Fan fic: there is nothing to say
Title: there is nothing to say
Fandom: Spartacus: Vengeance
Characters: Nasir and Spartacus. (Nartacus? Narty? >.>)
Summary: If things had been different...
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, obviously. It all belongs to the creators of Spartacus.
Notes: I am going to submit this for a kink meme prompt, but originally I just woke up with it in my head, for whatever reason. It might be a work in progress.... I have to see what happens when I try to write more.
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It is done. The rebels are bonded, however new and fragile the bonds might be. He feared he would have to rid himself of those who would might cause trouble, but all had shown willing to abandon the enmity of the past. Even if issues were not entirely resolved, there was a sense of purpose which he hoped would hold them together. Now he must look to strengthen those bonds. There is always another battle, he thinks, wearily. Sometimes he tires of the constant struggle but knows that he must rally and does so with memories of Sura in his arms. Sura alive and Sura as she died.
Time is slipping away, he can feel it, a new sense of urgency gripping him since the release of Illithiya. It cannot be long before Glaber comes. Revenge is so close. Easy enough to fake smiles and joy with the other rebels while he holds that thought in mind.
His thoughts are broken by movement behind him. He does not need to turn to know who is approaching. Newly calloused fingers alight on the back of his neck, sliding over the skin and across his shoulder as a figure moves to stand in front of him. Gently the fingers track a path to his jaw, running along stubbled skin to reach his mouth, a thumb pressing a line along the bottom lip, the tip breaching just enough to pull moisture from inside his mouth and wet his skin.
He looks up and raises his eyebrows questioningly. “The others?”
“Asleep, or drunk.” Nasir replies with a gentle smile, bending down to press a slow kiss to his mouth.
“A brave thing, to turn thoughts from fighting to merriment.” Nasir speaks again as the kiss fades away. The Syrian moves easily to straddle his lap, and he reaches up to support the smaller man with firm hands on his hips. As one they move forwards into another kiss and he can taste wine and the blood from Nasir’s split lip. He feels a surge of pride for the younger man, considering where he came from to where is now, bearing the scars and developing the skills of a warrior. He would shape all of the former slaves like Nasir, but however many he trains in the future the Syrian will always hold a special place with him.
“A gamble, but a successful one in the end.” He concedes. Lifting a hand he pushes unruly strands of dark hair away from the younger man’s face. “You fought well.” A ghost of a smile touches Nasir’s mouth, though it hardly rings true. He does not have to wonder long at the cause of it. Defeat was not always easy, even in jest, particularly when skills were so publicly brought into question. “There was no shame in defeat. True goal was achieved.”
Nasir nods in response, lifting fingers running along his jaw and he feels the calluses on the younger man’s skin, lacking when they first met. “You still lower guard.” He points out, receiving a fuller smile in response. “Agron informed me of that already.” Nasir replies.
“Then it is doubly true.” His hand stops to rest against Nasir’s face, cupping his cheek firmly with calloused fingers. “We will train more tomorrow. I would see you well prepared for what is to come.”
“Ever the leader.” Nasir murmurs, a hint of admonishment in his tone. He feels a brief pang, knowing the Syrian deserves more than a man preoccupied with lost love and higher causes. There are those who would give more to Nasir, but he no longer mentions such things; he knows it will not be well received. The former body slave would make his own choice when the time came. Instead his hands lift to grasp Nasir’s face, pulling him into a slow, deep kiss. Heat rises slowly within them, seeking to angle heads and parting jaws to allow further exploration of the other’s mouth, tasting and reacquainting with one another.
There is rarely time for these moments together and they have learnt to take advantage of what can be grasped. It is the way of the rebels; time is short and comfort is sparse.
Fandom: Spartacus: Vengeance
Characters: Nasir and Spartacus. (Nartacus? Narty? >.>)
Summary: If things had been different...
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, obviously. It all belongs to the creators of Spartacus.
Notes: I am going to submit this for a kink meme prompt, but originally I just woke up with it in my head, for whatever reason. It might be a work in progress.... I have to see what happens when I try to write more.
----------
It is done. The rebels are bonded, however new and fragile the bonds might be. He feared he would have to rid himself of those who would might cause trouble, but all had shown willing to abandon the enmity of the past. Even if issues were not entirely resolved, there was a sense of purpose which he hoped would hold them together. Now he must look to strengthen those bonds. There is always another battle, he thinks, wearily. Sometimes he tires of the constant struggle but knows that he must rally and does so with memories of Sura in his arms. Sura alive and Sura as she died.
Time is slipping away, he can feel it, a new sense of urgency gripping him since the release of Illithiya. It cannot be long before Glaber comes. Revenge is so close. Easy enough to fake smiles and joy with the other rebels while he holds that thought in mind.
His thoughts are broken by movement behind him. He does not need to turn to know who is approaching. Newly calloused fingers alight on the back of his neck, sliding over the skin and across his shoulder as a figure moves to stand in front of him. Gently the fingers track a path to his jaw, running along stubbled skin to reach his mouth, a thumb pressing a line along the bottom lip, the tip breaching just enough to pull moisture from inside his mouth and wet his skin.
He looks up and raises his eyebrows questioningly. “The others?”
“Asleep, or drunk.” Nasir replies with a gentle smile, bending down to press a slow kiss to his mouth.
“A brave thing, to turn thoughts from fighting to merriment.” Nasir speaks again as the kiss fades away. The Syrian moves easily to straddle his lap, and he reaches up to support the smaller man with firm hands on his hips. As one they move forwards into another kiss and he can taste wine and the blood from Nasir’s split lip. He feels a surge of pride for the younger man, considering where he came from to where is now, bearing the scars and developing the skills of a warrior. He would shape all of the former slaves like Nasir, but however many he trains in the future the Syrian will always hold a special place with him.
“A gamble, but a successful one in the end.” He concedes. Lifting a hand he pushes unruly strands of dark hair away from the younger man’s face. “You fought well.” A ghost of a smile touches Nasir’s mouth, though it hardly rings true. He does not have to wonder long at the cause of it. Defeat was not always easy, even in jest, particularly when skills were so publicly brought into question. “There was no shame in defeat. True goal was achieved.”
Nasir nods in response, lifting fingers running along his jaw and he feels the calluses on the younger man’s skin, lacking when they first met. “You still lower guard.” He points out, receiving a fuller smile in response. “Agron informed me of that already.” Nasir replies.
“Then it is doubly true.” His hand stops to rest against Nasir’s face, cupping his cheek firmly with calloused fingers. “We will train more tomorrow. I would see you well prepared for what is to come.”
“Ever the leader.” Nasir murmurs, a hint of admonishment in his tone. He feels a brief pang, knowing the Syrian deserves more than a man preoccupied with lost love and higher causes. There are those who would give more to Nasir, but he no longer mentions such things; he knows it will not be well received. The former body slave would make his own choice when the time came. Instead his hands lift to grasp Nasir’s face, pulling him into a slow, deep kiss. Heat rises slowly within them, seeking to angle heads and parting jaws to allow further exploration of the other’s mouth, tasting and reacquainting with one another.
There is rarely time for these moments together and they have learnt to take advantage of what can be grasped. It is the way of the rebels; time is short and comfort is sparse.