Fic: What Is Needed Tonight
Title: What Is Needed Tonight
Author: Unsentimental Fool
Fandom: Coriolanus
Characters: Caius Marcius Coriolanus, Tullus Aufidius
Rating: Teen and up
Word Count: 1,400
Summary: Everything comes with a price.
Notes: This has been hanging around in my unfinished folder for a while. I think I like it a bit better than I did when I wrote it!
He sits on the bed and pokes at the much mended sole of his boot. His finger goes straight through the thin leather. So much for those.
There is a scuff of a sole and Caius looks up to dismiss the unwanted servant, but it is his host leaning against the doorway. "Rumour has it your family were wealthy even before one tenth of the rape of rich Coriolis was voted to you. Did Rome really begrudge its most heroic son a horse, a guard and some spare clothes?"
He will not be shamed by a matter so trivial. It is nothing to him that he was mistaken for a beggar at the gate. Fine clothes are for those that care to keep them clean of the mud and gore of battle.
"The greatest part of what I had was my city's gift. I cast it back in her face with every penny of the capital untouched. As for the rest, I would not take a single guard from my defenceless wife's side or the price of a horse from my son's diminished inheritance. "
"And the boots?"
Caius looks down at the torn leather again. "A spare pair of boots would have been sensible, I grant you." He grimaces at Tullus Aufidius. "I took my leave of the city more hot in rage than cold in calculation."
"This suits my purpose somewhat badly It was my intention to shower you with gifts of great value, according to your worth and my inclination." Aufidius's smile is wide . "And now must I start with a thing so humble that it makes me blush to offer it? "
Caius shakes his head. "Come now, Aufidius, we are both long campaign men. We know the true value of well turned leather. Give me nought but a pair of boots that fit passing well and I will count myself forever in your debt, noble lord."
Those teeth flash again, a smile almost predatory. "Then will you drink wine with me in return to seal our alliance?"
This day has wearied Caius almost beyond belief but he has the obligations of a guest. "Let your wine make its own alliance with water and play the lesser role. I have taken cups of wine in friendship with half the senators of Corinth tonight and I fear that my unruly stomach may yet violently reject all those sweet words I spoke."
"Then I will be as gentle with your body as I had previously sworn to be ferocious to it before today . We shall have sweetmeats from my lady's chamber and as much water as you please." Aufidius turns away to call to a slave. Caius frowns, not certain that he is not being mocked.
"The senators spoke of nothing but your virtues after you left." The Volscian comes inside and settles on the couch opposite. "A great warrior, a plain speaker, a true scion of Old Rome. Such nobility of expression and yet such modesty in person. Here in Corinth we do not look for such retiring blushes from Rome, certainly not in such abundance."
Cauis scowls. "The scars again? Why should I display to Corinth all the wounds I took to Rome's greater glory? Does a man proudly show his new comrades gifts from an past lover now detested?"
"You took those marks of distinction from Rome's enemies, not Rome." Aufidius counters. "Look." He pulls off his shirt. He has a swordsman's body, lean and crossed with old lines in the places where the dark hair thins. "This from you. And this. And here," he unbuckles his belt, steps out of his clothes to stand naked in the firelight. "This took a long time to heal. Your sword pierced me, Coriolanus. Should I now play the bashful bride and hide the furrows from you in the dawn's light ?"
The scar down the black haired thigh is long and deep. Caius remembers the blow well, the feel of the sword tip gouging through leather and flesh. Aufidius had fallen, cursing him with a filthy tongue more fit for a common soldier but a knot of fighters had pushed between them before he could make the last short thrust and finish it.
Caius can do no less than his host, not and keep his pride. He tears off the rags in which he has walked through his new city, and in which he has met its rulers. There are twenty seven wounds on his body, each one a tale that he has refused to the baying curs of Rome and the curious Volscian lords alike.
"This one was yours. This also." The thin line on his shin is faded into whiteness, the long red cicatrix across his shoulder still looks raw.
The other man steps forward to look "See, Marcius, we have been marked for each other before this night and no man can doubt it."
Before he can reach for his clothes again Aufidius has scooped them up and tossed then into the corridor. "The city has no poor miserable enough to take those sorry rags as festival finery. Tomorrow we will dress you in the red of an executioner and the silver of a God, Caius Marcius Coriolanus, and you and I will bring rack and ruin to the arrogance of Rome."
Tomorrow he will wake to a new place in the world, one in which he is not helpless or scorned. Tonight... he looks at Aufidius again. Nakedness has no shame between warriors, but he had felt the heat in that welcoming kiss, and now he sees the hungry eyes linger on parts as yet unscarred. No doubt that he knows what the man wants, and he unclothed and unchaperoned, swordless in the night.
A knock on the door distracts them both. Here is the water, the wine and the tidbits. Caius find himself hungry again; he has not filled his belly enough to loosen his belt since his money ran to nothing, many days ago. He would prefer honest meat and bread to the pink and gold butterflies of sugar and spices but he takes what is to hand. He glances again at the other man on that thought. Closest to his hand tonight is his old enemy who promises him vengeance on Rome and the heat of his body as if they are one and the same.
If they are in truth the same then Caius has only to put out his hand to seize or reject them both. Honour in war is not decency in peace and Rome has declared war on him. Honour demands that he takes each chance when it comes, and Aufidius is the greatest chance that has come or will come. Where else will he find an army great enough to march up to the gates of the seven hills and wreak his vengeance?
Set against that is the small matter of his personal repute. Caius loves the mother of his child and counts her honour his own. He has no need of other women's beds while he is at war. The importuning of older men was never more than an irritant when he was a boy; he was too highly born and too skilled with sword and knife for anyone to go against his wishes in that or anything else and his own desires never tended in that direction.
If the cost of the Volsca armies is one unwanted fuck then that's a price so cheap as to be laughable and yet he hesitates, watching the other man crush gilded sugar butterflies in his fists like a child crushing living insects. His friends, he decides, would not like this man. Menenius would call him crude and too direct. Cominius would condemn his hasty disposition of his country's armies on a personal whim. As for Caius himself, he thinks that he much preferred Tullus Aufidius as a bitter enemy than a too eager and sentimental friend.
His greater preference however is for Volsca's armies to his hand, since Rome's stand against him. And for those it seems that there will be this price to pay. Caius pours two cups of wine, unwatered, offers one to Aufidius. He can't bring himself to forge a smile or to manufacture a brief touch of fingers, though he believes that is how such things are done. Let the Volscan play the ardent suitor if he must. For his part Caius decides that he will do what is needed tonight, and be thankful for the potency of the wine.
Author: Unsentimental Fool
Fandom: Coriolanus
Characters: Caius Marcius Coriolanus, Tullus Aufidius
Rating: Teen and up
Word Count: 1,400
Summary: Everything comes with a price.
Notes: This has been hanging around in my unfinished folder for a while. I think I like it a bit better than I did when I wrote it!
He sits on the bed and pokes at the much mended sole of his boot. His finger goes straight through the thin leather. So much for those.
There is a scuff of a sole and Caius looks up to dismiss the unwanted servant, but it is his host leaning against the doorway. "Rumour has it your family were wealthy even before one tenth of the rape of rich Coriolis was voted to you. Did Rome really begrudge its most heroic son a horse, a guard and some spare clothes?"
He will not be shamed by a matter so trivial. It is nothing to him that he was mistaken for a beggar at the gate. Fine clothes are for those that care to keep them clean of the mud and gore of battle.
"The greatest part of what I had was my city's gift. I cast it back in her face with every penny of the capital untouched. As for the rest, I would not take a single guard from my defenceless wife's side or the price of a horse from my son's diminished inheritance. "
"And the boots?"
Caius looks down at the torn leather again. "A spare pair of boots would have been sensible, I grant you." He grimaces at Tullus Aufidius. "I took my leave of the city more hot in rage than cold in calculation."
"This suits my purpose somewhat badly It was my intention to shower you with gifts of great value, according to your worth and my inclination." Aufidius's smile is wide . "And now must I start with a thing so humble that it makes me blush to offer it? "
Caius shakes his head. "Come now, Aufidius, we are both long campaign men. We know the true value of well turned leather. Give me nought but a pair of boots that fit passing well and I will count myself forever in your debt, noble lord."
Those teeth flash again, a smile almost predatory. "Then will you drink wine with me in return to seal our alliance?"
This day has wearied Caius almost beyond belief but he has the obligations of a guest. "Let your wine make its own alliance with water and play the lesser role. I have taken cups of wine in friendship with half the senators of Corinth tonight and I fear that my unruly stomach may yet violently reject all those sweet words I spoke."
"Then I will be as gentle with your body as I had previously sworn to be ferocious to it before today . We shall have sweetmeats from my lady's chamber and as much water as you please." Aufidius turns away to call to a slave. Caius frowns, not certain that he is not being mocked.
"The senators spoke of nothing but your virtues after you left." The Volscian comes inside and settles on the couch opposite. "A great warrior, a plain speaker, a true scion of Old Rome. Such nobility of expression and yet such modesty in person. Here in Corinth we do not look for such retiring blushes from Rome, certainly not in such abundance."
Cauis scowls. "The scars again? Why should I display to Corinth all the wounds I took to Rome's greater glory? Does a man proudly show his new comrades gifts from an past lover now detested?"
"You took those marks of distinction from Rome's enemies, not Rome." Aufidius counters. "Look." He pulls off his shirt. He has a swordsman's body, lean and crossed with old lines in the places where the dark hair thins. "This from you. And this. And here," he unbuckles his belt, steps out of his clothes to stand naked in the firelight. "This took a long time to heal. Your sword pierced me, Coriolanus. Should I now play the bashful bride and hide the furrows from you in the dawn's light ?"
The scar down the black haired thigh is long and deep. Caius remembers the blow well, the feel of the sword tip gouging through leather and flesh. Aufidius had fallen, cursing him with a filthy tongue more fit for a common soldier but a knot of fighters had pushed between them before he could make the last short thrust and finish it.
Caius can do no less than his host, not and keep his pride. He tears off the rags in which he has walked through his new city, and in which he has met its rulers. There are twenty seven wounds on his body, each one a tale that he has refused to the baying curs of Rome and the curious Volscian lords alike.
"This one was yours. This also." The thin line on his shin is faded into whiteness, the long red cicatrix across his shoulder still looks raw.
The other man steps forward to look "See, Marcius, we have been marked for each other before this night and no man can doubt it."
Before he can reach for his clothes again Aufidius has scooped them up and tossed then into the corridor. "The city has no poor miserable enough to take those sorry rags as festival finery. Tomorrow we will dress you in the red of an executioner and the silver of a God, Caius Marcius Coriolanus, and you and I will bring rack and ruin to the arrogance of Rome."
Tomorrow he will wake to a new place in the world, one in which he is not helpless or scorned. Tonight... he looks at Aufidius again. Nakedness has no shame between warriors, but he had felt the heat in that welcoming kiss, and now he sees the hungry eyes linger on parts as yet unscarred. No doubt that he knows what the man wants, and he unclothed and unchaperoned, swordless in the night.
A knock on the door distracts them both. Here is the water, the wine and the tidbits. Caius find himself hungry again; he has not filled his belly enough to loosen his belt since his money ran to nothing, many days ago. He would prefer honest meat and bread to the pink and gold butterflies of sugar and spices but he takes what is to hand. He glances again at the other man on that thought. Closest to his hand tonight is his old enemy who promises him vengeance on Rome and the heat of his body as if they are one and the same.
If they are in truth the same then Caius has only to put out his hand to seize or reject them both. Honour in war is not decency in peace and Rome has declared war on him. Honour demands that he takes each chance when it comes, and Aufidius is the greatest chance that has come or will come. Where else will he find an army great enough to march up to the gates of the seven hills and wreak his vengeance?
Set against that is the small matter of his personal repute. Caius loves the mother of his child and counts her honour his own. He has no need of other women's beds while he is at war. The importuning of older men was never more than an irritant when he was a boy; he was too highly born and too skilled with sword and knife for anyone to go against his wishes in that or anything else and his own desires never tended in that direction.
If the cost of the Volsca armies is one unwanted fuck then that's a price so cheap as to be laughable and yet he hesitates, watching the other man crush gilded sugar butterflies in his fists like a child crushing living insects. His friends, he decides, would not like this man. Menenius would call him crude and too direct. Cominius would condemn his hasty disposition of his country's armies on a personal whim. As for Caius himself, he thinks that he much preferred Tullus Aufidius as a bitter enemy than a too eager and sentimental friend.
His greater preference however is for Volsca's armies to his hand, since Rome's stand against him. And for those it seems that there will be this price to pay. Caius pours two cups of wine, unwatered, offers one to Aufidius. He can't bring himself to forge a smile or to manufacture a brief touch of fingers, though he believes that is how such things are done. Let the Volscan play the ardent suitor if he must. For his part Caius decides that he will do what is needed tonight, and be thankful for the potency of the wine.