Page 40 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

He chops the anchovies and mixes them with salt in a large bowl, his hands working with practiced ease.

“The salt draws out the liquid from the fish,” he explains. “Maybe in the spring we’ll find some wild herbs and can add them to the mixture for flavor.Origanum,anetum, maybe somefaeniculiif we can find it.”

Oregano, dill, and fennel? What are the odds? I watch, fascinated despite myself, as he transfers the mixture to the old pottery container we painstakingly cleaned. “And then what?”

“Now, we wait.” Varro’s eyes are gleaming. “For months, the mixture will ferment in the sun. The fish breaks down, creating a delicious liquid.”

I wrinkle my nose at the thought. “Months? Varro, you shouldn’t expect me to eat that. The smell alone…”

He laughs, a deep, rich rumble that never fails to warm me. “Don’t worry, Laura. More for me. Though I bet I can change your mind once it’s ready.”

“Fat chance,” I mutter, but I can’t help smiling at his enthusiasm.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this. Because of the smell, there were laws about how close to the city one could produce garum.”

“I didn’t know that, but…” I take a dramatic whiff, “I believe you.”

As the days pass, the garum becomes a constant presence in our lives. Varro checks on it regularly, stirring the mixture three to four times a day. He even found a few herb packets that were lying around the old compound, discarded from old pizza MREs. He couldn’t wait to return to the cottage to add them to the sludge. The smell, pungent and fishy, permeates the area.

“By all that’s holy, Varro,” I groan one particularly smelly afternoon. “Can’t we move that… farther from the house?”

He looks up from where he’s tending the garum, his brow furrowed. “But then how would I protect it from animals? Or the weather?”

“Come on! No animal would come within a hundred yards of that thing.” I sigh, knowing he has a point about the weather. “Fine. But you owe me big time for this.”

Varro grins, his eyes gleaming at having won this round. “I’ll make it up to you. Perhaps I’ll teach you some gladiator moves.”

“Oh joy,” I deadpan, but I can’t help laughing. Frankly, with so little entertainment on our little island: dancing, teaching him English, and literally watching the fire at night, learning some fighting moves might not be such a terrible idea.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Laura

From the day we moved in, I noticed Varro’s habit of taking frequent trips outside, even on the coldest days. At first, I thought nothing of it, assuming he was gathering firewood or checking on the garum. But when he leaves now, even though it’s flurrying out there, a realization hits me.

He’s taking care of himself. I guess I should appreciate that he’s not rubbing one out in the cottage like he did that night when we shared my little tent.

A mixture of emotions washes over me: embarrassment, irritation, and… arousal. I try to push the thoughts away, but they persist. It’s not like I haven’t been dying to do a little self-care of my own, but I’m always afraid he’ll walk in on me.

My mind throws me images of the handsome gladiator, partially obscured by flurries, his sweats pulled just low enough on his hip bones so he can pull his cock out, his tanned hand stroking his length. I’ve seen him naked, though never hard. I caught glimpses right around the time he was trying to choke me to death. But still, I’ve seen enough of his perfect body to be able to picture in 3D and living color what he’s doing out there.

Maybe what irritates me is the imagined look of bliss on his face as he comes in ropey spurts with a pleasured groan. I, on the other hand, haven’t come since Varro awakened. Between the stench of garum, the crushing boredom, and Varro’s outdoor forays which are unpredictable in length, I’ve never found the right time. For whatever reason, the frequency of his “walks” has gotten on my last nerve.

With a little grunt of confidence, I decide to tackle the elephant in the room. When Varro returns, cheeks flushed from the cold (and probably something else), I clear my throat.

“You know…” I try to keep my tone casual, “if you’re going to… plant your seed so often, you might as well do it in the garden.”

Varro freezes, his eyes wide. For a moment, I worry I’ve overstepped. But then a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Is that so?” His voice is low, amused. “And what kind of crop do you think that might yield?”

I feel my cheeks heat, but I forge ahead. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe… cucumbers?” Odd how that particular phallic vegetable popped into my mind.

Varro throws his head back and laughs, the sound filling our small cottage. “Cucumbers, eh? I’ll have you know, my seed is far more valuable than mere vegetables.”

“Oh really?” I raise an eyebrow, relief flooding through me at his easy response. “And what exactly do you think you’re growing out there? A forest of gladiators?”

He grins, playing along. “Perhaps. Though I’m not sure why I’d do that. You can barely tolerate one gladiator, much less a legion of them.”

---