To Be the Victor

To be the Victor
By Misha

Disclaimer- Not Mine.
Author’s Notes- This popped into my head after I got an ask about Antony’s role in determining Victus and Syphax’s fate. I don’t know how it will play out in the book, but this idea was just too strong to ignore, how Portia and Antony would react in that situation. This is set in my “Portia: A Roman Tragedy” verse, which relies on a much more established relationship between Antony and Portia by this point of events.
Rating- NSFW
Pairing- Marc Antony/MC
Summary- While accompanying Antony to the games, Portia gets shocking news of the fate of one family member and vows to use her wiles and position to get the outcome she wants.

I forced my face to remain impassive as I listened to the sounds of the blood-thirsty crowds who had gathered to celebrate the games, my mind suddenly flashing back to that day eight years ago, the Triumph, the way the crowds had jeered us, exalting in our humiliation the way they now exalted in watching the gladiators fight for their lives.

The Romans called us Barbarians and yet, they were the ones who got off on blood and pain, spectating on the suffering of others. That hadn’t changed in eight years. But something had changed, I realized. I was no longer in chains, instead, I sat in the center of it all, clad in silks, a possessive male hand resting on my thigh. Rome had tried to break me and instead I had just risen to the top.

“Enjoying yourself?” Antony asked in a low voice, a smirk on his handsome face as he awaited his answer.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked him, pushing down my disgust and smiling at Antony. “After all, it is a celebration, is it not?”

“That it is,” he agreed, his eyes still scanning my face, “and it is your friend’s chance for freedom.”

“Yes.” I agreed, thinking of Syphax.  His had been one of the first bouts of the day and he had won easily, though I knew his ordeal was from over because there would be three days of celebrations and many more bouts to come. And ordeal that I had caused. with my foolish actions. And that was one of the reasons I had accepted Antony’s invitation to watch the games, because it was the least I could do, be there to offer him support.

Though, if I was honest, that was only part of the reason. The rest had to do with the man at my side and the incredible pull I felt towards him. Even if there would be a way to turn down his invitation without insult, the lure of three days in his company would have been too much too resist.

“I assumed that was what was on your mind was a minute ago,” Antony commented, his voice rich with jealousy. “That you were thinking about his fight, perhaps wishing you could personally congratulate him?” There was a dangerous note as he said the last, his gaze locked on me, reminding me of the careful balance I must maintain, of keeping Antony’s attention on me and maintaining his interest and need for challenge while also soothing his ego and need for possession.

I shook my head. “No, I was simply remembering the Triumph that brought me here,” I told him honestly, looking around me at the jeering crowds. “I remember the way they looked at me, the things they said and now I am here.”

The jealousy faded, replaced with a long, considering look. I remembered the conversation we’d had the night we vandalized the Senate, what he’d said about his father and stepfather and what had been expected of him. “Yes, you are. The most fascinating woman in Rome.” He moved in closer, his breath warm against my neck, “and the most beautiful.”

His eyes fell to my cleavage, artfully displayed by the silk gown that Lena had insisted I wear. Given the way Antony had barely taken his eyes off me all day, it had been a wise choice.

“If only we were alone,” he murmured, his voice heavy with desire, leaving me no doubt as to what he was thinking and what he would do if we were alone.

I felt that familiar rush of heat at his words. I gave him a coy smile. “Surely the bouts will not last forever?”

“No,” Antony agreed, his hand rising further up my thigh, “thankfully it will not and then you and I can sneak away for a private celebration.”

It was a promise, not a question and I just answered it with a smile, before the roar of the crowd drew my attention to what was happening in the arena. “Are they all fights to the death?

“The early ones,” Antony answered with a bored look, “as the fighters get better and the crowd more attached, then it is up to the will of the crowd.”

“And you,” I stated, taking in his position at the head of this event.

There was no denying his satisfaction. “Yes.” I could see how much this meant to him, the power he wielded. This celebration was in Caesar’s honor, but it was really Antony’s moment of triumph, a celebration of the power he now wielded and how far he had risen.

There were more matches, but I barely paid attention, focusing my attention on Antony instead. After all, he and not the fights were the reason I was there. I needed to keep his good favor and as I smiled and flirted, moving in a way to give him a glimpse of creamy flesh, I was confident I had done that.

“This the last match of the day,” Antony whispered in my ear as two new gladiators entered the arena, “and then it’s time for that private celebration.”

I was so caught up in the spell of his words that I missed the announcement of the gladiator’s name, but I did hear the words ‘barbarian’ and ‘Gaul’ and my blood ran cold.

I scanned the arena and then froze, taking in the face I wondered if I would ever see again. It was set in a cold mask now as he stood clad in armor, facing his opponent, but I remembered the way it had looked when he smiled, how gentle those big hands could be.

Eight years had passed and he had barely changed. While, I,  I had changed so much. I wondered if he would even recognize me and if he did, what he would say to see me here, watching as a spectator, tucked into the side of Caesar’s right-hand man?

“They call him the conquered king,” Antony told me, drawing my attention back to him, though I didn’t want to tear my eyes away, afraid that the gladiator would vanish again if I did. Antony paused, waiting until he had my attention, “you have the look of him.”

My eyes widened. He knew. Somehow he had figured it out. “Did you know?” I asked, my composure fading a little, hating myself for the slight tremble. “That he would be here, I mean?”

“No,” Antony denied, “But as I said, you resemble him. And he is a conquered Gallic chieftain and you a trapped Gallic princess, it is the logical leap.” At least for a man like Antony, who saw everything. It should not surprise me that he had so easily made the connection, though it was frightening how fast he could do it, how little he missed.

My father, for there was no doubt that that’s who it was, turned towards our box and spit. His rage and disdain apparent. I wondered again what he would say if he recognized me, but I wasn’t sure he even saw me, and if he did, he likely dismissed me as just another Roman.

I had tuned out the previous matches, resolving to only pay attention to Syphax’s, but I was riveted to this one, my breath caught in my throat as I wondered if I will have to watch my father die. I could feel Antony’s eyes on me the entire time, studying my reactions.

After what felt like an eternity, my father was victorious, and I couldn’t hide my relief, letting out a cheer. One loud enough that those around us pick up on it and to my surprise, there were other cheers, the crowd obviously deciding to find favor with the Gallic warrior.

“You are a woman of influence,” Antony told me with a smirk, “the crowd obviously recognizes that and they favor him because you do. It will benefit him.”

I knew that, knew that the feelings of a crowd could influence a gladiator’s fate, including what gifts might be bestowed on them. The more popular my father was, the better chance he had surviving and he could fight in the arena, but I had the power to sway the crowd and the affection of the man who would make the final decision.

I watched my father vanish out of sight once more, just like he had all those years ago, but forced myself to ignore the ache I felt and focused on Antony. His favor was suddenly now important than ever because it wasn’t just Syphax’s who fate relied on it now, but my father. For eight years I had despaired of ever seeing my family again and now… He was so close.

There was a part of me, a part I thought that had been squashed years earlier, that ached to see him and I considered begging Antony to let me do that, to take me to the barracks… But I pushed that part aside.

I could not play my hand like that, couldn’t let anyone but Antony guess the connection. I had waited eight years for word of any member of my family, I could wait a while longer for a reunion, now that I at least had knowledge that he lived. Besides, I was not powerless, there were ways I could help my father that would benefit him more than a tearful reunion would.

With that in mind, I placed a hand on Antony’s chest. “I believe you promised me a private celebration, the games are over, are they not?”

“I don’t know, I feel like they are just beginning,” Antony commented, rising to his feet and pulling me with him. We fought the departing crowd, Antony using his body to shield mine until we reached his litter.

As soon as we were in the litter, I was in Antony’s arms, his mouth devouring mine and I opened to him eagerly, making a sound of displeasure when he finally pulled back, trying to draw him back in with my arms, letting him know I was his for the taking.

“We can’t get too carried away here,” he reminded me, taking a deep breath as if the words took effort, “but I have been wanting to do that for hours.”

“Me too,’ I assured him, giving him my most beguiling look, “and I hope it was just a taste of what was to come.”

“Oh, definitely,” he assured me, keeping me pulled against him, his hands wandering over my silk-covered curves, “our evening is just beginning.”

Once we had been dropped off at his home, Antony wasted no time tugging me inside and towards his bedroom. His hands pulled at the silk of my gown impatiently, causing me to place a hand on his chest, stilling his movements.

“Let me,’” I told him, sliding the fabric off my shoulders and letting it pool around me. Antony took in my every movement, his eyes running the length of my newly bared body before he yanked me back into his arms, pressing me close against him before kissing me hard. I opened my mouth to him once more, pressing my body into his.

After a moment I broke free, evading his touch long enough to reach for the fabric of his toga, unwinding it and exposing the hard, muscular body that lay beneath, giving in to the urge to run my fingers over the exposed flesh, ducking to add my lips, enjoying the way Antony groaned my name.

When he was completely bare, I dropped to my knees in front of him, his manhood in my hands. “I see the games bring out the generous side of you,” Antony commented, letting out a little shiver of pleasure as I ran my nails gently over his tender flesh, and bracing his hand against a nearby pillar for support.  I just smiled demurely and then lowered my mouth to him, my fingers moving from his shaft to play with his sack, my lips moving up and down in a sucking motion.

I listened to every sound, paid attention to every cue, making sure to give him exactly what he wanted, my lips moving faster as he became closer and more impatient. Antony tugged at my hair with his free hand, the other still bracing the pillar, pulling me as close as he could as he thrust into my mouth. “Portia,” he grunted, his hand locking in even tighter, his head thrown back in ecstasy and a moment late my throat filled with hot liquid as he came. I swallowed every drop, before finally pulling back, gazing up at him with satisfaction.

Antony’s hand was still in my hair and he used it to force me to force me to my feet and then he kissed me hungrily, before sweeping me off my feet and carrying me to the bed and setting me on the edge.

“That sight just made me want you more,”  He told me, kneeling between my legs, “It also made me eager for a taste of my own before I take you hard.” He said it almost conversationally, running his finger across my wet slit.

He lowered his head, pressing a kiss along my stomach, his stubble rough against the soft flesh and yet feeling oh so good, and then lower as he slid two fingers inside of me. “Oh Antony,” I whimpered at the contact, my hands digging into the bed, angling closer to him. His mouth dipped lower still, finding my sensitive nub as his fingers increased their pace.

The pleasure continued to build up inside of me as he licked and sucked, curling his fingers just so. Just like I had been able to read his cues, Antony knew exactly what I wanted, what I needed, and it wasn’t long before the pleasure became too much to resist.

“Antony!” His name was a curse and prayer, my hands white as I continued to grip the bed linen.

“I love how my name sounds on your lips,” he commented with a satisfied smirk, “and I love having your taste of you on my mine.” Even as he said that he reached up and put a hand on my neck pulling me towards him for a kiss, allowing me the taste myself on him and I moaned a little bit, Antony took advantage of the opening and plunged his tongue inside of my mouth.

My hands drifted from the bed sheet, towards him, moving across muscular thighs to what lay in between. He was hard again and I ran my hands over him, sending a shiver of reaction down his body.

“On your knees,” he ordered, pulling back, his eye dark with desire, his hand still in my hair.

I complied quickly, excited by the command in his voice and the way he was looking at me. Antony could be gentle when he chose, but I preferred him like this. A man in control, who knew exactly what he wanted and how to take it. If it was gentleness that called to me then Cassius would have been my favorite patron, but it was Antony’s bed I found myself in more and more often, Antony’s touch I found myself aching for and it was because of that combination of heat and power.

He lined himself up behind me, placing a kiss on my neck as he did so, one hand moving to play with my breasts as the other gripped my hip, steadying me. His tip teased my entrance and then he slid inside of me in one quick motion.

“Scream for me,” he instructed as he began to push in and out of me at a frantic pace, his fingers tightening on the rosy bud of my breast, making pleasure shoot through me.

“Ohhhhh!” I moaned, “Ohh yes.” I wasn’t sure if I was loud enough because Antony increased his efforts moving harder and faster, his hand squeezing my hip so hard that I knew it would leave bruises. Those weren’t the only marks I would have because as he continued to move inside of me, his mouth moved along my neck, kissing and biting.

The pressure continued to build, overwhelming me. “Antony!” I screamed as I came, pulsating all around him.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, continuing to thrust inside of me, showing no signs of slowing and the wave of pleasure receded, only to build up against because of the force of his movements.

“Antony!!!!”

It was a combination of scream and sob as the pleasure hit again, harder and faster this time. He let out a low groan, thrusting harder still, an erratic quality taking over his movements as I knew he was close.

“Portia,” he groaned, spilling his seed inside of me.

He rolled off of me and onto his back, tugging me off my knees and down beside him on the bed. “I would throw a thousand days of games if I could guarantee that reaction from you,” he commented, his hands still exploring my flesh as if, even after all that, he could never get enough of me. “Though in this case, I don’t think it was the games that put you in such an accommodating mood,” he mused, that trademark shrewdness evident in his eyes, “are you hoping that if you give me what I want, then I will use my influence to sway the favor of the crowd? Perhaps even to grant freedom?”

“Would it be a terrible trade-off?” I asked, gazing up at him from under my lashes, my hand moving to massage the hard muscle of his chest. “Are my attentions not worth at least some consideration?”

I knew Antony wanted me, I even believed that more than that, that he genuinely cared for me. But this was the biggest test of that belief. How much was my body worth to him? How much was I worth to him?

Antony pulled me closer to him for another kiss. “I believe you know just how much your attention are worth.” He growled, his kiss hard and demanding, his mouth plundering mine. “I can’t make promises about what will happen in the arena,” he reminded me when he pulled back and then his expression softened, his hand cupping my face, “But if I can influence the events in a way that will have you like this, warm and submissive in my bed? Well, then I will do so gladly.”

He kissed me again, his hands sliding down my body, maneuvering us so that he was on top of me, my body trapped under the heat of his. I knew it was exactly where he wanted me and for once, I felt no urge to fight, instead, I just gave willingly, knowing that this was the greatest power I had over Antony and the best chance I had at maneuvering the situation into the outcome I wanted.

I had spent eight years helpless, waiting and plotting, determined not to let them beat me. Now I had the favor of the most powerful man in Rome and I would use that favor every way I could.

Rome had not conquered me, I would conquer Rome.

• End