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Do Not Wake

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Agron creeps into their tent in the dark hours past midnight. He’s tired, beyond exhausted, really; it feels like he has fit a week into one day, rushing from battle to supply run supervision to campaign strategy meeting – which of course went straight into an argument with Crixus, who these days seems to oppose Spartacus on principle. It always leaves Agron stuck in the middle, and the role of mediator has never really sat comfortably upon his shoulders. With Gannicus not caring (or pretending not to, which comes to the same), it seems like he’s always the one caught in between; and no matter which of them he agrees with, it always feels like twice the effort and like he’s betraying one or the other. Especially now, when he tends to agree more with Crixus, while his instinct is still always to side with Spartacus.

An oil lamp is still burning in their tent, and Nasir is fast asleep, sprawled on his stomach. He’s been on watch, Agron knows, and on training detail before that, and these days it seems like there’s never any time that they have only to themselves. Agron misses the early days sometimes, when their enemy was no one more threatening than Glaber: someone they could outwit easily, scoffing at his lazy attempts to trap them.

Agron pulls off his armour and drops it in a messy pile near the tent entrance. He pulls back the blanket, exposing Nasir’s body, limbs flopping every which way across their cot in Agron’s absence. The low-burning lamp paints long shadows into the hollow of his spine, the small of his back. Agron swallows at the sight, and his loins tighten despite his weariness.

“Nasir?”

“Mhmmm.” Nasir writhes dreamily against the blanket, but doesn’t wake.

Agron sighs and drapes himself over him, bending low to drop a kiss against Nasir’s temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. Nasir’s hair is curling damply where it parts across his nape; unlike Agron, he must have had opportunity to wash. Nasir moves sleepily under Agron’s lips, tucking his face deeper into the flat pillow. Agron smooths his hands across his shoulders, down his arms.

“Stay,” Agron whispers into the scattered dark locks, his lips brushing the ridge of Nasir’s ear, “Do not wake.” Normally this wouldn’t work, because normally Nasir is too intent on staying in control of anything that happens to his body. Agron understands why, having been a slave himself; he knows exactly how much it takes to ever let go of that jealously guarded self-governance, even with someone he loves.

But this time Nasir only mumbles something unintelligible; his lips curl in the smallest, sleepy smile, but the dark lashes stay lowered, casting shadows onto his cheeks, and his hand reaches back slowly, dreamily, brushing the side of Agron’s thigh before it drops back down.

The day’s battle seems years ago but it wasn’t really; Agron still carries traces of blood because he hasn’t had time to wash it all off, and his muscles groan and ache with every movement. He is so tired; too tired for anything, really; but as always, his body seems incapable of not responding to the sight and feel of his lover’s body. His cock hardens, swelling against the tempting curve of Nasir’s buttocks; more so when Nasir stirs in his sleep and the rounded flesh moves beneath Agron’s hips.

He sucks in a breath and stares suspiciously at Nasir’s face, turned sideways on the pillow. Nasir is breathing evenly, though, eyes firmly closed, his body utterly relaxed beneath Agron’s.

He strokes Nasir’s back, his sides. He remembers the first time they made love, when this golden skin was mostly smooth. There are scars there now: a thin white line etched by a passing arrow, the puckered edges of sword stabs, a patch of pink thin skin from a healed burn wound. Agron finds himself incapable of regretting even a single one of these scars. Each marks a choice that Nasir has made, a risk of his own taking, and Agron is fiercely proud of each and every one. Instead of marring Nasir’s body, they enhance it, lending a fierce edge to his beauty that matches his indomitable spirit. These scars are a landscape of victory.

Agron leans down to kiss the one below Nasir’s eye, barely visible in the dim flicker of the flame. Nasir’s lid twitches reflexively. “Do not wake,” Agron whispers again, then moves his lips to Nasir’s nape, his shoulders. He kisses his way across his back, tracing the scars with his mouth. He nips and licks at the warm skin while his hands slide down to frame Nasir’s hips, cupping his buttocks. Nasir sighs in his sleep and lazily moves his right leg, dragging his knee further up the bed. It leaves him exposed, leaves Agron’s hands free to slide between his cheeks.

He frowns when his searching fingers encounter the slippery trail of oil. He lifts his head, narrowing his eyes at Nasir’s face, but he looks fast asleep, his expression peaceful and guileless.

Agron clears his throat. “You’re not awake, are you?”

No response.

The pot of oil still sits next to their bed, unstoppered. Agron dips his fingers in it, deliberately dribbling a few extra drops across Nasir’s buttocks. His lover doesn’t even twitch. “I suppose you’re not,” he murmurs softly, as though to himself. He wraps his oil-slicked fingers around his cock, coating himself generously and inhaling sharply at the touch.

“I suppose, if you’re asleep,” he continues, lowering himself on top of Nasir’s body, “anything is possible, and you are not to stand accountable for it.”

He leans down, covering Nasir’s body completely as he presses him into the blankets. The motion sinks his cock neatly into the warm cleft between Nasir’s buttocks, firm flesh cupping him tightly, slick with oil and radiating heat. Agron swears under his breath and thrusts shallowly a few times, enjoying the slippery friction. He slides down low until the base of his cock brushes nearly against Nasir’s balls, then shoves up until his tip emerges at the top of Nasir’s buttocks. He repeats the motion until it’s not enough anymore, until his cock craves a tighter sheath.

He lowers his head once more to the delicate ridge of Nasir’s ear. “I suppose anything could happen, in a dream,” he rasps into Nasir’s ear. “Some stranger could walk in here and find himself incapable of resisting the temptation you present him with.”

He rolls his hips one more time, increasing the pressure. Nasir does not stir. His body is warm and loose, sprawling generously. His face is quiet and serene.

Agron smiles; reaches down and cups his swollen cock to position the tip at Nasir’s entrance. He pushes slowly, watching closely as the taut head disappears inside the oiled hole. He pauses for a second, struggling to compose himself, to withstand the urge to thrust despite the tight grip.

“I suppose,” he grits out between clenched teeth, “anyone would be unable to resist you when you lie here with your legs spread wide, that pretty ass just begging to be taken.”

He gives in at last and lets the weight of his body take him down, sinking slow and deep into Nasir’s body. He bites his lip against the clenching pressure, despite the oil easing the way. His cock is encased in squeezing heat, every inch alive with sensation.

“Gods, you’re tight,” he gasps, but he keeps pushing until he’s buried balls-deep; pauses for a moment to regain control, and then pulls back. He establishes a measured rhythm at first, rutting slowly and steadily. He’s perched on top of Nasir’s body, astride his hips so he has full view of his face. Nasir still isn’t moving, but there is maybe the smallest hitch to his breathing, to the even rise and fall of his back.

Agron grins. “Do you enjoy to be taken so?” he murmurs, pitching his voice low. “Fucked in your sleep with no choice but to take my cock?”

Nasir’s lips part with the faintest sound of a moan. Agron bares his teeth and thrusts, shoving his cock as deep as it will go.

He’s tired still, almost light-headed with it, but there’s a strange clarity about this too, awareness on a different level, reduced to the sensations of his body while his mind floats, already half-lost in exhaustion. He feels the tension of the day – the strain of battle, the challenge of debate, leadership, strategy – melt out of him with every slow, deep plunge into his lover’s body. Aware or not, Nasir undoes him with every minute shift against Agron’s body; his thighs are firm and warm underneath Agron and his hips lift and roll in perfect, wanton invitation, legs widening gradually to leave him even more open to Agron’s cock.

Agron reaches down, around the sharp protrusion of Nasir’s hip bone and finds him hard, pressing into the rough weave of the blanket. He smiles fiercely and tightens his hand around the warm, taut length of Nasir’s cock, oiled fingers sliding up and down. Wetness oozes from the tip, and he presses his thumb against the tender slit, encouraging more.

“You feel so good,” he tells Nasir softly, while he slowly increases the pace. “The heat of you around me. Your cock, all hard and dripping.”

He lowers himself all the way down until they’re skin to skin, until he’s got Nasir pressed down beneath him, completely covered in his weight. He gathers Nasir’s wrists into one hand, pressing them down, while still working Nasir’s cock with his free hand.

“It swells my cock to see you like this,” he whispers against the side of his sleeping lover’s face. “Spread open and held down, fucked senseless as you slumber. Your ass filled at my pleasure. I’d have you spill just like this.”

He adjusts the angle suddenly, his cock brushing the spot inside Nasir that he knows can undo him in moments. A low moan escapes from between Nasir’s lips, though his eyes stay closed. His hips roll slowly, dreamily. Agron smiles and repeats the motion, with more force this time.

“You do not have to wake, Süßer. Just dance with me,” he murmurs, squeezing Nasir’s cock. He lies with his whole weight on Nasir’s back, only his hips moving: faster now that the tight grip of Nasir’s body has eased somewhat, accommodating his girth. He slams in hard and deep, hips rising and falling, luxuriating in the tight, rippling squeeze that sheathes him so perfectly. His residual cares drop away in the sheer, mindless pleasure of fucking until he is reduced to pure physical sensation; until there is no room in his mind except for the sight and feel of Nasir slowly writhing beneath him, the faintest suggestion of gasps escaping from his lips.

Nasir’s movements are dreamlike still, a maddeningly slow rotation of his hips in counterpoint to Agron’s furious pounding. It throws him off-rhythm just enough to make him last longer than he thought he could; he tries for a moment to regain the upper hand, then realises it doesn’t matter: if one of them is asleep and one of them half so, they can do anything they please, with no need for control. He lets go of Nasir’s wrists and works his free arm underneath his chest instead, wrapping his collar bones, his shoulders, and fastening his mouth onto his nape, high beneath the point where his hair parts, tasting the salty skin.

His hips keep slamming down, driving his cock as deep as it will go, and he’s out of breath and out of things to tell Nasir, so he sticks with what short outbursts he’s capable of, things like, “gods, fuck” and “so hot” and “do you want it like this?” and “yes, squeeze me like that, gods, yes, again.”

His wrist is trapped almost painfully beneath Nasir and the bed, but when he feels him tense, he speeds up the rhythm on his cock, pulling and squeezing, and then Nasir goes rigid beneath him, a long, low moan escaping his lips; hot, slippery come spills over Agron’s hand and Nasir’s ass tightens around Agron’s cock almost painfully. Agron grits his teeth, shoves him flat and fucks him right through it, ramming his cock right into the powerful contractions until he can’t take it any longer and explodes with a muffled shout. He presses forward, spilling himself deep into his lover’s body, luxuriating in the residual clenches of release.

He rallies with an effort when his cock softens; braces himself up on an elbow to watch, curiously, as his cock slips from Nasir’s body. He has always held an odd fascination – part smug satisfaction, part contrition – at observing the changes their fucking wreaks on Nasir’s body, and now is no exception: He palms and spreads Nasir’s cheeks and stares, intrigued, at the loosened, gaping hole. It looks raw and sore, Agron’s come oozing slowly down the crack. He scoops it up with his fingertips and gently circles the wet rim, teasing the tender flesh. Nasir groans, but his hips lift into the touch, and Agron slides two fingers inside, encountering no resistance after the thicker passage of his cock. He strokes slowly and soothingly, enjoying the feel of the slick wet heat. Nasir murmurs a soft-voiced protest when Agron’s fingers push against the tight cluster of nerves inside him; intrigued, Agron pushes harder, swirling his calloused fingertips in a slow but insistent motion. Nasir moves, tightening minutely around Agron’s fingers, and shudders. Agron smiles and withdraws his fingers. He drops a kiss on Nasir’s shoulder blade and then slumps down on top of him, exhaustion finally catching up with him.

He might have fallen asleep himself if Nasir hadn’t moved beneath him, trying to push free of his weight. Grumbling, Agron rolls off him but uses his arm – still wrapped around the top of Nasir’s chest – to pull him over with him until Nasir is sprawled half on his back, half against Agron’s chest.

He turns his head, smiling sleepily against Agron’s cheek, and finally his eyes open. They’re dark and warm in the lamplight, and not nearly as drowsy as they ought to be.

“I had a dream,” he murmurs, his voice pitched rough and low. “Of some warrior god come to ravish me as I lay trapped in the webs of Somnus.”

Agron grins, nibbling at his ear. “A god, eh? So it couldn’t have been me?”

Nasir swats at him lazily and snorts. “You? No. He was mighty of cock and skill.”

Agron growls and pounces him, tickling his ribs until Nasir curls into a tight protective ball.

“Faithless fucking Syrian,” Agron mock-snarls. Nasir laughs at him, entirely unrepentant, and rolls until he fits precisely against the curve of Agron’s body, one leg between Agron’s thighs.

“I was asleep,” he teases. “Surely you cannot blame me?”

Agron covers his lips with his mouth, chases that mocking tongue until it tangles sweetly with his own. He thinks they’re still kissing when he finally falls asleep.