Work Text:
In Rome, in the crowd, a man in a toga calls Esca a dirty barbarian, and more. Esca damns the man's manhood in cheerful barracks slang.
Later, Marcus says, "Is it your son, then, from whom you learn the words?" He says it in British, a moment of intimacy among strangers.
Shrugging, Esca answers, "He said, were I his, he'd lay the whip to my back." Quick flash of white teeth in lamplight. "I am not his."
Marcus unpins his cloak and passes it across, folded cushion-deep. "So."
This time the grin is not quick but slow and wicked. "Ah. And will you then, my heart, stand captive of my spear?"