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• Soldier	By : kattanon Category: M through R > Rome Views: 2698 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
  Disclaimer: I do not own Rome, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

• Chapter List
  • 1-Soldier
• • 1

• Title: - Soldier

  Author: - Katt

  Rating: - R

  Pairing: - Mark Antony/Lucius Vorenus

  Feedback: - Like it or loathe it let me know

  Disclaimer: - - I own nothing and certainly not any historical or fictional characters in the series Rome, which depresses me no end since I could have such fun if I did.

   

  
  

   

  
  

  Soldier

  Mark Antony was a soldier. Ever since Aulus Gabinius had made him a cavalry commander when he was twenty-two and had sent him to Judea it was all he knew. It was all he wanted to know. He never felt truly alive except during battle.

  The excitement and fear beating through every fiber of his being, singing through his veins. It awakened every sense. The smell of blood, of sweat, of horses tasting sharp and pungent on his tongue. The sight of the enemy, of men fighting for their lives, of the dead and dying. The roaring of his blood in his ears competing with the shouts, the clang of metal against metal, the screams of dying men and horses. But most of all the feel of it. The weight of his sword in his hand. The jarring shock that goes up his arm when sword meets sword. The smooth slide of metal through skin and muscle, a slight shock as bone is nicked by the blade. The struggle of his body against his opponent. A trial of strength, of dominance. That was why he had to have Vorenus back.

  He could have all the pliant slaves and highborn ladies, such as Atia, as he wished in his bed, and he did. He enjoyed them, their willing submission, their soft weakness a distraction. But sometimes his soldier’s blood sang for more, for – fight.

  Then he longed to take that which was not freely given. To feel resistance, barely concealed hatred that he acknowledged, but that he pushed aside.

  Even now as he embraced Vorenus and pulled him close he could feel it. The body against his was rigid, the muscles tight with tension. He could smell the other man’s hatred in his nostrils, taste it on Vorenus’ skin as he kissed him.

  This was going to be his again, to take, to possess. Vorenus back in his bed. The other man’s face a mask of hatred warring with the bright burn of shame. His breaths coming quick and panicked under him. His body shying away from Antony’s touch. The little whimpers and moans barely suppressed between lips pressed bloodless into a hard line.

  Mark Antony was a soldier and he took what he wanted by force, the thought of it quickened his blood and made him hard.

• • 1
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