« Come on, my little cockerel, show us if you can sing, » growled the bearded man, pressing his mouth against the boy’s. Encolpius heard the boy’s stifled moan and saw his fingers clench around his captor’s arms - not to push him away, but to stop himself from falling backwards. The other man, the one with the hollow cheeks, smirked as he moved his hand beneath the tunic; his knuckles traced slow circles on the young man’s flat stomach.« I can feel something small but very pleasant in my hand. » he said in a hoarse voice, « That’ll do the job nicely tomorrow to whet my appetite. Today, having eaten a big eel, I don’t want any small fry. » A shiver ran down Encolpius’s spine. He recognised that voice, that dismissive tone that promised as much pain as pleasure. The teenager moaned again, louder this time, and the bearded man took the opportunity to shove two fingers into his mouth, stifling the sound. « Suck it, lad, or I’ll have the others make you suck it. Which will it be? » The boy obeyed, his cheeks hollowed, his eyes glistening with moisture that wasn’t just fear.Encolpius clenched his teeth. He could have stepped forward, offered his services - or Giton’s - for a coin or two. But something held him back. Perhaps it was the way the boy was submitting, his thighs slightly parted, as if he were already waiting to be told to open them wider. Or perhaps it was that hand beneath the tunic, which must now be wrapping its fingers around a still-limp shaft, warming it, preparing it. He looked away, a bitter taste in his mouth. Ascyltos would love this scene. He, for his part, preferred his prey to be less docile.

This is when he noticed him.
Giton.  

Leaning against a pillar at the far end of the gymnasium, his arms crossed beneath his slender chest, as if he had nothing better to do than wait to be noticed. He was wearing a short tunic, the one Encolpius had stolen for him—or rather ‘borrowed’, as he liked to put it—from a merchant’s stall at the Macellum - the market in Puteoli - a piece of linen so fine that it clung to his narrow hips and, with every movement, hinted at the firm curve of his buttocks. The fabric, stirred by a draught, lifted intermittently, offering fleeting glimpses of the milky skin of his thighs, where the brown down was beginning to thicken. Encolpius felt his breath catch.Giton had that gift, that way of behaving that made one believe he was there for them, for him, even when he was staring into space. His lips, slightly parted, glistened as if they’d just been licked. His eyes - black, too large for his face - glowed with a feverish intensity, and his long, slender fingers tapped absently at his thigh, as if he were counting the beats of his own heart. All around him, glances drifted, lingering on his androgynous figure, which attracted men as much as women. A wrestler, still out of breath from his bout, stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing him, his nostrils quivering. An elderly senator, who ought to have had eyes only for the circus games, turned his head away a little too quickly. Even the slaves tasked with collecting the sponges seemed to slow down when walking past him.

Encolpius walked forward, his sandals squeaking on the scattered grains of sand. He was in no hurry. Giton had already spotted him – he knew it. The young man didn’t move, but his fingers stopped tapping his thigh.« You’re finally showing yourself,’ murmured Encolpius, stopping a step away from him. «I thought you’d run off with Ascyltos.» Giton looked up, a wry smile stretching his lips.« And what if I had? »The young man’s voice was hoarser than usual, as if he’d shouted – or moaned – too loudly. Encolpius felt his fingers clench into a fist. He could have slapped him, right there and then, for that insolence. Or kissed him. Both options seemed equally tempting.«You know full well what that pig would do to you,” he growled. “He’d sell you to the first tavern he came across for a jug of wine. Giton burst out laughing, a clear, almost childlike sound that echoed strangely in the heavy air.« And you, are you keeping me out of pure charity?’ He pulled away from the pillar, his tunic riding up a little further, and took a step towards Encolpius, close enough for the latter to feel the heat of his body. « Or is it because you’re afraid I’ll find someone who fucks me better than you? » The word – « fuck » – hit Encolpius like a punch in the stomach. He grabbed Giton by the wrist, his fingers digging into the tender skin on the inside of his arm.

« Come on, » he hissed. He gave him no time to protest. With a swift movement, he dragged him to the back of the gymnasium, where a narrow corridor, dimly lit by a dying oil lamp, led to the storerooms for wax and oil. No one ever came here, except for slaves too lazy to do their chores in broad daylight. Encolpius knew the place well. Above all, he knew the recess behind the clay jars, where one could crouch unseen.Giton let himself be pushed along without resistance, still laughing, but his laughter cut short when Encolpius pinned him against the wall, the cold stone pressing against his back. « Fancy a bit of fun, lad? » whispered Encolpius, gripping his hips, his thumbs digging into the firm flesh of his buttocks, where the tunic had ridden up of its own accord, as if eager to be pulled aside. « Well then, let’s have some fun. With a sharp movement, he pulled the garment up to his waist, exposing Giton to the open air. The boy shivered, but not from the cold. His thighs pressed together, then parted slightly, as if against his will. Encolpius growled at the sight of the pale skin of his buttocks, still marked by the pink welts from his latest spankings - whether his own or Ascyltos’s, he couldn’t say. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way Giton was already arching his back, offering up his ass as if he knew what was coming.

« Bend over, » Encolpius ordered, his voice hoarse.Giton obeyed without hesitation, his palms flat against the wall, his fingers splayed as if seeking a foothold. Encolpius pressed himself against him, feeling the warmth of his back, the acrid smell of sweat and that cheap pomade he’d rubbed into his hair. He slid a hand between the young man’s thighs, finding his cock already hard, the skin taut over the shaft, the glans glistening with a bead of desire. « Bloody little bastard, » he murmured, squeezing just enough to make Giton moan. « Always ready, eh? »He didn’t wait for an answer. His fingers left Giton’s cock and travelled up along his stomach, then higher still, to his nipples, which he pinched roughly. Giton flinched, a muffled sound escaping him. « Shh, » whispered Encolpius  nibbling at his ear. « Do you want us to be heard? » He didn’t give him time to reply. His left hand held Giton in place, his fingers dug into his hip, whilst his right hand moved lower, between his buttocks, where the skin was softer, warmer. He found the entrance with ease, still tight despite the many times he’d taken him. Giton held his breath as Encolpius’ finger began to twist and press, before finally sinking in, joint by joint, into the damp heat of his body. «You… you’re going to tear me apart, » Giton gasped, his fingers clenched against the stone.« No, » replied Encolpius, adding a second finger and spreading them like scissors to open him up. «“I’m going to prepare you. Because today, lad, I want you all to myself.»

Giton moaned, a broken sound, and pushed his bottom back, as if to take the fingers deeper. Encolpius laughed softly, feeling the young man’s inner muscles contract around his knuckles. “There. Just like that. Show me how much you want it.He didn’t need to tell him twice. Giton began to undulate, slowly at first, then more boldly, his hips rolling in tight circles, his moans growing higher-pitched, more desperate. Encolpius adjusted his own clothes with a swift movement, freeing his cock, already hard as wood, the skin stretched almost to the point of bursting. He spat into his palm and quickly lubricated himself, before placing his fingers against Giton’s entrance once more, this time to guide his glans against the throbbing flesh. « Wait, » Giton began, but the word turned into a cry as Encolpius thrust, with a sharp lurch of his hips, driving the first few centimetres into him.‘Fuck!’Giton stiffened, his fingers clawing at the wall, but Encolpius gave him no time to adjust. He grabbed his hips with both hands and thrust the rest of the way in with a single movement, feeling the resistance give way in a burst of pain and pleasure. «There. Now you’re mine.» Giton screamed—or perhaps it was a moan; Encolpius could no longer tell. All that mattered was the tight heat enveloping him, Giton’s muscles contracting around him as if to drive him out, then draw him in deeper. He began to move, at first with small thrusts of his hips, then with greater force, each thrust making their skin slap against one another, the wet sound mingling with Giton’s gasps. « Harder, » the young man pleaded, his voice breaking. ‘Please, Encolpius, fuck me hard. Encolpius growled, his fingers digging into the flesh of Giton’s buttocks until they left marks. « Is that what you want? » He thrust so violently that Giton banged his forehead against the wall. « Do you want me to fuck you like a little bitch?»

Giton arched his back even further, offering up his ass, his moans becoming incoherent. « Yes, fuck, yes…» Encolpius didn’t need to be asked twice. He picked up the pace, his hips slapping against Giton’s buttocks with a dull thud, each thrust pressing the young man a little closer against the wall. He could feel Giton’s sweat running down his back, hear his pleas growing ever more desperate, until they were nothing but hoarse, almost animal-like sounds. « I’m going to come, » Encolpius growled, his teeth clenched. « And you’re going to take it all, lad. All of it. » Giton didn’t reply. He was no longer capable of it. He merely gasped as Encolpius thrust his fingers between the wall and his stomach, gripping his rock-hard cock, and began to stroke it in time with his thrusts. « Come on, come for me, » Encolpius ordered. «Show me just how much you love this. »

It was as if a dam had burst. Giton stiffened, a heart-rending cry escaping him as his cock throbbed in Encolpe’s hand, ejaculating in hot spurts against the wall. The sensation of his inner muscles contracting around Encolpius’ shaft was too much for him. With a low growl, he thrust himself in as far as he could and spurted his burning semen, filling Giton to the brim, it trickling down his trembling thighs. For a long moment, he remained like that, panting, his forehead pressed against Giton’s shoulder, feeling shivers run through the young man’s body with every twitch of his still-hard shaft. Then, slowly, he withdrew, watching with satisfaction as his semen trickled between Giton’s buttocks, thick and white, like an offering.

At that moment, a slave, drawn by the muffled sounds, entered the corridor carrying a basket of laundry. He was young, barely over twenty, slim with curly brown hair, and was clad only in a sort of loincloth that did not even conceal his round, firm buttocks. A sensual heat radiated from him. He was the sort of lad who, come evening, must have been the delight of the dormitory where the slaves slept. Instead of looking away, the newcomer slowly surveyed the two lads, his gaze lingering on Giton’s still half-erect penis and the streaks of semen running down his thighs. He gave a wry smile and set down the basket. « Do you need help… cleaning up?’ he offered, his eyes still fixed on Giton.  Giton didn’t reply, but his body was screaming its consent. The young slave approached, the smell of his sweat filling the space between them. With a slow, almost hesitant gesture, he reached out to brush against the burning skin of Giton’s thigh. Giton, still out of breath, grabbed the slave’s hand and guided it towards his entrance. The contact was electric, a jolt that ran down Giton’s spine, making every pore of his skin tremble. The slave didn’t need to be asked twice. A predatory smile stretched across his lips as he knelt with feverish haste, completely abandoning his basket of laundry. His eyes were fixed on Giton’s cock, still glistening with semen and lubricant. Giton groaned, his head thrown back against the cold corridor wall, as the slave’s fingers boldly plunged into his gaping, throbbing opening. The contact was searing. The slave did not content himself with merely touching; he began to massage the opening, stretching the walls still contracted with pleasure, sending a violent shudder through Giton that made his back arch. Encolpius, standing and still panting, watched the scene with growing fascination. Seeing this servant, usually invisible, give himself over so voraciously to his companion’s pleasures made his member swell once more. He felt his blood boil as a raw, primal excitement seized him. He did not push the intruder away; on the contrary, he stepped forward, towering over the two men with his imposing stature.

«You seem very keen on cleaning, slave, » Encolpius sneered in a hoarse voice, as he grabbed the servant by the hair to force his face up towards him.
« Kneel before me! » The slave, his eyes gleaming with lust, did not reply with words. He dropped to his knees, opened his mouth wide and took hold of Encolpius' erect penis, swallowing it whole in one go with desperate fervour. The heat of his throat and the powerful suction of his tongue made Encolpius groan; he closed his eyes, savouring this double pleasure: feeling Giton being worked on beneath him whilst he was being vigorously sucked. Giton, stimulated by the slave’s nimble fingers, which were now seeking out his prostate with precision, began to squirm. « Take me… quickly…» he pleaded, his voice broken by ecstasy.The slave, whilst continuing to suck and lick Encolpius' cock, used his other hand to grab Giton’s buttocks, spreading them wide to get a better view of the glistening, quivering entrance. He finally withdrew his fingers, replacing his touch with his own member, already hard and eager. Without a moment’s hesitation, he thrust his cock into Giton’s arse, driving it in with a sharp, forceful stroke. Giton let out a stifled cry, his hand clenching violently around Encolpius' forearm. The contrast was striking: the slave thrust with brutal, rapid force, whilst Encolpius still deep in the servant’s mouth, set the rhythm of his thrusts with his hips, using the slave’s head as a support to drive himself deeper into his throat.The corridor now echoed with crude sounds: the slapping of flesh, wet sucking noises and the disordered moans of the three men. Encolpius watched with sadistic pleasure as the slave pounded away at Giton’s ass, seeing the latter’s body shudder with every thrust. The excitement reached its peak. Encolpius, sensing he had reached the point of no return, quickened the movement of his hips, forcing the slave to swallow almost his entire member. In a final violent spasm, he came copiously, filling the servant’s mouth with jets of hot, thick semen. Almost simultaneously, the slave, driven by the intensity of Giton’s contractions, let out an animalistic groan and emptied his seed deep into Giton’s inside.

he three men remained there, entwined, as silence gradually returned to the corridor, broken only by their ragged breathing. Semen was dripping down Giton’s thighs and from the corner of the slave’s lips. Encolpe sent the slave away. « Grab your basket and get out of here. And don’t go bragging about your little escapade to the others if you don’t want to be flogged! Wipe your mouth and get a move on! » The slave disappeared without wasting a second, all too pleased with the good time the Lares gods had sent his way.

Encolpius turned towards Giton, who was slumped against the wall, drained but sated with sex after having taken two sex-starved men in quick succession. « Now,’ he murmured, almost jealous that he hadn’t been taken and pounded as thoroughly as young Giton,« Even the gods would be jealous of you. »
Giton laughed weakly, his legs trembling, unable to stand without leaning against the wall. « You’re an idiot,» he murmured. «You lot have pounded me like madmen. I won’t even be able to sit down tomorrow! »
Encolpius gave him a slap on the bum, making him jump. « Yeah, but you’re mine.» He pulled Giton’s tunic down with a possessive gesture, before getting dressed himself. « Come on, let’s go. We’ll try and find something to eat near the warehouses at  Porta Marina.»
Giton followed him, his thighs still sticky, a satisfied smile on his lips. Outside, in the palestra, the wrestlers had resumed their training, unaware of what had just happened in the shadows. But Encolpius knew one thing: before the day was out, Ascyltos would get wind of their embrace. And then, the real game would begin.

The Forum was teeming with life under the Campania sun. The market stalls in Pompeii were overflowing with amphorae of oil, sacks of wheat, and cheese and sausages hanging in clusters. The air was thick with a mixture of smells: spices, fresh fish, sweat and dust. Amidst the throng, two gaunt figures weaved their way through, their eyes alert and their hands quick. Encolpius, his face gaunt with hunger, led the way ahead of Giton, who was younger and trembling. With a swift movement, Encolpius snatched a handful of dried figs from a stall and stuffed them under his worn tunic, whilst Giton grabbed a piece of flatbread left on another stall. A vendor shouted, but they had already vanished into the crowd, their hearts pounding.

They left the Forum and its majestic colonnades and made their way towards the Great Amphitheatre district. Hope gnawed at them: perhaps they could slip in among the spectators and receive some of the food distributed during the games? As they drew nearer, they stood behind a column to watch the gladiators enter.

Just as they arrived, a man was stepping out of a litter carried by four slaves. He was dressed in a white toga trimmed with a purple band – the sort worn by the most prominent patricians. But what caught the eyes of the two starving youths was the glitter of his rings : his hands were covered in them. He also wore an ornate gold necklace set with dark gemstones. He was speaking authoritatively to a lanista, the gladiator master, at the gate of the barracks. A smile of satisfaction lit up his face.

« He’s come to pay homage to a few heroes of the arena and to submit himself to the power of their virility, » murmured Encolpius with a mixture of contempt and jealousy. Giton, his eyes wide with the glare of the gold, did not reply. They watched as the man entered the enclosure reserved for the fighters, followed by a slave carrying a basket that must have contained gifts.

Suddenly, a deep, muffled rumble shook the ground beneath their feet. It was not thunder; it came from the very centre of the earth. Columns vibrated, and fine dust fell from the cornices. In the street, the cries of the merchants and passers-by fell, silent at once, replaced by a stunned silence. Then the noise grew louder, as if the earth itself were giving way beneath their feet. An amphora fell from a stall and shattered with a crash of pottery that seemed to shatter the suspended moment. The sky, which had been so pure blue just a moment earlier, was beginning to darken on the horizon.

The tremor hit like a kick to the chest. One moment the place was buzzing, passers-by calling out to each other, vendors shouting, and the next, the world was falling apart, crushed  into dust. A deafening groan of stone swallowed every other sound. Encolpe's hand was around Giton's wrist before the young man could scream.

« Move. Now. Quick !»

Giton stumbled, his perfect face slack with shock. His golden curls were a dusty halo in the strange, flat light. Dust, thick and choking, already swirled from the base of the nearest column, where a web of cracks sprinted toward the top. A statue of Venus shuddered on its plinth before crashing down.

« Encolpius! » Giton's voice was a sharp hook in the chaos. He clung, his slender fingers biting into the rough wool of Encolpius' tunic. But his wide, terrified eyes weren't just on his lover. They darted, just for a heartbeat, over Encolpius' shoulder.

Encolpius followed the glance. Across the buckling square, sheltered under the trembling arch of a portico, stood Ascyltus. He wasn't running. He was watching. A slick, familiar grin cut through the dust on his face. He was looking right at Giton.

Rage, hot and immediate, burned through Encolpius' fear. He yanked Giton against him, the boy's body light and pliant. « You look at him now, and I swear by every fucking god shaking this mountain, I'll blind you.» His voice was a low growl against Giton's ear. It wasn't a joke.

A thunderous crack split the air. A column just to their right gave way, marble peeling away like rotten fruit. It crashed down, exploding on the pavement where they'd stood seconds before. Shards of stone whipped past their faces.

« Run! » This time, Encolpius shoved him, propelling them both into narrow, dust-choked streets. The world was noise and screaming and the deep, visceral shudder of the earth rolling beneath their bare feet.

They ran, lungs burning. Encolpius didn't let go. He dragged Giton through a maze of alleyways, away from the collapsing heart of the city,

Giton slumped against a wall, chest heaving. A fine sheen of sweat and powder made his skin glow. He was trembling. Encolpius leaned against the doorframe of a  fallen house, blocking the light, watching him.

The fear in Giton's eyes had changed. It had sharpened, acquired a glittering edge. The thrill of the chase, the escape. It always did this to him.

« He was watching you,» Encolpius said, his voice ragged.

« Everyone watches me,» Giton breathed, a ghost of his coy smile returning. He pushed a damp curl from his forehead.« You most of all.»

Encolpius crossed the small space in two strides. He caged Giton against the wall, his hands slapping the plaster on either side of that beautiful, infuriating head. He could feel the residual tremors in the stone, or maybe it was just his own pulse. « Don't. Don't play that game. Not now.»

Giton's lips parted. His breath was quick. « What game? The world is ending. What else is there? »

The words were a provocation, and they hit their mark. Encolpius crushed his mouth against Giton's. It wasn't a kiss of affection; it was a claim. A punishment. Giton moaned into it, his body arching away from the wall and into Encolpius' hardness. His hands flew up, not to push away, but to clutch at Encolpe's shoulders, fingers scrabbling at the sweat-damp linen.

Encolpius' hands dropped from the wall. One hooked under Giton's thigh, hitching it up around his hip, grinding their bodies together. The rough fabric of their tunics was a maddening barrier. With a brutal tug, Encolpe ripped the shoulder of Giton's garment, the linen tearing like a sigh. The smooth, hairless plane of his chest and shoulder was exposed.

« You want an audience? »  Encolpius snarled against his throat, biting down on the tender junction where neck met shoulder. Giton cried out, a sharp, sweet sound. « « You want him to see? Let him find us. Let him see what's mine.»

He spun Giton around, pressing his front against the dusty wall. Giton gasped, his hands splaying against the plaster for balance. Encolpius shoved the ruined tunic up to Giton's waist, baring the pale, perfect curves of his ass. He didn't wait. He didn't prepare. He spat into his palm, slicked himself roughly, and pressed the head of his cock against that tight, forbidden ring.

« Encolpius, please ! » Giton's voice was a broken thing.

« Please what ? »  Encolpius drove forward, burying himself in one fierce, unyielding thrust.

Giton screamed. The sound was swallowed by the thick walls and the distant rumble of the dying city. His body clenched, a vise of shock and pain, then gradually yielded, accepting the brutal invasion. Encolpius held himself there, buried to the hilt, feeling the wild, frantic flutter of Giton's pulse around him. He leaned over, covering Giton's body with his own, his mouth at his ear.

« This. This is what you are. This heat. This tight, fucking slick heat. Mine.» He began to move, short, punishing strokes that rocked Giton against the wall. « You look at him again, and I will fuck you in front of him on the broken stones of the forum. Do you understand? »

Giton could only nod, a choked sob escaping his lips with every thrust. His discomfort had melted, transformed into a raw, wanton hunger. He pushed back against Encolpius, meeting him stroke for stroke, his own cock hard and trapped between his belly and the wall. « Yes... yes... yours... » The words were a ragged chant.

Encolpius' hand snaked around Giton's slim waist, gripping his cock, stroking him in time with his own brutal rhythm. The pace was furious, a desperate coupling at the end of the world. Sweat slicked their skin, mingling with the ever-present dust. The only sounds were their ragged breaths, the slap of skin on skin, the soft, obscene wetness of Encolpius' cock plunging into him.

Giton came first, with a shattered cry, his release spattering the grimy wall as his body convulsed around Encolpius, milking him. The intense, rhythmic clenching tore Encolpius' climax from him. He slammed home one final time against Giton's torn tunic, his shout a raw wordless roar, pumping his seed deep inside as the ground gave one last, hollow shudder beneath their feet.

He collapsed against Giton's back, spent, the rush of blood loud in his ears. They stayed like that, joined, gasping in the dim, dirty light.

A slow, mocking clap echoed from the doorway.

Encolpius froze. Giton whimpered beneath him.

Ascyltus was leaning against the doorframe, his silhouette cutting their light. His gaze travelled over Giton's exposed back, the torn tunic, the dripping evidence of their coupling. His grin was a flash of white in the gloom.

« A poet to the last, Encolpius. Even your fucks are dramatic.» He took a step inside, his eyes locked on Giton. « The mountain is spewing ash, my friends. The sky is turning black. And here you are, writing your final ode with your cock. »

Encolpius pulled out, shoving Giton behind him in a protective motion that felt absurd, too late. He fumbled for his own tunic, his body cold and suddenly vulnerable.

Ascyltus just laughed, a soft, dangerous sound. « Don't stop on my account. It was just getting interesting.» His eyes found Giton's over Encolpe's shoulder. «"You always did like an audience, sweet Giton. You just never admit it.»

Outside, through the open door, the first flakes of grey ash began to fall, silent and fatal as poison.