#geta au

he stands at the edge of the peristyle garden, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the darkened fountain where moonlight breaks itself into fragments upon the water’s surface. somewhere inside, voices carry — measured, satisfied, final. his mother has spoken. the future has been decided with the same careless precision used to choose a new mosaic or a favored horse.

you.

your name sits in his chest like a blade twisted sideways.

he had known before the words were spoken, had felt it in the way his mother would not meet his eyes, in the way his brother’s mouth curved — not quite a smile, and not quite surprise. ownership, perhaps. or triumph. geta has tasted that same bitterness often enough to recognize it.

still, when the sentence came — she will be wed to caracalla — it had struck with the dull finality of a death knell.

and geta had left before anyone could look too closely at him.

now, alone, he allows himself what rome never seems able to give him : a moment’s respite.

you had not been careless with one another. that was the cruelest part. you had never been a dalliance, never just a warm body hidden behind silk and shadows. you had been chosen. by him. by his heart, against his better judgment, against the empire itself. in quieter moments — your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing idle patterns at his wrist — he had let himself imagine a life that did not feel like a battlefield.

betrothal. legitimacy. a future that was yours.

instead, rome has reached in and torn the thread clean through.

geta closes his eyes, and memory betrays him instantly : the warmth of your skin, the soft certainty with which you always say his name, as though it belongs to you alone. as though it will always be safe in your mouth.

now you, and every beautiful thing that comes with you, will be given to his brother.

caracalla — who takes and breaks and burns everything he touches. who will never see you as geta does. who will never kneel to listen when you speak, never soften his voice for you alone.

the thought makes that same knife twist beneath geta’s ribs.

he turns at the sound of approaching footsteps, already knowing who it will be. he had felt your presence long before he saw you — like a change in the air, like a wound reopening.

geta says your name quietly.

there is so much he cannot say. so much he should not. walls have ears. rome devours weakness.

but when his gaze meets yours, all that discipline fractures.

❝ i am sorry, ❞ he says instead — not for loving you, not for what you have shared, but for the impossible cruelty of it all. for the fact that in a mere fortnight, the world will begin calling you someone else’s.

and though he stands only a few paces away, he has never felt farther from you in his life.

you’ve stopped to make sure you are truly alone. company at this moment would spell disaster for you both.

and then you move.

geta’s apology cracks something open in you, and your body reacts faster than your brain — feet carrying you across the marble stepping stones, breath hitching, his name rising unbidden to your lips. for a heartbeat you forget everything except the simple truth of him standing there alone, waiting for you.

then you see his face.

you stop again, the distance between you suddenly vast.

he is still, as always, carved into a careful composure — but there are fractures in it tonight. his eyes, beneath that ghastly black makeup, are rimmed red, his jaw set too tightly, grief held with the discipline of someone long practiced in swallowing pain whole. and there is something else there too, something that makes your chest seize : fear, perhaps, or the expectation of blame.

you fold your hands together in front of you, fingers twisting.

for a terrible moment, you wonder if he thinks this is your doing. if he believes — even a little — that you should have spoken, refused, clawed fate back with your bare hands. you imagine his disappointment, the quiet withdrawal of his affection, and it hurts almost as much as the betrothal itself.

❝ i — ❞ you start, but you falter.

you notice wet tracks smudging the white smeared onto his face, that makeup he and caracalla are always wearing, the kind you cannot stand. geta is so handsome, you cannot fathom why he paints himself in such tawdry oils.

yet even now, even like this, he is devastating to you.

the realization settles heavily in your chest : nothing has changed where it matters most.

geta watches the hesitation play across your face, and something in him shifts. his shoulders loosen a fraction, as though he has been bracing for a blow that never came. slowly — carefully — he steps closer, closing some of the space but not all of it, as if afraid to frighten you away.

❝ you need not explain, ❞ he says quietly. ❝ i know. ❞

his hand lifts, then pauses in the air between you, fingers flexing once before settling — not on you, but against the stone balustrade beside your arm. close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the nearness that has always undone you.

it is an almost-touch. a memory of one.

❝ i would never think you capable of betrayal, ❞ he continues, voice low, steady with effort. ❝ not of me. ❞

the unspoken words hang there : not of us.

for a moment, neither of you moves. the night presses in around you, heavy with jasmine and the distant murmur of rome, indifferent and eternal. you are acutely aware of the line that now exists — not yet marked by law, but already real — a future that no longer belongs to him.

still, he does not step back.

his fingers brush, barely, against the edge of your sleeve — a touch so light it could be mistaken for accident or nothing at all. it is reverent. hesitant. as though he is reminding himself of what this feels like, committing it to memory while he still may.

❝ i do not know how we are meant to stand now, ❞ geta admits softly. ❝ but i know i cannot pretend you are a stranger to me. ❞

his gaze drops, for only a moment, to your hands — close enough to take, yet held so carefully apart.

and in that fragile space between you, everything you were — and everything you are no longer allowed to be — trembles, unresolved.

you inhale, steadying yourself, and then you cross the remaining distance.

not rushing toward him, but not fleeing either.

you step close enough that the hem of your robe brushes his sandals, close enough that the warmth of him presses faintly against you, undeniable. geta stills completely, breath catching in a way he cannot hide, as though even this small defiance of the new order might undo him.

you lower your voice until it is meant only for him.

❝ tonight, ❞ you whisper.

his gaze, so impossibly dark, lifts to yours instantly.

❝ i will be in my quarters. ❞

the words tremble, but they do not falter. you are keenly aware of the garden around you — the open arches, the shadows that might conceal a servant, a guard, any other listening ear. the danger sharpens your resolve.

❝ he won’t come, ❞ you add, softer still. ❝ not yet. caracalla will follow the rules — he always does when they are lain by your mother. ❞

you hate that you know this. hate that it gives you certainty.

your fingers rise, hesitating, then rest lightly against geta’s wrist — you can feel his pulse jumping against his warm skin.

❝ if you wish . . . ❞ you murmur, ❝ come to me. ❞

your thumb brushes once against his skin, a ghost of the intimacy you have shared a hundred times before. then you draw your hand back, deliberately, leaving the choice where it must be.

❝ i will wait. ❞

geta does not answer at once.

the silence stretches, taut as a drawn bowstring. his jaw tightens, chest rising and falling as he weighs the risk — the treason of it, the danger of wanting something rome has already claimed. his gaze searches your face as if committing it to memory, as if deciding whether one last night will be mercy or ruin.

somewhere nearby, a laugh echoes. footsteps. proof that the world is very much awake, and that you are not alone.

you step back then, just enough to put distance between you again, just enough to protect you both.

❝ we should not linger, ❞ you say quietly, though every part of you rebels against the words.

you turn before he can answer, before courage or fear can change either of you, and begin to walk away through the colonnade — slow, unhurried, the picture of propriety.

yet even as you go, you know he is watching.

and he knows exactly where to find you, should he decide that one last act of defiance is worth whatever tomorrow may bring.

-

the night is long without him, the darkness pressing in close ; you feel as though you can’t think, cannot even breathe. the news of the day has drained you, and you think geta won’t come. how could he, possibly?

you’ve found yourself in a right mess with no way out. even if he did materialize at your door, what could he do for you? emperor he may be, but only one of two.

and betrothals in rome are writ in blood.

you are a fool for thinking he would want to spend even one more night with you . . .

there is a soft knock at the door.

your head has just hit the pillow when you quickly sit once more, scrambling out of the mounds of sheets and blankets to hurry to the door.

you crack it only an inch or two, and catch sight of the burnished red robe gilt all in gold that you are so familiar with. you once told geta seeing him in this robe made the pressure come quick and easy between your thighs; of course he would wear it tonight.

yanking him inside by that robe, you run your hands down his chest, fingers catching on the silken material.

❝ geta . . . ❞ you are at a loss for words, however, upset as you are.

you don’t have to wait long for what to say, as geta is pulling you close, insistent lips upon yours, his kisses filled with jealousy and pain and anger. he backs you up to the now closed door, body pressing hard against yours.

❝ mine, ❞ he hisses between love-bitten kisses. ❝ you are mine. not his. ❞

❝ i know, ❞ you sob into his mouth. you cling to him. ❝ help me, geta. help me fix this. ❞

geta breaks the kiss just long enough to take a great, rattling breath against your lips. his forehead meets yours, and his hands tremble as they cradle your face.

❝ i will fix this, ❞ he whispers, voice raw. ❝ i don’t care what rome wants. i don’t care about duty or blood or my brother . . . ❞

he pulls back to look properly at you, his eyes a fierce, golden fire in the dim light of the candles.

❝ we’ll leave tonight. flee to alexandria, greece . . . anywhere beyond their reach. ❞

a beat.

❝ . . . if you’ll have me. ❞

❝ do you mean it? ❞ you press against him, hopeful for the first time since the wedding announcement. ❝ but . . . geta. could we leave tomorrow? at first light? tonight i . . . i want you. it’s been so long. ❞

and if all goes to shit, you really don’t want a month ago to be the last time the two of you made love.

teasingly, you spread the lapels of his beautiful robe and touch his chest.

geta’s breath catches as you glide your hands along his chest. it’s been so long since last he held you . . . he craves your touch. ❝ we’ll leave tomorrow. i promise. ❞

one of his hands finds your hair, the other gripping your waist, pulling you even closer. his lips are at your neck, trailing burning kisses along the sensitive skin there.

❝ tonight, ❞ he manages hoarsely, ❝ tonight i want to remind you . . . who you belong to. ❞

❝ yes, ❞ you hiss, feeling yourself already slick between your thighs. ❝ yes, claim me, geta. i’m yours. ❞

at your words, that possessive fire burns bright in geta’s eyes. he urges you into the hard wood of the door once again, trapping you against it. he captures your lips, kissing you hungrily, tongue demanding entrance so it can touch yours. his hand in your hair tightens, drawing your head back to give him better access as he takes your mouth.

❝ mine, ❞ he murmurs again, into the kiss, hands roaming your body over your thin nightgown. they slide down, gripping your thighs and lifting, wanting to hoist you up to him.

❝ wait. ❞

the word leaves your mouth breathless but firm, cutting through the urgency that has gathered between you like heat.

geta stills instantly.

not in irritation. not in frustration. in obedience — the kind he gives only to you. his hands loosen in your hair, easing their grip, though his forehead remains pressed to yours, his breath still uneven against your lips.

❝ wait, ❞ you repeat more softly, lifting a hand between you, resting it against his chest where you feel his heart beating hard. ❝ please. ❞

for a moment, he looks at you as though you have struck him — nostrils flared, lips parted. want held in check by trust.

he nods once.

you take his hand, threading your fingers through his, and lead him deeper into your chambers — past the bed with its disheveled sheets, past the flickering lamps — to the marble wash basin tucked beneath an arched niche in the wall. you move with quiet purpose ; you are afraid that if you hesitate even once, the night will steal him away.

geta watches you the entire time.

when you reach the basin, you release his hand to pour water from the ewer, testing it with your fingers until steam claws at the air above. you take a linen cloth, dip it into the warmth, wring it out carefully.

only then do you turn back to him.

❝ sit, ❞ you murmur.

another flicker of surprise crosses his face — then he lowers himself onto the edge of the bench beside the basin, shoulders tense, hands braced on his knees like a man awaiting judgment. the candlelight catches the gold threaded through his robe, the dark paint wet around his eyes — grief made visible.

you step between his knees.

slowly. deliberately.

you lift the cloth, hesitating just a moment — giving him time to pull away, to protest — but he does neither. his gaze never leaves yours.

the cloth touches his cheek.

geta inhales sharply.

the warmth loosens the stiff lines of his composure almost at once. you wipe gently, careful around his eyes, where the makeup has mixed with tears he would never admit to shedding. black smears the linen. white fades beneath your touch, revealing the skin you know so well.

❝ there, ❞ you whisper, more to yourself than to him. ❝ you know i never liked this infernal makeup. ❞

a faint sound leaves him — not quite a laugh, not quite a breath. his eyes close as you continue, the careful ritual of it grounding both of you. you clean his other cheek, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. with each pass of the cloth, he seems to soften, the emperor peeling away until only the man remains.

when you reach his mouth, you pause.

your thumb lifts, brushing gently over his lower lip.

geta’s eyes open again — dark, intent, undone.

❝ you’re ruining me, ❞ he murmurs hoarsely.

you smile, small and sad. ❝ that makeup ruins you. now you look better. much more handsome. ❞

when his face is clean, you turn the cloth back to yourself, wiping gently at your own cheeks, your jaw, the places where his kisses left their mark — white smudges against your skin, proof of how quickly control had slipped away from both of you. he watches you with naked hunger now, but there is something else there too. relief. awe.

when you are finished, you set the cloth aside.

the silence between you is different now. quiet. heavy.

you lift his chin with two fingers, forcing him to look at you — really look.

❝ this, ❞ you tell him softly, ❝ is what i will remember. if tomorrow goes wrong. if they take everything from us. ❞

his hand comes up, trembling, to cradle your wrist.

❝ they will not, ❞ he says, fierce again — but tempered now by something steady. ❝ i swear it. ❞

you lean forward, resting your forehead against his. ❝ then prove it. show me how safe we are. ❞

geta stands suddenly, clearly desiring you in the position he tried for earlier. stooping, grabbing you about your thighs so he can lift you.

you gasp at the unexpected movement, arms and legs around him, the tip of his hard cock already pressing into your own wet arousal through your flimsy garments. ❝ geta. do you love me, my emperor? ❞

❝ i burn for you, ❞ geta growls, grinding against you so that the thick heat of him slides through your folds. his breath is ragged, voice trembling with devotion and fire. ❝ you are my heart, my breath, the only truth i’ve ever known. ❞

he captures your lips again — softer this time, aching — before pulling back to get a good look at you.

❝ say it again, amor meus. say you’re mine. ❞

❝ i am yours, geta. take me now. i cannot wait any longer. ❞ we mustn’t, you think, but do not say.

you rut down against him as best you can, caged as you are by his hold.

you can see geta’s restraint slipping with every movement of your body against his. he can barely stand it anymore. he has to have you now, has to remind you — and himself — that you belong to him. with a low growl, he turns, carrying you from the basin to the edge of your bed.

❝ so impatient. ❞ his voice is rough as he lays you down, crawling over you with a possessive gleam in his eyes.

you smile softly, laid out on the bed like a pretty plaything just for him. you reach, rubbing the soft material of his beautiful robe between your fingers. ❝ may i wear this? while you claim me? ❞

a low, possessive hum reverberates in geta’s throat as he watches your fingers toying with the golden edge of the robe. his gaze darkens, burning with desire, but also with something tender beneath it all.

❝ keep it, ❞ he murmurs, peeling it from his shoulders and draping it around you like a sacred offering. the gold-trimmed fabric pools around your body like firelight. ❝ wear it, so no matter where i am, you carry my scent, my mark — my claim. ❞

he leans in, pressing a searing kiss to your collarbone.

❝ and now . . . ❞ his hands slip greedily under the soft cotton of your nightclothes. ❝ i will remind every part of you who makes you tremble. ❞

you gather the robe around you, bringing the edges to your nose so you can smell him. the scent makes you lightheaded. ❝ geta. i want out of this infernal nightgown. i want to wear nothing but your robe as you fuck me. help me? ❞

geta lets out a ragged breath, full of need. ❝ such a demanding little bride. my brother could never handle you, ❞ he teases, eyes blazing as he pins you to the bed with his gaze. in one swift motion, he tugs the robe from your shoulders and then your nightgown up, baring you to him inch by inch.

then he stills . . . just to look. to worship what is truly his.

❝ you are so beautiful, ❞ he whispers, and his eyes drop lower, between your thighs. ❝ and so wet for me already . . . ❞

he leans down, knelt at the edge of your bed as he kisses a slow trail from your hip to your inner thigh before dragging the soft silk of the robe over your skin like an offering.

❝ lie back, ❞ he commands, ❝ and let me show you how an emperor claims what was always meant to be his. ❞

you feel hot all over, intensely in love with geta and the way he touches you. ❝ geta, my love, my emperor, my everything . . . ❞

you squirm in his robe, smelling him all over you, loving the silky feeling of the material against your skin.

you ultimately obey, however, laying back and looking down on him between your legs.

with you laid out before him — his robe covering your exquisite skin, you breathing his scent in so deeply — geta loses what little control he’s still holding onto. your obedience only stokes the possessive fire in him, makes him want to consume you entirely.

he stands once more and the tip of his hard cock brushes at your entrance, teasing, testing . . . but his eyes stay fixed firmly on your face. ❝ you are mine, my dear. ❞

his voice is a raw whisper, nothing but gravel and need. ❝ say it. i need to hear you say it again. ❞

❝ i’m yours. i belong to you and no one else. ❞ your hand finds itself in his hair, petting through his beautiful golden tresses.

his eyes flutter shut at your touch, his breath hitching as your fingers weave through his hair. for a moment, he looks absolutely and inherently reverent . . . wrecked by your touch and your words.

then, with a grunt, he leans forward — and claims your cunt and your mouth in one molten stroke. his hands grip your thighs, pulling you to him, needing more — every breathless moan, every twitch of your body beneath him.

❝ you taste like mine, ❞ he growls against you — a dark promise — before his hips find the rhythm that makes your body arch up to meet him.

gripped in one of your hands is his robe, the other back in his hair, holding him close, kissing him hard. if you let go of him, rome might take him from you, as it has taken so much else.

geta groans into your mouth, desperate and rough. he needs this — needs you, your touch, your scent, your taste. it is all that keeps him going, keeps him grounded as the world tries to take it all away.

his hands are inside the robe, slipping between your skin and the silken material to hold you, arms tight around your body. he starts to pull, tugging you roughly down onto his cock until you have no choice but to steady yourself with one hand on his shoulder and one on the jumbled sheets.

this new position rips a cry from your throat, geta's large cock bullying its way into your warm, silken walls over and over again.

he grins, feral and wild. he loves the sounds you make, loves knowing that he is the only one making you cry out — the only one he wants you to think about, the only name he wants on your lips . . .

geta leans forward and changes your position once again. one hand now pins your wrists to the bed, the other is like a vice at your hip, his knuckles gone white as he presses you forcefully down into the bed, hips snapping voraciously against yours. the sounds are obscene, and neither of you is cognizant of how much noise you’re making, what that might mean for both of you.

❝ i want — ❞ he chokes, and you soothe him with a gentle hand down the valley of his spine.

❝ please, geta. inside. ❞

❝ oh, my love . . . ❞ geta sighs, his eyes darkening again. his breathing has grown harsh, his fingers twitching against your sex-warmed skin. your soft pleading clearly does something to him, makes him feel feverish and very much in control of you.

his hand on your hip is hard, mouth hungry. he presses his lips to yours over and over again in fierce, open-mouthed kisses that brook no argument.

❝ you need me to claim you that badly? beg for it. ❞

you don’t have to be told twice ; you would obey your emperor even if he ordered you to set fire to the palace and everyone in it. ❝ please. pleasepleaseplease finish inside me, geta. i need it. need to know i still belong to you and only you. ❞

❝ gods. ❞ geta snaps, hips stilling as they press snugly to yours, fingers digging bruises into your hips as his body anchors itself in yours.

you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, spraying everything he has to give.

and you take it greedily, coming undone quickly after him, muscles contracting and milking him even as he collapses atop you, both of you sweaty and spent with geta’s head pillowed at your breasts.

his heart thuds against your chest, lips finding the hollow just beneath your clavicle with a reverent tenderness. slowly, his breathing returns to normal.

for a few moments, you simply lie there, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of fabric and your own still-frantic panting.

finally, geta lifts his head, gaze finding yours.

that fire is still in his eyes, just smoldering now, a hand possessively at your back, a gentleness to the touch, vulnerability yawning between the two of you.

❝ you . . . ❞ he starts, has to swallow thickly and start over. ❝ you’re alright? ❞

❝ i am always alright with you, geta. you could never hurt me. ❞ your thighs are sore, surely, from the pounding he's given you. but he doesn't need to know that.

geta presses a kiss to your hair and draws the robe more securely around you both, as though fabric alone could hold the world at bay. for a long while, neither of you speaks. the candles gutter low. somewhere beyond the walls, rome breathes and waits.

❝ rest, ❞ he murmurs at last, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against your back. ❝ we leave at first light. ❞

you nod, and geta maneuvers you so that you are on his chest instead, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart — proof that he is real, that this night was not a dream you will wake from alone. fear still coils beneath your ribs, but it no longer rules you. not when he is here. not when tomorrow has a shape, however dangerous.