The group of them rushed into the sanctuary, their steps fast upon the winds of victory. As soon as they entered, all those around them broke into sound, some whispers and some cheers, some questioning and others too shocked to do anything but gasp. "What news?" a man called, and Agron bounded up the stairs and turned to address all those with their faces turned toward him.

"The arena is burned to the fucking ground," he called out, and was met with voices raised high in celebration. "With many Roman among the ashes!" He raised a fist, pumped it in the air. Adrenaline rushed through his veins and he felt really and truly alive. They were a new kind of champions of the arena, having brought the entire fucking thing to the earth.

"What of Rhaskos?" a voice asked, and Agron's gaze shifted to her. Chadara. She'd lain with the Gaul on several occasions. Agron felt no affection toward the fallen man, but he had been a gladiator, and among them, it meant something.

Donar answered the woman's question. "He fell as all men should."

"With sword in hand a blood upon his thoughts," Agron continued, nodding. It would be little comfort to her, who knew nothing of their brotherhood, but not even that could bring him down from this high.

And then something arrived to take him higher. He heard the other man's voice before eyes found adoring face. "You suffer no wound," Nasir said, and Agron's face split nearly in two with the grin that came to his features. He turned and approached the Syrian, his gaze sweeping over the smaller body. His bandages were fresh; the wound was still being tended to. It would still take some time to heal.

"The Gods favor me, little man," Agron returned, stopping only inches away from Nasir. More than the joy of victory surged through his veins now; it was the return to Nasir that lightened his heart and made triumph all the sweeter.

The smile on Nasir's face would have melted the hearts of greater men than Agron. "Call me that again and they shall turn from you," came the Syrian's laughing reply. Agron would wait no longer. He took Nasir's face in his hands and pressed a kiss to the lips lifted and waiting for him. Better than watching the arena at Capua was this kiss and the way Nasir leaned into it and how happy he seemed to have Agron back safe and sound.

They were the both of them reluctant to pull away from the kiss, but soon their lips parted. "Come," Nasir said, sliding his hand over Agron's arm to take his hand. "Tell me all that came to pass in the arena." And, with that, Agron allowed himself to be pulled along by Nasir, taken to some corner of the sanctuary where they could speak. Soon, they were settled on the stone floor with a blanket underneath them, a wall at their backs, and a lantern burning near. There, in the lamplight, Agron could do nothing to keep the smile from his face.

"All of our other victories pale in comparison," he said, and in his mind's eye was the fall of the arena. He would tell it to Nasir in as much detail as his limited words could provide. "It all collapsed in fire and smoke. They brought the arena down around us as we fought on the sands one last time."

It had been strange, being in the arena again. The last time he'd fought there had been beside his brother, when they'd still been enslaved. And to stand there once more as a free man and to be part of the group responsible for leveling it… it was a feeling he wouldn't soon forget. Agron's expression was a faraway one as he tried to bring forth more imagery to give Nasir so the Syrian might know exactly what it had been like.

But Nasir, it seemed, had heard enough. He man stirred from his seat beside Agron and slid into the gladiator's lap. Agron was surprised by the sudden and unabashed move, though it certainly wasn't an unwelcome one. "I worried for you," he said, reaching out and tentatively pressing his hands against Agron's chest. Nasir's fingers explored Agron's collarbone, traced the scar on the left one. Agron could only watch the man's face. "I worried the arena would claim you as it hadn't been able before."

Agron sat forward to wrap one arm around Nasir and pull him closer. He lifted his other hand to cup the other man's jaw. "You think I would leave you with one kiss and nothing else to speak of?" he asked in a whisper only for Nasir's ears. He slid his hand to the back of Nasir's neck and pulled him into another kiss, one more heated than the previous. The kiss said that he was alive. He was real and whole and surviving only for the touch of Nasir's lips.

It only took one small, short noise passing from Nasir's mouth to his own to call forth desire barely concealed. He would have more from this embrace. He would give Nasir everything, if only so the Syrian could have it to hold if ever they were parted. And it would be something to warm Agron himself, if ever he found himself cold.

Both of Agron's arms slid around Nasir now and tightened so that nothing would separate them, not even the air itself. But then he was given pause; another sound escaped Nasir, but this time it was one of pain. In his passion, Agron had forgotten the wound the Syrian had suffered. The kiss ended abruptly, though they had barely parted, so that when Agron spoke his lips brushed the other man's.

"You are not yet well enough," he said softly. His grip loosened, though he still held Nasir close. "I would have you rest a little while longer."

A frustrated noise answered. "This wound continues to keep me from you," Nasir said. "It kept me from taking up the sword with you and now from feeling you warm and next to me."

The frustration in Nasir only made Agron grin. Perhaps it was an arrogant grin, one brought on by the knowledge that Nasir was just as eager for him as he was for Nasir. Agron again took the other man's face in both of his hands and lifted it so they could look at one another. "It will be well worth the wait," he promised, and leaned forward to brush a chaste kiss over the dark scowl that had come onto Nasir's face.

The Syrian was quick to reply. "And if during all of our waiting one of us is stolen from this world?"

Agron pressed his forehead against Nasir's. "Then the one taken will wait for the other at the gates of the next." And it was a promise sealed with yet another kiss.


Agron was exhausted. Their assault at the arena had not been long ago, and since then he'd had no rest. He'd just been up half the night discussing Neapolis with Spartacus and the others, too. Finally, he would find peace, would drift into unconsciousness and dream of the victories they'd amassed, and the rewards that had followed. Dark-skinned, Syrian rewards. The very idea brought a smile to his face.

It wasn't long after he'd lain down that Agron fell asleep, but then not long after that he found himself roused. By what, he wasn't sure, but perhaps it had been the kiss he'd been dreaming of. A kiss to his jaw that he could swear he still felt, even in consciousness. Inhaling deeply, Agron stretched his limbs out, and as he did, he felt hands slide up over his stomach and chest. Familiar hands.

"Nasir," he said in a low voice, though he didn't yet open his eyes. The hands were followed by the weight of the other man's body settling on top of him. His own body was warm still from sleep and made warmer by Nasir's nearness, and he could have fallen asleep again, just like that. But it seemed his Syrian had other things in mind.

"Thoughts of you keep me from sleep," Nasir whispered. He was being bold. Very bold. A boldness come from where? Agron wondered. But he was a happy witness to it. His blue eyes opened and searched for the Syrian in the dark. Though he could not see him, Agron certainly could feel, and there was warm breath and a soft kiss on his neck. The gladiator tilted his head back to accommodate it.

Words followed that kiss. "I would taste every last inch of you," Nasir said, and it sent a thrill through Agron. To have that hot mouth on him - to feel slick tongue - only thinking of it made his blood rush faster through his veins, and all toward one particular destination.

"I thought we agreed that you have yet to recover from injury," Agron replied with some difficulty. Nasir's lips had traveled up to one of Agron's ears, and it was there he felt the first sweeping of the Syrian's tongue. Agron slid his arms around the other man despite himself and took in a slightly shaking breath.

Nasir's next words were whispered into Agron's ear. "The night you left," he said, "I dreamed of your return." It was the cover of darkness that made him so fearless, and pure desire that drove him forward. "I dreamed you had me against the wall. Pressing close." The Syrian's mouth brushed Agron's jaw, drawing nearer to his lips. "Let us make dream reality."

The sweetly spoken words almost convinced Agron. The gladiator dropped his hands to grasp the flesh of Nasir's ass just as the Syrian pushed insistent lips to his own. Exhaustion had fled him and in its place was the hunger that sprang forth whenever he set his eyes on Nasir, whenever the other man was close, whenever he stole into Agron's thoughts. A hunger all the more keenly felt when Nasir began to move on top of him, pressing his hips forward against Agron's.

It was that friction that pulled Agron's lips away from Nasir's. He let out a breathy laugh, the hands on the other man's ass helping to start a slow, rocking rhythm between them. "Fucking Syrians," he whispered, struggling to keep his voice level. "I knew they were all treacherous. Stealing to me in the night." It was difficult to be clever with the other man's body rolling against his own. Near impossible.

Nasir was intent on purpose. He made no reply to Agron's words, but spoke to further his own cause. "My heart is yours," he whispered, almost whimpered into Agron's mouth. "Take the rest of me."

It was the tone of voice that told Agron just how far this would go if it went unchecked. Fuck if he'd ever exhibited self-control in anything else in his entire life, but now was the time for it. Abruptly, he flipped the two of them over so that Nasir was the one on his back on the floor, and Agron was the one on top.

"When I take you," he practically purred, propping himself up on his arms over Nasir, whose dark eyes were now wide, "it will be long." He leaned closer. "It will take all of your strength to last even halfway. Strength you have not yet regained." Agron shifted, reached down to grab onto one of Nasir's thighs and wrap that leg around him. A pained noise, no doubt because of his injury, escaped the Syrian, but it was followed by another sweeter sound soon after.

And now the tables were turned. Where before Agron had been at Nasir's mercy, now the Syrian was the one who would have to suffer. At first, the movement was imperceptible. Barely anything. But soon it became clear just what Agron was doing. Thrusting forward. Pulling back. Mimicking what he would do to the body underneath him when the time came for it. Nasir lifted his hands to grab at the gladiator, to drag his hands helplessly over the planes of his shoulders and chest all while trying in vain to catch his breath.

"Will you not wait for things promised?" Agron whispered, leaning down so the words were spoken against lips parted to make way for desperate noises.

It took Nasir a moment to gather his senses enough to reply. "You drive me to the edge of desire only to dangle me there and never let me fall," he gasped. But he wasn't the only one who balanced on that precipice.

"You brought this on yourself, little man," Agron said, dragging his lips over Nasir's jaw to find his ear, just as the Syrian had done to him only moments before. "I want you to think of this when you bring yourself to completion," he continued, and though it was worded as a suggestion, there was a hint of an order in it. "Do you remember when you watched me touch myself? Thought of you moved me to that."

How badly he wanted the roles to be reversed, but if he saw Nasir with his hand wrapped around his length there would be little he'd be able to do to restrain himself. So he would send the Syrian away, for now, and find relief in his own mind as he had before.

"Go now," Agron said, leaning down to steal a kiss from Nasir's still-gasping lips. "Find some secluded place and then find sleep. And take thoughts of me with you."

Agron moved to get off of Nasir, but the man reached up and pulled him into a rough, desperate kiss. As quickly as it had begun, though, it ended, and the Syrian was gone like a shadow in the night. Agron settled onto the floor again but this time, sleep didn't come so easily to him. This time, he had to take deep breaths, to urge his body to stop its thrumming, to make attempt to chase away lingering thoughts of everything exchanged between the two of them.

Nasir's wound wouldn't heal fast enough but when finally it did, Agron would make good on every last promise he'd made. And then some.


Agron's mouth was slowly filling with blood. Heat rushed through him. He wanted nothing more than to push Spartacus aside and break the fucking Gaul's face, but he stayed his aggression, for now. He marked it in his mind, though; this was the last time Crixus would ever walk away from raising a hand to strike him. "I move for Neapolis," Agron snapped, meeting Spartacus's gaze. "And thoughts of swelling rank with better men." Those surrounding the scene whispered to one another as Agron pushed through them, making his way into the temple and away from prying eye and wagging tongue.

He didn't have to turn to know that Nasir followed him like a shadow.

Those in his wake moved aside, no doubt seeing the fury in his expression. A small room toward the back of the building served as sanctuary, a private place he could properly let out the anger rising inside of him. A cry of frustration escaped lips covered in blood and he swung his fist, felt a release when it collided with unyielding stone. His hand suffered for the impact, knuckles tearing open, but the pain was secondary. Rage masked all other feelings.

"That fucking Gaul," he spat, turning wild eyes on Nasir and pointing toward the doorway, as if at Crixus himself, "isn't worth his weight in piss and shit." He turned away from Nasir and flexed his fingers, curling them into a fist meaning to strike the wall again, but a hand wrapping around his wrist stopped him. He whirled around and met the Syrian's dark gaze but soon looked away. Agron found himself unable to look on Nasir's face with such bitterness in his heart. None of it was turned toward this man.

"Calm yourself," Nasir said. He lifted his free hand and slid the pad of his thumb over Agron's bloodied bottom lip. "Do not waste your fury on a wall that will feel none of it and only injure you."

"No more injury than I would have gotten parting Crixus's teeth from fucking skull," Agron replied, glaring in the direction of the courtyard.

Nasir made no argument, but instead gently eased Agron to a nearby table for him to lean against. The gladiator went willingly; he couldn't deny Nasir anything, not even in the throes of this enmity. A cut of cloth was removed from the Syrian's person and lifted to touch Agron's mouth, cleaning it of blood.

Even as Nasir tended to him, he continued railing against the Gaul. "And that is a man Spartacus places trust in," Agron said incredulously. A bitter laugh followed. "He cares for nothing but himself and his woman."

The hand that held cleansing cloth faltered, but only briefly. Not briefly enough for it to go unnoticed, though. Agron finally looked at Nasir, his gaze softening. "Nasir—" he began. The Syrian spoke to interrupt him.

"Is there no one you would have braved the mines for? Or sacrificed yourself to save, facing execution in the arena as result?" he asked, and it seemed difficult for him to do so. He sounded so very unsure. "Your brother, Duro, if he yet lived?" This time it was Nasir who couldn't meet Agron's eye.

The words Agron had spoken to Crixus came back to him. 'To set eyes again upon your heart,' he'd said. 'I understand now why a man would risk all for such a thing.' And yet here he sat, condemning Crixus for just that.

Agron sighed, reached out and took Nasir's face in his hands, though he was careful with the bloodied one, not wanting to soil the dark skin beneath his fingertips. "Do not ask me," he said softly, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against the other man's. "For it will mark me a hypocrite and liar."

Nasir would heed Agron's words, that the gladiator knew. But he would answer the question posed, no matter what it branded him. For they were words he should not have had to speak to Nasir; the Syrian should have already known his answer. And yet there was doubt. And that Agron couldn't stand, more than anything else. "If you were ever taken from me," he whispered, "I would burn down the whole of Rome to find you back in my arms." He pulled back slightly and lifted Nasir's head, his grip tight enough to call the man's attention. His next word were spoken more fiercely than the last. "I would cut down every last man that stood between us. You must know this."

Dark eyes fled Agron's intense gaze, though there was a ghost of a smile curling the corners of those lips. "I would do the same for you."

It hurt to grin, but grin Agron did. "You would do worse, little man."

"I warned you not to call me that," Nasir returned playfully, looking up at Agron. "You should be kinder to the one that cares for you." With that, Nasir reached up and took the hand Agron had broken open against the wall. With the other hand, he picked up a clay jug of water on the table at Agron's back and poured it over the split knuckles, following with cloth to clean the wounds.

Time passed in silence. Every once in a while, Nasir would glance up at Agron to find the gladiator's eyes on his face. Heat rose in the Syrian's cheeks and reddened them, and it was a sweet thing to look upon.

But soon Nasir felt the need to break the silence, though Agron would have been content simply looking at him for at least a little while longer. "Crixus struck first," he observed, still gently wiping at Agron's knuckles. "What words passed between you to ignite him so?"

"I offered comfort he would not receive," Agron replied, his tone clipped at speaking of the man again.

Nasir paused, and once again seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "Perhaps you should grant him forgiveness," he said, and was quick to continue to stay the protest rising in Agron. "I have heard Naevia is not the same woman she once was. It must weight heavy on his heart."

This was where balance was struck. In Nasir was this caring that Agron sometimes lacked. While the gladiator was not absent heart, he noticed less on a smaller scale and instead looked to bigger pictures, at least where most things were concerned. Or all things, save Nasir. The Syrian, however, could always see the suffering of one man in an entire crowd of suffering men, and feel pity for it.

Agron could admit to being wrong, as had been proved many times before. "She suffered much," he conceded. "To find her so changed must be… difficult." Exactly what she had gone through, Agron didn't know, but he could imagine. At the hands of the Romans, nearly anyone could be broken. Surely someone as gentle as Naevia had once been. Agron hadn't known her at the house of Batiatus, but she had been a slave with status, surely used to treatment better than most. And then she had been ripped away from that. And now Crixus found her a victim of countless crimes against body and mind, and nothing would be able to satisfy his vengeance. To that, Agron could relate.

The wound to both flesh and pride had been mended, and Agron stood wholly himself again thanks to Nasir's healing touch. "Only you could make me feel for a fucking Gaul," the gladiator said, shaking his head. He flexed the fingers on his injured hand and found them only a bit stiff, and the open air stung the cuts, but there would be no lasting damage.

"If only I'd known you were so easily swayed before," Nasir returned, a smile coming onto his face and brightening it. "I might have taken advantage." Such a teasing tone, such a challenging one. Agron raised both eyebrows and returned that smile, then leaned forward to claim Nasir's lips in a kiss.

"I may let you take advantage," he said, pulling away, but not for long. "One day." And he kissed the other man again, to chase away the memory of what had just happened. Tasting Nasir was the best kind of forgetting.


The crowd in the courtyard slowly dispersed. Not many heads turned toward the body that lay bloodied in the dirt, and those who did looked upon it with disdain. Only one mourned the woman's passing, and he knelt beside her, holding her limp and lifeless hand in his own.

The only pity Agron felt was for Nasir. That Chadara had been slain did not move him, but to see the Syrian so affected hurt his heart, as if he felt the other man's pain with him. As if their hearts were tethered, and to pull on one was to drag the other along, too. [[MORE]]

Spartacus stepped forward and put his hand on Nasir's shoulder, though the Syrian didn't turn at the touch. "You were her friend," he said. "It is for you to decide what will be her grave." With that, Spartacus stepped back and turned to look at Agron. The German nodded, only once; the gesture said that he would take care of this, would take care of Nasir. That seemed to satisfy Spartacus, because he then took his leave, Mira following close behind.

They were soon alone. None wanted to be near the body, lest they be infected by her treachery. Nasir had said nothing after his cry of the woman's name; he only knelt, head bowed and forehead pressed against the pale hand he held. The two must have been close, though Agron had heard nothing of their relationship. He'd never asked, and in that moment, he regretted it. Mira had said Chadara thought she had no place among them, and perhaps a word from Agron would have made her feel differently.

But although there was a part of him that harbored guilt, there was another that felt she had gotten exactly what she deserved. A traitor had no place among them. The rebellion's strength was a tenuous thing and would have easily broken, had she gotten her way.

Agron knew not how to comfort Nasir. Though the gladiator had felt loss, though he knew how it weighed heavy on the heart, his loss had been that of a brother. Nothing he knew compared to that - nothing except, perhaps, those moments that Nasir himself had seemed close to death, after he'd returned from the mines. But certainly not the loss of a friend, many of which had fallen to the Romans during the rebellion. Nasir seemed to be taking this harder than Agron himself might have, but then again, the gladiator had to remind himself that Nasir never closed himself off to an emotion. Instead he felt it in its entirety, be it love or hate or loyalty. And now mourning.

"Nasir," Agron said gently, kneeling behind the other man and placing both hands on his shoulders. At first, there was no reaction from the Syrian, but then his voice sounded, though he remained still.

"I could have prevented this," Nasir said. His voice was muffled against Chadara's hand but in it Agron could still hear choked sadness.

Leaning forward, Agron pressed his lips against Nasir's shoulder. "No, little man," he said against that dark skin. "She chose her own path." How could the Syrian think himself responsible for this? He, who was now trusted friend to Spartacus. He, who had risked life countless times for the sake of the rebellion. If ever there had been a treacherous bone in his body - when they had first liberated him, perhaps - he had now parted from it. Nasir could have done nothing to steer Chadara to betrayal.

But Nasir would find a way to blame himself. It was only human. When Duro had died, Agron had agonized over the things he could have done to stop it happening. He still did. This was what Nasir suffered. "I found my place," he said, lifting his head slowly, but only to look upon Chadara's face, lovely even in death. He reached out and touched her cheek, a lock of blonde hair that had fallen over it. "I found it beside you and never once looked back. Not to her."

"Disloyalty like hers could not have come from this one thing," Agron entreated, moving so he could face Nasir and try to catch his eye. "It was always in her heart. Open her chest and find it carved there." Agron extended his hand and slid his fingers gently over the back of Nasir's neck. That drew the Syrian's gaze to him, finally, and Agron saw that his eyes shone with tears yet unshed. "This rebellion was never a cause she believed," he said softly. None among them who truly supported their cause would resort to this, no matter what else befell them. It simply wasn't possible. Not in Agron's eyes.

Nasir turned away again, closed his eyes tightly and clenched his jaw, still holding fast onto Chadara's hand. Agron had no question as to how long they would stay by her side; if it was the rest of the night, he would remain, only for Nasir. Not for the slave girl whose skin had already lost its color in the moonlight, but for the one that mourned her.

Silence passed between them. It was only broken after a few moments, when Nasir let out a long, shaking breath. And then he spoke, finally. "She was the first I truly knew to fall," he said, and Agron was shocked to find that true. The disaster in the mines had claimed the lives of only gladiators, fighting men that Nasir had hardly exchanged words with, while the freed slaves all followed Agron to Vesuvius. It was no wonder Nasir felt this loss so keenly.

"It's a difficult thing," Agron started, shifting his gaze to look at Chadara, "seeing the life flee from one you held close to your heart."

"How do I bear it?" Nasir asked, his tone heartrendingly desperate. He'd never had to suffer this, not while he was a slave. He may have been in chains but he'd never had someone ripped from him as Chadara had just been. Now he had freedom, but with it, the chance that he would lose absolutely everything.

Agron reached out and cupped Nasir's cheek in his hand, turning the other man's face toward him. "You let me help shoulder weight," he answered.

It was what Nasir needed to hear in that moment. Chadara's hand slipped from his and he slumped to the side, into Agron's waiting embrace. Nasir yet faced the dead woman's body but leaned into the gladiator, whose arms wrapped around the smaller body and held securely. Agron leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to Nasir's temple before touching his forehead to the very spot, and when his lips found that dark skin again it was at the corner of Nasir's eye, where more tears were gathering.

"Only tell me what you need," he whispered, "and see it done."

Nasir's hands lifted and clasped tightly onto the forearm wrapped around his front, and the next words he spoke were even more despairing than the last. "Don't let them have her thrown away like a piece of waste," he begged. A blade through Agron's heart would have hurt less than it did to witness such pain in the man he loved.

"We will see her into the next life with respect," Agron promised. Respect she didn't deserve for the falseness inside of her, but that was an opinion he would keep to himself.

"Good," Nasir whispered, bowing his head and resting it on Agron's arm. "Gratitude." The Syrian sighed, and it seemed some of the weight truly did leave him in that breath. Agron was grateful for it.

And so the night passed, the only witnesses to Chadara's wake Nasir, the gladiator that held him, and the stars above.