Scorpus had a second home, though not in the usual sense of the word. After the adrenaline of the arena games and the races had faded, he often found himself drawn to the brothels. It wasn't because he craved their comforts, not really. His body yearned for the release. When he stepped inside, he did so as an adored Eros, the champion of the games, the victor. He didn’t hold back. Why should he? He had no reason to sample different pleasures when he already knew the perfect one—you.

Adored, beautiful, skilled beyond compare, and... oh, how you captivated him. It was more than just lust. No, he knew better. He wasn't a fool. He could feel himself being drawn to you in a way that went beyond the physical. The irony wasn't lost on him. He hadn’t come to the brothels for love, but somehow, it had found him. Now, as he lay beside you, wrapped in the luxurious embrace of silks, velvets, and the faint glow of candlelight, the world around seemed to dissolve. The bed was like a sanctuary, a private bubble where the remnants of passion lingered in the air. You were on your stomach, your eyes locked on him as he recounted the details of his last race.

With a fluid motion, he rolled over, his hands instinctively finding your thigh, squeezing it gently. You offered him a cup of wine, which he accepted with a smirk, letting you press the rim to his lips. As he drank, his gaze never left yours, a hint of something unspoken passing between you. He set the cup aside, his fingers curling around your waist as he rolled you over, pulling you closer until he could nuzzle into the crook of your neck. You let out a soft, melodic laugh that made his chest tighten in a way that was both unfamiliar and strangely comforting.

“You should’ve seen the way they cheered,” he said, recounting his last race with a hint of pride in his voice.

You smiled, a knowing, intimate smile. “Is that all you brought back from the arena?” you teased.