She makes valid argument.

Unfettered.

Keep reading

Keep reading

He unleashed a gutteral moan, half-animal, half-man, completely lost to the heat of desire. Her voice echoed inside his head, spurring him on to move faster and with greater urgency. With her he could banish all thoughts that shackled mind, dispel all doubt that clawed at heavy heart. 

There was nothing graceful about the way he fucked her - it was pure instinct, driven by a deeper urge that welled inside him whenever he felt her touch. His manhood crashed against her like waves upon sand, as if mighty Neptune had awakened and sent his wrath to bear on the land. 

His mouth scoured her flesh hungrily, leaving no inch untouched or unworshipped. He assaulted her neck, lathered her chest and grasped her buttocks firmly. 

Gannicus in Spartacus: Gods of the Arena (2011) 

Unfettered.

Not once does she recoil, her tongue as devastating a weapon as her daggers. Victory had been seized and Saxa would see to proper celebration. Ragged palms explore thewy chest, the pads of dexterous fingers admiring each and every scar.

Vertebrae inclines rearward as brassiere is peeled from sun-kissed flesh, a sigh eliciting from flushed lips. Gratitude is expressed through the grinding of svelte hips, tawny tendrils tickling her spine.  Hands traverse to bestow the same fate upon lover’s subligaculum, though Saxa soon finds she is able to do so.

Germanic curses of old roll from sharp tongue, nails sinking into Gannicus’s scalp as warm mouth attacks pert bosom. Jaw hangs agape in response to greedy suckles, back punctually arching to allow him better leeway.

Her language was a rough, corse tongue he didn’t understand but found listening to it as pleasurable as the taste of her breasts. Gannicus lapped greedily, worshipping and exhalting her chest. The cool air greeted his cock when his sublegaria was removed, his shaft heavy with the thought of prying open warm and welcoming thighs. 

Gannicus wasted no time. He parted her legs and slipped inside her with the kind of grace he used to ignite the crowds before he sent an opponent to the afterlife. The finishing blow came quickly; his first thrust, quick and devastating.

The Celt found his rhythm, pumping into her while she writhed in his lap. His hands rested on her ass as he broke away from her chest to come up for air. His lips crashed upon hers with renewed vigour as his groans echoed through the tent. 

Dustin Clare as Gannicus in Spartacus: Gods of the Arena (2011) [x]

You are proof then. That basest clay can be moulded into something of worth.

Unfettered.

Worn fingers traverse to find themselves among tresses of ecru, a tug promptly proffered as familiar tongue is soon wrestling her own. One leg is soon lifted && coiled ‘round lover’s waist, arms securing their hold around his neck.

Saxa pulls away for but a moment, chest heaving with regained breath && the aftermath of long-awaited pleasure. A grin prevails upon chiseled visage, a glint settling in tempestuous gaze; the night has only begun.

Gyrating upon calloused heel, the warrior is swift to push Gannicus upon the plush klinē before settling herself in his lap. A guffaw punctually erupts, fingers gripping the back of the Celt’s head soon after.

He welcomed her burst of control as he fell back onto cushions. His arm remained locked around her, a wry grin spreading across his rugged features. His mouth attacks her again, fierce, fiery exchanges that make him feel as if he’s clashing swords with another warrior in the arena. This was as close as he got to replicating the feeling. 

Gannicus caressed the contours of her flesh, mapping them to his palms. He thought he knew every inch of her body but she still found ways to surprise him with a fresh scar or new blemish. The Celt was quick to peel off her clothing, finding it too restrictive.

No sooner had her breasts come free did his mouth move across them. He buried his face between the valley and ran his lips over the mountainous peaks. He suckled greedily, possessively, as if her tits were a fountain of endless water and he’d been parched for his entire life. 

Her words passed over him as water rolling off his back. He neither knew nor cared for their meaning. “Lofty titles for one who claims she is no child and hurls them as petulant infant when she does not have her way.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “There will always be slaves as there will always be death. To dream of anything else is but folly.” 

External image

There was an audible laugh from her lips as rolled her eyes. “If I am a child, then you act as though your a hopeless woman.” She snarled at him. “How does one not want to help others be freed from their slavers?” Dany looked at him, eyes narrowing. “Things are already is motion for change.”

The gladiator bristled at her comment, dark eyes flaring. “I have seen rebellion. Seen those who rise up in attempt and put to slaughter and crucified. Death brings only more death. You know naught of slavery. Do not think it puts us on equal footing. My freedom came as I was trained to fight, to water the sand with tears of blood. I am a gladiator. All others tend their masters and have no taste of battle. This is why they fall in attempt.”

“Do you now?” Gannicus gave her a fleeting glance. She was a pretty thing, a foolish girl who’d wandered into a place she didn’t belong. “You stand absent proper means. For there is naught to give. My desire is only solitude and a reprieve from foolish girls who know not what they ask.” 

External image

Daenerys couldn’t help but laugh to herself. The only man in the city who did not know who she was. “I am not foolish girl. I am the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons, I am a Khaleesi. I am Daenerys Stormborn, and I will not be treated as though I am a child. The men, women, and children that were former slaves in Meeran were freed because of me.”

Her words passed over him as water rolling off his back. He neither knew nor cared for their meaning. “Lofty titles for one who claims she is no child and hurls them as petulant infant when she does not have her way.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “There will always be slaves as there will always be death. To dream of anything else is but folly.” 

He snorted, a quick, dismissive noise. Again, his reputation proceeded him but it brought him no comfort, no release from his guilt. He gazed at his reflection in the dark red liquid. “No man is ever truly free,” he muttered, more to himself than to the girl who would not leave him be. “A lifetime of blood and battle,” he replied, taking another swig from his jug. “I’ve given answer. Leave me to my drink.”

External image

“I want to make you an offer.” She stopped again, and placed her hands on the table. “I need a man who knows how to fight, one that knows how to wield a sword.” She cocked a brow, and licked her lips. “I will pay you with much gold, and whatever else you desire.”

“Do you now?” Gannicus gave her a fleeting glance. She was a pretty thing, a foolish girl who'd wandered into a place she didn’t belong. “You stand absent proper means. For there is naught to give. My desire is only solitude and a reprieve from foolish girls who know not what they ask.” 

“Speak your purpose. I have no wish for company.” The gladiator grunted, not looking up from his drink. Gannicus lifted his jug, draining the wine that tasted both sweet and bitter on his lips. He had come to the tavern to drink alone, perhaps even drown in it if the gods willed it. Such was deserved fate for a man without honour. 

External image

Nodding at Greyworm to stand guard on the other side of the door. Once it was shut, she removed the hood that hid her face. “I hear you are a man who broke free of slavery. Without the help of any other.” She raised a brow slightly, sitting down at the table. “How? If I may ask did you achieve that.”

He snorted, a quick, dismissive noise. Again, his reputation proceeded him but it brought him no comfort, no release from his guilt. He gazed at his reflection in the dark red liquid. “No man is ever truly free,” he muttered, more to himself than to the girl who would not leave him be. “A lifetime of blood and battle,” he replied, taking another swig from his jug. “I’ve given answer. Leave me to my drink.”

Spartacus: Vengeance - Gannicus