At the rebel camp, Nasir walking with Donar to the training grounds and hearing one of the other rebels talking shit about Agron. Nasir walking up to the rebel with a thundering face, fury enveloping his lithe body, spear in hand and Donar trying to calm him down.
Nasir hissing at the asshole and challenging him to a fight, because people can say whatever they want about him (not that they dare because Agron), but don’t go talking shit about Agron because Nasir won’t allow it.
The taller and stronger rebel accepting with mock derision because what can a man so small and delicate do to harm him?
Everyone in the training grounds forming a circle and shouting their support mostly for Nasir. And Nasir letting the overconfident man get comfortable and then smiling devilishly, wiping his raven hair sticking to his forehead. A swift move and he had the fuck on the ground and the sharp tip of his spear pressing at his throat, blood trickling to the earth beneath.
“Speak ill about Agron again and meet the end of my spear, no mercy. If you can’t best me, you have no chance of besting him. He is one of Spartacus trusted generals, if you think yourself better, challenge him.” Getting up he walked away, sweat and sand covering his body.
“You are a force of the gods. Remind me not to cross you,” said a familiar beloved husky voice, coming behind him.
Smirking Nasir looked at Agron from the corner of his obsidian eyes. “You are too wise to do such a thing,” Nasir retorted, stretching his arm to reach for agron’s big calloused hand.
A burst of laughter ripped from Agron’s chest, a sound that made Nasir’s heart feel stronger than when he fought a group of Romans and slay them all.
No one messes with his man; that beloved gorgeous warrior that gave Nasir his heart, his body, his love and a strength he didn’t know he possessed. Agron was his soul, his heart walking out of his body and he would strike anyone who spoke even the slightest bit ill of him.