The Fall of Rome
John pulled a soft, red blanket off the back of the couch. This was the worst March in his memory. They'd been snowed in for three days. The bay surrounding his apartment was a jagged field of broken ice chunks and his windows were murky with frost. Their apartment was freezing in the winter months. The windows were poor insulation, the floors were uncarpeted, and John's gas bill rivaled his electric bill, which had spiked since Dorian started charging on his dime.
He was grumpy and cold and worst of all, he was bored. Dorian was reading—which was always awkward because he just sat on his couch staring at nothing. All of the reading he did happened inside his head, in his own programs. Sometimes he would smile, or gasp, or chuckle. John wanted Dorian to stop reading and pay attention to him but he was above asking for that.
He wrapped himself in the red blanket and moped into the bedroom, flopping on the bed on his tummy. Peering over the edge of the bed to the rug on the floor, he saw a small strip of green fabric and reached down to grab it. He pulled up a skinny, green necktie that Dorian had worn on their last night out, insisting that one of them have a little color in their wardrobe. Rolling onto his back and sliding the silky material through his fingers lazily, John fondly remembered slipping it off Dorian's neck that night.
The wind blew harsh and cold outside, rattling the windows and forcing the malcontented man to curl deeper into the blanket. Above the bedside clock, the date and time hung holographic in the air. It was the fucking motherfucking middle of March and they were balls deep in snow. March 15, his lips tugged up into his cheeks. Beware.
John observed the green tie in his hand, held it up to examine it and then tied it neatly around his head. A makeshift laurel. Then he stripped naked apart from his socks because fuck the floor was cold. He unmade the bed, yanking the top sheet off and wrapping it around himself like a toga—he had at least learned something from his first few years in college. Topping off his outfit, he threw the red blanket around his shoulders and tied it around his neck like a cape. Now he was, in fact, Julius Caesar.
He took on a regal persona and marched down the hall toward his republic. Entering the room with an air of superiority, the dictator strode before his lowly android and stood, arms akimbo, in all his glory. "Come Brutus, the theater awaits!"
Dorian was reading and, given John's penchant for making a lot of noise when he huffed around the house, had turned off all external sounds. John waited a moment longer, still holding his glorious pose. Then he grumped and slumped his shoulders and waved his hands in front of Dorian's face. No response.
"Fine, Brutus," he said, his voice reverting back to the ridiculous lilt he'd adopted for the role, "I shall deal with you forthwith!"
He grabbed his umbrella from the stand by the door and held it like a sword. Then he climbed up onto the couch, standing beside Dorian and placed the umbrella on the back of the Android's neck. "I sentence you to death!" he proclaimed, raising the umbrella high above his head and bringing it down on the back of Dorian's shoulders rather hard.
Dorian snapped out of his reading and blinked in shock. He looked at John who was standing beside him on the sofa, dressed in a sheet and a blanket, wielding the umbrella.
"What are you doing?" Dorian asked, "Did you hit me? Is that my good tie?"
"Quiet!" John bellowed, "I have sentenced you to death for your insubordination!"
"Oh, did you?" Dorian asked, annoyed. He was enjoying a little personal time in the small apartment and John couldn't give him even an hour to himself.
"Oh absolutely," John said, widening his stance, "For I am Caesar and you have displeased me."
"John, do you even know what happened on the Ides of March?" Dorian asked, batting him back.
"Silence!" John hissed, bringing the umbrella down again, hard. Dorian caught it and wrenched it from him. "How dare—"
John's last word was cut off as Dorian tossed the umbrella and shouldered into him, standing up so the rotten dictator was over his shoulder. He marched him back to the bedroom and threw him on the messy bed. The irritated android knew how to keep his human occupied, giving John almost no time to prepare before entering him roughly.
"Et tu?" John asked, grinning and gritting into the sheets.
This was a challenge to write about Caesar!John from WeWillSpockYou because the Ides of March!