taming the older emperor
cw geta has anger management issues, fem!reader (she/her is being used twice), smut (minors shoooo), rough unprotected vp, mentions of bruises and coloured body parts, dirty talk because i said so, light physical restriction, oral, dom!fuckboy!geta kinda but he's actually so down bad for you, use of pet names for reader, a bit of angst i guess. there will be historical inaccuracies bc unfortunately i'm not a roman history professor. the middle image does not depict reader's appearance though it is mentioned (once) she has green eyes. no use of y/n. 7,5k.
a/n this menace has been on my mind for over a year now and i've been thinking about writing for him since i first saw jq in that silly ginger wig so this is my shot at it. a special thanks to @trashmouth-richie because her dulcis ut rosa series still has me in a chokehold and i couldn't help drawing some inspiration from that. another huge thanks to my favourite people @exquisiteserotonin and @gorbo-longstocking who have graciously beta read this silly little thing. i appreciate all the reblogs and comments so please reblog and comment away as muuuuch as you like! also, this was born out of ovulation phase i'm merely but a girl ok thanks for reading my lovies byeeee <3
sources to the header images here, here and here.
translations mea pluma – my feather // mea lapis – my pearl // deliciae – favourite, (erotic) pleasure // carissima – dearest
The tip-tap of your own footsteps echoes through the moonlit hallway, accompanied by his pent up frustration from behind the library door, the coldness of the marble seeping into the soles of your bare feet and the thump in your chest picking up in pace with each step.
"The older Caesar requests your immediate presence", a line you'd been hearing for great measure over so much passed time, you had stopped counting the sunsets and moonrises a long while ago. And yet, it always sent your mind (and heart) reeling.
You know what awaits you. Stilling the need to be distracted from whatever torment has him screaming at nothing but the walls again.
The same thing as always. You were stirred conscious by the gentle hand belonging to one of his many praetorians, in the middle of the night you presumed the darkness engulfing your surroundings to be at, and expected to fulfill the only purpose you were being kept around for.
So you'd been told after your arrival, so you'd been treated since and therefore, you knew.
The bruises on your skin that always bloomed purple beneath the surface of your bath waters, they were a testimony to the qualities of your service to his majesty.
It doesn't take long this time. With the guard by your side to light you the way, you only make it halfway through the corridor that opens behind another corridor which leads into another corridor, before the commotion fills your ears and you even get a hint of the proportions of his temper tonight.
Of course he's fled into the sanctuary of his beloved library, and currently tearing it to shreds considering you can hear a loud crash of one of the wooden chairs being tossed into the nearest shelf, causing the clutter that has been neatly propped onto it for decorative purposes to shatter onto the tiled marble.
You wonder what – or who – caused his exasperation this time.
It is another nightly summoning of you into Geta's quarters of the royal palace, one where he ordered you whenever he was just in the mood, or like the other kind tonight, plagued by a rampage of unpleasant emotion.
"Where is she?!", his familiar voice hisses at probably no one but the tall beige columns, "what is taking her so long?!"
With a small smile you nod the praetorian that's supposed to keep you unharmed goodbye as you reach the big door that prevents his agony from being visually witnessed.
Breathe in, breathe out. Tame the raging beast. It's what you know.
The door hasn't even closed behind you, and already does the sight in front of you have your insides in a twist.
He's kneeling on the floor, right in front of the mess he just designed, his head whips around and his body quickly comes to stand again once he's taken notice of your anticipated presence.
The older Caesar is always a sight for you.
Unruly strands of ginger give away his unsuccessful attempt at finding his dreams for the night, a hard contrast to how neatly it was combed and adorned with golden laurels whenever he would show himself to any subject not belonging to the swarm of palace staff.
The veins in his thick neck stand prominently to seek your attention, deep brown eyes familiarly dark with anger as they find yours, his nostrils flare and the corner of his mouth twitches with his nerves.
What Geta wants now goes without saying.
"My emperor, you asked for me", the bow downwards isn't even a conscious decision anymore.
His face is flushed red and his chest heaves from exhaustion, pure rage boiling its way through his veins, his crimson red night robe hanging around the important parts of him loosely, and to your silent delight, the golden v-shaped hem allows you a quick glance from his exposed sternum all the way down to his stomach.
Your heart palpitates, the sight of him all riled up and asking for you doesn't leave your body unaffected. His imposing physique could easily be taken as the blueprint, the embodiment of a young Roman god, and even though his style of rule over the empire reeked of inexperience, arrogance and impulsivity, the maturity of his masculinity always draws you in like a moth to a flame.
Wide blown eyes in search for a sense of your mood, he wordlessly beckons you to come closer, it's almost predatory, hungry for something he knows only you can satisfy.
His intense, almost scrutinizing gaze in your direction from across the room makes you swallow thickly, quick to follow his order.
There's that familiar wobble in your knees again when his hot breath washes over your face, due to the proximity in which you know he expects you to stand in front of his tall figure.
The apple of his cheek glistens in the low light, he must have been crying. It's the part of his face you look at whenever you don't dare to reciprocate the gaze that you're afraid could disclose the unspoken truth about the things you seem to feel whenever he's got you standing in front of him like this.
The tantalizing mix of his signature scent and the light sheen of sweat on his chest invades your senses, his intimidating presence never shy of impact, evident in that flutter inside your chest.
With lips mere inches from yours, his jaw clenched and his head tilted so he can study your reaction as closely as possible, the soft curve of his index finger meets your temple, and you can feel each single one your cells yearn for him to close the gap.
The emperor doesn't.
His finger gently follows the side of your face downwards, and when it reaches your jaw, it is joined by another as they trace along your neck and the curve of your shoulder, just to end up curled into the loose collar of your royal blue night gown, aiding him to slip the silky fabric over your shoulder.
Geta swallows hard, too alluring is the vision of soft skin offering itself to him.
And just like that, the warmth of it under his featherlight touch is what seems to always flip the switch.
From the neurotic, tensed up, ruthless head of an empire to someone that was ... softer.
"What a delight to my current state you are, mea pluma, so tender beyond my wildest imaginations", he chases the revelation of more soft skin as he speaks to you directly for the first time tonight, "the most loyal of them all", his voice barely above a whisper, an incredibly vast difference to the display of vigorous anger you saw him direct at the bust of his own head mere minutes ago, the ginger waves that are sticking to his sweaty forehead almost meet your own as his gaze lingers on your exposed chest a little longer than what you are used to.
You're unsure what his ulterior motive is tonight.
It's almost as if your expectance is starting to feel betrayed by the divergent nature of his behaviour. Everything is the same, his nostrils flare, cheeks reddened with anger, yet something feels different, the glint in his eyes conveys something you have not seen, nor noticed in him before.
Geta could be ruthless and erratic as head of state, you've come to learn as much every time you'd witnessed him hold his hyperbolic speeches, impulsively rule over decisions in the arena or in the senate hall, on those days where he chose to keep you nearby.
However, from the antics you had been subject to witness during your time at the palace, in the matters regarding his private relations, and given plenty of occasions, your inkling denied him allowing any harm to find the only remedy to his tantrums.
He wasn't that stupid.
Instead, it had always been a push and pull.
Where Geta did most of the pushing and pulling. In the physical sense at least, and you just seemed to keep him on the edge, summoning you for more.
Before your gown can even pool around your ankles, the same hand that caused its fall snakes around your figure, just to leave a burning trace down your spine. The other finds yours and places it over the hammering of his heart against his chest, and you're not sure if it does so because he'd just turned the library into his personal rage temple, or because he's about to make you part of it.
His narrowed eyes glow ember in the flickering light coming from the one torch that is aflame next to the door, a beautifully soft golden shade cast over the glowing skin of his handsome face. It displays the hint of a smile you think, while your eyes trace that sharp jaw, the muscles dressing his neck, shoulders and collarbones.
If you didn't still feel his warm breath on your face and the dull thump of his heart against your palm, you'd think him a hallucination, a dream, only a sculpture.
It's almost romantic – and still unusual for the way you're used to this going, though you've been noticing the absence of his blatant indifference to your existence from the time you were new to the palace – the mildly gentle nature of the touch he holds you with in moments like these, his gaze that never leaves your face, studying, you still don't dare to reciprocate it, at least not in the same way.
That ache in your chest, it would rip you apart if he, the emperor you'd grown so fond of, were to cast you out. After finding out where your heart really lied. What all the summons had been doing to you.
The lack of negative ramifications to your actions had gotten you past the point of being afraid of physical punishment a long while ago, so used to his antics that by now, the only thing that genuinely caused you trepidation was the threat of abandonment.
Geta briefly pauses his intent studies when the hand that's been resting on your back comes down to roughly grab your behind, while the other lets go of your palm and takes your jaw, pad of his thumb denting the softness of your cheek.
Juxtaposition, the way he's holding you now, a sick smile spreading across his full lips.
A thrilling shiver runs down your spine once again when his tongue meets the side of your exposed neck, he drags it upwards in a maddeningly slow pace, tasting the saltiness on your skin as if it was his drug.
And boy, is he in need of a fix.
Geta inhales you, lets his nose follow the wet stripe he just placed between your collarbone and jaw hinge, and to you it feels like he's about to devour you whole, making you part of his very being.
You lean your weight against him in response, feel his eyes burn a hole through your head again right after he nips blossoms into your flesh, just to let everyone you encounter know whose claim lays on you, grip tightening briefly before the hand holding your jaw moves up to rest on top of your head.
It's muscle memory at this point.
Sinking to your knees in front of him like a sinner at an altar, Geta's ravenous gaze follows your every move and for a fraction of time, when he lets his other hand fall to his side, it feels like a revelation of not just his body to your taste, but his soul to your cradle.
The flickering light of the torch is doing wonders to the soft expanse of his golden torso, you would surely mistake it for monolithic marble if it wasn't radiating heat.
Your eyes instantly fixate on the trail of hair that drips down from his belly button, it makes your mouth water. Of course he's hard as rock already.
If this situation was up to you, if you were not merely a servant to an emperor, if his hand had not imperviously swatted yours away on prior occasions, there wouldn't be an inch of him left unattended, uncaressed. But you know his patience runs thin right now.
The greed – obvious in the way his fingers are pulling at the roots of your hair, it always gives him away.
A grunt slips past his lips once the tip of your tongue touches the underside of his head, continuing its gentle assault by running its course all the way down to the base and up the girthy shaft again, before your mouth opens fully to invite him in, an unholy routine so practiced and tested, it makes thinking about it redundant.
His eyes never leave your face, his hand never leaves your head, it's part of him trying to regain the control that he thinks has slipped him.
Sometimes, you like to think of the glint in his narrowed gaze as genuine adoration among the rage and the lust. The thought is always pushed aside as quickly as it appears in your mind though, replaced by nothing but desire for the man in front of you.
Spit creates small rivers on your chin with the way he sloppily uses you, the hand on your head having curled into a fist with most of your hair bunched up in it.
"You sinful thing, mea lapis, no mouth could ever compare to yours."
Hot and heavy cock on your tongue, stuffing your throat repeatedly in a slow, incredibly agonizing pace, his low moans and huffs and hisses lay claim on your favourite sound at this hour.
The bold declaration makes you dare to raise a hand to his thigh slowly, soft fingertips leaving a tickle of lingering affection on his skin as response to his praise, adding onto the pleasure building in his abdomen.
Drowning out the noise in his head. That's what he wants, what he needs and what he gets.
It's your silent way of proving loyalty and obedience, the things you know he needs to be reminded of in moments like these.
"A tongue so divine, it always strikes me to think you were sent to me from Venus herself. The quickness in which you– mhhh, follow my summons, so eager and ready to be her Caesar's .. relief", Geta continues, crude grunts continue to escape his lungs as he fucks your mouth, the lustful gaze he never breaks so tantalizing that you're certain there must be a sticky puddle beneath your spot on the marble by now.
The angry twitch is still present in his face, through hooded eyes you watch his nostrils flare with each drag of his underside over your tongue as the tip of it catches the soft, velvety rim of his cockhead.
It turns you on beyond any measure, knowing it's you he always asks for. The one he wishes to see when things get really dark.
It might, just might have something to do with your own eagerness to feel like more than a convenience.
"The spark in those emerald gems when they reach mine from below, all while– fuck, while that tight throat keeps humming those sweet tones, stuffed so full of me", he seems to be lavish with his praise tonight, generosity sparking when his other hand comes down to cradle your cheek and his thumb catches the tear that is threatening to run down to your jaw.
Surely it must be the circumstances surrounding his emotions tonight.
"Truly magnificent, mea pluma, you've done well", his voice drops lower, seemingly pleased with the gags he forces out of you.
With a subtle smirk Geta decides on switching from a cradle to a resolute grab of your jaw again to pull you to your feet, you feel your head being tilted lightly to the side for better access of his lips at the shell of your ear with another whisper, "need to feel you on me, stuff you so full", not wasting another second to crowd into your space, maneuvering you backwards until the backs of your thighs bump against the only piece of furniture in the room that seems to still be intact.
One swift grip on your hips makes the library walls spin until your back hits his heaving chest, you can feel the taut muscle in his arms against your front as they come around your figure to demonstrate possession.
A shiver runs down your spine at the feeling of his hot breath on your shoulder and his front pressed against the length of your backside, anticipation of what his next action might be leaving a flaming tingle in your chest, threatening to consume you whole.
The chilly midnight drafts coming in from the tall open window frames are entirely unfelt, how could your skin even pay attention when there's an impatient, needy ginger haired emperor mouthing at your neck?
His warm tongue leaves another stripe of spit behind before your brain can even foster any more thoughts, canines grazing the supple flesh.
As if it was a command coming from a higher authority, it's the tilt of your head that stands as an offer.
Primarily for better access. Underlying to that, you as a whole, the foreign concept of more than he had ever planned for you to be in the first place. It's what you so desperately want yourself to morph into, and unbeknownst to you, it's what you've already become.
Despite of the ache in your chest that all but yearns for his genuine care, the plethora of your experience in the past forces you to just know better. You've never known such agony, it makes your chest tighten and your cunt clench around nothing.
Geta purely acts on impulses. One of his hands runs up the length of your naked form until it meets one of your nipples, pebbled in the drafts of chilly spring night air, the kneading and pinching that follows making your entire body twitch with the sensations of his burning touch.
Hums that are hinting at satisfaction escape through plushness of his lips against your skin in the same breath as he presses his stiff groin against the soft curve of your ass.
Time seems to stand still for a moment in which it's just both of your breathing that fills the room.
"Oh deliciae, do you feel what you do to me?", a confident whisper fills your ear as you feel his lips promise a burst of affection against the shell of it next, and you know he doesn't actually expect an answer.
The silence helps him hear the filthy nature of the words rushing through your head in response, Geta lets go of your torso and shifts his vice grip to the fat of your hips as your upper body hits the cold wood of the table.
With his impatience only grown in proportion to his need for physical relief, it is of no wonder he switches his demeanor back to the rough standard.
"Tell me, sweet rose, tell me what you want. Though I of course can smell the thoughts between those legs of yours, I want to hear you say it." The last two words are emphasized by his sharp tongue.
Another shiver makes its way down your spine and you can't help the gasp that escapes you as you feel the soft, glistening tip of his cock nudging your dripping entrance, every inch of your rear side on full display for him to admire.
Which he totally would take time to do. If he wasn't always so incredibly pent up.
"You meus Caesar, it's you I w-want, I need", you only hear yourself verbalize your most recent thought, brain already taken over by the image of the sick smirk that is probably decorating his handsome features at your admission.
Geta slides his soft fingertips from your hips up to your ass just to grab and squeeze the fat of it, and as you feel both thumbs coming down to spread you open for him, it's another image that runs laps in your head, inspired by the way you can practically feel his lascivious gaze take in your commitment.
The low and deep hum he lets out at the feeling of your soaked pussy finally stretching around his thick shaft again is equally pleasuring for your ears as what you know is going to follow for the rest of your body.
"It is truly delightful, your devotion to abide by your promise to me", Geta comments the way your greedy cunt is sucking the length of him in, soaking it, and from the subtle tremble in his voice you can tell he's as close to losing his imperial composure as you are to being pounded into another universe.
"It is of duty and my pleasure. More of the latter, if I may be so forthright", you admit, intending to soothe the sting in his chest that you can sense to still be present.
Another wicked smile spreads over his features as his grip on your hips tightens for a moment, "that I have not missed, mea pluma, too otherworldly is the feeling of you being so ... ready for me."
You can hear the smack to your both of your ass cheeks before it can even start to sting, pussy clenching and mouth whining in response to his words and the blossoming pain.
"Always so– oh gods, fuck, so ready for me", Geta repeats his own statement for emphasis as he starts forward slowly, the intention of letting you feel him as clear as the skies over Rome at this wicked hour. Inch by inch, pressing himself all the way inside of you, one of his hands runs up and back down your backside almost appreciatively before settling in the dip where your legs meet your pelvis.
The feeling of his cock sitting tight in your hole, so full of pent up want, it is your current life's most important – possibly the only – relish.
It doesn't take much from here. He makes the tops of your upper thighs meet the hard edge of the table over and over again. Rough, slow thrusts follow and behind closed eyelids you already see the parts of you that will bloom in various shades of red and purple by the break of dawn.
It's like his own painting, coming to life underneath your skin. Who knew Geta to be that much of a gourmet of the fine arts?
Each sharp thrust earns the walls of the library a symphony of groans and hot skin colliding, and you are sure you will either perish from the feeling of him being all the way up in your throat or from the pleasurable kind of torture that you have learned comes with a pace this slow.
Or – perhaps – your cause of death was going to be the devastating kind, the one that held the power to rip your heart to shreds, consisting of a future reduced to a toy, a body that was only worth so much that his level of lust defined, ultimately to be discarded to the lonely aftermath once the emperor deemed your purpose fulfilled.
The reason why you were summoned in the first place tonight makes a brief return to the forefront of his mind, it turns into the sound of another spank cracking through the night air, instantly followed by a thrilling demand, "hands behind your back." His voice booms through the room as he complements his attitude with another sharp snap of his hips before he stops abruptly, staying buried deep inside as his pelvis presses against the fat swell of your ass again, "the sight suits you so well."
Not without a whimper and clench of your cunt answering his call you obey, causing your chest and head to lie flat against the wooden surface now.
Geta is a force when he's filled with rage. This always goes the way he wants. The way he needs it to go.
You feel one of his hands gather your wrists just to hold them in place behind you, drawing his hips backwards lazily just to let them snap forward again mere seconds later.
Again and again and again, slow yet rough he drags every thick inch of his cock through you with the sincerest of intention, makes you see stars behind closed eyelids with your jaw unclenched as he soon picks up the pace and you think you might as well leave this world on the spot.
Nothing else exists. Just you, him, the hard wood beneath you.
It's the thrill of not knowing exactly what he has in mind and how each time he calls for you is going to play out.
The wetness from between your legs seeps down to his balls and drips earthbound along the insides of your thighs, lewd is the echo of your moans in dialogue with his own, accompanied by the squelching that his girthy cock knocks out of your sopping cunt. It drives him wild, the submissive way you react to his actions, letting him use you in the filthiest of ways, even visibly reveling in it.
Not that you had much of a say in the matter, but still. He had yet to admit it to anyone, including himself, but power wasn't the only subject of Geta's strong greed.
The whimpers climbing out of your chest only spur him on as he notices you arching your back, an offer that is pleading for another spank to the needy roundness of your ass, the new angle allowing him to press his arousal even deeper.
"They have it out for us, my brother and me, can't accept that we have been graced with all the favours of the gods–", he starts his usual ramble, and it's finally that time of night where the things that had gotten his chest in a twist in the first place flow over his trembling lips like a cascade. Unfiltered and raw, he wants you to know.
You feel yourself twitch when the hand that is not keeping your wrists tightly pressed to your back comes down flat next to your cheek on the wooden surface with a sudden slap, allowing him to shift balance and make your eyes roll, "just because they– fuck, yes, they think we made a mistake by ordering the General to venture too far east, and–"
Everytime his hips meet your ass with that thick slap and another increase in pace you are reminded of what salvation feels like. Tingles run up and down your spine at the sensation of feeling him nudging all the spots, your mind goes fuzzy from the way he restricts you and from the amplification of your need in your abdomen as it swells, begging for release.
"And it's the audacity, their fucking audacity–", he pauses again, keeping up his relentless thrusts. Heavy eyelids make it hard for you to keep your gaze fixated on the wrist that is planted right next to your head, and gravity has started to pull a tear or two from the corner of your eye already as your line of vision follows Geta's hand as it gets lifted out of your periphery.
The thrusts come to a sudden halt which you protest with a small whine, but he soon makes up for it when the flex of his bicep helps the grip in your hair to pull your body back up until the back of your head meets the emperor's disrobed shoulder, the fabric merely hanging off his figure to one side now.
He keeps your hands where they are as your back arches further, his other loses your hair and wraps around your shoulder to keep you upright.
"Be honest, do you think we made a mistake?", his lips croon against your ear in earnest, his eyes back to fixating your facial reaction from the side and you can hear him breathe in your scent that you are sure can by now only be of sweaty nature.
Geta rarely asked for your opinion.
"My lord, my piece of mind holds no competence to answering an inquiry of s-such.. gravity."
He exhales, tongue darting out to trace the shell of your ear and press his lips against the spot below briefly.
"But I asked. You are too modest for your standing, pluma." A low hum from the depths of his chest and warm exhale through his nose collides with the skin below your ear when he presses his lips against the same spot again, "and besides, by now I think you should know that I do not– oh fuuuuck", he swallows hard as he impulsively comments what he feels when the hand that's just been in your hair slithers south, straight to that special spot between your folds, "do not like to repeat myself."
The snapping of his hips against your ass finds a life of its own once again, and the switch of his touch back to the spots he knows you enjoy is making your knees weaken and every inch of your sensitive skin tingle gratifyingly in his strong arms.
It takes everything in your power to get your reeling mind to function as it scrambles for an adequate response all while the slaps of skin against skin echo in your ears and his middle finger rubs maddeningly practiced circles around your swollen clit.
"Y-you could never m-make mistakes, meus Caesar, too great of an aura you possess that doesn't allow for– oh my gods, s-such deviation."
Soft groans follow your statement as they punctuate every thrust of his hips, it's all getting too much for your body and mind to handle.
The words and whimpers spilling from your lips seem to do enough to satisfy the fury, tame the flickering flames behind those ember irises, hot lips press the hint of a smile to the softness of your cheek before he swiftly runs another wet stripe of saliva up the side of your neck, teeth gently grazing your flesh.
"Very well", Geta mumbles, the pace in which he pounds your tight hole increasing once again, "now show your Caesar how glorious his cock is."
Crude grunts into your skin follow, the pace he devotes to his attention on your clit not leaving you waiting any longer than you already have.
You feel so hot and desperate to cum for him, it might just be the last thing you are going to do in this world.
The stretched out moan crawling out of his lungs as he feels your cunt tighten its pathetic need around him as waves of hot pleasure tear through your body and rip cracks into your soul is helping your high to reach a new level. It's so raw and animalistic, his bruising grip on your hips as he tries his hardest to hold off his own impending release.
His title rolls off your tongue like a prayer, it fits considering his hyperbolic self-perception.
"Yeees that's it, let the whole of Rome know who fucks you this good at this wicked hour, pretty columba, so fucking good for me."
You're panting on the table, cunt squelching obscenely around his thick length with your juices.
You'd never been fucked by him like this before.
Geta pulls out entirely once the grip of your walls has eased, while you are still trying to catch your breath from your high, and soon your ecstatic bliss is being replaced by a mixture of utter confusion and surprise when you feel him kick your legs apart with his own ankle.
Did he have enough of you so soon? What did you do to have him call an end to it for the night, before he even finished?
Geta's true intention is bound to leave you speechless as his next move aids it to slowly start to dawn on you.
Your upper body is released from the confines that are the emperor's arms, it bends and drops onto the table while he drops onto his knees.
There, in this position, on the ground where only servants lived, Geta finds the tears that have rolled along the insides of your thighs and meets them with his hot, wicked tongue.
The sensation makes your lungs release a whimper through closed lips, although it's not the first time you enjoy the pleasure that comes from the wet muscle tasting your skin tonight. Just in far more innocent and … appropriate places.
Big hands grab at your ass to knead and smooth over the impact from mere moments ago, his tongue traces the rivulets on your thighs upwards and the closer he gets to where he wants to go, the more intense that anticipation in your bloodstream becomes.
Another hum vibrates in the emperor's chest, a commentary on the filth determining his judgement when you feel his thumbs on your lips, spreading you out above his face, and it feels like he's losing every bit of self restraint that may have ever existed in any cell of his being at the sight being offered to his gluttony.
Almost lovingly he finally lets his tongue dart out once again, the whole act of it making the hint of affection become palpable as he licks a fat wet stripe through your folds, tasting you fully for the first time, ever since you first stepped sole into the holy halls of the royal palace.
You can't recall a moment in your life in which you felt more vulnerable. Not knowing what a tongue on this unholy part of you would feel like, you're bound to writhe under his grasp at your thighs.
He laps at your sensitive clit relentlessly, gives the swollen bud a few greedy sucks, his moans and slurps an ode of approval and praise as they add even more intensity to the vibration, and if it wasn't for his strong hands holding you in place, you'd already be floating off towards the transition passage leading into the next life.
The sting of his hand coming down on one of your ass cheeks again makes you writhe in pain and pleasure alike, it makes you forget about the fact that he just made you cum already and simultaneously acts as a reminder that even though he may be on his knees for it, he still owns you.
"Who knew you'd taste even sweeter between those thighs?", he questions before blessing your most sensitive spot with another generous swirl of his warm tongue, a symphony of gasps and moans crawling out of your lungs, in sync with his very own pulse he can feel in the length of his twitching cock, more precum leaking from the tip of it, a silent desirous plea to his consciousness to finish what he himself started with such urgency.
Geta's hands nudge you to turn around as he rises to his feet again, the lower half of his face glistening with your slick in a devastatingly sinful way in the golden cast from the torch.
He crowds into your space again with a gaze rivaling sun rays, the table serves its purpose once again by accommodating your behind on the surface as he leaves you no other choice.
You invite him back into your warmth with a debauched moan when he holds your thighs apart, and with the force and rhythm Geta soon returns to, it is nearly impossible to hold yourself upright.
In his lustclouded headspace, he still notices you tremble. "Hold me", Geta mutters under his breath, his chest flushed red from the exercise and before you can even react, he reaches for one of your hands and guides it to the back of his sweat-sticky neck.
You take his gesture as a welcome offer as you wrap your other arm around his shoulders, the need for his own release evident in the kind of tantalizing gaze he's laid on you again. The position is of more intimate nature than anything you'd ever known, and the sentence slipping from his lips next is what sends your mind reeling again, that deep tingle between your legs flaring up once more.
"Look at me, pluma, want to see you when I empty myself", Geta utters before his chest vibrates with a deep hum, the slap of skin against skin obscene, reminder of the filth trickling through the softness of the sentiment, and he feels himself get close to that ecstatic high he's obsessed with, the feeling of your tight cunt pulsing around his throbbing cock, your second orgasm threatening to rip through you at any moment.
The sounds coming from your lungs range from salacious moans to needy whines and whimpers, an encouragement for him to lose it for you, his cum along with his pent up frustrations.
The need for release feels like life or death.
A faint smile dances over your lips as his thrusts become sloppier, breathing more erratic, grip on your opened thighs more urgent in nature, and it's that sweetly lingering feeling of being needed spreading through your system, it makes you think this might be the moment in which you can slip what has been dying to jump over your tongue for so very long.
Emboldened by the soft golden glow of his skin and the return of his intrigued studies of your facial features, you let your head fall back as you furrow your brows, soft voice turning whiny and a softly moaned Geta crawls out of your lungs as you cum all over his thick shaft once again.
You'd never before dared to say his actual name out loud, at least not in his very presence.
Geta's eyes grow wide as he realises what you just did.
He is utterly convinced that there is nothing that could've prepared him for the rush of chemicals that swirl through his bloodstream at the sound of his name slipping past your sweet lips.
The lips of the only woman who solely held the power to tame the rage and the nerves inside of him.
He groans lasciviously and mutters profanities against the ceiling in response to the rhythmic clenching of your walls around him as every cell of his body buzzes with the ecstasy that comes from fucking you, you out of everyone he could have. The way your mouth hangs agape now as you finally – finally – pay him back with a gaze so lustfilled it easily rivals the one he'd been eyeing you with once you stepped into the library tonight.
He draws his hips back far enough to paint your vulva and lower stomach with those pearly ropes you always inwardly pray for, and for the first time – mainly due to this new position he's fucking you dumb in – he lets you see his eyes roll as his lids flutter shut.
A sight for sore eyes he is. Always anyway, but especially like this, you think.
Geta might have had this thought before but now he was absolutely certain – a time in his future granted on earth in which you weren't near him would devastate him more than any stupid comment or decision from the senate ever could.
With panting breaths Geta buries his face in the crook of your neck, nose rubbing over your pulse point while the shocks of his release cause him to curse profanities under his breath against your sweaty skin. His purply shaded, spent cock rests on your soaked mound where it slowly begins to soften.
It feels like the dam finally cracked. He always tended to be a tad more gentle with you after the deed was done, after he'd successfully taken his emotions out. But this time, it feels like it really cracked.
The encouragement of letting your arms rest around him allows for you to gently tug at the ginger waves, his head lolling back pliantly as your eyes shoot straight to the sheen of sweat that's gleaming in the firelight on his thick, soft column of a neck being presented to your very own appetite.
You feel your mouth salivate, the aftermath of your orgasm multiplying the urgency that's tugging at your heartstrings to declare your infatuation for the man in front of you. To him, most of all.
Trailing up the side of his neck from collarbone to jaw with soft pecks of your softer lips, a satisfied groan vibrates against them.
And Geta lets it happen. Lets you touch him, lets you see him, lets you in.
He's driven by impulse, and impulse only.
You crack through his act that he wears everywhere like armor, and the fact that he doesn't shove you away makes you begin to realize how much you must actually mean to him.
"What makes you think you can touch me like that?", Geta suddenly grips the nape of your neck, thumb digging into your jugular as he tears your affection away from his skin with a glint in his ember eyes, one that has nothing to do with the torch flame reflecting in them, and the wicked grin appearing on his handsome features sparks a hint of doubt in your cells.
Wiped away as quickly as it arose though, he doesn't wait for a response, instead he does the unthinkable.
You'd had plenty of time to imagine what it would be like, feeling those plush lips on your own, moving against them, tongues slipping past and just exploring. Tasting other parts of his that had been off limits for so long.
The contents of your dreams at night (and day) were not even close to what reality felt like.
You lose one hand in his ginger waves at the back of his head again, it makes him groan into your mouth as his strong arms pull you flush against him, warm cock still taking rest in the smear of cum between your bodies that has found its way onto his abdomen as well now.
It's like the need to feel calm with nerves being soothed, had just been replaced by greed for you, or maybe it was synonymical. Maybe it had been since the first time the older emperor ever laid his eyes on you, such fateful day you'd been keeping vividly in your recollection.
Geta's arms close the remaining distance between the two of you, his lips kiss you until yours are swollen with his spit, hands swiftly coming up to cradle your face, charged with the unspoken truth and urgency of his need.
When he breaks it and lets go to take a step back, the illusion of being something bigger than the world around you that the two of you had just conjured together in this room, breaks along with it.
The expectance of being dismissed claws its way back into your consciousness as quickly as it was fucked out of it just minutes ago, even though the nightly summon already feels hourlong.
You take it as your sign to leave.
Get up, find your robe that's been so carelessly discarded a couple meters behind him, slip out of the room and back through the maze of hallways, down to the servants' quarters where you could run yourself a bath, wash off the remnants of heat shared, only to crawl under the linen covers after and drown in your pining and self-pity like all those countless nights before.
The heated, sweaty skin sticks to the wood when you carefully peel your sore behind off the table, the wobble in your knees exceeds your estimation when you come to stand in front of Geta's figure. He just stares at your chest, zoned out for a moment as he tries to process that you're about to disappear from his periphery.
He seems lost in thought which isn't entirely new to you, and your hand finds his jaw softly as it lifts his head, forcing his gaze elsewhere. The touch of your palm snaps him out of it, warmth in his eyes finding yours and his hand shoots up to roughly wrap around your wrist in a bruising grip.
The next thing he does silently screams his repressed emotions into the night air.
You make the young emperor feel helplessly vulnerable, something he's never learned how to handle. All he's known was how to best answer discomfort with aggression and erraticity, and all he knows now is that he doesn't want any harm to find the one good thing that hasn't left him. Doesn't want the one thing that has significant impact on his wellbeing to vanish.
Spinning you around, your back hits his chest once more, and his plush, rosy lips are back at the shell of your ear, declaring a compelling whisper.
"You– carissima, you will join me in my bed tonight."
