Me if I was in DNBTS so far featuring me and Alga and a drawing of alga 🩷🩷🩷 and a little comic (note I Wear hearing aids) I got lazy guys I have tests tomorrow 💔💔💔
I drew this a while ago for my dearest friend @gorbo-longstocking 😼, I adore their character Alga to pieces (and Marianus and Aelius but that’s besides the point).
Summary: You have a much needed conversation with both brothers, and Caracalla makes a decision.
Tags: Internal monologue featuring mentions of how the main character’s body will change without testosterone and being nervous about that, mentions of a possibly returning period, discussions of possible suicide, unsuccessful masturbation, some self hatred from the main character regarding their body, fingering, unprotected p in v, slight overstimulation, tdick is referred to as both a ‘clit’ and a ‘dick.’
Word Count: 9.1k words
Read on AO3
Masterlist.
When you woke up, you were alone.
Save for you, splayed smack in the middle, the bed was empty. Completely and utterly empty. You tried to swallow your disappointment, even if you couldn’t say you were surprised. Geta was far too emotionally constipated to feel comfortable waking up in the arms of another, and Caracalla was sure to be irate at best, given how he found you the previous night.
You remembered waking up to Caracalla returning to slot himself against your back. He hadn’t been gone long enough for his side of the bed to go cold. It was a bit odd he stayed so long considering he found you in his brother’s embrace. In fact, you felt a hint of worry squirm in your gut when you realized he hadn’t even thrown a jealous fit. Either he was livid, or his mind was finally dusting off the cobwebs, allowing him critical thought for once in his life.
As soon as you woke up a bit more, you would have to find him. After you spoke to Geta, of course. For far too long, you had afforded Caracalla leniency when you gave his brother none. You had seen how that affected Geta, his breakdown still fresh in your mind. That didn’t mean you wouldn’t continue to be loving and patient with Caracalla — he was your lover, after all — but, for the sake of Geta’s sanity, you would extend him the same grace. Maybe it was a bit presumptuous to treat Geta as you would someone who you were being courted by. Truthfully, that didn’t matter to you. He had hit you, and you had used his abuse as a weapon in your pettiness. As insistent you were that you were right, his mindset was leading him down a slippery slope, you were cruel to have spoken so bluntly. There was too much that went unsaid last night, and you wouldn’t allow the situation to fester any longer than it already had.
Where Geta once laid was frigid, indicating he had been gone for quite some time. You flopped your head against the pillow he slept on and inhaled. Roses filled your senses, mingling with the lavender to your right. It was perfect. Without a doubt, the best combination of scents you had ever had the pleasure of experiencing. That thought only solidified what you were meant to do, as strange as it was.
You were done being in denial. While you wouldn’t say you were in love with Geta — it was far too early for that — you did have rather intense feelings for him. A crush encircled your ribs, and a rather debilitating one too. Not as bad as what he felt for you, though. The reminder sent a wave of giddiness through you.
Were you being greedy to want both of them? Especially considering they were brothers, twins, at that. By modern standards, polyamory was already a bit of a taboo, let alone being romantically involved with two siblings. That didn’t mean you couldn’t fantasize about it. You may not know what the future held, but you knew, now, at least, that you held two tattered hearts in your hands. The last thing you wanted to do was harm those limply beating organs anymore than they already had been.
Smiling now, you buried your face in your sheets and let out a childish giggle. Being loved by Caracalla made you feel wanted, a feeling you had chased all your life. To know another man, another powerful man, felt so deeply about you too, it was enough to make you turn into a villain. If those two weren’t careful, your ego would become monstrous. Maybe Justina would knock you down a peg. You certainly needed it.
Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, your morning daydreams quickly turned into reality. Geta and Caracalla were already unpopular with the people, publically wedding, and even as little as indulging their favor, would not go over well. Before anything could happen, let alone that ridiculous marriage you were pining after, you had to figure out a way to boost both emperors’ status with both the senate and the citizens. That meant leaving Palatine Hill and listening to the peoples’ grievances yourself. You were not a fool — anymore, but you digressed — both men would listen to you faster than even a fellow patrician. If you could figure out how to pull the strings, you could solidify Geta and Caracalla’s reigns, not only benefiting yourself, but all of Rome as well.
Selfish intentions, or not, it didn’t matter. In the end, you were doing good. Later, when you found the time, you would go into the Forum and learn everything you could. This plan was easier said than done. Caracalla would be hard pressed to let you out of his sight, and Geta similarly so, without praetorian escorts. You did, however, have faith in your intelligence and stubborn refusal to give up. Everything would work out in the end, you would make certain of it.
First, though, you had to talk to Geta.
Once again, you had fallen asleep in your tunic. In the back of your bedroom was a chest where you stuffed all your clothes that you deemed too dirty to wear any longer. The only articles you washed were your boxers, and you had, unfortunately, run out of that hotel shampoo you had been using to clean them. You would have to find a solution, fast, because your options were very quickly narrowing down to three. Either you began to stink, you let the palace slaves wash your clothes in urine, or you got ahold of more soap to do loads yourself. Hopefully, the latter would be the one to happen to you, though with your luck, you were certain it wouldn’t. That didn’t stop you from stuffing your dirty tunic in with the others.
You picked a pretty green tunic that Caracalla had gifted you to wear for today. It had red and gold accents, reminding you of Christmas. Tis the season, you thought to yourself, despite the summer heat. As Roman fashion dictated, you tied a belt around your waist to keep the tunic from looking more like a wearable tent than clothing. You gave yourself a twirl and admired yourself in the mirror. The dye in your hair was beginning to fade, no longer as vibrant as it once was, and your roots were more obvious than ever. It was a shame you’d never be able to color it again. Hands on your hips, you let out a huff. Unless you figured out a solution. Alas, synthesizing hair dye was not in your repertoire of skills, and you were far too scared to destroy your hair risk using fabric dye.
It seemed you would be forced to go back to your natural color. Pulling on a strand, you let out a mournful sigh. No matter, down into the pit it went. Geta took priority over your own sense of despair over your appearance. You were as satisfied as you could get, though you certainly missed the comfort of your testosterone shots. Without access, you would suffer certain… changes. Facial hair, your masculine voice, and your dick would remain, but you knew, along the line, your fat would redistribute into a more feminine shape. Wider hips, softer skin, different smell, and, god forbid, your monthly visitor would be sure to return. You were still a man, no matter what happened, that wasn’t up for debate. It was simply the deeply unfortunate fact that these changes would not be easy to hide. Before hormone replacement therapy, you were already rather masculine in appearance, you weren’t too worried about that. What truly worried you was the dreaded arrival of ‘Aunt Flo.’
Maybe you could feign sickness for a week. You rolled your eyes. That would go over well with Caracalla. His voice echoed in your head, high and whiney, ‘Melimelum, I do not care about catching what ails you, I miss you!’
It was only a matter of time before your secret was out. With every day that passed, you dreaded it more and more.
But, again, that was a problem for the future. Right now, you had more important matters to discuss with Geta, and then after, you needed to find your beloved Caracalla to soothe him however you could. All of this anxiety could be stuffed as deep as it could go until the day came when you had to face it in its entirety. Unless it was imminent, you would ignore it.
With that in mind, and an ache in your gut, you strode out of your chambers into the labyrinthine halls of the palace. Instead of repeating previous mistakes where you wandered for hours in the oppressive heat, desperately looking for a flash of red, you asked where Geta was instead. Apparently, he was eating lunch with a handful of senators while Caracalla played with Dondas in the gardens.
You leaned out of one of the windows to see Caracalla sitting on a bench, Dondas on his shoulder, lost in thought as he plucked the petals off of a bloom. When he was done with that, he tossed the stem over his shoulder to begin pulling the leaves off of a nearby shrub. All while he did this, Dondas chittered and squeaked, toying with strands of his fiery hair. Every so often, he would bring his hand up to give her a fond pat, or feed her from a bowl of grapes.
He didn’t look angry, merely melancholic. It made your heart ache.
“Kitty!” Leaning farther out of the window, you waved at him. “Good morning!”
Caracalla’s eyes flickered to you, and to your relief, they softened, though his jaw was still clenched tight.
“Alga,” He greeted back, more subdued than you had ever seen him. “You are awake.”
“We must talk soon. About important matters.” Careful not to fall, you placed your feet flat on the floor. The lack of his usual energy put you on edge, and you began to pick at your fingers.
“Yes, we must,” Caracalla replied. The poor shrub was half bare now, a pile of tiny leaves at his feet. “At another hour. Go, now. I am thinking, dulcissimus. I do not need your sweetness distracting me.”
Awkwardly playful, you twitched your fingers in another tiny wave, one he, thankfully, returned. “Do not think too hard, my Caracalla. I would miss you if you overdid it.”
The pebble he threw at you in response nearly hit you in the forehead. “Over do? I am perfectly capable of complex thought, Alga!”
You ducked behind the corner before the next rock he threw could hit you. It arced into the floor and bounced a few paces before rolling to a stop. When you crouched down to pick it up, another hard object — a grape, this time — bounced off your spine. Popping your head out the window again, you made a show of eating it. “How did you know I was hungry? You always take care of me, kitty.”
That made Caracalla laugh, a little, aborted huff he quickly tried to stifle beneath a stern expression. “Begone with you, Alga! Your brave lover needs to consider the benefits of his selflessness.”
Whatever that meant. Caracalla was a simple man — most of the time — but he was capable of deep, and confusing, complexities. The real question was what he considered ‘selflessness’ to be. Knowing what you knew about him, it was either some great act you previously thought him incapable of, or, more likely, he was thinking about sharing his favorite dessert with someone he wasn’t entirely fond of. Possibly, Geta. He was the only other person, besides you, that Caracalla would dare share with.
That in mind, you gave Caracalla a final wave before trotting off to find his brother. He didn’t notice, and you weren’t offended. There was already metaphorical smoke coming out of his ears, no need to give him anything else to consider.
The trek to the dining room — or the triclinium — was not short, nor long. It simply was, leaving you with enough time to get your thoughts in order before speaking to Geta. You waited in the halls outside of the triclinium, waiting for the luncheon to end with bated breath. From here, you could hear laughter, more often than not, before it descended into a tense silence. You had witnessed Geta at work in the senate. The people of Rome treated him with an air of caution, though nowhere near as bad as what Caracalla received. While less sadistic, his temper was sharp, and his uptight paranoia made his people skills lacking. If you wanted to help better the emperors’ reputation, you would have to witness how they interacted with Rome’s upper crusts.
You had seen a little, and what you’d seen left much to be desired. Geta was dismissive, stubborn, and incapable of receiving criticism. Senators walked on eggshells around him. Quietly, you tiptoed towards the triclinium and peered inside. Around a small table lounged three senators on lecti, Geta perched on his own at the head. He ate an olive and spit the pit on the floor next to him for a slave to clean. Gross. The other men chattered on, mostly about nothing of interest, likely too afraid to bring up any serious topics, while Geta looked bored.
You eavesdropped for about ten minutes before you caught Geta’s eye. Maybe it was the red of your tunic — though, most likely, it was your hair. Either way, he perked up like a dog who heard the word treat, his brown eyes widening when they fell on you. You knew what was coming. With a subtle hand motion, you tried to nip it in the bud, only for Geta to blatantly ignore you.
“That will be all, senators,” Geta’s sharp voice rang out, cutting through the chatter. He stood, graceful in his motions, while everyone else remained on their side, far too stunned to join him.
A man you didn’t recognize was next to speak, “Emperor Geta, the meal is not yet complete.”
“Then finish it. I have more important matters to attend to.” He nodded to you, drawing the eye of every man to the fact that you were peeping around the corner. With a flush, you stepped into the doorway in an effort to look less suspicious.
“Salve, senators.” You punctuated your greeting with an awkward wave.
It went ignored. Especially by an incensed Senator Dorso. “More important than the empire? We have much to discuss in regards to Numidia!”
“No, more important than you, Dorso.” Geta sneered, tilting his chin in that way that made you feel as though he was looking down on you. Personally, you hated being on the receiving end of it. All it did was irritate you. Senator Dorso’s eyebrow twitch did not go unnoticed. “This is my medicus, we have an appointment. My health takes precedence.”
“Yes, an appointment, I am sure, Caesar,” Another senator laughed under his breath to Dorso as he took a sip of wine. “One that I am certain you will enjoy very much.”
It was obvious only Dorso was meant to hear. When Geta puffed up, his stare flinty, the man visibly cowered. “Care to repeat that, Rufus?”
“I— I only meant that your medicus looks as though he had a tender touch, Caesar. Any man would be lucky to receive it.” There was still an innuendo to his words. One you didn’t much appreciate.
Geta’s response didn’t help matters, “One you will never experience, Rufus. If you find yourself jealous, there is no need to fret. I am certain there are many men who would be pleased to lend to your recipience.”
“Excuse me, Caesar?” Rufus sat up now, his face hot and eyes narrowed.
“You are excused.” He outstretched his arms, gesturing to all in attendance. “You are all excused, or perhaps you expect to leave under more forceful persuasions.”
Behind his back, you made an exasperated face. Of course, Geta didn’t notice, too busy ruining what was left of your tattered reputation with his ego. Without waiting for the senators to obey, he turned on his heel and ushered you out into the hall. His hand ghosted over the small of your back, the sound of several hurried exits behind you.
Once you were certain no one was listening, you planted your hands on your hips and glared at Geta. “There goes what little credibility I have left.”
“You do not need their approval to know your skills, medicus,” Geta argued, crossing his arms. Before you could speak again, he hushed you and looked over his shoulder into the triclinium. It was empty now, save for slaves cleaning up the mess left behind. “I know how good you are at what you do, and so does my brother. We trust you and your skills. That should be enough.”
“I’d still rather be known as the emperor’s surgeon, not his boytoy,” You huffed. The English came naturally to you in your frustration.
“Bou-y tou-y?” Geta repeated, an eyebrow raised.
Pursing your lips, you explained, your displeasure evident. “Your puer. A pretty man who is a sex object for a more powerful partner. It is degrading.”
“The affection of a single emperor is far from degrading, medicus, let alone two.” Despite saying this, Geta ran a hand down his face, stopping to pinch the bridge of his nose. “But, I suppose you have a point.”
“Oh, a point other than his own recognized by Imperator Geta, what an honor.” Though you were still rather miffed, your tone was playful, as was the light tap of your elbow to his side.
Geta’s cheek twitched, betraying his amusement. “Tone, medicus.”
“What will you do if I don’t?” A little more comfortable, you pressed your back against the wall, the soles of your sneakers squeaking against the marble floor.
Geta curled his hands behind his back and leaned forward. He was smirking now. “You have no concept of what I am capable of.” That, coupled with the husky tone of his voice, made you flush. Flirting was not what you came to do, even if it did feel nice. Geta noticed the color to your cheeks and hummed, his eyes fond and lips twitching upwards. “Speechless, medicus?”
“You can call me Alga.”
That caught him off guard. Guilt and anger hardened his features as he sat back on his heels. “I see.”
You frowned. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” He said, knowing damn well what you meant.
“Shut me out.” Geta opened his mouth, probably to argue, but you cut him off. It was an effort to keep your voice soft, but it was one you made all the same. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you continued, “You can call me Alga. I do not mind it, I have come to think of it as a second name, and the fact it was you who gave it to me is important to me.”
His gaze flickered to your hand and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “I did not give you that name out of any affection. I was… making fun of you.”
“I am aware,” Came your dry response. “That does not change that I like it.”
“Do you know what Alga means?” No, but, distantly, you remembered someone telling you and not being too happy with what you learned. Geta took in your stubborn expression with a sigh. “It means ‘seaweed.’”
“Green! As is my hair! That is not so b—”
He cut you off with a raise of his hand. “It also means ‘something of little worth.’”
You felt yourself deflate. “Ah.”
“I did not know how… wrong that nickname would be,” Geta awkwardly explained. He shifted from foot to foot as he spoke, alternating between intense eye contact and an inability to look at you. “You are worth—”
Swallowing hard, his hands flexed by his sides.
“Do not strain yourself, Caesar.”
“If you do not want to listen, then I suppose I shall not speak.” Prissy as ever, Geta huffed and turned his nose in the air. You laughed and gave him a friendly shove. If he was offended before, he certainly was now, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth a flat line. Still, the tenderness in his tone gave him away. “Assault on your Imperator, I should have you beheaded.”
Slowly so as not to spook him, you wrapped your arms around him and gave him a small squeeze. He stiffened and did not reciprocate. “You do not have to say it. Meus vitus. I am worth the life of an emperor.”
Geta’s face flared a deep red, visible even under his caked on foundation. Pushing you away, you stumbled and watched as he lifted his hand to his lips before placing his face flat in his palm. “You heard that.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement. You nodded, your smile both small and fond. “I heard. It was enough, Geta. I am sorry it took… all of last night to understand how deep your affections go.”
“Stop.”
Your jaw snapped shut of its own accord, though you quickly regained steam. “Let me finish. I am sorry for what I said to you. I fear I will regret how bluntly I spoke to you for the rest of my life. How I hurt you, there is no amount of guilt or shame that will absolve m—”
Geta waved you off, his face still hidden in his hand. “Medicus, stop.”
“No, Imperator, I command you to listen.” Bulldozing right past him, you, yet again, stepped close enough to that your skin was touching his. “I am still angry that you hit me, but I meant it when I said that I forgive yo—”
“Alga! Would you cease this nonsense?!”
Your eyebrows disappeared into your hairline. “What?”
“I was pathetic! You should not be here, prostrating yourself before me, you should despise me! I should be the one who—” Geta took in a shuddering breath and removed his hand from his face. His adam’s apple bobbled when he swallowed, voice softer than before, “I should have never put my hands on you.”
“I forgive you, anyway.”
With jerky motions, Geta reached for you. His knuckles brushed against your cheek, an affection he terminated quickly with a harsh pat. “You are far too kind to me, meus vitus.”
An awkward giggle tumbled from your lips, and Geta’s shoulders jumped when he followed suit. You cleared your throat, ignoring him when he did the same. “I should… I should go. Are you still angry with me?”
“No.” He shook his head. His fingers danced across your own before returning to clasp behind his back. “Are you angry with me?”
“No.”
“Good,” He said.
“Yes, good,” You replied. The two of you stood in silence for far too long, neither sure of what to say. It was you who broke the silence. “I need to speak with Caracalla.”
Geta’s face scrunched up as though he ate a lemon. “Yes, your lover. Go to him, meus vitus, I will be in my office if you find a need of me.”
Before you could think better of it, you leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. You could feel the heat from Geta’s blush against your lips. Instead of letting you pull away, he took a step back, and you couldn’t help but let your disappointment show.
“My brother,” He reminded you. “Loves you very much.”
“He is not the only one.”
Geta visibly flinched at that, his throat bobbing. “It is better if you… Perhaps, you should allow yourself to forget such notions.”
“If that is what you want,” You conceded.
Geta nodded, unable to meet your eyes. “What I want is unnecessary, Algacula. Go to my brother, focus on him. I do not need to be—” He cut himself off by pursing his lips. “— I am fine on my own, medicus, as I always have been. Do not… strain yourself for my sake. Your love for Caracalla runs deep, I have witnessed it myself. I know that… I know that we should continue this conversation later. Vale.”
Without allowing you a chance to dissuade his fears, Geta sped away back into the triclinium and out of the doors the senators left from. You stood, stunned, more certain than ever that your feelings did not end with only one twin. While you knew it was a pipe dream for Caracalla to share, of all things, you would regret it if you never asked him.
With that in mind, you steeled your resolve, and headed for the gardens.
Of course, when you finally returned to where you spotted Caracalla before, this time on the ground floor, the only thing there was a peacock. One of Caracalla’s if it was roaming free, Geta kept his animals — not pets, he insisted — in tight order. It looked at you, radiating offense as if your mere presence had done it wrong. In an effort to offer peace, you grabbed a handful of seeds that were left in a hanging bowl and scattered them on the ground. The peacock began to peck at the kernels. You relaxed knowing it wasn’t about to chase you like a goose would. Small mercies.
“You wouldn’t know where Caracalla is, would you?” You asked, not expecting a response.
One came anyway, familiar in an odd way, “He’s looking for you, medicus.”
You blinked rapidly as you stared at the peacock. It couldn’t have talked, that’d be impossible. Then again, you had been the victim of spontaneous time travel. Odder things have happened.
Opening your mouth to respond, a tap on your shoulder caused you to whip around. Behind you, was Gaius, looking positively beside himself with amusement. “Who did you think was speaking, puer?”
“Y— You, of course!” You squawked and turned on your heel so as not to look at the source of your embarrassment. It should have been obvious considering you had recognized his voice. Gaius hadn’t turned into a bird, and you looked like a complete idiot. An awkward laugh tittered from your throat. “You didn’t think I believed the peacock to be talking, did you? That would be ridiculous!”
“Yes, it would!” Gaius managed to say between squeaks of laughter. “It would be positively ridiculous for the Caesarēs talented physician to be speaking to the birds. It is good that was not the case.”
“Yes, very good.” You nodded.
Gaius smirked at you, his green eyes alight. “Oh, sweet, receptive boy of my superiors, do not leave me in suspense. How did you know I was here with your back to me?”
“I heard your footsteps,” You lied. Silently, you cursed that damn bird for doing this to you. It had to have humiliated you on purpose, you were sure. “Gaius, where is Emperor Caracalla?”
“It is as I said. He is looking for you.”
Exasperation caused you to run your hand down your face. “And where was he last?”
He paused for dramatic effect before bursting into peals of laughter. “I do not know, ask the bird!”
Your punch to his shoulder did little damage to him. It only served to make him laugh harder, his hand clasped on your shoulder as he shook you. After a moment, he calmed and took two steps back. “He should be here any minute. Good luck, medicus, I hear he intends to fuck you good this time.”
Barely a second passed before familiar footsteps caught your attention. Tiny as he was, Caracalla walked like a giant, each step practically thundering against the marble. It was especially noticeable when he was in a hurry. When you glanced back at Gaius, his back was ramrod straight, all amusement gone and replaced by an expression fitting of the best the empire had to offer, right on time for Caracalla to arrive.
“Alga! There you are!” He stood under the archway that led to the gardens, his hands on his hips. Lifting his chin the same way that Geta did, he looked down his nose at you. Instead of irritation, it filled you with a burning sense of anticipation. “Were you hiding from me again?”
“No, I was searching for you.” That got his shoulders to droop.
With an outstretched hand, his fingers twitched, expectantly motioning for you to join him. You did so with no hesitation, only turning away to give Gaius a nod farewell. “Come to me, dulcis. I have thought long and hard about what I must tell you.” His expression became stormy when you intertwined your hand with his. “I am not pleased with my decision.”
You allowed him to lead you into a private room away from the gardens. Like most other rooms, it was sparsely decorated with a lectus or two, a chest to hold items, and a few tapestries on the walls. It was hard to pay attention to your surroundings with Caracalla so close to you. Leaning closer to him, you inhaled the scent of lavender, causing his lips to twitch. “Then why make it if it does not please you?”
Still holding onto you, Caracalla kicked a vase across the room. It shattered when it hit the wall, shards of blue scattered in the corner. You gave his hand a squeeze, and his irate expression softened. “Ugh! Because of my brother’s dramatics!” Roughly, he placed his palms on your shoulders and pushed you down to the floor before he padded over the chest, pulling out a handful of little figurines. “I want to play another game with you, Alga.”
The two of you had taken on the rather childish activity of, for lack of a better description, playing with dolls. It was fun, more fun than you had expected such an immature game to be.
Growing up, you didn’t get the chance to be young. Your parents shoved you in as many programs as they could, mostly with people well above your age. It was alienating, to say the least. You had matured quickly in an attempt to make friends, but no teenager, nor young adult, wanted to come to a ten year old’s birthday party. There was no one who wanted to play pretend with you, or with dinosaurs, or play doctor on your stuffed animals. These games with Caracalla, you found yourself comfortable indulging in, maybe because he didn’t judge you, maybe because you never had the opportunity before, or maybe it was just fun to be young with him.
Either way, you took two dolls from him with excitement in your smile. “I think this one will be an overprotective mother, and this one—” You held up the one with marbles for eyes “— will be her lovesick son romancing a man she does not approve.”
Caracalla hummed as he thought before nodding. He always got the final say in the plots you did. “Yes. My two will be the lovesick son’s lover, and his brother who pines for yours as well.”
That hit a little too close to home. Despite the sweat on your brow, you grinned. “That sounds fun, kitty. Very dramatic.”
“Yes, your brave Caracalla has a very imaginative mind,” He said, his eyebrows furrowed. You reached forward and massaged the worry lines from his forehead. He reached to grab your wrist and pull you away, only to place a chaste kiss to your palm. “Let us have fun, melimelum.”
For the next hour, you and Caracalla yes-anded a complex web of lies and love. Though you found entertainment in the act, he seemed to grow more and more irate with every minute that passed. Each time your character would try to romance his own, the brother in Caracalla’s other hand would steal the affection. Despite him being the one doing it, the action seemed to distress him, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
“‘Kiss me, kiss me and forget about your other lover.’” He moved the brother-doll back and forth as he talked, each word spat with malice. It was obvious Caracalla was using play as an attempt to work through his own internal issues. Perhaps he always had, and you had simply been oblivious to it. You really had to start paying more attention to what was around you.
Gently, you peeled his fingers from the doll and set it in your lap. That appeared to be a poor choice because Caracalla ripped it away from you and tore off the doll’s head. He threw both pieces across the room. The head hit the wall with a dull thud, and the body soared out a nearby window. You blinked, dumbfounded. “Do you want to talk about how you are feeling?”
“No! There is no point!” Caracalla shouted as he tugged at his hair. “It will still be unfair, and I will still be mad!”
So as not to startle him, you picked up your doll, the other one set to the side. You had the toy toddle over to him and pull on his tunic. In his anger, he swatted you aside. Your hand stung, but you were undeterred. “Talk to me. Tell me what has upset you. Let me fix it.”
“There is no fixing it!” With far more tenderness than you thought he was capable of, given his mood, he grabbed your doll and held it close to his chest. “Geta always takes what is mine. You will choose him over me.”
“Why would I do that?” You crawled next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. A shiver wracked his body and he swallowed thickly.
“Because everyone always chooses Geta over me. No one likes me more than him, I always have to share, and then he takes over.” His grip on the doll tightened as he curled farther in on himself. “If I do not share you, Alga, I fear my brother will fall into hysteria and kill himself.”
Oh.
“I see,” You so eloquently said. “… I do not think he will fall to such drastic measures.”
“He will!” Caracalla insisted. “I have never seen him like he was last night. I hated it, and I hated seeing how he held you after. Only I should get to hold you in such a way, but if I deny him, then he will— Ugh! I hate Geta!”
“I think that you underestimate the lengths he would go for your happiness.” It was hard to mince your words for Caracalla, he was far more volatile than Geta, who was already a deeply insecure individual. Still, you tried to get your point across the best you could. “Forget about Geta. Do you want to share me?”
Incensed, Caracalla puffed up. “No! I also do not want my brother to have a fit every other day. The only solution is for you to belong to both of us. It is not fair!”
As he spoke, he brought his fists down on the floor. If he wasn’t careful, he would hurt himself. He struggled when you grabbed his wrists, squirming and thrashing as you pulled him into a hug. “Caracalla! You do not have to do what you do not want to.”
“But Geta will die! He’s so emotional and pathetic, he will not be able to take it!” Caracalla cried, kicking his legs.
It was time to switch tactics.
“My sweet, selfless Caracalla. I cannot name another man alive who would be willing to share his lover.” At your words, he paused his convulsions to blink at you. You took this as a good sign, and continued, “Not even Geta would be so kind. It is such an attractive quality. It makes me love you all the more.”
He was quiet for a moment. “More than Geta?”
“My selfless kitty, let me tell you a secret.”
Lips parted, he sat up, his eyes searching yours. His voice was breathless as he spoke, “Yes, melimelum?”
“I will always love you more than Geta.” Truth, or not — and, as of right now, it was the truth — this was what Caracalla needed to hear. “No one would be so selfless and kind. No one shares more than you. No one else alive will be my first kiss, or my first lover. My favor will always be with you.”
It looked as though he were inclined to believe you, his fingers clenching rhythmically from where they were wrapped around your wrist. “Do you swear it? If I let Geta have you too, do you swear that you will always favor me?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Caracalla snorted a laugh. “Your eyes are far too pretty to gouge with a needle, and your words are far too sweet to cut out your tongue.”
“What will I kiss you with, if you did?”
With a hum, Caracalla tilted his head in thought. “That is a good point, melimelum. I must ponder a suitable punishment for you if you grow to prefer my brother.”
“Think all you want, it will never come to be. You will always be my first.” Leaning forward, you affectionately rubbed your nose against his. He closed the distance and captured your lips, far less heated than he would normally give.
When he pulled away, he handed you back your doll. “Let us continue our game. Tell me more about that romance you read with the Greek letters. I have ideas.”
To punctuate his point, he made your doll scissor his. You barked out a laugh. As much as you liked Geta, you doubted he’d ever sit on the floor and indulge you as much as Caracalla did. Well, that was a lie, maybe he would. You looked up at Caracalla, who was furiously mashing the two toys together as he made graphic sex noises. Geta certainly wouldn’t do that, he would probably make a snide remark about how little fun he was having, before getting completely sucked into the plot. He would take it far too seriously too.
Without thinking too much of it, you pressed a kiss to Caracalla’s cheek. “I love you.”
“Not now, dulcis. They’re fucking.” He spared you a single, somewhat miffed, glance out of the corner of his eye as he flipped the dolls into a new position.
It was embarrassing how much you loved him. The only prospect more humiliating than falling for a manchild, was falling for two. Worse than that, you realized with a start, was that while Caracalla and Geta angsted about sharing you all morning, neither considered asking you if you were okay with it. For all they knew, you only wanted Caracalla. Maybe, you weren’t as subtle as you thought, or maybe, these two had egos big enough to assume you would go along with whatever they decided.
Whatever. This time, they were right. Without lifting a finger, you got Caracalla to agree to the impossible, though you knew it wouldn’t be easy calming his jealousy. Hopefully, Geta would mellow once he found out Caracalla was inclined to ‘share’ you. As if you were an object. Irritating, yes, but, ultimately, it could be a lot worse.
Beside you, Caracalla made a ‘fwoosh’ noise as his doll dive bombed the other. Sexually, of course.
This would take a while.
After several hours, and four dramatic doll pregnancies later, Caracalla was pulled away to do paperwork — much to his incessant complaining. You found yourself alone in your room. For once. Instead of sleeping in your day clothes, you managed to put on your pajamas, your band t-shirt growing more faded with every attempted wash accompanied by a pair of boxers. The past few days were eventful, and you were borderline ecstatic to have an hour to yourself. That was all it would take for Caracalla to grow bored of his duties, and you intended to enjoy every second of it.
First of all, you assumed Caracalla would discuss what he had decided with Geta by himself, however well that would go. As much as you’d kill to be a fly on the wall for that conversation, it would also stress you out beyond comparison. Caracalla would proudly proclaim his decision to ‘share’ you with Geta, only to devolve into threats and shouting once he caught a glimpse of his brother’s triumphant smirk. You would have to spend at least a few hours calming Caracalla after, assuring him that he was your favorite. An act that wouldn’t be hard, because if Geta had some form of decorum, you wouldn’t have to. But, alas, he would certainly take the opportunity to make a snide comment at Caracalla’s expense, leaving you to deal with the aftermath.
You supposed you better get used to it. With the twins' obsession with you — dear god, that shouldn’t make your heart flutter as it did — at its peak, you would be juggling them like a clown on a tightrope. Exhaustion crept into your body, crushing your chest. It was worth it, you told yourself. If using your wiles, that you apparently had, meant helping reform Rome, then so be it. You just so happened to also rather enjoy the company of each man yourself, though no one but you had to know that. Minus the people who already did.
The minutes ticked on, and you were alone like you wanted. Unfortunately, you couldn’t think of anything to do. You could go over your notes, but it would be redundant at this point, and it was far too late to do your rounds. After so long of having friends for the first time in your life, you found yourself at a loss at what to do when you were alone. You had to figure out a way to relax that wasn’t studying or overanalyzing every miserable thought that crossed your mind.
An idea struck you, out of the blue. You were alone, in the dark, snuggled up in your bed. Now would be the perfect time to masturbate if there ever was one. Your gaze flickered to the lock on your door, contemplating. Caracalla could burst in at anytime, but as long as you stayed under the covers, he wouldn’t see your bottom half. With that in mind, you allowed your hands to trail along your abdomen until they rested between your legs.
You weren’t a particularly horny person. Masturbation was always a clinical act. First, you would pick a fantasy to indulge, followed by allowing the pleasure to build, then you would pick up the pace, leading to a quick and simple orgasm. That was what you were trying to accomplish now. Legs spread apart, with one hand, you fingered yourself, and with the other, you pinched your dick. Testosterone had caused your clit to grow enough so that, with two fingers, you could sort of jerk yourself off. Your skin felt hot, pleasure pricking up your spine as you continued your ministrations.
There was one problem, however. Even as you began to get frustrated, plunging even deeper within yourself in an effort to get off, you couldn’t cum. It was starting to frustrate you. If Caracalla got to finish tonight, but you didn’t, you would go to sleep halfway to the point of livid.
“Come on,” You muttered.
This wasn’t fair. The one night you get some time to yourself, you couldn’t even cum? That was ridiculous! As you got angrier, you felt your pleasure begin to wane. You flopped backwards, splayed like a starfish. This was ridiculous. Down the hall was a man who’d do anything to fuck you and you wouldn’t give in. Why? Because you were scared. Caracalla, and subsequently Geta, would find out about your blasted vagina one day. There was no point in holding off anymore. Maybe if you explained yourself, it wouldn’t go over as badly as you thought.
Pulling up your boxers, you wiped your hand dry on the sheets and padded into the hall.
Caracalla was bisexual — not that he had any concept of the word. He had both men and women in his harem. For all you knew, he’d be elated to find out you had mismatched parts. The only possibility that caused your determination to plummet was the question of how he would see you. A man, or a woman pretending to be one. Outside of Caracalla’s bedroom — unlike Geta, he didn’t have his own personal office — you stopped in front of the door and shifted from foot to foot. Option two was the worst case scenario, but maybe, if you explained it, he would understand.
You hoped.
Driven by the ache between your legs, you stepped inside his bedroom. It was dark, save for the candles illuminating Caracalla’s desk. He sat with his head face down, a broken stylus in his hand. When he heard the door open, he let out an annoyed hiss, only to perk up when he saw it was you.
“Dulcissimus, have you come to entertain me?”
You closed the door behind you and played with the hem of your shirt. “In a way.”
That got Caracalla’s attention. His eyes roved your body, taking his time on your bare legs, before he focused on your face. “Coming to your Imperator in only your underwear, dulcis? How naughty.”
“Do you want to have sex?”
Caracalla’s flirtatious demeanor fell under the force of his surprise. His face went slack, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. He blinked once, then again as a wolfish grin spread across his features. “Do I want to fuck you? Oh, melimelum, what do you think the answer is?”
“I— I do not want you to be disgusted.” Regret made you take a step back. This was a terrible idea. You would ruin the one good gift the universe had ever given you with your rotten body.
Caracalla watched you, his exasperation palpable. “Oh, yes, your malformed cock. How could I forget?”
“I should not have come,” You muttered. If you took another step back, you’d be against the door.
Caracalla stood and gestured to his bed. His tone left no room for argument. “Let me see it.”
“What?”
“You heard me. On the bed, now, dulcis. Spread your legs and show me.”
You should leave. Put this off longer, enjoy your relationship with Caracalla for a little bit more. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the bed again. Unable to stop it, you moved of your own accord, and sat on the bottom edge, near where he was standing. Pleased, he caressed your cheek with his knuckles. “Good, Alga. Lay back and show your Imperator what you’ve been hiding.”
“Do you promise you will not hate me?” You asked as you fumbled with the waistband of your boxers.
Caracalla rolled his eyes. “Yes, now stop being coy and show me.”
Squeezing your eyes shut, you pulled down your boxers in one swift motion and exposed yourself to Caracalla for the first time. He was quiet. No movement, no words, he was hardly even breathing. Carefully, you cracked open one of your eyes to see Caracalla’s expression for the first time.
He was staring at you, his jaw slack and eyes wide. Your face erupted in a scorching blush as you closed your legs and scooted back a few inches. “Do you hate me?”
His gaze snapped to your face before returning to your body. Without a word, he crawled forward and placed each of his hands on your knees, forcing your legs apart once more. You let out an embarrassing squeak, watching as an unmistakable grin spread from ear to ear.
“You are a man with a cunt,” He said with a laugh. Tilting his head towards the ceiling, almost reverently, he slid his hands from your knees to your thighs. “The gods have blessed me on this night!”
“Huh?”
Whatever response you expected, it wasn’t that. Your head was swimming under a torrent of emotions. Desire, relief, and confusion raged inside of you, all while Caracalla admired your body in its entirety.
A strangled noise ripped from your throat when he flicked your clit. “Look at that, you have a little cock. So sensitive too.”
Slowly, he dragged his fingers from your dick to your hole. Without warning, he plunged his index and ring fingers inside of you, his palm pressing against your dick. “C— Caracalla!”
“You even smell like a man too.” He leaned down to take a deep inhale, his eyes rolling back in his head. “How exotic.”
It was hard to speak with how roughly Caracalla began fingerfucking you. Though his hands were small, they were dexterous, finding parts inside you that you didn’t even know you had. Your body felt like it was on fire, back arching with a strangled cry when he went as deep as he could go, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit. Still, you managed to ask, “You see me as a— a man?”
“Oh, melimelum,” Caracalla sighed, crawling over you to drag his thumb across your cheekbone. With a slick noise, he removed his fingers from you to toy with your dick. Each pinch and stroke sent shivers down your spine. “I’ve seen enough cunts to know when one belongs to a man.”
You couldn’t respond. Mouth agape and a hand over your eyes, you let him do as he pleased. It felt too good not to. He let out a high pitched giggle when you moaned, the squelching from your cunt mingling with the sound of fabric being torn. When you peeked, Caracalla was almost frantically undressing while he focused on shoving a fourth finger inside of you. In his impatience, he had ripped his tunic, though you couldn’t find it in you to scold him. Your gaze fell from his face to his uncut cock, engorged and leaking. It wasn’t long, but it was thick and a little veiny. Your mouth watered as you imagined what it would be like to trace its curves with your tongue.
“Do you see what you have done to me? I’ve never wanted to fuck a hole more in my life!” Fisting himself, he gave himself a few pumps as he lined himself up at your entrance. You could feel your own slick dampening your thighs. Caracalla tried to tease you by only pushing his tip in before letting out a ragged groan, hilting himself in a single thrust. “Fuck! You are so tight. Truly a virgin. I can tell.”
A keening noise escaped you at how thoroughly he stretched you out. While he didn’t hit deep, he filled you almost entirely, a slight burn mixing in with the ecstasy that threatened to overwhelm you. Covering your face, your breath came in heady pants as Caracalla began to fuck you with vigor. His hips met yours with a loud slap, again and again. You were almost certain your first time should hurt, and it did, in a way. The speed at which Caracalla had penetrated you had stung, but it all paled in comparison to how invigorating having him inside you was. Your heart pounded in tune with the fluttering of your cunt. Above you, Caracalla’s features were slack, his arms holding you open.
“Harder, please,” You managed to say.
Caracalla snickered, his hands gliding along your stomach to slide up your shirt and paw at your chest. “You’re so— so polite, even as I fuck you. Gods, it makes me want to break you.”
That sounded more than a little appealing. “Please?”
A particularly violent thrust made your head spin, and Caracalla’s fingers found your dick once more. His grip was rough, almost painful as he started to jerk you off. The sensations were overwhelming. You felt your back arch, your body desperately pushing you as close to him as you could. He managed about two pumps of your little cock before you fell over the edge.
“Oh, fuck!”
Stars erupted behind your eyelids, and your body went rigid. All you could hear through the blood rushing in your ears was a guttural groan mingled with sharp, proud laughter.
“That’s it, melimelum. Cum for your Imperator!” He sounded beside himself in triumph, as though he had won a bloody battle or conquered a nation. All he did was bring you to one of the most powerful orgasms of your life. You supposed that was victory enough. Dropping his forearms, he did not stop pistoning his hips, even as your first orgasm faded. You squirmed, the sensations becoming too intense, but Caracalla held you firm. “Don’t run away now, dulcis. I know you like it when I hurt you.”
“Too much,” You whined.
He licked the drool that seeped from the corners of your lips, crooning out an indulging, “I know. My sweet, obedient Alga can take it, can he not?”
You weren't sure where to put your hands. On his shoulders, tangled in the sheets, or covering your face. Eventually, you settled with splaying your fingers across the planes of his back, the other fisted in the blankets. “I can! Fuck me until I break, Caracalla.”
“Oh, gods, I’m gonna—” He was cut off by a high pitched moan. With one final thrust, he buried himself to the root. Inside you, Caracalla pulsed, painting your insides white with rope after rope of his seed. His hips twitched forward, almost desperate to fit even deeper than he already was.
Caracalla collapsed on top of you and you wrapped your arms around him. Both of you were sticky with sweat, your skin congealing against each other.
Against your neck, Caracalla giggled. “I cannot believe all of that nonsense was because you have been blessed with the tightest cunt in the empire.”
It took you a little bit to find your voice. Between sharp pants, you managed, “I thought you would have never met anyone like me. I thought you would find me gross.”
“Gross?” He lifted his head to gaze into your eyes, still too spent to sit up. “Dulcissimus, you are the man I have dreamed of since I learned how to fuck my hand.”
You hummed, your eyelids beginning to droop. Between your legs, Caracalla was too soft to remain inside of you. His cum began to seep from you, sure to stain the bed. That was tomorrow’s problem, though. “I am relieved.”
“You are perfect,” He murmured.
Tangled together, you drifted off to sleep, only one thought in your mind.
After all that angsting, Caracalla found you to be the most wonderous man to walk the earth, parts and all. If you were any less exhausted, you’d punch a hole through marble.
A/N: Oh my god, I hate writing smut. Why do I do this to myself… Trust that a majority of the Caracalla and Alga sex scene was written in the cracker aisle of Dollar General midshift. Yes, I was in public. It needed to get written ans I’m not off again until Monday, so Inhad to do what I had to do. We march on. I do think it’s really funny that Alga was like please break me and Caracalla INSTANTLY nutted. Sorry my green-haired friend, he’s gotta recover from that one before he can really put in the work again. I do hope that I was able to do justice to what I like to call ‘gender affirming sex.’ Making it hot while also geting done what I needed to get done for the story was, um, hard to say the least. I’m not actually on testosterone myself. I hope I did the illustrious tdick justice.
Speaking of which, I did a poll on my blog a few days ago about Alga’s period. Whether it would never come back, if it would return but is only mentioned in passing, or if I give them a BAD one and force everyone to suffer through it. Because you know damn well the twins’ weird asses would be bizarre about the whole thing, LMFAO. The bad period won.
Now, onto Geta’s uptight ass. I love how he is such a hypocrite. He complains about how Caracalla is ruining Alga’s reputation and then proceeds to take a wrecking ball to it. In all honesty, he probably just didn’t want to see Caracalla and Alga perform PDA in front of his salad. I also haven’t mentioned it aside from a few times, but I did again this chapter. Geta is an animal hater. If he had a pet it’d be a big ass snake, and it’d be the one thing on earth he spoils aside from his partner. You’d catch him cooing to it and he’d throw the closest object he can find at you. He’s so embarrassing.
I actually don’t have a lot to say this chapter. I feel like everything was pretty self explanatory, though I’d be more than happy to answer any questions! Also, I’m trying to speed run my formatting, including this A/N, so I can post soon. I have work today, sigh. Please, please tell me what you thought of these occurrences in the comments, or perhaps, my ask box if you want to be anonymous. I had a lot of fun writing this one! Raaaaaaahhhhh, thank you for reading, stay frosty!!!!! <333
Pairing: Emperor Geta x Transmasc!Modern!Reader x Emperor Caracalla
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Modern AU Oneshot (Caracalla)
Everyday, you woke up and performed the steps necessary to complete your routine. It was monotonous, like clockwork, as you traveled down the tracks laid out for you since birth. With a mind uncontested, you found yourself graduating college before you were legally an adult, and at the behest of your controlling parents, you continued on to medical school, then further on into a surgical residency at a nearby hospital. You had always wanted to help people and this was the best way to do it.
So, why, with everything you had ever wanted at your fingertips, were you so unhappy?
Maybe that was why when you awoke in the past, surrounded by farmland instead of your blankets that you decided to ‘just roll with it’ rather than scream. That was your motto now as you were unceremoniously dropped from your assigned path onto untrodden ground with no hope of going back. So, even when you saved the life of a soldier and were carted off into the heart of the corrupt Roman Empire to be the twin emperor’s new physician, you barely batted an eye.
After all, you would do anything to save your patients.
