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artyartieIt's summer, and I need to break the fiction block I've been having all week. So here's a little 'Rome' ficlet - a missing scene from 'These Being The Words of Marcus Tullius Cicero."
Title: Dust of Summer
Pairing: Cicero/Antony
Words: 509
Rating: PG-13
***
"Quite the little place you have up here." Antony pauses on the word 'little,' rolls it around his tongue like a grape, as if words could pop open. His praise is laced with poison, wine at a banquet Cicero has no wish of attending but has been forced to host.
"I'm rather fond of it." Cicero's hands twist into his tunic, and he can feel sweat soaking into the fabric. "It's become something of a sanctuary." A sanctuary Antony is violating each moment he lingers, a refuge he is destroying with each hungry glance he makes towards the door.
But Antony will not taint everything here. "Let us conduct our business out here. My villa is not to your taste, I'm certain-" He laughs, a hollow, strained sound, as Antony's eyes burn into his, it dies like the remnants of the summer breeze.
"Oh, you'd be surprised at my taste," Antony says, his lips quirking into a smile that sets Cicero's pulse hammering in his throat. He presses his palm against his neck, as if to still the fluttering that feels like a dying bird. "You've put your money to good use, but=" Antony reaches above him, plucking a peach from the hanging boughs. "Peaches?"
"Yes, peaches." Cicero is unashamed at the peevishness in his voice; this villa is as dear as the child he never had. "The tree was rather expensive, you know."
"I'm sure you paid far too much, but honestly.." Antony caresses the fruit in his hands, waving it under his nose. His fingers curl around the peach, crushing it with hardly any effort. He offers it to Cicero in a mocking gesture of generosity. "You hardly touch them and they bruise!"
Cicero clutches at his hands, memories of pain aching deep in the bones. He stumbles back as Antony bites into the fruit, rivulets of juice trickling down his chin. "Th-they're delicate, b-but-"
The half-eaten peach falls from Antony' grip, and his sticky hands close around Cicero's shoulders. "You're pink and soft, but are you as sweet?" Antony's mouth presses against his, the taste of peaches, lusciously cloying, lingering on teeth and tongue and lips.
Cicero's hands flail in the closing space between them. Protests die in his throat as his mouth yields to Antony's, and his pulse is as fast as a hummingbird now. It hums in his very fingertips, he can feel it as his hands fall against Antony's chest-
And as suddenly as it began, it was over, Cicero pushing himself away from Antony's chest, wiping the remnants of the kiss from his lips. His knees tremble beneath him, but he remains as still as one of his statues, waiting for Antony to move, to say something, to grab Cicero and push him against the wall-
"A little overripe," Antony says, lazily licking each finger. "But not bad, considering. Now will you let me in?"
There is no sanctuary here, anymore; there os nowhere left in all of Italy, all the world that Antony can't touch. Cicero gestures to the door, unable to keep the tremor from his hand.
Title: Dust of Summer
Pairing: Cicero/Antony
Words: 509
Rating: PG-13
***
"Quite the little place you have up here." Antony pauses on the word 'little,' rolls it around his tongue like a grape, as if words could pop open. His praise is laced with poison, wine at a banquet Cicero has no wish of attending but has been forced to host.
"I'm rather fond of it." Cicero's hands twist into his tunic, and he can feel sweat soaking into the fabric. "It's become something of a sanctuary." A sanctuary Antony is violating each moment he lingers, a refuge he is destroying with each hungry glance he makes towards the door.
But Antony will not taint everything here. "Let us conduct our business out here. My villa is not to your taste, I'm certain-" He laughs, a hollow, strained sound, as Antony's eyes burn into his, it dies like the remnants of the summer breeze.
"Oh, you'd be surprised at my taste," Antony says, his lips quirking into a smile that sets Cicero's pulse hammering in his throat. He presses his palm against his neck, as if to still the fluttering that feels like a dying bird. "You've put your money to good use, but=" Antony reaches above him, plucking a peach from the hanging boughs. "Peaches?"
"Yes, peaches." Cicero is unashamed at the peevishness in his voice; this villa is as dear as the child he never had. "The tree was rather expensive, you know."
"I'm sure you paid far too much, but honestly.." Antony caresses the fruit in his hands, waving it under his nose. His fingers curl around the peach, crushing it with hardly any effort. He offers it to Cicero in a mocking gesture of generosity. "You hardly touch them and they bruise!"
Cicero clutches at his hands, memories of pain aching deep in the bones. He stumbles back as Antony bites into the fruit, rivulets of juice trickling down his chin. "Th-they're delicate, b-but-"
The half-eaten peach falls from Antony' grip, and his sticky hands close around Cicero's shoulders. "You're pink and soft, but are you as sweet?" Antony's mouth presses against his, the taste of peaches, lusciously cloying, lingering on teeth and tongue and lips.
Cicero's hands flail in the closing space between them. Protests die in his throat as his mouth yields to Antony's, and his pulse is as fast as a hummingbird now. It hums in his very fingertips, he can feel it as his hands fall against Antony's chest-
And as suddenly as it began, it was over, Cicero pushing himself away from Antony's chest, wiping the remnants of the kiss from his lips. His knees tremble beneath him, but he remains as still as one of his statues, waiting for Antony to move, to say something, to grab Cicero and push him against the wall-
"A little overripe," Antony says, lazily licking each finger. "But not bad, considering. Now will you let me in?"
There is no sanctuary here, anymore; there os nowhere left in all of Italy, all the world that Antony can't touch. Cicero gestures to the door, unable to keep the tremor from his hand.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2007-06-22 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-23 12:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-22 05:52 pm (UTC)I only wish I had such skill as this.
How does one obtain it?
Is it true that practice helps?
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Date: 2007-06-23 12:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-02 01:37 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2007-07-02 05:26 am (UTC)You have to love summer - sticky, peachy Antony. Yum!
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Date: 2007-08-12 03:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-14 02:48 pm (UTC)Just wanted to ask you if I can archive this fic on Ars Longa (http://rome.paperpilots.net/).
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Date: 2007-09-14 09:30 pm (UTC)