A brief taste of Honey (Geta x Lucius)
Quick summary: Geta returns from Sardinia and Lucius awaits him.
Authers note: sorry it's a day late! Thank you for reading. x Murphy
Geta had been gone for almost two weeks, and Lucius began to yearn. He longed for his touch, the feel of Geta’s skin against his own. His voice, lulling him to sleep. Somehow, his empty arms felt heavier.
When their absence hit the two-week mark, Lucius spent most of his days on the beach. He'd gaze out over the emerald waves until the light would fade and the welcome cool of the night would wash over him.
Then, one evening, as he was taking a swim and the sun had just gone down he saw white sails appear on the horizon, the familiar blue flag bearing a large fish fluttering in the wind. It had been almost twenty days since Geta departure and Lucius couldn’t contain his excitement as the ship approached and anchored. A smaller boat emerged, drifting closer with a young man steering it toward shore.
Lucius didn’t wait. He waded through the water.
"Lucius," Geta called out as he saw him approach, dropping the paddles. He allowed himself to be dragged into the water, clothes and all, and disappeared into Lucius’s arms.
Lucius held him. He held him and held him. Long enough to convince himself that Geta had really returned and was safe. Lucius pulled back a little, and only then did he notice the sad glint in Geta’s eyes. In the fading light, most of his emotions were concealed, but there was unmistakable sadness there.
"Are you okay?" Lucius asked.
Geta nodded. Lucius dragged his wet palm over Geta’s cheek. "I am so glad to have you home, safe and well." He pressed his lips to Geta's, then pulled back again to look at him. "What happened out there, Geta?" he asked hoarsely, his eyes demanding, willing Geta to tell him the truth. But Geta remained silent, eyes far away.
"Did he hurt you?" Lucius asked then, not having spotted any injury but wondering if he'd missed something.
Geta seemed to mull over the question for a moment before he shook his head and mouthed a silent "no." Geta stared at him with a look Lucius had not seen before. "Oh, Lucius," He said, reaching out to cup Lucius’s face. Then Geta bent his neck and pressed his forehead against his. They stood like that for minutes—maybe longer.
As they walked back through the water in silence Lucius wanted to scream. The unanswered questions he couldn’t ask burned like acid in his mouth. What had happened out there? Why had Geta been so secretive since his uncle had appeared?
During their walk home, Lucius ran through ways in his head to break through that wall, the secret well he was being shut out of again. Pressing however would do no good.
They exchanged their farewells in the halls. The brief kiss they shared there in the dark lingered like ice as Lucius entered his bed chamber.
Geta's family were masters at ruining Geta's mood and fire. Lucius hated them for it.
As the days went on and it became August, Geta still barely told him anything. They spent time together, Geta ate normally, and he was looking better and better—but his mind still seemed far away. Whenever Lucius would ask about it, Geta would smile faintly and shake his head. "You wouldn’t understand." He'd say. Or, "I wish I could tell you, but I cannot. Please, do not ask again." The finality in his tone scared Lucius. "Maybe I can help," Lucius offered once. That seemed to touch something within Geta, something he couldn’t conceal. For a moment, Lucius thought Geta might cry, but he swallowed and looked away, shaking his head.
Two weeks passed. Then three. Lucius spent a lot of time with his council, which included Marcus, Augustus and the general of his army, Mantius, in the war room, as the member of the previous Senate -Edus they learned his name was- continued to grow his following. The propaganda was still spreading like wildfire.
"I have to go away for a while," Lucius told Geta one morning as they sparred on the training grounds, sweat covering their skin and soaking their tunics. Geta was breathing heavily from exertion and straightened.
"Where are you going this time?" Geta turned his practice knife over in his hand. "Still fighting the rebels, or somewhere else this time?"
Lucius just looked at him. It felt strange now to tell him, since Geta wasn’t telling him anything. Anything.
"Talk to me Geta." Lucius pleaded. "Tell me about Sardinia, and I’ll let you know," Lucius said.
"It’s okay." Geta shrugged. "I don’t need to know."
Lucius shook his head and laughed a hollow laugh to himself. Then, with frustration, he smashed his practice knife into the sand. "Well, fuck this then," he bit out, before walking off, not looking back.
That night, Lucius lay in bed, boiling with frustration and anger. He felt so lost, so out of control that he wanted to destroy something. Something valuable, something that would break in infinite pieces when striking it with force.
Then there was a knock at the door. Lucius groaned.
If this were Geta, it was bad timing. Lucius did not think it wise to have him here when he was in this mood.
Another knock.
"Yes?"
"You have a visitor, Lucius," Laurentius called from outside the door.
Lucius groaned again. "Who is it."
"Geta."
"For fucks sakes." Lucius muttered under his breath. "Let him in."
Sure enough, Geta entered. He looked unsure, his big eyes wide, shoulders slumped. He visibly swallowed, then closed the door behind him.
He approached the bed slowly and cleared his throat.
"I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting," he said, his eyes briefly meeting Lucius’s. "I’m sorry about the distance… I didn’t mean to. It’s…" He sighed and pulled his robe a little tighter around him. "Nothing really happened… my uncle… he uhm… brought up some things from the past that disturbed me." He looked at the floor. "I really wish I could tell you, Lucius, you have to believe that. There’s nothing I want more, than to tell you." His voice was thick, and he looked as though he was on the verge of tears. "But I cannot. And I just wanted to ask… If we could forget about it all, just for tonight." He looked up from the floor. "Can you please keep me company, just for tonight?"
He stood before the bed, eyes full of longing and sorrow. His cheeks were wet from the silent tears now streaming down.
Lucius did not know what to say. Seeing Geta cry broke his heart, but he did not have it in him to console him now. His heart was aching too much on it's own.
Geta wiped his cheeks, eyes not leaving Lucius's. Then his hands went to his robe, he untied it and pushed the fabric over his shoulders, exposing his naked form.
'I know you do not trust me. I'm not asking you to. But please pretend you don’t hate me for tonight." He said softly. "Or do. I don’t care.’ He looked as though he was in physical pain. Maybe he was. His chest heaved and his fingers closed around the bedpost. ‘You can have me in any way you want.'
===
Two months earlier: the night of the victory after defeating the phytians
Geta's POV, everything from here has already happened, we go back in the past.
Before Lucius’ departure Geta had kissed him goodbye. A brief kiss, nice and soft and delicious in it's simplicity. But the kiss they had just shared in the garden was different. What had happened there had woken Geta up and now he wanted more more more. His whole body tingled, warm and fluid, like melted butter or heated honey, yearning to mold itself around the world—or, in his case, Lucius.
Geta had never been in love before. He had lain with women, kissed a few men when he felt like it, but he had never truly felt anything beyond fleeting infatuation.
With Lucius, it was different. He consumed Geta’s thoughts, his dreams, his every longing. His body craved him, his mind fixated on him, and his intire being felt tethered to the depths of Lucius’ blue, blue eyes.
When he had been close to death after the attack, it was those eyes that had anchored him to the world. He was certain of it.
As they walked back through the garden to rejoin with the people, Geta caught Lucius’ arm and held him back for a moment. He stretched his neck and pressed his lips against the warm skin of Lucius’ throat. He smelled of summer rain. Geta stuck out his tongue and licked the skin before sucking on it softly.
Lucius groaned, his hands threading through Geta’s hair. “Not here, Geta,” he mumbled. “Not here.”
Geta whined softly but obeyed, straightening himself. Lucius smiled. “I will go in first. Wait outside for a few minutes before entering, so we don’t raise suspicion.”
Geta nodded, watching as Lucius disappeared inside to rejoin the festivities. He sat down on the stone steps and stretched out his legs. The light had almost completely faded, and the torches flickered like stars in the night. Finally, the oppressive heat had begun to fade, and Geta sighed in relief as a soft breeze played with the fabric of his tunic and his hair.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching from his left. He looked up and saw a man drawing near.
As he came closer, recognition dawned on Geta. He had seen this man before. His mind sifted through memories until it clicked—his mother’s older brother, Aelius. They had visited his island when he and Caracalla were thirteen, shortly after their mother had died.
Geta frowned. Why would his uncle visit unannounced, without a herald? It was unusual, and unease curled in his stomach. He didn’t remember much from that visit nearly fifteen years ago, but he did remember the palpable fear that had clung to Aelius’ court. He and Caracalla had hardly slept during their two-night stay.
“Geta,” Aelius greeted, extending a hand to help him up.
“Uncle.” Geta rose, eyeing him warily. Aelius had not changed much. Dressed in deep blue, his white hair and short beard stood in stark contrast.
How had his uncle recognized him so quickly?
“To what do we owe this visit?” Geta asked, keeping his chin up.
Aelius scrutinized him before his gaze lingered on the scar along Geta’s collarbone. “I heard you were injured.” He placed a hand on Geta’s shoulder. “I wanted to check on you.”
Geta slowly nodded. “I’m fine. It happened a while ago—I’ve recovered well.”
“I see. You must have good healers here.” Aelius’ eyes drifted to the pillars behind Geta. The sound of laughter and music still spilled from within. “A feast?”
Geta nodded. “We defeated the Phytians. They attacked the trade routes.” The words had barely left his mouth before he realized his mistake.
Aelius tilted his head. “We?”
“I meant—they.”
Aelius’ frown deepened. “What are you still doing here, Geta? Are you being held captive?”
Geta shook his head.
“Then why stay? Are you part of the new Senate?”
“No.”
His uncle took a step back, studying him again. “You look well-fed, so they must treat you well. But what is it that keeps you here?” It was not a simple question—Aelius knew more than he let on. Geta already hated this game.
“They do treat me well. I like it here.” Geta answered simply. He did. He felt protected, cared for. He had time to read, to play with Marcella, to wander through the gardens and along the shore. His lack of political power no longer bothered him as much as he had once thought it would.
“And how did they treat Caracalla?”
Geta’s expression darkened. He avoided thoughts of his brother, knowing they would only lead to endless grief. Every mention of his name sent a dagger through his chest. “It was an accident,” Geta murmured. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Who told you that?”
“Lucius.”
“And you believe him? That it was an accident?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“I just do.” Geta’s patience frayed. What gave his uncle the right to question him like this?
“Tell me—what is Lucius like?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m worried about my nephew..”
Geta shook his head, leaning back against a pillar, arms crossed. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I am not. I want you to come with me to Sardinia. You don’t belong here, Geta.”
“Who says I don’t?”
“I do." His uncle scratched his chin impatiently. "What influence do they allow you here? Do you attend council meetings? Are you trusted with information?”
“Yes!” The word burst from him instinctively.
“You attend council meetings?”
“…No.”
“He trusts you with information?”
Geta looked away. Lucius did trust him with information. Right? Geta was done with this conversation. “Is there anything else? I have no interest in moving to Sardinia, Aelius. Please don’t ask again. I’ll stay here as long as I wish.”
Aelius nodded slowly. “Very well." He bit the inside of his cheek and tapped his foot. "Then at least visit. Please?”
Geta remained silent.
“I’ll be gone for a few weeks, but when I return, I’ll send someone for you. There’s something I want to show you—something of value." When geta did not take the bate he added, "It was important to Caracalla.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see.”
“I’m not coming.”
“Yes, you will.” Aelius tapped his arm. “Now, rejoin your festivities. I’ll take my leave.”
Geta didn’t move, arms still crossed, watching his uncle disappear into the night.
====
A few weeks later, and Lucius had just left to check the repaired forts. Geta felt restless, wondering when his uncle would send someone to pick him up.
A week went by and Geta waited at the gate as Lucius and his soldiers returned from the raids on horseback. As Lucius dismounted, Geta fought the urge to run to him, to pull him into a desperate kiss. But they had agreed—it was best to keep their bond discreet.
As they walked inside, a young man approached, dressed in the same deep blue as Aelius, his robe embroidered with silver fish. His blonde hair gleamed under the morninglight.
“Geta,” the young man called.
“Yes?”
“I have a message for you—from your uncle.” He handed over a sealed letter.
Geta frowned, straightening his shoulders. He had known this day would come, yet he had pushed it to the back of his mind. He could feel Lucius’ eyes on him, sharp with worry. Lucius was never truely relaxed, never trusted anyone, he was always prepared for an attack.
Geta broke the seal and quickly read the message.
A ship is ready at the beach.
Remember what I told you. I have something of value to you.
Then on the bottem of the page:
Someone awaits you in deck.
Geta swallowed, folded the paper, and handed it back to the messenger. He went over the options in his head of who it could be.
He nodded curtly. “I’ll be ready in the morning.”
He did not tell Lucius what was in the message. Why, he did not know precisely. Lucius wanted to know, it was evident. But he did not ask, which Geta appreciated.
===
As Geta entered the ship, a small monkey came rushing to climb his leg, up to his shoulder. Geta could not believe his eyes.
'Dondus?' There was a thin satin band around his neck, but other than that he looked the same. The monkey made a small sound and ran from one arm to the other.
Geta's mind started racing. He had often thought about Dondus and what had become of him. He knew the monkey had not been with Caracalla when he was captured, but beyond that, he knew little.
"How is this possible?" Geta asked, shaking his head in confusion. "Where did you find him?"
"Dondus was taken by Agrippa just before Caracalla got captured. Do you remember him?"
"One of Lucius's prison guards?" Geta did not remember their names or faces too well. There had been too much going on. Too much pain and sorrow to focus on.
The young man nodded. "Besides that, all I can say now is: Caracalla's death is a bit more complicated than you might have been told."
Geta wanted to ask more, but nodded.
"The sea is quite unruely this time of year." The blonde man told him. "Please do sit down your highness."
Geta nodded and walked to the back of the ship, looking out over the horizon.
===
Two days later, they approached the coast of Sardinia.
As Geta was welcomed inside the lavish villa, his eyes widened in amazement. Unlike Lucius' understated and sober residence, this place was opulent—almost a palace. Paintings adorned the ceilings, and intricately carved sculptures lined the halls. As they walked through the halls, several servants passed them by. Some of them male, some female. Their faces were so beautiful they seemed to be carved by the Gods themselves. It did not surprise Geta. The side of his mother was known for their yearning for a hedonistic lifestyle, a trait he inherited, at least to some extent
He was led to a room in the east wing, where his uncle was waiting.
"Welcome, my dear nephew," Aelius said, gesturing to a chair in front of him. "Please, make yourself comfortable."
Geta sat down reluctantly.
"Before we join the celebratory feast to welcome you to the island, I must ask you a few questions," Aelius continued.
Geta nodded. "Go on."
"The questions I am about to ask form an easy riddle—one I’m sure you’ll solve quickly."
Geta shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This felt like an interrogation. His heart pounded in his chest, the hairs on his neck standing on end.
"What have you been told?" His uncle asked him calmly, crossing his ankles as he sat down in front of him. "How did Caracalla die?"
Geta cleared his throat. "He was elbowed in the temple."
"Have you seen the body? Did he have any injuries besides the one to his head?"
"No. I don’t know." Geta clenched his jaw. "Why are you asking me this?"
"Did Lucius see the body and confirm the cause of death?"
Geta sighed in frustration, his palms sweaty as he wiped them on his tunic. "I don't know."
Aelius tutted. "Why did you not ask to see the body, Geta? The details here are important."
Geta turned his gaze to the window, watching the waves lap against the shore. "I wouldn't have been able to handle it," he admitted, suddenly feeling nauseous. Where was this conversation headed? What had he missed?
"You haven’t solved the riddle yet," Aelius sighed. "I'm disappointed." He paused, then continued, "Let me ask you another question. Why was Caracalla elbowed in the temple, and by whom?"
"Tibirius," Geta answered hesitantly, "after Caracalla stabbed him in the eye."
"Well done. Almost there." Aelius patted Geta’s head before turning toward the door. "Tibirius, please enter."
A man with feminine features and an eye patch stepped into the room. His hair seemed indigo in the eveninglight.
"Tibirius," Aelius said smoothly, "would you be so kind as to explain precisely what happened that day?"
Tibirius scratched his jaw. "I was part of a rescue operation that went... wrong."
Geta’s eyes widened. This could not be true.
"I was supposed to get Caracalla out," Tibirius continued, "but he didn’t recognize me. He had forgotten that I was once part of his protection guard before I had joined Lucius's."
Geta shook his head in disbelief. His midriff hurt, right where the arrow had hit.
"Caracalla stabbed me when I tried to extract him, so I had to knock him out. But then I lost consciousness myself from the injury and blood loss. When I woke up, I was in the infirmary."
Tibirius paused, glancing at Aelius before continuing. "Agrippa—who was assigned to protect you, Geta—was also part of the plan. He found Caracalla. Laurentius was also present."
Geta shook his head again, over and over. "No." The next words came into his ears as though he was underwater. everything slowed.
Tibirius pressed on. "Laurentius, believing Caracalla had no pulse, agreed to let Agrippa take him to sea, to set his body adrift on the open waters."
Geta's breath came in ragged gasps. He couldn't get enough air. The room spun around him.
"Caracalla is alive?" he whispered.
"As far as we know, yes... but—" Tibirius hesitated, glancing at Aelius for permission.
"Yes," Aelius said, "tell him."
Tibirius nodded. "As Agrippa tried to bring him here, they were intercepted by the Alamanni. By then, word of the empire’s overthrow must have spread. As far as we know... he is still there, being held captive."
"How do you know?" Geta’s voice sounded high and strained.
"I have an alliance with them," Aelius interjected. "They allowed me to speak with him briefly a few months ago."
"What kind of alliance?" Geta demanded.
Aelius shook his head, smiling slightly. "Patience, cousin. All will be revealed in time. Let’s take it one step at a time, yes?" He studied Geta's pale face. "You look ashen."
Geta shook his head. "I need to know. Please."
"You will," Aelius promised. "I will tell you over dinner."
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