Author: Merle_P -- email
Pairing/Character: Lucius Vorenus/Marc Antony
Rating: NC 17
Summary: "What makes me stay is not fear, not even loyalty."
Disclaimer: HBO/BBC owns Rome
Loyalty unto death, I think, my tounge wrapped around the hard cock in my mouth, my head held down by Antony's hands. But whose death? Mine? Or his? Until he kills me when he's done with me? Until I kill him in his sleep? Of course, killing him would mean breaking my word - but wouldn't, in the moment of his death, the vow become invalid?
I suck harder now, tasting the precum on my tounge. He's already trembling, but he doesn't want to finish, not yet. So he pulls me up on my feet, tugging my hair, and starts to kiss me, fiercely, passionately. His kisses are wet and filthy and tasting of olives, and somehow make me dig my fingers in his shoulders, make me lick his lips, his face, his neck.
It has been like that since it started, since Pullo and I returned from Greece. I was confused, back then, because I <b>knew</b> that Antony had told Caeser to kill me, knew that he didn't understand why Caesar spared me. And pushing his cock down my throat seemed like an odd way to show me that he wanted me dead.
But who am I to know what's going on in his head? I don't try to understand. Not anymore.
He's pulling at my tunic, eager to get rid of the cloth I'm still wearing, and I take it off quickly, before he can tear it apart - he's done so before. We're both naked now, standing close, erections rubbing against each other. His hands roam over my body, tracing invisible paths on the skin, making it tingle, until I cannot longer resist and reach around him, grip his ass, squeezing. He moans and starts grinding against me, holding me tightly, biting down on my shoulder to stiffle his sounds.
Of course, it might have to do with Atia. There are rumours that they've broken up before he headed for Greece. Some people think he left because she fucked other men by the side, others believe that they argued about Caesar. It's none of my business, and I don't want to know. It still doesn't explain the intensity behind his kisses, the despair in his voice. It doesn't explain why it had to be me - why not a random whore, one of his slaves - why me, of all people, who disappointed him, more than once? And it doesn't explain why he lets me fuck him. Because that's what he does. Make me fuck him. Let me fuck him.
We're breathing hard, both of us, and I'm glad when he withdraws and walks over to his writing desk, because I couldn't have waited much longer. There's a bottle of oil on the desk, and I start to stretch him as soon as he has bent over, pushing inside with one hand, stroking his cheeks with the other. He doesn't need much preparation, he likes it rough, so I enter him soon. And that's when he starts talking, saying fuck you and harder and faster, and I do what I can to comply. He comes all over his parchments, shouting my name, not trying to lower his voice anymore, and I don't last much longer.
If somebody could see us like that, they might think that I'm superior, that he surrenders to me. But that's not true. He's in charge, and even if he didn't know it I do. And that's not because he's my commander. If it were only that, I would have rejected him, I would have walked out on him and wouldn't have cared if he killed me. What makes me stay is not fear, not even loyalty. It's his tightness and his heat, his strong muscles and the flat chest and the sounds he makes when he comes. I can't leave, and that's what makes me weak no matter how often I fuck him.
I start to gather my clothes, and he lies down on his couch and watches me.
Stay, he says, reaching out for me, and it's not a command, but it isn't a plea either. So I walk over and get down next to him. I stretch out at his side, barely touching him, allowing myself to close my eyes, and I don't think about the questions Niobe will ask later.
Loyalty unto death, I think, when he wraps an arm around me. And I think that I should probably kill him but I know that this is something I'll never do.
Disclaimer:Characters (real and fictional) aren't mine, no money is made with these stories and history isn't changed. Damn.