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The temperature had risen over the last week or so until it was obvious that summer had arrived full force. Master went into the office less frequently in the heat - something Ven found himself grateful for; trailing back from the Forum up to the Quirinal in the sweltering heat was not his idea of fun.
Today was deemed to be a day for lazing around and enjoying doing nothing much. The house was cool, light drapes shifting in the small breeze, and Ven followed his master out to the garden, where he eventually found himself curled up on the swing seat, his head in his master’s lap, watching the play of light and shadow through the leaves on the vines twined round the trellis overhead. Master was wearing a summer tunic in a very fine light Egyptian cotton that seemed almost impossibly soft and smooth under Ven’s hand. His own tunic, in wine-red linen, was also a summer tunic but was still not so fine as Master’s. It was a Greek style, fastened at each shoulder with a button and open at the sides down to the belt, with a hemline above his knees, in contrast with Master’s warm tan-coloured tunic that had embroidery in dark brown around the neckline, the hem and the sleeves.
Master handed him his tabula. "You can read from where we left off last time, pet," he said, and Ven nodded, curling up a little more as he found his place. He had to turn the brightness up a bit to see the screen better, but eventually settled down to begin reading aloud. He was not totally surprised when his master’s hand crept under his tunic to cup his bum as he read.
The gentle back-and-forth motion of the swing seat, the quiet snipping of Icarus’ garden shears as he pruned a bush across the garden from where they were, the rustle of the leaves, the muted sounds of a radio playing somewhere and the distant sound of bicycles and other permitted traffic in the streets outside, combined with the warmth of the sunshine and his own quiet voice, made Ven feel drowsy, though he fought it off to keep reading. The book was a non-fiction one, something about the development of the Second Empire, a topic that Ven would normally find interesting. The book was above his current comprehension level, though - or at least, far more complicated and in-depth than his limited schooling allowed for - and written in a style he did not particularly understand or appreciate.
His master’s hand travelled over his hip to the soft sensitive skin inside the top of his thigh, which was a little ticklish, especially with such a light touch. Ven caught his lip between his teeth, trying to stay still even as Master smoothed his skin with a finger before trailing his hand back over Ven’s hip to cup his arse again, slipping lightly down his crack a little to the base of the plug nestled inside him.
There was nothing odd or fancy about today’s plug, it was quite boring in comparison to some of the things Master liked, but it was definitely there, a hard piece of plastic holding him open for his master's pleasure.
Ven didn’t realise that his reading had slowed to a stop until there was a tug at the tabula held loosely in his hands. He tightened his grip on it reflexively, eyes flicking sleepily up to his master’s face. He swallowed, although there was no sign of impatience or anger to be read in his owner’s impassive expression. The muscles of his master’s leg flexed under his head as the swing-seat swung lazily back-and-forth.
"‘M sorry, I…" he began and was interrupted by his master’s hand sliding possessively under his tunic to his chest. Somewhere in the drowsy fog of his thoughts, Ven made up his mind, again, that he would never touch anyone without asking them first.
"Languid, would be a good word to describe you right now," Master said, looking down at him. Ven frowned, confused, his sleepiness not entirely banished despite the look of amusement on his master’s face. "Like a cat. I daresay Rutillius’ history of the founding of the Second Empire is enough to put most people to sleep."
The hand was withdrawn from Ven’s tunic and the tabula pulled from his hands to be set aside.
"Do you know what day it is today?" Master continued, his hand sliding back under Ven’s tunic to caress his chest.
Ven’s sleepy expression grew confused as he tried to think. "Ah, no, Master?"
"No?" That was definitely a smile that Master was wearing as Ven twisted onto his back to look up at him.
Ven shook his head, trying to think, though it was hard through the heat and the drowsiness and Master’s hand under his tunic again playing with the ring in his nipple.
"Not if I said it was the Ides of May?
Ven frowned, then blinked. "Oh."
The old named days of the month weren’t really used any more, though every child, slave or free, knew them, knew the little ditty In March, July, October, May, the Nones are on the seventh day, which meant that the Ides of those months were on the fifteenth, not the thirteenth, and even Ven’s patchy slave education had taught him that Gaius Julius Caesar had been assassinated on the Ides of March.
"Oh? Is that all you have to say?" Master sounded amused. "Mind you, I suppose slaves don’t really celebrate birthdays," he continued, smiling at the dawning realisation on Ven’s face of what the date was supposed to mean to him.
"I never have, before, Master," Ven said carefully, now fully awake and trying hard not to recall his last birthday. Thankfully the bronze statue of Priapus was not visible from his current position on the swing seat, being behind them. The only other time he’d really been aware of his birthday was when he’d turned six and his former master had taken him to be registered. He thought vaguely that there had been cake or something, but the day had been a complete blur, though the lady at the registration office had been allowed to give him a lollipop once she’d taken all his fingerprints, and his photo and everything.
"Well, that’s a shame," Master told him, before pulling his hand out from under Ven’s tunic and reaching to pick something up from the seat next to him.
Ven looked at it in confusion as Master held it out, a small package wrapped in coloured paper. "For me, Master?"
"Yes, for you, silly boy." Master sounded somewhat indulgent, at least, which was far better than the alternative, and Ven took the package hesitantly, shifting so that he could use both hands to open it, careful not to tear the paper.
Inside the paper lay a box, the sort that contained jewellery. Ven looked up at his master, who was watching with an indulgent expression on his face as his slave carefully opened the box. Inside, the lid was stamped with the name of one of Rome’s most exclusive jewellers and nestled on a bit of velvet in a similar colour to Ven’s tunic was a simple but expensive-looking gold bangle, shaped like a snake and sized to fit around Ven’s upper arm.
Ven rapidly calculated that the simple item must have set his master back a significant proportion of Ven’s own value, and he swallowed.
"I… I… thank you very much, Master," he said, a little overcome at such an expensive gift - and one that would be counted as truly his own possession, too, to keep or sell as he chose.
He took it out of the box and slipped it on, the metal cool against his skin. It would not be something he would, or could, wear every day; it was far too much for that and it would not show with most of his tunics anyway.
He was more surprised when his master produced a second package, a similar size to the first. This one contained a similar box, which held a charm bracelet that as yet had a single charm, a tiny gold phallus. Master fastened it around Ven’s wrist for him.
"There. I suppose you’ll want to buy a charm for it everywhere we go, after this," Master told him.
Ven didn’t reply except to push up enough to press a kiss, daringly, to his master’s mouth - it was very rare that his master indulged him in kissing, but he seemed not to mind now, quickly taking the lead, although the kiss didn’t last long.
"Perhaps you’ll pay a bit more attention to Rutillius’ description of the purges of the Senate now," Master told him, handing him his tabula. Ven felt him lean back, beginning to rock the swing seat again as Ven himself settled back down with his head in his master’s lap and began to read, "The infighting between Gaius Silius Auxentius and Lar Caesonius Micon finally came to a head on one sultry day in the Forum Romanum when a riotous crowd turned on Micon as he made his way to the Rostrum…"