The ground shuddered beneath Pompeii like the slow exhale of a beast long asleep. Dust clawed at the soldiers' lungs, and the smell of smoke and ash choked the city streets. Varro spat onto the cracked stone, polished boots sinking slightly in the powdery gray.
"Damn this city," he growled, voice low, lethal. "If the empire doesn't kill it, the mountain will."
Severian Pyrrhus stood a few paces away, fingers brushing the hilt of his gladius. The heat from Vesuvius was unnatural, the wind carrying whispers only he could hear. "You feel it, don't you?" he said, voice low, dangerous. "Pompeil awakens. The old god. He's angry."
Varro snorted, venom in his laugh. "You're shitting yourself over stones and smoke, Pyrrhus. Gods don't exist. Not here. Not anywhere men bend steel over bone."
"I've seen his wrath," Severian spat back. Ash clung to his lips. "I've seen men die screaming without a sword touching them. You'll see soon enough, motherfucker."
Varro laughed, brittle and sharp. "Then we'll see whose balls are bigger on the battlefield, you holy bastard. I've crushed legions, and I'll crush you too if you step out of line."
Severian stepped closer, chest nearly brushing Varro's, eyes alight with heat—not just from the volcano. "I envy you," he hissed. "Your courage, your arrogance, the way men obey you without question. I hate it. I want it. And I'll make you bleed before Pompeil spares you."
Varro's hand twitched, brushing Severian's arm, deliberately, dominance in touch. "Then bleed with me, Pyrrhus. And while we're at it," he said, leaning closer so their breaths mingled, "we'll see whose steel—and whose cock—marks Pompeii's fate."
Severian smirked, dark, sharp. He pressed closer, deliberately brushing against Varro's chest armor, fingers grazing the leather strap of his baldric. "You think I fear you?" he said, voice low, dangerous. "I fuck men, women, anyone who earns my attention. You?"
"I fuck them all," Varro admitted, teeth flashing. "And I take what I want. Soldiers, noblewomen, queens. Men. Women. All of them." He stepped in, lips close to Severian's ear. "I'll bend you if I want, Pyrrhus. And maybe I do."
Severian's eyes darkened. "Try it," he murmured. "See if your empire, your steel, and your cock is enough to dominate me."
Varro laughed, low and lethal. "Oh, I'll try. And you'll learn why men like me survive Pompeii, and gods tremble before us."
Ash fell heavier, like the god was personally scouring the streets. A soldier screamed, collapsing in a cloud of dust. Varro waved him off. "Idiots. You'll get yourselves killed if you think the earth cares about your prayers."
Severian's hand lingered over the ritual dagger at his belt, thumb brushing the cold steel. "The mountain speaks, Varro. And it says this city will burn unless I obey."
Varro's lips twisted in a grin, teeth glinting. "Then let him come. Let the motherfucker come. We'll kill him if he touches this city. And if he tries to touch us…" He leaned in, voice dropping low, "…we'll fuck him first."
Severian smirked, chest rising, fingers flexing over his gladius. "Better hope your steel is sharper than your tongue, Varro. Gods don't die so easily. Men do. And I'll decide which one of us does first."
Ash swirled between them. Fire glittered on the horizon. Pompeii remembered.
And in that swirling cloud of dust and smoke, the two men stared each other down—not lovers, not friends, but predators sizing up the only other creature as ruthless, arrogant, and dangerous as themselves.