Work Text:
Marius missed home.
More than that, even, he missed simply being free. This barbarian prison was a nightmare, with Mael stubbornly refusing to be persuaded to release his weary charge. He was sick of it, sick of it all; Mael’s brow furrowed when he came to collect Marius’s plate and found it still full. Marius said nothing.
He refused his next meal, as well, and the one after that, and the one after that, until a week had passed and he had taken nothing but a few sips of water. As the hours went on, Mael grew increasingly more agitated, fussing and worrying over Marius almost like a mother. “Are you not feeling well?” he put his hand over Marius’s forehead, and Marius recoiled.
“I’m fine,” he hissed. “Leave me be.”
“Marius, why won’t you eat? You must be hungry by now, and if not then you must be ill.”
“There is nothing wrong with me, I swear. I wish to be alone.”
Mael stood, eyes blazing, but soon deflated. “Very well,” he said, voice and face still hard, and left him. As soon as the door closed, Marius sat back and crossed his arms, left with nothing to do but stare into the fire and stew in his thoughts. Ignorant, vile man! To presume to keep him here, to expect him to gladly accept these barbaric ways — he was sick of it! He would refuse, yes, he would refuse sustenance until Mael agreed to free him. If offerings of riches and fair sights did not convince him, perhaps this would move his foolish heart to compassion.
Mael returned the next day with another plate of food and set it before Marius, who stubbornly turned his face away without a word, though the smell of the hot salted pork caused his mouth to water and his stomach to twist itself into desperate knots. Mael huffed. “Marius, please. Surely you are hungry.”
“I’m not hungry,” Marius lied, crossing his arms and proudly setting his jaw, though his head felt light and his limbs heavy; with a huff, Mael rose, agitated, to his feet, nearly upending the jug of mead which he had placed upon a stool by Marius’s head. He paced around the room, then stopped in front of the fire as he stamped down his rising distress. After a brief pause, he turned abruptly back toward Marius, countenance so serious that Marius was tempted to laugh.
“Please just take it,” he begged, taking a piece of bread from the plate and waving it under Marius’s nose; Marius backed up, determined. He murmured softly,
“Let me be, Mael.”
“Why? Why do you do this?”
“Why do you do this?” Marius scoffed, indicating with a sweeping motion his simple prison. “Release me from this place.”
Mael looked so earnest, so sad, it almost made Marius feel bad — almost. “You know I cannot do that.”
“Then I shall not eat.”
Mael covered his face and took a few deep breaths. “Please, please stop this childish game! Marius, you must take food or surely you shall die.”
Marius barked out a weak sardonic laugh. “What does it matter whether I die now or on Samhain?”
“You don’t understand,” Mael shook his head sadly. “You don’t understand! You must live, you must eat. Please, don’t do this.”
“Take it away,” Marius turned away once more. “I will not eat it.”
Mael fell to his knees, grasping Marius by the arms. Tears shone in his eyes. “What must I do to convince you to take some food?”
Marius met the man’s gaze coldly. “Let me go.”
With a small sob, Mael laid his forehead on Marius’s knees. One final please escaped his lips, and Marius did not answer him. Eventually, he left, though he did not take the tray of food for hope that Marius might eventually relent and eat it; but it was in vain. The tray was still full in the morning, and so Mael resignedly went about the task of imparting his wisdom on his unwilling — and hungry — pupil. Marius thought that he had at last given up on trying to get Marius to eat, but the next day he did not come to Marius until late in the afternoon, bringing with him a tray of food as usual — but where Marius expected to be met once again by crude bread and acorns, the more familiar scents rose to his nostrils of olives, grapes with cheese, roast duck, and wine, yes, finally, good Roman wine! Eyes wide, he felt his mouth begin to water, and despite himself his treacherous stomach cried out desperately for the stuff. “How dare you,” he murmured under his breath, pressing himself against the wall and clenching his jaw and fists in an attempt to control himself.
“Have some food, Marius,” Mael smiled pleasantly, plucking a grape from the bunch and pressing it to Marius’s lips. With a groan, determined to hold out, Marius turned his face away.
“I shall not,” he said, though his whole body trembled.
“Come,” he tried again. “It looks good, doesn’t it? Just a bite won’t hurt . . . ”
“Let me go, barbarian!”
Mael sighed, patting Marius’s knee gently. “Come now, don’t be silly. Have a bite to eat, won’t you? I brought it special just for you . . . ”
“Fuck off,” he whispered, though his stomach growled once more and his chest heaved. Mael pressed the grape against Marius’s mouth yet again, and despite himself, Marius parted his lips with a small whimper and allowed Mael to push the fruit into his mouth, the pads of his fingers caressing Marius’s bottom lip as he retreated. I shouldn’t be doing this. I must remain strong . . . he told himself, yet he found himself moaning aloud as he bit into the grape and its succulent spray of sweet juice hit his tongue, his taste buds singing for joy at the flavor; Mael beamed.
“Good,” Mael brought another grape to his lips. “Have another,”
With great effort, he pushed out, “No,” and backed away, though he had already lost. The lingering perfume of the grape filled his head, and its taste washed away his resolve, and as Mael encouraged him again, “Go on,” he obediently opened his mouth once more to receive the second piece of fruit with half-closed eyes, face flushed, chest heaving. I must stop . . . he thought, even as he chewed and swallowed, even as he parted his lips for the piece of duck which Mael held up, stroking Marius’s tongue as he placed the morsel inside of him. Marius blinked and shook his head as if to cast off this weakness, the way he felt Mael’s presence as if a blanket wrapping around him, pressing in insistently. This was unacceptable — to be hand-fed by this brute! Childish, undignified, base. He must resist! He must —
“Mmm,” Marius’s eyes closed, shuddering at the light trailing of Mael’s fingers along his lips, at the whisper of praise against his skin, at the feel of Mael’s other hand in his hair.
“That’s it, yes,” Mael handed him another bite of meat. “More, take more — good boy. You must eat; the God must be strong.”
I don’t want to be a god, Marius thought weakly, a thought soon driven away by the smell of wine. “Drink,” Mael held the cup up to Marius’s lips, and he took a few sips — rich, strong, undiluted as was the barbarians’ custom, but indisputably Roman, and delicious. He moaned without willing it, and within seconds he had completely emptied the cup; he sat back, eyes closed, chest heaving, and he heard Mael fill the cup once more with a little satisfied sound. He fed him a few more morsels of meat, and then held the sweet wine up for him once again. “Good boy,” he breathed as Marius drank deeply, emptying the second cup almost as quickly as the first. He knew he should slow down — he should stop entirely, he should resist — but it was as if he was no longer in control of his body, he could not will himself to stop. Like water rushing violently from a broken dam, his determination had deserted him; all he could do was try to stop himself from choking as he devoured the meal. Now the effects of the wine hit him; he felt that warm sweetness in his veins, making his limbs heavy and his head light, and he sighed, opening his mouth again to receive an olive from Mael’s hand without complaint. He couldn’t even be bothered to take any offence at it anymore, but took a bite of the poppyseed bun held out for him. The taste reminded him of home, of being a little boy and drinking warm goat’s milk before bed, and tears rose to his eyes. “Shh,” Mael stroked Marius’s leg comfortingly. “It’s all right. Have some more,”
Though his lower lip wobbled, he took another bite of the bun and chewed it through his tears, raising one clumsy hand to wipe at his eyes. He couldn’t believe this had happened to him . . .
“There, there,” Mael’s warm hand wandered further up and in on Marius’s thigh, moving lightly back and forth and smoothing down the hairs which rose up at the touch. Marius whimpered, face and groin both growing hot as one as Mael’s hands caressed him, one on his leg and the other on his lips. He caught a smile on Mael’s lips, but couldn’t find it in him to resent it as usual, or to resent the obvious excitement under his trousers; just let it happen . . .
The wine was getting to his head. He . . . wanted this. He enjoyed this, enjoyed the tender touches, the praise, even, yes, the vulnerability of it.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
He made one last attempt to resist, weak, half-hearted, but he was too drunk and hungry and filled with a sudden mortifying desire. “Yes,” Mael sighed, spreading his legs out a bit and biting his lip. “Very good.”
He allowed him to hand-feed him the entire meal. Buns held up delicately for him to bite into, wine poured generously down his throat, grapes picked from the bunch, cheese and olives placed precisely on his tongue, morsels of meat slid past his lips. With every bite Mael stroked Marius’s lips or tongue or cheek, sensuous, adoring, warm, fingers sliding easily around his face, their way eased by saliva and wine. “Good boy,” Mael whispered in Marius’s ear as he swallowed, and it made him shiver excitedly. As it went on and Marius grew more full and more intoxicated, the caresses became more bold, more titillating. Mael’s other hand found its way slowly up Marius’s thigh, causing a terrible thrill to course through him, and unconsciously he opened his legs further. He was running on pure shameful instinct now, and he could feel the excitement stirring in his groin despite himself. He moaned, and Mael licked his lips.
Marius had now finished the entire jug of wine that Mael had brought in; he had finished the piece of roast duck; he had finished the grapes, the cheese, the olives, the poppyseed bun. Head spinning, he leaned back into his pillows and closed his eyes; he shivered at the sensation of Mael’s hand pushing up the edges of his tunic to gently massage the bare skin of his stomach with a nigh-teasing touch. Before he could stop himself, he whimpered out a small “please.”
“Shh,” Mael sighed soothingly. “You’ve had a lot of wine . . . ” He leaned over and pressed their lips together, licking the taste of the drink from his mouth. They hummed as one and melted into each other, and Marius soon forgot his mortification. He threw his arms around Mael’s shoulders in surrender and shifted backward on the bed, allowing the man to lay more securely on top of him; pulling his trousers down, Mael straddled Marius’s lap and scrunched his tunic up around his armpits so that he could run his hands over his bare chest and stomach as he kissed him. He was gentle, almost too gentle — Marius huffed and dug his hands into Mael’s hair, biting his lip, and Mael laughed into him.
“After all this, are you hungry for more?”
Marius grunted, but the wine had made him so warm, and he couldn’t find it in him to shoot back a retort; instead, he simply pulled Mael in for another kiss, and Mael acquiesced with another little laugh. He took Marius’s hands and pinned them above his head on the pillow, grinding their fronts together. “Mmm . . . ” Marius closed his eyes, letting the motion lull his drunken senses as his cock hardened. He just didn’t care anymore, didn’t care about anything but that, but the soft delight of the careful friction. He wiggled underneath him, adding his own sweet motion to the mix, and Mael sighed.
“Good boy.”
Marius moaned, breathless, completely surrendering. Why had he ever resisted this? How wonderful, how exquisite . . .
“Yes, that’s it,” Mael groaned, picking up the pace and panting into Marius’s open mouth. “Oh, Marius. So good . . . fuck!”
He knew he was close; he whimpered, halfheartedly struggling against Mael’s hands just to feel his grip tightening around his wrists; “Be good for me,” Mael whispered, and Marius whined once more.
“I’m close,”
“Do you think you’ve been good enough?” Mael bit Marius’s lip, squeezing his wrists even tighter and decreasing the pace. “Do you really think you deserve to come?”
“Please,” Marius gasped, arching up into Mael —
Whap. “Shh,” Mael kissed the sting which he had caused. “Be good and sit still for me. You’ve got to earn your release.”
“Mael . . . ” he wanted to be angry, but the wine had driven away all but his desire, and despite himself he relaxed at Mael’s words.
“Shh, yes,” Mael kissed him again. “You want to be good, don’t you?”
Marius whined.
“Stay very still for me . . . ” Mael released Marius’s wrists and slowly raised himself from the other man’s body, leaving him trembling with want and with the effort to control himself. With an infuriating smirk, Mael ran his hand lightly from Marius’s throat to his navel, just avoiding his erect cock. “Yes . . . I want to find you just like this when I return. Can you do that? Can you be good for me?”
“Mael . . . ” Marius huffed.
He kissed him. “If you can’t promise to behave I shall be forced to tie you up,” he whispered hotly in his ear. “And if you can’t behave I don’t think you deserve to come.”
“You beast!” Marius growled.
“Now, now, none of that. I know you can be good — you want to come, don’t you?”
Through gritted teeth, he pushed out, “Yes!”
“I want to hear you promise me.”
“Fine.”
Mael nipped at Marius’s ear lobe sharply. “You can do better than that.”
Marius huffed, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, swallowed, then grunted, “I’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
He closed his eyes, clenched his fists, worked his jaw. “I’ll be good for you.”
“Good,” he kissed him. “Stay just like that . . . ”
The door shut, and Marius was left alone. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, weighing his options. Would Mael know if he just . . . ?
His hand snapped back to above his head as a strange feeling of being watched nagged at him; he had felt this sensation often since his capture, always at night, but he had never discovered its source. Nevertheless, it was real, he knew, and it made him nervous. Perhaps Mael would know if he touched himself after all . . .
Oh, but his cock begged for attention; he whimpered and clenched his fists, silently willing Mael to return quickly. His heart thundered in his chest, straining with the effort to stay as Mael had asked him to —
He couldn’t do it. Just one stroke — or two — or three — oh yes, that felt so good. He bit his left hand to muffle his moan, swiping his thumb over the weeping head of his cock with relief. Wonderful, yes. Much better — but there were footsteps on the stairs; he resumed his earlier position as if nothing had happened.
It didn’t work.
Mael entered and set a covered tray down by the bed, then stopped and cocked his head as if listening to something that Marius could not hear; his eyebrows shot up, then he looked at Marius and shook his head. “You touched yourself. I know it. Don’t pretend that you didn’t,” he tsked. “I’m very disappointed in you, Marius. You promised me that you would behave . . . and I told you what would happen if you didn’t . . . ” Mael removed his belt, and with it he fastened Marius’s wrists to the bed; as he did so, he admonished, “Marius, you will become our new God of the Grove, and you must learn to control yourself. The God must have discipline. If you can’t even wait for me to return to resume your pleasure, then surely you will struggle with your divine duties. It seems you still have much to learn, my friend. I shall have to further delay your release . . . ”
“You beast! Let me go!” Marius struggled to no avail; Mael shushed him and stroked his chest, infuriatingly calm and kind. Once Marius stilled, winded and dizzy (he had had so much wine), Mael uncovered the tray to reveal that it contained more food. Marius cleared his throat. “Is that for me?” He slurred.
“Of course,” Mael smiled.
“I — please, you’ve already given me a whole meal, I couldn’t possibly eat any more . . . ” he protested, but found himself complying with Mael’s request to open his mouth for the bunch of grapes he dangled over the man’s face.
“Shh, yes,” he encouraged Marius to take another and ran a light, teasing touch up and down Marius’s thigh, skirting incredibly close to his aching cock. “Be a good boy, now.”
“Mael, I’m so full . . . ”
“Finish this — and then I’ll let you come,”
“Fuck you,” he muttered half-heartedly, though he did bite another grape from the bunch. Mael trailed a single fingertip over Marius’s scrotum, and Marius shuddered as he chewed, another desperate “please” escaping his lips unbidden.
“Is this what you want?” Mael grabbed Marius’s cock, and Marius moaned and nodded. He stroked him a few times, then removed his hand to Marius’s thigh once more, laughing at his little sound of protest. “I’ll give you just enough to keep you going, but I said you wouldn’t get to come until you finished this entire tray of food, and I intend to keep my promise . . . have another bite,” he held up a piece of duck, and Marius took it begrudgingly.
“I can hardly eat any more . . . ”
“Do you want to come?”
Marius growled. “Of course I want to come!”
Mael smirked and held up another morsel without a word; Marius groaned but accepted the food, closing his teeth lightly against Mael’s retreating fingers out of spite. “I hate you,” he muttered, though he allowed his captor to pour yet more wine down his throat.
“I know you do,” Mael smiled sadly, running his hand over Marius’s stomach and picking up the bunch of grapes once more. “Just a little more, you’re almost there.”
Oh, it was agony. He felt ready to burst, and yet he forced himself to continue, desperately chasing what Mael so cruelly withheld from him. The man’s hand skirted so close, and he needed it so badly, and each second seemed to stretch on for hours as he chewed, until finally — “Oh,” his eyes fluttered closed as Mael wrapped his fingers around Marius’s cock at last, moving up and down over his shaft with a slow, deliberate movement. He braced his other hand by Marius’s head and bent down to kiss him.
“There we go . . . ”
Marius panted cheeks growing hot. Oh, he was close, he was so close he — “Please,” he whimpered, and Mael kissed him once more.
“Come for me,”
He spilled out all over Mael’s hand, then everything relaxed, a wave of relief washing over him thick and fast. “Good . . . ” Mael smiled, then inserted two fingers in his mouth with a moan. He pumped them in and out a few times, then removed them with a pop and held his hand out to Marius. “Go on, taste yourself,” he whispered, and Marius obeyed, licking him clean while Mael continued to murmur little words of praise. At last Mael released him, and he sat up, dizzy from the wine and the strength of his climax. He felt as if he had swallowed a fat house cat whole, and he cradled his stomach with a small groan; he caught Mael’s smirk, and a flash of rage rushed hot in his ears.
“You fiend! Leave me at once,” tears rose inexplicably to his eyes, and he swiped them away with a huff, turning his face away. He felt sick — sick with himself for allowing this to happen. How could he have been so weak? He just wanted to go home . . .
Mael kissed the top of his head. “Good night, Marius,” he said, then gathered his things. He closed the door, but then Marius heard a scraping sound and a soft thud, and ere long Mael’s half-muffled cries of pleasure crept under the gap between the wood and the floor. Disgusting barbarian pervert, Marius thought to himself, though he was so sleepy suddenly, too sleepy to protest . . . he laid down, closed his eyes . . . and Mael’s sweet moans soon found him in his dreams.