Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/233889.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Eagle_|_Eagle_of_the_Ninth_(2011)
  Relationship:
      Esca/Marcus_Flavius_Aquila
  Character:
      Marcus_Flavius_Aquila, Esca_Mac_Cunoval
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-08-03 Words: 4016
****** First Bite Of The Apple ******
by PlaneJane
Summary
     Marcus has been allowed to wear the toga virilis for almost a year
     now, but he has not yet proved his manhood with either woman or boy.
     In theory, Marcus could slake his desire with Esca. But Uncle Aquila
     has made it very clear that’s unacceptable in his household. Only,
     Marcus doesn’t want to visit the brothel – he likes Esca.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Sunlight rouses Marcus from the sweetest dream. He doesn’t remember it except
that he awakes feeling content and well-rested. However, as he rolls and
stretches from his stomach to his back he feels ... sticky. Marcus groans and
lifts the sheet. It’s happened again. His cock has leaked in the night and his
spend is congealed in the hair on his groin and his stomach. The sheets are a
mess and there’s no hiding it from Stephanos.
Marcus finds his fine mood has evaporated faster than morning dew. He stamps
his feet and crashes his way through his ablutions and breakfast.
This is all Esca’s fault. The feisty young slave, bought by Uncle Aquila to
keep Marcus company while he’s in Britain and to help old Stephanos with the
heavier chores, is entirely to blame for Marcus’s burgeoning affliction. Marcus
can’t stop thinking about him.
Esca has grown a hand’s width since the winter but he’s still a head shorter
than Marcus and his stature is narrower. His arms have thickened some, with
stringy muscles that ripple when he rakes the stables. Marcus has noticed too
that Esca’s chest has filled out, his nipples wider and pinker than last
summer, and his stomach is flat, his abdomen contoured like the testudo shell
where last year it was more smooth and rounded. Esca is almost a man. The only
traces of the boy are in his playful smile and surly pout. Esca is inclined
equally and unpredictably to either. Both expressions send the lust-blood
pulsing into Marcus’s cock and plague his mind with lewd thoughts.
Marcus has been allowed to wear the toga virilis for almost a year now, but he
has not yet proved his manhood with either woman or boy. In theory, Marcus
could slake his desire with Esca. But Uncle Aquila has made it very clear
that’s unacceptable in his household. If Marcus wants to fuck he must do it
elsewhere. Uncle Aquila has given Marcus coin for such a purpose should he
require it, but Marcus is too shy to go to the brothel by himself and more
embarrassed still to have his Uncle take him.
In any case, Marcus likes Esca.
The August sun is unforgiving and Esca lifts off his tunic. Marcus loiters,
sullenly watching Esca from the barn door. Esca lifts his head and pushes back
his wild fringe from where it’s stuck to his forehead. “Can I help you,
domine?” he grins.
Marcus’s studies are over and Esca will be free to spend the rest of the day
with him once the horses are mucked and fed. “Actually, I came to see if I
could help you,” Marcus offers, at once more cheerful to see Esca in good
spirits.
“If you like.” Esca throws the pitch fork. “You can spread the straw. I’ll take
out the muck.” Esca brushes past and nudges Marcus’s arm with his elbow. His
touch burns and its memory lingers on Marcus’s skin like a brand. Not wasting a
moment, Marcus works fast, lest the heat in his cheeks set the hay ablaze.
When they are done, Esca drinks greedily from his cup. The water drips down his
chin and he wipes it away with a careless swipe of his hand. “What do you want
to do now?” Esca asks as a host might ask a guest. It should annoy Marcus but
it only confuses him; there’s something in Esca’s tone that makes Marcus want
to be touched again.
“We could wrestle?” Marcus ventures. For the first time he feels Esca might be
close to a fair match.
“Wrestle?”
“Yes. I’ll teach you.”
“I’m not sure.” Esca looks back towards the house, uncertain.
“I won’t hurt you.”
“I know that,” Esca laughs. “I don’t know if I’m allowed.”
Marcus doesn’t forget that Esca is a slave. He only forgets sometimes that as a
slave Esca can never truly be his friend, his equal. He cannot do as he pleases
when he pleases. “I’ll ask my Uncle. Perhaps we can spar before cena.”
With permission granted, Marcus strips to his bracchae and draws a circle in
the trampled dirt behind the barn. He explains the rules and adds he’ll be
gentle this first time. Esca scowls and jabs his finger at Marcus’s chest. “I
don’t need your clemency.”
Marcus is about to make a smart remark as to whether Esca’s fighting skills are
as sharp as his tongue, when Esca looks up at him with a fierce-pointed glare.
Marcus immediately regrets his haste in offering leniency; Esca is wily and
fast and stronger than he looks. When Marcus says, “Have it your way,” he knows
it’s hardly a concession.
The air is hot and dry. Marcus licks his lips as he hunches forward and spreads
his fingers. He watches Esca do the same, his pursed lips glistening and moist.
Marcus knows that to floor Esca he’ll have to be sure-footed and certain in his
grasp. No clever moves. Esca won’t be heavy; Marcus only needs to get a firm
hold.
They circle and stare. Marcus lunges forward once or twice but Esca nimbly
slips out of reach. Riled, Marcus snipes, “You’re dancing like a girl. Fight
me.”
Esca’s nostrils flare and his eyes turn to ice. Quick and angry, he drops his
shoulders and hurls himself towards Marcus’s stomach. A bigger boy would have
knocked Marcus to the ground. Instead, Marcus braces his back leg, bends,
catches Esca behind the knees and throws him to the floor, flat on his back, in
a single move.
The wind is knocked clean out of Esca. Marcus can see it in the way Esca’s eyes
fly wide open in shock and he struggles to pull in a breath. Esca rolls onto
his side and when Marcus offers his hand he bats Marcus’s arm away. After a
spell of coughing and wheezing, it’s with some labour Esca curls onto his
elbows and knees then pushes up to his feet.
“I’m sorry, Esca. I threw you too hard.”
“No, you didn’t. I didn’t know what to expect. That’s all.” Esca’s mouth is
downturned and grim and he wipes an errant tear from his cheek. He isn’t
crying. Marcus dare not accuse him of that. Esca would say it’s the dust in his
eyes. Esca bends forward, his hands on his thighs, coughs again and moves to
the edge of the dirt circle.
Marcus feels a pang of guilt. “No more today.”
“But we’ve only just started.”
“I have to clean up for cena.”
“You don’t want me to throw you next time.” Esca sticks out his chin. “I will,
next time I will.”
“I know you will, little wolf.”
“Don’t call me that.” Esca shoves past Marcus and heads back to the house.
Marcus wants to run after him and press his face to Esca’s neck and tell him
it’s all right, he did well for his first time. Instead, he stands and watches
him duck inside the house without a backwards glance.
That night, Marcus rubs his stiffened cock with his hand. He thinks about
Esca’s lips and the fine trail of bronze hair below his navel ... and Esca’s
cock. He wonders if Esca touches himself, and if he does, where and when he
does it. When Marcus imagines Esca's hands and mouth on him, he spills in his
fist with a muffled groan.
Over the coming weeks, Marcus and Esca wrestle every few days. Esca grows in
strength and wile. Marcus learns his tricks but isn’t always fast enough to
avoid them. Despite Marcus’s advantage in size, they are nearly an even match.
Marcus discovers, also, that he is far less disagreeable about being pinned on
the ground by Esca than he ought to be. Indeed, sometimes he finds he likes it
enough that it makes his cock start swelling. Marcus looks for signs that Esca
is similarly affected but he doesn’t want to be obvious. Esca is as difficult
to read as Plato. In the end, Marcus is convinced, with some shame, that it is
only he who is aroused by the wrestling.
He thinks about using the brothel, to temper his unruly passion. But he still
can’t bring himself to go there.
The autumn brings fruit, hanging ripe and heavy from the trees in the orchard.
The harvest is a busy time, not just for farmers. Marcus is frustrated that
Esca has no time for him. His skin itches for the rough and tumble rub of their
grapples and throws and pins. He knows Esca’s scent, has tasted the salt of his
sweat, felt the heat of his breath and the heave of his chest. Marcus craves it
badly. It’s been long days since they last toed the dirt.
Esca is putting cloth sacks in the low wooden wagon used for hauling heavy
loads about the house and grounds.
Marcus knows the answer he’ll get but wants to talk to Esca anyway so he says,
“Will you have time to wrestle this afternoon?”
“I have to pick apples this afternoon.” Esca doesn’t look up. “Maybe in a few
days.”
“I can help you.”
Esca meets his gaze and smiles.
At first it all goes well. Marcus can reach the lower branches from the ground
while Esca climbs the ladder for those apples higher up. Some of the wind-
fallen fruit is free of the worm and Marcus loads them in a sack too. Picking
fruit is enjoyable for a while - until it gets tiresome. Marcus can’t help the
voice in his head that says this is slave work and he wishes it were over with.
He could leave Esca and try to find a more noble pursuit and spend the rest of
the day alone into the bargain. There’s no pleasure in that either.
The ground is sparsely littered with bruised and decaying apples that must have
lain on the ground for days. Marcus picks one up and finds the flesh soft
beneath its skin. It’s no good for anything now, except ...
Marcus turns the apple once in his hand and lobs it up and over towards Esca.
It hits his thigh. There’s a rustle in the branches overhead and Esca’s face
emerges from behind a fan of leaves. “What was that for?”
“Nothing. Fun.”
“Not a battle then?”
Marcus bends down and feels around in the grass for another apple without
taking his eyes off Esca. “It wouldn’t be fair on you. The Romans always win.”
Esca’s hand is sliding into the sack of apples resting at the top of the
ladder. It doesn’t escape Marcus’s notice; nor does the change in Esca’s
expression which has gone from sunbeams to thunder in the blink of an eye.
Marcus instantly regrets what he just said, but it’s too late. The sky might be
a clear azure but it begins to rain with unrelenting fury. Esca has a full
cache of ammunition and he has no qualms about using it.
Marcus dodges and ducks and counter-attacks as best he can with the spoiled
fruit on the ground. Apples fly past his head, strike his body and ricochet
from neighbouring trees. Marcus feels his heart pounding in his chest, the
thrill and fury of the fight rushing through his veins. Unfortunately, his
ammunition is inferior and his position is weaker. But not one to easily accept
defeat, Marcus decides to go on the offensive. He hunches forward with his
forearms over his head and charges for the ladder.
What happens next happens quickly. Apples fall, the ladder topples and Esca
tumbles to the ground kicking and lashing out as Marcus lunges with the full
force of his body, landing on top of Esca and pinning his arms to the ground.
“Admit defeat!” Marcus cries.
“Never! I’d die first.” Esca’s face and neck are scarlet. He doesn’t give up
struggling, even with all of Marcus’s weight on top of him. Part of Marcus
wants to laugh at his stubborn determination and part of him wants to grind
Esca into the ground. Then, with Esca laid out beneath him, wriggling and
writhing, all Marcus can think of is kissing him and seeing how he likes that.
In the instant Marcus catches his breath, distracted by Esca’s mouth, Esca
kicks his legs out from beneath Marcus. They end up with Marcus planted firmly
between Esca’s thighs and the look on Esca’s face changes immediately. He goes
completely still and there’s no sound between them except their heavy
breathing. Marcus knows exactly why; his cock has gone hard and is pressing
onto Esca’s belly. But what’s more of a surprise to Marcus is that Esca is hard
too.
This should be the moment Marcus gets up and brushes himself off and returns to
helping Esca with the task he was sent to do. But the cursory consideration of
his Uncle’s warning is strongly countered by Esca’s obvious interest, and the
almost uncontrollable urge to roll his hips forward for more friction on his
cock. And in the few heartbeats it takes Marcus to deliberate his failing
restraint, Esca moves, slightly but quite definitely.
Marcus isn’t sure what to make of it and he holds still, except for releasing
his grip on Esca’s wrists and sliding his arms back so that he can rest the
weight of his upper body on his elbows. Marcus watches the lump in Esca’s
throat move up and down and he’s almost certain he can feel his heart beating.
In a voice too quiet to hear, Esca mouths one unmistakeable word. “Move,” he
says.
Experimentally, Marcus rolls his hips down and forward, gently and slowly. The
friction is good, so good. He tries it again as Esca rolls up into him at the
same time and that’s better, much better and before there’s thought to spare as
to what exactly this is that they’re doing, they’re both pressing and grinding
their hips against each other. Esca’s hands find and grab at Marcus’s hair;
they pull at his tunic and press with urgent fingers into his back. Marcus lets
his head drop, close enough his lips brush over Esca’s temple. Esca is hot. His
breath is quick and shallow and Marcus is yet more aroused by the noises Esca
makes. Marcus drives down harder and faster, his elbows and knees digging into
the earth below him while Esca pushes back without giving an inch.
Marcus has thought about Esca many times: how it would feel to have Esca touch
him and kiss him. What he hasn’t considered is what it would feel like to touch
Esca. It’s a revelation to Marcus that Esca seems to be enjoying what they’re
doing and more than this, that Marcus is spurred on by it. He wants Esca to
spill, he wants him reach his climax and he wants to see it. Only Marcus is
close. There’s that familiar feeling building and swelling and he knows that
all it would take is one pull on his cock and it would be over.
Shifting slightly up, allowing the smallest space between them, Marcus ventures
a hand down between their bodies. He could touch himself and hasten his
release. His whole body is shaking on the weight of one arm and he’s sweating
and sliding inside his clothes. Instead, Marcus reaches down and cups his hand
around Esca’s stiffened cock. Marcus rubs him through his bracchae, revelling
in Esca bucking up into his grip for three strokes, four. Then Esca keens, his
eyes squeezed closed, and stops moving. The cloth under Marcus’s fingers goes
damp and Esca’s entire body goes limp.
It’s too much to wait. Marcus can’t even think to tackle the laces on his
bracchae. He grips what he can of his cock through the fabric, pulls hard and
fast and comes with a low grunt.
Blinking a drop of sweat from his brow, Marcus takes a few deep breaths and
flops on the ground next to Esca. There’s an apple under his back and it digs
into his ribs. He pulls it out and examines the rosy fruit. It’s a good one –
full and firm and shining. Marcus takes a bite and hands it to Esca.
They lay side by side for a while, saying nothing. Eventually, Esca discards
the apple core and leans up on one elbow. Marcus looks at him through one eye,
not sure what to expect. Esca pushes up and Marcus wonders if that’s the end of
it – no discussion. He’s not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Only
Esca doesn’t move away, he places one leg over Marcus’s hips and sits down on
his thighs. Esca holds Marcus’s stare and walks his fingers up Marcus’s hip, to
the hem of his tunic. He pushes it up, barely allowing the skin on Marcus's
stomach exposure to the first whisper of the cool breeze before Marcus’s cock
is swelling again.
Esca doesn’t stop there. With nimble fingers, he unlaces the cords at the top
of Marcus’s bracchae and the ones fastening his linens. Marcus’s mouth goes dry
and he hears himself swallow. Lifting his head, Marcus dares to look down as
Esca pulls back the cloth from his nether parts. His cock is flush-red, the
glistening tip bulging free from the skin. A glance up tells Marcus that Esca
is looking at it, too, before taking it in his hand and giving it a gentle
squeeze.
With some anxiety, Marcus reaches down, to halt Esca from what he has started.
He gasps, “Use your other hand,” too distracted to explain further that this
act must only be performed with the left hand.
Esca frowns and grips Marcus harder. He bats Marcus’s hand away with his other
arm and says, quite emphatically, “No.”
Marcus is about to say, must everything be a fight with you? But the words die
on his lips as Esca sucks in his cheeks and leans forward, releasing a globule
of spit onto the tip of Marcus’s cock. He works it down, slipping his hand over
the engorged flesh, squeezing and rubbing tip to base and up again.
It takes Marcus longer to approach his climax this time. He's able to watch
Esca masturbating him; all the while Esca’s lips are parted and his thighs
squeeze Marcus’s hips. Marcus can see the tent of Esca’s stiff cock and wants
to free it from his clothes. Reaching up, he fumbles over his own heavy breaths
and increasing arousal. While continuing to rub Marcus’s cock, Esca lifts the
front of his tunic and Marcus uses both hands to untie the knots. The instant
they’re undone, Esca’s cock bounces forward, almost touching Marcus’s, and
seeing that is all Marcus needs to jerk up and spill over Esca’s fist. When
Marcus sinks back, languid, Esca lets Marcus’s cock flop down as the last
globule of seed dribbles from the slit. Then Esca takes his own cock in his
hand and cradles the tip. As he touches himself, Marcus holds Esca’s hips,
trying to pull him closer.
Watching Esca on his lap, there are some things Marcus doesn’t understand. He’s
been told that slaves can be used for their master’s pleasure. He knows the
ways he can do it, even if he hasn’t tried it with either slave or prostitute.
But no one mentioned it would be as exciting, as thrilling to touch the slave,
to bring them to their climax. Marcus wonders that perhaps he is weak-minded in
this desire. He doesn't really know, as he's only ever fantasised about Esca;
it is only Esca he wants to touch and pleasure. And it’s regrettable, but
Marcus might not get this chance again. He has to act now, and so he edges his
fingers to Esca’s stomach, caressing his skin through the sparse hairs that
trail into a thick thatch at the base of his cock. Marcus glances up, hoping
the touch is wanted, and he’s sure that Esca nods. Slowly, Marcus circles his
fingers around the base of Esca’s cock, feeling the silky-warm skin and the
sure clasp of Esca’s hand closing over his.
They both masturbate the same way, Marcus briefly considers, as if that should
be a surprise. Esca guides Marcus’s hand up and down, setting the pace quick
and light. After a few strokes, Esca lets go his grasp, leans back and plants
his hands behind himself on Marcus’s thighs. With Marcus rubbing him, Esca
thrusts his cock through the circle of Marcus’s fist. Marcus is entranced by
the tip of Esca’s cock appearing through his fingers. Caught up in the rhythm
of it, the steady back and forth of Esca fucking his fist, Marcus is taken
unawares when suddenly Esca jerks forward in one hard thrust and spurts his
seed all over Marcus’s front. It takes a short while for Esca to recover,
blinking hard and blowing out a heaving breath.
Shifting and readjusting himself, still sitting on Marcus’s thighs, Esca looks
around. Marcus follows his gaze. Their corner of the orchard is littered with
fruit that should have been gathered for the harvest. The sun has disappeared
below the tops of the trees and a cool wind brushes over Marcus’s exposed skin.
His stomach is a mess of drying spend – both his and Esca’s. Marcus pushes his
tunic down over it and reaches up to pull Esca into an embrace. Esca comes to
it willingly, resting his head on Marcus’s shoulder. Realising belatedly that
he has not yet kissed Esca, Marcus presses his lips to the top of Esca's head
and wishes for things that cannot be. He doesn’t say them out loud – he knows
he has a tendency to speak too freely when he’s overcome.
“That was fun,” Esca says. He lifts his head and ventures a return kiss to
Marcus’s cheek.
“You liked it?”
Esca smiles and teases, “Yes. I almost like it better than wrestling.”
Marcus is mostly reassured of Esca’s consent, but there’s a nagging worry that
can’t be ignored. “My Uncle said I must not take advantage of you.”
“I think he means that I should not be forced, if I am unwilling. That’s all,
Marcus.” Esca threads his fingers through Marcus’s hair. “Is that why it’s
taken you so long?”
“No. I don’t know exactly. I mean, how could I have known you were willing when
you have to do as I say?”
At this, Esca laughs. He rolls off Marcus and laughs and laughs and punches
Marcus in the ribs for good measure.
“I’m serious, Esca. If my Uncle finds out he could send me back to Rome.”
Esca quiets and sighs before he sits up. He rubs his hand up and down Marcus’s
thigh and when it seems he is done deliberating this conundrum, Esca leans down
and cups Marcus’s jaw in his hand. Soft and certain, he looks Marcus in the
eyes and says, “He won’t find out. We’ll be careful.”
“Stephanos might say something. Look at the state of our clothes.”
“I can take care of those.”
“You have enough to do already.”
“Then perhaps you’d better learn to pick faster. I have hazelnuts and pears to
gather before the month is out. Not to mention taking care of the horses.”
“You would have me for your slave!” Marcus cries in mock protest.
“If you would have me as your master.”
The way Esca says it, low and serious, makes Marcus’s cheeks flare with warmth.
Marcus likes the sound of that game more than he knows how to admit. As visions
of being at Esca’s mercy creep into his mind, Marcus only manages to whisper,
“Yes, I would.”
“Well then, we must make sure your Uncle doesn’t find out.” With that said,
Esca stands and ties his laces. “Now I have to finish filling these sacks.
You’ll have to help me.”
Marcus doesn’t waste a moment gathering up the cloth bags and the ladder. If he
wants more time with Esca he’s going to have to help him with his chores.
As Marcus bends to pick up the fallen apples, he finds he doesn’t mind one bit.
End Notes
     From what I’ve read, the toga virilis was worn from the age of 14 or
     15. This was written in response to a kink_meme_prompt for Marcus and
     Esca underage, playing together. So while by modern standards they
     are underage, by the standards of Ancient Rome they are not.
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