Author: writings_from (livejournal )
Pairing/Character: Mark Antony/Brutus
Summary: "Brutus catches his eye and Antony smirks, his eyes unpeeling his rival, his expression knowing as he slowly raises his cup in mock salute." Set during episode 107
Disclaimer: HBO/BBC owns Rome
Mark Antony is a soldier before a politician, and yet he is not the sort of man to object to stabbing a man in the back if the need requires. On the battlefield or in Rome, pragmatism rules before honour and it is the slyest who triumph in life. He knows this.
He watches Brutus and he can feel the other man shift under his gaze in discomfort. Brutus´ hands are unsteady as they clutch hesitantly at bread and he almost spills the wine as he reaches for it, his eyes dark with shame as he looks at Caesar, looks at the men loyal to Caesar sitting around the table, then looks at himself and finds himself wanting. Antony knows that Brutus is prepared to stab a man in the back just like he is, the only difference between them being that the other man´s not prepared to forgive himself for it when all is said and the deed is done. It´s contemptible, really.
Brutus catches his eye and Antony smirks, his eyes unpeeling his rival, his expression knowing as he slowly raises his cup in mock salute. Brutus colours and fidgets, picks up his wine and puts it down again without drinking any of the liquid, slowly tearing his hard, campaign bread into crumbly shreds. He leans across to Caesar to mumble something in his ear, and Caesar looks at him with all the love a parent has for a wayward child and slowly nods his head. Brutus jerks away from the table and shoulders through the tent flaps into the brightly lit, dusty outside. Antony smiles to himself, finishes his drink, then gets up to follow.
Greece is hotter than Italy, even so near the coast, and Mark Antony squints against the fierce noonday sun, his eyes adjusting from the dimness of the sprawling pavilion behind him. He can see Brutus´ figure - slightly gangly walk and stiffly set shoulders - heading towards the shade and relative privacy of the copse of gnarled olive trees that marks the outskirts of the camp. Antony sets off after him, stalking his footsteps and ignoring the salutes of the soldiers he passes, his groin tight with the thrill of the chase. He has missed this.
He walks into the trees, the shade delicious on his skin and the air cooling the sweat at his temples and at the nape of his neck, his eyes sharp as he watches Brutus´ every move carefully. The young man disappears momentarily from sight behind a tree, and Antony´s steps slow, become more cautious as he creeps carefully forward. He finds Brutus with eyes closed, his head resting back against the trunk of an olive tree, throat and the swell of his Adam´s apple bared, hands clenched into painful fists at his side. He is murmuring something to himself, and Antony watches in amusement for a few moments before clearing his throat.
Brutus´ expression is delightful. Shock, annoyance, fear, all mixed into one.
Gods damn you,’ he murmurs, straightening up as if preparing himself. Fight or flight, Antony doesn´t know, doesn´t understand politicians as well as he might like to, especially not this politician. What do you want?’
Antony smirks again and takes a step forward towards Brutus, taking some depraved pleasure in the way the younger man unintentionally takes a stumbling step away from him and finds himself backed up hard against the bark of the tree. There is no escape, and they both know it. Antony is a soldier´s soldier and Brutus has never been proud of his stature or fighting skills, and there could only be one winner in a physical fight between them. Antony reaches out with his hand and snorts lightly as Brutus visibly flinches, placing one hand against the rough wood at the side of his head and leaning casually forward until their faces are mere inches apart.
Wouldn´t say no to a quick shag.’ He grins. What do you say, Brutus, m´old cock?’
Brutus shudders and looks up at him in disgust. You´re filthily crude.’
Better than a traitor.’
Brutus inhales sharply, a scowl contorting his face. Just because you backed the winning side --’
No.’ Antony tilts his head to one side and considers the other man. For me, there was only one side to begin with.’ Of course, he doesn´t mention his doubts or his very own near treacherous turn, chooses only to twist the dagger a little further. You won´t be able to worm your way out of the guilt like that.’
At that, some of the fight goes out of Brutus, and he sags against the tree, his hands clenching into bloodless fists once again. Antony watches the man tear himself internally apart with a hunger that he finds somewhat surprising. He is enjoying himself too much for this merely to be a question of a defeated rival and he wonders over it as he shifts slightly, drawing the attention of the younger man once more.
What do you want, Antony?’ Brutus asks again, his voice small and weary and lacking any sort of conviction. His eyes are light brown, full of self-inflicted torture, and he stares up at Antony with the look of a broken whore.
Antony leans further into him, bringing his face forward into the angle created by Brutus´ neck and shoulder and inhaling deeply, breathing in the smell of sweat, leather, horse and wood smoke. Brutus does not smell of the soap and ink that he does at home, and Antony contritely likes the change. He now smells of a man who makes an honest living, not of a boy who has become a politician too fast, too early. Antony wonders whether he would despise him so much if Brutus always smelt as he did now.
Nothing,’ he murmurs in response. I want nothing.’
And he turns and leaves, feeling the bite of Brutus´ gaze on his back as he does so, unable to shake the image of Brutus on his knees in front of him, mouth stretched pink and wide about his cock, staring up at him with those pain-filled eyes. He finds it all slightly disconcerting. He´s never fancied the idea of screwing a politician much before, let alone the runt.
Disclaimer:Characters (real and fictional) aren't mine, no money is made with these stories and history isn't changed. Damn.