Fic: Silence is Golden

Title: Silence is Golden
Rating: Explicit
Fandom/Pairing Asterix the Gaul. Male OC/Male OC
Word count: 3116
Summary: After what transpired in Make Love Not War, Decimus finds himself questioning the nature of his relationship with Quintus.
Luckily for him, Quintus is happy to provide an answer.
Author's notes: Inspired by the kink "gags/silence" from my Kink Bingo card last summer. Although it is a sequel to "Make Love Not War" it can be read as a stand-alone, I'd say. Beta-read by

delphi - thank you! :)
Can also be found on AO3 here

It was Quintilis and about a month after the mishap with the potion. People had woken up in pairs, small groups, in small piles or spooning one another.
A collective sense of shame had permeated the entire camp afterwards and everybody had quietly opted not to bring up the events of That Day, and instead just tried to forget it had ever happened.

For all intents and purposes, IV Id. Iun. had just been a completely unremarkable day like most others.
The monthly marching drill some days later had been harder, though, with a heavier load to carry for every man.
Apart from that, however, life continued as if nothing had happened. The first couple of days had nevertheless been awkward. People had had slight difficulties looking each other in the eyes, but as the days passed, life in the camp returned to normal.

Or, well, almost back to normal, at least for Decimus.

He'd had no problems forgetting about most of his actions that day – save for what he'd done with Quintus.
That would just not leave his mind, no matter how hard he tried. It worried him. He'd lost count of the times he'd gotten in trouble over the years for being forgetful – so why couldn't he forget about this?
Why was he constantly reminded of Quintus' kisses, his touches, his moans, the way his breath hitched as he came? The way Quintus had clung to him?

He shouldn't be feeling this about him, about another man. Period.

Had Quintus been a woman, it would have been a bit embarrassing, but largely okay. People wrote poems about it, after all. Same if he'd been a boy.
But Quintus was not a dainty, smooth-skinned, doe-eyed, slender youth. Not anymore. Well, perhaps still a bit on the slender side. And he had such nice eyes, although not quite "doe-eyed". But "dainty" had probably never fit his description.

He'd known Quintus since he'd stood behind him in the queue for the recruitment office.
They'd been equally old (or young, depending on your view) and with almost similar backgrounds. He'd immediately taken a liking to Quintus, but not like this!
Venus was playing a cruel joke on him with this. But oh, his lips, his tongue, his hands!

He'd woken up early one morning about a week after That Day and in the dim, grey light of the earliest dawn he'd been able to make out the sight of Quintus sleeping on his mattress less than II pedes from his own.
It had never bothered him that the sleeping arrangements meant they were sleeping side by side. It had always been a sort of comfort, and Quintus snored less than some of the others in the tent. But that morning the placement of their mattresses had been a great source of discomfort.

Quintus had been lying on his side, his back facing Decimus. His nightshirt had ridden up, revealing parts of his back and how it tapered towards his slim hips. His blanket had slipped off and his underwear had done nothing to conceal how nice and firm his ass was, instead reminding Decimus how nice it had been thrusting into that pert backside. It had been pure torment, and the trumpet signalling the beginning of the day had been a great relief.

After that morning he'd tried trading as many night guard duties as humanly possible. It had worked for a while, until the centurion had noticed what was happening and in no uncertain terms had informed him to cut that out, as he didn't want the camp's security compromised by an exhausted guard.
Then he'd tried to just casually avoid Quintus in situations where it wasn't unavoidable that they work side by side.

Such as today, where he was on guard duty during the afternoon. It was a warm and lazy summer afternoon, and thankfully even the Gauls seemed to think so. They hadn't made themselves known for a good while, which suited everybody just fine.

Perhaps the Gauls would rather go for a swim in the Ocean, Decimus thought.

Actually it seemed he was the only one somewhat alert around here. Most of the others seemed to have retreated into the sparse shadows of the camp.
At least there was a bit of wind and plenty of shade in the watch tower. The sky was clear blue with fluffy white clouds and the forest was impenetrably lush in different shades of green. In the distance he could make out a bird of prey and even further away some wisps of smoke from the Gaulish village, though he preferred not to look too much in that direction.

The sound of someone climbing up the ladder brought him out of his reverie and he turned his head to see who it was.
It couldn't be the change of guards, not yet, it hadn't been announced by the trumpets.

It was Quintus, with a spare tunic and his leather satchel flung over his shoulder.

"Hi there," Quintus exclaimed as he straightened up. "You lucky bastard, it's possible to breathe up here!"

"Yes, but what are you doing here?" Decimus replied, a little confused.

"Keeping you company, mending my tunic and not melting down in the camp," Quintus replied, turning his head in the direction of a light breeze sweeping through the tower. "Ah! Fresh air!"

"Is it that bad down there?" Decimus asked.

"Yes! Everybody's either asleep or doing as little as possible. Even the centurion's asleep. People aren't even polishing their weapons," Quintus said as he flopped down, his back against the tower's wall.

"But at least the laundry'll be dry by evening," he added, digging through his satchel, obviously looking for thread and a needle.
Having found what he was looking for, he expertly threaded the needle and set to work on mending a tear in the tunic.

"I really need to get around to mending one of my tunics," Decimus remarked. "It still has a tear from those brambles, remember?"

It was back in Maius. They'd only escaped the Gauls because they fled through a thicket of blackberry brambles. A couple of thin white scars on his arms and legs still bore witness to that.

"You still haven't repaired that?!" Quintus asked incredulously, while sewing stitch after meticulous stitch.

"No, because frankly I'm fucking trash at sewing," Decimus admitted.

Cutting off the thread, Quintus asked a little teasingly, "What, didn't your mother teach you how to sew?"

"She did, actually. She earned money by doing small repairs and piecing used fabric together to make new clothes," he replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and glancing out of the tower. "Perhaps the reason why they decided to send me off to the army the moment I was old enough was because I was so hopelessly useless at sewing. I was a lost cause, a disgrace to my family..."

"Surely you know how to thread a needle."

"Oh, I know that all right. It's the actual sewing that's a problem. It just...looks terrible. I'm sure I'd get in just as much trouble showing up with my attempts of mending as I would showing up with a tear in my uniform."

"I was told to go to the recruitment office the moment I was old enough, even though my stitches look small and neat," Quintus said, measuring off a new piece of thread. "But I've never noticed you were that bad at sewing," he added.

Decimus shrugged. "I guess I've just been lucky enough that it's mostly been small holes and tears over the years. This is the biggest that didn't mean the entire tunic had to be replaced."

"Exactly how big is the tear?" Quintus asked.

"Uh, about this," Decimus indicated a span with his thumb and middle finger of about VI unciae.

"If it's not more than that, I could do it," Quintus said.

"What do you want in return?" Decimus asked. There was a lively trade of chores in the camp, and surely something like this came with a price, even between the two of them.

Quintus put on an exaggerated affronted expression. "For that? What do you take me for? Haven't we been friends, ever since we puked side by side from exhaustion after our first march with full marching equipment?"

"I believe our friendship might precede that a bit," Decimus interjected.

"Right, it might actually. But that was the turning point, a real bonding experience," Quintus continued unfazed. "And what's more important, Aulus' dick is longer than that little tear, it won't take me long to fix that."

"What's Aulus' dick got to do with anything?" Decimus asked, a little warily.

"Just that it's longer than the tear in your clothes," Quintus replied. "Surely you've noticed his dick at some point."

He had, of course he had. It was difficult not to, sharing a tent with the guy and all. But he found he didn't like the idea of Quintus noticing it. He didn't like the idea of him being a size queen. Only really shameless, effeminate types were that. Oh, and women. Also because he regarded himself as fairly average in that regard. The possibility that Quintus might like them bigger wasn't something he wanted to consider.

Quintus looked up at him. "Oh, come on. You know what they say – big dick, small brain. And while Aulus is certainly a good guy, you wouldn't call him a genius, would you?"

Decimus glanced out of the tower. Was he really that easy to read? He'd have to be better at keeping his emotions in check.

"Besides, he's still pining for some girl back in Condate, for reasons unknown, and much to the chagrin of more than a few of the guys here," Quintus continued in a conversational tone.

Decimus kept staring out of the tower. "Are...are you one of those?" he finally asked in what he hoped was a suitably careless voice. Might as well get it over and done with, so he could get rid of those persistent thoughts.

Quintus was suddenly standing very close to him, his tunic and needle forgotten on the floor.
"No, I prefer people with more brain and an interest in me," he said, in a much lower voice, his breath tickling Decimus' cheek.

Decimus let go of his pilum, letting it rest against the railing, and put down his shield. "Brain? I don't think you'll find any with half a brain around here."

He cleared his throat and tried to meet Quintus' gaze.

Quintus smiled teasingly back at him. "Oh, actually I'd say one was standing right beside me in this very moment," he said. "Only he's been made to believe the opposite."

Quintus. Quintus and his funny insistence that Decimus wasn't a half-wit. Quintus with his lively hazel eyes and teasing smile. Quintus who leaned in and kissed him.

His stomach gave a lurch. Who'd installed a trap-door in the watch tower?

It felt just as good as the last time, if not better, not being powered by a potion this time. Quintus' soft lips, the prickle of stubble against his own lips, the feeling of them being joined together.
He parted his lips, welcomed Quintus' tongue into his mouth and made a small, choked sound when he felt the kiss deepen.

He felt Quintus' hands gripping his hips, holding him in place. Meanwhile his own hand had found Quintus' neck and caressed his nape.
He wished they weren't wearing any armour, as it felt uncomfortable being pressed up against the metal. He wished he could feel Quintus' naked body against his own, like on That Day, instead of this.

The closed construction of the watch tower was a good place to be in the winter when it provided shelter for the cold wind and rain, and it was even better now, as it concealed what they were doing.
They squirmed and twisted, trying to get closer to each other despite the restricting metal around their torsos. His other hand found Quintus' waist and somehow managed to squeeze a couple of fingers up under the armour, savouring what little he could feel of how the muscles of Quintus' stomach shifted underneath his fingertips. At the same time one of Quintus' hands had found its way to Decimus' ass, giving one buttock a squeeze and pulling their bodies closer still. The memory of Quintus' hands on that part of his anatomy sent shivers down Decimus' spine.

After what felt like an eternity, where he kept anticipating the sound of the trumpet announcing the change of guards, they broke apart, mostly to catch their breaths. Quintus kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Can you keep silent?" he asked, looking him straight in the eyes.

"About this? Absolutely," he answered. Not really any reason to face needless ridicule, was there?

"Not about the kissing, silly," Quintus replied. "I mean, are you capable of staying silent?"
He brushed his hand across Decimus' crotch, across his rapidly hardening cock. "If you get my drift?"

He swallowed. It was one thing doing these kinds of things when under the influence of a druid's unholy concoctions. Another altogether to be doing them with a comrade completely and utterly stone cold sober.

It wasn't really approved of. At best you were ridiculed, and people would mockingly be making snide remarks, asking you if you thought you were in the Greek army.
At worst it was a dishonourable discharge. The higher-ups didn't like interpersonal, amorous relations among the rank and file.
And then you could kiss your honour and that promised plot of land goodbye.

"I'm supposed to stand guard," he tried.

Quintus looked around. "Let's be real, we only have to fear an attack from those Gaulish madmen, and how much difference does it make in those instances that we're standing guard?"

He was loath to admit it, but Quintus was right.

"Besides, you wouldn't be the first guard to be, ahem, distracted," Quintus continued.

He swallowed again. What was Quintus hinting at? That he'd done whatever it was he wanted to do now, before, up here? He didn't like that thought, he realised.

"W-what do you mean?" he asked.

"That I've noticed others taking advantage of this location's relative privacy," Quintus replied, rubbing the heel of his hand against Decimus' hard-on.

He shivered at the sensations. "I-I can keep silent," he muttered.

Quintus dropped to his knees, pushed Decimus' tunic up and began unfastening his braccae. Decimus' eyes widened. No way was Quintus thinking of doing... But only whores and slaves did that! Sure, he'd sucked a cock here and there himself, but never when sober and he'd always felt terribly ashamed of it afterwards. And he had never, ever sucked the cock of someone he knew beforehand, sober or not, until That Day.

Quintus looked up at him, his hand caressing his cock. "You've got the nicest cock I've ever seen," he said, for once looking completely earnest, not breaking his stare. "Just wanted you to know that."

He was unsure what to reply, so all he got out was a rather lame "Thanks."
He bit his lip and stared at the wood-clad horizon as he felt Quintus take his cock in his mouth.
Oh. Oh. Breathe in. Breathe out. Quiet, through the nose. He felt certain he'd make a noise if he parted his lips.

Perhaps because he had to remain completely silent everything felt more intense. The tongue caressing the underside of his cock, broad and warm against his skin. Feeling engulfed in the wet heat. The hand gripping the base of his cock. The hand supporting itself against his thigh, caressing the soft skin of his inner thigh in the process. He gritted his teeth and focused his gaze on the bird of prey that was hovering above the treetops.

Then Quintus made a movement, taking the cock further in and he had to fight to keep standing upright and not to whimper in pleasure.
His knees were shaking as the pleasure kept building and he couldn't utter a sound.
Instead he clutched the railing so hard with his left hand that his knuckles turned white, while clinging to his pilum with his right.

He closed his eyes and swallowed, trying in vain to keep his breathing even. It was almost impossible. He could feel his pulse throbbing through his body, he could hear it pounding in his ears. He bit his lower lip even harder.

Was it even healthy to keep everything in like this? He felt like his entire body was going to explode from pleasure.

Then he made the mistake of looking down and saw his cock sliding out of Quintus' mouth, his lips stretched around the shaft.
The chill of the air on his spit-covered cock sent a jolt of pleasure through Decimus, and his legs were ever closer to giving out.
He could feel Quintus' tongue swirling around the head, and he gripped the railing tighter still in an attempt to stay grounded. When Quintus took the entire length in his mouth again, Decimus saw colours dance for his closed eyelids, and his heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest as the intensity of the orgasm nearly made him collapse.

But he never uttered a sound, not even a gasp.

Quintus let go of the cock, wiped the corners of his mouth and looked up at Decimus.

"You sure kept quiet," he muttered. "Was it any good?"

Decimus could only nod, not feeling sure his voice would obey him if he spoke. He could feel Quintus straightening his clothes, but otherwise his mind was still reeling from the orgasm, his heart still beating like crazy.

Quintus looked rather satisfied with himself, kneeling between his legs.

"Not the worst way to spend guard duty, is it?" he asked with a smirk.

"We'll get flogged if the centurion finds out," Decimus replied, somewhat hoarsely, leaning the pilum against the rails.

"I told you, he's asleep... or fucking one of the recruits, whichever comes first."
Quintus got to his feet, picked up the tunic and his satchel and turned to the ladder.

"Wait!" Decimus croaked, turning towards him. "What about you?" Using one of his comrades like a common whore, especially him, felt wrong.

Quintus winked at him. "You could come keep me company the next time I'm on guard duty," he said and climbed down the ladder.

Decimus turned around, picked up his shield and pilum and fixed his gaze on the gravel road leading towards the Gauls' forest. He could do that, yes. Seemed like a rather constructive way of passing one's afternoon.

~*~
Mini-glossary:

Quintilis: July

IV Id. Iun.: June 10th according to the pre-Julian calendar

(less than) II pedes: (less than) 60cm

(about) VI unciae: a little under 15 cm

Condate: The city Rennes