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getaandlucius · 26 days ago

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A brief taste of Honey (Geta x Lucius)

Summary: Geta is staying on the island with his uncle and learns of the aliance made with the Alamanni and of his brother Caracalla's fate.

Geta's POV

Geta and Caracalla, 8 years old

They were spending the season in Sicily. Their parents were both there, along with fifteen servants, all stuffed into a grand white villa near the sea. Its courtyard was adorned with an outdoor bath surrounded by lemon trees which was where Geta and Caracalla spend most of their time.

Both sat on the edge of the bath, their feet dangling in the water. Caracalla was playing with a carved wooden bear while Geta attempted to read. Both were privately tutored, but Geta was a far quicker learner than his brother. Caracalla preferred games and animals to arithmetic and literature.

Geta yawned. The heat was oppressive, and he had slept poorly the night before. He always struggled to adjust to unfamiliar surroundings. He placed his book in his lap and gazed at his pale legs submerged in the water. His skin, untouched by the sun, was milky white from spending so much time indoors. Though it was only the beginning of June, Geta preferred the palace halls, wandering through their vast expanse, discovering hidden alcoves where he could escape his parents and immerse himself in his studies.

Lost in thought, neither he nor Caracalla noticed the servant calling them for supper, the rustling leaves masking the sound. Suddenly, their mother appeared. Geta squinted against the sunlight. She looked furious.

"Why are you ignoring the summons?" she demanded.

Geta swallowed and glanced at her sheepishly. "You called?"

"Yes!"

He exchanged a look with his brother, who was suddenly pretending to be deaf, stacking his wooden animals into a precarious tower. The fox kept falling.

"We did not hear it, Mother. I am sorry," Geta tried.

"Lies," she hissed, shaking her head.

Geta looked past her at the trees, unable to hold her gaze. Looking at her was like facing Medusa. His mother had a lifeless kind of beauty—her features symmetrical and refined, her cheekbones high—but her eyes were cold and unyielding.

Defending themselves was futile. She never listened. Caracalla continued stacking his wooden animals as if he were somewhere far away, though Geta noticed his right hand was trembling slightly.

Without warning, she grabbed Caracalla by the armpits and hauled him up. "Look at me when I am speaking to you!" she seethed.

Caracalla still refused to acknowledge her.

Then, she backhanded him so hard that he fell sideways, his cheek striking the stone edge of the pool. The impact made a sickening sound.

"Both my children have no respect for me. Do you know how that makes me feel?" she asked, though Geta knew it was not a question that required an answer.

He remained silent, his breath shallow.

Geta rushed to his brother, rolling him over carefully. A small cut just below Caracalla’s cheekbone had already started to bruise. Geta bit his lip to stop himself from crying. His mother was already gone, but he did not need to turn around to confirm it—he had developed a keen sense for her presence over the years.

"I want to go home," Caracalla murmured, his voice thick with tears.

Geta knew he did not mean home exactly. He meant away—from the pain, the rejection, the cruel indifference of a mother who did not love even a single part of them. They had only ever had each other.

"I shall find the healer after dinner," Geta promised, helping his brother up.

Caracalla nodded distantly, then looked at him. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"

Geta nodded without hesitation. "Of course."

Geta's POV - The Dinner in Sardinia

Geta sat down at the lavishly decorated table. Before him lay a feast—roasted meats, fresh fruit, rich wine, and golden bread, all accompanied by fragrant thyme branches. He barely glanced at it.

"First, let us eat," his uncle said, pouring himself a glass of wine. Agrippa was absent—Aelius had insisted this be a private dinner.

Geta was not hungry. His body felt hollowed out. He picked at an apricot and took small bites while watching his uncle.

When Aelius finished his plate, he wiped his mouth. Two young women entered, their breasts bare, carrying honeyed cakes. His uncle smiled and placed a hand on the younger woman’s arm. "Thank you, dearest."

Then he turned to Geta. "Very well, then. While we enjoy these, I shall tell you what you wish to know."

He picked up a honey-soaked cake, biting into it. "Let us begin with the alliance, as it concerns you most."

Geta swallowed and tapped his foot nervously. "You spoke with Caracalla? How is he?" he asked eagerly.

Aelius exhaled. "Besides his illness, which still lingers, he fares well enough. He was upset, of course. But I am not certain he truly understands the situation. I tried to explain, but it did not seem to… take hold."

Geta nodded, waiting.

"Naturally, I wish for my nephew to be safe. Both of you." His uncle scratched his neck. "So I asked them how we might secure his release. They knew Caracalla still held value—remnants of the power you both once possessed. And I assured them that, yes, there was still potential, still something to gain." Aelius took another bite, watching Geta closely. "I have men, a small independent force, but compared to Rome’s, to Lucius’s, it is insignificant, as you can imagine. So I asked what else I could offer. They requested intelligence. A spy within the new Senate. Inside information."

He let the words sink in before continuing. Geta's eyes went wide. This was unthinkable. This could not be.

"At the time, I was unaware of your… bond with Lucius," Aelius said, his tone pointed. Geta shook his head slowly, not wanting to know where this was heading. "But rumors reached me. Very interesting rumors. So I returned with a proposal. If I could supply them with battle plans, strike points, army sizes—would they free Caracalla?"

Geta slumped in his chair, his face drained of color. "You want me to become a spy? To betray Lucius?" he whispered in horror.

"Yes, Geta. Because this is our chance to retrieve Caracalla."

Geta shook his head. "You cannot ask this of me. This cannot be the only option."

Aelius leaned in, voice smooth as silk. "Then tell me. How do you plan to retrieve him? Will you storm their fortress? Slip past guards? Do you truly believe they will show mercy?"

Geta’s mind raced. He felt like he was falling, spiraling into something dark and endless. He stared blankly at the table, the honeyed cakes, the wealth surrounding them—such stark contrast to the cruelty in his uncle’s voice.

"Laurentius is part of the alliance too." Aelius then added, making Geta gasp. His entire world was collapsing. He was used to betrayal, but this was different. Laurentius was one of Lucius's closest confidants. This was not possible.

"Since when?" He whispered, then remembered Lucius had told him Laurentius had not forwarded Geta's message when he had asked the guard to tell Lucius Geta was leaving the fesitivities to speak to his uncle.

"A few weeks before I visited you."

Geta shook his head in disgust. "What did you do to him."

"Nothing worth shearing dear nephew. Let's just say there are high stakes for him as well as his new wife.

Geta did not know what to say, just stared at his uncle in disbelief.

"I know this is a lot to take in, but sleep on it," Aelius said then, placing a heavy hand on Geta’s head. "Stay here at the house. Think it through. Then, we shall talk."

====

That night, Geta lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling as though his soul were being ripped apart. He felt an intense sense of guilt. He had done nothing yet, and still he felt like the worst person alive.

By the fifth day, he realized he had already made his decision. Perhaps he had even made it the moment he heard the news.

And when he understood that, he wept the entire night.

Eighteen days passed before he felt ready to return. When he reached the shore and saw Lucius waiting, he let himself be pulled into the water, disappearing into his arms. He fought not to cry.

Do not cry. Whatever happens, do not cry.

Lucius held him, stroking his back, speaking softly of how he was glad to have him in his arms again. Nothing felt better and nothing felt worse than to be held by him in that moment.

Geta broke the embrace first. He avoided Lucius’s gaze but failed. Lucius immediately saw that something had changed.

But Geta could not tell him.

The following days were agony. He had rehearsed his lines, but he could not speak them. Ulysis visited once when Geta was alone in the garden. It startled Geta but he should have seen it coming. Ulysis did not have an intense character. He did not push for information, or forced Geta to do anything. But he did not have to. Geta could feel the claws of his uncle from all the way oversees, the nails digging deep into his skin making everything hurt and bleed. He told Ulysis what he knew, which was not much as he had isolated himself so much the past days. Ulysis thanked him for the information about the size of the current army and the location of the their strongest defense posts and left.

The next morning Geta did what he was expected to and asked Lucius where he was going next. They were taking a break while sparring on the fighting grounds. Though they were still using practice knives, Geta was rapidly improving. Both were breathing heavily from the physical exertion, wiping away the sweat from their foreheads, their tunics drenched.

“I have to go away for a while,” Lucius told Geta, slowly straightening, giving Geta an easy opening to jump in.

“Where are you going this time?” Geta turned his practice knife over in his hand, not able to meet his eyes. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest. “Still fighting the rebels, or somewhere else this time?” Forcing out the words was like swallowing his own vomit. He could feel Lucius' eyes burn and looked up briefly.

Lucius furrowed his brow. He was pondering whether to tell him, Geta could see it in his face: all the emotions traveling through there. Confusion, rejection, hurt.

“Talk to me Geta.” Lucius pleaded. “Tell me about Sardinia, and I’ll let you know,” His eyes were begging and Geta felt like he was stabbing him and twisting the knife.

“It’s okay.” Geta shrugged, forcing carelessness. “I don’t need to know.”

Lucius shook his head and laughed a hollow laugh to himself. Then, with frustration, he smashed his practice knife into the sand. “Well, fuck this then,” he bit out, before walking off, not looking back.

Geta stayed there, feeling a weird sense of relief and panic. Knowing anything meant having to pass it along and puting Lucius at risk. Not knowing anything was dragging out Caracalla's imprisonment. No matter what he did, Geta felt like his soul from this point onwards could not be saved. It'd be tainted forever. He'd be awful, forever. He wanted to collapse then and there and never get up.

===

That night Geta could not sleep.

He kept torturing himself, thinking out every worst possible scenario. Receiving knews that Caracalla had been killed by the Allimani because it was taking too long and they had broken the alliance. Watching Lucius leave for battle and getting defeated, and then hearing back how he was stabbed to death on the field and Geta would never be able to hold him in his arms again, or look at his peaceful face while he was asleep.

His thoughts spiralled so out of control he eventually started hyper ventilating and could not get any air in. He fisted the sheets, gasping for breath, silent tears streaming over his cheeks. When calmed down enough to sit up straight he wiped his face with the back of his hand and walked over to Lucius' sleeping quarters. Without thinking it over he knocked on the door. He was certain he was not able to get through this night on his own.

As he was let in he knew he was being selfhish. It might have been the most selfish thing he had ever done but he was not in his body anymore. His thoughts were not his own.

Lucius was eying him wearily, confusion lacing his face. He was laying on his back, propped up on his elbows, looking almost angry. He was not happy to see him.

Anger Geta could deal with. Anger was good. He could make him more angry. But he also needed to feel him. Maybe one last time. He did not deserve it but he was going to ask for it anyway.

“Can you please pretend not to hate me for tonight?”

He stood before the bed and only then realised he was crying again.

Lucius did not say anything. He just looked at him in silence.

Geta wiped his cheeks, eyes not leaving Lucius’s. Then his hands went to his robe, he untied it and pushed the fabric over his shoulders. He did not know what he was doing. He was acting from instinct, from pure need. He stood there, completely naked, letting Lucius look at him, let him hate him.

‘I know you do not trust me." Geta said. "I’m not asking you to. But please pretend you love me for tonight.“ He breathed and added nercously, "You can have me in any way you want.’

Lucius' throat bobbed. His fingers were digging in the mattress. He looked in pain almost.

'Come here.' He said in a quiet voice. Geta wondered if he was on the verge of crying. Lucius gestured to the side of the bed and went to sit on the edge himself. Geta lowered himself on his knees inbetween Lucius' legs until their arms and legs were touching.

Lucius hand traveled over Geta's wet cheeks until it rested under his jaw, cupping his throat.

One tear slipped out of the corner of Lucius eye en he sniffed once. He looked so hurt Geta regretted coming here. He could not take it. Lucius' hand stayed posessivily around Geta's throat, keeping him in place.

'What is going on with you huh?'

Love to hear your thought in the comments :) x Murphy

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