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Historical Ancient Erotica: The Centurion's Message
Historical Ancient Erotica: The Centurion's Message
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The Centurion's Massage is a Historical/Ancient Erotica short story - M/M. This erotica short story contains explicit content, erotic situations, graphic language and is suitable for readers 18 and over.
Septus is the lone survivor of a surprise attack by the Goths. The brutal fight wiped out his entire garrison, and he only has one goal—warning the nearest garrison before they met the same fate. He struggles through the elements; thinking only of his fellow warriors. He barely survives the journey but when he wakes up he knows the Gods are watching out for him. Standing above him is his best friend, Marcos, the man he loved and believed to be dead. He can’t believe his eyes. He didn’t expect to every see his friend again, but here he is, they both have survived and now that he has a chance. Septus isn't going to let the night pass without getting a few things off his chest. And maybe off of Marcos’s as well. The two of them know that the end is near. How can they possibly spend the last few hours of their lives?
Excerpt:
Septus couldn't argue and he trusted Macros to deliver his message. He obediently lifted the spoon to his mouth, earning a small but achingly familiar smile from him before he ducked out of the room. They'd once been inseparable, both the sons of gladiators, both joining the legion on their fifteenth birthdays, which they also shared. They'd been closer than brothers for five years, fighting at each other's sides and emerging with their lives intact after each battle--often due to the other's interference at a crucial moment. Septus knew he could lose Macros at any time, but he always expected it to be in bloody battle, and he always expected he would die shortly after his partner. It seemed inevitable. But instead of dying at his side, Macros had simply disappeared. Septus had assumed he'd never see his friend again and mourned, though he never fully got over the loss. How could he be with the Seventh now? What had happened to him? And what Gods brought them together again? He never said prayers for Macros because he never knew what to say.
Septus is the lone survivor of a surprise attack by the Goths. The brutal fight wiped out his entire garrison, and he only has one goal—warning the nearest garrison before they met the same fate. He struggles through the elements; thinking only of his fellow warriors. He barely survives the journey but when he wakes up he knows the Gods are watching out for him. Standing above him is his best friend, Marcos, the man he loved and believed to be dead. He can’t believe his eyes. He didn’t expect to every see his friend again, but here he is, they both have survived and now that he has a chance. Septus isn't going to let the night pass without getting a few things off his chest. And maybe off of Marcos’s as well. The two of them know that the end is near. How can they possibly spend the last few hours of their lives?
Excerpt:
Septus couldn't argue and he trusted Macros to deliver his message. He obediently lifted the spoon to his mouth, earning a small but achingly familiar smile from him before he ducked out of the room. They'd once been inseparable, both the sons of gladiators, both joining the legion on their fifteenth birthdays, which they also shared. They'd been closer than brothers for five years, fighting at each other's sides and emerging with their lives intact after each battle--often due to the other's interference at a crucial moment. Septus knew he could lose Macros at any time, but he always expected it to be in bloody battle, and he always expected he would die shortly after his partner. It seemed inevitable. But instead of dying at his side, Macros had simply disappeared. Septus had assumed he'd never see his friend again and mourned, though he never fully got over the loss. How could he be with the Seventh now? What had happened to him? And what Gods brought them together again? He never said prayers for Macros because he never knew what to say.
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