Nasir's ears are so tuned for the return of those from Capua that he hears them well before the others. His still shuffling gait carries him through the passages near the entrance as the shout in the yard sounds over the noise of conversations and chores.
Relief and worry crash over him at the announcement, giving him need to pause against a nearby wall and regain his balance. The words mean that the Spartacus has returned; it could be erroneous to assume that Agron has made it through the mission without injury. Once he pushes into the open atop the stairs, he will know with certainty the fate of his German and the idea causes his heart to thud with mixed emotions.
Then he hears it, over the outbursts of questions from the others.
"The arena has burnt to fucking ground," a blissfully familiar voice decrees, "with many Romans among the ashes!"
He resumes his steps hurriedly toward the voice of Agron, needing to see the man's body intact to accompany those boastful words. The news of Rhaskos's death is still ringing in the air as Nasir moves into sight of the German. Seeing that large, broad body standing strong over the yard with no bloodstains upon the back of his covering is enough to encourage hope.
"You suffer no wound?"
His question draws Agron around to face him and there is no blood upon the front of the man. That expression, eyes alight and mouth smiling with joy, overtakes the other man's face and Nasir feels certain his face shows a similar delight.
"The Gods favor me, little man," Agron declares, approaching softly.
The nickname is one Nasir is certain he will hear often and the affection with which it is spoken warms him, but it will not do to have this man think he could get away with such words if they are to be lovers.
"Call me that again and they shall turn from you," he warns.
Agron shows no worry at the threat and Nasir's widening grin upon delivering it surely makes light of the words, but he cares not. His German has returned to him unharmed. The Gods have shown favor to them both.
He laughs with the knowledge, feeling no hesitation as his hands rise to take hold of Agron's face and the German's do the same. The big man does not have to bend as far as he had for the parting kiss that had set Nasir's world on end for the Syrian pushes up happily to meet the lips moving toward his own.
All doubts are removed from within him as their mouths meet. His heart lifts and blood races hotly through vein at the press of strong lips upon his own.
The force of his want and joy in this reunion is enough to withstand the full weight of Agron as the German puts his whole being behind the kiss.
It weakens the knees to feel such passion upon him, but Nasir would blame his wound for the sudden need he feels to cling to the other man. The roughness of stubble gives way to smooth, heated skin as the Syrian's hands move from face to shoulder for better support.
The need for breath forces him to draw back for but a moment and Agron presses their foreheads together as they each draw breath back into their lungs. Their eyes lock and all traces of humor fade from the German's face as hunger overtakes the man's expression. A tremor of want runs along Nasir's spine, straight to his hardening cock at such a look upon Agron's face.
"How fares your wound?"
Concern flashes for a moment in those blue eyes as they look upon his bandages, a hand moving from Nasir's jaw to rest tenderly on his side; near, but careful not to touch the injury.
"It improves daily," he confesses, wincing when battle-roughened fingertips venture closer to the bandages.
"But has not healed," Agron concludes ruefully, the wince put a damper to the lustful expression in the man's eyes. "Oenomaus will need your bed."
Nasir's head turns toward the chamber to which Spartacus and the others had carried a wounded man.
"That was Oenomaus?"
"His injuries are grievous, but if any a man can recover from the like of them it would be him. You will have honor to meet him upon his recovery."
The respectful way Agron made his statement matched the reverence with which all the Gladiators had ever spoken of their Doctore. Knowledge that such a man had been brought low in their battle made sharp the fear that Nasir had felt for his German's fate. Any and all man could suffer great loss in the arena.
"Your wound will still need proper bedding for rest and healing," Agron says, reclaiming Nasir's attention. "I should see your things placed within my chamber to aid in that purpose."
Embers still burn in the big man's gaze, leaving the Syrian to wonder how much rest he is likely to find in sharing pallet with Agron. A smile return's to Nasir's lips at the thought.
"I shall retrieve them shortly."
Agron accepts the words and grin with a bark of laughter that matches the celebratory air in the temple. His arms wind around Nasir's waist, forming strong bonds that lift the Syrian from his feet. There is pain in his gut from the protesting scar still forming over wounded flash, but the kiss distracts mind from such twinges of the flesh. Tongue and teeth clash as lips part in a hungrier meeting; foretelling of the pleasures he is soon to find in sharing this man's sleeping quarters.
When the need for air separates their mouths once more, Nasir rests his chin against the crook of Agron's neck and shoulder. His eyes open to look out among these people he has joined and beyond the back of his German he watches as Crixus begins to mount the steps.
The air seems to shift around them all as the Gaul moves with a single purpose evident to them all and Agron slowly lowers Nasir to the ground. He keeps his arm around the German's shoulder as they both turn to watch as Naevia runs into the embrace of her lover.
It is too private and intimate a scene to witness once the two kiss and Nasir drops his gaze respectfully from them, feeling a great joy for Naevia's happiness found.
"Your mission has proven quite successful," he observes, turning from the nearby reunion.
"He lives," Agron grunts, his dislike of the Gaul evident as always.
Nasir gives the big man reason to grunt again by plying elbow to stomach as he lowers the arm he had had around Agron's shoulder.
The grudges this man seems to keep were not surprising, but it would always amaze Nasir that Agron bore no such rancor towards him. Much would be different had the Syrian done as Agron ordered and kept his tongue about Naevia's true fate; lives lost in battles that perhaps need not have been. Aside, though, from the "fucking Syrians" comment that had been delivered without hatred, Nasir has known only affection from the German for the choices he has made.
As all are given to witness the display of love from Crixus as he is finally given reunion with his woman, Nasir rethinks his earlier thought at the success of the mission. The Gods had not cast favor upon Agron alone or on their relationship to see the German returned to Nasir intact.
On this day, the Gods have favored love to know triumph after many events of loss and defeat for these people. Nasir is but one of the lucky few to have found blessing of such love in this time and place.