Bee Among the Clover (115 page)

A
RON added more wood to the fire, glancing at the entrance of the small cave, sighing when there was still no sign of Roman’s approach. He
dropped down to sit beside the blaze, leaning back against the wall of the cave and drawing one of the furs around his shoulders to ward off the chill
the fire had yet to burn away.
It was crazy, the way he waited with bated breath for Roman to
appear. Even more tormenting was the jealousy and irritation that clawed inside him, wondering if what kept Roman was Wulfgar. If just then
Wulfgar had the slave beneath him for a mid-day romp, as he was sometimes wont to do.
Aron had held himself in check this past fortnight. He had not been able to help touching the slave whenever he could, and Roman had grown used to those innocuous caresses. Aron had yet to press him any further
than a touch of his cheek or a hand skimming his spine in passing.
But every day that came and went, even more so every night, being so close to him, allowed to touch within Wulfgar’s command and sometimes allowed to kiss or be kissed, was a slow torture eroding Aron’s
willpower at a rapid pace. He didn’t want to be like the thane or any of the
others who had used Roman, but by the gods, he thought he’d go mad if he didn’t have him again. The memory of that one experience haunted
him.
Aron sat up, the fur slipping from his shoulders at the sound of snow
crunching outside the cave, his heart leaping. “What kept you so long?” Aron asked, unable to keep the impatience out of his voice as Roman paused inside the entrance, blinking to adjust his eyes to the sudden
gloom. Aron winced, wishing he could take the question back. He wasn’t
sure if he wanted Roman’s answer or not.
Roman cocked his head, his tone mild when he replied, “I had forgotten today was the first Friday of the month.”

It hadn’t been a lusty purpose that had kept his darkling. The relief that flowed through Aron was disconcerting, and he brushed it off. He rose from his spot and crossed to Roman, relieving him of the bundle he carried. He laid one hand on the slave’s lower back and urged him inside, closer to the fire. “Warm yourself, darkling,” he said, setting the bundle down as Roman sank down on the furs beside the fire.

Aron had forgotten Wulfgar sat in judgment of the outlying farms under his control on this day. Crofters would come to him with their complaints, and he’d rule according to the law. The thane liked to have Roman record the proceedings, and his darkling in all likelihood enjoyed the opportunity to scribble.

Roman held his hands out near the fire to warm. Aron acted on impulse, reaching out to take them in his own, rubbing them gently. Roman’s eyes flew to his face, and Aron’s lips quirked.

“So, what lessons did you have in mind for today?” Roman was a veritable font of knowledge, and Aron often found himself enthralled, listening to him speak of the things he knew. Sometimes the subjects the slave chose seemed to have nothing to do with the lessons he was supposed to be teaching Aron, but he listened regardless, simply because he enjoyed hearing his voice.

Roman drew his hands from Aron’s and crossed his legs, tugging his cloak back, but keeping it around his shoulders. It was still quite cool in the cave, though the fire took the worst of the edge off. He didn’t say anything and regarded Aron for a long time until he began to wonder what Roman was thinking.

“I think you have it within you to be a good leader of men, Aron,” he finally said.
Aron blinked. He’d always thought of himself more as a warrior but had never dared to dream of becoming a battle-lord or even a thane. While it wasn’t unheard of for a commoner to attain such a rank, the opportunities were rare. “I doubt I would ever get that chance, darkling,” he replied, finding himself unwilling to call the slave by the nickname Wulfgar had given him.
“You’d be surprised. People need a good leader and find many ways to make use of them despite the station they are born in.” Roman smiled as he argued his point. “I’m not a good leader, but I am a good advisor, and Wulfgar uses me in that capacity almost as much as he does in bed.”
Aron knew most of Wulfgar’s people were unaware of that particular aspect of Roman’s role. It wasn’t hard to understand why the thane kept it silent; many were suspicious of the slave as it was, without adding fuel to it. It was easier to think of that than why it grated him so harshly when Roman would mention how Wulfgar used him in that matter-of-fact voice. He saw it every night, witnessed first-hand the power Wulfgar had over other man. He could, and did, do whatever he wanted to Roman. Things Aron had never imagined before coming into Wulfgar’s household. He despised hearing about it almost as much as he did seeing it.
Aron shook his head, his tone sardonic. “I have no desire to lead men. I simply want to get away from my father’s hall, see the land, and fight.”
Roman tilted his head, his dark eyes assessing. “What do you want to fight for, Aron?”
Aron gave him a confused look, and Roman sighed. “You have gifts, Aron, beyond the ability to wield a sword for a cause you don’t believe in. A soldier follows without question, and you chafe at authority. You’re not the type to obey simply because someone tells you to.”
Aron shrugged, unable to deny that truth. “Perhaps once I’ve managed to best you at swords we can move on to my supposed leadership skills.” He flashed Roman a grin. “And I will best you, darkling, one of these days.”
Roman smiled back. “One day you will, and the day you can best me one-on-one with swords is the day you can beat anyone in Wulfgar’s household.”
“Is that why Osric wishes to terrorize you so much?” Aron spoke before he thought.
Roman glanced away, the movement of his shoulders noncommittal. “Among other things. Osric has more pride than brains,” he muttered before going back to his chosen topic. “As I was saying, your station matters not if you’re a good leader. Spartacus was a Roman slave before he led a revolt which devastated the Republic.”
Aron decided to drop his curiosity over the strange animosity between Osric and Roman. He knew how much the subject pained the other man. He’d learned if he was patient and didn’t push him, Roman would let small things slip. “Did your family own slaves?”
Roman’s smile was ironic. “All Romans own slaves; some slaves even have slaves of their own.” He paused, his brows pulling together in a thoughtful frown, and his eyes on Aron were penetrating. “It puts a different perspective on things, doesn’t it? The situation is reversed; no longer am I the master. Tell me, Aron. When you return home, will you have more sympathy and understanding for the thralls and slaves in your father’s household, or will you ignore them because they remind you too much of what you once were yourself?”
Aron thought about that before speaking, locking gazes with the slave, his own eyes serious. “I think they might remind me more of what you still will be, darkling.” His fingertips touched Roman’s hair, then shifted to his cheek, brushing the elegant line of his jaw.
Roman tensed, though the reaction wasn’t as noticeable as it had been in the past, and his breath hitched. He drew his upper lip into his mouth; suddenly the air in the cave changed, and the tension was back, heavy and thick between them.
Aron’s gaze dropped to Roman’s mouth, his stomach fluttering at the way he bit his lip. Aron told himself he shouldn’t, things were going well between them, Roman was opening up to him, but the temptation was too great to resist. He leaned in and closed his lips over Roman’s, tongue slipping out to urge his soft upper lip into his own mouth, keeping the contact gentle. Roman stiffened but did not pull away. Aron sank his tongue into the sweet, warm recesses of the slave’s mouth, feeling him tremble, and his soft whimper struck through to the core of him.
Aron wanted to shout out his triumph as Roman’s hands curled in his tunic and he endearingly opened up to him, his mouth becoming pliant, his tongue hesitant as it reached out to brush against his own. This was the key to conquering Roman’s resistance: coaxing, tender touches instead of forceful, possessive aggression. If the slave responded to the other merely because of training, then mayhap he was responding on his own to this.
His darkling was so intoxicating. Aron drank in every quick intake of breath, the soft sounds Roman made, how despite his trembling, how he made no effort to pull away. Aron stroked his fingers over Roman’s throat, feeling the mad beat of his pulse against his fine skin. He wanted to taste that pulse and every other secret spot on the slave’s body. He wanted to show him it wasn’t always about taking and to prove that Roman still had much to give despite his words to the contrary.
Confusion filled Roman, as it always did when Aron touched him. It was much worse this time, though, and his mind spun from the enormity of it. He understood the demanding lust Wulfgar and Aron had for him, though he had never quite comprehended what it was about himself that inspired such in others. But this new and unspoken tenderness in Aron’s kiss was something he had no defenses for. It tore open his walls, and he craved more.
Roman tilted his head and slipped his own tongue out to slide against Aron’s again, a little bolder this time, and he trembled harder at Aron’s low, soft groan. They weren’t supposed to be doing this. They shouldn’t.
Aron’s hand curled around the back of Roman’s neck, his fingers sliding up into his hair and tangling there, tipping his head back as Aron’s mouth lifted a hair’s breadth away from his own. Roman was aware of Aron in a way he never had been before; each touch, each soft, openmouthed kiss along the line of the his jaw, down the arched column of his throat, made him yearn for more tender touches, and the desire frightened him.
“Easy, my darkling, easy,” Aron whispered against Roman’s throat in reply to the uncertain sounds he made.
It gave Roman a pleasured pang every time he heard the endearment Aron had given him, even more so now, with the other man holding him so close. Aron’s tongue trailed a slow path down his neck, flicking over his pulse, making it flutter even faster.
Roman whimpered. He had no armor to shield him from Aron’s gentle, slow and tender kisses and caresses. He came to the sudden realization that he needed this, and the depth of that need terrified him more than any hard, brutal taking ever could because it could never last.
“Wulfgar will have our bollocks for this,” Roman gasped, hoping the threat of the thane’s anger would be enough to deter Aron even as his hands tightened in the other man’s tunic.
Aron brows furrowed with irritated impatience. Roman had come to recognize the expression whenever he mentioned the thane’s name. “The snow is heavy outside, the hearth is warm, and Wulfgar is likely getting roaring drunk, my darkling. He’ll never know. Right now it’s just you and me with a soft pile of furs and a fire, the way it should be.”
Aron’s reassurances did not stop Roman from being troubled. He opened his mouth to argue, and Aron placed caressing, gentle fingers against his lips, his blue eyes smiling in a way that made Roman’s heart ache. “Forget about Wulfgar this afternoon, let it just be about us. I won’t hurt you, darkling,” Aron promised, kissing Roman’s eyelids, then over his face until he found the slave’s lips again, moaning as Roman kissed him back.
Roman wanted to cry. Forgetting about Wulfgar would be too easy. The thane never made him feel this rush of emotion, this yearning for more, and he was greedy for it. At the same time, he knew Aron would break his promise. He had the power to hurt him more than any other, and still that thought was unable to deter him. Despite the fear that lay heavy in his heart, Roman’s body craved Aron’s too much to fight against it. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Aron, molding his body against him.
Aron turned him and lowered him onto his back amid the soft furs, kissing him deeply and groaning as Roman tangled his tongue with his. Aron’s hand was still buried in his hair, the other skimming down his side, over his ribcage, brushing the dip of his waist, the curve of his hip. There was something worshipful about the way he touched him, as if Aron wanted to take all afternoon going over every inch.
Breaking the kiss, Aron rose over him on his hands and knees. He made a soft, soothing sound as he grasped Roman’s tunic and drew it up and over his head, tossing it aside to run his eyes over him. Then Aron’s eyes seemed to soften, and he lowered back over him, brushing his lips across Roman’s cheek, his fingers brushing Roman’s stomach. Roman whimpered, though whether it was from the look he’d seen in Aron’s eyes or the way he touched him, he didn’t know. One awoke his heart, the other his body, making him reach for Aron again without thought.
“You’re so beautiful, my darkling, so beautiful,” Aron said, a tremor rippling through him. His thumb circled Roman’s navel, lips nibbling along his jaw and down his arched throat. Roman was aware of each touch in a way he hadn’t been for a long time. He focused on the heat between them, the way Aron kissed him, the sound of his voice and how the secret longing he’d had was coming true.
They needed to stop this before it went any further, but the protest refused to form on his lips. Instead, Roman sighed, his fingertips moving of their own volition over Aron’s broad shoulders, feeling the play of his muscles through the crude fabric of his tunic. He’d touched Aron before, but he’d never allowed those sensations to really register. Now he found himself eager to explore.
Roman let his hands slip down, hesitating before dipping them under Aron’s tunic. The warm flesh under his fingertips sent a jolt through him, and Roman trembled. He traced the hard, defined muscles of his abdomen, pausing until Aron made a soft, impatient sound he took for permission. He slid his hands up, covering as much flesh as he could, eager to experience what he’d missed out on before.
Aron continued to murmur reassurances, and Roman’s caresses became bolder in response. His eyes were closed as he mapped out Aron’s body, seeing it in his mind and savoring how it felt against his own. He sensed Aron’s eyes studying his face, and the wealth of emotion Roman had blocked while exploring Aron’s body came rushing back. He desired Aron, but it crossed an unspoken line. He needed the tenderness in Aron’s touch, but it would leave him so vulnerable.
“Roman, look at me, sweet darkling,” Aron said, the words a bare whisper between them.
Roman was unable to resist the lure of the request, to share himself with Aron in a way he hadn’t allowed himself before. With a soft cry, he obeyed, and Aron’s breath caught, the expression in his blue eyes stunned as Roman let him see the desire and uncertainty warring in him. Then Aron smiled, and he could not look away.
“Aron….” Roman wanted to close his eyes again. It was too much, but Aron’s gaze pinned him, and he was incapable of doing anything but clenching his fists in Aron’s tunic again, clinging to him for comfort, for strength. Out everyone he’d ever met, Aron might understand a measure of what he was experiencing. It was powerful, this sharing, and he wondered if Aron felt it, too, or if it was just about physical gratification for him. There was something about him today that made Roman think it was more.
Aron shifted to lie beside him, his hand remaining steady on Roman’s stomach, his other hand threading through the slave’s hair, his eyes intent, serious.
“Don’t be afraid, darkling.”
Roman wished it were that easy, but a command, however gently given, could not chase away his fears. Aron could control how his body reacted, but for now at least, Roman’s emotions were still his own. Aron’s attempt to soothe him was touching, and Roman waited for him to continue the assault on his senses, but Aron seemed content to watch him, which was disconcerting. He didn’t know what Aron wanted, so Roman didn’t know how to react.
The chill air in the cave contrasted sharply with the warmth of the furs, the fire, and the heat trapped between their bodies. Roman found himself wishing Aron would do something, anything. This was how Aron held him at night, the contact having nothing to do with sex and everything to do with something deeper, something dangerous. Roman rolled closer toward him, tilting his head to be kissed, brushing his lips against Aron’s before seeking deeper contact. He nibbled on Aron’s lower lip, seeing if he would take the silent suggestion.
This was the first time Roman had offered something on his own initiative, and his sudden shyness made him tentative at first until Aron groaned. The reaction made his stomach flutter, and he grew bolder, running his tongue between Aron’s parted lips. Aron kissed him back, taking one of Roman’s hands and sliding it under his tunic again, moaning as Roman’s hands slid over his chest.
Roman was grateful for some indication of Aron’s desires. He obeyed the silent command, letting his insatiable fingertips search out each place he wanted to explore. This was much easier than meeting Aron’s gaze, despite the emotions that stirred when Roman touched him. Aron’s kisses and hands remained tender, and it was at such odds from what he’d come to expect from him or any other that it made his chest ache from the sweetness of it.
Aron’s fingers skimmed over the slave’s chest, finding his nipples and tweaking them. Roman gasped and arched as the stimulation sent a spark of fire straight through his body. Aron smiled against his lips, and Roman wondered: if he broke the kiss and looked at him, would the smile be smug because he controlled the way he responded, or would it be something different?
Roman whimpered, twisting his torso and rocking his hips beneath Aron, his body aching for more contact. It was overwhelming, and as hard as he tried so hard to focus on the physical, the touching and kissing, the pleasure and desire, he couldn’t seem to do it. It was all tangled up with this incongruous tenderness and care, and it was unfamiliar enough to keep Roman from slipping into the routine he knew so well. It kept him on edge and whimpering, the sound pleading, though he was unsure what he was pleading for.