Gigi Sinclair

Antony was sitting in the atrium when Brutus got home, reclining in the sun like he was the lord of the house. Brutus felt a wave of anger, which he suppressed. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"What are you doing here?"

"Ah, Brutus." Antony opened his eyes and gave him the sickly grin Brutus had known for years but which had been much more prominent lately. "Just thought I'd pop by for a visit. I must say, that's not much of a welcome."

"Where's my mother?"

Antony sat up, swinging his feet to the ground. "Who knows? Probably off needling Atia. You know these women and their silly feuds."

"You need to leave."

"I saw the most interesting thing on the way here," Antony continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Have you come across the latest offerings from our plebeian artists?"

Brutus had laughed over the graffiti with Cassius, but he didn't actually find it amusing. He had, in fact, been surprised at how much it hurt to see what ordinary people, people he would never meet and had no reason to care about, thought of him. "Yes."

"They're quite remarkable. In half of them," Antony went on, as if he hadn't spoken, "You're stabbing Caesar in the back, and in the other half, you're sucking his cock. I even saw one---and I swear if I can find who drew it, I'll commission him to do one for my villa---that's got Caesar in the middle, with you on his cock and his tongue up your mother's..."

"Fuck you." Brutus was sure Cassius or Cicero would have had some more eloquent reply, but he was tired of eloquence, tired of wasting pretty words and deep thoughts and noble actions on undeserving pigs like Antony.

Antony shrugged. "All right."

"What?" It caught Brutus off-guard, and as soon as he said it, he knew it had been a mistake. It was exactly what Antony had wanted.

"I'd let you do it." Antony leaned forward, as if he were imparting a great secret. "In my experience, snivelling cowards are usually the best in bed. Must be the fear that does it to them."

Brutus regained his composure. "If you are trying to intimidate me, it will take more than that."

"How about this, then?" Antony stood toe-to-toe with him, his eyes locked firmly on Brutus's. It took a concerted effort, but Brutus did not look away. "Your friends are snakes and your mother is a mad old witch. If you don't grow some balls soon, they'll bring you down with them, and I will be the first to celebrate your demise."

There was a quiet cough, and Brutus looked over to see Eleni standing in a doorway. "Apologies, master, but I thought I heard some noise." She gave Antony a cold look, then turned back to Brutus. "Do you require me to send for assistance?"

She couldn't, Brutus thought, have unmanned him more successfully if she'd offered to castrate him on the spot. "No," he snapped. "Leave us."

Antony, of course, jumped on it like the animal he was, sneering contemptuously. "Are you sure you don't need your slaves to protect you?"

"I don't need anyone to protect me." As he looked at Antony, Brutus felt the anger return. It wasn't just directed at the man smirking before him. Brutus felt as much, if not more, towards Cassius, who thought he could pressure him into committing murder, towards his mother and Quintus and the others who thought they could sign his name to a treasonous letter and he would do nothing about it, towards Cicero who could talk for days about justice and freedom and still not want to get his hands dirty. Towards the Roman masses, who had never done anything worthwhile in their lives and who nevertheless felt they could debase Brutus and his family in libellous graffiti and whispered rumours.

Well, he thought, if Antony wanted balls, then that's what he would get.

Brutus took a deep breath. "You have no right to come into my home and speak to me that way, no matter what moral superiority you believe you hold. I am not a child, nor am I some kind of imbecile who doesn't know what's really going on. All I did was act legally and responsibly in the best interests of the republic. If you cannot treat me with respect, then I would ask you to leave my house and not return."

Brutus expected some stinging rejoinder from Antony, some sarcastic remark or cutting joke, but it didn't matter. Brutus had said his piece; he only wished there had been others there to hear. There were many to whom he would like to say it.

Instead of answering, Antony grabbed Brutus by the arms and kissed him.

Brutus saw it coming, but he wasn't fast enough to stop it. He had to make do with hitting Antony after the fact, a hard punch to the jaw. It wasn't particularly effective. It hurt Brutus far more than it seemed to hurt Antony, who asked:

"Why don't you do that to those cowardly bastards who turned you against Caesar?"

Because they weren't cowards, and they hadn't turned him against Caesar; he loved the man, but he'd been forced to oppose his actions. Now, though, Scipio and Cato were dead, Cicero didn't want to go any further and Cassius wanted to go too far, and Brutus was beginning to feel confused about where his loyalties belonged.

They certainly didn't belong to Mark Antony, which was why Brutus could say: "You're an ass."

Antony seemed nonplussed. "An ass who's never betrayed his father."

Brutus raised his hand to strike him again, but Antony caught his arm. He held his wrist tightly, and Brutus could see lust in his eyes.

He didn't want to think about why that intrigued him. He didn't want to think at all. Brutus had done nothing but think, it seemed, for months, and it had done him no good whatsoever. He pulled his hand away, but instead of doing something rational like insisting Antony leave, or leaving himself, going to Caesar's house and daring Antony to speak like that in front of him, Brutus looked at Antony and deliberately walked across the atrium into his bedroom.

He knew Antony would follow. As soon as he'd slammed the door behind them, Brutus slapped him, hard enough to put a sting in his already sore hand, and Antony hit him back.

Brutus knew he hadn't used nearly as much force as he could have, but it still hurt. His head and his groin started to pound in equal measure. Brutus decided not to examine that feeling too closely, now or at any point in the future, and he let Antony push him onto his bed.

Brutus had never done anything like this. His previous sexual encounters had always been staid, decorous, and, dare he say, boring. With men especially, he'd usually been too stupefied with drink to do much more than lie there. He had even passed out once, with Cassius of all people, and while the man had taken it with his usual stoicism, things had never been quite the same between them after that.

Antony didn't speak, which Brutus appreciated. He didn't want any unnecessary reminders of whom he was with. They fought for a while, wrestling on Brutus's straw mattress and linen sheets, clothes falling by the wayside with a speed that surprised Brutus, but he did nothing to stop it. Antony was heavy, all hard muscles and solid mass, and eventually he stopped playing and easily subdued Brutus, his hands clasping Brutus's shoulders with a grip Brutus was sure would leave unmistakable finger marks. He'd have to be careful not to go to the baths with Cassius or Cicero or anyone for a while. The last thing he wanted was awkward questions from them.

"Suck me," Antony said, before sticking his tongue in Brutus's ear. It was like a sea serpent, wet and disgusting, and Brutus felt a flash of indignation.

"I will never kneel for you."

Antony laughed. "Then come up with a more creative position."

Brutus didn't need to subject himself to this. There was no reason, he thought, to punish himself. He had acted justly, in the best interests of the republic, without letting his personal feelings for Caesar get in the way.

But he was also a conquered enemy, and this, he knew, was the treatment conquered enemies could expect, if they were lucky. They had discussed it once, when Brutus had visited Caesar on his campaign. Over dinner, Antony had explained, graphically and in great detail, what kind of abuse Brutus personally would be subject to if he ever fell into the hands of the Gauls. It had gone on for what seemed like hours, until Caesar had stepped in and said: "Enough, Antony. Much more of that talk and we'll think you've entertained thoughts of doing such things to dear Brutus yourself."

Evidently, he had. "If you bite me," Antony warned, as Brutus slid down the bed, "I'll pay you back. And I can live longer without a cock than you can without a head."

"I doubt it," Brutus replied.

He choked when Antony ejaculated, gagging and spitting inelegantly onto the floor. Antony laughed again, as if he were having the time of his life, and pulled Brutus up beside him. "I knew Servilia should have given you a stint in the army. They'd teach you how to swallow and how to be a fucking man when you're defeated."

"I am a fucking man." More of a man, Brutus thought sometimes, than Scipio and Cato had been, no matter what everyone else believed. They had died for their principles, but Brutus was living with his.

"I guess we'll see about that." Antony pushed him again. Brutus struggled, ineffectually, and watched as Antony moved down, licked him once, and sat on his cock as casually as if he were relaxing on a lectus at one of Atia's parties.

From Brutus's dim memories of his experiences with Cassius and other men, he knew that had to hurt, but Antony wasn't the kind of man to let that stop him. He just grinned and sat there, still, until the pressure and the heat overcame Brutus and he couldn't help but move, driving upwards until he grew short of breath and came, panting like a mangy Forum dog on a hot day.

When he opened his eyes, Antony was dressing. "Not bad, not bad," he said. He leaned close, and Brutus noticed marks on his face. Good, he thought. At least he hadn't completely failed to defend himself. "But I'll still cut out your heart and throw it to the pigs on the Aventine if you so much as think a treacherous thought again."

Brutus said nothing. Technically, he had nothing to be ashamed of, but he still felt debased, as humiliated as if Antony had fucked him on the Senate floor. There was a knock on the door and, before Brutus could say anything, Antony called: "Come in!"

Eleni entered and looked directly at Brutus, as if they were alone together. "Master, the great Caesar requests that you join him for dinner this evening."

"You're a busy man," Antony leered, fastening his belt. "Don't forget what I said." He winked broadly at Eleni and walked past her out of the room.

***

The trip back from Caesar's home was long and painful. Whatever Antony did to him, he couldn't come close to the exacting the kind of humiliation Brutus felt at being told Caesar wanted him to go to Macedonia. After all he had done, after he had proven his love and been, he had thought, forgiven, Caesar was still exercising his power, still spitting in the face of the republic and acting like a tyrant with no concern for anyone but himself.

Servilia was waiting when he arrived home, looking prouder than she had since he was a boy. "Eleni tells me you entertained Mark Antony this afternoon." Brutus could hardly deny it. His mother embraced him, hugging him tightly and bestowing a kiss on his cheek. "I must say, my dear, I would have thought you a little old for his tastes, but compared to that decrepit whore Atia I suppose you're a babe in arms."

"Mother..."

She wasn't listening. "Has he come to our side, then? He's a hateful beast, but he would make a powerful ally."

"He's not on our side." He never would be, and that didn't matter in the slightest.

"Oh." Servilia's look changed and her expression grew cooler, more like the reception Brutus had received when he'd come back to Rome. "Well, I do hope you weren't forced to do anything against your will." Her tone of voice suggested that, if he had been, he had no one to blame but himself.

Brutus drew himself up. "I never do anything against my will. Get one of the slaves to bring Cassius here. And Quintus, and the rest."

"Now?" The look of pride was beginning to return. "But it's late..."

"It doesn't matter. Caesar is out of control, and he needs to be stopped. We must act now."

Before, Brutus thought, he changed his mind.