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Hathus waited outside the General’s tent with his arms crossed and his feet braced, enjoying how his presence made the other soldiers waiting in the line of petitioners nervous. They had some grisly ideas about mercenaries in general and him in particular, not all of which were true, but none of which he’d bother to deny. It amused him to stand in serene stillness while they fidgeted and shifted their grips on their spears. When the General’s attendant finally ushered another man out and beckoned Hathus in, they were visibly relieved.
Inside the General was reclining against a pile of cushions, the wine goblet in his left hand constantly refilled by a hovering slave. Hathus endured the General’s rather self-congratulatory accounting of their recent victory - no wonder the line outside his tent was moving so slowly, if the General was treating every man who set foot inside to a lengthy summary of his own strategic brilliance - and waited patiently until the General got around to handing over his payment.
It was a hefty sum with the bonus for victory included, and Hathus tucked the purse into his belt with satisfaction. This was worth putting up with the General’s ramblings. He was as self-important as a blue blooded noblewoman, but he paid fairly and on time. The same couldn’t be said for most other Romans Hathus had worked with.
“Thank you, sir,” Hathus said politely, waiting for dismissal.
The General raised his hand to wave him out, then paused. “You don’t have a bed warmer in camp, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“You should,” the General said magnanimously, flushed with good cheer and, at a conservative guess, the better part of two skins of wine. “Go to the quartermaster, take your pick of the spoils. Anyone you like.”
“Your generosity honors me, sir,” Hathus murmured, trying to sound pleased instead of resigned. The slaves would be picked over by now, the best ones already claimed by the General and his inner circle and everyone else in line ahead of him that the General had made the same offer to. But he could hardly refuse the General’s offer out of hand. He backed out of the tent, sighed in irritation, and went looking for the quartermaster.
It might not be a complete waste of time. Even if nobody met with his approval as a bedmate, he might find a servant with enough skill to keep his gear in order, if any of the captives were trustworthy enough to hand a blade to. Plenty of slaves were used to trading hands after skirmishes and didn’t make a fuss about which empire their owners served. As Hathus didn’t give a shit either, his views often aligned more with the slaves than the countrymen he fought alongside.
When he got to the quartermaster’s field and relayed the General’s orders, his suspicions were confirmed. There were scarcely a dozen slaves left, most of them elderly or visibly ill enough that Hathus didn’t want to touch them, much less bed them. The only healthy slaves were the captured soldiers tied to stakes at the end, who were more suited to hard labor than giving pleasure. They'd probably end up in the mines.
“I suppose you want a fighter, being such a strapping man yourself,” the quartermaster said cautiously, after seeing where Hathus was looking. “It’ll be a bit of work breaking one of them in.”
Hathus hummed neutrally. In truth, he wasn’t the least bit interested in breaking an unruly captured soldier; he’d rather fuck his fist than a slave who’d try to stab him in the dark hours of the morning. But something about one soldier in particular was nagging at him, enough that he walked over for a closer look, ignoring the quartermaster trailing behind him.
All of the captured soldiers had their forearms bound behind their backs and were leashed by the neck to a wooden stake driven into the ground. They’d obviously been told to kneel, although a few were defiantly standing. Hathus walked past those without pause. A standing soldier spat a curse at them as they passed, and was quickly backhanded by the quartermaster. The byplay made one of the kneeling soldiers, the one that had caught Hathus' attention, wince down at his knees.
The soldier was young enough for his cheeks to still be a bit rounded, although there was enough scruffy beard on his face to mark him as a youth well into manhood rather than a boy in truth. Hathus still had difficulty thinking of a soldier so unscarred as anything but a boy. It was difficult to judge while the youth was kneeling, but he looked taller than most of his fellows, and well-muscled in the shoulders. His hair was cropped short rather than long and braided like the men around him. A conscript, Hathus guessed; a relatively recent one, for his hair to only be ear length. Perhaps a farm boy, judging by how well he must have eaten as a child to attain such size.
The boy’s gaze flicked upwards when Hathus approached. He was only bold enough to look Hathus in the eye for a moment before hastily ducking his head. A trained slave wouldn’t have looked up at all, but for a captured soldier, his reaction was nearly demure. Hathus took note of the tie around his neck. The leather knot wasn’t pulled tight, as it would have been if he’d struggled, and the skin around his throat was unmarked. The boy hadn’t fought the leash.
“Stand,” Hathus said quietly. The boy didn’t respond.
The quartermaster clicked his tongue. “Willful.”
Hathus barely held back from rolling his eyes. If the boy was a conscript, he might have been drawn from one of the further reaches of the opposing empire. Gods only knew what language he spoke. He crouched down instead of speaking, startling the boy into looking up at him again.
“Stand,” he said, and gripped the boy by the shoulders, pulling him upwards. The boy scrambled to get his feet under him as soon as he realized what Hathus was doing. Not willful in the least, once he understood what was being ordered.
Standing, he was still a head shorter than Hathus, as nearly everyone in camp was, but it was clear he was on the larger side for ordinary men. That must have fed into the quartermaster’s caution. A large, strong, recently captured soldier wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice as a bed warmer unless they had a taste for overcoming resistance.
Hathus didn’t, but the boy wasn’t resisting. His shoulders had raised defensively around his neck, but he hadn’t pulled away from Hathus’ grip, and he wasn’t sneering or glaring. He looked anxious more than anything, which was just sensible for someone in his position.
“Relax,” Hathus murmured in his native tongue. The boy wouldn’t understand him, but neither would the quartermaster, and the words themselves weren’t as important as the tone. He brushed his hand over the boy’s shorn hair, riding out the boy’s instinctive flinch. “I won’t hurt you if you behave. And I think you want to behave, don’t you? Can you be good for me?”
The boy settled a little at the quiet words, accepting the touch without protest. He was either naturally submissive, smart enough not to make his situation harder on himself with pointless struggle, or both. Hathus palmed the boy’s throat and felt it flex as the boy swallowed. His face was unlined; Hathus guessed his age at twenty, give or take a year. He wasn’t a beauty by most tastes, but his eyes were a clear hazel and his hair was thick and curling, and his features were pleasing enough.
“Open,” he said, and tapped his fingers against the boy’s mouth. The boy hesitated, either working past nerves or just unsure how to interpret the signal, before parting his lips. Hathus slid two fingers inside and pulled the boy’s jaw down to check his teeth. The boy held his breath the whole time Hathus’ hand was in his mouth, which Hathus was going to have to train him out of, but he didn’t bite. Good enough.
Hathus let go of his jaw and felt along the boy’s head and neck. The boy shied away from a touch to his left temple, and Hathus parted his hair to find a raised lump, a souvenir from the day’s fight. Nothing that wouldn’t heal. He flinched again when Hathus pressed along his sides, trying to curl protectively over his left ribs. Hathus drew the boy’s coarse tunic up to see lurid discoloration rising on one side of his chest. The boy winced when Hathus probed his ribs, but didn’t cry out, so presumably they were bruised rather than cracked. Likely he’d been stunned by the blow to the head and fallen badly on his side. Hathus appreciated that he’d been brought down with so little damage; he would need to be careful, but the boy wouldn’t need a lengthy period of healing before he could be enjoyed.
Hathus kept the tunic pinned at the boy’s shoulder with one hand and caressed his chest with the other. The boy’s nipple tightened when Hathus stroked over it with a thumb, pebbling firmly as Hathus worked the delicate skin with his fingers. The boy’s chest rose with a gasp, and Hathus looked up to see the boy staring at him, eyes wide with shock.
“Ah, sweet one, did you just realize what your new purpose is?” Hathus said, amused enough not to correct the boy for holding eye contact. He’d never cared much about protocol, not so long as his orders were obeyed. “You look so stunned. Has no one ever touched you like this? What a waste, when you’re so responsive to it.”
After a few frozen moments the boy jerked his eyes away and looked at the ground. He was breathing faster than before, and Hathus waited to see if he would show disobedience now that he understood Hathus’ intentions, but the boy held still as Hathus continued to map out his chest, stroking down the fine hairs on his belly leading towards the wrap around his groin.
The cloth gave way easily with a few tugs. The boy’s legs were trembling now, his fear closer to the surface, but he still didn’t move away when Hathus stroked over his hips and thighs. His cock was a soft curve over curly hair, and the boy held his breath again when Hathus took it in hand, then moved further back to cup the boy’s balls in his palm. Everything well formed, no signs of injury, and although the boy shook with nervous tremors he still submitted to Hathus’ touch. Hathus spread one hand over the boy’s belly, then traced the seam of his ass with the other. The boy jerked forward instinctively when Hathus parted his cheeks and grazed a fingertip over his hole. His whole body went rigid as he braced for an intrusion, but he didn’t go for a headbutt or a bite or even try to twist away from Hathus’ hands.
The quartermaster was an idiot if he thought this boy was like the snarling loyalists around him. He didn’t need to be broken, only given time to adjust and directions that he understood. “I’ll take him,” Hathus said to the quartermaster, dropping his hands.
“Of course,” the quartermaster said, his eyes wide. “Do you want cuffs for him, too? Or leg irons?”
“Not necessary. He won’t give me any trouble.”
“I’d say not. It’s like he’s spelled.” The quartermaster sounded unnerved. Hathus held back an exasperated sigh. No doubt there would be rumors of his ability to ensorcell slaves with his demonic native tongue circulating the camp by nightfall.
Hathus undid the binding around the boy’s forearms first, unwrapping the thick fabric strips and then unbending the boy’s arms slowly, supporting their weight until they rested at his sides. The boy hissed through his teeth at the position change, swaying on his feet. He must have been bound that way for hours. Hathus untied the boy’s leash from the stake, but left it in place around the boy’s neck. It would serve as well as any other method to guide him through camp.
“Come,” Hathus said, and gave the leash a slight tug. The boy stumbled forward immediately, possibly afraid of being dragged if he fell behind. Hathus modulated his stride as they made their way through camp, mindful of the boy’s shorter legs and recent injuries, but the boy kept up well enough. Once his ribs had healed Hathus wouldn’t need to slow his pace at all.
Hathus always pitched his tent at the edge of camp, away from the noise and stink of the crowd. The boy looked curiously at the forest beyond the sentry posts, but didn’t betray any longing or calculation in his gaze. Hathus thought of the quartermaster’s offer to hobble him and snorted. If the boy ran off alone, on foot, with no supplies, Hathus would consider himself well rid of an idiot rather than bother to chase after him. He’d either end up in a wolf’s belly or in a ditch with a broken neck. Judging by his compliance so far, the boy was smart enough not to try.
The boy froze for a beat at the entrance of the tent, but stepped inside when Hathus beckoned him forward. For now, Hathus would ignore the boy’s hesitations. They would likely vanish over time as the boy grew accustomed to following orders. Delay wasn’t the same as disobedience, and disciplining fear as though it was defiance was a fast way to break a slave beyond all useful purpose.
“Down,” Hathus said, pointing at the ground at the boy’s feet. The boy sank down to kneeling, his hands coming to rest on top of his thighs. Hathus crouched down to take one of the boy’s wrists in hand, ignoring the way the boy shrank away, and moved his arm to behind his back instead. The boy blinked and quickly moved his other arm behind his back too.
“Good,” Hathus said, and stroked over his hair. It was important to establish rewards for good behavior. He left the boy in the tent without a glance behind him and went to fetch some necessary supplies for his unexpected charge.
When he came back, the boy was still kneeling where he’d left him, back straight and arms behind him. Doubtless he hadn’t been sitting quite that stiffly before he heard footsteps approach the tent, but Hathus was pleased with the result anyway, since it was a clear attempt at correct behavior. He set the bucket of warm water he carried in one hand by the tent’s entrance and brought the bowl of stew he carried in the other to the boy.
“Eat,” he said, pulling one of the boy’s arms forward until the boy got the hint and held his hands out eagerly for the bowl. The boy brought the bowl to his lips and flicked a glance up at Hathus, checking in before actually taking a sip. Hathus ruffled his hair and left him to it. He was surprised to find himself smiling. It had been too long since he’d had a companion, and he’d forgotten the simple satisfaction in seeing to another’s needs, with the easy expectation of satisfying his own needs later. He stripped off his outer layers while the boy was distracted with eating, thinking through the best way to ease the boy into his new duties.
The boy had nearly emptied the bowl by the time Hathus turned back around. When he saw Hathus’ bare arms and chest he faltered, eyes moving quickly over the breadth of Hathus’ exposed shoulders and sweeping over the legs revealed below the wrap at his waist. Anxiety tightened his expression - Hathus knew he was more than large enough to be intimidating, even with his cock still covered - but he took a breath and kept eating, if somewhat slower now. Sensible of him to take the opportunity for food whenever it came.
Hathus dipped a strip of linen into the bucket of water while the boy licked up the last of the stew. The boy set the empty bowl down hastily and put his hands behind his back again, his body going tense as Hathus approached.
“There’s no need for fear,” he said soothingly. It relaxed him to speak in his native tongue, unused for so long while he passed among foreigners. Perhaps he’d teach the boy his own tongue instead of the common language of the camp. He used the damp linen to clean the boy’s face, wiping stew droplets from his mouth with one end and cleaning dried blood off the wound at his temple with the other. The boy screwed his eyes shut tightly as the cloth passed over his forehead. “None of this will hurt.”
Hathus raised the boy’s arms up and pulled the tunic over his head. The boy breathed in unsteadily, but didn’t try to grab at the cloth as it was taken from him. Hathus rewarded him with a gentle stroke over his neck before he got up and went to squeeze the cloth out past the tent’s entrance. He wetted the linen again and wiped it along the boy’s neck and shoulders, then down his arms to his wrists. It was calming to clean the boy and satisfying to see the healthy glow of his skin revealed once the dust was wiped away. The boy was shivering slightly, from the cooling effect of the water or from nervousness at Hathus’ attentions, which Hathus ignored. The boy would warm up in his arms quickly enough.
Hathus noted the boy’s nipples pebbling under swipes of the cloth, but left them alone for the moment. The boy’s chest and belly and thighs were mostly clean, probably covered with armor for the duration of the fight, and it only took a few passes to clear away the dried sweat. Hathus wrapped the cloth over his soft cock gently. He flushed and looked to the side when Hathus stroked him carefully, and Hathus was pleased to feel him plump up a bit beneath his fingers. Training him would be much easier if Hathus could bring him pleasure as part of the process, and so far he had been beautifully responsive.
To clean the boy’s ass and between his thighs, Hathus pulled him forward by the loop of leather around his neck and directed him onto all fours. The position made him shake harder, and Hathus rubbed soothingly at his lower back while he worked, pleased by his soft pants for breath. The boy had a small but nicely round ass; he made a high, thin sound when Hathus parted his cheeks that made Hathus’ own dick throb with heat. His entrance went sweetly pink as Hathus rubbed over it with the cloth. It was almost a shame to move on, but Hathus had better diversions in mind than to tease the boy’s hole until he got him truly whimpering. Another night.
When Hathus had cleaned every inch of his skin, he tugged the boy forward towards the bedroll. The boy started to rise to his feet, and Hathus stopped him with a firm hand between his shoulder blades. There was a pause while he gathered himself, swallowed audibly, and then crawled forward, slow and awkward with his head ducked and his cheeks stained pink.
“Very good,” Hathus murmured, unexpectedly charmed by his shyness. He flipped the blankets back and sat at the edge of the bed, pulling the boy into his lap. The boy hid his face against Hathus’ chest, his breath coming ragged and fast, and Hathus petted his hair for long moments until his tremors eased slightly.
When Hathus unwrapped the cloth from his own waist, the boy’s eyes fixed immediately on his cock. Mostly hard already from watching and touching his new boy, it stood at half mast, ruddy and thick. The boy’s back went rigid under Hathus’ palm.
Hathus had seen men larger than himself, but not many; he was proportional, and it was obviously enough to terrify the boy. If he tried to penetrate him tonight, the boy’s fear would make hurting him inevitable. There was no way he would be able to relax enough for Hathus to ease inside instead of forcing his way in. If Hathus took the boy now, he would be even tenser the next time, and it would take months to teach him to relax properly, if he ever relaxed at all. It wasn’t an appealing prospect.
Fortunately, there were other ways to enjoy a bedmate. Hathus flipped the boy to lie on his back, waiting out his stiffness until he accepted the new position, then rolled over him. The boy had his legs held tight together and his eyes clenched shut, looking for all the world like a noble maiden on her wedding night, and Hathus felt an unusual pang of sympathy under his amusement at the prudish picture.
“Such a delicate flower I have in my bed tonight,” Hathus said, keeping his voice low and soft. “Relax, sweet boy. I’ll not damage you.”
He laid a kiss on the boy’s forehead. The boy’s eyes opened in startlement as Hathus dipped his head again to kiss his cheek, then his throat. Hathus lingered over the soft skin above his collarbone, sucking with just enough pressure to leave a mark. The whole camp would see his claim over the boy tomorrow. He would need to get the boy a token of some kind, a sigil to mark who he belonged to, something to make the scavengers in camp think twice before coming after someone under Hathus’ protection. A collar would be best. Until then, the chain of marks Hathus was leaving on the boy’s skin would suffice.
The boy was breathing easier by the time Hathus moved to his chest, his hands still wound tight in the bedding but no longer clenched in white-knuckled fists. Now, at last, Hathus could give his nipples the attention they deserved, lipping and sucking until the boy’s stillness broke and he arched his back with a choked cry, pressing his chest into Hathus’ mouth.
“Very good.” Hathus moved to the other side and sucked with the same firm pressure, earning himself another moan as the boy twisted under him. “Very good, pretty one, call out your pleasure.”
The boy couldn’t understand the command, but he followed it anyway, his soft noises and gasps continuing as Hathus leisurely explored his body. His cock was flushed and curved over his belly before Hathus finally took it in hand.
“Are you wet for me?” Hathus said tenderly, rubbing his thumb over the precome beading at the tip. His boy was panting open-mouthed by now, flushed down to his bellybutton, his earlier rigidity long forgotten as he fell apart under Hathus’ hands, his knees high and his feet planted on either side of Hathus’ shoulders. “Will you taste as sweet as you look?”
The boy shouted when Hathus took the head of his cock into his mouth. Hathus held his hip firmly with one hand and groped in the blankets with the other, finding and unstoppering the small vial of olive oil he’d picked up earlier that evening without needing to look away from the beautiful mess his boy was becoming. Once his fingers were slick, he traced over the boy’s ass, gliding smoothly over his hole.
The boy whimpered and his legs tightened around Hathus’ shoulders, trying instinctively to close as some of his earlier fear returned. Hathus rubbed his fingers in small strokes, not trying to force an entry, and lapped around the head of the boy’s cock. It wasn’t until the boy’s legs had relaxed and his cock blurted precome across Hathus’ tongue that he pushed a finger tip inside, and by then the boy was so caught up in the pleasure gripping his cock that he only groaned weakly and let his head fall back. Hathus gave him a few more long sucks as a reward, then pulled off to lick his lips and stare at where the boy’s entrance was gripping his finger.
“So tight and hot, sweet boy, so good to let me in. No more than this tonight, I promise you.” Hathus pumped his finger slowly, watching the boy’s face for any sign of pain, but the boy was still glazed with pleasure, his sweat-dampened curls sticking to his forehead. Perfect. The next time Hathus slicked him, he would have the memory of this pleasure, untainted by pain, to help him relax and ease the way.
It was tempting to keep the boy on edge like this until he either loosened enough for a second finger or spilled all over his own belly, but Hathus’ own release had been denied long enough. Hathus gave the boy’s cock a final lick and withdrew his finger. The boy shivered and made a soft questioning noise as Hathus reopened the vial and spread oil liberally between his thighs.
“You'll see what we're doing in a moment, pretty thing. Onto your side now.” Hathus turned the boy bodily and slotted behind him, eager to at last slake his desire. What he’d expected to be a night of mild entertainment had become a much sharper blend of satisfaction and anticipation as he watched the boy receive his attentions so sweetly. His cock was aching now, and even wrapping a fist around himself to spread oil along his length was enough to make him groan into the boy’s neck.
The boy whimpered when the tip of Hathus’ cock nudged the crease of his ass, his body tensing as much as it was able when he was strung high on pleasure. Hathus shushed him and guided his cock further down. The space between the boy’s neatly muscled thighs was hot and tight, slippery and wet, and Hathus thrust into it with abandon. He needn’t be so careful now; his restraint had served its purpose, and now he could at last set it aside and take his own pleasure. His hands dug into the boy’s hips, pulling him closer with every thrust.
The boy cried out, hands scrabbling in the blankets for purchase, as he was dragged back along Hathus’ cock. His thighs kept their tight clench, either because the boy understood what Hathus wanted from him or simply from surprise, and his cock was still flushed and heavy, curving down over the boy’s belly and leaking as Hathus’ shaft dragged along his balls and all the sensitive skin behind them. The head of Hathus’ cock peeked out at the end of every thrust, too long for the boy’s thighs to fully envelop him.
Hathus had waited too long to draw things out any further. When he felt the pressure at the base of his spine tightening, he snarled into the boy’s neck and yanked his hips back, thrusting fast and erratically while his cock spurted. White streaks painted the boy’s pretty thighs, and Hathus held him close until every pulse of come had been released.
“Good boy,” Hathus said gruffly, and pulled damp hair back from his boy’s forehead. He laid a kiss to the boy’s jaw. “Here’s your first lesson, little one. Good boys get rewarded.”
He pressed his hand to the mix of oil and his own come on the boy’s thighs, then wrapped it along the pretty arch of the boy’s straining cock. The boy whimpered and thrust into his hold. Hathus kissed along his neck, giving permission and encouragement, and let the boy fuck his fist until he shuddered through his own climax. Hathus gentled the strokes of his hand until he was just holding the boy as he softened, his touch a reminder of who had given him this pleasure and could grant similar pleasures in the future.
He luxuriated in the lazy contentment that came with a satisfying bedding for a while, but the mess beneath his hand soon grew tacky, and he knew cleaning it now would be the best course of action. With a groan, he disentangled himself from the boy and went again to the bucket. The water was cool by now, but it still served. The boy flinched a little at the touch to his cock, as sensitive after pleasure as he was before it, apparently, but didn’t protest as Hathus cleaned him.
Hathus wrung the cloth out for the last time and draped it over the edge of the bucket. He knelt by the bedroll and was about to blow out the lantern when the boy sat up unexpectedly and drew in a deep breath. He looked up at Hathus nervously, tapped the center of his own chest, and said clearly, “Ivan.” After speaking he dropped his gaze and tightened his shoulders, clearly half expecting to be struck. The quartermaster evidently hadn’t tolerated anything but silence.
Hathus had no such desire for a mute slave, and he tipped the boy’s head up with a light touch under his chin, so the boy was looking at his eyes, before making a fist over his own heart. “Hathus.”
“Hathus,” Ivan repeated, and bit his lip.
Hathus nodded approvingly. He’d start teaching the boy more in the morning, starting with simple commands. Ivan had been clever enough so far; with any luck he’d take to Hathus’ native tongue as easily as he took to his new duties.
Hathus blew out the lantern, settled into the bedroll, and pulled Ivan close enough to his side that any stirring would wake him. In the morning he would bring Ivan off on his fingers again, then kneel over his chest and paint those pretty nipples with his come, just to see the contrast of the white against Ivan’s flush. As the days wore on he’d teach Ivan how to use his hands, his mouth, and finally stretch him wide enough to take him truly, the tight clutch of his body Hathus’ to enjoy, while he trained Ivan to come on his master’s cock.
The empty nights of the long campaign were suddenly looking brighter and warmer than he’d ever expected. There was so much for his sweet boy to learn, and so much pleasure to be had from teaching him.