Caesar reaches up and tugs at the metal buckles of Vulpes' armor, pulling them loose so that he can snake his hands up and under the heavy fabric. He watches the younger man's face intently as he trails his hands along his skin, petting along his sides and stomach. It had been so, so long since he'd touched another so intimately, and the unspoken prospect of more was nearly unbearable.
Strong hands grip at Caesar's wrists suddenly, stilling them, and for a brief moment Caesar thinks he is being rebuffed. Anger and shame flare in the pit of his stomach- he had been wrong, he had misread the situation, Vulpes had been toying with him, he would kill the other man...
Vulpes steps backwards, hands rising to his armor. "My lord," he murmurs lowly, "allow me."
And just as quickly the anger is extinguished. Caesar watches in fascination as Vulpes shucks off his armor, removing his clothing piece by piece. The process is surprisingly ungraceful for the normally fastidious Frumentarius. He yanks his shoulder pads and chestplate over his head, carelessly dropping them to the floor with a resounding thud. He then removes the lighter parts of his armor, pulling off the red leather top to reveal a lithe, muscled torso. As he bends to place it on the ground, Ceaser catches a glimpse of the long horizontal scars marring Vulpes' back. They startle his silent admiration of the younger man's physique, and he feels an unfamiliar twinge of sympathy. To rise in rank as far as Vulpes had, and as quickly as he had, was a brutal path to take. Mistakes in the legion were punished severely. He was clearly no stranger to retribution.
Vulpes pauses when he reaches the lower half of his uniform and looks to Caesar as if asking for permission.
"Remove it," Caesar commands, and Vulpes obeys, divesting himself of his last piece of armor under the scrutinizing stare. He stood before the son of Mars clad in only his boots and grey undergarments, and Caesar felt the ever present want rush to a fever pitch as he greedily drinks in the sight.
He notices a tremble in Vulpes as the man steps forward. "Are you nervous?" he taunts lightly, leaning back in his throne. Hoping his own nerves aren't as plainly written across his features.
Vulpes doesn't answer, but resumes his position between Caesar's knees. Caesar grips him firmly about the waist, taking a moment to admire him. Vulpes Inculta, he decides, is nothing if not breathtaking. All dark, angular features and lean, sinewy muscle that he can feel shift and tense under his roaming hands. He's built like a legionary, for certain- but where others are bulky and strong, he is limber and slight. Quick, and stealthy. A true Frumentarius.
Headshot 3/?
Strong hands grip at Caesar's wrists suddenly, stilling them, and for a brief moment Caesar thinks he is being rebuffed. Anger and shame flare in the pit of his stomach- he had been wrong, he had misread the situation, Vulpes had been toying with him, he would kill the other man...
Vulpes steps backwards, hands rising to his armor. "My lord," he murmurs lowly, "allow me."
And just as quickly the anger is extinguished. Caesar watches in fascination as Vulpes shucks off his armor, removing his clothing piece by piece. The process is surprisingly ungraceful for the normally fastidious Frumentarius. He yanks his shoulder pads and chestplate over his head, carelessly dropping them to the floor with a resounding thud. He then removes the lighter parts of his armor, pulling off the red leather top to reveal a lithe, muscled torso. As he bends to place it on the ground, Ceaser catches a glimpse of the long horizontal scars marring Vulpes' back. They startle his silent admiration of the younger man's physique, and he feels an unfamiliar twinge of sympathy. To rise in rank as far as Vulpes had, and as quickly as he had, was a brutal path to take. Mistakes in the legion were punished severely. He was clearly no stranger to retribution.
Vulpes pauses when he reaches the lower half of his uniform and looks to Caesar as if asking for permission.
"Remove it," Caesar commands, and Vulpes obeys, divesting himself of his last piece of armor under the scrutinizing stare. He stood before the son of Mars clad in only his boots and grey undergarments, and Caesar felt the ever present want rush to a fever pitch as he greedily drinks in the sight.
He notices a tremble in Vulpes as the man steps forward. "Are you nervous?" he taunts lightly, leaning back in his throne. Hoping his own nerves aren't as plainly written across his features.
Vulpes doesn't answer, but resumes his position between Caesar's knees. Caesar grips him firmly about the waist, taking a moment to admire him. Vulpes Inculta, he decides, is nothing if not breathtaking. All dark, angular features and lean, sinewy muscle that he can feel shift and tense under his roaming hands. He's built like a legionary, for certain- but where others are bulky and strong, he is limber and slight. Quick, and stealthy. A true Frumentarius.