Though Spartacus lay in the arms of a beautiful woman, his cock was not full to bursting with blood, in fact he couldn't be further from such pleasure. He felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest, the fact that he could even feel as such after the death of his beautiful wife Sura clearly stated the magnitude of this agonizing situation. Much like Sura's death had been indirectly his fault, Varro's death, his blood stained his hands like the foulest poison. Yes, he had taken Varro's life with these very hands he now used to cling to Mira's body. She was warm, alive; her breath touched his ears and echoed his own ragged pants. Her black hair near his eyes gave him for a split second cause to picture his long dead wife Sura in his arms again and he only squeezed tighter. For tonight belonged to the dead, tonight was a night where to be happy was something he could not achieve and he wondered if he would ever reclaim the pieces of his shattered soul. Varro had been the celestial glue that had brought him back to life; spoken reason to him when his wife's passing had taken it.
The only thing he could see in his minds eye now was his wife walking through dead trees, their spindly branches whipping at her white cheeks, her dark eyes gazing back at him, tears pooling in the corners of their fiery depths. And quickly catching up to her darkness was a light that could only be his Varro. His tufts of blonde hair unlike any he'd ever seen in the land of Thrace and unlike any head that had passed through the Ludis since his arrival there. He let out a bone rattling sob and Mira echoed a gasp not only at the sound but the feel of his fingers tightening. She was scared, but apart of her whispered caution, staying here like this in his arms would gain her not only a powerful friend...but possibly a passionate lover. One could not be fully Roman unless they embraced all of the possibilities and probabilities in every situation presented them. She'd been a slave all her life, she was unfortunately as Roman as she could be, and Spartacus would learn, he was already trotting the path of a Roman whether he liked it or not. Her eyes fluttered shut as another sob rattled his body; all she could do was hold on to him in his sorrow.
Spartacus wheezed an ungodly sound that he'd never uttered before. He felt as if he was in more agony than when his wife had passed on. He'd merely held his wife's body as she perished, but Varro's death had smashed in to him like a battle hammer between the eyes. He'd shed tears in front of the Roman pigs that watched his death with their greedy pig eyes like it was another delicious tidbit on the menu of their filthy whore mongering lives. He'd wept where Crixus could see him, worst of all, that bitch Illithya had bore her evil grin in to his flesh like the brand he bore to Batiatus. She had something to do with this...of that he was certain. Blood would be shed for Varro's loss of that he was certain. "Varro...he was a dear friend to you...his loss will be great, Spartacus." Mira's voice cut through his dark musings like a ray of light through a rain cloud. But he did not move, his breathing steadied, he was no longer crying, no; the fury had taken hold of his heart as well as the desire to follow another person dear to him in to the abyss. He hated the god's for what they were doing to him. They gave him fortune but took equally what they gave away. "No...Varro was more than a friend...he was..." Spartacus slowed; he wished to say brother, gift from the gods he wished to say many things but the truth.
Lovers hung like acid on his tongue, their relations had been brief, but had they been given the chance they would have had more than that steamy night in the baths to get to know the secrets of their individual bodies. He recalled the way he had been naked, waist deep in luke warm bath water, suds washing away the scum and dirt of the blood and sand he'd rolled in that day. When Varro's voice came through the archway like a melody from an angel, he greeted him as usual with a cheerful reminder of his fortunes from the gods. "Well if it isn't the Champion of Capua himself." Spartacus closed his eyes tight, that voice was so real inside of his mind. So fresh, he was vapid for father time to come quickly and steal away the pain and freshness of the wounds with his wizened hands. "You have a look upon your face as if you've swallowed something foul. What goes on beneath that thick skull of yours?" He recalled how chiding his voice had sounded but he was truly worried. Spartacus recalled how he always worried Varro, when he had planned seriously to kill everyone in order to escape with Sura...Varro had cautioned him to pull head from ass as he had cautioned Varro when chained for attacking the jackal.
He closed his eyes recalling the night as if it were happening. He whispered softly, "Many things...many things go on in my mind when I am alone." Mira shifted, but he was too far gone in his memories to know it was her. No...in his mind he was in the bath and he had turned to Varro who in all his naked glory crouched by the edge of the bath and was splashing water across his muscled body. "When I am alone I have dreams of Thrace, of Sura and my village before the battle." He saw Varro lift his head a serious look in those welcoming blue eyes of his. "You dream like a man long dead." Spartacus could not help the flinching around his eyes. Varro was right; he was dreaming the dreams of a man he'd slaughtered in the arena the days after his wife had passed on. He was no longer a man of Thrace, he'd adopted the name Spartacus he was now a Roman Gladiator. Varro's words counseled him in truth; he should stop living in the past.
A grin tugged at his bloodied lips, "What would I do without you around to wake me from such daymares?" Varro scoffed and slipped in to the bath water diving under and surfacing quickly his bruised callused fingers raking through his curls. "You would probably die. After all if not for me you would not be a success." Spartacus' grin only widened as he grabbed the man by his throat and shook him once only to let go in a huff. Varro laughed, but his eyes betrayed him, he was here for another purpose and Spartacus was immediately on guard. Once relaxed his shoulders rolled and he took a half a step closer to the edge of the baths. "What did you come here for Varro? You seem clean enough to my eyes." Varro lowered his gaze, he'd been caught, he knew it, and Spartacus didn't like it. He trusted Varro with more than his life, his immortal soul was his to do with as he pleased, and there was no need for secrets. "Out with it man before I lose patience and shake your tongue for the truth." Varro reached out in a motion that was so fast it startled the new champion.
But he was not moving to harm and Spartacus knew this, he stared at Varro, whose hand was now wrapped firmly around his forearm. "Wha--?" Varro's mouth was warm against his own. At first he stilled, his lips unresponsive as confusion seeped through every pore on his body and the urge to pull away left his hands trembling. But at the introduction of his even warmer tongue Spartacus was undone. It had been so long since he'd bed anyone, the desire he felt had flown him with his wife's spirit. But as Varro had saved him from the brink of both death and insanity, should it not be so that he could save him from a physical death as well? It was this that led him to grabbing the other man and crushing himself fully against him. Lips, teeth, tongue all worked together in unison to assert dominance over the Roman. He was a passionate in this as he would be in the arena, as he was top there, he would not be dominated here. The water sloshed around them as he shoved Varro over the edge of the bath. His slender hips lay between Varro's muscular thighs; he merely drew back from Varro's lips to laugh breathlessly.
The blonde beneath him matched his laugh with that voice that sent chills down his spine. "This is to thank you Spartacus...for my wi--" Spartacus silenced him, he didn't want to hear that this was for more than just their mutual affection for each other. He would rather live the lie that Varro had some sort of feeling toward him, though he would admit to himself it was a woman's fault he now had, to make sex in to romance. They were men, boorish, stupid, gladiators that killed for glory and it was with that they would not make love they would fuck. And with the anger he felt that this could never be more than just sex, he dug his nails in to Varro's thick thighs and breached those desperately struggling lips with his tongue. He was somewhat shorter than Varro, shorter and thinner, but the power behind his moves was that of a bear and Varro was the rabbit. He climbed out of the water like an alligator about to devour its prey, though his body's slick grace was reminiscent of some sort of wild jungle cat. He drew back at Varro's cry.
He had wasted no time in finding Varro's bulging cock and stroking it with a desperation left for bitches in heat. If he was such then his heat only pooled for Varro now. His hand moved slowly, stroking his head, fingering his slit before jerking at his shaft and finally cradling his balls. Varro threw his arms over his head and writhed beneath him and his wandering hand with a wanton look on his face that made Spartacus salivate. Even now he noticed every bruise he'd caused on Varro's body that day and he picked each one individually for his tongue to caress and explore, almost with a tenderness that was apologizing for hurting him so bad. But what he whispered against one particularly nasty bruise near his side was in conflict with his softness, "You do not seem to grasp the concept of dodging, Varro." The man's laugh was high and laced with moans and Spartacus would give anything to hear that sound for the rest of his life. Varro seized up and Spartacus swallowed his scream as he released in to his hand. Carefully he smeared the thick fluid across Varro's entrance, the man stared at him a wild look in his blue depths. "I've never done this before Spartacus…"
Neither had he, but Spartacus was not about to admit he knew not what he was doing when Varro was so heatedly offering up his ass for penetration by his cock. He'd pleasured many a woman, but this he was unfamiliar with. "It is going to hurt Varro." He left it unsaid, but Varro knew he would do his best not to cause him too much pain. As he ground the head of his own swollen dripping cock against his entrance, Varro let out an aching hiss that rolled down Spartacus' spine like ice. "Jupiter's cock you're big..." Spartacus' laugh was choked as he slowly pushed himself in. Varro was tight enough that he was forced to fight for ever inch he pushed in. When he'd finally sheathed himself made as a sound whilst Spartacus had been struggling, now they both lay quietly only the sounds of their breathing, erratic filled the silence aside from the churning of the water behind them. Finally the two started laughing, weak rasps that both made them moan and shiver as the laughter forced Varro tighter around him and Spartacus to move a little further in. fully in to Varro he collapsed against him. Their chests dripping with sweat and bath water. Varro had barely made as a sound whilst Spartacus had been struggling, now they both lay quietly only the sounds of their breathing, erratic filled the silence aside from the churning of the water behind them. Finally the two started laughing, weak rasps that both made them moan and shiver as the laughter forced Varro tighter around him and Spartacus to move a little further in.
"For fucks sake Spartacus...fuck me already!" Spartacus stared down at Varro and grinned that devious smirk he'd had the day he'd come up with the plan to steal his wife away. Throwing one of Varro's legs over his shoulders and digging his nails in to the other mans thighs he slammed himself home over and over again, inside of Varro who struggled not to scream and instead made strangled moaning noises as his body was rocked with spasms of pure pleasure from the touch. Finally the head of Spartacus reached deep within him and brushed against his prostate. His eyes flew wide and he couldn't help the cry that left his lips as lightening exploded all over his body. Spartacus let out a hiss and growl as Varro tightened considerably, his ass was greedy, hungrily sucking him in and the tightness was unlike any cunt he'd ever fucked before including his wife. "Varro..." He growled the mans name as he pulled himself out, only to flip Varro over. He rose to his knees pushing Varro's head to the ground as he mounted his ass and pierced him once more. He threw his head back and shoved deeper in, the angle made it so that he crashed against that spot over and over again. Varro dug at the floor bloodying his hands.
But the pleasure was enough to strangle both of them in its heated embrace. Spartacus finally shoved a last time deep inside of Varro, who echoed his release by shooting his seed across the floor of the bath and collapsing with Spartacus still buried deep inside his ass filling him to overflowing with his wild Thracian seed. Spartacus pulled out and rolled on to his back panting heavily his hands lay awkwardly across his stomach. Varro lay there, and for another long space of seconds their breathing echoed throughout the baths mingling with the water as the only sounds that could be heard in the bath room. Blue met dark brown eyes, pupils so dilated it was as if they were black, Varro said not a word, merely gathered himself up and left the baths a closed secretive smile on his lips.
"Spartacus? Spartacus please answer me!?" Spartacus opened his eyes, startled, he gazed up at Mira, she was not his Varro, in the doorway was Doctore, his bed had been righted and he was laying atop him, she had fixed his thighs, though his shelf which he'd destroyed was beyond repair. He gazed down at his hands which had been bandaged, though they were soar they were feeling better than when he had nearly broken them against the wall the night before. Doctore merely stared at him, "Leave us." Mira hesitated, but with one final look from the man she hurried from the room. Spartacus looked away, he did not wish to hear anything from the tall dark man, he wished to be left alone to grieve, the only one who had ever been able to comfort him was now dead, he had nothing left to live for. "Fight to honor his memory." Spartacus turned with a sharp glare, "Don't you mean to honor this fucking Ludus?" The rage that dripped from his tongue was palpable in the room and poured off of him like a heat. "You fight to honor this Ludus already. But I am telling you in adjunct to that, as I fight to honor my wife's memory, fight to honor Varro, for friends such as he only come once in a life time and when they are gone all we can do is what we can do." Spartacus stared at the tall Ludus Master, confusion now tainting his rage, such round about advice was in the way of Varro and it comforted him to hear it. Slowly he sat up and shook off the sorrow of Varro's memories, if only for the moment.