Fic ~ The Weight of Honor
Oh my gosh, I wrote fanfiction! I had no idea I could still do that!
Title ~ The Weight of Honor
Fandom ~ Spartacus: Vengeance
Pairing ~ Agron / Nasir
Rating ~ PG13 (language)
Spoilers ~ Through 2x03, “The Greater Good”
Words ~ 800
Notes ~ Don’t you hate it when a character or pairing catches your eye and you can’t find any fanfiction to tide you over between episodes? Sometimes when that happens, you just have to write your own! (Of course, in the time that it took to write this, a few others have popped up, but the more, the merrier, right?)
The Weight of Honor
“I had to tell him.”
“My cock, you had to tell him.” Agron picked up a sword and checked the edge. Satisfied, he slid it down into a basket of other swords, already sharpened. They needed more weapons. He wondered briefly if Spartacus would insist that they leave some behind for his foolhardy attempt on the mines. Gritting his teeth, he pulled out the next blade and pressed his thumb against it.
“You and Spartacus speak often of honor,” Nasir said. “Do you really fault me for listening to my own?”
“I hope you do not come to seek forgiveness, little man.”
“No. I come to seek understanding.”
Agron turned then, the sword still in his hand. Nasir’s eyes dropped to it briefly before he straightened, lifting his chin. A small measure of the fierceness he had displayed at their first meeting was plainly visible.
“It is as Spartacus said. It was a lie neither of us would have considered were it your brother sent to the mines. Or mine, if he yet lives.”
“Recalling Spartacus’s words to me will earn you little favor at present.” Agron gripped the sword tightly, fresh anger burning at the memory of Spartacus’s blow. “He is a great warrior, but in some ways a fool. In this, he is without reason.”
“He would see Crixus made whole. That is a noble task.”
“It is a hopeless task. Were Naevia recovered tomorrow, she would never be made whole. The Roman scum have seen to that. All you have done is re-open Crixus’s wounds.”
Shaking his head, Agron turned away from Nasir and dropped the sword he held into the basket with the others. It was useless to be angry at the boy now. His tongue had slipped, and there was no undoing the damage.
It was a long while before Nasir spoke again. “Earlier today, Chadara suggested that it would be wise to seek your favor, that you could offer me security, and position. I cared greatly for those things once, as you well remember. A body slave can hope for little more. It was Spartacus who took the collar from my throat, and he who told me I could be more. I could be a free man. A man of honor.
“When you told Crixus that Naevia was dead, I did not want to speak against you, but I knew it was wrong. I was at war with myself. Part of me wanted to speak, and part of me wanted nothing more than to hold my tongue, to secure your trust and my place at your side. But to do that would mean I had no honor, and I was still more slave than man.”
Agron sighed heavily. “I am not Rhaskos, who offers protection in trade for wet comfort. I would rather have you in my bed as a man of honor, even a foolish one, than as a slave to be given order.”
Silence followed, and Agron lifted his head to see Nasir watching him with wide, dark eyes. Some of the certainty had drained out of him, and his voice was low as he asked, “Then you would have me in your bed?”
For a moment, Agron thought to laugh, to make light of his words. He suddenly became aware that they were alone. No one lingered in the hall outside. None of the men came to gather supplies to load the wagons, as they should have. For the first time, he and Nasir stood with nothing and no one between them.
“I would have you in my bed,” Agron told him. “I would have you against a wall, or over a table, or on this dirty stinking floor…if I thought time allowed for such a luxury.”
Nasir looked away then, but Agron did not mistake catch in his breath, or the flush in his cheeks. Smiling slyly, he moved closer to the boy. Closer, but not touching.
“But pleasure must be delayed. There is no time now. While Spartacus rushes to fool’s errand, I must bring those of us with whom some sense remains to Vesuvius. I need to learn how many will come, then we must divide supplies, reorganize the guard. Spartacus may want the wagon we took yesterday, it was going to the mines, and it will have to be unloaded. There is much to do, and no time.”
Nasir nodded, still with his head turned away. Reaching out, Argon dragged his fingers across the boy’s cheek before resting his hand on one shoulder. Nasir’s skin was warm under his touch. Warm and smooth and full of promise.
“When there is time?” Nasir said. “What then?”
Agron gripped his shoulder more tightly. “Then we shall see if we can find a bed, before turning to other arrangements.”
The End
Title ~ The Weight of Honor
Fandom ~ Spartacus: Vengeance
Pairing ~ Agron / Nasir
Rating ~ PG13 (language)
Spoilers ~ Through 2x03, “The Greater Good”
Words ~ 800
Notes ~ Don’t you hate it when a character or pairing catches your eye and you can’t find any fanfiction to tide you over between episodes? Sometimes when that happens, you just have to write your own! (Of course, in the time that it took to write this, a few others have popped up, but the more, the merrier, right?)
The Weight of Honor
“I had to tell him.”
“My cock, you had to tell him.” Agron picked up a sword and checked the edge. Satisfied, he slid it down into a basket of other swords, already sharpened. They needed more weapons. He wondered briefly if Spartacus would insist that they leave some behind for his foolhardy attempt on the mines. Gritting his teeth, he pulled out the next blade and pressed his thumb against it.
“You and Spartacus speak often of honor,” Nasir said. “Do you really fault me for listening to my own?”
“I hope you do not come to seek forgiveness, little man.”
“No. I come to seek understanding.”
Agron turned then, the sword still in his hand. Nasir’s eyes dropped to it briefly before he straightened, lifting his chin. A small measure of the fierceness he had displayed at their first meeting was plainly visible.
“It is as Spartacus said. It was a lie neither of us would have considered were it your brother sent to the mines. Or mine, if he yet lives.”
“Recalling Spartacus’s words to me will earn you little favor at present.” Agron gripped the sword tightly, fresh anger burning at the memory of Spartacus’s blow. “He is a great warrior, but in some ways a fool. In this, he is without reason.”
“He would see Crixus made whole. That is a noble task.”
“It is a hopeless task. Were Naevia recovered tomorrow, she would never be made whole. The Roman scum have seen to that. All you have done is re-open Crixus’s wounds.”
Shaking his head, Agron turned away from Nasir and dropped the sword he held into the basket with the others. It was useless to be angry at the boy now. His tongue had slipped, and there was no undoing the damage.
It was a long while before Nasir spoke again. “Earlier today, Chadara suggested that it would be wise to seek your favor, that you could offer me security, and position. I cared greatly for those things once, as you well remember. A body slave can hope for little more. It was Spartacus who took the collar from my throat, and he who told me I could be more. I could be a free man. A man of honor.
“When you told Crixus that Naevia was dead, I did not want to speak against you, but I knew it was wrong. I was at war with myself. Part of me wanted to speak, and part of me wanted nothing more than to hold my tongue, to secure your trust and my place at your side. But to do that would mean I had no honor, and I was still more slave than man.”
Agron sighed heavily. “I am not Rhaskos, who offers protection in trade for wet comfort. I would rather have you in my bed as a man of honor, even a foolish one, than as a slave to be given order.”
Silence followed, and Agron lifted his head to see Nasir watching him with wide, dark eyes. Some of the certainty had drained out of him, and his voice was low as he asked, “Then you would have me in your bed?”
For a moment, Agron thought to laugh, to make light of his words. He suddenly became aware that they were alone. No one lingered in the hall outside. None of the men came to gather supplies to load the wagons, as they should have. For the first time, he and Nasir stood with nothing and no one between them.
“I would have you in my bed,” Agron told him. “I would have you against a wall, or over a table, or on this dirty stinking floor…if I thought time allowed for such a luxury.”
Nasir looked away then, but Agron did not mistake catch in his breath, or the flush in his cheeks. Smiling slyly, he moved closer to the boy. Closer, but not touching.
“But pleasure must be delayed. There is no time now. While Spartacus rushes to fool’s errand, I must bring those of us with whom some sense remains to Vesuvius. I need to learn how many will come, then we must divide supplies, reorganize the guard. Spartacus may want the wagon we took yesterday, it was going to the mines, and it will have to be unloaded. There is much to do, and no time.”
Nasir nodded, still with his head turned away. Reaching out, Argon dragged his fingers across the boy’s cheek before resting his hand on one shoulder. Nasir’s skin was warm under his touch. Warm and smooth and full of promise.
“When there is time?” Nasir said. “What then?”
Agron gripped his shoulder more tightly. “Then we shall see if we can find a bed, before turning to other arrangements.”
The End