THE HEART OF AN EMPIRE

[missuscommodus]

PINNED —

an extremely private, independent roleplay blog for MAXIMUS from GLADIATOR shared between friends. interaction is by invitation only. written by Dawn ( she / her, EST ).

[paterpatriae]

It was like coming home, this touch of Maximus' nails in his scalp. Commodus grinned, bloody and pleased, but as Maximus spoke-- insisting on his purity, pleading his case of having no other but him-- in the end Commodus found himself moaning into all that warm, delicious crimson.

"You're mine," he hissed, staring up Maximus' torso onto his face so flushed with pleasure. Commodus' middle finger unfurled, pressed into heat, and in all that blood and slick found an easy rhythm to fuck his general to.

"This cunt is mine. And when I'm Emperor, I swear on my family name, it's you I'll choose for my mate, so that this womb is mine to seed, too."

Ring finger pushing in, the wet squelch made in the seam between his touch and Maximus' opening made him sigh. Commodus' free hand crept up, curved over Maximus' belly, and covered the hand that was already there. All the while, his other wrist pulled back and so that his fingers could push back in, and because Maximus was his to ruin he relished the blood trickling down his arm with every thrust.

"You might never bleed again," he purred, "but it would be worth it, to keep you swollen with our children."

With that, Commodus spread Maximus with his fingers, dipped his head, and once his tongue slid back in his bloody fingers slid out to grip Maximus' thigh. Exposed, bleeding, and victim to his hunger, Commodus fucked Maximus with his tongue until he came-- all wet and cream and another swell of blood that had Commodus groaning with satisfaction. Maximus' spend filled his mouth and spattered his jaw, and still Commodus' arms hooked around his thighs, pulling him closer until Maximus' cunt was flush against his open mouth.

Eyes shutting, Commodus' tongue lapped over and over until Maximus chose to stop him. Even then, with his mouth removed he dragged the flat of his tongue over the swell of Maximus' arousal, greedy even for his tired attention.

No, he refused to let him rest.

"I need to be inside you, Maximus," Commodus murmured, rising onto his knees. The fastenings of his armour came loose in his hands.

"You see, I've never laid with any other, either. I couldn't crave them like I crave you."

[missuscommodus]

Maximus came, and the world flickered. Black spots covered his vision momentarily from the strength of his pleasure — by the gods above, seated in their lofty positions, had it really been so long since he felt this way ? It took all of Maximus' strength not to scream. These weren't the woods and flimsy tents of their youth ; the Prince's guard and Maximus' own men were not so far that a primal cry from the good general wouldn't rouse someone. Maximus groaned through what he could and bit into his pillow when that wasn't enough. He felt himself come undone across Commodus' mouth. The sticky wetness between his legs grew richer.

His fingers continued to press helplessly at his lower belly. Fuck, the pain. If this was what a fresh bleed felt like amplified ... he could only wonder at the agony of bringing a pup into the world. Commodus spoke of seeding his womb, and Maximus' toes curled. He wanted then to remind Commodus of his family at home, of his farm in Spain — but what would be the point ? The Prince was practically drunk on the mess of blood and meat leaving his body. Bringing up Maximus' other life would only infuriate Commodus.

Wasn't it nice to imagine, too ? Maximus felt a stab of guilt amidst his happiness at that. He had never desired to be bred ( not in the way he knew his kind ought to ), and the thought of carrying the young of most disgusted him. With Commodus, though, the idea was strangely not unpleasant. It was so easy to conjure up the image of the Prince lavishing his rounded stomach with attention. Perhaps, if it were a royal pup, even the pain of delivering it into the arms of Rome would be sweeter.

Maximus looked up at Commodus. Sweat followed the lines of his breasts, beaded on his nipples, and trailed lazily down the sculpted muscles of his abdomen. Puffing out a breath, he reached out with shaking hands to help the Prince be free of his armor. He scolded himself for being foolish, for wanting Commodus beyond tonight, and yet shamefully he held onto the promise of Commodus' seed ripening in his full belly.

❝Come here, Commodus,❞ Maximus pleaded hoarsely. ❝Take it ... take what's yours.❞ He opened his legs further, lowered his hips to the ruined fabric of his cloak, and put on full display the mix of red and sticky white flowing freely. It was a good thing that Maximus was bleeding — he could extend his next words without fear of any natural consequence.

❝You're older,❞ Maximus breathed, half - delirious and half - awed by what their fumbling work revealed. His core throbbed with a heartbeat of its own, and Maximus swallowed back a softer moan. ❝This is your nature, isn't it ? You ravage me like a fighting hound and ... and you stay in after I am good and bruised.❞ With that, he gave his permission for the Prince to bond with Maximus in a way that they hadn't before. Maximus knew that his bleed would protect him from Commodus' reproductive ambitions ( for tonight, at least ) ; there was no harm in the Prince claiming him fully, coming inside, and remaining there.

Maximus' palms curled around Commodus' hips. His eyes flicked down, staring at the Prince's endowment, and Maximus' mouth dried. Commodus was certainly no longer an immature youth. A deep inhalation swelled Maximus' breasts, and the candlelight danced across the moisture on his chest.

❝Come here,❞ Maximus repeated. ❝Make me heavy with your child, Commodus. You will have your heir.❞

Even if it is impossible today, he mused distantly.

[paterpatriae]

Maximus shook and Commodus' lips parted, throat instantly drying at the sight of him like this.

"Ah, look at you..." His thumb swiped over Maximus' teat and still the stores of milk within continued to drool out, no doubt coaxed by the insistence of his massaging palm. "Such a bountiful mother you are, Maximus."

Commodus watched, almost transfixed, as that sweet nectar dyed the imperial colour of the empire dark... and then, perhaps irrationally, felt jealous that Maximus' clothing could be blessed with such a thing.

This was the milk that would help their children grow. This was the milk that would bring their pups strength until they were capable enough to chew on their own merit. It wasn't meant to be wasted on absorption.

So Commodus' hand ceased its ministrations, allowing Maximus' breast to droop with its weight as he brought his touch to caress the small of his lover's back. His other hand, releasing Maximus' wrist, curved possessively over the side of his neck so that a thumb could stroke his jaw in comfort.

"Fecunditas has blessed our family," he stated, eyes flicking now from Maximus' full, round teats to where his mate's eyes were screwed shut. "Swollen with child as you are, my Empress" -- Commodus leaned in, nipping lightly at Maximus' ear -- "she's ensured our boy will want for nothing with this gift. And you are so strong, Maximus, to carry it all.

"I want to make it better, my love, but we mustn't waste these gifts on the floor." Pulling back, Commodus' smile was both serene and sly. "What would the goddess say, hm?

"Let your Emperor relieve you of this weight."

Dipping his head, he licked the tip of Maximus' exposed nipple, lifting it with the curl of his tongue before giving a light, teasing suck with his lips.

The first taste of milk brought a quiet moan, but Commodus released Maximus swiftly and straightened once more. "Perhaps we can spend some time in bed before dinner."

[missuscommodus]

Maximus opened his eyes as Commodus pulled back. Shimmering hazel, half - closed, stared at the Emperor. His newly - accepted mate, the father of this child, and perhaps the most frustrating individual that Maximus had ever met. Even that, though, was fonder these days, and his affection for the younger man was apparent as he lifted his arms to place them on Commodus' for support. At the utterance of my Empress, Maximus bit his lip.

❝Our boy ...❞ he murmured. It was a son, of course — it could be nothing else. Before he could add more, Commodus swept in to tease his breast with his mouth. Maximus wondered at the way one of his hands slid up to Commodus' shoulder, begging to hold the back of the Emperor's neck. Was this a new instinct that he would have to grow accustomed to ? It opened a terrible, yawning hole in him, worse than the physical ache of his over - filled breast : he wanted something to hold, some tangible proof to cherish of his love with Commodus and devotion to Rome. Inside of his belly, the baby kicked, and that feeling worsened.

❝You are right, Commodus,❞ Maximus replied softly. ❝We can not offend the goddess ... especially not when she has been so generous. ❞ He leaned forward, kissed the corner of Commodus' milk - sweet mouth, and untangled himself. Maximus walked to their beautiful bed. Coarse fingertips skated over the blankets. His other palm curled around his rounded stomach.

For a moment, Maximus was the perfect Empress. Posed so delicately, one hand moved to the upper part of the bed to balance his changed body. He was clothed in imperial purple, draped in expensive cloth, and wore gold on his wrists. The exposure of his breast and gentle rubbing of his belly were almost teasing.

❝Your son is growing well, Commodus,❞ Maximus said. ❝My lady — Cassias — tells me everything your royal physician will not. That the baby is already large in size, in spite of the time it has left. With this ...❞ Maximus laughed self - consciously, unable to help the glance down toward his shining nipple. ❝He will be a giant when he goes to war.❞

[paterpatriae]

@missuscommodus, asked.

Maximus stood in front of the tall, polished silver mirror in the chambers he shared with Commodus. It was only recently that he had declared his intention to stay and raise their child with the emperor — which meant that he now lived in Commodus' chambers. With that had come a new wardrobe : flowing robes, soft veils, richly - colored expensive fabrics, and gold - lined garments whose cost could have once purchased his farm in Spain.

The general had selected something in violet, something light and beautiful. After a moment of consideration, he belted it at the top of his round belly, just beneath his breasts. They were full, and he winced at the bit of pressure even that slight raise applied. His nipples turned out naturally and pressed into the robe. Maximus shuddered. He reached up and touched one of them — and then gazed in amazement at the liquid that began to stain the area.

Milk, he thought, eyebrows raised. It dripped down his front. Maximus grasped a veil and dabbed it against the offending nipple. He was so startled that he failed to hear Commodus come in ( even as he moved aside a piece of the pretty purple and exposed the aching, leaking thing ).

Commodus' love for Maximus' changed body was no secret-- even less so, now that he knew his omega would stay. Despite the logistics of ruling, returning to their shared chambers always flushed the concerns of his people out of his mind; with the swell of Maximus' form, and that sweet scent of pregnancy, and the child that was undoubtedly active in his belly, Commodus' attention could prioritise no other.

That said, the profile of Maximus' full breast was the first thing he saw upon his return.

"Darling." The word itself was sweet, but Commodus' eyes went large. The laurels on his head glittered with the filter of light through the windows, and still it was second to the shine of Commodus' gaze. "Don't tell me..."

By now Maximus ought to be used to Commodus' approach, as well as the entitled touch of his hand. Standing at Maximus' side, one hand held the wrist attached to the veil. The other, shameless and excited, curved under the swell of Maximus' exposed breast to admire the wet bead of milk at the tip.

"My." He couldn't resist the grin, applying the slightest pressure to Maximus' swollen flesh. If his love didn't attempt to move his hand by then, Commodus would be swift to rub the pad of his thumb into his swollen, dripping nipple. "Of late I have wondered... poor Maximus, did your first fill happen while I was away?

"I'm sorry to have left you to such fullness for the better part of the day."

[missuscommodus]

Maximus looked up at Commodus' call to him. He felt the skin beneath his beard grow pink. To be called darling, to be caught leaking like this, to be seen in such a compromising position — Maximus wanted nothing more than to slip through the pretty tile floor, sparkling with the rainbow reflections from the Emperor's laurels, and disappear. Would there be anything left of his pride by the time Commodus' beloved heir arrived ?

He allowed the Emperor to do with the offending breast as he pleased. After all, this child ( and the body that bore it ) belonged solely to the younger man. The fingers clutching the veil reached forward and also grasped the front of the Emperor's robes. Maximus was glad that he sought such support ; Commodus' play with his nipple almost made his knees buckle.

❝Shit.❞ Maximus' unoccupied hand came to his belly. Milk welled up around Commodus' thumb, almost eager, and descended in a traitorous little river that inevitably dripped onto his stomach. It darkened the cloth, emphasizing the royals' proud color — which Maximus only felt comfortable wearing when his womb was full with the promise of longevity for Commodus' line.

Maximus bowed forward with a low groan. His fingers squeezed Commodus tighter. The pressure was unbearable, like nothing he ever felt before, and his poor breast ached worse than any of the terrible wounds he had suffered previously in battle. ❝I did not show you that they were hard last month, in Quintilis ... but it was not this. Your pup is going to be an eater, Commodus.❞ Maximus' lashes fluttered shut. ❝By the grace of Ares, it ...❞ His jaw worked, trying desperately to release the word hurts.

[paterpatriae]

"Yes," Commodus hissed when asked. Yes, I think of you. Yes, I crave your flesh, your touch, your voice, you.

He might have said as much if Maximus hadn't admitted to his own thoughts then, so honest with his need. Not for the first time, Commodus lamented the circumstances of their lives and their separation. What would it have been like if only Maximus had gone to Rome with him? What would Commodus have become if he weren't the next Caesar-- if he'd been a soldier whose only purpose was to fight at the noble general's side?

If he were a weaker man, Maximus' admission to his own vulnerability would have made him shudder outright. But Commodus approached him with only barely hidden urgency, gaze deep and dark and doing no favours to hide how badly he needed to devour Maximus alive.

"I'm almost convinced Clementia's touch must have graced Father's head," he mused, standing at the foot of Maximus' bed simply to look him over: at the sweat and grime collected on his skin, at the way Maximus' gorgeous body swelled when he breathed, and at the spiderwebs of blood that decorated the pale flesh of his inner thighs. "If only because he was adamant my sister and I come to bask in your victory, when so much requires our attention in Rome.

"You needn't suffer any longer, brave Maximus."

Commodus undid the fastenings to his own cloak, allowing it to pool to the ground without care. The deep purple of its colouring mattered little to him here, not when Maximus was so close, so warm, so alive and wanting. What was the Empire in the face of his most striking obsession? What was the faceless population of Rome when Maximus looked at him now with such unabashed desire?

Gods, but he was honest. Commodus parted the general's knees with both hands and grinned, sharptoothed, at the sticky red of his lover's core.

"Neither do I."

When he was younger, and when his father wanted him to learn nothing but the art of war and the honour of battle, Commodus used to feast on Maximus for ages. He was no general then, his most important appointment being the handpicked tutor of the Emperor's only son, and outside Maximus' duty to fight their time could be devoted only to each other. Commodus hadn't appreciated the luxury of it then, but he knew better now; turning his head and pressing his tongue to Maximus' knee, he was thorough as he dragged it upward. He swept over the coppery lines of blood on his skin, knowing he would only have so much time. So he savoured it, wet saliva leaving the hairs on Maximus' inner thigh glistening, and as he met the seam between Maximus' thigh and cunt he couldn't resist the hum of delight.

"I've missed you," he whispered, hands curved around Maximus' thighs. If not for the fire in his eyes as he sought Maximus' gaze, the words might have even sounded sweet.

"When I become Emperor, I'll never have to be away from you so long again."

Nor this, Commodus thought, using his thumbs to spread Maximus open. The spill of blood made his cock throb, and no longer able to resist him Commodus bent his head to lap the swell of crimson up with a needy tongue. The first touch was long and deep, dipping into Maximus' folds and curling, and then Commodus began to drink, licking over and over and bringing that mess of blood and viscera into his mouth to swallow. Pinning Maximus' thighs down, Commodus fed, and then came up to swirl his tongue over the swelling nub of Maximus' little cock.

He sucked on it, barely able to stifle his growl, and pressed his tongue insistently to the tip. Maximus' scent-- and the sharp notes of his arousal amidst the saccharine wash of his second sex-- was even more delicious than he remembered.

"Gods," Commodus groaned, "your cunt is so sweet for me, still."

Starved for his slick, Commodus' tongue pressed insistently into Maximus' hole once more, in and out and in again as he fucked him. The taste of sex and blood had him moaning with pleasure (what was better than eating his lover alive?), and reprieve came only when Commodus stopped to suck the mess in Maximus' core out to swallow it down. But each time, with just as much tenacity, he dove back in, fucking Maximus hard and, buried as deep as he could, flicking and swirling his tongue in all that delicious, warm heat.

[missuscommodus]

Maximus groaned darkly as Commodus position himself between his legs. He could see the intensity of Commodus' expression — the hunger that he had perhaps underestimated ( it was truly starvation ) and the focused stare. To feel his lips be parted so bluntly by Commodus' fingers made the color beneath his beard darken, but Maximus knew that his flush was not from embarrassment. By the gods above, he wanted Commodus there. His mind raced back to the hours they kept together in their youth, in which Commodus drank of his monthly bleed as if it were the finest wine.

It was a practice that Commodus seemed eager to return to, as well. Maximus inhaled sharply at the first swipe of the prince's tongue. His body sank further into the bed. Each deeper push of Commodus' mouth drew out a lower vocalization from Maximus. To have the imperial heir feasting there was an intense, terrible, and incredible feeling. The bleed always made Maximus more sensitive, and Commodus' eagerness loosened much of the meat from Maximus' shed womb that had not been ready to fall on its own yet.

Commodus took every bit of blood and morsel of tissue as if it had been spilled from Jupiter's cup into his own. Maximus felt raw within minutes, but he did not wish for Commodus to stop. He chose to react instead with amazement : at the amount of fluid he produced from his arousal ; at the sensation of Commodus greedily taking everything that Maximus could give ; and the satisfaction that came with providing such a mess.

Sweet, Commodus said, and Maximus moaned with pride. As Commodus ate of him, the general's fingers wormed their way into his thick, dark curls. Maximus' nails scraped gently Commodus' scalp. He could leave marks here, he thought distantly. No one in a shared bath would be able to see them.

❝Because it is unspoiled,❞ Maximus finally managed, head thrown back into his tattered old pillow. His toes curled, and the hand tangled up in the fur of his cloak mimicked their tension. ❝Only you have ever had me ... Commodus — C - Commodus !!❞ Maximus yelped his name as a fresh stream of red disappeared into Commodus' mouth. A series of cramp in his lower belly forced Maximus' eyes to close.

❝Only you may take me,❞ he repeated, voice harsh and quiet. ❝When the traveling - folk bring their whores, I refuse them, Commodus — even a kiss. I refuse them, I refuse them ...❞

Maximus' repeated phrase reduced to nothingness as Commodus continued. The pangs in his abdomen worsened. In an effort to soothe them, Maximus' unoccupied hand rubbed the flesh of his bloated belly. It was in vain, of course. Maximus bit back a cry : Commodus had found some new pocket inside of him that threatened to steal away the last of Maximus' resolve.

Already, he could feel his strength crumbling. So sore was he, so desperate for the lustful phantom customarily haunting his dreams that was presently made real. Maximus' lashes flew open at the same time that his body seized. He realized in that moment that he had reached his peak. The heat in his stomach was burning throughout his entire figure. His mouth was dry, his ears were ringing, and his breathing was short and forceful. Sweat stung his eyes. It had been too long since Commodus last consumed him ; Maximus could sense that he simply suffered from such a need that anything Commodus chose would have brought them here.

❝I am ... I must ...❞ Maximus' attempts to warn Commodus were lost in his strangled almost - screams. Slivers of red trailed sluggishly down from his lower lip, which he had tore through to stay quiet. Whether or not he was given the grace to finish was entirely up to Commodus.

[paterpatriae]

It'd been too long since he was last at the encampments. Commodus felt it on the trip here, and he felt it with even more acuity as soon as he stood on solid ground. Though tradition dictated he greet his father first (who was less than enthused by his presence-- a matter made even more stark after seeing how warmly his sister was welcomed in turn), it was not the Caesar that Commodus was most excited to see.

Where has the general gone? was the only question on his lips, posited to the first soldier he made contact with. Inevitably he was directed to Maximus' tent, and at that answer Commodus found it impossible to hide the swell of pride in his chest. Maximus was ready, of course. If nothing else, the general was steadfast in his routine, and it was as admirable as much as it stoked the low fire curling in his belly.

The guards assigned to him asked no questions as Commodus breached the entrance to Maximus' tent. Somewhere in the middle of his trek he'd caught the scent of himself, of Maximus, and of a metallic, sharp something else, and having found his prey, nothing else mattered.

Commodus wasn't built for the physicality of war. He knew this of himself, and came to (furious) terms with it when he'd first left his father's army to complete the rest of his education back in the fatherland. But the hunt, gods, it thrilled him-- and the same sense of victory that came when he felled a boar tickled his mind as he found the object of his affections.

The sly curl of his lip was fond, brought upon by the sound of his name in Maximus' mouth and the delicate bow of his head. Part of his pleasure came from power-- the deadly general submitted with such ease-- but most of it was marked by the desirous way Commodus' hands sought the flesh beneath Maximus' coat.

"I could smell you so many paces away, did you know?" it was no secret that Commodus loved when Maximus' body became this-- when it spilled crimson so vulnerably in a way no-one else was allowed to see. Eager fingers found the leather that kept Maximus' subligaculum together, working at it until the cloth that kept him hidden was undone.

For now, Maximus was allowed to keep his furs. Commodus moved cloth aside, undid the knot, and almost purred as it landed wetly between Maximus' feet. Two hands held fast at the general's sides, squeezing, and the heady mix of Maximus' sweet scent and the copper of his bleed had his own member growing hot.

"Maximus." Mine, Commodus almost said, but it was too early still (he only ever allowed himself this when he was cresting, coating Maximus' skin with his spend). Nipping teeth caught Maximus' bearded jaw, betraying the energy of his youth. "I demand you lay down for me.

"Legs spread, of course." As Commodus pulled away, the light in his eyes gave his excitement away, as it always did. His father won against the barbarians, Maximus was free, and Commodus could feast on Rome's most beautiful hero. "I've been away too long, Maximus, and this craving for you has turned near unbearable.

"I'll go mad without it sated, I know it."

[missuscommodus]

Maximus had no response to Commodus' quip about his scent. He was too occupied with the feeling of the prince's hands on his body and clothes. Gripping, tugging, pulling away the protective layers Maximus so carefully maintained without a question. Commodus took, and took, and took — as he always did, as was his right as the heir to the known world — and Maximus gave no complaints.

You'll go mad ? he thought instead, looking into those too - bright and hungry eyes. You are there already, Commodus.

The crimson running freely down the inside of his thigh, warm and sticky, drew Maximus out of his thoughts. He put away his concerns about Commodus' state as a leader. Maximus did not need him to be sane or possess any of the great qualities of Augustus or the founder of the empire's famed great - uncle. In this tent, Maximus had no desire for the man before him to be anything more than flesh, blood, and all of that ferocity that twisted his handsome face so prettily.

❝You think of me often, then ?❞ Maximus countered, unable to help the fond tease. ❝You crave me, hm ?❞ At that, his grin broadened, showing his teeth.

❝Would it please you to know that I do the same ? When Nox comes in her chariot and passes over this tent, her son and his many hundred offspring bring me dreams of you.❞ As he spoke, Maximus' smile slipped. The sincerity that replaced his amused expression was almost as thick as the lump in his throat that he swallowed. Maximus' gaze flicked down, fixating on an insignificant detail in Commodus' finery. ❝Somnus has taught them well ; you are so vivid to me. It is ... torture.❞

He stepped away slowly then. Calloused fingers rose to his throat once he reached the side of his simple raised bed. The act of unbuckling his cloak ( and unlacing his bracers ) hid their trembling. Maximus spread the fur garment out over his usual blankets in an effort to mitigate some of the bleeding that he knew would come. Once he was satisfied, he laid on his back. His torso was propped up just enough to see Commodus. Maximus opened his legs and felt a shudder run along his spine. Now, his muscular body was truly bare — a stark contrast to the the still - decorated prince.

Briefly, Maximus' stare landed on his discarded undergarments. Curious, he slid his fingers down. He felt it smear over his skin, all foul and red ; when his hand rose, Maximus' tan flesh was stained scarlet, as well. Of course Commodus would come on the first day of his bleed, which was historically the heaviest for him. Were the Somnia laughing at him ? he wondered bitterly.

❝It is for the best that the tribes we wage war against have not harnessed the power of that family,❞ Maximus concluded, massaging the thick blood on his fingertips in deeper with the pad of his thumb. ❝They would not need their pits or their hanging chains to break me ...❞ His eyes met Commodus' again. ❝Merely your name. Perhaps, that is my madness — this attachment to you that I bear.❞

[periodcostumefantasylover]

Maximus battle armor from Gladiator in 4k

[missuscommodus]

@paterpatriae —

Maximus closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. His hands stopped where they were, clasped on the buckles near his throat that would undo the large fur - lined cloak that cascaded down his back. Aside from his bracers and undergarments ( tightly wrapped and dark - colored ), it was the only thing left on him. This was because it was the most annoying part of his proper uniform to get out of on his own, and he usually maneuvered everything else beneath it.

That smell. It made his cheeks warm, given his current state, and his lips dry. Maximus knew it signified the approach of the prince. The heir to the empire was alone, just as Maximus had desired — only his guard flanked him, ready to stand attentively around the front of the general's makeshift home. Maximus didn't mind their presence : his tent was large enough to avoid being heard and the guards would keep his own men from bursting in. He could hear them, celebrating their victory and mourning their dead.

Commodus moved closer, and Maximus swallowed an unbecoming whimper. Customarily, he would be with his soldiers. It was his place — and may wrathful Mars in his golden armor excuse the good general for missing it tonight. Maximus' fingers finally undid the cloak. He caught it around his arms ( at the line of his long - freed breasts ), which made the thick garment drape over him like some fine blanket. The fur soothed his weary muscles, and Maximus appreciated that the red fabric pooled across his front hid the shine of blood and tissue in the bottom of his subligaculum. Were he more concerned with politeness, he would have raced to change it ... but he suspected that the garment would not be on long enough to warrant wrapping something clean.

❝Come in,❞ he said, voice strained in a way that could be thankfully mistaken for tiredness. Maximus swallowed thickly at the sight of the prince.

❝Commodus,❞ he continued, bowing his head. You have amusing timing, he wanted to add — but he sensed, terribly wanting, that Commodus could smell the bleed. What a tease it was : a reminder that Maximus' body ached for something sweet that remained unfulfilled, moon after moon.

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