More Nagron Fanfic
More fluff! Argh, one day I will write something with a point/plot.
Title: There's a new light on your halo
Pairing: Agron/Nasir
Rating: PG:13
Disclaimer: Still don't own Sparty and Co, dammit.
Since returning to the Rebel’s reclaimed temple, Agron had been chasing rest. The stress of the day refused to drain from his body, despite having retired to bed at a reasonable hour. With the sweat from the battle, the celebration of victory and subsequent private celebration with his beloved now dried on his skin, the German mulled over the night’s events whilst Nasir and others slept soundly.
Laid in his favourite position, Nasir’s back pressed to Agron’s chest, the gladiator held a protective arm over the Syrian and his face buried in the other man’s dark hair. He tried every trick he could think of; counting backwards from one hundred, recalling lullabies his mother used to sing to himself and Duro to usher them towards sleep, and (his recent favourite) listening to Nasir’s steady breaths and feeling the regular thud of his heart.
Although his body felt weary, Agron’s mind and ears seemed to ring and buzz with the sounds of the earlier battles. Spartacus’ triumphant speech, the roars of the Rebels and Nasir’s warmth and love had dulled the racket temporarily, but now the German’s peace was disturbed by the memory of clashing swords, the splattering noises of blood spilling to the ground and the yells, bellows and screams from all around him.
Agron sighed heavily and willed away the image of Mira’s lifeless body in Spartacus’ arms, Nasir’s determined expression as he and the others held the vines, and of the great Oenomaus fading to the afterlife to join his much missed wife. He unconsciously tightened his arm around Nasir, closing his eyes and sending a brief thank-you to whoever had seen fit to return his heart to him in one piece.
Before the battle, Agron had not allowed himself to dwell on the thought that he or Nasir may fall in battle. He was not stupid; he knew that distraction in conflict could be more of a threat to you than your enemy. Agron had scarcely even seen the Syrian, although he could swear he had heard Nasir’s distinctive cry as the Rebels had charged their enemies from behind. Between then and the reclaiming of the temple had been a melee of steel, blood and screaming, at least until Spartacus had given the command to scale the wall…
Agron was pulling his sword from the chest of a legionary when he heard the yell from Spartacus. The Rebels were to scale the wall of their conquered temple and reclaim it by brute force. As his adversary hit the ground, Agron scanned the crowd around him and took in quite how many of his fellow Rebels were still standing. To his relief, it was a high number, with the majority moving towards their leader to join him in scaling the wall.
He allowed himself a minute to cast his eye over the crowd again, searching for a thick mane of black hair and dark skin. Agron’s eyes had just come to rest on Nasir, who was standing close to Spartacus and cheering at something the Thracian had just said, when a movement in his peripheral vision caused him to flinch away. He realised in a split second that he had dodged a weak but still potentially life-threatening sword thrust from a half-dead legionary, who had seemingly lurched out of nowhere.
The wounded man staggered but stubbornly held his gladius up defensively, his empty shield-arm pressed to a heavily bleeding wound under his ribs. For a moment Agron admired the man’s balls; few other so grievously wounded soldiers would drag themselves to their feet to engage an opponent with barely a scratch on him. The moment passed quickly and the soldier spat a curse at the gladiator, all the time struggling to stay upright. Agron merely growled in response and easily knocked the legionary’s sword from his weakened grasp, causing the other man to stagger backwards. The gladiator stepped forward and slashed the Roman’s throat, feeling drops of blood splash on his face and chest as they sprayed from the soldier’s jugular. The enemy fighter finally hit the ground, and Agron moved towards the temple again, giving the gurgling figure at his feet a final kick for good measure.
The sound of a battle charge met the German’s ears, and he looked up in time to see Nasir, Spartacus and others launch themselves over the temple wall. He shivered, and for the first time since the loss of Duro, Agron realised that he was afraid. Not for himself, but for the one who meant the most to him. Nasir who was no doubt weary, but had just thrown himself head first into another battle with yet more seasoned soldiers. The German knew that Nasir was by no means alone in combat, but he had to force away such thoughts and re-join the others.
As his long legs made rapid work of the distance between the forest and the temple, Agron allowed a slither of his fear settle in his belly. But almost instantaneously he felt a burning shame at his feelings. The Syrian may not have been a gladiator like their leader or himself, but the German knew thanks to the relentless training of Oenomaus, Spartacus and Agron himself that Nasir was now a formidable opponent. To think otherwise felt like a betrayal of his beloved and again Agron forced such views from his mind.
Reaching the wall, he could hear more sounds of combat from within and he could feel the blood lust creeping over him again. In a single motion, Agron hoisted himself up and over the wall, joining the fray below him with a feral bellow.
Nasir’s voice, quiet in the silence of the temple, pulled Agron back to reality.
‘I fear sleep still has not found you.’ The Syrian murmured quietly. The German sighed again and nuzzled his face into the other man’s hair.
‘Apologies for disturbing your slumber.’ Agron replied. ‘Close eyes and return to it.’
Nasir shifted a little and covered Agron’s arm with his own. ‘Not until you reveal what keeps you from it.’
‘You are a pragmatic man Nasir; I fear you will find it ridiculous.’ Agron confessed.
Nasir turned over so he was facing the gladiator, his eyes almost black in the dim light given by the single candle in the corner of their room. He gazed unflinchingly into Agron’s eyes.
‘Thoughts significant enough to keep rest at bay could never be ridiculous to me.’ He said firmly, placing his hand on the German’s neck. ‘What was it you said to me? “I will help shoulder weight.” Allow me to assist you in kind.’
Agron dropped his gaze to the floor. ‘I was afraid during the fight. I concerned myself with your welfare, as if you still were helpless house slave.’ He confessed. ‘I watched you and Spartacus scale the wall and fretted when I could no longer set eyes upon you.’ He met Nasir’s eyes again. ‘Apologises, for thinking you were unable to emerge victorious when I already knew to the contrary. I do you great disservice.’
To Agron’s surprise, Nasir merely smiled at his admission.
‘Gratitude for your honesty,’ he began. ‘But do not think that my eyes did not seek you out on the battlefield.’ His hand moved to tenderly grasp Agron’s jaw, mindful of a bruise darkening there. ‘Any man whose heart fought on the same field as he would struggle not to fret. Next time, fight nearby so I do not have to strain eyes to find you.’
Agron smiled at his lover’s last comment, spoken in a playful tone. ‘Apologies,’ he repeated. ‘I did not realise you had the vision of an elder.’
The jest earned the German a kick in the shin and the two men laughed quietly for a moment. Nasir pressed his forehead to Agron’s and they kissed chastely.
‘I always worry for you,’ the Syrian admitted. ‘Naevia informs me that it does not get easier, merely familiar.’
‘I would defy the very gods to return to you,’ Agron retorted fiercely. ‘Never doubt your import to me, Nasir. My days were dark since beloved brother was taken; but they have seen fit to send Sól or Apollo to me.’
‘Apollo?’ Nasir inclined his head in curiosity. ‘Clearly you have not yet suffered my voice in song!’
Agron smiled enigmatically. ‘You misunderstand.’ He explained. ‘Yes, Apollo’s duties are of music and healing, but he also drives the chariot across the skies each morning. He brings much-needed light and warmth to the world… as you do to me.’
Nasir seemed slightly taken aback by Agron’s admission.
‘Such a comparison…I fear none I could make of you would compare in devotion.’
Agron snorted. ‘Worry not,’ he said derisively. ‘My demeanour is far from godly.’
Nasir smiled fondly. ‘In demeanour, no, but in appearance…that is a matter on which I often dwell.’
‘Such flattery, and yet I am already in your bed and arms.’ Agron teased in return. ‘A place which I would see us remain for foreseeable future.’
Nasir affectionately stroked Agron’s jaw with his thumb.
‘Agreed.’ He murmured. ‘You still require rest.’
Agron propped himself up on one elbow and grinned down at his lover.
‘Who spoke of rest?’
Nasir rolled his eyes but returned the German’s grin. He pulled Agron down to blanket his body.
‘You are incorrigible.’ He murmured as warm lips were pressed to his neck.
Agron stopped his actions and lifted his head to look Nasir in the eyes.
‘Is there any other way you would have me?’ He asked teasingly, his green eyes almost grey in the dim light. ‘Apart from on my knees before you?’
The Syrian shifted so that the other man was fully settled over him. He buried one hand in the hair at the back of Agron’s skull and smiled slyly up at him.
‘Since I am as a god, I would be in need of frequent worship to keep my favours upon you. Your knees would be a good start.’ He stated loftily, running his free hand down to grasp Agron’s bare hip.
Agron smirked. He pressed the full length of his body against Nasir’s, pressing their hips together.
‘And how often will you require such holy ministrations, Little Man?’ He rumbled, pressing open mouthed kisses to the base of the other man’s neck.
‘Every dawn and nightfall.’ Nasir gasped out as he arched up to press against his lover. ‘Suffering no deviations.’
Agron pulled back, resting on his elbows and again grinning down at his beloved.
‘Then consider me your humble acolyte.’ He proclaimed with an incline of his head, before leaning down and finally sealing his mouth over Nasir’s.
Title: There's a new light on your halo
Pairing: Agron/Nasir
Rating: PG:13
Disclaimer: Still don't own Sparty and Co, dammit.
Since returning to the Rebel’s reclaimed temple, Agron had been chasing rest. The stress of the day refused to drain from his body, despite having retired to bed at a reasonable hour. With the sweat from the battle, the celebration of victory and subsequent private celebration with his beloved now dried on his skin, the German mulled over the night’s events whilst Nasir and others slept soundly.
Laid in his favourite position, Nasir’s back pressed to Agron’s chest, the gladiator held a protective arm over the Syrian and his face buried in the other man’s dark hair. He tried every trick he could think of; counting backwards from one hundred, recalling lullabies his mother used to sing to himself and Duro to usher them towards sleep, and (his recent favourite) listening to Nasir’s steady breaths and feeling the regular thud of his heart.
Although his body felt weary, Agron’s mind and ears seemed to ring and buzz with the sounds of the earlier battles. Spartacus’ triumphant speech, the roars of the Rebels and Nasir’s warmth and love had dulled the racket temporarily, but now the German’s peace was disturbed by the memory of clashing swords, the splattering noises of blood spilling to the ground and the yells, bellows and screams from all around him.
Agron sighed heavily and willed away the image of Mira’s lifeless body in Spartacus’ arms, Nasir’s determined expression as he and the others held the vines, and of the great Oenomaus fading to the afterlife to join his much missed wife. He unconsciously tightened his arm around Nasir, closing his eyes and sending a brief thank-you to whoever had seen fit to return his heart to him in one piece.
Before the battle, Agron had not allowed himself to dwell on the thought that he or Nasir may fall in battle. He was not stupid; he knew that distraction in conflict could be more of a threat to you than your enemy. Agron had scarcely even seen the Syrian, although he could swear he had heard Nasir’s distinctive cry as the Rebels had charged their enemies from behind. Between then and the reclaiming of the temple had been a melee of steel, blood and screaming, at least until Spartacus had given the command to scale the wall…
Agron was pulling his sword from the chest of a legionary when he heard the yell from Spartacus. The Rebels were to scale the wall of their conquered temple and reclaim it by brute force. As his adversary hit the ground, Agron scanned the crowd around him and took in quite how many of his fellow Rebels were still standing. To his relief, it was a high number, with the majority moving towards their leader to join him in scaling the wall.
He allowed himself a minute to cast his eye over the crowd again, searching for a thick mane of black hair and dark skin. Agron’s eyes had just come to rest on Nasir, who was standing close to Spartacus and cheering at something the Thracian had just said, when a movement in his peripheral vision caused him to flinch away. He realised in a split second that he had dodged a weak but still potentially life-threatening sword thrust from a half-dead legionary, who had seemingly lurched out of nowhere.
The wounded man staggered but stubbornly held his gladius up defensively, his empty shield-arm pressed to a heavily bleeding wound under his ribs. For a moment Agron admired the man’s balls; few other so grievously wounded soldiers would drag themselves to their feet to engage an opponent with barely a scratch on him. The moment passed quickly and the soldier spat a curse at the gladiator, all the time struggling to stay upright. Agron merely growled in response and easily knocked the legionary’s sword from his weakened grasp, causing the other man to stagger backwards. The gladiator stepped forward and slashed the Roman’s throat, feeling drops of blood splash on his face and chest as they sprayed from the soldier’s jugular. The enemy fighter finally hit the ground, and Agron moved towards the temple again, giving the gurgling figure at his feet a final kick for good measure.
The sound of a battle charge met the German’s ears, and he looked up in time to see Nasir, Spartacus and others launch themselves over the temple wall. He shivered, and for the first time since the loss of Duro, Agron realised that he was afraid. Not for himself, but for the one who meant the most to him. Nasir who was no doubt weary, but had just thrown himself head first into another battle with yet more seasoned soldiers. The German knew that Nasir was by no means alone in combat, but he had to force away such thoughts and re-join the others.
As his long legs made rapid work of the distance between the forest and the temple, Agron allowed a slither of his fear settle in his belly. But almost instantaneously he felt a burning shame at his feelings. The Syrian may not have been a gladiator like their leader or himself, but the German knew thanks to the relentless training of Oenomaus, Spartacus and Agron himself that Nasir was now a formidable opponent. To think otherwise felt like a betrayal of his beloved and again Agron forced such views from his mind.
Reaching the wall, he could hear more sounds of combat from within and he could feel the blood lust creeping over him again. In a single motion, Agron hoisted himself up and over the wall, joining the fray below him with a feral bellow.
Nasir’s voice, quiet in the silence of the temple, pulled Agron back to reality.
‘I fear sleep still has not found you.’ The Syrian murmured quietly. The German sighed again and nuzzled his face into the other man’s hair.
‘Apologies for disturbing your slumber.’ Agron replied. ‘Close eyes and return to it.’
Nasir shifted a little and covered Agron’s arm with his own. ‘Not until you reveal what keeps you from it.’
‘You are a pragmatic man Nasir; I fear you will find it ridiculous.’ Agron confessed.
Nasir turned over so he was facing the gladiator, his eyes almost black in the dim light given by the single candle in the corner of their room. He gazed unflinchingly into Agron’s eyes.
‘Thoughts significant enough to keep rest at bay could never be ridiculous to me.’ He said firmly, placing his hand on the German’s neck. ‘What was it you said to me? “I will help shoulder weight.” Allow me to assist you in kind.’
Agron dropped his gaze to the floor. ‘I was afraid during the fight. I concerned myself with your welfare, as if you still were helpless house slave.’ He confessed. ‘I watched you and Spartacus scale the wall and fretted when I could no longer set eyes upon you.’ He met Nasir’s eyes again. ‘Apologises, for thinking you were unable to emerge victorious when I already knew to the contrary. I do you great disservice.’
To Agron’s surprise, Nasir merely smiled at his admission.
‘Gratitude for your honesty,’ he began. ‘But do not think that my eyes did not seek you out on the battlefield.’ His hand moved to tenderly grasp Agron’s jaw, mindful of a bruise darkening there. ‘Any man whose heart fought on the same field as he would struggle not to fret. Next time, fight nearby so I do not have to strain eyes to find you.’
Agron smiled at his lover’s last comment, spoken in a playful tone. ‘Apologies,’ he repeated. ‘I did not realise you had the vision of an elder.’
The jest earned the German a kick in the shin and the two men laughed quietly for a moment. Nasir pressed his forehead to Agron’s and they kissed chastely.
‘I always worry for you,’ the Syrian admitted. ‘Naevia informs me that it does not get easier, merely familiar.’
‘I would defy the very gods to return to you,’ Agron retorted fiercely. ‘Never doubt your import to me, Nasir. My days were dark since beloved brother was taken; but they have seen fit to send Sól or Apollo to me.’
‘Apollo?’ Nasir inclined his head in curiosity. ‘Clearly you have not yet suffered my voice in song!’
Agron smiled enigmatically. ‘You misunderstand.’ He explained. ‘Yes, Apollo’s duties are of music and healing, but he also drives the chariot across the skies each morning. He brings much-needed light and warmth to the world… as you do to me.’
Nasir seemed slightly taken aback by Agron’s admission.
‘Such a comparison…I fear none I could make of you would compare in devotion.’
Agron snorted. ‘Worry not,’ he said derisively. ‘My demeanour is far from godly.’
Nasir smiled fondly. ‘In demeanour, no, but in appearance…that is a matter on which I often dwell.’
‘Such flattery, and yet I am already in your bed and arms.’ Agron teased in return. ‘A place which I would see us remain for foreseeable future.’
Nasir affectionately stroked Agron’s jaw with his thumb.
‘Agreed.’ He murmured. ‘You still require rest.’
Agron propped himself up on one elbow and grinned down at his lover.
‘Who spoke of rest?’
Nasir rolled his eyes but returned the German’s grin. He pulled Agron down to blanket his body.
‘You are incorrigible.’ He murmured as warm lips were pressed to his neck.
Agron stopped his actions and lifted his head to look Nasir in the eyes.
‘Is there any other way you would have me?’ He asked teasingly, his green eyes almost grey in the dim light. ‘Apart from on my knees before you?’
The Syrian shifted so that the other man was fully settled over him. He buried one hand in the hair at the back of Agron’s skull and smiled slyly up at him.
‘Since I am as a god, I would be in need of frequent worship to keep my favours upon you. Your knees would be a good start.’ He stated loftily, running his free hand down to grasp Agron’s bare hip.
Agron smirked. He pressed the full length of his body against Nasir’s, pressing their hips together.
‘And how often will you require such holy ministrations, Little Man?’ He rumbled, pressing open mouthed kisses to the base of the other man’s neck.
‘Every dawn and nightfall.’ Nasir gasped out as he arched up to press against his lover. ‘Suffering no deviations.’
Agron pulled back, resting on his elbows and again grinning down at his beloved.
‘Then consider me your humble acolyte.’ He proclaimed with an incline of his head, before leaning down and finally sealing his mouth over Nasir’s.