Prologue
Barty looked forward, shielding his eyes as the sun beat down heavily on the sandy arena in front of him. The crowd was chanting a mad cry full of sweat and bloodlust. The guard by his gate grunted before unlocking the barred door. The crowd went wild as he stepped into the arena, cheering as he playfully waved. They love me. And honestly they really did, Barty was a fan favourite at the moment. Still being up against Mulciber wasn’t an easy fight, he didn’t really care whether he won or lost, his livelihood hinged more on putting on a good show. Luckily, if Barty was good at anything, it was that.
He flashed a cheeky grin and bowed for the crowd. The cheers only got louder as Mulciber emerged from his cage too. Unlike Barty who was pretty lightly armed save for the leather protection on his arm and the feathered helmet on his head, Mulciber was had a large metal greave on his leg, a leather sleeve just like Barty and a large crested helmet.
The flag was waved and the fight had begun.
Barty tightened his grip on his curved sword as Mulciber ran towards him.
As he got close enough he thrust out his dagger, it grazed Barty’s bare chest, drawing blood. Still he managed to pull back before it caused any real damage. Mulciber thrust again and again. At first Barty just dodged every blow, letting Mulciber tire himself out in the heavy armour. He loved this part, the crowd cheered and laughed as Barty danced circles around his opponent. Eventually Barty swung his sword, trying catch skin but instead landing his blade in thick leather. Fuck. He tugged at it hard. At first it stayed stuck then as he tugged harder it broke free with alarming ease, he was sent stumbling back, landing with a soft thump on the blood stained sand. Mulciber stabbed down wildly, thinking he’d finally got a hold of him. Barty rolled away just in time, springing to his feet, one foot on Mulciber’s back and he pushed him down into the sand. He stepped away but Mulciber grabbed at his ankle, pulling him down. He tried to fight but Mulciber was too heavy to move. Barty was pinned down, wriggling up until the moment he felt warm metal pressed against his throat. He lay still. The crowd began to jeer, most called for his survival. He’d fought well. Still, some sickos were only really here to see someone die. He squinted up at the royal box. The guest of honour, dressed in flowing purple robes, was expressionless. He slowly brought up his hand. Barty’s heart hammered in his chest. He raised his thumb up. Barty grinned, filled with adrenaline.
He was the last act of the day, still filled with buzzing energy though. Both gladiators bowed and he headed back to his side of the arena. The metal door was shut again and he was in the cool embrace of shadows as he walked through the twisting corridors till he reached a little changing room. He could hear the thump of the crowd leaving above him. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to find the senator there, accompanied by his assistant.
“Leave us.”
The senator ordered to his assistant, gaze not lingering from Barty for even a moment in a way that made his heart flutter. As soon as the assistant was gone the senator stepped forward. His purple and white robes rippled over his body like water as he walked. He had warm dark skin and short tufts of platinum curls. People weren’t sure how he and his sister had such striking white hair but there were rumours they were descended from Aphrodite. Looking at the high arched cheekbones and the perfectly crafted face in front of him, Barty wouldn’t be surprised.
He wanted to run his hands over those cheekbones, he couldn’t yet though.
“You performed well.”
The senator’s expression was inscrutable. His face was resting serenely but in his eyes he seemed to be masking something wild.
“It’s what I do.”
Barty smirked, stepping forward and sticking his chin up. The senator was taller than him, sweet inches that meant he had to tilt his head down to look at Barty, lips so close they were practically touching.
“I said you performed well. Not the best I’ve ever seen mind.”
“Oh.”
Barty batted his eyes with feigned disappointment, looking up at the man through his lashes.
“I can do better.”
“You can?”
The man said, a smile playing on his lips.
“Would you like me to show you?”
The gap between their lips was closed in an instant. A hand snaked around Barty’s waist, pulling him in impossibly close. Barty scrabbled at the collar of the toga to pull him closer.
“Evan.”
He whispered the name as he moaned softly against the warm lips.
“You lost on purpose didn’t you?”
“Feels so good to have my life in your hands.”
Barty murmured as he trailed his lips down Evan’s neck. Evan gasped slightly and Barty pushed a knee between his legs, gleeful at the little shudder Evan gave.
“You know something? Every time we do this I tell myself it’ll be the last. But every time I see you…”
Barty chuckled and shifted the toga collar, biting the smooth skin there. He wanted to mark Evan. Badly. Wanted everyone to know what was his. He couldn’t though. And Evan couldn’t be his. Not really. So he marked him where no one could see.
“I’m not easy to get rid of love, your mistake was starting this in the first place.”
Evan grabbed Barty suddenly, pushing him up against the wall, dangerous twinkle in his eyes.
“Who’s to say it was a mistake?”
“I-“
Barty stuttered, unsure how to reply. Evan continued on anyway, trailing his hands down to tug at the little cloth tied around Barty’s waist.
“Who’s to say I don’t love it?”
Evan asked playfully.
He got onto his knees.
And then in the high of it all, when Barty’s mind was blank and stars clouded over his vision he heard a quiet voice whisper.
“Who’s to say I don’t love you?”