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"Have you ever been buggered?" Pullo asks one night by the campfire. It's too fucking hot in Egypt, but the smoke keeps the flies away.
Vorenus arches an eyebrow. "I don't see how that's any business of yours."
Pullo shrugs. "Got to talk about something, and after two years I'm running out of subjects. Or if you don't want to talk, I could sing..."
"Merciful gods, spare me." Vorenus wipes the sweat from his brow and grabs the canteen for a swig. Morbid curiosity makes him say "Have you?"
Pullo smirks. "When I was a lad. Fellow who owned my mum had a taste for boys and a free hand with his slaves."
"What happened?"
"I grew up too fast for him. Not so pretty anymore."
"I can't believe you were ever pretty." It's as close as Vorenus gets to a joke, and Pullo laughs accordingly. Vorenus smiles, narrow-lipped. "You must have hated him," he says, and his eyes say I would have.
"I didn't mind," Pullo says with a shrug of those wide shoulders. "Good wine, comfy bed – taking it up the arse was well worth it then. He wasn't rough." He looks away, oddly shy, and Vorenus reads volumes into that glance.
"I would have killed him," Vorenus says quietly. "Should have done," and it's clear they're not talking about Pullo's old master any longer.
"Who was he?"
"Gaius Laetorius Mergus – tribune when I first joined the 13th. Before your time. A huge brute of a man, stank of horse-sweat. I was sixteen."
Pullo can picture it from those few words, knows he isn't likely to get any more. He thinks Vorenus probably was a pretty youth, back before the world gnawed on him. "What did you do about it?"
"Nothing," Vorenus mutters. "A Gaul speared him through the gut at the Arar. I sacrificed a dove to Nemesis in thanks."
He passes the canteen to Pullo, who takes it. "Felt better, then, did you?"
"I slept better," he says grudgingly, "not watching my back all the bloody time." He's still angry about it, though, all these years later. Pullo can see it in the taut line of his jaw.
"Pretend I'm him," he blurts before he can think better of it. Vorenus looks puzzled, so he keeps talking. "You can hit me, beat me, whatever you like – no weapons, though," he adds hastily.
"I'm not going to hit you, Pullo." But he looks tempted, just a little.
"Rape me, then, if it'll make you feel better."
"I'd rather hit you."
Pullo lumbers to his feet. "This is ridiculous," Vorenus mutters, but he stands too. His first punch is lazy, Pullo could block it with his eyes closed, but he doesn't. "At least defend yourself, damn it!" Vorenus barks, and takes a second swing.
Pullo shrugs and grabs his fist, bending his arm back until he cries out. "Better?" he grins, then grunts as the air's knocked out of him. Having just kneed him in the belly, Vorenus grapples him, tumbling them to the dust.
They lie there panting, and Pullo can feel the stiff length of him pressed against his back, wants to tell him it's all right, but knows that if he does, it'll end right there. So instead he shifts beneath him, just enough to rub him through their rough tunics, and Vorenus breathes out once, hard, shuddery, and then pushes back.
Hasty fumbling with belts, callused fingers against sweat-slick skin, and Vorenus's cock slides along the crack of his arse before pressing its way between his thighs, fucking that hot, moist hollow instead. He's not going to put it in him, then. Pullo's disappointed, just a little, but he knows it's a sign of respect – his friend won't unman him. He squeezes his legs around that thickness instead, reaches down to stroke himself. Vorenus thrusts against him faster, ragged breathing giving way to rhythmic grunts, and finally one cry that he muffles against Pullo's shoulder before he rolls off him and away.
Pullo's balls and thighs are wet with his brother-in-arms' seed. He runs his fingers through the thick cream and then it only takes a few more quick jerks of the wrist to finish himself off too. He knows they'll not speak of this again, but still, he can't resist asking as he cleans himself up. "Better?"
Vorenus shrugs, facing away. "You're not much like him," he says. "You don't smell half as bad." They both laugh, then, and Pullo, relieved, knows it's still all right between them.