Mans Sword Kirkland

Mans Sword Kirkland, New folder 1

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//-->A Man’s Sword * W.M. Kirkland2A Man’s SwordGABRIELpicked up the blade and caressed its unadornedhilt. Definitely of Roman origin, though he’d have to do a bitof research to pinpoint the exact area. Still, it was a heckuvafind, especially in a Wyoming antique shop. He’d dropped inthinking they would still have that Civil War sword he’d seenin the window a few weeks ago. They didn’t—it’d been soldonly a few days earlier—but this piece, newly acquired, hadcaught his eye. A bit of haggling and the promise of a lead ifhe found anything interesting—it helped to know the shop’sowner—and he was in possession of a Roman gladiator’ssword. It’d round out his collection nicely.How many swords does a guy need?The sarcastic andcatty question from his last boyfriend still echoed inGabriel’s mind. He surveyed the wall in his basementdisplaying several choice pieces. A man had to havehardware.Lovingly, Gabriel caressed the hilt once more, thencurled his fingers around the grip. He immediately took up aguarded stance, blade held at the ready. “For Caesar!” Helifted the sword and shook it above his head, imagininghimself in the center of an arena, the crowd cheering hisname. Thumbs down or thumbs up—which would it be?For Rome. No one gave a fuck about Caesar.The voicecaressed his ears and sent a shiver down his spine. Gabriel’scock tightened. For a moment, a hot sweaty body pressedagainst his back, arms like steel bands around him, and theheavy, thick cock of a gladiator surged against his buttocks.Gabriel bit back a groan at the too vivid image and loweredthe sword.Though you’d do well in the arena.That voice again. Gabriel turned, though he knew hewas alone. “It’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid,” heA Man’s Sword * W.M. Kirkland3muttered as he turned toward the display rack and placedthe Roman blade on its shelf. He’d had to move his rareestoc,a sword used by horseman where Austria andHungary bordered the Ottoman Empire in the late 1500s.He’d found it for under seven thousand, a steal at that price,and knew he’d have to find a new place to display it soon.Still, this gladiator’s weapon had called to him. Not so muchas a collector of rare and fine swords, but as a man admiringthe skill and brute strength of another.The antique dealer had told him a friend brought it backfrom Italy. He’d love to have a friend like that, especially if hefound artifacts like those and gave them up to a dealer. Witha grin, Gabriel headed upstairs to shower. He promised hissister he’d make an appearance at her dinner tonight.Andfind out which friend she wants to hook me up with next. I’ma little too old for college guys, though they sure are fun.Hiscock stirred. Yeah, maybe some young stud might be exactlywhat he needed to get his mind off a certain Romangladiator’s sword… and the man who might have wielded it.THEweapons were unfamiliar to him, but they wereweapons. A gladiator’s sword—his sword—sat on a displayshelf next to more ornate weapons. The polish on the bladesshowed they were well taken care of, though he doubted theslimmer weapon below his would withstand much heavy use.This place wasn’t home, not his cot in the gladiator’sbarracks, where they sweated their asses off in the summerand froze in the winter. He saw no fireplaces, yet warm airmoved from a shiny vent above him. The room appearedbright as day, though he saw no obvious source of light.Stairs led somewhere; he knew better than to follow them.How had he gotten here? His head hurt.He sat on a couch far softer that the one on which he’dfucked the senator’s wife, at her insistence, of course. Hemuch preferred the senator himself. But she was a pridefulA Man’s Sword * W.M. Kirkland4woman, powerful and prone to believe that she controlled thegladiators, not that he allowed himself to be handled so thathe might eventually earn his freedom.He hadn’t. Not yet, or at least he didn’t think so. Anoffering to Janus, the two-faced God, made in a temple. He’dbeen laughed at for offering to any god, least of all one whoheld little sway over war and battle. Memories of a dark-haired woman, his mother, telling him of the gods, of theirpowers, filled his mind like wisps of smoke. It had beenJanus’s month, and something about the god who lookedboth forward and backward called to him. With the sameinstinct that told him to feint or lunge, he’d made theoffering. “Find me a doorway out of this life,” he’d said. Hisguards, duty bound to bring him back to hislanista,amanager of gladiators, had only laughed.His head hurt again. The sword called to him, and hewent to the display and removed it from its resting place.Cradling the sword against his chest, he lay down on the finecouch, giving little thought to his grime-covered feet anddirty loincloth. The senators liked his dirt against theirfinery; it made them feel important and wanted. If no onesummoned him, he would recline and rest for a moment.Maybe his head would stop hurting.The whirring of the warm air stopped. A strange tickingcame from across the room, and a gurgling from where abasin and fountain, and bottles of drink were stored. Thiswasn’t like any senator’s room he’d been in, and yet, hehadn’t seen the palace. Maybe he’d been called into highercircles. With a smile, he rested his head on a pillow far softerthan any he’d ever used before, caught the faintest woodsysmell, and waited.FOOTSTEPSechoed in the room. The whirring had come andgone several times; it had been his only way to gauge thepassing of time. Water, he thought, ran somewhere aboveA Man’s Sword * W.M. Kirkland5him. The steps came closer now, descending the stairs he’dseen earlier. Servants were housed below, and these werenot like any servant’s quarters he knew.Marius snapped to attention, rising off the couch andstanding, sword held loosely by his side. His stomachrumbled. Maybe the senator would be kind enough to feedhim.His breath caught at the sight of the man who’dappeared in the doorway. Marius admired the beauty of anuncovered and sculpted chest. No hair concealed the man’smuscled form, and the desire to touch such smooth skinmade him curl his free hand into a fist, lest he reach out andtry. Dusky nipples stood erect, clearly visible. The ripples ofthe man’s abdomen had to have come from long workouts;he’d seen great gladiators look worse. Clean-shaven, the manhad dark hair that curled around his forehead and the napeof his neck. A few droplets of water trickled along his ear.He’d been bathed. Maybe two men would provide theentertainment tonight, though the dark-blue covering theman wore from waist to ankles was no robe or loincloth.Instead, it fitted him like a glove from muscled thighs to thebulge of his cock.The man looked up, his eyes as startling a blue as thefabric over his legs. “Who the hell are you?” He looked to theweapon display. Perhaps this man fought?He brought the sword up. “I am Cicero Marius.”And I donot know why I am here.“How did you get here?”Belatedly, Marius—he hated the name given to him bythe senator who owned him—realized the man spoke in aforeign tongue, yet he’d been able to reply in the samelanguage. This had to be the work of the gods!“I do not know.” Marius grew tense. Perhaps the senatorhad thrown them together for entertainment. The garment [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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