another bit of nonsense i'd written for Lauren. totally plotless, but it's not pwp or anything. i'm too chicken to write that.

Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?

Which was all good and well – or would have been, except that this time Cassius wasn't the one who started it.

The first one who bridged the subject, perhaps.

But not the first to do something about it.

(Cassius watched Brutus from the far side of the party; Brutus felt the man's gaze burning through the cloth of his toga. So, he made Cassius' gaze worthwhile. He sat just so, arched his neck, traced the line of his mouth with the edge of his thumb. Took a bite of food, let his eyes close, mouth open just a little.

Brutus felt Cassius' lust rage, all the way across the room.

Eventually, a rough hand pulled Brutus aside, into a hallway. Pressed him to the wall, legs pushed apart so he'd be a hair shorter than Cassius.

Brutus' heartbeat thundered.

"You're a tease," Cassius breathed into his ear, and Brutus shivered.)

.

"Portia will be unhappy," Brutus objects.

"So she will."

"I should not – "

"You should not."

And what can Brutus say to that? Cassius fixes him with a smug, knowing grin, and Brutus - Brutus doesn't object.

.

There is something about the way Cassius kisses him – hot, hungry – that makes Brutus feel violated.

Cassius, pressing open-mouthed kisses across his chest, does not look up to see Brutus' face. He already knows what is there. He already knows what there isn't.

With fresh resolve, Cassius bends to his task. Brutus' fingers dig into his back. Cassius slides down to kiss his stomach. This time he does look up, and Brutus' eyes are dark and glassy. Cassius kisses lower.

And even so, Brutus cannot escape feeling Cassius owns him, cannot accept the powerlessness that accompanies the ecstasy. Won't let himself go.

Cassius closes his eyes and focuses on the way Brutus' breath hitches, the tremors shaking his body. Almost, he thinks fiercely, almost there.

But though Brutus writhes and clenches his hands to fists he only gasps and, lest he shout, bites his lip until it bleeds. Brutus' lips are dark and swollen from biting. His eyes are accusing as his face twists, as though Cassius is a thief. As though Cassius has wronged Brutus, and not the other way around.

And Cassius can do nothing about it.

Brutus closes his eyes.

It is lust sublimated into loathing, and Cassius can never forgive him for that.

You don't want this? You hate me? Cassius wants to shout, but he reads the answer in Brutus' face. Cassius reads fear there. Fear of knowing who he is, ignorance of how to find out. And Cassius' anger roils.

Fear that I'll make him see himself – well, I never forced you into anything, Brutus – fear that he'll realize what he's doing. Then he'll have to think about it, won't he? Think about what he feels. So he denies there's anything there. Easier than to admit you're completely at sea.

They call me the coward?

Brutus has never dealt with himself, never. Never.

So he swears he has control and he swears he has morals, and he has no thoughts he'd rather not think about –

You and your fucking rectitude, Brutus, Cassius wants to say. Because Brutus has no morals, only fear.

And Cassius is going to show that to him.