(no subject)
Title: These Hands
Author: mauled_down
Pairing: Agron/Nasir
Rating: R
Summary: If the blade had struck but an inch higher, Nasir would not be cleaning a wound. He would be burying a lover.
Word Count: 1,553
Disclaimer: Regardless of the rumours, I don’t own them, nor do I make any money playing with them. Sorry folks.
If the blade had struck but an inch higher, Nasir would not be cleaning a wound. He would be burying a lover.
With careful hand and limber fingers he wiped the blood from the wound, a cloth submerged in herbs and sweet honey tightly in his grip. Agron observed the little man at work, his head tilted on one side, his gaze perplexed.
Nasir’s touch was gentle as it worked on the gaping wound. Even when he took to the needle and thread, the sting when they pierced the skin wasn’t as harsh as when done by Medicus.
“I would have you be more careful.” Nasir said with a soft voice. “I would rather you return to me in one piece.”
“It is but a scratch.” Agron smiled, his tone light. “You should see the man who caused it.”
Nasir shook his head. The scar on the nave of Agron’s neck wasn’t deep enough to cause real harm, but had it been higher, it would have ripped the neck open, robbing him from a man he loved. Nasir would not have even been able to hold his lover while life escaped him. He was bound to these quarters, healing wounds of his own. “I am sure he was sent to his death with a glorious blow.”
“You jest?” Agron frowned. When Nasir did not answer, he raised his hand to cup the face of the smaller man. “Nasir?”
Nasir looked up, a faint smile on his lips. “Don’t move. I haven’t finished.”
Agron sighed, shifted his weight. “You fret of piss and shit. I still breathe.”
“Only barely.” Nasir cut the thread with his teeth, stilled himself and pressed his forehead against the warm skin of Agron’s neck. He pressed his palm against his chest, just above where the he could feel beats of a strong heart. “I would have it remain so.”
Agron snaked an arm around Nasir’s waist, his fingers entangled into dark hair. “I have no intention on dying yet, little man.” He gently pulled Nasir’s head back, so that their eyes locked into a searching gaze. “None whatsoever.”
“Yet you risk life and limb every time you venture out.”
“It is the way of things.” Agron placed a gentle kiss on the Syrians brow. His touch so tender it was almost faint, as if he was afraid to hurt his loved one with it. It were his words that cut deeper than his touch.
“Many Roman’s still need to meet their end.” Nasir nodded. “I know.”
“And every Roman life cut short will hasten our feet towards a life of our own.” Agron’s fingers softly tugged the black hair they were enveloped in.
Nasir closed his eyes, his lips parting in anticipation of the kiss that followed hastily. Agron breathed through his nose with a heavy sigh and pulled the lighter frame closer to him.
Being gentle wasn’t something Agron was accustomed to. Before, the only person that had managed to coax any kindness out of him had been his brother, and when he was ripped from this life, Agron had thought all tender feelings dead in his heart.
He still struggled, often forgetting the strength in his hands and causing unintentional bruising to his lover, who stood shorter and narrower than his broad, towering form. He would rather strike his arms off than intentionally cause harm to the man he now claimed as his own, but years of hard training and a raging spirit sometimes gave way for stronger grip.
Never so with Nasir. His hands were always careful, his fingers always knowing, in control. Even in the throes of passion he maintained his posture. Sometimes Agron suspected this was because the boy had been trained in the arts of carnal pleasure, sometimes he worried that his clumsy caresses and unrefined love-making were nothing but a tiresome act, that Nasir’s time in slavery had stolen pleasure from him.
But when Nasir’s mouth opened to welcome his exploring tongue he knew he worried for nothing. While agrestic, his touch was full of intent, and Nasir Leaned against it. His hair tickled away at the edges of the warriors face, soft and airy, almost how he now felt.
“Your wound.” Nasir breathed, when their lips parted, though only for air. “You shouldn’t excite yourself.”
Agron grinned. “It is you who excite me, little man.”
Nasir allowed himself a short, breathless laugh. “Cease hand, so that I may attend to your injuries.”
“Of no concern”, Agron said, his arm strongly around the smaller man’s waist. Nasir pressed his palms on his chest, with no real intent or strength in them.
“Agron.” He breathed against lips that claimed all voice from him. The warrior pulled his lover to him, smaller frame against a wider one, melting together as if they were of the same form.
Agron ran his lips down Nasir’s neck, biting and licking as he went, his arms holding fast to the Syrian’s hips as if to pace himself. Nasir leant into the touch easily, his agile fingers sinking into Agron’s short hair, letting out a content sigh when he bit into his collarbone.
“Let me”, he whispered, pushing the warrior back, trailing kisses on scarred skin, lowering himself to ease his lovers desire with his mouth, but Agron stilled him.
It wasn’t because of the wound at his neck ached more than he cared to admit, but because this time, he would see his lover to completion. Nasir had a beautiful mouth, and a tongue that did sinful things to Agron, forced him to cry like a whore at its attentions, but this time he wanted to touch Nasir. Wanted to give pleasure as much as take it.
Nasir knew better than to argue. And in truth, it wasn’t as if he really wanted to. Agron’s strong arms pulling him closer, a hand previously idle upon him hip now running up and down his chest were more than convincing enough. A small whimper escaped his lips, lost in the mouth claiming his again.
A tentative hand found its way under his breeches, stirring life to his member. Agron’s hand lacked the finesse and skill Nasir’s had learned so many years ago, but the rough and uneducated touch was most welcome and well received.
Nasir tried not to thread too much on his past, tried his best not to remember the hands that have touched him before Agron had laid his on him. It was of little concern, when choice was removed from him and all that was left was blind obedience. But now, he would never have anyone else’s hands upon him. Agron might not be a connoisseur in carnal pleasures, but his hands hid love and intent behind them.
And if he ever chose so, he knew he could deny them what they were after, that his words would be heeded. Not that he would ever ask Agron to stop. But it was good to know that he would if Nasir ever asked.
Now the exploring hand found its way to wrap around the proudly standing member, stroking it to the base and running up the length to the very tip. Nasir allowed his head to fall back and a quiet groan escape the lips now free from captivity. Agron smiled at the fruit of his labour, a somewhat smug smile curving his lips right before he pressed them against Nasir’s chest, tasting the salt of his sweat and the musky desire there.
He found a pace that made the Syrian gasp for breath and push himself against his hand. Agron had no intention of prolonging pleasure, now was not the time for longevity. Now was a time for stolen gasps, and hurried release. When all injuries were attended to, when threat of danger grew smaller, then would be a time to protract the carnal desires they shared. Perhaps even to learn from the gentle touch of the other man.
Still maintaining control, but perhaps by just biting down to his lip hard enough to taste the iron flavour of blood, Nasir made a beautifully haunted noise as his hips buckled forward and his seed shot on Agron’s hand. With no warning of the impending release, Agron was taken aback, but soon recovered and pulled Nasir into a warm embrace and a slow kiss.
“There is blood.” Nasir said, concerned, when they parted. “Your wound still bleeds.”
“And my heart still beats and I still draw breath.” Agron smiled, running his hand over the smaller man’s face. “And if I bleed and breathe I must be alive. You can cease fretting.”
“Next time, I would join you on your way.” Nasir said, taking the damp cloth to hand again, setting upon cleaning the wound as if nothing had happened.
“And I would have it so.” Agron leaned back, allowing Nasir to inspect his handiwork.
If the blade had struck but an inch higher, Nasir would not be cleaning a wound. He would be burying a lover.
The hour was late. He would sleep now, and attempt at not fretting about tomorrow.
Author: mauled_down
Pairing: Agron/Nasir
Rating: R
Summary: If the blade had struck but an inch higher, Nasir would not be cleaning a wound. He would be burying a lover.
Word Count: 1,553
Disclaimer: Regardless of the rumours, I don’t own them, nor do I make any money playing with them. Sorry folks.
If the blade had struck but an inch higher, Nasir would not be cleaning a wound. He would be burying a lover.
With careful hand and limber fingers he wiped the blood from the wound, a cloth submerged in herbs and sweet honey tightly in his grip. Agron observed the little man at work, his head tilted on one side, his gaze perplexed.
Nasir’s touch was gentle as it worked on the gaping wound. Even when he took to the needle and thread, the sting when they pierced the skin wasn’t as harsh as when done by Medicus.
“I would have you be more careful.” Nasir said with a soft voice. “I would rather you return to me in one piece.”
“It is but a scratch.” Agron smiled, his tone light. “You should see the man who caused it.”
Nasir shook his head. The scar on the nave of Agron’s neck wasn’t deep enough to cause real harm, but had it been higher, it would have ripped the neck open, robbing him from a man he loved. Nasir would not have even been able to hold his lover while life escaped him. He was bound to these quarters, healing wounds of his own. “I am sure he was sent to his death with a glorious blow.”
“You jest?” Agron frowned. When Nasir did not answer, he raised his hand to cup the face of the smaller man. “Nasir?”
Nasir looked up, a faint smile on his lips. “Don’t move. I haven’t finished.”
Agron sighed, shifted his weight. “You fret of piss and shit. I still breathe.”
“Only barely.” Nasir cut the thread with his teeth, stilled himself and pressed his forehead against the warm skin of Agron’s neck. He pressed his palm against his chest, just above where the he could feel beats of a strong heart. “I would have it remain so.”
Agron snaked an arm around Nasir’s waist, his fingers entangled into dark hair. “I have no intention on dying yet, little man.” He gently pulled Nasir’s head back, so that their eyes locked into a searching gaze. “None whatsoever.”
“Yet you risk life and limb every time you venture out.”
“It is the way of things.” Agron placed a gentle kiss on the Syrians brow. His touch so tender it was almost faint, as if he was afraid to hurt his loved one with it. It were his words that cut deeper than his touch.
“Many Roman’s still need to meet their end.” Nasir nodded. “I know.”
“And every Roman life cut short will hasten our feet towards a life of our own.” Agron’s fingers softly tugged the black hair they were enveloped in.
Nasir closed his eyes, his lips parting in anticipation of the kiss that followed hastily. Agron breathed through his nose with a heavy sigh and pulled the lighter frame closer to him.
Being gentle wasn’t something Agron was accustomed to. Before, the only person that had managed to coax any kindness out of him had been his brother, and when he was ripped from this life, Agron had thought all tender feelings dead in his heart.
He still struggled, often forgetting the strength in his hands and causing unintentional bruising to his lover, who stood shorter and narrower than his broad, towering form. He would rather strike his arms off than intentionally cause harm to the man he now claimed as his own, but years of hard training and a raging spirit sometimes gave way for stronger grip.
Never so with Nasir. His hands were always careful, his fingers always knowing, in control. Even in the throes of passion he maintained his posture. Sometimes Agron suspected this was because the boy had been trained in the arts of carnal pleasure, sometimes he worried that his clumsy caresses and unrefined love-making were nothing but a tiresome act, that Nasir’s time in slavery had stolen pleasure from him.
But when Nasir’s mouth opened to welcome his exploring tongue he knew he worried for nothing. While agrestic, his touch was full of intent, and Nasir Leaned against it. His hair tickled away at the edges of the warriors face, soft and airy, almost how he now felt.
“Your wound.” Nasir breathed, when their lips parted, though only for air. “You shouldn’t excite yourself.”
Agron grinned. “It is you who excite me, little man.”
Nasir allowed himself a short, breathless laugh. “Cease hand, so that I may attend to your injuries.”
“Of no concern”, Agron said, his arm strongly around the smaller man’s waist. Nasir pressed his palms on his chest, with no real intent or strength in them.
“Agron.” He breathed against lips that claimed all voice from him. The warrior pulled his lover to him, smaller frame against a wider one, melting together as if they were of the same form.
Agron ran his lips down Nasir’s neck, biting and licking as he went, his arms holding fast to the Syrian’s hips as if to pace himself. Nasir leant into the touch easily, his agile fingers sinking into Agron’s short hair, letting out a content sigh when he bit into his collarbone.
“Let me”, he whispered, pushing the warrior back, trailing kisses on scarred skin, lowering himself to ease his lovers desire with his mouth, but Agron stilled him.
It wasn’t because of the wound at his neck ached more than he cared to admit, but because this time, he would see his lover to completion. Nasir had a beautiful mouth, and a tongue that did sinful things to Agron, forced him to cry like a whore at its attentions, but this time he wanted to touch Nasir. Wanted to give pleasure as much as take it.
Nasir knew better than to argue. And in truth, it wasn’t as if he really wanted to. Agron’s strong arms pulling him closer, a hand previously idle upon him hip now running up and down his chest were more than convincing enough. A small whimper escaped his lips, lost in the mouth claiming his again.
A tentative hand found its way under his breeches, stirring life to his member. Agron’s hand lacked the finesse and skill Nasir’s had learned so many years ago, but the rough and uneducated touch was most welcome and well received.
Nasir tried not to thread too much on his past, tried his best not to remember the hands that have touched him before Agron had laid his on him. It was of little concern, when choice was removed from him and all that was left was blind obedience. But now, he would never have anyone else’s hands upon him. Agron might not be a connoisseur in carnal pleasures, but his hands hid love and intent behind them.
And if he ever chose so, he knew he could deny them what they were after, that his words would be heeded. Not that he would ever ask Agron to stop. But it was good to know that he would if Nasir ever asked.
Now the exploring hand found its way to wrap around the proudly standing member, stroking it to the base and running up the length to the very tip. Nasir allowed his head to fall back and a quiet groan escape the lips now free from captivity. Agron smiled at the fruit of his labour, a somewhat smug smile curving his lips right before he pressed them against Nasir’s chest, tasting the salt of his sweat and the musky desire there.
He found a pace that made the Syrian gasp for breath and push himself against his hand. Agron had no intention of prolonging pleasure, now was not the time for longevity. Now was a time for stolen gasps, and hurried release. When all injuries were attended to, when threat of danger grew smaller, then would be a time to protract the carnal desires they shared. Perhaps even to learn from the gentle touch of the other man.
Still maintaining control, but perhaps by just biting down to his lip hard enough to taste the iron flavour of blood, Nasir made a beautifully haunted noise as his hips buckled forward and his seed shot on Agron’s hand. With no warning of the impending release, Agron was taken aback, but soon recovered and pulled Nasir into a warm embrace and a slow kiss.
“There is blood.” Nasir said, concerned, when they parted. “Your wound still bleeds.”
“And my heart still beats and I still draw breath.” Agron smiled, running his hand over the smaller man’s face. “And if I bleed and breathe I must be alive. You can cease fretting.”
“Next time, I would join you on your way.” Nasir said, taking the damp cloth to hand again, setting upon cleaning the wound as if nothing had happened.
“And I would have it so.” Agron leaned back, allowing Nasir to inspect his handiwork.
If the blade had struck but an inch higher, Nasir would not be cleaning a wound. He would be burying a lover.
The hour was late. He would sleep now, and attempt at not fretting about tomorrow.