Nick first makes the acquaintance with the Stylvian family at a banquet of Caesar’s. It is not hosted by Caesar himself, but rather by a cousin, Clovia Drusilla. It is in celebration of Caesar’s upcoming departure to Alexandria, to sort out the issues currently occurring in Egypt with their civil war. He also was setting out to deal with Pompeii; where it was rumored he was holding up in the ancient city of Alexander the Great. Nick himself would not have been on the guest list to the party of the most powerful man in Rome if not for the man he was working for at the time.

Nick was a sculptor of some scattered renown in Rome. He was not the most well known sculptor in the city, but he had respectable business. He could easily create beautiful works of art for whom he found passion in. But unlike the other sculptors of the time who could produce so easily through commission, Nick could not make something out of nothing.

He had just finished sculpting a young girl at the time, the daughter of the Senator who had hired him. Nick was used to being hired by Roman Senators and Statesmen at this point. He had been amongst their houses enough times that he knew what to expect in a banquet such as this. What Nick had not expected was one of the announcements made by Tiberius Stylvian, head of one of the oldest, most powerful families in Rome. Tiberius was a passionate supporter of Caesar, and his many legionaries would attest to his power. His son was having his first official outing as a young man, and the announcement followed an outing of such an occasion.

It was announced that young Haerius Stylvian, Tiberius's only son, but youngest child, would be betrothed to Clovia Druscilla, who was hosting the dinner party. Clovia has much affluence in the community. However, young Haerius had just reached his 17th year, while Druscilla was in her forties. The match, while politically correct, could not have been met by much enthusiasm by the man, and this dispassion was shown by how Haerius was seated on the other side of Caesar himself, and away from his fiancé.

Nick noticed this, as he sat at a lower table. He watched the young boy, a very pretty young man with pale skin and tall hair. He had curls that bounced and moved with the movements of his head. He noticed with some interest that Caesar was leaning heavily towards the young boy, fingertips occasionally brushing up his side, fingering at his ribcage. Haerius did not say anything about it, simply staring down at his plate, a small smile on his face as he in turn leaned into Caesar.

The conversation in the hall started to quiet down, and the Senator who had hired Nick rose to his feet, gesturing for Nick to follow after him. Nick did as he was told, feet feeling heavy and leaden under him as he tried to not make a total fool of himself.

Nick didn’t belong to this society. He wasn’t even a full Roman citizen; his father had been a soldier, but his mother a slave from a conquered colony. Because of his mother’s lack of citizenship, Nick could never be a part of Roman society, truly, and Nick was okay with that. He enjoyed being in the pretty buildings, and the luxuries of catering to the rich and powerful, but he didn’t think that he minded not being one of them. The rich were dignified, but not enough to hide how truly awful some of them were.

Nick followed the Senator, who was approaching the table of Caesar with his shoulders thrown back proudly. Nick trailed after him, feeling quite unimpressive behind the man.

When the two of them reach the table, the Senator cleared his throat. “Hello, I have a gift for the young couple.”

They all look up in interest, surveying Nick with bemused expressions. Caesar looked entirely unimpressed, taking in the sight of the two of them before him with no actual discernible expression on his face. He takes a deep drink from his wine goblet.

Haerius leans forward. He goes to open his mouth, but Clovia speak over top of him. “Do you? That’s very kind of you, Vibius! What is it?”

A couple people at the table chuckle at the young boy’s earnestness, and his downtrodden expression at being interrupted. “Haerius,” Clovia smiles delicately, not looking at him. “It’s for the bride to accept presents.”

“Oh, let him have his fun.” An older man on Clovia’s side waves her protest off. “He’s not married yet. He’ll have his whole life to have his wife take gifts.”

“Ahh, what a pity.” Caesar speaks up, and everyone goes quiet as to not interrupt him when he speaks. “He does take things so nicely.”

Caesar chuckles, and takes another drink of his wine. There’s some scattered, slightly uncomfortable laughter around the table, none of them wanting to be the one to not laugh at his joke. Haerius, Nick notices, goes slightly pink in the cheeks.

“Well, what is it, then?” Clovia raises her eyebrows, lines around her eyes stretching with her facial muscles.

Vibius seems to start slightly, before stepping aside to present Nick more fully. “My gift to you is the services of this man, Nimerius Gratidius! He is a very skillful sculptor. I hired him myself to sculpt my daughter. You can get a bust made of the newlyweds. I would pay, of course.”

Nick looks at Vibius, surprised at the sudden news. “Oh,” he begins to say, but is immediately cut off by Clovia thanking Vibius loudly for the thoughtful gift. It’s clearly a dismissal, and Nick knows when it is time to shuffle off to the sidelines with Vibius. Before he leaves, he glances back up at Haerius quickly. The boy is staring back at him, face drained of it’s previous colour, blinking thoughtfully at him.

He’s very attractive, Nick thought to himself. He didn’t think he would mind this new job at all.

//

Nimerius wiped the sweat from his brow as he approached the wide house before him. Regardless of how much time he might spend in the homes of people with much more wealth than he, he was still not used to the luxury. Stepping into a wealthy Roman home felt like stepping into another world; one filled with dripping curtains, stone pillars and heavily perfumed women.

And Rome wasn’t at it’s best, lately. The silly war was over, but it was by no means back to normal. Nick could smell the stench of lawlessness on his skin as he stepped inside the home. He felt like he was dragging it in behind him. Like Rome was a physical dirt that he had on his clothing.

He’s greeted at the door by a young slave girl, who immediately goes to fetch Tiberius Stylvian, the head of the house, who comes along less than a minute after Nick has arrived.

Tiberius was a large man, very intimidating in stature. Nick had become accustomed to him at the party, when he had a good distance between them. But now that he was walking directly beside Nick, guiding him through his equally intimidating home, Nick couldn't help but feel as if the man could reach over and crush him like a beetle. He was ruddy-faced and strong jawed, with squinty little eyes and very little hair.

What Tiberius lacked in aesthetic appeal, he made up for in sheer volume of his voice, and his lack of fear of using it. Nick could hardly keep up with the incessant stream of chatter that came out of the man's mouth as they walked. Nick nodded and smiled where he thought the appropriate places were, but he had a lot of trouble keeping up with exactly what he was saying. He was just a sculptor. His name held no real importance. He was used to the people commissioning him completely ignoring him outside of telling him his instructions. His life was quite silent, when on the job.

They reached a wide archway, and Tiberius gestured for him to go in. "And you've met my son, of course. Haerius, come say hello to Nimerius Gratidius."

Nick stepped into the large room, looking expectantly around. The room was roughly the same size as Nick's entire apartment, and boasted a lot more marble fixtures than his did (which was none). The walls were lined with white pillars that reached the ceiling, large openings in between nearly all of them to look outside. In the centre of the room was a large slab of marble stone, next to a small table covered in shiny metal tools, and a stool. Pushed against the far wall was what seemed to be a pile of cushions and animal fur, unceremoniously thrown into a very comfortable looking bundle.

On the bundle lay Haerius. He was much more casually dressed, his robe splayed loosely over one shoulder, but exposing the pale skin of the other. After hearing his father's voice, he sprang up from his lounging, eyes bright with excitement as he took in the sight of his father, and Nick.

Just as Haerius opened his mouth to greet them, a slave bowed himself into the room.

"Dominus," the slave said. "You've a letter from Cicero."

"Ah," Tiberius nods at the boy, who looks as if he wants nothing more than to slink away again. "Send for Cassius. If you happen across Antony, tell him to come see me too." The slave scampers away immediately. Tiberius claps a hand on Nick's back, and looks between the two of them. "Well, yes. I trust you can make your introductions without me."

"Of course," Haerius smiles expectantly at Nick, who is briefly taken aback. He hadn't heard Haerius speak yet, and he was expecting a voice that matched the doe eyes, and the sweet face. Instead, he's shocked to hear that the boy's voice is deep and gravelling. It's a pleasant surprise.

Tiberius turns on his heels, and walks quickly away, sounding very much in a hurry to read this letter from Cicero. Nick and Haerius are left alone, staring at each other as they take it all in.

It's not exactly awkward. Nick's been in this position many times before. He was surprised, so far, that Haerius seemed as polite as he did. He was unused to being met with direct eye contact by his subjects.

“Hello, Nimerius.” Harry smiles, bursting forward and pulling Nick into a hug. Nick’s taken aback at being so suddenly in the arms of this handsome stranger, but he doesn’t think it’s a problem with him. “It’s fantastic to meet you. I’ve been waiting for you to arrive all day.”

“Hello, Haerius.” Nick replies, feeling flustered suddenly, and he’s the one to break apart from the hug. He looks Harry up and down, figuring it’s acceptable as he is going to be starting at him naked for an indeterminate amount of time.

Harry waves a pale hand. “Call me Harry. Haerius is awfully long.”

Nick’s mouth curls up slightly at the sides. “It’s not particularly a long name. But alright. Hello Harry. If we’re going for informal, you can call me Nick. It’s what all my friends do.”

Harry looks ecstatic. “Nick.” He repeats, as if seeing how it feels on his tongue. “Nick. Okay. I like that. Nick. Does that mean we’re friends now?”

Nick shrugs, turning away from Harry and walking up to the marble. “I suppose we can be. If you’d like.”

“I would like that, very much.” Harry beams.

“Alright, then. We’re friends.” Nick picks up some of the tools that are left out for him. He has his own tools with him, but he was not one to object to new ones. “I guess it will make it less strange when I ask you to take all your clothes off, seeing as we’re friends now.”

“Take—take my clothes off?” Harry repeats, looking very suddenly unsure. “Is that what usually happens?”

Nick peers up from the tools to turn around to look at Harry. “Yes. Generally.” He had thought that Harry would have been more well prepared for this. He didn’t want to make the boy feel awkward by making him strip, but he did need to see his body to get to work.

“Oh, sorry.” Harry is now the one to look slightly flustered, face slightly pink. He reaches up, regardless, to pull his robes off his body, letting them fall to the ground at his ankles. “I’ve never been sculpted before. Don’t really know what to expect.”

Nick smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way. “Don’t worry. I’ve been doing this for a long time, I’m used to a bit of shyness.”

Harry nods, and he does not seem shy. Harry straightens his back, already over his brief moment of uncertainty standing proudly before Nick, completely stark naked. And Nick could see where that confidence might stem from: Harry was very lean, the slight contours of his abs standing out prominently on his chest, and Harry was very well endowed.

Nick just barely restrained himself from making an inappropriate comment, or possibly making an awful penis joke. Nick spent quite a bit of his free time at pubs with his friends near brothels; he knew quite a few penis jokes. He clears his throat instead, stifling his inner urge to purvey dick related humour, and studied Harry’s body.

He was a very well shaped man. His shoulders were broad, but his hips were narrow. He had impossibly long legs, but he also had an impossibly long torso to match. He was one of those rare individuals with hardly any blemishes or impurities on his body, save for two slight discolourations on his chest. He was also nearly hairless, except for on his legs, and in his pubic area, and Nick just stocked it up to Harry’s age. He had tiny, dark nipples, and curiously, he had scattered splotches of varying colours all up and down his body. Some of the patches were darker than others, some of them very light and barely visible.

Nick didn’t comment, just observed.

“I’ve been stuck in my room all day,” Harry says after a moment of Nick furiously trying to memorize the body in front of him.

“Oh?” Nick asks, paying only half a mind to Harry’s words. He was staring at Harry’s knees, trying to take a mental picture of their knobbliness.

“Yeah.” Harry takes a deep breath, which Nick can see. He’s very interested in watching the steady rise and fall of his breaths, chest puffing and then shrinking back down again as he breathed. “I drank a bit too much at the celebration, and I pushed Clovia’s hand off my arm. My father’s had me confined in here since then.”

Nick snorts quietly, smiling slightly. “I was at her house before I came here. She seems like a lovely woman.”

The look of disbelief on Harry’s face is something that Nick wishes he could put on the statute.  “Are you joking? I wouldn’t mind so much if she were nice to anyone. I don’t think she looked at me once for the entire night. I think she’s looked at me once since meeting me, actually.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll warm up eventually.” Nick assures him. He takes a step back from Harry, and gestured for him to put his robes back on. There’s not much that he can do right now, without the proper tools to make the first adjustments to the raw marble, and without even anything to sketch Harry onto. But now he's got a rough idea of what he's working with. “Roman woman are often like that.”

“Pitiless and evil? Soul-sucking and awful?” Harry suggests, quickly moving to pull his robes back on.

“I was going to say illusive. Maybe aloof.” Nick grins, and Harry returns it. “But anyways, you better get used to her. You’ve got all your life to be with her.”

“All her life, anyway.” Harry mutters, and Nick tries and fails to resist the urge to laugh out loud.

“You’re funny, Harry.” Nick picks up one of the finer looking tools on the table, and twirls it around in his fingers. “I think I’m going to enjoy working with you.”

Nick almost regrets saying it, with the smug look that crosses over Harry’s face.

//

Time slips by quickly. Working with Clovia in the mornings, and with Harry in the afternoons is like working with two different sides of a personality spectrum. Harry is funny, and charismatic, and warm. Clovia will barely make eye contact. He soon makes sizeable dents in both sculptures, working his way through the weeks, spending his mornings counting his breaths until the time he can go and see Harry, and his nice cock and cute bum.

He steps into Harry’s chambers one day, clearing his throat loudly to announce his presence. Harry was still confined to his room after the last party, and Nick sympathized for the boy. He knew Harry by now; knew him intimately enough that at night, as he fell asleep, he could envision how the muscles underneath his pale skin would move. And because he knew him like that, he also knew that Harry wouldn’t be able to last long confined indoors without going absolutely mad.

“Hello, Haerius.” Nick scanned the room, before spotting Harry lounged across the cushions he had today centered in the middle of his room. He was eating a bowl of fruit, the juices staining his lips purple.

“Salve, Nick.” Harry grinned, and Nick stifled a laugh at the seeds stuck between his dyed teeth. “I did not know you were coming today.”

“Your father asked me in early,” Nick explained, moving closer so he was right before the seated boy. “Wanted me to hurry up with your sculpture. Quite an impatient man.”

Harry scoffs. “He’s a fool,” he shakes his head, and pops a few more berries into his mouth. “He wants me to be married before Caesar arrives back from Alexandria. Thinks that sticking me with a wife will make Caesar stop asking me to his chambers.”

The way he says it is so casual, spoken in a way that makes Nick think that Harry’s trying very hard to seem neutral. And he supposes that’s what he had to do. Nick had heard the stories about Caesar. He’d heard the stories about all the senators as he traveled in between their houses between sculptures. Funny what you can find out about a person once they let you in their home.

Caesar was highly intelligent, but Caesar was hard, and Caesar could be brutal. Nick didn’t envy the man or woman who was taken to his bed, and it made a funny little part in his chest ache when he thought of Harry being one of those unlucky people who stumbled back home before the sun rose with dark blotches on their faces.

Nick sits down on a cushion beside Harry. “So, it’s true then. It’s true what they say?”

“About Caesar and I?” Harry surveys him curiously, blinking his eyes slowly. “Well, yes.”

Nick breathes out through his nose. “I thought they might have been rumours. Not that I have anything to say against it.”

“Hm,” Harry cracks his knuckles, glancing quickly at the slave hidden behind them before offering the bowl to her for her to take. “Rumours are often facts too truthful for anyone to believe.”

“Very wise. Do you plan on abandoning the whole family legacy thing, and becoming a philosopher?”

Harry reaches across the distance separating them, and punches Nick in the arm. “Better than becoming a sculptor, probably. At least I could get a spot on the Senate as a philosopher, if I wanted to.”

Nick nods. “Probably is better than being a sculptor. Sculptors have to put up all sorts of horrible people. Like this one person I’m sculpting, right now, actually. Grotesque, hideous monster sent by the gods to terrify small children.”

“Hey,” Harry replies, drawing the word out and lets it drag across the air. “You shouldn’t talk about my future wife like that.”

Nick laughs, quickly trying to cover it up with a cough. Harry smirks out of the corner of his eyes at him, seemingly pleased that he had made the older man laugh.

“Well, she’s no Casear, that’ s for sure.” Nick adds in, more to see how Harry would react to the casual mentioning.

Harry nods in agreement. “Handsome man, Caesar is. Great cock, too.”

“Knows how to use it?”

“Reckon he does better than you.”

Nick thinks he blushes, but he can’t be sure because it’s then that Harry pushes himself off the cushions and rises to his feet. He stretches tall, robe slipping down past one of his shoulders and exposing more of his milky pale skin. He didn’t understand why Harry was so pale. Maybe it was a fashion thing. Only the poor got tanned.

Harry positions himself before Nick, far enough to the left of the beginnings of the sculpture that Nick didn’t have to crane his neck to see him. Nick set to work, always finding it much easier to craft Harry’s sculpture than Clovia’s.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Nick glances up from behind his slab of marble. He’d been trying to hack away a chunk big enough to be passable as Harry’s head. He was finding it particularly difficult to sculpt Harry’s hair; the curls were wild and tumultuous, and they were different every time Harry settled down in front of him. He could never decide which hairstyle to immortalize.

“That can’t be good.” Nick quips, only half paying attention to the boy before him.

Harry makes a noise that Nick thinks is meant to be affronted, but became a laugh halfway out of his mouth. The resulting sound is a breathy little squawk that Nick sniggers pointedly at. “Nick,” Harry whines, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet a bit. “Stop being mean to me.”

“Right, sorry. Forgot you’re proper important person, and not just the whiney and impatient son of a Senator. What have you been thinking of?”

Harry stares at him, which Nick only sees out of the corner of his eye because he’s paying attention to his profession. Harry waits, twisting his fingers impatiently as he waits for Nick to pay his full attention to him.

Nick sighs laboriously, looking around the stone. “What?”

Harry grins, dropping his hands to his side. Nick pointedly does not pay attention to where they fall. “I’ve been thinking that you’ve been staring at me naked quite a bit.”

“I’m being paid to stare at you naked.”

“Right, I know that.” Harry casts his eyes down, looking up at Nick under hooded eyes. “What I’ve been thinking is that it’s quite unfair, isn’t it?”

Nick screws up his face, confused. “Unfair? Why?”

“Well, because you’ve seen my dick, but I haven’t seen yours.”

Nick pauses, taking a moment to think about what Harry’s said. He’s unconsciously taken a hold of the stone in front of him, feeling quietly at the contours of the outline of what will soon be Harry’s thigh. “Are you asking to see my penis?”

“Erm, yes.” Harry’s got his eyes cast downwards, but his grin is still firmly implanted on his face, and seems to be ever growing. Nick’s not sure if he’s trying to go for an innocent young boy look, because it’s not working. It’s definitely not.

Nick just shakes his head, disbelievingly. “What is it with you and cocks? It’s all you ever go on about.”

Harry laughs, loud and clear. Nick is very conscious of the servant standing in the corner of Harry’s room, standing guard near the door. Nick thinks that the woman, a dark haired foreign looking girl, should look more scandalized that Harry is asking to see hired professionals’ genitals. Nick doesn’t want to know how often that happens.

The younger boy steps forward a bit, confident as always in his nakedness. Nick notices that Harry’s own dick has seem to come to life a bit, less flaccid than it had been a few minutes previous. “What can I say? I like talking about cocks, because I like cocks.”

“Oh,” Nick’s throat has gone suddenly dry. “Right.”

Harry laughs again, but this time is much quieter. He’s still moving forward, and the way in which he moves enchants Nick. Nick had always loved the human body, and Harry reminded him of all the reasons why. He moved very deliberately, as if he thought very hard and very quickly about every single pull of his muscles. Yet, there was a sort of careless grace about the way that Harry moved that made Nick want to reach out and touch him. Out in public, Harry moved differently; as if his long limbs made it difficult to maneuver over large distances. He was an awkward mess of twitches and stumbles.

But here, as he crept closer to Nick’s frozen body, Harry was something else. He was seductive. He was sensual. He was irresistible.

He was standing before the seated Nick, nearly 6 feet of pale nakedness. He was still smiling, but it was dark and dirty and Harry couldn’t be bothered by the woman still standing behind them. He reached forward, taking the small hammer out of Nick’s right hand, and placing it on the table beside him. Nick was quiet, not saying a word as he watched Harry slowly sinking to the floor in front of him, holding onto Nick’s knees for support. Harry’s lips were a delicious shade of pink, plump and perfect; he noticed because Harry was conspicuously licking them, as if he was settling in for his favourite meal.

Nick was reminded of the instance where he first met Harry, back before he had been hired. Back when Harry was seated at a table with people far older than he was, with Caesar’s hands creeping down his side when no one else was looking. Nick was reminded of how Harry had leaned into the contact, not daring to look up at the man, but staring down at his empty plate and nibbling at his lower lip.

Nick wondered if that’s the look that Harry always got when thinking about giving a man a blowjob. If so, he wanted to memorize it. He wanted to paint it on the walls of Rome, wanted every single citizen to know how eager and breathless and excited the pretty Senator’s son got when thinking about having men in his mouth.

Nick felt his dick twitch in response. Harry, because Nick was wearing robes and because he was nestled in between his legs, noticed. His cheek dimpled. He looked up at Nick, cheekbones jutting out and green eyes twinkling, and raised his chin in a nod. Nick swallowed, not needing any further encouragement as he raised himself off his stool just enough that he could slip his robe up over his head, and toss them carelessly on the ground beside Harry’s.

“Oh,” Harry said, eyes having snapped down immediately to Nick’s thickening cock. “Oh.” His voice wobbles a bit, and he squeezes Nick’s knee with his right hand. He licks his lips again.

“Yeah,” Nick breathes, unsure of what to say. He, of course, has had sexual encounters before, and he knows Harry’s had his fair share as well, but he’s unsure of how this is supposed to go. Most of the people Nick’s had sex with had been servants who took him into a dark corner of their master’s house, or prostitutes who would be only too happy to keep your affairs quiet. But Harry’s different. Harry’s got a name that carries more privilege and prestige than Nick could ever imagine. He could hardly just buck up his hips, knocking his dick against Harry’s face and tell him to get a move on. He could probably get exiled for doing such a thing.

Lucky for Nick, Harry seems to be in a bit of a hurry himself. After he’s gotten his lips sparkling and wet, he gingerly shifts his grip from Nick’s leg to his dick. Harry’s hands are impossibly soft, lacking the normal calluses of those without a senator for a father. And he knows what he’s doing; that much is clear from how he takes a firm hold of the base of Nick’s dick that isn’t too tight and isn’t too soft, and from how he leans in over his groin, curls falling in front of his eyes in disarray.

Harry’s breath is hot and his saliva is hotter, making an unmistakable sound as Harry coats his hand and starts to move up and down the length of his dick. He angles his head up a bit, so that his face is more visible, and his leans closer, lips impossibly close to the tip. He holds his mouth slightly ajar, and he looks back up at Nick, raising his eyebrows smugly.

Nick can’t help it. He clenches his jaw and jerks up off the seat for a split second, penis tip bumping against Harry’s lips impatiently. It feels incredible, just the momentary contact, and Nick cannot fathom what it will be like to have Harry’s mouth wrapped around his cock in its entirety.

Harry’s pulled his head back a bit, seemingly taken aback by Nick’s action. He doesn’t look angry, as Nick thought he might have been. Instead, he looks like Nick has somehow just delighted him. “Don’t be rude,” Harry abolishes him with no heat in his voice, then spits on his hand again.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be rude first.” Nick says, and his voice is impressively composed for how close he feels to erupting into flames. “Tease.”

Harry huffs a laugh, but then finally (finally!), bends his head down to take Nick in his mouth.

Nick sucks in a deep breath, hips automatically arching up to try and get more of his dick in Harry’s mouth. Because he’s only taken the very tip, maybe an amount the size of the pad of Nick’s thumb, and he already feels like he’s going to come. And Nick’s had a lot of blowjobs in his life, and they all follow the same general pattern of trying to stuff as much as they could in at once, saliva dripping from the corners of their mouths.

But not Harry. Harry’s cheeks are hollow and he’s still looking up, not letting up eye contact as he sucks Nick’s aura out through his cock. Nick can’t see it, but he can feel Harry’s tongue working under his lips, swirling over the very tip of his penis, flicking over it in a way that makes Nick’s feet feel numb.

And just when Nick’s starting to feel a bit light-headed, Harry adjusts his head and tongue, so that he can, without letting up on the pressure, sink slowly down on his dick. Nick watches with utter fascination, as Harry gradually takes more and more of his cock, inches disappearing behind rapidly reddening lips. His cheeks are still hollow, which is an accomplishment for how much he has in his mouth.

The only sounds in the room are Nick making soft little noises, murmuring expletives, and the sound of Harry’s breath passing through his nose, which is now pressed against Nick’s stomach. Harry’s left hand, which had been resting idly on Nick’s thigh, is now squeezing his leg tightly enough that his knuckles are turning white, but he still doesn’t pull off. The quiet words pouring out of Nick’s mouth are getting steadily more and more nonsensical, until he can’t even distinguish between his compliments of Harry’s mouth, and high pitched grunting. Nick’s own hands, dirty and rough, keep flickering from running over Harry’s face, to pushing back his own hair, to feeling the broad expanse of Harry’s back. He’s jiggling his leg, and Harry’s face is slowly turning pink, because Nick’s cock is well down his throat, and he’s not budging. Nick can feel the muscles in his throat working around him, trying to close around the tip of his dick.

Soon, far too soon for Nick’s liking, he starts to feel the rush of euphoria catching up to him, and he knows, and tells Harry that he’s about to come.

Harry’s eyes, seeming a brighter green against his ruddy face, are unwavering. He does not move. It’s like he wants Nick to come right down his throat.

Nick loses it. With one hand clenched in Harry’s hair, he shoots his load in Harry’s mouth, throwing his own head back as he releases. He wants to push his hips forward even more with each wave, but he feels like he’s immobilized.

Harry pulls away only enough that he doesn’t choke, but he still swallows everything, not allowing anything to drip out of his mouth.

//

When Harry first takes him to bed, Nick thinks that he’s going to pass out.

It’s no more than a fortnight after Harry's first displayed interest, and Nick’s already ridiculously charmed by the boy. It’s the only way that Nick would have possibly allowed himself to put down his tools in the middle of the day, and have sex with his attractive, naked client. He is a professional.

But Harry is so goofy and so earnest. He seems genuinely enthralled with every word that comes out of Nick’s mouth, and he’s humble in a way that doesn’t feel manufactured. He seems all too aware of his good blessings; of the fact that there was a lot of things wrong with Rome, and none of it ever touched him.

He’s also unfortunately good looking. Unfortunate, because Nick cannot stop himself from being attracted to him both on a mental basis, and a physical.

He’s silly, and warm, and Nick could be putty in his hands if the thought of manipulating him ever came to Harry’s mind (which Nick doubted that Harry could ever be so devious). All Harry has to do, the day after he had given him a blowjob, was nod for the servant in the corner to leave them, and pulls Nick forward to his pile of cushions.

Harry was explicit. He reacted deliriously to every touch, as if every graze of skin were setting him on fire and dousing him at the same time. His face twisted from smiles to grimaces in the same breath, and his chest would heave from exertion even while just lying there. He often erupted in goose bumps, shivers running down the length of his body, especially under where Nick’s hands would touch. Nick wasn’t sure at first where to touch him, or how far to push him. He wasn’t sure what they were meant to be doing, or what Harry would allow to be done to him. But it wasn’t all that hard to find out. And after taking his time slowly pushing his spit-covered fingers inside of him, one at a time, Nick found that Harry was very eager and very impatient to be filled with whatever Nick would offer him.

And Nick would offer it all, if he wanted it.

That first day, Nick fucked Harry as Harry lay down on his back, hands gripped onto his knees and spreading his legs wide open. The next day, Harry leaned on his elbows with his ass high up in the air. By the next week, Harry had sat down on his dick and ridden him a handful of times, and they had even had sex in Harry’s private garden, just outside his window and obscured by vegetation to anyone who might look in.

Harry made a delicious variety of noises while they fucked, and Nick could soon sync them up to their positions. When Harry was on his back, he tended to whine a bit more, moans coming from the back of his throat. He was always louder when he was sat down on him, able to position himself exactly where he liked it. And he was always quite a bit noisier the harder Nick would thrust into him, sharp gasps and moans to match the slap of their bare skin against each other. After a few weeks of Nick sneaking into the house after hours, Nick could perfectly summon any sound he desired from Harry, simply by twisting his hips this way and that, tilting and angling in different directions and moving at different speeds.

But altogether, Harry was loud. Harry was very loud, despite the fact that they probably couldn’t afford to be loud. Nick was sure that the slaves had picked up on them having sex by now (as they were the ones cleaning up after them), but they wouldn’t dare speak a word.

Especially with the added pressure of the party Tiberius was planning. It was meant to be an actual engagement party, as the previous party had just had the announcement of the engagement. This one would have gifts, Nick assumed. Everyone in the Stylvian house was constantly bustling around, preparing for it.

Occasionally, Nick would feel briefly bad about having sex with Harry, who had just gotten engaged. And he was sculpting his bride. But then he would remember that Harry had met Clovia all of once, and that Harry was blatantly (but not unkindly) uninterested in their upcoming marriage. And it wasn’t as if he were already married. They had time.

The night before the party, Nick had snuck back into the house after he was dismissed earlier by Tiberius. Harry’s chambers were transformed each night, large plants brought in and the cushions they usually fucked on were replaced by an actual bed that had to be dragged in. Dark red curtains were set up around the room, and a smoky incense was burned that supposedly helped summon good dreams. Nick was initially baffled by the level of luxury displayed; that Harry had his bedroom transformed every couple of hours to suit his wishes, but Harry seemed all too accustomed to it.

Nick lay on the back, Harry curling himself into the pocket of space under his arm. Harry’s head rested on Nick’s biceps, and his curls tickled his armpit whenever Harry shifted, which he did purposely. They were under blankets, in the strange place between hot from the exertion of their vigorous fucking, and cold as their sweat cooled in the air. Harry played idly with the hair on Nick’s chest, twirling it around with the tip of his index finger and humming something softly under his breath. Nick wished nothing more than to just fall asleep right there, dead arm withstanding, but he knew he couldn’t allow himself to drift off in case someone spotted him. He didn’t fancy explaining to Tiberius that he was dicking his only son.

He rubbed at his face with the hand not gone numb under Harry, trying to rouse himself from his drowsiness. He couldn't sleep over. “So,” he cleared his throat, staring up at the high ceiling. “You excited for your engagement party?”

Harry’s fingers slow in their circular motions, but do not stop. He makes a non-committal grunting noise, shoulders jutting up momentarily in a sort of shrug. “I’m excited for more wine.”

"Ah," Nick smiles, rolling his eyes. "What a drunkard, you are. Tell me, what exactly does high society do for engagement parties? You’ll have to explain for the pleb."

Harry stops twisting his hair, resting his hand on Nick’s chest, spreading his fingers out. “Not a drunkard, just an enthusiast. And reckon you’ll find out, won’t you? Aren't you coming?”

"I did come," Nick quips, and Harry pinches his nipple.

"Not what I meant, idiot." Harry is shaking his head and smiling, but he’s pushing himself up off of Nick’s chest to look at him. "Aren’t you coming to the party?"

Nick doesn’t want to meet Harry’s eyes, but he does. “I think that would require an actual invitation, wouldn’t it?”

Harry’s brows do that thing, where they furrow in confusion, as if trying to understand the most abstract concept. “You mean, my father hasn’t even invited you?”

"No," Nick smiles, reaching his hand out and cupping Harry’s cheek. His skin is soft, and Nick can feel the slight movements of Harry’s jaw as he grinds his teeth, as he so often does.

"Oh. Well consider this your invitation, then. Can’t have a party without you. I’d miss you terribly." Harry leans into Nick’s hand, giving him an earnest look that would go straight to his dick if he hadn’t come not 10 minutes earlier.

Nick looks up at him, thinking about his options. It would be awful and awkward attending, not to mention that it would be strange trying to explain why Harry had insisted that his sculptor be allowed to his engagement party. And Nick hated the high class parties, where everyone threw their scraps of food all over the place, in a show of how rich and important they all are. Nick couldn’t understand the wasting of food. Nick couldn’t understand any of them. It was terrible enough going to the party for Caesar, results of attending non withstanding. He wouldn’t even be able to fully appreciate his time with Harry; he likely wouldn’t even be allowed to talk to him all night.

"No, I’ll be alright, Harry." Nick smiles, patting Harry’s cheek. "I think it’d too much culture and class for me."

Harry frowns adorably. He leans in closer, resting both of his hands on Nick’s chest, as if trying to convince him. “But Nick! You have to come! It’ll be boring without you!”

"Oh, I’m sure you’ll be alright," Nick smiles, pushing up on his elbows so he can meet Harry’s lips with his own. He presses a quick peck to his lips before falling back down and pulling Harry with him in a fumble of movement. Harry lets out a soft ‘oof’, but doesn’t try and protest. "You’ll have plenty of people to talk to, you won’t even notice I’m not there."

In a petulant voice, Harry whines, “but what will you do, then? Are you just trying to be rid of me? Are you sleeping with someone else? Someone who isn’t as spoiled as me? Someone who you can walk through Rome with?” He snuggles up closer to Nick, as if he wanted comfort from whatever Nick would say next.

Nick’s insides twinge, a tiny feeling of panic rising up inside of him. Is that what Harry thought of him? “Of course not. Why would I possibly want someone else?” The words bubbled out of his mouth before he could even think about them, or think about why he shouldn’t say them. He licks his lips, slightly nervously, but Harry doesn’t seem alarmed or repulsed by Nick’s words. He hears a soft little sigh, as if from the satisfaction of hearing it. He continues on, mostly to try and draw away from his embarrassment of being so brutally open. “I had plans for tomorrow, anyways. I was going to go and visit a friend, right outside the city, actually. Not too long a walk. He has this old, terrible boat nearby, and he always wants me to come and help him fix it. He’s useless.”

"A boat?" Harry definitely sounds appeased, and Nick can see that he has his eyes closed now. "I’ve never been on a boat before."

Nick’s genuinely surprised. “Really? Hasn’t your father ever taken you on one?”

Harry slowly shakes his head. “I’ve never been out of Rome before, actually.”

"Wow. You’re more sheltered than I originally thought."

Harry opens his eyes, looking up to see Nick grinning down at him. “Shut up,” he murmurs, clenching his hand into a fist and softly punching Nick’s jaw.

"Well, now that you’ve hit me, I’m definitely not going to take you anywhere on the boat." Nick sniffs, touching his jaw with the hand he hasn’t got wrapped around Harry’s back.

Harry looks up at him, eyes getting brighter, even in the dark. “You’re going to take me somewhere? Where?”

"Weren’t you listening? I’m not taking you anywhere anymore. I’m wounded."

Harry rolls his eyes, mouth shaped in an exasperated smile. He leans up, and quickly kisses where he had hit Nick. “There. Now where are you going to take me?”

Nick’s still grinning. “My wound is actually a bit lower. Can’t go anywhere while hurt.”

Harry fixes him with an amused look, but he picks himself up a bit, and presses another kiss to the center of Nick’s chest, in between where his nipples are. “Better?”

Nick looks down at the boy, pushing at his shoulders a bit. “Actually, lower still.”

Harry looks confused briefly, before his mouth shapes into a wide ‘o’. He punches Nick again a bit harder, this time in the stomach. “Your cock isn’t even hard enough to suck.”

"Give me a minute in your mouth, and I’ll get there."

Harry looks a mixture between irritated and delighted with Nick’s words, but all Nick gets from his lightening fast wit is a quick smack in the dick. To be fair, it’s what his lightening fast wit usually got him. Harry throws himself heavily onto his back again, smacking his lips loudly and letting out a great whoosh of breath.

“I reckon we ought to sail away on that boat.”

“Do you reckon?” Nick asks, turning his head to look at the smiling boy behind him. He can’t help the repulsive feeling of fondness that rises up in him as he stares at Harry, blinking so he doesn’t fall asleep, wheels turning in his head. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this much genuine adoration for anyone before, definitely not anyone that he was actively not allowed to be with. But isn’t that just how it would work for Nick? Just when he found someone he could see himself being with until he was liver-spotted and grey, it turns out to be with some absolutely unattainable individual. An individual who happened to be of the same sex, was nearly 10 years his junior, in a higher class of society, engaged to be wed, and as if that was not enough, was the lover of the inarguably most powerful man in the world.

He knew all that, objectively. But no amount of common sense or logical thinking could make Nick rouse up the strength to cut Harry off, and to get out of his bed.

“Yes.” Harry glanced quickly at Nick, and then after being reassured that Nick was paying attention to him, turned back to his whimsical staring at the ceiling (as if it were not just stone above them). “You should ask your friend to give you the boat, and if he says no, we should steal it. You’ll sail it, put up the sails and steer it, or whatever it is that sailors do, and I’ll lay down on the deck, naked, and put you in good spirits so you don’t crash us into Sardinia.”

“Sardinia’s quite large,” Nick chuckles. “I’d have to be quite distracted in order to miss the giant looming island in front of us.”

Harry smacks him again, and Nick slaps him back to show him that he’s quite finished with the smacks, thank you. “So you’re on board, then? We’re going to steal your friend’s boat—“

“—Ruin a few friendships, why not?”

“—And sail away from Rome and never look back?”

Nick shrugs. “Sure, I don’t see a single issue with your plan. I dunno how to sail a boat, but that can’t be too difficult, right?”

“Nah.” Harry beams at the ceiling, then turns all at once to look at Nick. “I’m very glad that I met you, Nimerius Gratidius.”

Nick is taken aback by the spontaneous declaration, and by the formality. “I’m very glad that I met you too, Haerius Stylvian. You’ve made quite the adventure out of my life, haven’t you?”

Harry looks at him, smile still wide on his face, but with an indistinguishable softness transforming his face into something that seems somehow fragile. “Our adventure can’t even be close to beginning. Now, good night. Promise you don’t sneak out until I’m already asleep?”

Nick’s face feels like it’s going to crack open, but he can’t tell what emotion would be bubbling underneath of it. “Of course.” He says softly.

“Good.” Harry leans forward, pressing a slow, languid kiss onto Nick’s open mouth. “I’ll see you soon.”

Harry doesn’t take long to fall asleep, snoring quietly on his side. But Nick still waits, lying perfectly still as the slow sounds of morning start to rise with the sun.

He’s gone before Harry wakes up.

//

Nick really does go and see his friend the next day. Marcus is quiet and contemplative, unlike all of his other friends who are loud and ridiculous and make Nick’s life both harder, and easier. Marcus lives just outside of Rome, a fisherman and a poet. Nick always mocks him for his poetry, as it is never any good, and Marcus always tells Nick that he can’t fathom how Nick became a sculptor, as he had no people skills whatsoever.

But they always had fun together, he and Marcus. And if Marcus wasn’t so avidly in love with his wife, Nick would likely have made a move. He might have made a move anyways, but he’s sure that Marcus would have rejected him, and Nick liked to avoid making a complete fool of himself.

“And where have you been?” Marcus asks when Nick knocks smartly on his door. Marcus has the cutest little house by the sea, and Lucia, his wife, always keeps it in top condition. Nick sometimes worries, when the weather is particularly bad, that the house might just get swept up in the wind, and blown into the water. But he’s sure that if it did happen, Marcus would get he and Lucia and their daughter, Aula up on a plank of wood that used to be their wall, or something, and just start fishing.

“I’ve been busy,” Nick replies airily, pushing past the man and striding into the house. He sticks his arms out wide when he sees little Aula, who sprints towards him and leaps into his hug.

Aula is a little waif of a girl, not even 7 years old. She’s got mousy brown hair, like her father, but her mother’s sweet face. She’s tanned from all the time she spends outside on the beach, or in the garden with Lucia, sun freckles speckling her cheekbones.

“Nick!” The girl shrieks, right into his ear drum, but Nick’s missed the little girl too much to really care about the likely permanent damage to his hearing.

“Aula! My love! You’ve gotten so big! Last time I was here, you only came up to my knees!” He holds fast, squeezing her tight enough that she groans as he spins them around. He can see Marcus and Lucia watching them from the sidelines, small smiles on their faces.

“I was NOT that short!” Aula squawks in protest after he sets her back down on wobbly legs, trying to scowl at him through her giggles.

“Maybe Nick was just that tall.” Lucia says quietly, and to Aula’s loud disapproval.

“He’s lying, dad. Tell Nick to stop lying!”

Marcus laughs loudly, staring at a chuckling Nick with delight. “My daughter’s only 6, and she can already tell that you’re full of it, Gratidius.”

Nick sniffs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. What you all doing today, then? Anything exciting? Anything fun happening?”

Aula grabs Nick’s hand. “Come! Let me show you what I found near the water yesterday. It’s a sword! Dad says I’m not allowed to touch it, because it belongs to a soldier who must have lost it in the water, but you’re allowed to touch it, because you’re an taller than he is!” Aula drags him out without giving any chance for Nick to disagree.

//

Hours later, when the sun has started its descent in the sky, and they’ve all eaten their supper, Marcus pulls Nick outside to the back a chance to talk in the garden.

“So how have you been, then?” Marcus asks, kneeling beside one of the plants grown closest to the walls of the house.

“Is that Valerian?” Nick turns his head to the side. “I had a friend who tried to smoke Valerian root once. He put it in his pipe, and he couldn’t speak for days. His throat was all scabbed up. Proper gross.”

Even though Marcus is looking away from him, Nick can feel Marcus rolling his eyes. “You grind up the root, and put it in tea. It helps when Lucia has trouble sleeping, and it helps Aula with nightmares. Don’t avoid the subject.”

Nick shrugs, leaning in what he hopes in a nonchalant way. He’s somehow already gotten his robes dirty. But he always leaves Marcus’ coated in a fine layer of grime. “I’m alright. I’ve been busy. Got two people to sculpt right now. Really important people too, high society. I feel richer just being in their presence.”

Marcus nods, satisfied with the answer. “And have you met anyone yet? Lucia is still trying to plan your wedding.”

Nick kicks at a stone on the ground. “I might have met someone. Someone that I like very much.”

“Oh?” Marcus looks up from the plant, smile growing. “Who is it then? He or she? When do I meet them?”

“He,” Nick scoffs, “And you’ll never meet him. It’s not going to work out. Doomed from the start. The gods do not favour me.”

Marcus’ smile drops just as quickly as it had grown, and his scowl is remarkably similar to Aula’s. “And why wont it last? You haven’t brought anyone to us since I married Lucia. You were probably 23, and the man was balding.”

“He had personality!” Nick protests. “I don’t regret that one. I’d still be with him today.”

It was Marcus’s turn to scoff. “He died before you had known him for a week. You only brought him here because he lived down the road.”

“We were also doomed from the start. Further proof that the gods do not favour me.”

“Hmm,” Marcus squints at him. “I’m starting to think that it’s not the gods who don’t favour you. I think you don’t favour yourself very much, and you won’t let yourself fall in love with people you can actually .”

“Very profound. Is that going to be in your next book of poetry?”

“Shut up, Nick.” Marcus throws a hunk of dirt at his legs, not achieving anything but making Nick even dirtier than he had already been. “But why can’t you have this one, then? Is he on his deathbed as well?”

“Not exactly,” Nick says slowly, as he attempts to brush the dirt off of his robes. “He’s… one of the important people I’m sculpting. Cute little thing. Engaged to be married… happens to be sleeping with our beloved tyrant ruler.”

Marcus pauses for a moment, before rising to his feet. His face is twisted into a look of absolute confusion. “Oh you’ve got to be joking. Please tell me that you’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not kidding.” Nick tries for a smile, but it probably comes out a lot more self-deprecating than he intends.

“Well.” Marcus laughs breathlessly. “Venus is really having a go with you, isn’t she?”

“Yes, well anyway. It’s getting late. I have to be getting back.” Nick claps his hands together, aware of the setting of the sun.

“Of course,” Marcus surges forward, pulling Nick into a gruff hug. “Make sure you say good bye to Aula, she’d never forgive you. And come back soon, alright? And try and bring this rich boy. We promise not to rob him.”

A laugh is startled out of Nick, who had been slowly sinking into a strange low feeling, where he’s all too aware of the time he had to spend with Harry was rapidly running out. “I’m not sure I can trust that, Marcus. And I will. Farewell, my friend. Stay safe out here. Don’t get murdered by pirates.”

Marcus nods at him, as they pull away from one another. He claps Nick on the back. “I’ll be well if you are well.”

//

Nick is roused from his sleep, a noise shuffling just outside his window. He's only got a small apartment, and his window is directly beside his neighbors window, so he disregards it as the woman next door's obnoxious children just being irritating. Again.

That is, until he hears the wooden shutters of his window slowly being opened, and a small voice call out, "Nick?"

Nick sits up, eyes casting immediately to the table where he'd laid his robes before he went to sleep. He reaches out to grab them and cover his nakedness, out of pure reaction, before he stills his hand.

Because it's Harry at his window, letting the moonlight in behind him as he clumsily lumbers through his window. Nick's briefly embarrassed about the state of his home, but he disregards it and stretches his spine. Harry knows who he is. Harry knows not to expect luxury. He sits on his bed, feet on the floor and hair ruffled from sleep.

Harry's finally managed to swing his legs over the window sill, but his toe catches on the very edge and he nearly clamors to the wooden ground. He catches himself at the last second, straightening himself up hastily and wiping off the dirt from his clothing. "Your door was locked," he gestures to Nick's door, lips twisting up in a self-deprecating smile.

"Because I locked it." Nick is wide awake now, surveying the boy before him in vague confusion. "What are you doing here?"

Harry drops his eyes to the floor, and quickly moves over to Nick. He sits beside him on the edge of the bed, still not looking up to meet his eyes. It's not sexy, like it had been when Harry had first propositioned Nick; it seems more like Harry was flustered and anxious.

"Does it matter?" Harry leans closer, resting a light hand high up on Nick's thigh. "I'm here now." He darts in closer, lips searching for Nick's.

Nick turns his head slightly, so Harry only comes in contact with his cheek. "Harry. It's the middle of the night. How did you even know where I live?”

Harry flushes, apples of his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink in the light that the moon allows. “I followed you home once.”

“What?” Nick’s taken aback, startled as always by Harry’s brutal honesty. He’s always very clear about his feelings, and his desires. He never diminishes any thought that passes through his mind as anything less than what it is. The result is an occasionally intimidating state of perpetual honesty, and with it, vulnerability. It’s usually refreshing and lovely. Now, Nick can’t help but be a little bit wary. “Why?”

Harry shrugs. “I wanted to see where you live. I didn’t set out to follow you home. I wanted to tell you something, but then I forgot what it was I was going to say. So I just left after I saw you go inside.”

Nick nods, still feeling a bit uneasy by Harry’s admission. “Huh. Okay. Still doesn’t explain why you’re here now.”

Harry makes a noise, high in his throat. “Can’t we just, can’t we just--“ He leans in again, this time with the expectation that Nick would turn away. He mouths at Nick’s cheek, lowering his mouth down to where his jaw curves into his neck. He presses wet kisses to the area, and Nick involuntarily closes his eyes.

Harry senses Nick’s guard being lowered, and he takes full advantage of it. He pulls away from his neck to remove his own clothing, and then with a blur of movement, he’s climbed up onto Nick’s lap, one leg on either side of his hip.

Nick’s cock is definitely interested; being brought to life by the way Harry shifts his bottom so that it grinds between his cheeks.

Yes, Nick thinks. Sex now. Talk later. He opens his eyes, and tilts his head down to kiss Harry properly, hands rubbing up Harry’s side and pulling his chest in closer to him. Harry responds enthusiastically, still pivoting his hips so that both of their cocks have friction, Nick on Harry’s ass, Harry in between their stomachs.

Harry’s still soft in between them, and Nick pushes the younger man off of him a bit, to take Harry in his palm and give him a bit of help. It’s then, however, that Nick notices what Harry has on his lower stomach, just above his hips.

“Harry,” Nick freezes, eyes focused on the ugly black splotch covering his skin. “What happened to you?”

“Oh,” Harry’s breath is heavier, and his skin feels like it’s heating up against Nick’s. “That’s nothing, it’s nothing. Ignore it.”

Nick furrows his eyebrows, taking another look at the mark. It’s unmistakably a bruise, a nasty one at that. It definitely had not been there the last time Nick had seen him. “No it’s-- fuck Harry. Who did that to you?”

“No one,” Harry blurts, hands shaking as he fumbled to push Nick’s head up, and make him look away. “Accident. I tripped, it wasn’t--“ He stops speaking, and he surges forward, pressing his searing hot lips onto Nick’s mouth, as if willing him to shut up through a kiss. His jump is so sudden, that Nick falls back on the bed, Harry straddling him as he grinds down on his cock with a sort of desperate fervor.

Nick turns his head again, hands loosely holding onto Harry’s legs, and it’s hard to think straight with Harry moving on top of him with such energy. He’s deeply unimpressed with the situation, but more than willing to let it happen; more than willing to let Harry rub one out on him, and make him come in the process. Because Nick’s dick is still slipping in between Harry’s cheeks, and he doesn’t think he could muster up the personal strength to stop Harry even if he wanted to.

And Harry knows it. He sits up on top of Nick, left hand loosely stroking up and down Nick’s chest. He takes his right hand, and with heavy breaths he presses his index and middle finger into his own mouth. Nick’s turned his head back to the front, watching Harry suck at his fingers in fascination. Harry’s hollow cheeks did things to Nick’s cock, making hips toes curl in anticipation of whatever Harry might plan on doing.

After he’s got them good and wet, Harry reaches back behind him. Nick can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but he can see the tiny little twitches as he adjusts, the little ‘o’ his mouth makes as he presses the fingers inside of himself.

And he doesn’t take very long to what Nick remembers, doesn’t take very long at all until he’s taken the fingers out of himself and he’s leaning back even further to take Nick’s dick in his hand.

Harry stops his movement of his hips, which had been nearly constant for the past 10 minutes. He lines Nick up to his hole.

Nick reaches out, and grabs onto Harry’s arm. “Wait,” he manages out. “You’re not stretched enough. You can’t be.”

Harry looks down at him, something dark crossing over his face. “I was already stretched coming here.” And then he shakes off Nick’s hand, and sinks down on top of Nick.

Harry’s head falls back the more of Nick he takes. Soon, all Nick can see through the sex-induced haze is Harry’s sharp jaw, and his adam’s apple prominently standing out on his neck as he looks up at the ceiling. And as Harry adjusts to Nick inside him, and as he starts moving up and down, Nick can’t help but feel like something is off. Every other time they’d had sex (proper sex), it had felt open. Almost tender. Even as Harry would ride him, he’d have a grin on his face, as if he loved every second of the burn. As if he was ecstatic to have Nick sheathed balls deep in him. He’d laugh, and he’d say dirty things and he’d cough and he’d run his hands through his hair and he’d bite on the meaty part of his hands to keep himself from his ever-constant moaning raising to too high a level.

But this time, Harry was quiet. Harry was absolutely quiet. So Nick was quiet too.

As Harry bounced up and down, he took a hold of his own cock in his right hand and quickly started jerking himself off. He had softened a bit, initially, when he first took Nick in him, but he was soon enough back to full hardness as he angled himself so that Nick hit that part of him that usually made him sob out loud. Nick, despite his distress about how off everything felt, was also close to finishing, fingers clutching tightly onto Harry’s thighs, guiding him up and down on his cock.

Harry comes first, tightening around Nick and releasing on his chest, spattering the two of them in droplets of white. Nick follows soon afterwards, thrusting up and off the bed into the tightness that came with Harry’s orgasm. He bites his lip to keep in his own moans, determined to maintain silence.

Harry huffs slightly, after Nick’s done, and he pulls off of the man and falls to lie down beside him. They’re both splayed out on their backs, both sweaty and out of breath, and neither of them say a word for a few minutes.

Then, after their breathing has returned to normal-- “Caesar’s back.”

Nick is quiet for a moment. “And you’ve already seen him? He’s the one who bruised you?”

“Yeah. He showed up at the party.” Harry sounds indifferent, exhausted. He says it like an admission of guilt to some minor inconvenience, like it doesn’t bother him in the slightest, or like he’s not at all surprised about it happening. He sounds like getting beaten during sex is something he’s grown accustomed to. And that breaks Nick’s heart.

It breaks his heart because he knows that Nick can’t do anything about it. Caesar was great, and Caesar was powerful. There were a lot of people who would consider it a great honour to be taken for Caesar’s lover. They would tell Harry to cover the bruises, or worse yet, to wear them with pride.

Harry had once mentioned that his father wanted him married before Caesar could return. Nick had originally thought that it meant that Tiberius didn’t like the idea of his son being the plaything of another man. Now, he wasn’t so sure that the man’s intentions were so ignorant.

Perhaps, maybe, he just wanted to protect Harry from Caesar. Tiberius would know the man best.

Nick clears his throat, and the emptiness that has suddenly filled his chest feels cavernous. Because there is absolutely nothing that he can do. “Do you want me to get you something?”

Harry sighs. “No thank you. Just, just lay with me. Until I have to go.”

“Okay.”

//

The next day, Nick makes sure to arrive at the Stylvian house a bit earlier than he would usually get there. He’s greeted by the same servant girl as he is everyday, and requests instead of being brought straight to Harry, if he could speak with Tiberius first, if he wasn’t busy.

Tiberius luckily happens to be free, and Nick is brought straight to him.

“Nimerius,” Tiberius does not rise from his seat in the room he meets with the other important statemen, but Nick does not expect him to. “This is a surprise. How is the statute going?”

“It’s going well.” Nick nods, folding his hands behind his back, hoping that he is adequately presentable. He glances around the room unconsciously, noticing the room looks rather ruffled, as if it had been very recently full of many people. Nick had noticed that Tiberius had been having larger and larger meetings as of late, men with somber looks on their face, wringing their hands nervously. Nick would wonder what they were up to, before he remembered that it was none of his concern. “I actually had a request for something.”

“Oh?” Tiberius raises his eyebrows, looking rather unimpressed. “And what would that be?”

Nick squeezes his thumb tightly behind his back, and swallows hard. “I want to take Haerius to the sea.”

Tiberius blinks, looking as if that were the last thing he had expected from the man. “Really? Why?”

“He’s expressed an interest in seeing the water. I have a close friend who lives right on the beach, quite close to Rome. I think it would be beneficial to the artistic process to see him in that sort of light, as well.”

“Really?” Tiberius repeats, shifting in his plush chair, seeming more at ease now that he knows that Nick isn’t asking for gold. “You have quite strange methods of sculpting, Gratidius. But I see no reason why he shouldn’t. Best to let him have as much fun as he can before he’s wrapped up in politics.”

Wrapped up in politics? Nick scrambles for what to say, a polite way to ask what he’s talking about without overstepping any boundaries. “Sorry? Is Haerius being appointed to the Senate?”

“Oh, of course not. He’s still too young.” Tiberius waves him off, face dismissive as if the idea is ridiculous. “Caesar’s requested that he be officially trained in politics, so he’ll be able to attend the Senate meetings, but it’s nothing beyond that, formally. He’ll be busier on the odd day, but I don’t think it will get in the way of your sculpting.”

“Right,” Nick nods. “Excellent. I’ll be sure to congratulate him on the news. And we’ll go to the sea before he’s called in.”

“You can each take one of the horses. I’ll send word to Maximus.”

“Thank you, sir.” Nick bows shallowly, before turning around, and scurrying up to Harry’s chambers.

He finds Harry sprawled across his bed of cushions, already in the nude in preparation for Nick’s arrival, likely. Nick winces at the dark bruises on Harry’s stomach that are more visible in the daylight, but he knew that commenting on them again would just upset Harry again. More have seemed to develop, some that Nick hadn’t noticed low down on Harry’s hips, and on his thighs.

“Hello, Nick!” Harry exclaims, eyes bright and happy to see him. “I’ve been waiting for you. I wanted to tell you—“

“I’ve got good news!” Nick blurts out, unable to stop himself. He averts his gaze from Harry’s bruises, up to his face. “I’ve just asked your father’s permission to take you down to the sea.”

Harry sits up, face dropping in shock. “What did he say?” His voice sounds a little bit wobbly, as if nervous to hear Nick’s reply.

“It wouldn’t be good news if he didn’t say yes, would it?” Harry’s answering smile is enough to make Nick’s heart leap to his throat.

//

Nick and Harry take horses the next day, and head down to see Marcus. Harry’s clearly ridden a horse before, an unknown variable that Nick had been curious about. He half-expected Harry to have never ridden before, as he sometimes found it hard to imagine Harry ever leaving the walls of his home, or the rich part of the city to learn to ride.

They chat as they ride, Harry babbling excitedly the whole way. He’s practically vibrating with energy, taking in the sights of the city, then the countryside with wide eyes. Nick doesn’t think he stops smiling the entire ride, and in extension, Nick doesn’t stop smiling.

Harry shows Nick a scarlet badge that he was wearing, hidden rather deliberately under the folds of his robes. Harry explains that Tiberius had given it to him, and that it was a sign of his new authority of an almost-member of the Senate. Nick tells him it’s an ugly badge, because it absolutely is, and Harry looks like he’d much like to throw something at him.

It doesn’t take them very long to get to the sea. They can smell the salty weather long before they can actually see it. Harry sniffs the air curiously, and he looks ridiculous. The pretty, pasty boy, made entirely out of limbs and curly hair, delicately sniffing the air while clutching onto his equally pretty and pale horse. Nick rolls his eyes; he can’t believe that Harry is an actual, real human being, and not some ridiculous creature crafted by the gods to wreak havoc and boners in society.

When they actually get close to the water, Harry looks like his eyes are going to pop out of his skull. “It’s so… big.” Harry murmurs, quite reverently. He dismounts from his horse, scuttling over to the edge of the sea.

“Strong observation. Of any description of the natural beauty of the sea, you go for ‘big’. Poetic.”

Harry laughs, seemingly unable to be affected by Nick when he was this hyped up about large bodies of water. He takes another moment, staring out at the wide expanse of water before him, before collecting himself and climbing back up on his horse, who he had affectionately named Sextus.

They continue on their way, Nick growing more and more anxious the closer they get to Marcus’. Harry seems relaxed, still chatting idly about what he had for supper the night before, pointing out irrelevant objects that they pass, like trees with interesting leaves and hoof prints on the dirt road they’re riding on. He greets everyone they happen to pass warmly, and it’s impossible for even the most hardened farmer to do anything but smile and become a better human being when a dimpled Haerius Stylvian smiles at them.

Finally, Nick and Harry arrive at Marcus’ house by the water. Harry’s whining a bit after they dismount about the sunburn he’s got on the back of his neck, but he shuts up as soon as he sees Aula sprint out of the house to greet them.

“Nick!” She shouts, hurtling towards them, not even noticing Harry standing there until the last second. She skids to a stop, staring up at Harry with a tiny little confused expression, seemingly forgetting Nick’s existence entirely. “Who are you?” She demands, inching away from him, and closer to Nick.

“My name is Haerius.” Harry looks delighted to see the little girl, and he kneels down to get closer to her level. “What’s your name?”

“Aula,” she replies, a bit uncertainly. She looks up at Nick, and then back at Harry. “Are you Nick’s friend?”

Harry grins. “Yes, I am. Nick’s my very good friend.”

“Oh.” Aula still looks unconvinced. “Are you friends like my dad and Nick are friends? Or are you friends like Mark and Cornelia down the road are friends?”

“How are Mark and Cornelia friends?” Nick asks, leaning down and plucking Aula up off the ground and letting her sit on his hip.

“They’re friends like they tell my mom they’re friends, but they kiss and stuff near the water when no one else is looking.”

Harry’s straightened back up, looking intently at Aula as if listening with all his might. “Oh.” Harry’s smile impossibly grows wider, and he looks at Nick with a look of pure amusement. “I guess that pretty much explains it, doesn’t it?”

Nick coughs a laugh. “C’mon, lets go find your mom and dad.”

//

It takes approximately 2 minutes for Marcus and Lucia to become hopelessly charmed by Harry. Marcus goes for a handshake, but instead Harry pulls him into a hug, and then kisses Lucia on the hand. He tells them that they’ve got a wonderful home, and that he doesn’t understand how Nick has such wonderful and good looking friends when he’s so horrible and ugly himself.

They’re possibly more in love with Harry than Nick will allow himself to be.

Aula is a bit harder to win over, fiercely loyal to Nick, and she tells Harry not to be so mean when Nick pretends to be offended by Harry’s words. But Harry apologizes to her, and then apologizes to Nick, and then apologizes to them all, and then tells Aula that he wants to play on the beach with her, and Aula seems satisfied. She still seems a bit wary, but she puts it aside after Nick whispers in her ear that Harry is a very nice man and that he wants them to be best friends.

They spend the entire day playing outside with Aula, Lucia and Marcus trailing long after them despite the fact that they have work to do. They’re seemingly enchanted with Harry, wanting to hear the odd things he came up with ("And that's the last time I ever eat boiled liver. Truly digsusting. Cleared up the dysentry, though."), and being only too interested in seeing he and Nick interact with each other. Nick’s not ashamed to admit that he gets grossly affectionate with Harry that day, giddy off the high of being able to show his affection for the young man openly.

Marcus pulls Nick aside at some point, and doesn’t do anything but tell Nick that he’s got to keep this one. Nick tells him that he’ll try.

Marcus takes Harry and Nick around the area, showing particular enthusiasm when Harry expresses his interest in his boat. He blathers on and on about the specifics of the boat and it’s capabilities, and every time Marcus turns his back, Harry fixes Nick with a smug look, and even leans over and murmurs into his ear, “this is a mighty fine boat for us to steal and live nakedly on.”

They have an incredible day. Lucia cooks them all a big meal, Marcus having caught a particularly big fish they’d been waiting for a chance to cook. It’s all much less fancy than what Harry is used to, but he doesn’t mention it. His manners are impeccable, and he eats with the gusto of a man who hadn’t eaten in years. He even offers to help Lucia clean up afterwards, who waves him off dismissively. It’s all for the best, as Nick isn’t sure that Harry would even know how to clean up after himself.

The sun starts to set long before Nick would like it to, and they remain sitting at the table in Marcus and Lucia’s house, Harry talking avidly with Aula about silly things. Nick leans on his elbow, staring at the young girl and the boy who might well be the love of his life. He softly reflects upon what he would possibly do if he was to lose Harry. He clenches his jaw, not wanting to think about it despite it’s inevitability. For as long as Rome stayed the same, so would their arrangement. Nick would finish the sculpture, and the doors to Harry’s home would no longer be open to him. Harry would marry Clovia, and he would become a proper Senator, and he would be Caesar’s plaything until Caesar grew tired of him. And Nick would be alone.

Just as if he could hear Nick’s thoughts, Harry sat up from his conversation with the six year old. Nick could somehow spot similarities between the two of them; they both had the same bright eyes, and the same easy smiles.

Harry looks at Lucia, then at Marcus, then at Nick. He blinks slowly, rubbing at his face, sleepiness clear. He looks as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how to phrase it.

Nick isn’t the only one to notice. “What is it, Harry?” Lucia asks, leaning heavily against her husband, who has his arms wrapped around her.

Harry turns back to Lucia. “I just was thinking… that I have a strange feeling.”

“Are you feeling sick?” Marcus asks, looking concerned. He glances towards the kitchen. Nick could only imagine his nervousness; what if he accidentally poisoned a Senator’s son?

“No, it’s not that.” Harry shakes his head, reaching out and patting Marcus reassuringly on the shoulder. It’s… just a feeling.”

“A feeling of what?” Aula demands, poking at Harry in the side.

Harry smiles down at her, pushing her tiny fingers away from his ribs patiently. “I just have the feeling…” He turns away from Aula, and looks back at Nick. His eyes look hooded, and he looks almost demure. “That things are going to change soon.”

✦ ✧ 　*　✧

Nick rushes through the bustling streets of panicking people, the air booming with the noises of hundreds of shouting people. There were men standing on top of stairs, yelling different versions of the news that they all knew by now-- “Gaius Julius Caesar has been murdered!” mixed amongst “The tyrant is dead!”

Nick pushed his way through the bystanders, everyone a mess of confusion as people took the streets. Every few steps he would take he would find himself blocked off, even in the small alleys and shortcuts that usually yielded no traffic.

And things were rapidly disintegrating. The people who were loyal to Caesar were trapped in their houses, shutting their windows and hiring thugs to guard their doors. And the people who opposed the dictator were running in after them.

Nick passed the home of Clovia Drusilla, the cousin of Caesar and Harry’s betrothed. It was on fire, and a mass of bodies lay dead on the doorstep. Nick could just barely distinguish between the bodies of the servants of the house, and the body of Clovia herself, sprawled on top of them all.

He shuddered, clenching his jaw and hurrying his steps, determined as ever to get to his destination.

He had been in the Stylvian house when the news had broke. Harry and his father had been at the Senate, Harry having lately been forced to attend sessions with Tiberius. It was meant to educate Harry, to prepare him for the day that he would be sitting on the council with them all. Harry hated it, he told Nick, who was now spending his time avoiding putting the finishing touches on Harry’s statue. It was a beautiful sculpture, but Nick always found another reason to delay finishing the job until another day. Harry told him that he could feel Caesar’s eyes on him, even when he’d look up and see that he wasn’t looking at him.

Despite the fact that the Stylvian’s were openly supportive of Caesar, their home had not been ransacked. It could only really mean one thing: that Tiberius had been one of the traitors that had attacked  Caesar. If that was the case, Nick hoped that Caesar really had been killed, for the sake of all the Stylvian’s.

Nick was out of breath by the time he reached his destination. He climbed the steps of the Senate, which was in a state of disarray itself. There was a small fire burning nearby, which Nick could see out of the corner of the eye was one of Caear’s red flags.

Once inside the building, it got eerily quiet. It was as if the chaotic mess that was Rome did not exist within. Nick could hear his footsteps echoing on the stone floor, quick and harried sounding as he made his way deeper into the building.

He emerged, quite suddenly, into the main room of the Senate. The stone benches cascaded down from the walls, all facing a single chair, on the far side of the room. Describing it as a chair was preposterous; tt was tall and ornate and wide. It was unmistakably a throne.

Upon it sat Harry. At his feet, the broken body of Caesar.

Nick paused for half a moment in the doorway, before rushing in to Harry’s side. There was blood covering the floor, even coating the benches and the walls. It was everywhere, staining the picture with a deep, dark red.

Except for Harry. His skin was as white as his robes, face drained of all colour except the green of his eyes as he looked down at the punctured body of his former lover. The very bottom of his robes looked dip in blood, as if he had not been nearby at the time of the murder, and had only situated himself at the throne after everyone had left.

“Harry,” Nick’s voice sounds stressed, and he sinks to his knees beside the young man. He doesn’t care for the blood on his clothes, just needs to ensure that Harry is all right. “Are you hurt?”

Harry continues staring at the body, face unchanging. He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, and just as Nick is about to open his mouth and ask him again, Harry says, “No. I’m not hurt.”

Relief is slow to flood through Nick. He might not be hurt, but there’s something off about him. His jaw keeps twitching, and he goes from fluttering his eyelashes quickly to complete stillness.

But Nick waits, quiet in his understanding of how to properly help Harry now. Caesar might have hurt Harry, but he was still his lover. He had proven on countless occasions, that he was affected by the man on more levels than just sexually.

“He’s… he’s dead.” Harry says after a moment, and then he finally tears his eyes away from the dead body, and fixes them on Nick. They look startled. “He’s gone. They killed him.”

“Yes.” Nick’s cautious, and he waits even longer even though his knees are aching on the floor. “Are you upset?”

Harry blinks. “No. Well, yes.” In a sudden flurry of movement, Harry rises to his feet and pushes past Nick, who follows after him. He paces a few steps past Caesar, than turn back around to stare down at the body. “They were suddenly all on  him. They murdered him. Right in front of me. Right there. He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Harry darts around, something unrecognizable growing in his eyes. “You’re sorry? For what?”

“I--“ Nick’s not sure what to say. “Aren’t you upset?”

Harry coughs, but Nick thinks it’s a laugh. The stiffness in Harry’s face is appearing to slip. “Yes! Upset that I didn’t get to kill him myself! I’m, Nick I’m happy about this! Caesar is dead! He’s dead! I never have to see him again. Never have to look up at him and let him put his lips on me!”

Nick’s confused, but Harry’s surging forward, and he’s wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him. Not completely what he was expecting, but he’ll take what he can get. When Harry pulls away, the unrecognizable look has completely drained away, and he looks giddy. The way he’s smiling can only make Nick smile back at him.

“He’s dead! We don’t need to mold ourselves to accommodate him any longer! Don’t need to hold our tongues, I don’t need, I don’t need…” Harry trails off, before beginning again speaking even quicker. “I don’t need to marry Clovia!”

Nick winces. “I don’t think marrying Clovia would be an option anymore, anyways. I passed their home when I came here. She’s dead.”

“Oh,” Harry says, sounding entirely unconcerned for a man who has just found out his betrothed has been murdered. “That’s terrible.”

“It is.” Nick nods. “A lot of people are dying right now. The people are in an uproar. They’re going into the homes of Caesar’s allies and killing them on the streets. Your house seems to have been skipped, however.”

Again, Harry seems unaffected by the horrific news being thrust upon him. “Do you think I should leave Rome, then? For my own safety?”

Nick frowns. “I reckon you’d be alright, if they haven’t already--“

“No, Nick.” Harry interrupts. “I think I ought to flee. I know someone who has a boat docked nearby. I could leave on it, and go far away from here.”

“Oh, right.” Harry’s contagious grin has spread to Nick. “I think you should. For your own safety, of course.”

Harry leans in again for another kiss, this time a lot softer. Harry’s face is cold, but his lips are warm, and Nick figures he could probably manage to bring some heat back into the young man’s body. He should probably feel weird, kissing Harry so close to the body of Caesar, but everything is a mess anyways.

Harry pulls away, eyes fluttering open. “What would my father say,” he mused, quietly. “Running off with an artist. No money whatsoever.”

“He’d probably be alright with it, if he knew how much the shabby artist loved his son.”

Harry smiled, quiet and beautiful. “And how much his son loved the handsome artist.”

A loud crash sounded from somewhere in the distance, outside the Senate somewhere. Nick pulled back, startled, but Harry just clenched his jaw. “Suppose we really should go then, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nick takes Harry’s hand in his, and starts pulling him away from Caesar’s body. Harry takes one final look at it, lips twisting into silent words that Nick can’t decipher, and doesn’t need to.

Just as they reach the archway to leave, Harry pauses. Nick looks back at him, face questioning, before he realizes what Harry is doing.

The younger man pulls the scarlet badge off of his chest, the one given to him by Tiberius when he was introduced to the Senate. Nick waits, as he watches Harry place the badge briefly to his lips, before gently placing it on the last bench before the door.

“Vale, Romae.” Harry murmurs, before he allows Nick to sweep him out of the room, and out of the crumbling city.