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Gregnaeus Davius Longus, praetor of the Roman Empire, huffed a sigh of irritation as he tugged at the neck of the heavy toga he’d barely had time to don before having to rush to the gates of his sprawling villa on the slopes of Mt. Kasarest to welcome an unexpected guest he’d been told via messenger to expect.
To add insult to injury, the prick was late.
Just when Greg was about to head back inside and leave word to tell his guest he could fuck off to stay in town if he was going to be that sodding inconsiderate, he spotted a small plume of dust drifting up from the road. Just enough for a single horse, so certainly not the extensive party he’d expected from the message. Of course, he thought, watching the dust cloud approach with a critical eye, it would be just like the man in question to let him think he was meant to welcome a legion of guests instead of just one arsehole.
Sure enough, there was but one man astride a horse that approached his gates, his travelling cloak dust-covered enough to almost be the same patchy grey-brown as his beard, and despite his earlier irritation, Greg grinned. His guest disembarked from his horse and straightened, quirking an eyebrow as he smirked up at Greg. “Ave, praetor!” he called, and Greg rolled his eyes.
“Fuck off with that formal horseshit,” he called in return, and the man’s smirk widened.
“Says the prick who put on his best fucking toga just to greet me,” Rhodrian Gilbertidius Moridunus said, practically bounding up the steps to embrace Greg.
Greg scowled, even as he hugged him. “Right,” he said sourly, “because that couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the message you sent implying you’ve an entire legion with you.”
Rhod pulled a mock-innocent expression. “Who, me?” he asked, not quite able to fully tamp down his grin. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”
“Fucking Orcus,” Greg sighed, ushering Rhod inside and gesturing for the servants to close the gates behind them. “And I had my kitchen slaughter a whole cow for you. And I hired entertainment, and I imagine I’ll not be reimbursed for that either.”
He took one of the silver cups that a servant brought them, and Rhod grabbed the other, twirling it between his thumb and his forefinger. “Submit your receipts to Rome,” he suggested. “Perhaps our new emperor will be so overwhelmed with the demands of the role that he’ll just pay them without question.”
Greg pulled a face and took a swig of wine. “Thanks, but I think my purse is hardier than my reputation at this point,” he said. “At the very least, it’s a chance I’m not willing to take.” He gave Rhod a somewhat searching look over the rim of his cup as he took another sip. “Have you come from Rome, then?”
Rhod nodded. “Yeah,” he said shortly. “One prick for another, innit?”
“Same could be said for my guest situation,” Greg muttered, and Rhod squinted up at him.
“Eh?”
Greg smirked. “Nothing,” he said blithely, gesturing for Rhod to follow him inside. “Did you want to change into a toga of your own before we eat, or shall you attend my banquet in your travelling clothes?”
It was a trick question if ever there was one. Had Greg not made mention of it, Rhod likely could have just continued wearing his tunic without incident, but now that it had been noted, it would be a grave insult for Rhod to attend the banquet so attired, even if he was the sole guest. Which meant he had no choice but to change, and judging by the somewhat paltry bags Greg’s servants had unloaded from his horse, he hadn’t brought much to change into.
“I suppose I should change,” Rhod said with a somewhat dejected sigh. “And clean up a bit while I’m at it.”
Greg nodded sagely. “Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” he said. “It’s been a while since I had a sheep shagger at my table, and I’d rather the smell didn’t linger.”
He grinned and dodged Rhod’s half-hearted cuff. “See you at dinner,” he called over his shoulder, heading to the kitchen to tell them that they would need far less food than he had anticipated.
At the very least, his servants would eat well tonight. And probably for the rest of the week as well.
Greg lounged on a plush sofa, beckoning for his cupbearer to bring a fresh cup of wine. He brightened when he saw Rhod at the far end of the hall. “My friend!” he called. “Come, let us eat, drink and be merry like we did in years past.”
“Fucking Orcus,” Rhod said good-naturedly, “how much wine have you had?”
“Enough that if you’re going to catch up, you’d better get drinking,” Greg said, waving a hand at his servants to attend to Rhod. “Not so much that I’ve forgotten you’re a prick for letting me get all this prepared for just the two of us.”
“Two and a half, at least,” a mild voice interjected, and Greg chuckled.
“Half is certainly a stretch, don’t you think?” he asked, turning to smirk at the man seated on his other side.
Rhod’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the man with a quick, critical eye. Sizing up his competition for Greg’s attention, likely, and Greg allowed himself a triumphant smile at finally having something of the upper hand in the evening’s proceedings. “Don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Rhod said, sitting down on Greg’s right.
The man on Greg’s left hummed unconcernedly. “Don’t think so,” he agreed.
Greg’s smile widened at the look of irritation that flashed across Rhod’s expression. He recognised the irritation far too well, but it was always funnier when his companion was inspiring it in someone else. Still, he took pity on Rhod. “This is Alexander Hornennius Paullus,” he told Rhod. “My balatro, at least for the evening. Alex, this is Rhod, a very old friend.”
Alex’s lips twitched. “Very old,” he agreed, and Rhod looked at Greg, insulted.
“Four months younger than you, you prick!”
Greg just giggled into his wine glass and Rhod shook his head sourly, looking back at Alex. “Paullus, eh?” he asked, taking a sip of wine, and Alex shrugged, giving Greg a look that he pointedly ignored.
“So it would seem.”
Rhod eyed Alex, undoubtedly realising even with the man seated that he was quite tall, taller than Rhod, even. “Nickname from your youth?” he guessed, grabbing an olive and popping it in his mouth.
“I wish,” Alex muttered before adding, in a slightly more cheerful way, “I mean, er, no, it’s one that Greg gave to me.”
Now Rhod raised both eyebrows and glanced at Greg. “Didn’t realise you’d started giving cognomina to the help now,” he said, not waiting for Greg’s response to the implications before he asked, “You realise he’s taller than I am, yeah?”
Greg just shrugged. “So? Still shorter than me.”
Rhod barked a laugh. “A rare good point, I s’pose.” He raised his cup toward Greg. “Bibe multis annis.”
“From your lips to the gods’ ears,” Greg agreed. “Now, let us eat.”
As tended to be the case whenever Greg and Rhod got together, the conversation flowed as freely as the wine, both men sharing stories and laughs from over the years. For his part, Alex listened more than spoke, though he didn’t hesitate to interject with a wry comment or dry, mocking observation, usually at Greg’s expense.
A few hours later, Rhod leaned back, again examining Alex, looking for all the world like a wolf who’d gotten the scent of prey. “So, Alex,” he said, holding his cup up for the cupbearer to refill, “I suppose Greg and I have carried this conversation for long enough. Come, earn your keep and entertain us.”
Alex blinked. “Oh, er, I could, er, do a little dance?” he suggested, glancing at Greg, who snorted a laugh, reaching out to rest a hand on Alex’s arm.
“Believe me, there’s nothing I love more than you humiliating yourself, but there’s no need on Rhod’s behalf,” he said easily. He looked over the rim of his cup at Rhod. “It doesn’t usually work like that with Alex,” he said, deliberately casual. “He does things that amuse me and saves his real performance for when I have more esteemed guests, usually of the imperial variety.”
“Oh, so I guess I can just go fuck myself then,” Rhod said with no real heat. He cocked his head and Greg realised a moment too late that his hand was still resting on Alex’s arm. “Why do imperial guests rate a performance?”
Greg shrugged and tried to remove his hand in a casual way. “Alex’s humour is dogshit enough that it tends to put me in the right mood for dealing with Rome,” he said, his smile sharpening. “And when I am called upon to render my judgement on behalf of the Empire, it always helps to have someone fucking annoying to take my ire out on.”
Alex grinned widely, revealing a gap between his front teeth. “Thank you, Greg,” he said brightly.
Rhod glanced between them. “And when you say that he amuses you…?”
Greg’s lips twitched. “Alex,” he ordered without looking at the man, “drink that.”
He pointed at a glass vial of olive oil on the table, and Alex glanced over at him, eyes widening. “The– the whole—” he started weakly, and Greg grinned.
“The whole thing.”
Alex sighed but nonetheless stood and crossed to the table, grabbing the vial and swirling the golden liquid inside before looking back at Greg and bringing the vial up to his lips. He maintained eye contact with Greg even as he drained the oil, and Greg laughed delightedly.
Rhod raised both eyebrows. “I see what you mean by amusing,” he murmured, and for half a moment, Greg thought that he might push the issue further. But whether because he was simply bored of the topic or, significantly less likely, Rhod simply decided to be a good friend and drop it, in either case, he said nothing further, instead telling Alex, “Well, be careful with this one. He’ll shoot you in the fucking back, he will.”
“Are you still on about that?” Greg sighed.
“You shot me with an arrow, and then you shot my brand new stone tablet!”
“Over ten years ago!”
The conversation turned from there, and eventually, when all three men had drunk more wine than was wise for any of them, Rhod finally staggered to his feet. “S’pose I should go to bed before I fall asleep here,” he said. “At least I haven’t shat myself this time.”
“Yet,” Alex murmured and Rhod scowled at him.
“Oi.”
“I mean, he has got a point,” Greg said lazily.
“You’re a fine one to talk given your history on the subject!”
Greg shrugged. “Just makes me an expert,” he said blithely. “Now, Alex, will you help a fat old man up?”
“You’re not that fat,” Alex said loyally, rather pointedly not disputing Greg’s remark about his age, and Greg just laughed and shook his head.
He took Alex’s offered hand and stood with a groan, throwing an arm around Alex’s neck to steady himself. “Perhaps you’d best help me back to my room as well,” he said.
Alex hummed in agreement. “Might be for the best.”
Rhod gave them both a look. “You realise neither of you is particularly subtle,” he said, more amused than he had any right to be. “Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
He smirked at Greg, who rolled his eyes fondly. “Goodnight, Rhod,” he said pointedly. Rhod made a rude gesture before finally leaving Greg and Alex behind. Greg glanced down at Alex. “Suppose he has a point about our subtlety.”
Alex let out another small hum. “Could be worse.”
“How?”
Alex grinned. “He could’ve asked to join us.”
Greg barked a laugh and bent to kiss the top of Alex’s head. “Thank the gods he didn’t,” he said. “Now come, Little Alex, and let us to bed.”
“Yes, Greg.”
The sun had barely risen when Greg felt the warm body next to him stir, and he groaned, reaching out automatically to snake an arm around Alex’s waist. “It’s too early,” he murmured.
“I have to leave today,” Alex reminded him, and Greg groaned again.
“Must you?” he asked, finally cracking one eye open to glare at Alex.
“I really must,” Alex told him. “I must meet up with the rest of my troupe before finally heading home to ensure all is well with my wife.”
Greg knew this, of course, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it. He trailed his fingers down Alex’s bare back, and Alex shivered slightly at the touch. “When will I see you next?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.
Alex glanced out the window. “Harvest time,” he answered, and Greg didn’t think he imagined the wistfulness in his voice. “As is our arrangement.”
Greg knew this as well, that Alex visited for a week or two in the spring and a week or two in the autumn, generally to align with Greg’s duties of sitting in judgement as praetor, and with perhaps an additional day or two in between when he could get away from his other commitments.
It wasn’t nearly enough, but Greg wouldn’t trade it for the world.
He pulled Alex back to him, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder, and Alex squirmed at the sensation of Greg’s beard on his skin. He turned to capture Greg’s lips with his own, and Greg scraped his fingers through Alex’s beard. There were so many things that he wished to say to him, so many things that someone in either of their positions could never afford to say. He settled for telling Alex, his voice low, “Hurry back to me.”
It wasn’t the three words he was thinking, but it was close enough.
And judging by the way Alex’s big blue eyes creased with a smile as he leaned in to kiss him once more, he understood regardless. “I will,” he told Greg. “I promise.”
The months passed much as they always did between Alex’s visits. Greg was a busy man, even with his tendency to spend days on end holed up in his villa. He went to visit his mother and sister for a few weeks, and of course dealt with all the sundry matters required by his position. He entertained visiting friends and dignitaries alike, and made sure his wine never ran empty and his banquet tables were anything other than full.
Still he kept an eye on the calendar, waiting as the days started growing shorter, the weather more volatile, and if journeyed to the nearby temple to make a sacrifice for travelling friends wherever they may be, that was between him and Mercury.
But the gods, it seemed, were not so readily appeased.
And for all Greg’s lands, for all his wealth, for all his friends and loved ones far flung across the Empire, when the cloud of ash and heat descended from Mt. Kasarest, he was as powerless as any to stop it.
There were many who fled at the first sign of trouble from the mountain, heading toward the sea in hopes Neptune’s embrace might save them, or else farther inland, prayers and pleas on their lips, as if they might find a way to escape the volcano’s wrath.
But Greg was old, and fat, and he knew that in the time it would take for his servants to prepare his horses to allow him to flee, he would condemn all of them to their own deaths.
Greg was capricious and ill-tempered, lazy and easily bored, but he also tried not to be overtly cruel. And as selfish as he undoubtedly was, he would not allow his final act to be.
Not if he had any hope of finding Alex in Elysium when his time came.
So he stayed, in the walls that had once rung with his laughter and Alex’s, in the bed that had last held both of them, and when the air turned to fire that burned his lungs from the inside, his final thought was that at the very least, Alex had been spared.
Alex hummed off-key to himself as he rode his horse toward Greg’s villa, sweating slightly in the midday sun. Even though he was actually a few days ahead of his anticipated schedule, he was still trying to make good time, if only so he could spend a few extra days where it was just him and Greg.
Suddenly, his horse came to a halt, so abruptly that Alex almost pitched from his back. “Whoa,” Alex said, reaching out to pat the horse’s neck. “Jorge, what is it?”
The horse shook his head, whinnying unhappily, and Alex frowned. “Come on,” he urged in what he hoped was a soothing tone. “We’re nearly there and then it’s as many oats as you can eat.”
But his horse just stamped his hooves and Alex sighed, slipping off of the horse’s back to grab the reins. “Very well,” he said. “On foot from here, it seems.”
Before he could even take five steps, though, there was a rumble such as he had never before heard, and from the great mountain in the distance rose of plume of ash shooting straight up into the sky like a harbinger of the worst kind of doom.
Alex stared at it with wide eyes before he was spurned into action by one single, gasped thought: “Greg!”
He scrambled down the path, dropping the reins for his horse, but again, he did not make it far before the ground again shook, this time with increased intensity, throwing Alex sideways off of the road. He groaned at the impact, and rolled onto his hands and knees to pick himself up again, only to hear a horrible cracking sound above him.
Alex looked up to see the rock face collapsing above him, and his heart seized in his chest.
His last thought before being buried beneath the rock and rubble was the desperate hope that Greg, too, had seen the smoke and ash and somehow might find a way to escape.
In an entirely unusual turn of events for the studio, when the VT ended, there was almost no laughter from the audience, just a sort of dazed silence.
Greg slowly swiveled from looking at the screen to cast an amazed look at Mat, who immediately covered his face with both hands. “My God,” Greg said, his voice, and a few in the audience finally tittered with nervous laughter as Mat glanced up at him, peeking between his fingers. “I don’t often ask this, but I sincerely mean it: what’s wrong with you?”
That finally earned some genuine laughter, and Mat lowered his hands. “I’m sorry—” he started, but Greg cut him off.
“I mean, I can’t imagine CBBC approving this for the children.”
Alex cleared his throat. “No, I should say, the preceding video has not been approved for children,” he said blandly, and the laughter from the audience increased in both pitch and volume.
Greg gave him a look. “Bit late now, mate.”
He turned his glare back to Mat, who cowered in his seat, trying to avoid meeting Greg’s eyes and the eyes of any of his fellow contestants, who all looked simultaneously horrified and elated. “I just, I mean, you know,” Mat stammered, “I did this sort of thing for so long that it, er, it seemed like it’d work. And of course it’s based on an historic tragedy—”
“No, I got that,” Greg said, a touch impatiently, tapping his cards on his knee, “it’s Mount Vesuvius—”
Mat jerked a nod. “Well, it was meant to be, yeah, but for some reason, they’ve changed the name.”
He gave Alex a look, and Alex nodded. “For legal reasons, we weren’t allowed to use the name Mount Vesuvius,” he said in that apologetic way of his that told Greg he wasn’t remotely sorry.
“Why the fuck not?” Greg asked. “What, are their descendants going to sue?”
“Sorry, I should say, we forgot to run it by legal, so we decided to change it to be safe.”
Alex sounded far too pleased with himself, and Greg shook his head. “Fucking hell,” he sighed. “Remind me, what was the prize task brief again?”
“The most tragic thing,” Alex read off of his iPad, as if he wasn’t well aware of what it had been, and was delighting in this particularly macabre interpretation.
Greg looked over the rim of his glasses at Mat, whose face was beet red. “Me dying alone was the most tragic thing you can think of?”
He tried not to take it personally that the audience practically pissed themselves with laughter at that. Even Mat managed a small and hastily stifled giggle. “I mean, it’s– you’ve got to admit it’d be pretty tragic—”
“And statistically, it’s also pretty fucking likely at this point, so strap in,” Greg said dryly, glaring at the audience as they laughed. “So glad that can amuse you lot.” He looked back at Mat. “I mean, Jesus Christ—”
Rosie cleared her throat. “It’s really put the lone sock that I brought in into perspective, hasn’t it.”
Greg seized on it like a lifeboat. “Thank you, Rosie, yes, I’m sorry that the poetic beauty of a single sock has been eclipsed by the image of my bloated corpse roasting like fucking pork.”
Alex hummed in that officious little way of his that told Greg he was going to somehow make it so much worse. “Actually,” he said, glancing down at the Wikipedia article he had pulled up on his iPad, “scientists think that the pyroclastic flow—” He wrinkled his nose as he overenunciated the term, just to add insult to injury. “—was so hot that organs and blood vaporised, so there’d’ve been no– nothing to roast.”
Even Greg had to let out a helpless laugh at that, hiding his face behind his cards. “Fuck’s sake, keep it light, mate,” he managed as the audience laughed wildly.
“Sorry, Greg.”
Greg shook his head and gave Mat one last disapproving look before hitting his cards on his leg and pointedly turning away. “Right, well, there’s going to be no topping that one, so Fatiha, may as well get into whatever you’ve brought in.”
The episode got somewhat back on track from there, and Greg even gave Mathew 5 points if only for the sheer effort that had gone into writing, producing and starring in the weirdest fucking prize task entry ever. But as soon as Andy called for the first break, Greg stood from his throne. “I just– I need a minute,” he told Alex, not even making it offstage before he had practically ripped his microphone off, handing it to a passing runner and making it out into the corridor before he had to stop, his heart pounding and his chest tight, and he hunched over, his hands on his knees as he focused on trying to breathe.
He felt a cautious hand touch his shoulder and knew without looking that Alex had followed him. “I’m fine,” he managed hoarsely without looking up.
“You’re not,” Alex said, his usual mild tone replaced by genuine concern that only made the squeeze of Greg’s chest even more painful.
Greg straightened and reached up to take his glasses off, brushing angrily at his eyes with a still shaking hand. “Are you miked still?” he asked.
Alex shook his head. “Turned it off,” he said, turning to rest his back against the wall so that he wasn’t facing Greg directly. “Was it Mat’s prize task?”
“What gave it away?” Greg asked, bitter despite his best efforts not to be. He scrubbed a hand across his face before putting his glasses back on. “Makeup’s going to murder me.”
“Chrissie will get over it,” Alex said firmly. He glanced sideways at Greg. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” Greg said shortly.
Alex jerked a nod. “Right.” He paused before asking, “Do you want me to fuck off?”
Greg knew he had only asked the question that way in an attempt to get him to laugh, and the thought hurt as much as it loosened something still snarled in his chest. “No.”
Alex nodded again. “Standing here in silence it is, then,” he said cheerfully.
Greg wanted to hug him, or throttle him, or– or something, anything, that could possibly convey why a stupid prize task about fucking Mount Vesuvius of all things had hit like a knife slipped between his ribs.
But the only thing he had left was the truth, and that was what would hurt worst of all.
He took a deep breath and turned to Alex, running his eyes over the familiar features, the beard that was now just grey and not greying, the wide blue eyes creased with laugh lines, that stupid gapped tooth smile and wonky bottom tooth.
“I don’t want to die alone.”
Alex’s smile faded, and Greg felt like the sun had just slipped behind a cloud. “Greg—”
But Greg knew that if he let Alex interrupt, he’d never say it. And at this point, if he didn’t just rip the plaster off, there was no way that he ever would. “No, I– if I don’t get this out now, I don’t know when I will.” Alex’s eyes were wide and sombre but he didn’t try to interject again, just staring up at Greg as he waited for him to continue. So Greg took a deep breath and told him, the words plain, simple, and stark with sincerity, “I love you.”
To his credit, Alex didn’t flinch or look away. But Greg did, tearing his eyes away to swallow before adding, “And I know– I know this isn’t that for you.” He hesitated, weighing all of the things that he wanted to say before settling on telling Alex, as honestly as he could, “I can’t keep waiting for something that will never be mine.”
Now Alex did flinch, just slightly. “I’m sorry,” he offered quietly after a moment.
Greg shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Alex’s eyes met his again. “You and I both know that’s not true.”
Alex was right – of course he was, the little prick. But as much as Greg would have loved to blame him for every moment that went too far, every joke that had crossed the line, it was easier, always easier, to shoulder the blame himself.
So instead, he did the only thing he could, the only thing he’d wanted to since Alex had appeared next to him. He opened his arms and ordered, his voice brusque, “C’mere.” Alex stepped forward immediately, ducking his head as he’d done a thousand times before, letting Greg rest his chin on top of his head as he rested his head against Greg’s chest.
They stayed that way for long enough that Greg was certain someone from production was going to come find them and order them back on stage. But when no one came, Greg bent and brushed his lips against the top of Alex’s head. “Let’s get back out there, yeah?”
“Yes,” Alex agreed, though he made no move to pull away, instead tilting his head to look up at Greg. “You’ll be all right?”
“I’m fine,” Greg assured him automatically, and when Alex’s brow furrowed, he hastened to add, “I’ll be fine.”
Alex still didn’t look like he believed him, but he didn’t press the issue, instead finally releasing Greg and stepping back, adjusting his suit so that it fell back into place. Just like they always fell back into place – just as they always would. He turned back to the stage, fumbling for his mic pack, but before he turned it back on, he hesitated, glancing back at Greg. “Greg—”
“Yeah?”
“I love you, too.”
“I know,” Greg said, because he did. Just as he knew that it would never be enough, not in the way that he wanted it to be, and certainly not in the way that would keep him from dying alone sooner rather than later at the rate he was going.
Alex jerked a nod and turned his mic back on before slipping back out onto the stage.
Greg took a deep, steadying breath, and then another, before he followed Alex. He went through the motions of letting the sound crew put his mic back on, and didn’t even complain when Chrissie fussed over him.
And as he took his seat next to Alex on his throne, it all fell back into place.
It always would.
Greg took a deep breath as Andy counted them in, and the smile he managed when the red light on the camera went on would’ve fooled even himself. “Welcome back to part two of Taskmaster,” he said, each word hurting just slightly less than the last.
He was fine. He would be fine.
Or at the very least, he’d figure out a way to be, and maybe one that wouldn’t leave him all alone when the end finally came.