could not fall from the precarious tight rope of his favor-- he wanted, more than anything then, to be with Arwen, so he decided in what parts of his mind could think when Arwen's hands and mouth were pulling apart his common sense, that he would take detailed note of all Arwen enjoyed and wanted, and give all he learned within the next moon like he had known it all of his life. He would know Arwen's favorite ways to be touched, when Arwen needed him to speak and when Arwen needed him to be silent, when he took his meals and how he preferred them, what tempted him and what repulsed him. Everything. Every detail Samir could get his hands on he would swallow into himself, and make short work of being all Arwen would need from another human being.

So he focused, he took note of the way Arwen bit him, of the hand firmly grasping his flesh, and considered those details among the others he had recognized-- that Arwen enjoyed his hair, that Arwen enjoyed power over him physically, that Arwen liked his neck adorn with embellishments that could be toyed with or tugged, that Arwen spoke calmly, directly, and yet he roiled with craving beneath the surface. It was beautiful, to focus on service, a comfort... wherever Arwen had come from, where Samir had left behind, none of that would haunt them. This was what they had. Surrounded by enemies, they had each other.
 
The world around them blissfully forgotten in this moment as Samir parted his lips as he was bidden to. A heady swirling dizziness set Arwen’s world to spin as he felt the hand reach around him to cup at the base of his skull. His muscles braced under the nails of the seeking fingers and flicked against the touch. Arwen gasped, as he lifted his tongue to taste Samir’s mouth, briefly touching to licking his upper lip as though it were a rare delicacy.

Tilting his head Arwen closed his mouth over Samir’s, not able to think of anything more than the way the slave felt against him. Sweet ambrosia upon his tongue, Arwen would have thought nothing to take his slave to the floor with him and give into his base needs, those needs that now pressed against his slaves belly even through the thick leather of the war skirt.

A guttural moan rolled from his chest as Arwen rolled hitched his hips, and lifted Samir higher still against him, before reality intruded with a harsh laugh, close beside them. “I see our gladiator is a viral beast, I wonder if he should save it for after our fight.” The Roman Gladiator was slapping Arwen’s shoulder, causing the warrior to break the kiss, the respite from this gathering he so greatly despised, but snatched his hand forward to brace the forearm of the large Gladiator as he would have lifted his free hand to tug at Samir’s dark hair. “Touchy, touchy, you should know it is better to play with your toys least you want others to come and break them.”

The Roman Gladiator grinned at Arwen before his eyes raked over Samir with a lewd warning of intent before letting his hand fall back to his side. “Our guests will want a show before you are allowed to leave, and” His dark eyes dropped down to where Arwen was still visibly aroused and chuckled, “fuck your little Persian whore, unless,” He glanced towards the pair of female nobles who were obviously turned on by the display of affection, “You want to change the theme of this little lunch.”

Shifting so Samir was slightly behind him, Arwen faced the gladiator, “I didn’t come here to fight anyone.” The shift was instinctual, protective even as it also marked Samir as a claimed slave.

“On the contrary,” Eros said, coming out from whatever alcove he had hidden away in. Still adjusting the fabric of his clothes, he strode towards the Roman and Arwen, “That’s exactly why you were brought here, so that your investors might know your strengths and begin to place their bets on how you will succeed or fail in the ring. If you are wanting to be free to wander the city, you will need to prove you are still a valuable resource.”

“Ah! Now it gets interesting!” The large Hispanial said as he smacked the rear of a shy young noble who sat upon his lap. He jumped to his feet as he displayed his muscles for the crowd and parted his arms in a showy manner to clear room. “Come, no weapons. Place your bets!” He added as he laughed and pulled the growling Roman into the middle of the room.

“If there were a way to leave this place, Samir…” Arwen whispered as he turned towards Samir and rested his forehead against the slaves, “I believe this is the only way for now, be watchful, Mine, for those who are less than happy when the other two land their strikes.” The green and gold gaze would keep Samir’s gaze a moment longer, hoping to instill the unspoken desire to be far away and free to explore this new bond. “I will try to make this quick.”
 
Samir had felt a surge of peril that he barely kept down, the emotion crushing the heady arousal that had resulted in Arwen's attention. He had been so distracted by Arwen's focus upon him, that he had only looked to see who had interrupted when Arwen's hand had extended out rapidly to keep the Roman gladiator from touching him. Samir took up the conversation, translating it easily, and if not for Arwen pulling him to be at his back, he would have grasped at the other man as though with his arms wrapped around the gladiator, he could prevent such a battle. Arwen had been brought here to fight? It was obviously Arwen's forced occupation and given the pile of treasures this relationship had been born from, Arwen was a victor-- but in close quarters? Surrounded by Romans that could reach out and intervene, that could blame him if something was broken or someone else was injured? And that Roman Gladiator... he was bad tidings and Samir could feel it coming off of him like an aura. Were these men honorable warriors? What was honor to a Roman? What if they did something untoward?

The Spaniard had proclaimed no weapons- but all around them there were options, particularly a reckless amount of knives for cutting meats and cheeses and parting fruits into halves. His worried thoughts were cleaved as though one of those knives had been taken up upon them by Arwen's words, in the way Arwen gazed at him and pressed their brows. He closed his eyes for a moment, just to savor that rolling, tender wave of safety. 'I will try to make this quick', Arwen had promised, and Samir nodded.

" Be cautious, my master.. Should you find victory here, I shall be your prize again tonight." He promised, in just a whisper, both aware of and moved to desire by the concealed erection he had had pressed against him so temptingly before the Roman Gladiator's interruption. He would not add to his statement, it would be an offense to Arwen's strength to suggest that these two men could defeat his master, but Samir already knew that should Arwen fail, or face injury, he would attend to him both physically and in whatever wound might come to his pride. Samir knew nothing about fighting, so he braced himself for the sight, hoping that some how, the fight would reveal its outcome quickly, with Arwen as the victor of it.

The space at the center of the hall was once again cleared, and as both the Spaniard and the Roman made their way into the space, both peacocking in their own fashions for the guests. It seemed these two, unlike Arwen, embraced their place as gladiators. There was no surprise in that to Samir, the Spaniard seemed to be driven most by the attention of these wealthy creatures that watched hungrily in a new sort of way, and the Roman was well... Roman. Samir could not imagine a man who bore the racial title without some megalomaniac pride laced into it. Samir let Arwen part from him, and his eyes wandered, reading the room. The Romans were truly base-- openly so-- they lusted for sex and blood and dominion over all, and it showed in their eyes as they watched... He knew he had no right to, but Samir despised each set of eyes that set upon Arwen like he was a fine piece of meat, a tasteful beast they'd like to put on a leash. He was distracted from his observations by the sharp nailed fingers of Calvastia gliding across his front, her body weight again pressed against his back. She toyed with his chains-- something that he felt to be a violation when Arwen so preferred such a gesture, and rested her cheek against the side of his head.

" I've convinced my husband for now that you are not worth the dust in this hall... And you're not, do remember that." She sighed against his ear. " Do try not to be so hideously distracting from now on. I'm perfectly happy to let you get mounted by that beast for the rest of your days if you stay out of my way. And you will do that, you ugly thing." Her voice was so strangely sweet even when laced with such venom, and Samir was perfectly still in her grasp, confused by the way she pressed at him, arched to him, pelvis hot against his backside. " If you even so much as look at my husband again, I will cleave what's left of your manhood from your body, and choke you with it. Perhaps it will arouse you, to have a cock in your mouth, even if its your own... you're nothing but an animal, just like the beast who owns you. These simpletons here wouldn't know whether to touch themselves or vomit watching you two have each other, like watching a pair of dogs mate. I frankly find it disgusting that a man of such low blood could have a slave at all. You belong chained to the bed of some old, decrepit Roman who can fuck your hole until you expire."

Samir tensed when her fingers began to wander across his chest, downward. Her behavior was... confusing-- if she despised him so, why did she touch him like this? Her fingers gliding down his to his silks, feeling over the erection that had been left from Arwen's affection. She misunderstood it immediately and laughed at him, kissing his cheek. " You like a bit of degradation do you? How fitting of a whore... Were you mine, and I didn't find your look so repulsive, I'd teach you how to use this to some effect. With that man, you'll never have it plunging into anything warm and wet ever again, if you ever even have." Her fingers were gliding up and down over his cock through his silks and he clenched his jaw to keep from reacting. And then, she stopped, thankfully, sighing and simply lacing her arm around Samir and resting her head on his shoulder like they might be friends rather than what she saw to be competitors.

" Arwen is an impressive fighter. He is an animal, but a predator. I know your feelings well... you don't want him to want anyone but you. Stay that way-- keep him docile and sated with your body... this is the way to rule men, you know. They are sharpest and most eager when they desire something... When he tires of you, it will be a shame. Do make it last while you can, slave, my husband will reap all the benefits of a submissive gladiator if you are a submissive slave." She pulled away with that, gliding through people to go to her husband and Samir fought the urge to shudder. Some of the things she had said he hadn't understood-- her words were elegant and royal, but there was enough to be understood. Stay away from her husband. Obey Arwen. Eros would benefit from it, some how. He turned over that idea in his mind, trying to fill in the blanks of his vocabulary, while he watched the fight begin to unfold.
 
Arwen wanted to be anywhere but here, and although he pulled away from Samir quickly, it was with reluctance that he moved into the ring to be a show piece for the nobles. He was a warrior, not a fighting cock, but forced to be here, he might as well use the opportunity. His gaze scanned the circle, though unlike the other two whom seemed to play into the betting and the crowd, his eyes were scanning the nobles for another purpose, noting the ‘battle field’ and taking stock of what the men and women were saying to each other while deciding on their bets. With a plan in place, Arwen nodded to the others that he was ready.

Sparing, no matter what the others called it, was a chance for Arwen to see just what it was he was up against the next time the call to fight was not just for first blood. These were both seasoned fighters, not prisoners taken from their home lands, and both had their own agendas to remain at the top of their game. Arwen wasn’t going to take that from them, not this time. In fact, to those within the crowd betting upon Arwen would be cursing him as the first few punches fell his way, and although he did not get hit yet, it was clear his movements were sluggish, just barely being missed, and sometimes only saved by a faltering foot, or a lose of balance.

Even as he just barely missed a double hit from the Roman, he missed the opportunity to follow it up with a return hit of his own. Not a single hit from either side had the crowd angry at both Arwen for his clumsy display, and at the other two for having yet produced a blow. The larger of the two began arching his hits in wider, more forceful blows. Arwen remained close to the two, though all the while, moving, watching the way both of them swung, how they moved their feet, where the eye wandered as they became more frustrated, more desperate to declare dominance. The Roman’s glance slipped towards the table of meats and cheeses, as his lip curled, and he flung out “Stop playing, little dog, and fight!”

The err was what Arwen had been waiting for, and from there Arwen fought with the larger of the men, letting smaller hits fall, and tagging a few of his own before Arwen caught the brunt of the Hispaniard’s fist, using the hit to fling himself into the display of cheeses and meats. The table collapsed as Arwen rolled, his hand to his face, seeing stars and hearing the ring in his head as he waited for the Roman to come to him. Arwen’s foot flung out towards a decorative cutting knife, knocking it in the direction of the Roman as he continued to reel from the heavy blow.

Picking up on the grunt of the man before his eyes had time to adjust, Arwen had just enough time to make out the swimming movement of the Roman rushing towards him, the decorative carving knife clutched menacingly in his fist. Arwen leapt over the turned over table at the very last second, bringing his hands up to grip at the back of the Romans head, and bring it smashing down upon the decorative handle.

He fell into the startled crowd behind the table, but already the attention was off the fighting and focused upon the blood. One of the women screamed as the gush splattered upon her dress. Others quickly left the area, while others remained transfixed, mesmerized by the crimson flow, this close to them. The Roman was not dead, though he would need to be tended to immediately, and his right eye would be lost. He would be a liability in the colosseum.

The large Hispaniard received the pouch of gold for achieving first blood from Arwen, though those who backed the warrior began fighting this even before the coins had been handed over. Arwen did not care. With the attention upon the Roman, and the detested gold winnings, Arwen found his way back to Samir’s side and wrapped his arm about him. “I think we are able to leave now without anyone even noticing. Or caring for that matter.”

This turned out not to be true, as Eros lounged near a column by the door. “Well done,” Eros said, a satisfied grin crossing over his too pretty chin, “What a well trained mutt I have at the end of my leash. Next time, don’t let them live will you?” Eros laughed as he lifted a goblet of wine to his lips and tipped up from the column to join the crowd once more.
 
By the time Calvastia had abandoned him, the fight had commenced, and Samir watched intently-- he knew very little about combat, but it was confusing to him, the way Arwen moved. It was unusual and out of balance, like he had had drink before entering the quarrel even though Samir knew he had not. And then, the Hispaniard had struck him, and Samir took a step forward, halting himself.

What was he thinking? The impulse to intervene had been strong enough to move him, and yet-- he was not even a third the size of the men that occupied the battle ring, and nowhere near as strong. He could do nothing, in this moment, to protect Arwen. It was... humiliating, in a way he did not expect to ever feel-- to be a man made to be weak and soft. He could probably slap one of those men with all of his strength and earn himself mocking laughter.

He ached over it, because he had never known the urge to protect like that before, and the powerlessness of it. But then he was distracted from his shame as Arwen seemed to change in nature, tossing the Hispaniard into a table, and then, more violently, dealing the Roman a blow with the hilt of a dagger that sent blood splattering all of the floor and some of the guests. It was incredibly brutal, and Samir felt a surge of sickness at the sight, reminded of all the blood he had seen before he had come to this place. It was a Roman's blood before him, it deserved to be spilled, but the sight of it still stirred unpleasant memories within him.

When Arwen was before him again, it was like a balm on such things-- he was safe, barely injured, and saying they could go home. Thank goodness. He kept close to Arwen, and lowered his gaze when Eros spoke to his master-- it would be better for him all together, if he never looked upon the fine features and dark blue eyes of Eros again, and he was glad to have it that way. Guards moved to escort them on the walk back, and even though Samir wished to speak, to ask Arwen questions about all of this now that he had the thoughts in his grasp, he was silent and paced behind Arwen respectfully the whole walk back.

Only when they were alone, delivered to the atrium, did he speak, and embolded, he reached out to grasp Arwen's wrist, one hand around the joint and the other reaching to stroke along his arm.

" Are you well?" He asked, his concern obvious. It occurred to him that now that they were alone, all of the temptations they had laid before each other could be indulged, but before that, before such selfish and base desires could be considered, he wished to know that Arwen was not injured in a way that needed attending. Did he want to be bathed? To eat? To rest? These things mattered far more.

Samir shifted to be in front of Arwen, and he rested his forehead against Arwen's chest. " Is there anything you have need of? I shall see to it, master." He assured, his hands resting on Arwen's hips.
 
Arwen had missed the interchange between Calvastia and Samir, blissfully unaware of the threats that had gone on around him towards his slave. He wouldn’t have been able to stop their cruelty, but he was also unable to offer comfort because of them. He had, however, witnessed the kiss between his slave and Eros. Fighting the urge to reach a claiming hand upon Samir as they left, Arwen hadn’t bowed his head, nor acknowledged the wealthy man in any way, save to meet the cool blue of his eyes with a fiery glare of his own as he walked out of the palace.

Silently, Arwen lead the way, back through the streets and alley ways towards the place that would be their home, for now. It seemed Samir too, understood that the guards were not friendly, not there to be taken into confidence as he followed quietly behind. For this, Arwen thanked him mentally as he opened the gate towards the house and then closed the door behind them.

Stolid and impenetrable, he had moved towards the atrium of the entry way when Arwen felt the light brush of Samir’s hand upon his wrist, the other softly brushing along his upper arm. It stilled him, the light touch washing over him as though he had laid him down for a message rather than the simple caress. ‘Are you well’ was all that was said, but Arwen lowered his hand to graze his knuckles along Samir’s hip, welcoming him to stand before Arwen. Samir’s head bent towards his chest as Arwen’s hand brushed up along the small of his back as he was asked if there were something he needed.

“The bruise will heal, faster if there is something cool against it tonight, an egg tomorrow.” Arwen let his hand lift to stroke lightly into Samir’s hair as he circled his arms about Samir, curving his broad shoulders and chest to surround the slave all the more into a circle of himself. “Find some food to break our fast, and something to drink, and when we rest within the lounge, be prepared to use your words and speak freely.”

Arwen’s hands were slow to release the slave from his hold, and when he did, he allowed the slave to part from him in his own time, but not far. Rather than finding a place in the lounge to wait, Arwen walked into the kitchen as well, those penetrating eyes watching Samir’s movements as he would go about his tasks, not speaking at this time, only observing. Only when Samir was nearing the end of his task did Arwen turn towards the lounge and take a seat, not upon the chaise as Eros had done, but upon the fur rug near the fire place.
 
Samir had done what was asked of him diligently, not allowing Arwen's eyes upon him to distract him from cutting meats be eaten with fingers, organizing fruit, and cutting thick, plush slices of bread. He took up the platter and followed Arwen, kneeling gracefully and placing the platter between them, before he disappeared only for a moment to the bathing room.

He went through the oils and salves there, smelling them, and found one that would be suitably cooling, before he returned to the lounge room, kneeling near to Arwen's side up on his knees.

" This will help." He explained, putting some of the thick pulp on his fingertips before gently smoothing it over the injury to Arwen's cheek, his touch as careful and gentle as possible because even if Arwen could surely handle it without reacting, Samir did not want to cause him unnecessary pain. He closed up the salve and sat across from Arwen when he'd finished applying the cooling agent to Arwen's skin, patient to wait for Arwen to eat first, and preoccupying himself by pouring them both goblets of the wine that had been stocked in the home with all of the rest of the food. Now was the challenge- speaking to each other freely. He was unsure how, other than in desperation, he'd managed to say as much as he had to Arwen at the banquet, but the questions that were forming in his mind were irritatingly being met with a lack of vocabulary for what he might mean to say.

He decided first, at least simple sentences would be fine. " You fought well. I am... having pleasure, for your safety, my master. I have... some curious thoughts? Some... Questions?" He struggled, " May I ask these of you?"
 
Lustful intentions had been gnawing just below the surface ever since Arwen had set eyes upon Samir. They had been there throughout the night, a companion as he walked the streets and alleyways and evident, pervasive even, as he had begrudgingly tolerated the events at the luncheon. And they sizzled like embers just barely under the restraints now as they settled alone. His eyes had followed Samir at the menial tasks of preparing the food and drink, devouring him with a hunger that was plain to see within the heat of Arwen’s eyes.

Beyond lust, however, Arwen felt the desire to know his slave better. The instinct to mate, to drive away the pain and shackles of reality for a few hours was second only to this unexpected intimacy he had found within Samir. It was new and profound, and he was reluctant to damage it in any way.

Welcoming Samir back to his side, he had reached out to stop Samir when almost immediately he stood up once more, lifting upon his feet to pad away from the comfort of the rug as he walked away. Arwen pulled his hand back from stopping him as he watched Samir leave but the tension in his back and in the set of his jaw only eased once Samir was walking back towards him, jar in hand. As Samir knelt beside him, Arwen’s hand reached behind his thigh to rest lightly, inviting his touch as he gently applied the balm. Arwen did not pull away as his gaze continued to watch Samir’s until the ointment had to be applied to his eyelid and then only briefly.

“Come Samir, eat with me.” He would say as he picked up a bit of meat and bread and brought it to his mouth before lowering his hand once more to pull a melon from the fruit and offer it to Samir. “I fought.” Arwen said, taking off the ‘well’ as an adjective. “It was required of me, and I would say a forced condition. It did offer insight into the others fighting style for the next time I am forced to do so.”

Arwen lifted the goblet to his lips as he watched the beautiful slave sitting across from him. His words were carefully chosen, and he wondered just what was on Samir’s mind. “Yes, you may ask me your questions Samir, so long as you are open to my own queries, such as, were you owned singly or were you part of other slaves? Were you pampered, and if so, will you miss it?” His gaze scanned Samir’s face as he added, “will you be shocked and horrified to know that I intend to collar and mark you as mine?”
 
Samir couldn't help but smile with a touch of humor at the way Arwen asked such questions-- Samir had been given permission to ask things, but before he could even take a turn at it, Arwen had three questions for him, and then four, his attentive eyes giving away his interest. Samir relaxed against the rug, legs curved to the side and one hand supporting his weight while he reached out to eat another piece of fruit, the one Arwen had offered to him he had taken directly from his master's fingers with his lips, a small flirtation and show of submission.

He processed the questions asked to him, and answered them in order. " I was part of a harem," He explained first, " My master had many slaves, like me, and also women. And he had wives, and many children.... Pampered... ah-... cared for?" He asked, to see if he understood the word, " I was pampered, yes. I was... dear. To miss it, is to let part of my insides go bad. I cannot afford it-- all are dead. Wives, children, master, all. It is...." He hesitated, searching his mind, " ... It is very woeful, for me, because my master was kind and good-- but this feeling does not bring back the dead. His spirit suffers, there were no rites, but this is also something... I am of no power to change." He seemed a touch somber, reminded again how limited his abilities were as a slave, as a eunuch, as a man with no real name or power. " It is Rome's nature, to deny everything, even funeral rights. This is shameful to me, that even in the life after, my people are... con-- conquered? by Rome. But as I say to you, my sadness gives nothing to living, so I must release it."

He met Arwen's last question with eye contact, intent, eyes like silver with the fortitude of his intent, " I am not afraid to take you as my master. There is no choice, but I do not need the choice. This collar? I have no fear for this-- it is appropriate, and after such I have seen, it is my hope that such a thing, a collar, will allow eyes to see and know who is my master. To mark- this is... to brand? To pierce? What is the meaning? There will be pain?" He asked, though he did not seem afraid of the idea in the slightest, only asking what he might expect, what the explicit meaning of the word was.
 
Leaning forward upon his lifted knee, Arwen listened to Samir talk. The words he spoke of his old master were poignant and cut Arwen a bit closer than he would have liked. Recollection turning inward as the words of sorrow was spoken honestly and with an all too rawness for the reality of War. The green in his eye grew misty and lost in thought as he glanced towards the fire. “When Rome conquers it leaves nothing behind but the promise to return to reap anything strong enough to suffer and survive it.”

Arwen shook his head a bit at the unbidden memories and reached forward, pairing another bite of meat and bread and bringing it to his mouth before lifting the platter from between them. His gaze lifted to the silver gems across from him as he placed the platter to his right, close enough to reach and yet the symbolism was clear. He wanted nothing between them. Arwen lifted his scarred hand to reach for Samir’s goblet of wine, “Give me the glass. You will share from mine.”

Waiting for the wine to be given to him, he would cup the bowl in the cradle of his fingers as he poured the rest into his own cup and placed the vessel behind and away from them, to be forgotten. “Come, Samir. Lean against me. Rest close enough to hear my breath.” Arwen did not change his position, save to open one arm outward, inviting Samir to come closer. Still the left knee was lifted as his forearm rested upon it. His right leg coiled underneath the raised knee. Looking as though at any moment the warrior that he was might spring into action, and yet here he was relaxed, bidding Samir nearer.

Should Samir come Arwen would make no sudden movements, not hinder his preference of seating in any way save for his free hand lifting, to pull the decorative band of silk from Samir’s hair and run his strong fingers through it. “Yes, should it come to the point where I should mark you as mine, there will be pain. Metal can be cut away from the flesh. Paper and even circumstance can cleave you from me, but if I should mark you it would be a symbol only the true taint of me run through your blood, be felt in your bones, and heat your breath. A mark is such a small price.”

Arwen’s voice had lowered, his words quieter as he looked down at Samir, the back of his hand brushing down over chest and ribs and grazing the dusky circles of Samir’s nipple as he spoke, “but look how I steal your voice, and I had bidden you to speak freely. What are your questions, Mine.”
 
Samir watched Arwen's complex expressions, and upon the knowledge that whatever mark Arwen would give would result in pain, would be bound to him for life, he submitted himself to the idea as gracefully as he had done anything else. He crawled nearer, and leaned sideways against Arwen, resting his head upon the gladiator's shoulder and smiling a touch when Arwen released all of his hair, the weight falling around his neck only to be scooped up in Arwen's palm, toyed with around Arwen's fingers. He pressed his cheek warmly to Arwen's skin, and closed his eyes to savor the touch that came along his chest and side. He brought his own hand up, smoothing over one of Arwen's many scars to trace as though he was painting it on with his fingertip.

" Where are you from? You are not Persian, nor are you Roman... What past has left you, that you are here? If it is not of comfort to be said, than do not say it, but I must consider that no one has asked... if I am to be yours, these things, perhaps, I should know to remember about you." He was very curious about it, did Arwen come from a mighty land? Did he once have a wife, children, and slaves, a household like Samir's own master had? Had they all been cut away as well? He slid his hand to wrap loosely around Arwen's torso, completely relaxed against Arwen as a cat might rest in their owner's lap. He felt a blush of fondness, to be called such a thing, 'Mine'. It was an endearment, as far as he could tell, even in Arwen's more reserved tones-- it was not a replacement for the word slave, but suited to bond Samir even more to his new master.

He turned his head a little, and pressed soft, slow kisses to the protrusion of Arwen's collarbone. " What is your age? Have you traveled far? What might you do, were you not in bondage to Rome? Do you conduct worship to gods or have they lost your loyalty in the hand which they have given to you?" He kissed his way up Arwen's shoulder, up his neck, beneath his jaw, behind his ear, sliding that much closer, and in Arwen's height difference from him, he shifted to reach, wrapping his arms around Arwen's shoulders and letting him take his weight.

He knew he was being distracting-- to answer so many questions while being seduced would be most difficult for anyone, even with Arwen's firm manner and will. " I want to know all things that are within you, that you will allow me, so when this mark is made, blood, breath, heart and mind shall know you in all ways." He whispered into Arwen's ear.
 
Arwen felt himself relax further as Samir crawled towards him and rested against his side. He turned his head towards the slaves as he breathed in his scent and let the long dark hair flow through his hands before glancing down at the way he moved his fingers over the many scar marks. Each one had their own story to tell, and yet they blended together so often, only a few stood out among the others now. His skin tingled to the light touch of Samir’s fingertip and he glanced down, mesmerized by the way his finger traced his skin, leaving such a trail of sensation behind each silvery gruesome mark.

“I come from a city called Nebt in Egypt, nearer to Thebes than to Alexandria. It was once strong and powerful and still holds a wealth for Egypt in its belly. My family worked the mines and smelt the metals.” Arwen glanced towards the stack of boxed gold and art, recalling those early years. “We were called to serve the army, to defend the fields and mines from the Roman conquerors, a war that never seemed to cease, and even when eventually Rome … claimed… power we had to fight to not have everything reaped from us, just to survive.”

Samir had turned slightly, touching his mouth against Arwen’s skin, his collarbone as he relaxed again from his thoughts. The light feathering kisses would calm him, and excite Arwen all at once as he tucked his hand under Samir’s rear, pulling him all the closer against him, letting him lean upon him completely. He did not hinder Samir’s explorations as his scarred hand would flow over Samir’s back, up towards his shoulder blades and then back down to the center of his spine to where the small of his back dipped lower into the silk.

“I have lived for 37 years, fourteen of them have been entirely upon the battlefield. Ancient to be leading men into war. Far up the Nile I have traveled, and across the sea, and back again and through the Berber lands. “ Arwen turned his head as he let his mouth move over Samir’s neck, to nip his ear as he teased his own and racked his fingers against the soft smooth skin to press Samir further against him as he sighed a low groan, “Setekh.”

It was said with such a blissful release, that it might have been a curse, or a praise. Arwen’s leg that had tucked up under the other, now shifted under Samir before this knee lifted as well, essentially lifting Samir into his lap before he leaned back on one hand, pulling Samir’s center of gravity further onto Arwen’s half reclined torso. The scarred hand supported both of their weight, as the other remained tucked up under Samir’s rear, keeping him pressed tightly against Arwen as his hips rolled and stroked against Samir’s. Flames from the fires could not compare with the heat sparked with in Arwen’s gaze, “How can I deny the bliss of finding such a treasure among so much chaos.” His hand would lift enough to grip into Samir’s hair and pull his mouth back to his own for a passionate kiss.”
 
Samir took in each answer with just as much attention as all of Arwen's reactions, all of his touches and breaths. It was something he knew well, that people spoke with their bodies with just as much as intent as they did with their words, and while Samir could certainly tell he was distracting Arwen, he also had the sense to recognize that it was a good, needed distraction from the painful reminiscence of the past. To spend so much time at war, only to come to this place, under the heel of the Romans... Samir felt a swell of sadness for his master, to have so much of his life in a struggle that Rome brought to all great nations, it's bloody, damning shadow looming so far that it most likely spilled over the edge of the earth.

As Arwen moved him, Samir followed his body with ease, straddling Arwen's lap and leaning his weight comfortably against Arwen, having no doubt that the gladiator could sustain them both in such a position. He tipped himself up to look down upon Arwen, silvery eyes peering through dark hair as a gentle smile curled on his lips. He noticed it, the questions that Arwen avoided and took no offense. It would take time, and he prayed just then, and would pray more properly perhaps in the morning, that he would have plenty of time to talk more, to hear Arwen speak of things both painful and pleasant, to know his feelings of the gods, and his aspirations, even if he was bound by shackles of servitude to Rome, a place that would not allow him more than this gilded cage, than more elaborate falsehoods. He reached a hand up to push his hair back from his face, letting all of it spill to one side, and when Arwen pulled him down to kiss, he was not idle, for this he knew how to do well and wanted to do with an almost aching desperation. If Arwen proclaimed him a treasure among chaos, he would be just that for Arwen's sake. He parted his lips, and tasted of Arwen's mouth, tongues gliding over each other in examination, lips tipping to slot together perfectly.

He felt Arwen's hips roll beneath him, and he arched, sliding his pelvis back before rolling it, nothing between them both leather and silk, but with that in the way, the pressure was only tantalizing rather than gratifying. He poured a sweet sound into Arwen's mouth, and allowed one of his hands to roam over Arwen's side, along his shoulder and up the powerful curve of muscle to his neck, once more cupping the back of his head while they kissed. He sighed breath through his nose, unwilling to part his lips from Arwen's save to pull at lips or tease, the corners of his lips peeking into a smile when they were not pulled open by the kiss.

It would be so easy, he understood, to compare this enormous man beneath him to a beast- even his breaths seemed to swell large and full like that of a bull. But there was so much more there, and Samir could practically taste it in his kiss. He certainly could see it in those incongruous eyes. There was intellect, quiet but steadfast passion, experience and maturity... It was a fault on the part of the Romans, to take men such as this and only put them to sport. This was the unattractive folly of men like Eros, to only be tempted by the body, by flesh and blood. That was what made a beast a beast, to have no concern with thought or feeling. What Samir wanted, was the man beneath him, flesh and blood, yes, but if he could but pull all there was in his mind from his lips by kissing, he would kiss him until bruising, until desperate need of breath, until the end of himself.

" My master..." He keened against Arwen's lips, their hips having formed a slow, winding rhythm that sent breath shivering out from him, half moaned, quiet as though not even the walls in the room were allowed to hear it. It was for Arwen alone, to hear him in such bliss, and it was for him alone, to give Arwen reason to sigh, to swoon, for this man showed more of himself in kissing and touching like this than he had since they'd met. Samir did not know the details of this man, but he could read his body, his reactions, the firmness of his touches, and in that, Samir tipped up to show Arwen what he most desired.

Samir's eyes took on a lustful gleam, long eyelashes batting as he reached to his throat, stroking his fingers temptingly along the golden chains there, before coiling them in his fingers and slipping them off, not letting his eyes wander from Arwen's as he dropped them carelessly to the side. He reached for his silks next, and unwound them from his hips, lifting gracefully to pull them away from himself to expose his flesh in completion, the firelight lapping at perfect, smooth skin and revealing his arousal. He reached for the buckle that kept Arwen's shoulder bound in the Roman pauldron and unfastened it, slowly, sweetly and with such fine touches that should the metal be sentient to the touch it would melt in his hands. He pushed the thing away from them, and finally dipped, pressing open mouthed kisses to the exposed shoulder and across his master's chest, teasing budded nipples with tongue and delicately with teeth, lapping over crevices from scars and curves made from the powerful build of his muscles.

Had he not been so comfortably, pleasantly saddled over Arwen's hips, he would have removed the leather skirt between them too, but like Arwen had in all things, Samir imagined that when the urge came, like a predator to strike Arwen would make quick work of it, of rolling them, of moving Samir just where he desired him. He took advantage of the time between now and then to give Arwen his most obvious desires in the form of touch. Trust, adoration, to be desired. With each kiss across the gladiator's war wrought skin, Samir let Arwen feel those things, that he had no fear for his master, that he longed for him, and most of all, that he was prepared in all ways to give himself over to Arwen.
 
Arwen kissed. How he kissed. The passion whirled within him, filling to overflowing at the lips of this slave, whom he barely knew and yet Arwen did not think he was alone in feeling that connection with, a long, otherworldly bond, that he might have known Samir in another body, another life, another time. Samir pulled him, with the breath of his mouth, with his quiet words and accepting demeanor, he was exquisite. Perfection. Arwen would fall willingly into that abyss of reality. Let it fall away, let it melt to nothing with the fire and heat of his touches.

Muscles bunched and worked under the exploring hand. His shoulder rolling under the pads of Samir’s fingers until Arwen could feel the palm cup about the back of his neck. It only served to entice Arwen further, to relay in touch Samir’s desire to maintain this intimate contact. It wasn’t just Arwen. Even as the thin barriers between their synchronized hips would hint at future, more intense delights, it was this intimate invocation that retained the warriors attentions.

Parting his mouth to deepen the kiss, Arwen gave in to the desire to simply feel Samir upon his breath, within his lungs, to stroke his tongue within the maw of this warm embrace. A tremble permeated through out his body as the sweet flavor of Samir infused into his system. His pebbled tongue charging a magnetic current of desire as it curled along the texture of Samir’s mouth. Arwen might have remained like this, happily exploring the fascinating complexities of this kiss, and he would have. His mouth following Samir’s as he pulled away, and only halted by the only words that he would have listened to, ‘my Master,’

“Yes.” It was a statement. A acknowledgment of fact. Arwen left his other hand join the first, behind him, bracing his fingers into fists to keep from gripping the slave too tight or too quickly, wanting to watch the Samir as he slowly undressed, even as he needed simply rip into him. Arwen breathed, taking the moment as Samir turned his head gracefully to the side as he tossed way first the chain and then the silk to let the gold and green eyes move over the soft and sensual body. He certainly had quickly found that Arwen had liked the his neck and the play of the chains as he teased the warrior with it as he tossed them away. Arwen wondered at the turn of his face as he pulled the silks from his body, but speculation drifted to the winds as Samir leaned back against him, letting his mouth move over Arwen’s neck and shoulder.

Once more, his muscles rolled for him, lifting and coiling at the gentle loving touches and caresses at his shoulder and collar bone. His breath hitching as Samir touched his mouth to the smooth nipple at his pec and across the light hair of his chest. A strangled gasp at the profound intimacy he felt as the curious tongue would dip into the welt of a scar. Perhaps it was the damaged nerve endings that had moved him so, but whatever it was, it moved Arwen to release the grip he held upon the fur rug underneath them as he brought his hand back up, sitting straighter as Arwen sank his fingers into the dark hair, tugging Samir back up as he kissed him once more, his eyes closing before opening again, to see that desire that was so present in the silvery eyes.

“My turn.” He said as Arwen would press Samir back slightly, to lean against his knees, now both lifted to support Samir as he explored. Long fingers would curve around Samir’s neck, lightly holding him before dragging down along his chest, letting his fingers play over nipples, his thumb strumming to see if they would respond to his touch before letting his hand move lower still along ribs, along a stomach, to turn long fingers downwards along abdomen and then to V his fingers on either side of the slaves erection. “I have never been with a eunuch,” The long fingers would stroke along the pubis on either side of his parted thighs, coiling as he let his fingers pet back up and then down once more. Arwen watched, face and his hand, mesmerized and aroused, and yet held in check, “Does it cause you pain?” Pulling his hand away, one exploring finger would tip up under the erection to glide the calloused finger over nerves and soft skin.

Arwen sighed as his hips would buck them both higher for a moment, the roll of his pelvis against Samir’s bare backside, would have Arwen clutching Samir hips for just a moment as he felt a wave of pleasure course through his body, causing a chorus of goose flesh to rise. “Will it hurt to cum, Samir.”
 
Samir had obliged Arwen's change in position, relaxing back against the man's powerful legs and arching into all of his touches. His nipples had perked responsively to Arwen's touch, and he let out a sweet sigh at the contact-- the resonance of both power and desire from Arwen's fingertips felt like flame lapping at his skin, and despite that he yearned to be set ablaze by Arwen's wishes. Anything. He'd give anything. When Arwen's hand wandered low, Samir watched his master's face, his own lips slightly parted and his eyelashes batting slowly as he let Arwen touch him with obvious experimentation. He was not to much different from any other man-- there was only his shaft, the skin that would hold his testicles and the organs themselves cut away long, long ago. It was with an unexpected question that Samir was distracted from the pleasure of Arwen touching him, and first his expression was one of surprise, and then one of deep fondness.

"No, my Master. It will be very pleasing." He assured, gliding one of his hands along Arwen's cheek in a momentary show of affection. This man had no reason to worry about his pain, to consider the differences of their bodies and wonder if it would be uncomfortable for Samir to reach climax. It was... intimately thoughtful, and when Samir thought there would be no room in his heart left for him to wish for Arwen, he wanted him all the more.

He pressed his hips to meet Arwen's when he bucked upward, the leather still aggravatingly in the way. If not for that, Samir would contently slather one of his palms in saliva, slick the so far hidden fullness of Arwen's manhood, and would take all of him into himself. It was a bold desire that he held himself back from-- it was for Arwen to decide, how far this would go between them, and Samir wished to give him as much pleasure as he wished for and then some, not to simply satisfy his own craving for their closeness. He tipped his head, his hair spilling over one shoulder and he arched, reaching his hands back to stroke along Arwen's outer thighs and up underneath the battle attire he had been forced to wear for the earlier event, dragging his nails slowly along the powerful flesh.

" Your touch and kiss is wonderful to me, my Master... I would not lie to you, to say that they are the best I have ever known." He complimented, because this was not the usual interaction of a slave and master-- it seemed Arwen was pointedly concerned with Samir's enjoyment, and Samir knew why. This man was not interested in taking him for his own gain, he wished for the gratification of successfully claiming Samir through pleasure, not through abuse. Samir could not thank the gods enough, for such a kindness.
 
Set apart from many of his peers, Arwen had never found enjoyment out of tormenting slaves. Strict maybe, harsh at times, but not one to deal out punishment for no reason what so ever. He claimed few for himself in his life time, but those who were claimed were held tightly to him. “I would have you be honest with me in all things, to be as an open lotus, bare and vulnerable. Better to know that my touches are mundane, or a command is unpleasing than to find you dishonest, though I will warn you to save your sentiments to the sanctity of solitude. I am among my enemies, and I would have them know nothing of me, including what they might garnish from observing you.”

It seemed the touches and intimacy of their position had set the warrior at ease to speak, and now that he had begun, he continued, closing his eyes as he felt the mesh of their pelvises and hips grind together, too separated still for the pleasure they both wanted. His hand would lower to the buckle, but rather than ripping the war skirt from him, he would let his fingers deliberately release the tie from its hold. His large hand tightened the cinch and flick the prong away as the leather catch slowly released, the sound of leather against the metal buckle loud in the quiet room. “You will represent me, and in all things you will show respect and honor and grace…”

Samir had shifted, his hand tucked up to rake his nails along Arwen’s thigh, and for a moment, he forgot what it was he was talking about. Arwen closed his eyes as his breath escaped in a pant as he parted his thighs slightly, making room for the erection hidden underneath the gladiator’s skirt still. He was aching, and he gritted his teeth as he snarled and pressed his heels down, wanting to buck, to fuck. When he opened his eyes once more it was with a fiery glint within his golden eye, spoke of the passion blazing just under the surface of his slipping control.

In one quick movement, Arwen shifted, from leaning back in repose, to pressing forward. One hand would support Samir as Arwen spread his knees, and tucked them under him, pushing Samir to his back, with the warrior braced over him. The free, scarred hand had pulled the gladiators skirt free from himself, flinging it across the room, forgotten, as the hand moved between them.

He did not immediately move to take Samir however, instead, his hand shifted the thick steely shaft up against Samir’s own, grinding his pelvis and abdomen down as he rocked and against Samir. The crown of the long shaft was already weeping, making the movement slick as he felt the slaves cock against his own. Arwen’s hand had shifted up between them, gripping the slaves jaw to make sure he was looking at Arwen as he ground and stroked against him, “I need to see your face, Samir, when I take you tonight,” Arwen said, “because it is not only your honesty and loyalty that is mine. Every emotion, every desire.”

Arwen dipped down to kiss Samir once more, his lips sipping at the slave’s soft tiers as though they might give him wine, “Every gasp of your breath, it is mine too. Do not hold back from me Samir.” Arwen slanted his head, covering Samir’s mouth with his own, to plunder the mouth, to stroke and moan into it his own pleasure, as he blindly sought out the slave’s hand, and gripped his wrist within the vice grip of his own, bringing it between them, “Feel us here,” Arwen was panting, sweating with desire and the effort to keep himself in check. He would look down between them watching the hand he held there until he opened his palm to entwine Samir’s fingers within his own, holding the two shafts he pumped once and then twice, “Ahh, Samir, but if only I had the patience to explore you slowly this night,” Arwen’s breath was coming faster as he gasped and grunted with pint up desire.
 
Samir had considered Arwen's words thoughtfully, that he would represent him, that he ought to be honest, even when it came to commands. The idea was so novel it struck him in its unusualness, but he had no time at all to response before he was tipped back, laid against the rug beneath them with his legs parted around Arwen's hips. He smiled, pleasant, as Arwen tossed the battle skirt away, ignoring the sound it made as all of it clattered on the floor. His hair pooled around his head, and when he felt Arwen's manhood against him, rocking to press against his skin, he felt a desire rouse in him that was overwhelming. He panted as well, arching and tipping his head back until Arwen had hold of his jaw, eyes meeting, silver, gold and green colliding with the same blazing heat. Arwen's proclamations were more akin to a husband than a master, and there was a husband's command in all of them-- Samir felt, instinctively, the desire to obey.

" Yes Master," He moaned, the sound drawn out of him and cut short by a gasp when Arwen grasped his wrist and brought their hands together around their lengths. He was thinner in girth than Arwen, but not ill equipped, though that was hardly a concern with the position he had held before all of this. He was never meant to penetrate anyone. He stroked as Arwen did, grasping, the slickness Arwen's cock had dripped between them making each pull send a quiver through Samir. Samir licked across his lips only to pant openly, arching again and rocking his hips up to meet Arwen's, his heels digging into the small of the gladiator's back and met with strong, working muscle.

When Arwen lamented over not wishing to take his time, Samir smiled again, the expression seemingly rare and so far only drawn from Arwen's actions and remarks. " There will be other nights, my Master, many, for you to take of me however you see fit." His tone was flirtatious with promise, and he extended his other arm out above his head, clattering with the platter and food before he found the small pitcher of olive oil upon the tray. He had brought it for their bread, but it would serve a much more delicious purpose than that. He brought it between them and tipped it, oil pouring messily over their fingers and dripping down between Samir's thighs. He buckled, the added slickness giving so much more pleasure, and he squeezed at them both, his hand gripping and his thighs gripping too.

He set the pitcher aside, careful not to spill it because they would need more of it, and dragged his slippery fingers along Arwen's shoulder, grasping at him and causing a glint across his skin, the path of his fingers revealed by the oil catching the light. He could not imagine what Arwen had in store for him, how it would feel to have such a thick, powerful length inside of him when all he had known was the fickle member of an older man. What could all of those muscles do to him, those hands, the teeth and tongue? He suddenly felt all caution fall to the wind, swallowed whole by desire.

" Please, Master." He panted, desperation touching his tone, " Please take all of me. Have your fill of me. I beg this from you."
 
Arwen might never look at bread the same way again. He had no idea what Samir had been doing as he extended his hand upwards. Arwen’s focus had been intent upon his slaves desires, upon watching the way his eyelids drooped over the silvery crescent moons, how his tongue peeked out from his mouth to lick delectable lips, only to try them out once more with the quick succession of panted breaths. Samir was sensual and desirable. Arwen would be in danger of falling too fond of this gift.

He already was. Hadn’t he already become possessive. Jealous even when other men had dared to touch Samir with lust. He was a being seduction and it would be wise of Arwen to remember the danger of falling too hard. Oh, but he had. ‘Don’t think on it. Not tonight,’ Arwen thought to himself.

And then the oil poured about him, about them. The instant carnal lust was a shock to his system as Arwen’s muscles clenched about Samir, one hand bracing against the floor as the other lifted Samir clear from the floor as Arwen braced the slave against him. “Did you think of this when you brought the oil?” To think that Samir had this very thought in his head, even when he was preparing their meal, perhaps even before that. It was enough to make him stupid. Powerful thighs, slender hips, and impressive abs all worked together as the warrior felt the slickness of their shafts glide together.

Never one to allow pride, or greed, or rage to get in the way of his thinking, Arwen found himself utterly lost, his mind spinning out of control but for one purpose. One need. It’s drive cast out all else, and he writhed as he ground himself against Samir as the slender hands squeezed and gripped about Arwen’s thick long shaft. “I must have you now, Samir,” Arwen growled as he crashed them to the floor, the weight of his body crushing over the smaller man as Arwen gripped Samir’s chin and took his mouth bit his lips as he kissed Samir with a slipping controlled passion before rearing on his knees. Dominating hands would grip Samir’s thighs as Arwen parted him further. The scarred hand would dip to squeeze their shafts together, to stroke downwards before squeezing all the way up, holding them both as he milked their lengths, pulling from them the slick glistening oil before dipping further still under Arwen’s grinding, lifting balls, to circle and lathered the tight star opening.

“um, Samir,” Arwen closed his eyes as he felt himself buck so hard against Samir in anticipation it rocked them both upon the rug, “Mine, It may hurt.” Arwen reached back letting the slickened shaft drag along the slaves own as he pulled himself further away with a moaning protest at even this necessary separation, “Mmmna, I’ll try-“ He panted as both hands gripped the slaves rear cheeks, and hips holding him steady. Arwen’s head whipped backwards at the very first erotic plunge and grip of his bulbous crown before Arwen snapped his head forwards once more, needing to see the silvery eyes in this.

“Mine..” Arwen panted on his captured breath, “Samir.” The gold and green gaze would not be pulled away again, not as sunk deeper and then deeper, feeling himself thicken and throb within the tight embrace. As slowly as he could he would ease his girth deeper, but already Arwen was feeling the need to pump to plunder this treasure of his without regard to safety or comfort.
 
Samir keened at the pleasure between them, gasping to be grasped so tightly, to be handled with such ease. Arwen's power was so foreign, and yet, Samir could tell that he had power in this moment in a different way, the way his master spoke, the way he moaned out half sentences informing Samir that all he had done had had the exact effect he desired. He did not answer the question asked to him, he hadn't had a chance to before he was struck with the discomfort of a great deal of stretching, shivering out a breath before focusing on that all together, breathing in and out, enduring the change with thankfulness that Arwen was moving slowly for him. He had his hands against Arwen's chest, nails digging into the muscle as he forced himself to relax, to let Arwen inside of him.

The oil helped, of course, but he had never felt so much at once, and Arwen filled him with such completeness that he could feel his pulse inside of him, feel Arwen's heart racing in the place where they were connected at last. His thighs impulsively clenched around the gladiator's hips, but it did not take long in his arousal, to let his body submit to pleasure, hips rolling minutely to let Arwen know that he could move, that Samir wanted more of his passion. He pulled his master in for another kiss, wrapping his arms around him in hopes to keep him close.

" It does not hurt me," He whispered against Arwen's lips, " I am yours to take." It felt like a release in itself, to give himself over to all Arwen might want from him, to end such a stressful day in his arms, to know that though the day had begun with Arwen thinking to give him up, now Samir could see in his eyes that the intention would likely never strike him a second time. He arched beneath Arwen and moaned mellowly, tipping his head back into the carpet, in the pleasure that was quickly overtaking him. He dug his nails into Arwen's back, and held onto him without restraint, letting go of all thought and reason and letting himself drown in bliss.
 
Arwen felt the grip upon his chest as nails dug in, could feel the tight way he stretched Samir further and he dug his own hands deeper into the slaves’ hips, unconsciously. He was holding himself back, making sure the transition from separate, to united was not traumatizing, but it was trying. To feel the breath and beat of another’s heart. To feel the pulse of himself, and not within his own hand and not on unwanted terms.

Arwen had been holding himself aloft, nearly still as he eased deeper until Samir had shifted slightly, welcomed Arwen to move and then lifted to kiss Arwen again. He had wrapped the warrior within his thighs and pulled him to the soft lips. Assuring Arwen, the Master, that it was alright. Samir kissed him, and Arwen shuttered, folding his arms around Samir in an embrace as he shoved deeper, the last few inches so powerfully plunged to leave no space for separation.

It was the acceptance that had undone him, and as he ground against Samir, his mouth would devour those lips. A single tear welled and traced down Arwen’s cheek as he tilted his head and nuzzled and tasted the neck and chest exposed for him in the moments of pleasure. Samir couldn’t know, wouldn’t be able to perceive the well of emotions building up in Arwen. The day had been harsh, but only on top of a weeks of torment, of months of loss.

Lifting on his hands as the need to move mounted, he felt the rhythm sink in place. How long had it been? Hadn’t he forgotten it yet? But here it was alive, the tempo quick and brought to life by this slave that asked nothing of Arwen, only to be his. “Ohh, Samir. I take what you give me. It is held and cherished.”

Faster now, the beat ripping Arwen’s breath from him as he felt himself hasten, the need to … No. He wouldn’t rush. Arwen leaned back, rolling his hips in a swirling motion, deep, rolling his balls against Samir as they lifted dew deep within the slave. His hands rushing over Samir’s body, letting his long fingers fold around ribs and sides, messaging his abdomen and belly button. His hands slicked with oil, now folded and pet up Samir’s cock, letting it lay flat against Arwen’s abdomen as he moved and quickened his rolling hips to a slapping smack.

“Ohh! Samir!” Arwen called, falling forward, his strong hands bracing on either side of Samir as the bucking became harder still. Forceful. Powerful slams that moved them both as Arwen’s whole body began to tighten, every muscle driven towards that one purpose. Not to cum -or rather- it was only the tool for the deeper need. To gather his swirling emotions, all of them there, raw, real and alive in that moment. All able to flow, to release, to be cleansed if only for a short while. “Open Mine, take all of me.”
 
Samir arched from the floor at the changing pace, at the feeling of Arwen's hands upon him and the brilliantly new pleasure of such a lover. He had never known this in his life, and for all of his talents for remaining composed in moments of sexual pleasure, in this he could feel himself coming undone. Nothing had ever felt so good, as this. He panted, and moaned openly, Arwen's thrusts pushing his voice and breath out of him and he reached above his head once more to grasp hard at the carpet, both for leverage and to keep himself from sliding away from Arwen's thrusts, desperate to feel the impact of each press fully.

" Master-- master," He begged, his legs locked around Arwen's hips and his free hand grasping at the crook of Arwen's neck. The heat between their bodies began to mist Samir's skin with sweat, and all of his muscles worked to keep Arwen in and close, to do as he was asked and take all Arwen would give him. He could not find himself surprised that in this moment, there was something so tender about the way Arwen touched him, and while Samir had not noticed the tear that had streaked Arwen's cheek, he could practically feel it in the air, Arwen's emotions radiating off of his skin. " I am yours, I am all yours, my master. Only yours. Oh... Oh gods," He whispered breathlessly, his mind lost to his pleasure.
 
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