A knock at his door woke Valentine.

He opened his eyes and saw that the sky was dark. It was still night, but he could see well enough; a little light filtered through the trees of the forest that was his home. The small house that was his nestled in the middle of the forest. It was not large but afforded him a lot of privacy.

He was used to living alone. He’d had many lovers, many men who had come to his bed, but none that would stay. None who would give him the love he so desperately needed.

He supposed he should look for the humor in this. After all, he was a high priest that performed the rite of marriage, yet love avoided him.

The knock came again at the door, and he swing his feet out of bed. Putting on a simple, white cotton robe, the wooden floor soft and warm under his feet, he made his way to the small foyer of his home and opened the door.

A man stood in the shadow of the door’s overhang. Valentine could make out broad shoulders and large hands; one of which clutched a broom.

“Are you Kalus Valentine?” the man asked. His voice was deep and rich, like fire whiskey.

Valentine nodded. “Yes.” He wasn’t sure why, but this man frightened him.

“May I come in? I have a few questions for you.”

“By all means.” Valentine stepped aside so the man could enter. When he saw what the man was wearing, he realized the reason for his fear.

The man wore the traditional dress of the Roman soldiers. A gold breastplate covered his broad chest, and his shoulders were draped in a small, red cape. A leather kilt hung from his hips to just above his knees.

He glimpsed the man’s taunt stomach and the trail of hair that led down from his belly into the folds of the kilt. Simple sandals covered his feet, with leather straps entwined around his large calves.

It was not just the uniform of a Roman soldier that scared him. It was the way the man looked. He wore no helmet. He had straight, red hair that framed his face in a riot of curls and stopped just short of his shoulders. His face was wide, with a strong chin covered in red and gold stubble. He stopped himself from touching the man’s skin, which was tanned a deep golden brown.

It was the eyes that held him in place. They were a deep, piercing green. Indeed, in the dim light of the foyer, it looked as if they were glowing. He had never seen a more beautiful man, and his heart beat faster. The soldier slid his gaze up and down Valentine, as if searching for something. The eyes seemed to probe him, to see into him.

He looked away as he grew hard beneath the cotton robe. Heat infused his skin and seeped into his cheeks.

The man closed the door behind him with a soft click and turned back to look at him. “I am Asterius of the Royal Guard. Do you know why I am here?”

Again, Valentine enjoyed the cadence of his voice, the deepness of it. “No,” he said, struggling to make his voice sound normal. “I do not.”

“I am here to return this.” He held up the broom. “I am told it belongs to you.”

With Asterius’ eyes on him, Valentine’s cock jerked underneath his robe. He hoped the solider could not see his dick moving in answer to his presence. However, as if reading Valentine’s thoughts, the man looked down. His gaze lingered there, and Valentine grew even harder.

Turning away from him, Valentine went into the fireplace, speaking over his shoulder. “I have never seen that broom. Who was it that told you it belonged to me?”

“We found it in the home of a young couple. A young, married couple. They said that there was a Pagan priest that lived in the forest, though they would not give me a name.”

Valentine busied himself with making a cup of tea. He poured water into a kettle and turned his back to the guard so that he could not see him light a fire beneath the kettle with a touch of his finger to the kindling. Asking Lupercus for strength, he dropped a handful of tea leaves into the now boiling water. The scent of jasmine filled the small room.

“I am but a simple man,” Valentine said. “I live on my own and do not bother anyone. Surely there are other Pagan men beside myself in these trees?”

Asterius came in and stood behind him, his body heat warming Valentine’s back. He wanted to press his body against the guard’s, let that heat touch his skin.

Still holding the broom, Asterius moved closer to Valentine. “There is no one else that lives in the forest. We have searched it thoroughly. There is no one that lives here but you.”

Valentine turned to say something to him and found himself face-to-face with him. He could sense heat rising from Asterius’ skin, could see dark flecks of brown in his green eyes and the individual colors of his stubble. Valentine’s cock grew harder still; Asterius must have felt it, too, for he looked down again and stared at Valentine’s dick pulsing beneath the white fabric.

Asterius smiled, a sparkle in his eyes. In a whisper, he asked, “Are you sure the broom is not yours?”

Valentine nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His heart stopped when Asterius reached out a hand and ran a finger from his throat to his breastbone, where the robe had opened at the top. Heat grew where Asterius touched him, and his penis pulsed in response.

Valentine stood in shocked wonder as Asterius lowered his face and brushed his lips against his, kissing them softly. A spark jumped between them.

When Asterius pulled back from the kiss, Valentine felt as if he were a deer caught in a trap. His heart pounded, his skin tingled.

Then Asterius smiled and stood the broom against the kitchen doorway. “The next time I come to see you, would you mind offering me a cup of tea?”

Numb, Valentine watched as Asterius let himself out of the small cottage, closing the door behind him with a soft click.