It only took a few swings of Agron's wooden sword to bring Duro down. The German lay on his back in the sand, his chest heaving and his expression defeated. With a sigh, Agron reached out and took his brother's forearm, pulling him back onto his feet. "You are lucky Doctore's eyes were elsewhere," he said in a low voice, pulling his brother closer momentarily, "and he didn't see your ass hit fucking sand for the third time." Finally, there was a little defiance in Duro's eyes, and he pushed away from Agron, positioning himself for another bout. Agron did the same, but before they could begin, a voice cut through the sound of the gladiators' training.
"Doctore!" All eyes rose to the balcony, where Batiatus stood. "Send Agron to the villa." His gaze wandered to the gladiator, and then he added, "But first have him clean himself." Agron glanced down at his body. He was covered in dirt, sand, and sweat. But why did he need to clean himself? And why was he being summoned?
But then realization hit, and his eyes flew back to the balcony, as if looking to confirm his thoughts, but Batiatus was gone. This must have meant that Agron would finally get the reward he'd asked for. This must have meant that at that very moment, Tiberius was somewhere within the villa. He'd almost forgotten; it had been days and days since he'd even made the request. But now he recalled every moment of anticipation, every second he'd spent wondering and worrying and hoping.
Agron looked to Doctore, who only nodded. A grin splitting his face, Agron shoved his wooden sword into Duro's hands and clapped his brother on the shoulder. With that, he ran inside and to the bath, making quick work of cleansing his skin of the filth that had accumulated there. His heart was beating fast in his chest. What would Tiberius say to being so summoned? Would he think it strange? Did he even remember Agron? That, perhaps, was his biggest fear, over Tiberius not wanting to see him at all; he was afraid the slave would have simply forgotten who Agron was. It would be a blow greatly felt, considering just how much the gladiator had been thinking of Tiberius since their first unfortunate meeting. But from that misfortune had come something more. At least, in Agron's eyes. He only hoped Tiberius felt the same.
It wasn't long before Agron stood before the gate separating the ludus from the villa. There, a slave had been waiting and soon pulled out keys to let him through. He followed the girl upstairs, much as he had done the day he'd requested this very reward, and she led him through the villa and into one of the larger rooms. Agron hadn't a name for it; in his home country, there were no villas. Still, he was surprised at having been taken to such an open space; he'd thought something more private was in store for himself and Tiberius. But perhaps they would go somewhere else once they met.
There were yet more surprises in store. Agron's brows drew together in confusion as his eyes surveyed what was before him. There was Tiberius, his hands behind his back and his gaze lowered. Nearby stood Leddicus, the Roman man, whose lips were twisted in a grin Agron was loathe to recall. And there was one more in the room with them: not Batiatus, not one of the house's slaves, but a man kneeling on the floor, his hands bound in front of him and a canvas bag over his head.
They stood in silence for a moment, though once in a while a whimper could be heard from the unfortunate who knelt on the tile beneath him. Soon, the voice of Leddicus sounded to drown out the pathetic noise. "I was audience to your last fight," he said, tone conversational, as if the situation in which they found themselves was one entirely typical. "A wonderful display of gladiatorial skill. How the crowd screamed for you." That voice crawled like some legless thing over Agron's skin. He wanted to be free of it; he wanted to go back the way he'd come and never hear another word from the Roman, but he couldn't leave. He wasn't free to.
And Tiberius being so near kept him there.
Still, Leddicus spoke. "Good Batiatus spoke of your desire for my slave's company," he said. At that, Agron saw Tiberius's gaze shift, though it didn't rise to meet the gladiator's. "A reward for victory in the arena. As dear neighbor and trusted friend to Batiatus, I could not refuse."
Agron barely breathed. Nothing about this was right. His temper rose; on the tip of his tongue was a demand for explanation, but he needed to remember his place if he wanted to remain in this world. And he would not go to the afterlife with this Roman's countenance the last thing on his mind. So he was silent, quiet as all slaves were meant to be. And Leddicus continued on.
"But I could not be so kind without getting something in return," the man said. He stepped forward, drawing Agron's eyes to him, and only then did the gladiator notice the weapons held in soft, weak Roman hands. Two swords, both steel and sharp and very real. "I requested a private show. I would see you perform as you do in the arena." Leddicus moved closer and closer before pressing one of the swords into Agron's hand. The gladiator, eyes narrowed, weighed the steel in his grasp, and could only watch as Leddicus turned his back to him and approached the kneeling man. From here, Agron would be able to embed the sword in the Roman's skull. It would take one swing to land a killing blow. His muscles tensed; he was prepared to do it. He wanted to do it. But then he caught movement in the corner of his eye.
Tiberius had shifted, lifting his head and looking at Agron. The gladiator's hardened expression immediately softened and he forgot what he'd intended to do - and by the time he remembered again, Leddicus had pulled the canvas bag from the prisoner's head and turned around again. The opportunity was lost.
"A slave," the Roman said, referring to the kneeling man. "Caught stealing from his dominus. He will die for his crimes." Leddicus' gaze slid from the man to Agron. "You will execute him as you would an enemy of Rome upon the sands."
Everything fell into place. So this is what he would do in exchange for the reward he'd asked for. How like a Roman to take advantage of so simple a request. How like a Roman to glean something for himself out of a thing meant for another. But Agron wouldn't pretend to know how dealings happened between people like Leddicus and Batiatus. Perhaps that was where the gladiator's failing was. He'd never thought, not for a moment, that he'd have to work for a prize he'd already earned. He'd never thought that there would be more to this than him asking for Tiberius's company and then receiving it. He never thought these third parties would have a hand in it.
The condemned man was looking up at Agron with terror in his eyes. And rightly so. The man knew that Agron, despite being a gladiator, was not a free man and had to do the bidding of his betters.
"Nod that you understand, slave," Leddicus' slithering voice commanded.
Agron nodded. But his face was not impassive as it should have been. It wasn't simply blank or content with what was being demanded of him. There was fire and anger behind his blue gaze, rage at being made to do this. It was in that moment that Agron decided he would not give this man the show he desired. No, he would make quick work of this, because the Roman deserved nothing of what he asked for.
Leddicus slid the second sword through the rope binding the prisoner's hands together, freeing them, and then handed the sword over. The prisoner stood on shaking legs and turned to look at Leddicus. "Dominus," he begged. He looked in the wrong place for mercy. He should have instead looked to Agron, pleading for the most painless death possible.
The smile upon Leddicus' lips was nothing if not predatory. "You have a chance to fight for life," he said to the condemned. "See that chance taken."
The man about to die, for the last time, did as he was told. He lifted his sword in an unsure grip and ran at Agron, brandishing the weapon as a child might have. The first swing was easily countered; the second connected, but only slightly, leaving the smallest of cuts on the gladiator's upper arm. But that was enough. Agron barely had to move; he only pulled his arm back and thrust it forward again and his gladius slid through the other man's open mouth and out of the back of his head, killing him instantly. The body crumbled to the floor and blood began to seep from the wound toward Leddicus.
The Roman took a step back from the slowly growing pool. It was clear in the expression on his face that he wasn't in the least bit impressed with Agron's display. The gladiator half-expected him to take Tiberius and leave - and though Agron would be sad to have lost the opportunity to ever see the slave again, he wouldn't have done anything differently. No, his defiance would have remained, had he been forced to do it once more.
But Leddicus remained. "Gratitude," he said, and his tone held not a shred of sincerity. With that, he brushed past Agron and to a pair of doors on the far side of the room. He threw them open and revealed what lay behind it; Agron could see that in the other room were blankets and pillows piled on the floor - more comfort than Agron had ever known. "Come, gladiator," the Roman said before turning his head to look at Agron over his shoulder. "Claim your reward." He stepped to the side and gestured for Agron to approach, which the German did cautiously, fearing some other trick. But there was nothing beyond those doors but silk and cushions, things the likes of which Agron had never seen. Perhaps that was why Batiatus had had Agron clean himself; otherwise he would have ruined what was laid here for him. And he would have looked so terribly out of place.
Tiberius had walked through those same doors as Agron had been looking around, and suddenly the gladiator heard those doors close. He turned, expecting to find himself and the slave alone - but there stood Leddicus still. Staring at him. Smiling.
For the first time, Agron spoke. It was out of turn; he'd not been given permission. That accounted for the surprise that came onto Leddicus' features. "What is this?" the gladiator asked. His eyes were narrowed and there was a new tension in the air. Briefly, Agron looked to Tiberius, as if for an answer, but the slave only stared back silently.
Leddicus smiled a mocking smile. "Your reward," he said. "To take my slave on this floor…" He gestured, and Tiberius stepped forward. "…with me as audience."
Agron's face fell. Slowly he began to shake his head. No, this wasn't right. This wasn't what he'd wanted. He'd only asked for Tiberius's company - not his body. Not for this Roman to watch. He'd only wanted the slave's voice, to touch his skin and remember it, to know those dark eyes again. His lips spoke of what was in his mind. "I did not ask for this," he said, and moved to leave - but then Tiberius was standing before him, blocking his way. Agron looked down at the other man, confused, but any thought of raising question disappeared when Tiberius reached out and pressed his hands against the gladiator's chest.
And for the first time, Agron heard him speak. "Keep your eyes on me," he whispered, softly enough that his dominus would not catch the words. Agron's retreating footsteps were stayed and he did as he'd been told. "We must do this." And then, lifting his hands and taking Agron's face gently in them, Tiberius pulled the gladiator down into a kiss.
The feeling of those lips on Agron's own brought memories rushing back of their only other encounter. How tentative Tiberius had been, then. How slow to react to the kiss and slow to return it. But now he was the driving force in it. Where Agron was hesitant, Tiberius was bold, and it wasn't until the gladiator felt the other man's tongue seek out entrance to his mouth did he part his lips and press forward, his arms wrapping around Tiberius's middle. 'We must do this.' The words echoed in Agron's mind. This was necessity. This was survival. This was everything Agron didn't want it to be.
Using his gentle grip on the gladiator's face, Tiberius turned the two around so that Leddicus was at the Agron's back. Then the slave began to lower himself to the floor - but before he could, Agron caught him up, tightened his grip around the other man's body and held him close, using his strength to slowly lay Tiberius beneath him. Because though this had been forced upon them, he would take care of this man. He would be tender. If this was going to be the first and last time they would lay together or even see each other, Agron would give Tiberius something to remember him by.
All while trying to forget the man who stood by and watched.
Their hands began to explore. Agron moved first, his arms sliding from around Tiberius and his fingers lightly grazing the soft skin of the man's waist. A flick of Agron's tongue over Tiberius's upper lip was what coaxed the slave into movement; his fingers disappeared into Agron's hair and tugged the gladiator back into the kiss before dragging down the back of his neck and over the planes of his shoulders. And then, beneath Agron, Tiberius began to move.
One of the gladiator's legs was pushed between the slave's and it was against it that Tiberius pressed, rocking his hips. Agron's breath caught in his throat. Tiberius had been so passive when they'd been forced into lewd display at Batiatus' party but now he was beautifully responsive. What Agron didn't know was whether or not it was for him or for Leddicus.
But surely the way Tiberius's skin warmed beneath his hands couldn't have been just a show. For who could see it? And who could see a fast heartbeat and a quickening pulse? Not the Roman. But Agron could feel these things against his own body, and he suffered them as well. That meant something. It must have.
A short sound of pleasure pulled Tiberius away from the kiss. Taking the time to catch his breath, Agron opened his eyes and looked down at the other man to find that dark gaze already upon him. The two stared at one another as they had across the sands of the arena. As they had across the room when they'd both been covered in gold. As they had that very day when they'd been forced to endure the hissing words of the reptilian Leddicus. Agron's lips parted in what would have been an apology, but Tiberius's fingers slid to those lips and pressed against them. And then, holding Agron's gaze, the slave dragged both of his hands down the side of the gladiator's body until they came upon the subligaria he wore. And like they had once before, those hands removed Agron's clothing from his body, leaving him naked. Tiberius's own clothing soon followed, and it was with a shock that the two found themselves pressed skin-to-skin.
Their mouths crashed together in a kiss more desperate than the last. Tiberius shifted underneath Agron without breaking away from the lips pressed against his own and wrapped his legs around the gladiator, trying to pull the other man's body closer, and Agron obliged as well as he could but he felt they would never, ever be close enough. Suddenly, the two were flipped over, Tiberius now on top of Agron and straddling him, and just as suddenly as that the gladiator felt something being pressed into his hands. What he'd missed there among all the blankets and pillows was a clay bottle of oil. He needed only to glance at it to know what it was and its use, and soon it went to purpose. Fingers coated in the stuff slid down Tiberius's spine and then lower still until they coaxed their way inside of him. A short breath escaped the slave and disappeared into Agron's mouth at the new sensation.
It wasn't long before those fingers moved freely, their way made easier by the slickening oil. Tiberius was gasping by the time Agron was finished, doing everything short of begging him for more. And so, granting the slave mercy, Agron rolled them over again and pulled the other man's legs around him once more. The gladiator grabbed for the oil but Tiberius snatched it up first, pouring the liquid on hands shaking and clumsy and, for the first time in the slave's company, Agron smiled. Tiberius had come undone and Agron was charmed by it - for all of a few seconds until the other man's fingers wrapped around his length and pulled in one long, slow stroke. Then the gladiator's smile disappeared and he closed his eyes, a shaking breath escaping him.
Reaching between them, Agron took Tiberius's wrist and pulled that hand away, pinning it by the man's head and lacing their fingers together. Pressing his weight forward, the gladiator coaxed Tiberius's legs further apart and then, with his free hand, guided his length to the slave's opening. He meant to go slowly, to ease into it, but suddenly Tiberius's thighs tightened around him, bringing their bodies forcefully together and burying his length entirely inside of that tight, hot channel. Agron gripped Tiberius's thigh, his fingertips digging into that flesh, and he stilled the both of them, fearing he might be overcome by the sudden, intense pleasure.
But soon, he moved. Agron took up the slave's other hand, held both of them against the floor over Tiberius's head and then slowly, slowly rolled his hips. And then again. And again. Tiberius's nails cut into the skin of Agron's hands but he didn't care. He welcomed it. He welcomed all of it. The halting breaths, the fluttering eyelids, the knees pressing hard enough into his hips to bruise. The lips parted and begging for a kiss. Agron leaned down and captured them to the sound of an encouraging moan from the slave beneath him.
It seemed the gladiator moved too slowly for Tiberius's taste. The slave pulled his hands from under Agron's and dragged them down the man's body, following the curve of his back and ass and grabbing onto that flesh, pushing his hips into a faster rhythm. Agron might have laughed, had he the breath for it. Instead, he slid his fingers into Tiberius's hair and tugged gently, eliciting another noise from him. Agron would discover every last sound Tiberius could make by the time they were finished.
Agron was lost in the writhing and heaving of their bodies. In the rhythm they had created between them, in Tiberius's slick skin against his own, in the dark locks of hair curling around his fingers. He was lost and he'd never felt this kind of bliss—
But then he was pulled forcefully from it. Suddenly, there was a hand on his back. A foreign hand whose fingers explored the muscles that rippled with every thrust. Agron stopped, breaking away from the kiss. His body tensed under the unwanted touch before his mind finally caught up to what was happening - and then he realized just who was touching him. Leddicus. Agron had finally been able to forget that the man was even in the room. He'd been able to immerse himself entirely in Tiberius and push away the knowledge that they'd been forced into this. But no longer. He had been reminded and it showed on his face.
Reaching up, Tiberius gently took Agron's chin in his hand and pulled the gladiator's gaze back to him. "Agron," Tiberius whispered, and the shock of hearing his own name from those lips focused the gladiator's blue eyes. How beautiful the slave looked. His face was flushed and his hair was wild and he was breathing so heavily and he'd just said Agron's name and the gladiator had never heard anything so sweet. "Don't stop," the slave continued, following the words with the smallest of smiles. How unsure it seemed, that simple curling of the lips. How meek and how lovely. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared and that, more than anything, brought Agron back to himself. He would see that smile again.
And so they picked up as if they hadn't been interrupted. And whenever Leddicus reached out and touched Agron, the gladiator was determined not to feel it. He wouldn't react, wouldn't acknowledge it, would only further put himself into making love - because that's what they were doing; certainly they weren't fucking - to Tiberius. Tiberius. who knew his name. Tiberius, into whose dark eyes he looked. Tiberius, who hadn't left Agron's dreams since the night they'd met.
The slave's brows drew together slightly, his lips parting and his body slowly tensing beneath Agron's. Tiberius reached between them and took his own flesh in hand stroking it quickly, and Agron could feel that movement against his stomach. He shifted and began to thrust at that same place, driving Tiberius to his release, wanting so badly to see what that face would look like in the throes of pleasure. Soon, Tiberius's body jerked and tightened and he came, his moans trembling along with the rest of him. And there, just at the end of his release, was the smile Agron had longed for.
The gladiator's own release followed quickly. He couldn't hold off, not with Tiberius clutching onto him and shaking, not with the body into which he thrust wrapped so tightly around him. And the moment he came, Tiberius leaned up and pressed his lips against Agron's, tasting the moans that were pulled from the gladiator's throat.
And so it was finished. Agron began to pull away but Tiberius held fast. "Stay," he said softly, the word low and only for the gladiator's ears. And so Agron stayed, lifting a hand to run his fingers through the slave's hair. It was a beautiful moment of intimacy shared between two people that should have been strangers but felt much closer than that.
A voice cut through that intimacy and chased it away. "We leave when I finish speaking with Batiatus, Tiberius," Leddicus said. Agron didn't look to him when he spoke. He never wanted to see that face again. "Part from your gladiator and see yourself cleaned and at my side."
"Dominus," came Tiberius's reply, his dark eyes lowering. Agron heard the sound of doors opening and then closing again.
And for the first time, the two were alone.
Tiberius's gaze lifted once more. The silence suddenly felt heavy, burdened with all the words that had never passed between them.
"Tiberius," Agron said, and to follow would be apology after apology. For all of this. For ever asking to see him again. For forcing him into something he hadn't wanted to do. But, for the second time, the slave stopped the apology before it ever began.
"I am glad for this," he whispered, taking Agron by surprise. And before the gladiator could even begin to think of a reply, the slave was gently pulling himself away, moving from beneath Agron to carry out his dominus' orders. Nearby was a basin filled with water and cuts of cloth folded beside it; everything needed had been provided, it seemed. Tiberius stood on shaky legs and made his way over to the basin, kneeling and dipping a cloth into it to slowly drag it over his skin, removing all evidence of their lovemaking. Agron followed after, but instead of cleaning himself, he took up a cloth helped Tiberius. The slave's hand faltered and stilled for a moment before dropping the rag it held; Tiberius slid his fingers over Agron's, looking down at where they touched.
There was a moment of silence, and then Agron spoke. "I will see you to my arms again," he promised - not in a whisper but in a voice strong and determined. In a voice defiant. Tiberius looked up at him, eyes wide and hopeful. And then he nodded only once.
They parted. Clothes were pulled onto tired and spent bodies in haste, neither of them wanting to leave Leddicus waiting for fear of his punishment. But by the double doors, they paused, and in the same moment turned to one another and crashed together in a hard, desperate, searing kiss. Agron grazed Tiberius's bottom lip with his teeth, tugged on it gently and pulled one last breathless moan from him: a moan of Agron's name. The gladiator would keep that sound forever. He would keep the taste of that kiss forever, or at least until he could hold the slave in his arms once more.
The doors were opened and Tiberius slipped through them. Agron remained where he was, watching as this familiar stranger, this man he knew so little and yet so intimately, walked away from him. And this time, Agron didn't have to beg silently to have those eyes turn toward him; they remained fixed upon his own until the very last lingering second, and when they disappeared, Agron only began to count the moments until he could see them again.