Fic: To The Victor, The Spoils (Part 8)
In early light, Antony awakens by reflex, his body stirring alert, awake, his heartbeat coming faster.
Felix sleeps soundly next to him, breathing even, tucked securely into the crook of Antony’s arm. Antony reaches up, ready to touch, but he stops himself a hairsbreadth away from Felix’s skin.
He has the urge, suddenly, to wake Felix, to kiss him until he falls into Antony’s arms, until he makes that helpless whine and his resistance wanes enough that Antony can cage him, tame him, make him Antony’s forever.
But now, Antony has things to do.
He slips out from under Felix, settling the slave back into the comfort of the bed without waking him, and pads out of the room.
- - - -
“Tell me everything,” says Antony, low and dangerous.
Octavia’s eyes widen, a little, and she looks to her brother. Octavian half-nods, and Octavia turns back to Antony. “He told me that his home had been devastated by a great war,” she relates. “By an enemy as powerful as his people.”
“An enemy,” reflects Antony, slowly. “Did he tell you any more?”
“When I mentioned the possibility that they might come here,” says Octavia, “it frightened him.”
No doubt that Felix’s people have much better science than the Romans; if there is an enemy that matches them, one that could bring itself against Rome, then there is something to worry about. “Anything else?” asks Antony.
“I think he trusts me,” says Octavia, tentatively.
Antony nods. “Good.”
- - - -
The house is buzzing.
A party this afternoon, Felix gathers. Probably a fairly common event, as the slaves seem to know what they’re doing, as though moving about accustomed tasks. Fresh garlands of some kind of plant life, re-arranged furniture, and the kitchen brimming with new food, and strange and interesting smells.
Felix wanders through, letting the activity slide by around him, and eventually his gaze is drawn through an archway, to Octavia’s room.
“No no no no, that’s not right,” decides Atia, hand on her hip. “The red is just…horrid. Get something else.”
Felix can tell immediately what ‘the red’ is referring to - on her head, Octavia has the most ostentatious wig that Felix has ever seen. No one’s hair should ever act like that, Felix decides, but he finds himself unable to tear his gaze away. Gods above, that has to be hurting her head.
Octavia sighs. “Like what, mother?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Atia flips her hand. “Find something.”
Octavia spots Felix, and gestures him over, as Atia’s attention is drawn away, towards a mishap with two of the female slaves.
“I could use your help,” Octavia confides, as slaves surround her and remove the wig.
“Ah, with what?” asks Felix.
“I’m going out of my mind with boredom - these cosmetic slaves take hours to get their job right, and none of them are worth having a conversation with. Here, sit here,” gesturing to a chair across from her.
Felix eases down, unsure what to do with his hands. “What do you want to talk about?”
Octavia leans forward; one of the cosmetic slaves makes a desperate expression. “Is it true, what you told Octavian? Can men truly learn to fly?”
There’s a clinging romanticism in her tone - she really wants to believe it. The stuff of dreams, come to life, and she’s imagining that it will happen to her, someday. Felix manages to smile, and surprises himself at how easy it feels. “Yes,” he tells her, “it’s true. Scientifically.”
“Have you ever?” Octavia asks.
“Yes,” says Felix, cautiously.
“What was it like?”
She listens with star-bright eyes, and Felix feels a little more of himself relax.
- - - -
The party begins that evening. Antony arrives home just minutes before the first guest gets there, to Atia’s consternation, and he winks at Felix, retiring to his room, and emerging before the fourth guest has arrived, presentable and dressed.
Antony pulls Felix aside, then. “Stay close to me, all evening,” murmurs Antony, and Felix nods, obedient.
To Felix’s surprise, Octavia’s wig - the rejected one - is hardly the most elaborate at the party. In fact, it may be one of the simplest. It’s unbelievable the lengths these women go to, to look attractive - but, Felix supposes, attractiveness may be a woman’s only weapon in this world.
At the entrance of one particular Senator, Antony pulls Felix aside. “That one is dangerous,” Antony tells him. “Do not let him speak to you alone.”
“I won’t,” promises Felix, and Antony turns away, ready to speak to the next guest.
It takes time, but eventually Antony is distracted enough that Felix slips out into the courtyard, so he can check the drain for any notes. When his hand gropes under the rock, he feels something - the crumpled edge of a piece of paper - but then, he hears footsteps behind him and shoves the paper back into its hiding place, moving along the wall towards another entrance to the house.
The footsteps, unnervingly enough, follow Felix, erasing any thoughts he might have had about a coincidence.
Felix hurries to the edge of the courtyard.
The footsteps behind him increase in pace, and Felix dodges into the empty second kitchen - maybe there’ll be another exit, or a way to -
“There you are,” drawls a voice.
Felix turns to see the Senator, the one that Antony introduced before. Felix swallows, and forces out, “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes,” says the Senator carefully. “Yes, you can.” His eyes run Felix up and down and Felix’s breath catches. No, no, no…
The Senator’s hand fists in the front of Felix’s tunic. “You can bend over that counter there,” whispers the Senator, “and open up your legs for me.”
“I belong to Antony,” Felix protests, “and he wouldn’t allow you to-”
“Perhaps Antony has lent you out,” suggests the Senator, his breath rancid in Felix’s nose. “Perhaps he asked me to have you…” and the Senator’s hand moves between Felix’s legs.
“He wouldn’t,” Felix retorts, trying to shove the Senator away. Even addled with wine, though, the damned man wouldn’t move.
“He would,” hisses the man, “and he did.” He forces a kiss against Felix’s mouth - sour, disgusting, trying to squirm his tongue in between Felix’s lips.
Felix twists his head away - “Get off me!” - and a beefy hand fists in his hair, yanks him back. Wriggling against the touch only made it worse - the Senator’s hands pushed his legs outwards, groping up to the intersection of Felix’s legs. Clumsy, rough hands move under his clothing and Felix tries to yell, but the noise is muffled.
If he wants saving, he’ll have to save himself.
With a new burst of courage, Felix grasps behind him for something, anything to get this man off of him. His hand closes on the handle of a pot, left idle on the stove. On the second try, Felix closes his hand around the warm metal, and swings his arm, impacting against the Senator’s head with a metallic ring and a sick, meaty thud. The pot flies out of his head and clangs against the stone wall.
The Senator staggers, and straightens up. “Oh, you’ll pay for that,” he spits, and charges at Felix.
There’s a shine, a glint in the corner of Felix’s eye, and he grabs for it in utter desperation. Really, he only meant to hit the man with it - he wanted to stop the assault, that’s all - he didn’t know what he was planning, but it wasn’t, it wasn’t -
It’s a squishing sound, like slicing oranges and squeezing them out for juice. The noise, and hot liquid, spilling onto Felix’s hands.
The Senator makes a strangled noise, his eyes wide and shocked, and he falls to the ground, dragging the knife out of Felix’s hands.
Felix just barely hears him exhale, one last time, before footsteps burst into the room.
First is a kitchen slave, her hair flying behind her. She claps a hand over her mouth and squeals in shock - and then the head slave of the household. Following that, there’s a crowd, of party guests, of faces and cloying perfume and whispered words. One word, echoing over and over again, buzzing from one mouth to another.
Murder.
Felix’s head spins.
It’s an eternity before Antony brushes through the crowd. He takes in the scene with one glance - from the Senator’s body, on the floor in a spreading pool of blood, to Felix’s shivering form, stained hands.
“This is not ideal,” says Antony, evenly.
- - - -
The grip on Felix’s wrist is hard enough to smart, maybe hard enough to bruise - and Antony tosses him to the bed far too roughly.
“If only you had stayed close to me,” Antony admonishes, “that man would never have had the chance. I would have killed him for trying to touch you, of course, and as it is, you have put me in a damned awkward position!”
Felix flinches.
“You killed a Senator of Rome. A slave killed a Senator,” Antony snaps. “Do you have any idea what they want to do to you? They don’t even have to have a trial. Simply torture and execution.”
Felix clenches himself up tight. He’s never been more afraid of Antony than this instant - the raised voice, the dark, dangerous anger - Felix feels like he can’t breathe.
“Torture!” shouts Antony, and Felix jumps. “Had you given any thought to the consequences of your actions?” Antony holds his gaze, just long enough for Felix to look away. “Of course the man was going to go after you! There’s not a slave in his household, male or female, that he hasn’t fucked into submission, and I had no plans for you to fall into that category! Had you simply stayed by me through the night and not insisted on wandering off, this would not have happened!”
Felix has his hands over his eyes, fingernails digging into his scalp. Antony stops talking, the silence abrupt and thorough, and Felix can’t see what Antony’s expression looks like - doesn’t want to see -
“Oh, Felix,” sighs Antony, and Felix feels the mattress shift as Antony slides on, feels Antony’s hand stroke on the curve of Felix’s stomach.
Felix, without a word, without a sound, moves into Antony’s arms. Nothing matters now, nothing, except Felix will get killed - tortured and killed - unless Antony can protect him.
“Was it the first time you’ve killed someone?” Antony asks.
Technically, Felix supposes, that’s a no - but there’s such a difference, a vast difference between turning a key and feeling the launch of a nuclear bomb, towards a Cylon warship, and knowing, knowing that the liquid trickling between your fingers is blood…
Oh gods…he killed someone today…and if he hadn’t, what might have happened to him -
Felix’s eyes burn, and he shifts upwards, kissing Antony, letting Antony lick inside his mouth, opening to the invasion. Antony’s hands pull his hips forward, and Felix surrenders to the violation of his balance, letting Antony hold him, without struggle.
Antony pushes Felix back, studying his face.
Felix shifts restlessly. “Antony,” he starts, then “I need-” but he stops, because he can’t, he can’t…
“Yes?” Antony slides a hand up Felix’s waist. “What is it that you need?”
Felix swallows, and he flushes. He can’t say it, not what he means, that he needs Antony’s touch, enough to remember that he is alive and remember that he does have a choice, even if it’s just a paltry shadow of his former control in his life.
Felix presses into Antony’s warmth, nuzzles into his neck. “I need you,” he whispers, half-hoping Antony won’t hear him.
Antony flips Felix, settling him into the bed, moving up over him - and Felix is vaguely reminded of a predator, one that has finally cornered trembling prey. “You stabbed a Senator for daring to have you,” murmurs Antony, licking under Felix’s jaw. “And what will you do for a general, then?”
Felix gasps, almost shivers.
“Will you spread your legs and let me inside?” asks Antony. “Will you surrender?” breathed into Felix’s ear, tickling along his nerves, sizzling along his skin.
Antony divests himself of his tunic, tugging at Felix’s tunic, yanking it over his head. Felix’s hand grasps, weakly, on Antony’s arm. The warmth, the heat is so potent that it drives everything away, all of Felix’s thoughts, the sharp, bloody memories, the terror.
There is a jar of oil by the side of the bed - Felix isn’t surprised, as Antony probably wants to take him, anytime he wishes - oh, and Felix does shiver at that.
When Antony’s hand moves between Felix’s legs, Felix opens them, and flushes at his own willingness. Not for long, though, because Antony’s fingers are clever, as always, and this time it seems that Antony doesn’t even want Felix to have the edge of pain.
Felix cries out in abandon, and Antony’s fingers stroke, stroke, stroke in effortless mastery of Felix’s body. “Please,” Felix begs, his hands grasping at Antony. He licks at Antony’s neck, and he urges Antony on with the grasp of his hands.
“You burn,” Antony breathes, as though in surprise, and Felix twists against the bed, close to losing himself in his need.
“Please, Antony,” and Felix’s voice shakes. His muscles coil and uncoil, tense and relax, and only Antony can fix him, can put him back together again.
“As you wish,” says Antony, and Felix closes his eyes, nothing in his world except the burn of Antony pushing in, against sore and used muscles, against the resistance that Felix can’t control.
Felix doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to this, the clenching intimacy of having another person inside him, a penetration forcing him open. It’s beyond anything he’s experienced with anyone but Antony, and that makes it just one more difference, one more advantage Antony has over him, one more reason for Felix to just let go of everything, and give Antony his life - no, he’ll never get used to it, but he might - he might grow to need it -
It barely hurts this time. Maybe Felix’s body is getting accustomed, maybe it’s because of how much he wants it, how he’s begging for it - maybe that’s making Antony go gentler, have mercy on him. But it’s so much better, and so much worse, all at the same time; without as much pain, Felix has nothing to temper the sensations crashing through his body, no way to focus, but does he even need focus, now?
Oh, gods, his thoughts are so scattered - all he can think is Antony, shoving his legs apart to the point of almost discomfort, digging white-hot lines into his sides, sliding in again and again and again until Felix is helpless to want anything, know anything except for the next thrust inside, the next stab of pleasure, the next -
Ecstasy flashes through Felix, seizes his body, and he shivers his release out, shattered and reborn.
His mind is dim afterwards. He barely registers enough to know that when he curls against Antony, the soldier doesn’t push him away, but holds him closer than ever.
- - - -
Felix is asleep quickly after their passionate coupling, the likes of which Antony has never had before. Antony touches a curl of Felix’s hair, and he is shaken.
He imagines a Felix, desperate and pleading, broken at Antony’s own hands, and Antony closes his eyes. The same, though, with resistance - a flash in Felix’s eyes, mouth pressed into a line, his muscles barely defined against his skin in a struggle -
I came to take you, thinks Antony, and yet, I find myself taken.
For a time, he listens to Felix breathe, and he wonders how he is going to solve the mess Felix has made, in just defending himself.
“I would have you make no other choice,” Antony confides, now that Felix is not awake to hear. “You are mine; no one else shall have you.”
Felix murmurs in his sleep, settling further against Antony’s form.
Helpless trust - Antony kisses Felix’s temple, and closes his eyes.
Felix sleeps soundly next to him, breathing even, tucked securely into the crook of Antony’s arm. Antony reaches up, ready to touch, but he stops himself a hairsbreadth away from Felix’s skin.
He has the urge, suddenly, to wake Felix, to kiss him until he falls into Antony’s arms, until he makes that helpless whine and his resistance wanes enough that Antony can cage him, tame him, make him Antony’s forever.
But now, Antony has things to do.
He slips out from under Felix, settling the slave back into the comfort of the bed without waking him, and pads out of the room.
- - - -
“Tell me everything,” says Antony, low and dangerous.
Octavia’s eyes widen, a little, and she looks to her brother. Octavian half-nods, and Octavia turns back to Antony. “He told me that his home had been devastated by a great war,” she relates. “By an enemy as powerful as his people.”
“An enemy,” reflects Antony, slowly. “Did he tell you any more?”
“When I mentioned the possibility that they might come here,” says Octavia, “it frightened him.”
No doubt that Felix’s people have much better science than the Romans; if there is an enemy that matches them, one that could bring itself against Rome, then there is something to worry about. “Anything else?” asks Antony.
“I think he trusts me,” says Octavia, tentatively.
Antony nods. “Good.”
- - - -
The house is buzzing.
A party this afternoon, Felix gathers. Probably a fairly common event, as the slaves seem to know what they’re doing, as though moving about accustomed tasks. Fresh garlands of some kind of plant life, re-arranged furniture, and the kitchen brimming with new food, and strange and interesting smells.
Felix wanders through, letting the activity slide by around him, and eventually his gaze is drawn through an archway, to Octavia’s room.
“No no no no, that’s not right,” decides Atia, hand on her hip. “The red is just…horrid. Get something else.”
Felix can tell immediately what ‘the red’ is referring to - on her head, Octavia has the most ostentatious wig that Felix has ever seen. No one’s hair should ever act like that, Felix decides, but he finds himself unable to tear his gaze away. Gods above, that has to be hurting her head.
Octavia sighs. “Like what, mother?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Atia flips her hand. “Find something.”
Octavia spots Felix, and gestures him over, as Atia’s attention is drawn away, towards a mishap with two of the female slaves.
“I could use your help,” Octavia confides, as slaves surround her and remove the wig.
“Ah, with what?” asks Felix.
“I’m going out of my mind with boredom - these cosmetic slaves take hours to get their job right, and none of them are worth having a conversation with. Here, sit here,” gesturing to a chair across from her.
Felix eases down, unsure what to do with his hands. “What do you want to talk about?”
Octavia leans forward; one of the cosmetic slaves makes a desperate expression. “Is it true, what you told Octavian? Can men truly learn to fly?”
There’s a clinging romanticism in her tone - she really wants to believe it. The stuff of dreams, come to life, and she’s imagining that it will happen to her, someday. Felix manages to smile, and surprises himself at how easy it feels. “Yes,” he tells her, “it’s true. Scientifically.”
“Have you ever?” Octavia asks.
“Yes,” says Felix, cautiously.
“What was it like?”
She listens with star-bright eyes, and Felix feels a little more of himself relax.
- - - -
The party begins that evening. Antony arrives home just minutes before the first guest gets there, to Atia’s consternation, and he winks at Felix, retiring to his room, and emerging before the fourth guest has arrived, presentable and dressed.
Antony pulls Felix aside, then. “Stay close to me, all evening,” murmurs Antony, and Felix nods, obedient.
To Felix’s surprise, Octavia’s wig - the rejected one - is hardly the most elaborate at the party. In fact, it may be one of the simplest. It’s unbelievable the lengths these women go to, to look attractive - but, Felix supposes, attractiveness may be a woman’s only weapon in this world.
At the entrance of one particular Senator, Antony pulls Felix aside. “That one is dangerous,” Antony tells him. “Do not let him speak to you alone.”
“I won’t,” promises Felix, and Antony turns away, ready to speak to the next guest.
It takes time, but eventually Antony is distracted enough that Felix slips out into the courtyard, so he can check the drain for any notes. When his hand gropes under the rock, he feels something - the crumpled edge of a piece of paper - but then, he hears footsteps behind him and shoves the paper back into its hiding place, moving along the wall towards another entrance to the house.
The footsteps, unnervingly enough, follow Felix, erasing any thoughts he might have had about a coincidence.
Felix hurries to the edge of the courtyard.
The footsteps behind him increase in pace, and Felix dodges into the empty second kitchen - maybe there’ll be another exit, or a way to -
“There you are,” drawls a voice.
Felix turns to see the Senator, the one that Antony introduced before. Felix swallows, and forces out, “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes,” says the Senator carefully. “Yes, you can.” His eyes run Felix up and down and Felix’s breath catches. No, no, no…
The Senator’s hand fists in the front of Felix’s tunic. “You can bend over that counter there,” whispers the Senator, “and open up your legs for me.”
“I belong to Antony,” Felix protests, “and he wouldn’t allow you to-”
“Perhaps Antony has lent you out,” suggests the Senator, his breath rancid in Felix’s nose. “Perhaps he asked me to have you…” and the Senator’s hand moves between Felix’s legs.
“He wouldn’t,” Felix retorts, trying to shove the Senator away. Even addled with wine, though, the damned man wouldn’t move.
“He would,” hisses the man, “and he did.” He forces a kiss against Felix’s mouth - sour, disgusting, trying to squirm his tongue in between Felix’s lips.
Felix twists his head away - “Get off me!” - and a beefy hand fists in his hair, yanks him back. Wriggling against the touch only made it worse - the Senator’s hands pushed his legs outwards, groping up to the intersection of Felix’s legs. Clumsy, rough hands move under his clothing and Felix tries to yell, but the noise is muffled.
If he wants saving, he’ll have to save himself.
With a new burst of courage, Felix grasps behind him for something, anything to get this man off of him. His hand closes on the handle of a pot, left idle on the stove. On the second try, Felix closes his hand around the warm metal, and swings his arm, impacting against the Senator’s head with a metallic ring and a sick, meaty thud. The pot flies out of his head and clangs against the stone wall.
The Senator staggers, and straightens up. “Oh, you’ll pay for that,” he spits, and charges at Felix.
There’s a shine, a glint in the corner of Felix’s eye, and he grabs for it in utter desperation. Really, he only meant to hit the man with it - he wanted to stop the assault, that’s all - he didn’t know what he was planning, but it wasn’t, it wasn’t -
It’s a squishing sound, like slicing oranges and squeezing them out for juice. The noise, and hot liquid, spilling onto Felix’s hands.
The Senator makes a strangled noise, his eyes wide and shocked, and he falls to the ground, dragging the knife out of Felix’s hands.
Felix just barely hears him exhale, one last time, before footsteps burst into the room.
First is a kitchen slave, her hair flying behind her. She claps a hand over her mouth and squeals in shock - and then the head slave of the household. Following that, there’s a crowd, of party guests, of faces and cloying perfume and whispered words. One word, echoing over and over again, buzzing from one mouth to another.
Murder.
Felix’s head spins.
It’s an eternity before Antony brushes through the crowd. He takes in the scene with one glance - from the Senator’s body, on the floor in a spreading pool of blood, to Felix’s shivering form, stained hands.
“This is not ideal,” says Antony, evenly.
- - - -
The grip on Felix’s wrist is hard enough to smart, maybe hard enough to bruise - and Antony tosses him to the bed far too roughly.
“If only you had stayed close to me,” Antony admonishes, “that man would never have had the chance. I would have killed him for trying to touch you, of course, and as it is, you have put me in a damned awkward position!”
Felix flinches.
“You killed a Senator of Rome. A slave killed a Senator,” Antony snaps. “Do you have any idea what they want to do to you? They don’t even have to have a trial. Simply torture and execution.”
Felix clenches himself up tight. He’s never been more afraid of Antony than this instant - the raised voice, the dark, dangerous anger - Felix feels like he can’t breathe.
“Torture!” shouts Antony, and Felix jumps. “Had you given any thought to the consequences of your actions?” Antony holds his gaze, just long enough for Felix to look away. “Of course the man was going to go after you! There’s not a slave in his household, male or female, that he hasn’t fucked into submission, and I had no plans for you to fall into that category! Had you simply stayed by me through the night and not insisted on wandering off, this would not have happened!”
Felix has his hands over his eyes, fingernails digging into his scalp. Antony stops talking, the silence abrupt and thorough, and Felix can’t see what Antony’s expression looks like - doesn’t want to see -
“Oh, Felix,” sighs Antony, and Felix feels the mattress shift as Antony slides on, feels Antony’s hand stroke on the curve of Felix’s stomach.
Felix, without a word, without a sound, moves into Antony’s arms. Nothing matters now, nothing, except Felix will get killed - tortured and killed - unless Antony can protect him.
“Was it the first time you’ve killed someone?” Antony asks.
Technically, Felix supposes, that’s a no - but there’s such a difference, a vast difference between turning a key and feeling the launch of a nuclear bomb, towards a Cylon warship, and knowing, knowing that the liquid trickling between your fingers is blood…
Oh gods…he killed someone today…and if he hadn’t, what might have happened to him -
Felix’s eyes burn, and he shifts upwards, kissing Antony, letting Antony lick inside his mouth, opening to the invasion. Antony’s hands pull his hips forward, and Felix surrenders to the violation of his balance, letting Antony hold him, without struggle.
Antony pushes Felix back, studying his face.
Felix shifts restlessly. “Antony,” he starts, then “I need-” but he stops, because he can’t, he can’t…
“Yes?” Antony slides a hand up Felix’s waist. “What is it that you need?”
Felix swallows, and he flushes. He can’t say it, not what he means, that he needs Antony’s touch, enough to remember that he is alive and remember that he does have a choice, even if it’s just a paltry shadow of his former control in his life.
Felix presses into Antony’s warmth, nuzzles into his neck. “I need you,” he whispers, half-hoping Antony won’t hear him.
Antony flips Felix, settling him into the bed, moving up over him - and Felix is vaguely reminded of a predator, one that has finally cornered trembling prey. “You stabbed a Senator for daring to have you,” murmurs Antony, licking under Felix’s jaw. “And what will you do for a general, then?”
Felix gasps, almost shivers.
“Will you spread your legs and let me inside?” asks Antony. “Will you surrender?” breathed into Felix’s ear, tickling along his nerves, sizzling along his skin.
Antony divests himself of his tunic, tugging at Felix’s tunic, yanking it over his head. Felix’s hand grasps, weakly, on Antony’s arm. The warmth, the heat is so potent that it drives everything away, all of Felix’s thoughts, the sharp, bloody memories, the terror.
There is a jar of oil by the side of the bed - Felix isn’t surprised, as Antony probably wants to take him, anytime he wishes - oh, and Felix does shiver at that.
When Antony’s hand moves between Felix’s legs, Felix opens them, and flushes at his own willingness. Not for long, though, because Antony’s fingers are clever, as always, and this time it seems that Antony doesn’t even want Felix to have the edge of pain.
Felix cries out in abandon, and Antony’s fingers stroke, stroke, stroke in effortless mastery of Felix’s body. “Please,” Felix begs, his hands grasping at Antony. He licks at Antony’s neck, and he urges Antony on with the grasp of his hands.
“You burn,” Antony breathes, as though in surprise, and Felix twists against the bed, close to losing himself in his need.
“Please, Antony,” and Felix’s voice shakes. His muscles coil and uncoil, tense and relax, and only Antony can fix him, can put him back together again.
“As you wish,” says Antony, and Felix closes his eyes, nothing in his world except the burn of Antony pushing in, against sore and used muscles, against the resistance that Felix can’t control.
Felix doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to this, the clenching intimacy of having another person inside him, a penetration forcing him open. It’s beyond anything he’s experienced with anyone but Antony, and that makes it just one more difference, one more advantage Antony has over him, one more reason for Felix to just let go of everything, and give Antony his life - no, he’ll never get used to it, but he might - he might grow to need it -
It barely hurts this time. Maybe Felix’s body is getting accustomed, maybe it’s because of how much he wants it, how he’s begging for it - maybe that’s making Antony go gentler, have mercy on him. But it’s so much better, and so much worse, all at the same time; without as much pain, Felix has nothing to temper the sensations crashing through his body, no way to focus, but does he even need focus, now?
Oh, gods, his thoughts are so scattered - all he can think is Antony, shoving his legs apart to the point of almost discomfort, digging white-hot lines into his sides, sliding in again and again and again until Felix is helpless to want anything, know anything except for the next thrust inside, the next stab of pleasure, the next -
Ecstasy flashes through Felix, seizes his body, and he shivers his release out, shattered and reborn.
His mind is dim afterwards. He barely registers enough to know that when he curls against Antony, the soldier doesn’t push him away, but holds him closer than ever.
- - - -
Felix is asleep quickly after their passionate coupling, the likes of which Antony has never had before. Antony touches a curl of Felix’s hair, and he is shaken.
He imagines a Felix, desperate and pleading, broken at Antony’s own hands, and Antony closes his eyes. The same, though, with resistance - a flash in Felix’s eyes, mouth pressed into a line, his muscles barely defined against his skin in a struggle -
I came to take you, thinks Antony, and yet, I find myself taken.
For a time, he listens to Felix breathe, and he wonders how he is going to solve the mess Felix has made, in just defending himself.
“I would have you make no other choice,” Antony confides, now that Felix is not awake to hear. “You are mine; no one else shall have you.”
Felix murmurs in his sleep, settling further against Antony’s form.
Helpless trust - Antony kisses Felix’s temple, and closes his eyes.