The woman.
Gannicus closed his eyes to shut out the ethereal image, but even as his vision darkened, her form remained within his mind, captured as if to last for all of eternity.
He groaned. Saxa had moved from plundering his mouth with fevered kisses and was making her way down his chest, oblivious to his frowned expression and unsuccessful attempts at burying deepest desire.
Crimson, he thought. Her cheeks had gone crimson and he had not yet touched her. His mind and senses had ceased to function the moment he had removed his face from Saxa's neck and his eyes had laid upon her.
Her.
He did not even know her name. His mind raced as he struggled to place a name to her. But what possible name could he conjecture that would fit the heavenly sight he had witnessed but a few moments ago? None fit mold. It exasperated him and infuriated him that someone as unknown and unreal would affect him so.
A slow grunt escaped his lips, out of pleasure or agony he knew not. Saxa however took it for pleasure and continued her onslaught upon his body. He dug his fingers deep in her hair and let her do what she wanted with him. Seeking pleasure with her had always been a challenge, a playful one. It was not a state of connection or tenderness, but a tease and sport of sorts - each trying to best the other and finding pleasure at claiming domination. She was a woman who rivaled his own appetite for wild pursuits and although he chose this life as a means to bury his anguished thoughts and pain, she thoroughly enjoyed it for what it was. He liked their arrangement, coveting nothing more from her and he had an inkling their current state of things was exactly what she desired as well. Had anything even remotely tender existed in her breast for him, he thanked the gods that she never broached subject. Saxa was a ferocious and strong warrior, yet he would feel unsettled breaking her heart with such unwanted emotional confrontation.
Love was something he neither sought nor desired. As time moved steadily on, even the memory of his love for Melitta was beginning to get fainter and fainter. It was only in his dreams now that he would see her face, blood staining her face and clothes as though it happened mere seconds ago, her urgent gasps for breath, her eyes widening at the horror of unexpected agony and death. Holding her in his arms, he had been as helpless then as he was now. Except now, his helplessness had enveloped his entire life - taking everything meaningful away from him and everything that he had held closest to heart further from his reach. Honoring Oenamaus was the only purpose he had left, and in the act, he found some mode of strength connecting with his fallen brother, whether he looked down at him from above or not.
As Saxa laced his thighs and chest with her nails in wanton abandon, he found himself distracted, yet again, mind conjuring images which sent senses reeling; which would be better served remaining hidden in the deepest crevices of his mind.
He had no right nor ache to think of the woman like this. Woman, he thought. How quick was he to dismiss her as a child and now thoughts of her consumed him like wine upon flame. His heart was ablaze with her flawless porcelain skin, the smooth curve of her tiny waist, enveloped above by breasts which reduced him to a truly mindless state. The faint glow of the room, heavily alit by candles, did nothing but elevate her already unsurpassable beauty.
How modestly had she been holding her hands across her dress, her fingers lightly intertwined. He imagined if she sought comfort that way given the circumstance? She was uneasy and her gaze spoke volumes to him, silently pleading but desiring at the same time. He was thoroughly aware of how she tried to avoid his gaze, her eyes flicking to Saxa and then back to him, unsure of what was to follow; her constant gaze upon the floor and to the side, as his eyes traveled across her, taking in each and every single detail. He had realized he was afraid to blink, lest what his eyes beheld would disappear. His throat was dry and his mouth agape as he swallowed her in.
He let out a satisfied grunt as Saxa took him in his mouth and he held her there, his hips moving in rhythm to the strokes of her mouth and tongue. He gazed down at her, his eyes hooded. She paused, teasing, smirking as she saw his unadulterated pleasure. Her eyes were sharp, focused, and there was a playful confidence sparking within, telling him she knew exactly what he wanted.
But did she now, he wondered?
Only a moment ago, he had felt a sudden pang of anger towards Saxa. Anger that he had no right nor sense to feel. After all, her presenting gifts to him was nothing new, they had been in the company of many women before, and she would lay with them in front of him as he would lay with them in front of her. Complication when it came to sex was not a thing that had ever even occurred to them and he had never refused her indulgence. And she had never refused his. Not ever. It was a silent understanding, devoid of expectations that went beyond what their bodies desired.
So how was this woman any different?
Why did he feel a pang of anger at Saxa for having brought her for their mutual pleasure? She had always brought him women who were willing to lay with him absent feelings of discomfort or confusion and they had always been women she had taken a fascination to, who were experienced and well versed in the ways of men. Never had they resisted him and he had been content to find pleasure in how his body moved against theirs in mutual passion.
Yet, now Saxa presented him with the likes of a woman he had little experience with. She had not been clad in ordinary slave clothes, like the many women before her had been, neither was she flaunting any part of her body, desiring his attention and his cock. Nor did she need it, he thought. This one needed no seduction to gain his look, a mere glance at her was enough to halt his senses and will power. The dress she adorned had been a simple one - white, embellished with breathtaking contours of roses and petals, which shimmered as she moved in front of him. The gentle sparks coming from them were nothing compared to the glow that radiated from the depths of her eyes as she looked at him, standing stiffly, unsure of his approach and touch.
His touch.
He roughly hoisted Saxa from between his thighs, rolling over, and pinned her under him. His mouth pressed against her lips, his tongue moving wildly inside. Her lips were firm and her tongue massaged his expertly, flicking about against his in ecstasy, as her hands moved his face closer to hers. With eyes shut, he wrenched his lips from hers and moved across her naked skin, planting hot kisses down her neck and torso.
Amidst blissful darkness, he recalled how he had envisioned caressing different lips a while ago. His finger had gently stroked the side of her face, their mere touch setting forth what seemed to be apprehension and desire within her chest, as it moved up and down faster than before. Her breaths were strained and her state reluctant, yet she peered into his eyes with a shy confidence, if such a thing ever existed. There was something about her eyes that intrigued him beyond anything. Here she was with a stranger and she looked at him with utmost trust and a depth of feeling and tenderness he had not seen before in anyone else's eyes. At least not for one such as he. He felt himself drown in them, little by little, and absent awareness, his body was gently swaying towards her to meet her lips.
His desperate kisses on Saxa stopped for a moment and he swallowed, his throat dry as mind delved into the thought of what eyes had rested upon earlier.
Her lips.
He had been content to take them in with his gaze, yet his hand had ached to run across them and feel their touch. His mouth, starved for breath as he met her gaze, had wanted to press against hers, to feel the warmth and softness of her lips moving against his. He wondered how it would have felt, to taste the sweetness of her mouth with his tongue. He wondered how she would have reacted to his touch, had he ravished attention on her heavenly form. He wondered if she had lain with any before him. A painful image of her being in that state with someone unknown flashed across his mind and his stomach turned, feeling an angst he had not felt for a long, long time. This was not like him, he thought. How is it possible for a single woman to conjure so many emotions within him in but one moment? The direction of his thoughts confused him and infuriated him beyond expression.
He would have none of it.
Primed at her entrance, Saxa moaned and arched her back as he pushed inside her with vigor, his speed increasing as he plunged closer and closer to the edge. She was grinding herself against him, matching his pace, her fingers digging into his back, her mouth open as hitches of breath escaped her, her expression wild.
With every hard thrust, he wanted to obliterate his unspoken longing for the woman. With every stroke, thoughts of placing his hands upon her divine form. With every groan of habitual pleasure, images of her soft doe eyes and her unconditional faith resonating from within. With each deep push, the idea of ravishing her sweet lips with his.
Saxa let out a final gasp and he felt her insides clench, his own release following hers. His face was held high above hers, his eyes closed with a fury and helplessness as he had never felt before.
Slowly he opened them and swiftly moved to the side of the bed, anxious to reach for the left over absinthe to further attempt to cloud his mind and senses. He took a deep gulp and let it linger in his mouth before swallowing, the drink cascading down his dry throat and doing little to alleviate his troubled thoughts.
He looked back, holding the jug out for Saxa to sample the taste, when he noticed she had peacefully curled up and her eyes were now closed, her chest rising and falling in satisfied slumber. He couldn't help but envy her current peace. With Saxa, things were simple and she preferred it that way. He, however, stood a complicated man, with thoughts and desires he never shared with her nor did he desire to shed light upon. He scoffed, realization hitting him that perhaps Saxa would be least bothered had she even known he had been thinking of another all this time he was with her - how his mind was still trapped in a dream he had envisioned mere moments ago, refusing to awaken from it.
Thoroughly exasperated with himself, he got up and dressed. It was not long before Spartacus and the rest of his brothers made way to see the pirates outside of Sinuessa. If anything was bound to take his mind off of that woman, even if momentarily, it was a good fight. He smiled, already anticipating and hoping for a reason the pirates would provide for the promise of blood. He did not wish for a betrayal, but anything that would instigate the clash of steel would sit well with him given his current torment. Satisfied with his solution, he grasped the jug of absinthe, taking in another long gulp before moving out of the room.
As he stumbled forward towards the exit, his mind buzzing, he realized he was still slightly drunk. He made his way to the courtyard of the villa, flinging the jug around carelessly finding the splash of the liquor soothing. And then he saw it.
The dress.
Her white dress.
It lay upon the floor of the courtyard near the dry fountain, flung there, no doubt, by her as she had made her way out of the villa. Without reason, his feet automatically moved towards the object his eyes were holding so reverently. He bent down, his hands gently roving across the delicate white fabric, his jug of absinthe lying on the side. Forgotten.
It felt like mere seconds ago that this fabric had slowly left her body, it's subtle shimmers dancing around her form as it fell. The feel of it under his fingers was intoxicating, knowing what it had concealed from desiring eyes not long ago.
He picked it up with his hand and with an urge he could not explain, he sank his face in it, taking in its scent like a man starved.
Her scent, he thought.
It smelled exactly as he remembered when he had stood near her, his face mere inches from hers. Roses and blossoms and cinnamon Simple, subtle, yet with a power that sent his mind reeling toward the heavens.
As he caressed the roses strewn across its surface, he recalled how his mind had gained a moment of reason as he had dismissed her.
The confusion streaked across her delicate features had clutched his heart, yet he knew this had to be done. If his look had made her cheeks crimson and his touch had made the color rise even deeper, his words were what had caused the color to extinguish completely. The blush that then caressed her cheeks was one born out of embarrassment and humiliation and he felt her agony as clearly as he felt his now. Maybe that was what had mustered his anger towards Saxa. And perhaps, himself.
A deep welling sadness had crept through his being as he had seen her flustered expression while she picked up her dress. His eyes had followed hers till the last moment she brushed past him, and he could have sworn he saw a hint of embarrassed glint in her eyes, threatening to spill as she had left.
He sent a cascade of curses towards the heavens, with reasons he could not fathom to digest.
He cursed that she had been placed in front of one such as he. He cursed at the emotions, buried deep within long before, emerge again. But above all, he cursed that she had been made an object to sate his base desires, and that she had been made to suffer his harsh words after his tender touch.
She did not belong with a man such as him. Falling into the depths of her eyes, he had glimpsed at her untarnished purity and innocence and one such as she belonged with one equally untarnished.
A man of honor, he thought. She was well being rid of him and his constant gaze.
He inhaled her scent one final time and as he let out his breath, he closed his eyes in silent acceptance, placing the garment carefully on a nearby pedestal.
For all he knew, she would be with her fellow freed brethren now, perhaps even smiling now at what had passed mere moments ago, her high color and humiliation a thing of the past. He could not help but smile at the thought of her smiling. Laughing. Mind could not surmise an image of her as such. Perhaps one day, he thought, he might catch a glimpse of it from afar.
As he finally made his way out, he thought it was, perhaps, for the best, that he would never know the truth behind her intentions of coming to him with Saxa. And perhaps, it was for the best that she did not know the reason behind him refusing her. It was too much to speculate if his decision had intrigued her as much as her motivations intrigued him. Sometimes, being left in the dark is a solution to itself and he would do what he can to remain in such. Encouraging words would do no good but only loosen his will power to resist her, a thing she would do better without.
Her tenderness paralyzed him and he did not, could not, trust himself with one such as she. If mind was to conjure images of her every now and then and present it as deepest longing, he would dwell on his thoughts rather than give in and make way towards her. As long as she did not know the directions of his thoughts, he would be at peace. However, he reminded himself, as their eyes had lingered upon one another's she would have sensed his boundless attraction to her as well. He had taken what seemed like an eternity to wretch his eyes off of her and to find the strength to send her away, so undoubtedly, she had felt what he had felt in their mutual moment of transparency.
He cursed.
If he was to ever meet her again, it would take considerable effort to dissuade her and to force her to rethink the mutual connection they had both felt so strongly. Yet it is a thing that must be done should occasion arise, he mused.
Satisfied, he smiled. A defeated smile. Taking in another gulp of absinthe, he threw the door open and stumbled out.
A pair of captivating eyes, with the same power over him like they had before, reluctantly turned towards him as he came forward.
Her.
She had waited for him.
All this time, he thought.
She had not been away, trying to bury thoughts and emotions in mindless smile and laughter. His heart constricted.
While she may want words to seal their moment, perhaps even delve into explanation, he did not desire words. He wished to transfuse her into his senses and his veins, he wanted to take her. All of her.
How does she not see that?
He let out a slow groan as she moved to get up. This is going to be much harder than he had fathomed.
He sent a silent plea to the heavens, to the gods he did not believe in, for the strength to not drown in her again.