28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
T hrax
The soft, rhythmic scrape of blade against wood quietly fills the small workshop as I carefully whittle away at the piece in my hands. It’s taking shape slowly but surely. I thought long and hard about what would be a fitting gift. This time, I’m sure it will be better received than a carved phallus. My cheeks still burn at the thought of how I hurt Skye’s tender feelings.
“That’s coming along nicely,” Hans, the maintenance man who’s been teaching me to whittle, comments. His weathered hands continue working on his own project, a delicate, feathered bird coming to life beneath his skilled fingers.
I nod, grateful for his guidance and friendship. With the translation app on my new phone, we’ve been able to converse more easily, and I’ve come to look forward to our sessions together. Skye explained that Hans’s English has a Swiss accent, so it sounds different from the way she and Laura speak.
“Um,” I begin, setting down my work, “I want to take Skye on a… date. But I’m not sure what to do. We can’t leave the hospital, and I don’t know much about modern courtship.”
His eyes crinkle with approval. “You’ve come to the right place for ideas, my friend. I’ve been working at this hospital for over twenty years and know it like the back of my hand. Have you considered the therapy pool? It’s usually empty in the evenings, and it could be a nice change of scenery for you two.”
The idea takes root in my mind, growing more appealing by the second. “A pool of water? Indoors? Private? That’s perfect.” I’m already imagining Skye’s reaction. “Thank you.”
He waves off my gratitude with a smile. “Just don’t forget to invite me to the wedding,” he teases, causing warmth to spread across my cheeks at the mere thought of such an outlandish idea. Me? Married? Marriage isn’t meant for someone like me.
Later that day, I find Skye in the atrium, bent over her laptop as usual.
“Hey, Thrax.” She smiles at me as she rolls her head on her shoulders. For weeks, I’ve dreamed of relieving her tired muscles. Now, after our date and our kisses, I believe it’s the perfect time.
“Your shoulders look tense,” I say softly, my heart racing at my own boldness. “Would you… would you like me to… relieve you?”
Skye’s eyes widen slightly, but her smile is warm. “That would be wonderful, actually. Sometimes I sit hunched for so long that my neck and shoulders ache.”
Moving carefully, I position myself behind her bench. My hands hover uncertainly for a moment before gently settling on her shoulders. Her warmth seeps through the thin fabric of her shirt, and I’m struck by how delicate she feels beneath these palms that have swung a sword for so many years.
I start with light pressure, carefully gauging her reactions. When she lets out a contented sigh, I gain confidence, working my thumbs in small circles at the base of her neck. The tension in her muscles gradually melts away under my touch.
“You’re good at this,” she murmurs, her head dropping forward slightly .
Pride swells in my chest at her words. I’ve spent so many years using my strength for fighting, for survival. To use it now for gentleness, for bringing comfort to someone I care about deeply—It feels like a gift.
As I work out a particularly stubborn knot, I marvel at how natural this feels. The trust she shows by allowing me so close, the way she relaxes completely under my hands. I never dreamed I could have moments like this. Nor did I believe I deserved it.
Her curls brush against my fingers as I move to her neck, and I’m reminded of how she’s brought such brightness into my life. Each smile, each gentle word, each moment of patience as she helps me navigate this new world—they’ve all led to this quiet moment of connection.
She’s as quiet as if she’s in a trance, giving no hint that she wants me to stop. My vision focuses on her nape, so vulnerable. I can’t help picturing the kisses I would like to press against it, and the curve of her neck.
I stroked myself to sleep last night thinking of the ways I’d like to pleasure her. I’m not proud of my thoughts, but although I’m two thousand years old, I’m a mere mortal. Who could resist this wonderful woman?
After a while, I reluctantly step back, not wanting to presume too much. “Better?” I ask.
Skye turns to face me, her expression soft with affection. “Much better. Thank you, Thrax.”
The warmth in her voice makes my chest tighten. In this moment, I know with absolute certainty that I would do anything to keep bringing her such simple comforts, to be worthy of the trust she places in me.
“I’m nowhere near done with the programming, but I think I’m at a place where I can start working with John MacKenzie. He’s going to combine my program with a tiny, wearable earpiece. Then you won’t even need the phone. ”
She’s so enthusiastic about improving my life. The new necklace I’m carving for her will be a fitting gift for a woman who is working so hard to help me and my frozen comrades.
Taking a deep breath, I approach her, ready to clumsily spit out what’s been on my mind all day. “That’s great, Skye.” Now what? I panic. What do I say? Cacas! Now she’s staring at me, expecting me to say something. “W-would you… go on a date with me? To the therapy pool?”
Her eyes light up, a smile spreading across her face. “Thrax, I’d love to! When?”
“Tonight?” I suggest, heart pounding even though the immediate danger is over. “I’ll meet you there at sunset.”
As the day progresses, excitement moves inside me like the sea waves during a storm. I’ve never had the opportunity to plan something like this before, to surprise someone simply for the joy of it. It’s a heady feeling, one I could get used to—with Skye.
When evening arrives, I make my way to the pool, nervously adjusting the swimming trunks Laura provided. After my last misstep with the phallus pendant and how prudish modern people seem to be, I thought to ask if there were any customs I should be aware of. Swimming attire was certainly a surprise, one I didn’t understand, but I’m glad I’d learned before turning up to the pool naked. The water shimmers invitingly in the low light, the room peaceful and full of quiet, watery echoes.
Skye arrives moments later, and my breath catches in my throat. When she pulls off her dress, I gasp, wondering if she’s nude underneath. I must admit, I hope she is. Unfortunately, she’s wearing what must be a female version of swimwear. Her swimsuit reveals more of her body than I’ve seen before, and she’s breathtakingly beautiful. She blushes under my gaze, and I realize I’ve been staring.
“You look… splendidis ,” I manage, almost choking on the last word as I offer her my hand.
Her fingers intertwine with mine as she steps closer. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teases, her eyes roaming over my chest. I hold my breath for a while. She’s seen my chest dozens of times. I used to wear my loincloth and nothing else. It’s just that our relationship is different now. Sadly, now that my ear looks normal, I’m more aware of the scarring on my back and thighs—the ones that bring me such deep shame.
After placing my phone on the side of the pool, not too close to the edge, we enter the water together. It’s warmer than I expected. For a moment, we simply float, enjoying the sensation. Then, a mischievous glint appears in Skye’s eyes, and she splashes water in my face.
Sputtering in surprise, I grin. “Oh, you dare tease a gladiator? You should have thought that through,” I warn playfully, sending a wave of water her way.
What follows is a joyous battle, laughter echoing off the tiled walls as we chase each other around the small pool. I’m bigger than her, stronger. She barely gets a few feet away before I capture her, over and over.
She’s wet, slippery, wearing little other than that scrap of fabric. I try not to touch the parts her suit covers, but in our rowdy play, my palms can’t help but graze a thigh here and a breast there. I’m hard as granite in this stretchy suit that hides nothing.
Skye squeals with pleasure when she pushes herself out of the water and runs her fingers through my hair. Her body presses close, and her hard nipples graze my chest. Her touch leaves hot trails across my skin, mapping every intimate caress.
Though I’ve never wanted a woman this much, I force myself to focus on anything other than the insistent pulsing in my phallus that echoes the beating of my heart.
I turn, encouraging her to leap on my back. While I hold her under the back of her knees, she grips one hand on my shoulder, then leans back and swings the other hand around her head, hollering something about riding cowboys.
She can holler all she wants because in this position, she can’t see my obvious interest. I bounce her around the pool, trying not to think about the apex of her thighs riding my lower back .
Finally, as my phallus returns to its normal state, I ease her off my back and we find ourselves at the edge of the pool. Skye’s back is against the wall, my arms braced on either side of her. Our laughter fades into something softer, more intimate. I’m aware of how close we are, of the way water droplets cling to her eyelashes, how our gazes interlock.
“I’ve never had this before,” I admit quietly, dipping my head, suddenly shy.
Skye cups my cheek with her palm. “Had what?”
“Fun,” I say simply. “The chance to play, to be… free.”
Her eyes soften with understanding, and something deeper. She leans in, and I meet her halfway, our lips coming together in a wet kiss that tastes of strange-smelling water and promise.
As we part, Skye’s hand trails down my chest, her touch igniting sparks beneath my skin. But then her nail catches on one of my thicker scars, and I can’t suppress a small flinch.
Concern immediately floods her features. “Thrax? Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head, trying to banish the memories her touch accidentally stirred. “No, it’s just… an old wound.”
Skye’s gaze turns serious, her hand now resting gently on my shoulder. “Can you tell me about it?” Her voice is soft and full of compassion. “About your scars?”
For a moment, panic grips me, my eyes wild and my mouth moving, with no words coming out. To speak of my past, to reveal the depths of the horrors I’ve endured… But as I look into Skye’s eyes, I see only tenderness and genuine care. Perhaps it’s time to unburden myself, to trust her with the darkest parts of my history.
After taking a deep breath, I speak. I gloss over my battle scars, the ones I earned in the arena. She’s not stupid. She has to know most of the wounds on my back are not from combat.
I tell her of cruel masters who saw me as nothing more than property to be used, sent to the arena, rented out for the night, or discarded. I manage to keep my voice steady as I relate the nights spent in agony as patricians carved me, burned me with hot wax, and played in my blood for their entertainment. Dancing around the memories, I use all my might not to tip over from this reality to that one—not to fall into the past as I did the night of the costume party.
As I speak, Skye listens intently, her eyes never leaving mine. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t flinch away from the brutality of my past. Instead, her hand finds mine beneath the water, squeezing gently in silent support.
When I finish, my voice hoarse from the telling, silence falls between us with only the softly lapping water to fill the moment. I wait, heart pounding, for her reaction. Will she recoil in horror? Pity me? See me differently now that she knows the extent of my suffering? Will she finally see deep enough into my soul to know that perhaps I deserved the abuse and pain?
Even though Skye’s voice is a whisper, the unfeeling translated voice echoes loudly in the silent space. “The costume party. Everyone dressed like elite Romans. That’s what really triggered your reaction.”
I can only nod in agreement, my throat almost closed as I await her next response to what I just admitted to her.
But Skye surprises me once again. Slowly, deliberately, she leans forward. Her lips press and then linger, against the jagged scar on my pectoral, the one she accidentally scraped. The kiss is so tender it nearly undoes me.
“You survived,” she whispers against my skin. “You endured so much, and you’re still here. Still kind , still capable of joy and love. Thrax, you’re incredible.”
Her words wash over me, soothing hurts I didn’t even know I still carried. In this moment, I realize that Skye sees me—truly sees me. Not as a relic from the past, not as a broken thing to be pitied, but as a man. A man worthy of happiness and perhaps… love .
Overwhelmed by emotion, I pull her close, burying my face in the crook of her neck. Skye’s arms wrap around me, holding me as though she never intends to let go. And for the first time in my long, strange life, I feel truly safe. Truly home.
We stay like this for a long while, the warm water lapping gently around us. When we finally part, Skye’s eyes are shining with unshed tears, but her smile is radiant.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she says softly. “For trusting me with… all of you.”
I cup her face in my hands, marveling at the depth of feeling I see reflected in her gaze. “Thank you for listening,” I reply. “For seeing me.”
As we exit the pool, wrapping ourselves in soft towels, I feel lighter somehow. The scars that map my body are still there, but they no longer feel like a burden. Instead, they’re a part of my story—a story that Skye now shares.
As we dry off, Skye’s towel gets caught on her necklace. Her eyes fly wide in panic, as though it’s now the most precious thing she owns, and she doesn’t want to break it.
“It should be sturdy,” I say as I untangle a loose thread that’s wrapped around it. “There.” It strikes me that I’ve shared so much of my dark past with her, perhaps she’d like to hear a good memory.
A lump forms in my throat as bittersweet memories of Caecelia flood back. “I have another story to tell.” I point my chin to the two chairs near the little pool. “It’s not a long tale, but it’s one of my best memories.”
I don’t mention that it was easily my best memory until the recent ones I’ve created with the amazing woman sitting beside me.
“It was a gift,” I begin, my voice rough with emotion. “From Caecelia, the slave woman who raised me until I was sent to the ludus to train at age eight. ”
Skye’s eyes widen with interest and she takes my hand, encouraging me to continue.
“The night before I was to be sold, she snuck to my side. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears as she pressed something into my hand—a small wooden charm, a carved phallus hanging on a leather cord. It had been worn smooth by years of worry.”
I pause, swallowing hard. “She whispered, ‘For protection and good luck. May the Gods watch over you, my boy. May the Goddess Fortuna herself smile upon you’.”
Skye squeezes my hand, her eyes shining with understanding. “That’s why you made one for me,” she says softly.
I nod, unable to speak past the emotion clogging my throat. Skye pulls me close. Her embrace soothes the old wounds reopened by the memory.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she murmurs against my chest. “My necklace means even more to me now.”
After a few quiet moments, we rise and make our way back to our rooms. As we reach her door, Skye turns to me, her expression serious. “Thrax,” she says, “I want you to know… your past doesn’t define you. It’s a part of you, yes, but it’s not all of you. The man you are now—kind, gentle, brave—that’s who I… care about.”
Her words settle in my chest, warm and comforting. I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,” I whisper, hoping she understands the depth of my gratitude.
No. I stop myself. Gratitude isn’t what I want to feel toward this woman I’m growing to care for more and more each day. I deserve someone who sees me—all of me—and cherishes it. I deserve nothing less than that.
Perhaps I’ll get it all… with Skye.