Author's Note: *haima is the Germanic root of the word 'Heimat' in modern German, which means 'home' (as in 'homeland').
Agron felt warm all over. Warmth that came from fires lit against the cold night, from the proximity of people around him and, admittedly, from a goodly amount of mead. Agron laughed for the sheer pleasure of being able to do so without reservation and re-filled both tankards he was currently carrying. Looking around himself, he figured Spartacus would be pleased.
Around him former gladiators and slaves were laughing and drinking, celebrating the end of their journey, and Agron felt their pleasure wash over him, a different kind of warmth. These were his people - be they German, Gaul, Celt or from some other part of the Roman empire. Too many had died for these things to matter, and Agron lifted his tankard in silent salute, honouring their sacrifice. Without them none of them wouldn’t be here, several days travel to the east of the Rhine.
They were firmly in Germania, outside of Roman reach. Not quite back where they had come from, him and Duro, all those years ago, but the dark forest felt familiar all the same, and Agron figured the soil in the valley they’d found would prove rich and fertile. Home, they were home.
Agron laughed loudly and those around him joined in, not needing to know why, simply sharing his good mood. Several slapped him on the shoulder, acknowledging his part in leading them across the Alps and to freedom. Agron nodded back, his own hands still busy holding the cups, and made his way through the throngs, crossing the clearing from one brightly burning fire to the next until he reached his goal.
Warmth coiled tighter inside of him as he laid eyes on his reason for being. Yes, he was a great fighter, maybe even a great leader, and he had succeeded in securing a future for his people, but Agron knew all of this would be nothing but ashes if it wasn’t for the man who was waiting for him with a breathtaking smile. Nasir took one of the tankards from him, their fingers touching for a lingering moment, and Agron laughed again, this time lower, full of promise, and was rewarded with a darkening of Nasir’s eyes.
“You return as promised carrying drink,” the Syrian commented, “yet I must admit your absence felt unnecessarily prolonged.”
He took a good sip of mead and Agron tracked the movement of his throat as he swallowed before he replied with a grin: “Apologies, the crush of people around the keg was greater than anticipated. I hope the quality of what I brought back proves worth the wait.” He allowed his eyes to linger on Nasir’s lips, shining with the honeyed liquid, and added in a lower voice: “Yet I must admit it is gratifying to be missed thus, singled out from all those who would be happy to keep you company.”
Nasir returned his smile with one of his own, private and warm, as if there weren’t festive crowds all around them: “There is much to enjoy tonight, but I find thought keeps turning to… more private celebrations.”
He slid his unoccupied hand inside the tunic Agron was wearing to protect from the cool night air and rested it on the German’s chest. Warmth turned to heat in Agron’s belly, lighting a different sort of fire. With a sound like a growl Agron crushed Nasir against him, capturing surprise with lips. They exchanged deep kisses, honey-sweet with mead, to Agron’s mind better than ambrosia for the added flavour uniquely Nasir. They might have gone on kissing forever, increasingly unaware of their surroundings, had not someone jostled them good-naturedly.
“Jupiter’s cock!” Agron swore forcefully as liquid spilled from his unsettled cup, sticky on his arm and down his lover’s back, but Nasir only laughed and lifted his own, still half-filled drink in a mocking toast to the quickly vanishing interloper. Nasir’s chest was heaving from their embrace, his teeth and eyes were sparkling, and, as was often the case, Agron felt his temper settle as quickly as it had risen. With a rueful smile he rested his forehead against Nasir’s and took a few deep, steadying breaths.
“Maybe it is indeed time to turn mind to bed and private pleasures,” he murmured, sliding his free hand under the warm cloth of Nasir’s cloak. “It would spare further bath in precious drink at least.”
“That it would!” Nasir laughed, the sound bringing pure pleasure to Agron, although not quite as much as the strong fingers that seized his face so Nasir could claim his lips with hunger. Agron could but comply with equal fervour, only pausing a moment to hand off his tankard to one of the bystanders still watching them with amusement. Nasir followed his example in order to be able to pull Agron closer until they were plastered against one another, drinking each other more eagerly than the mead they’d shared previously.
As ever Agron forgot all around him in the taste and touch of his lover, the feel of his sinewy strength against his body, the hard line of his cock against his own. They swayed as if much drunker than in reality, almost stumbling, and had to break apart for a moment to gasp with laughter and regain footing. Agron took the opportunity to bury his face against Nasir’s neck, kissing and biting where he knew the Syrian to be especially sensitive, and was rewarded when Nasir swore and arched, providing welcome friction.
They were both wearing braccae due to the weather and Agron cursed as his fingers fumbled with the lacings until Nasir came to his aid. Together they managed to open paths to what lay hot and hard beneath cloth while lips and tongues still battled fiercely. Agron could feel each of the calluses Nasir had earned since gaining his freedom when palm wrapped around cock with firm grip, knowing exactly how Agron preferred to be touched.
“Fuck the gods…” Agron swore at the sensation, although it came out more like a fervent prayer into Nasir’s mouth, which curved in a pleased grin. It turned into a gasp when Agron gripped his lover by the hips and lifted him bodily. Nasir might complain about being called ‘little man’ but in truth on occasion being manhandled by his big strong German was the farthest from unpleasant. A fact Agron was well aware and took advantage of now, levering the muscled but compact Syrian so Nasir could wrap his legs around Agron’s hips.
All the while he kept kissing and biting along Nasir’s neck and jaw, enjoying the feel of stubble under his lips and the sounds of his lover half-laughing, half-groaning into his ear. He only paid half a mind to the crowds around them, which parted with friendly cat-calls and slaps as he moved to purpose. They reached the shadows on the edge of the clearing before he could properly feel Nasir’s weight, and Agron set down his precious cargo with a kiss that he reluctantly broke after only a moment, pulling away apologetically: “Wait but a moment, I would not have you on the cold, damp ground.”
With little care he stripped off his cloak and laid it down, then divested himself of his shirt, Nasir’s eyes gleaming as skin was bared. However, it was only a short while before his lover huffed in impatience and pounced, pushing Agron onto their make-shift bed and straddling his legs: “You take too long, a man might grow old watching you fuss…”
Agron grinned, undaunted, and laid back, welcoming Nasir’s attentions which were lavished with great zeal, although with less finesse than was usual, skill giving way to passion. Still, knowing his lover’s body well, Nasir lingered some moments on Agron’s nipples, already hard from the cool air, and Agron felt sorely tempted to hold him in place. However, already lips were moving downwards towards waiting cock, and Agron lifted hips to offer aid in ridding himself of braccae.
Stopped by previously forgotten boots Nasir cursed under his breath, but it proved only a minor obstacle, nimble fingers being put to task. Once Agron was bare their eyes met and laughter bubbled up in both of them, shared joy which Agron tasted sweetly on Nasir’s tongue. Then, decidedly, he switched their roles, rolling his lover beneath himself and ridding him of his clothes as quickly as possible.
Once purpose was achieved he pressed an open mouth to Nasir’s chest, above rapidly beating heart, and bent to swallow his cock, feeling it fill beneath his touch with satisfaction. They had no oil to ease passage, but Nasir’s spit proved enough to allow a finger into the tight heat, finding the spot that made him buck and spill down Agron’s throat.
Agron swallowed willingly, cock so deep he barely tasted the familiar bitterness, before being pulled up and kissed thoroughly. Nasir’s knowing hand guided his aching cock to sweat-slick thighs and his voice, filthy-sweet, urged him on, causing Agron to lose control over his thrusts all too soon. He spent and collapsed on top of Nasir, arms giving way as shattering release rolled through him, followed by bone-deep contentment.
While Nasir grunted and elbowed him non-too-gently until part of Agron’s weight was supported by the ground, the German’s warm body offered a welcome blanket against the night air and he carded lazy fingers through short hair. Relaxing into Nasir’s gentle touch, Agron knew he would soon feel the cold as well, but not just yet, and so he remained, eyelids heavy and heart full.
This was what Agron dreamed of, what filled him with warmth even in the coldest of places - having Nasir beneath him, gasping and laughing and cursing, eyes alight with fire and love. It was heart’s desire, and a part of him found it difficult to believe he would have this for the rest of his life, here in this land that would be home, with the people that already were, altogether unexpectedly, theirs.
Grabbing Nasir’s discarded coat, Agron glanced at the revelers around the flickering fires before covering himself and his beloved with the warm wool. Nasir’s tongue traced the smile on Agron’s lips and the world around them disappeared again. They had all the time in the world. They were home.
