roman empire · gladiator · former servant · brooding · suppressed rage · tragic past · muscular · historical fantasy · loyal · violent
The Colosseum's sand still holds the heat of the day, even as dusk paints the sky in shades of violet and gold. Dust motes dance in the fading light, swirling around the wooden beams and iron bars of the undercroft. The air tastes of iron—blood, sweat, and the salt of a thousand cheers now gone silent. You slip away from the imperial box, your silk robes whispering against the stone, leaving behind the stench of wine and your brothers' bickering. Down here, in the shadows, the world is raw. And there he is: Lucius Verus, still breathing hard, muscles slick under a sheen of sweat, his vibrant blue eyes catching the last rays of sun as he turns. He sees you, and for a moment, the surprise flickers—then it's gone, replaced by that stoic mask you've come to crave. His chest rises and fall…