Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9128743.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      ジョジョの奇妙な冒険_|_JoJo_no_Kimyou_na_Bouken_|_JoJo's_Bizarre_Adventure
  Relationship:
      Santana/Wamuu_|_Wham
  Character:
      Wamuu_|_Wham, Santana_(Jojo), and_kars_and_esidisi_but_they're_irrelevant
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Gladiators, Alternate_Universe_-_Ancient_Rome,
      Underage_Sex, Blood_and_Violence
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-31 Words: 4876
****** A Generous Award ******
by Arrestzelle
Summary
     Wham emerges as the victorious gladiator from a duel. He's awarded
     with a red-headed male concubine.
Notes
     A Christmas gift fic for Layne!! I love you, you big gay!! I hope you
     like this nasty filth.
     This is inspired by a conversation Layne and I had, and by this
     painting. Wham is the type of gladiator pictured in the painting--
     a Murmillo gladiator.
     Also, catamite means a young boy (not prepubescent) kept for sexual
     purposes. It's brought up later in fic.
See the end of the work for more notes
It is all white noise. The shouting of the crowd, the screaming of the man
under his foot, the intense beating of drums. His harsh breathing is somehow
more pronounced in the confinement of his_golden_helmet, muffling every sound
and joining the rushing of blood in his ears.
Blood drips in a long rope from his bottom lip to land on his collarbone. His
wide foot remains planted on the twitching man sprawled across the bloodied
dirt of the arena. Finally, the white noise fades and every sound, every yell,
every shrill call of a trumpet and beat of a drum blends into one blaring
headache. Wham licks his lips, lapping up oozing blood that smears across his
chin. His head throbs, but that also may be because one of the Retiarii
gladiators smashed him in the ear with the hilt of his dagger when his golden
helmet was knocked off.
Either way, his blinking becomes heavy but he still steadies himself, focuses,
on the crowd and on the Emperor who sat among rich fabrics and under tall
pillars with a pleased expression on his sharp face. The crowd is booing, and
as he gazes across all of the people, he sees all thumbs pointed down. He
trains his gaze on the emperor again. His wild mane of curly plum locks
surround him like a waterfall, clashing beautifully with the deep purple and
swirling gold decorations of the_toga_picta_he_wore.
Lazily, he lifts an encouraging hand, and then reaches for his goblet of wine.
Dropping his gaze to his whimpering prey, Wham removes his foot with a click of
his shinguard armor and readjusts his grip on his gladius. He isn't one to care
about theatrics, but he knows Emperor Kars enjoys a brutal show. So he grabs
fallen gladiator by his hair, yanks him up and then with his other hand,
thrusts his short sword into his throat and with a hard tug, carves it down to
his heart.
The gladiator dies with a few weak, bloody gurgles, a spray of blood decorating
the front of Wham's helmet. Some droplets of it make it past the holes in his
helmet to taint his tattooed face as well. He holds the man up for a moment
longer, earning gasps and shouts from the crowd and a swell of noise from the
musicians, before throwing the body to the blood-caked ground. Cheers begin to
ring throughout the arena as Wham glances around to find himself the last
standing gladiator.
Glancing back towards Emperor Kars, their gazes meet. A slow grin spreads
across Emperor Kars' beautiful face, expressing his pleasure in his display.
Wham lets the crowd feed on his appearance a moment longer, before turning and
striding his way out of the body-littered battleground towards one of the gated
entrances. The men on the other side begin to open the gate with creaks of the
metal and the stressing of ropes. He steps inside and they slam it shut behind
him. The cheering follows him as he stomps through the dimly lit hall under the
seating of the arena, making his way towards the room with many benches where
he undressed and equipped his armor for the duel.
Inside, he finds his tunic still draped on one of the benches. He removes his
armor, sets it aside on the bench, and then carefully takes off his helmet.
Once he undresses, he leaves behind the armor for the next man. Then he
approaches the water trough once meant for cattle. He takes a rag, soaks it,
and then wipes at his bloody face and body. Blood and water drips off his limbs
to build at his feet, once he deems himself clean enough, he drapes the rag on
the side of the trough, runs his wet hands through his wavy blonde locks, and
then goes to get dressed in his tunic and sandals.
The walk through the underbelly of the arena towards the exit is quiet and
dark. He passes men along the way, some shouting and some congratulating him.
Once he steps outside, the sun is bright and takes him off-guard. He raises a
hand to shield it as he steps out onto the stone path.
Immediately he hears the call of his name from many voices and squints past the
sun to see five women, middle class based on their clothing, run up to him with
smiles on their faces. They all sing him praises, falling over each other to
earn a glance from those intense green eyes. One dares to touch him lightly on
his muscular bicep, and that's when he politely, gruffly, thanks them for their
congratulations and then strides out of range and into the crowd of people.
He has to make it to where the ceremony is being held, with his reward of food
and coin, unless he sought a strict scolding due to disrespecting his trainer's
wish for his attendance. The hum of footsteps and talking voices all blend into
a mess of noise until he reaches the den at the other end of the city, swarming
with people and laughter.
Ducking his head down (though pointless considering he is nearly seven feet
tall), he hopes to go undiscovered until he's actually within the building. He
is successful, though he is stopped as soon as he steps through the entrance
into the gathering of people.
A hand is placed on his bicep and a woman speaks to him with batting eyelashes
and a coy smile. She's beautiful, but Wham can't hear her past the clamoring
and he explains by pointing at his ear and shrugging. She laughs, pats his arm,
and then he nods and keeps walking. She probably wanted to go to a quiet place
with him but frankly, fuck that. He's soon greeted by people offering him
tasseled bags of coins and pats on the back, speaking him in slurred Latin that
he barely catches past the laughter and conversation.
He tucks the rewards into his tunic and then turns to the long table of food.
Approaching, he first grabs a jug of water, chugs a quarter of it, and then
takes one of the clay bowls to begin filling it. Stuffing dried fruit into his
mouth, he steps away from the table and glances around to see his trainer
sitting at a table occupied by other people he does not recognize. He makes
sure to achieve eye contact, earning a broad grin from his white-haired
trainer, to announce his presence, before he meanders his way to a gathering of
fabrics and pillows he can sit upon. It's in the far end of the den as well,
out of view. Perfect. He is not in the mood to deal with flirting women.
 
Unfortunately, he is noticed, quite often.
Women, as expected, cling to him and boldly offer him a night together, which
he tries his best to reject without hurting their feelings, or his own
reputation. He's survives for two hours and then he deems that a long enough
stay.
After speaking to his arrogant trainer who pats him on the back proudly and
praises him in that deep, raspy voice that always slightly unsettled Wham, the
blonde departs.
He steps outside of the noisy den, but then he comes to a pause, spotting two
Roman soldiers making their way towards the entrance of the den across the
stone path. Only when they're closer does he come to realize another person is
among them: a woman, it seemed, with wild auburn hair. She wore a simple white
toga. Wham spotted the distinct blue tattoo under her left eye before the Roman
soldiers suddenly addressed him with a firm, “Are you Wham, the gladiator from
this evening?”
Glancing up to meet their gaze, he arches a brow. He nods.
“Emperor Kars has given you a gift,” the other soldier states, before grabbing
at the woman's shoulder and shoving her closer to Wham. She stumbles slightly,
but seems to be used to it considering she catches her footing so easily. The
solider goes on.
“He wishes you a pleasant night.”
Wham furrows his brow, watching them as they then turn and begin their trek
back to their post, armor clinking as they go. He isn't surprised Emperor Kars
has done this. Every time Wham comes out the victor (which is frequent), he
makes sure to deliver a statement of gratitude. It concerns Wham; he would
rather not have the special treatment. It paints a target on him. Either way.
He turns his gaze to the woman. She looks at him calmly, her blue eyes tense.
“My name is Santana,” she speaks, but then it becomes clear to Wham that it is
actually a man, based on his voice, “I am here for your desires tonight. Shall
we find our room within the den?”
“Why would Emperor Kars assume I prefer a catamite?”
“I hadn't gained the chance to inquire,” Santana says, arching a thick brow.
“Though, if you refuse my service, I will stay with you so I won't be punished.
Whichever you prefer.”
Wham crosses his muscular arms and eyes the other man up and down—no, boy. This
is a boy. Seemingly barely of age. His voice isn't deep—but it isn't light,
either. His cheek bones and eyes are sharp, but his nose and chin are soft and
delicate. His lips plump, but pressed in a firm frown. Wham finds him more
alluring and enticing than all the women who have offered themselves to him
this night.
“It seems Emperor Kars made a wise decision.”
“Not interested in women, are you?” Santana asks with a slight smirk.
Bratty. Wham likes that.
“For tonight.”
Wham offers a broad hand. Santana dips his soft hand into his palm. Closing his
calloused fingers around it, Wham then presses a polite kiss to the back of his
hand, surely giving him more respect than he deserves. But Wham has come to
think any person giving theirself to him deserves respect, no matter their
reputation and class. He guides Santana back into the den, among laughing
people and dwindling wine. Esidisi spots him and grins broadly, the crossing
tattoo on his face wrinkling from it. Wham notices, but ignores. He takes
Santana through the back hall, stepping over abandoned quilts and drunken
people along the way.
The only hanging cloth that has no laughter, conversation, or graphic sounds
behind it is the last one. Wham suspects it was ordered to remain clear for
this purpose, otherwise it surely would've been occupied. Once they're well
within the room, Wham releases the boy's hand and turns to face him. Without
bashfulness, Santana reaches up to begin unfolding his toga. Letting the soft,
white fabric fall from his slender body—exposing his chest and pink nipples,
his hourglass shape, his fair, pale thighs.
He's lacking undergarments, but Wham isn't surprised by that. A pretty tuft of
curly red hair sits above his flaccid cock. So, Wham comes to the conclusion,
he has at least gone through puberty. Good, he prefers that.
Santana's beautiful skin is soft under his touch when he sets his warm, big
hands on his sides. Wham lets out a deep breath and steps closer, catching the
scent of the oils on Santana's skin. Santana's intense sapphire eyes are drawn
up, meeting his gaze. His cheeks are already flushing, Wham notices. He's so
charming, even for a boy his age. Wham slides a hand up from Santana's side,
spreading his blunt fingers out across fair skin much unlike his own. His skin
is rough, tan, scarred. Santana's is light, soft, innocent.
Wham feels a heat soar in his gut from simply touching him like this. His cock
stiffens under his tunic and he's barely begun. Shuddering, Santana closes his
eyes and tilts his head slightly back, his long locks sweeping down his back.
Wham cups his delicate chin and jaw with one hand and leans in to firmly plant
his plump lips against Santana's.
Their kiss remains closed, with slow purses and gentle overlapping. Wham can
tell the boy isn't skilled in this. He assumes most men won't kiss a concubine
of Santana's class. Wham bites softly at his bottom lip before drawing back.
Gazing down at the boy, Wham admires the glistening saliva on his open lips, on
his chin. The flushed pink in his cheeks and the sudden endearing shyness in
his blue eyes.
“Usually a man I service doesn't give me anticipation,” Santana admits in a
murmur, looking away. Wham smiles faintly, amused.
“Do I give you anticipation?”
“Yes,” Santana states, meeting his gaze again with a slight furrow in his brow.
Wham says nothing, only holds Santana's boyish face with a softer look in his
stoney jade eyes. Santana glances to the bed. Wham notices, but knows Santana
can't make any requests, so he instead answers his unspoken question and takes
his hand to guide him to the quilted bed.
“Lay down for me,” Wham says, releasing his hand. Santana obeys. He lays back
among the tassel pillows, propped up on his elbows with his wild locks strewn
around under him. Wham undresses, kicks off his sandals, and then climbs onto
the bed, on his knees over the boy. Santana swallows hard, staring at Wham's
massive cock that is at half-mast—not quite fully erect. Santana plans to solve
that despite feeling intimidated.
When Wham scoots closer to him, Santana meets his gaze fleetingly before he
sits up and leans in to kiss Wham on his abs. He cups his slender hands around
Wham's broad sides, eyes closing as he kisses softly down to his thick blonde
pubic hair. He feels a hand in his messy locks. Santana nuzzles into his curly
pubes, inhaling the thick scent of him.
Leaning back, he cups a hand under the weight of his fat cock and angles it up.
Admiring the thick pink head, he wonders how he'll even work around this thing.
Santana only hesitates a moment longer before leaning in to lick a long stripe
up the underside, tasting him and feeling the heat of his cock. He locks eyes
with Wham while rubbing his tongue back and forth across the head, gripping the
base of it as he did. Wham exhales deeply and threads his fingers through
Santana's unruly hair.
Santana takes it into his mouth, but it's difficult. His lips stretch around
the head and it's hard not to graze Wham with his teeth. Furrowing his brow, he
sucks and moves his mouth a little bit, though he begins to drool and his jaw
already aches. Wham grunts and then says in a sympathetic murmur, “That's
enough. Let me touch you instead.”
Santana reluctantly pulls back, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and
glistening lips. Without a word, he just silently lays back again. Wham gets
down on his belly, surprising the boy, and cups his hands under his backside to
lift his hips up. Gasping, Santana grabs onto the quilts under them, his eyes
wide. Wham lowers his head to take Santana's half-hard cock into his mouth.
“Oh!” Santana gasps, his ass tensing in Wham's hands. Wham finds himself
enjoying using his mouth on Santana. He hardens in his mouth, and even fully
erect he is still somewhat small. Santana wiggles under him, gasping and
arching his back and curling his toes. Watching Wham with wide eyes, he gazes
at his closed eyes and his red geometrical tattoo, his plump lips around his
flushed shaft, his blonde locks that fall past his broad shoulders to tickle
Santana's skin.
“Oh... I... I don't know how much longer I will—ah! L-Last!” Santana begins to
say, but then cries out when Wham hollows his cheeks and sucks tightly as he
slowly bobbed his head up and down. His slender body shakes involuntarily in
Wham's hands, his head craned back into the quilts, his long locks strewn
about.
Wham keeps going and going and going, up and down, until Santana whines and he
feels a few weak spurts of semen fill his mouth. Santana moans, melting into
the bed. Wham sucks softly for a moment longer before slowly drawing off,
easily swallowing down what Santana left behind with no shame.
Seeing the boy laying there, head weakly turned to the side with his eyes
lidded and mouth fallen open... Wham's cock aches and he reaches down to grip
it. Giving it a few strokes, he gazes down at him with intense emerald eyes,
his lust flaring, giving him the burning desire to penetrate the boy under him.
“Do you want me, now?” Santana whispers, looking up at him with a bashful
expression on his pretty face. Wham nods, thick brows furrowing as he tightened
his grip on the base of his cock, withstanding the urge to touch himself
further. Santana sluggishly rises. He leans over and brushes aside the quilts
draped over the edge of the bed to reveal a bowl resting on the ground between
the wall and the bed, previously hidden. Wham nearly laughs.
“So this room was meant to be vacant.”
“Emperor Kars wouldn't have me service you in your cell, would he?” Santana
muses coyly, peeking back at him past his shoulder as he grabs the bowl. Wham
hums.
“I suppose not.”
Then Santana sits back up, hesitates a moment, looking down at it.
“You are rather large,” Santana begins reluctantly, panning his gaze back up to
meet Wham's, “Your fingers might be better suited to prepare me. But of course,
it is whatever you wish. I can do it myself if you prefer.”
“No. Let me,” Wham insists, rather liking the thought of Santana squirming on
his fingers. He takes the bowl, scooping some of the oil up. He sets it aside,
for now. Nudging open Santana's toned legs, he eyes up the sight of his cute,
soft cock resting among curls of red. Bringing his wet hand down, he rubs his
blunt fingertips against the boy's pink hole and then eases in his forefinger.
Santana sucks in a breath and tenses up.
To relax him, Wham runs his warm hand up over his belly, to his chest. He
strokes and caresses his body with a big hand until Santana melts into the bed
and exhales slowly. Watching the boy's face intently, Wham gently pushes his
thick forefinger entirely into him, but that doesn't seem to bother the
redhead. So he begins to move it, watching Santana closely as he did.
For the most part, he seems unaffected save for the flush in his cheeks and the
furrow in his brow. Wham repeats the motion, a back and forth, many more times
before he nudges in his middle finger. Santana's hips twitch at that but he
makes no complaint. Wham supposes he has done this many times before, and maybe
even some times without it at all.
When Wham begins to pump his two thick fingers at a rougher pace, Santana's
mouth falls open slightly and his thighs spread further apart. Wham wants to
praise him. So, he gropes at the boy's chest and pink nipple, earning a shy
glance from sapphire eyes, and then runs his hot touch down to his heaving
tummy to play with his cute pubic hair.
“Another,” Santana urges. Wham nods and silently obeys, his firm gaze fixed
intently on Santana's face as he pushed in a third finger. Santana gritting his
teeth and narrowing his eyes indicates that is all he'll be comfortable with,
for now. Wham knows he will need to take much more than this to accommodate his
girth.
He slowly pushes them in and out, a deep back and forth. Seeing Santana's pink
hole stretched around his broad fingers has Wham setting his jaw. Wham is
consumed with the lust to take the boy, but his reluctance to hurt him keeps
him on a short leash.
“You'll need to take more to be ready for me,” Wham begins in a gravelly
murmur, “May I add a fourth? I wish not to hurt you.”
Santana exhales deeply and nods a little, pressing his lips together. Wham rubs
his hand back and forth over Santana's thigh, wrapping his fingers around it
and squeezing. He then reaches out to take some more oil from the bowl to wipe
it over his pinky and his fingers, for the addition to be easier.
When he slowly works in his fourth finger, Santana's hips rise up slightly in
pain and he grunts with a whimper following it. Wham cups his free hand over
the boy's balls and small length, rubbing a thumb over his smooth balls as he
gently moved his fingers back and forth inside him. Santana pants and grabs
fistfuls of the quilts, face tense. Wham frowns.
“Should I stop?”
“No—! I-I'm alright. I'm just not accustomed to this many... fingers,” Santana
grunts, sinking back into the blankets with a heavy flush spreading over his
face. Wham says nothing, only continues to gently move his fingers back and
forth. Despite Santana's blatant discomfort, Wham is still very much aroused by
the boy's flustered appearance and the sight of his thick fingers buried deep
in his body. His lust wins the battle of patience.
The give is easier so he deems it good enough and removes his fingers. Santana
relaxes immediately, letting out a deep breath. Wham then sweeps his fingers
through the lubricant before he grips his thick cock and strokes it up and down
thoroughly.
“On your belly,” Wham says roughly, his cock aching from the brief stimulation.
Santana quickly obeys and flips around onto his front, pulling a pillow into
his arms. Propping up on an elbow, he looks back at Wham as he reaches down to
spread his ass open with a hand. Wham stares at his slick, pink hole for a
moment, before he situates himself on top of the boy. Santana gasps at the
feeling of Wham's massive, warm body resting over his and pressing him down
into the bed.
“Good boy,” Wham grunts, feeling himself blush slightly once that came out of
his mouth. He felt compelled to say as much, considering that's all Santana has
been. Santana says nothing, just buries his face into the soft pillow in his
arms. Wham glances down between their bodies to watch as he gripped the base of
his cock and angled it between Santana's ass cheeks. He is careful and slow
when he presses into him.
Santana's smaller body gradually, reluctantly opens up for him, taking first
the thick head of his cock which draws a grunt from the boy. Wham grits his
teeth, amazed by how much his body is fighting this, barely allowing his
massive length to slide into him. Santana whines and his legs jerk on both
sides of Wham, his face twisting in the secrecy of the pillow.
“Ohhh...Oh, Gods,” Santana moans, voice tight with pain. Wham furrows his brow,
unhappy with his discomfort but too far gone in the pleasure of penetrating his
small body. Santana whines and fidgets and pants heavily under him, straining
to take his thick shaft. Wham considers stopping, but where would they go from
here if he did? Santana is here to please him, and Wham is allowed to take,
after giving Santana unnecessary care and respect.
He finally bottoms out in him, drawing a pained hiss from the boy.
“Oh, ngh—ow, ow, ow—,” Santana cries, grabbing tight handfuls of the pillow
with his nails digging into it. He curls his back, whimpering like a wounded
animal. Wham shushes him softly, wrapping his arms around him to comfort him.
Wham waits for his pained noises to die down before he slowly arches his hips
back, withdrawing from within him, before gradually bottoming out in him again.
His heavy balls press firmly against Santana's, his thick curls of blonde pubic
hair ticking Santana's ass and lower back.
“Nnnnn,” Santana lets out a long noise, tensing up under the other man. Wham
keeps his chest and belly pressed snug against Santana's back as he slowly
rocked his hips back and forth, forcing his thick cock back into his tight hole
again and again despite Santana's whimpers of discomfort.
“Your body is constricting so firmly around me,” Wham murmurs, “It doesn't want
me inside you.”
“Ah—I...I can certainly feel as much,” Santana whispers, clenched fists
remaining white knuckled on the pillow. Wham hums lowly and rolls his hips
gently a few more times, before saying in a deep rumble, “Ride me. You can
control the pace to better suit you.”
Santana nods weakly into the pillow, so Wham pushes balls deep inside him one
last time, enjoying the sensation of being buried inside the boy, before slowly
withdrawing until his slick cock bounces up to hit against his abs. He moves to
lay against the many pillows.
Wham nearly smiled, watching him attempt to straddle his thick thighs. He tried
to rest his knees on the bed for better stability and comfort while straddling
him, but they wouldn't spread quite far enough to accommodate Wham's muscular
thighs. So instead he has to plant his feet on the bed and set a hand on Wham's
abs. With his other hand, he grips his heavy cock and angles it up.
Raising his hips, Santana looks down to watch as he carefully sat down on it.
It took a couple tries before it caught on his hole and slowly sunk into him.
Santana's head cranes up again, his teeth grit and eyes squeezed shut. Wham
cups his hands around Santana's tensed up calves, watching with heat swimming
in his gut. Santana slapped his other hand down onto Wham's abs once he took
half of his length.
Then he rose, and slowly fell again. His face remains twisted in pain all the
while, but Wham finds it arousing, endearing. He's pleased. Despite being much
smaller, he managed to take his cock when the full-grown women he's slept with
before barely could.
Santana eventually works himself down so he sits on Wham's thighs. His legs
shake on both sides of the other man, his mouth fallen open and brow tightly
knit. Looking down at himself, he sees his belly is extended. Bulging. He has
never seen this before. Eyes wide, he reaches down to touch himself there,
feeling a firmness through his tummy. He pushes at it.
Wham is staring as well, tightening his hands on Santana's calves at the sight.
He can feel it when Santana presses his fingers firmly against it. Wham reaches
out to nudge aside Santana's hand to feel it himself. He palms at the bulging
of his belly and then after swallowing hard, he orders gruffly, “Ride me, boy.”
Shakily, Santana readjusts his footing on the bed and then slowly rose back up,
and then sunk back down. Wham feels the shift in his belly. It's... Something
else, knowing he is affecting this concubine's small body in this way. He palms
at it as Santana repeats the motion; an up and down of his hips, forcing
himself down on his thick cock that spreads him open painfully wide.
Teeth grit and eyes narrowed, Santana shakes uncontrollably on top of him. Wham
senses he's at his limit. And, so is he, but in a sense of pleasure. From first
seeing Santana nude, to rubbing at the bulging of Santana's belly... He isn't
very far off, at all.
In fact, it only takes grabbing Santana by the hips and forcing him down on his
cock to bring him to his orgasm. He rocks his hips up against the boy's ass,
burying inside him as far as he can go as he shot his load into his body. A
deep moan came from within him, filling the otherwise silence of the room.
Santana pants heavily on top of him, his lidded gaze fixed on Wham's pleasured
face.
A moment passes of Wham dwelling in the pleasure of being inside the redhead,
before he hooks his hands under his ass and slowly lifts him off his cock. Then
with some manhandling, he flips them over so Santana is on his back, his wild
red locks strewn about his shocked face. Wham pants raggedly, chest heaving and
face flushed. His intense emerald eyes search Santana's pretty face before he
reaches a hand up, grabs his face, and then leans in to crush their mouths
together.
“Mmmh!” Santana lets out a muffled sound against his lips, but obediently
returns the rough kiss. Their lips move together in a heated kiss, their
breathless panting mixing in. Then Wham leans away once satisfied and flops
down beside him like a bag of bricks. The bed jostles with his weight.
Santana rolls onto his side towards Wham and props his head in his hand, elbow
planted on the bed. He looks at Wham with the same stoic expression he had worn
when he first met the blonde. He sets a hand on Wham's sweaty chest and earns a
glance from his green eyes.
With a slow smirk curling at his plump lips, Wham says in a rough voice, “Good
boy.”
End Notes
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