Chapter Text
He never thought this would've ever happened, dared not so much as hope for it. And yet... his boss – the Pontius Pilate – had approached him alone earlier in the day, furrowed brow as always. And as always, being a mere guard, he had simply stood straight, awaiting orders.
None would come, however, so he had dared to look down at Pilate then. The man looked more tired than ever, like the weight on his shoulders had somehow increased overnight.
Without thinking, the guard let out a question about whether his boss was quite alright; if he had slept well.
Catching his mistake, the guard braced himself for the evident dismissal or chastising that would follow. After a maddening silence, Pilate had ignored his query and instead replied with one of his own:
“Would you come to my quarters tonight?”
Not so much a question, really. An order, more like, but even if it hadn't been, the guard wouldn't be lying if he said he'd jumped at the mere suggestion. Somehow managing to keep the dignity his job demanded, he'd simply gulped and replied:
“Certainly, sir.”
And so, here he was at the end of the day; stood before Pontius Pilate's luxurious poster bed, with its messy satin sheets and golden tassels hanging from the posts.
In the middle of the room, on the marble work-desk, lay some half-finished grapes and bread, right next to a carafe of wine. Scrunched up parchments lay on the floor beneath. Right in front of the work-desk, a Roman Empire propaganda poster was fastened on the wall.
The several veils hung from the ceiling were all in varying shades of red and purple; Pilate's favorite colours.
The guard raised his eyebrows, clearly not expecting this level of mess from a high-standing prefect like Pilate.
“Impressed?”, came the man's voice from where he was stood by his bed, looking less enthusiastic than the guard had ever seen him before. And despite being let into his boss' private quarters like this, he didn't dare say a word in reply.
“Oh, what does it matter...”, Pilate mused to himself, before the guard could so much as stutter.
Pilate, shorter than him by a head, turned around to face him; studying his guard for a while, before pulling out his writing chair.
“Sit down, guard. I can't stand to see that posture... Reminds me of work.”
Still at a loss for words, the guard could do nothing but obey. He took a seat, daring to relax just a little bit, before remembering that Pilate still hadn't told him why he'd invited him here.
As luck would have it, the older man seemed to read his thoughts.
“Now, why have I brought you here, you may ask? I'll be upfront with you, as we're both busy men. I have been plagued with strange dreams lately, and they've quite dampened my mood and annihilated my sleeping patterns. I would like some... respite from this. And I need you to help me achieve it.”
The guard just stared at him, wide-eyed. Pilate sighed dramatically, choosing to just get it out there.
“What I mean is; I want you in my bed tonight, guard. If you do a good job, maybe there'll be more nights.”
The guard was lucky he hadn't helped himself to some of that wine, or he would've choked on it then; hearing those words. Words directed at him, by arguably one of the most powerful men in the country.
Oddly, he was able to find his words at last.
“What....? But-- I... Me?!”, he eloquently stammered. And then, more quietly and collected, “What about your wife...?”
Pilate actually laughed a little then, which reminded the guard of just how long it had been since he'd heard the man do that. It was nice.
“Our marriage is simply business, that's all. I thought everybody knew that!” Pilate rolled his eyes. “It's obvious she can not satisfy me in the way I want, and vice versa, and so we are merely married on paper. Nothing more. Anything else you need to know about my private life?”
The prefect had leaned himself against the work-desk as he poured some wine into two cups he had brought forth. He handed one of them to the guard, who continued.
“B-but, sir, I... How come you picked me to... do this?”
He felt like the luckiest man in the world right now, so he wasn't complaining. But he had to know Pilate's reasoning all the same. The older man rolled his eyes again and sipped his wine.
“I find you amusing... You are strong, handsome... But most importantly, I've seen how you look at me.” Pilate smiled knowingly as he said this, looking the guard over.
Oh Jupiter... He remembered?
“Don't think I didn't notice your, well... excitement at carrying me up the hill that time. That's how I came to make this decision. I know that you're strong, eager to please, and that you desire me also. It's only natural I make this proposition, all things considered.”
Yes, it was true. Months back, there had been a public gathering at the usual cliffside, but Pilate had trouble getting up to his makeshift “podium”. Standing nearby and not thinking clearly, the guard had the bright idea to lift the prefect up over his shoulder, like a claimed prize, and carry him up there himself. And that's indeed what he had done, instantly aware of how close he was to this powerful man. How he had his life in his hands (or shoulder) now, and that he mustn't make one wrong step up the cliffside. Pilate fussed a surprisingly little amount, considering.
The guard was aware how fast his heart was beating, not from fear of the height, but something else... He even thought he could hear Pilate's calmer heart beat, if he listened close enough. He was also aware of the stirring in his loins as they climbed ever upwards, finding himself disappointed when they reached the top and he had to put the man back down.
He'd avoided Pilate's gaze for the rest of that day.
He found himself excited by the memory alone, something that Pilate also seemed to notice, given how his eyes crept down the guard's body, ultimately landing on his crotch, which was growing more pronounced by the minute. Pilate smirked knowingly, before taking a swig of wine and straddling his dumbfounded guard, right there on the chair.