Sharpie

Rufus had eaten his own meal, hurriedly, while his master had been closeted with his guest. He was waiting, now, in the guest room, having added a little more wood to the brazier - the previous night had been cold, and he saw no reason why his temporary master (he presumed the arrangement still stood, nobody had informed him that it did not) would be glad of the small luxuries afforded by a proper villa. It was nobody's fault that there had been an earthquake two nights ago - unless you wished to blame Neptune, anyway.

Things were set tidily on the writing table, although Rufus hadn't touched it, had set himself to ensuring the rest of the room, sparse as it was, looked presentable. He didn't have to wait long before the door was opened to admit the man he'd served for the past three days. He glanced up quickly to be sure it was the man he was expecting before lowering his eyes again. He could not take the liberties Flavius' own man did, of course.

"Good evening, Domine."

@Gil

 Rufus wouldn't have minded having to deal with the consequences of seeing to Flavius Alexander's front and the man already knew he could swallow, but he decided to move to the caldarium instead of further requiring Rufus' skills as a masseur. There was an implied promise that he would be required later, though, and he found himself returning the other's very real smile with a shy one of his own. "As you will, Domine."

His master's sons decided to join them at that point; Gaius was about his own age, and Marcus a couple of years younger and neither of them had thought to bring their own slaves with them. Seeing to three citizens was not as easy as seeing to one, but neither of them cared about that, content to let Rufus get on with it while they plied their father's guest with all sorts of questions about his military career, and where he'd served, and what he'd done. Questions that Rufus himself couldn't ask, but which he was perfectly happy to learn the answers to, listening quietly and impassively as he worked on each of the boys in turn - neither of them was as stiff as Titus Flavius, of course - Rufus would be shocked if they were.

They were dressed again soon, the boys content (for once) to dress themselves while Rufus served the older citizen, hurrying into his own tunic to follow them to the triclinium; the evening meal would be eaten in finery tonight, in honour of Caesar's cousin, their guest.

Rufus took up his own position behind Titus Flavius, who was naturally in the position of honour, ready to serve him in any way he wished. The meal was perhaps not equal to those served by Caesar Augustus, but was certainly more than passingly adequate - Rufus had an idea that the cook had been having paroxysms of anxiety about having turn out just right, and as far as he could see, he'd excelled himself tonight.

@Gil

It was a pleasant sort of silence as Rufus worked. Some silences were tense, just waiting for the explosion of temper, with a slap for good measure, meted out in chastisement of some perceived slight or other. Titus Flavius Alexander was not an intemperate sort of man, given to fits of pique and seeing insolence where there was none.

He was a man of action, shown that first evening when he'd dragged Rufus out into the wind for a late-night walk along the beach, and proven in the aftermath of the earthquake.

Rufus worked steadily, the only sound that of hand working oiled skin and the breathing and occasional quiet grunt from one or other of the two men. From shoulders, down the spine to the lower back and the legs, carefully finding each knot and stiff muscle and working to loosen them, careful not to exacerbate old injuries. The map of scars was fascinating - each one with a story, unlike those a slave might acquire, with a web of scars all originating from one whipping.

"Have I missed anything, Domine?" he asked quietly, finally stepping back after finishing each calf. "Or shall I go over something again?"

He did not want the citizen to think that he had been less thorough than he could have been.

@Gil

Quictilius Varus Teutus - or Tertius Quinctilius Teutus - would both establish a whole new family under gens Quinctilia, of course. Both appropriate under different circumstances than these.

He smiled, genuinely, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He had thought about it long enough to have got used, sort of, to the idea of one day being 'Teutus Quinctilius Varus' but had never said the name out loud (tempting the Fates, some people would have said. Others would have recognised it for the caution around the cook's wooden spoon that it was - he never hesitated to wield it on anyone he thought was being presumptuous or uppity, though he was a reasonable enough man the rest of the time). To hear it now, spoken by his father...  It sounded good. This whole thing suddenly seemed far more real than it had even just a few moments ago.

"I think... I think I like Teutus Quinctilius Varus, Domine," he said, almost adding 'if it please you' before catching himself - his name as a citizen would be his choice, not his master's. Father's. 'We' need to decide on a name for you, though... Always taking that little bit of control.

He would have to get used to calling Tertius 'Father' soon, when he had been 'Domine' all of Teutus' life. How easy a shift that would be remained to be seen! And a paterfamilias had almost as much control over his family as a master did over his slaves.

That could be... challenging.

"May I ask who else knows, Domine?" he asked, wondering which of his father's friends and acquaintances might just 'happen' to wander along to the law courts to witness the whole head-shaving, stick-tapping slave-owning-denying ceremony.

The pileus could get dropped into the Tiber from the Probus Bridge once it was all over, as far as Teutus cared.

@Atrice

Rufus didn't think that Gallus' coughing was as bad as it had been a few days earlier, but equally, he could see that it would be disruptive for him to serve at table this evening. He wasn't sure whether to be grateful, or not, that he hadn't been summarily dismissed back to the duties he usually carried out.

Grateful, he thought; it was still a change from the normal routine and Gallus hadn't seemed displeased to have Rufus there this evening. It had certainly been an... interesting few days - he did not think likely that he would forget it, any time soon.

To attend Flavius Alexander in the bath-house, and at table... Would he be required in the night, as well, as he had the first night? He hoped he might be, yet feared that he would not. But there was no time to dwell on that, he had received a clear order.

"Yes, Domine," he replied, and corked the oil-bottle he was holding, setting it to one side before following the citizen to the bath-house.

He had learned, over the past few days, that this citizen preferred Rufus to put his belt on, and remove it - to do the work of dressing and undressing him, in short, so he stripped down to his loincloth and waited for permission before reaching to unbuckle the belt from around the other man's waist and setting it, and his tunic, aside in one of the niches along the apodyterium wall.

"Do you want a proper massage, Domine?" he asked, once he had an oil-bottle and strigil to hand.

@Gil

Rufus had been grateful to hand the care of mule and pony over to the stable-hands once the mule was unloaded. He'd found a clean tunic though the one he was wearing really ought to have another day's wear in it (at least) and probably would have had he not spent last night wearing it, having fought a fire the night before.

Nobody had suggested he step down from his temporary service to their master's guest, even though his own slave was much better. It seemed the few days' rest had been good for him.

Rufus had found himself in the same room that had been allocated for the guest's use, only this time it seemed Gallus wanted his own duties back, something Rufus could both understand, and could not understand, at the same time. If offered a holiday, every slave he'd met would jump at the chance. They were not arguing; Rufus had gone back to assuming the duties of a house slave for the time being (ensuring the room was clean and tidy, that the brazier was lit, with spare wood for it, that there was oil for the lamp and the bed was made) while Gallus had busied himself with his master's personal effects.

The door opened and both slaves stopped what they were doing to acknowledge the citizen as he came in. "Domine!"

@Gil

Paulus needs his familia!

Wife: Valeria Petra - mid to late thirties (maybe up to early forties, she is younger than Paulus though), appearance and characterisation are up to you! It's a fairly happy marriage, though. Suggested PB: are Polly Walker (HBO's Rome), Beata Ben Ammar (The Last Legion) or Helen Mirren (Caligula)

Son: Lucius. 16, about to put on his toga virilis and assume the duties and responsibilities of adulthood. Suggested PBs are Lliam Powell (Spartacus: Gods of the Arena) or Max Pirkis (HBO's Rome)

Slaves: Crispus: An older slave, who can be trusted to run things when Paulus is not around. Suggested PB: Nicholas Woodeson (HBO's Rome)

Other assorted slaves - including two ex-gladiator bouncer/bodyguard/general heavyweight movers (either or both of these could be freedmen)

PM here or catch me on Discord (Sharpie, #4424)

"He caught a chill, sir, it was very sudden," Rufus added quietly into the pause - surely he would not be chastised for answering a question that had been addressed to him, even if the slave dealer had replied for him? And the citizen who'd asked had known his master, too, and might not be (probably was not!!) aware of his old master's passing and how quickly it had happened.

He was very conscious of the slight weight of the board hung around his neck, proclaiming his qualities and skills to all and sundry - but Titus Flavius Alexander knew them without reading it, knew him. Did he dare hope that he might be bought by the man he had served for three days? Or would he go to his friend?

He stole a glance at the friend. There seemed some sort of resemblance there - was this another member of the Imperial family? They might pay good money for him, but would either of them actually be a good master?

He thought Titus might; he'd served him for three days; admittedly only on loan as a replacement for his own slave who was ill, but he'd expressed concern for his own slave.

He gave a mental shrug. It wasn't as though he could do anything to influence where he ended up; that was in the lap of the gods. He sent a plea up to whichever of the gods might listen to a slave's prayers, that wherever he went, it would be to a good master.

@Gothic @Gil @Sarah

Rufus, in common with most slaves of his acquaintance, was not used to receiving compliments. They were expected to be of service, do their duty, without looking for praise or thanks of any description. That was not to say it didn't happen,  of course, but slaves were not supposed to expect it. They certainly weren't supposed to ask for it. They were supposed to serve and please their owners, without needing reassurance that their owners were pleased by the service. No more, no less.

The citizen's mumbled reply, which Rufus had only really heard because it was muttered practically into his ear, was unlooked for and sounded utterly genuine. He wriggled, a little - only a little! - with pleasure at the compliment, under the arm draped across him. The breaths in his hair evened out and their rhythm, and the wamth induced by those few words of praise, meant that Rufus soon followed into the arms of Morpheus.

@Gil

"Then it's very much at your service," Paulus said. "I daresay with that pedigree, if you want Caesar's wine, you'd know better than I where to look for it." He found that he liked the young man and his humour. "Though surely you wouldn't need to stoop to finding who'd stolen it in order to be able to sample it."

One of the Flavii Alexanders... That would be a very useful connection to have. Paulus would offer a sacrifice to Jupiter for in gratitude for this meeting, later.

"Your good lady is expecting a baby? Let us pray for Juno's favour for her and the child," he said, and tipped out a libation onto the stained table. "I have three, myself, a boy - young man, now - and two girls. I shall certainly wish to be of service to you in whatever way I might - once the baby is born, naturally."

He had no wish to talk of babies - what had men to do with that, after all? And if the good lady was not yet delivered of her child, such talk would tempt the Fates and nobody would wish to do that to anyone, especially not such a potentially useful new connection. He would look out, and keep back, some of the very best of his stock for such a (potential) customer. Everything good and in the best of taste - the tat could go to the secondary place on the Aventine that was managed by one of his freedmen.

@Gil

Rufus swallowed, trying to get every drop. He didn't care for the taste of it, but he'd set himself the task, he wasn't about to leave any traces if it could be helped. Once he was sure there was no more, once he was certain the other's prick was growing soft again, he carefully let it slip from his mouth, pulling the layered tunics back down and slipping back to his place beside the taller man.

"I am glad I please you, Domine," he said quietly, electing to lie on his side with his back to the man, to save trying to work out what to do with his arms. He was also aware that he had been summarily silenced the last time Flavius Alexander came, and wasn't sure if the same was going to be true tonight, too. He reached to settle the cloak better over them both.

He hadn't come himself, but it didn't matter, he had wanted to please the other man and his own desire came second to that. He could satisfy himself with his hand, if he needed to, after all.

@Gil

He had learned that the citizen liked stroking his hair. Whether that was because of its colour (unusual in Italia, of course, so that was entirely possible) or just because he liked stroking his bed-slave's hair, Rufus had no idea. It was calming, comforting, soothing, having those fine long patrician fingers carding through it.

He wondered if the citizen's own slave, Gallus, who'd been left behind to recuperate... did he do this, for his master? Or did Flavius Alexander, like Rufus' master, not require it of him?

It didn't matter; he wasn't here, and Rufus was, and it was cold, and yet... He bobbed up and down, licking and sucking, and let his fingers slip from the velvet skin of the man's shaft, to the furred skin of his balls.

And then the fingers in his hair stopped caressing, going still, pulling him down to take as much of the thick shaft in his mouth as he could. He moaned quietly around the fullness in his mouth, swallowing, ready for the climax that must come any second now.

@Gil

"Yes, Domine," he breathed against the thumb rubbing across his lip. As if to prove a point, Rufus opened his mouth, perhaps daringly, and licked at it, giving it a quick suck, a promise of what he could do. His lowered eyes were invisible in the darkness so the effect was probably lost.

Did it count, truly, as irrumatio if you were willing to stick another man's prick in your mouth, Rufus wondered, slithering down the makeshift bedroll alongside the other man until his mouth was on a level with the organ in question. He hadn't been so silly as to let it go; having his hand on it meant that he wasn't left questing for it in pitch darkness. His breath was hot on it as he shifted position to kneel astride the other - he had felt the change of position as he'd shifted onto his back - and pressed a kiss to it.

Did he dare ask for something himself? 'If you don't ask, you don't get, boy, but be polite!' He could try, at least.

"Domine, might it please you...?" he said, gently taking hold of the other's wrist and laying his hand on his own head, to play with his hair, as he set about his appointed task. He couldn't swallow it down as a professional could, but he could use his hands - well, one, the other was holding him up.

@Gil

"I'm sorry for that," Rufus said softly, willing to drop the subject as he was kissed. Pleasantly, this time, not the hungry, possessive, invasive kisses of two nights ago, that hadn't allowed him to do anything other than accept it. He found himself kissing back, that hand in his hair comforting, soothing. There was a hand fumbling under the covers, and then Rufus found his tunics being pulled up and they were rubbing together, almost Greek style for a moment, before his wrist was grasped and his found himself running his hand over the other's cock.

The kiss broke and he found himself a little shy, despite what he was currently doing.

"Do you want my mouth, or my arse, Domine?" he asked softly. "Or shall I just keep doing this?" He didn't think, somehow, that Greek-style would be enough, but it was too cold to really do much else. He was hopeful that it might be easier than the driven coupling two nights previously. And if it would help Flavius Alexander get some real sleep, that must surely be good.

@Gil

Rufus could not begin to imagine why this man, a freeborn citizen - a patrician no less, would seemingly prefer this sort of discomfort to all the comforts his rank could offer - a large house in Rome and no doubt a villa in the countryside, an army of slaves to satisfy his every whim, a bath house so he could bathe every day...

It was noticeably warmer in the small tent, though how long that would last was anyone's guess. Rufus' rough paenula under them and the citizen's fine red military cloak over them, each in as many tunics as they had brought... it would have to do. Lying next to one another as much for warmth as anything else... Rufus would not mind the 'anything else' too much; the other man was good-looking and had taken as much care as anyone two nights before.

The hand in his hair felt oddly comforting, rather than possessive, or arousing - Rufus had the strangest notion that he would miss it, once the man had left to return to Rome. He would surely forget Rufus, even if Rufus would not forget the last few days, the most adventure he had ever had.

"My mother is dead, Domine, these four years gone," he said quietly. "But indeed - I have never experienced anything like this. I think I begin to see how someone might miss it."

He paused, suddenly aware of the growing hardness, even through the several layers that separated them, of what he thought was the other's prick. He shifted his leg, a little, rubbing it gently.

"If the citizen wishes, I could..." he said, speaking quieter, a little shocked at how close he had come to saying 'if my master wishes' - the citizen was not his master, and was highly unlikely ever to be so!

@Gil

Rufus, being now one of four men rather than six, and a slave, found himself sent for water, though he got back to find one of the others had made a start on rubbing his own pony down - looking after two animals plus doing whatever chores he found the free men setting him wasn't easy, but the two soldiers didn't seem to take much notice of Rufus' own lack of status as some free people did.

Eventually, the food was ready and Rufus served up a portion, a little nervous about interrupting Titus' work (he was writing something, by firelight, which indicated that it must be fairly important if it could not wait for daylight.

"Domine, I beg pardon, but you should eat something," he said, holding out a bowlful of barley gruel, which might be a bit tastier than the usual sort of thing slaves ate.

He would eat his own once the others were served, social strictures held even out here, and Rufus would probably be set to rinsing the dishes in the stream once everyone had eaten. It was an unusual sort of companionship, admittedly, but nobody was in danger of forgetting that Rufus was a slave and the others were not.

It didn't take long for everyone to be ready to turn in after the meal.

"Domine, do you wish me to help you prepare for bed?" he asked, once everything was ready for them.

@Gil

"I have, Domine, we all have," Rufus replied. He stood aside, waiting until the man had finished with the bowl, before taking it back to return it to the kitchen.

Someone - he wasn't sure who - had found his own haversack with his spare tunic, and  he had his paenula, too, for which he was very grateful. He could only imagine how cold the next two days or so would be without it, and the chastisement he would receive for losing it once he got home - rough and simple it might be, but it still represented work and effort from others.

He didn't accompany the party looking over the path down from the ridge but remained behind to help being some of the clearing up while they waited for Flavius Alexander and Frontinus to return with their verdict.

He wasn't as stiff as he could be; he was used to a rough bed on the floor, but the memory of that arm over him, and the restlessness from the man whose arm it was. It had been rather a contrast to the previous night, in his own master's house - he was surprised to find he'd been looking forward to maybe something of a repeat, only to have it rudely interrupted by an unlooked-for earthquake.

He loaded the mule efficiently, and saddled up his own pony, waiting for the rest of the group, minus the two selected to remain behind to help. It was a shame, almost, that they couldn't stay to help, but the tall soldier's duty (whatever it was) came first - and Rufus couldn't help wondering what state his own home was, on the cliff by the sea.

@Gil

Pretty sure all mine are cat people, given half a chance. (Rufus definitely is.)

Teutus wasn't quite sure what he'd expected. He hadn't expected Tertius to outright admit he'd been holding out on him, of even to come close to it. He wouldn't point out the lie in the next statement; Teutus knew damn well that he'd only been promised his freedom after it became abundantly clear Tertius was not going to father a legal legitimate son, within a marriage.

He couldn't say he was exactly sorry not have a younger half-brother and therefore to have this chance - if he had a younger brother, he knew damn well he'd be a slave until he could purchase his freedom like any other slave and would never have been offered this chance or even the promise of it.

He wasn't entirely sure he could completely leave the past behind, but he'd be willing to give it a stab.

His freedom, and the ensuing adoption to make him legally his father's son and heir (there was something messed up about that, but Teutus wasn't going to examine that too closely) meant that his world would open up - though there would still be restrictions on him, being a freedman.

Some things couldn't be escaped. That taint of slavery was one of them.

@Atrice

Obviously a man of few words! Teutus shrugged and perched on a battered wooden stool. "I'll have the seasoned meat, cheese and bread, then, with onion, I think. "

Whatever the proprietor's mood, the food smelled good at least. Teutus would forgive a great deal for a decent meal (there were exceptions to this, of course, but no need to dwell on those right now).

"Been busy today?" he asked, more for something to say than because he really expected the man of few words to engage him in conversation. You never knew, though, and Teutus needed someone to talk to, even if it was just to discuss the weather. If the man didn't mind talking to a slave, that was! He could but hope.

@Gothic

Lunch - a corned beef and tomato ketchup sandwich.

(Late lunch, oops!)

"Yes, Domine, I am - I had just been expecting it for... a very long time, without ever knowing when it might happen." A vague hope for something that might happen at some uncertain date was never a good thing.

He mentally shook himself, his expression genuine. "I am sorry, I had not meant to give the impression I'm not glad - I am. Of course it's something I want. Thank you, Domine."

He wasn't sure what more Tertius expected of him; how could he expect his son to be overjoyed when he'd made himself stop hoping so that he wouldn't be disappointed in it? Right now, Teutus thought he'd only actually believe it after the ceremony was over.

Tertius didn't look happy, for some reason. Teutus felt a flare of irritation; it was the man's own fault that Teutus had stopped hoping, learned to keep his head down and do everything he was told to do as a slave. Tertius had no idea, did he, how much it had hurt, to be told this would happen one day, but not get a firm date or anything other than a vague 'When you're ready.'

"I have wanted it, for a long time, Domine. I will strive to be worthy of it - of you."

@Atrice

Tomorrow?! When it had been going to happen, for at least eight years? Tomorrow?!

Teutus looked up, realising that Tertius' face was a mixture of confusion, impatience, other things he couldn't name and confusion. He tightened his grip on the wax tablet he was holding.

Did he mention the confusion?

Teutus' response probably hadn't been the unalloyed overjoyed response that had seemingly been anticipated, but really, to promise to free your son and adopt him and make him your heir and give him everything... and to keep him waiting for it... Teutus had, more than once, wondered (if only to himself) whether his father - his master -was somehow ashamed of fathering a child on a slave-woman, and had kept it dragging on for this long because of that. Every free man in Rome, pretty much, had the potential to have fathered a slave child, what was so damn shameful about it?

He shook himself, forcing a smile onto his face. "Tomorrow? Yes, it pleases me, it pleases me very much, Domine. Thank you."

And if I had any friends, I would go and celebrate with them, except I don't, really.

"It is just the surprise, Domine. I had not expected it... so soon." Or ever, really, by now. "I am grateful to you, truly."

@Atrice

It was not the most comfortable night ever (which was saying something, for a slave). The restlessness of the man behind him disturbed Rufus' own sleep, though not enough to wake him. He shivered as the warmth behind him and that warm weight of the arm resting on him disappeared. There was no more shaking and no more alarmed rushing around for anyone.

He woke in the morning as everyone else did, the day dawning bright with a thin crust of snow on the ground, hiding the worst of the previous night's quake. Somehow the cook got a fire going (after much swearing), enough to heat some food brought from the storage jars buried in the ground in a separate part of the house, although there could be no bread this morning so even the citizens had to make do with a rough porridge.

Rufus took a bowlful to Flavius Alexander, who had been standing watch.

"Good morning, Domine. The cook says, he's sorry it isn't anything better, but it's hot, at least. I don't know that there will be a better breakfast later, not after last night."

@Gil

 Rufus had managed to find his own rough cloak. It was not so versatile as the soldiers' cloaks, being a rectangle of rough hard-wearing felt with a hole for the head, but it would do as a blanket, temporarily. He copied the soldiers, pulling on his spare tunic over the top of the one he already had on, and eventually found himself sleeping on a pile of straw in the barn along with the entire household and the soldiers he had travelled with.

He lay on his side, pulled in close to Titus Flavius Alexander, who had wrapped his arms around him possessively. This was not how Rufus - or any of them - had expected to be spending the night, of course, but it was better to be here, with everyone else, than in the house where everyone was separated and who knew what might happen. And he did not begrudge the proximity of the citizen behind him; he needed the warmth as much as Flavius Alexander did.

Tired out from the exertions of the day, he was asleep before he knew it, used to the sounds of others around him.

@Gil