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There’s not a whole lot of privacy in the West.
They got tents, yeah -- a bedroll to lay your head on and a chest to store your stuff -- but a tent’s just a couple sheets and sticks, no soundproofing at all, and you’re maybe seven feet from the next tent over besides. They’ve all had to get used to maybe having to hear the folks around them if they decide to take a break from the railroad and the fighting, had no choice not to, even if they don’t do anything like it.
Jedediah tries not to do anything like it, because isn’t it weird to have to hear your leader rub one out? And, well, he doesn’t exactly bring people home or date or nothing nomore either.
That’s also because he’s leading everyone, right? He thinks it is, mostly. Probably.
Anyway, point is, that even Jedediah gets urges he can’t keep ignoring, so sometimes he does make anyone nearby bear it. Tonight though, he can’t exactly risk being overheard, so he heads on over to the canyon wall. It’s funny, that he’s less likely to get caught outside than in his tent, but he’s not exactly interested in the humor right now. No, right now he’s interested in how randy he’s gotten, how randy he keeps gettin no matter how much he’s trying to put the whole thing to sleep, over that stupid Roman box herder[1].
It’s been half a week of this, and the first night it was easy to avoid Octavius, in fact he didn’t see him at all, but after that…
Jedediah had forgotten how much he fights Octavius personally, and now he’s starting to regret the tradition.
So tonight he’s got one of his boys directing the train and the milling[2] so he can sneak off and do this; so he can sneak off and take his gloves off and unfasten his chaps and belt and jeans. He’s taking the night off so he can come out here and beat the bishop[3].
Like he said, he tries not to do this sort of thing if he can help it, and usually he can; it can be easy to take some deep breaths and make yourself think of something different, but he can’t think of anything different this time. He can’t think of anything except having that Roman under him as they’re both breathing heavy, feeling the heat of that bit of bare arm before his arm guards, being close enough that he could put his lips to his neck and-
Jedediah squeezes the base of his dick. No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, or to think about stuff like old Henry taking a bath, or even to go visit the cat wagon[4] and work it out that way, it’s nothing but this.
And listen, Jedediah isn’t picky, he’s figured that out by now, but this is different. It’s the head skirt.
Which isn’t to say he’s bad looking -- not that Jedediah’s been looking really -- he’s even kind of pretty, in a hard sort of way; even with the armor all on, he’s got these real broad shoulders, the type that look like they’d feel nice to hold onto, and then there are the thighs.
Jedediah thinks the skirts are dumb, alright? He thinks there’s no good reason for them to wear them and that they all look stupid. But…
When Octavius is up in front of all his guys, standing all tall and prideful and annoying, looking down his nose at you just because they have fancy swords and catapults, and he shifts just the slightest bit and that stupid skirt rides up a little and Jedediah can see just an inch more of his thighs, it’s enough to make a guy’s mouth water.
And besides all of that, he’s seen Octavius without the whole turtle shell once[5] or twice and he knows his chest is just as nice as the one built into his armor, and his waist-
His waist-
The boys have these little french postcards[6] full of the most beautiful line girls Jedediah’s ever seen, almost all with these itty bitty waists like they’re cinched in a corset all the time, and that’s real pretty -- Jedidiah isn’t picky, remember? But Octavius doesn’t have a waist Jedediah could put his hands around with extra to spare.
His waist’s got some curve to it -- has to, with a chest like that and thighs like that -- but mostly it’s built like the rest of him, sturdy, and that’s nice too. When Jedediah saw Octavius with just his dress on, tied simply with a rope, he thought it looked like if you could get your hands on it and squeeze, it’d feel real good under your fingers.
And Jedediah’s been imagining getting that waist under his fingers all week.
He wouldn’t have been able to grab him then, not just because all that armor was in the way, but because Octavius is feisty when he’s on the prod[7], and a dirty fighter too if the bruise over Jedediah’s nose says anything about it; he’d gotten Jedediah off of him and got that goddamn sword back and they’d been back to it. But, Jedediah thinks, if Octavius had been dressed down, and Jedediah had taken off all his leatherwear, his hat and his vest and his chaps, maybe he could’ve grabbed that waist. He would’ve, he thinks, he will, and suddenly he’s back there, suddenly he’s
Near naked in just his jeans and shirt, but he doesn’t care because Octavius is stripped down too. And Jedediah’s right uncomfortable with his stuff off but when it comes down to it, it’s just an outfit for riding and working, just as interchangeable as the Mayor’s suit; Octavius and all of those Romans, their stuff is armor, like real deal knights, and Jedediah’s taken that. Thrown away with his sword, the armor’d made such a clatter that it could’ve woken a bear, but no one came. It was just him and Octavius, tucked away from the rest of the fight, tangled up together.
“Not so proud now, are you?” Jedediah mocks, short of breath but near overproud as he sits on Octavius. He’s heard those Romans chatter on about their stuffy ‘glorious’ mano-a-mano style, but no one’s going to beat Jedediah in a wrassle.
“Romans have no need for individual pride; the Empire’s pride is enough for us all,” Octavius says, like Jedediah’d ever believe he meant that. The man’s wiggling around under him to try and get away for godssakes!
Jedediah grabs the first part of Octavius that he can to try and get him still, and gets a handful of his waist. It’s thick, and it’s got some give when Jedediah squeezes, the softness of an overlayer of fat from muscle built for function rather than form. It feels so great that Jedediah forgets to respond to Octavius until he speaks again.
“Is this the ‘pride’ of an American? Flaunting your supposed victory by holding your opponent down? Of course it would be something so unsporting.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve been real graceful whenever you thrash me,” Jedediah rolls his eyes and tightens his grip. “You can admit you care ‘bout all’a this just as much as I do; just as much as a barbarian does.”
Octavius snarls, “You would assume to know my thoughts? You would do better to focus on trying to have your own.”
“Those are some big words for a guy who got laced[8]. You wanna try that again?” Jedediah asks, letting go so he can lean forward and box Octavius in with his forearms.
“Oh, of course. I apologize,” Octavius says, “I should have simplified my sentences so you had even a chance of comprehension: you should fill your empty head before trying to speak about mine.”
“Y’know,” Jedediah says, voice low now that he’s close enough to whisper, close enough to breathe in Octavius’ scent, close enough that a turn of his head could have his nose at the hinge of Octavius’ jaw. “You’re the most hardheaded man I ever seen. I know the lot’a y’all are prideful to a whole buncha faults, but can’t y’see when it’s time to throw the goddamn towel in? You lost, Octagon.” Octavius stops fussing below him and Jedediah snorts a laugh. “Now, was that so-”
Octavius pushes off the floor and has them flipped over quicker than Jedediah can follow, and when Jedediah tries to keep hold of him -- even if it’s his back on the ground, he’s still in control if he can keep a hold of Octavius -- Octavius swats his arm away like he hadn’t been able to before. In the space of seconds, their positions are flipped, and Octavius is up and on top of Jedediah.
“What was that about throwing in the towel?” Octavius asks, an obnoxiously bad sport about it. His hair, free from that stupid broomstick of a helmet, is ruffled and wild, and the museum lights make it nearly glow.
“Yeah and I’ll do it,” Jedediah says, and then grins, smug, when Octavius looks put out. He can be a bad sport too. “I concede Octopus, you may’ve won but I’m the bigger man.”
Octavius’ eyes narrow and he takes one of those deep breaths that means he’s about to get into a real fun tirade and leans back slightly, then his expression freezes. After a moment it melts into fascinated consideration.
“You’re certainly the bigger man somewhere right now.”
Octavius moves a little further back and oh, Jedediah gets it.
The thing is, a good scrap gets you right up close with the other person, and listen: it’s not called a tumble in the sheets for no reason. There are some similarities, is the point. And it’s been so long for Jedediah, it just makes sense that he’s here, on his back away from his guys, with the Roman snob, and hard enough to pound nails.
“I didn’t mean to-”
Octavius cuts him off, still considering. “No, I can’t imagine that you did. Still, it’s quite flattering. I’ve never heard of you being like this for anyone else.”
“I ain’t,” Jedediah says, then flushes when he realizes how that sounds, “I just mean, this ain’t never happened to me before, ‘cept in a friendly row with one’a my guys, an’ then you just go your separate ways and deal with it.”
“And now? You cannot truly believe I’d let you go so you can deal with your inability to control yourself.”
“It’s not an inability, you mush-head[9]! It’s just that I’m near naked right now an’-”
“Near naked?” Octavius scoffs, “I’ve seen nearly naked in our great coliseum, and you’re nowhere near it; there is not an inch of bare skin below your neck.”
“Yeah, but my vest-”
“Your vest?” Octavius laughs. Jedediah flushes again. “And to think, you would call your civilization greater than mine when you define nakedness as removing a single layer of extraneous clothing. No, I can show you nakedness, cowboy.”
Jedediah’s arms are free but he feels frozen as Octavius reaches up and starts unbuttoning Jedediah’s shirt.
“You know, I had always wondered why your kind so covered themselves,” Octavius says, smoothing a hand over the bit of Jedediah’s chest that’s become uncovered before continuing. Jedediah shivers. “You’re not unattractive, surely you should wish to showcase the strength of your body. To think that it’s solely some American hangup… a true tragedy.”
“A tragedy?” Jedediah asks, voice cracking. No matter how much he swallows, his mouth won’t stop going dry.
Octavius finishes his task and pulls the shirt up out of Jedediah’s jeans, baring his chest. He runs his fingers down the center of Jedediah’s torso and through his sparse chest hair, sternum to belly button and back up again, before roughly thumbing over one of his nipples.
“A tragedy. I would have you stripped and stood in the town square, a monument as fit as any statue to the gods.”
“As if I’d-”
Octavius’ eyes flash. “You wouldn’t have a choice. I would have you, regardless of your own desires.”
Jedediah’s stomach flips in what should be disgust but is definitely closer to the other side of the spectrum, and he can’t stop himself from groaning.
“Do you still concede? I’ll allow you to escape if only you ask it,” Octavius mocks, both hands on Jedediah’s chest now, roaming and squeezing in ways that make Jedediah’s head spin.
“I,” Jedediah takes a heaving breath, “Ain’t no skirt gonna get ol’ Jedediah to beg.”
“If you’re quite certain of your choice,” Octavius says, and he slides back and unbuckles Jedediah’s belt, throwing it away as easily as Jedediah did his armor. His hands are on Jedediah’s zipper when he pauses again. “I’ll give you a final opportunity.”
Jedediah looks into Octavius’ eyes, heavy and intent. He slowly shakes his head.
“Good, it would have been a pity to stop.”
Octavius has his cock out in a matter of seconds, hand hot around it. “That this is not constantly exposed is a shame. When I have you displayed, you will be kept aroused at all hours so everyone can see this beautiful thing,” Octavius says, “Though perhaps I’ll keep you for my eyes only. Perhaps I would not like to share.”
Jedediah’s heart pounds as Octavius spits on his hand and starts to stroke Jedediah’s dick leisurely. “I imagine you’ll fight it at first, you like a good fight, don’t you? But the futility of your struggle will set into your mind eventually. How long will it take, do you think, for you to grow satisfied with being an ornament in my bed chambers?”
“I won’t never,” Jedediah says, but it dissolves into a moan at the end when Octavius presses into his glans. He takes a deep breath, “Ain’t nothin’ you could do to get me to like that.”
Octavius makes a doubtful noise but doesn’t disagree out loud. Instead, he lowers his head to Jedediah’s cock, close enough to kiss, and blows onto the head, cool enough to make Jedediah’s hips jerk.
“You’re so responsive, have you ever been touched here? Am I the first to behold this magnificent body?”
“‘C-’Course not, I got plenty experience,” Jedediah says, “Just-”
Just nothin’ like this. It ain’t never felt like this, He thinks. Octavius looks like he can tell, the way he smirks.
“Would that I had some olive oil,” Octavius says, and it’s barely a breath before Jedediah offers,
“There’s some gun oil in my holster, we- we use that sometimes.”
“Do you?” Octavius asks, voice low and dark. “Stay.”
He stands to get the oil and Jedediah does stay, mostly, moving only to shove his shirt off all the way, kick off his boots, and wiggle out of his jeans; naked, for real, right out in the open. Octavius is naked too when he comes back with the oil, but he’s frowning.
“I thought I told you to stay,” Octavius says, standing over him. Jedediah gets nervous at the look on his face.
“I- I thought you’d want-”
“Statues don’t think,” Octavius snaps, “You need only to do what you’re told. Do you understand?”
“I- yeah. Yeah, sorry.”
“So you do have manners somewhere in that barbarian head of yours,” Octavius says, “You were going to get a reward but now I’m not sure.”
Jedediah’s breath catches in his throat, No, and he shakes his head repeatedly, rapidly. “No, please, promise I’ll be good, a hundred percent. I’ll stay still as you want.”
“But you have already failed to stay still. How could I trust that you would listen this time?”
“I-I’ll do anythin’ to prove it,” Jedediah says, then takes a deep breath, “I’ll let you put me in your room if you want. Anythin’.”
“You would, wouldn’t you? Anything,” Octavius laughs, “I could parade you before all of your ‘boys’ and you would thank me.”
Jedediah flushes so hot someone could fry an egg on him but his dick twitches. It’d be- awful. Terrible for him, embarrassing, because he’s supposed to be in charge. Naked, begging, at the head skirt’s mercy, wouldn’t be in charge; how could someone who that happen lead the West?
He can’t say he wouldn’t though.
Octavius laughs again, searching his face, “Perhaps you do deserve a reward.” He sits right on Jedediah’s torso. “Legs up, make me a backrest.”
Jedediah moves without thought. Statues don’t think, after all.
“Good boy,” Octavius says. The praise burns through Jedediah like a lump of coal.
Octavius leans back and oils up two of his fingers, sliding them into his ass with no trouble. He’s good at it, and Jedediah can’t imagine anyone being a natural genius at this sort of thing; he must be experienced, and isn’t that something? Jedediah does have experience but it’s precious little compared to some people. The West’s all alright with people getting with whatever they like, so it’s not that he’s not allowed anything, it’s just that-
He’s in charge.
There’s the occasional line boy or girl[10] when he really feels the need but he tries not to, remember? Even if he really wants to sometimes, he doesn’t; no one really interests him enough to date, and he doesn’t want any short stand to feel like they can’t say no to him just because of his station.
But he’s not in charge here.
Octavius finishes opening himself up and taps Jedediah’s legs to get them back down. He settles his shins on the ground, lifts up those thighs, and lowers himself onto Jedediah.
Jedediah gasps as Octavius takes him, warm and wet and tight. “God.”
Octavius pinches his nipple sharply, hard enough to hurt, and Jedediah arches into it.
“Did I say you could speak?”
“No, sor-” Jedediah realizes what he’s doing halfway through the word and shuts his mouth.
“If you’re not going to be good, you’re going to lose your reward,” Octavius says, stilling. “Are you going to be good?”
Jedediah nods frantically, staying silent. Octavius makes a doubtful noise, like Jedediah’s nothing more than crowbait[11], and Jedediah wishes he could talk and plead with him, promise to be good again. He must see it on Jedediah’s face anyway because he starts moving again, agonizingly slow for Jedediah but apparently very good for him, if the hitches of his breath and back of throat groans are anything to go by.
“You’re doing so well,” Octavius praises, “Perhaps I won’t have you as a statue; beautiful though you are to behold, this is a much better use for you. Will you enjoy that? Warming my bed, ready for me whenever I decide to have you?”
He could, he thinks. If all he had to do was lie down and wait, he could figure out how to enjoy it. Jedediah nods -- he will, for Octavius.
Octavius moves faster and it’s a trial for Jedediah to keep his mouth closed, pleas building in his head and bubbling in his throat. He can’t stop himself from whining, high and needy even with his mouth still resolutely closed. It seems to amuse Octavius.
“Obedience becomes you,” Octavius says, “One would never suspect that you so desired guidance from how you comport yourself during the nights, but you sink into it well.”
It feels easy for Jedediah to do. Not making decisions is almost relieving, he just has to listen and do it well, and he can do that. He can really do that.
Octavius lowers himself entirely onto Jedediah and rolls them together in a slow grind that makes Jedediah’s mouth fall open. He quickly shoves his arm over it, bites into his forearm, desperate to keep to the rules.
Octavius laughs. “You’re working so hard for your reward, do you want more?”
Please, Jedediah thinks, Please, Octavius, please, please, more, I need it, I need you, please, please, please, please, please-
“You may speak.”
“Please,” Jedediah says, breathes, whines. “Please, Octavius, please, can I touch you? Please, I need to.”
“You need nothing more than to listen,” Octavius says, but he nods, “You may touch me.”
“Thank you,” Jedediah says, then puts his hands around Octavius’ waist.
Before, he thought he’d got a good feel of it, but this is something else entirely; it feels like Jedediah can feel Octavius’ heartbeat through it, quick and pleased, and when he squeezes, there’s the give of before but there’s also the tensing of Octavius’ abs as he takes Jedediah like he’s trying to bake[12] him, and it’s so good it makes Jedediah’s head spin.
He’s better than anyone else Jedediah’s had, better than the painted ladies and lads[13], better than he imagines any of the women in the boys’ passed-around french postcards or any of the men in the postcards he keeps locked in his chest.
Jedediah’s grip tightens and his hips twitch. “Can I-”
“Prove your use to me,” Octavius says, and Jedediah thrusts into his warmth. “What do you say for the privilege of being allowed to do this?”
“Thank you,” Jedediah moans, there and here, head pressed to the canyon wall and body shaking, thrusting helplessly into his hand.
“Thank you, god alive, thank you,” He says, gratitude falling from his mouth like sand through a gold pan[14], until he’s coming hard against the canyon wall.
Jedediah takes heaving breaths as he tries to get himself back together. He feels better, centered again now that that whole thing is done with. When this happened last week, he thought he was all over it, but it’s fine; this time it’s different, he’s sure he’s gotten it out his head, and it’ll stay out.
After all, just because Jedediah thinks Octavius is pretty doesn’t mean it’s got to be a whole thing.
I’m not picky, He thinks, but that don’t mean I gotta give into all’a that, ‘specially not for some Roman cross-patch[15].