"We move to Neapolis soon," Agron said in a hushed, though excited voice. He was sitting across from Nasir and the both of them held bowls filled with food. They often ate together, sitting side by side, and found themselves lost in conversation as they filled their bellies.

Nasir was glad for the happiness in Agron; more than just wanting the man who held his heart to find joy, he was also grateful for good news. A distraction from grief. The loss of Chadara and her betrayal still hung heavy on him, like a weight hanging 'round his neck - though that wasn't to say that he was alone in bearing it. He had a certain gladiator's arms to fall to when he needed them. But still, good news like the news Agron bore was more than welcome. Nasir lended ear eagerly.

"To swell ranks," Nasir added, remembering words spoken by Agron before. Such a thing was much needed after the disaster at the mines. They'd lost many men, fighting men that knew how to wield sword and take life with ease. Some still remained, but not enough to take on the armies of Rome, should they come down upon them.

Agron nodded, taking a bite of his food. He spoke through it. "And these will be men with none of the shortcomings some among us possess." Nasir didn't need to look to see that Agron's blue eyes now looked upon Crixus, who sat not far away with Naevia. The tension between the two men was practically palpable. It was felt by all, especially those closest to the two gladiators. Nasir and Naevia had, on occasion, spoke of that tension, and wished it gone. But both Agron and Crixus, it seemed, were far too stubborn for that. No change appeared imminent.

"How can you be sure?" Nasir asked, drawing Agron's attention back to him. It would be better to distract him from thought against Crixus. "Could you not liberate a boat from Gallia?" That was where the German's prejudice bore down most firmly, and Nasir knew such a thing would be the worst possible for Agron to find in the ports of Neapolis.

But there was a small, secret grin on the gladiator's face, one that Nair immediately took notice of. The Syrian narrowed his dark eyes, tilted his head to the side in question. For a moment, Agron only continued to smile, occupying himself with eating while making it so very obvious that he had something hidden inside. Obvious to Nasir, at least, who had no trouble reading the face he so often found himself studying. A fact well-known by the gladiator.

"What do you keep concealed from me?" Nasir asked, his tone playful. He had both eyebrows raised and a knowing expression on his face. As if this man would be able to keep a secret from him. Impossible. A fact soon proved true when Agron scooted closer to him, their knees bumping together. The gladiator leaned forward and gestured for Nasir to do the same, and before any secrets were revealed, Agron stole a kiss from Nasir's nearby lips. As every other kiss shared between them, it caused a fluttering in Nasir's chest, but not even that would distract him from purpose. The Syrian lifted his free hand and grabbed Agron by the chin, pulling his own lips just out of reach. "You make attempt to ply me with kisses," Nasir scolded, "but I won't be turned from path. Tell me."

Agron glanced around them quickly to make sure there were none listening in, but why should they? He and Nasir were as they normally were, together and locked in intimate conversation accompanied by touches just as affectionate. There was no danger of them being overheard if they kept their voices low enough.

"The ship we are to liberate," the gladiator said, eyes locked on Nasir's darker ones. "It is filled to the brim with those of my country." He couldn't contain another smile, this one wide and bright. "German. And they'll be slaves no more. They'll join our cause."

"How do you know this?" Nasir asked in a whisper, surprised at the information revealed. No wonder Agron was so happy! When had he last encountered one of his own kind? Had there been anyone since his own brother, who was now lost? Nasir felt happy for the gladiator, so very happy - and yet there was something he feared. He wouldn't voice it yet. Agron still had more to tell.

He spoke quickly, as if eager to finally have another soul to reveal all to. "Coin was dropped in Neapolis to attain the dock's schedule," Agron said, and Nasir nodded. He remembered the details of that particular mission. "Along with that I learned what each arriving ship will hold." Nasir had never seen Agron so lively, so filled with enthusiasm. His face was bright and his eyes nearly danced with it. Such life thought of kinship and reminders of home could bring to this man.

Though Nasir tried to show nothing but support of all this, there was the briefest expression of uncertainty on his features: an expression that Agron did not miss.

"What troubles you, little man?" he asked, the light in his eyes replaced with something darker and concerned. Nasir hated to be the one to extinguish that light. Initially, he waved his hand and occupied himself with his food. But only a moment underneath Agron's intent stare and he was broken. Nasir would answer the other man's question, as he had no strength to deny him.

He picked his words carefully. "I only hope," he started, speaking slowly. "…that you will not prefer their company." He was embarrassed to speak those words. It always seemed that all were sure of Agron's affection for him while he himself doubted it, once in a while. And it was no fault of Agron's, of course. It was only the fault of Nasir's insecurity.

Agron's bowl was abandoned, and battle-roughened hands were gentle as they plucked Nasir's food from his grasp and set it aside. The gladiator's eyes drew Nasir's to them, and neither gaze wavered as Agron spoke. "Kinsmen they may be," he assured, "but none will hold my heart as you do." Both of Agron's hands were extended. Nasir did not hesitate to place his own hands in them, and his dark-skinned fingers were lifted to receive tender kisses from lips through which passed the tenderest words. Nasir's own lips curled in a smile. All it took was that one promise to return the warmth to his heart and to chase away worry.

"I make no promises for my own heart," he said, voice teasing. "Who is to say I won't find myself another German to cause pulse to race and sense to leave me?"

A short snort of amusement escaped Agron, and his hands tightened on Nasir's fingers. One hard tug, and the Syrian landed in the gladiator's lap, and both their bowls of food were sacrificed in the movement, clattering to the stone underneath. "I would burn through the forests of my own country before letting you fall into another's arms," he growled, though not even the gruff tone could keep the laugh from his voice. What they spoke of was impossible. No other would ever be able to lay claim on Nasir's affection for Agron, nor the other way around. That much had always been clear.

The kiss Nasir pressed against the other man's cheek seemed to calm him, and the embrace the Syrian rested in loosened. Instead of being pinned against Agron's strong chest as before, he was now cradled. It was a safe place. A comfortable and familiar place. It was a place, he assured himself, that he would still be able to find even with the ranks of freed slaved set to bursting with the Germans.

Agron turned his head quickly to take from Nasir yet another kiss, this one just a little deeper than the last. "My kin will all know of what you mean to me," he said against the Syrian's lips. Agron's eyes were so very bright once more when he pulled back to look at Nasir. "And they will treat you as family."

Nasir's heart swelled. He could remember no family. The concept was as foreign to him as all the customs of the German, but the idea that he could find such a thing at Agron's side moved him. Gently, Nasir took Agron's face in his hands, and their smiles mirrored one another. "Then I look forward to their arrival," he said, "and to greeting them as brothers." As with everything else between them, the words were sealed with another kiss.


Ground disappeared quickly underfoot as Nasir hastened toward Agron. "You have done the impossible," he said, a smile playing across his lips. He felt a warmth inside of him, a joy too great to contain, and it was so every time Agron returned to him. Each mission the gladiator undertook could be his last, a fact that haunted Nasir from the moment Agron stepped from the sanctuary until the very second he came back and Nasir could once more look upon the face he so loved.

The gods had not seen it fit to steal Agron from this world yet, a blessing Nasir was reminded of as the gladiator stepped forward and swept him up into a kiss. That smile - Nasir would never tire of seeing it. It graced Agron's features, though, for reason more than just his safe return. At his back were men, ones that would double their numbers. These men must have been the German Agron had spoken of so excitedly the day before. The gladiator's kin.

One stepped forward, reached out and turned Agron toward him. He was a mountain of a man and seemed twice Nasir's own height and girth, and when he spoke, it was with a deep, growling voice and in a tongue the Syrian could not understand. Agron replied in the same language.

Nasir was fascinated by it. Before now, Agron had only ever asserted his culture in his hatred of the Gauls. Now he was among his people, those whose customs and language he had known all his life. This changed something in the gladiator. Perhaps he was more himself - but Nasir would hold fast to the idea that Agron was never more himself than when with him, their limbs tangled in the dark and their voices low in intimate conversation. It could have instead been that, among his kin, Agron was simply more the man he'd been forced to leave behind.

The new men's humor was contagious. They spoke among themselves in voices loud and filled with the joy of newly-found freedom and when they laughed, Nasir couldn't stop a smile from coming onto his own face, despite his lack of understanding of their words. Agron's arm tightened around Nasir's shoulders and drew dark gaze to his blue one. "They are eager to make friends. Embrace them as brothers."

Agron moved from his side to get lost within the crowd, and Nasir was left to do as the gladiator suggested. The first man he approached was the one he had to crane his neck to see. The hand that gripped his forearm in greeting was bigger than any Nasir had ever seen before, and had the hold been a little tighter, he feared his arm would have snapped in two. Next, he exchanged grins with a woman who had blonde hair - too similar to Chadara's hair, he decided, but tried to move past quickly - and a look of unbridled energy.

The next German he encountered gave him a greeting he hadn't expected. Though the man was no taller than Nasir, he was twice the Syrian's thickness and three times his strength. Powerful arms wrapped around him and lifted him off the ground in an embrace he could never even try to escape, and he returned it as well as he could. Once he released Nasir, the German clapped him hard on the shoulder. "You are dear to my brother," he said loudly - whether or not he could actually speak in anything but a shout was a mystery. "And now to me!" The announcement was met with cheers from those surrounding, and several more people patted Nasir on the back or embraced him similarly.

So this was the family Agron had spoken of. Nasir was welcomed into it without a single question. If there were any prejudices among them, they did not rise; it seemed enough that Agron had taken Nasir into his arms and kissed him to convince every last one of these men that Nasir was to be welcomed. The former slave had never felt this: no warmth, no friendliness, no sense of real belonging - not until he'd been freed. And now, the same camaraderie he'd found joining Spartacus's ranks was here among the Germans, but felt tenfold. Nasir feared he might drown in it, but then Agron appeared at his side as if summoned by the thought.

Familiar hands rested on his shoulders and a familiar voice sounded, though in unfamiliar tongue. Agron addressed his kin, and whatever he had said pulled a great swell of laughter from the Germans. Nasir looked over his shoulder at Agron. "What did you say?" he asked, grinning. He felt he could never be unhappy in such company.

Before answering, Agron leaned down and pressed a hard kiss against Nasir's mouth, one that nearly threw the Syrian off-balance. He did not fear falling, though, not when the gladiator's arms were wrapped around him. "I told them that you were mine," Agron then answered brightly, pressing another kiss against Nasir's temple, "and that I'd have their cocks if they touched you."

Face still split in a smile, Nasir leaned back into Agron's embrace. "You can tell them I'd have their balls first," came his quick reply, which Agron translated for the men, a laugh in his voice. That, too, brought forth an amused roar from every last one of them. A response well-received, as everything else had been.

More and more, Nasir was amazed to find himself where he was. Holding and being held by a man that loved him. Free of any collar or chains. Finding friends he never would have before. Agron was to be thanked for this, but there was one other that deserved the same. Spartacus, who Nasir noticed was not among them.

Nasir shifted curious eyes to search for the leader of the rebellion, and saw him standing aside, deep in conversation with Crixus and the now healed Oenomaus. They all looked upon the crowd, but not with smiles as Nasir might have expected. Nasir's own grin faltered, a thing quickly noted by Agron, who then followed the Syrian's gaze. When the gladiator made no comment, Nasir spoke up.

"They do not celebrate with us?" he asked, the words only for Agron. "I expected them to be happy with the swelling of ranks."

The gladiator turned Nasir in his arms so the two were facing one another. Despite what the Syrian had pointed out, Agron seemed unaffected. Nothing could penetrate his joy in that moment. Not even some seeming disapproval from those he worked closest with. "You worry of this now, when the heart is so lifted from victory?" he asked, giving Nasir a pointed look meant to chase away concern.

It succeeded in doing so, but slowly. He wanted to know why Spartacus was not among them, greeting those that would make stronger the rebellion he led… but Nasir didn't want to take this happiness away from Agron. There was a distinct order to the Syrian's priorities, and Agron would always top that list.

The moment Nasir gave in to celebration and shrugged off any troubling thoughts registered clearly on his face, and that was when Agron lifted him up off the ground, quite like the German had only moments before. This time, though, Nasir clung tightly and wrapped his legs around the other man, hooking his ankles behind Agron's back. He wouldn't let go easily, now that he'd taken hold.

Agron shifted his hands down to cup Nasir's rear, his grip quite a bit tighter than it needed to be, if he was only trying to help Nasir stay wrapped around him. But his motivations were revealed to go further than that. "I would have reward for my victory," he said in a low, teasing voice, looking up at Nasir who now hovered just a few inches above.

"Would you?" Nasir returned with the same playfulness. He slid his hands up into Agron's hair and dragged his nails over the man's scalp, the touch drawing a small shiver from him that Nasir could feel against his own body. "Do you ask for it?"

A short chuckle escaped Agron's lips as they pressed against Nasir's jaw. "I do, little man."

Nasir never needed to worry about whether or not Agron would prefer his kin's company over the Syrian's. There the two of them stood among all the German, and Agron's eyes rested only on Nasir. The man's own language rang in his ears, the voices of his people no doubt tempting him to their familiar embrace, and yet he held Nasir and spoke to him in the common tongue.

"And what reward would you have, gladiator?" Nasir asked. He still teased, as if he didn't know what Agron had in mind. "Coin? Drink?"

Agron's reply was swift. "Only your company."

Three words that set Nasir's heart to racing. Such simple words, but the intent behind them was clear. And the tone of voice in which they had been spoken would have made weak the knees of a stronger man than Nasir. "I would give you all of me, but you won't yet take it," Nasir said softly. He wanted to kiss the corners of the smile that came onto Agron's face, and so he did, even as the man answered.

"The reward I take will be gentle," he said, and the expression in his eyes was not to be argued with, though an argument was fast to the tip of Nasir's tongue. He swallowed it. "To prevent wound from opening," Agron finished, and he slid one hand to the bandage still wrapped around Nasir's middle.

"The day this injury no longer troubles me," Nasir assured the other man, conviction in his voice, "is the day I do not take 'no' for answer." Agron said nothing against this but only lifted his chin and stole a kiss from Nasir's lips in reply. When that day came, no doubt Nasir would hear no denial from the gladiator.

Agron began to make his way through the crowd, carrying Nasir as if we weighed nothing. A few heads turned in their direction, and that was when the gladiator raised his voice in his own language yet again, and once more earned approving shouts and cheers in reply.

"What did you say?" Nasir asked for the second time that day. He paid no attention to where they were headed; he was instead just a little lost in Agron's blue eyes and the promising words they had just exchanged.

A grin stole over Agron's face. "I told them that I would return," he replied, "after receiving a gift that would welcome me home." And the two of them disappeared into the sanctuary.


The sanctuary was a maze of rooms that held dark corners and hidden, secret alcoves swathed in shadow, all perfect for a pair to disappear into. But Nasir didn't wait for the privacy of some concealed place. Hungry lips searched for Agron's and found them, claimed them, lured them into a kiss the moment they stepped into the temple. It was a deeper kiss than they'd shared upon Agron's return. A little more desperate. That one kiss held all the relief and happiness inside of Nasir that he could no longer contain. To have his gladiator here and whole and holding him was a blessing.

And he would take advantage of it.

Nasir's legs were still wrapped tightly around Agron's waist, and the gladiator bore the weight easily, carrying the smaller man through the corridors to where the warm welcome would be given. Nasir's heart raced at the very thought. Agron was so careful of him, so gentle because of his injury, and he wondered if this would be the end of that. He wondered if finally they'd be able to touch each other without the need for caution hanging over their heads.

Agron's lips wandered away from Nasir's, though the Syrian tried to chase after them. But a kiss was pressed against his jaw, and then lower on his neck, and then on his throat. His head tilted back to allow Agron more room to explore. "Your mouth steals breath from lungs," the gladiator murmured against warm skin, and Nasir could only let out a short, breathless laugh in response, because following those words he'd felt Agron's tongue steal a taste of him.

Finally, Agron lowered them both to the floor. There was a blanket beneath them and under that, cold stone, but that discomfort meant nothing to Nasir, who lay against it. He was far too distracted by the hot, open-mouthed kisses Agron was covering his throat in. Teeth teasingly grazed the Syrian's skin and pulled gasps from his parted lips. It felt too good. So good that Nasir forgot that this was a reward meant for Agron and not for him. The gladiator, returned to Nasir successful in his mission, should have been the one gasping and arching beneath the efforts of Nasir's mouth, and yet it was the other way around.

Those teasing, nipping teeth found Nasir's bottom lip, captured it and tugged on it hard enough to make him whimper. An apologetic tongue followed, sweeping over the Syrian's reddened mouth to soothe the bite and draw out his own tongue into yet another kiss, and this time the pace was slow and steady and set by the gladiator. Agron's fingertips slid down the arms Nasir had wrapped around his neck and stopped at his wrists, gently wrapping around one and pulling it away just as he pulled back from the kiss.

Agron's blue eyes shifted to the wrist he held in his hand. Nasir followed that gaze and, with a slow smile, realized what the other man was looking at. His wrist was wrapped in a piece of deep red cloth that hadn't always belonged to him. Agron had slipped it onto him before he'd left, without a single word - but he hadn't needed to speak. Nasir had known what it was a symbol of. Something to remember Agron by, just in case. Because there was always the danger of him never coming back.

"You wear this still," Agron said softly.

Nasir nodded. "I kept it close to me," he answered. He lifted his head so he could speak against the other man's mouth. "Pressed lips against it while you were gone," the Syrian continued, "and hoped you would feel them."

The fingers wrapped around Nasir's wrist tightened and then, to Nasir's surprise, both of his hands were suddenly pinned over his head, held against the floor by Agron's strong grip. The Syrian's breath left him in a shaking rush and his dark eyes were wide as they searched Agron's face. An experimental tug was all he needed to know that he wouldn't easily escape the gladiator's hold - though whether or not he would ever want to remained a mystery to him. Agron's voice sounded again, but this time it was deeper, more commanding, but held no less love.

"If your hands remain there of your own free will," he said, "I will have no cause to bind them."

"Agron—" Nasir started in protest, because he wanted nothing more than to touch the body pressed against his own, but the gladiator allowed him no more words than that.

"Is this not my gift?" he asked, a grin playing over his lips. Nasir wished to kiss it roughly away, but he refrained. Agron continued, leaning down to whisper the words into the Syrian's ear. "I would have you stretched out underneath me as I taste you."

Quite of its own volition, Nasir's body arched toward Agron, begging for exactly what he'd described. Already his hands twisted, still in the other man's grip, and needed to get lost in Agron's hair, down the back of his neck, over his shoulder blades to dig in and hold on. But Nasir wasn't allowed that. Agron closed his lips over the Syrian's earlobe and drew it between his teeth, grazing the sensitive skin and Nasir knew, he just knew he'd lose his mind by the time they were done.

And they'd barely even started. Everything Agron did was slow, languid, teasing; his mouth dragged down over Nasir's neck again and tasted the skin where it would, took its time making its way down to his collarbone. And still Agron's grip kept Nasir's hands pinned. Better that it did, because Nasir wouldn't have been able to keep them where they were when Agron's mouth reached his nipple, teasing it to a firm peak before biting down just enough to make the Syrian forget whether he moaned in pain or pleasure. It must have been pleasure, because why else would he have been pushing himself up against those lips? The same attention was given to Nasir's other nipple and he couldn't catch his breath, not for a moment.

Especially not when Agron's mouth trailed lower. Low enough that the gladiator had to relinquish his grip on Nasir's wrists.

The Syrian was confused at first at the loss of pressure, and then he realized he'd been freed. Agron's words still rang in his ears, though, and instead of touching the other man as he so badly wanted to, Nasir gathered the edge of the blanket underneath him, tangled his fingers in it and held tightly. Tight enough that his fingers began to ache, because Agron's mouth was at his hip - having skipped over the part of Nasir's middle still wrapped in bandages - and tracing the bone there with teeth and tongue before sliding along the waistband of his subligaria.

It was moving too slowly. Pleading words were on the tip of Nasir's tongue but all he could do was make helpless noises in the wake of this torture. But finally, there was some relief. Agron pulled the subligaria from his body and left him naked from the waist down, freeing the flesh that, just from the ministrations of that talented mouth, had grown hard. The Syrian gasped at the feeling of the cool air against his hot skin but it was nothing compared to what came next.

Agron's hot, wet tongue pressed against the base of Nasir's length and, at a agonizingly slow pace, slid up over its underside. The Syrian couldn't help it; one of his hands dragged down over his own body before tangling in Agron's hair and grasping tightly. Though the grip didn't last long. The attention being paid his cock disappeared and a noise of protest escaped Nasir. He began to glance down to see why that sweet sensation had been taken from him but there was no need, because Agron was hovering above him once more.

The gladiator grabbed his hands again and pushed them over his head where they should have remained. In a matter of seconds, Agron tugged the length of red cloth from around Nasir's one wrist only to tie it again around the both of them. Then Agron leaned down and met Nasir surprised gaze with his own severe one - though there was certainly some amusement in those blue eyes. "Do not distract me from task," he said firmly, and Nasir thought he saw a flash of a grin before Agron disappeared between his legs again.

The slow pace had been abandoned. Within seconds, Nasir's flesh was engulfed in the tight heat of Agron's mouth, the sensation pulling a strangled cry from the Syrian's throat. His hips thrust upwards but were immediately pushed back down and held there by the gladiator's powerful hands. It was likely Agron held him still so he didn't strain his body, stretch it in a way that would open his wound, but none of that crossed Nasir's mind. He could only let out a frustrated noise at the restriction and struggle, but Agron's strength was something he was unable to overcome.

Nasir's breathing came more rapidly. His chest rose and fell with it and the muscles of his abdomen clenched and lips so tightly wrapped around his length slid up and down in a rhythm meant to drive him mad. All he could do was writhe and arch his back there on the floor - but then even that was stopped with a palm pressed firmly on his chest. The sounds he made were ones Agron certainly hadn't heard before and maybe ones Nasir had never heard from his own lips, because he'd never been so tormented. But nor had he ever felt so good. Too good. Agron was driving him to the edge of his sanity and of his release.

Agron must have known, because the noises of pleasure he made around Nasir's length, noises that sent vibrations through it, only brought the end more rapidly. Nasir's breath had caught in his throat and he couldn't recall how to take in air except in harsh gasps. His entire body was tensing, pushing against the hands that held him against the floor in an effort to move, to ride against that mouth until he'd come. But Agron would draw it out of him on his own.

"Agron—" Nasir whispered, and it might have been a warning. But the Syrian was given no mercy. "Agron," Nasir repeated, and it seemed that mouth only tightened further, moved faster. There was a moment in which Nasir was suspended there at his peak and then he came crashing down, his body trembling in release. Agron's mouth did not withdraw; the gladiator swallowed, throat closing over Nasir's length and cleaning him of all evidence. Even when Nasir's body weakened, collapsed against the floor, Agron's tongue slid over his spent and sensitive flesh, once or twice making his stomach clench and his spine bow. Nasir hadn't the strength to say 'stop' or to beg for it to be over, but Agron pulled away soon enough, settling beside the Syrian's exhausted body.

Gentle hands untied Nasir's wrists, though he didn't move them from where they were. Agron did instead, lifting them one by one to brush his lips against them in the softest kisses. The skin there was tender, though the cloth had been more forgiving than rope or chains may have been. Next, there were kisses at the corners of Nasir's closed eyes, and then Agron's voice sounded in his ear.

"Gratitude," he said, and yet another kiss was pressed against Nasir's temple, "for my gift."

A slow smile came onto Nasir's face. "You are thanking me?" he asked, tone lazily incredulous. He would have been laughing had he the breath for it.

Agron was carefully wrapping the red cloth back around Nasir's wrist, where it belonged. "It was what I desired," he answered, and though Nasir hadn't opened his eyes, he knew the man was grinning. There was a pause, and then Agron asked, "Are you able to move?"

"No," Nasir replied immediately. He wasn't going to try. "Never again."

A breathy laugh. "Not even to let me taste your lips?"

Blindly, Nasir lifted his hand. "If I can find yours," he said, eyes still stubbornly closed, and his fingertips pressed against Agron's skin. It was his neck, over which Nasir's exploring fingers slid, and then his jaw, and then his chin, and finally his lips. The Syrian, with great effort, lifted his head and kissed his gladiator, and was grateful when the man's arms wrapped around him and held him close. Perhaps it was a gift enough, that Nasir, even when weakened, would seek out those lips in one last kiss.


Agron left his kinsmen at his back. They were all in the courtyard, still eating and drinking - water, though some of them would have preferred wine - and would do so into the night, despite having to wake with the sun to go hunting at Spartacus's request. Rather than stay with them, Agron moved into the sanctuary to find Nasir, who had left the extended celebration some time ago. He had been looking pale; the Syrian still regained his strength as the days went by, but Agron's homecoming had robbed him of any reserve of it.

Turning a corner, Agron came upon the man he was looking for. Nasir stood with Naevia, who was finishing replacing the bandage around the Syrian's middle. Dark eyes lifted to Agron the moment he came into the room, and there was a smile on Nasir's lips, just for the gladiator. Agron had no desire to return it, not with his mind so darkened by the argument he and Spartacus had had. Surely it was the absence of a grin that drove Nasir to stopping Naevia's hands. He turned to her and said something in a low voice, something Agron couldn't hear, and the woman took leave soon after.

"Your face is absent the smile that has brightened it all day," Nasir observed, glancing at Agron before looking down to his bandage so he could finish wrapping it around himself. Agron, who had been leaning in the doorway, pushed away from it and walked fully into the room, heaving a sigh. He sat on a nearby chair, leaning back in it and crossing his arms over his chest. He was the very picture of a petulant child, suffering for the scolding from a disappointed parent.

When Agron made no reply, Nasir approached him, kneeling in front of where he sat and reaching up to take the gladiator's chin in his hand. Agron lowered his head reluctantly, meeting the Syrian's concerned gaze with his own stormy one. The blue depths of his eyes had darkened in his anger, and there was no doubt Nasir could see that.

"Tell me what troubles you," he suggested in a gentle voice.

Agron had been able to keep the rage he felt inside before then. He had remained cool-headed throughout the conversation he'd had with Spartacus and he'd managed a grin and pleasant tone of voice when he'd told his kinsmen about the hunting they'd be doing in the morning, but now that he was with Nasir and now that the man was asking Agron to divulge his true feelings, he could feel his control fraying.

"Spartacus has seen fit to chastise me like a child," he spat, pulling his chin from Nasir's grip. There was no need to turn frustration upon Nasir, but Agron knew nothing of that at the moment. "I bring him men , strong men, from the ports of Neapolis and yet he remains un-fucking-satisfied."

It wasn't the whole story. Of that, Agron was aware. It only just scraped the surface and was told in a way that ensured Spartacus got all of the blame - and why shouldn't he? Agron had done nothing wrong, not in his own eyes. Why, then, was he concealing things as if he had? It was a question he refused to ask himself, because the answer would not serve him well.

Nasir's brows drew together and he stayed where he was, though he moved his hand on Agron's knee instead. "Did he give reason?" he asked, gaze searching the gladiator's face. Nasir would find expression slowly darkening, mouth twisting into a sneer and teeth baring. It was then that Agron stood again and took to pacing. A moment passed before he replied, and when he did, it was in a raised voice that shook with the anger he could no longer control.

"The task was given to me to find which ships docked and when they docked. That is a task I fucking completed." Agron lifted a hand to rub at his face, then turned his head to look at Nasir, though his feet still paced the stone floor beneath them. "I chose a boat filled with my own kin," he continued, gesturing toward himself, fingertip pressing hard against his chest, "over one filled with fucking Gauls. And for this, Spartacus turns disapproval onto me." Agron's gaze was intent on Nasir's expression. He looked for confusion toward or disbelief of Spartacus's behavior. But instead, the Syrian looked thoughtful.

And that didn't help extinguish the rage rising inside of Agron. Not in the least.

The gladiator gave Nasir no time to respond, driving his argument forward. "Crixus would have chosen his own people over mine!" he shouted, gesturing toward the open doorway with the sweeping of one arm, as if the accused stood there. "And given the choice between Thracian and German, would Spartacus not choose those from his country?"

Nasir's words were quick to follow, so that he could get them in at all. Dark-skinned hands lifted and were held out in something like surrender as Nasir rose to his feet, though his words spoke of no such thing. "I believe Spartacus would have spoken to you of the choice," the Syrian said, "and then decided with you."

Whether or not Nasir was right didn't matter. Agron gave it no thought. Instead, he stepped closer to the other man, face collapsing into an expression more incredulous. "Do not tell me you agree with Spartacus," he almost begged. Then, louder, "This rebellion was in need of men like mine. We now have them because of the decision I made."

When the last of echo of Agron's words disappeared, a tense silence came between them. Agron's pacing had ceased and his body was turned and leaning toward Nasir, and his eyes were narrowed as if searching for the moment the Syrian would switch his allegiance in this from Spartacus to Agron. That moment did not come, though. Soon, Nasir parted his lips, dark eyes slipping to the side to avoid Agron's gaze. "You were so eager to be among your kin again that you forgot yourself," he said finally, his voice low.

At that, Agron drew back slightly, staring wide-eyed at the man. He had come here expecting support. Expecting the man he so loved to fall in line beside him, to agree with him and assure him that Spartacus had been wrong. But instead he was given this. "And so you would have seen this sanctuary crawling with more Gauls," Agron spat, taking another step back, "rather than my kin, who greeted you as brother."

Nasir stepped forward quickly, reaching out for Agron. "I said nothing of—"

Agron interrupted. "Fucking Gauls, who would sooner piss on you than embrace you." A short and humorless laugh escaped him and he shook his head, turning away. He was half-tempted to leave and join the company of his kin again. No criticism would be found there, only men grateful to be free and among friends.

But Nasir's voice kept him there. "This is not about comparing Gauls and Germans," he insisted. "All men enslaved by Rome deserve to be freed no matter from which country they hail."

Agron had admired Nasir's conviction once. Now that it was turned against him, though, he held no love for it. The gladiator could not find the words to reply, not when all manner of unpleasant feeling held sway over him. He felt betrayed. Made a villain. Why could no one see that what he had done had been for the benefit of them all? It was the same with any decision he made, and yet no one could see the good intention behind it until it was too late.

There was a gentle hand upon his arm. Agron looked down at it, surprised to find it there; he'd been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't heard Nasir's approach. Reluctantly, the gladiator gave in to the pressure on his arm and turned to face the other man. There was nothing tender in the way Agron looked down at the the Syrian, despite the apology he could see in Nasir's eyes.

An apology worth nothing, because still Nasir was against him. "You must know there are men among us - men who are not your kin - that are good," Nasir said. "Spartacus is not German. I myself am Syrian."

Agron's blue eyes were cold. "More Roman than Syrian," he snapped.

The second after the words had fallen from his lips, Agron regretted them. His expression immediately softened and he opened his mouth to speak, to say he was sorry, but Nasir lifted a hand to silence him and the apology died in his throat. In another attempt, the gladiator reached out to take the Syrian into his arms, but he stepped away from the embrace. Nasir was hurt. It was clear in every line of his face, clear in the dull look of pain in his dark eyes. The fact that Agron had done this to other man pulled him forcefully from his anger. Too late, though.

Too late, because Nasir turned and walked away, and Agron was too heavily weighed down by shame to chase after him.


Once or twice, when he'd been hunting with his kin, Agron had been able to forget the words that had passed between himself and Nasir the night before. Once or twice, and only for a moment at a time, he'd been able to smile without feeling it stretch his face with its falseness, without having to force his muscles into the expression for the sake of his brothers.

But a reminder had always been swift to find him. It was sometimes the cadence of someone's laughter, close to that of Nasir's but never quite right. It was sometimes the touch of someone's hand, before Agron realized it was too heavy and not tender enough to be Nasir's. Those were the things that had gripped Agron tight and dragged him back down into his guilt. More often than not, his footfalls had been laden with it. Not even attempt to give Nasir some of the blame - for betraying him, however small the betrayal seemed now - lessened Agron's burden.

Now back within the walls of the sanctuary and after yet another lecture from Spartacus, Agron wanted nothing more than to find his Syrian, to kiss him awake and find comfort in familiar arms. And all without words to create a rift between them. But he couldn't bring himself to seek the other man out. Especially not while he had the eyes of Spartacus and Crixus on him. They were ever-watchful as Agron and his kin cleaned the game they'd killed, as if just searching for fault within them. It all left Agron tired after a night during which he'd found no rest.

Soon, Agron felt yet another gaze on him. He didn't need to turn to know whose it was. The weight of it was familiar. What Agron didn't know was the intent in that gaze; did Nasir look upon him with anger? Was there pain in his dark eyes? Did they plead with Agron to turn and meet them with his own? The gladiator turned slightly and saw the other man just within his periphery - but the chance to meet Nasir's eyes was stolen from him whether or not he'd have been able to find the strength to do so, because it was then that Sedullus noticed the Syrian's arrival.

"My little, dark brother!" the man called, and following those words came many other voices in greeting. Sedullus stood and drew Nasir into what was likely a bone-crushing embrace, picking him up off the ground in the process. One feet touched back down on earth, Nasir greeted each of the men and women in kind before finally coming to where Agron sat. The gladiator was taking a wet cloth to his hands, cleaning himself of the blood of the animal he'd butchered, occupying himself with it fully so that when he was done, his hands had never been so clean. Anything to distract himself.

It was Nasir who first broke the silence between them. "Your men show their worth," he said, voice cautious.

Agron's eyes were on the courtyard's wall, studying the cracks in it, because there he would find no evidence of what had happened between himself and Nasir. He searched for the words to answer but found it difficult to pick them out, because all that came to mind was an apology for the biting words he'd said to the other man. Funny - it was shame that both made him want to apologize and made it impossible to do so.

No, he couldn't say it. Not yet. "You are the only one to see it," Agron answered instead, then shifted gaze to rest upon Spartacus, Crixus, and Lucius, all sitting on the stairs and speaking among themselves. He saw Nasir's head turn in their direction, too.

"Spartacus still doubts?" Nasir asked, glancing back at Agron. Their eyes met in that moment, finally. It was brief; Agron averted his gaze after a few seconds, unable to hold it there, but in those seconds he'd found no less love in the way Nasir looked at him. A relief that threatened to undo him surged through his body. There had been warmth and caring and love in those dark eyes. Not loathing or anger as Agron had expected - though there was pain in them still. And there was only one way to chase that away.

But no, he still couldn't say it. "Spartacus finds fault where there is none," Agron replied, "no doubt because of poisonous words the fucking Gaul whispers into his ear." Because Agron had noticed the two speaking more closely than before they had returned from Neapolis. The gladiator only assumed that they spoke of nothing more than his incompetence, because that was all he'd heard from either.

"If there are whispers, Spartacus will soon forget them," Nasir assured him, "in the wake of your kin's continued aid."

"I hope I can forget Spartacus's words against me," Agron said, glancing at the Thracian. But then his gaze shifted once more to Nasir, and this time it remained. His voice lowered and was so soft that Nasir could choose to ignore it, if that was what he desired. "As I hope you forget the words I spoke against you."

Agron suddenly became very aware of his heartbeat in the following silence. It was faster than normal and the pulse of it was in his ears as he waited for Nasir's reply. The Syrian's brows were raised, whether in surprise at Agron's almost-apology or in disbelief of it, the gladiator had no idea.

After a moment that seemed to pass in the time of a year, Nasir replied. "You spoke in anger," he said, and though his voice was gentle, there was an edge to it. One that revealed the hurt went deeper than that weak apology had reached. "Those words were not your own."

"Nasir—" Agron began, but was interrupted when Nemetes walked past, clapping Nasir hard on the shoulder and shouting a greeting. He said a few words in broken common tongue about their hunt but moved on quickly enough. Initially, Agron had been annoyed at the man's arrival, but somehow it had taken a little bit of the tension out of the air. Perhaps it was because Nasir had smiled at the man, or perhaps they had just needed the break. Whatever it was, Agron's chest felt just a little less tight, and for that he was grateful.

Still, he was hesitant when he lifted a hand to reach out for Nasir. It faltered once but then his fingertips touched the man's hip, wrapped around it. He used that grip to draw Nasir nearer. "You must know," he said, still looking up at the other man, "that I would choose to have you by my side before any of my kin." He spoke softly so as not to be overheard, but there was no less meaning in the statement. What he said was the truth. His countrymen though Nasir was not, Agron still thought more of him than of the men he had liberated from the port. Roman or Syrian or even fucking Gaul, it mattered not - Nasir held his heart.

Nasir's hands hesitated, too, but soon slid into Agron's hair. Only hours had passed since the last time Nasir had touched him and yet Agron felt starved of it, and to feel it again brought him more sweet relief. The gladiator closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Nasir's hips, turning his head to gently press his cheek against the man's middle, ever-careful of the wound that still healed.

"I know," Nasir whispered, holding Agron close to him, and the gladiator heard not a single shred of doubt in that statement.

As far as Nasir's betrayal - though that was too harsh a word for it - it was forgotten, and easily. Agron needed no apology in return, for the purpose of Nasir's words had never been to wound, unlike the gladiator's words . Agron knew that Nasir wanted nothing more than to be treated as family by the German, knew that the Syrian embraced them all as brothers and was happy for their presence there. Nasir only thought that the decision Agron had made should not have been one made on his own, and perhaps the Syrian was right. Perhaps he was wrong, but it didn't matter, because Agron refused to turn his anger on Nasir again. At least where this was concerned.

The hands in Agron's hair began to withdraw, but he reached up quickly and slid his own hands over them to stop Nasir from pulling away.

He wouldn't be parted from the man so soon. Those hands moved to gently hold his upturned face, and for a brief moment, the two only looked at one another. And then, all at once, Nasir was in Agron's lap, legs straddling it, half from the Syrian's own efforts and half from being pulled into it by Agron's strong arms. Arms that now held Nasir's body tight against his own.

Their lips hovered on the edge of a kiss. Eyes were closed, foreheads touching, noses brushing against one another and their breathing mingled. Perhaps that pause should have been filled with words, apologies and forgiveness and anything else left unsaid, but no. When finally their lips did meet, all of that was within the kiss itself. Such a sweet kiss. Until it wasn't.

Until it became a little more desperate. It only took the briefest taste of Nasir's tongue before Agron leaned forward, pressed his mouth harder against the other man's, and Nasir returned the pressure in kind. More than that, he pushed back so hard that Agron suddenly lost his balance, and the two of them tumbled off the back of the crate the gladiator sat on. Agron hit the sand underneath with a short grunt, Nasir's weight landing on top of him, and only when an amused roar and cheering came from those around them did the two even think to pull away from the kiss, just to dissolve into breathless laughter soon after.


Sedullus' corpse was dragged from the courtyard, leaving a long trail of blood in its wake. Agron's gaze followed, but shifted before the dead man was out of sight, distracted by a familiar figure. "Nasir," he breathed, starting toward the Syrian. Agron's tired and bruised body resisted the movement but nothing would overcome his need to have Nasir in his arms in that moment. Their bodies crashed together, arms winding around one another, Nasir's around Agron's waist and the gladiator's around the other man's shoulders, one hand cradling Nasir's head against his chest.

"You should not have been fighting," Agron said in a whisper, and he tightened the fingers tangled in Nasir's hair to gently draw the man's head back. The gladiator's lips pressed against the Syrian's forehead; it was just a little warm and slightly damp and surely Nasir's body wasn't ready for something like this. That was why he was still resting at the sanctuary rather than accompanying them on missions. That wound of his…

Agron looked down between them at the cloth wrapped around Nasir's middle, checking for blood. He found exactly what he'd feared; a stain of red on the white bandage. The gladiator's breath left him in a rush and his distress at this discovery must have shown on his face, because Nasir quickly followed Agron's gaze. "Agron," Nasir rushed to say. "It matters not. It's nothing." But Agron was already leading the other man to the nearby stairs and lowering him gently onto them, kneeling in front of him and undressing the wound.

The wound was slowly uncovered and Agron exhaled once more, this time in relief. The gash in Nasir's side hadn't opened up again, as Agron had feared. There was just the slightest tear in it, though, which accounted for the blood. Now that his fear was abated, Agron let his gaze wander over the rest of the other man, in case some new injury had been inflicted, but the Syrian was mercifully unharmed, save for some small amount of blood around his mouth, but it was nothing to worry about. Had he been truly hurt, the killing wouldn't have stopped at Sedullus. Agron would have taken up a sword and run through whichever of his kin had dared lay his hands on Nasir.

"You worry for me," the Syrian said gently, "and yet you were the one Sedullus would have stricken down with that sword."

Agron splayed his fingers on Nasir's hip, just underneath his still-healing wound, and dug his fingertips in just slightly, glad for how solid and whole Nasir still was under his touch. He had no concern for himself, despite how sure he'd been of the gladius in Sedullus' hand striking home. "If not for Spartacus, it would have come to pass," he said distractedly.

"You speak as if it is of little importance," Nasir breathed. He reached out to take Agron's chin in his hand and lift the gladiator's gaze, which had still been searching for any sign of pain in the Syrian. "But when I saw him lift steel overhead I thought my heart stopped beating."

It seemed Nasir needed the same reassurance that Agron was all right. With a small smile, the gladiator pressed his hand against Nasir's chest and could feel the man's heartbeat. "It yet pumps blood," was his light reply. But then his voice grew firmer. "And no more will spill on account of my people. I promise you that."

Nasir's fingertips slipped away from Agron's chin and curled into a fist, which he gently and rhythmically beat against the gladiator's own hand over the Syrian's heart. It was just as the Germans had done to show their allegiance to Spartacus. "They are truly our brothers now," Nasir said before pressing his fist against his chest one more time, and then taking Agron's hand in his own. "And none can part lips to question them again."

Agron doubted that. There was one man that might yet doubt the Germans and Agron himself. Crixus. Thought of the Gaul turned mind to Naevia. Agron had come to her defense, and that was what had started the fight ending in Sedullus' passage to the afterlife. The German hadn't gotten far in his assault of the woman; of that, Agron had made sure. It was likely she was shaken, but not badly hurt. It was a relief Agron had noticed what was happening when he had. Otherwise the damage might have been more lasting.

"You look troubled."

Nasir's voice lured Agron out of his thoughts. He shook his head and gently squeezed the Syrian's fingers with his own. "I wondered about Naevia, but her Gaul likely tends to her. As I will tend to you. Come."

Agron stood and used his grip on the other man's hand to pull him to his feet and lead him into the sanctuary. There, he would find water and cloth to both clean and dress Nasir's wound once more. Things the Syrian very well could have done for himself, but Agron wanted to take care of him. He couldn't help but feel responsible for all that had happened. When would he stop making decisions that ended up hurting those he cared about? When would he stop making decisions that brought the heavy burden of guilt down on his shoulders?

In some private corner within the temple, Nasir sat on a table, leaning back on his elbows so Agron, who stood adjacent, could drag dampened cloth over the blood that stained dark skin. An oil lamp burned nearby, casting shadows on the both of them, making the wound on Nasir's belly look worse than it really was. Agron was careful as he navigated it, avoiding putting any more pressure on it than it had already endured in the fight.

"I'll never know how battle-worn hands can make such delicate work of caring for me," Nasir said softly into the silence between them as Agron finished cleaning the wound. There was no vocal reply, but the gladiator's gaze traveled over the other man's body, over Nasir's stomach and his chest, and his hand followed. It was slow in its ascent and all the while Agron squeezed the cloth clutched in his fingers, wringing it of water that now slid over Nasir's skin from neck to navel, dripping over his sides.

Nasir's head fell back, his eyes closed, and Agron took that opportunity to slide the cloth over the throat he'd just exposed. As a smile threatening to curl the corners of his mouth, Agron reached out with his free hand and cupped the back of the other man's head, lifting it slightly so he could clean that face of any remaining blood. And when that was done, the cloth was abandoned, and Agron's fingers played at Nasir's lips. "I only hope to ease whatever lingers of rougher hands than mine," he said. Those dark eyes fluttered open and met Agron's gaze, and the gladiator expected something sweet in return.

Instead, Nasir spoke with unsettling clarity. "Tell me what troubles you, Agron. Do you mourn Sedullus' passing?"

The pad of Agron's thumb swept over Nasir's bottom lip even as he spoke. The gladiator shook his head and weighed his words, for it seemed Nasir would be able to read into them more than most others would. "No. His death served a higher purpose. My kin are loyal to Spartacus now." Agron held the side of Nasir's face, and he looked at the man's lips with intent to taste them. "I only dread the apologies I will need to make when the dawn breaks."

Any reply Nasir would make was stolen away with a kiss. It was a deep kiss meant specifically to rob the Syrian of words, and it did just that, because when Agron pulled away the other man was breathless. "I would rest before then, with you sleeping against me." There was a question in his gaze; they had spent the night before apart because of what Agron had said, and now he looked for permission.

It was given with a nod. No more words were exchanged as Agron wrapped Nasir in clean bandages. The two then found the piece of floor they'd made their bed and fell asleep with legs tangled and lips resting against warm skin. The morning would come, Agron was sure, but before then there were hours and hours of Nasir's steady breathing against his body and whatever dreams would come. He took comfort in that.