Their First Valentine's Day

Author's Note: This was written for the Valentine's Day contest here in good ole' 2025. I thought I'd try something different from my usual fare, and I hope you like it. This is historical fiction with a lot of license and hopefully what you all consider some good sex and a romance you all will enjoy. I had fun writing it. If you like it, please like and rate the post, as this is the how the contest works. Thanks for reading!

-----------------------------

The feast had been going for hours now. Crispian had seen nothing like it in his twenty years. The people, the food, the wine, the rooms, it was decadent and extravagant, the kind of thing that could only happen in Rome.

Titus Flavius Crispianus, soldier of Rome, Praetorian Guardsman, had spent much of his life in service. He'd served his father, a Senator, in the field until he was seventeen, when he moved to the Legions in his own right. He'd served in Gaul, before returning to Rome earlier this year having been singled out by his commander for a singular honor -- serving the Emperor in his Praetorian Guard. Marcus Aurelius Claudius, Claudius II, had ascended to his Imperium in 268. A year later, he was here, in Rome, gathering his forces to repel an invasion of the Goths in the eastern portion of the Empire.

The Empire was crumbling. For nearly fifty years, since the assassination of Emperor Severus Alexander by his own troops, the Empire had been in anarchy. Dozens of Emperors had been declared, almost as many had been ratified by the Senate, and now there were three competing Empires within the borders of the venerable Roman hegemony built by Augustus and Marcus Aurelius, Hadrian, Domitian and many other renowned names from history.

This feast was a perfect example of the decadence, the debauchery, the sheer excess of the men who claimed to follow in the footsteps of the Caesars. It turned Crispian's stomach. At the same time, there was a base feeling in him, a carnal desire that rose as he looked over the room, seeing so many beautiful people, eating, drinking, listening to music and making merry. The part of him that was truly Roman, the dark part that he knew lived inside all men, that part wanted so much to be a part of what he was seeing.

Then there was the secret part. The part he dared not discuss publicly, the part that was deep within his heart of hearts. He carried with him a secret that could cost him his life if it were to see the bright light of day. He kept it inside him, under the proverbial bushel. He had no choice.

He was a Christian.

His family were true Flavians, not some of the jumped-up former slaves who had taken the nomen when the Flavian Emperors reigned supreme a century and a half ago. They had freed tens of thousands of slaves, who adopted the gens Flavia as their own in honor of their emancipators. Crispian's family could trace itself back generations, to Titus Flavius Petro, who had served under Pompey the Great during the Civil War, and who was the grandfather of the Emperor Vespasian. His family had ruled in Egypt for a time, and he had grown up in Alexandria. It was there, as a young child he met a holy man, named Anthony, who had taught him about the Christ, had converted him from the pagan religion of his family, and had given him the small wooden cross he wore to this day under his armor.

Anthony led an ascetic life, one shorn of all earthly delights. He wondered what his friend would say about the scene before him.

The feast had been going on for nearly six hours. The amount of food and wine that had been brought in by the slaves was staggering. There were whole deer, whole pigs, exotic fruits and other delicacies by the score, piled high on the tables before the Emperor. Wine flowed from large clay jars into the most beautiful goblets of pure gold and silver. Men and women reclined, ate to excess, then slept, awaking to eat more. Dancers and musicians flitted around the room, filling the air with melodious sounds.

Crispian frowned as he thought of how all this food could have gone to feed the poor. He remembered Anthony quoting the Gospel to him. "If you want to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasures in heaven." Anthony had drilled that into his head as a child. And he remembered it to this day, even after Anthony had gone off into the western desert and Crispian had followed his father to war.

The rigors of campaign had made Crispian strong and hard. He was tall for a Roman, standing nearly six feet. His arms and legs were sinewy muscle, his waist small and his shoulders broad. His curly brown hair was shorn short, the better to fit under his helmet, and his beard was also clipped short, in the style of his Flavian forebears. His piercing blue eyes set him apart, were often remarked upon by men and women. He looked imposing, standing behind the Emperor, along with a dozen of his fellow guardsmen, his gladius at his hip, his armor gleaming, the purple of his tunic and the red of the feathers in this bronze helmet adding a splash of color. He held a pilum, the standard Roman spear from time immemorial in his right hand, leaning on it as he entered the seventh hour of his duty guarding the Emperor at his feast.

He was tired, but this was his duty. His honor. And his shame.

It was only a matter of time, he knew, before the emperor would shift from feasting to fucking. These feasts were not common, but when they happened, they were truly remarkable in their excess. Claudius II was fond of wine and wenches, and he filled his feasts with men and women who shared his lusts. Some were former slaves, some mere prostitutes, others were from the finest families in Rome. All of them loved to eat, drink and fornicate, largely in that order.

This was the second feast this month, and Crispian knew it would be the biggest. The Emperor had just announced he would be headed to the Bosporus with an army to defend against an attack by the Goths. Crispian's family had heard from their relatives in Egypt that Queen Zenobia, Queen regent of Palmyra, was heading towards them with an army bent on conquest, which had sent many of them fleeing back to Rome for their lives. The Gauls were restless, and the Empire itself was beset on all sides.

And the Emperor responded with feasts and orgies. The worse the news, the bigger the feast. And since he planned to be leaving Rome for an extended period of campaigning, he wanted this last feast to be the biggest and the best. It didn't hurt that today was the first day of spring, eight days before the Ides of Februarius, a common festival day celebrating the arrival of the new season. Eight days from now was also Lupercalia, held yearly on the Ides of Februarius. It was the festival of purification and fertility, and the day before the army was set to leave on campaign.

"Romans! You have been fed, and you have been watered. Now it's time for us to enjoy more sublime delights," Claudius said, clapping his hands and attracting the attention of the entire room. "Clear the room and let us proceed to the next act in our festivities for this evening," he ordered.

He was of average height for a Roman, five foot seven or so, with tight curly hair, like Crispian's, and a longer beard, perfumed and curled. To his right was a woman, not his wife, whom he had been feeding by hand most of the evening. She was voluptuous, with large breasts and wide hips, long hair that cascaded down her back in dark brown rivulets. On his other side was another woman, the opposite of the one on his right. Smaller and mousey, with a flat chest and short blonde hair, she looked like a youthful man, rather than a woman, like a pixie. Only her manner of dress made it clear she was female. Claudius loved the contrast.

At the Emperor's command, the room was cleared of most of the food, although there were still some trays piled with sweets and candied fruits for those who wished to continue their epicurean fantasies while watching the more flesh-based ones that would fill the room shortly.

The musicians cleared out, and the dancers left, soon to be replaced by a second set, this time more exotic. These were nude, bedecked with laurel wreaths and ribbons tied around their arms, ribbons tied around the penises of the men, some around the thighs of the women to add a bit of adornment to their soft, supple flesh. The musicians soon returned as well, equally nude, and their music began to fill the air, lending the room a soft, sensual feel.

The Emperor kicked things off by turning to the large breasted woman on his right and kissing her. The small pixie looking woman stood up and began to massage the Emperor's back, sliding his toga from around his shoulders, and soon baring his chest. Her hands worked into his neck muscles, as he continued kissing his large breasted mistress, his hands reaching into the folds of her dress, and finding those beautiful mounds that he had been staring at greedily for most of the evening. Claudius was a breast man, and he was looking forward to getting his mouth on the two pert nipples he knew were lurking underneath his mistress's tunic.

With this, the crowd followed suit, and men and women began paring off, and more than a few women paired up with members of their own gender. Claudius was a patron of the sapphic form of love, but he condemned male on male sexual intercourse, and thus none of the men here paired off with men, although Crispian was sure plenty of the men in the room had done so in the past.

Crispian held tightly to his pilum. He could feel his cock stirring underneath his armor, but he was in no position to do anything about it. The flowers that had been liberally sprinkled from above by slaves to land around the sofas of the diners and had been crushed underfoot as food and drink was distributed. They made the air sweet. The music of the flutes and the stringed instruments he didn't recognize added to the raw sexuality of the scene. And soon, the bodies of the men and women in the room would be bare, and the furious copulation that Claudius so enjoyed would mark the closing hours of the feast.

The pixie woman had stripped Claudius nude, and the Emperor stood before his subjects, his phallus erect, being stroked by his mistress, who had also removed all her clothes, her beautiful breasts on display for the entire room. A murmur went through the crowd has she began to fellate the Emperor, a taboo act that Roman ladies weren't supposed to perform, let alone enjoy. The Emperor definitely seemed to enjoy it, though, as he threw his head back and gasped audibly. The pixie woman moved around behind the Emperor's mistress and was massaging her back, pushing her head up and down on Claudius' cock, and grabbing handfuls of the other woman's breasts.

Crispian tore himself away from this spectacle and looked around the room. Many of the other couples had finally undressed themselves, and there were more than a few women who, taking advantage of the mostly empty tables, had laid down and found themselves being fucked by their male partners. He saw one man, darker skinned with a likely African or Carthaginian background, whose penis was far larger than most of those around him. He had his choice of women, and had chosen, oddly enough, a small wisp of a woman, who looked to be no older than Crispian, maybe in her early twenties. Crispian couldn't believe the man could fit that monster phallus into such a tiny woman, but he was soon disabused of that notion, watching as the dusky African shoved his enormous cock into her vagina, causing the woman to gasp and scream, drawing the Emperor's attention.

The Emperor smiled at the sight, watching the well-endowed man hump the tiny woman as he enjoyed the sensation of his mistress's mouth on his cock. The pixie woman had crawled underneath the mistress and was lapping at her cunny.

Crispian looked left and looked right at his fellow Praetorians. Most of them were staring openly. His friend Cassius had a lewd smile on his face, and the Centurion of the Sixth Cohort, who was in charge of this small honor guard for the Emperor, was licking his lips and shifting on his feet. The carnality before them, even more than the food and drink, was having an impact on all of the soldiers.

There's was not to wonder why, there's was but to watch and wait, unfortunately. Crispian said a prayer to the Lord, begging his forgiveness for being present in a room where such licentiousness was on display.

The Lord did not respond to his prayer, nor did the scene in front of him dissipate. In fact, it got louder and more raucous. The Emperor had pushed his mistress against the table, lifting her off the couch they had been reclining on. He had taken her from behind, grunting with the effort as he fucked her hard and fast. She was laying on top of the pixie woman, their bodies squashed together, the pixie woman kissing and sucking the mistress's chest and face whenever the Emperor slowed down.

Similar scenes played out throughout the room. Men and women coupled furiously, women kissing women, their legs scissoring each other as they reached towards climax. Some of the couples had emulated the Emperor, the men taking their women from behind. Others reclined on their couches, one man holding his lady's leg on his shoulder as he plowed into her cunt, her breasts bouncing lewdly.

Not a few of the couples had reached orgasm, and were taking a break, slipping sweetmeats into their mouths and watching the sex around them. Crispian saw one woman, naked as the day she was born, walking slowly from sofa to sofa, looking closely at all couples mating, her eyes and mouth betraying their merriment.

The Emperor had pulled out of his mistress, who stepped to the side and behind him, holding on to him and rubbing his chest as he began to fuck the pixie woman. Her tiny breasts were cute, and her laugh was bubbly as the Emperor plowed into her. She squealed with delight each time his cock bottomed out in her, and he smiled each time he did it. It was clear he intended to finish with the pixie, because he was fucking her far harder than he had been his mistress.

Soon enough, the Emperor withdrew his penis from the woman, and, taking it into his hand, he erupted, spilling his seed all over her vulva and lower abdomen. The pixie girl screamed with delight.

He sat down, spent, on his sofa, and the two women snuggled up close to him. He put his arm around each of them, and the three watched as the rest of the room continued the orgy.

Crispian began looking around the room, knowing what he was seeing was wrong, images of hellfire and eternal damnation appearing before his eyes and making him fearful to continue enjoying the spectacle in front of him. He searched the ceilings, the corners, anywhere for a patch of space that held no writhing bodies and tried desperately to block out the sounds from his ears and the smells from his nose.

In the corner, closest to the door, he saw a sight that shocked him. Dressed as a slave, carrying a jug of wine, was Octavia Valeria.

His Octavia Valeria. His woman. The woman he loved. The woman he hoped to take to wife when his military service was completed. Here she was, standing in this room filled with fornicating nobles, base prostitutes and slaves. Holding a pitcher of wine. Her hood was up, and her face was partially in shadow, but he would know that body, that stance anywhere.

Why was she here? What was she doing here? How did she even get in? All of these questions plagued him, but he would have no answers until later that night, when he finally came off duty, and he could sneak from the barracks off to the small hovel she kept nearby to be as close to him as she could be. Her family was rich, she was noble like he was, but she often claimed to her parents she was tending to the sick and needy and that allowed her a limited amount of freedom, including late night visits to the hovel to see him. They were supposed to meet this very night, but apparently, she couldn't wait and snuck into the Emperor's feast to catch a glimpse of him.

He knew she was a sheltered girl, only nineteen, and was probably shocked at what she was seeing. Crispian, being a soldier, had learned about the birds and the bees from camp followers and by now was a seasoned veteran of the cubiculum. He had no idea how he was going to explain this to her when he saw her tonight.

He had also had plans, very important plans for the evening, and he was afraid what she was seeing was going to spoil them all. He hoped not, but the longer she stood in the corner watching, the more likely it was going to be that someone would notice her and perhaps drag her into the festivities.

Crispian started edging over slightly, waggling the end of his pilum to try to get her attention. She apparently was captivated by the scene before her, and didn't notice him. He waggled harder, and then finally took a step forward.

"Mind your post!" the Centurion growled at him softly, and Crispian stopped moving. The movement, a distinctly non-sexual movement in a room filled with writhing bodies, finally drew Octavia's attention, and he made eye contact with her, the first time of the night. He could see her green eyes, even from this distance, a whole room length away, the firelight from the torches in the sconces on the wall casting a flickering glow across her face. He could see her face now, could see the mixture of fear and interest in her eyes. She smiled softly when she saw him looking at her.

He gestured roughly with his head, nodding at her and then gesturing again, giving her a signal to leave. She understood what he meant immediately, and she ducked out of the entrance to the room and left his sight.

Crispian sighed, thankful she hadn't got caught and was no longer watching the Emperor's debauch.

The sounds of wild copulation continued unabated for hours, as he stood his post, resolutely, counting the minutes until he could leave the scene, strip off his armor and fall into Octavia's arms.

* * *

It was close to midnight when Crispian made it to the hovel. He'd had to bribe one of his fellow guards with a few denarii to let him slip from the barracks without being seen.

Octavia was waiting for him, the dusty room lit by a single oil lamp she had appropriated from her parents' home, a rough loaf of bread and a wineskin filled with the cheap, sour wine they both preferred.

"Octavia, what on earth compelled you to witness that abominable display today?" Crispian asked her, after he had taken her into his arms and kissed her deeply. She broke a piece from the loaf of hard, millet bread and handed it to Crispian, who ate it, washing it down with a pull from the wineskin.

"I didn't know they were going to be doing... that!" Octavia replied, laughing and blushing at the same time. "You told me it was a feast, and it would last all day. That's a long time to be standing in one spot, and I thought I would sneak in, dressed as a slave, and see you. Hopefully my presence would help to ease your burden while at your post, love," she said. "By the time I was able to convince my parents I was going to tend to the sick and needy again, it was late in the afternoon, and I arrived just as they were clearing the food from the room. I still wanted to see you, though," she said. She rested her hand on his chest and looked up into those brilliant blue eyes that had first attracted her to him.

Octavia had been a striking child and had blossomed into a lovely young woman. Her jet-black hair she wore long and loose, although it was curled as was fashionable. If she had been going out publicly without her veil, she would have spent hours curling and primping, piling her hair into an extravagant mass of braids and curls, but she was pretending to be a slave that day, and her hair fell full down her back. Underneath her loose-fitting garments, Crispian knew he would find a lithe, supple body, with firm breasts and wide hips, his own personal Venus. They had not lain together, although they had come close on a number of occasions. Too often, their trysts in the hovel were cut short by her need to return home or his duty schedule. That they had managed to keep their relationship secret was largely based on his ability to scheme, and her parents' willingness to allow their youngest daughter -- she had four sisters and five older brothers -- far more latitude than their other children.