The First Law of Thermodynamics
Warnings: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Future, Science Boyfriends, Dubious Science, Frottage, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gender or Sex Swap, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Vaginal Fingering, Anal Sex, characters die but it isn't meant to be depressing
Created for Science Bros Week 2016 on tumblr. Not exactly playing to my strong suite here so. Hopefully this fic turns out at least mediocre – ha! ;-)
Antony chugged back the cup of wine, relishing in the gust of wind through the atrium that ruffled the hem of his tunic, trying to ignore the drone of Brutus' recitation as he lounged naked on the sofa behind him. At least it wasn't fucking Gaul. Not that The Voyage was much more interesting to Antony, but at least it wasn't fucking Gaul. He'd had enough of that country to last him several lifetimes.
He gulped down the last mouthful, wiping his chin with the back of his hand as he stared up at the stars through the inky black square in the center of the atrium. Though he loved war, loved the feel of it – the energy, the chaos, the strategy, the victory – Brutus' villa was especially nice too. Plentiful wine, high quality foods, plush furniture, fabulous company… most of the time.
"Oh will you stop?" Antony teased, turning back to his lover, gloating over his perfect round ass and those incredibly long legs.
Brutus looked back over his shoulder at him, wild and gorgeous hair catching the lamplight and practically glowing, mock indignation written all over his face.
"You do not think Caesar writes impeccably?"
"I do not think I very much care," Antony replied as he picked up the jug of wine and, finding empty, headed towards Brutus whose own glass he knew was untouched beside him.
Brutus sighed, exacerbated, but that's not all there was. He shifted to look at Antony, and Antony could feel his eyes on him, studying him as he lifted the goblet to his lips. This respite had been nice for him – clearly it had been for Brutus as well. He often assumed Brutus didn't think much of him while he was gone, that he meant more to Antony than Antony meant to him, but perhaps he was wrong.
"Ah, that's right, glorious legatus legionis Antony can speak to Caesar whenever he wants," Brutus joked as he shifted to his back, pillowing his hands beneath his head as he leaned back and watched Antony swallow his wine.
He could joke all he wanted, but Antony saw the way Brutus' own words made his dick twitch, rousing it from its slumber. Brutus liked Antony's rank and his position, his muscled body and his power – even if he were to try and deny it.
Antony finished most of the wine, reserving just a little in his mouth as he leaned over Brutus, placing a hand on his throat, up under his chin, tilting his head back and kissing him. For a moment Brutus sputtered, not expecting a mouthful of wine, but he swallowed deftly and kissed back, biting Antony's lower lip so hard he jolted.
Brutus laughed as Antony pulled away, pressing his fingers to his lips and drawing them back to check for blood. He glared, which only seemed to amuse Brutus more, and though he wanted his pride to be wounded, he found he could never stay mad at Brutus while he was laughing.
"I'm going to go back to women," Antony announced cavalierly as he picked up the bottle of olive oil from the neglected tray Brutus had fixed for them earlier in the day. "They are smoother –"
"I've shaved!" Brutus declared, waving a hand down his chest before Antony planted a knee on the sofa between his legs.
"– they talk far less –"
To this Brutus merely rolled his eyes as Antony tilted the bottle, watching the golden liquid as it hit the delicious dip between Brutus' clavicles, streaming down between his smoothly shaved pectorals, down his abs until it reached his belly button, pooling there and diverting course, slipping down his hip.
"– and they are far less cruel."
Brutus laughed at that, his dick fully hard now as Antony let his fingers slip up the trail of oil along his chest and across to one pretty brown nipple, and he gasped at the sensation.
"I'm perfectly convinced you've never met a woman," he managed, voice a little stained but just enough to spark the fire in Antony's gut.
He kissed under Brutus' jaw, biting as he played absently with his nipple. Brutus attempted to turn his neck and reconnect their lips, clearly eager and trying not to squirm.
"Get this off," Brutus teased, pulling at his tunic with a hint of desperation that made Antony's lips curl.
Antony stood and pulled it over his shoulders, watching Brutus' eyes as he took him in, gaze raking from his muscled torso to his erect cock. He leaned back down to kiss him but Brutus touched the scar on his chest, halting him just before their lips met.
"Sometimes I feel you must have died and the shade of someone I used to know now inhabits your body," he murmured, making Antony pause.
They had met after his injury, a nearly fatal blow straight to the chest, barely missing his heart. Though the spear hadn't killed him, the following infection did its best to try, but Antony fought it for a hard month before triumphing over it. Still, he was on leave to recover, and his physician introduced him to Brutus at a party. Antony certainly wouldn't deny their immediate chemistry – and yes, it did at times feel otherworldly. Yet though Antony was practically missing a month of his life, he wasn't so morbid.
"I'm going to miss you terribly," Brutus whispered, his hand pressed flat against Antony's chest, covering the ugly purple scar – and then he understood.
Antony kissed him, more gently than he usually did, the backs of his fingers brushing Brutus' chin.
"I'll return to you as Jupiter –" he pressed the promise against Brutus' lips "– crowned with victor's laurels –" his tongue touched Brutus' bottom lip "– and I will lay them at your feet."
He kissed Brutus passionately then, trying to reassure him. Antony wasn't scared of death – he stepped towards it every time he took the field. He had literally stood at the doorway, closed his eyes and reached out for it. But until now, Brutus had nothing to fear, no one death could take away that it hadn't already.
Antony slid his hand down Brutus' oiled chest, slicking his palm in it and grasping at his dick, feeling him moan into his mouth. And he pressed himself bodily against the other man, sweat gleaming in the lamplight, feeling Brutus' hips roll against his own, his dick slide against his own. They panted and groaned – Antony's fingers in his hair, his mouth on his neck, his nails in his back – each delicious twist of friction dragging them closer to the edge. Brutus' climax triggered his own, feeling him come against his body, his muscles tense, his mouth falling open in that beautiful display of uninhibited pleasure.
There was a moment where Antony let his forehead rest against Brutus', relishing in the lack of oxygen between their open mouths, kissing half-heartedly at his lips. But suddenly for Antony it was too much and he stood, swiping at his body with the discarded tunic and repining the lack of wine.
He stepped out into the atrium, thankful for the cool night air as he dipped a bucket in the pool and poured the warm water down his chest. It felt wonderful on his oversensitive skin and he watched from the corner of his eye as Bruce joined him, a dark shadow in the moonlight, slipping into the pool silently.
They said nothing to one another – what was there to say? Antony wasn't particularly forthcoming with his feelings and Brutus had already confessed the vulnerability of his own heart. They both knew this day was coming. And yet…
The starlight shone on Brutus' face, pale and handsome, and Antony wondered if Brutus wasn't Mors himself – that when he had reached towards death he had found it. If it were so, Antony couldn't be persuaded to care that his life was truly over. These past few months of recuperation had been the easiest in his life. Everything with Brutus was easy – except, apparently, goodbye.
Trying to be strong, Antony drug himself away from the vision of Brutus bathing and wrapped a towel around his waist, heading towards his room to decompress. But he only lay there a few minutes before he sighed and sat up, rubbing at the back of his neck in frustration. This was stupid.
Antony stood and walked down the hall back to Brutus' room, glancing towards the atrium to make sure he wasn't still there – but it was vacant. He cleared his throat when he reached the doorway, watching Brutus' eyes shift towards the entrance in the soft lamplight.
"Ah!" Brutus exclaimed quietly, setting down his reading as Antony approached, eyes downcast in his refusal to acknowledge this pathetic display of affection.
Antony tucked himself up tightly against Brutus' body on the bed, resting his head on his chest and listening to the sound of his heart beating, feeling Brutus run his fingers through his hair, soothing him.
"I'm going to miss you, too," he whispered before he fell asleep.
But that was yesterday. And today Antony was miles away, riding to meet his legion, no longer able to see the villa in the distance – though he still glanced over his shoulder occasionally to check. Or maybe just to reminisce. Either way, tomorrow he would wish he had made sure Brutus heard him. And next month, as he lay among the stink of bodies slowly bleeding out with him, he would wish every day was yesterday and that he had never left.