#gladiator smut

The city smells of sweat and heat and gold-painted victory. You stand at the far end of the atrium, among garlands and silks, your fellow nobles and senators are fawning and chattering like carrion birds circling a lion.

They say Lucius Verus has returned from war.

They say he’s changed, but you never knew him well enough to tell the difference anyway.

The guards enter first, tight-faced and too tense for a triumphal return. Then comes the man himself. He's taller than you remember, broader, somehow. His cloak hangs from one shoulder, dirt-streaked and travel-worn, and there’s blood at the corner of his cuff that no one dares mention.

He does not smile. He does not bow. He does not stop. The crowd parts for him like wheat under a scythe. His eyes scan the room once and find you.

You don’t move. You don’t flinch.

Not even when he walks directly toward you, ignoring the extended hands, the simpering greetings, the half-kneeling senators who hold out rings for him to kiss.

You stand with your back straight, chin lifted. You are not some doe-eyed virgin waiting to be gifted into this marriage like a prize pig. You were someone’s wife once. And though that man is rotting beneath the stones of a family crypt, he left you with a name. And scars.

Lucius stops a foot too close.

You feel the heat rolling off him, the stench of sweat and leather and rage barely held at bay. His jaw is dark with stubble, his mouth a tight line, unsmiling.

"You didn’t bow," he says, voice rough with the weight of months spent shouting over battlefields.

You arch an eyebrow. "I am not yet your wife."

He smiles at that. Crooked. Wolfish. “Not yet. But soon.”

You hate the way his voice drags over those words, like he’s already tasted them and has decided to spit them back out.

"Did the Senate send for you?" you ask. "Or did you run back early for your wedding night?"

Laughter dances in the crowd, polite and forced. But Lucius doesn’t join in. "I came because Rome grows soft in my absence," he replies. "And because I don’t trust them to protect what’s mine."

The air between you pulls taut.

"Is that what I am?" you ask, voice flat. "A possession?"

He leans forward. Close enough that you can see the smudge of dried blood at the collar of his tunic. You don’t know if it’s his.

"No," he murmurs. "You’re a puzzle. A provocation. And they promised you to me without ever asking whether I could stomach the taste of something so bitter."

Something ugly curls in your chest, a kind of fury that never burned out properly.

"And I suppose you think I’ll be grateful to be claimed by a monster?"

Lucius tilts his head, studying you. "Gratitude isn’t required. But you will belong to me."

He says it so plainly, so calmly, as though the matter were already settled in blood and ink. Perhaps it is. You never had much say in it to begin with.

"You don’t know me," you snap.

"I know enough."

A beat. The space between you closes, breath to breath. His voice drops lower. "I know you didn’t cry at your husband’s funeral. I know he hit you. I know you learned to lie still and quiet and pretend that was love. I know that scares you more than I do."

It hits you like a thrown gauntlet, because it’s true. There is no pity in his words. No sympathy. Just knowing. You hate that he’s read your history like some battlefield report. That he’s looked at your wounds and seen something useful.

"Then you’re a fool," you whisper, throat tight. "Because I’d sooner die than lie beneath another man who thinks he owns me."

Lucius doesn’t flinch, instead, he steps closer. A breath between you. You don’t step back. Not even when his voice curls behind your ear like smoke.

"What a shame, I happen to need you alive."

You slap him.

The sound cracks across the chamber like lightning. Every eye turns. Every whisper hushes.

His head turns with the blow, but he doesn’t strike back. Doesn’t even lift a hand.

He turns back slowly, a smile blooming like blood across his face.

There’s something almost unholy in his expression, a delight and fury which you cannot decipher for the life of you.

"Careful," he says softly. "You’re starting to excite me."

You stare at him, chest rising, blood roaring in your ears. You don't know if you want to scream, cry or push him away. Instead, you step back. Only one step.

Enough to remind yourself that you still can.

The feast had barely begun to die down, but already, the guests have begun to trickle out. The heavy scent of wine lingers in the air, mixing with the distant traces of roasting meats and sweet spices. You’ve stepped away from it all, retreating into the quiet of the balcony that overlooks the garden.

Lucius had left the feast earlier, his back straight, face unreadable, no parting words to anyone but the occasional curt nod. You watched him go, and for a moment, something like relief flickered within you.

But you hadn’t expected him to come find you.

The silence on the balcony is deafening as the shadows stretch across the marble. The cool air bites at your skin, tension now gathering between you and the man who’s just stepped into the frame of the door behind you. Lucius.

You don’t turn. The weight of his presence alone makes you stiffen, your back rigid. You can feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low, a whisper that still manages to echo in the stillness of the night. “Enjoying the peace?”

“I thought you’d be too busy being the hero to notice,” you say, a sharpness to your words, though you refuse to turn to face him.

“You think so little of me?” he asks, the amusement in his voice somehow making it even more infuriating. He’s close now, so close that you feel the heat of him behind you. Every inch of space seems too small for the way his presence presses against you.

“I think you’re entitled,” you mutter, fingers tightening against the stone railing in front of you. “And I think you act like you're entitled. To everything. To the power. The land. The people. And whatever part of me you can claim.”

He steps closer, his boots soft against the marble as his hand rests on the stone next to yours. His voice drops lower. “You think you’re the only one who’s been forced into this?”

You scoff, unable to hold back a short, mocking laugh. “Please. You live for this. For control. For dominance.”

His face is inches from yours now. You don’t flinch when he leans in, his breath a whisper against your ear. His voice low and venomous. “You think I enjoy this, do you? Do you really believe I enjoy being forced into a marriage I don’t want? To a woman who can’t even look me in the eye without thinking herself superior?”

The words sting, but you don’t show it. Instead, you match his venom with your own.

“If you’re so miserable, why don’t you find a way out?” The challenge is clear in your tone, daring him to try, to do anything that might make him leave you be. “But you won’t, will you?”

Lucius steps in even closer, so close now that his chest nearly brushes against your back. You can feel the heat of him, the power he exudes, and yet you still refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning to face him.

His fingers trail dangerously close to your neck, and you can’t help but shiver at his touch. “You want to make me angry, don’t you?” he says, his voice thick with something darker. “You want me to lose control.”

Then, with a suddenness that has you gasping for breath, his hand shifts, gripping your chin and tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze. The coldness in his eyes sends a chill down your spine, but there’s also something dangerous flickering there, a hunger.

For a moment, the world is silent. He holds you in place, staring at you. You barely breathe. You can feel the weight of his stare, the storm building in his chest.

“You have a sharp tongue,” Lucius murmurs, his grip tightening around your chin, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips. “But I’m starting to wonder if you really want to use it.”

You feel his thumb trace the shape of your mouth.

Without thinking, you jerk away, snapping, “I don’t want this.”

Lucius steps back, giving you space, but you can feel the tension in his movements, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. The air is thick between you and Lucius, and the moment feels like a ticking time bomb.

The silence stretches, suffocating, but somehow neither of you seems willing to let it end. The distance between you feels impossibly small, yet you can’t quite bring yourself to move.

He looks at you like a predator eyeing its prey, and you feel it in the pit of your stomach, an unsettling pull.

“Like I said, you want to make me lose my temper, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dark, but laced with a wicked, almost amused edge.

You want to hate him, to despise every part of this situation. But it’s getting harder to ignore the way his eyes burn through you, the way he looks at you as though you’re the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“You think you can scare me?” You bite back, stepping forward, though the words come out sharper than you intended. Lucius watches you carefully, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“No,” he says, voice dropping lower, just enough for you to catch every word. “I don’t want to scare you, but I know I could.”

You’re both too proud to back down. You hate him. He doesn’t like you, either. But there’s something else there, something neither of you can ignore.

Lucius takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours, and in a single movement, his hand reaches for your arm, pulling you toward him. The movement is swift, like a coiled spring finally snapping, and before you can react, you’re pressed against the cold railing of the balcony, his body a solid wall in front of you.

Your breath catches, not from fear, but from the intensity, the rawness of it. You’re angry, so fucking angry, but that anger isn’t enough to push him away.

You manage to fight through the fog of emotion, trying to spit out something sharp, something to cut him down to size. But the words die in your throat when he presses his thumb to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.

“I thought you were supposed to be strong,” he murmurs, the challenge in his eyes matching the taunting tone of his voice. “Or is that just a front?”

The words cut into you like shards of glass. You try to turn your face away, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, his fingers tighten on your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You want me to hurt you, don’t you?” he asks, his voice low, almost too soft for the sharpness of the question. “I can see it in your eyes. You want me to make you feel something, anything. Don’t lie.”

You want to scream, want to tell him to go to hell. But something in you won’t let it. You hate him for it. You hate the fact that you don’t want to pull away, don’t want to run.

You press your lips together, jaw tight with defiance, and finally you speak. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Lucius chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “No,” he says, his voice a mockery of sympathy, “you’re not. But that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Before you can respond, before you can even think of another insult to throw his way, Lucius closes the distance between you. His lips crash against yours in a searing kiss, ruthless, punishing. It’s not gentle, not at all.

It’s a kiss that takes, that demands.

You can’t help but gasp, the shock of it flooding through you. You don’t want to respond. You don’t want to let him win. But as his hands move to your hips, gripping you tighter, pulling you closer, something inside you unravels.

The kiss deepens, and you’re lost in it, overwhelmed by the heat of his body pressing against yours, the way his tongue demands entrance, the way he doesn’t give you the space to breathe.

“You’re a fool,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and dark, laced with satisfaction. “You think you can control this. But you can’t.”

You're drowning in him, and you despise that your body is reacting to him before your mind can stop it.

You push against him, trying to break free. But he only pulls you tighter, his hands sliding down your back, pressing you harder against him.

For a moment, you forget where you are. Forget that you’re supposed to be angry. Forget that this is supposed to be a confrontation.

You barely register the first sound of tearing fabric.

Your back is pressed to the balustrade, the cold stone biting through the thin silk of your gown, but Lucius doesn’t give you the chance to think. His hands are already on the fastenings at your waist, tugging hard enough to make the seams strain.

You gasp, a noise laced with fury and arousal, and push at his chest. “Is this how Roman emperors take what isn’t theirs? In gardens, like dogs?”

Lucius breaks the kiss to laugh, a laugh so low, rough, and amused in the most infuriating way. “If I were a dog, darling, I’d have taken you by now. But I’m patient. And you’re very, very close to begging.”

Your palm cracks across his cheek before you even realise what you’re doing. The sound is obscene in the quiet night, but it only seems to deepen that look in his eyes, hunger laced with something wild.

He catches your wrist before you can drop it, pinning it to the stone behind you, and leans in close enough that you feel the scrape of his breath against your jaw.

“That's the second time you've slapped me, do it again,” he growls, eyes blazing. “I dare you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you breathe, trying to twist free. “I’d rather sleep with a beast.”

His mouth finds your throat. Biting. Sucking. “Liar,” he mutters. “You’d rather sleep with this beast.”

And then his other hand rips through the neckline of your dress, fabric tearing, your breath hitching, and suddenly you’re half-bared to the open air, marble halls echoing behind you, columns offering far too little cover.

You try to cover yourself with your free hand, but he shoves it aside easily. “Oh no, don’t be modest now,” he says, voice syrup-thick with mockery. “Not when you’re standing there like a goddess meant to be ruined.”

“You arrogant bastard-”

“You like this,” he cuts in, tone taunting. “You like being manhandled. You like me doing it.”

You want to shout. Want to slap him again. Want to deny everything.

But the heat between your legs betrays you. The way your hips press forward into him, your legs shifting restlessly, you can feel how wet you already are, and you hate it.

“I hate you,” you hiss, even as he hooks a finger under the torn edge of your bodice and yanks again, exposing you further.

“I know, you keep saying that,” he breathes. “You hate me, and yet here you are, letting me touch you like this. Moaning into my mouth. Parting your legs. Do you know how sweet you sound when you're angry?”

He kisses you again, more teeth than tongue, and your wrists are pinned again before you can react, your body arched and open to him, your gown falling in tatters around your ankles.

“I should scream,” you pant when he moves to your jaw, biting there too, as though claiming.

“Do it. Let them hear. Let them see.” His voice is low, wicked. “Let the whole palace know that you're mine.”

You hate how that word coils low in your belly, how it makes something flutter in your chest.

With one arm, he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you gasp as your back slams into the stone column behind you, your feet no longer anchoring you down. You can feel him hard against you, thick and hot even through his tunic. He grinds into you, just once, and it forces a sound out of you that doesn’t sound like hate at all.

His mouth brushes your ear. “There’s the real you,” he whispers. “You’re dripping. I could take you right here. Against the stone. Would you stop me?”

You should. You don’t.

“Coward,” you hiss, trying to reclaim the moment. “You think I’m impressed? You’re nothing but-”

He lets go of you so suddenly you stumble, but only for a moment. He catches you again, strong arms around your waist, and then he’s carrying you, half-naked, down the colonnade.

You wriggle against him, fists pounding his chest. “Put me down-”

“I will,” he snaps. “When we reach my bed. And not a moment before.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, but all he does is laugh, cruel and triumphant.

The doors of his chamber slam open under the force of his boot. He doesn’t even pause; he strides through the room and drops you onto his bed like a prize. Like a victory.

You scramble back, shaking, hair wild, lips swollen.

He unfastens his belt, watching you all the while with that same awful, smug amusement. “Still planning to insult me, or are you going to lie back and spread those pretty legs for me?”

You launch a pillow at him. “You’re the most arrogant bastard I’ve ever met!”

“And you’re the loudest little whore in Rome.”

You gasp, half outrage, half heat, and he’s on you again before you can draw breath. He's laughing low in his throat as you claw at his tunic.

“You’re still fighting me,” he says, dragging your ruined gown off the rest of the way, “but you’re wetter than any Roman virgin. Were you always this easy to break?”

“You haven’t broken me-”

“Haven’t I?”

He’s between your legs now, and the teasing stops being verbal. His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, and you whine when he draws one circle around your clit, just enough to make you twitch.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “You hate me so much you can’t stop shaking.”

You try to push him again, but this time he catches your hand, kisses the palm, and presses it against his chest.

“Go on. Keep hating me.” His eyes gleam. “But don’t you dare stop moaning.”

You don’t. You can’t.

Because his fingers are slipping lower, slow, deliberate, two of them curling inside you, and the sound you make is more like a sob than a gasp. You want to turn your face away, but he’s already watching too closely, already smirking like he knows.

“You feel that?” he says low, pushing deeper, twisting his wrist. “How wet you are? It’s obscene.”

“Stop-” you manage, but it’s pathetic. Your thighs are shaking.

“No,” he breathes. “You don’t want me to stop. Say it. Say you want it.”

You grit your teeth. “I want you to choke on your own ego.” He laughs again, lips brushing yours, still fucking you slow with his fingers. “Admit it, little bride. You’d rather choke on me.”

“Fuck. You.”

His grin widens. “Believe it or not, love, but that's the idea.”

Then he slams into you with his fingers, harder now, and you arch off the bed with a strangled sound. Your nails dig into his shoulders, seeking something to hold onto that isn’t your dignity.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters. “You’d let me take you anywhere, wouldn’t you? Against the column, the floor, right in front of the Senate. You like being ruined.”

“You’re disgusting,” you pant.

“And yet you’re dripping for me.”

Every roll of his fingers is pushing you closer, making it harder to breathe, to speak, to hate. You try to close your legs, to regain even the smallest control.

“Don’t,” he snaps, pushing your thighs apart. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”

“I’m not-”

“You are.” His voice dips. “But I want to see the moment you break. I want to feel it.”

You growl, but your hips are still grinding down against his hand. You’re trying to win a war on a battlefield he’s already set aflame.

Then he pulls his fingers free, wet and glistening, and holds them up between you.

“Look at that,” he says darkly. “And still pretending you don’t want me.”

You slap them away.

He grabs your wrists again, pins them above your head, and grinds his cock against you through the thin barrier of his clothes. You moan despite yourself.

“Say it,” he breathes, teeth gritted now. “Say you want me.”

“I don’t-”

He lets go. Just long enough to shove his tunic over his head, exposing the scarred stretch of his chest, the line of muscle down his stomach. You don’t mean to stare, but you do.

“Oh,” he purrs. “You’re staring. That’s new.”

You lunge up to push him, but he grabs your thigh and flips you onto your stomach like a rag doll. You yelp, trying to twist back.

He presses your chest to the bed with one hand, pulls your hips up with the other, and drags the head of his cock through your folds.

You go still.

The moment stretches.

“Ready to beg now?” he asks, tone silken.

“I will bite your fucking throat out.”

“Then I’ll fuck you while you try.”

And with no more warning, he drives into you.

You scream. Not in pain, not entirely. The stretch is sharp, unforgiving, but it’s the invasion that overwhelms you. He doesn't ease in, doesn’t wait. He sinks all the way to the hilt in one brutal thrust and stays there, one hand locked on your hip, the other on the back of your neck.

“You feel that?” he growls. “That’s mine. All of it. All of you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you hiss, voice trembling.

But you clench around him.

He groans, deep and unrestrained, and begins to thrust. Rough, relentless. The bed slams into the wall, your moans torn from you against your will.

“You sound like a whore,” he mutters, reaching forward to grab your throat, pulling you up against his chest.

You gasp, back arching, hair falling in wild tangles as he fucks into you from behind. Your legs tremble.

“Say it,” he growls again. “Say you want me.”

“No.”

He slides one hand between your thighs again, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, relentless circles.

You break.

Your body clamps down on him so violently that it makes him stutter. He thrusts through it, snarling, riding it out as you tremble and shake, breathless and wrung out.

“Liar,” he hisses in your ear. “You wanted this. You needed this.”

You’re still spasming around him when he flips you onto your back, fast and rough, before he plunges in again. This time you cry out with every movement, overstimulated and gasping.

“You should see yourself,” he pants, rutting into you. “Hair a mess, mouth open, legs shaking. Ruined.”

“Fuck… fuck you-”

“I am.”

He leans down, bites your lower lip, and slams into you harder. You moan into his mouth.

“You’re done pretending,” he whispers. “You can’t lie anymore.”

You claw at his shoulders. “You’re a monster.”

“Then why do you keep pulling me closer?”

You hate how right he is. Hate how good he feels. Hate the second orgasm building already, tighter, fiercer.

“You’re going to come again, aren’t you?” he says, tone mocking. “My poor little bride, soaking and speechless.”

He slams into you again. Your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out.

“Thought so.”

Your eyes roll back.

He fucks you like he’s trying to prove something, not just that he owns your body, but your pride, your defiance, every last bit of control.

When the second climax hits, you cry out so loudly he has to smother your mouth with his palm.

“Too loud,” he growls. “Don’t want the whole palace hearing how well I fuck my bride-”

But he doesn’t really care. You can see it in his eyes. He wants them to know.

You collapse beneath him, breathless, soaked, undone.

He comes not long after, hips snapping, voice raw as he spills inside you with a shudder and a growl of your name.

Silence, for a breath.

Then he shifts and leans over you, bracing himself on shaking arms.

Lucius moves slowly. And when he withdraws, you feel the thick, wet ache of it. You shift, a low hiss escaping your throat.

“Too much for you?” he drawls, brushing your hair from your cheek. “Pity. You took it well enough while I was ruining you.”

You manage a scowl, though your body’s trembling with aftershocks. “I should kill you.”

“You’d miss me.” He grins. “So would your cunt.”

He rises from the bed in a single motion, his body shadowed by the low lanterns, and you don’t expect it when he leans down, hooking his arm beneath your knees and lifting you from the sheets.

“Put me-”

“No.”

Your fists beat weakly at his chest, but you’re too sore to mean it. His seed still slicks your thighs. You’re marked, ruined, utterly dishevelled. And now you’re being paraded.

He strides from the bedchamber and out into the marble corridor of his private suite, bare, flushed, and grinning like a wolf. His bathchamber lies across the hall.

The door is open.

So is your mouth when a figure, a servant, pale and wide-eyed, turns at the end of the corridor. Sees everything.

Lucius does not flinch.

In fact, he smirks.

“Get out,” he says, not even glancing their way. The command is casual, but lethal.

They flee.

You burn.

“Scandalous bastard,” you hiss.

“Shall I drop you in the corridor then?” he offers, eyes glinting.

You don’t answer.

Steam curls from the bronze basin sunk into the floor, warm and waiting. The scent of oils hangs thick in the air, clinging to your skin even before it’s wet.

Lucius doesn’t stop. Doesn’t ask. He steps straight into the bath, water clinging to the muscle beneath as he lowers himself, and you, into the heat.

You hiss when it touches the rawest places. Bruises. Scrapes. You still feel where he stretched you.

His hold on you tightens, not to restrain, but to shield.

“I was going to warn you,” he murmurs near your temple, voice silked with cruel satisfaction. “But you just had to be difficult.”

You half turn in his arms, scowling, exhausted. “You enjoyed it.”

His teeth flash. “Of course I did.”

He reaches for a cloth, dips it into the steaming water, and wrings it out with a lazy flick of his wrist. The motion is slow, like the way a man sharpens a blade, not because he needs to, but because he enjoys the ritual of it.

Then he touches you.

The cloth slides up your thigh. Gentle. Unreasonably gentle.

You flinch. He feels it.

“I’m not him,” he says, low and close behind your ear.

The cloth moves higher, over the place where his fingers left bruises. It’s tender, the touch. Not apologetic, but… reverent.

You close your eyes. “I know.”

He doesn’t reply.

Just continues, slow, precise. Cleaning you as though you belong to him and no one else may touch. The cloth traces your waist, your belly, your breasts. Over the angry red marks blooming on your throat.

“Filthy little thing,” he says, almost absently, as if it’s a compliment. “Look what I’ve done to you.”

You shift against him, half-hearted. “Is this what passes for aftercare in the palace?”

“I could leave you filthy, if you prefer,” he offers, mock-casual, dragging the cloth up between your legs now with unbearable slowness.

Your breath catches.

He smirks against your neck. “Didn’t think so.”

His free hand is splayed across your stomach, keeping you against his chest. You’re in his lap, flushed and quiet.

When he finishes, he doesn’t speak. Just leans forward, pushing your wet hair aside to press his mouth once to your shoulder, unhurried, like claiming land he already owns.

Then he reaches for a towel, presses it into your hands.

“You can walk,” he says. “Or I can carry you back.”

“I can walk,” you mutter again, clutching the towel.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re bleeding a little.”

You pause. Then glare.

“From me,” he adds, calm as marble. “You’ll forgive my pride.”

You turn away before he can see your face twist with fury, and shame, and something deeper, quieter, that gnaws at your ribs.

But you only make it a step before he steps into your space and lifts you again, without asking, without effort, arms locked tight beneath your knees and back. The towel shifts, slipping down one shoulder.

“Lucius-”

“I’ll carry what’s mine.”

You tense, heart pounding, as he strides from the bathchamber bare-chested and unbothered, with you cradled like a spoil of war.

And then, the worst.

Not a servant.

A senator.

A senior one, older, important. His brows lift, his jaw tightens, and for a long moment he simply stares.

You freeze in Lucius’ arms.

Mortified.

Bare legs, damp collarbone, bitten lips.

You try to twist, to cover your face in his chest, but the towel shifts again, and Lucius doesn’t even slow his pace.

“Domitius,” he says, cool and smooth as ever.

“Emperor,” the man replies after a beat, eyes still sharp with thinly veiled judgement.

Lucius only smiles.

Then shifts his grip around you, just enough to make it clear you’re not just some fleeting mistress. No, he’s holding you like a bride.

“You’re not dismissing him?” you whisper furiously as they pass.

“Why would I?” he murmurs. “Let him tell the court how you looked when I was carrying you home.”

He chuckles low in his throat. “Shall I walk slower?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re trembling. Again.”

He carries you back into his bedchamber like nothing happened.

Deposits you on the rumpled sheets with the same hands that had bruised your thighs and cupped your face like glass.

Lucius lies beside you. He doesn’t reach for you. Just watches.

The fire’s down to embers now, and for a moment, it’s quiet.

“You’ll hate me again tomorrow,” he murmurs, eyes on the ceiling.

You turn your head toward him. His hair’s a mess. A dark curl falls over his forehead. He doesn’t brush it away.

“I already do.”

There’s no heat in the words anymore. Just a strange, exhausted ache. Like you’ve both burned through something and don’t know what’s left.

You lie in silence.

Until, after a long while, you feel his arm shift and settle across your waist. Not tight. Not demanding.

Just there.

You don’t move.

He breathes, slow and steady, and just before you drift, you feel him press his forehead into your shoulder.

Almost like he’s praying.

You wake to sunlight cutting sharp across the marble floor.

The bed is warm. Too warm. Your legs are tangled in silken sheets, and your mouth tastes of salt and heat and something darker still. You shift and wince.

Everything aches.

Your thighs. Your hips. Your throat.

You drag the cover up as you sit, slowly, wincing again when the bruises sing beneath your skin. There are fresh marks on your wrists. On your collarbone. Teeth, fingers, his name written across your body in touches no one will dare speak of aloud, but everyone will know.

The door creaks.

Lucius enters fully clothed.

Hair swept back. Tunic dark and rich, imperial red. There’s a goblet in his hand and a parchment tucked under one arm.

He looks at you like a man admiring the aftermath of war.

“Sleep well, betrothed?”

You glare. “Barely.”

A slow smirk.

He steps forward, sets the goblet down beside the bed and takes the seat across from you like you’re in court again.

“I expect the palace has already heard.”

“I expect the city has.”

He tilts his head. “Let them. What can they do?”

You stare at him, this man who had torn you open with teeth and hands and never once begged forgiveness. He’s not softened in daylight.

You pull the covers tighter.

He watches.

“Say it,” you snap, before you can stop yourself.

“Say what?”

Whatever insult he’s been sitting on. Whatever cruel line he’s crafted for the moment he saw you like this, rumpled, silent, aching from him.

Instead, he leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees.

“I like you better ruined.”

Your breath catches.

And he smiles, slow and hungry, like he already knows that when he touches you again, you won’t fight quite as hard.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Sabina Acacius was a strong willed woman that always made sure to get what she wanted. When she saw ‘Hanno’, as they called him in the colosseum she immediately knew she would seek him out when the time was up in the emperor's section.

After the gladiator had beheaded the contestant Geta and Caracalla had chosen she got up from her seat, “Emperors, An entertaining game as usual. I bid you a good night. I must retire to my room for some needed rest.”

Geta only waved the girl off, more focused on relishing in the applause from the people of Rome, making the girl roll her eyes before catching the General's glare in warning, “Father. Lucilla” she nodded, “I will see you back at home."

Sabina didn't waste a moment to rush out of the colosseum and down the busy streets of Rome towards the Gladiators holding cells. When she arrived at the entrance she pulled her hood up and maneuvered around the training fighters to the back corner where Ravi had Hanno sitting to be stitched.

“Quite a deep cut.” she commented, giving Ravi a kind smile.

“M’lady it's been too long.” he smiled back before focusing back on the task at hand. Hanno watched their interaction in silence observing the girl he saw in the emperor's box, sitting next to the man he vowed to kill and his mother.

Sabina pulled her hood down and sat on the bench in front of the men, “You put up a great fight Gladiator. I wanted to come down and greet you personally. You impressed the Emperors.”

“That carries no importance to me.” Hanno grunted out moving his eyes to the wound Ravi prodded with. “Now what's the real reason you're down here. Certainly not to talk of my achievement.”

Sabina smirked at his sass and crossed her legs, “Perhaps it is, you've intrigued me.” 

Hanno furrowed his brow, “This isn't a safe place for a lady of your status.” he said plainly, taking a drag of the mixture Ravi gave to him.

Ravi pointed at a rag that sat next to Sabina to which she handed it to him, leaning in more towards Hanno. “I saw the sour looks you threw towards my father. What's the reason for such emotions?” she asked curiously.

A dark look passed over the gladiator's face, “That would be business between the General and I.”

Sabina hummed while Ravi backed up, “You're stitched up Hanno. I suggest you take a bath, you stink of filth.” he chuckled and patted him on the back. “Nice to see you Sabina.” he bid them a goodbye.

Hanno stood as did Sabina, “I'll escort you to the tub.” she smiled at the aggravated look that washed over him. The pair walked side by side in silence before stepping into the large room with the large tub of hot water in the middle. “Well I shall leave you to rid yourself of the remnants from tonight's game.”

“Wont stay to question me anymore?” he raised an eyebrow while unclipping his armor.

Sabina watched as he undressed cheeks heating up, “Not while you are without clothes, no.” she said perplexed and turned her back, “ You'd like to answer my curiosity?” Once she heard the water splashing she turned back to see Hanno sat in the steaming water, head leaned neck with his eyes shut.

“Nothing with the General.” he said before opening his eyes and moving his gaze to hers.

Sabina moved in closer, slipping her sandals off and hiking her dress up. She sat down next to him and dipped her legs into the water. “What were you before all of this?” she watched the bruised man let a sigh out.

“A farmer.” he answered plainly. 

She hummed, “Does any family wait for you?”.

Hanno tensed, “My wife was my family. She was killed when your people invaded.”

The girl nodded, “Rome is in a dark time, not even the citizens feel safe.”

“And do you?” he questioned looking at her.

Sabina pondered, “I worry for the innocent Romans who will be caught in the crossfire when the twins' leadership fails.” Hanno chose not to answer and began to wash his arms, careful of the wounds his body had received before standing.

Sabina looked away at the man's naked form, “You can look. You say I intrigued you and it cannot be my soul in which that did.” he looked down at her.

She cautiously turned back and looked at his face before her eyes moved down to his muscular chest littered with scars, cuts, and bruises. She stood and moved in front of him reaching out and traced a jagged white line that sat on his right pec. Hanno said nothing and instead looked at her features and the way her eyebrows furrowed with every wound she felt.

Sabina’s eyes lingered on his abs before moving down to his half hard cock between them. She had been with one man before and he had been nowhere close to the size Hanno was, “I should return to my chambers.” yet she made no move to leave.

“Perhaps.” he whispered moving his hands to her waist

Sabina didn't waste a moment before crashing her lips into his chapped ones, hands moving to his shoulders and around his neck. His hands gripped her harder, lifting her up with ease and setting her up onto the counter behind her. Hanno stood between her open legs exploring her mouth with his tongue, driven with frustration and desperation.

He gripped the bottom of her dress and tapped her hips in order for her to lift them so he could punch her dress to her waist. “Are you sure you want this Sabina?” he asked breathlessly. Although he hated the girls father he had to admit something about the girl made him addicted

“I've wanted this since I saw you in the games, please Hanno.” and with that he returned to her lips and brushed his fingers agaisnt her soaking pussy. She moaned into his mouth and gripped the hair at the nape of his neck.

Pushing one finger into her he circled her clit with his thumb. Relishing in the way she tightened her walls. “Feel how wet I make your cunt?” He whispered between her swollen lips.

Sabina whimpered, “Please-more Hanno, please give me more.” she moaned out

He pushed another finger in and curled them up in her g-spot and sped his pace on her clit bringing her to the cusp of an orgasm before pulling away leaving the girl a gasping mess, “No-why?” said asked

Hanno gripped the base of his cock and lined it up to her entrance before leaning down to her forehead, “When I get you to cum I want it to be around my cock.” he said before pushing up into her all the way to the hilt. Sabina moaned, gripping his back, adding more cuts with her nails, “You're taking me so well my beautiful girl.” he gritted out while thrusting into her at a fast pace.

“Cum with me, my gladiator.” Sabina gasped out.

Hanno worked his hips into her, tip hitting her cervix, “Let go.” he commanded and that all she needed to hear before an orgasm washed over her, Hanno followed burying his hips deep into hers.

The pair caught their breath before separating, Sabina pulling her dress down and feeling a mixture of their cum leaking out of her while Hanno pulled a uniform over his head. 

“I shall see you at the colosseum in coming days.” She combed her hair out and moved towards the exit but he caught her wrist and pulled her back to him.

“I ask of you to pay me a visit after the game, that is if I survive.” he smirked

Sabina smiled and nodded, “If that is what you want my gladiator.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Part Two

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

Minutes slipped away, trapped in Calla’s crushing grip. The ache in your muscles licked in heavy lines of flame; your injured shoulder throbbed with the effort it took to keep him steady. Rocking side to side, you felt Geta’s hand slip from yours, stealing your attention from the man who remained crumpled in your lap. Caracalla’s head now rested on you, allowing your gentle fingertips to brush away the tangles in his fiery locks and trace over the mottled expanse of his cheek. The rosy color he’d painted there early had smudged as he pressed his face further into you, tears streaming down in ugly rivers. His garbled words flowed in pitiful whimpers over and over, telling of the fears that ran deep in his soul. 

Untethered, Geta struggled to his feet before clumsily moving across the room. The soft clink of glass against glass drifted through the air. Rhythmic footfalls marked his return to your side. Without question, Geta reached for his brother, sitting in the space beside you, he helped Caracalla sit, untangling his limbs from your body. Geta’s words were gentle and hesitant as he tried to gain Calla’s attention. 

“Calla,” Geta waited, watching the unmoored drift of his brother’s eyes as he fought to focus, “It’s me. You look tired. I think it is time for some rest, hmm?” 

Caracalla nodded weakly in agreement, incapable of speaking. Geta continued outwardly unfazed by his brother’s state. “Good, that’s good. Now, let’s get you into bed. You need rest and medicine.” 

Once again, Calla nodded, permitting Geta to help him from the floor. The pair lumbered awkwardly toward the bed, the covers still thrown back from the previous night’s slumber. Now free to move, you stood and followed closely behind, watching with rapt attention as Geta cared for his brother. Gentle hands removed the crown of laurels, placing it to the side where it would be neither ruined nor harmful. Of his own accord, Calla sat upon the edge of the mattress, staring up at Geta as though he’d hung the moon and stars. Wanting to help, and needing to do something, you closed the distance between you, taking the space beside Geta. 

Your movement caught their focus, drawing both of them to look at you. Bright crimson flowed along the curve of your cheek and neck, once again painting your skin with gore. A damning look of anger flashed in Geta’s eyes before falling back to his brother. All the while, Calla remained centered on you. Though no words passed his lips, it was easy to see how desperately he ached you to be close. 

Timid steps brought you nearer as you reached for the vial that remained in Geta’s hand. With your palm outstretched, he placed it carefully in your grasp. The brittle hold of your nerves left your hands shaking, but you knew what had to be done. Taking the space that Geta had once inhabited before Calla, you cupped the emperor’s face, your thumb swept in feather-light arcs earning a weak whimper at your touch. 

“It is time for your medicine, yes?” You waited for his silent acquiescence, which you received. The pop of the stopper coming loose met you, even as the hum of blood rushing against your eardrums threatened to drown out the rest of the world. The heave of your chest gave way to the pit of guilt that turned your stomach. Sensing your hesitation, Geta reached for you, his hand falling to the low of your back. 

Cautiously, you brought the vial of sedative to Caracalla’s lips, and he drank without question, trusting you beyond measure. With the very last drop consumed, you stooped to press your lips to Calla’s forehead. The heaviness of his lids from the medicine, paired with your touch, had his eyes fluttering shut, but he had not yet succumbed to the full effects. The heady scent of opium drifted over your senses as your brow rested upon his. Not ready to let you go, Caracalla’s weak grip reached for your wrists, keeping you close. His touch was barely there, nothing of the violence from before remained.

“Rest.” The whisper of your breath fanned over his countenance, soothing the edges of his frayed nerves. Helping him lay back upon the pillows, you covered his body with the plush cushion of a blanket. The faint press of your lips ghosting over Calla’s left you feeling unbalanced, the gesture was one of habit, but also of remorse. Seeing him like this… it never became easier. 

Free to retreat from the emperor’s bed chamber, you moved unspeaking away from Geta who had fallen into silent step behind you. Shame and anxiety flashed hot in your chest, stealing the air from your lungs and burning the bridge of your nose. Emotion clung like daggers in your throat cutting the erratic inhales you scrambled to take. Using the pressure of your hand against the wall for support. Caracalla’s pitiful murmurs troubled your mind, his words ran on a terrifying loop slicing with their barbs. 

‘You’re mine, whore… lost… lost… I can’t find…’ The juxtaposition of a bloodthirsty emperor hell-bent on claiming what was and had always been his property and the child-like desperation for comfort turned your stomach. Bile coated the back of your throat forcing you to stop in your tracks. Your vision tunneled, black crowding the edges, dotting out the world as sweat coated your clammy skin. 

The cool of the stone on your burning temple kept you upright. Your good shoulder supported the entirety of your weight. An incessant ringing replaced all other sounds, moving in tandem with inky darkness that blotted out reality. Unable to hold yourself any longer, only the sudden presence of another kept you from falling. Geta scooped you into himself, the dark crimson of the sanguine fluid running from your still-fresh wounds stained his front and soaked into the gold adornments of his robes. Struggling to keep you standing, Geta pressed you back into the wall, his sturdy frame flush with yours. 

Tucked tightly into his chest, Geta’s breath drifted through the fine wisps of hair along your temple, “You are safe… you are safe.” He spoke as much to himself as to you. 

“Calla-” The violent crack of your voice shuddered throughout your body, “… he’s-” 

“I know.” Geta’s tentative fingertips trembled as he cupped the back of your head, guiding your face to look at him. The slice upon your cheek oozed fresh lines of gore, having bumped roughly against his front, adding to the flow from the crescent moons along your chin and highlighting the progression of black and purple surrounding it and those that marked your throat. 

“You also need rest. And your wounds… you mustn't return to him tonight. Please.” His plea was hoarse, weary, and worn. Tentatively, his mouth met yours, the tang of iron filled his nose. The brush of his chapped skin against your own faltered the beat of your heart. A flare of emotion in your chest tugged you away from his soothing touch. 

“And how would care to explain that to him? He is beyond reason, Geta. Only glimpses of his former self claw their way to the surface now, and their stay is fleeting and inconsistent. Luck and nothing more returns fragments of him to us.” Pressing your palm flat to his chest, you traced the edging of fine thread. “And what of the arena? There is no avoiding the necessity of my presence by his side in public. You heard what he said, and I was merely across the room. Lost. No matter how far into his sadistic obsession Caracalla may descend or how others may perceive the state of my being, he must be cared for. Gossip already flies quickly in the wind, it would be all-consuming at my absence. Not because those around you care for my presence but for the sheer fact that Calla’s grip on reality extends only so far as the pair of us… and even then…” 

“What is it you truly fear?” Quick to pick through your stealthy words, Geta latched on to the hesitation that flowed from you.  

“ Geta… the cracks… they must never show.” The emperor’s honeyed eyes gazed upon you, fear and despair in equal measures tugged at the corners, emphasizing the watery nature of his stare. The young boy, forced to assume a role far too grand for him to handle alone, beaten and bruised by those he adored the most stood before you begging silently. 

“I know… I know…” He whispered, his brows pinched, the lines between them deep as the corners of his plush lips fell. The lush weight of your thumb brushed along Geta’s jaw, keeping him from falling away from this moment entirely. Blood trickled down the column of your neck, drawing his eyes. Mesmerized by the pattern left upon your skin, Geta reached for you, his fingertips tracing alongside the ruddy lines that muddy your person. Your chest rose and fell in unsteady waves, the bleary look in your eyes gave him the strength to speak. Working with a shaky breath, he clung to the only measure of normalcy he could find, you. 

“Rest. You need rest and medicine.” Geta lifted his weight from your frame, his hand falling to the hollow of your back to guide you, but he made it only a half step before your resistance held fast. 

“You should not have to traverse this alone. It is not good for you.” You reached for him, finding an anchor in the front of his robes. The gold and jewels circling his neck delicately clanked with the sway of his stop, leaving them askew. Without thought, you fixed the chain, righting the adornment so that it fell perfectly across the collar. The solid curve of muscle beneath the fabric transfixed you, body and soul. Cool metal brushed along your arm as Geta explored the sea of exposed skin, entranced by the flutter of gooseflesh that formed in his wake. 

Tender and hesitant, Geta held the curve of your neck, leaning in close. Warm breath drifted over the shell of your ear as he spoke, “We will postpone the games for today, the public can wait, but more importantly… I am not alone. You are with me wherever I go. You heal me and haunt me, but there is no universe in which I will ever be truly parted from you.” His free hand reached for yours, drawing it to the space above his beating heart. 

The pair of you clung to each other in the empty cavern of the palatial hall. The enormity of his touch burned you. A white-hot chain seared the empty pit of your stomach. The murmur of your own words threaded with Geta’s, churring and biting on their repeat… I am never truly gone, Calla. You can always find me, here, even in the dark. I am not alone. You are with me wherever I go.

Your promises collided, now more an omen of despair than a hopeful plea for each other. The burn across the bridge of your nose and strangled sob in your throat sent hot tears flowing down your cheeks. Geta’s vow held danger in its sincerity, for the knowing clash of desires and reality ripped invisible wounds. Silently, and more aware than he cared to admit of the war battling in your heart, Geta held you close. Eyes wide and worried, he buried your countenance in his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder giving him a sharp view of the hall that unfurled around you. No sounds besides the soft gasps of your emotions and the comforting mumble of sweet nothings that tumbled from his lips could be heard. But no matter the emptiness of the space, Geta couldn’t shake the fear of prying eyes… of the cracks that widened with every beat of his heart. 

Carefully guiding you toward his chambers, Geta supported the bulk of your weak and weary body. Tucked away in the privacy of his room, he stopped you just short of the enticing expanse of silken sheets. His ringed fingers traced the pleats of your stola before taking your hand in his own. Brushing over the sensitive skin beneath the bands of gold that adorned your wrist, he hesitated, letting your palm fall away before moving to map the curve of your hips. Journying further, he teased the swell of your breasts unable to curb the base desires that always flowed between the pair of you. He may have felt poorly for giving into that part of himself were it not for the look of fire that consumed you. The sharp inhale he earned from you at the feeling of his calloused fingertips added fuel to the always-raging blaze. His coppery locks dipped, and the crown of laurels glinted in the sunlight, as he mouthed at your chest, luxuriating in the taste of you. 

He leaned in, gripping tightly to your back. The pressure of his lips on your body zipped along the arch of your spine. Not wanting to fall, you reached for him, threading through the waves at the nape of his neck. Too soon he pulled away, his eyes blown and searching but serene. You chased him on instinct, searching, despite the exhaustion that crowded your vision. 

His lips glistened, alluring and beautiful as he spoke, “Later. For now, let me tend to your wounds.” You nodded in resigned agreement. Geta accepted your soundless answer, using the hold on your waist to settle you upon the edge of the bed.

His shoulders heaved, shuttering with his exhale. “No more.” He whispered more to himself than to you. With as much care as he could muster, and fueled by his desire to keep you safe, he cleaned each of your wounds, coating them with honey to soothe the sting. The press of him into the space before you kept the unsteadiness of the moment ever present. Brushing loose hairs behind your ear, Geta rested his palm on your unmarred cheek, noting the warm flush that colored the skin. You nuzzled into his touch, not trusting your words. 

Unrelenting marble greeted him as he knelt to meet you. From here the red rims of your eyes churrned the empty pit of his stomach. His wandering hands traced delicate patterns from your ankle toward the bend of your knees before placing a kiss on your inner thigh. The cracked tangle of his words snapped the stillness that had settled between you. 

“Do you remember that day by the river?” The ghost of a smile lifted the corner of his lips at the memory. “It was just the three of us. The sky was perfect, the sun bounced off the water… He was so happy… you both were. Actually happy. I think that was the last time, and I will never forget it.” A sadness drifted back over him, replacing the momentary good with reality once more. 

“And you?” Geta’s brows pulled together confused by your question. “Were you happy?” 

“I wanted to be… I-I tried to be,” he confessed with reservation. Guilt pinned his shoulders to his ears. 

“What if I told you that you were wrong?” You protested gently. The look on Geta’s face kept you going, “I am not speaking of you wanting or trying to be happy, I believe that. I’m talking about it being the last time.” 

“How do you mean?” Watery eyes met your own, eager to hear, and desperate for the thoughts in your mind. 

“Geta, you make me happy, you always have. Even when we… even when things were different. You were a light, guiding me back. I cannot explain it. I have always loved your brother, he put me back together when I was broken. But you… you are my salvation.”

Dropping to your knees, you held his brow to yours, “I-I… the joy I feel when I am with you… it scalds me. I fought it for so long, wishing it would fade so that I could absolve myself of the guilt I held for feeling it, but it never did. Every time we are together my love for you roots itself deeper in my soul. We are intertwined, where I end you begin. I burn for you.” 

Geta broke. His sturdy frame was fragile in your arms, trembling with the enormity of what you’d confessed. The emperor’s arms wrapped around your body, hauling you close so that only the fabric of your clothing separated the pair of you. Its presence was an unwanted barrier between your souls. Struggling under his weight, you sank back onto your calves, taking him with you. Feeble and weary, you sagged under him.

Blindly, he reached for the pins that held your stola together. With deft skill, he removed them, tossing the metal away from you ensuring it posed no threat to your well-being. They clattered quietly, but the sound barely registered. Slowly, he guided the layers of material to the floor leaving you exposed before him. There was simply no hiding the way the sight of you affected him. 

Lust blown, the amber hue of his eyes was almost imperceptible, replaced by the broad expanse of his pupils. Geta’s lips crashed with yours, hungrily devouring your gasp. He palmed at your breasts, pinching your nipple between his fingers roughly, earning him a desperate moan. The sly twist of his lips against your neck as he laid a line of fire from the shell of your ear to the base of your throat was thrilling. Feeling you shutter beneath his touch, Geta dropped a hand from your chest, raking over the curve of your waist and hip before dipping between your plush thighs. With practiced skill, he found his mark, brushing tender strokes over your clit, collecting your slick as he listened to the whimpering pants that left you. 

Pushing further onto your knees, you threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging sharply at the root. This new angle had you reeling. A rumbling groan of his pain and pleasure reverberated through your skin as he continued to mouth at the swell of your breasts. Nipping keenly at your skin, he relished the hiss of breath through your teeth. Your free hand wandered, tracing the inner line of this thigh, causing him to shake as your touch finally fell to his hardening cock. With light pressure, you teased, drawing fragile lines along his length. At your ministrations, his hips bucked into your hand begging for more, which you readily gave.

Sliding the hem of his clothes out of the way, you trailed over his thighs, noting the way the muscles jumped beneath your fingertips. Higher and higher, you worked, finally reaching what you desired. Carefully, you wrapped your hand around him, using your thumb to work over the tip, collecting his arousal as you went. A choking huff erupted from Geta; the sound of it sent lust flooding over your nerves. Lifting his head to meet yours, you swallowed his groans, the steady rhythm of your wrist drawing him closer to oblivion. You could feel the way he twitched in your hand, each pulse and rush of blood sent his head spinning. 

All the while his hand never ceased. Instead, he traversed lower, sinking his broad fingers into your folds. The wet sound of him working into you moved lewdly through the room. 

“More,” you pled pathetically. Geta responded without question, pressing into you and curling his fingers, hitting the perfect spot inside you. Electricity rocketed through your body, pleasure pooling low in your stomach.  Holding steady, he felt your walls quiver around him, the spasms wracked your body as you placed your weight into his arms. Your grip on him faltered, telling him just how close you were to the edge. Not yet ready for the moment to be over, Geta pulled away, leaving you empty and clambering for more. 

“Bed. Now,” He ordered, his voice low and commanding. The pair of you stood on shaky legs, using the other for support. Free of your clothing, you pawed at his, pushing the fabric from his shoulders as best you could. Walking you back into the mattress, Geta lowered you onto your back before standing to remove his garments. Exposed to the ever-present chill in the air, he could not help the shiver that shuddered through him, but it was the dark look in your eyes that had him truly reeling. 

Taking his time, he pressed a knee into the bed, slotting a strong leg between yours as he lowered down on top of you. You reached for him, pulling his lips to you. The sweet taste of wine remained on his tongue, delicious and intoxicating. Vying for control, he pressed the thick of his knee against your core, giving you something to grind upon, your hips moved haphazardly in search of the pressure you so desperately wanted. 

Once again, he pulled you close to the edge, the shallow breaths and heady moans that tumbled from you were perfect in every sense of the word. Your hands roamed over his back, your nailing digging into the delicate flesh. This new-found layer of pleasure had him begging for more. 

“I want to taste you.” Geta’s lips brushed along your jaw as he spoke, waiting for permission to take what he wanted. 

“Then do it,” you whispered to him, barely able to speak through the waves of passion that threatened to pull you under.

Inhaling deeply, the emperor trailed his way over your body, mouthing and biting at the exposed skin between your breasts and your hips. Settled firmly between your thighs, his strong arms wrapped around your legs, holding you in place as his lips teased avoiding where you wanted him the most. Tired of waiting, you pulled him close by the hair, giving him one final show of consent. Feeling your hands in his hair, he gave in to his wants. 

The slip of his tongue against you was too much and not enough. Everything around you fell away apart from him. Only the vibration of his moans and the ragged drawl of your soft mewls could be heard. Each glide over your clit sent you reeling and rushing toward your own release. The knot was tight in your belly, ready to snap and relinquish its devastating hold. 

Knowing your tells, Geta kept his pace, adding the delicious stretch of his fingers. And with that, you were there. The muscles in your legs clenched, your velvety walls closing in fast spasms around him as he kept going, working you through to the end. Your lungs heaved with effort as he hauled himself up to kiss you. The taste of yourself on his lips was sweet, leaving you wanting more despite all the energy having been sapped from your limbs. 

“Let me feel you,” you murmured into his shoulder as he kissed along the column of your neck. 

“Are you sure?” He questioned, not unsure of your desire, but rather your well-being. From here the troubles of the day were clear. The dark hue of exhaustion beneath your eyes, the marks upon your broken skin… all of it ripped at his heart. 

“I have never been more sure of anything.” Bringing him back to your lips, you reached between your bodies, pumping his still throbbing member. A strangled moan echoed from him as he rutted into your palm. Done waiting and too close to his own climax, Geta took matters into his own hands. With as much restraint as possible, given the state of his mind, he aligned himself with you. Your arousal coated his cock, easing the ache and leaving only pleasure. 

Your hips were flush with one another, fully connected and dead to the rest of the world. The only thing that mattered was the rush of energy that flowed between you with each thrust of his slender hips. Rolling your own in time with his, the pair of you fought to hold each other through the waves. The vulgar sound of skin on skin blended harmoniously with the unchecked gasps of desire that filled the chamber. 

Heat flooded your system, coating your nerves and coaxing you closer to the edge again. The sudden stutter of his thrusts and you knew he was close. The curve of your fingernails bit into his back as you nipped at his shoulder more forcefully than you had intended spurred him on. 

“Let go, I’ve got you,” you encouraged, knowing he was holding on by a thread. With your words and a well-timed tug at the base of his silken locks, Geta reached his own release. Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, keeping him close. No space existed between the pair of you, allowing you both to feel the other perfectly. The twitch of his cock, as he came down from his high, was crude and luscious in a way that had you choking on the air in your lungs. 

Breathing hard, Geta’s shoulder heaved as he tried to keep from crushing you under his weight. Still buried deep inside of you, he could feel the flutter of your walls around him. 

“Tell me what you want,” He begged, certain that you needed more, but not sure how to proceed. 

“On your back,” you managed to speak, your voice hoarse and cracky from the effort. 

A dangerous look flashed over his face at the implication of your request. Geta complied immediately, turning onto his back and taking you with him. Your plush thighs straddled his own as his hand came to rest on your hips. In the movement, he’d slipped from you, leaving you empty and begging for him. Sitting up on your knees, you reached for him, stroking gently, giving you time to catch your breath. 

With your lungs back in control, you notched his weeping tip between your fold, sinking down until you were flush. Geta could do nothing to stop the noises that poured from him, but there was no concern of judgment as you matched him in every respect. Your palms splayed flat on his chest, your hips swirled in a messy pattern over him. Trying his best to help, he gripped you tight, supporting your weight with one hand while sweeping over your sensitive bud with the other. 

From this position, Geta had the opportunity to look at you in full. The way your chest moved, covered in the marks he’d left behind. The tilt of your head as your lips fell open in want. The way your fingers dug into his skin leaving behind bruises of their own. You were stunning and so sure of yourself. Geta silently thanked the gods for their favor in bringing you to him. 

Holding tight to one another, the both of you worked in tandem, your movements in miraculous harmony. Before long, you were there, on the precipice, ready to take what you wanted for your own. And that was precisely what you did. Matching the rhythm of his hands, you pushed yourself over, letting go of the tension in your body and focusing only on the thrum of your desire. The pulse of your muscles and core peaked before dipping back down to nothing, leaving you boneless and weak atop Geta. 

The emperor adjusted his hold on you, pulling you flush with his chest before rolling to the side. Holding you close, he traced along your body, touching whatever skin he could find. Your bodies tangled together, your leg thrown over his hip, keeping you connected in every way possible. He could feel the sticky mess of sweat and spend on your body, but he was unwilling to let go of you just yet. 

“Wherever you go I will follow,” you breathed into his chest. 

Sabina was in her bed chambers, surrounded by guards betraying the overall idea of Rome. The ones desiring to kill her husband. She was like them once, so desperate to give justice to the nation, but the overall justice was right in front of her the entire time. She was able to change his way, to reason him from corrupt ideas and she found great beauty in him.

Yet, here she was being punished for what she done.  For going behind the Emperors backs to get justice once again. Also, of her inlaw’s rage could kill her at any moment if she stepped out unsupervised.

Her eyes were still stuck on the blade given to her. She couldn’t do this to him, she was his lover, his wife, his everything.  Geta and Rome was everything to her, she had to act quickly to this plot or else there will be dire consequences to this.

She waited in her room to find a moment alone with her husband she had to tell him what was going on. She had to get them away from this before it was too late. The images of her husband, her in law with a blade to their neck, killing them was a nightmare to her.

Whose to say that Macrinus won’t just kill her afterwords?

“Sabina,” She heard his voice even before going into the chambers. He came close to her and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She was frozen in place. He was wearing navy blue robes

“What’s causing you sadness mel?”

Saying the words “You advisor is plotting to kill you.” Was not on her tongue to say easily. Her husband would be heartbroken, and he would have to tell his own brother of the betrayal as well.

But it had to be done.

“I need to tell you something.” Sabina said softly and invited him to sit on the couch. He sat down and invited her to sit on his lap. She quickly sat down and glanced to the door which was closed shut.

“I will listen Sabina, every single word.” He assured her, his hand going to her thigh. Sabina needed him to listen.

“Ok, husband. I need to be honest with you, there is a traitor in our mist.”

Geta looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Another one? Unless if you are referring to yourself here.”

‘No, Macrinus has betrayed you and asked me to ….” Sabina paused looking down. Geta was focused on her and their reactions. It appears she was as heartbroken as he was. Geta saw how close she got with him. He, Geta highly respected Macrinus but he had to learn more about it

“Sabina tell me what is going on.” Geta was trying to control his own breathing, knowing how vulnerable they may be. Sabina needed to take her time with his information, knowing how close they once were with one another and how much this information will hurt him.

He listened to everything she told him. Macrinus supporting her since the beginning, the ploy with Felix after she had seen him cheating on her. How Macrinus told her and tried to persuade her to take over on her own, and now the blade in her hand that was assigned to his throat.

Geta had a hard time to believe this. He had experienced an insane amount of conflict and gods since he had met Sabina. He didn’t regret a moment of it, but the looming jealousy and anger his brother has for his wife, and now the betrayal is intense and too much for him to endure.

“All of this treason, betrayal.” Geta’s voice was soft. “It is for the best that you stay locked up in here until this is all sorted.”

“Geta, I should warn you that danger is afoot.” Sabina warned him but Geta stood up and left the room, he wasn’t going to let her say anymore. She was his top priority now.

************************************************************************

Geta had to leave her chambers for an important meeting for the upcoming days. He was warned earlier that he would likely have to leave the nation to venture out to discuss war tactics with the generals. However, with the new news that came forward from his wife, he thought this wasn’t as important. He had to ensure his wife’s and his own safety amongst lingering betrayers.

Caracalla sat next to his brother in the dining room, several concubines were swarming him, demanding his attention. A few of them, some of Geta’s old flames had tried to get his attention, yet he swatted them away.

“Brother, why swat the attention of women? You have a traitor in your bed.” Caracalla mused to Geta who rolled his eyes.

“Traitors is a word for many people, not for my wife.” Geta said softly. Caracalla shook his head in disbelief.

The captain of the guards began instructing and explaining what was going on within the grounds according to Sabina’s father’s notes. Geta felt a tinge of guilt for exiling them, but knew it was for the best. Now, he must put up with the replacement’s lack of skill and intelligence in the battlefield.

Geta didn’t take a bite of the wine or food throughout the entire meeting. Macrinus, who was across from the table watched him with ease, trying to see if he would touch anything. Caracalla was eying Geta in the same manner, seeing if Geta would eat anything, even if it was a small amount.

Macrinus and Caracalla looked at each other with a flash of concern in their eyes. Geta took note of it then decided to speak up during the meeting.

“What ails you two?” Geta asked.

“We are worried about you, your different. You are far from interested in women and haven’t eaten anything.” Macrinus began.

“I don’t need anyone else but Sabina. Since that night with the concubine, I seen how it hurt her and I eventually learned that there is no one like her so why sleep with someone with little interest to pursuing them further.”

Caracalla laughs. “You can’t be serious brother, One woman for the rest of your life when you can have thousands and just have one woman to bear legitimate heirs? “

“I am brother and I would consider you to educate yourself. Sabina is an amazing woman who has helped you. Her crimes are not yours to bare, its hers and perhaps these crimes aren’t crimes at all.” Geta sighed. He knew he should really keep quiet, but what’s the point when they were degrading his wife when speaking of adultery.

“Ah, but when your wife cant have children, which children will come forward to take over in their father’s absence?”

Geta was silent for a moment then muttered. “The senate.” He honestly has been thinking of what his wife was talking about and if he didn’t have a child and his brother didn’t, perhaps it would be for the best if the senate took over.

Caracalla and Macrinus looked at each other then back to Geta.

“You cant be serious.” Macrinus said. ‘The future of Rome….”

“Perhaps could rely on the people, not just a single person.” Geta suggested. He couldn’t listen to this war talk or be in the same room as his brother so he stood up and walked out. Thinking of how odd Caracalla and Macrinus were.

Sabina had to be right.

Once they heard the door close, the three men looked at each other. The captain was the first to speak.

“Guess war talk will have to wait until after this is done.” He cleared his throat.

Macrinus was deep in thought, full of the complications and lies. He told all three men different stories and legends of what was to happen tonight. But the closest one to the truth was to Sabina, he would use her as a puppet for his power which will eventually give him the title of Emperor once the people go against her for her gender. Rome couldn’t live with a single female leader. He knew she wanted the senate back in power, but with his charms, he was sure he could get that idea removed from her head. Killing Sabina would cause an uproar with Rome.

He told Caracalla that he was going to rid of Geta and Sabina so the power can be both his and Macrinus. He personally wanted to be the one to poison the food and wine on Geta’s plate but was clearly disappointed that the food wasn’t touched. Macrinus also told him about the dagger he gifted Sabina.

Macrinus had told the captain of the guards that he wanted to kill all three. He told him they wanted to kill Geta tonight, followed by Caracalla shortly after. He instructed the guard to let Macrinus have Sabina to kill.  Again, he wouldn’t do it, but when he took a higher form of power, the captain would have to understand.

“He didn’t touch the food!” Caracalla squealed.

“We will have to get him tonight, it is part of the plan!” The captain barked harshly.

“I am well aware, we just need to get him when we can” Macrinus said. He hoped that Sabina could get to him, if she has the guts to do it.

************************************************************************

Geta had leant his head against the door during the conversation and heard every word out of their lips. He believed Sabina, but the nature of the truth seemed so unreal to him.

They had to leave.

Now.

The emperor quickly stepped back from the doors and rushed to the chambers to warn his wife that this ploy was closer that originally thought. They would have to call a horse, even use hers to sneak into the night and never return.

Where would the two of them run off to? There were very few places that could keep them hidden. Sabina and him are well recognised in Rome so that wouldn’t benefit them.

 There were the woods, but he knew that his brother would find them there quickly. Macrinus slowly behind them.

He knocked on the doors. The two guards watching the door had looked at him, their eyes had remarked a sense of surprise in them. They cleared their throat and looked ahead of them as the Emperor opened the door.

Sabina was in her bed and looked at him. “That was a fast meeting.”

“We are leaving now.” Geta said in a hushed tone. He couldn’t even trust the guards outside of the room.

“What…”

“They are trying to kill me tonight. The plan is already in fruition. Pack your things we are leaving as soon as the gods bless us.” Geta said in a warning tone as he grabbed a basket. He didn’t need much, just so there would be a chance of them to get out of here before blood is spilt.

“Merda.” Sabina could only curse to herself as she began to put things in her bag. She needed safe passage as well. If her husband was in trouble, so was she. Who knows that will truly lie for her if her husband was killed.

“Where will we go?”  

“Wherever the gods will bless us.” Geta muttered. He was only focused on the overall outcome: getting the two of them outside safe. He seen a small flicker of light in the night, a flame and hearing hushed voices.

It came back to him, the people of Rome are seeking justice for the exiling of Marcus and Lucillia.  He knew this was going to be a curse and a blessing for them as they try to sneak out.

************************************************************************

The people outside of the palace were hollering for things that Sabina believed in.

Justice.

Peace.

The return of the senate and Marcus.

The two were too busy finishing packing up their bags and muttering prayers to themselves to think about what was going on outside of the building. Sabina was more drawn to it as it brought back the days where she would be the one to start them and sneak in to steal and return the goodies to the poor.

Geta however, felt the guilt grow in his stomach on what previously occurred. The exiling must have been a mistake, but they are safe now.

Caracalla, wearing white robes, had opened the doors and glared at Sabina who was only in her night gown. Thoughts of rage and anger towards her took over inside of his mind. Geta and Sabina stopped their packing and looked up at him.

“Brother, what is it?”  Geta asked.

Carcalla raised an eyebrow, “Going on a trip are we?”

Sabina and Geta had to think fast about how to make an excuse to get out of the situation. Carcalla wants both dead for different reasons, but they needed more time to get out of this.

“We decided to go to Minori for a few days.” Sabina lied as Geta nodded back to his brother.

“Oh, with everything going outside, do you think that is a good idea?  Leaving your brother here to take your responsibility while you go on a trip?”

Geta growled under his breath. “ I am sure you can handle it.”

“No, I don’t think I can.” Caracalla said and gestured him and Sabina to follow him. The two sighed before leaving the room, with Sabina having her blade in hand. They don’t want to take any chances, and she was determined to save her husband.

************************************************************************

The council doors slammed shut and Caracalla turned to Geta angrily.

“This is all your doing. I hope you know that.” He spat at him. Sabina scanned the room and found Macrinus with his eyes glued onto her. This was a set up, a ploy for the two of them in a dark room, to trick and kill both brothers.

“My doing? They are alive and well, while you would want to execute every person you see doing wrong. You need to listen rather then focus on execution.” Geta reminded him.

“While we are entertained by the concept of death for entertainment?”

There was silence in the dark room. Macrinus had stood up and placed his hand on Sabina’s shoulder, causing a feeling of uneasiness on her. Knowing, this is where and when he wanted her to end her husband’s life.

Macrinus knew she needed more persuasion to do the job. His touch began to rub her shoulder blade slowly, trying to ease her nerves.  He purred in his voice, trying to ease the girl to do what he wished.

“All of the gold of Rome would be yours to give to the people. You would be beloved as the Emperess of Rome.” His other hand had grabbed the hand where the blade rested, rubbing slow circles around the palm of her hand. “Think of the people you can help, I can guide you there.”

Sabina pulled her hand away from him. She was sick of the games that Macrinus played with her throughout this for his own momentary gain.  Dark eyes met dark eyes as she spoke without her mouth.

“I am not your puppet.”

His grip held onto her tighter as Geta and his brother were arguing with one another. There was yelling and pushing each other around. She wanted to grab Geta and just leave. Yet, Macrinus was trying to push his charms onto her further.

“Money and fame may not persuade you but think of the things that Geta has done.”

Sure, her husband was corrupt but now he has come to his senses. He is starting to see what the people of Rome really need. Not war and power, but food, resources and kindness.

I tighten the grip of the blade in my hand as Macrinus nudged my body towards the two brothers fighting one another, suggesting me to do the deed now.

Caracalla had stopped for a moment then realised the hesitation in my eyes.  He glanced up at Macrinus who nodded and gestured to the blade in Sabina’s hands. Caracalla chuckled.

“Your wife was going to kill you huh?”  He began as he kicked his brother to the ground as he put his palm out for Sabina to give the blade to him. Geta was on the ground, groaning from the kick to the stomach.  “ It is my duty to do this.”

Sabina felt her tears well up at the sight of her husband on the ground. She quickly shook her head at him.

“Think about Rome Sabina,” Macrinus warned under his breath.

Sabina shook her head. Caracalla groaned then grabbed her wrist tightly to take the blade from her. Geta’s brown eyes watched in fear as Sabina was trying to pull away her hand from him, knowing where the weapon would be placed.

Caracalla’s grip was getting more intense. She couldn’t let go of the blade. Macrinus was slowly pushing the blade towards the emperor to help him. Her strength wouldn’t be able to overcome it so she had to do something her youthful self would have done if given the chance.

But now it’s something she fears.

Her force of pulling away went towards giving him the blade. Just not the way that he expected. It was a quick movement, it glided past his hand. Caracalla’s eyes were full of shock, not knowing she had it in her to do such a thing. They sure had their conflicts with each other, but they did have their moment. Like when she would read to him and his concubines towards the end.

She couldn’t let her thoughts flood her, she had to do this for her husband and for Rome. There was no other option, she had to protect her husband.  The sharp blade had pieced into his stomach quickly, getting a loud groan from him.

“SABINA!” Geta yelled at her. Pleading her to stop.

She couldn’t let him pull out the blade and use it on his brother. The wound she gave him could be one that he survived. But she knew she had no choice but to finish it. Caracalla would chase them in more rage than possible.  Before she could act, he grabbed the blade from the wound in pain.

“YOU canis foemina!” He spat. Caracalla had pushed Sabina against the wall, turning his back from his brother on the ground. The bloody blade was against Sabina’s neck against the wall. She glanced at Macrinus who didn’t bother to move from the spot where he stood. He just observed, watching the whole scene unfold in front of them.

“Macrinus is betraying you. He is using you for his own gain” Sabina groaned from the feeling of metal being pressed to her throat. She couldn’t move, she could only hope that her husband would get up and do something if her words wouldn’t help Caracalla see reason.

“No, this is for the better of Rome, without your betrayal!” Caracalla raised his voice at her. She felt the cut slowly start to form in her neck. She didn’t know where her husband was, but if this was her final moments and he would slide the blade quickly across her neck and blood would flow, so be it. Fighting him will likely do anymore good to Rome. All she could do was reach out to his face and give a faint smile to him.

“Just remember my actions..” She managed to say. She focused on his blue eyes during the interaction. He didn’t seem like he was moving, or even blinking for that matter, his eyes were only focused on his prey.

Before he could swipe the blade quickly across her neck, Caracalla left out a gasp of air. He was shocked surprised by the movement. The sound of a small dagger hitting his back took Sabina off guard. Caracalla dropped the blade quickly and fell to the ground on his side. His eyes were open, expressionless, eyes fully dilated.

Dead.

Sabina looked at Geta who muttered “Sorry brother.” His brown eyes welled up and he was speechless, going doing to his knees, pleading apologises to the corpse.

She stared at his corpse. She couldn’t believe what just happened. They were supposed to walk out peacefully not go through this. Through a blood shed, of one of the emperors of Rome’s corpse resting at the Empress’s feet.

“I’m sorry. I am so so sorry.” Geta continued to plead softly, looking at him, taking the blade out of his body. Sabina didn’t remember him taking a blade but guess better safe than sorry. Sabina stared again at the youthful face, then quickly looked at Macrinus who was still in the room, frozen in shock. He wasn’t expecting this.

Macrinus made his way to the door but Sabina called to him, raising the blood-stained blade to him and gestured for him to sit down. Geta noticed this then pointed the blade back at Macrinus.

“SIT. We are not done with you.” She said boldly. She walked towards the former advisor to ensure that he took a seat down by the balcony surrounded by the people of Rome calling out for justice.

************************************************************************

Silence echoed throughout the room as the only sounds inside were the sounds of Geta crying over his brother’s corpse and the echoes of the screams of the growing riot outside. It shouldn’t have happened, the thoughts echoed throughout Geta’s head. He could have helped him understand what was going on.

Sabina’s eyes were still fixed on Macrinus in white robes, who sat at the table with his hands up.

“I am so complexed. You wanted to help Rome and I tried to help you.”  He said with a soft sly smirk on his face. “You should know how difficult it can be for me to help you with this Sabina. You were doing my job.” His dark eyes glanced to the floor to Caracalla’s cold body.

“I did what I needed to do to protect my husband as he did the same. His blood is on your hands for lying and conceiving him.” Sabina felt her hand grip the blade tighter.

“Oh? Your husband treated him terribly.” Macrinus shook his head. “ He told me of the times your temper would act out on him and would cause him to question himself.”

“You are a bad liar”

“He did, I saw, he would throw wine and spit on him when angry.” Macrinus said. Sabina looked at Geta, who was silently listening but full of guilt.

“Husband…”

“Some of the time it is true, but he would fight me back. I tried to help him I really did but ….” His voice was broken between breaths. “I wanted to, but we were just so different and this responsibility was a lot.”

Sabina knew of his temper. Her father even warned her of his, even before they met one another. Marcus some nights would be pacing the floor, hoping that I wouldn’t have to meet them and her existence would just be sidelined.  But, he seems calmer now, wanting to change. That doesn’t mean there were some episodes where he would still get angry.

“Husband. You have changed much more than you know.” Sabina said glancing at Geta for a moment as he stood up then glanced at the real enemy in the room. He stood up then stood by Sabina’s side, his hand on her shoulder blade, much more comforting than Macrinus’s touch on her.

“What should we do with him?” Sabina’s voice was soft, her head tilted to the side, still focused on Macrinus. She wanted him to suffer after everything he had done. Her eyes scanned his neck, chest and stomach, trying to find the perfect spot to end his life.

“I was going to ask you Sabina.” Geta’s voice was just as soft. “We can’t have him walking around and the guards were influenced by him.”

“You were the voice of Rome Sabina, why would you betray the citizens for him.” Marcinus cleared his throat. He wanted to be heard, even though it was clear that Sabina was not going to help him get his plan unfolded.

“I did and I helped him understand what was needed.” Sabina clarified.

“Yes but is it enough to prevent Rome from falling. Clearly your husband upset the people outside.”

Geta cleared his throat. “I think this is more of your doing Macrinus. You see, you were the one who talked to my wife and offered to help her to get Lucius out. You were the one who set this all up. You made sure there were soldiers there when Marcus went to retrieve him.”

“Yet, it was your wife who would go behind your back.”

Geta sighed. “For the better of Rome. Your selfishness only brought pain and suffering to her family, my own and Rome. Your crimes will not go unpunished.”

Sabina wanted to end his life so badly. Yet, there was a temptation to exile. However, there would always be the chance to see him around again.

There was a strong aroma of smoke that was outside the palace, there were cries, screaming of people. The bold and loud chanted.

“Gli eroi di Roma” The crowd cheered loudly below.

“Oh the people want her, what are you going to do about that. They know how you locked her away from the people.”

“That was for her own good. You twisted my brother’s mind and made the world not secure for my wife! I sent her father and Lucillia away for the same reason.” Geta muttered.

Sabina clears her throat at the two. “They wish to see me, and they know of Marcus’s exile, a beloved general of Rome. They are angry towards you, but not at me.”

There was a short period of silence. “You can take his job Sabina. You seem to know what the people want not to lie and betray. You’re going to be forgotten Macrinus, your name will be forgotten in time. No one will know who you are in generations to come.” Geta’s brown eyes were glued onto Macrinus.

All that Macrinus did was laugh. He knew he was trapped and would face a similar fate to Caracalla if he stuck around any longer. He stood up from his chair and looked down the balcony that was before them. It was high, but there was a chance of his escape. He looked at Sabina and Geta as he shook his head.

“You are fools the two of you. A fool born to be one and a true jewel that turned into one.” He turned his back to jump and take that leap of fate.

Sabina wasn’t going to let any man who betrayed them for this long. The causation of everything getting away. Her moved quickly and grabbed him around the neck as she pierced the blade in his back.

Macrinus had shook his head at her. “Cowards way to kill.”

Geta followed suit as he reached over and stabbed his back as well, the light colored robes being stained with blood.

“No you are the coward for not facing your crimes.” Geta twisted the blade into his body as the former advisor gasped loudly at the feeling of his insides being twisted by the blade.

“Who told me to do things behind my husband’s back?” Sabina said harshly under her breath. It was the last thing that he heard before his body went limp. There was no steady breathing, nothing the couple were just holding onto a limp body.

They slowly put the body down and looked around the room. Geta and Sabina took a moment to look at the bodies. They didn’t need to die, but they were harmful towards them and Rome. Sabina and Geta agreed that there should only be one body here and Caracalla should be alive and well, without being heavily influenced by Macrinus.

Geta and Sabina were stuck, they didn’t know what to do now. Rome was theirs completely for the taking. Yet, they were exhausted with everything. Geta looked at Sabina and cleared his throat.

“We need to go to Minori, clear our heads for a few days.” He said.

Sabina nodded. They needed to get away. “Who will rule over Rome while we are gone?”

He paused for a moment, thinking of everything Sabina said about the senate and how they would help the people voice their concerns, not just the monarch making the calls. “We will have the senate take over, when we return, we will talk about everything about Rome’s future. Just the two of us.” His hand reached for her jawline and rubbed it under his grasp. She knew that he was trying to improve for the better of Rome and wanted to do everything to make sure he kept her safe.

“Te Amo Geta.” Her voice was soft.

His brown eyes were locked onto her. “Te Amo Sabina.”

************************************************************************

The people of Rome heard Sabina’s speech while Geta was behind her. She explained to the people the situation and explained they will be leaving the senate in charge of the nation while they would go on their temporary trip to Minori. Geta was surprised on how many were surprised and happy that the Senate has finally returned to Rome, even if it was temporary.

The next morning, Sabina and Geta left to clear their minds of the previous night. Memories of Carcalla and Macrinus had flooded their heads on the ride to the town, which resulted in a rather quiet carriage ride for the couple.

When they arrived, they hardly spoke to each other, letting their own thoughts get to them. Guilt flooded their minds when they thought of Caracalla. How scared he must have felt, but the rage that Macrinus had placed on his heart within his final moments. They wished they had more time to talk and speak to him before they had no choice but to give the final blow.

Macrinus, well he honestly had it coming. The only words that came out of his mouth at the dining room table was that he “was serious” on giving her the position as his advisor. He also said that he saw her power and impact with the people and wants to rein the nation of Rome with grace, not violence.

Sabina couldn’t be happier with the words she was hearing. Rome was finally going to be treated how it deserves.

The first night was eventful. The change of atmosphere between the two without the pressure of breeding was delightful. There was passion in the bedroom as whole with Geta being dominant and submissive to Sabina’s charms and body. They lost count how many times their reached their sexual highs.

They hardly left the bedroom after that.

For the next few days they were constantly fucking one another. Taking turns on who was going to be on the top and who on the bottom. They honestly didn’t care who would take which position, but they just wanted to do it constantly. They also had several bruises all over their bodies as proof of their activities.

For them it was a way to avoid the reality of the situation and a pastime of theirs.

************************************************************************

When they returned home, they realised how peaceful the nation was in their absence. Through this evidence, they decided to give the senate full power of Rome while they resided in the palace.  It was a long decision that wasn’t taken lightly by Geta, but with Sabina’s support, he understood it was the right thing to do.

Geta was having a hard time when he had to shake the hands of the leader of the senate, Senator Gracchus to demonstrate the change of power from his own and his court to the people. It took a while to recognise the limitations this had given him. From having little political involvement compared to his original power, it ended up being worth it. He could relax and focus on the important things in life beyond power.

The couple made sure there was a service for Caracalla and Macrinus. Caracalla was given a respectful service that the people of Rome could attend within Rome’s heart. Macrinus, though his actions were in vain was given a service that was small and his family members were able to go to. Very few people shown, but Sabina thought it was the least that they could do for him.

Through the grief and suffering that the couple went through, there were a few blessings in their life. Geta could relax and spend time with his wife more. Sabina was blessed with calmness in the household and peace, knowing that Rome is taken care of.

Happiness was in the air amongst other things.

Sabina felt it one morning, after sending a letter out to where she suspected her father, Lucillia and Lucius was residing. There were rumors where they were and thanks to a few individuals, she was able to pinpoint where they were. Not even her husband knew where they were.

Sabina found herself feasting on foods more often than usual, her emotions were rising and lowering with each passing day to one another. She had a strong hatred of apples as the odor had made her nauseous. It went along for a week until her husband spoke up one evening.

“Are you well Sabina?” He asked at the dining room table, placing a piece of cheese on the bread.

“Geta, what are you asking?” She asked.

“You haven’t been yourself lately, you seem rather fussy with your eating habits.” Geta chuckled softly. “Are you sure your alright?”

Geta was right, she hadn’t bled this moon cycle. She did feel she had a bit of a temper towards her husband, even in the smallest of things. She snapped at him even for picking the wrong size lemon from the tree that morning.

“Maybe, I am not sure, I have yet to bleed and….” Sabina began and she felt her husband’s joy grow inside of him. This wasn’t like the joy before, where there were expectations and responsibilities to continue the line of monarchy to control the entirety of Rome. He stood up from the table then rushed to his wife’s side putting his hand on her stomach.

“You mean the gods have blessed us?” His voice was soft, his brown eyes looking down at her stomach then back to her.

“It may be so.” Sabina would be blessed with this. Pregnancy will be easier this time around and hopefully no stress or trauma may occur. They were going to make sure of it. Sabina was scared to be frank, she didn’t know what types of challenges she may endure during the upcoming months, but she knows that her husband will be there.

Within the upcoming months, Lucilla, Marcus and Lucius were allowed to return to Rome and lived in a small home close by the palace. It was a simple life and Sabina gifted Lucius the role as a general. Marcus and Lucilla wanted to live the rest of their days together in peace, watching their children create families of their own.

Sabina was grateful she had family close when the day of delivery came. She was terrified about bringing a living being into a world that could be so cruel from time to time. But she knew in her heart that everything was going to be ok.  The pain was a lot for her, but with her husband by her side, she was able to deliver a beautiful baby girl.

Through the sweat that drizzled down her brow, she looked down to the Medicus, who held the small infant in his arms.

“She has your face.” Geta stated.

Sabina chuckled seeing the strands of strawberry blonde hair on her head. “And she has your hair.”

Geta leant over and kissed the temple of her head. He had many good days in his life, but this one, he would have to say was his favorite.

“Felix meus familia” He whispered in Sabina’s ear. He was handed the baby who simply cooed in his touch. Gently, he rocked the child, with a wide grin across his face. His child's face will always bring him happiness, so he wanted to think of a name that would bring joy to everyone.

"Aelia." Geta muttered to himself. "She will be a ray of light to my day. Through everything we been through, she will always bring us happiness."

Sabina nodded. Through everything, a ray of light is something Rome needed. "I like that name."

************************************************************************

Years Later

Sabina and Geta were on the palace balcony with Marcus and Lucilla as they watched 5 year old Aelia and 4-year-old Lucanus run through the field together chasing each other with wooden swords. Shortly after she was born, she got pregnant with her son. She always told him that he resembled Geta more than her, but he never seemed to have seen it.

Both children had thick strawberry blonde hair, yet their mother’s viewpoint in the world. Geta was grateful for that. Due to their position, it would be far too easy for one of their children to start to grow greedy.

When Sabina would go into town, she would take her children to see the temples, give them money to give others and taught them the importance of the senate. Sure, they were young but she had hoped that they would fight for justice and peace for Rome like their mother had.

Sabina looked at her round stomach, placing her hand on it. She was blessed once more with a child. She thought it was going to be another daughter while Geta thought it was going to be another son. He wrapped his arms around her as they watched the children laugh and play with one another.

“You have treated my daughter well Geta.” Marcus said.

“Thank you, Acacius” Geta spoke proudly. There was peace in the household, no types of conflict as before. No unwanted warnings from gods or having to kill mythological beings. There was silence on Geta’s end except when Sabina would get family visitors.

Sabina would often see Minerva now, someone who wanted to help her train Aelia and Lucanus to become “fearsome warriors like their mother is”. Sabina tried to explain that there wasn’t a point of doing this as they wouldn’t need to fight. Her aunt would come by anyways and try to train them. Sabina didn’t mind, she was the closest thing to a mother figure in her earlier years.

“Now imagine, if my father wasn’t a dick, that could have been us playing.” Geta said softly to her. “We could have been friends.”

“I couldn’t stand your father, Geta I seriously doubt it.” Marcus snarled and Geta shook his head. “Sabina wouldn’t be interested in being your friend.”

“Agreed” Geta laughed, trying to make light of the situation. Their relationship wasn’t perfect, but it has improved in the last few years. Geta had given Marcus, Lucilla and Lucius a formal apology and they agreed to at least try to get along. Thankfully, they have, and Lucius visits the couple often to visit and talk warfare.

“Stealing my friend once again Sabina.” Geta would joke at her, often sticking his tongue out as Sabina would go to the courtyard and help her friend train. Geta always talked more often about his childhood now and how his father treated him. He didn’t want to be like him with his children as he knew that it impacted his past.

“Well, the past has past, and now you have three children to watch out for.” Lucilla smiled brightly. “They are beautiful, and the gods have blessed them well.”

Sabina and Geta can agree on that. However, Sabina could only wish that her mother, Venus would show herself to her. Perhaps it was the guilt, she didn’t know. However, the small interaction that she had with her mother meant the world to her. She only wished she could see her again, just one last time. Yet, she knew that her mother would say she made the right choice.

“We could have four children.” Geta whispered under his breath, just so she could hear those words. Sabina raised an eyebrow at her husband who simply shrugged at the remark.

“I should tie you to the bed myself to make sure we don’t have anymore.” Her voice was in the same tone as his. Geta’s flashed a grin, having several inappropriate thoughts in his head, speeding through.

‘With the stola on or off?” His voice gotten deeper, huskier. Sabina’s eyes met with his for a moment. It was at that moment that she knew they were not ending with three children. If he could, Geta wouldn’t stop until he had a army of their children to raise. He made a great father to the kids, he read to them and helped Sabina explain the ways of the new world. It was hard at times, but Sabina and him had each other.

 Marcus and Lucilla talked to each other, admiring their grandchildren running across the fields. They knew it was a long journey, and the world is completely new now due to Sabina’s impact to Rome. She truly was the hero of Rome to them, she brought justice and peace in various ways, and now she can continue to do so in paradise.

To Geta, she was much more than his wife. She helped him see the reality of the world and helped him grow as a person. He got a connection with someone outside of family and the power hierarchy. Their souls were bounded to one another forever, even beyond death.  She was the spirit of Rome and the thief that stole his heart.

For Sabina, Geta was a man caught in her trap in the beginning. She was only after the gold in his keep in hopes to help the poor and temples of Rome. While she succeeded, she learned that her heart yearned for affection from someone in return. Through their heated hatred relationship to one another, lust then eventually love had bloomed. The two couldn’t have done this without the other.

“They ask about the hero of Rome you know.” Marcus took the moment to admire the sunset around them. “Your children, they are curious just like their mother.”

“I know they are, we had to hide the weapons around them, Minerva had an influence on them.” Geta laughed thinking about the time their children found some of the blades and ran around the house with them. Sabina didn’t find it amusing then or now.

“What are you going to tell them about her?” Marcus raised an eyebrow. “ I remember when you were asking me to hunt her down and bring her back for execution after she tried to get in that one night.” 

Geta could easily recalled that night. True he would have executed her on the spot if it wasn’t for Macrinus and a desire to punish the family for hiding the “scandal”. But now he got to know her, beyond the views of the citizens of Rome, she was a true diamond. Much more beautiful than the day that they met one another. He can hardly find the chance to move his eyes away from her now as she and their children were everything.

He hugged her from behind with his hands on her stomach. “I do too, I regret my actions towards her that clearly harmed her, but I am grateful to her and the gods that nothing had happened to separate us from one another.” He paused for a moment and held onto Sabina tight. “ When the day comes that they ask me about the hero of Rome, I will say she was a fearless warrior who would steal from the rich to give to the poor. She never backs down in a fight, and will do anything for those she loves, no matter the cost. And I am proud to call her my wife.”

Each day he is more and more grateful that the gods had blessed him with Sabina and is forever in their debts for their generosity. Even in the gates of the Underworld, he will welcome her with open arms as they enter eternity together.

Because she is his and he is hers.

End.