ii. ugly
Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love,
As for all the rumors of stern old men,
Let us value them at only a penny.
[Catullus 5]
Livia is not beautiful. Dangerous, treacherous, hideous. She is a snake scorched of its scales. An unwinged Pegasus with a bloody mane. And yet—somehow—Octavia finds her awfully attractive. And so, she steps closer (pursues).
"Filthy."
Livia raises her brow. "What did you say?"
"The floor is filthy. Your slaves are slacking."
Shrugging, Livia smiles. "So they are. I will have them whipped in the morning."
"Nice party."
Livia shrugs, tossing her undrunk wine into the fountain. "A bit boring for my taste. Yours too, frankly. How's Maecenas?"
"What?"
"Don't lie"—Livia leans in, close, tip-tip—"I know."
"You know."
"That you two are fucking."
Octavia shudders as prickly spears of laughter stab into her spine.
...
Tossing her wild hair back, Livia runs sharp fingers down her sister's neck. "Beautiful," she purrs (nails digging in). "Tonight, you are the most beautiful woman in Rome."
Dazed, Octavia feels her limbs drifting—pulled apart. She tastes Livia's lips on hers, tongue scarlet and acidic. She moans despite herself (senses drowned, lost, buried dark and deep).
"You are much better than your brother," Livia laughs. A hoarse little chuckle that reverberates and tickles the base of Octavia's throat.
...
Trembling, her slave offers her a plate of figs. They have just arrived from a groove south of Athens. Livia slips a slice under her slithery tongue. She chews for a second and then smacks the slave hard across the face.
The figs are raw.
...
At Maecenas' dinner party, Livia prudently keeps an eye on her husband. Octavian is infamous for his roaming eyes and wandering cock. And she normally wouldn't even bother (they have an unwritten covenant) except this is different. Strange. Odd. It's only natural that she's captivated.
"Something caught your fancy?" Maecenas whispers.
She smirks and accepts the goblet of wine from him. "Perhaps. Doesn't dear Octavia look gorgeous tonight?"
"As she is every night."
Drinking the last of her wine, Livia moves toward her new sister. She is lithe and stealthy like a Nile leopard. As she walks, the gold bracelets jingle around her wrists—in perfect tune with her heartbeats.
...
When they fuck, Octavian is not kind, is not careful. He drives into her brutally, lifting her completely off the bed. Sometimes, he leaves marks down her arms and back, and she pierces his neck with sharp, little nails.
They do not cease until the other is whimpering in pain, bloody and marked (tainted). As he slams into her again, she is considerate enough to remember who is winning.
Livia leads by a margin because she knows it's not really her he's thinking of, and neither is he the one on her mind, his name trapped between her furtive moans.
One day, when she is feeling particularly heartless (bled dry) she will let slip Octavia. And delight in the surprise creeping over his face, marring him ugly.
And her uglier.
After all, it's entirely his fault for inviting another into their marriage bed. It'd be remiss of her to let him forget their vows. She is nothing but a dutiful, obedient wife.
Tomorrow, she thinks, she'll pay a visit to Attia.