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Nasir is holding clay amphora of water, helping to refill elderly rebel's cup when Agron comes stomping into courtyard. Tension has been thick between them since meddlesome pirate, yet storm has seemed to calm for the time being. It could be due to Agron's distraction with protecting Spartacus, yet Nasir wishes not to add burden.
Nasir barely has time to lift head and recognize the gladiator, distracted by mumbling of old man at his feet, before he's charging at him. Nasir resists the urge to flee, unsure of what madness has befallen his beloved. Agron doesn't give opportunity to place amphora upon nearby table, nor straighten all the way before gripping his face firmly between rough hands.
"Agron! What has caused this?" Nasir gasps, eyes widening in fear. Yet the German does not speak.
He nearly lifts Nasir off his feet when he bends to kiss him, clay shattering at their feet and splashing water among the stones. The old man gives a loud shout, scrambling out from under them as Agron presses Nasir roughly back to the wall. Nasir's fingers scratch along the broad expanse of Agron's shoulders, trying to gain purchase and steady himself. He nearly crashes to ground but is saved by Agron's bruising fingertips on his jaw.
"Crazy fuck," the elderly man hisses, a few others around them glaring.
It falls on deaf ears, Agron not even flinching as he moves mouth to Nasir's prone neck, biting roughly into the skin. The Syrian is clear enough of mind to wiggle, shoving at the German around stifled moans.
"Have you lost sense?" Nasir pants, pulling back to gasp against Agron's rough cheek.
"I have fucking need for you." Agron wraps his large hand around Nasir's wrist, tugging him towards the hallway. "Now."
Nasir turns back to look at the shocked rebels, unable to escape Agron's vice-like hold. He calls apologies but it's muffled as Agron turns the corner. He leads them into their rooms, nearly tearing the hanging fabric of their door. Nasir is quick to move away from Agron, hoping over the bed to put back against far wall, turning and placing both hands up. He realizes mistake of putting Agron between him and only exit, though he knows in the back of his mind that Agron is not angry with him.
“Give voice to cause.”
“Do I need cause to desire you?”
Agron uses one hand to yank his shoulder guards off, tossing them to the floor with a clatter as he advances slowly upon the smaller man. Nasir is momentarily distracted by the disrobing German, tracking the slide of leather straps down his toned arms. He has the urge to move forward and help, lick along the red creases the tight straps left upon Agron's chest. Agron notices the movement, extending the armor out to run the tight strip of leather down Nasir's cheek and jaw.
"Your eyes give you away, little man."
He's grinning as he closes the distance, lowering one hand to squeeze Nasir's cock through his pants.
"Or perhaps it is this."
Gasping, Nasir raises on his toes, gripping Agron's shoulders for balance. He knows that the gladiator is fuming about something, body tense and hot, eyes a blazing green, yet he won't give voice to such until needs are met. He has been at the mercy of Agron's form of therapeutic fucking before.
"I-" Nasir tries to come up with something to soothe blistered wound, but armor in Agron's hand sliding down his bare back is distracting enough to make cock twitch inside pants.
"You are not refusing."
"As if I could."
Nasir turns, planting his hands firmly upon table. Agron's intake of breath is loud hiss as he runs a hot fingertip along the bumps of Nasir's spine, following with his tongue. Nasir slowly arches his back, rolling his ass and pressing tightly against the German. He already knows before he looks over his shoulder what Agron's expression is going to be, but he glances back anyways and is rewarded.
Sweat is beading and sliding down the sharp curves of Agron's neck as he finishes disrobing, haphazardly tossing his sword belt and subligaria across the floor. Gripping his hips tightly, Agron flips Nasir over with ease, his weight not registering with the brute of a man. He lifts Nasir up on the table next, ignoring the smaller man's grunt of discomfort, fumbling and tugging at his belt. The Syrian gives aid, licking and biting at Agron's jaw as he finally strips.
Nasir isn't ready for the slick finger that slips inside of him, causing him to jerk and nearly slip from edge of table. It hurts, nearly enough to bring tears to his eyes. Agron is not himself, usually at least slow and careful with this moment. In retaliation for the sharp burn, Nasir thrusts a hand forward, successfully slapping Agron soundly across the face. The gladiator's eyes are wild as he pauses just for moment, seeming stunned by the act. Nasir breathes for a moment, sure he's about to apologize, but the German's slow grin stops him.
Agron's firm hand slamming him back onto the wood nearly knocks the air from his lungs, causing Nasir to gasp and reach out, fingernails catching across Agron's collarbones. Blood pools to the surface, but it seems to only spur the gladiator on, crooking his finger within the Syrian to bluntly tap his prostate.
Agron can feel the table legs shuddering dangerously when he slams two fingers into Nasir. They're going to break it if they continue. The Syrian's eyes are closed, eyelashes clumped together with what could both be sweat or tears. Agron does care, but if it's too much, Nasir will tell him. Though, it's never been before.
As if awakening, Nasir is suddenly reaching out to dig his fingernails into Agron's shoulder blades, shoving Agron's arm away from his chest. He sinks his sharp little teeth into the corded muscles of his throat, eliciting a sharp growl from the German. Agron is knuckles deep inside Nasir, pulling out to shove back in enough that the Syrian jumps and moans loudly.
Anger from Crixus' implications, pain from Duro's absence, fury from Sicilian eyes upon Nasir fuel Agron on as he lifts Nasir from the table, slamming him against the wall. In this state, Nasir does not have chance to continue his abuses on Agron before his cock is replacing fingers.
Nasir sounds as if dying, scream muffled by Agron's mouth, but it still vibrates through both their chests. Blood fills Agron's mouth from where Nasir's teeth are firmly planted in his tongue, and the German reciprocates easily, dragging sharp canines over tender bottom lip. Nasir tries to get an arm between them, aiming to elbow Agron away from himself, but the larger man grips his wrist, forcing it up and against rough wall of their room.
Cock flushed and leaking between their bodies, Agron ignores it for now and thrusts up into the suffocating heat of Nasir, lapping at the sweat lingering on his cheek. Nasir turns his head, nearly head butting the other man with his effort, a blood grin stretching across his face. He resembles an animal, eyes and hair wild as he licks the red from his gums.
Agron knows he's losing at this game, even if he's holding the other man nearly immobile. Nasir's still coherent thought is evidence of such. He should be babbling, eyes closed tightly and letting Agron move him.
His large palms slip along Nasir's thin hips, keeping his rhythm of deep thrusts, he pulls them both back from the support of the wall. Nasir tightens his legs around Agron's hips, locking his arms around his neck. His mouth teases along Agron's, licking gently at his lips before breathing across them, not quite kissing but an invitation.
Agron pauses all movement to take such, taking the sting out of previous violence by coaxing Nasir's mouth to open and accept his tongue. Though the copper tang of blood nearly hides it, the intoxicating taste of Nasir still lingers along his molars.
"Nasir-" Agron is about to apologize for losing self in such passions, yet freezes when long eyelashes brush his. Nasir pulls back enough to trace a fingertip along Agron's bruised mouth.
"Fuck me." He mumbles, kissing him again with more teeth.
Agron can not deny such a request, sinking to the bed with more grace than he thought possible. He grasps Nasir's wrists above his head once again, beginning a brutal rhythm of thrusts. The Syrian's neck is speckled with dark bruises, from mouth and teeth.
He's chanting Agron's name, hissing the beginning and groaning the rest, digging his heels into the dimples above Agron's ass. Nasir is certain he is constantly drunk off feeling of Agron's skin against his own. He'll be sore after this. He'll be struggling to walk and bend, fumbling in practice of sword and shield. Yet, he can not imagine any other torture and bliss he'd rather suffer than Agron's body inside his own.
He's so distracted by being shoved up and then dragged down the bed, Nasir nearly forgets his flushed and throbbing cock. There is too must sensation; Agron's hot mouth against his pulse, teeth digging into the muscle there and pulling. Agron is aware enough for the both of them, wrapping calloused hand around the flesh and tugging in opposite of his thrust. It's too dry, Agron knows regardless of Nasir not protesting. Even with the precome slipping between his fingers, they drag and tug on the flushed skin.
He pulls back to lap at his fingers, smearing saliva across them, and is momentarily distracted by the screaming moans being forced out of the smaller man with each of his thrusts. Experimenting slightly, he angles his hips just a little higher, presses deeper, and is rewarded by Nasir suddenly reaching completion all over himself.
Long ropes of white splatter onto reddened tan skin, and Agron does not have enough self control to stop his mouth from licking greedily at it. Nasir is panting, sweat sticky fingers pawing at Agron's back and hair, tugging enough to connect their mouths. It's tangy and tastes of fluid and blood, but Nasir sets his teeth into Agron's bottom lip and arches, encouraging the gladiator to keep moving.
"If you're going to fuck me, then fuck me."
It's all the prompting Agron needs as he sits back onto his knees, large hands nearly spanning all of Nasir's hips. He doesn't aim for finesse or pleasure, simply takes what he wants from Nasir's body. Each thrust is powerful, nearly curling Nasir in half with the motion, and forcing him deeper within the blanket's confines.
Nasir closes his eyes and takes it, coming back to his senses only when pain begins to creep upon the pleasure. He knows Agron needs this. It's safer for Agron to get it out this way, to release the tension and fury upon Nasir - who can and willingly will take the tidal wave that is the beast Agron is hiding.
"I am for you. Always for you."
Nasir chants it with each thrust, hands turned to soft caresses of Agron's face, tracing damp eyelids and trembling mouth. It seems like millennium before Agron is arching, a bellow ricocheting off the walls of their room. Nasir can feel his insides quiver around the onslaught of Agron's completion, dripping out slowly along his thighs.
It's a long time before Agron rolls off him, suspended in a trembling arch over the Syrian. The coiling muscles of his arms twitch and pull, taught even after the blissful elation of his orgasm. He doesn't bother to clean them off, curling his bulking form around Nasir. Face pressed to his neck, Agron refuses to look at the other male - as if he's protecting them both from the forces beyond their control outside of their tiny room.
Nasir traces along Agron's spine, body throbbing from pain and pleasure, mouth throbbing. He could not imagine place more perfect nor complete than beside Agron like this, feeling his heart thrumming against Nasir's ribs.
"Old wound reopens," Nasir murmurs knowingly. He doesn't need Agron to agree. He can feel the tears on his skin.
"You are not so vicious that words can not reach past walls you have built around yourself. Certainly you know that Duro does not fault you for protecting Spartacus. Was he not one to side with Rebel King?"
Agron barely nods against Nasir's jaw, sprawled across the Syrian as if giant cat.
"Then he will rejoice to see you victorious in afterlife, paving path in Roman blood."
Nasir kisses Agron's temple, brushing damp bangs from his forehead. It takes a few more soft presses of lips and skin for Agron to raise head. He kisses Nasir gently, barely there presses and nips.
"You have hidden talent for soothing my mind even before I give voice to concern," he mumbles, curling back up around the smaller man.
"A cherished skill indeed."
Nasir knows he will sport dark marks from Agron's passions tomorrow. Others will turn and stare at him, eyes and lips question. They will know but will not give voice to concern or jealousy. Yet, soothing of wound in Agron's heart is more than equal payment.