Could you please do a femme dom reader x emperor commodus fic ? :)
Eeee!! This was so much fun! <3 Thank you!
𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧: One shot
𐙚 Emperor Commodus x Fem! Reader 𐙚 18+
Summary: You are the empress of Rome, married to the immature, Commodus. After an outburst, you chose to ignore his horny pleads.
Warnings/contains: fem dom, sub emperor, sub male, smut, oral (fem receiving), degradation, alcohol consumption, obsession, not proof read-- english is not my first language!
Word Count: 1.3k
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He paced the edge of the balcony, looking down at the distance between him and the stone path. “Bring her in.” The emperor spoke bitterly. The throne room doors were thrown open and a guard walked behind you.
The shackles around your wrists rattled as you walked, a leather gag between your teeth. Your dress flowed naturally with every step. You did not need to speak, the hatred for him cut through your gaze. You did not attempt to talk, that would only make him laugh. You were not here for his entertainment, regardless of his intentions.
“Come closer.” You stood straight, your two feet were planted on the tile. “Come here!” You shifted your eyes away from him and to the tanned guard who led you inside. A rather sly smile on your lips as your disregarded the man. “Bring her here, dammit!” The guard, now with pink blush over his cheeks and nose, pulled you closer to the emperor. Commodus grabbed you by your throat, pulling you close enough for your nose for touch his, “You will respect me in my palace. This is my empire, and I demand respect from every man, woman, and whore! Now, you will love me! You will love me, [Y/n]!” He gripped your neck tighter.
You laughed, a bit a saliva leaving your mouth due to the gag. With a struggle, you pulled off the gag, your wrists felt raw from the strain and weight of the shackles. “Someone undo these.” You turned away from him.
“Look at me!”
You continued to look away from him, “Get these off of me.” You said softly to the guards around the room.
“Yes, my empress!” One guard ran to your assistance and unlocked the shackles.
“I will have you killed.” Commodus angrily spat. “I will have you killed!” He leaped at the man, a hiss sound from his mouth.
You moved the guard from the way, “Commodus, leave the room!”
“You do not tell me what to do.” He said, keeping his gaze on the guard who you so calmly protected.
You ignored him and received a warm woven coverup from a servant. “Ignore his outburst. I am going to turn in for the night. Please be sure my fireplace is ablaze.”
Commodus turned to the sight of you leaving the throne room. You were so unbothered by him, unfazed—beautifully so. He sneered at the loss of attention from you. He huffed; his heart began to thump rapidly in his chest.
He quickly followed you until you reached your corridor. He peeked around the corner of your quarters, looking inside. You warmed yourself by the fire and gently rubbed a soothing cream over your wrists. The windows in your room were covered and every corner had a small pit of wood burning to keep the space warm. “…May I come inside?”
You looked over your shoulder at the man who faced his feet. “Do not come any closer than the entrance statues.” You said rather dismissively.
“May we talk?”
“Now you are civil? Do not make me laugh, Commodus.” You said with amusement. “You have the temper of a small child, and the patience of a rich man. I guess that is fitting because you are one.”
Commodus clutched his fists before frowning, “You have said.”
“Yet you do not listen.”
“I apologize, [Y/n].” You waved a hand of dismissal and continued to prepare for bed; your attention on anything but him. “I mean it this time! I truly do!” He went to his knees as you rubbed oils into your skin, massaging African shea butter into your palms before spreading it up and down your legs. “[Y/n]? Please. Please?” His laments echoed throughout your chamber; his hand dared up your soft thigh.
“Stop!” You slap him across his cheek, “You whore!” You stood above him, a look of disgust on your face. “I want nothing from you. You are a disrespectful, worthless boy!” He basked in the pain from your slap, soaking in the heat of the moment. “You do not deserve a dammed thing from me.” Your fingers held onto his jaw, a tight grasp that marked his face red. Your nails were long, manicured and your skin was smooth. Your beautiful face so close to his made heat rise from his loins to his cheeks. “You know the only reason I maintain composure is to please your father’s wishes, rest his soul! I do not want to see your face, Commodus.” His manhood grew stiff and sensitive beneath his clothes.
He clenched his jaw in your hand, a deep gulp made his Adams apple shift downward. “But I missed you.”
“That is not the way to bring me back to the palace.”
“You ran away from me!”
“You are paranoid. Get out of my sight.” He remained at your feet; his hand rose to your hips. You slapped his cheek again. The man bit his lip, letting his palms rest on the marble floor. “You lack discipline. Your father could not give it to you. Now that I am here, you seek some sort of sexual relief from me?! I am not your common whore, you bastard!” He looked up at you with his deep blue eyes. The reflection of fire in his full irises.
“I love you, [Y/n]. You are my empress.”
“That is right! I am! So how dare you embarrass me?! Embarrass yourself!” You let go of his face, your nails scratched his face as you left. “Go with your whores, leave me be.”
“Please…please, my love.”
“I am not your love, you dog.” You spat down onto his face. He moved his tongue and fingertips, moving your saliva into his mouth. “You are filthy.”
“I would do anything for you.”
“No, you would do anything *to* me. You are unwell. Sickened with power.” He nodded, rubbing the side of his face against your hip. From his robes, his shaft grinds against his thigh slowly. A pleasurable moan left his lips as he continued. You moved away from him and sat on the plush chair across from the fireplace, your feet rested on an ottoman.
“Please, look at me.” You said nothing, shifting your eyes towards the door. “I do not want to leave, [Y/n].” His voice cracked, leaving him embarrassed. “Please.” He continued to rub himself, however, deriving little to any pleasure from it.
You poured yourself a glass of wine and sipped from it. “You are pathetic.”
“I am.” He continued to stare at your beautiful face as you drank.
“You deserve nothing from me, might I repeat.” You finished off your glass as his head lay on your lap. His fingertips pull at the fabric of your dress, shifting it away. “I was a princess back home. I had more freedoms than I have now as Empress.” You mumbled rather to yourself as he buried his head between your thighs. You paranoid fuck…” A moan slipped from your mouth as his warm tongue circled your clitoris. Your thighs tightened and raised in shock. “W- wh-“
His head hid under your dress as he suckled on your firm clitoris. You could feel your womanhood throb with need upon feeling those sensations. “I- I’m sorry.” You held the back of his head, keeping him still. His tongue was quick and skillful as it flicked against your clitoris. His thumb gently held up the hood of your clitoris; barely moving. Your thighs trembled; an unsure panting left your lips.
Commodus moaned back as your warm walls engulfed his tongue. His nose pressed against your clit; his lower face now wet with your mess. “C- Commodus! I h- hate you!” He could not see your face, not that you wanted to see his, as two of his digits slipped into your slippery cunt. Your fingers tore into the upholstery of your seat. His tongue lapped and sucked on your clitoris as his fingers dug deep inside of you. The pads of his fingers pushed up onto your sensitive spot.
You felt yourself climax over his fingers, however, he continued. Your cunt pulsed with pleasure. “M- my empress.” The man muttered as he suckled softly on the center of your clit.
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Thx for reading!! Happy new year! <3
Frohes neues Jahr, meine lieben! Ich habe diesen Monat eine neue Serie und kann es kaum erwarten, sie zu teilen! Mwah! <3
summary: amongst the quiet of death, commodus finds you.
a/n: yayee my first fic post! i'm hoping this is well received and well written, i don't often post my writing but uhmm.. i wanted to so here we are ˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶ reader is a blank slate, tried to keep it as vague and gender neutral as i could. likes, reblogs & comments appreciated. please enjoy! ao3 link
warnings: major character death, canon typical violence, blood, injury description, general angst & all the good stuff, hurt/comfort, commodus cries, dual pov, second/third person narrative, not proof-read, no use of y/n. heed these warnings and proceed with caution!
When he fell, he had never expected Rome wouldn't go with him.
A challenge, he had proposed. Spite and rage and envy, it all mixed into one, intolerable tightness in his chest. Maximus wasn't who they wanted- it never would be. It had to be him, didn't it? Him that they cheered for, him who's name they cried in the streets and him who lived through eternal glory.
It was ironic, where that want got him.
The colosseum devolved from violent jeers and excitable cries into dead, still silence. Not mournful, no. Not for him, at least- never for him. The women cried for Maximus, the men exchanged silent transactions and amongst it all, he listened. He waited. No cries came for him, no lips wept his name. Only blood, heavy and sticky in his throat as his chest tightened and his body convulsed with a desperate cough.
His fingers twitched, aching to reach out. Towards what, he didn't know. Perhaps a last attempt at reminding himself he was still there, amongst it all. Still alive to hear the hatred, the relief of a tyrant's death, a sort of pain that didn't need words to be understood. It entirely overshadowed the tight, suffocating throb in his neck, shooting up his jugular and towards his forehead in a splitting ache.
For all he did, they hadn't cared.
But alas, he lay there, head against the hot sand as he stared up at the pure blue sky. Clouds rolled, birds sang, and if he knew any better? Perhaps it was an ordinary day. Perhaps he was in the palace, or Lanuvium, years ago. Only his mind mattered now, he supposed. If he was to let go, he would do so on his own accord. Not by the need to please his long dead father, not by the need to chase Lucilla's love. No- he'd do it differently.
The gardens were warmed by the ever looming sun, decorated with more flowers than you cared to name, backdropped by the steady trickle of fountains and rush of servants in the domus behind you. The scroll in your lap was worn well with love, a precious thing. Unfurled in your hands, it curled inwards towards the corners and the parchment had torn at the edges, the ink cracked and dry, yet the words discernible. Memorable.
You heard him, before you saw him.
"You gaze upon that scroll as if it were more precious than me." His tone was lilted with teasing, quiet humour as his steps resumed, approaching the marble bench you had perched upon. Your head lifted, eyes squinting in the Roman sun to make out his silhouette. Regal, proud, even as a shadow. "You know nothing is more precious to me than you are, Commodus." You murmur, although your tone holds no exhaustion, no shyness. If anything, it held an admiration that seemed to please him, as with a quaint smile, he lowered himself to sit beside you.
The gardens cast a view over the lower country, far ocean. Rome sat to your right, the colosseum an ever protruding landmark amongst mazes of streets. You cast your gaze out to the distant ocean, whilst his remained on you. For a while, it was quiet. The gentle breeze in the leaves, the crinkle of parchment, steady breathing, all coming to form something you figured resembled peace. "Do you think of crossing the ocean?" You asked suddenly, and Commodus looked at you strangely, his brow furrowed. He followed your gaze, looking out to the steady blue.
"That's laughable. Why should I dream of leaving Rome?"
"I don't know."
Your answer wasn't entirely truthful, and he seemed to realise that, as he turned his attention back to you with a newfound look of concern. Not a rare thing, but somehow, it surprised you nonetheless. You swallowed, and lowered your head to slowly roll up the scroll. "Yes, you do." He called you out, and you fought back a wince. For a moment you were quiet, casting him a sidelong glare. "I know." You said. He was quiet, unmoving, as if his sudden stillness would will you towards giving an answer. And somehow, it did.
Rome had been your home since your wedding. One out of political goodness, you hadn't meant to fall for him, initially. You had heard the rumours, mostly bad, surrounding his name- yet the union had gone through nonetheless, and you had found yourself pleasantly at ease with Commodus. Tales of arts, poetry, extravagant meals and countless baths, melancholic staring upon the city, fingers fumbling against ties and warm palms over bare skin. It was all done together, and yet selfishly, you wished for a different life. Quieter, humble. Just the two of you, in some quaint homestead nestled in a silent valley, steadfast in undying love and burning loyalty. Not that you couldn't have it, but you knew he didn't want it. He hungered for power, lapped up every lick of it whenever he could, despite how his own claims differed. "I don't know if I want to leave. I don't think I do, truly." You whisper, and he leans in, encouragingly gentle. "But often I find myself wanting something different."
He didn't pry, but watched with as close to understanding as he could get from your vague description. "Something quieter, I suppose. With you, I think of something quaint." You finish, not particularly eager to potentially embarrass yourself in front of the man you called a husband. But when you snuck a glance at him, there was no mockery on his face. Only a certain understanding you knew you wouldn't find with anyone else. "That's beautiful." He complimented, and you flushed. "I suppose." Commodus drew back with a sigh, his arm reaching out until his hand covered your own, holding your fingers. "You sadden me. I can feel myself wishing for that, too." He murmured, and as he looked out to the ocean, his gaze took on the same distant want as your own. You didn't know what to say, and so you moved your hand to hold his. Raising it to your mouth with a gentle kiss pressed to his knuckles, you had his attention reeling back to you only moments after. "Perhaps in another time." You sympathised, meeting him halfway as he leaned forward in search of love. Your lips met in quiet tandem.
When he next woke, his surroundings were foreign.
The same blue sky, slow moving clouds, the same warmth. The pain was gone, he noted. No slim impalement to his neck, no blood dripping from his mouth or staining his armour- no heavy silence, no one to see him die in shame. What was this? Had he healed in an unconscious time? How long had it been? Perhaps he was hallucinating, perhaps this was exile. He didn't know. So, slowly, he lifted his head.
The movement was reluctant. He would much rather stay on the ground, bask in the sun some more before he gave into movement and the ache that would inevitably come with it. His head raised from the soft grass pillowing it, his palms flush against the green blades. Pushing himself up, he was momentarily dazed. That awfully splitting ache was gone, his throat was clear: he could breathe, take in mouthfuls of fresh, country air as he rose to stand on unsteady feet. He looked back at where he'd been laying. Grass, and a subtle imprint of his body. No feathered pillow, no imperial bed, nothing but grass and soil.
Humiliation, perhaps.
He raised a hand, rubbing at the back of his neck with an unsteady noise. Around him, the Italian countryside shifted quietly with the afternoon turning into day. Shadows were cast, elongated by the sun's constantly shifting position, birds sang and insects hummed, grass crunched quietly underfoot as he took wary steps forward. Guarded, uncertain. Paranoid. As he looked around, searching for some point of familiarity, he found it in the shape of a quietly quaint homestead and a familiar voice.
"I missed you."
The words were so simply spoken that it broke him instantaneously. Your figure, stood in the doorway, felt so unfamiliar that he almost felt guilt. He had struggled to remember your face on his own in the time that followed your own death: he had despised himself for it. Your body, your hair, your face. Everything down to your mannerisms, he had steadily forgotten, let it slip between his fingers like sand. And all he did was watch, helplessly. He uttered your name in a breath, and was moving towards you before he knew better.
His arms encircled your waist, pulling you flush to his chest as his nose pressed against your hair. Inhaling the familiar scent of you, the one imprinted onto the pillow he'd clung to at night, the one that'd met his wrath so many times. Commodus exhaled, something uneven and shaky, and you drew back just enough to meet his eye. "Don't cry." You murmured, and somehow, that made it a struggle not to. His eyes were wet with tears as he blinked, lashes fluttering as his brows furrowed with a poorly swallowed whimper. Your hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into it, letting the pad of your thumb stroke against his cheekbone, wipe away his tears. He didn't know how you were there, in front of him, but he didn't want to know. He didn't care, because with you in his arms safely returned to him, there was no thought nor care in his previous life that he wanted to revisit if they didn't involve you.
"I'm sorry." He blurted. He didn't know why. His inability to protect you, maybe. How he had let himself forget you, how he couldn't recall a clear memory without assistance. He watched through tears as your brow furrowed, gently shaking his head. "Why?" You whispered, and his chest heaved as he shuddered out a sob. "I let you go." He answered quickly, too quickly, and your finger pressed to his lips in a gently shushing gesture. It seemed to work, his sobs evened into shaken breathing as his gaze stayed stuck to yours, unable to wander. But he didn't want it to. "You had to. I don't blame you for it, there was nothing you could've done." You said, and that understanding, that blameless comfort, almost brought him to his knees. His chest tightened and his stomach churned as he brought his head forward. His nose nudged against your own, forehead bumping your own as his eyes closed.
"Truthfully?" He whispered through a sniffle, feeling the movement of your nod against him. Your lips found his in a chaste, gentle brush, but it didn't seem enough for him. His hands gripped your waist as he sought out your lips again, pressing them to his with all the passion years of loss had torn from him. His nose nudged and brushed your own, lips moving in a fashion that could only be described as clumsy. Desperate. Your hands moved to his hair, and he whimpered, drawing back with an indiscernible sound of relief. You were there, he reminded himself. You were real, he was holding you, kissing you. It wasn't some cruel jest, some tricky vision. It was real, and whilst he might not have been living, he knew this was as close to a real life as any man could have. "Truthfully." You echoed.
He knew then in that moment, as you took his hand and led him back inside, that this was what you had meant. All those years ago, in the gardens, this was what you wanted. The one thing he couldn't give you, until now. Perhaps in another time, you had said. Oh, did he wish he had listened. He knew now, though. And he would continue to know.
Summary: Eight-year-old Lucius Aelius Aurelius Commodus is enchanted by the tales of the first dragons that lived in Rome. One night, while visiting his deceased brother’s tomb, the sole heir of Emperor Marcus Aurelius witnesses those very tales being brought to life.
Word Count: 1,326
Warnings: Mentions of sibling death, some historical inaccuracy (as far as I know, there probably were not real dragons in Rome. I just wanted a chance to see my favorite emperor interact with them)
For young Lucius Aelius Aurelius Commodus, mythology was more than a collection of simple bedtime stories. They were aspirational tales of divine valor for the rising emperor in him, and a fantastical escape for the playful child within him. Tired of hearing tutors drone for hours about insipid philosophy and mind-numbing mathematical theorems, the legends of brave kings, beautiful nymphs, and horrifying-yet-powerful creatures was an oasis of wonder for the eight-year-old. Whether many of those stories were actually true or not was an entirely different matter; he loved them and believed in them with unwavering faith.
"Pompeii…after the eruption of Vesuvius?"
"Yes, Highness," Servilla, governess of the young emperor of Rome, narrated to him one night. "It was said that the first dragon eggs were found at the foot of the volcano after the eruption of Mount Vesuvius had taken place."
Little Commodus sat up excitedly in bed, eager to hear more.
"There were three of them, buried beneath layers of ash and ignored for several years until the eruption. It is said that dragon eggs could be hatched in the presence of roaring flames, and can only occur with the sacrifice of human blood. The legends say the many lives lost in Pompeii was the necessary offering for the gods to bring the dragons to Earth."
"Who is the patron god of dragons, Servilla? Is it Lord Vulcan?"
"I am afraid that I do not know, Highness." She raised her veil above her head, and tucked back a curl of hair. "After the dragons had hatched, they were sold as commodities in the public markets of Pompeii. Bought by frivolous aristocrats, they were a source of entertainment while they were little creatures who spit sparks of fire. The poor believed them to be favored by the gods, perhaps even a reincarnation of the Greek hero Agamemnon. He was said to wear a blue dragon motif on his sword belt when he fought in battle, and a three-headed dragon on his breast plate."
"Was one of the dragons blue, Servilla?"
"One of them was blue-scaled, another was red-scaled, while another had black scales. When they grew up, all of Rome wanted them dead. They were too big to keep as pets, and were very quick to anger. They breathed fire among those who displeased them, and always wanted large portions of food. Sometimes," she whispered in a menacing tone and reached for the little emperor. "They would snatch young boys playing and eat them up!"
"They would never catch me!" Commodus laughed as he was being tickled. "I would not make them angry."
"After several complaints from the people of Pompeii, Caesar Caligula decided to adopt the dragons himself. He wanted to train them to be his personal weapons. In his mind, the dragons would be strong enough to destroy anyone who dared to stand up against his rule.
They were mighty and could never be killed. They were the strongest creatures in the entire empire! However, the dragons fled the mad emperor. It is unknown where the two of the dragons escaped to, but the bones of one of the dragons were found in the city of Lanuvium, near the sea. His rotting red scales became one with the sand, and his teeth disappeared to the bottom of the ocean."
"How long do dragons live?"
"They are said to be able to live for centuries, Highness. That is, if they do not die in combat."
Despite Commodus adorably protesting for more details about the legendary dragons of Pompeii, asking if they ever had any progeny, and if they ever served another emperor, Servilla gently told Commodus that it was late and a good rest was necessary. She bade him good night and blew out the candles in his chamber.
————————————————————————————————————————
"And Servilla said that Emperor Caligula tried to tame them, and they soon escaped after his assassination. Tales of their ferocity were sung in the streets - one of them escaped to Lanuvium!"
Commodus waved his hands about as he retold his governess's stories to the coffin, barely a week he'd heard them himself. It was almost customary for the young emperor to visit the crypts every so often and "talk" to his deceased loved ones as if they were really there. Commodus knelt before the tomb of his brother Annius, not caring for the dust soiling his legs. It had been barely ten days after his eighth nameday, and yet it seemed as if Fate had decided to play a trick upon him…by taking away the last remaining brother he had.
"I swear, 'tis almost as if pre-ordained by the gods! I must ask Father when we go there again - there could even be baby dragons waddling along the beaches. It would be a delight to see."
The young emperor was interrupted by the sound of his name being called, most likely by Lucilla. He murmured a silent prayer to his brother's tomb before picking up a flaming torch to find his way up the stairs. Commodus tip-toed along one hallway, only to be encountered by an intimidating marble statue of the late Emperor Antoninus Pius - Commodus's own maternal grandfather. Dismissing this pathway as a dead end, he turned around and attempted to find another way out.
Suddenly, Commodus tripped over something - he couldn't quite see it well, but it was certainly heavy - and the torch fell from his pale hands. Yet to his surprise, the fire did not seem to hurt him at all, his skin remaining unblemished in the split second when the flames brushed against his arm. No burning sensation of any kind…the fire almost felt like the water from his bath. Comforting, in a strange way.
Perplexed, he grabbed another torch from the wall of the crypt, bringing it closer to the floor. What was it that caused him to trip? It was a chest, with enigmatic engravings all over it.
"Gods…"
With one hand holding the torch and the other fiddling with the lock, Commodus boldly opened the chest. Inside were three eggs - all scaly, yet of different hues - nestled in a bed of straw. One of them was crimson red, with black tips on its scales. The middle one bore a shade of emerald and twitched at the sight of Commodus, while the right-most egg was obsidian-hued with gold tips on its scales. They all seemed to have a few cracks, as if they had already begun to hatch.
Dragon eggs could be hatched in the presence of roaring flames, Servilla told him earlier.
Without much thought, the young emperor set the eggs on fire, dousing all three of them in flames. His green eyes widened with excitement as the eggs fidgeted and the shells continued to crack. After what felt like several enchanting hours, the flames finally subsided and in the place of the eggs, there were three baby dragons surrounded by broken shells.
Commodus knelt before them, extending his left hand as the crimson-colored dragon pecked at his palm. It was almost like playing with the birds in the palace courtyard. He even let himself chuckle as they croaked and breathed little puffs of warm smoke.
"You're so beautiful," he immediately gushed out of admiration for the little beasts. "As the one who brought you to life, I promise to care for you like my own kin."
Commodus turned to the crimson one, naming it 'Marcus' after his father. With a grin, he decided to call the green dragon 'Commodiana' because it bore the same color as Commodus's own eyes. And as for the obsidian one with flakes of gold, Commodus named it 'Annius' as homage to his late brother.
"Commodus!" His elder sister Lucilla rushed down the stairs and let a shrill cry escape from her lips as soon as she saw where he was. The princess was horrified at the little beasts, immediately asking her brother what he was doing.
Following Roma Victor over Germania, you are tasked with supporting the new Emperor in learning the art of lovemaking.
Based on @jokerflecker’s Commodus Ask, whereby an Emperor has concubines who teach him the art of love. We theorised that, when it comes to becoming an Emperor, it’s considered as important of a trait as sword fighting and horse riding. Also, I referenced The Most Skilled Tongue in Rome, which is @jokerflecker’s brainchild and is now widely accepted as canon ;)
WARNING: Not much smut!! I’m serious. When I’m writing Commodus, he does whatever TF he wants. And he wanted long drawn-out scenes with lots of character-building and only implied smut. I KNOW! I’m shooketh. And, he seemed to want some explanations of what happened in Germania, from his perspective. So not much smutting… you have been warned.
ACTUAL WARNING: Mentions of death, and there is a scene where Marcus is deceased. May be triggering if you are grieving.
Tag list: @darknessisafriend @suspended-in-duskk @winterjasmine007@dreamingmaria @reginasansrex @ithinkimaperson @prettyxlittlexpsychoxprincess @iamthewifeofwilliamthatcher
“The Emperor requests your presence, my Lady.”
You were awoken by a member of the Pretorian Guard around midnight. You couldn’t imagine what Marcus Aurelius would want with you at this hour.
He had barely acknowledged you at the victory soiree that evening, until he followed you into a side room and, peering through velvet, croaked, “I trust you are keeping your promise.”
You had bowed out of respect. “Caesar. Yes, your majesty. I am teaching Commodus everything he needs to know to become Emperor.”
Marcus considered you his son’s private tutor. Commodus, however, considered you his second-in-command.
The old king furrowed his brows. “Well. He will need you now. More than ever.” With that, he disappeared. Commodus had followed soon after, a large smile on his face.
“My Lady! He will announce it this evening. I’m sure of it.”
Something felt off. You didn’t know what. “Perhaps… perhaps he will do it tomorrow, my Lord. Or in the coming days. I’m certain he wants to give the soldiers their day in the sun.”
He smiled as he stepped through the swathes of material separating you. You were now face to face. “You are so wise, Y/N. You are right.” His voice was dripping with…. something. An emotion you couldn’t pinpoint. One that felt deeply unsavoury. Inappropriate, even.
You cleared your throat. “Yes, Your Highness. It’s my duty to provide you with guidance, after all.”
“Y/N, please. We are alone. Please don’t call me that.” His voice was low. A whisper. He smiled tenderly. A Pretorian Guard entered the room and announced that Commodus was requested by the Emperor. A look of boyish excitement spread through his face. You could read his thoughts: It’s my time.
Commodus didn’t reappear. The party died down. And, tired from your journey to Germania with Commodus, you had turned in for the evening. Whatever Commodus learned from Marcus could wait until tomorrow.
Or so you thought.
And here you were. A Pretorian Guard had called for you. The Emperor wanted to see you.
You followed the guard through the corridors of the beautiful space. You were asked to wait outside until the Emperor was ready for you. You had just spoken with Marcus before you went to bed. What on earth would he want with you now?
You listened to the conversation happening inside the room. You recognised Commodus’ voice instantly.
“Ameen with me, brother. Our great father is dead.”
Your eyes widened at his words. How could Marcus be dead? You spoke to him only hours ago.
The guard eyed you intently. You straightened your back, acted stoic, and pretended you weren’t listening to every sound in that room.
You heard everything.
The surgeon said his breath gave out as he slept. He felt no pain.
A long silence.
Your Emperor asks for your loyalty, Maximus.
And then.
Take my hand. I offer it only once.
Followed by mutters.
You heard Maximus shouting in the distance.
Closer to you, you heard two hard slaps. Followed by Lucilla’s voice.
Hail Caesar.
Quintos walked past you. He told the guard, “It’s done.”
Quintos turned to you and nodded. “My Lady.”
Your eyes became wet. Marcus was dead. And you had every certainty who’s hands he died at.
You gasped and jumped in shock when the curtain opened. You turned to see Commodus standing there. His eyes were brimming with tears. He wore a distant, dissociative expression.
“My father is dead.” He spoke matter-of-fact. “Come.”
He turned his back and you followed him. He walked you through what must have been the quarters of Marcus. It looked palatial. Statues. Gold. Fine materials. And there, on the bed, lay Marcus. You stopped. Commodus turned when he realised you were no longer following him. You couldn’t take your eyes off Marcus. It was surreal.
“You wish to pay your respects. You may.” He gestured towards the bed.
You nodded in response to Commodus, while you continued staring straight ahead. Slowly, you walked towards the late Emperor. You felt a gentle hand on your back. Commodus.
“It’s a shock. I know.” His voice was gentle. Still, you daren’t look at him.
Slowly, you sunk to your knees. You prayed. Commodus knelt with you. Silently, he thanked the Gods for your grace. For your love towards his father. For your respect. Your loyalty. You rose to your feet. You placed a hand over the still hand of Marcus. Silently, you promised to help his son.
You turned to Commodus. He was Emperor now. Should you kiss his ring? Or curtsey? Frankly, he looked as though he needed a hug. He sensed your uncertainty.
“Come. We will rest in private.” He placed a gentle hand on your upper arm, stroking it. He offered you a small smile.
She looks terrified. She knows. She most certainly knows.
“Here. Take my arm.” He tilted his chin up proudly. He looked down at you through long, dark eyelashes.
You slipped your hand through his arm, smiling. You felt relief. He was still Commodus. The one you knew so well. He smiled proudly as he led you through to a private room.
He poured you both some wine, handing you a goblet. You hesitated before sipping. You looked at him, waiting for him to drink.
“I assure you, it’s not poisoned.” He gave you a smirk, like he always did when he made a bad joke. But this felt different. A little more sinister. Or were you imaging it?
You looked him in the eye. And you sipped.
“My father always said, you were my tutor,” he began, pacing. He spoke authoritatively. After all, he was Caesar now. “But you should know, Y/N, I have always viewed you as more than that.” He turned to you. He licked at the corner of his mouth, a habit he had when he felt nervous. “Do you feel that, too, Y/N?”
You were frozen still. You couldn’t answer him. Not without knowing for certain.
“Commodus.” You straightened your back, mustered all of your courage. You stepped towards him. “You value honesty. As do I. Honesty, respect and love – they are inextricably linked. So tell me the truth, now. What happened?”
His eyes fluttered. Excessive blinking was a sure sign of his discomfort. His eyes glanced to the makeshift door. Made only of layers of fabric, it was far from soundproof. He lowered his voice.
“I have a feeling you already know.”
Your skin blistered with fear. Still, you spoke with courage.
“So you did. You did it.”
“It wasn’t… it wasn’t planned.” He continued to whisper. “I assure you.”
Was a spontaneous murder any better? You thought not.
“He was to give my powers over to the General. He wanted Rome to become a Republic. I could not let that happen. You understand, don’t you?”
You had frozen again. Were you even safe with him now?
“You’re afraid of me?”
“No.”
“Y/N. Tell me the truth.”
“A little, yes. And there are few things that frighten me.”
“Is there anything I can do to place your mind at ease?”
“Tell me. Tell me how.”
He nodded. He understood. He explained in gestures only. No words were required. He gestured to someone on their knees in front of him. He placed his hands apart, although he was placing his hands either side of someone’s face. He moved his hands towards his stomach. His hands moved now, as though they were at the back of this person’s head. You noticed as his face contorted in anguish. He pushed his hands inwards, as though he was forcing their head into his body. As he did so, he collapsed to his knees and started crying.
You dropped to the ground to be beside him. “Commodus… Commodus…”
He cried hysterically. His eyes contained equal amounts of grief, guilt, shame, and regret. You held him until his tears subsided. You stoked his hair, which soothed him. He felt like a child in your arms. Lifetimes away from the Emperor he had become. You remembered your promise to his father. I will help him become a better man.
“Commodus. You called for me. I sense there is something you wanted to ask of me.”
He looked up at you. His deep, dark eyes were full of emotion.
“Here,” you whispered, giving him your hand and helping him to his feet.
“I… I should be offering my hand to you,” he sniffed. He was trying to be better already.
He looked around the space and saw two large chairs next to a table. They were positioned close to a map of the empire.
“Let us sit here, in peace, together.”
Whether it was an offer or a command, either way you followed him to the table. He pulled out a chair for you, and you sat. He picked up a large throne-like chair – it was surely his fathers – and placed it down close to you. He angled the chair to face you. You repeated the motion. He sat, you both facing one another.
“I have a gap in my knowledge,” he started. “It appears that… after all my training, we have… we have missed one vital element.”
You furrowed your brows. You had covered everything. Whatever was he referring to?
His cheeks flushed as he leaned in and dropped his voice several volumes lower. “We seem to have missed… the last chapter.” He gave you a knowing look, as if this would mean something to you.
What you did know is only this… that he referenced the book his father had given you both, penned by Marcus Aurelius himself. It covered all essential elements of becoming the ruler the Empire needed. But you had diligently covered every chapter, in detail, several times over.
“The final chapter, my Lord – is Governance of the Senate. We covered this. And, I suspect it’s not something you wish to keep in any case.”
He looked confused now. “N-no. No, Y/N. The last chapter. Surely you know what I’m referring to.” He glanced down, his eyelashes fluttering. His cheeks flushed once more. “Must I say it?”
You placed a caring hand on his face. “I’m afraid you’ll have to.” You had no idea what he was talking about.
His mouth moved open as if to speak. No words came out. “Excuse me.”
He rose from his seat. Was he leaving? He walked over to his father’s book shelves, running his fingers along the spines until he found the one he searched for. He removed it, dusting off the front cover. He licked his fingers and thumbed the pages. He placed it down in front of you.
“This one.”
Chapter XVI: The Art of Love
You looked up at him. You had never seen this before.
“This wasn’t in my book,” you said simply.
“W-well… why would… why would he remove it?” Commodus was just as confused as you were. “May I sit?” He was extra polite all of a sudden. You nodded. He sat.
He took your hands in his, ever so gently. “I… I was waiting. I was waiting for us to reach this chapter. I wondered if I must pass a test of some kind in order for me to reach this stage.”
You looked at him earnestly. “Commodus. I didn’t know. But, now I do… please tell me what you need.”
He mustered all of his courage and tilted his head proudly. “Would you teach me?” He gulped down on the fear in his throat. “Would you teach me the art of pleasure?”
You nodded. “Yes.” You picked up the book. Turned the first page of the final chapter. You passed it back to him. “Read it to me.” You had no idea if this was ever supposed to be form of his father’s curriculum. Frankly you were making it up as you went along. And besides, Commodus was Emperor now. His command was for this chapter to be fulfilled. And his command would be obeyed.
He held the book and looked up at you over its pages. He read aloud. “There comes a time in a young man’s life when he turns the corner from boy to man. When it comes to ruling an Empire, it is just as essential to be versed in the art of love, as it is to finesse the skills of swordsmanship and proficiencies on horseback. By refining his skills in love, the young Emperor will ensure a steady line of suitors, the best in the Empire, and will rightly secure an heir.” He looked up at you with trepidation.
You took the book from him and placed it down on the table. You closed it. “That was what your father wanted.” You leaned in further. “But what do you want?”
He grinned fiendishly. He leaned in further. Your mouths were a mere inch apart. “I will have the most skilled tongue in all of Rome. They will talk about it. Whispers will form in the palace hallways, and make their way into the alcoves of the Senate. They will titter and talk in the bustle of the town and in the sand of the Colosseum. They will wonder if it is true. Men will envy me. And women will desire me. And…” he paused, wetting his lips with his tongue. “…the future Empress will be satisfied every night of her life.”
You gulped down hard. Over the years you had witnessed his dedication to honing his craft on horseback, of studying every detail of empire governance, and of course refining his skills with his sword. You had no doubt this diligence and dedication would spill over into his next endeavour. This future Empress would be fortunate indeed.
“Are you not…” you paused, your breathing increasing without your consent. “Are you not already skilled in the art of pleasure?” You had heard laughter and moans from his chambers as concubines came and went in the evening. You were certain he was no virgin.
“Yes. But in the art of receiving pleasure only. I will learn how to give pleasure. Would you teach me?” His eyes dropped to your mouth, and back up to your eyes. A feeling stirred between your legs.
“Yes.”
He stood authoritatively. “Good. We will remain in Germania for the next week. We will congratulate our men. Ensure the armies are in good order. Well fed. Healthy. Fit for return to their homes. You and I, we will bathe, we will treat our skin with the finest oils, we will rest and eat well. And ensure we are fit to return to Rome. And you, you will remain by my side.”
It was most certainly an order.
You stood. Gently, you picked up his hand in yours, and placed your lips on the ring. You closed your eyes with devotion, missing the expression of your Emperor as you did so. He was full of adoration at your gesture.
“Please. Rise.”
You stood. He smiled. And he turned to leave.
“Commodus?” You called after him.
The Emperor turned. You stepped forward.
“What happened to the General? I must know.”
He stood up straight. “I ordered him executed.”
Well. Shit.
With a nod, he was gone.
***
“Commodus… I’m exhausted.”
He had been practicing since morning. Through the small windows of the carriage, you could see the sun starting to set. You were traveling back to Rome from Germania. You were both looking much more tidy. Freshly bathed, with the oils he had promised for your skin. The new Emperor was now cleanly-shaven, with short hair, ready for his arrival back in Rome.
“But I want to get it right.” He said, looking up at you from in between your legs. His hands cupped underneath your thighs. “I must get it right.”
It was an odd statement from a man who had made you come from morning until dusk, but he was obsessive in his search for excellence and would not be stopped.
“My darling boy…” You gave him a ‘come hither’ movement with your fingers. Obediently, he stood. “While you have mastered the art of your tongue. I must confess. The art of pleasure is not simply mechanical.”
He frowned. Wasn’t it? He listened intently to your next words.
“It’s not only the movement of your tongue and your fingertips, skilled though they are. It’s about the art of… seduction.”
Ahhh…
A look of realisation spread across his face.
“Seduce me.”
He froze. Then, he stood up proudly. You closed your legs and lay back on the day bed, awaiting your seduction.
He spoke loudly. “I am the Emperor. And I command you to become weak in my presence.”
Your eyes glanced up into your head. You frowned.
“No. No that wasn’t it, was it…” He placed a hand on his stomach self-consciously. He looked down at the ground of the carriage, searching it for answers. He cleared his throat.
“You will lie back… as I ravish you. Again… and again…” He spoke softly now and narrowed his eyes. “And again.”
“Better,” you told him honestly.
“What am I missing?” He asked, scurrying onto the day bed, leaning over you. He looked into your eyes. You shifted in place.
“Well… you are more seductive right now. When you’re not… trying so hard.”
“Then, what should I do?” He asked keenly.
“Simply…” you shrugged. “Do whatever you would like to do… if I was someone you wanted to make love to. If I was someone you longed for. Ached for. If I was someone in your fantasies. If I was someone who were in love with.”
Does she know…?
His lower lip trembled. He nodded. “Yes. Yes of course.”
Slowly, he lifted up his right hand. He moved it up towards your face, ever so slowly. He kept his eyes on your lips as he did so. He whispered to you in one breath, “Open your mouth.” Your chest rose and fell as you parted your lips for him. He continued eying you intently, as though you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Painfully slowly, he swept a trembling finger over your lower lip. Then, he swept his finger under your top lip. His eyes moved to his fingertips now, as he lifted his digits to his lips. He kept his fingers perfectly still, so as not to waste even a cell of your taste. He placed the pad of his middle finger in his mouth. He closed his eyes as he tasted you. A look of pure, genuine, unadulterated ecstasy engulfed his features.
He opened his eyes. Your mouth had fallen further open. Your eyes were wide. Your chest continued to rise and fall rapidly. He moved his hand back towards your face, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingertips. He leaned in, his lips moving towards yours into a kiss. You tilted your chin to meet him. An inch from you, he stopped. He didn’t kiss you. He rested his head on your chest now. He stroked the soft silk of your dress. And then, he spoke.
“And how was that?”
You mumbled. Words were too difficult to form. Commodus positioned himself fully over you now, his legs straddling you.
“Would it please the Empress, do you think?”
“I-I… I’m certain it would, yes.” Your lower lip trembled with desire.
He smiled lovingly.
She doesn’t know.
“Allow me to rephrase.” He brushed his thumb over your lower lip. “Did it please you?”
You nodded. “Y-yes.”
“Then it pleased the future Empress.” The warmth of his emotions was palpable.
“I’m… I’m not certain I understand.”
“Please, Y/N.” He brushed a strand of hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear. “You have always known I wanted you beside me. For how long have I called you my second-in-command?”
“For as long as I can remember.” You smiled with him now. It was all becoming clear.
“And what else would you call an Emperor’s second-in-command?”
“An Empress.”
He placed his lips on yours, kissing you for the first time. When your lips parted, he spoke simply.
“We will arrive in Rome in two weeks. I would very much like you by my side during my coronation.”
You smiled mischievously. “Well. It seems we should ensure we have practiced sufficiently to ensure you have all the skills befitting of an Emperor.”
He laughed as he kissed you again and lifted up the hem of your dress.
“As long as the Empress is pleased, I am deserving of the title of Caesar…”
His words trailed off as his mouth met your centre.
Your moans of pleasure could be heard all the way to Rome.
Summary: You are a new student at Institutum Romanus Educational (which is supposed to be Latin for “Roman Educational Institute”) and come across some fascinating characters (I mean classmates). Sort of based off a ‘Gladiator’ AU listicle. Hope you enjoy it!
Warnings: A cheesy meet-cute scene
Word Count: 1,663
When you’d came to Rome to visit your father during your winter holiday, you had only hoped it would be a temporary break from your mundane life back in your hometown. Perhaps you’d get a chance to see the quaint streets covered in frost, or visit the Tiber River. And like most children, you would get a present - maybe new clothes, or a gadget. A brochure for a new school was certainly not what you were expecting as a gift.
Yet here you were, on your first day of the new semester in January, walking to your first period. All you were hoping for was nothing but a peaceful end to your 10th year. You were now to be a student at the Institutum Romanus Educational, or IRE as many playfully called it. It was perplexing to you why a school would insist upon retaining its Latin name, but your parents said it was reinstated by its current principal Marcus Aurelius. He was supposedly an admirer of the Classics and wanted his children to have a good understanding of ancient languages.
The first period of the day was Physics, which you never had a huge affinity towards, but were certainly not averse to. The teacher was kind, and he seemed to be quite enthusiastic about the content he was talking about. After being armed with two problem sets about electromagnetism, you had to walk across the entire building to your next class - English.
Throughout the hall, many of the sights weren’t very different from your old school - there were cliques of people talking to each other, and a few couples making out in front of the lockers. Campaign posters of a girl named Lucilla Aurelius were plastered across the wall. You were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her on your way to class and by gods, the posters did not do her justice. She was gorgeous.
Flanked by two “minions” or girls wearing blouses and skirts similar to the pink-and-white combination she was wearing, she held a box of buttons that said, “Vote for Lucilla, Vote for Rome” on them. With a charismatic grin, she was passing them out to various people and telling them to vote for her for their Student Body President.
Another voice rose from the cacophony in the hallways. “I wouldn’t even know if a rat had chewed off the ends of her thin strands, that’s how ugly that girl’s haircut is.” A bald boy wearing an Assassin’s Creed shirt loomed over a girl with a pixie cut, who was crying.
He was answered by a larger boy, a seemingly more bulky one. “Quinn, I don’t think that’s how to get over being dumped. Just leave her alone.”
“Hagen, you piece of meat.” Quinn grumbled, leaving the tiny girl to pick up her books from the floor. Hagen gave her the rest of her things and sent her off to class.
When you entered your English class, you heaved a sigh of relief that you were on time. The board saying ‘Hamlet’ assured you that you had reached the correct classroom. The seats were almost all filled except for one placed in front of a green-eyed boy with cropped dark hair.
He was probably the perfect mix of gothic and preppy - his bangs were long enough to fall over his brow, and he wore a barely noticeable layer of eyeliner. His crisp, black button-down, paired with his skinny jeans and black designer boots, served as a stark contrast to the sweat pants and hoodies many of the other male students wore.
You waved politely only to find him idly writing something in a journal. It looked like something in elaborate cursive, and you would’ve looked further if the teacher didn’t begin taking attendance. And if it doing so wouldn’t make you look completely creepy.
Within moments, the teacher began lecturing about one of Shakespeare’s most famous tragedies, calling upon various students to read scenes out loud for the rest of the class. A few kids named Gregory and Falcon read for the parts of Polonius, the chamberlain of Denmark, and Laertes, the son of Polonius.
You were nearly caught by surprise when the teacher invited you to read Ophelia’s lines in front of the class from Act 1, Scene 3 of the play. It wasn’t exactly on your agenda to attract much attention on your first day, but you decided to accept anyways. Standing in front of the class, you read Ophelia’s lines loud and clear while your green-eyed mystery, named Commodus, read Hamlet’s lines with passion. He seemed like he was born for this role.
“Thank you, both of you.” Your teacher applauded both of you after the scene was completed. When you returned to your seat, you saw a hand reach towards you from behind, holding a yellow sticky note. Quickly taking it, you tucked it under your knee before you could get caught.
“Commie’s passing notes in class again,” Gregory taunted, leading the entire class to laugh with him as the boy sitting behind you fumed with embarrassment. “Infatuated with the girl reading Ophelia, he seems to forget when the stage ends and when real life begins.”
The teacher’s eyebrows furrowed at Gregory’s remark. “Y/N, is this true? Did Commodus give you a note?”
“No, not at all,” you lied for him. “He didn’t give me a note at all, I just dropped my sticky notes and he gave them back to me.” Ignoring Gregory’s eye-rolling, the teacher reluctantly accepted your alibi and continued to lecture until the bell rung.
“Nice reading voice.” A boy in a burnt orange jacket offered you a kind smile as you both left the classroom. “You, uh, the new girl?”
“I am, thanks,” you nodded. “And you are?”
“The new boy,” he joked. “Sort of - I came here a few months ago from Australia. Actually Spain’s my homeland - I was born there.”
“So you’re a Spaniard?”
“No, I’m Max, but Spaniard works,” he winked, eliciting a laugh from you. “Want me to walk you to your next class?”
“If it’s not too much trouble for you,” you answered. “You wouldn’t by chance happen to know where World History is?
Max grinned. “That’s just where I’m headed. You looked confused when you entered - thought you could use a friendly face on your first day.”
“Thank you for making me feel a bit more welcome, Max.” You replied, letting him lead you through the crowd of students. Unbeknownst to the both of you, a pair of jealous peridot eyes followed the two of you until you turned the corner and disappeared.
Later that day, when lunchtime came around, your eyes widened at the color and variety of the flavorful dishes being served. It was almost like they were being prepared by gourmet chefs. You couldn’t help but smile at how pretty your tray looked; penne with a creamy tomato sauce, arugula salad with a balsamic vinaigrette, a piece of bread, and freshly cut fruit.
Deciding against the crowded cafeteria, you decided to take a chance to explore some of the other hallways in your new school. You wondered just how big your new school could possibly be. Did they have an indoor pool, a large gymnasium, a library,…or an auditorium? Holding your tray close to your chest, you walked into the large theater. In the center of the breathtakingly colossal stage, you found Commodus sitting cross-legged next to his shoulder bag and a thermos.
“Hello,” you quietly greeted him, approaching the edge of the stage and climbing up.
“Shouldn’t you be eating in the cafeteria?”, he asked, slightly perplexed, looking up from the book he was reading.”No,” you replied, placing your backpack down. “It wasn’t really my scene at my old school. I used to eat in the library or the music room.”
Commodus hummed in acknowledgment, returning to his copy of Dracula and his thermos of black coffee. “Where’s your lunch?” You asked, sitting next to him.
“I don’t usually eat any. I’m too busy.”
You pushed your tray towards him. “Would you like to share some of mine?”
“Yes, thank you.” He ripped off a piece of the bread and dipped it into the pasta sauce before chewing it. Commodus allowed himself a few more bites partially because he didn’t want to seem rude and…you seemed likable.
A few moments of silence took place while the two of you ate before you glanced at the clock. “Well…it’s time for me to go to my next class,” you commented.
“Oh…” His eyes looked slightly downcast when you told him you had to leave. “You look lovely!” You froze at his sudden compliment. “That…that was what I hoped to tell you in that note I gave you. That you look exquisite - your hair, your lips, your eyes- it reminded me of Lady Ophelia when you read her lines. You’re…you look more beguiling than she would be.”
“That’s quite sweet of you, Commodus.” You said with a small smile, flabbergasted. “Thank you, I…I’m quite flattered.”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t like it. Most people don’t understand my references or my vocabulary.” Commodus stammered, relieved that you didn’t find him disturbing for comparing you to a Shakespearean heroine. “Thank you for sharing your lunch and your time with me, Y/N.”
“Of course,” you extended your hand, expecting to shake his. “It was nice meeting you, Commodus.”
Accepting your gesture, he clasped your hand and softly kissed your knuckles, causing you to blush. Usually, princes from fairytales would do something so chivalrous. “It was nice meeting you too,” Commodus replied.
“I’ll see you later, then.” You carried your tray and backpack and began leaving the auditorium. Commodus watched you leave, hoping that perhaps you wouldn’t be like many of the other new kids, pretending to be nice before getting swept away by the popular students. That perhaps you would be…just as special as he already thought you were.
(Disclaimer: I do not own any of these gifs - I’m sorry the bottom gif is relatively larger than the top gif.)
Summary: At a royal party, a visiting courtesan unwillingly catches the eye of Emperor Commodus and he cannot help but be enchanted.
Word Count: 850 words
Commodus stood at the balcony of the palace courtyard, overseeing the party with a stoic expression. The event was to be a lavish one, in honor of the Summer Solstice. The garden was decked with the finest of decorations and luminescent displays, and the banquet hall served the most choicest of delicacies. While many considered it the ‘festival of the century’, Commodus felt nothing enjoyable about it. If it were not his imperial duty, he would have preferred to keep his paperwork company or perhaps invite his sister for some bonding time. With another sip from his goblet, he let his thoughts wander while he gazed at the cloudless, night sky.
Interrupting his train of boredom, a herald announced the arrival of the evening’s entertainment: a bevy of courtesans from an unmentioned faraway land, handpicked for the Emperor himself.
There you were, standing with the other performers. You wore a bejeweled, peacock green dancing costume that matched the other girls’. Your eyes were perfectly lined with kohl, your arms adorned with golden bangles, and your lips decorated with a shade of rouge bolder than his Majesty’s robes.
Throughout the dance, Commodus could not take his eyes off your alluring movements. The way your eyebrows playfully darted, how your fingers delicately gestured, coupled with how your skirt gracefully twirled. And when you coquettishly winked in his direction, it took Commodus immense strength not to order the execution of every other man nearby just so that moment could be solely his.
He beckoned a nearby guard. “This one stays,” he whispered, still fixated on you. “Under no circumstances should she be allowed to leave.” The guard dutifully bowed in return.
When your performance ended, the spectators remained silent. It was not until the Emperor himself began to clap that applause erupted within the hall. Respectfully bowing before the Emperor, you and the other dancers exited the party, leaving before you had the chance to fraternize with any of the attendees.
In the outskirts of the palace, you were engaged in a conversation with another dancer when you noticed your manager and palace guard coming up to you. The Emperor had summoned for you with specific orders not to leave the palace. The guard led you to an empty, dimly lit courtroom lined with thrones.
“Your praise was well deserved tonight, dear courtesan. There were whispers insisting you must be a celestial nymph. Or perhaps it was Urania, the muse of music and dance.” Commodus strode into the room, now in his signature black armor. You turned to face him, immediately averting your gaze out of respect. “Thank you, your Highness.”, you replied demurely.
He was amused by your submission. “You seem afraid of me. Are you?” You shook your head. Commodus sat in his throne, relishing the sight of you. “Tell me your name, courtesan.”
“My name is Y/N, your Highness” you replied, unflinching. “Y/N, do you know why I’ve called you here?” Taking your silence as cue, he continued. “I wished to see you alone. To feast upon you while you dance for my eyes only. Would that displease you, dear courtesan?”
“No, your Highness.”
“Good. If you must know, I too am an admirer of the aesthetics and the arts,” he remarked, drinking in your beauty. Veiled by moonlight and ornamented from head to toe, you looked like a priceless treasure that could tempt even the gods.
With a silent nod from the Emperor, you took a deep breath and begun one of your most challenging routines. Known as The Tigress, the performance narrated of a tigress perplexing a hunter. You channeled the majestic nature of the animal through your artful fingers, fluid hips, and royal gait. And with your intense yet enticing glare, you intoxicated the Emperor more than any wine ever could. His green eyes darkened with passion, and his stare morphed into a lustful gaze. In this moment, there was nothing he would not give to keep you at his mercy.
From the corner of your eye, you noticed Commodus leave the throne. Bearing a sword in his hands, he paced the room, continuing to eye your every move. Terrified and secretly excited, you continued dancing like your life depended on it. Given the stories rumored, your life could have truly depended on your skill. Commodus encircled you predatorily while you spun faster and faster, his grip on the sword getting tighter until…
“Stop.”, he ordered.
You dropped to the floor from sheer exhaustion, too afraid to look anywhere but the tiles. The sword fell with a clang. Suddenly, he grabbed you and kissed your lips roughly. Your perfectly highlighted cheeks were marred with smears of his blood and the ghost of his touch.
“I bid you good night, beautiful one.” He turned his heel and left the empty courtroom promptly.
Like a fawn learning to walk, you rose to your feet with a slight unsteadiness. When you looked to the ground, you noticed one of your anklets was missing…and its jingle could be faintly heard in the halls.
‘Aftermath’ Chapter 11: All I Ask of You (Commodus x OC)
Summary: Hoping to prove his own fears wrong, Commodus demands something more of his Pink Fairy. Meanwhile, Philomenus is determined not to back away from his plot to kill the emperor.
Warning: Another incestuous kiss, and a little smut towards the end
Word Count: 3,694 (a bit longer than most chapters - please forgive me)
Read Part 1: The Impossible Dream here
Read Part 2: Proud of Your Boy here
Read Part 3: Point of No Return here
Read Part 4: Look Down here
Read Part 5: Beneath a Moonless Sky here
Read Part 6: These Palace Walls here
Read Part 7: Wait For It here
Read Part 8: Something There here
Read Part 9: Be Prepared here
Read Part 10: Twisted Every Way here
“What is it? Tell me,” Commodus demanded the guard.
“The girl, Sire. She’s unconscious.”
Almost immediately, the emperor of Rome blinked in surprise while his limbs went numb. The guard couldn’t possibly be talking about the girl….his girl that he saw this morning. “Why…why have I been called?”
“She is under your penal custody, Sire. The physician can only administer medicine if you approve.”
Good heavens, Commodus cursed to himself as he strode towards the infirmary. He couldn’t let her die, not like this. Lucius almost jogged behind his uncle’s large footsteps, trying to keep up.
When he reached the entrance of the infirmary, Commodus almost felt his heart stop for a moment as he tried to process the sight before him. Caesonia was lying down motionless on one of the white, unembellished beds. The physician’s assistant pressed a soaked rag to her forehead, while the physician observed. Much to the emperor’s surprise, the he chuckled when he looked at the doorway. “What amuses you, Galen?” Commodus asked, his lower lip twitching in anger.
“Forgive me, Highness. I merely remembered the day you were brought here after your battle. Unconscious, you lay on a bed in the infirmary while the girl watched physicians tend to you. And now here you are when she’s on the bed!”
Galen’s observation did nothing to alleviate Commodus’s spirits. Rather, it upset him even further to know it was his Pink Fairy who was being tended to. The emperor gazed at her with trembling hands as he sat on the edge of her bed.
“What happened to her?” He asked Galen in a surprisingly quiet voice. The physician explained to him that Caesonia seemingly fainted from hunger and dehydration, a common condition among prisoners. However, due to her being in the palace instead of the dungeons, the guards must’ve believed it appropriate to bring her to the physician.
Nodding slowly, Commodus rose from the bed without taking his eyes off of her for a moment. Trying to hide his fear of losing her, he hastily told Galen to administer her proper medication and to have her brought back to her chamber when she was sentient.
“I wish to see her again tonight.”
“It shall be so, Highness.”
The emperor wasted no time in going to his study and pulling out a blank piece of parchment . Maximus, Lucilla, the late Caesar…he was going to prove them all wrong tonight. He was going to prove that Lucius Aelius Aurelius Commodus was truly capable of fulfilling the duty of a moral man, the duty of a loyal, courageous man. He would reveal everything to the object of his devotion- even if written words were all he had to offer her.
On the empty parchment, he began scribbling things that he wished that he could tell his rose, intimate things that he had only kept to himself until now, and even the clandestine things he would not even dare to acknowledge himself. Commodus’s hand clenched tightly around the quill as he purged his thoughts with ink.
What if she laughs at me? No…she would not. She did not look one bit afraid when I came to her last night. She willingly took me in her arms and slept in my company. I knew the look in her eyes. Unlike everyone else, she saw me as a man instead of merely a ruler. No, she will not turn me away. She will be mine, and only mine.
——————————————————————————————————————-
A few hours and several discarded pieces of parchment later, Emperor Commodus found himself standing at the doorway of her chamber. “Have her awoken and tell her I wish to see her,” he muttered to a guard after giving a small reward to the Praetorian for having brought Caesonia to Galen. There was truly no need for such formality - the emperor could see his prisoners whenever and however he wanted to - but she was no ordinary prisoner. Holding the letter, Commodus hoped that she would know just that.
“Ave Caesar.” She attempted to stand, only to have him place her back on the bed. Reaching for his hand, Caesonia silently kissed his ring. Her eyelashes fluttered as she let go and hugged her knees close. Had she angered him? Was he expecting her to call him by name, just like she’d done this morning?
The two of them sat before each other in silence for a few moments before Commodus attempted to make small talk. He was crestfallen when she told him that she had no recollection of fainting, claiming only to remember walking around for a while before everything went black. Instead of trying to explain to her what happened, the emperor crumpled up the letter in his hand and kept a serious expression.
“I’m going to release you. You will no longer be my prisoner, Lady Caesonia.”
“You…you’re going to release me, Highness? To Antioch?”
“No.”
Caesonia blinked back tears at his callous declaration, unsure of what he could be implying. “As…as…as you wish, Caesar.” Just when she had begun to like the man talking to her, instead of fearing the emperor, he wanted her gone. If it weren’t for the stories about his temper and his cruelty, she would’ve fought to stay, begging and pleading for him not to send a lonely girl into a harsh city. If she were sent to Antioch, she’d at least have her father…assuming the emperor didn’t have him killed. But Caesonia felt too upset with herself to argue or even ask.
He dropped the crumpled parchment onto the floor. “Look at me.” Commodus grasped her chin and turned her towards him. “Caesonia…” he murmured, softly caressing her cheek. Gods, he hadn’t expected her to look so stone-like; it didn’t seem like she appreciated his gesture one bit. “You are going to be my wife. That is what I meant when I said you were no longer going to be my prisoner. I meant you were going to be my wife.”
Sensing her emotionless state, he straightened himself. “An emperor needs an heir,” Commodus continued, pacing the floor while he told her about the importance of an emperor’s marriage. He did not tell her about how he longed for her, and how he envied her ability to sleep so peacefully. And he certainly did not let a word slip about how he cherished her innocence and took great pleasure in her touch.
Caesonia reluctantly accepted his reasoning, despite her skepticism at his sudden proposal. She would never wish to get in the way of his duty as an emperor.
“Highness…”
“Commodus,” he quickly cut her off. “I cannot waste our marriage telling you to call me that.”
“You dropped something on the floor, Commodus.” She calmly tried to explain, reaching for the parchment.
Like a little boy caught doing mischief, Commodus reluctantly placed his hands in his lap while he watched her smooth the creases of the crumpled paper. His heart was in his throat yet again when her eyes examined the messily-written words.
Dearest Caesonia,
I wanted to make you mine since the moment our eyes met.
You were the reason I became a father to the people of Rome again.
I couldn’t bear to send you away, and so I kept you for myself.
With every kiss and every glance that we shared, I felt your devotion and your kindness in each one.
Yet I have given you coldness, when you deserved the warmth of a blanket on a frigid night.
I want to end this darkness, for I have enjoyed a glimpse of summertime. She stands before me, with a laugh like music and eyes of azure.
I long to be the sunlight that touches your perfect cheeks and caresses your soft skin every morning.
I want you to lead me from this painful solitude, my rose. And tell me that you want me as I want you.
Indeed the pangs of love can make one very greedy, my rose.
If you knew all of the desires that I feel for you…you would purse your delicate lips and compare me to a miser hungering for jewels.
And if you touched me again and looked into my eyes, they would tell you that I am yours…and that I want to be only yours.
The letter was somewhat disorganized, nothing like the eloquent speeches that he delivered before citizens or Senators. Caesonia’s heart softened as she underlined each word with her finger. Blinking again, she nervously smiled at Commodus and dared herself to place her hand on top of his.
“Thank you…I do not know what to say.”
The emperor once again felt a mixture of surprise and courage, expecting her to be repulsed by his written confession. “Then kiss me.”
She gently pecked his lips, having never taken the lead before.
“That was very nice, Caesonia,” he murmured darkly. “But…I’m afraid that kiss would only satisfy a boy, my rose. Do you think of me as a boy?”
“No,” her voice faltered as her fingertips traced his arm. “You…you’re an emperor.”
“And?” he chuckled. “Is that all I am to you?”
“You’re a man,” Caesonia conceded.
“Yes I am,” he boldly tucked a hair behind her ear. “The people of Rome cannot see that, but you do.” Gods, she took his breath away without even trying to. If he could take her in his arms and hold her to his chest right now, he would never want to leave the bed. Yet, he did not wish to have to bring her back to Galen. “Would you like to dine with me tonight?”
He continued, “I am asking as a man, not as an emperor, my rose. I will not punish you if you do not wish to accompany me.” But you must eat, he did not add.
Caesonia accepted his pleasant-sounding proposal, much to Commodus’s jubilance. He would be thrilled to celebrate his impending marriage to a lovely woman of unwavering loyalty.
“The emperor will be furious when he finds this out.”
Livid, Claudia was trying her best to not scream at her brother in front of their younger siblings. He was too proud about his plan to assassinate the emperor tomorrow at the Games.
Philomenus brought one of the twins into his lap. “Commodus will be dead before he can scream for the bitch that gave birth to him.”
“Don’t say that in front of the twins,” she scolded him. “And the emperor you love so much, loved his wife too.” In response to his sister, Philomenus remarked that Marcus Aurelius’s love didn’t stop his wife from having an affair with a gladiator.
“Why are you defending him so much?” He fumed when she accused him of believing slander, watching her clean the kitchen.
Shoving a plate into the cupboard, Claudia huffed, “I’m defending him because he is the reason we are able to fill our bellies everyday. Otherwise I would be at a brothel at night, selling myself to buy bread the next morning.”
“Don’t give me that talk,” he angrily ordered. “As the man of the house, I would never let you do such a thing, not even if we were destitute.”
“Such will be our state if you dare bite the hand that feeds us!”
Philomenus cornered her in the kitchen, blocking her so that she couldn’t escape. “Why don’t you understand?” He hissed, gritting his teeth. “We cannot survive for long under Commodus’s rule. All he cares about are the games! He’s killed his own father, stabbed General Maximus, murdered Senator Gracchus, banished his sister, and dissolved the entire Senate! Claudia, this man is not worthy of being the protector of Rome!”
His words did nothing to change her opinion. “Please, Philomenus…” Tears were rolling down Claudia’s cheeks as she quivered with terror. “Please don’t go through with this…I cannot lose you…think of the twins, if not of me.”
“I am thinking about them,” he cupped her cheeks. “I am thinking about their future in a republic, where the power will lie with the people of Rome. Don’t cry, sweet sister.” Philomenus brushed his lips against hers, hurt by her sobs. “Pray to the gods that Commodus will fall and Rome will finally regain her true self.”
—————————————————————————————————————
Figs and goat cheese had never tasted better. Commodus grinned as Caesonia fed him from the platter of food. Given faith and a little encouragement, she quickly blossomed from a fearful maiden into an affectionate betrothed.
“Now let me feed you too,” he cooed, bringing a piece of bread dipped in olive oil to her mouth. She giggled while she chewed, placing a hand over her mouth out of modesty. Unbeknownst to any of the servants, the two of them had been playing a flirtatious game under the table with their shoes.
There was something about being with Caesonia that brought Commodus into a playful mood. He fondly thought about how they splashed each other in the baths like children this morning, and how he held her in his arms. If it hadn’t been for that impudent guard, he would’ve ravished her in those pools until they were tired.
She would be a good wife to him…perhaps even a good adoptive mother to Lucius as well. And in return, Commodus swore to himself that he would prove Maximus and Lucilla wrong and be a faithful, adoring husband.
He continued to make small talk with Caesonia while they ate, occasionally exchanging a witty remark about Romans. She was impressed with his stories, her smile growing wider as he dramatically narrated about his favorite gladiatorial games.
By the end of the meal, Caesonia was innocently interlacing her fingers in his. She turned her head towards window, having never seen such a spell-binding view in such a long time. Under a veil of darkness, the city of Rome looked very much alive, almost picturesque.
“I wish I could see more,” Caesonia gushed. “The nighttime is so beautiful, wouldn’t you agree?”
“It certainly is. Would you like to come to the terrace with me? Perhaps the view would be better.”
Accepting his invitation, she followed Commodus to the terrace. Bringing the emperor’s hands to her waist, Caesonia nuzzled into his chest and occasionally pressed her lips to his armor as she watched the stars. She hadn’t seen such a view in months, having been locked up in a tiny room with a window almost as big as her head. And even though Caesonia knew she was in the arms of the man responsible for her imprisonment, it didn’t feel as if she were dancing in the lion’s den. It felt like the comfort that she didn’t know that she craved for.
Stolen kisses bloomed into little signs of endearment, culiminating in a liplock that left the two of them breathless.
“I would very much like to make love to you,” Commodus murmured out of nowhere, not paying one bit of attention to the sky anymore. The mood was too perfect for him to stifle his amorous desires.
“But…but I have never done it before,” Caesonia faltered, “I’m a virgin. It…I…I wouldn’t be good.” Her jaw slightly dropped when the emperor confessed to her that he too had never laid with anyone before. Given the myriad of concubines and courtesans presented before him, she would’ve thought of him to be…experienced.
Of course, Commodus had actually been with a concubine once, two years ago in Germania. But given the lingering ominous atmosphere after his father’s death, not even two bottles of wine could make him impassioned. It only made him cry.
Moreover, the young emperor secretly wished to save himself for someone who loved him, as he loved them.
“But it is your choice, my rose,” he promised her. “If you do not wish for this, then I shall wait.”
“No, I would like to do this,” Caesonia persuaded him. It would truly do nothing for her to refuse him. If she was going to become his wife, then perhaps it would be a prelude to their life together. And if he didn’t want to marry her…then at least she could spend the night with someone who had pleased her with a love letter and an intimate dinner. “I would like to do this, Commodus.”
Nodding furiously, the emperor felt like he would explode trying to maintain his regal posture while hurrying his beloved to his bedroom. No sooner had the doors closed, Commodus crashed his lips into hers and sighed lustfully.
He traced the curve of her shoulders, looking up and down at his beautiful girl. The emperor couldn’t wait to take her - it had been his fantasy for several nights. And yet it intimidated him, to be standing before her now; should he be rough with her or be gentle and enjoy each moment? It was a thought that had never crossed his mind before tonight.
Commodus watched her body tremble. Her blue eyes followed his finger as he brushed it along her collarbone. He saw how the fine hairs on her arms stood on their ends as he held her. No, tonight would not be for merely satiating his fantasy. It would be a new beginning for them - one built upon intimacy, not upon trepidation.
The emperor kissed her again, sighing when he felt her hands in his hair again. As they deepened the kiss, Caesonia whimpered and Commodus slyly slid his tongue into her, which only strengthened her desires.
“I’d like to take your armor off,” she told him in a low voice. When he agreed, Caesonia began untying each part and placing it aside. The emperor found himself laughing under his breath at how delicately she was handling his protective garb. It wasn’t her fault that he wore so many layers.
Finally, she pulled his tunic over his arms and let her hands linger against his chest, running a thumb over his male nipple. Caesonia admired the way his body resembled that of a Roman Adonis - well-built indeed, but it was not too muscular that it detracted from his natural good looks. She swallowed hard, returning to meet his eyes again. “You look handsome without it.”
“Thank you,” Commodus replied with the same tone. She knew nothing about the paranoia in his mind that made him wear armor all the time. Blessed was her innocence, he silently praised as his lips brushed against her neck. “Your dress…”
“You can take it off,” she consented. Soon, her pink stola became a heap of fabric on the floor and was joined by her coarse undergarments. Every other day, the emperor had a new rosy-hued dress brought for her to change into. Perhaps it was the similarity to the garments she’d chosen to wear to his infamous duel that cemented the association between her and the color pink.
Commodus guided Caesonia to his bed, and gently laid her onto the mattress. Pushing her hair back, he admired her face and tried to memorize every detail. He did not wish to forget a single thing about tonight. Bringing his lips back to her neck, he climbed on top of her and slowly kissed his way down her naked body.
Having never felt so much pleasure, Caesonia threw her head back and sinfully moaned. While she loved his lips against her skin, she begged and pleaded for him to stop teasing so much.
Boyishly smiling, the emperor exhaled sharply as Caesonia peppered his neck and shoulder with soft kisses. It felt a bit clumsy at first, but as his groans of pleasure grew needier, she felt bolder with passionate devotion.
“I want you inside me, Commodus. Please.”
His cock entered between her legs and ,with one last kiss to her lips, Commodus began to slowly move within her. “Am I hurting you?” “No…” Caesonia assured him quickly before sighing in pleasure, rolling her hips to meet his.
In moments, the two of them were moaning with ecstasy while they rode each other. With her legs locked around his waist to pull him deeper inside, Caesonia screamed his name as if it were the only word she knew. And Commodus accelerated his thrusts until the two of them reached their orgasm. He smeared his cum all over her slit and her inner thighs, grunting in satisfaction.
Feeling chills down her spine, Caesonia ran her fingers through Commodus’s hair and shoulders as he peppered her chest with dulcet kisses. She enjoyed the feeling of his unblemished skin and silky hair; it helped her recover from the surge of adrenaline.
He slowly rolled off her and spoke in a hushed voice, for her ears only. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you, dear Caesonia.”
“The life-giving breath in my lungs, the crimson blood coursing through my veins…the beating of my heart,” the emperor continued. “They all speak your name.” He took her hand in his and placed it against his chest, hoping that she would find even an ounce of truth within his honeyed words.
“I think I can love you as well, Commodus.” She carefully draped an arm around his waist, praying that their tender exchanges of love would not be gone with the sunrise. That his affections for her were true, and not part of a scheme to toy with her fragile state. Or that she wasn’t part of some lust-driven game to invite her into his bed and then dispose of her in the morning.
Interrupting her line of thought, Commodus whispered to Caesonia that she was trembling. Shaking her head in response, she lied to him that she was merely cold.
“Sleep with me, my beauty,” he brought her closer in his arms, relishing the warmth of his skin against hers. Nuzzling into his neck, Caesonia lulled herself into slumber by idly tracing patterns on his shoulder. Right now, veiled by the protection of Nyx - the Goddess of the Night - they were only two people who’d given themselves to each other in complete surrender. Nothing more, and nothing less.
For the beautiful @cherrymoon75 aka @suspended-in-duskk and @bring-your-holy-water
Even though you had been together for more than a year, Commodus is still terrified to verbally express his feelings for you.
You both know he hasn’t said it. You have told him you love him. From the time you first said it, as he rested his head on your chest after you made love, and you gently whispered, “I love you.” His response was to tilt his head up and kiss you.
Or the time you spontaneously shrieked, “I love you!” in his throne room, his aides averting their eyes respectfully as the Emperor bowed to one knee and gently took your hand in his and placed a loving kiss on the tops of your fingers. He closed his eyes as he did so.
He preferred to show you how he felt, showering you with gifts, providing you with the most decadent food, searching far and wide for the most talented tailors and silk merchants for your clothing. He gave you his time, his affection, and shared the most deeply intimate moments with you. You knew he loved you. He didn’t have to say it.
There was one more thing he didn’t tell you - the only person he had said “I love you” to was his sister, with disastrous consequences. He was terrified of history repeating itself.
Until one day, he was sat in the Senators hall, bored out of his mind, spinning his sword, when an aide ran in, calling for the Emperor. You had fallen from your horse, he said. Commodus shot up from his seat. “Is she hurt?” When the aide hesitated, he screamed, “I SAID IS SHE HURT????” “Follow me my Lord, come quickly,” the aide guided Commodus to the infirmary, telling him everything he knew en route. He knew you had fallen. He didn’t know the extent of your injuries. He was informed by a messenger that you were in the woods, and you would arrive back at the palace infirmary soon.
“My horse,” he commanded with a lift of his hand. His stableman reminded him that you had took his horse, with his sanction. That’s right... he remembered. His horse was faster. You had wanted to test yourself. And now you were hurt and it was his fault. Without informing anyone of his next move, he mounted his second-favourite horse and kicked his heels. The horse lurched into action and galloped off at speed. He knew exactly where you would be. Behind him, and unbeknownst to him, his guards scrambled to catch up with him. No Emperor had ever left the palace grounds without his guards. This was the furthest thing from Commodus’ mind.
As he galloped on his horse down the forest track you had rode down together so many times, he saw a royal carriage. He pulled on the reigns and the horse rested up and stopped sharply. He jumped off and ran to the carriage, which had now stopped.
He burst through the doors, tears in his eyes as he pictured the worst possible scenario. Were you fatally injured? Would you be bleeding? Would you walk again?
You looked up. Your love was rushing towards you, sweating, gasping, tears brimming at his eyes as he looked at you.
He saw you. You were sat up, as a nurse applied an ointment to your arm to prevent bruising.
He knelt down in front of you, his hand on your face. His hand was shaking. “My love, my sweet love, are you hurt? Where are you hurt?” His eyes searched your face, then your body, searching for an injury. “Please tell me, please speak to me...” His face fell down and he placed a hand to his forehead as he sobbed.
“My love,” you spoke softly. “I am well. My arm may bruise. That is all.”
He stopped breathing for a moment. Did he hear correctly?
“You’re... you’re alright?”
You nodded. “Yes. In fact. My nurse said I can ride again within the week.”
“Well...” he said, looking to the side and raising both eyebrows. “We’ll see about that.”
“Your horse is fine, too. She’s unharmed,” you assured him. He loved his horse. But he was clearly more concerned about you.
“I love you,” he gushed, pressing his lips to yours, not caring about the presence of his nurse and the wide open carriage door. “I love you. You will be my wife,” he gasped. “If... if you’ll have me, of course.”
You chewed on your lip. “Well that depends on whether you intend on keeping me cooped up in your palace... or if I’m free to ride through the forest as I please.”
He gulped, and cleared his throat. He loved your strength. And, it challenged him. “Perhaps... perhaps we can ride together.”
“A compromise,” you grinned mischievously. “I accept.”
He placed his hands either side of your face and devoured you through passionate kisses. “I love you,” he gasped through kisses. “I love you so much.” He placed a knee beside you, eager to climb on top of you. You reluctantly pulled away from the kiss and cleared your throat, nodding behind Commodus. He turned his head and saw the nurse. Oh... yes...
He stood up, tilting his chin high and flaring his nostrils. “I will take her. She will return to the palace with me. On my horse.”
“My Lord,” the nurse stood, and curtsied. “May I be so bold to suggest my Lady is transported by carriage. Until the palace infirmary can ensure she is fit and well.
He thought, and nodded. “I will sit beside her. You will continue to treat her.” He turned around to see a guard at the open doors of the carriage. “Ride my two horses back to the palace. Gently. Give them all the food and water they desire.”
He turned back to you and smiled proudly. You nodded towards your nurse, stood with her head bowed. “You may continue to treat my fiancé.” He glanced back to you. You looked displeased, as though he was missing something. Instantly, he knew. Gently, so as not to frighten the young nurse, he placed his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him as he spoke. “Thank you.” ❤️
Author’s note: Returning to the palace, the doctors conclude you are physically well, although Commodus insists on you taking bed rest for the rest of day. You initially protest, then feel glad you agreed when he sits beside you on the bed and feeds you delicious dates and figs (@darknessisafriend and @jokerflecker, you inspired me with Commodus and food!). The nurse gets promoted to your personal nurse because Commodus trusts her implicitly. And the aide, who rushed into the Senate hall with the news of your accident, becomes a close aide too ❤️
