Chapter Text
It’s the movement of people leaving his bed that wakes him, groggy and definitely still drunk. Caracalla’s only half conscious as the two whores warming his bed flees from their comfortable spots next to him. With his eyes still closed, he grasps blindly behind him to have their warmth back. When he finds empty sheets instead, he turns to face his door, ready to be angry at the disturbance. Caracalla opens his eyes in enough time to see their retreating forms partially blocked by his brother’s familiar shadow.
He smiles lazily at his brother, always a welcomed sight no matter the time. Caracalla reaches a hand out to Geta, as if his brother ever needs an invitation to join him in bed. Geta says nothing as he walks over, taking his hand before sidling up behind him.
It’s not unusual for his brother to be kept awake by his incessant thoughts, finding only comfort within Caracalla. They all say that between the two he is the one with the needless bountiful energy. While he supposes that’s true, many have also not witnessed the way Geta moves to keep focus. A constant twisting of his rings, the jump of his leg, any small movement to keep his mind still.
Though alone at night is when Geta does his fretful pacing. Nights he is unable to quiet the dissonance in his head, walking about his room thinking, and worrying, and thinking some more. He is always thinking, it makes even Caracalla tired. Geta would walk his feet raw if it were not for his brother being close at hand. It is only ever Caracalla who can quiet his mind.
He’s quickly enveloped by Geta’s distinct warmth, his sleep robe gentle against his bare skin. He settles further in to the comfort of the bed and his brother behind him. Caracalla is content to simply sleep. He’s sated enough from his previous activity earlier in the night, he doesn’t much mind only going back to bed. He already is barely conscious to feel his brother kiss the top of his shoulder.
Then Geta places his hand hot and undeniably possessive at the low curve of his stomach. There is no mistaking his intentions as Geta presses in close, gripping the supple flesh of him. Caracalla makes a soft noise of appreciation, shifting slightly at the instant warmth that begins to pool at his brother’s hand on him.
His movement seems to embolden Geta, deciding Caracalla awake enough. Or he simply doesn’t care, knows he will wake Caracalla fully soon. He kisses along the line of his shoulder and neck. It’s so gentle, he almost is able to fall back asleep if it were not for the way his body instantly reacts. Geta is slow to move his hand lower to acknowledge what his soft attention is doing to Caracalla. Geta is favoring a particular spot on his shoulder. He is sure to leave a mark and Caracalla knows that’s his intent.
Only another so powerful would be able to put such a claim on his skin. A reminder of his ownership and connection to his co-emperor, his brother, his other half. His everything. That is privilege Caracalla has given only to Geta. No matter how in the depths of pleasure he gets Geta is sure to never leave them in places others will see. He keeps Caracalla presentable for the senate, for the people. And his favorites are smart enough to never question who they come from. If they know, Caracalla does not care.
His gasp is small and breathless when Geta finally takes him in hand. Caracalla grimaces, pulling away slightly at the harsh treatment. He grabs him dry and it’s too painful in this moment for him to find any of his usual pleasure in it. Geta removes his hand instantly at his reaction. He places an apologetic kiss high on his cheek before moving his warmth away. Caracalla doesn’t have to turn to know where his brother retreats to. He hazily remembers the bottle of oil left on the table beside his bed. It isn’t long before Geta plasters himself once more to Caracalla’s back, his hand now slick.
“Much better,” Geta murmurs in the spot just below his ear. His brother always knows just how to please him. Only a whimper and a nod of his head is what Caracalla can give in response. Though the pleasure is genuine, it feels as if only Geta’s presence is what gives him such instant relief. The combination of his brother’s hand on him and the remanence of the alcohol in his system makes him lightheaded.
Caracalla turns his head to mouth at his brother’s jaw, leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses in his wake. Geta’s dark eyes heavy on where his practiced movements meet his heated flesh. Caracalla is the only one being pleasured but this is all for Geta’s benefit. It is that truth that makes him moan. He loves that he is the object which his brother comes in only to touch and appreciate in his leisure. Caracalla the only one Geta cares to give and not receive from in the quiet of night to still his racing thoughts. His focus entirely on his brother.
It is his pleasure that gives Geta his gratification. An emperor so high and mighty reduced only to his hand and the warmth of him for Caracalla to enjoy. But he wants more than just this simple touch.