Plot bunnies are little bitches...
Seriously, this one fell on my head last week and wouldn't quit bothering me...I don't even know where it came from...
I mean sure, I wrote a paper on Roman theatre recently but still...I mean, Gladiators? Sky High Gladiators? Is that even a fandom? I don't think it is...Sky High can barely be called a fandom by itself these days...even for me.
Oh well, it's little one shots like this that can fuel a fandom all day errehday.
Anyways, my schedule is extremely loaded, and at times it's difficult to even write a paper I'm so tired. Once my show is over in a couple weeks, I'll have some more time to myself. Maybe that time will bring motivation...
Send me positive thoughts friends if you don't mind. It's a rough go for me right now. I send you all the same positive energies as the years winds down into the cold times.
I slipped in some relevant and pun-ish terms in this little oneshot...hehe...and with my limited knowledge of the Greek an Latin language. I almost used Firebird instead of Phoenix by the way...that translates to Oedipus...WRONG CONTEXT, WRONG MEANING AND TOTALLY WRONG STORY...hehe...
Calls and whoops filled the Colosseum as the two Gladiators moved around one another in the arena. The victor was apparent. Only one seemed to have any energy left in him. The audience screamed in delight, as he parried a weak blow from his opponent. They chanted out the name he'd been given by the city of Rome. "Phoenix! Phoenix! Phoenix!"
He was affectionately nicknamed so for the red-lined flames carved into the metal on his greaves, and manica; as well as the great firebird engraved and painted onto his shield…and the fact that he wielded a flaming sword.
It had been his trademark as a Gaul warrior. He'd fought vigorously against the Roman invaders until he'd been captured and sold into slavery. Apparently, his title fetched an extravagant price with his looks exotic to Rome, his physique, his unique fighting style and rumored obsession with the stories of a great flaming bird. Within a month he'd been bought by a Roman noble, and was thrust into Gladiator training to fight for the House of Battle.
He was tall, with long, dark hair falling around his shoulders. Sand clung to his leanly muscled body in places where sweat had pooled. Blood stained the right side of his chest and dripped languidly into the dark leather cingulum around his waist. The gash was not very deep and just above the leather buckle that clasped the manica to his right arm. Aside from that one wound and his light panting, the Gaul was holding up.
The same could not be said for his opponent.
With a final slash of his flaming sword, the pyro side-stepped lithely and turned to watch the burly man drop to his knees in the sand, no longer able to stand.
He panted heavily, limbs shaking in his lighter, leather armor.
Phoenix clenched his jaw. He despised this honor-less swine. The Roman had been forced to attend Gladiator training as punishment for some crime he'd committed. Damnati ad gladium…a sentence to fight as a Gladiator until dead. Despite the sentence, he'd strut around the training grounds, and pick fights with no respect for his fellow man. He also had a habit of brutalizing the women that were occasionally brought to him.
The Gaul was sure that no one had expected him to survive his first fight. He was a fatter man with arrogance to match his size. However, the Roman was just cruel enough to be fair with a sword and light shield…and he was deceptively swift on his feet. He'd been given the nickname "Agilitas"by his fans for his impressive speed. Being a crowd favorite had made him overconfident as he'd strolled into the arena to face the firebird.
The dark-haired Gladiator knew that the brute's stamina couldn't last forever…neither could the affection of the audience. He'd surrendered twice already, only to return with a cheap shot to continue the match, earning him a crowd-ful of boos. Phoenix had managed to follow the speedy bastard's movements and block a majority of the blows while staying generally in one spot. In retaliation he'd slashed out with his flaming sword as the fool wore himself out.
And now the oaf had collapsed to his knees in the sand. Blood painted his skin and light armor from the gashes the firebird had carved into him at passing. The Gaul had been taught by his lanista to harm, to preserve…and to only kill if…
He raised his eyes to the people in the Colosseum. Immediately, the majority turned up their thumbs and screeched things like "Slay him!" "Cut him down!" or "Finish him off!"
He raised his eyes further to the Emperor.
The richly adorned man stared coldly down with critical, and amused eyes. He smirked and turned up his thumb.
In response, the audience cheered in delight, calling down encouragement and taunts.
Sighing heavily, Phoenix looked down to Agilitas. The condemned man was quaking with the pain and fear. The Gaul watched as the criminal shut his eyes tightly.
"Hey," he grunted, lightly kicking a bit of sand at his opponent-turned-victim. It clouded around the fool's knees and got him to open his eyes.
"You must not show fear." The pyro murmured, "That is what you have been taught above all else."
Agilitas swallowed visibly and clenched his jaw. He'd made it a year after his death sentence had been dealt. This was his sixth fight. His swift feet and brutal fighting style in the arena had once made him a crowd favorite. But now, the people were bored and ashamed of him, and would now so quickly demand his demise. "We must die with honor." The Gaul said.
The look of determination in the Roman's eyes faltered as Phoenix raised his flaming sword and placed a hand on his head. Agilitas wavered a moment as he got one leg out from beneath him to crouch only on one knee.
Then he lowered his head and grasped Phoenix's calf muscle in a submissive gesture.
At the bastard's last moment of life before the scalding blade of the Gaul's sword plunged down his neck to sever his spine, the firebird felt a harsh flash of agony in his thigh. His body jerked back, dislodging Agilitas' short sica. He growled in rage, giving his blade a fervent twist before yanking it out in dismissal. The flames faltered a bit now, wet with blood. But still they burned with the smell of hewed flesh.
He turned away then before the body flopped to the ground. He was aware of the blood streaming down his leg from the long, deep laceration in his thigh. The roaring of the crowd echoed throughout the arena as he walked, head held high to the opening gate. Normally, the firebird would stay to receive his palm branch to please the crowd as was customary. But at the moment, he was sure that running around the arena would increase the blood flow and surely kill him.
Once in the safety of the dim, stone halls, Phoenix faltered, grabbing a wall, dropping his sword and shield.
"Medici! Now!" A familiar voice shouted. And then someone was grabbing the Gladiator around the waist and guiding him deeper into the bowels of the Colosseum away from the calls of the crowd.
"Why are you still here?" The Gaul asked, cocking his eyebrow as he was seated on a bench. Healers extended his leg and began to examine the wound. It hurt, but he ignored them, even as they wound a cord tightly around his upper thigh. His eyes were only for his fellow Gladiator who stood, watching him with concern.
He was a Dacian prisoner of war, smaller than an ordinary man but with three times the strength. A little brawn. In the arena he wielded two swords and nearly flew on his feet despite the weight of the weapons and armor. He fought for the Stronghold, a collection of former Roman generals who stood to make a lot of money off of the Gladiators.
His well-muscled body, fair face, soft brown hair, and deep, ocean blue eyes made him a favorite of the lustful side of Rome's society. At least three times a month, he was rented out to noblewomen and men. Any night spent away from his cell fueled the rumors of his sexual stamina, prowess and attentiveness as a lover.
Thus, Roman society so creatively referred to him as William the Lover as if he were the subject of Greek poems. Then again, these days, he might just be.
It made the Gaul's blood boil at times, but he kept silent about it.
"Just watching out for you, my friend." The brawn smiled gently, reaching to grasp the Gaul's shoulder.
The pyro looked to the bandages around the other man's bicep and waist.
Self-consciously, the Dacian moved back slightly, "Worry not for me right now,"
"Warren, prepare yourself. We have to cauterize the artery."
The Gaul looked down at the healer and sighed, "There are times when I believe that you find pleasure in hurting me, Layla."
"It is the entire reason I became my tribe's healer." The redheaded, Germanic woman smiled gently, gesturing to the fire. Her fellow medici, Ethan, a man captured from North Africa, moved to the fire and lifted a glowing orange long knife from the coals.
They were some of the few who always called him by his Gaulish name.
Shaking his head at the sight of the blade, "I always hated you two."
"We could just let you bleed out." Ethan shrugged, handing the cautery to Layla and getting a good grip on Warren's leg.
"Yes, and then some upset, wealthy nobles would flog your backs until your spines lay stripped."
William held onto the Gaul's arm and sat beside him, "Be quiet. Are you ready?"
"I have been properly-ah!" The dark-haired gladiator clenched his teeth down on the yell of pain as Layla dug the scalding steel into bleeding wound without warning. He gripped William's hand and wrist as the smell of burning flesh filled the chamber. Shuddering, he groaned, leaning heavily upon the brute, "One day, I will slay you, woman."
Shaking her head, Layla carefully withdrew the blade, successfully singeing any bleeding vein closed and clean. "I would love to see you try, Gladiator. The boys back at the school might have something to say about you murdering the beautiful woman with the exotic red hair."
Ethan snorted, "Or she will poison you the next time you are injured."
"Or call upon the favor that Magenta the Animalistic owes me." She smirked, stitching the burned wound closed.
"He cannot hear you." William sighed, "The blood loss and the pain seem to have rendered him unconscious." The healers quickly looked up and saw the Gaul slumped against the Dacian. Ethan reached up and pushed open one of Phoenix's eyes and felt under his jaw.
The Lanista chose to enter the chamber at that moment, his loud, booming voice taking up the entire space. "We are preparing to return to the school." He paused when his eyes fell upon Warren, "Is Hothead fit to travel?"
Ethan slathered salve onto the firebird's thigh and said, "I am not carrying him, Boitus."
"He is too proud. He will kill us all if he awakes back at the school." William squeezed his fellow Gladiator's hand and gave him a gentle shake. "Warren, we're going home. Warren?"
Dark chocolate eyes fluttered open slightly, and weakly focused on the Dacian.
"We're going home. Can you walk?"
Saying nothing, the Gladiator sat up and got to his feet. He limped slightly and shrugged off William's offer of help as they made their way out of the lower chambers of the Colosseum to begin the ride back to the school.
"And you wonder why they call us barley-men." Warren shook his head as he watched the brawn just about lick his plate clean. Given that he was weak, Phoenix had been served his evening meal in his cell. The Lover had decided to keep him company.
Chuckling, William set down the plate. "Have I ever told you about before I was brought here?"
Warren shook his head as he held a wick against the fresh oil-soaked compound to melt it against his sword. He brushed the resulting flame away with his calloused fingers, firmly attaching the compound to the blade.
For a moment, the brawn observed the pyro, smiling at his obsession with fire. "I was in the Dacian school on the far side of Rome. My cell was about three times smaller than this, and I slept on a hay sack on top of a stone bed."
The firebird scratched his blunt nail against the flat of his blade to properly spread the flammable compound. "I was in roughly the same situation before the House of Battle bought my title."
"I do not miss the fleas." William said, lying back on the oak bed with an uncomfortable groan at the small flare of pain in his waist. He distractedly picked at a bit of barley stuck behind a tooth and then said, "I would be dishonest if I said that I do not enjoy the luxuries I have."
"Yes," Warren muttered, lifting his blade. The sharp edges were void of the compound, but the flat was stained black. He trusted his skill enough to know that it would engulf in flames properly during his next time in the arena most likely a couple months from now. "I enjoy it as well, most of the time. But look around you, William."
The Dacian sat up, looking soberly at his companion.
"Indeed, our barracks are furnished well because of our victories. But that door will be locked tonight. This 'school' we are in? It is a fortress. It is a prison. We are prisoners of war. We are slaves. We belong to whoever holds the Bill of Sale. We are forced to fight and at times kill men we respect. And whatever or whoever we left behind…nothing but a memory."
William looked down to the floor. After a long moment of silence, Warren set down his sword and leaned heavily against the back of his chair so it rested against the wall. A hand went gingerly to the bandages around his thigh.
"Who did you leave behind?" The brawn asked quietly.
Pressing his lips into a firm line, the Gaul bumped his head back against the wall. Closing his eyes and crossing his muscled arms, he growled, "Nobody. That is the fucking problem, Will. There is absolutely no one for me to wonder of. They are all dead."
William got up off of the bed and went over to crouch in front of the firebird. Gently, he touched Warren's wrist. "I…" He struggled for something to say; something to ease the firebird's turmoil. The man was in that place that every Gladiator got to every once in a while. Most of the men and occasionally women in the arena were prisoners, captured and stolen away from their conquered homelands by the Roman Empire.
He'd been there more times than he cared to count. And at those times, he'd been alone. In turn, the Dacian wondered if the man wished to be alone. Perhaps that was best.
"Do you wish for me to leave?" William asked, desperately hoping for the pyro to say no.
Warren cocked an eyebrow down at his fellow Gladiator and leaned forward. "Why? I was under the impression that you were going to bribe the guard," He slid one large hand into the Dacian's hair and pulled his head back, "and stay here so I could fuck you all night."
All of the breath left the brawn at the words sliding out of the pyro's mouth like fiery silk. He swallowed and attempted to collect his thoughts. He wondered at how quickly the Gaul could open himself up and close himself off.
Apparently unsatisfied with the lack of answering, the pyro slid his long, blunt fingers around the Dacian's hand. And then he guided it down to cup his impressive cock through his tunic. William licked his lips, his heart beat picking up.
Sure, he'd been hired by a well-known noblewomen just last week…but those that rented him did not appeal to him the way the Gladiator in front of him did. He did not feel for them the way he felt for Warren.
The Gaul was his good friend. He looked out for the firebird, whether it was holding him back from a fight when he couldn't keep his scorching temper in check, or holding the man up when he couldn't walk from exhaustion or injury.
Warren did much of the same for him. The pyro had sat with him after his best friend, a fellow Dacian by the name of Zachariah, had been killed in the arena. He'd forced an antidote down his throat after a scorned Roman Gladiator had poisoned him. And then he'd killed the failed assassin. The firebird had held him in his arms as he'd fought to hold on after sustaining a staggering amount of nearly fatal injuries from the beasts unleashed upon him in the arena. Magenta the Animalistic had been particularly cruel that day.
And then there were moments such as these.
Gods, William remembered that first frantic, rough rut in intense detail and a fondness that still summoned heat deep within his belly. The Dacian had led the firebird away from a fight in the courtyard to a secluded alcove. Oh, how the two of them had argued. In utter irritation, the brawn had given the Gaul a shove and had said, "If you wish to brawl with someone, brawl with me."
They'd brawled alright, right up until teeth and tongue and calloused, groping hands had joined the fight…and the Lover had found himself shoved up against a wall in what would have been a compromising position had they been caught.
After that, the moments happened more frequently, became more private and lasted longer as they grew bolder. No one in the school spoke of their relationship in any manner more than friendship even though the two were sure all knew.
Shuddering out a breath, the Dacian pushed Warren's tunic out of the way, immediately leaning in to nuzzle at the pyro's engorged cock. The pyro groaned at the moist heat of the man's mouth. He tightened his hold on his lover's hair. "I've missed you." He sighed.
Chuckling, the brute glanced up, flattening his tongue and languidly caressing the head of the pyro's erection. "It has been but a night." To alleviate discomfort in his bandaged midsection, he arched his spine slightly.
"Short frottage before the Coena Libera does not satisfy." Warren grunted, gasping when his lover swallowed down his cock. He leaned forward slightly, careful not to squash William's head into his lap. With deft, reaching fingers, he undid the cingulum at the Lover's waist and pulled up the dull, blue cloth.
The Dacian leaned back for a mere moment to lift his arms as the pyro yanked his tunic off. And then Warren was down his throat again. Leaving William to his task, the Gaul attempted to breathe evenly as he undid his own cingulum and drew his tunic up and off.
His rough hands moved over the brawn's defined shoulders. They were not as broad as his, but were they ever larger and stronger. The whole expanse of his body was impressive. They had to be with the life that they led. Even with the light layer of fat most sported around their middles to protect them, Gladiators were an imposing bunch.
Groaning, Warren thrust up, driving a small choke from his lover. He felt the brawn's forearm brush against his lower leg as he reached to stroke his own cock. Sliding his fingers into William's hair, he held on tightly and proceeded to fuck his throat.
A moan rumbled from the Dacian. The vibration stampeded through the pyro's nerves and up his spine.
Warren hissed, pain flaring in his thigh which reduced his thrusts.
Drool slithered down the brawn's chin, his tongue caressing the silken steel as it slid slowly in and out of his mouth. The Gaul's movements came to a stop, and he braced a hand against his thigh.
Concerned blue eyes looked up at him and William leaned back. "Warren?" He looked to the palm cradling the firebird's wound and frowned.
"We do not have to do,"
"I will not break." Warren growled, gripping the Dacian's hair tightly. "However, if you do not want this, feel free to leave." At that, his warm fingers left the soft brown locks and dark chocolate eyes looked away stubbornly.
"No, no. I do want this." William shook his head and then chuckled, "I always want this…I always want you. More than you could ever know. Constantly, I ache for you, Warren. But you are hurt, and I do not wish for you to overexert yourself."
Warren snorted with indifference, still not looking at the little brawn.
Shaking his head, the Dacian stood and gave the pyro a shove.
Shocked, the raven-haired Gladiator looked to him. Shock turned to anger and Warren was on his feet, backhanding William across the face.
The brawn grabbed his jaw, faltering against the edge of the bed. Blood welled up in the corner of his mouth, as he hissed with the painful throbbing. "You said we would fuck all night," He said after a long, silent moment, cocking an eyebrow, "Do not tell me that it is a blind story just because you cannot control your temper and your pride."
In retaliation, the pyro seized the Dacian's wrists. The two grown men struggled and wrestled against one another, spirited grunts and growls leaving them. Pain pounded in their wounds, but neither gave an inch for it. However, William was forced back against the mattress, baring his teeth in a pleasured groan as their cocks brushed together. The heated friction was painful, but it felt so damn good that the pain hardly mattered.
A heated fist firmly grasped the brawn's arousal, forcing a choked gasp from him. Shuddering, William tried to retaliate. But the pyro seemed to have other plans. With wide eyes the brawn watched as his lover's wet, scorching mouth engulfed his erection with nothing more than an eager sound in his throat. With a series of hard sucks from root to crown, the Dacian cried out, his bones beginning to feel like liquid.
He held on to Warren's taut shoulders at one point, dropping his head back. Before the brawn could comprehend it, the pyro pulled off of him. Warm lips trailed upwards over the plains of his clenched muscles. His mouth crashed over William's, tongues working against one another, teeth dragging along bruised lips.
The brawn wrapped his arms around the pyro's body, holding the two of them tightly together as they kissed one another mindless. Shuddering, William tried to speak, his body burning with need. No sound resulted aside from a throaty keen.
"You are the only one I wonder of," Warren breathed, mouthing at the brawn's jaw.
William's heart swelled in his chest, heat racing through his veins. He moaned as the firebird ground his hips against him. The brawn rolled them over so that he straddled Warren. With shaking hands, the brawn drew one of the lamps closer, and dipped his fingers into the warm oil.
"You will ride me, then?" Warren chuckled, caressing his lover's powerful thighs.
Pressing his lips firmly together, the Dacian didn't answer as he spread oil over and into his entrance, working quickly but efficiently. The Gaul took in a deep breath as William coated his erection thoroughly with the lamp's oil. Focus would not be his ally in this coupling. Already he knew the end was near for the both of them. But what a pleasure it would be to die within his lover.
William lifted himself, and guided the firebird's hard cock inside of him, shuddering out a breath as he sunk down inch by glorious inch. The discomfort was a minor thing. Ocean blue eyes focused down upon the pyro, and the Dacian breathed, "While I am a prisoner…my heart will always be free as long as you hold it."
Laying his head back and sighing, Warren closed his eyes. It was so simple to lose himself to the wonderful, tight heat of the brawn's passage. He tried to tell his fellow Gladiator how the fires in his heart burned for him; how his body ached for his; how he was the only reason that he didn't open a vein and end his life as a captive; how much he loved him.
But it all caught up in his throat, and cracked out in his native tongue.
William groaned, hardly able to breathe as he fully seated himself and took up a careful rhythm. He didn't understand much Gaul, only a few words here and there. So, he leaned down, kissing the pyro deeply. The brawn placed his hands on Warren's chest to support himself as he began to move his hips. Then he murmured in Dacian that he loved him.
While neither man understood exactly what the other said, the intensity of their locked gazes was enough to get the message as they began to move with one another. First slowly. And then brutal and punishing with all the pleasure that their world could hold.
Phoenix strode out across the sand, staring across the arena at his opponent. The crowd cheered and called their names, cursing and barking out taunts. It had been a few months since his fight with Agilitas and he was in full health.
However, the knot in the pit of his belly made him feel less than so.
His opponent ran the blades of his two swords against one another, causing a shrill tone to ring out through the noise. It was his trademark threatening display that he usually began his bouts with. The firebird retaliated by crossing his sword over his shield and dragging them loudly across one another. The friction over flint on his shield set the blade ablaze.
Warren had never faced this man before in the heat of battle. He had hoped to never be required to do so. Perhaps that made him weak. Childish things like love and foolish things like lust tended to impede one's strength in some aspect or another. However, the pyro had been completely content with it.
Ocean blue eyes looked at him through the creases of his helm.
The two had not known until the very last minute that they would fight today. Rumor had it that the Emperor, whom had heard the whispers of their relationship, had already decided that this would be a fight to the death.
However, the Phoenix would throw down his weapon and shield and refuse to do so at instruction. This could risk his own death for defying the Emperor, or gain immense respect for daring to do such a thing. Or both.
The firebird would not kill his lover. He was taught to harm, to slow his opponent down. This he would do. He'd cut the Lover to ribbons before he killed him. Injury triumphed over death any day. But perhaps that would lessen their worth to the crowd and they would be killed in their next fights anyway. Maybe Warren would just throw his weapons down now and refuse to fight.
Struggling, the pyro looked to his opponent, his lover.
The Dacian appeared to know what to do. The Gaul watched as the Lover's muscles tensed in his lower abdomen, legs and biceps.
Your lead, then. Phoenix thought, readying himself. He decided then and there that if there was to be a death during this fight in this arena today…it would be his own. And though he didn't realize it as the two Gladiators roared out battle cries and charged at one another, the brawn had made the same decision.