I'd been watching him for a week.
He was the new boy in town, freshly exported from Laconia, screwing his face up in thought at assembly as he tried to understand Theran-accented Greek. Leonidas sent him with the highest recommendations, and it was easy to see why; though trim, he could put a sword halfway through a shield with one overhead swing, and though more than a few of us watched him demonstrate it, most of our eyes were fixed on the flex in his arms as he brought the sword down.
His name was Amotion, and everyone called him The Young—nineteen summers old, freshest of the garrison. He showed it, too: mortified and red-faced when we caught him masturbating in the empty barracks, murmuring some woman's name over and over. If he'd been here a while longer he'd have known he could come to one of us, but all the city-bred thought you should only *truly* fuck younger boys. Something about intercourse between adults being a waste of energy. That line of thinking never really caught on out here in the sticks.
What mattered to me was his curly blonde hair. His toned and, I found out when he stripped for exercise the first time, shaven body—what odd practices they had in Laconia! And his voice, still halting and nervous around us, but so sure and reverberating in his war cry that my cock bulged obvious in my loincloth. He saw it one day—I helped him with a spear thrust during drills and stared at him the whole time—and took to blushing, eyes blatantly fixed on my crotch. I pulled the cloth aside, grasping myself stroking it firm in the sun; he gasped at the tear of precum I leaked, and I grinned at him.
"Krimon! Amotion! Why have you stopped?" asked our lieutenant, coming up behind me. I could hear the laugh he held back over the thud of his sandals in the dust, and didn't stop idly squeezing my dick.
"I—" Amotion stammered.
"I was showing him the proper grip, sir," I said, putting myself away and turning to attention. The lieutenant nodded sharply and continued on to a sparring pair further down the row, chuckling to himself.
We went back to practicing, Amotion saying nothing but howling all the louder once we sparred. That voice...
I could imagine it moaning.
A week after he arrived, I slapped his shoulder at the gym. He was panting from a workout, and looked up at me, puzzled.
"Come with me, Young," I said. "I want to show you something."
He followed me, confused but blushing something fierce, out of the gymnasium. It rested on the cliffs at the edge of the island, so we'd have the most sun for exercise; I led him away through the grasses surrounding, down the nearby trail, and along the cliff edge.
