Geta had gone to the games of the colosseum, a perfectly sunny day. Perfect for the arena. The metallic sounds of swords clashing against armour, the sight of death. The scent of bloodshed. It thrilled him to his core, and despite that, it never scared you.

You secretly found it thrilling as well, always at the edge of your throne nearby him and Caracalla. He grew rather touchy when watching the battles, and really antsy. You noticed how his tongue slid out of his mouth, saliva gently coating his lips as he bit them to contain himself.

Reminded you of a circumstance a few nights ago.

His hand gripped the armrest of the throne, almost hitting it out of excitement. They were truly thrilling, bringing out animals; firstly the lions, soon the tigers. Possibly the bulls? Maybe one day.

You noticed this, and simultaneously ignored it. For some reason, having the Emperor as your husband was not the main event. You were like him in this aspect; hungry for the bloodshed the gladiators fed upon. Perhaps that’s why you mashed so well together.

He looked at you, how the sunlight just hit your hair right. Your skin, your golden accents of jewelry his wealth provided graciously.

“Why must you shine with such radiance, hm, my dove? Like a jewel in the roughs of coarse dirt.” He purred, his hand snaking its way to your thigh. Desperate for your touch, but also locking his gaze on the battles below. He had to show judgement from the gods; be the vessel, of course.

“You truly shine as much as a constellation compared to all these small specks of light. Radiant.”