title: The Fall
rating: M
warnings: sexuality
pairing: Caius/Athenodora
a note: This first of three barbarian sacks of Rome occurred in 410 C.E. There's some debate as to how the aforementioned Visigoths entered the city, which leaves me with only one historically tenable conclusion: vampires let them in.


The swirling streets smell of iron and smoke which stains night the shade of rust. Here and there, Athenodora can hear screams, the damp collision of swords and flesh, but she avoids seeking blood. Instead, she looks for Caius, a study in black and pale, who is certain to be admiring his handiwork from the shadows.

She finds him on the Tiber's far bank, on the roof of some sprawling marble structure—a church, a temple—made grandiose by the pillars Romans favoured once. Darting to his side, she peers over his shoulder at the conquest before them.

"What broke the siege?" she wonders.

"A few slaves opened one of the gates," he says.

She knows that smirk well.

"Of course they did." Her hand finds his, gritty with dust and blood. She doesn't mind that, interlacing their fingers together.

"Your doubt wounds me," he grins. "And where have you been?"

"Rescuing a few scrolls from an untimely death by fire," she says, a little more pointedly than she intends. Granting barbarians from beyond the Rhine entry into Rome itself is a necessity, but she sees no reason to forgive them for putting libraries to the torch.

"Predictable."

"Have I lost my mystery?" she says, brushing a ghost of a caress over his shoulder.

He laughs, a quiet snarl of mirth trapped in his chest, and pulls her in front of her, twining his arms around her waist.

"It's beautiful." His gaze is on the skyline, lapped by flame and pillared by smoke. Where Athenodora sees ruins, Caius sees beginnings and she cannot help but mirror his smile. Finding his mouth, she kisses him hard, all teeth and amusement and want.

And then, they fall onto stone, tearing fabric with to jagged scraps, hands made clumsy by impatience. Athenodora feels a phantom pulse fluttering between her thighs and digs demanding fingers into her lover's spine. Wars won make him wild, and embers of pain are all the permission he needs to lose himself.

Caius doesn't bother with gentleness. He knows her too well, each touch calculated to unstitch her a little. She's driven to the brink so quickly that it smarts, her hips jolting sharply to meet him while her shoulders carve ridges into the ground beneath her.

There's fire in her veins, in his eyes, in the darkness, and she laughs when she comes, anticipating something she cannot name.