He didn’t look quite as she remembered; partly because of the changes that five years had naturally wrought, along with the new scars and the weariness of hard experience; but she’d actually forgotten the fine details — the way his eyes shone, the animation around his sensitive mouth, his gestures. He was wider in the shoulder, she thought, had become more muscular — the kind of muscular that came from carrying heavy weights, rather than the athletic build he’d had before. His black hair was longer than she’d ever seen it, softly curling around his ears and forehead.
As she’d been studying him, he’d been studying her, and he said softly, ‘You’re even more beautiful than I remember.’
She smiled. ‘And you’re more handsome.’ She reached up to his hair, twirling a strand around her finger. ‘This is new.’
He smiled back, revealing his dimples. ‘Do you like it?’
‘I do. It suits you.’
His smile became wistful as he gently rested his rough-skinned hand against her cheek, and traced the top of her ear with a fingertip.
‘How I’ve missed you, Laelia. I thought I’d never see you again; never hear you singing sweetly as you tidied our home; never hold you in my arms…’
She sighed. ‘Let’s not talk about that; not now. There will be time enough later.’
He nodded agreement. ‘You’re right. Would you like some wine?’
‘Yes, please.’
He released her, crossing to a small table set on one side of the tent, and poured out two beakers. She set aside her stola, and accepted a drink as they went to sit, side-by-side, on his camp cot.
‘Tell me everything,’ he said. ‘How did you get along? The money must have run out long ago.’
She shook her head, and said with quiet pride, ‘The savings are still there, and even a little increased. What I used in moments of need, I was able to replace.’
He looked at her in admiration, but there was a hint of worry in his voice as he asked, ‘How did you survive, then?’
‘By the labour of my own hands. I wove. Pater, of course, wished me to return home. He came every few months to harangue me about it, but I always refused his urging. I told him that I wouldn’t leave unless I heard bad news.’
Lucius grinned, and she noticed new, endearing, crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
‘How did he take that?’
‘Not well,’ she said, quietly chuckling. ‘He always had to have his moment of anger; but you know how he is. Once he’s worked himself up, the storm evaporates again. He mutters a few words to Fortuna, and then is himself again.’ She smiled fondly. ‘He certainly hasn’t changed.’
‘And my parents?’ he asked. ‘They came to visit you?’
‘Sometimes,’ she confirmed. ‘They didn’t come to Rome often, but when they did, they always visited me, as they promised they would.’
He nodded, looking into his wine. She studied his profile as he did, waiting. She could see he was working up to a serious question by a certain tension in his jaw. At length, he asked hesitantly, ‘Did you… did you believe me to be dead?’
She frowned a little at the question, her mind leaping ahead, trying to project where it might lead; but she answered truthfully, ‘No. Not once. I feared it; sometimes I had nightmares; but I never believed them. I simply… waited. To hear one thing or another.’
He was searching her face as she spoke, and he continued, ‘You never thought to… find another man? To help you?’
She wrinkled her nose and said very firmly, ‘I’d sooner throw myself in the Tiber.’
He couldn’t help but chuckle, with relief, she supposed, though he said wryly, ‘I’d forgotten the way you have with things.’
‘What things?’
He smiled warmly at her, a look that made her heart beat faster. ‘I couldn’t even begin to explain.’ He set aside his beaker and kissed her then, a little tentatively at first, but then he relaxed, reaching up to caress the side of her face.
When he broke the kiss, she smiled at him, her heart overflowing. She could see in his face everything she’d felt too; love, desire, the shadow of all the years of yearning, now past.
She wished to kiss him again, but with an effort, she held back, remembering where they were.
‘I suppose your tentmates will return soon?’
He shook his head. ‘Not until tomorrow. I paid them off.’
She sighed with relief, and giving in to her wishes, she twined her arms about his neck before kissing him in a particular way she had, gentle yet demanding. It was a language they both remembered. He chuckled warm and low in his chest.
They stood, and he undid her palla; the brooch first on one shoulder, then the other, allowing her dress to slide down her body, pooling at her feet. She looked up, meeting his warm brown eyes, her stomach cartwheeling at the devotion in them, the love, and his obvious desire.
She held his eye as she lifted the hem of his tunic upwards, revealing his arousal, her breath hitching in anticipation.
He took it from her and swept it the remaining way up and over his head, revealing his body to her, familar and unknown at the same time. She allowed one hand to wander his wide chest, tracing fingertips sensuously across his skin, before the swirl of his chest hair tempted her fingers; with the other, she ranged along his collarbone and then downwards, brushing his nipple so it peaked a little; over the undulations of his torso before reaching the slightly soft belly; before meeting the light trail of hair from his navel…
He rumbled a little then, deep in his chest, and captured her hand in his. She looked up, quirking an eyebrow, a teasing smile curving her lips.
‘Come,’ he said, his eyes gleaming. He stretched out onto the cot, bringing her down onto him — the way they enjoyed the most.
Though some part of Laelia suggested she might take her time, relish the moment, she simply wanted it too much, her body thrumming with heat. She straddled him, leaning forward to kiss him, their kisses deepening as, with rough-skinned hands gripping her hips, she guided him into herself. She let out a low moan of pleasure as, already wet with wanting, she took him all in, pausing for a moment as a wave of undiluted pleasure washed through her, dropping her head to her chest with a moan of pleasure; then she leant down to kiss him deeply as she began a rhythm; slowly at first, concentrated, focussed.
She watched through half-lidded eyes as he threw his head back, revealing the long line of his bristled throat, his eyes closed for a moment. She kissed his throat, her belly churning to see him like this, giving himself entirely to her. She settled back then as she increased the speed, driving herself onto him, long, luxuriant grinds that hit each pleasure point.
He looked up at her, their eyes meeting as they shared a look, dark and hot, something molten and entirely their own as they moved together in rhythm; their rhythm, which came as naturally to them as breathing; as natural as the love that existed between them.
She felt the heated tide rising within herself, wave after wave growing stronger with each thrust of her hips. He was losing control too; she could hear it in his ragged breathing. He pulled her down to him, a messy sloppy kiss as they tilted together over the edge, clinging together as they were swept into the blind white buzz.