#warrior-nasir

When Agron had been deployed, they’d long accepted that he would not be back in time for Nasir’s birthday. It was a massive regret that Agron held, that he would be gone for months and miss the occasion. But when there, things had changed as the date drew near. It took some work, some convincing, and some maneuvering but he had done it. He would return just in time! Arriving a couple weeks earlier than anticipated, Agron landed, and took a cab to Nasir’s work place. 

The actual day of his birthday was today, and tomorrow -- Friday -- would be the party that their friends would be throwing for Nasir. The older male did not tell a soul of his return, not about to risk it getting to Nasir when he’d much rather surprise him. Not having time to change out of his uniform, he went straight to the airport to Nasir’s work. Entering, he almost immediately saw him, a smile forming on his lips as he stood there, setting his duffel bag down. “Happy Birthday!”

[text] Alright alright, this is the extent of it  [text] It’s not that bad.. [text] Could have been worse [text] I’ll be alright [text] Not staying at the fucking hospital though [text] Am already home anyway

@warrior-nasir

Continued from X

warrior-nasir

Nasir once again slipped from Agron’s protective gaze, refusing to pause to listen to his wise words and gentle offerings. If he slowed down for but a moment, the reality of his sickness would surely settle in and claim its host. Nasir would not have that so. “I tended to my Dominus and satisfied several of his acquaintances in worse health and lived to tell fucking tale. I sucked cock when head felt as though it may split open. I served as gold painted spectacle on pedestal for hours, sure I would lose all stomach contents in front of entire fucking party. Yet I did not.” The words came spilling out of him like water rushing down a stream. Nasir did not often talk of his past, ashamed and unwilling to let it cloud or taint his future as a free man anymore than it had already. “Do not think me weak.” Presuming he had misplaced his positions or more likely, Agron had hidden them from sight, Nasir moved to leave their tent. “I would see you when vital duties are attended.”

Agron had to admit that he was surprised by Nasir’s reaction. The words piercing him like daggers to his heart. Hearing what his lover had to endure, for while it was assumed, they had never spoken in great detail about it. Agron would not ask but rather, be here should Nasir wish to open up if talking aided the healing process for him. But now, here he stood, speaking of all the obscene things he was forced to do as a slave while sick. The softness in Agron’s face turned into one of a stoic and stern nature. 

“I am not your fucking dominus,” he stated bluntly. He knew how the others referred to Nasir: Agron’s boy. And Agron hated it just as Nasir did. It made the German sound like a Roman: claiming possession over someone. Where as his and Nasir’s bond was one of the heart. Not obligation. “My concern stems from love, not fucking control nor thought that you are weak.” The mere suggestions now made Agron feel sick. “Would that you even think such a thing, strikes greater blow to chest than any sword or spear.” A blow to his heart.

This was not a conversation that they had yet and Agron knew that it was a good a time as any. He didn’t want to lie to Nasir and besides, it wasn’t like Agron was ashamed of anything. This was who he was, and it was a part of him. Most importantly . . . he trusted Nasir emphatically. “It’s for my pacemaker,” he answered, watching Nasir closely to see how he would react to the revelation.

When Agron saw Nasir approach, he turned his head to properly look at his lover. But it was quite obvious that something was wrong. Nasir reached out for the leather around Agron’s neck, gripping it and struggling to get words out. Agron moved his arms around Nasir to hold him, concern flooded his entire face. “Nasir! What happened?” He asked, his eyes searching over the male for a wound that may cause such difficulty in breathing. “Medicus! We need the fucking medicus!” He called out, refusing to fetch one himself for it would entail leaving Nasir. One hand moved behind Nasir’s head, worry clear in Agron’s gaze upon him. “Stay with me, Nasir,” he urged him, the shallow breaths growing more and more shallow with each passing moment. 

Agron had make a quick stop after his shift today . . . though quick was perhaps a misleading word. He had been intending on doing this, and today, had gone ahead with his plans. He had been wanting to get a tattoo for some time, and make that desire a reality. Something that would undoubtedly come as a surprise to his partner. He had not made mention of it, and wasn’t sure why other than the sheer desire of it being a surprise. Perhaps one he would allow Nasir to discover on his own. He had gotten two today. Each on an upper arm. On one arm, it said  Brüderchen, the affectionate German word for brother to honor Duro. 

And on his other upper arm, written in Arabic calligraphy letters read the Arabic word for Heart, to represent Nasir and honor his Syrian background. Each tattoo holding a cultural significance to honor two men that he loved dearly . . . obviously in very different ways. Arriving home, he opened the door and smiled upon seeing Nasir, closing it behind him before moving closer to his partner. For now, his arms were both concealed with his jacket and the t-shirt underneath. He wondered how long it would take before Nasir either discovered it, or Agron could not remain silent about it any longer. “Hey,” he greeted. “How was your day?” 

Agron had just returned from his charge, relieved to be home for the next little while until he was called to duty again. He had already made phone calls to the regular people he had to notify that he had arrived home and safe. Being in the military, he of course had family and friends who held concern for him, but he returned in one piece. Rather than a body bag. With that said, he was looking forward to a quiet evening at home, far too tired to go out or enjoy any excitement over returning. Mira had picked him up from the airport and after thanking her, he made his way inside. 

On his way in, he was informed of a party to welcome a new resident in the building, but Agron politely declined the invitation. Eventually, he made it to his apartment. He was greeted by his two cats, ones who had been recently dropped off by Mira. Agron smiled at the way his home had been prepared for his return. Especially the food in the fridge. He quickly showered and changed into comfortable clothing and found his way outside on his balcony. 

A beer in hand, he sat down on a chair, one of his cats already making comfortable on his lap. He looked at the apartment next to him, the party clearly going strong, but Agron continued to have a lacking desire to go. Or perhaps it was a lacking energy. He instead enjoyed the nicely weathered evening. Though, he found himself quickly distracted when he heard the balcony door open from the source of the party and out stepped a young man that Agron found his eyes locking onto. 

Since the regrouping of rebels, Agron had tried not to leave Nasir’s side. He was still unconscious, still suffering from the injury he had suffered. Apart from when Agron was needed by Spartacus, he spent the rest of his time in the designated area for the medicus -- the makeshift one -- to tend to Nasir. Agron would never forget it. Seeing the others, eyes desperately searching for the Syrian, and then finding him; half dead against the tree. 

Paled features. Dampened with sweat. Hardly conscious. And there it had been, the slightest of smiles on his lips. It had been a mistake to split up. Spartacus had admitted to such as well, but Agron knew that his loyalty was to Spartacus, and he let his irritation of the Gaul cloud that. Now, Nasir may pay the price for it. Just like the others who had fallen had. Currently, Agron was alone with Nasir. The German’s head was on the wooden makeshift bed that Nasir was laid upon. 

Agron still had yet to have proper conversation with Nasir since he had not awoken ever since they had arrived at the temple. Agron’s eyes were closed, his head in his folded arms on the table, a very light sleep upon him. Ready to leap into an awakened state the moment he felt the slightest shift from Nasir. Sleep had eluded him for so long, and would often continue until he was certain that Nasir was alive. That he would make it out of the darkest stage of his injury. He had to live. Agron . . . needed him to live.