Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hey! You made it!" Naevia cries, her voice cracking a little to get over the pounding music.

Nasir allows her to pull him close, kissing both of his cheek and then his forehead. She's holding a plastic cup in one hand, dress inching up her legs. She looks good, different than the customary orientation t-shirt and shorts Nasir has seen her in for two weeks now. Just behind her, Crixus looms moodily in the doorway, scowling at the group of freshman trying to get into the house. They're clearly already drunk, and Crixus easily spreads his elbows out to block their path.

"Yeah, they switched my shift." Nasir glances around, trying to take it all in. There is a lot.

The Alpha Theta Omega house is on the outskirts of campus, situated on a small hill with a grove of trees and benches behind. To the left is the English building and the Library. To the right is the sports stadium. It's not the stereotypical Greek house with the towering pillars and the manicured lawn. Instead, it has a large porch out front, rickety with a few missing spokes from the railing. A few metal chairs spread around the front, a dozen half choked potted plants around. It looks to be about three floors, every window brightly lit except for the top level. Nasir can see the outlines of bodies all over, flashing neon lights on the ground floor.

"Look Nae," Nasir begins, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. He regrets coming already. He told himself when he transferred that he would blend in, fly under the radar, disappear into the crowd. Now he’s right back where he started.

"I won't leave your side. I swear." Naevia slips her hand into Nasir's, squeezing gently. "Come on. There are a few people I want you to meet."

It's hot when they walk through the front door, hotter than the waning summer air outside. There are people everywhere, leaning on the walls, piled on couches and chairs. The strobe lights flash everyone in blues, yellows, pinks. Nasir doesn’t recognize most of them, only barely spotting Chadara in the corner with some guy. It’s overwhelming, a sea of bodies operating with some sense of social order. Nasir clings tightly to Naevia's hand and lets her pull him deep into the house and into the brightly lit kitchen in the back.

There is a girl sitting on the counter in a pair of high waisted shorts, t-shirt boasting the Thracian Archery club. She's pretty, freckled face with long hair spilling over her shoulder in a messy braid, a summer tan still clinging to her skin. Against her side, a man is cutting apples into cubes, skidding the knife over the cutting board and dropping the fruit into a pitcher. He's bracketed on the other side by a few other guys, all of them tall and broad shouldered. Probably half of the rugby team if Nasir’s memory serves right.

"Hello and who is this?" The girl notices them first, grinning slow as she leans in to kiss Naevia's cheek.

"Mira, this is Nasir. I met him at RA training." Naevia points to the woman. "Mira, is your go to if you have any questions about campus events or happenings. She’s Social Chairwoman of the Student Counsel. Nothing gets past her."

“She makes it sound very official." Mira nods along, reaching out to shake Nasir’s hand. “Really I’m just the go to for clubs and activities on campus.”

“Still important.” Naevia gently touches the man's shoulder next, the move familiar and surprisingly gentle. "And this is Spartacus."

Nasir is familiar with the name. The man is sort of big news around campus. Freshman year, he founded Alpha Theta Omega - a coed fraternity founded on the ethics of loyalty and respect. It's a tight knit group, from what Nasir understood, the 'brotherhood' as they call themselves only recruiting a few throughout a semester. Spartacus is also the captain of the rugby team and has led the team to championships each year under Coach Oenomaus.

As much as his reputation proceeds him, Nasir wasn't exactly expecting what's standing before him. For one, Spartacus dries his hands on a dish towel and then very gently takes Nasir's in a firm shake. There is a party going on around them, voices shouting and music blaring, and yet Nasir feels very still when he looks up at him. Spartacus seems to be both the center and the control of the chaos around them.

"It's so nice to meet you, Nasir. Naevia has spoken very highly of you." Spartacus squeezes his palm down before he leans back. "Welcome to the ATO house."

"Thanks." Nasir hooks his hands into his back pockets. "I didn't expect it to be so...homey?"

"We like to keep it low key here." Mira supplies, bumping her thigh into Spartacus' side. "It's a house but it's a home too, ya know?"

"Have you thought about rushing anywhere yet?" Naevia asks, finding a cup from seemingly no where and filling it. Nasir doesn't think to ask what it is when she hands it to him.

"Um, not really?" Nasir can see floating oranges and cherries in his cup, it tasting sweet and florally. "I just kind of got here. My old school had Greek life but it wasn't like this."

"Well, no pressure." Spartacus brushes it off, turning to pull a bottle of wine out of a cabinet. "You are more than welcome to hang out as much as you like. Varro is our recruitment chair though, if you're interested."

"Oh well." Nasir doesn't want to be rude. He's only been on campus a week though, not counting RA training. He glances towards Naevia, but it's actually Mira who seems to recognize the tension, hopping down from the counter.

"Do you like the sangria? We make it here. Spartacus' specialty." She slings a companionable arm around Naevia. "We like to pretend we're all beer drinkers, but I'm pretty sure we all prefer wine."

"It's good." Nasir nods, taking another deep gulp of it. "Is there honey in this?"

"There is. Spartacus makes it from an old ambrosia recipe." Mira's grin is infectious and Nasir feels himself relaxing. “Very bourgeoisie for an ethics minor.”

“Well, we all have our vices.” Spartacus laughs, leaning in for a soft kiss. She gives it to him, slowly turning to look at Nasir, eyebrow raised.

“What about you Nasir? Any hidden qualms? Dark history? Haunted past?”

A piece of apple finds itself lodged between Nasir’s teeth and he prods at it with his tongue as he chokes out a half attempt at a laugh. “Sorry, no.”

“You sure? No thrilling life story?” It’s clear Mira is teasing but Nasir feels his stomach tensing.

“I-“ He tries to think of something to say, a funny retort or scoff or anything, but his mind is blank.

"Alright, enough chit chat. I have a list of people that need to meet you." Naevia reaches out again, taking Nasir's hand and abruptly changing the subject. "Come on."

"We'll talk later. Get my number from Nae." Mira promises to Nasir, waving as he is dragged back into the crowd.

- - -

An hour later, Nasir has met more people and drank more sangria than he can count. They've all been nice, a blur of faces with warm handshakes and claps on his shoulder. It’s strange to feel so welcome and so alone at the same time. Naevia has stayed true to her word, not leaving his side, until Nasir cannot wait any longer. He abandons her at the base of the stairs, her arms around her boyfriend, as he heads up to find a bathroom Crixus promised was on the top floor to the left.

It’s dark up here, a row of nightlights illuminating the floor in a dim yellow. The pounding noise from downstairs is dulled too, a quiet roar under his feet. Nasir allows himself to take a deep breath, head swimming with the wine and the heat. He rests against a short wall, pressing his sweaty palms to his cheeks, when a noise pulls him out of the haze. It’s rhythmic and fast, the tapping cresendoing into a loud moan.

Across from him, a crooked ‘bathroom’ sign hangs on a white painted door. It’s clearly occupied, the sound of the couple fucking seeming to echo in the muted hallway. Nasir doesn’t know what he should do – wait and try to see if they hurry up? He still has to fucking pee and the stairs are treacherous with the amount of people standing on them. Nasir doesn’t even know where the other bathroom is. Maybe if he sits here for a moment, they will leave and he can sneak in. He doesn’t have to touch anything.

It doesn’t stop though. It continues, growing louder, until another sound cuts through it. There is a loud bang and then suddenly the door next to the bathroom flies open, a looming figure stepping out. Nasir will blame it on the alcohol - slow reflexes and lingering eyes, face burning as he doesn’t know where to settle first. How much of Spartacus' sangria did he drink? It's got to be the wine that makes him just stand there, openly gawking.

Firstly, the man is huge - tall with broad shoulders that take up most of the doorway and a crop of spikey blond hair, mused up on one side. Nasir can see the definition in his chest, down onto a smooth stomach and a set of abs, a line of hair leading down and down. His sweatpants are low, definition in his hips that makes Nasir feel warm in the pit of his stomach. Looped around his neck, a pair of wireless headphones are blaring static, an interesting accessory to the man's scowling face.

"For fuck's sake!" He shouts, stepping over and slamming his fist into the bathroom door. The wood shakes, the lock rattling loudly. "Go back to your fucking dorm, assholes! Some of us are trying to fucking sleep!"

The couple inside seems not to hear him, their voices raising louder. Nasir has somehow managed to stay invisible to all of this, back pressed firm against the wall. It’s not like he can sneak away now, half frozen in surprise and half curious to see how this plays out. The man seems to grow more irate the longer he is ignored, his fist blasting down onto the wood until Nasir is sure he’s going to split it.

“Hey dickbags!” He snarls, slamming a palm into the top of the door. “Shut the fuck up!”

It finally seems to permeate the small room, the high pitched wails tapering off. It only lasts a moment though until they're back at it, the silent hallway filling with the sound of them.

The man growls something in a language Nasir doesn't recognize, turning sharply back towards his own dorm room. It's then that he seems to notice Nasir where he's frozen against the opposite wall. Bright green eyes slowly make their way from Nasir’s face, over his loose tank top and shorts, all the way down to the vans on his feet, and then back up. Nasir can’t think of anything to say, mouth gaping as the guy raises a slow eyebrow, body pivoting away from his own bedroom to back towards Nasir.

“What the fuck are you doing? You into that voyeuristic shit?”

Nasir is drunk. That’s all it is. Drunk and reckless. And who the fuck is this guy?

“No! I was fucking waiting on the bathroom.” Nasir is glad the hall is dark so the guy can’t see his burning face. “You rather I just piss on the carpet?”

The guy, whom Nasir mentally deems Dude Bro (not Hot Dude Bro, might he add), seems to consider the option, drawing in a slow breath, before he barks a sharp laugh, shaking his head. He looks entirely too amused at the whole situation, considering that he’s rubbing a fist into his eye. It’s not a bad look on him, rumpled and pissy. Even in the dim light, Nasir can see a pair of dimples.

“Alright, calm down, little man. I’ve got a bathroom in my room.” He walks backwards into his doorway, pulling the headphones off from around his neck. It’s a practiced move. Nasir does not watch the way his bicep flexes. “Get in and get out. I’ve got an eight am.”

Nasir only considers it for a moment until his bladder protests. It’s either this or try to find Crixus again to ask if there is another bathroom. He ignores the couple still wailing in the bathroom and follows the man into his room.

It’s dark in here, the glow of an oil diffuser in the corner casting a dim red gleam in the corner, the entire room smelling strongly of bergamot and oranges. Nasir can’t make out too many features of the room itself, just a vague shape of a dresser, a desk, a set of weights on a low metal bench. The bed that the man has flopped onto is not the standard twin size issued by the school. It’s crammed onto the wall that the door is on, low to the floor with a large German flag hanging above it. The only thing that surprises Nasir the most though is it’s clean. The closet door is shut, there are no clothes on the floor.

“It’s there.” The man points to one of the closed doors, looping his headphones back over his ears. “Don’t fucking steal anything. Somebody in this house has to know you.”

Nasir pointedly turns his gaze away from him, feeling peculiar and too warm, the sounds of the party muted outside of the door. The bathroom isn’t anything of spectacle. It’s a standard one, white with a gray shower curtain, soft rugs on the floor. It’s clean too, and as Nasir stands there, cursing how much he’s had to drink, he gets to quietly observe how lived in the space feels. It’s personal, from the bottles of soap in the shower to the simple toothbrush left in a cup by the sink.

The melancholy hits Nasir rough, taking the warm haze off his drunk mind. It’s been a rough transition, moving (escaping) one school to come to another, trying to make friends, demanding he become strong and independent. If Nasir is being honest with himself, he is suddenly jealous of the guy sleeping out there. Someone who has a home, has a space for himself, feels comfortable enough and safe enough to sleep while a house party rages two floors down.

Washing his hands, Nasir makes sure he turns off the light before he opens the door, quietly tiptoeing over the carpeted floor. The man pays him no mind, sprawled on his back with one arm over his head, the steady beats of ambient noise spilling out past his headphones. Nasir only lets himself glance that way, a peek, before he shuts the guy’s door.

He slips back to the party, feeling weird and unsure, unable to find Naevia in the crowd. It’s possible she slipped away somewhere with Crixus or that she’s just further in the house. Regardless, Nasir has lost his mood for all of it. He sends her a quick text, just incase she may worry later, and slips out the front door. The summer air is still warm even with it being early morning, and Nasir takes in a deep breath of it as he makes his way across campus, going towards his RA room in the Sophomore dorm.

- - -

The problem with Nasir being a sophomore transfer RAing on a sophomore floor is that he has a few residents in his classes. For the most part, it's not been an issue. Nasir has a few, high volume seminar classes where it feels like everyone in his major gets crammed into an overly warm room for three hours. Nasir isn't rude when he sees them, waves, offers a smile when needed, but for the most part - they avoid each other.

And then there is this guy in Nasir's Modern Literature class.

Nasir never got his name. He thinks he zoned out the first day when they were making introductions. It's hard to miss him though. For one thing, the guy is tall, which is annoying in itself for Nasir who barely makes it to 5'6. The guy also has a crop of wild curls that hang in brown ringlets around his ears that looks stylishly wild and unkept. He's got a gold nose ring that surprisingly looks good on him, but is ruined by the fact that he has this ugly red earing in his right earlobe. It looks like half a carpet got stuck in his plugs.

Regardless of the aesthetics of the guy, what Nasir can't stand about him is the fact that he's so fucking loud. Every class he's trying to give some long comment about how he knows best. Sometimes it's valid, Nasir will give him that, but any point he makes is ruined by the way he ends every point with this crooked grin that looks entirely too self assured.

It's a cruel twist of fate then that Professor Quirinus decides a month into the new semester that they need to do group projects. Nasir isn't a fan of them regardless, but it makes matters worse when he reads from the roll call to pick partners.

"Hamid and Geisler."

And wouldn't you know, fucking Hipster Ugly Earring Guy raises his head and looks right at him. He makes a little wave, the many rope bracelets around his wrist swinging, and Nasir actually has to force himself not to roll his eyes. There is not enough caffeine in the world to prepare him for the written and oral aspects of this assignment.

He doesn't have to talk to him until class is over, Nasir packing up his notebook into his messenger bag when Earring Guy slides up to him, casually leaning on a desk. He’s already got his phone out, clicking away on it and flashing Nasir a large grin.

“Hey! So glad I got paired with you. I was worried for a second. Some of the people in here are like talking to a blank wall.”

“Hmm.” Nasir replies, not looking up. He wants to get a good grade on this. He wants to pass this class. “Yeah.”

“Guess it was fate we finally got to chat at the party, huh?” Earring Guy reaches out and taps his fist into Nasir’s shoulder. “I had no idea you knew Naevia! What a fucking small world?”

“Huh?” That draws Nasir’s attention up and away from his bag. “Party?”

“Last Saturday? The one at ATO? Damn man, I knew you were lit but I can’t believe you forgot me.” He laughs loudly, tossing his head back in a casual move that Nasir kind of hates. “We took shots together! Had that whole debate about As I Lay Dying? Bonded over Attack on Titan?”

In all honesty, Nasir remembers meeting a lot of people with a lot of faces, but none of them really stand out. He knows he met Spartacus and Mira, had pleasant conversation with Crixus and his friend Barca, and then Nasir vaguely remembers going to use that guy’s bathroom. Earring Guy does not ring a bell.

“Oh, I was yeah. Pretty drunk.” Nasir waves it off. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, it was pretty dope. Anyways, can I grab your number? Maybe we can meet up tomorrow to work out the project? I want to get a head start.” The guy taps something on his phone and then holds it with both hands, thumbs posed.

“Uh, yeah sure.” Nasir rattles off his number and then how to spell his name. The guy types it all in and then Nasir’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Cool cool. I’ll text you later.” He brushes his hand over Nasir’s shoulder again, oddly familiar. “Bye!”

Nasir is nearly back to his dorm when he remembers to look, digging his phone and his keys out of his pocket. He now at least as a name to call Earring Guy, even though Nasir doesn’t particular care what it is. He’ll probably end up asking Naevia about him though, just because he really doesn’t remember meeting him.

“What kind of name is Duro anyways?” Nasir mutters to himself, finally getting inside.

- - -

College in the North East is a weird collection of too hot days, warm nights, and the random rain storm in the middle of the afternoon. Nasir can see his life in that metaphor. There are days when he feels like he's burning from the inside out and there are afternoon when he's being swallowed whole by tsunamis.

He doesn't have the past that people like to hear about. No one wants to hear about a sob story, a little boy who has constantly been searching for a home. It's what makes Nasir a good writer, another sad little poet weeping all over the page like it will change anything. Nasir likes to pretend that he will reach someone. That he will change a life. Maybe. That is what it’s all for, right?

There are times when Nasir lays awake at night and can see Caesar's face. Those sharp blue eyes that he can never truly forget, that strip him bare into trembling nightmares. Nasir has washed him from his skin, has peeled the horrors of that year off like a snake. And yet panic and anxiety dance together along his spine every time he tries to move forward, to remind himself that life is not over just because he is no longer branded Roman.

Nasir is learning though, learning to let the past stay just out of reach. He lets Naevia drag him to a coffee date with Crixus and Spartacus. They're funny, a little gruff sometimes, but witty and good natured. Nasir likes them, enjoys the dynamic. He meets Chadara and though she is a little snooty, Nasir likes her regardless. He’s branching out, testing the water.

It's why he applauds himself for not rolling his eyes or trying to wiggle out meeting up with Duro. Nasir has finally managed to stop calling him Earring Guy in his head, a thing that has taken days. It's for the project though, the good grade, the better future. And hell, apparently Mira loves him, so he has to be a pretty decent guy, right?

Duro had texted earlier that he was in the back booth of the cafeteria and to come by whenever. They could discuss the project over food or coffee and then put a plan into motion. It’s easier said than done though. The cafeteria is a big room, mostly made up on metal tables and wooden booths, and it takes Nasir a moment to spot him.

At first, it's no big deal. It's a circle booth with another table shoved up to it and Nasir knows half the people that are crowded around. Mira is there and Spartacus, Naevia is actually sandwiched between them and Crixus who has a gaggle of large men taking up most of the shoved in table. Nasir vaguely remembers Barca and Varro.

Sprawled at the edge of the circle booth, Duro is sandwiched tight against another guy’s side, barely any space between them. The guy has his head tilted down, one long arm draped over Duro's shoulder while he whispers to him. It's casual, intimate, with Duro is tucked in close, laughing loudly at whatever the guy is saying. It’s not that Nasir cares. He just is surprised the Duro has a boyfriend that looks like he can bench press him.

"Hey!" Mira spots him, waving her hand. "Nasir! Over here!”

“Hi.” Nasir has no choice but to move closer, allowing his name to be called out as other people recognize him. There are waves and smiles and Nasir feels full on it, too over whelmed to breathe. He has no choice but to soak it in, passed up the row of people until he’s at the round booth. It almost feels like a royal procession with the end being set before the court.

“Are you between classes?” Mira has to kneel in the booth to reach over the table and kiss both of Nasir’s cheeks, Spartacus reaching up to pat his shoulder.

“Yeah. Duro and I are working on a project for our Modernist Lit class.” Nasir motions next to him, finally drawing the attention of the mentioned man and the guy next to him.

“Hey!” Duro looks up, all wide grin and fist bumping. “Pull up a chair, pull up a chair.”

Nasir, although he would like to, cannot pull up a chair. For many reasons. One, there is no real room and two, he’s completely paralyzed. There is a single moment, a breath, where Nasir thinks he may be wrong, but then a grin is slowly spreading over the guy’s face, head cocked, and all Nasir can see is him standing in that dim hallway, half naked and furious.

He looks not too different now, wearing a blown out tank top so open on the side it shows his entire ribcage, a snapback perched on top of his head. It is plain except for the letters T O P on it in neon green font. Nasir kind of wants to die and kind of wants to run and he doesn’t get a chance to do either because the guy is already speaking.

“Well, if it isn’t the little voyeur.” Dude Bro (as Nasir has remembered he named him) leans back a little, looking broad and commandeering. “I was wondering when you would turn up.”

“Wait, Nasir is that guy?” Duro throws his head back, laughing, “What a fucking small world.”

“Voyeur?” Mira leans into the guy’s side, giggling.

“I caught him listening to some assholes fucking in the bathroom the last party.” Dude Bro tightens his grip around Duro, adjusting to pull a huge protein shaker off the table. “Apparently he had to piss, so I let him use my room.”

“How charitable.” Mira reaches up, patting Dude Bro’s cheek. “Considering your past with that bathroom.”

“It really wasn’t that big of a deal.” Nasir mutters, face burning as he rolls his eyes. He doesn’t care what Dude Bro has done in that bathroom, nor with whom. It’s none of his business. H thinks he’s saved a moment later when Spartacus interjects, but he’s not.

“Oh, you and Agron have already met?” He is looking between the two, grinning slowly. “That’s great. I have been meaning to introduce you.”

Nasir knows that name. He does. He just can’t remember why. Maybe he had heard about him from another RA or one of the guys Chadara is constantly trying to hook up with. It’s a name that sticks though, a vague weight.

Regardless, he’s not impressed. Agron is the type of guy that is all aesthetics and no substance. He’s hot, sure, rippling muscles and an attractive jawline, those eyes. But as soon as he opens his mouth, he ruins everything. It would be better if he was admired from a far. And honestly, Nasir has no desires or patience to entertain that sort of male ego.

“Why?” Agron’s response is abrupt, almost cold. He leans around Mira to stare at Spartacus, eyes narrowed.

“We have decided to slowly recruit him.” Spartacus winks at Nasir, as if it’s some inside joke. It’s beginning to feel true though. Nasir has spent three nights this week over at the ATO house. “I thought he should meet our VP.”

“Recruitment is over.” Agron doesn’t bother looking at Nasir when he says this, instead his smirk has slowly melted into a scowl. “We already placed bids. House is full.”

“There is always room for someone of value.” Spartacus’ easy nature feels like a balm against a hurricane. Agron has a few freckles across his nose, the hint of summer still there, and they stand out in stark contrast as he colors with anger. “You know that.”

“I know what happens when we put too much effort in useless men.” It suddenly feels very much not about Nasir – like this is an entirely different fight. Nasir doesn’t know what to fucking say, stuck standing awkwardly to the side.

“You don’t make this decision.” Spartacus’ voice drops in bass, matching Agron’s scowl with a look of his own. “ATO was founded on the idea of respect and loyalty. Both of which I don’t think I need to remind you of.”

“Ags, come on.” Seeming to sense a fight, Mira puts her hand on his chest, leaning into him. “You’re so grumpy. You never trust anyone.”

“With good reason.”

Agron abruptly pushes his hand into Duro’s side, all but shoving him out of the booth. When he stands up, he towers over Nasir, who barely reaches his shoulder. Nasir tries not to crane his head up, feels the way Agron is hot with anger and twitching. He doesn’t say anything to him, moving around him to grab his bag off the floor.

“Fuck you and your charity cases.”

With that, he turns and abruptly walks away, shoving past people and out of the cafeteria. The group, having tuned in with Agron’s abrupt departure, all turn to look at Nasir and Duro, standing close together and Spartacus who is calmly sipping from his coffee cup.

“You’ll have to forgive him. Agron’s a German barbarian.” Spartacus’ cool gaze finds Nasir’s, earnest and soothing. “He has no manners.”

“It’s true.” Duro taps his shoulder into Nasir’s, familiar and companionable. “He’s a beast”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s not even mad about you.” Mira nods along. “Seriously.”

“I didn’t mean to fuck up your lunch or anything. Do you want to go after him or…” Nasir trails off, turning to look over his shoulder at where the cafeteria door has swung shut.

“Nah. He’s probably going to go for a run or some shit. I’ll catch him later.” Duro shrugs, sliding into the booth. “He’s being an ass anyways.”

It sparks a bark of a laugh from Nasir, who shakes his head and slides into the booth next to Mira. “Not very nice way to describe your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Duro’s eyebrows disappear behind his curly bangs. “Oh, oh no!”

“What? I’m not against it.” Nasir shrugs a shoulder. “More power to you.”

“Agron isn’t Duro’s boyfriend.” Mira interjects. “Though he might try just to keep him from dating anyone else.”

Both Duro and Mira dissolve into snickers, hands covering their faces. It’s Crixus that finally leans in, permanent scowl on his face deepening when Duro crashes into the booth next to Nasir, smacking him on the shoulder as he howls.

“Ignore all of them. They’re fucking idiots.” Crixus rolls his eyes. “Duro is Agron’s little brother.”

“Oh.” Nasir wishes his face would stop burning.

“I know. How miserably disappointing. There are two of them.”

Reaching up, Crixus lands a solid smack to the side of Duro’s head, enough it makes a sharp sound. It seems to somber him up, Duro coming back with bared teeth and a sharp retort. Crixus says something nasty and Spartacus has to put his arms up between them, always the voice of reason.

“Welcome to the family.” Mira mutters, patting Nasir’s hand.

- - -

The Residential Advisor office is a small square room just off the main door of the dorms. It’s mostly made out of a glass with a small sliding window and two computers on either side of its L shaped desk. A janky old printer is shoved in one corner, surrounded by bulletin boards with flyers reminding staff of the check in/check out policy, the lost key policy, and the schedule of who is on duty. The dorm itself boasts ten floors, thus there needs to be two RAs on duty at all times to answer questions, help with lock outs, and prepare for social events.

Currently, Nasir is busy at one desk, using a pair of scissors to slowly cut out Calcifer stickers. They’re going on paper cups for his mixer on Saturday, the little flames hinting at the hot cider that will go inside. He’s partnering with Naevia to have a Howl’s Moving Castle viewing party in the lounge, including snacks and drinks. Most of the time, only a few people show, so it’s more of a casual hang out then real event.

“What are your plans after this?” Naevia asks from behind. She’s been trying to design a flyer for the past fifteen minutes, fighting with the older version of InDesign on the staff computers.

“I have duty until nine and then I’m probably going to be working on calc equations until I die.” Nasir answers, moving a completed cut out to the side and grabbing another. “Why?”

“I was gonna go over to the house. Crixus said they’ve been binging Iron Chef.” She curses quietly under her breath as the computer gives a slow whine. “Remind me why you have to take math if you’re an English major?”

“It’s a gen ed that I didn’t get last year.” Nasir turns slowly in his desk chair, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I am already behind in it. The teacher is this old guy who really, really wants to be balls deep in Leibniz. I just sit there for three hours and retain nothing.”

“Why don’t you get a tutor?” Naevia finally manages to get the computer to save the file, but now the printer in the corner gives a slow groan instead, coming to life. “They have them in the resource center. I’m sure they have a math one.”

“I don’t know. I was hoping it would magically all come to me.” Nasir peeks out from behind his fingers. “But it’s not. Plus, I don’t know. I don’t want people to talk. I’m here on an academic scholarship and yeah.”

“People? People who?” Naevia turns so she is fully facing Nasir, scooting until their knees brush. “Nasir, it doesn’t matter what people think of you. No one is good at everything. Trust me. I have a list of ‘Naevia’s Never Gonna Happen’.”

“Yeah but I don’t want to stand out. I want this year to be easy, simple. Not be known as the dumbass who had to get a tutor because he can’t figure out high school level math.” Nasir shrugs, feeling his chest tightening as he unloads. “I want to just blend in.”

“I’m sure Spartacus knows someone who is good in math. It doesn’t have to be tutoring tutoring, you know? Just friends helping friends.” Naevia replies, earnest and hopeful. When she gets like this, her eyes widen and her hands clasp before her. It’s almost easy to ignore the sound of ancient office equipment and people returning from evening classes.

“Look, Nae, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but I’m not really interested in joining-“ Nasir doesn’t get to finish as someone bangs on the sliding glass window. He’s forced to turn around and answer it, giving information easily about where the nurse can be located on campus and then working his way through the small line that’s formed. When he’s done, Naevia is stacking the flyers on the counter, carefully lining them up. They dissolve into silence for a few moments before Naevia slowly raises her head.

“Nasir, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or freak you out, but I think it’s important that you know I’m not friends with you because I want you to join ATO.” She sits down again, swiveling her chair to face him. “I genuinely like you. And I want us to be friends and I want my friends to be your friends.”

“I want us to be friends too.” Nasir isn’t lying at all when he says it. He just doesn’t want the past again. He doesn’t think he can live with it.

“ATO isn’t about fraternities or Greek letters or any of that. No one in that house is sporting a trust fund or a racist agenda or has a MAGA hat.” Naevia inhales slowly and Nasir can’t look away from her. “We’re all a little fucked up. A little broken. A little used. But there is beauty in that. I know you have a past, Nasir, I can see it written all over you.”

Nasir tries very hard not to stiffen, tries not to let it all come spilling out of his mouth. How long had he wanted something like this? How long had he just wanted a purpose, a place to belong, and now it’s being offered and Nasir is afraid. Afraid that this is all like what it used to be.

“I don’t need you to tell me what happened. I don’t want your life story if you’re not ready to tell me. I just want you to give us a chance.”

Very slowly, cautious, Naevia reaches out to take Nasir’s hand, squeezing it gently. Nasir feels something very large dislodge in his chest, a wall crumbling slightly. He doesn't feel it completely fall away but it let a little light in, a skittering of sparks on a darkened soul.

"Okay."

It's all he thinks he can say. It's all that comes out. Naevia takes it though, brings his hand up to her mouth to kiss the back of.

- - -

The Thracian University library is a thing of wonders. It’s four floors, each with a general purpose and theme. There is a resource computer lab, film and audio in the basement, and a whole room dedicated to source materials. The main staircase is made of carved marble and intricately carved wood. The stacks are all wrot iron, the floor made of carefully plated glass. One whole side of it is made of stained glass and reflects rainbow light over anyone who happens to become lost among its rows.

Nasir enjoys wandering it sometimes, touching the spines of old books, feeling at peace with the sense of calm academia. Right now though, he is stressed. Spartacus, much to Nasir’s chagrin, had ‘magically’ found out that he needed a tutor and had appointed it upon himself to find Nasir one. It wouldn’t be such a big deal but the whole thing seems to be arranged like some blind date where all Nasir has to go on is a text from Spartacus with the time and location.

He’s just rounded onto the third floor, already aware of where the small, hidden table in the back is. It seems he’s the first to arrive, situating himself with his back against the wall, books piled in front. Nasir likes to stay organized when he studies, so he busies himself with setting out his work and notes, finding a pencil and calculator. He’s just placed a scrap piece of paper under his Starbuck’s cup when a backpack hits the table in front of him.

“No way.”

It’s the only thing Nasir can get out, fingers tightening around his pencil. If this is some form of practical joke, then Spartacus can just fuck off. There is no way that Nasir is going to ask Dude Bro for anything. Fuck that.

"Calm down, little man." Agron slumps into the chair, looking out of place in a beat up tank and an Adidas jacket. "You think I'm fucking keen on this?"

"Don't call me that." Nasir hisses, aware of how quiet it is around them. There is a girl at the end of the aisle with her headphones in, scribbling in a notebook while she walks. They haven’t drawn her attention yet, but with the amount of space Agron takes up, it won’t be long.

"Why are you here?"

"Simple." Agron begins to pull a notebook out of his bag. Inside is a large text book, what looks like a pair of sweats, and a box of protein bars. "Spartacus said you need a tutor."

"Not you." Nasir snarls. He hasn’t forgotten the way Agron easily dismissed him in the cafeteria. It’s an attitude problem that Nasir has no patience or desire to deal with.

"Look, you needed a tutor. I’ve been doing calculus since the third grade. I’m top of my major." Agron settles both his forearms on the table, bracketing in his notebook. It looks tiny next to the muscles in his biceps, chest pressed to the table edge. “Either I help you or you fail. Your choice.”

“What’s in it for you? You don’t seem like the type to have a bleeding heart.” Nasir can still feel the sting of Agron’s hurtled ‘charity case’ comment. "I'm not paying you."

"I need to complete some community service. Spartacus was able to make this count." Agron answers simply, like it doesn't matter.

Nasir doesn't like the way his insides are twisting, face hot from the cocky way Agron is smirking at him. In this setting, it's hard to deny that Agron is attractive, a shaft of blue light spilling over his jaw and chest. He's got a ruggedness about, those green eyes and stubble that makes Nasir wonder what it would feel like between his thighs. But his attitude ruins everything.

Plus, and Nasir swore to himself the moment he left Roma University, has no intention of getting involved with anyone. Especially someone who is so blatantly cocky and self-assured. Nasir doesn’t have to understand what the fuck Agron’s problem is to know he doesn’t like him.

"Community service?" Nasir tries not to fill in the blanks. He may be an asshole, but Nasir doesn't know Agron. "For what?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Agron’s smirk slides across his face, a dimple denting his cheek, and Nasir rolls his eyes. On one hand, it’d be easy for Nasir to get up and walk away. He could and tell Spartacus how nuts he is. On the other hand, Nasir really needs to pass this class. And Mira had said Agron is an engineer major.

“It’s really not that heavy.” Agron shrugs after a moment, relaxing back in his chair. “Think of it like a partnership. You pass your class. I get my credit. Spartacus gets to pat himself on the back. Everyone goes home happy.”

Raising his hands, Agron makes a loose fist in both and moves them up and down. It’s blasé and crude, Nasir flushing under the implication. He isn’t wrong though. It seems everyone will get what they want, and Nasir only has to suffer a little in order to get a good grade. It’s no different than having to work with Duro on that project.

"Fine." Opening his textbook, Nasir slides it across the table. "I need to learn this by Friday. If I don’t, I’ll fail the test.”

Scanning over the page, Agron glances up at Nasir, flipping open his notebook. It’s full of tiny handwriting, slanted and drawn in black ink. He keeps turning until he gets to a blank page, pulling the pencil from between Nasir’s fingers, their skin brushing.

“Let’s get to work.”

Chapter Text

Agron’s schedule is, for lack of better word, hectic. He has classes all week, two eight ams on Monday and Wednesday, then a late class on Thursday nights. Rugby practice takes up two hours of his night, swallowing time at the gym and then on the field. Saturdays are Frat days, either pocketed with community service or some event. Then there are the get togethers and then mixers. It's a mess of time with added on lunch dates with friends and keeping Duro from fucking flying off the deep end.

But Sundays are for him. Sundays are spent sleeping in and lounging around the house. Agron turns his alarm off, wears his softest sweats, probably orders take out or at least treats himself to an order of fries at the caf. Self care isn’t a routine that comes easy to Agron, but he tries.

"Hey sleepy."

Mira wakes him up with the smell of coffee, a mug from the kitchen in each of her hands. She's wearing a sports bra and a pair of Spartacus' sweatpants, hair up in a messy bun. It never escapes Agron how he’s lucky in this sense, lucky that Mira allows herself to destress with him, allows herself to feel relaxed enough to walk into his room half naked and expect nothing, how a lot of guys on campus would kill to be in his position and not even fully understand it. She sets the mugs on Agron's bedside table, curling up on the free space on his bed.

"Hey, what time is it?" Agron didn't bother charging his phone last night, the screen powering on when he plugs it in. He doesn’t want to bother with it yet.

"It's close to ten." Mira takes a slow drag of her coffee, eyeing him carefully over the brim of her cup. "You okay?"

"Fucking exhausted." Agron groans, tossing the covers off himself and standing up. He has a bruise on ribs from practice, a gnarly ripple of green and yellow that stretches up his side to the snarling wolf inked over his shoulder the worlds "Legenden für immer" inked across the cusp of his chest. "Gimme a minute."

He hobbles to the bathroom, twisting his shorts around until they're on straight, scratching at his stomach. It's hot in the house, the dying summer going out with a vengeance, and he pops his window open to let some easy morning air in. There aren’t too many people around that he can see, the sun shining bright and cheerful regardless.

Flushing the toilet, Agron makes his way to the sink, avoiding the mirror and grabbing the toothbrush there instead. He feels like he’s still thawing in his skin, trying to force his body awake and out of a the fog of sleep. Agron drags a cold washcloth down over his face, along his neck - he can shower in a while. There are pills he should probably take in his medicine cabinet, something to cure this nagging anxiety that prickles at the back of his neck and makes his vision tunnel. He can't take it on an empty stomach.

"There is a package of poptarts in the cabinet." Mira's voice tinkers in through the half open door like she’s read his mind. "Take your meds, Ags."

It's become a little bit of a tradition for Agron and Mira to spend half of Sunday on a self-care regime. It was a way to center both of them, to remind themselves that they're worth something. They keep each other present, keep them breathing. But it’s Mira’s self chosen mantel to remind Agron to medicate, to remember why he takes them, to ease the panic that so often threatens right behind his eyes.

He swallows the pills dry, grabbing the poptarts on the way out.

Mira has a plastic tote bag with her, unzipping it and pulling out a few small packets as he comes out. She’s made his bed, curled up against the headboard. The TV is on, silently playing music videos on the 80s channel. Agron’s chest tightens, feels warm and domestic, and he loves her in a way that is completely meant for her.

"You want cucumber melon or sea kelp?"

"Either. Whichever one you don't want." Shoving one of the pastries into his mouth, Agron rolls onto the bed, placing his head in the fold of her legs.

"Where is Spartacus?" Agron asks through a mouthful of brown sugar cinnamon.

"He went to have brunch with Crixus and Nasir." Mira digs in her bag again, producing a pair of bright green tweezers from the bottom. She waits until Agron swallows before gripping his cheek and leaning in.

"Speaking of, Nasir is pretty hot, huh?" She says it as she plucks a handful of hairs from the corner of Agron's right eyebrow, producing a sharp inhale from the man below her.

"Is he?" It's choked out through gritted teeth.

"You can't tell me you haven't noticed." Mira scoffs, continuing to shape the arch of Agron's brow. "He's totally your type."

"I don't have a type." Agron hisses, having to squeeze the blankets under him.

"Um, excuse me? Yes, you do." Mira rolls her eyes. "He's totally your type. Those huge puppy eyes? He's so tiny and cute. Plus, he has a great ass."

“I hadn’t noticed.” Agron has been beaten, tackled to the ground, stabbed with a switch blade and this hurts worse than all of them.

“You should. He’s single.” Mira flicks Agron’s ear when he twitches. “Come on, you have to have looked. He’s coming to yoga with us on Tuesday. You could probably fold him in half.”

“Mira,” Agron groans her name slowly, wincing when she plucks another hair from the soft curve of his eyelid.

“I mean, I know you’ve been Grindring,” Mira shrugs, a conspiratory grin spreading over her face. “But why go through the hassle if you have someone right here? I get the feeling he’s into bigger guys. I’ve seen him eyeing up Crixus and Varro.”

“Good, they can have him.” Agron mutters, rubbing his fingertips into his forehead.

“They’re both straight. Plus, you and I both know what you can offer.” Mira pats Agron’s cheek with the tips of her fingers. “ Do I need to find that picture of that chipmunk with that banana?”

“Mira!” Agron’s eyes widen, swatting at her side. “Shut the fuck up!”

“What? We all know you have a huge dick.” Mira shrugs, using her knees to jostle him. “We all live together! You can’t tell me we’ve never seen each other naked.”

“That is not the point and you know it. You can’t just go around saying shit like that.” Agron groans, his face on fire. “You didn’t tell him that, did you?”

“Not yet.”

She pauses to blow a hair from the edge of the tweezers and Agron shifts, rubbing harshly at his brow. He's not going to give her what she wants. Mira has a soft spot for romanticism - something Agron has no time for. Whether Nasir is good looking or not is not the point. What is is the point is that Agron doesn't have the fucking time or patience to start that. Grindr and party hook ups keep Agron as satisfied as he needs. It’s a handful of one hit wonders, much like the videos flashing on the TV screen.

"He always looks so sad though. Sparty said you started tutoring him. Is he okay?" Mira looks at Agron upside down, furrowed. "I mean, are you guys becoming friends?"

"No." Agron scoffs, sensing she is done and rolling over. "He hates me."

"You were kind of a dick to him." Mira hands Agron the facemask packet, going into the bathroom to put her own on. "Which by the way, Naevia is pissed at you."

"What else is new?" Agron grumbles, following her into the bathroom. He's tall enough he can see himself over her head.

"Ags." Mira’s dark gaze meets his in the mirror, face half smeared blue. “You have got to let it go.”

“I thought we were talking about boys. Not that.” Agron doesn’t want the words to come out the way they do – sharp and clipped.

“We have to talk about that because you always bring it up.” Mira snaps right back, glaring at Agron through the mirror. “He was a dick. He did some fucked up shit. I’m sorry about what happened and what you had to do. But Spartacus took care of it.”

“Doesn’t change it.” Agron shrugs. “Am I not allowed to be upset about it?”

“You can be upset,” Mira reaches back with her clean hand, touches her fingers to Agron’s hip. “But learn to heal too. All wounds heal.”

“And they leave scars so we can remember.”

With a deep sigh, Mira focuses on spreading the face mask over her cheeks, along her brow. Agron leaves her to it, washing off his fingers and going back into the room. His phone is lighting up, a blinking blue light in the corner. He has a few notifications from Instagram, a few snaps, and a new blinking light from Grindr. He’s matched with twelve new guys, their pictures like a gallery of horny and waiting.

“Hirschkuh,” Agron calls, flopping back on his bed. “You want to help me pick out a dick appointment?”

“For today?” Mira pops her head out of the bathroom. She’s been rearranging his medicine cabinet again.

“Yeah maybe.” Agron shrugs a shoulder.

“We have that dinner tonight.” Mira frowns a little, stepping further into the room. “Spartacus made you promise.”

“I’ll make it.” Agron flips through two already with a serious no. Anyone who puts stipulations on looks in their profile is a major turn off. “I mean, what? It’ll take like an hour? Two if it’s worth it? Maybe I’ll look for a quickie at the gym.”

“Gross.” Mira mutters, coming to sprawl next to him. “Fine, but I’m only doing this so you don’t fuck one of my friends.”

“I’ve already told you. When you finally leave Spartacus, I already called dibs.”

Agron laughs easily. It’s a running joke and not always one.

“And I’ve already told you, sweetie, anytime you want a threesome.” Mira plucks Agron’s phone from his hand, flipping both ways through the pictures.

“Spartacus would have a heart attack.” Agron mutters, the clay on his face hardening. “Besides, I don’t know what to do with all that.” He makes a motion towards her crotch.

“Oh, when I said threesome, I meant more that I would just watch.” Mira laughs, raising a brow at him. “Unless you’re trying to get in Spartacus’ ass?”

“Who isn’t?” Agron retorts easily. After a moment, Mira presses her knuckles against his in a fist bump.

“Touché.”

- - -

Hanging out with Spartacus is like the most intense job interview and the easiest breath of fresh air at the same, complicated way. Nasir wants him to like him. He wants Spartacus’ approval but not because he needs it but to disappoint him feels like a heinous crime. Spartacus is gentle with Nasir like he knows all of Nasir’s scars are just waiting to burst open. He’s slow with his prying, coaxes Nasir open with easy conversation and laughter.

It’s why it’s so easy to follow Spartacus back to the house, to trust him, to know that it’s okay to give a little. He’s nothing like Caesar, nothing like the men who stalk around Roma University with their bright eyes and their wandering hands. The school is a place for hungry beasts, of people who just consume and waste whatever they choose. When Nasir had let them recruit him, it was a power play, what could Nasir give them – and it was never enough. Even now, the long and short of it leaves Nasir trembling. There is too many scars there and Nasir burns to unload them but who could he possibly tell all of his dark secrets to?

Nasir sinks into the plush love seat, watches Naevia and Crixus settle across from him, half curled up on each other. Spartacus is puttering around in the kitchen, grabbing drinks. It’s oddly chill for a Saturday afternoon, no one rushing around or yelling, the campus pocketed with people picnicking, sunbathing, draped over benches and chatting. It lets Nasir rolls the tension off his shoulders, to ease into the soft fabric, only to be ruined by the footfalls on the stairs.

“I’m just saying, people have to clean those showers.” Mira’s voice trickles into the living room. “Remember that.”

“That’s what the water is for.” Agron laughter gains volume as he steps just inside the threshold. “Oh look, it’s my fan club meeting.”

It takes all of Nasir’s control not to spit something mean, a biting retort out of habit. turning his head to look over his shoulder and eye the pair. Although Agron has been helping him, it’s been stilted by short conversation and more explaining formulas. There is no time to make small talk. Like this though, it’s hard to remind Nasir that he’s supposed to be hating him.

Agron makes disheveled jock look like an easy fashion statement. He’s clearly fresh showered, hair still dripping on his bare chest. He’s holding a shirt in one hand, the waistband of his shorts crooked with one side dipping down so low it draws the eye to the sharp lines of his hips and what it hints at below. Nasir has never noticed the tattoo before, never looked close enough, but now he can see the wolf’s body wrapped from Agron’s sharp shoulder blade over until it’s snarling mouth bites into his collarbones.

Nasir slowly drags a throw pillow onto his lap.

“Hey dipshit,” Crixus replies, tilting his head back. “You fucking mind?”

“Mind what?” Agron cocks his head to the side. The bruises on his side looks sickly in the light, a series of green and yellow fading pain. “It’s my house too.”

“We have guests.” Crixus jaw clenches tightly. The hostility between them is nearly suffocating.

“Oh, Nasir isn’t a guest.” Mira pops up behind Agron like a breath of fresh air, her wet hair being carefully braided into a plait. “You’re basically family by now.”

Something weird twists in Nasir’s chest. It doesn’t matter. It’s none of his business. But did they shower together? Mira had said Agron was her best friend, thicker than thieves, but evidence says contrary.

“Yeah, a family dinner away from the group orgy. Pick your partner, Nasir.” Agron laughs, earning a sharp elbow into his side from Mira.

“He’s joking.” Mira comes to sit on the empty couch, leaving a space next to her for Spartacus. “You’ll have to forgive him. He’s got dick on his brain.”

“When doesn’t he?” Crixus rolls his eyes, shifting his arm around Naevia. “Might as well install a revolving door up there.”

“There is something so crippling heterosexual about you.” Agron easily retorts, shooting him a withering look. “You might be less of a dick if you gave one a try.”

“Agron.” Naevia glances over at him and then Mira. “Are you offering?”

“I’d rather choke.” Gagging, Agron mimes throwing up, bending at the waist.

“I’m sure you would.” Naevia says at the same time Crixus lets out a low groan of “Stop talking.”

“I meant more like Barca or Auctus if you’re desperate.” Reaching over, Agron plucks a candy from the bowl on the mantle. “Maybe Donar. He’s always eager.”

“Spartacus! Is it in budget to get your dog a muzzle?” Crixus calls into the kitchen.

“If you want to put me in a ball gag, you’re going to have to buy me a beer first.” Agron winks towards him. “Shit man.”

“Sit down and shut up, Ags.” Mira barely gets out between giggles.

Agron purposefully glances at her, stretched out on the couch, before taking a slow inhale and striding across the room. He very purposefully pulls the throw pillow from Nasir’s arm and flops down next to him. There is not enough space on this love seat for the two of them not to be on top of each other. Nasir ends up pressed to Agron’s side, his arm sandwiched between their sides. He can feel Agron’s warm skin, the dampness, smell the sharp citrus of his soap. It also pushes him directly into the fading marks on his side.

“Sorry,” Nasir mutters, feeling Agron tense. “I can sit on the floor.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” Agron rolls his eyes. He shifts around until his arm drapes over the back of the loveseat, giving Nasir a little more room and yet stealing it at the same time.

The conversation around them shifts to something else, and Nasir tries to pay attention but Agron is close enough that Nasir can see the freckles on his nose, the small mole along the side of his neck. Nasir tries to stare, fiddling with the friendship bracelet Naevia tied around his wrist yesterday. Seemingly bored with his texting some guy with an eggplant next to his name, Agron turns to him sharply.

“So, how is calc?” Agron asks easily, like it doesn’t bother him to be a foot away from Nasir’s face.

“Hard.” Nasir sighs, twisting his mouth. “We start a new unit next week.”

“Have you been working on the practice sheets I sent you?” Agron’s arm is curled in a way that his thumb keeps dragging over the back of Nasir’s neck, just barely enough that Nasir feels goosebumps break out over his legs.

“I’ve been trying. I’m just really dumb.” Nasir’s face burns, unsure how he’s keeping Agron’s gaze. He’s such a dick, an asshole through and through, but Nasir isn’t blind. “Like incredibly, incredibly stupid.”

“Stop.” Agron’s brow furrows, his whole face seeming to draw tight. He reaches up and taps a finger to Nasir’s temple. “You’re not stupid.”

“You barely know me.” Nasir feels the words stick to the roof of his mouth, convoluted and confused with the way Agron’s green eyes widen fractionally. “I’m being serious.”

“Hey.” Agron’s finger taps him again. “Math is just fucking complicated. Trust me. If I wasn’t like some protégé, I’d be worthless at it too.”

“Oh, a protégé?” Nasir scoffs, rolling his eyes. He has to pull away, skin burning from the feeling of having Agron so fucking close. He’s so much, easy touching and physical affection. Nasir has never seen such a spot on representation of an Aries in his life.

“You haven’t heard? I’m a big deal.” Agron smirks and it changes his entire face. “I could have been a good ol’ fashion Cornell boy.”

“So why aren’t you there?” Nasir raises his own brow. “If you’re so good.”

“Oh, there are a lot of reasons. One, I’m way too cool for that place. Two, I’d have to submit myself to a life of khakis and golf sweaters.” Sticking his tongue out, Agron points a finger between his teeth. “Plus, too many closet cases over there. If I want to get my dick sucked, I don’t want to have to jump through hoops of toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia.”

“God, your ego has no bounds.” Nasir finds himself honestly laughing, shocking himself at how easy this catty flirting feels. “And here you have a buffet?”

“What are you talking about? I am the buffet.” Agron waves a hand down his body. “They come to me to eat.”

There is a pause where they both just stare at each other, Nasir’s jaw half dropped at the scandalous implication. There is a lot to unpack from this conversation, starting with he easy way Agron admits his sexuality to the press of his teeth into his bottom lip. There is nothing to be done for Nasir but to choke on a laugh, shaking his head.

“I am beyond words.”

“Funny, that’s what they usually say.”

Agron barks out a laugh too, tilting his head back. Nasir can feel the vibrations against his side, lets himself lean into it for a moment. He has no grand illusions of Agron being some knight in shining armor. He’s still a dick. But maybe that’s multifaceted too.

“What is this?”

A voice above them cuts the light feeling short as Duro lingers behind their couch, raising a brow. He has another guy with him, someone Nasir doesn’t recognize – blond and stocky, staring at Agron with narrowed eyes. It’s not the type of look Crixus gives him. Instead that cold gaze gets turned to Nasir next, mouth in a firm line.

“I got told to play nice.” Agron shrugs easily, letting his arm drop from the back of the couch and firmer around Nasir’s shoulders. “So I am.”

Duro’s dark gaze slowly loves from Agron’s face to his arm to Nasir’s face and then back, pointed and hinting at a further conversation. The guy does the same but his mouth never moves from that sharp line. Agron picks up on it easily though, fingertips sliding up and down Nasir’s bare shoulder.

“Nasir, have you met Donar?” Agron asks, tilting his head towards him. “He’s our residential kill joy.”

“No, not that I remember, sorry.” Nasir shrugs a little. He suddenly feels very aware of the way Agron’s thigh is pressed to his own, their sides close. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You look familiar.” Donar’s voice is flat, clipped. He blatantly ignores Agron’s leer, leaning closer to Duro’s side. “Really familiar.”

“Maybe you saw him at the party?” Duro offers, shrugging. “He just transferred in this year.”

“With a face like this? And you don’t remember?” Agron means it jokingly, fingers twisting Nasir’s jaw lightly, but Donar’s scowl deepens.

“No.”

He says it firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. The icy feeling that descends over Nasir nearly makes him shiver, wanting to press closer to Agron but also pull away – to run. This is what he’s been avoiding, dreading, keeping him up at night. There is no way that this guy knows but maybe he does and Nasir needs to get out. Now. He ends up standing up, looking down at his blank phone screen in fake surprise.

“Sorry, I just remember, I’ve got a thing.” Nasir waves noncommittally towards the door. “RA thing.”

“What RA thing?” He’s drawn Naevia into the conversation. “Did I forget a meeting?”

“No!” Nasir says sharply, back peddling instantly at her startled look. “No, no. I’ve got a meeting with a few of my residents. Roommate issues. No one cleaning the dishes. You know how it goes. I’ll catch you guys all later?”

He doesn’t wait for reply, leaning in to kiss Naevia and then Mira’s cheeks, accepting a fist bump from Spartacus before making for the door. The last thing he sees before he’s out into the sunshine is Agron’s gaze over the back of the love seat, his brow furrowed in concern.

- - -

“Oh fuck, right there.”

Marcus has a pair of pale blue eyes, smooth olive skin, and a great ass. Agron can appreciate all of that. He is appreciating it, buried balls deep inside of him, but he's so fucking loud. Enough that Agron feels bad for his neighbors who most definitely can hear them. Enough that if feels cheap, feels faked. Enough that his concentration seems to be waning every time Agron drives it home.

"Holy shit. How are you this big?"

On his hands and knees, Marcus digs his palms into the blankets, arching his back. It feels perfect, tight and hot, and Agron is already so close. They barely talked on the way back from the gym, didn't even speak on the elevator ride up, and when Marcus let him in, Agron was already crowding him up against the door. It's not like Agron is aiming to linger. He wants it fast and quick and over, especially with Marcus whining high and so loud.

Reaching up, Agron wraps his hand around his mouth, dragging him back on his knees. He seems to be into it, tossing his head back against Agron's shoulder, eyes closed tight. The change of angle is perfect, Agron being able to peer over Marcus' shoulder to watch him stroke his cock, hands digging into his hips. Marcus is at least good at finding his own pleasure, precome dripping all over his knuckles.

It doesn't take long after that, Agron slamming into him over and over and Marcus clenching each time he does. There is no slow, gentle press of kisses or soft hands. In fact, Agron isn’t really a fan of kissing and avoids it as much as possible during these hook ups. He knows Mira will call him cold for it, but this isn’t about romance. It’s supposed to feel cheap and quick, a means to an end.

Regardless, it seems to be doing it for Marcus as he ends up spilling all over his hands and down onto the comforter below, wailing behind Agron's palm. Agron holds him tight until he reaches his own end, biting sharply into his shoulder.

It's a quick shift. Agron lowers him down out of the wet spot, slipping off the bed when he's done. As Marcus lays there, still moaning softly, the condom gets tossed in the waste basket. Agron using a towel he finds on the back of the door to wipe down his chest before tossing it towards the bed.

“That was great.” Dragging the towel across himself, Marcus lips the sweat from his lips.

“Yeah.” Agron finds his underwear and shorts by the foot of the bed, his tank top by the door.

“What’s the hurry?” Legs sprawled open, Marcus lounges back against his pillows, looking tempting and flushed. "You can stay."

"Nah, I've got a thing." Agron pulls on his socks and then shoes, hand on the foot of the bed. "This was fun though."

Agron isn't trying to be mean at this part. It’s not good to linger, to extend the time. Isn’t not like Agron didn’t make it clear when they texted. This was sex and nothing else. Besides, he's not lying when he says he has a thing. Spartacus likes to plan 'family dinners' on Sundays, a way to start their week together. Also, if he shows up half naked and covered in sweat again, Mira might actually kill him.

"Oh, okay. Well, I'll see you around?" Marcus awkwardly begins to sit up, but Agron waves his hand at him.

"It's chill, man. I know my way out."

He doesn't look back when he lets himself out of the dorm room, though he hears the strangled ‘bye’ behind him. If Agron really thinks about it, he feels off about the whole thing. Yeah, the sex was great. Marcus was fun, pliable, one of those easy-going bottoms that likes to take it hard and fast. It’s Mira’s fucking words from this morning, her voice going on and on about romance and commitment. Agron doesn’t give two shits about that stuff, but it’s the way she looked sad – like she could see a part of him that he didn’t know was missing.

After the ‘incident’ - the one that everyone is afraid to talk about, Agron had pushed a lot of people away. It was more to protect them than anything else. What the fuck was he supposed to do though? He had stood in that hospital room, staring at Duro hooked up to all those tubs and wires, knowing that he had turned a blind eye and caused this, and something in him had snapped. It was only with a lot of coaxing, a lot of Spartacus and Mira late night phone calls, that had finally pulled him back. Had reminded him that everything moves forward.

Agron rubs a hand across his face as he makes his way down the hall. He still feels keyed up, pent up energy trying to thrash around inside his skull. He feels electric, wired tight. The sex was supposed to calm that down, to relieve some tension, but instead Agron’s mind wanders to dangerous places. Places that he knows better than to think about.

Damn Mira and her meddling. That’s clear from this afternoon. Agron doesn’t have to trust to Nasir to find catty flirtation easy. He’s attractive, sure. Agron isn’t dumb or blind. Those huge eyes and that deeper, raspy voice. Agron hadn’t minded the press of him against his bare skin, didn’t flinch when he had laughed and his hair had fallen onto Agron’s hand. But he is a temptation that Agron knows the ending of.

Prying his phone out of his pocket, Agron flicks through his notifications on the way down in the elevator. He has a few emails, a couple dumb texts from Duro and Gannicus, and then surprisingly – as if some psychic calling - a snapchat from Nasir. In his quest to win back Spartacus’ favor, Agron had added Nasir after their first tutor session.

The picture is innocent enough. It’s from a downward angle, the spread of books and papers around him and across his bed. It’s the way Nasir’s bare legs are curled up, the curve of his thigh down into a pair of knee high socks. There is no way this is intended as sexy. They’re fucking adidas soccer socks, the red stripes resting just under the curve of Nasir’s knee. And yet. Yet. Agron’s mouth goes dry.

death by homework reads the little black bar before the Snap ends and Agron’s phone screen goes blank.

There are a couple appropriate responses. Something sympathetic or teasing or no response at all. Agron knows that. He knows that. He’s thinking about them when the elevator hits the lobby. Really considering it. As if on autopilot though, he hits the bottom for a random floor and the doors close again. It’s an early Sunday afternoon. No one is around.

Rubbing a hand through his sweaty hair, Agron angles is body in the mirror along the back wall of the elevator. His shorts are crooked, the curve of a hipbone sticking out, face a little flushed. Holding his phone carefully, Agron takes a picture. The effect is both alluring and a little dirty at the same time, Agron’s expression carefully crafted into something both smirking and sultry.

I’m free. You need help?

He rides the elevator down to the lobby again, clutching the phone tightly in his hand. It feels like too long, the reply not coming for at least another three minutes. This time, the picture is of Nasir on his back, sprawled back on a crimson and gold pillow case. Agron can see from the picture that he’s wearing an oversized sweater, the collar stretched and loose. He’s also sticking his tongue out, nose wrinkled.

Help killing me? Sure. Just choke me out.

Agron is walking across campus but he manages to find a good spot to take another selfie. This time, he raises a brow at the camera, making sure to get the angle right to hint at the sharp definition in his shoulder. He doesn’t know if this counts as flirting or not. Maybe? That or Millennial gallows humor.

Kinky.

The reply forces Agron to stop walking, a jogger behind him swearing at him. If there is one thing that is clear, it’s that Nasir can escalate things quickly. Agron feels the flush break out over his cheeks, crowding the phone close incase some random passerby gets a glimpse. Nasir has his bottom lip between his teeth, a half grin smothered as he changed the angle. It’s only because the screen is half an inch away from his face that Agron can see the way Nasir is curled up, the tiniest strip of lace barely scalloped along the edge of the sweater.

Well, you admitted you were into ball gags so I assumed.

This is such a bad idea. Agron can feel the heat swelling in his chest. He tries to rationalize it, even as he walks quicker along the concrete. It’s easy flirting. Just a whatever thing. This time, it’s a text – abrupt and sudden. Maybe if Agron doesn’t have to see Nasir, the replies won’t be so abrupt.

I’m into all sorts of things.

I bet you are :P

Agron barely makes it through the house. He knows someone was calling out to him downstairs – probably Duro – but he ignored it as he made his way up. He’ll just excuse it as needing to shower before coming down. Shutting his bedroom door, he sinks onto his bed, pulling his phone back out.

You wanna know what I’m into?

It takes a moment, Agron rubbing a hand over his face. He doesn’t have the Snap anymore, the picture disappearing, but if he closes his eyes he can almost see the curve of Nasir’s bare thighs, the press of his teeth into his lip. He wants to know what’s under that sweater, how Nasir would look spread out over a bed. It’s just because he’s still horny, not satisfied yet.

Oh, I can imagine. Ball gags and reach arounds from your friends?

You coming over for dinner?

Why?

Agron angles the phone down his body, taking a quick snap. It’s not super obvious, just hinted at with the way his shorts lay across his dick print, shirt yanked up enough to tease the line of his abs.

I thought we were friends.

It seems like a good response and Agron is rewarded a minute later by a picture he instantly saves to his phone gallery. This one is different. It’s over Nasir’s shoulder, the long line of his body laid prone on his stomach. The camera has settled on the swell of the sweater over his back and onto his ass, heels crossed and up. It’s playful and hot and Agron feels his cock twitch.

You want a reach around?

Agron has to think of his response. It feels too soon to send him a real dick pic. This is flirty and dumb, a little too naughty considering that Nasir and Agron can barely stand to look at each other in person. Still, Agron kind of wants to fuck the attitude out of him and the more Agron thinks about it, the more he likes the idea of Nasir under him.

He pulls the waistband of his shorts up a little, just enough to hint at the curls of blond hair and the base of his cock. He leaves his thumb close for comparison, to show how thick he is, how much he already is thinking about it.

I think I want a little more than that.

Agron is considering just pulling down his shorts and going at it, cock already throbbing at the possibility, when a sharp knock slams into his dorm door. It’s followed a moment later by it opening and Mira popping her head around. She takes one look at his prone position, shorts low and phone pressed to his chest, and she clicks her tongue loudly.

“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. Please don’t be late this time.”

“I’m not-“ Agron starts to defend, only to have the tell tale sign of his phone buzzing giving it away.

“Don’t be late. And please put on a real shirt.”

She leaves and Agron glances down at his phone, groaning. There is no picture this time, only a single line of text that makes Agron instantly want to bang his head against the wall.

Shame we’re not friends.

- - -

"Nasir, sweetie, you look exhausted."

Chadara smells like honeysuckle when she wraps her arms around him, planting a firm kiss on his cheek.

"I am." Nasir hugs her back, marveling at her. He's known Chadara since high school and it never ceases to amaze him how put together she always looks. Golden hair curled in some complicated updo, her white sundress pressed into careful pleats. Even the girls with her - Diona and Aurelia look like accessories. They have that sorority clique look to them, a squad of pretty and pink.

"How are you? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages." Chadara sinks into the chair across the table from him, ignoring the glances from the other library patrons.

"I'm good. Super busy. How are you?" Nasir pushes his books to the side. He wasn't supposed to meet her here. In fact, he's actually waiting on Agron, but a few minutes shouldn't hurt. Besides, Chadara is his oldest friend.

"I'm great. Yeah, everything has been going well." Chadara's carefully manicured hand reaches over the wood table and takes Nasir's. "I'm so glad I ran into you. I've been hearing some things, honey. I'm worried."

"Hearing things?" Nasir carefully puts his highlighter down. She is the only one on this campus that knows about what happened. She visited him in the hospital. She promised not to say anything, to swear secrecy and let Nasir try and forget.

"My new boyfriend, Rhaskos, told me he saw you tutoring Agron." Chadara's mouth twists into a frown. "Do you even know him?"

"Oh, um, kind of." Nasir considers what to say, the lie already bubbling up. There is no reason to correct on who is tutoring who. He could, he's going to, but then Diona is already leaning in.

"You know who he is right?" Her words are hissed, smirking. "What he did?"

Nasir thinks about the pictures on his phone, the conversation that went a little too far and not far enough. He had laid in that bed for a good half an hour before he could assemble his mind into something that makes sense, forced himself not to touch his cock and instead finish his homework.

"I mean, yeah? Naevia introduced us." Nasir shrugs a shoulder. Why is it that wherever he turns, this guy keeps coming up. "I don't-"

"You joined ATO didn't you?" Chadara sighs heavily. "Oh Nasir, I thought you knew better. After everything that happened."

"I didn't join anything. I'm friends with some of the guys there. Spartacus is super cool." Nasir feels defensive, angry at the easy way they're building this up. "And so is Naevia and Mira."

"Friends? With them?" It's Aurelia that's shaking her head this time. "You poor thing."

"What?" Nasir raises a brow, slowly crossing his arms over his chest.

"They're basically a gang." Diona sighs, shaking her head. "Spartacus just helps them cover everything up. He has half the faculty in his pocket."

"A gang?" Nasir has to scoff at that. Yesterday, he knows for a fact that most of ATO was a local park helping lay wood chips for the new playground equipment.

"You didn't hear? There is some shady shit always going on around them." Aurelia cuts in. "And as soon as people get suspicious, it conveniently disappears."

"You guys are nuts." Nasir shakes his head, reorganizing the notebooks in front of him.

"Sweetheart, I know you have that thing about charity cases and trying to save people, but this is not the way to go about it." Chadara's hand grabs his again. "Agron is dangerous."

Nasir thinks about the way Agron's fingers felt against his skin, the earnest way he didn't defended Nasir to himself, the packet of practice equations he had put together himself. Sure, Agron is gruff, a little more inclined to bite than sooth, but there is something else there. Nasir has seen it in the gentle way he hugs Mira, the way he defends Duro. It's a matter of peeling back layers to see the man under the snarls.

"Last year, Agron and some of the others jumped three guys from Roma." Diona's words send Nasir crashing back into the present. "He put one in the hospital."

"What?"

Leaning in, the women talk over one another, the story laying out in tidbits and scrambled details. It seems like a lot of he said, she said with a line of people to have sworn to see the whole thing. Chadara puts an end to it with a quickly raised hand and a frown of annoyance.

“Basically, it all happened and then suddenly, Spartacus came back with him from the jail and Agron has community service. The guy was in the hospital for like three weeks. Apparently ever since, ATO and one of the Roma frats has been enemies.”

It lands like a brick on already crumbling wall. Agron had made that joke on the first day. Nasir hadn’t thought to take it seriously, and even if he did, he thought it was more like Agron got drunk and vandalized some park. Not beating someone enough to put them in the hospital. It’s the sort of violence that Nasir had run from.

He can still see Caesar’s face above him, the blood on his knuckles, the way his eyes had seemed to glow even in the dark. This must be the fight, the moment that Nasir finally was able to escape, the house empty and Nasir had used it to flee. It feels impossible but everything seems to align.

“I’ve got to-“ Nasir begins to stand, only for a paper Starbucks cup to appear before him.

“Hey.” Agron’s lips brush against Nasir’s temple as he sinks into the seat next to him. “Sorry I’m late.”

Nasir can feel his heart racing, a cold sweat breaking out over his skin. He doesn’t know how obvious it is, but he feels the curls of panic cutting his breath in half, crushing him. He can’t get up now though, can’t run without causing a scene. Chadara’s eyes widen as she leans back from the table, Diona and Aurelia mirroring the motion. All three women make a grand gesture of icly smiling at the new comer, Chadara leading it.

“Oh, Agron, lovely to see you.”

“Ladies.” Agron’s arm drapes across the back of Nasir’s chair.

“We were just leaving. I’d hate to disturb your important tutoring.” She stands sharply, slipping her bag over her arm. “Considering your circumstance, I am glad you’re getting help.”

There is a single breath where Agron seems to make the connection of what she is implying to Nasir’s rigid body under him. He keeps his composure though, lifting his coffee cup in a mocking salute to her.

“Same to you.”

Chadara seems to have wanted a larger reaction as she rolls her eyes, flipping a stray curl over his shoulder as she stalks away. Diona and Aurelia follow her, leaning in to whisper to one another and staring over their shoulders. Even when they disappear around a large bookshelf, Nasir still can’t seem to draw a full breath.

“They were out of coconut milk, so I got you soy instead.” Agron pulls his backpack up on the table, digging through it with one hand and plucking out a worn notebook. The off topic comment is enough to jolt Nasir back into the present, bristling at the feeling of Agron’s arm against his back.

“I’m sorry. I need to-“ He starts, only for Agron to abruptly look up at him. This close, he can see the flecks of gold and chartreuse in his eyes, the fan of his eyelashes.

“She told you the rumor about me, didn’t she?”

He doesn’t say it accusingly, not even raising his voice. Instead, Agron stays perfectly still, his cool gaze tracking over Nasir’s face. There is no point in lying. Nasir knows what he probably looks like, cheeks red and panicked as he whispers.

“Why did you put someone in the hospital?”

Agron takes a deep breath, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

“Last year, when Duro was a freshman, he got involved with a few pretty rough guys that went to this neighboring school. One night, one of the guys shot Duro up with PCP after he passed out at a party. They left him on the side of the road.”

Agron licks his lips, struggling to get the next part out.

“When we finally found him, he was fucking blue. There was over a foot of snow on the ground and he had been wandering around without shoes on, no fucking coat. Doctors said if it had been a few degrees colder or he had laid down, he would have been gone. Seeing him like that, in that hospital bed, I just snapped.”

“Oh my god.” Nasir reaches out, gently placing his hand on Agron’s knee.

“It was over a year ago.” Agron shrugs a little, rubbing at his face. “I know what people say, the shit they make up about it. No one really knew Duro. He was eighteen and fucking stupid and wanted to fit in. I was too busy doing dumb shit to notice how bad it was getting and then, yeah.”

“I’m really sorry.” Nasir chokes out, shaking his head. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah well, fuck what people want to say.” Agron shrugs a little, bitter and acidic. “I’d rather be painted as a monster and have my brother than the opposite.”

How easy it would be to open his mouth, to confess to what he knows, what he’s been through. He knows who Agron is talking about, knows the guys who went around drugging people for fun, the ones following Caesar’s orders. He also knows about the three guys who got hurt, the news drawing attention away from the fact that he escaped – let him get enough space between them to be safe.

“It’s over. Now drink your coffee and let’s do some math.”

Agron turns back towards the table, flipping open his notebook and pulling out a pencil. Nasir has no choice but to follow him, taking a sip from his cup and letting out a soft moan. It’s perfect, hot and sweet. How Agron knew his coffee order is a mystery in itself, but if it’s a routine, he’s not going to complain.

“You know,” Nasir gazes him slowly out of the corner of his eye, “if you keep bringing me coffee and confessing your darkness secrets, I’m going to get the wrong impression.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Agron’s grin pockets his cheeks in dimples, making his whole face look charming and bright.

“I’m afraid we might be friends.”

“Pity.”

Chapter Text

For the majority of the month of September and part of October, Nasir finds himself settling. He goes to class, writes notes and pays attention. Duro and him form an odd friendship in their lit class where Nasir helps Duro learn when to shut up and Nasir gets someone to save him a seat when he’s running late with coffee. There are forgotten keys to be handed out when he works RA shifts, meetings to talk through roommate problems, and floor socials to plan.

He also allows Spartacus to drag him into his family - mostly with the help of Naevia and Mira. He goes to ‘family dinners’ sits squished between Duro and Naevia or Mira and Crixus. He’ll come by for movie nights or board game night and that one memorable Saturday when they binged watched all the Jurassic Park movies. He even lets Mira and Naevia drag him to yoga on Tuesdays and Thursdays – a way to re-center during the crazy week.

It feels too good to be true. That Nasir, who six months ago had laid in a hospital bed thinking he was going to die, would be here now – slowly rebuilding his life, making friends, perhaps finding a family. There are bad days, mornings when he wakes up and feels like he the world is pressing the air from his lungs, when Caesar's face lingers at the corner of Nasir's vision, but then Spartacus calls or Naevia stops over, just to make sure he's eating, and it heals a little more. The scars on his back remind him but the ones inside, the wounds so quick to reopen, learn to close a little more each time.

And there, lingering in every one of these moments, is Agron.

It really is complicated and messy and a little weird. They still have their study sessions, usually tucked away in the corner of the library or at the kitchen table of the ATO house or on Nasir’s dorm room floor. Nasir still thinks he’s an asshole, way too egotistical and full of himself, but they have come to a catty, rude way of friendship that doesn’t always make Nasir want to kill him. He doesn’t hate sitting across from Agron at dinner or being sandwiched against him watching a movie. In fact, it’s kind of nice when Agron’s large arm will drape over his shoulders or he’ll show up with coffee and more encouraging words while they study.

They still are texting each other, though there hasn’t been anymore pictures exchanged. Instead, it’s changed into something else - little charged, flirty messages late at night that end up leading to Agron explicitly describing how he wants Nasir in his bed. Or boring lectures where Nasir scrolls up to look at the imprint of Agron's cock from that first picture that leads him to text ask if he thinks it will fit. The strangest part is that they never talk about it, never even bring it up in random conversation. It just hangs there, festers, like an elephant in the room – like their own secret rendezvous.

The dirty is also interspersed with random conversations too. It's not all about sex. They talk about movies or classes or the drama of their friend group of people they know on campus. Agron is the biggest gossip Nasir has ever met, but he has a feeling Agron only ever tells Nasir people’s secrets – no one else. But it's always there, lingering, and Nasir doesn't want to unpack why he doesn't really mind. It’s not a big deal. No one has to know and they’re not actually going to fuck, then what’s the harm?

It's getting too cold for you to wear those little shorts anymore.

Nasir glances around the coffee shop, shielding his phone closer to him as if someone can read the small print from a table over. He's supposed to be meeting Naevia for brunch between classes, but she's running late and Nasir figures he has time. Besides, it’s just harmless flirting right? They’ll see each other later, probably, and it will be like nothing happened.

Are you upset about that?

Depends on what you put on instead.

I have all sorts of options.

I want to see

Putting a hand over his mouth, Nasir stifles a grin. There is a latte by his elbow that is getting cold, a notebook left open in front of him. He is curious what Agron is right now, either home or at the gym, and who is around him. Can Agron talk to him like this without showing anything on his face? Is he half hard, thinking about what it would be like to do this in person?

You’re very interested in my legs

What can I say? I'm going to miss your thighs. And that strip off ass I can see when you curl up on the couch.

He kind of gets distracted thinking about what it would be stretched out on his back, legs spread with Agron's eyes gleaming up at him as he takes him apart. In all of these fantasies, he takes his time, unravels Nasir slowly like some present that he's been craving. Agron would walk his fingers along Nasir’s skin, coax it out of him slow and thorough, the type of bone melting pleasure that makes your eyes water.

Maybe I'll make sure to misplace my pants around you.

I can help with that

Oh yeah? How?

Nasir can feel his face burning, squirming in his chair as he holds his phone against his chest. This isn't really the place to get hard, the coffee shop busy on a Saturday morning, but he can feel his cock twitching in his leggings. How can he not? Half the time he wants to punch Agron in the face when he sees him and then other half, he get distracted by the way his shoulders stretch out his shirts or how good he smells right out of the shower. It’s probably bad, probably not good for them, but Nasir can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop.

Nasir holds his phone in one hand, covering his mouth with his other, only to be startled a half second later.

"Hey!" Naevia comes barreling through the coffee shop, backpack swung over her shoulder. "So sorry I'm so late, but guess who I ran into?"

He sees Mira first, her hair piled up in a top knot with a colorful ribbon around it, wearing a huge sweater and toting a large canvas bag. Right behind her is Agron, tapping at his phone, looking fresh from the gym. They turn heads, a few girls at the bar turning to watch them move through the shop, whispering to one another. It’s nothing new. Nasir is painfully aware he’s somehow found himself friends with extremely attractive people. It’s obnoxious though when they all try to go somewhere and they draw attention.

Agron is an expert at ignoring all of it, lost in the fast tapping of his thumbs on the screen. He nearly runs into Mira when she pauses to let a waitress pass, glancing up and immediately meeting Nasir's gaze. All the air gets sucked out of the room, oxygen turned upside down as they stare at each other, stretching time thin. Against his chest, Nasir's phone buzzes.

"Hey sweetie." Oblivious, Mira slides into the seat next to him after kissing his cheek, forcing Agron into the one across. "How are you? Sorry to crash your lunch date. I’m starving though and Ags owes me."

"Oh, it's okay. I'm good, how are you?" Nasir chokes out, turning to look at her. He can feel Agron still looking at him, the weight of it making Nasir burn to scratch at his nose, awkward and anxious. It feels like it’s written all over his face. "How was class?"

"I'm good. This semester is already killing me." She complains, pulling the plastic menu from between the sugars and milk container in the center of the table. "I have so many projects and now Spartacus wants us to have this big charity event."

"Really? He didn't tell me about this." Naevia glances up, chewing on her straw. “What charity?”

"Some under serviced youth or something. He just dropped it on me." Mira sighs, twisting a stray hair around her finger. "Oh well, right? I’ll come up with something."

"You know he means well. He loves his lost causes.” Naevia grins, a gentle jab at the occupants of the table. “Spartacus and his big heart.”

“He never stops.” Mira laughs a little, tone mirthful and fond. “I swear, I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and he’s already working on saving the world.”

“Already working or he never stops.” Naevia gently nudges Nasir, “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Nasir ducks his head, pulling his own sticky menu towards him. “I just need more coffee. I’m super low energy today.”

“Unlike my teacher who would not shut up today," Naevia begins to rant, pausing half a moment when the waitress fills up her water glass. "He always does this on Fridays. I think he enjoys being a dick."

As she launches into her story, Nasir allows himself to relax back in his chair, very slowly turning his head. Agron is flopped casually in his seat, leaning back with one hand resting on the table. He's perusing over the menu, head tilted slightly to the side, looking ridiculously at ease considering the eyes that keep glancing at him. The two guys at the table over keep leaning in to whisper to one another, one pointing over at him.

Nasir can see Agron has a small bruise by the corner of his eye, probably an injury from rugby practice, and the purple contrasts with the bright green of his eyes - vivid as he suddenly snaps to Nasir. There is a beat, a moment, where Nasir feels stripped bare – like Agron can see something that no one else can – and something tightens in Nasir’s chest. He knows better though, has taught himself not to want like this, to deny this feeling. Smirking slowly, Agron drags his gaze from Nasir's to his chest, pointedly to Nasir's cellphone.

Both Mira and Naevia aren't paying any attention to them, caught up in their discussion, so Nasir carefully peels his phone from his shirt, glancing down at the screen. Instantly, Nasir feels his chest bloom with heat, using all of his will power not to react to the words on the screen.

You need to take your pants off if you're going to sit on my face

Agron clears his throat, shifting around on his chair, gloating. Nasir can't stop himself from looking up, caught as Agron’s tongue slides along his bottom lip, considering. If there was any air left in the room, it is gone with the way Nasir is suddenly burning, hair on the back of his neck rising. He wants to kick Agron as hard as he can in the shin and also sink below the table at the same time. He has to count back from ten just to calm his racing heart, and it’s ruined when Agron flashes his dimples – too confident at this game.

This is the first time there has been any indication that what happens between them via text is also something in real life. It felt disconnected when it was virtual, just a hidden secret that Nasir tries really hard not to think about. But now, Agron is sitting across from him, toying with the straw in his dripping water glass, eyes half narrowed. Nasir can play this game too though, if pushed, and Agron has all of his buttons under his fingertips.

“What are we doing for Halloween?” Nasir asks, letting himself look at Mira, who is always up for something.

“Oh! We usually have a party at the house, but Spartacus doesn’t want to this year.” She leans forward, elbow propped on the table. “Did you have any ideas?”

“Chadara told me about a club over in the next town. Seems pretty legit.” Nasir shrugs, acting nonchalant and disinterested. Beneath the table, he gently scoots his foot forward, ankle resting against Agron’s. “It’s free on Halloween if you come in costume.”

“Oh my god, that sounds perfect.” Naevia chimes in, pulling out her phone, “I’ll text the group chat. What’s the name of the place?”

“I think it’s called Heaven.” Nasir drags his foot up Agron’s leg, inching higher. The table is small enough that he can reach, tapping against one of Agron’s knees. “Or something like that.”

“You have to dress up this year.” Mira turns her attention to Agron. “You have to.”

“Nah,” Agron coughs a little when Nasir slides against the inside of his thigh. “I’m good.”

Agron is pretty good at keeping up the façade of nonchalance and boredom, arms crossed over his chest. Nasir notices the small twitch next to his eye though, a barely there reflex when Nasir’s foot settles between his spread thighs. He doesn’t push, just lets the weight settle against the impressive semi. Agron makes it seem natural to shift around, lets himself gently arch forward into the heel of Nasir’s boot.

“You have to pick something. You have to.” Mira shakes her head again. “Or we’re doing group costumes.”

“Fine. I’ll probably be a vampire or some easy shit.”

Mira is halfway through a sentence on how Agron is seriously lacking in the creativity department when it comes to Halloween, when she’s cut off by someone passing the table. He’s shorter, a crop of dark curls spilling over his ears, blue eyes bright and wide. He drags his fingertips over Agron’s shoulder as he passes, a barely there brush as a flush spreads across his cheeks.

“Hey Agron.”

He has two friends with him, similarly dressed in a cheerleading jackets and holding iced teas. They, too, glance around the table before settling back on the mentioned man, faces flushed and attention tunneled. It’s clear the one that touched is familiar enough to get away with it as Agron shifts a little, clearing his throat.

“Hey man, what’s up?”

“Long time, no see.” The guy grins pretty and Nasir promptly drops his foot back to the floor. He knows that look, can recognize that warm, hazy expression on the guy’s face. Something ugly twists its head inside Nasir’s chest, up into his throat. “Had a good summer?

“Sure.” Agron shrugs, glancing at Mira when she has to pop a hand over her mouth to hide her grin. “You?”

“It was great.” Guy glances around the table, takes in the way there are open notebooks and phones placed by mugs, drawing the conclusion it’s a friendly, casual get together. “You still have my number?”

“Uh, maybe?” Agron pointedly does not look at Nasir, instead sits up straighter as if he wants this conversation to be over already. There is a vein in his neck that is twitching with how hard he’s clenched his jaw.

“Oh good.” Guy boldly leans forward, brushing his lips over Agron’s cheek before retreating. “Use it anytime.”

The girls wait until he disappears through the door with a pointed backwards glance, the other two following suit, before they start giggling. Agron seems oddly annoyed at the whole exchange, taking a large gulp from the coffee he ordered and grimacing when it burns his tongue. They dissolve into full laughter as Nasir drags his own now bitterly cold coffee towards him, pointedly closing his messaging app. He doesn’t look at Agron, though he knows Agron is looking at him.

“We really can’t take you anywhere.” Mira sighs, shaking her head in disbelief. “Ags, that’s the third time this week.”

“What did you do? Fuck the whole rugby cheer squad?” Naevia asks, smacking Agron’s shoulder. “Or just all the pretty ones?”

“They’re all pretty.” Mira answers for him, then seeming to realize Nasir doesn’t know the story, she decides to fill him in. “Ags, here, is kind of a man whore. He made his way through the entire squad last year. And half of campus.”

“Charming.” Nasir chokes out. He makes the mistake of looking up at Agron and instantly regrets it. Agron is all cold, hard lines, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for Nasir to say something, expects him to.

“Mira, we’re not slut shaming, remember?” Naevia chastises gently. “Even if the glove fits.”

“And apparently it fits. It fits in lots of gloves.” Mira giggles behind her hand again. “Do you have a number? Like a running count?”

“No.” Agron answers sharply. “But it’s enough.”

“Enough? What does that even mean?” Mira scoffs loudly. “You literally ding dong ditch them. It’s like you guys hook up and you forget their name.”

“If he ever learned it.” Naevia supplies helpfully.

“I know his name.” Agron pauses, brow furrowed as he takes another long swig of his drink. “It’s Felix.”

“It is not Felix.” Mira shakes her head. “That was Max. Felix is taller.”

“No, Max is the redhead.” Naevia disagrees. “That was Ceravus.”

“All the cheerleaders look the same.” Agron shrugs, seeming unbothered. “Besides, anyone looks the same from behind.”

“Oh my god. You’re so gross.” Naevia cackles, tossing her head back.

“It’s true though!”

Nasir doesn’t know why he feels bitter, acidic under Agron’s closed off stare. They’re nothing to each other. They barely pass as friends. Nasir feels foolish for even entertaining the far away thought that they would ever be anything else. It was all just a game, stupid hormones and boredom. Nasir lonely and probably too horny for his own good and Agron is used to the attention, craves being wanted. That’s all.

“Well, I just hope you’re being safe. Disinfecting and all,” Nasir says it sharp, a little nasty, and the tips of Agron’s ears turn red.

“Why? Were you hoping you were going to be next?” Agron raises a brow, the curl of his lip giving away his rising temper. “You know, you have to be this tall to ride the ride.” He raises his hand up.

“No, I’m good thanks.” Nasir folds his napkin onto the table. “I’m not really one for sloppy seconds.”

“I’m not seconds. I’m the whole meal.” Agron turns sharply to face him, giving Nasir the full extent of his glare. It’s like a switch has flipped, before teasing and light, and now something else has bloomed – hot and biting. “Besides, used goods are still better than damaged, right Nasir? Or are we all just supposed to act like we don’t know?”

“Agron, hey,” Mira tries to interject, reaching out to grab his arm, but she is easily disregarded.

“You know nothing about me.” Nasir tries to brush off the cruel twist of his chest. There is no way Agron knows.

“I know enough to know a sob story when I see one. I told you on the first day I met you, Spartacus collects them. He gets off on saving people.” Agron shrugs, ignoring Mira’s hand on his shoulder, shrugging it off. “So, what was it? Tragic family history? Criminal background? A boyfriend that liked to throw you around?”

“Fuck you.” Nasir’s mug clatters against the saucer when he places it back down, rough and ignoring the fragility of porcelain.

“Come on,” Agron leans in, popping an elbow on the table. “Tell me Nasir, how do you keep yourself so high up there on your pedestal? Since you’re so much better than me? What happened to you that made you into such a martyr?”

Mira draws in a sharp breath, seeming to sense the argument shifting to a dangerous level by the quiet “Ags” she lets slip out. Naevia looks ready to jump in, gripping her mug tightly, but Nasir doesn’t let her. Instead, he barks out a bitter little laugh, standing abruptly from the table.

“I’m late for being anywhere other than here.” Nasir pulls his bag onto his shoulder. “Mira, Nae, I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, gonna run again? Is that what you do?” Agron hisses, cheeks red. Once he’s started, it seems like he can’t reign it back in. “You’re just a scared little kitty cat, aren’t you?”

Suddenly, Nasir is up in Agron’s space, looming above him from where he stands and Agron is still slumped in his seat. He has a fist full of Agron’s tank top, leaning in until their noses barely brush, teeth clenched tight. There is something wild in that moment, like the static electricity of the air before a storm, like a warning just a little too late. Nasir crashes into Agron with all of his weight, nearly toppling them both over if it weren’t for Agron’s feet, firmly pressed to the ground.

“Don’t ever fucking call me that.”

Agron’s eyes widen a fraction of a second, surprised as Nasir slams his fist into his chest, a warning as he twists the fabric. Something clicks into Agron’s expression, a cog wheel that shifts into place as his mouth drops open, half a breath gasped in. But then Nasir is hissing at him, slamming his hand down again before he is gone, nearly running out of the coffee shop.

“Jesus fuck, Agron.” Naevia hisses, leaning back in her chair. “Why are you such an asshole?”

“I need to talk to Spartacus.” Agron blindly reaches for his bag, staggering out of his seat.

“What? No. You need to go apologize.” Mira adds in, leaning up, grabbing at Agron’s arm. “That was fucking uncalled for.”

“God, I wish I could beat some sense into you.” Naevia snarls, defensive and intense. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’ll text you later.”

Agron doesn’t even turn to look at them, pushing his way through the coffee shop.

- - -

When Nasir is on duty, he’s required to keep his door unlocked and usually propped open. It’s supposed to be welcoming, inviting those who need him to come on in. Nasir hates the practice of it, hates the idea that if he goes to pee, anyone can wander in. Still, he wants to keep his job and the meager paycheck it provides, so he puts a large print copy of Anna Karenina in the door wedge and sits on his floor to work.

He has two papers due, a free verse poem, and an essay about Plato, but he can’t fucking concentrate. He keeps replaying the scene in the coffee shop, and every time he does, he gets more and more afraid and more and more angry. It’s like Caesar is looming outside again, stuck in his peripheral, and every time Nasir tries to overcome it, panic twists its way around his throat.

There is no way that Agron could have known what he said. No way of him knowing the nickname that used to be sneered into his face, the cruel twist of Caesar’s hand in his hair, the coaxing, intoxicating way he would curl words around until Nasir was always the one giving in, always the one apologizing. And yet, with one little phrase, Agron had sent Nasir spiraling out of control, falling back into the chaos of trauma, triggered so badly that he could barely make it inside before he was choking on panicked air.

There is a side of Agron that Nasir really (unfortunately) likes a great deal. It’s the charming, funny, warm side of him. The side that ruffles Duro’s hair when he walks by and makes sure to kiss Mira’s cheek before he leaves. It’s the side that made Agron create extra practice worksheets for Nasir and leave encouraging notes in the margin.

And then, there is another side of him. It’s dark and bitter and cruel. It’s a fortress built with a fence of ego and a moat of confidence that chokes out anything that gets too close. Agron holds everyone beyond that fence, sees them from a far and only as long as he wants. It’s a defense mechanism. Nasir knows that. But he doesn’t know how to get to the other side of it. He constantly feels like he’s on the draw bridge – where Agron can either throw him into the dark watery abyss or draw him into the warm gates.

Most of all, Nasir doesn’t want to think about it anymore. So, he doesn’t.

He is halfway through his essay, ranting passionately about his deep displeasure in Plato’s philosophy of art and poetry, when there is a soft knock on the door. Expecting to find some shy, cowering sophomore who got locked out again, Nasir is stunned to see Spartacus leaning against his doorframe.

“Sorry to bother you at work, but do you mind if I come in?”

“Um, sure.” Nasir opens his door wider, stepping back.

There is only so much decorating you can do with a dorm room, but Nasir thinks he did pretty well. He has tapestries hung up, swirling colors and mandalas, a chakra charm catching light in the window sill. There are crystals on the edge, a large, woven rug on the floor, and a poster of Years & Years on his closet door. Spartacus takes it all in slowly before taking a place on a small cushion on the floor.

“You have a lovely home.” Spartacus says things that should be ridiculous, given the context, and yet Nasir still finds himself shy, bashful as he ducks his head.

"Thanks. Do you want tea or something?" Nasir awkwardly scratches his ankle with his opposite, bare foot. "I have some popcorn."

"Oh, no thank you." Spartacus smiles, motioning towards the rug in front of him. It's uncanny how he can command a room, like an emperor in a faded rubgy jersey and a pair of birkenstocks. "Please, sit."

"Is this about what happened earlier?" Nasir sinks down, flipping his laptop closed.

"In a way." Spartacus sighs, curling his hands in front of him. "Agron came to see me."

"If you're here to apologize for him, you can save your breath." Nasir crosses his legs, settles even as his spine is straight and tight. "He's a grown man. If he has something to say, he can say it for himself."

"I agree." Spartacus nods, taking a slow breath. "I wanted to talk to you about something else though."

"Okay." Nasir has to wait, watches the words slowly come together. Spartacus always talks so deliberately, so aware of how each phrase is put together. Finally, he raises his head and meets his gaze, level and honest.

"Did you know that I am a transfer student too?" He continues when he sees Nasir shake his head. “Yeah, two years ago, from Roma University.”

Instantly, Nasir has his hands fisted in the carpet, holding his breath. He wasn’t expecting that, tries to rack his brain and see if he can remember any mention of Spartacus. It wasn’t like he was sitting down and chatting it up about alumni or transfers though. If anything, Caesar kept Nasir as far removed from the outside world as possible.

“Oh yeah?” Nasir chokes out, releasing the rug to smooth his hands down his thighs.

"I enrolled in their business management course when I was right out of high school." Spartacus explains, "You know how it is. Fresh and eager to find somewhere to belong. I ended up getting recruited to this frat my first semester."

A vice twists slowly over Nasir's lungs, catches his breath sharply. He twists his fingers into his harem pants, spins and spins until he cuts the blood flow from his fingertips. It's there, on the tip of his tongue, and yet he can't get anything past his firmly pressed lips.

“They made it seem like a great group. Real smart and calculated, a little egotistical but what can you expect from rich white men?” Spartacus laughs bitterly, something dark crawling across his expression – something Nasir knows well. “It’s hard to see how bad people are when you want them desperately to like you.”

“I know the feeling.” Nasir doesn’t breathe, can’t force his lungs to open.

“I had to leave. Escape really. I couldn’t live with myself if I did what they did, what they wanted me to do.” Spartacus looks into his lap, struggling. “It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t. I expect to wake up sometimes and see them all there again – to live through the hazing, the months of abuse. They still try and start shit too.”

“Spartacus,” Nasir whispers, terrified as he digs his hands back in the carpet once more. He can’t stop fidgeting. On the bed, his phone is ringing, a distant muffled blaring of guitars.

"Nasir, do you know Caesar?" Spartacus asks softly, trying to be gentle, but it doesn't work. It has the opposite effect as Nasir suddenly stands, squaring his shoulders. He can’t do this right now. He can’t bring it all up again. And fuck Spartacus for trying to know him, for making him drag up all the pain once again.

"Get out."

“I know you transferred from Roma. I found pictures of you on his Facebook.” Spartacus doesn’t move to stand, instead stares up at Nasir. “What happened to you?”

“Fuck you.” Nasir hisses, backing up. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

“Nasir,” Spartacus places his hands face up on his knees. “Please. I want to help you.”

“It’s none of your business.” Cursing, Nasir tries valiantly to hold the tears back. He wants to run, wants to flee into the dark outside, to carve the memories out of his own brain. His phone is still ringing, like a distant warning bell. How can this still be so fucking raw? A nightmare that is there when he sleeps and when he wakes up. He just wants it to go away, but Nasir is going to be caught in this web forever. His back hits the corner of the wall, blindly searching for the bathroom door knob.

“If he’s still after you, I need to know. We can protect you, but I need to know.” Spartacus slowly gets to his feet. “ATO has a history with Roma. You’re not the only one with a past with them.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Nasir snarls, hissing sharply as he fails to hold back the sob. “What gives you the fucking right?”

“I do.” Spartacus pulls up the side of his shirt, showing off a nasty scar that curves over his hip. “The box escape? I was in there for three days.”

“What?” Nasir gasps, his fingertips going to his lips.

“That was after the drinking and the caning.” Spartacus murmurs, head bent slightly to show a weird triangle mark on his hairline, “And the branding.”

Very slowly, they travel to his hair, dragging it to the side and showing Spartacus the twin scars on the back of his neck. It’s a jagged line, the result of a burn left to heal under metal.

“He collared you?” Spartacus asks softly, careful when Nasir nods.

“To train me.” Nasir whispers, barely above a breath, “His little kitty cat.”

“I’m sorry, Nasir. I really am.” Spartacus’ hands twist into fists as his sides, shaking his head. ‘They’re all monsters.”

“I-“ Nasir begins only for his dorm door to suddenly fly open, Agron standing there, dripping from the rain outside and clutching his phone. He takes a quick survey of the room, seeing Spartacus with his shirt half off, over to where Nasir is backed against the wall, crying, and instantly draws the wrong conclusion.

“What the fuck?” Agron’s voice is so loud in the small dorm room, charging between them. He puts his back to Nasir, hands out in defense as he gets into Spartacus’ face. “I didn’t tell you so you could take advantage of the situation.”

“I’m not.” Spartacus grinds out, staying surprisingly calm for the way Agron is crowding against him. “We’re only talking.”

“Talking?” Agron looks down at Spartacus with a snarl, “Then why the fuck isn’t he answering his phone? Why is he crying?”

“Agron,” Nasir sniffles miserably, reaching out and gently grabbing his forearm, “It’s okay. It’s not what it looks like. He didn’t do anything.”

“Are you okay?” Agron doesn’t look over his shoulder when he says it, but his outstretched arm curves back until he can touch Nasir’s waist.

“I’m-“ Nasir tries to get the words out and fails, choking a little.

It seems to flip something in Agron, who abruptly turns and pulls Nasir against him, cradling him carefully in his arms. He’s so big, so warm, and growling soft words to sooth and protect. And Nasir wants to hate him, does hate him, would have thrown him out of the room not fifteen minutes ago, but it’s too much. How long has Nasir had to hold this secret? To have it itch at the back of his throat? Either he risks it now or it will consume him forever.

Nasir is short enough he buries his face in Agron’s chest and blissfully, terribly, painfully lets go. The sobs are muffled into the already damp t-shirt, Agron’s fingers in Nasir’s hair as he cries, soothing along his spine and holding him tight. He guides Nasir easily to the bed, letting him sink onto it, still curled into his side. Spartacus takes a seat on the floor in front of them, waiting until Nasir can draw a full breath. Agron doesn’t move, holds Nasir against him with no space between them.

“Nasir?” Spartacus asks softly. He waits until Nasir raises his face from Agron’s shoulder. “You don’t have to tell us everything.”

“It’s okay. I guess you already know anyways.” Nasir reaches down, grips Agron’s thigh as he begins. “I don’t have any family. I’ve been in the system since I was little. So, when I went to college, I guess I believed Caesar and Tiberius that they were a family of their own – a brotherhood, right?”

He sniffles bitterly and Agron shifts against him, holding him tighter.

“Caesar was so nice to me. I thought I was so lucky, to be in love and finding myself. I finally had a place to belong. But then rushing started and I kept having to prove myself. There was the hazing. Others had to do similar stuff, but Caesar was so particular about me. I had to do more, drink more, take more beatings, to prove myself. He didn’t want second best and I just wanted him to like me, to want me the way I thought I did him.”

“Fuck,” Spartacus exhales, shaking his head in understanding.

“He would lock me in the attic of the house and make me beg for days to be let out. I nearly failed classes. I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone if Caesar didn’t approve it. I didn’t have a phone. I didn’t have anyone to miss me on breaks or wonder where I was.” Nasir hiccups on a sob again and Agron curls more towards him, dropping a kiss into his hair. Nasir is going to have to consider this whole situation later, to ponder over the soft hands on his skin, the way Agron is nearly cradling him, but for now, Nasir allows himself to sink into it. No one is here but Spartacus.

“They planned some party – some challenge for some of the new recruits – to go to a neighboring school and do something. I don’t even know. I had been put in the attic again for talking too long to the pizza delivery guy. Caesar had broken one of my ribs and I didn’t even know.” Nasir doesn’t have the strength to look up at Agron when he inhales sharp, knowing, instead digs his nails into Agron’s thigh. “They went over to the other school a lot.”

“The night of the fight,” Spartacus fills in, putting the pieces together, “After Duro was in the hospital.”

“Caesar thought Sibnus was watching the house, but he went with Tiberius. I used the wire from a notebook to pick the lock. I had two broken ribs and a fractured wrist, a concussion, and was dehydrated.” Nasir chokes on a bitter laugh. “If Tiberius hadn’t ended up in the hospital, I wouldn’t have made it out. I would probably still be there.”

It takes all of his strength to raise his head, to look at Agron with still watery eyes.

“Who knew you were going to save my life before I even met you?”

“I’m sorry.” Agron whispers, his hand coming up. It cradles Nasir’s cheek, brushes a thumb against a tear. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You didn’t know.” Nasir sniffles, allowing himself to lean into the touch. He feels raw, vulnerable, and lost in the bright green of Agron’s eyes. There are probably a million reasons why this is a bad idea, but Nasir can’t think of a single one, especially when Agron gently touches his forehead to Nasir’s.

“It doesn’t matter if I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have said it.” Agron presses a kiss to his forehead, wrapping his arms around Nasir again, hugging him tightly.

“God, I fucking hate that man.” Spartacus snarls on the floor, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Don’t worry though, Nasir. It’s over now”

“You’re safe.” Agron whispers into Nasir’s ear, kisses his hair again. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“You don’t know that.” Nasir sighs, shaking his head. “He’s still looking for me.”

“Then when he does, he’ll find me first.” Agron tilts Nasir’s face up, brushes their noses together, “And I’m a lot to get through.”

“All of us are on your side now, Nasir.” Spartacus touches his knee lightly. “This is the family you should have had from the start. And we have no intention of letting anything get to you.”

And for once, the first time in all of Nasir’s life, he actually believes them.

After a while, Nasir finally falls asleep, curled up on his bed with Agron sitting next to him, gently brushing a hand through his hair. He knows all isn’t forgiven. There is a lot that both of them need to unpack, habits that need to be broken. Agron is a snarling wolf just as much as Nasir is a rabid little dog – fangs and claws out. Somehow though, something seems to have shifted, and Agron doesn’t want to label it but he’s aware of the warm spreading in his chest when he looks down at Nasir’s peaceful sleep.

Across the room, Spartacus shifts in his chair, texting rapidly on his phone. The conversation seems to pause when he looks up though, calculating and careful gaze roaming over Agron. He’s curled slightly towards Nasir, one arm dangled down and twisting a curl around and around his finger. Slowly, Spartacus stands up, stretching as he approaches the bed.

“It took a lot of him to talk about it.” Spartacus whispers, motioning towards Nasir. “There is a lot there.”

“Isn’t there always when it comes to those Roma shits?” Agron doesn’t allow his voice to go above a murmur, even if he’s clenching his jaw.

“Agron,” Spartacus reaches out, places a hand on his shoulder. “You’re playing a dangerous game with him.”

“I’m not playing.” Agron shoots his own glare upwards, brow furrowed.

“I hope not.” Spartacus sighs while shaking his head. “For his sake and yours.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Agron asks, remembering to keep his volume in check as Nasir shifts beside him.

“It means that I don’t want to see either one of you hurt.” Spartacus makes a point of pressing his hand into Agron’s shoulder. “Or disappointed because they’re not getting what they thought.”

“He’s not like the other ones, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Agron turns his gaze away, brushing a strand of hair from Nasir’s face. “I’m not going to just fuck him and forget his name.”

“I think it best if you don’t fuck him at all.” Spartacus sighs, drawing away. “I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”

“No.” Agron doesn’t look at Spartacus when he says it. “I want to stay. Incase he wakes up and needs someone.”

“Agron-“ Spartacus lets out, strained and uneven.

“Go home, Spartacus. You don’t know anything about this.”

“I think I know too much.” Spartacus mutters, turning and leaving the room with a soft click.

When he is gone, Agron slowly slides down the bed, curling his body along Nasir’s. He won’t stay the whole night, will leave before it gets too early, but for now he wants to stay – wants to hold Nasir and try to convey – even if silently – how bad he feels for what he said. Agron is so full of his own hurt, his own rage, that he sometimes forgets that other people suffer too. And now, staring at Nasir’s smooth face, his warm body curled perfect in Agron’s arms, he wants to make sure that Nasir never hurts again.

Even if it’s a secret.

Chapter Text

Coffee in hand, Duro makes his way slowly down the dorm hallway, dragging his feet. He's exhausted. That weary type of tired that makes every bone in your body sore and your muscles feel like weighted bags. He doesn't even remember the last time he got a full nights sleep, and it's only the beginning of the semester. All he wants, after his morning lecture, is to sprawl in his bed and sleep until Christmas break. Not that his brother would let him.

Agron, for all his short comings, has honestly kept Duro afloat in school. He is constantly checking in on him, bring him coffee or forcing him to go get dinner. Even though he doesn’t technically need tutoring, Agron even takes it upon himself to ‘strongly encourage’ they have study sessions together and checks that Duro’s homework is done before he can come out and party. It’s a strong arm, a nuisance that makes sure Duro is the best that he can be.

To anyone else it would be annoying, Duro supposes, but they’re not like most siblings. For one, they’ve never really had parents. Well, that’s not technically true. They did. They just were never around. Agron and Duro grew up in a fairly well off suburb in Upstate New York. Normal house, a white fence, and just two parents that were always at work. It wasn't real abuse, or that's what Duro used to think, just neglect mixed with a latch key childhood but it wasn't like Duro noticed. Anything he needed was always provided by Agron.

It sounds ridiculous. Duro knows that now that he's an adult. But Agron, barely two years older, had always been more of a brother/father to him. When they were young, Agron was always in charge of getting and picking Duro up from school. They would walk the short distance to the school, sometimes veering to the park afterwards. Agron would make them dinner sometimes, the recipes getting better the older they got, and help Duro get to his bath and then to bed. Agron forged the teacher's notes. Agron put band aids on booboos and clean dirt from cheeks.

Looking back on his life, Duro can be nothing but grateful to his big brother. But he often wonders if Agron got a childhood. If he ever had a few moment to be young and careless. Duro knows the answer to that, but the guilt keeps him from dwelling on it.

Maybe it's why Duro gets so defensive when people come at Agron. He gets a bad rap, Duro knows that, probably because of the easy way Agron brushes people off or throws himself into anger. But Duro knows, deep down, Agron is vulnerable. He isn't all stone. Shit gets to him.

Duro's fumbling with his keys, lost in thought and trying to unhook them from the lanyard around his neck, when a door opens down the hall. He rolls his head to the side, just in time to see Nasir stepping out of the stairs doorway. He looks ragged, hair piled up high in a top knot and wearing a pair of loose sweats, his own coffee clutched in his hand. Duro can't see his face, Nasir's head tilted down as he makes his way up the hall, but from his posture, it seems to be taking all of his energy just to fucking move.

"Hey man, you good?" Duro's voice bounces around the tiled hall. The dorm deserted in the early afternoon hour. Nasir looks up, the skin around his eyes red and raw looking.

"Hey Duro." Nasir waves half-heartedly, his keys jingles. "Yeah, you?"

"Yeah." Duro abandons his own door for walking down the hall. Nasir still puts his keys in, but he doesn't move to open his own, raising one of his feet to scratch at his opposite ankle. "You missed class this morning."

“I didn't feel like going.“ Awkwardly, Nasir shrugs a little and hums. He doesn’t bother looking at Duro in the face, instead stares at a point over his shoulder. "One class isn’t going to ruin my career."

“You never miss class. No one was there to muzzle me.” Duro frowns a little. They’re not besties or anything, but Duro considers Nasir a friend – a part of the family really. “You look like you haven’t slept at all.”

He goes slow, careful, as he reaches out to touch Nasir’s arm, surprised when he flinches away roughly. Nasir curls his arms tightly against his chest, his coffee tilted awkwardly against his bicep. Duro can see the way his fingerprints line up with the bruises on his arms, almost as if he had gripped bruises into himself.

“Duro,” Nasir sighs, shifting around, “Sorry. I’m just-“

“Is something going on?” Duro asks, leaning in closer to keep anyone in the hall from hearing. “Did something happen? Bullying doesn’t just stop in high school. If someone did something-“

“What? No. What are you talking about?” Nasir glances up, shocked and defensive.

“I know how college can be. It’s not always the greatest time for everyone,” Duro shrugs, careful not to touch Nasir again, but leans instead on the wall. “If someone is doing something or saying something, I want to help.”

“Oh, Duro,” Nasir sighs helplessly, shaking his head. “it’s really not-“

“I’m not a karate kid or anything. But Agron used to box. He’s shown me some moves.” Duro takes up a loose stance, fists clenched. “Tell me who it is and I’ll beat the shit out of them.”

“I’m not being bullied, alright? And I don’t need another tall, white guy trying to save me.” Nasir rolls his eyes, “I’m just going through some shit, okay? I’m really okay.”

“I didn’t mean it in a ‘white knight’ kind of way. I could teach you how to throw a nice right hook,” Duro shrugs. “You have pretty nice arms for it. It’s not that hard.”

“You’re sweet. You are,” Nasir pats Duro’s cheek affectionally. “But I’m alright. I’m-“

He’s interrupted by the slamming of the stairs’ door behind them, a few freshman rushing by, laughing and giggling, and then something else. Agron suddenly looms next to Nasir, looking tall and disheveled in an underclassmen dorm.. He’s holding a large vase, spirals of fresh, cut fruit arranged in a careful bouquet.

“Hey.” He leans over, using his free hand to gently wrap around Nasir’s elbow, guiding him up off the wall. “I’ve been texting you.”

“I forgot to charge my phone.” Nasir murmurs, accepting the kiss to the top of his head.

“Hey. What are you doing here?” Duro is not blind to the way Nasir doesn’t flinch under his brother’s touch, but instead almost leans into it. “Is that for me?”

“No,” Agron shrugs a little, not bothering to elaborate and motioning the vase towards Nasir. “Why are you bothering your RA? You get locked out again?”

“I’m bothering Nasir,” Duro annunciates slowly, “because I was checking up on my friend. He looks like he’s been on an all night bender through hell.”

“He is standing right here.” Nasir rolls his eyes. “And I’m really just tired. I’m a college student, you know?”

“Why are you here?” Duro asks, pointedly tracing Agron’s arm down to where he’s still touching Nasir’s lower back.

“I came to check on my friend.” Agron easily mocks back.

“I’m fine.”

Both brothers turn to look at Nasir, who is busy working a knot into the string of his sweatpants. Upon noticing their attention though, he smooths his hands on his thighs, grimacing. Agron is still crowded against him, though he’s careful when he looks over at Duro. It’s a look that Duro hasn’t seen on his brother’s face in a long time – defensive and secretive – something dark and secretive coiling behind those green eyes.

“I’m fine, seriously.” Nasir reaches behind him, unlocking his door. “Now, if you mind, I really want to nap.”

“Okay.” Duro shrugs, retreating a little. Agron doesn’t. Instead, he steps closer, a hand drifting to cup Naisr’s hip instead. Duro watches the way Nasir leans into it, careful gaze turned upwards.

“Can we talk?” He whispers, head tilted close to Nasir. “Please.”

“Come on.”

Nasir catches Duro’s gaze over his brother’s arm, but looks away quickly. Agron doesn’t turn around at all, only lets Nasir lead him into the dark dorm. The door closes with a loud click, the lock flipped over from the inside. Duro wants to say something, wants to knock on the door, wants to tell Nasir things like please and don’t and you don’t know what you could do but instead, he turns and walks away. Retreats to his dorm door, puts his keys in, and pretends like it isn’t happening all over again. Like he isn’t watching Agron set himself up to get hurt again.

- - -

Nasir doesn’t bother to flip the overhead on, instead moves over beside his bed and plugs in a string of Christmas lights. They’re haphazardly strung along one wall. It casts the room in a warm, hazy rainbow glow that flickers shadows around the room. He hasn’t bothered to straighten up after last night, the pillows on the floor half scattered, his bed half made with rumpled sheets. There is a half empty tea cup on the table beside it, the bag still in. It looks lived in. It looks real.

“Nasir,” Agron starts softly, lingering large and formidable in the warm space. He feels stretched too big in his skin, like at any moment he’ll shift and burst open.

“Did you bring me an edible arrangement?” Nasir asks bluntly, pointing to where the vase is now sitting on top of his microwave. It is made up of spikes of heart-cut strawberries, grapes, star cut pineapple, and candied orange slices. It’s a ridiculous olive branch, if that’s what he intends.

“You didn’t seem like a flowers kind of guy,” Agron shrugs, hands buried deep in the pockets of his sweats. He has his head craned down, looking flushed red in the dim light.

“I’m not.” Nasir lingers by the end of his bed, unabashedly staring at Agron.

“Who doesn’t like fruit, right?” He asks weakly.

“I like it.” As if to prove his point, Nasir steps around Agron to pull a grape from the top of a spiral, popping it into his mouth.

The oxygen in the room is fleeting, a line drawn in the sand, a frozen moment where neither of them can look away. It should be a surrender but it’s two battle lines, drawn and waiting. Where Nasir stands on one side, hurt and raw, and Agron is so fucking hidden behind guarded walls there is no hope for light behind all the stone.

There are a lot of things that Nasir wants to say. There always is. But he’s tired and he doesn’t want to fight right now. He doesn’t want to think about the faded scars on his body from someone else. He doesn’t want to relieve the trauma that keeps him up at night, doesn’t want to rehash it all so he can feel raw. He wants to sink into comfort and bliss and forget everything – to swim in an abyss where it doesn’t matter.

“Nasir, about last night,” Agron starts, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I don’t want to talk about last night.” Nasir shakes his head, holding a hand up. “I don’t want to talk about him or how you feel or how I feel or what to do next. I don’t want to talk at all.”

“What do you want then?” Agron asks softly. He doesn’t draw himself up like before, doesn’t pull his shoulders back, slip on the mask. Instead, he seems to fold in more – waiting.

“I want to lay down and watch a movie and sleep.” Nasir kicks off his shoes, roughly yanking his hoodie over his head. Agron drops his head when it takes his tank top half way with it, ignoring the warmth spreading in his chest from the flash of Nasir’s smooth stomach.

“I’ll go.” He coughs awkwardly, backing towards the door, when a soft hand catches his wrist. Agron lets Nasir guide him back, turn him until they’re standing close. Agron can feel Nasir’s soft exhales on his face, could raise his hand just so and cup his face, could bury his fingers into the bun on the top of Nasir’s head. He can’t fucking move though, paralyzed under Nasir’s wide eyed stare.

“We’re not friends, Agron.” Nasir murmurs. “You’re a dick. You’ve treated me like shit since the moment that you met me and bringing me coffee and sending me illicit texts about your cock doesn’t make up for it.”

“I know that.” Agron’s brow furrows, hackles rising. He doesn’t want to fight. He doesn’t want this to turn into something ugly. “I’m not-“

“It is what it is, alright?” Nasir tries to roll it over, to let it go, but it hurts. “You can hate me all you want. I don’t really care anymore.”

“I don’t hate you.” Agron stresses, raising his hands. He gets cut off by Nasir’s sharp scoff, rolling his eyes.

“Sure have a hell of a way of showing it.” Nasir crosses his arms over his chest. “Or is it normal for you to treat people you meet as literal shit.”

“I don’t hate you.” Agron repeats, stressing it again when Nasir’s scowl deepens. “I don’t. I’m sorry I treated you like that, I had my own reasons – be it bad ones - but you weren’t exactly my biggest fan either.”

“I fucking wonder why.” Nasir’s voice raises, not yet a yell but close. “What the hell was I supposed to think? You blow hot and cold all the fucking time.”

“This isn’t all my fault.” Agron defends, shaking his head. “I’m not a bad guy, Nasir.”

“You sure?” Nasir mutters, rolling his eyes again. It’s a defense mechanism, to look away from what’s right in front of him.

“Really? I never did anything nice for you? Ever?” Agron snaps, stepping half a step forward and into Nasir’s space. “Never went out of my way? Never was there even without you asking me to? Helping you out?”

“I wasn’t as bad as you.” Nasir glancing down at his feet, sighing deeply. “Maybe we just bring out the worst in each other.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Agron exclaims, turning away and then back, hands open at his side. “Or maybe not. Maybe we haven’t even given this a real try. Why the fuck are we even fighting for? So we can stay enemies?”

“Beats the alternative.” Nasir mutters under his breath, shocked by Agron’s sharp inhale.

“Does it? Does it really?” He’s nearly yelling too.

“What do you want me to say?” Nasir raises his hands, shaking them for emphasis.

“I want you to say we’re done doing this bullshit. I want you to say we can start over.” Agron stresses. “I want you to say it doesn’t have to just be fighting in public and fucking in pretend.”

“Agron, jesus!” Nasir exclaims, face heating. He can’t deny that Agron has a point though. What is stopping them from moving forward, from starting over. Nasir did that with his life. Why can’t he do it now.

“I’m not the enemy you’re fighting, Nasir,” Agron exhales slowly, defeatedly shaking his head. “And you’re not mine.”

“What are you saying?” Nasir asks, tentative and careful.

“I’m saying yeah, I was an asshole. And so were you. But we make a good team when we try for it,” Agron steps close, holding the side of Nasir’s jaw. “Wouldn’t you rather we be friends than enemies?

“Of course but-“ Nasir lets his hands fall to Agron’s chest, playing with the tab on his hoodie zipper. “It’s not simple.”

“Why? I’m not asking for your whole life story, Nasir. I can’t even give you that,” Agron sighs, slowly rubbing a thumb along Nasir’s jaw. “I’m asking to let me be your friend.”

“A truce?” Nasir tilts his head back, staring openly into Agron’s green eyes. He feels warm this close, heated up from the inside out.

“Yeah, a truce.” Agron nods a little, “Starting over. Being friends.”

“I’d like that.” Nasir says it and means it. He lets Agron pull him into a hug, tucking his face against his shoulder and breathing him in. Some part, a tiny part that Nasir tries to hide of himself, relishes under the attention – under Agron’s strong arms.

“It doesn’t mean we have to stop everything we’ve been doing.” Agron murmurs, soft and secret. Nasir has to smother his grin into the fabric of Agron’s hoodie.

“Okay.”

“In fact-“ Agron starts, pulling back.

“Shhh.” Reaching up, Nasir gently pushes his fingers into Agron’s lips. “I don’t want to talk anymore but you’re here and I just want to feel better. Can you do that?”

Agron nods silently, his hand raising to cup over the back of Nasir’s, to hold his hand against the kiss that he presses to his fingertips.

Nasir doesn’t say anything else, uses his grip on Agron’s wrist to guide him back towards the bed, gaze unwavering. It’s calculated, slow, like coaxing two frightened animals into a safe haven. Nasir is gentle, careful, as he unzips Agron’s hoodie, tosses the fabric towards the chair in the corner. It feels like they should collide, like elbows and knees should knock, but they don’t. Nasir presses against the wall until Agron gets settled on his back, and then slowly, he inches closer.

In the flickering lights, Nasir presses his face against Agron’s chest, ignores the flutter in his gut as bare skin brushes. Agron pulls the covers over them, hands Nasir the remote, and then doesn’t move. Nasir can tell he’s holding his breath, nervous and restless. He’s the type of man who needs to know what to do next, what to expect, but this is reckless and charged. This is thin ice.

Reaching behind him, Nasir laces his fingers through Agron’s, drags his arm up and over him. It’s a heavy weight, a warmth that settles him further into the mattress and further into Agron’s side. But it’s a silent permission – a gateway for Agron to take and settle. Nasir isn’t stupid. There is no reason for Agron to hate him as he much as he plays unless there is something else. Some other dark secret that Nasir doesn’t know yet. But he doesn’t want to think about it.

He just wants this.

- - -

“Hey stranger. I haven’t seen you in a few days.” Naevia bounces on the heels of her feet, slowing coming down from her sprint across campus to get here. She always does cardio before yoga, a thing that Nasir can’t get his head around but doesn’t comment on.

“I’ve been taking a sabbatical.” Nasir shrugs, unrolling his mat. “A stay-cation of sorts.”

“How millennial.” Mira teases, stepping into the room. She has a gym bag slung over one shoulder and a large Starbucks in hand.

“I was worried when you didn’t make it to dinner on Sunday.” Naevia pauses her pre-stretches to move closer, arms above her head.

Mira approaches too, tossing her mat carelessly behind her. “Did something else happen? Spartacus told me not to text you.”

“Agron may have fifty pounds on me, easy, but I will break his knee caps.” Naevia snaps dangerous. Nasir doesn’t doubt her.

“No, nothing happened.” Nasir shakes his head, touched by their concern. “And actually, we can lay off Agron a bit.”

“Lay off?” Naevia asks, eyebrows raised dramatically on her forehead. “Who are you? What have you done with my best friend?”

“Nae, seriously. It’s okay. We kind of talked it out. Started over.” Nasir can feel himself grinning, shy and warm. “Maybe try and be friends.”

“Oh my god!” Mira exclaims loudly, enough to draw attention, only to crowd in close, voice hissing. “Did you two fuck?”

“What?” Nasir can feel his face in flames, shocked and embarrassed. There are a few people nearby now staring at them.

“Mira!” Naevia hisses, swatting at her.

“Well? Did you? You are walking okay, so maybe not. Unless you topped. Which no. Agron is totally a top though, trust me. With a body like that.” Mira rattles off, leaning into take Nasir’s hand. “He was a gentleman about it, right? I always thought he was the type to spend a lot of time on foreplay. Was it fun? Did you have a good time?”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Nasir puts his hands up, barking out a shocked laugh. “We didn’t sleep together.”

“Oh,” Mira drops into a pout. “Really?”

“I mean, we slept. But we just-“ Nasir holds up a hand to silence the two women, shaking his head. “We just took a nap and watched some movies. And then we got breakfast at the diner on 4th. It was nice. And we decided to try and start over and be friends. Nothing more.”

“So, let me get this straight, you two slept in your tiny ass dorm bed?” Mira asks, raising an eyebrow at Nasir’s slow nod.

“And you weren’t captivated by his rippling muscles or his handsome face or his pretty green eyes?” Mira crosses her arms over her chest. “Nothing? Just a friendly cuddle fest on a twin size bed with a guy that nearly half of campus has tried to climb like a tree?”

“You didn’t feel him up once?” Naevia whispers, unbelieving as Nasir’s flush spreads down onto his neck.

“No! It was nice. Calm.” Nasir covers his face with his hands, shaking his head. “He’s been an asshole to me for like two months.”

“Hey, hate sex is the best sex.” Naevia smirks, elbowing Nasir’s side gently.

“I haven’t-“ Nasir swallows down his embarrassment. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“At all? Not once? Not like a secret, no good, dirty fantasy?” Mira leans in, voice dropping an octave. “Didn’t think about him picking you up, throwing you around, man handling you down until he has you. Right. Where. He. Wants. You.” She annunciates each word with a slow breath against Nasir’s ear. “Pressing his cock deep inside you?”

“Have you ever thought about fucking him?” Nasir laughs, breathless. He can feel his stomach flood with heat, fighting every fiber of his being not to follow Mira’s fantasy into real thought.

“Oh, loads of times, and then I remember I’m not packing the right stuff.” Mira shrugs carelessly, unrolling her mat. “So, then I go find my fiancé and fuck him instead.”

“That is so wrong.” Naevia interjects, shaking her head. “The least you could do is invite him.”

“Spartacus would be scandalized.” Mira shrugs. “Though, I’m still convinced at Spring Break last year Agron gave him a reach around.”

“Speak of the devil.” Naevia mutters, motioning towards the front of the class.

They’re positioned in a way that he can see out the door onto the main gym floor, a direct path to some of the weights and the punching bag in the corner. Spartacus, Crixus, and Agron are all fanned out around the weight bench, chatting as they get settled. It must be the rugby team’s time in the weight room as Varro and Barca are not too far away.

“Great, just what I need to watch while I try and clear my mind.” Mira sighs wistfully, taking position at the end of her mat.

Nasir doesn’t agree out loud but lets his gaze drift to the doorway as the class begins. He’s been trying to ignore what’s budding in his chest every time he sees Agron. It’s a forbidden feeling. It’s something he shouldn’t be even considering. But there he is, staring over his shoulder while Nasir tries to control his heartbeat and move into a warrior pose.

He’s always liked yoga, always liked the way his body seems to heal itself, to find the pain and unravel it. Nasir can’t control everything in his life, but he can control this. He can coax his muscles to bend, to twist, to release the tension that coils so tight inside of him. Nasir may be small, but he’s flexible and he easily pulls his leg up, toes touching the back of his head.

There is sweat on Agron’s tank top, cut loose on the sides and showing off muscle. Nasir doesn’t look, closes his eyes and listens to the teacher, tries to level his breathing. He can feel Mira and Naevia on either side of them, can hear them moving through the motions, but with every movement, he’s too vigilant in the warmth spreading through his cheeks. It feels like he’s burning up from the inside out.

Agron catches his eye again, smirking a little and tilting his head as he curls one of the weights towards his chest. He’s cocky in a way that is ridiculous and attractive. Nasir tries to catch his own smile but it spreads across his face regardless. It feels good to be breathless like this, to be shy and aware and filled up. He instantly tries to tamper it down though, closes his eyes and focuses. Light feelings never last. Nasir has to remind himself that.

It’s good that they’re friends. It really is. Nasir is happy with that. He should be happy with that, right? Agron and Nasir seem like the type of people who will fall apart with a strong breeze and then like magnets, collide and get stuck all over again. Nasir is just touch starved, lacking in connection. He needs to see the void for what it is, just a thing he’ll have to live with until he figures out how to fill it.

“Jesus,” Mira hisses through her teeth as they slide into downward facing dog.

“Breathe,” Nasir sooths next to her. It’s enough of a distraction to pull his careful gaze away from Agron, enough to break the spell. When he looks up again, he’s turned towards the mirror, laughing about something that Spartacus is saying.

It’s for the best.

When class is over, Nasir plans on getting smoothies with the girls. It’s more of those friendship rituals that Nasir is growing so attached to. He feels good about it, is learning to let himself to be free – to have simple pleasures. What he isn’t expecting is a large arm dropping around his shoulders, a familiar scent filling up his nose before he can comprehend it.

“Hey bendy.” Agron laughs, flanked on either side by Crixus and Spartacus. It feels very domestic, a triple pairing that isn’t really a pairing at all. Crixus and Spartacus assume the same position as Agron, each of them greeting Naevia and Mira.

“Do you just come to the gym to stare at yourself pick up heavy shit?” Nasir chokes out, tries to subtly turn his body away from Agron’s. He doesn’t know why he bothers. Agron is a blanket person.

“You come to the gym to watch yourself bend into shapes in a mirror,” Agron shrugs the jab off, rolling his eyes. “You’re good though. Very flexible.”

“You’re very strong.” Nasir allows it to slip out.

“Hmm. Someone flexible plus someone strong,” Agron muses softly. “I wonder what they could get up to.”

“Circus things.” Nasir rolls his eyes, tries to leave the heat in his face when he notices Naevia watching them.

“We’re getting ready to go get a smoothie. You coming?” Mira asks, her fingers petting over Spartacus’ stubble affectionately.

“I could use a smoothie.” Spartacus nods, looking to see what the others want to do.

“I’m game.” Crixus agrees, already taking the lead and heading towards the stairs.

They all file out towards the front of the gym, chatting loudly to one another. Agron still keeps his arm around Nasir. It gains them a few stares – people (mostly guys) who know who Agron is and what he’s about and are curious about the guy against him. Nasir tries not notice them, doesn’t dwell on them – isn’t able to with the way Agron is forcing his attention. He’s bitching about some class, and Nasir lets the timber of his voice swallow him up.

It’s good to be friends. Just friends.

- - -

“Hey! Hey Nasir! Hey!” Feet pound on the cement behind as Duro dashes across campus, arm raised up in a half wave.

Nasir is kind enough to stop, turning with bag in hand. He’s just come out of the library, feeling sluggish and hazy after a six hour study session for a research paper due next week. His head feels too full and he’s craving a Chipotle bowl and a forty hour nap. Nasir will also probably have to settle for a bowl of cereal and half an episode of My Hero Academia before he has to clock in though.

“Duro, hey.” He shields his eyes from the sun as he cranes his head back. “What’s up?”

“I’m so glad I caught you. How are you? Are you out of class?” Duro rambles, bouncing a little on his feet. He keeps glancing down at his watch too, tapping on it.

“I’m fine. And yes. I’ve got to get back to the dorm for a shift in forty minutes.” Nasir thinks that’s his exit, but no dice. Instead, Duro stoops in front of him and plucks a cluster of purple flowers out of the grass. He holds them up to Nasir, grinning crooked.

“Cool cool. Say, are you free Friday night?”

“Uhhh.” Nasir drags it out, slowly taking the offering. He’s not trying to assume, but with the way Duro phrased it, it feels weird – different.

“You’re still single, aren’t you?” Duro asks hopefully, back to bouncing.

“I…am.” Nasir nods once, confusion clear from his furrowed brow. “But-“

“Good. So am I.” Duro supplies easily, nodding.

Oh no. Nasir glances around, hoping to spot a familiar face, but though the campus is bustling in the late afternoon, he doesn’t really know anyone around them. It’s not like Duro isn’t attractive. Sure he is. But for the longest time, Nasir had called him “Earring Hipster Shit” which doesn’t seem to be the right way to start a relationship. Or a crush even.

“Look, Duro, I appreciate your offer. And you’re really…nice.” Nasir chokes out, feeling his face heat. “But I really don’t think-“

“Oh. Well.” Duro shrugs it off. “What about a friendship date? Or a fake date where you pretend to be into me?”

“What are you talking about?” Nasir finally has to ask, shaking his head.

“Look, I got invited to this double date. And I promised I would go, like super pinky swore, but the guy I asked out actually was straight so.” Duro confesses, sighing slowly. He deflates a little, looking a little sheepish. “Not that you’re not a catch. Cause you definitely are. But I need someone by tomorrow night and I would prefer it be with someone I can actually stand and not leave it up to the Grindr gods.”

“So…you’re asking me out to be a fake date? So, you won’t let down your friend?” Nasir muses, shaking his head.

“Well yeah, unless it’s a real date.” Duro asks hopefully, only to be met with Nasir’s slow shake of his head. “Okay well, then a fake date. Or a friendship date where you let me hold your hand a little and maybe feel you up in a movie theater? I need to make it look realistic. I told him that I was really into my date.”

“Okay, I’ll go, but!” Nasir holds up a hand when Duro tries to start talking. “I’ll let you hold my hand and maybe put your arm around me, but nothing else.”

“Deal.” Duro nods enthusiastically, hands clasped in front of him.

“Oh,” Nasir shrugs. “And you pay for dinner.”

“I’ll pay for dinner if I get a kiss goodnight.” Duro negotiates, eyes narrowed. “And it has to be in front of the others.”

“Fine,” Nasir concedes, rolling his eyes. “But no tongue.”

“Shake?” Duro holds his hand out, taking Naisr’s in a quick bounce.

“I’m buying something pricey.” Nasir warns, unable to keep the smirk from his face. “And wine.”

“You’re vegetarian. It’s not like you’re going to order a whole lobster.” Duro rebuffs. He slings his backpack higher on his shoulder, grinning when Nasir tucks the flowers behind his ear.

“We’ll see.”

- - -

The rule of shirt buttons has never been explained to Agron. He isn’t ever really sure what is too undone and what is too many. He settled with the last closed one being in the center of his chest, probably too deep for normal company but he feels loose and careless. When Mira had sprung this on him, Agron had sworn he wasn’t going to wear anything but sweatpants so this is an upgrade.

He knows she meant well. The problem is that Mira meddles too much. She’s content in her relationship, happy in her job at the local watering hole, excited about her future. So instead of focusing on her own life, she turns her attention to others – namely Agron’s. He hadn’t expected her to steal his phone and use Grindr to find him a blind date.

Agron got the true win out of it though – strong arming Duro to come with. He figured if he was going to have to suffer through a first date from hell, he might as well make it a double date from hell. Besides, Duro may have his faults, but his strengths usually come in small talk and being able to get along with literally anyone. Well, anyone outside of Crixus.

Checking his watch, Agron leans back against the fountain. They’re all supposed to meet up and then walk over to a small but expensive restaurant a few blocks from campus. It wasn’t Agron’s choice (damn Mira and her bland, heterosexual date plans). If anything, Agron probably would have chosen the pub around the corner and then a long walk down 8th street to peer in all the shops and sip mulled wine. Instead, they will be cramped into a booth eating French food and trying to focus through a lame movie.

“Hey!” Duro waves his hand as he approaches. “You’re early?”

“I’m always early.” Agron laughs, pulling his brother into a hug. Duro has cleaned up well for himself, collared shirt and a soft, sheepskin jacket. It looks vintage – the material soft and buttery. “You look good. You excited for this one?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re always ranting about impressions so.” Duro shrugs, looking happy and exuberant as he fiddles with a small cluster of flowers he’s holding. They look like he snatched them off the landscaping on campus, but Agron figures it’s the thought that counts.

Agron is listening to Duro rant on about the choice in restaurant and his clear lack of French language courses, when something catches his attention. A few yards away, Nasir is making his way across campus – walking straight towards them. He’s let his hair half down, the natural waves curling pretty around his face. He’s wearing a crimson tunic shirt, the small crystal buttons left open and chest covered in a few dozen necklaces. Agron can’t fucking look away.

“Oh wow.” Duro exhales, the conversation abruptly ending when Nasir finally reaches them. “Wow!”

“Stop.” Nasir flushes rosy in the setting sun. “You look good too.”

“Here. These are for you.” Duro awkwardly holds the flowers out to Nasir, stooping to kiss his cheek.

Grinning, Nasir thanks him before turning his attention to Agron, brow furrowed. His dark gaze is careful, calculating as it slides down Agron’s face, across his chest and stomach, and then back up. “Are you chaperoning or something? Where is your friend?”

“Oh! I didn’t tell you? We’re double dating with Agron.” Duro laughs, nudging his elbow back into Agron’s side. “Had to make sure his blind date isn’t a murderer.”

“What?”

Agron and Nasir nearly shout in unison, turning abruptly to look at Duro. Nasir is good in that he keeps his face mostly neutral, but Agron doesn’t have the control. Instead, his teeth are clamped tightly shut, face wrinkled into a deep furrow. Duro’s laugh chokes out as he awkwardly shrugs.

“You guys are done fighting, right? I didn’t think it was such a big deal.” Duro mutters, glancing from Agron to Nasir. “You’re friends.”

“We are.” Nasir nods, blinking quickly. “Yes, we are.”

“You said you wanted to go on the double date with someone you had been seeing.” Agron chokes out, failing miserably to let his face slide back into a neutral expression. “Are you two dating?”

“Maybe.” Duro slings an arm around Nasir’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. “It all depends on this guy. I have yet to convince him how much of a catch I am.”

Nasir wants to die. He really does. And also kill Duro in the process. He’s going to make this whole thing into a thing that Nasir is eventually going to have to explain to Agron. But really, there is no reason for Agron to be upset. So what if Duro and Nasir started dating? Would that be so bad?

“Hey you. I’m so glad you texted.” Agron nearly jumps out of his skin as familiar arms circle him. He doesn’t need to turn to recognize that voice, grinning through a grimace as Marcus’ pretty face pops up over his shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d see you after you left my dorm.”

“Hey, yeah.” Feeling petty, Agron presses a kiss to Marcus’ cheeks, glancing at Nasir as he does it. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“That’s so sweet.” Marcus grins, coyly sliding his hand into Agron’s back pocket.

“Hi I’m Duro.” Duro cuts into their conversation, extending his hand. “This is Nasir.”

It only takes a moment, Agron watches it play across Nasir’s face, before he gets it – gets why Marcus is so comfortable and familiar with Agron. It’s like someone drawing the shutters, Nasir’s mouth falling into a scowl before retracting, turning his cold gaze from Marcus to Agron and then back.

Rising to the challenge, Nasir turns his face more towards Duro, looping an arm around his waist and leaning into him. Something ugly sparks in Agron’s chest – something he knows is going to grow the whole night and something he knows he shouldn’t think about but he can’t.

“Well, since we’re all here, let’s get going babe. I’m starving.”

Nasir butters it on thick, bats his eyelashes at Duro and tugs him along. Dumb founded, Duro can only nod along, leading the way down the street.

Chapter Text

As resistant to the idea as Nasir is, there is no denying that Duro's arm feels good around him. It’s not a commanding touch, the rough grip of callouses on soft skin. Instead, Duro has his arm half angled over Nasir's back, his large palm resting lightly on the slight curve, just above his waistband. Nasir didn't realize how touch starved he was until now, unable to resist turning in slightly when they cross the street, letting the woodsy scent of Duro's cologne wash over him.

It's also a way to peek over at Agron. He isn't touching Marcus anymore, instead, he seems more content to walk with his hands in his jean pockets - mouth twisted in a sharp frown. He doesn't meet Nasir's gaze, but instead keeps darting it from the back of Duro's head, down to his hand, and then over to his own date - politely nodding to whatever Marcus is saying.

Nasir isn't going to turn this into a thing. Mainly because it's not a thing. It can barely be called a double date - not even a real one. A half assed one at that, considering that Nasir is holding a bundle of university landscaped flowers and Duro asked him in a desperate plea barely forty-eight hours ahead of time.

But it could be. Nasir could date Duro. Why the hell not? He's a little obnoxious, sure, and a tinge immature, but he's not bad looking. Duro has big, dark eyes and he can be funny when he's not making an ass out of himself. And he feels safe, harmless and easy. He’s the type of guy that Nasir could roll his eyes at and still appreciate his arm around him.

Not everything has to be heat, to be desperate, to be fights by stringed lights and molten green eyes. Nasir doesn’t necessarily need something dangerous, something burning. He could settle.

"So, Mira suggested this French place, but I'm not really big on the food. Plus, I don't think they will have many veg options." Duro prattles, tilting his head over his shoulder to include the others. "You guys sure you want to eat there?"

"Ooolala!" Marcus exclaims, bumping his shoulder into Agron's. "French is so fancy. I didn’t realize you were so romantic."

“I’d say more asshole.” Duro ribs, good naturedly, but Agron’s scowl doesn’t flicker. Instead, he just raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you are what you eat.”

There is a moment where they all pause on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, turning to look at one another. It’s a pregnant pause, a held breath, and then Duro and Marcus burst into laughter. Nasir smiles along, if only to blend in, feeling warm and twitchy at the thought of it. How many times had Agron described that exact thing to him? And yet, here they are, on different sides.

Nasir reprimands himself. As awkward as it is, there is nothing inherently wrong with this situation. Duro and Agron are brothers. Agron and Nasir are friends. Marcus is...Marcus. Nasir can make it through this even. Hell, he might even have a little fun.

"On that note, I'm the master of making a meal out of sides so." Nasir shrugs, glancing at the restaurant’s menu posted in their window. Anything to not have to see Agron accept Marcus’ arm around his waist. "I can have the...house salad?"

“You can’t just eat salad, sweetie.” Duro says it so smoothly, like he’s been saying it for months, like the pet name is common and easy for him.

“Sure, I can. There is also that cheese platter.” Nasir points, turning helpfully towards his date. “And the bread basket.” Duro is already looking down the street, as if searching for other prospects.

“And all the wine.” Agron mutters, his body pressing close as he leans over Nasir’s back to read. “Grapes are healthy for you.”

The comment is lost as Nasir holds his breath, suddenly frozen with the weight against his back. In the restaurant window, he can see the reflection of all of them. Marcus seemingly confused, Duro looking around as if in search of another place, phone in hand. And then there is Agron’s intense gaze, not focused on the menu, but instead staring directly at Nasir. It’s not a warm look, not kind or open, but calculating – like Agron is trying to figure out a plot that is only on the prologue.

“I’ve got it. There is that little Mexican bar down the street. Good queso. Better beer options.” Duro exclaims, pointing with his thumb behind him. “Change of ethnicity.”

It’s petty, Nasir knows it, and he doesn’t really know why he does it – maybe to see the reaction, maybe just to be mean, maybe because it feels good. Or perhaps it’s the vicious way Agron’s fingers are digging into his spine, glare unwavering in the polished glass. Nasir flashes him a wide smile in the glass, already reaching back for Duro with an open hand.

“Sure baby, that sounds good.” Nasir barely sees the flicker in Agron’s face before he’s allowing Duro to pull him along the sidewalk.

They hold hands as they make it across the street, following close as Duro takes charge. The town is busy on a Friday night, traffic honking and sliding down the street. People walk hand in hand or in large groups, shouting to one another and laughing. It feels charged, alight with energy and the constant movement of bodies in motion. Nasir has to stay close to Duro's side as they slide into the Cantina Bar, allowing him to lead them back towards the freed up table.

The place is packed, bodies crowded towards the bar in the front and then dispersed throughout. The whole place is hot, music blaring from the speakers. The whole place smells like fried peppers and warm bread, the kitchen bustling to keep up with the crowd. It's the type of place one could get lost in the crowd, disappear into the hazy and warmth of it.

"I'm going to go to the bar to get drinks. What do you want?" Duro asks, gently guiding Nasir into the booth.

"Uh, tequila sunrise?" Nasir shrugs, startled as Agron slides into the seat across from him, jostling the table. He knee knocks roughly into Nasir’s own – imposing and rough.

"Negra modelo," Agron mutters at Duro, settling his elbows on the table and waving a hand.

"Oh, I'll go with you." Marcus offers, glancing towards Agron - unsure.

Agron doesn't look up. He knows he's fucking being rude, Marcus doesn't deserve it. He's nice enough, sure, but Agron can't keep his eyes off Nasir. And it’s that the fucking worst part? He thought he had this under control. They were doing so good, so fucking good. Agron almost convinced himself that the heat building inside of him with every look and every breath was going to stay that – a warm burning – phantom .

And now, it’s everything. The candle on the table is flickering light over Nasir’s face, lights shattering in his eyes, skin soft and warm. He looks breath taking and unreachable and all the things that he can’t be and shouldn’t be but is. Agron wants to drink the bar dry. He wants to leave. He wants to run into traffic. Anything to get away from the heat rising in his chest.

Nasir glances from Duro's eager expression to Marcus' frown to Agron. He isn't sure what to make of it, fiddling with one of his bracelets, forcing his breath slow. He can’t really reprimand Agron. It’s not his place, even as he watches Marcus’ gaze bounce between the both of them, narrowing. Nasir hopes it’s not all written over them. Is it? And what even would it say?

friends. friends. friends.

"Come on." Duro gracefully takes Marcus' elbow. "Have you been here before? They have excellent sangria. And Amarillo sours."

They aren’t even on the other side of the booth before Agron leans in, voice deep but loud enough to break through the crowd.

“What the fuck? You dating my brother now?”

“Maybe. Who is Marcus?” Nasir bites back. What is it about Agron that makes everything feel so intense? A simple conversation turns into a brawl?

“Ah.” Agron raises a brow. “Is this what this is about? Mira blab it to you so you decided to ask out Duro? This was her idea of problem solving.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nasir easily rolls his eyes. “Duro asked me out. I said yes.”

Agron seems to chew this over, jaw flexing as he glances around. There are things he wants to say, mean things, things that will put them back at square one. He doesn’t want that though. Agron is done with fighting. So, he tries to swallow his anger, find the source and quench it, but there is something so enigmatic about Nasir. It’s like adding gasoline to an already blazing fire.

“It was that easy?” Agron doesn’t like the venom in his voice.

“As easy as asking a question.” Nasir’s brow drops. “What is your problem?”

“I just didn’t know you guys were close, that’s all.” Agron rolls his eyes, shoulders tense and flexing. There is a group on the other side of the booth, behind Nasir, that is loudly laughing and Agron is trying to focus on them instead but he can’t. “Seems a little fast.”

“A little fast? We’re twenty minutes into our first date,” Nasir scoffs, setting his elbows up on the table as well. “Or are you trying to imply that I’m fast?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” Agron waves his hand dismissively. “Just remember, you’re out with my little brother. Whom I basically raised.”

“Are you seriously trying to give me a shovel talk right now when you’re out with a guy you literally one night standed?” Nasir hisses, leaning forward as if anyone in this crowded bar is listening. “You didn’t even ask him out. Mira did it for you.”

“What does that matter?” Agron scoffs, rolling his eyes. The truth sounds different in Nasir’s mouth – more vicious. Mira had been trying to do a good thing, or at least she claimed. “Least I know who I’m taking home tonight.”

“So do I.” Nasir hisses it through his teeth, gaze sharp.

The implication freezes the conversation, making both men pause as they stare at each other. Nasir knows it was a sharp jab, but it’s not like Agron didn’t entice it out of him. On the parallel, Agron wants to swallow his own tongue at the thought.

“Are you going to let him fuck you?” Agron says it before he thinks about it, instantly regretting the question. He doesn’t fucking want to know this. He doesn’t want the mental image that comes along with it. Yet, here it is.

Would Nasir lead him back to his dorm? Let Duro kick off his shoes in the entry way, kiss up against the wall next to Nasir’s chakra tapestry, hands in his hair, coaxing little moans out of Nasir’s throat. Would Nasir guide him to the bed, let Duro press him into the sheets, spread his legs for him? How long would Duro be able to wait for it? Take his time, listen to the soft whines and gasps falling from Nasir’s bruised mouth? Earn the sharp rise in his back, the toe curling pleasure of coming together?

“Maybe.” Nasir’s face is burning, embarrassed or angry or both. “Why? You want to fucking watch?”

Fuck. Agron has to bite his tongue viciously to keep from spewing out every mean and lewd thought currently crowding up his brain. No, he doesn’t fucking want to watch. He wants to take Duro’s place. He wants to put his hands in Nasir’s hair, to kiss and kiss and kiss until they feel raw and forced open. Agron wants to fall between Nasir’s thighs and devour endlessly.

He needs to get a fucking grip.

“Hope you didn’t miss us too much.” Marcus’ cheery voice breaks though Agron’s fantasy, plopping next to him and hanging over his beer. “A waiter is coming over to take our food order soon. I’m starving.”

“Me too. I’ve eaten here before and the food is always good.” Duro slips into the booth next to Nasir, handing over his drink and casually dropping an arm around his shoulders.

Nasir lets him, taking a long pull from the yellow concoction and pointedly doesn’t meet Agron’s gaze. He’s so angry his hands are shaking and he clicks the glass loudly on the table when he sets it back down. It’s none of Agron’s business if Nasir was going to take Duro home. So, what if he was? Agron’s doing his date in reverse – fucked him and then took him out. Nasir is allowed to have this.

Not that it matters. Because it fucking doesn’t. What does Nasir care if Agron has already been with Marcus? Sure, Marcus is pretty and fit and has a great ass. Maybe Agron didn’t even like it. Maybe Agron could barely keep it up. It probably was terrible and they had a horrible time and Mira just meddled too much and then here we are.

Or.
Or.

It was good.

Maybe it was really good. Maybe Marcus took it like a champ, rode Agron with rough, short bounces and his nails digging into Agron’s chest. Or Agron took him on his back, rocked into him slow and deep until Marcus had tears in his eyes and was breathless. Pleasure so deep and so intense that Agron is insatiable.

He isn’t one to judge. Nasir tries very hard to treat everyone equally, but it breaks him up in a way Nasir wasn’t expecting. Is Marcus Agron’s type? He’s bubbly and happy and makes easy, simple jokes. Maybe it’s an opposites attract thing? Maybe Nasir needs to stop looking for an issue with Marcus and instead look at the root of the problem.

Nasir can’t stand this. It’s like ripping open a scab and pouring salt inside. He props the menu up between them, pouring over what to get and ignoring Marcus’ high pitched giggles as Agron whispers in his ear. He can make it through this. He can. Because all it is, is four friends on a date. Nothing else.

- - -

For all intents and purposes, a stereotypical first date is generally a good idea. Go get dinner, walk to a nearby movie theater, watch a big action or a horror, and then stroll on home. There is a predictability to it, a comfort in knowing the play in motion – recognizing the end point. The only hang up ever is how the scene will end.

Agron can follow this rhythm, relax into it as they pay their bill and stroll down the street. There are certain cues he has to follow – holding the door open, a hand on Marcus’ back, side stepping the garbage and other people on the street. It’s what’s expected and Agron can fill in the blanks.

Duro and Nasir are walking in front of them, seeming to radiate off one another. Maybe it’s the height different, but Duro is incredibly comfortable with his arm wrapped around Nasir. Their conversation is muted in the passing cars and city sounds, but they pause every once in a while to laugh, Nasir’s head tilted back.

Marcus has been rambling in Agron’s ear for a while now about one of his classes and Agron can do this part too. He smiles and nods along, playing it off that he keeps his face forward because they’re walking down a busy street. It’s not because he can’t peel his eyes off his brother.

The theater is bustling with movement when they get inside, so they split up – Agron and Duro to get tickets, Marcus and Nasir to get snacks. It makes sense and yet the moment they separate, Agron clamps an aggressively brotherly hand on Duro’s shoulder, guiding him into line.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out with Nasir?” Agron tries to make it sound jovial, light hearted, but it does not come out that way.

“Oh, he’s really great, isn’t he?” Duro nods along. “I am lucky. I asked out this other guy first and he was so rude about it. Nasir was definitely the better choice.”

“So, you like him?” Agron asks, staring forward at the screen times.

“Yeah, what’s not to like?” Duro turns his head then, staring at Agron with an unreadable expression. “You guys are on good terms now, right? I thought it was fine.”

“No, no. We are. We’re friends, good friends.” Agron shrugs, forcing his mouth to twist appropriately. “Nasir is great. Top notch.”

“Okay good, because I think this is going really well.” Duro nudges his shoulder into Agron’s side. “Like, good good.”

Agron can’t think of anything to say, mouth useless and tight as they move forward in line. In all the possible ways this could go, he never really considered that Duro would actually like Nasir.

“Do you think he likes me?” Duro whispers, handing over his card to the lady in the ticket booth. “I kind of hand this plan about walking him to his dorm and –“

“Ohh kay.” Agron exclaims, shaking his head. “TMI from you.”

“I know I know. But I’m just saying.” Duro nudges into him again as they walk towards where the others are waiting. “What type of guy do you think he is? Rough and rowdy? Some dom shit? Throw him around a bit? Or am I going to have to be nice and gentle?”

Agron immediately stops walking, turning sharply to his brother. “You’re going to be nice. No question. And if, if, you guys do anything other than walk each other home, you’re going to be nothing but a gentleman and show him a good time.”

“Oh I-“ Duro stumbles, shocked at Agron’s intense gaze.

“I mean it.” Agron grips Duro’s shoulder. “You better get absolute consent and listen to what he wants, not just stick your dick in and hope for the best.”

“Okay.” Duro nods quickly, fearful as Agron’s scowl deepens.

“I mean it.” Agron leans in, no longer attempting to make this look casual. “Promise me.”

“I promise. I promise!” Duro hooks his pinky in Agron’s. “I swear.”

“Good.” Turning, Agron walks back towards the other men, ignoring Duro hissed comment.

“I didn’t know you cared so much.”

And fuck, Agron cares so much. He doesn’t want to deal with this.

They sit in the middle, all in one tight row. First Marcus, then Agron, then Duro shoves Nasir in because he wants to sit on the end. The theater is older and the chairs are close, Agron’s long legs pressed snuggly along the length of both Nasir and Marcus. He shifts around though, gives more room on his right so he’s only imposing on Nasir’s side.

“Are you comfortable?” Duro murmurs to Nasir, dropping his arm casually against the arm rest.

“Yep.” Nasir nods, refusing to look at either brother. He’s holding a large container of popcorn, using it to keep his hands busy instead of fidgeting.

The lights lower and Nasir settles further back in his chair, waiting for the opening trailers to start. They’re barely through the first one when a warm, heavy weight settles over his shoulders. Nasir turns to look at Duro, struck still by the realization it’s Agron’s arm around him instead. He’s stretched both out, the curve of his bicep resting solidly on Nasir’s shoulder. The hand that drops against his cheek is something else though, fingertips barely brushing the fabric against Nasir’s neck.

He burns to say something, to roll his shoulders or lean away from the touch, but he can’t without causing a scene. So instead, Nasir slowly slides his hands between their legs, pressing his knuckles into Agron’s thigh. It’s supposed to be a warning, but instead, it only seems to encourage Agron more. He runs his fingertips gingerly over Nasir’s neck, down along his hairline instead.

The movie plays on in the background as Nasir slowly turns his head, just enough that he can see Agron’s profile in the flashing lights. He isn’t giving anything away, expression neutral as he takes in the screen. There is a flicker though when Nasir presses his knuckles down again, Agron turning slightly only to be caught off guard as he takes in Nasir’s already staring expression.

Lights flicker between them, the protagonist of the movie exploring his creepy house, music loud and wavering. It seems to only heighten the anxiety between the two. Agron licks his bottom lip, slow and careful, and Nasir drops his gaze – taking in a sharp breath. It would be easy for both of them to lean in, to taste and collide. But then a jump scare happens on screen and Marcus is reaching over, taking Agron’s arm and wrapping it around himself and the spell is broken.

Nasir turns abruptly back to the screen, face burning. He doesn’t know what the fuck that was. So instead, he turns so he’s closer to Duro, curving his body so he isn’t touching Agron anymore.

- - -

The walk back to campus is brisk and very quiet. Marcus has stopped trying to hold Agron’s hand, and instead has wrapped his arms around himself, gripping his jacket. The summer air has fallen away and a brisk autumn wind has come in from the coast. It rustles leaves across the sidewalk as the foursome pauses at the fountain.

“This was fun.” Duro grins, hands in his pockets. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Marcus nudges his shoulder gently into Agron’s.

“Mhm.” Nasir mutters noncommittally, glancing around the gathering. “Well, I should head out. Early shift.”

Agron knows that’s not true. He knows Nasir mostly works nights, usually the dinner to midnight shift. Maybe he’s just lying because he wants to go home. Or maybe he’s trying to speed them up for something else.

“Here, let me walk you.” Duro casually reaches down, tucking his hand into Nasir’s. It’s not a fluid motion but then end up settling with fingers entwined.

Agron watches this all closely, takes in the way they settle against each other. Nasir may have a rabbit heart but he looks very content to be ensnared right now. He flashes Duro a grateful smile, nodding in the direction of their dorm.

“Have a good night.” Marcus waves, voice still cheery and bright.

They trudge down the path together, making small conversation and Agron watches as Duro makes Nasir laugh again, tossing his head back. Something dark and ugly that has been growing in his chest twists at the sight of it – jealousy burning hot in his stomach. It doesn’t quench when Marcus turns to look at him, expression weary.

“Are you coming back to my place or not?”

Agron jolts a little at the words, raising a brow at the boldness. “Uhh…”

“Look,” Marcus puts a hand on Agron’s chest, stepping closer and looking at him through his eyelashes. “You’re clearly in love with your brother’s boyfriend. Which is really shitty all things considered. So, either you can go home and mope about it, or you can come back to my dorm and I’ll ride you until you forget about him.”

“I wasn’t trying to be some sort of-“ Agron starts, apology already forming when Marcus scoffs, shaking his head.

“I know.” He reaches down, tucking his fingers just behind Agron’s belt buckle. “It doesn’t matter. I’d rather have fun then let the night be ruined.”

“You sure you’re okay with that?” Agron has to ask, already feeling like an asshole.

“Why not? You have a beautiful cock and you know what to do with it.” Marcus shrugs, tugging them forward a step. “Best not to waste a good opportunity.”

Agron can’t necessarily argue with that logic. He lets Marcus lead him across campus, follows him into the elevator and then presses him against the wall of it. They’re a little sloppy, a little uncoordinated, and they don’t exactly sync up but it’s wet and hot. When Marcus shoves him down on the bed and crawls on top of him, Agron can almost ignore the sharpness in his chest, the desire to run his hands through dark hair, to smell jasmine and listen to throaty little gasps instead of high pitches wails. He can almost convince himself that this is enough.

- - -

“Why did you let me ask you out if you like Agron?” Duro asks, linger beside Nasir’s dorm door as he fights with the keys. At the question, Nasir drops the bundle, looking up sharply.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do.” Duro stoops, handing the keys back to him. “I’m not stupid. I saw the way you two were looking at each other. How long has that been going on?”

“We’re just friends.” Nasir shoves his key into the knob, twisting it viciously.

“Uh huh.” Duro shakes his head, rolling it back. “I’m not an idiiot. I know when two people like-“

He gets cut off as suddenly Nasir is up against him, standing on his toes and roughly shoving his mouth into Duro’s. The kiss is off center, teeth clicking together behind lips, rough and not exactly good. As soon as it starts, it’s over though, Nasir dropping onto his heels.

“See,” he says helpfully. “Not into him at all.”

“You don’t like me like that. You and I both know that.”

Duro eyes Nasir for a moment, still dazed and a little off kilter from the kiss. He raises a hand then, going to brush a strand of Nasir’s hair from his face, pausing when the shorter man flinches, back against his door. Duro’s hand hangs there for a moment before dropping, shaking his head.

“My brother doesn’t do relationships. Not anymore.” Duro explains softly. “But I can’t tell you why. That’s his story.”

“I didn’t ask-“ Nasir shakes his head, face pink and eyes unreadable.

“I know. I’m just saying.” Duro takes a purposeful step back, shaking his head. “He’s a good guy and he deserves to try again with someone who is going to love him and let him love them in return.”

Nasir twists uncomfortably, hands digging into the pockets of his thin pants. “Duro, I’m sorry. If I hurt you, I didn’t mean-“

“You both just need to pull your heads out of your asses and get it together. You’re both being fucking stupid.”

And with that, Duro doesn’t wait for a reply, turning on his heel and walking down towards his room, wiping at his mouth. He’s going to have to text Mira when he gets in, explain all of what happened and how their plan, though not working as fast as they thought, is definitely in motion.

Chapter Text

Voices echo along the tiled walls, shouts and jeers mixing as men pour into the locker room, shedding equipment. There are pads to be put away, uniforms and helmets tossed into a heap for the cleaners to get to. A dozen or so pairs of grass stained socks left half in a hamper. It’s careless, the air clogged with the stench of sweat and the field. Oenomaus will complain about it later, get Spartacus to talk to the team about cleanliness and such, but for now, it’s a forgotten thought.

There is the clanging of metal on metal, someone turning the radio up to blare guitars and drums. It’s a high fueled by a good practice and the anticipation of a game at the end of the week – one against Roma. The cacophony of so many bodies in a tight humid space, shit talking and laughing.

The row of shower stalls are separated by stone walls and thin, green curtains – half a dozen lined up along the far wall. The water hisses first cold and then hot, all the water rushing together towards half rusty drains on the floor. Even here, conversation flows into shouts and garbles by water and someone singing towards the middle. Agron finds it easy to slide past all of them, eyes downcast and lost in thought as he grabs the stall at the end.

It feels good to rinse off, to have the water pound over the back of his neck, rinse away the grime of practice. His body feels tired, muscles twitching and throbbing from a good work out, but it’s background noise to the pounding in his head. Under the pressure of the shower, he can almost block everything out – let it curtain him close and deprive him of the torture of the others. The torture of trying to be social when it feels like he might be falling apart.

He stays there until the others leave. Stays there until the back lights go off. Stays even thgough the water is ice and his knees are locking up. It’s late, late on a Thursday, and Agron has to peel his pruney hands off the wall. He’s disassociating, he knows that in the back of his mind, but there isn’t anyone left to notice.

It’s a subconscious motion, pulling on clothes, finding his keys in his shoes where he kept them to keep them safe. His bike is parked outside, gleaming black and slick in the misty air. Agron leaves it. Lets it sit there, knows he wouldn’t be able to steady the handles enough to make it home in one piece. Duro would never forgive him if he ended up a smear on the highway.

The walk up the hill does nothing to make him feel better. He counts his steps, forgets and starts over, hands curled tight in his jean pockets. Agron barely registers passing Duro’s dorm - Nasir’s dorm - doesn’t let himself linger. He won’t allow himself to wonder, to stand wounded outside and pretend his chest doesn’t feel like constricting every time he thinks about it.

The ATO house is silent when he gets in. The kitchen light has been left on, a plate of cookies on the counter – probably Naevia’s work. Agron by passes it and creeps up the stairs, drops his bag by the door and then his shoes. He doesn’t know where his jacket lands, only notices he took it off when he collapses on his back on the bed. There is a cluster of plastic stars above his bed – a joke from Duro – and Agron traces the big dipper over and over with his gaze.

“Agron?”

Mira, dressed in an oversized t-shirt with Spartacus’ name on the back – pokes her head in the doorway. She’s sleep mused, curly hair a mess of tangles down her back, rubbing the heel of her hand into her eye. She’s always been the most perceptive, the most aware of when Agron starts crashing.

“Ags? What’s wrong?” Stepping into the room, she pads over to him on bare feet, hand outstretched. “Did you take your meds?”

“Yeah.” Agron lies even as she side steps him, going into his bathroom instead. She doesn’t turn the light on, uses the one streaming through the outside window to tip the pill bottle into her hand.

He wishes he could pretend that it’s okay, that Mira doesn’t know him like a book, doesn’t make the sound of disappointment when she finds what’s she’s looking for. A granola bar hits him in the chest, a bottle of water pressed into his hand, and Mira grips his chin and deposits the pill on his tongue. Agron wouldn’t stand for it from anyone else, couldn’t imagine someone giving a fuck about him enough to make sure he doesn’t fall off the roof.

Mira waits until he chokes it all down, unable to meet her gaze as he guiltily polishes off the water bottle, tossing it towards the trash can. With careful hands, she corrals him so he’s on his side, head half cushioned on her thigh, her fingers in his hair. Agron doesn’t exactly cry, but presses his cheek against her smooth skin, eyes squeezed shut. He knows she shouldn’t be in here. She should be sleeping with Spartacus, should be resting, instead of holding him together.

“Ags,” Mira sighs slowly, her voice barely a whisper. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

Helplessly, Agron shrugs a little. He can hear his phone vibrating on the floor, a quick one meaning a text. He doesn’t want to look. It’s three a.m. There is only one type of text he would be getting right now.

“Is it-“ Mira hesitates, her fingers still dragging in slow circles, “Did something happen? Duro said your date went bad last week.”

“No,” Agron scoffs, feeling like his throat is on fire. “I fucked him. How could that be bad?”

Mira takes in a slow breath, holding it. “Did you…Did you want to do that?”

“What does that matter?” Agron asks, voice half muffled in Mira’s skin. “He wanted it. I got my dick wet. Isn’t that what I always want? Fuck. Fight. Repeat.”

Hand pausing, Mira stays still for a long moment, her body tense. She has heard it before, has heard the guilty, vicious things that Agron says to himself. The way he can tear himself down, unforgiving or unwilling to see himself as anything but this – this festering monster. Mira wishes sometimes that she could climb inside Agron’s mind, to vanquish the demon that seems to spur Agron further into self-hatred.

“God, I hate that fucking man.” Mira hisses through her teeth, exhaling sharply.

“Mira. Don’t.” Agron warns, already shaking his head, but she cuts him off.

“No.” Her voice cracks, curling protectively along Agron’s side, cradling him close. “I will. I wish I could find him and kick the shit out of him. For what he did to you. For what he is still doing to you!”

“I’m fine.” Agron doesn’t even sound convincing to himself.

“No, you’re not. You haven’t been fine since-“ Mira stops herself, shaking her head roughly. “I can’t even say his name. I hate him that much.”

Agron rolls over until he can bury his face in Mira’s stomach instead. They’re tangled up, the blankets under them a mess, but Agron can’t care. He tries to hide from it, hide from the memories that claw at his back, at his fucking brain. And yet, every time he tries to remove them, to cut them out, they always fucking linger.

“You’re not the only one who has to relive it, Ags.” Mira whispers, like a secret, like a confession she’s afraid to make. “We all think about it. We all are worried about you. When we found out-“

“I should have known.” Agron can’t stand it. Can’t stand her comforting hands, her pain like a stab wound in the center of his chest. He peels himself off the bed, hands in his hair as he paces around the room. Agron can see Mira out of the corner of his eye, sitting on her knees, looking small and sad.

“You can’t blame yourself. How could you have known?”

“I should have fucking known. I should have realized something was up.” Agron shakes his head. “Crixus told me he’d never seen him around campus. That he was controlling, fucking shady. You told me I was acting crazy. Hell, Spartacus even told me that he didn’t think he was who he said he was and Spartacus is the one that took him in!”

“He was very charming.” Mira sighs, trying to reach out towards Agron. “He was! And he was always on you, following you around, complimenting you. There was no way you, or anyone, would have known what was going to happen. Abuse doesn’t always happen with fists, Agron. He manipulated you. Lied to you for months. You didn’t know!”

“Known that the boy I was fucking wasn’t who he said he was?” Agron spits, vicious and cruel. “Figured out that he was hanging out as some fucking prank? Find out he was using me and then going back to his fucking friends and laughing about it? Spreading it all over Roma? That I was too busy with getting my dick wet to save my brother?”

“Duro is okay. We found him. He doesn’t blame you at all. You know that.” Mira tries to reason. She’s had this argument before. Never this way though, never with Agron’s fury so potent, hands curling into his chest.

“It’s more than that.” Agron turns sharply towards her, eyes brimmed with angry tears. “He fucked me up, Mira. I did shit, said shit, that I wouldn’t have. I let him do whatever he wanted, controlled how and when-I would never have-“

“Ags.” Mira begins to slip off the bed, reaching for him, but Agron backs into the opposite wall, hands over his face.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

He slides down the wall, knees to his chest, and Mira cannot stop herself. She crowds down against him, sliding between his legs and wrapping her arms all the way around him. It’s rare for Agron to get so worked up, but it’s a combination of the lack of drugs and the late hour. She holds him tightly, one hand in his hair and one on his back, cradling him as close as she can.

“You are Agron Giesler. Duro’s older brother. Spartacus’ blood brother. My best friend.” Mira whispers into Agron’s ear, fierce and defiant. “You are a wonderful person. A prickly cactus with a big heart. You have a secret sweet tooth. You can bench more than anyone on the rugby team, including Crixus.”

Agron chokes on a laugh as Mira pulls back, holding his face.

“And I basically in your lap, half naked, and never have to be afraid when I’m around you because you keep me safe.” Mira kisses his forehead tenderly and Agron lets her. “We love you so much. And nothing that Caesar did to you or made you do will ever change that. Please, please honey, let yourself heal.”

Agron can do nothing but nod, holding Mira against him. Perhaps, even the slightest bit, in the darkness of all of Agron’s despair and anger, he can let himself go a little. Can ease a band aid over the worst hurt and try to move forward. For his sake. And all of theirs.

- - -

Chin resting on his palm, Nasir pokes unethusiastically at his salad, flipping over a cucumber slice. The cafeteria is booming with activity around them, voices raising in conversations and shouting. He's lucky that he found a booth along the windows, half hidden by the tall back and away from half of the tennis team shouting on the other end. Across from him, Naevia munches loudly on a few carrot chips, half-heartedly reading a back issue Cosmo.

As much as Nasir’s stomach is rumbling, his appetite is gone, anxiety twisting sharp in his gut. He wants to talk about it, to confess everything that is going on, but Nasir doesn't even know where to start. It’s not like he can just blurt everything out – tell Naevia that he’s conflicted on whether he actually hates Agron or not, confused about how he should move forward, frightened that this is going to be Caesar all over again.

"So, why did you drag me to lunch if you weren't going to eat?" She asks, glancing up and easily stopping his inner monologue.

"I'm not, not eating." Nasir mutters, eyes darting around the cafeteria. The door keeps slamming open, the room bustling with laughter and shouting - barely noon on a Friday.

"I told you not to get that. You could have made it fresh. Unless..." Naevia flips the magazine shut, fixing him with a careful stare. "Nasir, what's going on?"

"I'm fine." Waving a hand, Nasir twists the top off of his tea, taking a large gulp. "Seriously."

“Uh huh.” She nods along, waving a hand sarcastically. “That sounds completely convincing.”

“I am.” Nasir tries for reassuring, forcing a quick smile across his face. “I’m just not feeling like salad today.”

"Okay so why are we here and not the cafe?" Naevia's eyes narrow, nails tapping on the formica table top.

"Cheaper. Easier." Nasir shrugs, jumping when the cafeteria door slams open again. It’s just a group of girls though, laughing with arms around each other. Nasir pointedly glances down at his phone, checking the time. He still has a little bit.

"Cheaper, huh?" Naevia draws his attention again. "And it has nothing to do with the fact that the cafe is Mira and Agron's spot?"

"Ah-Agron? Psh." Nasir chokes out a laugh. "Why would it be about them? Who even said anything about them? I just don't feel like going there."

"Right." Naevia nods along, clearly unconvinced as Nasir jumps again. The cafeteria is way too busy for him to be on guard so much. “And how is that going? Your tutoring, I mean? Agron behaving?”

“What,” Nasir looks up, gaze widening a little. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, Agron and you spending hours alone together.” Naevia says slowly, building up. “He’s been known to be a little handsy. And now you guys have inside jokes and whisper sometimes during movie nights. Plus, I saw you wearing his hoodie like a week ago.”

“We do not have inside jokes!” Nasir scoffs, wrinkling his nose at her. “We’re just-“

“Friends, I know.” Naevia rolls her eyes, popping a carrot in her mouth. “He’s texting you by the way.”

Jumping, Nasir grabs his phone and quickly opens the chat window. They’re supposed to meet up for another study date, probably in the back of the stacks in the library. Nasir had been surprised when Agron had texted this morning to confirm – neither one of them really talking since last week and the date. Still, Nasir felt is rude to turn him down and plus, they were having a mid-term soon.

Agron: Where are you? You ready to divide and conquer?

Nasir: Is that a math pun? And I’m in the caf. See you soon?

Agron: Well, I usually divide and conquer other things but for you it can be all math ;D

“What’s that grin for?” Naevia's hand darts across the space, snatching Nasir's phone from his loose grasp. The background image is a picture of Mira, Naevia, and Nasir at the last rugby game, all holding large cups of coco and cheering. She only has to click on the home button for the message screen to pop up.

Agron: I’ll meet you there.

"Meet you there?" Naevia's eyebrow raises sharply, flicking her thumb up.

“Naevia, stop! Give me the phone back!” Nasir tries to reach for it, unable to over the wide spanse of the table. “Seriously! Give it to me!”

“I’m just looking. I need to make sure he’s being nice!“ Naevia glances over the walls of text. It's all boring stuff about studying and weird jokes until she reaches the picture messages, suddenly freezing as her eyes widen, taking in the full screen. "Nasir! Oh my god! Is that his-"

"Shut up!" Nasir hisses, snatching his phone back from her, face burning. He is quick to clear the screen, glancing around as if someone is going to suddenly call him out on it. It's too late though, Naevia's hands are over her eyes, choking between laughing and groaning – making so much noise. She draws attention, and Nasir reaches out, swatting at her as the table next to theirs looks over – clearly judging them.

“Holy shit.” Naevia manages to elude the attack, collapsing back into the booth and fixing Nasir with a cranberry tinted grin. "Oh honey."

"Stop. No. Shut up." Nasir shakes his head sharply, hands up. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You don’t want to talk about Agron’s dick on your phone?” Naevia slowly crosses her arms over her chest, playing dumb. “But why not? From the looks of it, this is a normal occurrence.”

“It’s none of your business, one. And two.” Nasir holds his fingers up, embarrassed and hot as a group of his residents pass him. “It isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh no?” Naevia agrees conversationally, as if they are discussing something bland. “Just a little anatomy research? Is he tutoring you in that now too? Learning all sorts of chemical reactions?”

“Can you please stop talking?” Nasir groans, hiding his face in his hands. “Be struck mute?”

“Must be quiet the lessons,” Naevia giggles, reaching out to take Nasir’s wrist in her hand, “What’s that old saying? Subtract the clothes, divide the legs?”

“Stop, please, for fuck’s sake, Naevia.” Nasir tugs against her hold, shaking his head. He didn’t expect this conversation to go like this at all. “Stop talking.”

“I just want to know how it was,” Naevia shrugs a little, “You told Mira and I nothing happened but clearly something did.”

“We’re just friends.” Nasir hears the words, forces them out of his mouth, even as his face burns.

“Friends?” Naevia scoffs, pointing a manicured nail towards Nasir’s phone. “Friends don’t talk to each other like that.”

Nasir shoves his phone into his backpack, as if he can bury the evidence. As if he can erase the pictures that are still on his phone – the photos of both of them. Of the secret 3am conversations that Nasir pretends mean nothing but he spills across his own fingers, breaking skin not to say Agron’s name. He can’t believe this is fucking happening. Naevia isn’t usually the nosey one, letting Nasir keep his secrets, but now she looks entirely too amused.

“So,” Naevia drags out the word, hooking her elbows back on the table to lower her voice. “When did this start happening?”

“It’s not happening.” Nasir shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Nasir,” Naevia pouts a little, shaking her hair over her shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear. I’m just a little shocked. You guys went from screaming at each other during parties to sexting? That’s big relationship development.”

“Oh my god.” Nasir puts his hands over his face. He can’t believe he’s going to confess to all of this, but it’s too late now. “It was happening when we were screaming.”

“What?” Naevia hisses, delighted.

“When we didn’t get along, back when he first started tutoring me.” Nasir peeks between his fingers to meet her wide gaze. “Like two weeks after I met him?”

Naevia collapses back into her seat again, eyes wide and calculating. Nasir can tell she’s doing the math, trying to figure out when everything changed. He isn’t even sure himself when things went from fury to wanting to climb Agron like a tree, but it has. Though, they haven’t talked like that since last week, before the double date.

“So, you guys are fucking?” Naevia says slowly, still piecing the story together.

“Well, not really.” Nasir’s face heats again, pink curling over his cheeks and jaw. “I mean, we talk about it sometimes but we haven’t-“

“But you want to.” Naevia’s lips curl into a slow smirk, knowing and bright as Nasir stare at her, panicked. “Holy shit! You do!”

“Shut up!” Nasir hisses, back to swatting at her. He always has the option of grabbing his bag and fleeing, but Naevia would definitely follow him. Plus, he’s supposed to be meeting Agron here before they head over to the library.

“Fuck,” Naevia leans in close, voice dropping again – conspiratory and soft. “Nasir, fuck!”

“Shh!” Nasir shushes her sharply, leaning in too until there is barely any space between their faces. “Don’t say anything else. I know it’s dumb. It’s so fucking stupid. He’s…you know. And I’m, yeah. But have you fucking seen him?”

“I have.” Naevia replies, amused.

“He’s just…a lot.” Nasir raises his gaze to meet Naevia’s. “A lot everywhere.”

“Oh my god.” Naevia giggles behind her hand. “You like him!”

“I’m trying not to!”

“Is it working?” Naevia can barely get out.

“No,” Nasir groans, hanging his head, “I think I’m good and then he’ll say something funny or he helps me. I mean, who thought it was a good idea to give him dimples? And Agron is such a bro. Like really, totally shouldn’t be my type, but he memorized my coffee order! And I tell myself it’s all just because I’m thirsty and he’s hot but then he’ll be nice and then I’m back to square one!”

“Oh honey,” Naevia sooths, reaching out to take his hand. “You’ve got it bad.”

“I know!”

Nasir wrinkles his nose at her. He feels better now that someone else knows, even if she doesn’t know everything. It’s just been texting, just dirty little flirty texts all the time. They talk about other things, but it doesn’t stop Nasir from scrolling up and rereading previous ones. It simmers low in the back of his mind, even when they’re together in person, even when they act like nothing is going on.

“So, this date you went on?” Naevia asks, raising a slow eyebrow.

Covering his eyes, Nasir takes a slow breath in before rushing out. “It was with Duro. And Agron. And Agron’s date. Who I thinks name is Marcus. Mira set it up. They apparently were already hooking up too. And it was terrible. We were like fighting the whole time because neither of us knew were going on a double date with each other. And I kissed Duro at the end of it and he yelled at me for liking Agron and being an idiot.”

“Wait, wait,” Naevia yanks Nasir’s hand down to level him with a look. “You kissed Duro?”

“It was bad.” Nasir cringes, shaking his head. “Really bad.”

“Why did you kiss Duro?” Naevia asks slowly.

“Because.” Nasir takes in a slow breath. He could tell her the truth. He should tell her the truth. That he kissed Duro to prove that he could. That maybe if he liked it, it meant that Agron was just a phase, a hot guy who Nasir wouldn’t mind crawling on top of him and nothing else.

“Because?” Naevia pauses, eyes narrowed. She’s too fucking smart for her own good. “Oh no.”

“Yeah.” Nasir drops his head, no point in hiding it now. Is it that obvious? He really needs to get his face in check. “I thought if I kissed him, dated him maybe, that things would be fine.”

“How bad is it?” Naevia reaches out, gently stroking Nasir’s hair.

“Bad.” Nasir’s response is muffled, unable to relent and look up. He doesn’t want to see the pity in Naevia’s eyes, doesn’t want it confirmed how dumb this whole thing is. “I really like him and I kissed his little brother.”

“Well,” Naevia blows out a breath, slow and careful. She is calculating with her next words. “There are worse guys. Agron, for all his issues, is kind of a catch.”

“What?” Nasir looks up sharply, chin coming to rest on the table. “Don’t tell me that.”

“Why not? You guys would be cute together. All tall and small.” Naevia shrugs, fluffing back up her hair. She’s taking this entire thing way too easily. “From what I hear, he’s pretty good in the sack.”

“We’re not together. Nor are we going to be?” Nasir asks, confused. “We’re just sexting.”

“But you both clearly want more,” Naevia frowns a little. “Agron is way nicer to you than anyone else he’s been fucking around with.”

“You don’t know that.” Nasir won’t allow himself to think about that, chest warm. “We’re just-”

“Yeah, right.” Naevia levels him with an unimpressed look. “And if you say you’re friends one more time, I’m going to stab you.”

“We are friends!” Nasir tries to defend, voice raising.

“Okay, but friends don’t send friends pictures of their penis.” Naevia replies matter of fact, digging in her bag for her lipstick. She uses her camera app on her phone to reapply it. “Besides, it’s clear you both like each other. You just need a push.”

“No, no we really don’t. No pushing.” Nasir vehemently shakes his head. “I’m perfectly fine with where we are.”

“Mhm.” Naevia rubs her lips together. “Sure you are. Then why are you blushing like that? And why do you jump when anyone says his name?”

“I don’t!” Nasir tries to defend, even it sounding false on his ears.

“Oh, and he’s coming up behind you right now.” Naevia puts her phone down on the table, turning a wide grin upwards. “Hi Agron!”

Nasir barely has a moment to sit up, turning sharply before Agron is there, leaning in to kiss her cheek. He’s wearing a pair of loose, torn up jeans and a gray sweater, the fit tight and accentuating, a backpack slung over one shoulder. Nasir can’t seem to drag his eyes off the small square of thigh peaking out from one of the holes in his jeans, only forced to when Naevia clears her throat loudly.

“Hey.” Agron hesitates for only a moment before clapping a hand to Nasir’s shoulder. “You ready to leave or did I interrupt?”

“Oh no, of course not. I was just on my way out.” Naevia smoothly slides from the bench seat, stacking both of their trays. “You boys have fun with your subtracting and dividing.”

“Naevia.” Nasir hisses in warning, feeling the flush creep up his cheeks. He tries to hide in in grabbing his bag, but Agron’s gaze never leaves him.

“Bye!” She chirps and then she’s gone, leaving Agron and Nasir to awkwardly make their way out of the caf and into the setting sunshine.

The walk to the library isn’t that far, but long enough that the silence feels awkward. They’re nearly halfway there before Agron finally breaks the silence, thumb hooked in the strap of his backpack.

“So, about dinner…” He starts, clearly having to pull the words from deep within him.

“It was just a favor,” Nasir interrupts, glancing up to watch Agron’s expression. “Duro just said he had a double date that he promised to go on and didn’t have a date. I only agreed to go for free food.”

“Okay.” Agron nods simply, seeming to accept it, only to ruin it with his next question. “And you kissing him?”

Nasir stops in the middle of the sidewalk, the two other students behind him shooting him a dirty look when they pass. It doesn’t matter though as Nasir has to force his gaze up to meet Agron’s, feeling the weight of his tongue as he tries to form words.

“Duro told you?”

“He’s my little brother. He tells me everything.” Agron shrugs a little, hooking his hands in his back pockets. “Said he walked you to your dorm and you kissed him.”

A small part of Nasir is regretful, curses himself for thinking that he could do something and no one would find out. They’re too in each other’s pockets. Everyone knows everything in their friend group.

“I wanted to.” Nasir takes the honesty road, unable to lie when Agron looks at him like this – calm and a little vulnerable. “I wanted to prove to myself that I could.”

“Could kiss him?” Agron’s eyebrow raises.

“Could kiss anyone.” Nasir shrugs a little helplessly. “Duro is nice. He’s easy to like. I thought if I kissed him that I would feel something. Isn’t that why you went out with Marcus?”

“I went out with Marcus because Mira thinks I’m turning heartless.” Agron says it nearly bitter, the words sharp on his tongue. “I know I don’t feel any real things for him. I don’t get attached because it always fucking ruins things. I ruin things. It’s easier to just fuck and get out.”

“Oh.” Nasir has to drop his gaze, fiddling with his fingers. He doesn’t know what to say. Agron says it like it’s easy, like it’s fact, like Nasir should just know that by looking at him. But Nasir doesn’t believe it. He has seen it – the glimpse of Agron’s heart, the vulnerability under the barbs and wires. “I didn’t feel anything when I kissed him. He didn’t either.”

“Then I guess you got your answer.” Agron shrugs a little, eyes skirting off of Nasir. He can’t look at him when he’s like this, when Nasir is backlit by a golden sunset and so fucking sad. It makes Agron want to reach out, to touch where he shouldn’t, to sooth when he can’t, to kiss and hold and protect. Nasir can barely stand Agron on a good day, let alone right now when he’s upset.

“I didn’t get my answer. I just forced myself to have more questions.” Nasir sighs slowly, tapping the toe of his boot into the dirt.

“Like what?” Agron steps closer, glaring at a bicyclist that tries to get too close to them.

“What it would feel like to be wanted and want in return,” Nasir shrugs, laughing a little bitterly as he turns his face up towards Agron’s. “To be with someone and it not hurt. How it feels to be kissed and know that it’s right?”

Agron’s hands have to curl into fists to keep from moving, body taught and strung out as he fights the urge to reach for Nasir. He’s thought about it all morning, about tucking his fingers into the dark strands of Nasir’s hair, of breathing in against his throat, of slotting lips against lips – of tasting Nasir’s full, soft mouth. Would it be good? Would it feel him up? Would it burn them alive?

“Is that bad?” Nasir asks softly, barely able to raise his eyes to meet Agron’s. “I sometimes think I don’t deserve it. Like maybe Caesar was all I’m ever going to get.”

“It’s not.” Agron cuts in, shaking his head as he hooks an arm around Nasir’s shoulders. “No fucking way.”

“How do you know that?” Nasir leans his head against Agron’s bicep, letting the warm scent of his cologne wash over him. It would be so easy to tilt his face all the way up, to press a kiss to Agron’s jaw, to tuck in closer and closer until they were flush. Nasir burns to do it, to take what he wants.

“I just know. You deserve more than that Nasir.” Agron starts them walking, keeping his grip loose, casual. “Anyone deserves better than that shit.”

They’re nearly to the library door when Nasir stops, hooking his hand around Agron’s wrist and forcing them to pause. He lets a group of whispering girls pass before he tucks his face up, settling Agron with a serious look.

“I didn’t mean to hurt Duro if I did.”

“You didn’t.” Agron waves it off, seeming unbothered. “I think he sees you like a little brother.”

“Oh, good.” Nasir nods, slipping out from under Agron’s arm to open the door. He catches Agron’s pensive reflection in the glass, unsure of what to make of it. He wishes he could confess to something else, to show all of his feelings, but he knows Agron will never feel the same. No way.

“Besides, any guy you like is going to have to go through a whole ringer before he gets close to you.” Agron laughs, the sound feeling a little choked. “Just think, first Naevia and Mira and then Crixus, and then Spartacus. And of course me.”

“Oh, you’d defend me against bad suitors?” Nasir laughs on the stairs, the sound echoing along the library.

“All of them.” Agron agrees, following just behind. “Background check. Reference check. Field test check.”

“Well,” Nasir pauses on the landing, turning to grin over at Agron, “looks like I’ll be single for a long time then. Especially if they have to go through a whole Olympic tournament to just ask me out.”

“More gladiatorial games.” Agron reaches over, ruffling Nasir’s hair. “Only the best for our wild little man.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Nasir jabs his elbow into Agron’s side, skittering away and fully into the stacks with a peal of laughter. They’re on the top floor so it’s deserted, only the air conditioner humming above them as Agron makes chase, sneakers skittering on the tile. It’s private enough no one hears Nasir’s squeal when Agron catches him, pressing him breathlessly into the architecture section, the books rattling behind them.

Breathless and panting, Agron hooks one arm around Nasir’s waist and one above his head, cheeks flushed as he lifts the shorter man onto his toes. He’s close enough to see Nasir’s golden eyes, the flicks of green around the amber, the way his soft mouth curves around the wide grin. It all surmounts to the easy way Nasir’s body fits against his, gleeful and warm, back arched.

“Is this part of the games?” Nasir gasps, grinning wide when Agron doesn’t move, only presses closer.

“No.” Agron’s expression flickers, gaze drifting from Nasir’s eyes to his mouth, getting caught on his lips and then back. “This is for you.”

“I-“ Nasir’s fingers slowly drift across Agron’s jaw, heart pounding as he notices the bare breath between them - close enough Nasir can smell the mint from Agron’s gum, see the soft pillow his cupid’s bow.

It feels like a moment stretched in all directions, the slow breath across their faces, dim light of the stacks making it feels hazy and warm. Nasir can feel Agron’s heartbeat, can see the way his eyes dilate slightly when he licks his bottom lip. Agron is trembling, just slightly, barely hanging onto the control. His lips part slightly, head tilted, as Agron’s fingers cup Nasir’s jaw, leaning in.

“Um, excuse me!”

At the end of the row, a very stern looking woman with reddish brown hair stands with an old metal cart, the thing over flowing with books. She pointedly looks down at them through her glasses, the name on her tag proclaiming her as lead library for Thracian University.

“This is a library! Not a brothel!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Nasir, always the more polite, pushes against Agron’s chest, shoving them both back towards the door. “We’re just here to study. It won’t happen again!”

Agron follows reluctantly behind, scooping up their discarded bags from the floor with a glare towards the woman.

“I should sure hope not!” She calls after them as Nasir shuts the door, guiding them along until they find the large study room, collapsing into a table.

Agron literally wants to punch something when Nasir takes his bag, tugging it open and depositing a math textbook on the table. The last thing that Agron wants to think about is solving calculus problems, especially when Nasir is still blushing, but he sits anyways. And if his knee is pressed to Nasir’s the whole time, well, that’s just because the table is too small.

Chapter Text

The ATO house is a bustle of activity, people shouting over a radio, eating and drinking from the snack trays in the kitchen, donning the Thracian University colors of jewel green and black. It’s the pre-game party that will dissolve into the post-game when the rugby team returns tonight. Naevia has set up a face paint station in the living room, dragging stripes across the cheeks and writing player numbers on hands. Mira is there beside her, untangling a cluster of pompoms and streamers, chatting amicably to the group of cheerleaders before her.

Nasir enters the house with little greeting, everyone busy getting ready to cheer the playerss out of the house and to the stadium. It’s a lot to take in, observing the easy comradery that college sports seems to inspire. He gets pulled into a hug by Varro near the foyer, his face flushed and eyes bright as he passes by. Spartacus is barking orders in the kitchen, his voice carrying through the long hallway. Somewhere, someone is singing the school fight song off key. There are people in the house that Nasir doesn’t recognize either - probably other teammates or new recruits.

“Hey! You made it!” Duro seems to materialize out of nowhere, slinging an arm around Nasir. He has an emerald hoodie on, a clearly homemade beanie on his head. It must be one of Barca’s new projects.

“Yeah, Naevia forced me to switch with someone.” Nasir greets, allowing Duro to hug him. “I didn’t realize it was going to be such an event.”

“Most of the frat is on the team so,” Duro shrugs, offering Nasir a large solo cup. When Nasir takes a sniff, he smells apples and whiskey. “Rugby is kind of our thing.”

“I can tell.” Relaxing into Duro’s lazy grip, Nasir leans into him a little, allowing him the companionable comfort. “I literally know nothing about it.”

“It’s easy. I’ll explain it on the field.” Duro waves his cup around. “It’s a lot of grunting and wrestling and shouting. Ya know, very European heterosexual shit.”

“I don’t know any heterosexual men that wear shorts and knee highs.” Nasir mutters into the rim of his cup, letting the sound of Duro’s rambunctious laughter pour over him.

“Well played.” Duro clicks his cup against Nasir’s. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think half the people in this house are straight or even know anything about rugby either. They come for the free food and the party afterwards.”

“Oh, are you guys hosting?”

Nasir takes a slow drink, playing politely dumb. He tries to keep himself from searching, to stay intune to the conversation, but it seems to be a constant need – an instinct now. If Crixus and Barca are still here, posed over by the fireplace, it means it’s early enough for the team to still be here, which means Agron is here too. Nasir doesn’t have to have a reason to look for him, they’re friends after all. And yet. He feels guilty for it. Like he shouldn’t seek him out.

“Absolutely.” Duro nods along. “If we win, we’ll celebrate. If we lose, we’ll drink to make up for it.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Nasir grins. He’s glad that whatever has happened between Duro and himself before, it seems to have settled into this – easy friendship.

“Have you told the girls you’re here? I think they made you a sign to hold.” Duro motions towards Naevia and Mira. “You gotta finish their trifecta.”

“Trifecta?” Nasir raises a brow, confused. “What trifecta?”

“Well you know.” Duro has the sense to look a little sheepish. “If Mira is there for Spartacus and Naevia is there for Crixus, it just makes sense that you are there for-“

“Duro.” Nasir cuts him off with a look, brow furrowed.

“I know, I know what you said. But you both are being fucking dumb.” Duro whines, leaning in to lower his voice. There are a few people that pass, ignorant to why Nasir is suddenly flushing. “Neither one of you can answer the question ‘why not?’”

“You talked to Agron about this?” Nasir snaps his head up. “Why?”

“I didn’t really talk to him.” Duro cringes, shrugging his arm off. “I just suggested it. A little. When I was drunk.”

“Don’t.” Nasir hisses, hating the curl of embarrassment and shame curling in his chest. “One, it’s none of your business. And two, you should know, being his brother, that Agron is only after one thing and one thing only, and it’s not a relationship.”

“That’s not true! You don’t know everything,” Duro hisses, grabbing Nasir’s wrist before he can flee. “Nasir, listen to me, a lot of shit has happened that made Agron the way he is.”

“Stop. I don’t want to talk to you about this,” Nasir tugs away roughly, nearly sloshing his cup. “If he wants to tell me, then he can. I don’t want to hear it from someone else and especially someone with an agenda.”

“Nasir, please,” Duro tries not to make a scene, hand clasping at Nasir’s sleeve. “I really think-“

“Nasir! I didn’t know you were here!” Naevia calls out from the living room, ushering a freshman off the couch. “Come here!”

“I guess I’ll go report for duty.” Nasir leaves with a sharp glare at Duro.

Mira looks up the moment Nasir enters the living room, greeting him with a loud yell and waving arms. She seems to be very in her element, a large black jersey swamping her small frame with four of the cheerleaders kneeling before her. It takes Nasir only a glance to realize that Naevia is wearing one as well – hers matching the emerald one Crixus is currently donning. She also is wearing a homemade beanie, the pompom on the top looking fluffy and soft.

“Hey lovely.” Mira leans up from her post, kissing Nasir’s cheek. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Gotta support our team.” Nasir laughs a little, easy and bright. The curling of belonging don’t feel so foreign now, letting the tension of the previous conversation melt away.

“Hey Nae.” He kisses her cheek too.

“Hey habibi.” Naevia motions to the ottoman in front of her, dipping her sponge back in the face paint. “Come sit. I’ll do you next.”

Nasir has no choice, sinking to sit before her with a sheepish grin. “You look very team spirit.”

“Well, my boyfriend is co-assistant captain so.” Naevia shrugs a little, working the cold paint over Nasir’s cheek. “Where is your Thracian pride?”

“I’m wearing green.” Nasir plucks at the scarf around his neck, the small paisley print shimmering green a little.

“Psh.” Naevia scoffs, leaning back to get over the roar of the crowd through the house. “Mira, is there anyone who hasn’t given their jersey away yet?”

“Um,” Mira glances around at the cheerleaders, then back towards Naevia. “Varro maybe? Or Auctus?”

“Varro gave his away.” A cheerleader pipes up, her ponytail bouncing. “And Auctus.”

“There is still…” Another trails off, giggling behind her hand towards another girl.

“No way.” She pipes up, the glitter at her eyes sparkling. “Like he would ever.”

“Who?” Mira demands, brow furrowed.

“I’m really okay.” Nasir holds his hands up, trying not to flinch as Naevia blows on his cheeks to dry the paint. “I’ll just buy a hoodie at the game.”

“No! You are part of the trifecta. The three squad.” Mira calls out. “I’m sure someone-“

“I’m not part of anything.” Nasir bites his tongue at his sharp tone, hating the way the girls turn sharply to him. Mira is all wide eyed confusion but Naevia has that light in her gaze that is too understanding. It promises further conversation, later on, away from everyone.

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” Mira frowns, quietly dropping her pompom to the side. “I just thought-“

“It’s fine. Whatever you have planned is fine.” Nasir is quick to sooth, anything to get away from the judging stares.

“Okay!”

Her eyes widen comically, smacking a hand down on the arm of the couch. Nasir doesn’t have to turn to know who she is looking at, but it’s like an itch he has to scratch. As soon as he turns, he wishes that he hadn’t, caught with his tongue quickly between his teeth. Agron has just come down the stairs, caught off guard by the amount of people in the living room. He’s wearing his uniform shorts, black with a green stripe around the waistband, hung crooked on his hips, chest bare. He has his socks on too, absently running his hand through his damp hair.

Duro has caught him in some sort of conversation, heads tilted together. It must be something funny though because Duro lets out a roar of laughter to Agron’s answering German. Down the hall, someone shouts at them, a nasty remark in French. It’s background as Agron turns away from Duro and abruptly meets Nasir’s gaze.

In the darkest part of Nasir’s mind, the very secret parts, sometimes makes him wonder what it wound feel like to press his mouth to Agron’s wolf tattoo. To taste the soft skin inked to look like a snarling beast, to feel the heat and solid pressure of Agron’s body against his own. Nasir tries to forget it, tries to swallow it all down, but Agron smirks and it feels like the air is suffocating.

“Ags! Come here!” Mira calls, waving an arm above her head in beckoning. “I need you.”

“Ladies.” Agron saunters across the hardwood floor, stopping just behind the couch. “What’s up?”

The cheerleaders lean in together to giggle, one smacking the other in the arm. If Agron notices it, he doesn’t react. Nasir can hear them though, face heating at the explicit conversation. He can’t exactly blame them, distracted by all the skin, by the slow smirk on Agron’s face, the affectionate way he curls his fingers in Mira’s ponytail.

“Did you give your jersey away yet?” Mira asks, glancing over towards Naevia and then quickly back. “Your away game one?”

“No.” Agron says it tightly, like it’s a sore subject, like an annoyance. Nasir instantly drops his gaze, fiddling with an invisible string on his jacket. He doesn’t know why it feels weird, like a question he shouldn’t ask. Did Agron ever let someone where it? Why didn’t he give it to Marcus?

“Would you give-“ Mira starts, even though Agron sighs loudly, “it to Nasir?”

“What?” Agron’s tone is different this time, enough that Nasir has to look up, surprised to see Agron staring at him. It doesn’t give anything away, charged and heated in a way that makes Nasir afraid to look away.

“You’re not wearing it. And he’s going to be sitting with Mira and me. We have a whole row of jerseys.” Naevia reasons, nonchalantly leaning back into he couch. “He took the whole night off to come support you.”

“Is that so?” Something twists sharply in Nasir’s stomach as he watches Agron say the words, wondering and curious. Agron glances from the girls to Nasir, holding his gaze. “How sweet.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.” Nasir mutters, highly aware of the other cheerleaders watching them. “Anything to support the frat, right?”

“You guys are basically best friends so,” Mira shrugs a shoulder, reaching for the glitter pot beside her. Before Nasir can pull away, she’s dabbing the green and silver shine to around his eyes. It’s devastatingly attractive on Nasir’s smooth, tan skin.

“Right.” Agron clears his throat a little, blinking quickly away from Nasir. “Uh, yeah. If you want to wear it. You can. It’s upstairs.” He motions behind his shoulder with his thumb.

Before Mira, whispers instantly fall behind hands, high ponytailed heads leaning in together. Nasir practically feels on fire with the hissed words, trying to ignore that he can hear them. He knows the rumors about Agron, how he’s untouchable, how he’s cold, how he never does anything except work out and get laid. It twists hot and angry inside of Nasir, who has seen sides of Agron that feel more private – like a secret side. The side that takes hours to explain math problems and brings coffee and gives hoodies to Nasir when he gets cold. Nasir will never forget the feeling of Agron sleeping beside him, platonic but safe, the best rest Nasir has ever gotten with another person in his bed.

“It’s settled then.” Naevia looks way too delighted as she turns to him, eyes bright and grin wide. “See, perfect. I wrote his number on your face anyways.”

“Only if it’s okay,” Nasir hesitates. One of the cheerleaders is sneering at him, her mouth twisted sharply. He isn’t sure what he did, but he feels like there is some hidden agenda he’s been sucked into the middle of. “Unless you have someone else-“

“No. It’s fine.” Agron’s hand brushes against the back of Nasir’s neck, almost accidental if it didn’t linger there, warm like a brand. “Come on.”

“We’ll wait here for you.” Mira reassures, waving a hand at him. “I promise.”

“Oh, okay.” Awkwardly, Nasir gets off the ottoman, walking around the couch to Agron’s side. He can see a droplet of water clinging to the edge of Agron’s hairline near his ear, having to curl his hand into a fist to keep from brushing it away.

Agron and Mira seem to be fighting with their eyes, Mira twitching her nose as Agron’s eyes widen fractionally. It’s over before it even begins, but it’s clear that whatever they were arguing about, Mira won as Agron abruptly turns towards the stairs. Nasir glances back only once, long enough to see Mira and Naevia high five, before he disappears after Agron.

The upstairs of the ATO house has always been a bit ‘off guards’. During parties, it is usually roped off with a cheesy ‘caution tape’ banner or one of the guys will stand at the bottom, pointing freshman and other lecherous acts away. Nasir has been up here before, either with Agron or Mira, but it feels separated – almost sacred in it’s stillness and quiet.

Agron’s room on the top floor dulls the roar from downstairs, shadows playing along the floor from the setting sun. The posters and flags looking hazy through the drawn blinds. For being a college athlete’s room, it is spectacularly clean, even the bed is made. Nasir is careful when he follows Agron inside not to let the door slam shut, but catch in the lock quietly.

“You shouldn’t let them bully you like that.” Agron teases as he opens his closet, sliding the hangers over the rack. “They’ll talk you into anything.”

“I could say the same to you.” Nasir muses, perusing through Agron’s bookshelf. There are knickknacks here, movie stubs and polaroids of the gang, half a dozen guitar picks lined up in a row, a small bronze statue of Berlin. There are also a mix of books – half in English and half in German. Nasir can pick out a Grimm’s Fairytale book – early edition.

“Oh, they have,” Agron confesses over his shoulder. “Many a time.”

“You can’t say no to Mira. You and I both know that.” Nasir keeps moving, stepping around a chair to get at his desk. It’s piled full of carefully constructed papers and books, cluttered but organized. “I think you broke some cheerleaders’ hearts downstairs.”

“Why?” Agron doesn’t sound too concerned, glancing back.

“You’re letting me borrow your jersey.” Nasir can feel his face burning, even though he’s facing away. “Seems to be a big deal.”

“You don’t have to wear it.” Agron reasons, clattering as he pulls the jersey from the hook. "It’s just a game.”

“Were you planning on giving it to someone else?” Nasir asks, moving on to the dresser, fingers dragging over a bottle of cologne. He can see Agron in the reflection in the mirror, shoulders tensing as he answers.

“No. Who would I give it to?”

“I thought maybe-“ Nasir watches the dimples in his waist move as Agron draws in a sharp breath.

“It’s not a thing anymore.”

“Okay.” Nasir believes him. How do they keep ending up like this? Just a breath away from falling apart? Or a breath away from falling together?

Agron is nearly silent as he turns and pads across the floor, the jersey tucked into his hand. The room darkens with the sunset outside, the blinds leaving shatters of light across the floor, teasing light and shadows. Agron meets Nasir’s gaze in the glass, pensive and careful, fingers brushing Nasir’s hair back over his shoulder. Nasir meets it head on, unflinching when Agron’s chest brushes his back.

“Here.” He murmurs, setting the jersey on the corner of the dresser. The white letters of Agron’s last name blaze against the green.

They’re moving too slow, the air static and suffocating. Nasir wishes he could unravel it, could find the source of the tension and break it. But instead of subsiding, he tempts it further. Ever since the library it has felt different when Nasir is with Agron, has felt like a game, like a temptation so sweet and yet it only needs a push to topple. If it’s a spark to start, then Nasir sets it ablaze as he raises a hand, digging his fingers in his scar and tugging. The fabric pools on the floor between his feet.

Agron doesn’t blink when Nasir reaches for his hoodie zipper, tugging it slowly down, the sound seeming so loud in the still bedroom. He drops it easily to the side, lets the black fabric pool over his left hand and then onto the carpet. When he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, Agron stops him with careful fingers on his wrist.

It’s easy to get lost in the moment, frozen against one another, Agron leaning down to slowly inhale just below Nasir’s ear. He nuzzles there, pausing as if he’s allowing Nasir time to pull away, to flee. But Nasir doesn’t move so Agron does. There is no rush as he guides his palms over Nasir’s waist, bunching the material of his shirt until he can ease his hands over the curve of his hips. Nasir can’t turn away from their reflection, caught as Agron’s gaze slowly lifts – the green nearly gleaming in the half light. He looks insatiable, hungry, as he drags the fabric higher, easing the hem over Nasir’s ribs, up and up and then over his head.

In the back of his mind, Nasir knows they shouldn’t be doing this. They’re on a time limit. They’re friends. There are people waiting. But how can he possibly say no? His body aches for this, quaking at the soft caress of Agron’s hands on him, exploring over his newly revealed skin. They contrast and twist together – a precipice waiting to be broken.

Goosebumps break out over his arms as he feels Agron’s soft exhale, can feel his warm skin against his back. He’s being careful to hold himself steady, Agron – who blazes into every situation with a battle cry – controlling himself. Allowing Nasir the space to accept it, to not turn away, to not be scared. A shudder cuts through him as Agron’s fingertips drag over his collarbone, ghost onto his sternum, down over his stomach.

“Nasir,” Agron whispers, the words barely above an exhale, gaze slowly dragging up to meet in the glass once again.

Turning his head, Nasir has to tilt it back into Agron’s shoulder to see him. He’s close enough to count the flecks of gold in Agron’s eyes, to trace the soft curve of his cupid’s bow, to feel his breath on his face. Reaching up, Nasir slides his fingers into Agron’s hair, caressing the soft strands. He wonders if Agron has felt kindness before. Has anyone ever been gentle with him? Been slow and concerned over what Agron wants? What he needs?

“Are you going to kiss me?” Nasir can feel his heart racing, sure it is beating out of his chest.

“Do you want me to?” Agron’s hand on Nasir’s hip is trembling slightly.

“Yes.”

It is as if the permission has broken something in Agron, who cups his fingers under Nasir’s jaw, turning his head slightly. Their noses brush, eyes falling slowly closed, cliché and perfect. Someone inhales sharply as their top lips barely graze one another’s, not even a full kiss but a promise of one. It is cautious, hesitant and still, and then Nasir turns himself fully around, wraps an arm around Agron’s waist, and pulls him in.

A thundering on the stairs is the only warning they get before the bedroom door suddenly slams open, Duro and Varro tumbling through the open doorway. Spiked cider splatters onto the carpeted as they jostle to get into the room, calling out to Agron and warning him of Spartacus’ anger at not having him downstairs yet. They’re too busy shouting to notice what they’ve interrupted, but Varro seems to come to his sense first, freezing at the murderous look on Agron’s face. Nasir is wise enough to have stepped away, turning and quickly tugging the jersey over his head.

“Shit.” Varro cringes sheepishly, elbowing Duro hard in the side. “Shit man, I’m so sorry.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Agron nearly shouts, hands clenched tightly at this sides. He’s flushed down onto his chest.

Looking over his shoulder, Nasir tries to hide his burning cheeks, awkwardly toying with the long hem of the jersey. It takes Duro longer, dark gaze trailing from Agron’s bare chest to the clothes on the floor to Nasir’s wide gaze before it seems to click into place. His jaw drops, pointing scandalized at Agron.

“When did this happen?!”

“Nothing happened, you fucking shit!” Agron charges across the room, grabbing Duro’s arm roughly to shove him into Varro. “Get out!”

“Hey! Hey wait!” Duro tries to fight off the attack, nearly falling on his ass in the hall. “I called this!”

“I am going to fucking murder you.” Agron nearly roars, the sound cutting above the thrum of the party below.

“Spartacus wanted you downstairs five minutes ago!” Varro calls, having the sense to head towards the stairs. “You can’t murder us in five minutes!”

“You want to try your odds?” There is a loud bang and then Duro’s wail of pain, running down the stairs.

Agron slams the door hard enough for it to rattle in its frame, letting out a frustrated growl as he turns back towards the room. Nasir has had the sense to pick his hoodie and scarf off the floor, looping them over his arm with a sheepish grin. The spell of the room has been broken, all the suffocating tension ruined by a pair of fucking idiots.

“I’ve gotta go help Mira and Naevia.” Nasir ducks a little as he moves towards Agron, reaching out for the door knob.

“Nasir, I’m-“ Agron starts, running a hand into his hair.

“I’ll see you after the game, yeah?” Nasir pats Agron’s shoulder, cheeks darkening as his palm skirts over Agron’s warm skin. “Big party?”

“Yeah, sure.” Agron can’t help sighing, hanging his head. He is going to kill his brother. He really is.

“Good luck.”

Just before he’s out the door, Nasir ducks back in, using a hand on Agron’s shoulder to steady him as he raises up on his toes. The kiss he ghosts over Agron’s cheek is closer to his mouth than his temple, a fleeting, chaste thing that has Agron twitching to reach out and hold him there. But before he can move his hands, Nasir is already gone, feet padding softly on the stairs.

- - -

Flourscent stadium lights illuminate the playing field, the space awash in a bright glow as the sun dips below the horizon. It feels separated, an alternate reality to the calm of the night around them. Feet thunder on the bleachers, the roar of the fans singing to the Thracian University fight son, the squeal of the horns and beat of the drums.

The ATO frat takes up the entire three front rows, awash in the most green and black of the whole crowd. They’ve drapped signs over the railing. Things such as ‘King Spartacus’ and ‘Go Giezsler Go!’ and ‘Crush Them Crixus!’. It is hard not to get swept up in the excitement and fever of the crowd as they scream and call for victory.

“So, are you getting any of it?” Duro has to lean around Mira to talk to Nasir. He sheepishly had slung an arm around Nasir’s shoulders on the way over, offering him his entire bag of kettle corn as an olive branch.

“Um.” Raising a hand, Nasir points down to the team. It’s lucky their numbers correspond to their positions. “Kind of? Spartacus is number two, which is the hooker. His job is to move the ball backwards to the other teammates?”

“Yep.” Mira chimes in, looking very proud. “He is kind of like the quarterback, if you want to look at it that way. He controls the play.”

“And Crixus and Agron are the props?” Nasir says uncertainly. Down the field, the teams are shoving together, shoulders pressed against one another in a large mash. He can barely pick out who is who, only the back of their heads visible.

“Crixus is the loose head prop.” Duro points him out, slamming his full weight into the opposite team. “Agron is the tight head prop, number three.”

“And they support Spartacus and hold his weight while he tries to kick the ball backwards to Varro and Barca?” Nasir fills in, remembering a little of the explanation they had given him on the walk over.

The crowd roars around them as Gannicus shoots up the field for a try, the ball tucked tightly to his side. The blur of players chase after him, ducking and dodging to get a grasp around his waist. One of the opposing team is easly pushed out of the way by Varro and Agron’s shoulders, trailing after Gannicus as a guard.

“Exactly. The guys in the front formation have to be pretty jacked.” Duro nods, fletching off the top of Mira’s popcorn.

“Speaking of.” She turns an inquisitive eye towards him. “Whose jersey are you wearing?”

“Oh.” Duro fiddles with the hem of it. The fabric stretches nicely over him, loose a little in the shoulders but mostly fitting. “Auctus asked me if I would wear it.”

“Auctus?” Naevia and Mira say at the same time, leaning in together. “Does Barca know that?”

“Barca is dating some freshmen.” Duro waves a hand, unconcerned. “Besides, if he had a problem with it, he shouldn’t have dumped Auctus like that.”

“Wait, who?” Nasir can’t help asking, easily swept into the drama.

“I keep forgetting you weren’t here last year.” Naevia shakes her head.

“A lot of shit went down.” Mira chimes in, gaze drifting from the field to Nasir and then back.

“It’s not even that dramatic.” Duro grumbles, taking another handful of popcorn.

“Um, yes it was. Auctus and Barca started dating back in high school, they came to school together. And then sometime last year, Auctus started really hanging out with Crixus. And Barca got kind of swallowed up by Agron’s crew.” Mira explains, using her hands to gesture to each side. “It’s kind of fucked really.”

“Crixus and Agron don’t exactly get along.” Naevia sighs deeply, rolling her eyes. “Crixus is French. Agron is German. It has something to do with rugby and soccer teams, and also their terrible personalities.”

“I’ve noticed.” Nasir grimaces. Personally, he likes Crixus a lot, but he can see where Agron and him don’t mesh.

“Anyways, it was a big fight. Spartacus had to get involved.” Mira also rolls her eyes, making it seem ridiculous and over done. “He’s like the middle man.”

“More like the therapist of the group.” Duro snorts. “Total dad friend.”

“Plus, Crixus really didn’t like the guy that Agron was dating and that caused a lot of issues too. He was a total dick and everyone saw it except for Ags. Especially after the whole drug and jail thing-“ Naevia is abruptly cut off by Mira’s sharp elbow in her side, eyes going huge.

“Shut up!”

“What?” Naevia has the audacity to look instantly regretful, turning to look at Nasir. “Oh no. I didn’t know-“

“It’s fine.” Nasir chokes out, waving a hand. It’s not though. It’s really not.

“It was a long time ago, habibi.” Naevia tries to sooth, hooking an arm around him to rub his back. “It wasn’t even that serious.”

“It was.” Mira grumbles, arms crossed over her chest. “Until he nearly killed Agron.”

“I really-“ Nasir shakes his head, flinching. “This really seems like his business. I don’t need to know this.”

“You’re completely right. I’m sorry.” Naevia ducks her head. She looks incredibly chastised, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she watches the game.

They’re silent for a bit, lackadaisically clapping as the game goes on around them. Nasir can’t focus on the players or even the score as his mind races. It makes sense that Agron has dated before. That he didn’t just become bitter for no reason. Still, the idea of someone hurting Agron enough to turn him cold makes Nasir burn. Who the fuck would do something like that? How dare they? And it must have been bad, gruesome even, to turn the look of rage onto Mira’s face.

“Look, you’re right, it’s not really our story to tell.” Duro suddenly leans around Mira, gripping Nasir’s forearm. “But I think you should know that a lot of shit went down last year. And I almost died. And Agron did some shit in response to that. But he’s a good guy and he really got fucked over. Like majorly. Like imagine everything you think is true is a total fucking lie and someone’s idea of a big joke. So, if he isn’t the easiest to get to or he shuts you out, just know that it’s not you.”

“I didn’t think-“ Nasir opens his mouth, unable to finish his thought.

“It’s not a shovel talk, Duro, jesus.” Mira hisses, shoving him back over on her other side. “Can we please just watch the fucking game without talking about that scumbag?”

“Of course we can!” Naevia reaches out for Nasir, hooking their arms together at the elbow. “We haven’t even seen blood yet! The game is just beginning!”

Nasir tries to pay attention, mind whirling about the half story he was just told. He can barely tamper down his own trauma day to day, he doesn’t know why he never considered what Agron must be going through. Does he find it hard to get out of bed some days? Is he shut off and cautious around new people because he’s trying to guard his heart? Is he afraid of touch and comfort the way Nasir is? Does he wish he could go back and scrub it all from his mind?

Who did this to him?

Chapter Text

As far as parties go, this one is fairly boring. It has the same collaboration of too loud music, alcohol freely flowing between plastic cups, beer bottles scattered on every surface, the drunken rendition of singing somewhere in the house. There are a group of smokers on the front stoop, their haze drifting in through the front door. A fight broke out half an hour ago but it’s been cleared, everyone back to jovially shouting. A group of girls are dancing together in the living room, someone has shoved the coffee table out of the way.

Nasir pingpongs between all of it. He gets his drink directly from Spartacus and keeps it close, letting the sangria pool on his tongue before slurping it down. It’s as close as ambrosia as Nasir is ever going to get, he reckons. And Spartacus is so sincere when he insists Nasir not get it from anyone else. Varro and Barca have set up a beer pong table in the dining room, a crowd piling on top of one another to watch. Nasir isn’t good at it but can appreciate the sport regardless.

It’s the first time he catches sight of Barca’s new boyfriend, Pietros. He’s a freshmen two floors down from Nasir, pretty and soft spoken. They chitchat about the art department, the rival of the writing, and Nasir finds out that Pietros is a poetry major. He looks the part, oversized sweater and too many earrings in both of his ears. Nasir finds himself liking Pietros though.

Naevia and Mira are trying to make up for the bad shift at the game, overly sweet with their hugs and kisses. They drag him out to dance in the living room just as a Robyn mix comes on, the carpet flooding with crooning drunks. Nasir lets them fawn over him, apologize with soft hands and shiny hair, being carefree with their movements. This isn’t sensual dancing, but the type one does drunk and free, arms swinging and feet hopping. Nasir can feel himself loosing his voice from laughing so much, spinning in dizzying circles.

He nearly slams into Duro on the stairs, barely recognizing him behind the burly guy against him. Duro has his head tilted back, mouth wide and hungry as the guy seems to devour him. Nasir has to assume this is Auctus, looking vaguely familiar from the profile. He doesn’t linger, though he distantly wonders if Agron would be pleased with his little brother basically being humped in front of the entire party.

Speaking of, Nasir doesn’t find the mentioned man until way late into the party, around midnight. He stumbles outside for air, gasping away from the heat inside. The mid-October night is crisp, the curling of leaves scattered over the soft grass. Someone has set up a fire pit in the corner (a clear violation of school policy) and slumped in a lounge chair, long legs sprawled before him, is Agron.

He doesn’t look up until Nasir nearly crashes into his chair, shoving the free one over until the armrests click. Nasir doesn’t even try for graceful as he curls into the plastic, knees drawn tight regardless of the fact that it’s the type he can lay down. A six pack is perches on the ground next to Agron’s hand, two empty, but Nasir doesn’t reach for it, drinking heavily from his cup instead.

“Young Eurydice, I have come to rescue you from the dark, lonely backyard.” Nasir grins, making a grand gesture with his hand.

“Oh?” Agron doesn’t look upset by the proceedings, expression passive. “I didn’t realize I was in the underworld, Orpheus.”

“You’re out here all alone in the dark.” Nasir squints down at Agron’s beer bottle. “Drinking out here alone in the dark.”

“I was inside for a while.” Agron’s defense doesn’t sound too strong. “I made the rounds.”

“You just won a game. I expected you to be in the middle of all that.” Nasir points over his shoulder. “Getting pats on the back and hit on by cheerleaders.”

“Sometimes celebrating doesn’t require an audience,” Agron shrugs, unperturbed. “And I’m not in the dark.” He gestures towards the fire pit.

“That’s so against the rules.” Nasir can’t help but blurt out, falling to giggles after. “I really should write you up.”

“Are you going to?” Agron smirks over at him, all casual lines and heat.

“I’ll let you off with a warning.” Nasir graciously concedes.

“Call me a rebel then.” Agron takes a slow draw from his bottle, watching Nasir the whole time. “Why are you not back in there? I saw you dancing with Mira and Naevia. You were having fun.”

“I was.“ Nasir picks a thumbnail over the rim of his cup. “Then I was looking for you.”

“You found me.”

“I did.”

The house is a beacon behind them, the music filtering out when someone slams open the back door. They’re far enough away though, secluded in the corner of the yard, that it feels like a barrier from all the frenzy. The breeze flickers the flames, wood cracking, and Agron can’t help but stare at Nasir out of the corner of his eye. The golden light does wonders to him, reflects on his eyes, plays with shadows in the hallow of Nasir’s throat, darkens his gaze.

Agron could stare for a long time. He does. It feels allowed as Nasir slowly drinks from his cup. It’s clear he’s drunk by the flush on his face, eyes still sharp enough to focus though. He is still wearing Agron’s jersey, the hem hitting him midthigh, loose and flattering. It makes Agron curious what Nasir would like in more of his clothes, if the borrowed jackets and hoodies was a regular thing, if Nasir would look perfect stretched out in everything and nothing and on Agron’s sheets.

“So,” Nasir leans back in his chair, turning fully on his side to look back at Agron. “You never told me your story.”

“My story?” Agron scoffs a little. “You’re the writer.”

“You have a German flag in you room, but you don’t have an accent. You have a statue of Berlin upstairs. And isn’t your tattoo from Grimm’s artwork?” Nasir observes seriously, listing them off on his fingers. “You just very ethnically aware?”

“I was born just outside of Berlin.” Agron answers easily, pausing to take a drink. “Tiny town. Duro and I didn’t move over here until I was in high school. I lost the accent.”

“Lost it?” Nasir asks softly, not probing but curious.

There are things that Agron has barely told anyone. Mira knows. Spartacus. But there are things that Agron has kept close. He never even told Caesar. But it feels easy with Nasir. Like they’re comparing battle scars, like opening chests fully of skeletons aren’t terrifying but just a way they operate.

“My parents were kind of shit.” Agron shrugs a shoulder. “My mutter was really young. She had me at like fifteen, and you know, just not really ready to have two kids. Vater was a drunk and in some pretty serious gangs around the city. Real violent and sick. So, Duro and I were shipped to grandparents. But ya know, no one wants to raise kids twice. Especially two teenage boys.”

Agron is surprised that Nasir doesn’t recoil from the story. Instead, he reaches across the chairs to curl his fingers in Agron’s sleeve. It feels like permission to continue.

“Anyways, I started getting in fights at school. Some of them to defend Duro. Some of them because I was young and dumb and angry. Some of them because I was realizing I was gay and was shit at it.” Agron laughs a little, the sound bitter and broken. “Gangs are bad over there. That’s where I was headed.”

“You’re kind of in one now.” Nasir whispers, soft like he doesn’t want to interrupt.

“We’re kind of in one.” Agron muses, “Spartacus’ gang of lost boys and girls.”

Nasir’s faint smile looks sharp in the dark light.

“Then Grandma and Granda died.” Agron continues, sighing slowly. “And everything kind of fell apart. I knew if I didn’t get out then I was gonna end up in jail. And then where would that fucking leave Duro? Ya know, he’s my little brother. My responsibility. Mutter wasn’t around and I hadn’t seen Vater in years.

So, I sold everything. Literally. We had the clothes on our back and maybe a small bag? Ended up entering the U.S. on shitty passports. But I was a minor with an accent and a bad mouth. We ended up being shipped to a home for refugee children. Cast aways. Just forgotten fucking kids with no home and no where to go.”

Agron is surprised when Nasir’s fingers leave his sleeve, trail down over his arm and entangle their fingers. It’s a comfort, a gentle touch that has Agron turning towards the contrast of their fingers. He drags his thumb over Nasir’s knuckles, down over the curve of his palm.

“I couldn’t do shit until I was eighteen.” Agron finishes slowly, shrugging a little helplessly. “By then, I knew that a big guy with an accent wasn’t going to get me anywhere. So, I hid it. And we ran away. I got it all straightened out with customs. We’re citizens now, barley. I guess we can blame it on being white and faking patriotism.”

“We live in a disgusting world.” Nasir hisses, voice pained. “Truly.”

“It comes out sometimes,” Agron sighs helplessly. “When I’m mad or drunk, just a hint of it.”

“But you’re still fluent?” Nasir curls a fist up by his jaw, all wrapped in tight with Agron’s jersey pooling around him.

“Ja.” Agron’s accent is rough, his voice dipping behind the faint grin. “Though, I only use it with Duro”

“I’m really sorry this all happened to you.” Nasir whispers, his grip sure as he drags Agron’s arm over, presses a comforting kiss to the back of Agron’s hand. “But thank you for telling me.”

“I’m not a delicate thing, Nasir.” Staring, Agron urges Nasir to understand. To realize the lines they’ve drawn are keeping each other safe. That they’re necessary. That Agron is a broken man and he’s not sure he can come back from that.

“I know that.” Nasir nods seriously, meeting Agron’s gaze. “But I would like to treat you gently. I think we both deserve that.”

Agron turns his hand over, cups Nasir’s jaw. He wants to know, wants to ask, but he’s afraid of Nasir’s answer. He doesn’t know if he can handle it, knowing what has happened to Nasir, what Agron was inadvertently apart of. It doesn’t matter though, as Nasir tucks his chin, kisses Agron’s palm.

It's a simple touch, innocent and chaste, and yet Agron feels his chest thrum under the press of Nasir’s mouth to his skin. This is a dangerous thing, out here in the dark, making confessions to one another. Agron can feel it twisting in his chest, burning in his stomach, curling along his spine. This is where it becomes something else, this is where Agron feels the treacherous curls of a deeper emotion. And why the fuck not? He’s drunk. And Nasir is the most beautiful thing Agron has ever been near.

“And you?” Agron murmurs, watching the dark smudge of Nasir’s eyelashes. “Was your life always so tragic?”

“Not tragic. Just nothing to write home about,” Nasir scoffs lightly, the exhale over Agron’s arm. “I never had one to write about anyway.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Nasir.” Agron tries to sooth, tries so fucking hard to be gentle.

“It’s okay. I just don’t remember my parents. I’m not even sure I had them ever.” Nasir explains softly, looping their fingers together once more. “I faintly remember an older brother, but sometimes I wonder if I made him up. Like when you have a memory that you’re certain it’s real but it’s not. Your brain just supplied it.”

“Yeah.” Agron nods along. He knows that feeling.

“I just always was bouncing around. The system here is kind of fucked up. I would stay for six months, three months, a few weeks. I just was never good enough, I guess.” Nasir sniffs roughly, gaze drifting over to the smoldering wood. “Not wanted.”

“You are though, Nasir.” Agron whispers, ignoring the shouting from the house. “You are.”

“I don’t feel like it.” Nasir muses and Agron remembers he’s drunk. They’re both drunk. This is a heavy conversation given the opportunity that alcohol presents. Agron can’t stuff it all back inside his mouth though, the confessions already free flowing.

“I don’t either.” It slips out before Agron can reel it back in. Nasir seems to not be surprised by it, leveling him with a somber look.

“Maybe I can help remind you.” He says slowly. “And you help me.”

“Okay.”

Agron twists his hand so he can tuck his thumb against Nasir’s wrist, feel the pulse there. The skin is soft between his string bracelets, smooth and thin. It’s mesmerizing how something so fragile can feel so strong, how Nasir feels unreal. Like a dragon induced fever dream. Like something pulled from a dream.

“What is it?” Nasir whispers. He’s closer than before, curled nearly onto Agron’s chair, watching him.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re real.” Agron is drunk musing, but the words feel easy and heavy at the same time. “If any of this is.”

“You think you’re hallucinating?” Nasir raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe.” Agron scoffs, breaking the tension with a slow drag from his bottle. “Maybe I’m in some fucking computer simulation.”

“Well, I’m glad they coded us together then.” Nasir giggles. “Thanks Matrix.”

“Not many people would sit out in the dark and be sad with a drunk asshole.” Agron grumbles, raising his bottle towards the sky. “So, thanks to them, I guess. For making us here together.”

Agron squeezes their fingers together, feeling like it is a vow. It is broken a moment later by Nasir’s slow grin, shaking his head. There is more shouting behind them but Agron’s chest is on fire. He could watch that mirth, that happiness spilling all over Nasir’s face for the rest of time and still be hungry for it. If it helps him, then Agron will spend all his time drinking in the pleased look on Nasir’s face.

“Just think, Mira and Naevia are going to be so upset. All this time they’ve been trying to get us to be friends.” Nasir muses, relaxing back into his chair. “And we figured it out without their help.”

“I don’t do anything unless I want to.” Agron sniffs defiantly.

“Except for Spartacus.” Nasir giggles, relaxed and slow as he takes another drink. “No one says no to Spartacus.”

“True.” Agron can’t argue with that.

He can think of someone else though that he can’t say no to as well.

The conversation turns away from serious, soul-crushing, to light and teasing. Agron watches Nasir unfold under the firelight, laughing and tilting his head back to look at the dim stars. He’s full of sarcasm and quick wit, in the know about half of campus. Agron finds it easy to talk to him. Finds it easy to make fun of people, to bitch about classes, to dish out gossip. Nasir is catty and magical and keeps his hand firmly in Agron’s the entire time, using it as a tether.

He finishes his cup and then takes some of Agron’s beer, grimacing through the first few swigs. Agron can’t help teasing him for it, promising it gets better the more your tongue turns numb. It feels like a pick-up line but Agron isn’t going to ruin this, isn’t going to push when it feels so perfect right now. Nasir doesn’t look hopeful, but he still finishes the bottle and then another.

On wobbly legs, Agron goes to the storage shed at some point, finding the picnic blanket stored there. It’s a little scratchy, the fabric stiff, but it’s wide enough to spread over both lawn chairs when the fire gets low. His vision is too blurry to throw more wood on the embers, instead curls up with Nasir as much as they can with the armrests pressed tight. It’d be easier to go inside, but Nasir claims he won’t be able to make it up the stairs, and besides, the party is still so loud.

Nasir passes out with a sangria stained mouth and his head on Agron’s shoulder. They’re going to regret sleeping on the plastic chairs, regret being outside in October, but Agron tries to care and he can’t. He slumps down, rests his cheek on the crown of Nasir’s hair. He passes out to the thought of how good this feels, how easy it would all be in the past was an empty slate and there was nothing to worry about.

When they wake up a few hours later, the house is a mess but it’s quiet. The sun is peaking over the trees so they walk across campus to the twenty-four hour deli on the corner. Sandwiches are consumed on a park bench in the middle of campus, a bag of chips spread out on a napkin between them. They don’t run into anyone as Agron walks Nasir back to his dorm, insisting that it’s safer that way, and reveling in the fact that Nasir hasn’t let go of his hand the whole night.

They part with a slow hug, Nasir nuzzling against him. It allows Agron to gently cup his face, to kiss his forehead, and gently push him into his dorm room. He rides the elevator down with his cheeks burning, from the residual alcohol and the warmth radiating between his ribs. And if Agron grins the entire way back across campus, well only the birds are witness.

- - -

“Mira, my little biscuit, my beautiful goddess.” Duro croons from the bathroom. “You know I love you, right? Like truly love you? With a whole section of my cold and bitter heart?”

“It’s too late to change it.” Mira drawls, unwavering. She’s perched on the bed, astride Agron's thighs, using a brush and the side of her finger to smudge red glitter around his eyes and then down onto his cheeks. The costume department really missed out by not recruiting her.

“I understand that, but I literally don’t think my chaotic bisexual soul can handle this.” Duro pokes his head out, the mess of his curls caught in a wreath of leaves. She’s already painted the gray and silver streaks down his face, the effect harsh and defined. "At all."

“You don’t want to see half of the frat in togas?” Agron teases, barely moving his lips. Mira is using a fluffy brush to fade the crimson out, huffing. When she gets an idea in her head, there is little you can do to dissuade her.

"No, not half." Duro grumbles, ducking back into the bathroom. "Maybe like a third? I don't think I want to see Crixus in a skirt."

"Sure, you do. Crixus has amazing legs." Mira taps the end of her brush on Agron's nose, letting him know she is done. "And you have to be nice to him if you want to be nice to Auctus."

"No, I don't," Duro's mumble is lost in the bathroom, a clatter followed by some cursing. "And shut the fuck up."

"Language." Agron warns half-heartedly, blinking to get used to the light make up around his eyes. He’s lucky he’s avoided the eyeliner, barely.

“I don’t know why you’re mad. We all saw you last week.” Mira calls out, her voice teasing and sharp. “You were basically fucking on the stairs. If you didn’t want us to know, you should have cut down on the PDA.”

“Shut the fuck up! We were not!” Duro shoves out of the bathroom with a murderous glare, the sight not as terrifying with his ruddy cheeks. “We were not!”

“Okay, so it was another guy being shoved up against the wall by him?” Mira rolls her eyes. “If that’s what you want us thinking.”

“I don’t want you thinking anything!” Duro cries, retreating to his bathroom haven.

There is some more clattering, cursing in both German and English. Duro isn’t usually the one to get embarrassed, but he’s been dodging questions about Auctus since the post-game party last week. If there is anything serious going on, Agron figures he would have heard about it by now. That or maybe Auctus has been avoiding him for a reason. Agron’s been to caught up migrating between helping Spartacus with the new recruits and tutoring Nasir to notice.

“You really should leave him alone.” Agron smirks, shaking his head at her. He’s used to Mira’s gentle ribbing by now. “You know us Gieszler men and our commitment phobias.”

“If I leave him alone, I’ll have to start in with you again and you won’t like that.” Mira singsongs, using the edge of her brush once more on his cheek before nodding satisfactory.

“I didn’t mean-” Agron purses his lips.

“I know. I know. Stay out of it and let me make my own choices. I promised I would.”

“It’s not just me you affect when you meddle,” Agron shrugs, already having had this conversation with her. “I know your heart is in the right place, but you can’t force things to be the way you want them. Especially when it comes to people.”

“I just want you to be happy, Ags.” Mira tenderly kisses his forehead. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

When she climbs off of Agron, she doesn't go far, forcing him to stand so she can start wrapping him in fabric. Agron, for anyone else, would never allow this treatment. But Mira looks intense and dedicated as she loops the white cotton around Agron’s waist, pinning it before throwing one strip over his shoulder. It’s her design and Agron isn’t going to take it away from her. She keeps the whole thing together with a heavy metal belt, from it hanging a fake sword.

“There!” Mira pats his cheek again as she drops a laurel of gold leaves in his hair. “Perfect!”

“You sure?” Agron teases, spinning in a circle. The toga is short, barely longer than the boxer briefs Agron is wearing under, the fabric showing off the sculpt of his thighs, athletic calves. He doesn’t think she’s considered it’s nearly November on the East Coast, but he knows it will be packed inside the club.

“You look ever the part of a war god.” Mira nods appreciatively, strapping her bow across her back. “Just do that thing where you scowl all night and it’ll be perfect.”

“It’s not my fault I have resting homicide face,” Agron grumbles, pulling his phone from his charger.

“And yet, you seem to pick up so guys.” Mira considers, tapping her chin, “Then again, so did Gacy.”

“Are you likening me to a homicidal clown?” Agron can’t help the mock horror in his voice.

“Of course not, darling.” Mira faux flutters her eyelashes at him.

“When you told us you had the idea to do the entire pantheon for a group costume, I didn’t realize that you meant a historically accurate version.” Duro drawls from the bathroom doorway, eyes roving over the pair of them. “Gay crisis aside.”

Mira’s hair is curled in a high ponytail, a crown of silver and stars mixed along her crown. Her makeup is dramatic, silver paint lined under his eyes like warpaint. Her toga is short, clasped at each shoulder with a moon clip, the front cut to her waist. She looks ethereal, celestial, next to Agron who is the personification of Ares, mouth set in a grim line. She’s made the whole thing look ancient and cultivated with matching silver sandles.

“The club is having a group costume contest.” Mira reasons, tucking her phone into the waistband of her toga. “It seemed like the easiest one to get everyone on board for.”

“Yeah, but why did I get stuck being Hephaestus?” Duro shuffles into the middle of the room, adjusting the hammer hanging from his belt. “I know nothing about being a blacksmith.”

“Maybe because he’s the brother of Ares. And kind of a fucking idiot. Everyone on Olympus and Earth knew he was a fucking second man.” Crixus’ voice sounds from the doorway. “I think it’s perfect.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Duro snarls, glancing over Crixus. “And who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

“Hades.” Crixus waves a hand over his toga, motioning towards the strip of black leather around his waist. There are small skulls hanging from it. “Naevia is Persephone.”

“Oh, literally the devil.” Duro bumps his elbow into Agron. “Talk about fucking fitting?”

“He’s not the devil. He’s the god of the underworld.” Crixus rolls his eyes, the liner around them making his gaze seem more intense. “Have you ever read a book in your life?”

“I don’t need to read a book to recognize an ass.” Duro snarls, his lip curled back. It doesn’t take much to set him off.

“Is she ready?” Mira interrupts, shoving in front of Agron. She can sense the fight before it even comes, quick to intervene with a quick flip of her pony tail. “Naevia?”

“Yeah, she finished up with Nasir and Spartacus just a second ago. They’re waiting downstairs.” Crixus motions with his hand. “We’re all just waiting on you guys.”

“Perfect! We’re done.” Mira loops her arm through Agron’s. “Come on!”

The staircase cuts along one whole wall of the frat house, depositing the group into the foyer. It’s a sharp corner there, barely space for an entryway and a tangle of muddy cleats by the door. Across is the living room, where the huddle of the other gods are waiting. Spartacus makes a cutting figure as Zeus, handmade lightening bolts strapped to his back, a laurel of large leaves around his head. Auctus, as Poseidon with a short trident, lingers near the fireplace with Barca as Apollo, a crown of gold spikes protruding from his head like sun rays. Pietros is tucked into his side, the small wings of Hermes poking out of his back. Beside him, giggling into their hands, is Nasir and Naevia.

It’s not hard to tell what god he is, the crown of grape leaves twisted with purple ribbon cascading around his temples to match the sash around his waist. Naevia has curled his hair, the ringlets soft and wavy, hitting his shoulders and just below. There has never been a more perfect rendition of Dionysus, rosey and warm with purple and gold smudged around his eyes, laughing loudly and careless. Nasir’s stained mouth compliments the entire look, pregaming with Naevia and Pietros, sharing from the same large bottle of wine.

Agron could have handled it. He didn’t even have to really notice, but the toga Nasir is wearing is clasped at each shoulder, belted and hitting barely midthigh. It’s a sight. Something that deserves to be preserved in some Greek museum. It’s warm and twisting in Agron’s gut at how perfectly smooth Nasir’s thighs look, the gladiator sandles wrapped up the length of his calves, the skirt flirting with the top of his thighs.

When Pietros drops his phone, Nasir bending to retrieve, Agron misses the bottom step entirely.

“You fucking idiot!” Crixus snarls, nearly slammed into the wall with Agron’s weight crashing into him. “Watch where you’re going!”

“Shit, sorry.” Agron hisses, righting himself. He can feel himself flushing with embarrassment, yanking his sword out from where it’s tangled with Crixus’ belt.

Silence descends on the living room, watching as the group untangles, amusement fresh from watching someone do something so dumb. Agron can feel eyes on him, face burning. It only last a moment, a prolonged stand where Agron hesitates but ultimately has to raise his eyes, meeting Nasir’s warm gaze. He’s rubbing the edge of the wine bottle along his bottom lip, gaze considering and slow as they roll from Agron’s feet up and over his costume.

“He was the last one to agree to come.” Mira hisses in Agron’s ear, pulling him towards the living room. “And I was running out of fabric. You’re welcome.”

She flashes him a knowing grin before disappearing into Naevia’s arm for a hug, concealed behind the cape of flowers. It’s a cacophony of noise while everyone gets settled, compliments passed out on costumes and the last of the drinks passed out. It’s not coincidence that Agron ends up shoved between Spartacus and Barca, standing across from Nasir and Pietros. It feels natural, like gravity pulling them together.

"I can't believe we've been in Linguistics together all semester and we're just now hanging out." Pietros is leaning into Nasir, an elbow propped on his shoulder, playing with a curl of Nasir's hair. “How fucking weird is that?”

"I know!" Nasir takes a long swig of the bottole, passing it back. "I'm so bad at talking to people though. I really am. I don’t know why they hired me as an RA. I hate most of my floor."

"It's so hard," Pietros nods along sympathetically. "Adult life is a nightmare. They just expect you to strike up small talk while waiting in line for Starbucks and suddenly find all of your friends."

“I wasn’t even in a line. Naevia just recruited me right out of training,” Nasir shrugs, gaze shifting around the circle before he lands on Agron, grinning a little. “Or they force me to be friends with them.

"I'll drink to that." Barca's rich laughter cascades over them, raising his beer. “I never liked any of you to begin with.”

“Fuck off!” Auctus elbows him, shaking his head.

“I’m pretty sure he only showed up to the first recruiting event for the alcohol.” Crixus smirks, motioning with his own bottle towards Barca.

“What can I say? I’m a man of simple taste.” Barca doesn’t seem bothered by it, shrugging.

It feels so easy, for them all to mesh together, become friends – a family really. It’s a rarity in life to find a group (even such a large group) that manages to migrate and stick together. Agron knows his life would be very different if he hadn’t made friends with Spartacus, if Spartacus hadn’t forced him to be better, to be more than another college cliché. And even after everything, it still wouldn’t hve been the same without the rest of them.

"I just know we're going to be best friends." Pietros sighs happily, resting his head on Nasir's shoulder.

"No can do," Agron has to cut in, teasingly reaching out to pull the wine bottle from Nasir's easy grasp. "He's already taken."

"What?" Pietros' glassy eyes rove up to Agron, confused. It's like the first time he's ever seen Agron, squinting as he doesn't recognize him. Actually, Agron isn’t sure if he’s ever talked to Pietros before.

"Nasir's best friend spot is already taken." Agron explains. He’s not a big fan of wine, but he lets himself take a long pull from the bottle, savoring it, imagining almost that he can taste Nasir’s mouth from the top. Watching him closely through half lidded eyes, Nasir does nothing to hide his smirk.

"No?" Pietros tries to protest, clearly confused, but Nasir pats him gently on the back.

“It’s okay. We can still be friends.”

"So how are we going to do this?" Naevia cuts through the noise, looking up from her phone. The pink flowers woven into her hair contrast beautifully with the black roses. "Are we Lyfting or?"

"I'm driving. And so is Spartacus." Crixus answers, a possessive arm around her waist. "We drew the DD straws."

"That's only five seats each?" Auctus raises a hand to count. "Who is going with who?"

"I can only take four in the truck, total." Spartacus shrugs. "I'll take Mira and Nasir? And?"

"I thought I was taking Barca and Pietros with Naevia and me." Crixus nods, then slowly turns to look at the group, "But-"

"I can take my bike." Agron easily offers, shrugging. "But unless someone wants to squish in with you, Spartacus, I don't-"

The group falls silent, looking around at one another. There is always the option of taking a cab, but the club is in the city and that's an easy thirty minute drive. No one here is from money.

"I'll ride with you." Nasir raises a hand, stepping out from Pietros' arm.

"Nasir, you don't-" Naevia shakes her head but Nasir just scoffs rolling his eyes.

"I know I don't have to." He walks over, easing himself against Agron's side. "It's okay, right bestie?"

"Uh yeah, totally." Agron awkwardly nods his head. “It’s parked out back.”

“Perfect. Then it’s settled.” Nasir reaches up, lifting off his crown and handing it over to Mira. “Hold this for me?”

She looks a little dubious, looping the leaves over her forearm. Mira is wise enough not to say anything, eyeing Agron’s causal arm around Nasir and the easy that Nasir leans into it. There isn’t time either as the group seems to make up their mind, rides being decided, and start filing out the door towards the parking lot. Crixus’ large truck is parked in the back and the group breaks off, Spartacus’ sportier and more practical SUV on the other side.

Agron’s bike is a fairly large Harley Road King, black and crome, with leather saddlebags on either side. A small German flag sticker is placed just above the front headlight, waving proud and placed almost like a beacon. It looks intimidating and exciting, the type of mechanical beast that could tear up a long stretch of highway.

“Wow. I didn’t know you drove this.” Nasir circles the bike slowly, looking it over. He doesn’t know shit about motorcycles, or cars in general, but he likes it.

“Yep, saved for it and everything.” Agron grins, moving around to one of the bags. He unbuckles it and pulls free a large, leather jacket. It’s clearly worn in, the edges soft and slightly faded. “Here, put this one.”

“Oh.” Nasir takes it from him, letting his fingers trail along the collar. He’s going to swim in it, the shoulders broad. “I’m okay?”

“Look.” Agron levels him with a pointed gaze, moving around to the other bags, “I’m a good driver. And I’m going to be careful, regardless, but if we wreck – there is nothing stopping the road from eating up all this skin.”

He trails his fingertip over where the toga doesn’t connect on Nasir’s side, over his ribs and onto is waist.

“It’d be a shame to ruin it.”

Nasir can’t stop the way his face suddenly burns, the heat curling into a red flush over his cheeks and onto his neck. Agron’s so casual with it casual with his touching, casual with his affection. It makes Nasir ache, ache to lean into it – to take Agron’s hand and push it onto other places, to let Agron explore what he clearly wants to explore.

“What about you?” Slipping the jacket over his shoulders, Nasir uses Agron’s turned back as an opportunity to lean his nose against the leather. It smells like Agron’s cologne, like the hint of scent in his room and on his bed (the few times Nasir has studied there.)

“I have a helmet.” Agron turns, offering Nasir one. “And if I get road rash, I’ll just cover my body in tattoos. Even trade, right?”

“I don’t know about that.” Nasir zips it slowly. “Are you sure? I mean, these aren’t the most practical costumes for motorcycle riding.”

“I’m sure. You’re safe – mostly. I’m good. Let’s go.”

He easily swings his leg over the bike, pulling it up off the kickstand and roaring it into life. Nasir has never been on a motorcycle before, but he understands the logistics well enough. Placing a handon Agron’s bare shoulder, he steps up on his toes to swing his leg over. It’s weird to straddle it in a skirt, feeling the vibration of the engine against his bare thigh, but the leather seats are comfortable, supple against him. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, awkwardly placing them on Agron’s sides, blessedly hiding his embarassment behind the visor of the helmet.

It doesn’t seem enough though. Carefully, Agron lifts one hand off the handlebars and reaches back for Nasir, tugging him forward with his hands hooked around his waist. It pushes Nasir’s chest firmly to Agron’s back, their bodies easily aligned. If Agron says anything, Nasir can’t hear him, lost in trying to not squeeze too tightly but also make sure he stays on the bike. Agron squeezes his wrist almost as if reassuring, and then he puts his hands back on the clutch.

For Agron’s credit, he takes off slow, eases his way through the parking lot and up on the street. Crixus and Spartacus waited for them, making a long line out of Thracian University’s student parking and onto the highway. There is nothing but open road and the rush of the wind around them, and Nasir finds himself easily settling against Agron’s back. He claims it’s for safety that he presses his head down, turns it to the right and watches the woods and roads around them, letting Agron take some of his weight. He doesn’t flinch under it, steering the bike easily over the dark asphalt.

There probably is something worth noting in the way Agron had insisted on safety for Nasir but not for himself. If Nasir had time (and wasn’t halfway to drunk) he could probably unpack it, consider the darker reasons why Agron couldn’t turn self-worth or concern on himself. But it’s a cool night and it feels good to be pressed together like this, to let the rest of the world turn into a smear of colors.

The city seems to rise up out of the dark like some glittering beacon. It starts with a few well lit billboards, and then the traffic begins to grow. There are only a few skyscrapers dotting the skyline but it’s a bustle of activity – people dressed in costumes flooding the busy, Friday night streets. Cars honk and exhaust curls in misty clouds towards the sky. They get separated from Crixus and Spartacus at the parking garage, Agron slipping down a random back alley and finding a parking spot beside a few others by the backdoor.

“We made it.” Nasir laughs a little as he climbs down, pulling the helmet off. He can tell it crinkled a few of his curls, running his fingers through the strands. Even after the half an hour ride, he still feels a little hazy – wine settling hot in his stomach.

“Looks like it.” Agron tucks the helmets back into the bag, watching Nasir out of the corner of his eye as he sheds the jacket. “That’s a good look for you.”

“Oh this?” Pausing with the leather hanging open, the bottom hem flirting with the edge of the skirt. “You gonna give it to me?”

“No.” Agron scoffs, sauntering up to Nasir with a lazy grin, his fingertips brushing along the collar and onto Nasir’s neck. “I might let you wear it whenever you want.”

Biting his bottom lip, Nasir slowly lets his gaze work from the center of Agron’s chest up to meet his gaze, careful but deliberate. “Anytime I want? With anything I want?”

“Yeah.” Agron’s answer is all breath, brow arching slow. Nasir has never been the forward one, the one to tease and flirt and tempt. Agron’s always been the leader in that, taking hidden texts into normal conversation. It nearly floors him when Nasir grins, reaching up and looping his fingers under the sash across Agron’s chest.

“What if I want to wear it with nothing else?”

It always comes to this though, the flirting and the heavy gaze, the easy way that Agron wants and Nasir answers it with his own desire. They could tip over, just give into the temptation that has been choking them for months. But then, like always, something cuts through the tension. In a busy city, there are too many distractions – too many people around. The backdoor of the club bangs open, a bartender looking for a smoke break, and they startle looking over. It does a pretty good job of ruining the moment entirely – like every other moment they seem to be alone.

“Shit.” Agron sighs, already used to the desperation followed quickly by disappointment.

“Come on.” Slipping his hand into Agron’s, Nasir starts to lead him towards the front of the alley – already spotting the rest of their group. He’s nearly on the street when Agron stops them, pulling Nasir back and close so he can keep his voice low.

“It’s not an if, it’s a when.” He says it earnestly, using his free hand to cup Nasir’s cheek. When he doesn’t get a response, Agron elaborates. “When I get to see you in nothing else.”

“Agron-” Nasir’s mouth parts, inhaling sharply at the thumb against his bottom lip.

“Come on. Our friends are waiting.” Agron leaves it with a smirk, using their joined hands to tug him along.

- - -

Neon green, pink, blue, and red strobe lights dance along the walls, strobes flashing down on the dance floor. The club has been decked out for Halloween, cobwebs stretches along the walls, cheesy paper zombies, vampires, and werewolves taped on the doors and up high by the tables. Confetti and fake caution tape decorate nearly every surface.

It’s a mix of costumes and delights, the place packed enough that even with the air on, it’s hot. Mira managed (by some act of god and intimidation) to secure a large table on one of the balconies – a big booth with a table covered in used up drinks – the ice melting into a hazy mixture in the bottom of the glass. The bussers seem not to be able to keep up, but the group only adds to the mess – shoving the glasses aside to make room for their own drinks.

“Hey! I think I know that girl from my bio class,” Naevia points to a fairy dancing up by the DJ booth.

“Wouldn’t surprise me. This place is the only one worth anything for like fifty miles.” Mira sips heavily from a large, red drink – tiny orange wedges decorating the side.

A chorus of cheers goes up around the booth as Barca and Crixus return from the bar, a tray heavy with drinks. They’re passed around, a murky, amber shot glass placed before everyone, followed by a mostly full stein of dark beer.

“Car bombs? Really?” Someone complains, swallowed by the toasts from the others.

“For Gannicus!” “For the fucking Irish, may their rugby season be great!” “Erin go braugh!”

On the sound of three, the whiskey glass is dropped into the beer and cream and chugged – a race to see who can finish first. Pint glasses clatter to join the others, surprisingly Nasir’s hitting the formica first. A rowdy chorus of cheers go up, Duro and Auctus slapping him with high fives as they finish passing out the rest of the alcohol – Nasir winning a neat shot that he takes with another grin.

“Alright! Happy Halloween!” Spartacus seems to give the call to commence the festivities.

“Are we going to waste it by just sitting here drinking?” Duro asks, propping his chin on his fist. He’s already finished his drink and two shots. Auctus is leaning into his side, trying not to make it obvious with a ‘casual’ hand on his shoulder.

“What do you suggest we do?” Barca has a lap full of Pietros, the smaller man easily mouthing at his neck. It’s clear that the pre-game has hit now as his half-lidded gaze is watery at best.

“Dance of course!” Mira seems to get the drift, having to climb over Spartacus and Crixus to get out from behind the table. “Come on!”

There is a general grumbling around the group, those who won’t and those who will get up and join the fray on the dance floor. It shuffles everyone around, with Auctus, Spartacus, Crixus, and Barca shoved into the back of the booth, happy to sip on their chosen drinks and watch. Pietros follows Naevia out, quickly joined by Duro and Mira. Nasir waves them off, motioning towards his drink, and Agron doesn’t even bother offering a reason.

“You don’t dance?” Leaning into the back of the booth, Nasir levels Agron with an easy stare, cheeks rose from the alcohol.

“When the occasion calls for it,” Agron shrugs, taking a swallow of ginger ale. He won’t drink anymore if he’s driving Nasir home.

“We’re in a club. On Hoe-lloween.” Nasir grins at his own cleverness. “Isn’t this the occasion?”

“Well, firstly, you’re blocking me in.” Agron motions to where Nasir sits comfortable on the outer edge of the booth.

“Like you couldn’t move me out of your way?” Nasir scoffs, rolling his eyes. “That’s a bad excuse.”

“Oh, now you want me to move you out of the way?” Agron raises a brow, poking his fingers into Naisr’s arm. “Or is this an excuse to for you to get my hands on you?”

“What if it is?” The alcohol is making Nasir bold, his gaze honey slow and careful behind the rim of his glass.

“Where do you want them?” Holding up his palm, Agron offers his hand to Nasir, waiting to see what he will do. Across the table, the others have quickly dissolved into a rugby debate, half deaf with the music around them.

“Where do you want to put them?” Nasir sets his glass back on the table with a soft clatter, ignoring Spartacus’ concerned look thrown his way.

“Where don’t I want to put them?” Agron lets it slip, watches Nasir’s eyes widen a little, pupils dilated. His cock is suddenly taking interest in this conversation, twitching. This is not the outfit to be sporting a semi with though.

“Here.” Reaching up, Nasir guides Agron’s hand down onto his chest, sliding it from his collarbones down onto his stomach.

It’s blissfully dark in the booth, far enough away from the strobes where one has to strain to see. Every once in a while. a wash of red will slide over the space though, illuminating just enough. It’s how Agron watches Nasir bite his bottom lip, gaze unwavering as Agron spreads his finger, his thumb ghosting over Nasir’s left nipple. It pebbles from the touch, the fabric of the toga thin enough to tease and entice it.

“Fuck.” It’s a broken gasp as Agron slides closer, using his body to block the others from seeing as he drops his hand lower, Nasir staring up at him with wide eyes. To anyone else, it looks like they’re just leaning in to talk to one another, trying to hear over the pounding music.

“Here?” Agron’s fingertips play with the hem of Nasir’s skirt, trailing over the top of his thigh and in between – just barely to tease.

Glancing across the table, Nasir checks the other men are lost in conversation before gripping Agron’s wrist and guiding his hand up and under, easing it over his legs as he spreads them. Agron’s palm presses firmly between Nasir’s thighs, fingertips finding where Nasir is half hard in his underwear. It’s so fucking dumb to be doing this here, barely a few feet from half of their friends, but once given permission, they can’t seem to stop.

“I want you here.” Nasir gasps, turning his face into Agron’s shoulder. “Here and deeper.”

“You want me inside you?” Agron asks, hiding his smirk easily in the dark. “RIght here?”

He flips hand over, letting his fingers prob and push until he can just barely reach behind Nasir’s balls – a promise and torture. He could technically undo the small button on the front of Nasir’s underwear, to reach in and touch, but he wants to see how far Nasir will let this go. He’s been drinking but technically so has Agron, and it feels dirty and bold and fucking delicious.

“Fuck yes.” Nasir pulls back, catching Agron’s gaze. “You know I think about it all the time.”

“Do you?” Agron asks, letting his fingers play here, keeping the pressure.

“You’re going to split me in half.” Nasir’s face burns with the confession, eyes glassy as he stares up at Agron. “I want you to.”

“There are a lot of things I can do to you.” Agron grins, drumming his fingers slowly up and over Nasir’s cock. “Let’s-”

And like the cruelty of every time before, Agron doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as Duro suddenly crashes into the table, laughing loudly. Mira right behind, hair already a wild, sweaty mess, another drink in her hand. It seems the others are still lost out in the frenzy, the song fast and hoppy.

“Come dance with us!” Duro’s fingers wrap around Nasir’s bicep, tugging on him. “There are so many people down there! I saw Seth from class! He is fucking gone.”

“Oh, no thanks.” Nasir makes a panicked grab at Agron’s forearm, yanking his hand out from between his legs. Duro is drunk, not blind. “I’m good.”

“No! Come on!” Mira whines behind him, “Don’t turn into a grump like all of them. Come dance. Ags, you too. You owe me.”

“I really don’t-” Nasir has absolutely no control as Duro grips him above his elbow, effectively yanking him from the booth. He doesn’t even have a chance to look back to see what Agron’s fate is as Duro tugs him along, grinning wide. He’s shouting something, but Nasir can’t hear him, being guided down large, black steps and into the fray of moving bodies.

It’s hard to transition like this, already burning up from the inside out and then thrust into a swarm of moving and writhing dancers. There is little that Nasir can do though than to join the fray, let it consume him. It helps mask the semi that Nasir is sporting though, giving into the fray as Duro tugs him further out and then stops, beginning to dance. Nasir spots Pietros dancing with some random guy a few feet away from them, Naevia crowding together with a couple people that look vaguely familiar. Maybe they’re from class?

It’s fairly comforting, having Duro before him, his grip now lax and friendly. They move together easily, Duro drunk and a little uncoordinated, but when Nasir turns and leans into him – it feels good – safe. Grinding like this is easy, swaying against another body that wants to follow and move. Nasir knows that no matter where Duro runs his hands, it’s all just drunk fumbling – nothing more.

Agron has danced with Mira before. He likes to dance with her. She’s good and she moves well with him, probably more comfortable because she can dance without the threat of being felt up. Agron keeps his hands on her waist, lets her grind and rub against him, hands up in the air. He’s glad he can do this for her, glad that Spartacus trusts his fiance with him, glad that it’s just fucking fun. There are probably jealous gazes on them, but Agron doesn’t let it bother him. He’s fucking pulled in every mental direction now, he has little patience for other people right now.

The song changes, something base heavy and thick, the space twisting with grinding bodies. There is glitter and feathers all over the floor, faces blurring in the flashing lights – monsters and the divine, half smeared make up from sweat and wandering fingers. When Mira turns away from the couple before her, annoyed at constantly getting bumped into by angel wings, she’s delighted to come face to face with Duro’s back.

“Turn around.” She slurs into his ear, leaning out of Agron’s grip.

“What?” Half deaf, Duro cranes his head back, grinning slow when he sees her. “Oh hey.”

“Turn around!” Mira, even drunk, can’t help but meddle a little. Duro might have been fucking dumb at the table, but Mira notices more than she’s given credit for. She just wants them to be happy.

In some ways, this is like a different dance entirely. Duro turns, guiding Nasir with him, and Mira meets them both with a sly grin. Nasir’s face is flushed, leaning back into Duro’s chest, their bodies pressed tight as Duro grinds up on Nasir. If Mira was a stranger, she could appreciate the couple they make – Duro's curls sweat damp, his hands looking huge on Nasir’s hips, tugging him back. Nasir looks half debauched, leaf crown hanging crooked on his head, the edge of his toga lifting as he moves. But she can hear the growl half cut off by Agron’s mouth – expression tight as he takes in the sight.

“They’re cute together.” Mira teases, leaning up to whisper in Agron’s ear. She knows he can barely hear her.

“Mira.” Agron grits between his teeth, unamused and Mira has to remember he isn’t drinking.

“Oh stop. You’re fucking hopeless.” Mira rolls her eyes, using the beat of the song to slip out from Agron’s grasp, moving towards Nasir instead.

She pulls him into the middle, guiding his arms up over her shoulders. It’s a friendly dance, both of them twisting and hopping around, singing loudly to whatever remix of a pop song this is. But Mira isn’t dumb and she isn’t just having fun. It’s easy to turn and twist, spinning around Nasir in an easy slide of her hips, caressing over Nasir’s shoulders until she finds herself behind him, back against Duro’s chest. There is no where else for Nasir to go but directly into Agron’s space.

There is no reason prompting it – they meld together like a moth to a flame. Agron can’t resist it, reaches out and hooks an arm around Nasir’s neck, drags him forward. Thighs part and hips roll and suddenly Nasir is right up against Agron, a hand hot on his waist. The flashing strobe lights play peekaboo with dark gazes, a flash of teeth behind a grin. It’s part the point of talking and they both know it, Agron ignoring entirely that he’s under the careful gaze of Mira and his brother as he lets his free hand settle on Nasir’s ass.

For being drunk, Nasir prides himself on being fairly coordinated. He rolls his hips forward, grinding down on Agron’s thigh and then up against him, panting hard. The dancers around them press close, a wave of sweat and sticky skin, hormones racing. The alcohol pounds in Nasir’s blood stream, blends everything together and suddenly it’s not enough – need more, need it now.

Ignoring everything around him, Nasir lets it swallow him whole, using the change in tempo as a reason to turn in Agron’s arms. It’s better like this, magnetized from the very center of Agron’s chest to his own. Tucked together, there is no space between them, Agron’s hips against Nasir’s ass, his hands sliding all over the front of his toga. It’s thin fabric and it parts easily under his fingers, ghosting over Nasir’s ribs, down onto his stomach.

“Fuck!” Nasir gasps, feeling the tight pressure where Agron’s half hard cock is tucked against his ass. It wouldn’t take much to really feel it, push aside a few strips of fabric.

“Hey,” Agron’s nose brushes against Nasir’s ear, the words hot. “Is it too much?”

“It’s not enough.” Nasir presses the back of his head to Agron’s shoulder, staring up at him. The blue and magenta lights find them there, illuminating the flush on Agron’s cheeks – Nasir’s dilated eyes. Aries and Dionysus – the fury and the frenzy – massed together in an orgy of other bodies.

“What do you want, Nasir?” Agron asks, suddenly very sober.

“You know what I want.” Nasir reaches up, tangling his fingers in Agron’s hair. “Just not here.”

“Okay.”

He entwines their fingers, holding tight as Agron catches Duro and Mira’s attention, pointing up towards the booth. They seem to think he’s motioning for them to follow, quick to grab Naevia and Pietros. Everyone should probably drink some water anyways. Agron doesn’t bother to let it deter him though, guiding Nasir up over the stairs and back towards the rest of the group.

“Hey, we’re going to head out.” Agron reaches into the fray of the glasses, snagging his keys off the table.

“What? No!” Duro instantly protests, trying to lean in to Agron’s side. “We just got here.”

“We’ve been here like three hours.” Spartacus’ face illuminates ghostly from his cellphone. “And it’s a drive back.”

“You don’t all have to leave.” Nasir tries to sooth, shaking his head. “I’m just tired and drunk.”

“We can party at the house, bab-buddy.” Auctus coughs, awkwardly scratching his nose, avoiding Duro. “We have free liquor there and a safe place to crash out.”

“Only if you’re sure-“ Spartacus makes a general consensus to gauge everyone’s respond. “Nasir, are you good to ride?”

There are a million ways that Nasir can think to answer that. A million that don’t include what is about to come out of his mouth. He’s blissfully saved by Agron’s hand squeezing his own – reminding him of who their audience is.

“Yeah, I’m good. Agron is a good driver.”

“Alright well, let us walk you out at least. I don’t like it when you park in that back alley, Ags. It’s dangerous. You’re going to get jumped one day.”

Spartacus is gearing up for a lecture, but Agron doesn’t want to hear it. He’s been half hard all night and Nasir is warm and bold against him, leaning in and tucking his face against Agron’s bicep. He has no choice but to pull them forward, barely letting the others keep track of them as they weave through the mass of people against the walls, finally find the back door.

“Fuck, hurry! Hurry!” Nasir giggles, breathless as he nearly skips to keep up with Agron’s quick steps.

“We can’t go back to the house if everyone else is.” Agron throws over his shoulder, shoving a few people out of the way. He needs fresh air and he needs his hands on Nasir’s skin.

“Go to mine. It’s fine.” Nasir tugs on Agron’s arm, rough and playful. “Any noise complaint will just be filed with me.”

“You’re going to count it lucky if we even get back,” Agron growls, leaning in to press a hot kiss to the corner of Nasir’s jaw. “I might just pull over and have my way with you in some ditch.”

“Dirty,” Nasir laughs loudly at that, bumping into Agron as they make their way down the uneven pavement. “I could be into it.”

“As long as I’m in you?” Agron raises an eyebrow at him, hot and prompting.

Up ahead, huddled together by the dumpster is a group of guys smoking. They’re in an array of costumes – football players and cowboys and superheroes. It wouldn’t matter, the bike is right there, but suddenly the group turns from all the noise and Nasir nearly loses his breath as Agron abruptly stops, slamming into his back. It’s a tactile move, a practiced move, as Agron’s arm comes down, hand gripping Nasir’s opposite hip and shoving him behind him.

“Oh well, look at this.”

That voice. That fucking voice.

Nasir doesn’t need to peek around Agron’s bicep to know that Caesar is standing before them. He’s with Tiberius and Nemetes and a few others – men Nasir can’t remember the names of. It’s not as if he was allowed to spend that much time with the others. In fact, Nasir can’t remember half the people he knew while at Roma – a blur of faces behind all the pain.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Agron snarls, the words spit from between his teeth. Nasir has never heard him use this tone before – something dark and curling in his tone.

“It’s Halloween. We’re out for a little fun – thrills and chills.” Caesar, dressed like some sort of zombie, steps out from his fray. “And apparently being haunted by ghosts from the past.”

“Did you fucking follow me?” Agron’s grip on Nasir’s hip is bruising, keeping him rooted in his spot. “I fucking blocked your number. I told you I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Wow. Big ego much?” Caesar scoffs, cheered on by the taunting jeers of his friends. “Though I do suppose.” Caesar’s gaze is slow and assessing, lingering low. “You were always on the bigger side, right?”

Nasir is too afraid to fucking move, barely being able to breathe past the roaring panic in his ears, but the phrasing hits him weird. What the fuck does that mean? What the fuck does Caesar know about Agron? Have they met before?

“Agron, for fuck’s sake, I said we’d walk-“ Spartacus’ voice rings loudly as the rest of the group catches up, stopping abruptly. It’s synchronized movements, Spartacus and Crixus stepping up to flank Agron’s side – another tactical move, Auctus and Barca keeping the girls and Pietros a few steps behind.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Caesar?” Crixus spits, his tone the same.

“Jeeze. Isn’t it a free country?” Tiberius whines, rolling his eyes. “We’re here to party. Same as you. Though, if you’re on your way out, the enjoyment factor has definitely skyrocketed.”

“Besides, isn’t it nice to bump into old friends?” Caesar takes a few steps forward, closing into Agron’s space. “Right, baby?”

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Agron’s voice doesn’t crack, even if he’s trembling, hot and twisting.

“I don’t have to. I know you remember how I used to.” Caesar smirks slowly, clearly recognizing the affect his taunting has on Agron. “Do you-Oh!”

He slides his gaze to the side, suddenly recognizing Nasir now that he’s close enough to fully take him in. The laugh that rips through Caesar bounces all around the alleyway, mouth pulled wide in a manic grin.

“Oh! This is too fucking rich.”

“Get out of the fucking way. We’re leaving.” Agron snarls, going to take a step forward, only for Caesar’s group to block his way.

“Nasir? You’re with him now? Really?” Caesar is still laughing, chuckling as he shakes his head. “All my favorite things.”

“What?” Nasir can’t ease out from Agron’s grip, but he does take a step to the side, gaze darting up to look at Agron.

“You didn’t tell him?” Caesar smirks wide. “Oh baby, that’s just cruel.”

“Stop talking.” Agron’s jaw is clenched tight enough he feels like he’s going to crack a molar, wanting nothing more than to rage, to smash and tear and destroy.

“But it’s a good story.” Caesar leans over so he can clearly meet Nasir’s wide gaze. “You should ask him. Make him tell you about the time we used to play around, right Agron? All those long nights? You do make the prettiest faces when you’re choking on cock.”

“Enough.” Spartacus barks, no longer able to listen to it. “We’re leaving.”

“But why? Don’t always have to be a let down, Sparty. Join the party.” Tiberius laughs, the noise high and maniacal. “I’m enjoying myself. Aren’t you?”

“Come on.” Agron grips Nasir’s wrist in his hand instead, charging forward and shoving through the group of men.

“Oh, don’t leave yet, baby.” Caesar calls, much to the jeers of his friends. “I didn’t get to tell you about how good Nasir looks when he’s crying and begging for it? Maybe we can work something out? Since you both like my cock so much.”

The keys have grown warm in his hand, a red imprint in his palm, and Agron barely is able to fumble open the bags for the helmets. Nasir takes it with numb fingers, barely being able to see through his tears. Agron is rough with him, makes sure the helmet is on and buckled, shoving the jacket into his chest as he roars the bike’s engine to life. Nasir is barely on it, arms wrapped tight, before Agron is peeling out of the alley and into the dark night.

For as furious as he is, Agron doesn’t go more than ten over the speed limit, driving careful. He’s furious, on the very cusp of a full panic attack, but he’s not going to endanger their lives over it. The drive helps calm him a little, enough that he can focus on lights and soon the dark stretch of highway. There are so many things he wants to say to Nasir, so many ways he thought that would go, and then they didn’t. He wishes he could have taken it all back. Why didn’t they stop at the bathrooms before going outside? Why didn’t they linger for five minutes more? They could have missed Caesar entirely.

When Agron pulls into the student parking lot, he’s barely turned the bike off before Nasir is up and off of it, staggering up and onto the sidewalk. The helmet has turned his hair into a mess, the curls already sweat sticky are clinging to his cheeks and neck. There is a red blotch on each of his cheeks, spread down onto his neck, and Agron can tell he’s been crying on the drive over.

“Thank you for the ride. Goodnight.” Nasir hastily mutters, shoving everything back into Agron’s arms and turning from him, heading back up the steps towards his dorm building.

Agron is stuck trying to put everything away, having to sprint to try and catch up with Nasir. He’s already halfway to his dorm though and Agron full out runs to gain ground.

“Nasir! Nasir wait! I can explain.”

“I don’t want you to explain. Thank you for the nice evening. Happy Halloween.” Nasir mutters, walking briskly up the concreate. It’s Halloween so the campus security guards are going to be a little more lenient on bullshit, but Agron doesn’t know what they will think if they seem some huge dude chasing someone.

“Nasir, please, wait.” Agron manages to snag a hand around Nasir’s bicep. “Please, just listen to me.”

Nasir whirls around fast, eyes huge and rimmed with tears. It’s a complete contrast to how he looked in the club. There he looked ethereal, omnipotent, like a fucking divine, horny creation. Now, he looks rumpled and miserable and sorrowful.

“Don’t!” He snarls, wrenching his arm away from Agron. It seems the sadness has also turned into rage. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’ve been lying to me for fucking months!”

“Nasir, you have to let me explain.” Agron pleads, opening his hands before him. “I never meant-“

“To hurt me? To lie to me?” Nasir’s voice is beginning to raise volume. “I don’t want to stand here and watch you lie to me anymore. So fuck you and goodnight.”

“I wasn’t trying to lie to you! I wasn’t!” Agron stresses, trying to not wake up everyone in the surrounding buildings. “I wanted to tell you. I really did.”

“Tell me what exactly? Oh hey, Nasir, by the way the guy who emotionally and physically abused you? Yeah, we used to fuck.” Nasir is shouting now, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Oh hey, so sorry about your fucking trauma, but I really liked his cock.”

“Nasir-“ Agron tries to cut in.

“Was that it? Was that why you didn’t tell me?” Nasir snarls, cruel. “Because you liked it. You did and you felt bad for me. Oh poor Nasir. Such a fucking liar. There is no way Caesar did that. Not Caesar. Not the guy who I used to blow?”

“If you would just-“ Agron holds up his hand.

“Did you? Did you like it? Was it the best you’ve eve r had?” Nasir is nearly screaming, his voice echoing along the deserted lawn. “Did you touch him like you touch me? Did you fucking know about me?”

“Stop!” Agron barks, furious at himself instantly that he would use that tone with Nasir but something white hot rips through Agron’s chest – triggering and cutting.

Nasir freezes under the command, eyes going wide with a quick inhale.

“Please, for fuck’s sake, stop.” Agron hangs his head, cupping his hands over his face. He doesn’t want to go into full melt down mode. He doesn’t think he can recover from it, not without the drugs, not without Mira’s comforting words.

“Is this all a game?” Nasir croaks, the words broken and small.

“Fuck, no. Of course not.” Agron sighs. He doesn’t know how he has the strength to look up at Nasir, but he manages. “Everything I’ve ever done with you has been real.”

“Then-“ Nasir can’t seem to get the words out, a new batch of tears crowding up his eyes.

“Because,” Agron inhales sharply, letting it go. “How could I tell you, Nasir? I put two and two together and then I told Spartacus. I was so fucking worried you were just another one of his stupid pranks. His social experiments. And then I heard what happened to you and I just….I couldn’t say “Oh hey, by the way, that guy who traumatized you for a year and locked you in an attack? He made me into a terrible person while sexually and emotionally abusing me? Want to be trauma twins?””

“Did he-“ Nasir pauses, letting his gaze linger on Agron.

“Not the same, not all of it, but Caesar is Caesar.” Agron confesses, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “He’s fucked up. And when he showed up on campus, I didn’t know that. He’s a fucking snake. Charming while he fucking poisons you.”

“He’s a monster.” Nasir sighs, wiping at his eyes with the side of his hand.

“He is,” Agron cautions a step closer, bold enough to take Nasir’s hand. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how to. Honest. Everyone just tells me to get over it, to move on, because Spartacus found out everything and Duro survived. But the truth is, that abuse, that trauma, it fucking sticks. It festers in your ribs and chokes you out.”

Nasir doesn’t look away from Agron.

“I never meant to lie to you.” Agron means it. He really does. “I just didn’t want you to think that I was trying to compete with or diminish what you’ve been through.”

“I don’t think that.” Nasir shakes his head. “It’s just a lot.”

“I know it is. But we don’t have to figure it all out tonight.” Agron rubs his thumb along the back of Nasir’s hand. “I just want to make sure we’re okay. That we can work through this.”

“Agron?” Nasir asks gently, tugging on their joined hands until Agron looks up.

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

Stepping up on his toes, Nasir loops his arms around Agron’s neck, pulling them together. The first press is cautious, chaste almost in its hesitancy. Nasir’s cheeks are wet from tears and Agron has to curl his arm around his waist to keep him up, leaning down to meet him. It’s tender, sweet as Agron pulls back first, waiting to see the small smile on Nasir’s mouth before leaning back in.

This time it’s fuller, their lips meeting and moving. It’s been such a long time coming, the pressuring building up and up, until it had to blow over somewhere. Nasir moans into it first, opening his mouth under Agron’s flirting, heavy touches, letting himself be open and tasted. Agron’s tongue is a heavy weight in his mouth, wanting and devouring. He’s aggressive in this like he is in everything, balancing between dominating and sweet.

They stumble back a few steps, colliding with the side of the building. Between the large bush, they are almost invisible from the entrance, and Agron uses it to his ability. Carefully, he grips Nasir’s left thigh, hiking his leg up over his hip. It’s been a fucking mess of an evening, but this feels right – familiar – as Agron slots against him. Nasir does one better as he nudges into Agron, enough to give them the space so he can jump, trusting Agron to hold his entire weight. He does easily, hands on Nasir’s ass, gripping tight.

“Oh god,” Nasir gasps, pulling back to breathe. It’s unrelenting though as Agron tastes his neck instead, sucking small marks in a constellation over his jugular.

There is little else that Agron can think about when he’s this focused. Nasir is warm and perfect against him, rocking down onto his cock in little, subconscious thrusts. There is too much fabric between them, but Nasir’s skirt is hiked up over his ass, underwear thin enough that Agron is sure with some careful maneuvering, he could slip inside. God, he fucking wants to. He’s been dreaming about Nasir’s ass for fucking months, but something twists sharply in the back of his mind and Agron pulls back, resting his forehead against Nassir’s instead.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me.” Agron groans, peppering a soft kiss to Nasir’s mouth.

“What? What’s wrong?” Nasir is panting, hands unable to settle as they ghost from Agron’s hair to his back to his chest to his neck.

“You’re drunk.” Agron groans it, hanging his head. “You’re drunk and I had a few drinks and that was really triggering and fucked up and I just don’t think we’re in the right head space to make this decision.”

“We already made it, back at the club,” Nasir sounds like he’s going to argue, even as he leans back. “Do you not want-“

“I do. Fuck, I totally do.” Agron kisses him again, slow and thorough. “I just don’t want to do it because we were horny and then sad and then horny again. I want to do it right.”

“Oh.” Nasir caresses his fingers along Agron’s jaw, rubbing the backs over his cheek. “You’re right.”

Stepping out of the bushes, Agron gingerly sets Nasir back on his feet, picking a stray leaf from his hair. His cock is valiantly trying to stay interested, practically begging to continue, but Agron can’t. Not like this. Not rushed and in a flower bed with tears on Nasir’s face and a mild panic rising in Agron’s chest. If they’re going to do this, even if it’s just for fun, then Agron wants to make sure they’re both emotionally and mentally ready to make that choice.

“They weren’t lying when they said consent is sexy.” Nasir teases, trailing a fleeting hand down Agron’s naked torso.

“It’ll still be sexy, even later when we’re sober and a little better off mentally, yeah?” Agron asks, taking Nasir’s hand and leading him towards the front of the building.

“Yeah, I suppose.” It’s all a ploy as Nasir stops before the front door. “Do you want to come up and maybe just sleep?”

“I can’t.” Agron shakes his head, mentally cursing himself. “That is just too much temptation. I’ve been thinking about getting you out of this costume all night and then to see it –“

“Good point.” Nasir giggles, face flushed. “Will you text me and let me know you got to the house okay?”

“Definitely.” Agron nods.

“Okay well, thanks for a good Halloween. I’ll see you later.” Nasir turns towards his dorm door, using his keycard to unlock the outer one. He doesn’t even get it open though before Agron is crowding up against him.

The kiss this time is fleeting, warm and dizzying with how fast it is there and then over. When Agron pulls back, his grinning wide and doesn’t look guilty at all. Nasir doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to survive having Agron so lose like this, eyes so bright even in the dim nighttime.

“Goodnight Nasir.”

“Goodnight.” Nasir mumbles, still staring at Agron as he reaches around Nasir and pulls it open, ushering him inside.

Agron waits until Nasir gets into the elevator before he turns and makes his way across campus to his own bed.

Chapter Text

Clouds have been hanging low in the sky all morning, the warning rumbles of thunder echoing along the old building. Agron has huddled himself in a corner of the library, a spread of books before him. Finals is about a month and a half away, but with it being his junior year, the professors have already started to crack down on final projects. He’s so tired of looking at numbers he thinks he may go blind if he has to do another equation.

He has the talent to go to architecture school. All of his professors have been pushing him towards it. But Agron doesn’t want to be tied down for another five years. He’d rather but the one making sure that designs are structurally safe, less about the design. The Ayn Rand part of his brain doesn’t think he’d be driven for it, but that’s another conversation for another day.

The rain is just starting to splatter across the large windows when a body slots itself into the empty chair across from him, Donar’s ragged face propped up on his fist. They’ve been friends since freshman year, shoved together in one of those orientation groups – the type where you begin to start friendships the first week that dissolve the first day of class when people get too busy with their major. Donar and Agron had kind of stuck together. Spartacus had recruited Agron first and then Donar had kind of just tagged along.

“You look like shit.” Agron greets, pulling one earbud out.

“Thanks. Always a charmer.” Donar grumbles, thumping his backpack up on the table. It earns him a glare from a girl a few chairs over, her hair piled high on her head in a mess of curls.

“What are you doing here?” Agron asks, resolved to taking a break. He rubs the heels of his hands into eyes, using the pressure to arch his back and pop his spine. He swears that they never make tables and chairs the right height for tall people. He’s constantly half arched over or hitting his knees.

“Need to study. Just happened to see your friendly face.” Agron scrunches his nose at Donar’s cheesy grin. “And thought I would join you. That alright?”

“Yeah Finals kicking your ass too?” Agron smirks, shaking out his arms. He needs to go to the gym, do an hour on the elliptical and work out all the kinks in his back. He guesses he could technically go in a little bit, review one of his lectures by listening to the recording.

“Why do they need to give us such big projects? I’m up to my fucking eyeballs in business structures and management styles and clientele.” Donar pulls a large business technology textbook from his bag, followed quickly by a half-creased notebook. “Is it too late to switch majors?”

“You have a year and a half left.” Agron tries to sooth, reaching for his own pencil. “Besides, it’s almost break.”

“Speaking of, what do you think of Mira’s idea to go camping for Thanksgiving?” Donar raises a brow, having flipped his book open but not bothering to look at it. “I swear that girl is wasting her talent. She should go into event management. She already has the whole thing booked.”

“Duro and I already agreed to go.” Agron shrugs, used to being tugged along for Mira’s plans. “We don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“So, then you wouldn’t mind if a little someone shared your tent? Or are you bringing a guest?” Donar asks, grinning a little and wiggling his eyebrows.

There was a very, very drunken time in sophomore year when Agron and Donar had hooked up. Hooked up being the operative word. They didn’t fuck but Donar had blown Agron in a stairwell of a dorm building and had came the second Agron did down his throat. Agron barely remembers it, just blurred images of being hot and shoved into a stone corner. They hadn’t even kissed. It hadn’t happened since, though Donar never stops hinting at it – wanting it.

“I uh-“ Agron is momentarily distracted by the stacks’ door opening, watching a group of guy walk out, glancing his way. “I think we are full.”

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Donar leans in, dropping his voice like it’s some secret. Agron has never been shy with his exploits. “Or is it guys?”

"I promised Nasir he could stay with us.” Agron shrugs like it doesn’t matter. He hasn’t asked him yet, but he’s sure Naevia and Mira and probably now Pietros have coerced the yes out of him by now. He doubts that Nasir has a tent laying around, and besides, it’s going to be cold in the end of November. Nasir needs to be in a warm tent.

“Oh, that’s boring. I thought you would bring someone else.” Donar glances across the room, landing on a guy over by one of the shelves, half hearted flipping through the pages. He’s shorter, honey colored hair with an over sized sweater and leggings on. He’s admittedly Agron’s type. “Someone like that.”

“Eh,” Agron doesn’t bother to look, pushing his pencil down on his paper. “I’m not trying to get stuck with a stranger for five days.”

“Point.” Donar laughs, easy and nonjudging. “Is there any strangers left at TU though?”

“Hardy har har.” Agron grumbles, solving one set of problems and moving onto the next. “You’re just mad because you’ve had no luck. When was the last time you got laid? June?”

“Hey man, don’t be a dick.” Donar laughs, shaking his head. “I’ll have you know I hooked up with some chick like a month ago.”

“Who?” Agron tries to keep the disgust out of his voice. He hopes Donar doesn’t go into details.

“Uh, Chadara? Tall? Blond? Nice set of everything.” Donar grins wide and Agron rolls his eyes.

“I know her.” Agron can still see her sneering face, sometimes peering at him from when she walks Nasir to class. He doesn’t know how they ended up friends, but Nasir never lets Agron rag on her, even when he’s seen her with half the guys in the ATO house. But hey, to each their own. If she wants to sleep around, then that’s her choice.

“Yeah, she’s back with Rhaskos now. Fucking git.” Donar grumbles, flipping open his notebook. “You know he’s only in ATO because he knew Crixus in high school, right?”

“And you’re only in because you did that dumb ice breaker activity with me at orientation.” Agron insults easily, cracking a grin.

“No way. Spartacus likes me.” Donar sneers, unamused as he digs in his bag. “Unlike those assholes.”

“Spartacus tries to like everyone.” Agron doesn’t look up from his book. “Not everyone passes the test.”

“True, but I did. And so did a few others. Like that one guy – Nasir or whatever.“ Donar nods, seeming to get lost in his notes before he raises his head, settling a slow look over Agron. It’s a clearly calculated move. “Did you ever talk to him about going to Roma?”

“Who?” Agron looks up abruptly, the problem forgotten. He really, really, doesn’t want to talk about this.

“Who? Nasir, dumbass!” Donar half whispers, half hisses. “He totally went there. I told you I saw him with Caesar once. At that party.”

Agron is suddenly bombarded with the image of Nasir and Caesar hunkered down at some house party. Caesar wouldn’t have let him get far, probably had his hand wrapped tightly around Nasir’s wrist. Would they be drinking? Fake laughing while trying to pretend that Nasir was happy? That he was just a boy in love? Would Nasir look haunted, dark eyed and pained in the dark?

“Oh. Yeah, but it’s fine.” Agron shrugs, pointedly looking down at his homework again.

“It’s fine? How is it fine?” Donar reaches out, gently laying his hand over Agron’s, forcing him to stop writing. “He was dating that piece of shit. I literally watched them make out. You don’t need to make excuses for him because he’s pretty.”

“I said it was fine.” Agron grits through his teeth, forcing himself not to think about it. Not when the memory of Nasir’s mouth is still so fresh. It’s been haunting him for three days now, the curls of his hair in Agron’s hand, his half moans lost in the cold night air. “Drop it.”

“Agron-“ Donar starts, frowning, but Agron wrenches his hand away.

“No.” Agron shakes his head. “End of discussion.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re such a martyr.” Donar rolls his eyes, glancing behind Agron’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”

Agron cranes his head over his shoulder, just in time to see Nasir and Pietros enter the floor, both of them carrying a large stack of books. Nasir had mentioned having a study date yesterday when they texted, and if Agron had plopped down in the library in hopes of ‘bumping’ into them, well that was his business.

“Hello boys.” Pietros coos, coming to set his books down next to Donar. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Fancy indeed.” Donar straightens up. He has no problem with Pietros. And if he did, he’d have to answer to Barca. Barca who has six inches and about fifty pounds on him.

“Hey you.” Nasir sets his books down, hooking his bag on the arm of his chair. He’s taken the one of Agron’s left, so as not to disturb his writing. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“You said you were studying today so I took it as inspiration.” Agron rests his head on his hand, turning to look at him. Nasir is wearing an over-sized flannel, the sleeves rolled twice at the wrist, a faded Placebo shirt underneath. Agron wants to rub his face into Nasir’s chest, to push and pull until they can get somewhere horizontal and away from everyone.

“You look tired.” Nasir murmurs, gently hooking a hand around the back of Agron’s neck as he sits. “Did you eat today?”

“Yeah,” Agron guiltily doesn’t think about the wadded-up protein bar wrapper in his pocket. He also pointedly doesn’t look at Donar, who is watching them closely. “It’s just the rain.”

“I know! I could sleep all day. That’s why we had to move out of the dorms.” Pietros chats easily, pulling out his laptop. “I can never get any serious studying done there. Not when my bed is so close. I legit try and then next thing I know, I’m taking a three-hour nap.”

“I know the feeling.” Nasir grins slow, watching Agron watch him. “It’s a slippery slope. Not that the beds in the dorm are anything to be desired.”

“That’s why I bought my own,” Agron grins faintly, “I’m too tall for that shit anyways.”

“I thought yours looked bigger than the school issued one.” Nasir drops his hand, turning to pull out a notebook and a bag of pencils and highlighters. He seems to notice that Donar is staring at him, flashing him an uneasy grin as he tugs a small pad of post-its out of his bag.

“We have it stored in the basement for summer. Just so we don’t get fined.” Agron explains, aware of the awkward way Nasir is trying to settle. He’s sat too close, his knee bumping Agron’s thigh, but under Donar’s careful gaze, he holds himself awkwardly away from Agron – body rigid in his chair.

Agron wishes very suddenly that they weren’t here. That they were back at the ATO house. That Agron could lose his fingers in Nasir’s hair again, drown in the feeling of them pressed close, inhale slow and careful with the way Nasir would relax back into his sheets. The rain is making him tired, sleepy, and wanting. They could kiss and kiss and taste and Agron could lose himself inside Nasir’s body, fall in deep and slow, make it sweet and indulgent. And when the pleasure got too much, tipping over, Agron would lock his arms around Nasir, coax them into sleep, still buried inside.

“Nasir, you are so lucky you don’t have a roommate.” Pietros is complaining, flipping open books and pushing tiny scraps of paper into their seams. “I swear. This whole system of ‘pairing people up’ is such bullshit. Like, I don’t need someone so close to me I can basically hear their facial hair growing.”

“I have freshman year horror stories about my roommate.” Agron sympathizes, shaking his head. “Literally, I don’t think the guy knew how to shower. Like he went his whole life being sponge bathed by his mom or some shit.”

“That is disgusting. I don’t know how people live like that.” Pietros scowls, shuddering. “Like, is that how their entire house at home is? How many horders are their in the world?”

“I only have a single because I literally work out of my house. My bedroom is basically my office.” Nasir rolls his eyes. He’s careful not to freeze when Agron’s free hand curls over his leg, gently guiding him into a more relaxed position. It pushes their legs together but Agron also doesn’t move his hand.

“Oh, like a prostitute?” Donar’s joke falls flat, all three at the table looking up at him sharply.

Out of the corner of his eye, Agron watches as the tops of Nasir’s cheeks turn pink, embarrassed and fidgeting with a pen until it rolls from his fingers and clatters loudly onto the polished wood table. He tries to laugh it off with a rough cough, rolling his eyes.

“I guess. Just a slut for education, since my job literally pays my loans.”

“Aren’t we all?” Agron comes to the rescue, companionably nudging Nasir with his shoulder and then abruptly following it up with a swift kick to Donar’s shin. He looks up abruptly but Agron only levels him with a dark glare, gritting through his teeth. “Speaking of, I’m also a slut for caffeine. I think the coffee shop downstairs is still open. You all want anything?”

“I’ll come down.” Nasir abruptly pushes his chair back, rummaging in his backpack until he pulls out a few crumpled bills. He instantly starts walking towards the exit, not looking back to see if Agron is following. When he’s far enough away, Agron reaches across the table, roughly gripping Donar’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Donar half shouts, drawing attention to their table as he tries to yank away.Pietros says nothing, keeping his eyes down and trained to his notes.

“Hey, don’t be here when I get back.” Agron growls the words, ignoring Pietros’ half smothered grin as he stalks off, following in the direction Nasir fled to.

He catches up to him on the second landing, Agron easily falling into step with his quick steps. Nasir’s face is blotchy, cheeks red but his eyes are dry, mouth curled in a tight frown. Agron doesn’t want to piss him off more, but he bumps their shoulders together – trying for silent and comforting. What he’s not expecting is for Nasir to catch his hand, looping their fingers together easily. They fit together, it seems, filling up all the jagged edges and slotting into all the crevices, easy like a puzzle piece.

Nasir keeps his grasp firm, ignoring the stares of two guys who pass by, pointedly raising their eyebrows at them. Agron doesn’t pay them any mind, isn’t even sure he recognizes them. Waiting until they reach the next floor, Nasir begins to tug on him, guiding Agron around a sharp corner and directly into the handicap bathroom.

Agron will feel bad about taking up the space later, because as soon as he steps inside, Nasir is crowding Agron against the door. He has to raise up on his toes, Docs squeaking on the linoleum a little as he grips the front of Agron’s shirt in a tight fist. All Agron can focus on are dark eyes and long hair and Nasir’s wicked like smirk when Agron lets out a soft gasp as his back connects to solid wood.

“Oh hey,” Nasir smirks, finding his fingers slipping between the edges of Agron’s henley.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about you all weekend.” Agron confesses, threading his hands into Nasir’s hair. “Like, literally all weekend.”

“Have you?” Nasir grins as he kisses Agron’s mouth, once, twice. “What have you been thinking?”

“Do you really want to know?” Agron asks, nuzzling along Nasir’s jaw. “Or would you rather I show you?”

“Depends.” Nasir laughs then groans when Agron kisses his neck. “Is it more of this?”

“A lot more.”

They’ve only kissed once before this but they’re already addicted, hands rushed as they pet over clothes, trying to slip under shirts to touch skin. Agron finds himself with one fist in Nasir’s hair and the other palm flat against his lower back, thumb tracing over the hem of his jeans. He’s so warm right here, dizzingly and hazy, kissing with his mouth open, gasping into Agron’s mouth.

Nasir let out a sharp gasp when Agron rolls them along the wall, shoving Nasir’s back to the cool stone. He can’t seem to keep his hand still, ghosting over Agron’s chest, down onto his waist, along the tops of his thighs. He’s scared he’s making too much noise, moaning when Agron’s teeth skid across his neck, sucking sharply on the skin. They’re in a library and any little noise will carry, even if they’re on a mostly empty floor.

“Are you leaving a mark?” Nasir pulls back, craning his head up to meet Agron’s half lidded gaze.

“Can I?” Agron asks, thumb brushing over Nasir’s jaw, tilting his head. There is a small circle of red where his mouth was, but he knows he could make it bigger, bruise the skin. After Nasir’s quick nod, he lowers his mouth back down, biting into the soft skin and then tugging, worrying it back and forth before sucking to create a brillient, maroon bruise.

“F-Fuck!” Nasir groans, tilting his head back against the wall. “I told Pietros I wouldn’t leave him when we got here.”

“We’re on a coffee run.” Agron reassures, kissing up to nuzzle right behind Nasir’s ear.

“Except you’re making it really hard to think about coffee right now when you do-Oh!” Nasir bites viciously into his lip to try and silent the moan bubbling in his chest as Agron’s thigh presses between his legs.

“Am I distracting you?” Agron laughs a little, chuckling against Nasir’s mouth.

“Yes.” Nasir tries to pull away, but he’s swept up in another round of wet, slow kisses that leaves his knees feeling weak.

“I should stop, huh? So, we can study?” Agron teases as he leaves a lingering bite to Nasir’s bottom lip, taking a step back. “I’d be a terrible tutor if I let you fail.”

“Oh, that’s all you are now? My tutor?” Nasir gasps, trying to catch his breath. He still has his hand hooked in the front of Agron’s pants, fingertips just past his belt.

“Sure, I teach you all sorts of things. Math. How to ride a motorcycle. Partying.” Agron shrugs, picking absentmindedly at his sleeve, flashing a slow grin at Nasir. “How to hide a boner.”

“Not helping.” Nasir grits through his teeth, reaching down to adjust himself.

“Oh come on, Nasir.” Agron leans forward, tapping his fingers just under Nasir’s chin. “Of course I’m not just your tutor. I’m your best friend.”

“You’re such an ass is what you are.”

Grumbling, Nasir takes a moment to smooth down his shirt, turning to the mirror to try and do damage control on his hair. There is nothing to be done about the sizeable hickie on his neck, trying to tug his flannel higher to no avail. He doesn’t know what he’ll say if Pietros comments on it, secretly delightening in the fact that he’s wearing Agron’s mark. It feels good, to be claimed, to have this secret that no one can touch, no one knows about.

Agron watches him in the mirror, watches Nasir’s fingertips brush against his neck, watches the grin and the flush that spreads across his cheeks. He wants to do it again, to lay Nasir out, to take his time and press his mouth over and over to all the parts of Nasir that make him moan, make him whimper. Sliding up behind him and hooking an arm around his waist, Agron rests his chin on Nasir’s shoulder.

“I like you like this,” Agron murmurs, watching Nasir run his fingers under the tap and then try to ease his hair down.

“Like what?” Nasir meets his gaze in the glass, easily parting his hair in half.

“You look soft.” Agron rubs his fingers over Nasir’s vintage shirt, over onto the flannel. “Comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Nasir scoffs, caressing his hands down Agron’s forearms. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yeah. Makes me want to go back to bed.” Agron peppers a kiss few kisses against Nasir’s throat. “And you should come with me.”

“You want me to come to bed with you?” Nasir’s cheeks brighten, turning his head to meet Agron’s gaze and also escape from the slow, wet press of his tongue against his skin.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Agron smirks, leaning in for another kiss but Nasir takes a step back, brow furrowed.

“And if I said no?”

There is only a half breath of pause, Agron not even really needing to think about it. He gently lets his grasp slip from around Nasir, taking a slow and careful step back. He doesn’t want to spook him, remembering vividly the angry words Nasir had yelled at him on Halloween.

“Then it’s a no.”

Nasir nods once, relaxing his stance a little. He knows that he shouldn’t be afraid of Agron. He’s only ever been courteous, cautious even with the way he approaches. Still, Nasir can’t help the frantic little voice in the back of his head that tells him everyone and anyone is going to be like Caesar. Especially now, knowing what he knows, knowing that Agron used to date, or at the very least, fuck his ex.

“It’s not a no.” Nasir kicks his boot into the tile floor, staring at it. “I just-”

“Need to know if could be.” Agron fills him, shrugging. “Now you no. If it’s no, then it’s no. No matter what.”

He wants to thank him, but Nasir thinks about how awkward that is and instead just continues to stare at his boots. Agron, bless him, doesn’t let it fester. Instead, he reaches out, hooking his hand inside of Nasir’s and tugging him towards the door.

“Come on, I’m still a slut for caffeine.”

- - -

“You know, it’s just a suggestion. You don’t have to actually come.” Naevia holds up two flannels, letting Mira examine both before choosing the lavender one for her. “I only asked because you said you weren’t going home.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to come.” Pietros leans heavily on the cart. “I don’t really have a home to go to.”

The fluorescent lights above them are flickering, casting the whole space into a murky glow. It’s a second hand thrift store – the type that’s almost a Salvation Army but also not random enough to be a Goodwill. The whole space is a converted warehouse and it smells like damp concrete and old fabric. It’s the best place to get cheap clothes though, especially sweaters and cold weather wears.

“So, what is it?” Nasir turns from where he is running his fingers over a leather jacket, the collar worn gray with use. “Did someone say something?”

“No, it’s just,” Pietros takes in another deep breath, frowning. “Barca invited me, but I don’t want to like impose? I barely know half the guys who are going.”

“Oh, don’t worry honey. We kind of adopt you once you’re part of the group.” Naevia loops her arm through his. “Plus, you know most of us. Spartacus is going and Crixus and Auctus and Duro and Agron.”

“Who scares me.” Pietros mutters, picking at his nail.

“Who scares you?” Mira schleps a stack of clothes into the cart, unloading half a dozen dresses and sweaters. “Duro?”

“No, his brother.” Pietros’ eyes quickly cut to Nasir, cringing sharply. “Sorry, no offense.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?” Seemingly undeterred, Nasir pulls a sweater off a rack, holding it up against his chest.

“Well, are you guys best friends?” Pietros asks, reaching out to take another look at the jacket rack. “That’s what he said on Halloween.”

“We are good friends, yeah.” Nasir answers, shrugging the comment off. He pointedly turns from the girls, working his way further down the selection.

“I don’t know how,” Pietros laughs, shrugging helplessly. “He looks terrifying all the time.”

Looping her arm around Pietros shoulders, Mira leans into him, lightly pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry. Agron just has resting homicide face. It’s a clinical condition, really. He can be sweet when you get to know him.”

“Like a Sour Patch Kid,” Naevia supplies, using her hand to emphasis. “First their sour, then their sweet.”

“Is that how he gets all his dates?” Pietros smirks, walking the cart after Nasir. “Or is that all just rumor?”

“I mean,” Mira hesitates, glancing at the back of Nasir’s head, “Agron is popular.”

That earns a sharp laugh from both Pietros and Naevia, who clearly get the implication. It’s not like it’s a secret. ATO is not a small fraternity, even if it is extremely tight knit. Rumors spread easily on the Thracian campus, especially about the fraternity that makes up the entire rugby team. Plus, it’s not hard to notice Agron.

“Don’t get me wrong. He’s hot.” Pietros giggles into his hand. “In the ‘previous juvinile delinquent, never take him home to your mommy, sit on his face kind of way.”

“Sit on his face kind of way?” Nasir turns then, raising a sharp eyebrow. He’s wearing a scarf today, the fabric looped high on his neck, barely able to conceal the mark that has faded to a dull purple black.

He had been texting Agron earlier about it, their conversation half intersperse with talk of Nasir’s upcoming math final and half with Agron sending explicit photos from within the rugby locker room. Nasir had barely had time to rub one out before Mira, Pietros, and Naevia had shown up at his door to take him thrifting.

“Yeah, you know, those guys who are so good looking you kind of just want to ride their face into the sunset?” Pietros’ grin turns wicked. “Not the romance type?”

“Oh come on,” Mira wiggles away from him, going to pull a long jacket from the end of the rack, “I don’t know about that. Agron is one of my best friends. I think you just have to get to know him. He can be soft.”

“Barca is like that,” Pietros sighs dreamily, “I literally think I already love him.”

“You’ve known him for a month.” Nasir deadpans, looking unimpressed as he pulls his phone from his pocket.

“So? I know it’s true love.” Pietros shrugs off the pessimism. “When are you going to get a boyfriend anyway?”

“Me?” Nasir flicks his notifications open, turning abruptly away from the others as he lets the picture message load. It’s not as explicit as some of the others, but a mirror selfie of Agron and Gannicus, both shirtless, flexing with Crixus’ rolling his eyes in the background.

“Yes, you.” Pietros slides up next to him, enough of a warning by the drag of his feet that Nasir has time to blacken his screen.

“Don’t bother trying,” Naevia steps in front of them, giving Nasir a small grin. “Nasir is still playing the field.”

“I just don’t want to get into a relationship right now.” Nasir shrugs it off, using the side button on his phone to snap a quick picture of himself and Pietros, both wearing too large, ugly sweaters. He knows it doesn’t compare to the sex appeal of Agron drenched in sweat, looking like a god damn vision, but it’s cute and Nasir saves it for later too.

“What about doing something causal with one of the guys? Rhaskos is single again. Or Donar!” Pietros names, counting on his fingers. “Or take Agron for a ride!”

“RHaskos is gross and Donar hates me.” Nasir rolls his eyes to hide his grin as he checks his texts.

Agron: you look cute. buy it.

“Rhaskos is gross.” Mira agrees, looping her arm through Pietros. “And Donar is just....Donar.”

“So...Agron?” Pietros asks, pulling the thrifted sweater over his head.

Nasir: How about I save the money and you just give me one of your sweaters?

“Give it up.” Naevia shakes her head, “We’ve already tried this.”

“Tried what?” Nasir looks up from his phone.

“To get you to date Agron. You guys are just friends.” Naevia saves her smirk until only Nasir is looking at her, pointedly glancing at his neck and then his phone.

“It’s true. And until you break up with Crixus, I guess I’m just stuck being single forever.” Nasir bites out, flushing when his phone buzzes in his grasp.

Agron: Come pick one out

“Oh honey, I’m pretty sure he would leave me for you if you asked.” Naevia laughs loudly and easily, hooking her arm through his so she can drop her voice. “Wouldn’t Agron love that?”

“Shut up.” Nasir hisses, even if there is no heat behind it. He knows Agron would be furious.

“You already kissed his brother. Might as well do his archnemisis too.”

Naevia lets out a high pitched cry as Nasir tries to pinch her, skittering off among the racks.

- - -

The Math building is an old stone structure towards the middle of campus, probably one of the first built when the school was founded. The front sprawls with a large pillars and high browed windows, a heavy wooden door located in the center. The halls are long and echo, the type of that lead into huge lecture halls filled with rickety old bench desks.

Nasir has always found the place imposing. It’s not that he’s bad at math, not really. He just can’t seem to get his brain to work when it comes to it. It’s filled with complicated rules and regulations, having to learn a certain way to manipulate the numbers to get a specific outcome. Nasir is more prone to the creative arts – writing, social sciences, literature. It makes more sense, has more freedom than the strict regulatory sense of mathematics.

Still, Agron seems to have found a way to explain it to Nasir that works. He had created a system that allowed Nasir to show his work as well as make sense of it. If Agron wasn’t going into engineering, Nasir thought, he would make a hell of a teacher. A little rough around the edges, but Agron took his time and never got upset when Nasir had him explain it over and over.

“I will be handing back your final tests.” Professor Solonius drawls, tapping his stack of papers on his hand. “Some of you, did very well. Some of you, wasted your time.”

“Shit.” Nasir breathes, trying not to grip his coffee cup too hard.

Solonius begins to make his rounds, setting papers face down on desks. Nasir watches as people’s faces light up and then come crumble, holding a hand over their eyes. Nasir had studied for what felt like days, had pulled Agron away from his own finals to help him study, had had study dates with Pietros and Naevia. All to get a few more hours of practice in.

“Mr. Hadid.” Solonius had paused in front of Nasir’s desk, flipping the paper over and setting it on top of the scratched wood.

Nasir waits until he’s passed, barely being able to breathe as he flips the packet of paperwork over. There, written in red pen by his name, is a simple A-. It’s the highest grade he’s gotten in the class, high enough to pass, high enough not to ruin his entire gpa. With shaking hands, Nasir barely smothers his grin as he types out a quick text.

Nasir: are you home?

Agron: yeah, just got back from class. What's up?

Nasir: I'm coming over

- - -

Agron groans rolling onto his side. He’s been up for what feels like days, body sore and tired from practice and the never-ending stress of finals. Most of them are due before Thanksgiving break, and if Agron has to look at one more page of notes, he might actually go cross eyed. He’s almost done. Just one more paper to turn in and then he can finally relax for this semester.

It doesn’t help that his medication has been fucking with him lately. It seems the anxiety pills have only heightened his symptoms, making him restless and irritable, on top of being exhausted. Agron knows he needs them. They do help, when they actually work, but Agron can’t stand being on them. The only reason he takes the regularly is because Mira mother hen’s him.

He was going to take a small nap and then finish his essay, until his phone started beeping. Agron isn’t always one to text back immediately, kind of ignores his phone for the most part, but for Nasir, he makes exceptions. Usually because it’s either something funny or a cute picture or a flirty line that immediately spikes Agron’s interest. Agron’s never had this before – someone he wants to actually give all of his attention. All the different types of his attention, at least. Sure, he likes texting his friends and his brother, but there is something different about Nasir.

In some ways, Agron should be sick of thinking about him. It feels like every time Agron has a free moment, he finds himself wondering about where the other man is, if he’s okay, if he would mind if Agron texted him. Agron, other than Caesar, hasn’t really been in a relationship. He doesn’t have the desire, really, until now. It feels easy with Nasir. Easy to talk to him. Easy to spend casual time together – studying, watching movies, hanging out. Easy to feel drawn to him, want to do intimate and dirty things to him, to give Nasir pleasure.

Grunting, Agron curls his pillow up under his arm, flicking half-heartedly through Instagram. He’s not really looking for anything, ignoring the photos of people he kind of knows on vacation, people doing dumb college shit, and his friends taking selfies in the fall sun. Agron is halfway through watching a cooking video when quick footsteps pound on the stairs, a loud call of greeting echoing down the hall, before his bedroom door is being thrown open.

Nasir’s face is blotchy from the cold, hair half tangled in his scarf and flannel jacket. He’s clutching a pamphlet of papers in one hand, barely giving himself time to kick off his boots before he’s colliding on the bed beside Agron. Sprawled on the pillows with his knees up, Nasir promptly turns to look at Agron, a grin threatening to stretch his face in half.

“Hi.” He greets, practically thrumming with excitement.

“Hey?” Agron already feels a little dazed, tracking Nasir’s hands as they flutter along the pages.

“Guess what?” Nasir flips the packet over. “Fucking look!”

Agron glances over the exquations, the pencil marks half smudge with eraser at some parts, but the red pen in the top corner is clear. Pride instantly floods Agron’s chest, unable to keep the slow grin back.

“Wow! Congratulations!”

“Thank you. Or really, thank you for helping me.” Nasir begins to ramble, pulling his math final up towards his face again. “I literally thought I was going to fuck this up. Solonius the worst. He never explains things and he always expects us to show our work but only in his way and-”

Agron doesn’t mean to turn out the rapid fire ramblings, but he can’t help getting distracted. Nasir is sprawled on his back, hair a mess across Agron’s pillow, flipping carelessly through the papers. It’s casual, friendly even. Agron shouldn’t be feeling this way. But Nasir’s shirt is flipped up in the back, just a sliver of his skin showing and he’s beautiful and happy and perfect in the setting sun. Agron has never wanted anything more in his life.

“Nasir.” Agron breathes, pushing himself up on his elbow.

“And now I have to owe you something. At least a batch or cookies. Or wait, you can’t eat cookies probably. Student athlete, duh. What do you want? I could make you a really good side salad?” Nasir continues to ramble, flicking down the corner of his worksheets. He freezes when he takes in the way Agron is looming next to him. “Um.”

“Nasir.” Agron repeats, unsure if he can think of anything else. He doesn’t want to think about words right now though, doesn‘t want to wonder or second guess himself. Instead, he tucks his fingers just behind Nasir’s neck, leans over him and presses a slow kiss against his still parted lips.

For as surprised as Nasir feels, he manages to reciprocrate pretty quickly. Letting Agron draw him in, Nasir loops his arm around Agron’s back, drawing in a quick breath as Agron deepens the kiss. Their tongues tangle, tasting and searching, Agron pressing his teeth to Nasir’s bottom lip and tugging. The papers slip from Nasir’s fingertips, scattering and fluttering to the floor in a mess.

Agron wants to slow down, to take his time, but how can he when Nasir lets out a deep moan, using his now empty hand to curl in the short strands on the back of Agron’s head. Shifting around, he manage to roll over onto Nasir and between his legs, pinning him easily to the mattress.

It’s early evening on a Wednesday, and though Agron knows people are going to be coming home soon, he doesn’t want to stop. Especially not when Nasir’s hands slide under Agron’s shirt, palm smoothing along his ribs and up onto his shoulderblades. Caressing over Agron’s spine, Nasir tugs on the fabric until Agron has no choice but to lean back and yank it over his head.

That seems to freeze them both, staring at one another and Nasir reaches up a hand, trailing his fingertips over the cut of Agron’s chest, down along his sternum. In reply, Agron tugs on Nasir’s scarf until he can toss it off the bed, reaching forward to start unbuttoning his flannel when Nasir’s fingers tangle in his own, stopping him.

“Lock the door.” Nasir’s cheeks pinken, biting his bottom lip as Agron stares at him, slowly stepping off the bed.

It only takes a moment for Agron to reach over and flip the lock, but in the meantime, Nasir manages to undo the rest of his buttons, shrugging off his shirt and letting it pool onto the floor. Agron is quick to resume his spot, pressing down on his eblows so he doesn’t crush Nasir as he kisses him again. This position allows him to grind down, the first time an accident but the second more deliberate, dragging their cocks against one another.

“Fuck,” Nasir gasps, head falling to the side as Agron kisses along his jaw, finding a spot and biting against his neck. “Is this all because I aced my finale?”

“No,” Agron chuckles, working his mouth down further, kissing along his collarbones. “But it can be if it gives you more incentive to study.”

“Really don’t want to think about studying right now.” Nasir groans, watching as Agron’s tongue traces along his nipple, biting into it once it’s peaked.

“What do you want to think about then?” Agron smirks up at him, pressing slow and wet kisses down Nasir’s stomach.

Instead of answering, Nasir hooks his legs around Agron’s waist and twists. It’s not enough strength to really push Agron over (if they ever wrestled, Nasir is sure Agron would easily pin him) but Agron relents and they switch positions, Nasir settling with spread legs over Agron’s lap. He leans in, pressing fleeting and teasing kisses along Agron’s chest, caressing over it as he begins to grind down, gasping when Agron’s hands land on his ass. They squeeze, roughly tugging on Nasir, until Agron is the one pulling him down, guiding him how he wants.

The loose braid Nasir’s hair had been in has come unwraveled, the dark strands tangling at his shoulders, falling into his face. Agron can still see his blown wide eyes though, mouth bruised and red as Nasir moans, thrusting his cock against Agron’s. It’s rough, the jeans causing friction but not enough, Agron entranced with what Nasir looks like on top of him. He’s a vision of smooth tan skin, the curl of a tattoo on his hip, fingers trembling on Agron’s chest.

They’re greedy, so fucking greedy.

Working his way down, Nasir licks just below Agron’s navel, leaving quick bites along his Adonis belt. He’s been thinking about sucking Agron off for ages, caught up in the lewd pictures Agron sends him and the way his sweatpants do nothing to hide. It would be so easy to tug apart his jeans and go for the prize, but at the last moment, Agron’s fingers curl in his hair, guiding him back up.

The kisses are desperate, open mouthed and hot, Agron using his strength to roll them again, pressing Nasir into the bed. He grinds down in quick rolls, the friction heady but not enough through so many layers. Quick fingers trace along Nasir’s sides, ghosting over his nipples, along his ribs, until Agron follows their mouth with his mouth – both ending up at the buttons to Nasir’s jeans. He’s barely popped the top one, reaching for the zipper when Nasir’s fingers tangle with his own, halting him.

“Agron,” Nasir is panting, looking shy and desperate as he fights with himself.

“What is it?” Agron is prepared for Nasir to back out. He knows it’s a possibility, regardless of his past.

“Please just,” Nasir pauses, seeming to contemplate the words as Agron stares up at him waiting. “Just don’t hurt me, okay?”

Relief and fury wash over Agron, who instantly moves back up the bed, gently cupping Nasir’s face. If he didn’t want to kill Caesar before, he sure as hell does now. How dare he take Nasir, who is wonderful and beautiful and everything Agron wants, and try to ruin that with pain and suffering. Nasir’s looking a little afraid, hazy and warm but hesitant. Agron makes sure to kiss him sweet, drag it out with a slow touch of their tongues, breathing him in.

“You want me to be gentle, baby?” Agron whispers, nuzzling against Nasir’s jaw. He’s not being condescending, reveling in it when Nasir nods, hooking his arms around Agron’s big chest. “You going to let me take care of you?”

“Please.” Nasir gasps, moaning as one of Agron’s hands slides between his legs, easily opening his jeans the rest of the way with quick fingers. ”Agron!”

“Don’t worry.” Agron wraps his palm around Nasir, stroking him once. His cock is flushed red, already leaking from the tip, and Agron is slow with it, coaxing. “I’m not going to rush this. You want me to take my time? Work you out?”

“I just want you.” Nasir confesses, turning his head so he can kiss Agron again, desperate and open.

Sliding Nasir’s jeans down his legs, Agron pulls back to look at him, laid bare and perfect in his bed. Agron’s been thinking about this a lot, but the reality far exceeds even Agron’s most desperate fantasies. Nasir is flushed down onto his chest, legs spread around Agron’s thighs, looking bashful and apprehensive as Agron’s gaze drinks it all in. He runs his fingertips over Nasir’s legs, along smooth thighs, and then over his hips bones, watching his cock twitch between his legs.

Silently, Agron reaches for his own jeans, unbuttoning them and starting to pull them down. There is a commotion outside of the door, footsteps running on the floor and shouting in gleeful reproes, but it’s fucking static – a barely there hum as Agron steps off the bed to toss his jeans onto the floor.

Nasir’s eyes widen as he takes him in, gaze not being able to settle as he roves over Agron’s massive chest, the snarling tattoo, down onto his sharp hip bones and the cock hanging long and thick between his thighs. Nasir only has a chance to glance at it, guessing nine inches, before Agron is hooking a hand under his thigh and easily rolling Nasir onto his stomach.

With his face in Agron’s pillows, Nasir can only breathe him in, letting his head swim with the scent of cologne and sweat and laundry soap. Agron gets on the bed behind him, mumbling something as he guides Nasir’s hair to the side, kissing along his shoulders and down his back.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this forever.” Agron’s voice carries as he sucks a mark on the small of Nasir’s back. “You are even better than I imagined.”

“You thought about this?” Nasir’s teasing tone is half ruined by a sharp gasp.

“Constantly.” Agron’s confession isn’t wrong, nibbling a bruise onto Nasir’s right cheek.

“What do you-” Nasir is cut off by a sharp gasp, body going rigid as Agron parts him open.

Blowing gently over his hole, Agron watches the way the furl flinches, small and curled just for him. Only giving Nasir a warning by placing his hand on the small of his back, and then his tongue presses warm and wet along him, tracing over his taint and over his hole, ending at the base of his spine. It doesn’t stop though, Agron moving back down, flicking his tongue over and over until Nasir is wet and pressing backwards.

He’s moaning high and loud, half muffled by Nasir’s death grip on the pillows. It doesn’t completely cover his quiet cry when Agron stiffens his tongue though, pressing up and into him. Agron works there for a few minutes, pressing his tongue as deep as he can and wiggling. He keeps going until Nasir is loose enough to add a finger, working it slowly in and out as Agron leans across him, digging in his bedside drawer for lube.

Arching into the mattress, Nasir has to bite into the pillow to keep from moaning too loud when Agron’s finger brushes over his prostate. It sends sharp sparks behind his eyes, body going rigid and then instantly pushing back for more. Nasir is vaguely aware that it’s now evening and the rest of the house is probably a bustle of activity, so he tries to keep himself in check, but then Agron scissors his fingers and licks between and Nasir cries out, burying himself into the sheets.

He works on this for a while, easing in three fingers and his tongue to tease the rim. Nasir is panting and sweating above him, trying to rock into the mattress, but Agron’s firm grasp on his lower back doesn ’t let him move at all. It’s exhausting how fucking excellent it is, hot and frenzied and Agron groans at how easily Nasir takes three of his fingers, teasing a fourth just at the rim.

“Holy shit!” Nasir gasps, spreading his legs wider to give Agron more room.

“It’s okay,” Agron soothes a hand over his waist, slipping his fingers in rougher. “Look how well you take it for me. Can’t wait to get my cock inside of you.”

“You feel so good.” Nasir gasps, barely turning his head as he begins to pant. “Agron, fuck, you feel so good. Please. I’m ready. Please.”

“Shhh.” Soothing a hand down Nasir’s spine, Agron kisses his shoulder before slowly pulling his fingers free. He doesn’t make Nasir wait for long, guiding him over onto his back and kissing him again.

The kiss this time is more frantic, Nasir gasping between their mouths, tongues pressing and pushing against one another. Nasir can’t seem to settle, hooking his hands around Agron’s neck and pulling him close, trying to arch his hips up.

“Hold on. You’re going to get what you need.” Agron reassures, reaching over to dig in the nightstand again, producing a condom.

He positions Nasir how he wants him, propped on the pillows with one under his waist, Agron’s fingers tracing over and along along his sides, soothing him. It only takes a moment for Agron to line up, leaning down and bracketing Nasir’s head with his elbow. This close though, he pauses, gaze tracking over Nasir’s face. HIs hair sweat curled against his forehead, pupils blow with mouth bruised and stained from their harsh kisses. And Agron has never wanted anything more in his life.

“Hey.” Whispering, Agron leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to Nasir’s mouth. “You sure?”

In response, Nasir hitches his thighs up higher, resting them against Agron’s ribs, leaning up to kiss him again and then once more, nuzzling against him.

“I trust you.”

Warmth blossoms in Agron’s chest, a field that coaxes and caresses him as he leans into another kiss, pressing just inside of Nasir’s waiting hole. It’s tight and wet and Agron forces himself to go slow, to ease into it as Nasir’s fingernails dig into his shoulders. It takes a while, pushing slowly and Nasir’s hole greedily swallowing up the inches, arching his back when the pressure begins to feel like too much. Finally, Agron feels himself bottom out, kissing repeatedly over Nasir’s cheeks and forehead, soothing his quiet whimpers as his body tries to adjust.

“You’re so tight.” Agron gasps, nuzzling into Nasir’s jaw.

“Because you’re so big.” Even half dazed in pleasure, Nasir has half a mind to be snarky.

Stuck, Agron waits until Nasir begins to take deep breaths, inching his hips up and down, before he feels its safe enough to move. He goes slow, drawing his hips back until just the tip is in before thrusting back in, watching in fascination as Nasir’s eyes roll, mouth dropping into a punched out little gasp. It’s enough encouragement for Agron to do it again, easing himself into a slow but deep rhythm, pushing and then pulling Nasir along the bed.

Nasir, still aware they’re in a frat house and not completely alone, tries viciously to keep his moans back, but when Agron shifts a little to the right and hits his prostate dead on, there is little he can do to muffle the loud cry that rips through his throat. He instantly turns his face inward, mouthing at Agron’s neck and trying to calm his racing heart, but Agron wants none of it. Instead, he pulls back and cups Nasir’s jaw, using his thumb to pry his bottom lip free.

“I want to hear you.” Agron encourages, thrusting up sharply just to hear Nasir’s strangled whine.

“But the others-” Nasir tries to protest, earning a slow kiss from Agron in return.

“Can put headphones in.” Agron brushes it off. “I’ve been wanting this too long to only do it halfway.”

Whatever reply Nasir was going to have is lost as Agron rears back, sitting on his heels and readjusting. The next thrust is rough, cock punching into Nasir and landing perfectly on his prostate. It rips a loud cry from Nasir – who is shocked and instantly turned on – watching his cock swing between them as Agron begins his brutal pace. It’s nothing like Nasir has ever had before, and he has to fist the sheets to keep from clawing at his own skin.

After a while, Agron can’t stand not being flushed against Nasir, so he drops back down, using his weight to hold Nasir to the bed, hips pistoning as he sucks a dark mark into Nasir’s neck. It’s enough to rub Agron’s abs along Nasir’s cock, the friction helped by sweat slicked skin and the hand that Agron sneaks between them. As he starts stroking, Nasir finds his hands back on Agron’s back, nails sharp and jagged as he drags them over Agron’s shoulders, trying his best to keep up and hold on.

“I’m close.” Nasir gasps, barely concious enough from wave after wave of pleasure to be able to speak.

“Come when you want.” Agron encourages, leaning up to look at Nasir’s face. He’s mesmerized by the dark shadows his eyelashes make on his cheeks when he scrunches his eyes closed, mouth hanging open. “Come on baby. I want to see you come on my cock.”

It’s dirty enough and perfect enough that Nasir can do nothing but comply. With a loud cry, Nasir tosses his head back against the sheets, body spasming and tightening. It turns into a vice around Agron’s cock, Nasir’s stomach twitching as his cock dribbles against it and then shoots, streaks of white decorating over his chest and onto his stomach. Agron strokes him through it, fingering along the head and playing with the slit as Nasir writhes beneath him.

When he’s done, Agron makes a show of lapping his fingers clean, and then taking those fingers to lift Nasir’s leg over his shoulder. The change in position makes the pressure more intense and Nasir muffles a shout when Agron begins to thrust back in, one hand braced on the pillows just above Nasir’s head. It lets Agron slip deeper, thrusting hard and fast, chasing his own pleasure. Nasir holds on with nails in Agron’s sides, kissing where he can reach, biting at Agron’s neck when it gets too close.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. So good for me.” Agron pants, half delireous with pleasure. “How are you even real?”

“Come on.” Nasir pants, his own body trembling as it tries to keep up, his thighs shaking against Agron’s jaw. “I want to feel you.”

Agron lets Nasir’s leg slip from his shoulder, leaning in to bracket Nasir with his body, hooking them together from shoulder to hip. It’s hot between them, sweat sliding their skin together as Agron ruts into Nasir, nearly suffocating with how deep they are kissing. It’s when Nasir feels his spine straighten, tight heat coiling through him and his cock dribbling feebly onto his stomach that Agron hits his breaking point.

He buries his head in Nasir’s neck, kissing and biting into the skin as he comes, hips pistoning and then slowing, pressing as deep as they can. It aches and Nasir can only gasp in high pitched breaths, held captive under Agron’s bulk and the second wave of pleasure turning him completely inside out. He can feel Agron coming, his body rigid and muscles tight, but the dizzingly pleasure he feels wipes his entire brain clear.

It is a few minutes before Agron manages to pull out and roll to the side, staying close with their shoulders and legs still touching, tangled up in the afterglow. Even if Agron wanted to get up, he doesn’t think he can, knee caps feeling like fucking gel – loose and useless. Nasir isn’t better off, laying prone on his back and shaking as he tries to come down from the pleasure.

“Holy shit.” Agron gasps, barely gaining the energy to pull and tie off the condom, dropping into the wastebasket on the side. “Did you come twice?”

Nasir can only nod, running his fingertips over his stomach, eyes closed as he pants up at the ceiling.

“Fuck, you’re amazing.” Leaning over, Agron kisses Nasir slowly, gentle and warm. It seems to bring Nasir back to earth a little as he loops a hand into Agron’s hair to softly caress it.

They exchange kisses for a few minutes, breathless and fleeting, before Agron manages to get feeling back in his legs and get off the bed. He returns quickly with a washcloth, almost vigilant as he wipes down Nasir’s thighs, over his stomach, between his legs. Nasir lets him with a half-lidded gaze, letting out a gentle moan when Agron wipes over his hole.

Finally, Agron aims it towards the dirty laundry and climbs back into the bed, yanking covers up and over until they’re both nestled underneath. Nasir seems to have melted all of his fear, because he rolls close, hooking his face onto Agron’s chest, gripping an arm around him. They didn’t bother to turn on a light before all of this, so the room is nearly cast in half dark, the setting sun blinking between the blinds.

“Is it weird if I thank you?” Nasir mumbles, voice slow and sleep heavy.

“For fucking your brains out?” Agron laughs, knowing he deserves the slap Nasir puts on his chest.

“No.” Tilting his face up, Nasir kisses Agron’s jaw. “For being good. For taking your time. For being patient.”

“It was worth the wait.” Agron answers honestly, tilting Nasir’s face up so he can peck his lips instead. “Well worth the wait.”

Nuzzling against him, Nasir accepts only a half dozen more kisses before he’s curling down, content to rest against Agron’s big chest and his warm skin. The noise from outside the room has dulled down enough that it almost feels like background noise, lost in the murmur and sound of Agron and Nasir breathing. Like an oasis, a secret only for them.

Chapter Text

Nasir sinks down onto the edge of the bed, tucking his pair of socks under his thigh. He knows he should probably put them on, should carry his heavy boots down the stairs to avoid creaking them, should head back across campus. He has a shift that starts in half an hour and he should probably change and make himself presentable. But he can’t. He can’t bring himself to fucking move.

Curled on his side, Agron’s face is half hidden by the pillow, hair a mess of tangles and spikes. The blankets have shifted, resting across his waist and legs, rumpled and bunched up from when Nasir had to slip free. He looks peaceful, brow smooth and relaxed, mouth soft. The folds of his body relaxed in sleep, muscles not as tensed and constricted. Nasir is used to seeing the furrow, the smirk, even the scowl that usually finds itself permanently etched into Agron’s features. Now though, he looks docile – gentle even.

Reaching over, Nasir brushes his fingers against Agron’s temple, down onto his cheek. His stubbles has grown in, scratchy and sharp, a reminder of the beard burn currently between Nasir’s thighs. It’s the type of burn that feels good, that tingles when Nasir moves, jeans dragging along the raw skin. It makes it feel real, like last night wasn’t some fevered dream.

It’s not hard to linger here, to watch Agron sleeping, to touch his warm skin. He’s beautiful. In a way that is both physical and mental. Nasir hadn’t expected last night to go the way it had. He had hoped, one day, that they might fall into bed together. That what Nasir had been thinking about and fantizing about would eventually happen. But he hadn’t thought that Agron would be like that in bed.

Nasir has never been laid out like that, been touched and tasted in slow motion. Like Agron wanted to linger, like he wanted to take his time. And when Nasir was hesitant and shy, Agron answered it perfectly. Deliberate and giving and letting Nasir stretch and delve deeper than he has been. It’s the type of sex one could get addicted to, easily, to have it all and then some.

“Nasir?” Agron grumbles, eyes still shut as he leans into the touch, curling his body forward. There are half a dozen thin, angry red lines on his shoulders, criss-crossing over one another.

“Hey.” Nasir tries to whisper around his grin. “I’ve got to go back to my dorm.”

Agron’s half noise of protest is muffled into the pillow, one of his large arms coming to circle Nasir’s waist. When he realizes he’s touching clothing, not bare skin, he instantly pops his head up, bleary eyes wide and searching. He looks cautious, like he’s not sure if he should recoil or not.

“It’s okay.” Nasir sooths, turning more to face him so Agron can recognize he is wearing one of his sweaters, the fabric loose and falling around him. “I don’t want to go, but I have a shift soon.”

“Oh.” Agron still doesn’t look convinced, still trying to make his sleepy mind understand what Nasir is saying.

Deciding to forego words, Nasir uses actions instead. Cupping Agron’s jaw, he leans in to kiss him, ignoring the fact that they both should probably brush their teeth and now he’s definitely running late. It’s a slow kiss, gentle and cautious as Nasir sighs against Agron’s lips, coaxing him fully into opening his mouth. It seems to do the trick, Agron’s hand coming up to curl in Nasir’s hair, tugging him further down. The kiss turns wet then, slow tongues meeting to twist, exhales between moving lips. And Nasir finds a moan half hidden when Agron’s teeth drag along his bottom lip.

“Fuck.” Panting, Agron nuzzles against Nasir’s cheek. “You sure you can’t call out sick?”

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve already moved around my schedule so much.” Nasir breathlessly chuckles, allowing Agron to pull him over so he’s leaning heavily into Agron’s side. “I would stay if I could.”

“Would you?” Agron asks, tone light even if the question is awfully somber. It’s not the first hint of insecurity that Nasir has seen in Agron, but it is the first that feels so intimate – raw even. Nasir burns, knowing it’s because of Caesar, knowing that he’s the reason Agron would ever feel unworthy.

With a sigh, Agron rolls onto his back, hooking an arm above his head and trying to be nonchalant. In this position, Nasir is sprawled against his side, holding himself with one arm over his waist, hand digging into the mattress. Nasir uses the proximity to his benefit, leaning in and kissing the center of Agron’s chest, up over his sternum, along his neck and onto his jaw.

“Yes, I am going to be thinking,” Nasir murmurs into Agron’s ear, his hands sliding below the blanket and onto Agron’s hip, “about you all day.” He kisses Agron’s cheek, down to his mouth. “And I doubt I’ll be able to focus on anything until I can come back here.”

“Yeah?” Agron smirks, back arching as Nasir’s fingertips tease along his happy trail. “That distracting?”

“Yeah.” With another kiss, Nasir has to retract his hand though, nearly falling off the bed to get away from Agron’s grip. “But right now, I’ve got to go.”

Agron’s groan is half lost as Nasir moves away from the bed, collecting his socks and then his shoes. He’s nearly to the door when he turns back, taking in Agron’s appearance one more time. He is still laying on his back, arm over his head, but he’s staring at Nasir through half-lidded, warm eyes - looking docile and sleepy and so sexy it physically hurts Nasir to turn from him.

“Text me later, yeah?” Nasir knows if he goes back towards that bed, he’s not going to leave it.

“Yeah.” Agron’s grin is slow, knowing.

“Okay.”

Nasir nearly hits himself with the door when he opens it, clumsily slipping from the room. And if he grins all the way back to his dorm, well, that’s his business.

- - -

The kitchen of the ATO house is fairly-modern for it being in a fraternity home. Its wrap around counters and multiple cabinets lends itself to lots of storage possibilities. There is an island in the middle, a low metal bar holding pots and pans above it. The fridge is a double wide, the stainless steel doors almost unrecognizable with how many notes and pictures and coupons litter the surface, held up by Hello Kitty and sassy magnets.

Agron barely looks at them as he rummages for the milk, keeping one eye on the stove. With only an essay left, he has resided himself to making an actually ‘athlete friendly’ breakfast (Oenomaus should be proud)and then finishing his finals up. The house is eerily silent on a Friday morning, most people either being in class or cramming in their room.

For all of the stress of finals, Agron feels good. Really good. The type of good that melts into your bones, makes you sinewy and warm. He feels stretched out, like after a long work out, muscles relaxed and eased. Agron had pried himself out of the bed only fifteen minutes after Nasir had left, forcing himself to stop digging his nose into the pillow Nasir had just vacated, to stop breathing in the scent of them.

The shower was a slow affair, the marks on his back stinging under the hot water but it only turned Agron on, thinking about Nasir’s desperate hands on his back. About how he had felt under Agron, mouth gasping and moaning, arching so fucking perfect. Agron had snapped a picture for him, soap scattered over his chest, cock hard and standing out, one fist around the base. It took a few minutes for Nasir to reply, but when he did, it was a mirror photo, taken just inside of Nasir’s bathroom. His hair was up, half falling in his face, bottom lip between his teeth. If it wasn’t distracting enough, he had pulled down the back of his sweats just enough that Agron could clearly see a handprint bruise on his ass.

Agron had instantly saved it to phone, already thinking about what could have happened if Agron had been allowed to follow Nasir home. His room is smaller, being in a freshman dorm, but it wouldn’t really matter. Agron would have made his shift a lot more enjoyable, even if he put Nasir to a different type of work.

Shoveling eggs onto a plate, Agron grabs a mug of coffee and sits down at the island. The stools surrounding it have all been stolen from the art department. The house seems to be a mixture of both stolen and thrifted, and then someone managing to afford something nice. How they’re allowed to keep it is a mystery to Agron – one he knows that Spartacus is to blame for.

He’s halfway through a buzzfeed article on cheap, dorm hacks to make your life better when Mira comes bustling into the room. In some ways, she is far beyond her years. It’s like Spartacus is some highly capable father and Mira is his doting wife that could kill someone easily if she tried. Agron has seen her take down a football player with her bare hands and in heels.

She’s carrying at least six, brown Trader Joe’s bags, a Starbucks clutched in one hand among the handles. Agron will never stop marveling at her – awed by the ease in which she does things and the way she manages to make it look flawless and easy with a messy bun and uggs. Mira deposits the bags unceremoniously on the counter, throwing her keys in the empty bowl at the end, and then turns a slowly quizzical brow towards him.

“You’re up early.” She makes her way slowly around the island, depositing a kiss to Agron’s temple and a curled nose at the bowl in front of him. “Is that eggs on oatmeal?”

“I don’t question it. I let Oenomaus tell me what to eat so I can choose on cheat days.” Agron spoons another mouthful of runny oats into his mouth. “What is all this?”

“Food for the camping trip. I figured you all would be too busy with finals, and since I am done early, I would get a jump start.” She turns away from him then, starting to pull things from the bags. Vegetables get deposited loudly in the sink to be washed, frozen bags put away in the door of the freezer.

“Did everyone confirm for that?” Agron asks, trying to seem bored as he flips past another kawaii humidifier. This one is a cute panda with a bamboo shoot, the cheeks turning colors. He doesn’t want to out right ask her, but Nasir technically never said anything to him about it, so he can’t really assume.

“Yeah, I think so. Me, you, Spartacus, Crixus, Naevia, Duro, Donar…” She rattles off, pausing to count on her fingers, “Uhh…Barca, Pietros, Nasir. I think Lugo might bring a few friends too, but they have a different camp site.”

“Oh cool.” Agron can’t even begin to wrap his head around how he’s going to share a tent with four people for a week. “Tents all situated?”

“I’m not sure, really. I figured Duro would sleep with you. Maybe Nasir, if he feels up to it?” Mira looks over her shoulder, “You guys are still good?”

“Yep. Just peachy.” Agron shrugs, looking back into his bowl to hide his expression. He doubts he can lie to Mira this close.

“Good. I’m glad.” Mira has to walk into the hall to put a few cans in the pantry, and Agron rubs a hand over his face.

If he’s being honest with himself, this trip is going to be heaven and hell – all in one go. He was already feeling apprehensive about it, but now after last night – it adds a whole new layer. How is Agron going to be able to spend a week – outdoors and away from technology – with Nasir and nearly the entire ATO house? Is he supposed to just keep his cool? Have to sleep beside Nasir and share shower rooms and watch him swim in some Northeastern river?

Agron has self-control. He really does. But after last night, it’s going to be torture. Laying there in the dark, knowing what Nasir’s skin feels like, knowing what he tastes like, knowing the sounds that whine and twist from him when he’s turned on, when he’s being pleasured, when Agron is buried deep inside of him. Fuck. It’s barely twelve hours later and that’s all he can focus on.

If he’s being honest with himself, which he rarely is, Agron knows he’s in deep shit. He doesn’t do attachment. He doesn’t do concern. It’s fucking and fun and then over. But Agron is…more this time. He’s never had someone that he wanted to wake up next to. He’s never felt his knees give out like that, never lingered on the taste of someone else in his mouth. Nasir is the best Agron’s ever had.

“Why do you look so pensive?” Mira asks, startling Agron from his thoughts. She takes a slow drink of her cup, eyeing him over the rim.

“Sorry, just thinking about something.” Agron waves his hand.

“Does this something have to do with all the scratches on your back?” Mira’s eyes skirt over his bare chest. “Or did you get those to forget about what you were thinking?”

Agron considers how to answer her, gently laying his phone on the counter. He matches her sip of coffee with one of his own, then neatly folds his hands on the formica. There are a hundred ways he could lie about this, but it’s Mira – just Mira here. Mira who lays in bed with him in her underwear and watches slasher films, who force feeds him his medicine, who loves him easily. Mira who is Agron’s very best friend.

“I have a…situation, you could say, that I am trying to deal with.” Agron says slowly, watching her face.

“What type of situation? I know you didn’t get anyone pregnant.” Mira’s joke is enough to give Agron the courage.

“I like someone.” Agron says it simply, even though there are a ton of other things behind it.

“You like someone?” Mira’s cup hits the counter with a soft sound. “As in like like someone?”

Agron fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes, as in, I may be more attached to them than some random fuck on Tinder.”

“Oh my god!” Clapping her hands, Mira’s eyes widen, coming around the island again to hug Agron. She jostles him into a weird sort of sway before she pulls back, staring. “Agron Gietzler has a crush! Who is it? What’s he like? Is that who you slept with?”

“Yes,” Agron debates telling her and then decides against it. It will only complicate things more. “And he’s great. Really great.”

“Are you going to ask him out? Is he your boyfriend? Do I know him?” Mira turns abruptly then, wrinkling her nose. “It’s not Donar, is it?”

“No. It’s not Donar.” Agron scowls, can’t even fucking imagine that. “And no. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“You’re giving me nothing to work with.” Mira pouts, leaning an elbow on the counter, her chin on top of it. “When are you going to ask him out?”

“I’m not.”

It comes out before Agron can even think about it, but he knows he’s right. He won’t. He won’t for so many fucking reasons. But he’s certain that this is the right choice. Regardless of how much he thinks he might want that, there is too much history there. And if he’s being honest, Agron knows he’s not the right guy for Nasir.

“Why not?” Mira’s cheerful expression falls, sobering instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong. It’s just….” Agron tries to think of how to phrase it, cursing his own tongue for moving and betraying him before his mind can even make up the right words. “You know how sometimes you try a new recipe?”

“Yeah?” Mira says slowly, not following.

“You see it and you think, “Yeah! This looks great!”. So, you go the store and you get all the right ingredients,” Agron moves his hands as he speaks. “You take your time, ya know? Measure everything out. Really want to make it work. You like all the ingredients separately, so together they should work out?”

Mira nods, her brow still furrowed.

“So, you put it all together and then you sit down to eat, right? You’ve decked out the table, probably opened some wine, really ready to appreciate your masterpiece.” Agron’s hands falls to the table. “And then you take the first bite and it’s fucking awful? Like the worst thing you could possibly have made? And now you’ve realized you spent so much time and money and energy on this for it all to go to shit?”

“Agron,” Mira sighs, already shaking her head. “No, it’s not-“

“It is like that. Trust me.” Agron abruptly shakes his head. “All the ingredients should work except the one that fucks it all up. That ingredient is me.”

“No, it’s not. We’ve talked about this.” Mira tries to argue, reaching out for him and grabbing his hand. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

“Mira, I love you, I really do, but trust me when I say that I will fuck this up.” Agron smiles razor thin. “I know who I’m talking about, and I’m not the one he needs. He deserves something better. I’m going to fuck everything up and then it’ll be a mess and guess who everyone will blame? It’s easier to spare him now than let him get hurt, ya know? Him and everyone else.”

“You don’t know that though. Things could be different.” Mira reasons. “They already are. You’re healthier now. More secure in yourself. This could be a great thing! Don’t let Caesar-”

“Caesar has nothing to do with it.” Agron flinches when he lies. “I know myself. I know what I’m like. I’m hard to love and he’s not. He’s easy to. So why put him through the fucking mess?”

“You aren’t-” Mira already begins protesting, cut off by Agron’s rough scoff.

“I’ll ruin it. And he’ll let me ruin it, because he’s so fucking nice. And I’m not going to be the one to hurt him too.”

She looks crestfallen, instantly beginning to shake her head, but Agron’s grip on her hand stops her. He doesn’t know where all the words are coming from, but they’re true. Nasir, who has already been through so much, deserves someone who can love him easily and completely. Agron is damaged goods. Damaged by the one that hurt Nasir. How could this ever possibly work out? He has been selfish for even entertaining the thought.

Agron doesn’t regret the sex. Doesn’t regret feeling Nasir against him, under him, open and moaning only for him. Won’t allow himself to regret it when he knows he did right by Nasir, was slow and giving and listened to what he needed. It’s something he’s going to cling to – remember for as long as he can. And if that’s all it ever will be – sex after sex after sex – then Agron will give him that. Nasir can take whatever he wants from Agron because Agron already knows he won’t ever tell him no.

“Don’t you think,” Mira’s voice is barely a whisper, “that it’s a choice you should give to him?”

“He’ll choose wrong.” Agron grimaces, shaking his head. “I don’t want him to regret it.”

“Isn’t that a choice that Nasir has the right to make?” Mira feels Agron’s rough flinch, watches his eyes widen and his cheeks burn. It would take a fool to not make the connection.

“How-“ Agron chokes out, nearly recoiling.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” Mira steps closer, hooking a hand behind Agron’s neck. “It’s just you and me in here, Ags. Look at me and tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not.” Agron chokes, fighting to not push at her hold. “But I-“

“I know you. I know your type.” Mira sighs, shaking her head. “Plus, Nasir is a fucking catch. I’d be mad at you if it weren’t him.”

“He is…a lot.” Agron can feel the flush on his face, tries to fight it down. “And he deserves a lot more than I can give him.”

“If he really thought that, do you think he would have slept with you? Would have ridden on the back of your fucking motorcycle? Would defend you and be on your team every time?” Mira pulls back then, shaking her head. “You know him best. You tell me. Do you think he would appreciate you making decisions for him?”

“It’s not like that-“ Agron defends, “I’m trying to prevent-“

“No. You’re scared because you feel something beyond your dick.” Mira levels him with another look, this one flat and unimpressed. “Well, it was going to happen eventually. You’re not made out of stone.”

Agron is beginning to regret making her his best friend.

“Look, Ags, I know you, okay? I know why you’re scared and why you’re trying to build your walls up.” Mira opens her hands in front of her. “But I also know your heart. And you have a lot to give. And you don’t get to make these decisions by yourself, okay? You need to talk to him. Especially if your master plan was just going to be to sleep with him until you both fall apart.”

“That wasn’t my plan.” Agron grumbles guiltily, tugging his now cold coffee towards him.

“Yes it was.” Mira purses her lips. “You have to promise to at least think about what I just said before you make some rash decision, okay?”

“I will.” Agron answers honestly. He’s been unable to think about anything but Nasir for weeks now anyways.

“Good. Now,” Pulling a stool out, Mira plops herself down across from him. “how was it?” Her grin is vicious now, leering at him under harsh fluorescents.

“Fuck.” Agron sighs, tilting his head back. He isn’t one to usually kiss and tell, but it’s more gushing than anything else. Agron trusts Mira to keep her mouth shut.

“That good?” Mira giggles, her grin wide.

“Yeah.” Agron sounds a little mystified. “Like, sex so good it actually fucking hurts? Spine melting. Cosmic aligning shit. And god, Nasir is so perfect. Really. So good for me.”

“Jesus.” Mira gasps, fake fanning herself. “I take it you took your time?”

“There wasn’t enough time.” Agron groans. “I could have stayed in that bed for days and it would not have been enough time. I couldn’t get up after.” Agron scoffs, shaking his head to Mira’s immense amusement. “I’ve never had that happen. I couldn’t feel my fucking legs.”

“Damn. Well, if you guys break up, remind me to hit Nasir up.” Mira smirks, taking Agron’s gentle shove.

“Unless you plan to eat his ass for half an hour, I doubt you’re his type.” Agron rolls his eyes at Mira’s shocked cry of his name. “I’m being serious. It really is immaculate. And he goes nuts if you curl your tongue just like-“

“Okay!” Mira slaps a hand on his mouth. “That might be too much tmi!”

“I’m just saying.” Agron’s voice is muffled, his smirk evident. “I want to make him ride my face for hours.”

“I’m so regretting asking.” Mira pulls her hand away, turning to her forgotten groceries. “I mean, I’m not. I want to know all the gory details. But I still have to look Nasir in the face, you know?”

“I know. I know.” Agron concedes, somehow feeling lighter than he did just moments ago. “Just know, he took my cock like a champ but I’m pretty sure he was hobbling when he left this morning.”

“Jesus Christ.” Mira exhales, looking at the ceiling. “I can’t really blame him. I guess that picture of the hamster with the banana was true.”

Agron buries his giggles into his coffee mug, letting Mira work in peace for a little while. It’s not until he’s placing his bowl in the sink that he leans over to kiss her cheek, squeezing her into a side hug. Mira turns towards him, looping her arms around his neck and holding him tightly. For as strong as Agron thinks he is, he knows he owes his strength to many others too. Mira doesn’t say anything, but when she pulls back, there is something sad and melancholy in her gaze – put there once again by Agron.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” Agron murmurs, leaning in and kissing her cheek.

“I just want you to be happy, Ags.” Mira hugs him tight once more before letting him slip through her fingers, smiling up at him.

“I do too.” Agron answers, a little too raw and a little too honest.

- - -

Nasir is so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice Naevia until he’s bumped into her, nearly dropping his cup of coffee and her purse all over the concrete. They scrambled to grip everything, ending up with Nasir having to hold her elbow as Naevia crams keys, band aids, extra pens, and half a dozen receipts back in her bag. The people that pass them stare, but they don’t offer to help so Nasir frees a hand to flip them off.

“I am so sorry!” Nasir gasps, shaking his head. “I’m a fucking idiot. I didn’t even see you!”

“Oh, it’s fine. I was spacing too.” Naevia shrugs it off, righting herself. “Where are you going? Are you still doing finals?”

“No, I’m done. I was on my way over to the house.” Nasir doesn’t know why the lie comes, but when it does, it’s easy. “I promised to look over Agron’s essay for him.”

“That’s nice. Repay him for the tutoring?” Naeiva doesn’t move, which Nasir assumes means she’s not going in the same direction.

“Yep.” Nasir forcefully doesn’t think about the last time he saw Agron or how little studying they got done. “You coming from there?”

“Mira is on a rampage. She has half the house cleaning and the other half helping prep for next week. I think the only ones off the hook are Spartacus and Crixus – and only because they still have finals.” Naevia rolls her eyes, grinning fondly. “If you’re heading over there, I would keep my head down. She might force you to find all the flashlights or waterproof the tarps again.”

“I really don’t know how she does it.” Nasir agrees. Mira is a marvel all on her own. “I mean, are a lot of us going camping?”

“Yeah, actually. It’s a lot of people with no parents so.” Naevia shrugs dismissively. “Not a lot of families to go see for Thanksgiving. You’re coming, yeah?”

“Yep, signed up and everything. Not that Mira would have let me say no.” Nasir laughs it off, taking a swallow from his cup.

“Or me. It really is a lot of fun.” Naevia is so earnest when she says it, leaning into Nasir’s side. “We’ll go hiking and swimming. And there is always a big fire and we do smores. Plus, all the guys act like idiots and we have to be the voice of reason.”

“So like normal only outside?” Nasir grins. He’s really not wrong.

“Exactly.” Naevia agrees, motioning with her hand. “Only this time, you get to be the one with Agron’s leash.”

“His leash?” Nasir’s mind goes to places he’s not going to tell Naevia about.

“Gotta wrangle in the dogs.” Naevia explains. “You know? Curb the crazy?”

“Oh, and Agron’s a dog now?” Nasir chuckles, shaking his head. “I thought he was Spartacus’ dog?”

“Oh, he is.” Naevia doesn’t look like she’s joking when she says it. “He barks and bites and growls. Practically stands in front of Spartacus when anyone starts being too fucking mouthy.”

“I can see the resemblance. At least he’s house broken.”

Nasir has noticed the way Agron is always with Spartacus, always against his side, always whispering to him. He had figured they were just best friends, but then he thinks about the way they acted when they had bumped into Caesar. The whole group had drawn ranks – and it wasn’t clumsy. It was a practiced move.

“Nae,” Nasir starts slowly, glancing around. “You’d tell me if I had been recruited into some gang, right?”

“Oh, you absolutely have.” Naevia states, matter of fact. “You’re one of us now. We protect our own.”

“But-” Nasir’s eyes widen. “We’re talking like a friend group way, not like a “You'll never grow old, Michael” way?”

Naevia’s face runs through a serious of emotions, first surprise and then amusement and then settles into something oddly chilling – somber. She reaches up and cups his jaw, patting it gently before shaking her head.

“I want to have this conversation with you, but I really need to run. All I can say is ask Agron,” Naevia smiles thinly when she pulls away. “Or Spartacus – if you see him. He was holed up in his room when I left.”

“Oh...kay.” Nasir furrows his brow, watching her turn and hurry across campus.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. There are a few weird things he’s witnessed in the house or seen when they are out. Rumors Chadara has spit at him when she’s feeling vicious and tipsy. But what could it all mean? It wasn’t like Spartacus was running some crime family out of a college dorm building, right? Someone would have fucking noticed. Nasir supposes he could ask Agron or Spartacus. But he isn’t really sure he wants to know until he has to. There are a lot more favorable things he could be doing with Agron instead of asking about his gang involvement.

Nasir starts trudging towards the house, keeping his eyes forward but letting his mind wander. He’s been scolding himself every time he gets caught up in thinking about last night, but it keeps happening. It’s not like Nasir was a virgin or anything. He’s had sex before, what he thought was okay sex too. But it all pales in comparison to with Agron.

It had been slow and hot and perfect all at once. Nasir has known he could trust Agron for a while. And it wasn’t like their conversations had been innocent for a majority of their friendship. But talking about it and then actually doing it can be very different.

With Caesar it had all been give, give, give. Nasir was the one constantly being on his knees. He was the one on his stomach or bent over some dorm desk, pretending to like it. Half the time, Caesar never worked to get Nasir off. He just thought it would naturally happen as soon as he got going. There was never any lingering, no teasing, or actual foreplay. The most Nasir ever got was sharp bites to his shoulders and a rough hand on his hip, pushing him over.

Agron had been different. He was slow with his hands, careful with his mouth. He had teased and played like Nasir like he had known everything. Nasir still can’t get the sight of him between his legs out of his mind. The devilish smirk on his face when he had sucked a mark into Nasir’s hip, the way he slipped his fingers inside of him, coaxed him to relax and open. Nasir had barely been able to walk home, he was still sore now, speared through by Agron’s never ending cock.

It was the kisses that did him in though. Agron’s slow, deep way of kissing that makes Nasir’s legs go weak. One swipe of his tongue and Nasir feels like his spine is melting. He’s never been kissed like this, like it means something, like Agron wants Nasir to know how bad he wants him too.

A secret part of Nasir hopes that Agron wants him as bad as Nasir wants him. He knows he shouldn’t. It’s a dangerous thing – liking someone. And if Nasir is being honest, it snuck up on him. He had hoped that he was just attracted to Agron. That they would eventually fuck and it would all be over with and Nasir could move on. But as great as the sex was (and it was definitely the best Nasir has ever had), it was the after effect that really solidified it. It was sleeping in Agron’s bed, surrounded by his arms, smelling him later in Nasir’s hair and on his skin. It’s the easy way Agron had defended him in front of Caesar. How he had been kind and gentle when tutoring him, had let Chadara talk him down and hadn’t reacted violently. Nasir didn’t really have a choice – it felt inevitable.

It seems the ATO house is always loud. Nasir shoves the front door open and nearly collides with Barca and Lugo, both of them scrubbing the front stairs. They barely look up at Nasir as he passes by, Lugo grunting something in broken German when he waves. He doesn’t run into anyone else until he reaches the kitchen. Duro is at the island, at least a dozen pieces of bread spread out in front of him. He’s methodically layering slices of cheese on each other – looking half out of his mind with curls wild and untamed.

He looks up when Nasir clears his throat a little, eyes wide and a little blood shot. When he spots Nasir in the doorway, he instantly begins shaking his head, using a piece of cheese to making a shooing motion at him. Nasir doesn’t realize what he’s doing until Mira comes in from the pantry, holding a large box of snack food. Small, personal bags of chips spill out from the top, a thick package of twizzlers hanging from the tape. She can’t see Nasir from the angle, but she is already talking and wouldn’t have noticed him anyways.

“Once you finish with the sandwiches, you can help me pack the paper sacks.” Mira sets the box down with a large clunk. “I figure we need extra food just in case. Do you think Lugo’s campsite is going to eat with us? I can never understand him.”

“Save yourself.” Duro mouths at Nasir, eyes darting down the hall. He plasters on a grin when Mira calls his name. “Of course. I’m here to help. I can go ask him, if you want.”

“No, no. You’re more needed here.” Mira pulls out a clipboard, already marking something down. “Agron can ask him. Or I’ll just prep extra. Someone is bound to be hungry.”

“That’s a lot of food, Mira. You’re sure?” Duro asks, eyes widening at Nasir in horror.

“We have plenty. Just double what you’re already doing.” Mira waves her hand, beginning to pull out the chips.

Nasir has to stifle his laugh behind his hand, backing into the hallway. It’s clear that Mira is over doing it, but then again, Nasir isn’t even sure who is all going on this trip. He thought it was supposed to be a small affair, but apparently not. Duro continues to mouth things like “Go” and “Run Away” while Mira prattles on about food prep, motioning his head towards the hallway to Nasir’s right. He’s never been down this way before, but he figures it probably leads to the backstairs.

There are doors on either side, closed tight with name plates embossed on the front. Nasir passes Lugo, Barca, and Donar’s before he reaches a halfway open door. All he can see is the person’s back, warmth pooling in his stomach when he recognizes who it is. A basket of blankets lay at his feet, and Agron is fighting to untangle two of them, cursing quietly to himself in German.

Going unnoticed, Nasir takes his time to ogle – eyes roaming over Agron’s shoulders in the cut of his tank top, the ink on his shoulder interlaced with small, angry red lines. The jeans he’s wearing a loose, cut up with holes and frays, leading down to bare feet. Nasir feels a rush of easy affection for him, unpredictable and sharp as Agron gets annoyed and instead shoves the entire wad of blankets into the washing machine, shutting the lid with a sharp bang.

“Laundry duty, huh?” Nasir teases, stepping into the room and leaning back against the door frame. “Mira really is working you all to the bone.”

“Well, I had to do my own sheets.” His gaze is honey slow as it tracks over Nasir, turning his head. “And Mira can be very persuasive.”

“So, she told you what to do and you did it?” Nasir laughs, feeling his cheeks heat. It’s hard to stand neutral when Agron is staring at him like that – gaze calculating. Agron makes no mystery of him checking Nasir out, roaming from his face and then down his body, getting caught up and returning to his mouth.

“Basically.” Agron eases his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He’s not wearing a belt so the fabric folds, slouching enough that one of his hip bones peeks out. “Have to get ready for the big camping trip.”

“I saw Duro. Looks like he’s preparing to feed an army.” Nasir laughs, scratching absent mindedly at the side of his nose. “That many people coming?”

“A whole army.” Agron smirks, shrugging out his shoulders. “A little birdy told me that you’re coming.”

“I agreed. Though, I doubt Mira or Naevia or Pietros for that matter would let me not come along.” Nasir explains, not looking too concerned. “I figure they’ll put me up wherever there is room. Probably with Gannicus or something.”

“You’re staying in my tent.” Agron says it firmly, a scowl flashing across his face for just a moment. “With Duro and me.”

“Oh? Am I?” Nasir raises his eyebrows, surprised. “Don’t want me to shack up with Crixus? Word on the street is Rhaskos is single again.”

“I don’t want you sleeping in a tent with a whole bunch of drunk fucks.” Agron clears his throat a little. “Plus, it’s fucking end of November. It’s going to be cold.”

“You going to keep me warm?” Nasir finds it easy to flirt, gaze shifting over Agron’s shoulders, onto his chest. He can imagine them pressed together in some sleeping bag, sharing breath and touching.

“That’s what all the blankets are for.” Agron teases, sticking his tongue out at Nasir when he lets out a shocked noise. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were stuck working.”

“I had some free time after my shift.” Nasir doesn’t have to say that he didn’t want to stay away. Or that he could barely finish his shift without thinking about Agron. Or that the image of Agron in that shower is currently running behind his eyelids every time he shuts them. “I thought you wanted help with that essay.”

“Oh yeah,” Agron nods, easy and slow. It doesn’t look like that’s what he’s thinking about. “I finished it. But if you want to look it over, it’s upstairs”

“You trying to get me to your room?” Nasir smirks, shaking his head. “On a bare mattress? No thanks.”

“I never said we had to do it on the mattress.” Agron slowly raises an eyebrow at him. “I have a desk and a carpet and some wall space.”

“We have options now?” Nasir acts surprised, delighted when Agron licks over his bottom lip, considering.

“Pick a place.”

There is a weighted pause where they both just stare at one another, laundry spilled out between them. Nasir isn’t sure how to bridge that gap, isn’t sure what’s allowed and what isn’t. A cold fear suddenly coils in the base of his stomach, dread choking him. Is this what it is now? Now that Nasir has let himself crawl into Agron’s bed, it’s going to be awkward and weird or flirty and hot? Is Agron going to just act like they’re nothing more than friends? Are they going to just go back to sexting? Maybe it was a mistake for Nasir to come over so quick.

Stepping over the laundry, Agron makes his way across the room, stance casual and slow. There is nothing predatory about Agron’s movements, nothing except for his eyes that haven’t left Nasir’s face. Reaching around him, Agron hooks a hand around the door knob and slowly pulls it shut – hinges squealing. It cuts off the bustle from the rest of the house, shouts and cleaning dimming to a half murmur. The move puts Agron nearly pinning Nasir to the wall behind, chest brushing. Slowly, Agron releases the metal and instead slides his hand along the back of Nasir’s neck, into his hair.

“Hey.” He murmurs, a slow smirk taking over his face, dimples denting his cheeks. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Nasir breathes, staring wide eyed up at him.

“Over thinking it.” Agron says it as if it doesn’t matter. As if all of this is going to just fall into place. If this is the sign Nasir was waiting on, it’s a pretty fucking good one.

“I don’t know how to do this.” Nasr shrugs, helpless. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You’re not going to.” Agron whispers, dismissing it easily. “Don’t think that.”

“How can you be sure?” Nasir isn’t even sure what this is. But it feels heavy, feels important.

“I just am.”

Agron doesn’t waste time on more words. Instead, he leans down, presses his mouth slowly and firmly to Nasir’s own. There is nothing cautious about this kiss, deepening instantly when Nasir gasps through his nose. He wonders dizzily if it is always going to be like this. If he’s always going to be overwhelmed and burning up from Agron’s tongue in his mouth, from his lips dragging slowly together. How can Agron stand it? How can he possibly feel so in control when Nasir feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin?

Pulling back, Agron doesn’t retreat but stays close, green eyes seeming to spark in the bright light. It doesn’t feel simple. Nasir, blinking up at him through half lidded eyes, can’t put it all together – can't read Agron’s expression. He looks almost afraid, a light pink dusting over his cheeks that Nasir reaches up and traces with his thumb.

“We’ll just do what feels good and figure out the rest later.”

Agron shrugs a shoulder, his fingers twitching through Nasir’s long hair. It’s too serious of a conversation to be having in a brightly lit laundry room. Agron hasn’t thought of how to phrase this yet. Hasn’t figured out how to make this situation work – how to keep himself from being the one to fuck it up. If there is anything he’s certain of though, it’s that Nasir won’t ever be at fault for the mess that this will end up being. It will always be Agron’s fault.

Nasir tries to think of something to say, tries to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth – but he’s slowly melting, gasping air between bruised lips. Agron doesn’t seem interested in filling the space with words either. He keeps his grip on the back of Nasir’s neck, guiding him towards the center of the room with a slow smirk. If the kiss was a gentle, probing, then the raise of Agron’s eyebrow is something else.

Last night, Agron had been so fucking careful. He hadn’t tried to rush anything, had touched and waited – poised to be pushed away, to be rejected. Now though, he wants to test the limits. He wants to see how much Nasir can take – how he looks when he’s fucked out and yearning.

“Did you really come over here to look at my essay?” Agron asks, raising a slow eyebrow as his fingers caress over Nasir’s throat, surprised at how easily it fits in the palm of his hand.

“No.” Nasir answers honestly, leaning into the palm. His eyelashes flutter when Agron’s grip changes, a thumb brushing over his Adam’s apple. “You know why I’m here.”

“Hmm.” Using his grip on of Nasir’s neck, he pushes him firmly backwards until Nasir’s hips collide with the washing machine – gaze flickering wide. “Do I?”

“Agron,” Nasir squirms against his hold, cock twitching in the tight confines of his jeans.

“So eager, aren’t you?” Teasing, Agron presses his lips to Nasir’s ear, licking the shell. “I want you to show me, baby.”

It’s the pet name. The name that should make Nasir recoil, condescending and pretty, but from Agron’s mouth – it’s a fucking siren call. Nasir feels himself reacting to it before he can stop himself, letting out a small whine, back arched to press against Agron. It’s like in the club all over again – aligned and tight fitting – and Nasir can’t focus on anything anymore but the way Agron feels against him.

Delighted, Agron slides his thumb along Nasir’s jaw, pushing until his mouth unhinges – gasping sharply in the quiet room. Pinned like this, Nasir has no where to go. He can only arch forward into Agron’s chest when he slots them together, knees parting thighs and sliding between. There is something dangerous about being given power. Agron knows this well. But Nasir releases it so beautifully, waiting and watching for Agron’s next move, hands loose at his side.

“Ah-Agron.” Nasir’s lips tremble when Agron’s touch his, a chaste kiss followed quickly by a bite to his throat. He can feel Agron suck the mark into him, leaning into the sting, arching into the pain. It’s the feeling that should make Nasir run – should make him recoil – and yet he wants it more.

“Fuck.” Murmuring, Agron trails further down, fingers slipping Nasir’s hoodie zipper open. He drops it on the floor, smirking when Nasir’s arms break out in goosebumps. “You’re already hard.”

“I’ve been hard since you texted me.” Nasir confesses, palms sliding down Agron’s chest, bunching the fabric of his shirt up until he can get to Agron’s abs. He teases his nails over them, smirking up at him. “That all for me?”

“You want to find out?”

Realistically, Agron knows this is a dumb idea. There are bedrooms on either side of the laundry room – one of them being Donar’s. The house is fucking busy – people running around, cleaning, packing. Mira has been up his ass all day to help her, to keep working, to prepare. But Agron had locked the door when he pulled it shut and technically, he could kill two birds with one stone.

How the fuck is he supposed to say no when Nasir pushes up against him like that?

Hooking a hand behind them, Agron keeps his gaze steady on Nasir’s when he pushes a few buttons on the washer – the thing coming to life. It’s old and used, a kick to it that makes the entire thing begin to vibrate as it fills up. Agron doesn’t miss the way Nasir’s eyelashes flutter, already getting what Agron is hinting at – tugging insistently at Agron’s clothes.

Shirts hit the floor and Agron can’t keep his mouth off of Nasir’s neck, one of his hand splayed on Nasir’s ass. He squeezes hard when Nasir grinds against him, moaning sweetly in his ear. Agron’s back is stinging and Nasir seems to notice, fingers sliding from his shoulders and into his hair. He tugs on it, pulling Agron’s mouth up from the diligent mark he was sucking into Nasir’s chest to kiss him hard.

Now that they’ve started, they don’t seem to be going fast enough. Agron stumbles back half a step, dragging Nasir with him. The room is filling up with the sounds of them, the harsh breath and pounding of the washer. The kiss is half smeared along Nasir’s jaw when Agron pulls away, grin bruised and glinting when he easily flips Nasir around.

“Oh fuck! Agron!”

Nasir’s chest hits the top of the washer, fingers scrambling on the plaster wall above it. It’s too tall, Agron’s bulk at his back pushing him up on his toes. The angle tucks Nasir’s hips against the cold metal – hissing from the way the vibrations shove into his still jean covered cock. It seems to be Agron’s intention though as he keeps a hand firmly in the middle of Nasir’s back and the other trails down, slipping down the front of his jeans.

“You still loose from last night?” Agron asks, easily yanking the fabric open, dropping the zipper. “Can you still feel me inside you?”

“I’ve been sore all day.” Nasir confesses, his breath condensing on the washer lid. “Could barely sit without feeling it.”

“It’s cause you were so tight.” Agron tugs on the material, barely being able to get the tight denim down under Nasir’s ass. He has bruises here, fingertips and a palm from Agron’s eager hands, the harsh line of beard burn starting at the bottom of his ass and going onto his thighs. “No body ever works you right, huh?”

“You do.” Nasir’s words are gasped thin, blindly reaching back to push at his pants. He gets them a little lower, using gravity to kick them further down around his knees. Caressing over his legs, Nasir reaches up to spread himself for Agron, hissing when his cock touches the cold washer again.

“Shit, baby. Look at you. Still red and sore for me.”

Kicking at his feet, Agron spreads Nasir’s legs wider, letting him settle. If they’re going to fuck like this, Agron’s going to have to hold Nasir still – the angle sharp and tall – the toes of Nasir’s sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. There isn’t any lube down here either, but it’s not a problem. He moves his hand from the middle of Nasir’s back to his face, slipping two fingers easily into his gasping mouth.

Nasir sucks them, hallowing his cheeks and groaning. He can almost imagine this being Agron’s cock instead, his mouth full and dripping. Nasir would take him slow, run his tongue along the underside, hum when Agron would reach the back of his throat. He’s seen how hung Agron is, thick and uncut, and the very thought has Nasir groaning loudly.

His cock is dribbling against the washing machine, the metal slick with it and offering no friction. It is torture as the machine shifts into the next stage of the cycle – the whole thing shaking roughly as it begins to spin. The banging is loud – half masking it when Nasir cries out as Agron pulls his fingers free only to slip them directly into his hole.

It’s a tight fit, and Agron almost feels bad for how Nasir squirms against him – too much, too soon. There is nothing better than this though. Nasir’s chest hits the washer again, hands scrambling for purchase, as Agron watches his fingers disappear into Nasir’s gaping hole. He wonders if Nasir can handle this, if it’s too much, if he’s already fucking close. Agron’s cock is aching in his jeans, begging to be let out, but Agron won’t – not until he knows Nasir is ready.

“You’re a little liar,” Agron murmurs in Nasir’s ear, pumping his fingers in tight circles.

“Huh?” Bleary eyed, Nasir turns his head to the side, confused. He can’t fucking focus when Agron circles his prostate, playing with it with quick flick of his middle finger.

“Got me thinking you’re some sweet, little pillow princess.” Agron teases, biting a mark into the back of Nasir’s shoulder. “When really, you just want someone to hold you down and give it to you right.”

“You going to do that or keep playing?” Nasir pants hard, hand curling in his own hair and tugging.

“Both are very tempting.” Agron slips a third finger into him, curling his fingers up sharply and rubbing relentlessly into Nasir’s prostate.

Nasir’s scream is half muffled by him biting his own arm, hips thrusting back. Agron wants to be mean, wants to give him a rushed orgasm if only to build up the next one, but Nasir looks back at him with watery eyes and Agron can’t. Not yet. Instead, he pulls back, keeping his fingers light as he peppers kisses all over Nasir’s face.

“Shhh,” he soothes, tongue pressing slowly into Nasir’s bruised, lax mouth. “It’s okay.”

“Please,” Nasir whimpers, the vibrations against his cock and hips making him feel like his bones are going to rattle out of his body, “Fuck me. Come on Agron.”

“So sweet for me.” Agron smirks, slipping his fingers from within Nasir. As much as he wants to keep playing, he can tell Nasir is getting desperate, legs shaking from keeping himself on his toes.

Spitting in his palm, Agron yanks his jeans open and works his hand over his cock. It’s flushed and angry, pointed sharply up at his stomach. He isn’t so proud to admit that he’s a lot to handle it, that he’s thick and uncut and long. Fuck, he looks huge next to Nasir’s thin waist, and without lube, it’s going to fucking suck.

“Baby, let’s go upstairs.” Agron regrets saying it, doesn’t want to, but logistics. “I don’t have a condom and I don’t think-“

“I don’t care. Fuck me.” Nasir groans, tossing his head back. His hair is sweat slick against his cheek, curling wide. “Fuck, please.”

“I want to.” Agron is trying to be the voice of reason, but it’s hard when Nasir leans into him, grinding his ass along the length of Nasir’s cock. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

“Either you fuck me like this or I’ll walk out of this room and find someone who will.”

Nasir’s threat is all talk, nothing but hot air, but it does the trick. Agron’s hand comes down hard on the back of his neck, pinning him flat against the washer as Agron slides in the first inch. He was right. It is extremely tight, the wet heat nearly making Agron come with the first contact. But he holds back, by some miracle, pausing to let Nasir reconsider.

It’s for nothing though as Nasir’s hand skid on the washer, pushing his hips back as much as he can, slowly sucking Agron into him. Moaning deep in his chest, Nasir’s body is a marvel as Agron finds himself drawn in, slipping in inch after inch, holding his breath. It isn’t until he’s fully in, hips tucked against Nasir’s ass, that he allows himself to gasp raggedly, palms turned soothing on Nasir’s sweaty back.

“Holy fuck.” Agron marvels, thumbs brushing against the angry, red skin of Nasir’s rim.

“I can feel you in my throat.” Nasir coughs, body trembling and spasming.

The washer shifts into the extra spin cycle, the entire machine rocking and bucking against the pair. Agron uses it to his advantage, beginning to rock slow, staying close and deep. It gives him more control over the angle, digging his fingertips into Nasir’s back – trying to massage and sooth. When he pushes in all the way, he can feel the way Nasir is vibrating – half from the machine in front of him and half shaking from pleasure.

It’s torture and hell and fucking ecstasy. Nasir can’t get away from it. The front of his body is pressed tight to now warm metal, shaking down to his fucking bones, and the back is Agron’s hard body. His chest is heavy against Nasir’s spine, growling into Nasir’s ear and biting into his neck. He knows he’s going to be covered in marks, but Nasir can barely think straight enough to care.

Someone is pounding on the wall to the right, but Agron doesn’t bother replying. He’s losing his fucking rhythm, keeping his hips tucked up and tight, shoving Nasir nearly off his feet. Agron is dizzy with how good this feels, sweaty and ecstasy digging along his spine. He wants this to last forever and be over and continue until he can’t fucking breathe.

Wrapping a hand around Nasir’s cock, he pumps him on the off stroke, keeps him high on pleasure. Nasir is leaking all over, wet and gasping into the metal against his cheek. Agron can feel him getting close, hole tightening in short little clenches. It’s milk Agron from base to tip, a frenzy that he can barely keep up with, gasping harshly into Nasir’s shoulder.

“Shit! Ah-Ah-Agron!” Nasir cries, tossing his head back against Agron’s shoulder, “Kiss me. Please. Fuck.”

Agron slides a palm up over Nasir’s chest, fingers digging into his throat as he arches Nasir up to reach him. The kiss is more teeth than anything else, tongues tangling from between lips. It is heaven though, grounding when Agron twists his hand on Nasir’s cock and then suddenly he’s coming. He paints down the front of the machine and then onto the floor, writhing there and pinned. Agron swallows the high pitched, frantic moans, kissing Nasir desperately through it.

It’s too much, too fast. Agron’s body locks down, slamming into Nasir once more before he grinds there, kept close. He can feel it when Nasir is done, collapsing boneless into the finishing washing machine. Agron plants his teeth into Nasir’s shoulder and comes with a sharp groan, hips spasming forward over and over again, filling him up.

The washer finishes with a deafening click, the room falling silent except for the men’s heavy breathing. Nasir is half squished under Agron, cheek to the metal, all while Agron peppers gentle and wet kisses all over his back. It takes him a long time before he can pull back enough to slip out, knees feeling loose and weak.

They half collapse together on the floor, caught half on a large, scratchy blanket and half off. Agron is kind enough to be leaning into the wall, keeping a panting and dizzy Nasir in his arms, their legs a tangle of jeans and limbs. He strokes his fingers over Nasir’s bare back, down onto his hip, kissing into his hair and over his flushed, sweaty face.

“You’re so good for me, baby.” Agron praises, kissing Nasir’s mouth in a series of short, chaste pecks. “You were like made for my cock.”

“Shit.” Nasir gasps, hands teasing over Agron’s chest. “Why is that so fucking good? How are you so fucking hot?”

“I have no fucking clue.” Agron half laughs, digging his fingers into Nasir’s hair, caressing him to watch Nasir’s eyelashes flutter.

They end up getting lost in another round of kisses, moaning in the quiet room. Agron keeps his grip soft, slow and gentle, as he licks into Nasir’s mouth. Now that the fever has worn off, he wants to take his time, to give it to him careful. Nasir seems to respond best to this, sweet and grinning between their lips meeting.

Eventually, the floor is unrelenting and they have to stop. Agron has to help Nasir stand, glancing pointedly at the front of the washer. Come is streaked over the front of it, a mess on the floor, and Nasir uses the blanket they were just laying on to clean it off with a smirk over his shoulder. It’s with slow fingers that clothes are pulled back on, jeans tugged over still trembling legs. Agron wants to count the bruises on Nasir’s spine, wants to help him untangle his hair, wants to lay him down and eat him out again.

“You still want me to look over that essay?” Nasir asks, slipping his hoodie back on.

“If you’re feeling up to it.” Agron shrugs, tugging the clothes out of the washer and into the dryer. He’s never going to be able to do laundry again without thinking about this.

“I think I can be persuaded,” Nasir laughs, leaning up on his toes to kiss Agron. It’s slower, wet and open, and when he pulls back, Agron feels flushed all over again.

There is no one in the hall when they walk down it, the house still loud with movement, but it seems they haven’t drawn any attention. It isn’t until they’re at the end, getting ready to turn and walk up the stairs, that Nasir spots him. Donar is leaning out of his bedroom door, gaze hard and furious as they stare at the pair. Agron is busy already starting up so he misses it when Nasir waves at Donar, hand flipping over to flash him the bird.

Chapter Text

Nasir’s legs are still vibrating when he slides himself off of the back of the bike, tugging the helmet off his head. The fall sunshine is bright and warm on the tarmac, reflecting silver and white on the large glass windows of the rest stop building. It’s faded signs promise a Quiznos, a Red Robin, and a Dunkin Donuts. The gas station around the building is bustling with activity, including Spartacus’ overloaded truck. Crixus’ is a row to the left, the back hatch packed high with strapped down gear.

“You going in?” Duro is hanging out of the back, passenger window of Barca’s car, a red bandana keeping his curls out of his eyes. Beside him, Auctus looks half asleep, head rolling along the headrest. “Can you get me a Gatorade?”

“Go in yourself.” Agron hooks the straps of his helmet inside, dropping both of them into the saddlebags. He’s been annoyed all morning.

“But you’re already going.” Duro whines, batting his long eyelashes at his brother. “Just a Gatorade and maybe some Doritos. And maybe a Slim Jim.”

“No.” Agron dismisses, shaking his head. “I’m not your slave. And besides, I know you have to pee.”

Peeking through the backseat window, Nasir can clearly see that Auctus’ hand is on Duro’s thigh, the tell tale signs of beard burn half hidden by Duro’s hoodie. Barca and Pietros have already made their way inside, held hands swinging, leaving the pair in the backseat all alone and parked far enough away from other cars to not be noticed. It doesn’t take a genius to realize the real reason that Duro doesn’t want to get out of the car.

“It’s okay, I can get it for you. What flavor do you want?” Nasir feels like being nice, ignoring Agron’s scowl thrown his way.

“You’re a saint.” Duro’s flushed cheeks could be blamed on the wind. “I’ll just take a blue one.”

“Light blue? Dark blue? You want the ice one or the one that tastes like watered down grape kool-aid?” Nasir asks, laughing when Agron hooks an arm around his shoulders, tugging him away from the side of the car. “Cool ranch? Nacho cheese? You want the new flaming hot ones?”

“Ice blue! And cool ranch!” Duro hollers, waving his arms and then the bird at his brother’s retreating back. “I love your best friend more than you!”

“No, you don’t!” Agron shouts backwards, not even fully lifting his head.

“I do. I’m instating him as my newest sibling. I always wanted a little brother,” Duro’s voice is muffled by the wind. Nasir turns back just in time to see him yanked back into the car, the window promptly rolling up.

“Come on! He doesn’t get anything!” Agron grumbles, nearly putting Nasir in a headlock as he drags him away. “He was a mistake. Our mother should have stopped at one.”

“You don’t believe that,” Nasir swings himself away from Agron, only to be dragged back by a firm grip on his sleeve.

“I do. I really do.” Agron shakes his head, his dimples denting his cheeks. “I am the rough draft and the masterpiece.”

“You’re ego. It’s literally out of this world,” Nasir marvels, eyes wide as Agron holds the door for him.

“You say ego, I say truth.” Agron steps close when they enter the building, leaning down to whisper over the humdrum, “You know I never brag unless I can back it up.”

Face hot, Nasir drops his head as one of Agron’s hands brushes his lower back.

Rest stops seem to exist between dimensions. So many people gathered together to use the bathroom, pick up snacks, drink watered down coffee, and be on their way – to thousands of different destinations for thousands of different reasons. Every car ride has been different, from the ones with too many kids to the ones with a lonely driver making their way back home. There are shady characters, shifty eyes and troublesome sorts, butted up against the soccer moms and sports teams on their way to competitions. Old families on the way to a vacation and new ones, just starting out.

It shouldn’t matter to anyone else as Agron and Nasir come through the door and head directly towards the bathroom. For the most part, people keep eating their burgers, filling up slurpies, and flipping through their phones. They are simply anonymous.

The men’s public bathroom is never that busy of a place. No one makes eye contact or lingers too long at the sinks. It’s a get in and get done sort of place. That’s why no one notices when Agron glances around, checking for lingering people, before promptly pushing Nasir back into a stall with a slow grin. It’s in the back corner and out of sight – away from the running sinks up front.

“This is literally the least-” Nasir begins, cut off by Agron’s tongue in his mouth, gasping through the slow kiss, “romantic place we could be doing this.”

“I know, I know.” Agron confesses, threading his hands into Nasir’s hair, “I just couldn’t wait.”

“It’s been-” Nasir pants hard, trying not to whine when Agron moves onto his neck for a moment, “less than twelve hours since you’ve touched me.”

It has actually been about eight, Agron snagging slow and devilishly wet kisses just inside Nasir’s dorm door, pressing him firmly against the wall. Nasir had only been wearing one of Agron’s flannels, the front buttoned haphazardly and doing nothing from keeping Agron’s hands exploring. He had come over last night to help Nasir pack, make sure he was ready for the week long camping trip, and yet some how it had ended up with Nasir on top of his desk, biting into the inside of his arm so his neighbors wouldn’t hear him wailing as Agron ate him out for forty minutes.

“Too long.” Agron bites against Nasir’s pulse, sucking on the skin. He relents before it leaves a deeper mark, instead the skin just pink and irritated. “I want you now.”

“You that addicted already?” Nasir laughs breathless, head tilted against the metal wall. When he thinks of all the time they wasted hating each other, Nasir wants to smack himself up side the head. They could have been fucking like this since start of semester.

“Can you blame me?” Agron slips an easy hand up, thumbing at Nasir’s bottom lip. “When you look like this?”

“If you think I’m blowing you in a rest stop bathroom, you’re very mistaken.” Nasir has to stare at the ceiling and not Agron’s gleaming eyes, willing his body to cooperate. “I’ll get tetanus from even looking at the floor.”

“You don’t have to.” Agron shrugs, trailing quick kisses down Nasir’s throat, “I could blow you instead.”

He seems intent on making good on his offer, already working his way down Nasir’s body, when Nasir grabs his chin, leading him back up. The kiss is slower now, more open and searching. Nasir has to hook his arms around Agron’s neck to guide him down, lapping slowly along his bottom lip. It’s a trick that makes Agron growl, nipping at him in retaliation.

With this angle, it’s easy for Agron to grip Nasir’s jaw, to trail kisses along his cheek and against his ear lobe. He can hear each of Nasir’s tiny gasps, the whine he smothers with pressing a kiss to Agron’s jaw. It’s nothing more than heavy petting, slow hands and slower mouths, mapping skin. But then a few stalls down, someone flushes a toilet and a group of teenage boys comes clambering in – shouting loudly, and the spell is broken.

“How the fuck am I supposed to survive a week without touching you?” Agron grumbles, pulling back to lean against the opposite wall.

“I never said you couldn’t touch me.” Nasir grins, straightening his clothes. “Just not in a public bathroom covered in fucking asbestos.”

“And out in the woods is better?” Agron laughs, tugging on a strand of Nasir’s hair. “Want it up against some tree? Bend over a stump?”

“You’re the one who likes it dirty.” Nasir flips his hair away from Agron, turning to unlatch the door. “I suggest you get creative.”

“Or what?” Agron teases, hands sliding along Nasir’s hips, tugging him back.

“Or get used to your hand.” Nasir leans up, smearing a kiss to Agron’s stubbled cheek before dashing out of the door, giggling.

Agron is still scowling when he edges his way out, glancing around. The last thing he wants is to run into some homophobic truck driver with a rage problem. He keeps his hands to himself at the sinks, glancing over as Nasir fixes an unruly curl against his cheek. Something warm spreads through Agron’s chest when their eyes meet, Nasir’s slowly grinning and bumping his elbow into Agron’s arm. It’s easy, incredibly easy, to be playful and fun with him – something Agron’s never had before.

He made a promise to himself that Agron wasn’t going to get attached. Nasir is a fucking dream, an illusion, a hopeful wish. He’s not something that Agron can have and the more that he touches, the more that Agron burns. Mira would be disappointed, turn her amber eyes to him and frown, get that worried little crease between her eyebrows. Agron can’t do anything about it though. The more he thinks about it, the more he comes up with reasons why to Nasir, this has to be fun, but it won’t ever be serious. Nasir deserves the stars and Agron is fucking weighed down in mud.

They meander out to the snack aisles, maneuvering around running children and people crouched down, looking for that last bag of pretzels. Nasir trails his fingertips over Agron’s palm when they stop to pick up Duro’s order, turning to glance over at him. Agron flips his wrist, tangling their fingers together up to the second knuckle, not even really holding hands but a phantom press.

“Ags,” Nasir turns away, lifting a long, Slim Jim from the cardboard box, “you know Duro and Auctus are probably on the verge of - if not already - dating, right?”

“No, Duro hasn’t said anything to me about it.” Agron grumbles, releasing Nasir’s hand to reach up and pull a matte bag of Smart Popcorn down.

“Agron.” Nasir’s expression flickers, sending a half scowl at a row of gummies. “You’re not dumb. I know you know. They’re kind of obvious.”

“It’s obviously not a big deal if he won’t even talk to me about it,” Agron shrugs the comment off, “And if they’re fucking, then I’ll just kill Auctus and hide his body in the backyard.”

“You’re ridiculous. You know that Duro worships the ground you walk on. He isn’t talking to you about it because he’s afraid you’ll disapprove or be mad at him,” Nasir rounds the corner, searching through the glass coolers, “The least you can do is tell him he doesn’t have to sneak around.”

“He chose to sneak around. Auctus is a fucking himbo.” Agron rolls his eyes, following closely behind Nasir. “I don’t know why he’s bothering to try and keep it secret. I love my brother, but it’s not going to last. He has terrible taste.”

“Like you can talk,” Nasir mutters, gaze roving over the shelves of beverages. “I’ve meet your exs, remember?”

“You’ve met one,” Agron rolls his eyes, willing this conversation to be over already. “I don’t have any other exs.”

“No, I forgot. I’ve just the pleasure of meeting all of your ex hook ups.” Nasir’s tone turns nasty, turning to the next case. “A real bouquet of taste, Ags. Award winning.”

“Hey,” Agron reaches down to ring his fingertips around Nasir’s wrist, tugging on it. “Why are you getting so mad about this?”

“Because I care about Duro. And if you did too, you wouldn’t make him feel like shit for liking someone. Some people actually find people that they create an emotional connection with, not just getting their dick wet.” Nasir slips his hand easily out of Agron’s grip, scowl deepening as he finds Duro’s Gatorade. He nearly drops it when Agron slides up behind him, gently wrapping an arm around his waist

“I’ll talk to him, okay? But don’t think I’m not giving Auctus the shovel talk.” Agron sighs grumpily. “I know what he can be like. You weren’t around when he was with Barca.”

“That’s fine but-“ Nasir begins, looking at their reflection in the glass, half fogged from the cooler being opened. “It’s not a real reason.”

They look fitted, like their bones were made to line up, creases and crevices together in a perfect puzzle. Nasir can imagine if they stood long enough like this, that all the blurry lines of separation would just disappear, that they would sink slowly and seamlessly into one another. Nasir wonders what it would feel like to swim through Agron’s veins, to float in the caverns of Agron’s heart. It’s a place that feels like would be homely, a comfort and safe.

“No one is ever going to be good enough for him.” Agron explains, a furrow between his eyebrows. Nasir doesn’t think he’s talking about Duro anymore. “That’s all it is.”

“Is anyone going to be for you?” Nasir doesn’t want the answer, but he asks the question anyway. Something clunks heavy in his chest when Agron’s gaze skirts to the side, his hands slipping from Nasir’s hips.

“You know I’m not-“ Agron seems to get caught in his words.

“You don’t do relationships.” Nasir finishes his thought, even though it feels not quiet like what Agron was going to say.

“I don’t.” Agron’s tone isn’t easy, passive. It feels like a weight.

“Good.” A razor thin smile ghosts across Nasir’s mouth. “Neither do I.”

“Nasir, do we need to talk about this?” Agron’s voice goes quiet, leaning closer. “I thought-“

“We have fun.” Nasir’s smile is sharp – daring Agron to push it. “I like it. You like it. There is nothing to talk about. Let’s not complicate it.”

Like always, they are saved by interruption.

“Hey, you guys almost done?” Barca can see them over the top of a nearby aisle, the tuffs of Pietros’ hair sticking up by his shoulder. “Sparty says it’s another hour drive.”

“Yeah.”

Agron waits until Barca has turned, heading towards the front and then he stoops. The kiss is chaste, warm lips pressed together and Agron’s long fingers on Nasir’s jaw. It feels off though, Nasir leaning into it but not completely, not lingering to breathe Agron in.

“Let’s have a fun trip, yeah?” Agron asks, still searching Nasir’s expression. He doesn’t want to fuck this up already – not when they’ve just begun.

“Yep.” Nasir rubs his lips together, nodding. He has to dart his gaze around, nervous about the others, before untangling himself completely from Agron’s grasp.

Nasir moves quickly from the cooler, barely seeing as he grabs a bag of mints for himself. He doesn’t want to keep thinking about Agron, about the conversation that they won’t have – the fucking huge elephant that they’re clearly trying to avoid. Nasir can’t even be mad about it. Can’t even rationalize his own feelings. There is anger at Agron – rage over the way he shutters down, builds up all his walls, and only lets Nasir peak through when he’s buried deep inside him. But that’s not really true either. Nasir has seen parts of Agron that others haven’t, there are parts of him that feels like they’re Nasir’s.

He gets the feeling that he’s setting them up for destruction. Nasir keeps trying to keep his feelings in check, to remind himself that this is all physical. That it’s easy to be with Agron because he’s not really with him. It’s fun and easy, and why not? Nasir likes it when Agron touches him, loves it when they’re naked and pressed together, can get drunk off those slow, slow kisses. And if a part of Nasir dies a little every time they part, well that’s just a side effect of Nasir’s weak heart.

He has to learn not to let his feelings get the best of him. Agron has made it clear that he’s not really interested in a relationship – which Nasir can’t really blame him considering Caesar is his ex. He’s the type of guy that ruins dating for people. It wouldn’t be fair for Nasir to try and force something that Agron just doesn’t want.

“Here.” Nasir snaps, yanking opening Barca’s backdoor and tossing the snacks into Duro’s lap. He’s got his head tilted back, letting Auctus at his throat. “And stop it. Agron is coming.”

Duro’s head snaps down, eyes wide and looking out the front window to see, in fact, that Nasir is right. Agron is slowly making his way across the parking lot, head tilted to the side in conversation with Barca. It doesn’t look like anything’s wrong, Nasir looping his headphones back into his ears, pulling the helmet out of the bag, but Duro knows them well enough to sense when something is off.

“Do you want to ride in here?” Duro asks, tone low and careful. Nasir’s fingers fumble on the straps of the helmet, flashing Duro a wide and very forced grin.

“And watch you guys try to jerk each other off without Barca noticing? Absolutely not.” He sings in a high pitched, strained voice. Nasir doesn’t change it when Agron steps up to the car. “Besides, Agron and I were having a hot debate about the logistics of boat travel in a zombie apocalypse. I was just getting to my point.”

“What do you guys do? Call each other and talk through headphones?” Pietros laughs merrily, sliding into the front seat.

“It works. We can’t really talk over the sound of the bike and the wind.” Agron shrugs, pulling his phone from his pocket. He glances at Nasir as he does it, calculating and careful. Agron can’t figure out if they’re on the edge of a fight or a falling out.

“We’ll see you guys there!” Nasir’s voice is still that high pitched, false cheer.

He waits until Agron gets on the bike and then swings his leg over, pressed tight along his back. An early Christmas present had resulted in Nasir having a leather jacket now, the sleeves long enough to hook over his palms. They make a match, a pair, as Nasir wraps up against him. The roar of the bike cuts through his slow breaths, looking through the tinted visor at the bright, blue sky. Maybe if Nasir looks long enough, he’ll just float away.

“What the fuck was that?” Auctus grumbles, pulling open the sides of Duro’s chips.

“They’re a fucking mess.” Duro mutters, leaning back with his head on the rest. “It’s better not to ask.”

“Are they dating?” Barca raises an eyebrow in the rearview.

“No, even if they clearly both want to be.” Pietros answers his boyfriend, watching the bike speed off towards the entrance ramp.

“Never going to happen.” Duro says around a mouthful of Doritos. “No one has self-control like Agron. If he wanted them to be fucking, they already would have been. And since they’re not, no dice.”

- - -

Being late November, the campground is mostly deserted, rows and rows of abandoned fire pits and patchy ground left open and lonely in a large loop. A few large RVs make a row towards the entrance, their windows dark and shuttered even in the late afternoon – probably operating at mobile homes. One has a line strung between two trees, a row of speckled towels drying in the cold air. It feels hallow, quiet, the type of place where people go to hide and be forgotten.

The trees are a brilliant mix of reds and golds, a canopy over their site with the warm autumnal sun peaking between the foliage. Spartacus sets the tents up like a mock suburban neighborhood – five tents spaced out among the site – enough room to give some privacy but close enough a drunken stumble won’t leave one lost. No one is there on either side of them, the campsites separated by a row of tall bushes and saplings, and so if they get a little loud, there is no one to complain.

Lugo’s group doesn’t get there until an hour after Spartacus’, setting up across the beaten dirt road. They’re less organized, more people than legal spilling out of Donar’s truck and Saxa’s beat up 4Runner, a mess of tents and coolers and a whole hatchback full of beer. Agron and Duro get called over in heavy German, something about swearing and someone breaks out into song.

“You okay, habibi?” Naevia asks, sidling up beside him, helping Nasir unload blankets.

“Yeah.” Nasir flashes her a small grin, tossing a particularly soft quilt into his own tent. “I just rode for three hours on a motorcycle. I think I’m kind of dead.”

“We’re thinking of taking a hike. Do you want to go?” Naevia rubs a hand on his shoulders. They’re almost matching – both in oversized flannel left loose around a t-shirt.

“Is it bad if I just want to take a nap?” Nasir huffs a little, leaning into Naevia’s touch. This semester has been hard and now that they have a break – all Nasir wants is to actually rest.

“No! Of course not. We have an entire week to go hiking.” Naevia grins, wrapping her arm fully around his shoulders and pulling him close. “I think Lugo and them will go too. It should be pretty quiet over here.”

Nasir doesn’t want to, but he lets his gaze trickle over across the road to where the other campsite is. Lugo, Saxa, and Gannicus are all trying to set up a huge, ten person tent – shouting loudly at Duro who seems to be the only one who actually knows what he’s doing. Agron is standing off to the side, beer already in hand, laughing at something Donar is saying to him. As if he can sense it, Agron glances over at him – smiling wide when he sees Nasir staring at him. Just behind, Donar’s expression darkens.

It’s not that Nasir dislikes Donar. It’s really that Donar dislikes Nasir – for reasons that have yet to be explained. Nasir assumes it’s from jealousy. He’s not exactly secretive with his crush on Agron, always lingering beside him and staring at him during family dinners and movie nights. If they have a history, Agron hasn’t told Nasir, but Nasir gets the feeling it’s a lot of unrequited attention. It probably doesn’t help that he overheard them – though if he’s said anything about it, Nasir hasn’t heard.

“I think I will.” Nasir unloops himself from Naevia’s arms. “Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Of course. This is your vacation too.” Naevia kisses his temple. “Go lay down. I’ll clear us out.”

Gratefully, Nasir steps up to his tent, kicking his shoes off and ducking under the vinyl door. They’ve laid the sleeping bags out in a neat order – four lined up across the width of the tent with pillows tucked in. Nasir isn’t sure whose is whose, so he takes the one on the far right – up against the wall and one other bed – trying to be out of the way. He doesn’t feel like digging in his bag for sweats – and the sun is still up – so he just kicks his skinny jeans off and slips between the cool sides of the sleeping bag. They’ve put blankets down under them, enough cush that the half frozen ground doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

He hears the others milling around, some more shouting as he watches the outline of leaves scatter on the vinyl roof. Other than their movements, the forest is pretty quiet – birds are singing to one another, somewhere nearby is the river, the smell of damp earth and foliage filling up the tent. It’s not hard to relax into the warmth and comfort of the surroundings – so different than the busy dorms or loud frat house.

The unpacking and setting up finally It quiets out, Spartacus’ loud shouting wrangling the troops and then it’s a roar of two trucks and then silence. Nasir can feel himself relaxing, slipping slowly under, eyes heavy and body warm. He’s nearly asleep when he hears the tent unzip, not reacting until a warm arm hooks around his waist and a cold nose presses behind his ear. He knows it’s Agron, can smell the warm haze of his cologne, the slow press of his mouth to the back of Nasir’s neck.

“Are you sleeping?” Agron’s murmur is half lost in Nasir’s hair as he nuzzles against him.

Nasir makes some non-commital noise, whining a little when Agron easies the zipper down on the sleeping bag enough to reach his hand in. He starts at Nasir’s chest, caressing over his t-shirt, then down onto his waist, skirting around his hips. He groans when he reaches Nasir’s bare thigh, fingertips denting the skin as he drags over them. It’s exploratory and slow, spurred hot with Agron’s teeth nibbling at Nasir’s earlobe.

“Everybody left.” Agron coaxes his fingers up the inside of Nasir’s thigh. “They won’t be back for hours.”

“We can’t fuck in the tent.” Nasir mumbles, wiggling enough he can get the rest of the sleeping bag open. It lets Agron in, pressed along Nasir’s bag, now only clothes separating them.

“You still mad at me?” Agron tugs the collar of Nasir’s shirt to the side, lapping over his shoulder before worrying the skin between his teeth. He’s working up a mark, something that will stain violent and crimson.

“I’m not-“ Nasir chokes on a gasp, eyes fluttering open to stare at the side of the tent. “I’m not mad at you. I wasn’t mad at-Shit- at you.”

“You sure?” A hand caresses over Nasir’s hip, fingertips trailing on the soft waistband of his underwear.

“Yes!”

There is only so much torture Nasir can handle, so much pleasure on the precipice of teasing. He yanks away from Agron long enough to flip over, looping an arm around Agron’s neck. The kiss is half smeared, half coordinated, Nasir’s desperation answered quickly by Agron’s easy aggression, nearly rolling Nasir onto his back from the force behind it. They kiss fast and sloppy, teeth biting and tasting before Nasir manages to wedge a hand between them and push.

“We can’t fuck in the tent.” Nasir barely gets the word, already drunk on the way Agron looks above him. “Seriously.”

“Why?” Brow furrowed, Agron glances around. “No one can hear us, if that’s what you’re worried about. You can be as loud as you want.”

“I’m not loud!” Nasir’s eyes widen, shocked and embarrassed.

“You are with me.” Agron flashes that smirk – the one with dimples and ego – the one that makes Nasir want.

“I’m not loud. You’re loud.” Nasir shakes his head in disbelief. “I distinctly remember you being loud.”

“Nope.” Agron pops the p. “If I recall, and I have a very vivid memory of this, it was something like-“ Agron rotates his hips down into Nasir’s, grinding against him, voice going high. “Oh fuck. Oh Agron. Just like that. You’re so big. You’re gonna fuck me in half!”

“I do not sound like that!” Nasir squawks, smacking at Agron’s shoulders. “I do not!”

“Right there. Right there, baby. You’re so good.” Agron continues, emphasizing each phrase with a sharp roll of his hips. “Don’t stop!”

“You’re such an ass.” Nasir’s giggles have turned to pants, hips rolling to match. “I don’t sound like that. Better than your growling all the time.”

“Oh, you mean like this?” Agron lowers his head, growling into Nasir’s neck and promptly biting into the skin there. It sends shivers down Nasir’s back, spine arching sharply so his hips collide with Agron’s – lined up and perfect friction. It sucks the humor from Nasir’s lungs, suddenly incredibly turned on.

“Yeah?” Agron pants, pulling back and dragging his jaw along Nasir’s. “Come on, baby. You want it like this?”

“Agron, fuck, I’m serious.” Nasir groans, back arching sharply when Agron begins again on his neck. “Everyone is going to know. It’s going to smell like it in here and if you think I’m sitting around a campfire with drying lube in my ass, you’re wrong.”

“So? I’ll blow you.” Agron shrugs it off, rolling onto his knees above Nasir. He strips his hoodie easily, tossing the fabric to the side and then reaching for his t-shirt. When he notices Nasir staring at him, he slows down, dragging the fabric slowly over the smooth planes of his stomach. “You sure you don’t want to do this?”

Nasir bites his bottom lip, tries to keep the lust and the want contained behind his teeth. It’s not fair how easy Agron does it – turns him on, turns it up, makes Nasir’s legs shake and his cock twitch just from the site of those matching dimples and the cut of Agron’s Adonis belt. It’s too risky though – they’re practically fucking outside.

“The lube…” Nasir trails off, hand lingering in the air above Agron’s waist.

“There’s a bath house up the road.” Leaning down, Agron kisses Nasir’s mouth – drags it slow and sweet. “You want to shower with me?”

Considering it, Nasir weighs the possibilities. It’s probable his hair won’t be dry by the time the others get back, but Agron’s should be. And if anyone asks, he can just say they took a nap and then Agron showed him where the bath house is. Besides, they were the ones on an open bike for three hours, it would make sense that they went for a shower.

“Okay.”

They scramble up, Agron digging in his bag and pulling out towels and lube, Nasir trying to quickly tug his jeans back on. When they get on the trail though, things seem to slow down. The sun is still high in the sky, but the trees scatter the light over the beaten, dirt trail. It feels like they’re alone in the world – only the singing of the birds and crickets to watch over them. Agron doesn’t think twice about reaching over and taking Nasir’s hair, looping their fingers together and raising it, kissing the back of Nasir’s smooth palm.

He considers how he wants this to go. The more they come together, the more Agron has started to figure out how Nasir likes it, what makes him tick, the way to touch to get his body to arch and his mouth to gasp. He had told Duro a long time ago that he should be gentle with Nasir, should be a gentleman, should show him a good time. Agron can imagine what Nasir would do with a little tenderness – their first time had been slow, had been careful steps fueled by desperation and passion. Agron had wanted it so much he was practically vibrating the whole time.

The shower room is off the toliets and sinks, a row of five curtained off stalls, secitioned into two separate areas. The first is meant for undressing and toweling off. Then the shower area is through another curtain. Agron takes a survey of them when they first arrive, keeping his grasp on Nasir. All the way at the end is the handicap stall, a small, metal bench taking up one side of the shower stall.

Nasir watches in silence, allows Agron to pull him into the first stall room, the curtain snapping into place as Agron yanks it shut. In the stone building, the sound of the forest is cut off – everything dulled except for their heavy breathing – gazes locked and unwavering. It’s always like this, the tension choking and suffering through the silence before one of them breaks and goes for it. Nasir feels itchy and unstable, wants it too much and won’t say the words – isn’t even sure he knows how to ask for it. Ask for the thing that Agron gives him, the freedom of it all.

Leaning to the side, Agron twists the knobs of the shower, the water cascading out cold and then warming. He leaves it to run, pulling the curtain closed and leveling Nasir with another look. It prompts him into action, Nasir’s fingers going to the buttons of his flannel, but Agron’s are already there, gently pushing them out of the way.

“Let me.” He murmurs, waiting for Nasir’s careful nod before he leans in, kissing him with those slow, opened mouth kisses that make Nasir’s legs quake.

They strip slow, fingers sliding between lays of clothes and along smooth skin, peppering slow and open kisses along newly revealed skin. Agron turns him at one point, Nasir’s bare back to his chest, gasping loudly when Agron reaches between his legs. It’s just to get his jeans undone, but Agron lets his palm linger, sliding down and wrapping his palm around Nasir’s cock. He strokes him a few times, enough to make it heady and wet.

Agron doesn’t let himself linger though, keeps it simmering and almost too much, tosses Nasir’s clothes and then his own onto the hooks along the wall. When he guides Nasir into the water, he goes backwards, watching the roll of Nasir’s hips, the way his goosebumps spread over his chest, eyes wide but trusting. Agron’s never wanted someone this much, never wanted to taste and touch and bite every part. Nasir makes something open up inside of him – the need to claim and soothe – to have and keep.

The water has had time to turn warm, the steam slicking the walls and gasping and hot. Nasir’s hair turns inky, slick over his shoulders and curling against his cheeks. Agron can’t keep his fingers out of it, pressed tight in the small, metal stall – stealing kisses as they slot together, managing to create some sort of friction. The water makes it slippery, Agron’s cock bumping against Nasir’s stomach, the heat there and not enough of a press.

Nasir can’t get over how Agron feels, imposing and hard against him, the pressure of his body keeping Nasir pinned in place. It should be smothering, should suffocate and trap, and yet Nasir drowns in it – revels in the feeling of being held. He knows he’s safe here, overwhelmed and awed by the way Agron seems to know before Nasir can even know.

“Shit,” Nasir turns his head to the side, panting hard when Agron’s palm wraps around him again. “Agron, come on.”

“What do you want, baby?” Agron asks, nibbling on Nasir’s earlobe. “Whatever you want.”

“You know what I want.” Whining, Nasir hitches his leg up, tries to hook it around Agron’s hip. The height difference and the water doesn’t let him though, stumbling half a step closer. “Need you.”

Agron meets his eye, stares when he runs his hands over Nasir’s back and down onto his ass. It’s tight enough that if Agron lifts, he could probably pin Nasir easily enough to the wall. He doesn’t want to rush this though, knows if they start that way, then it won’t last. Instead, he turns them, nudging Nasir back enough that he can help Nasir up on the bench. It’s not very wide, but enough space that Nasir can rest his forearms on the wall, leaning his head forward as Agron caresses over his back.

Eager fingers follow Agron’s mouth, trailing biting kisses down his spine. He’s going to have a path of love bites to his ass, Agron making his mark and claiming his prize. Nasir’s fingers dig into smooth metal, fogging it up in front of his face. He tries to push back when Agron trails those clever fingers down his ass, wants to guide it over, but Agron won’t be rushed. He just curls his palm around Nasir’s hip and starts his mouth again at his shoulder.

“I could do this all day.” Agron murmurs, his voice barely above the water. “Would you let me do this to you?”

“You can do whatever you want.” Nasir confesses, glancing over his shoulder. He meets Agron’s gaze, halfway down his back, teeth bruising into his ribs.

“You sure?” Agron trails his tongue back up Nasir’s spine, leaning in to whisper the words into his ear. “You’d let me keep you like this? Open and wanting? Let me lay you down and draw it all out of you? Take my time? Touch and taste you everywhere until all you can do is lay there – begging for more?”

“Fuck,” Nasir gasps, tilting his head back. He doesn’t know when Agron got the lube, but there is suddenly a finger inside of him, slow and probing.

“I just want to make you feel good,” Agron confesses, easing his finger up and curling, waiting until he hears Nasir’s sharp inhale before adding another finger – pressing tight to his prostate. “So good for me, baby. You want that? You going to let me take my time?”

“Agron!” Nasir’s eyes roll, knees shaking on the bench. His cock is leaking, precome drooling down onto the metal wall, body hot and twisting. He doesn’t know how Agron manages this – turns him on and touches him just right.

Kissing the side of Nasir’s face, Agron curls his back along Nasir’s, feels his frantic gasps and moans. He’s addicted to the way they fit together, enamored by the easy way it’s like fucking fate – to completely want to sink into someone. It’s more than sex, more than fucking, more than a frantic touch. Agron is dizzy from the moment his head spreads Nasir open, lost in the feeling of slowly thrusting his cock inside him. What has Agron ever done in his life that gives him permission to be inside Nasir? To be given this trust? This pleasure that is unmatched?

Nasir feels half drown, hair sticking to his cheeks and the back of his neck, teeth biting into his bottom lip. Every crevice of his body feels filled, enclosed in Agron’s firm grip. He has one arm across Nasir’s shoulders, holding him back, with the other hand gripping his hip, keeping him still. Nasir is half expecting the snap of Agron’s hips – but it doesn’t come. What does is something else – the slow, agonizing drag of his cock all the way out and then punching back – robbing all the air from Nasir’s lungs.

It goes like that, grinding slow and thorough, until Nasir feels himself collapsing into it. He isn’t strong enough to fight against Agron, demand it fast and desperate. There is a hazy, warm feeling spreading between the fragments of Nasir’s ribs – something that zaps sharp in the back of his mind. This doesn’t feel like fucking. It doesn’t feel dirty and satisfying. This is thorough, this is soft, so fucking intense that Nasir feels like fucking crying.

“God, you were made for me.” Agron gasps, losing control as he thrusts in sharply, staying to grind against Nasir’s prostate. “Made for my body.”

“Kiss me.” Nasir begs, craning his head back – afraid if Agron doesn’t then dangerous words are going to spill out of his throat.

The heat in the shower is making Agron’s back sting, but he won’t move – not yet. He can barely breathe, tongue running over Nasir’s teeth and hips steady and slow. He’s deep, feels it coring out Nasir’s body every time he slides forward – going on forever. Nasir’s hands are slipping on the metal wall, shifting from the pressure on his knees, groaning high and needy with every movement.

It nearly kills Agron to pull out, might actually if he’s not quick to act. He guides Nasir down from bench, switching their position so Agron can sit. Then he guides Nasir back onto his lap, massaging over his thighs, down onto his calves. The new angle allows Nasir to have more control – his blotchy face level with Agron’s own. With tender hands, he brushes the stringing curls from Nasir’s face, kissing him slow and open – tongue deep in Nasir’s mouth when he gets settled.

Nasir’s sharp moan rings around the bath house as he sinks down onto Agron’s cock. Gravity makes it feel like it’s taking forever, pushing and pushing until Nasir’s eyes roll from the pressure. He’s not sure he’s going to be able to handle this, whining high and desperate, but then Agron holds his hips and pushes up the last few inches – seating him fully and Nasir is awash from the pleasure of it all. He feels so full, choking on how cored out his body seems.

“Holy shit.” Nasir’s fingers scramble on Agron’s chest, eyes wide and frantic. He’s struck dumb by the shivers wracking his spine, by the electric gleam of Agron’s eyes under wet eyelashes. “Holy fuck!”

“Easy baby.” Agron soothes, leaning up to kiss Nasir’s already bruised mouth, trailing off to take a nipple into his mouth. “Take your time.”

Staring up at the ceiling, Nasir tries to take slow and steady breaths, to regulate his jack rabbit heart – but he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to calm down. His cock already feels like he’s going to come at any moment, the pressure in his stomach twisting hot and frantic. And then, as if reading his mind, Agron sooths his hands down Nasir’s side and takes his hips.

Chest flexing, Agron easily lifts Nasir and then lowers him, fucking him down onto his waiting cock. The change of angle has him dragging over Nasir’s prostate with each thrust, trembling starting in Nasir’s thighs and working up over him. Agron is awestruck how perfect Nasir looks, a fucking wet dream come to life. His eyes are dark – pupils blow, mouth crimson, fingers scrambling over Agron’s broad shoulders, down to marvel at his arms.

“Come on,” Agron encourages, breathless as he plants his feet and thrusts up sharper, “Come on, Nasir.”

It’s like the name cracks through the hazy, Nasir gripping a hand into one of Agron’s shoulders, the other falling to the center of his chest. He uses it as leverage, rolling his hips down in quick jolts to match Agron’s. They easily fall into a desperate rhythm, chasing pleasure and the tightening spines, leaning into kiss open and wet – more tongues and teeth than lips.

Agron manages to sneak a hand between them, twists sharply on the upstroke the way he knows Nasir likes. It’s so fucking wet between them, water and sweat and precome spilling and slicking them. It’s fluid, like they’re melting into one another. Agron wraps his fingers over the head of Nasir’s cock and bites his tongue and it feels like the scale has suddenly been tipped, the crashing of it all around them.

Nasir comes with a wail, head tossed back, desperate hand scrambling on metal walls until he remembers he can grip Agron – digging his nails promptly into Agron’s biceps. It’s not as bad as before, but there are marks, red cresent moons all over the wolves’ face. He can’t stop, body spasming as he shoots across Agron’s abs, down onto his hips, up towards his chin.

“Fuck the gods,” Agron hisses, gasping helplessly as Nasir turns into a vice around him. It’s so much fucking pressure, Nasir’s trembling making him milk over Agron’s cock. For as desperate and bone melting as it feels, Nasir keeps moving – seeming to be spurred on by the sheer magnitude of it.

“Ag-Agron!” Nasir pants, collapsing against him, face buried in Agron’s neck. “Fuck, come on. I want to feel you come in me.”

“I’m so close.” Agron pants helplessly, blissed out and high from the feeling.

“Come for me.” Nasir bites roughly into the side of Agron’s neck, sucking on the skin sharply – hoping for a mark. It only seems fair.

Raking his hands down Nasir’s back, Agron grips his ass tight and lifts. It only takes a few dozen thrusts, tight and sharp, rocking his hips up into Nasir’s weight, then it’s all over. Agron growls sharply, holding Nasir in place as he comes. It feels like it goes forever, robs the breath from his lungs, writhing in pleasure as Nasir peppers wet and desperate kisses all over his face, sucking on the tip of his tongue. Agron has no idea what he’s done to deserve this, but he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to let Nasir go.

The come down is slow, Nasir clinging to him, kissing over his chest and panting ragged gasps into the shower stall’s humid air. Surprisingly the water hasn’t gone cold, and it beats down on them, washing away the evidence of what they’ve just done. Agron can’t get over what Nasir looks like – hair wet and eyes unfocused, mouth like a bruised fruit – puffy and angry from the harsh kisses and beard burn. It makes him hesitate, barely brushing their mouths together in a sweet press.

I think I could love you if you let me

The thought twists slowly to the front of Agron’s mind, the words like a soft whisper that hits like a weight. He doesn’t let it show on his face, keeps himself still and neutral, hands caressing over Nasir as he slowly gets up on shaky legs. But maybe it’s better this way – maybe it’s better that Agron remembers what this is. That Nasir is his to touch, to taste, to fuck, and that is it. No more. Because Nasir is made of stars and Agron is still stuck in mud.

“Do you think they’re back yet?” Nasir mumbles, switching the water off and stepping out to grab a towel.

“Not sure? Probably not.” Agron doesn’t move, just watches Nasir begin to dry off, starting at his shoulders, easing the fabric over his arms. “Why?”

“I think I could use that nap now.” Nasir flashes Agron a slow grin, teasing and bright, and suddenly it’s no longer a whisper but a glaring thought.

I want to love you. Let me.

- - -

Lugo’s turned on the music. It should be too loud for normal camping times – something the office had warned them about – but it seems like no one is really around to care. Beers have been passed out and food – to the cheers and many thanks to Mira. Any sense of calmness or vacation has now dissolved into a full thrown party – with people crashing from one campsite to another, two roaring fire crackling light onto the dark ground. It sends shadows and sparks across the canopy – feeling unruly and wild – a worshiping to an old god.

Nasir is deep in conversation with Naevia and Pietros, a beer clutched in his hand, standing close to the fire. He’s exhausted, bone deep after a rushed thirty minute nap, but the alcohol makes him feel warm and the music has him swaying a little. It feels good to feel free – to have the weight of life rolled off his shoulders – to put down the weight of trauma aside.

“It’s a total Dionysian affair, huh?” Pietros laughs, watching as Duro nearly tips over in his fold out chair, a roar of laughter spilling out of his mouth.

“Well, not too many of us are naked, so I would say almost.” Naevia grins, conspiratory as she knocks her elbow into Nasir’s. “Though, it looks like someone is about to break into a dance?”

Taking a deep pull of his beer, Nasir thinks about it. He’s half drunk, well fucked, feeling warm and loved and safe. What is there to fear anyways? What’s the worst that could happen? To live and be free – that’s all he wants.

“Why the fuck not?” Nasir laughs, carelessly tossing the rest of his bottle back. “Why the fuck not?” He says louder, reaching out for both Pietros and Naevia.

“Nasir!” Naevia laughs, astonished and elated.

“Come on! We’re young! Let’s not waste it.” Nasir gasps, hurried and excited.

The song that’s playing has a quick beat, something easy to step and hop to. He doesn’t give them the choice, dragging them closer to the fire so they can see the ground. Nasir gets them where he wants them and then throws his hands above his head, spinning in an easy circle, laughing.

“Hell yes!” Pietros shouts, voice echoing up at the moon above them. Naevia can’t resist it either, calling up a howl at the sky before joining in the frenzied dance. It’s most spinning and waving their arms, rolling together in happy steps.

Across the huge fire, Agron sits hunkered down with Spartacus and Crixus. They had been discussing an issue back on campus – something with Roma and their insufferable students – but they’re momentarily distracted by the loud noise across from them. Through the licking flames, Nasir, Naevia, and Pietros looks like triplets. Dark skin spinning and twisting together, hair swirling in the deep night. Like ethereal nymphs lost in the frenzy, celebrating and revealing in the outdoors, in the worship.

They come together and then pull away, seeking out other people to join in the impromptu dancing. Duro goes, dragging Mira and Barca with him, crowing loudly as if he’s some sort of Peter Pan. Lugo and Saxa don’t need to be invited, dashing over with their own calls – voices carrying in the frenzy. Through the moving bodies, Agron catches Nasir’s gaze – face flushed and warm, he raises a hand and curls a finger at Agron – beckoning.

“You better go.” Spartacus smirks, nudging their shoulders together.

“I-“ Agron tries to think of something clever to say, words stuck. It doesn’t matter anyways, they’re distracted a moment later by a loud whooping holler from the trees behind them – the opposite side of the other campsite.

It’s only a moment before men are spilling out of the trees, flashlights swinging and dashing through the dirt path – right towards them. Spartacus is on his feet in an instant, Crixus and Agron easily falling into formation. Someone cuts the music, the sound of friendly conversation and shouting cut short as the new group rejoins, approaching in a gleam of light.

“Who the fuck are you?” Agron snarls loudly, calling out to the group, furious.

“Oh, sorry brothers!” A voice cackles, the flashlights lowering one after another. “We didn’t know anyone else was going to be out here.”

“Heracelo?” Spartacus calls, disbelieving. “What the fuck are you doing out here?”

The mentioned man comes into view, a tattered hoodie hanging around him, hair pushed back in an ugly tye dye bandana. He’s the leader of another frat on TU’s campus, one that – unfortunately – ATO gets stuck with sometimes for philanthropy and mixers. No one is a big fan of their group – more interested in getting drunk and starting trouble than doing anything useful.

“We came up here for a brotherhood event.” Heracleo explains. He’s carrying a half empty bottle of Captain Morgan. “We had no idea you were here too, brother. It’s fate!”

“Must be.” Crixus grumbles, mouth razor thin.

“Fuck,” Agron hisses under his breath. Heracleo is bad enough on his own, but it’s who is standing next to him that causes Agron’s sudden wave of fury.

For it being forty degrees outside, Castus is wearing a torn up tank top, the edges rough and curling – like it was cut and then left. He’s looking way to comfortable standing next to Heracleo, hands in his pockets with that fucking smirk ghosting across his face. Agron has wanted and has on multiple occasions punched that expression off his face.

Agron meets his gaze head on, scowl deepening into a half growl as Castus nods his head in recognition. Heracleo and Spartacus continue to exchange pleasantries, but Agron doesn’t take his eyes off that smirking shit. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he would have missed it – the darting of Castus’ dark gaze in the firelight to just behind Agron – the expression his face flickering just slightly.

Looking over his shoulder, Agron’s stomach suddenly swoops. He should have fucking known. The rest of the group has tucked close, used to drawing ranks. But that’s not what Castus is staring at. Tucked between Duro and Naevia, Nasir looks wild and gorgeous – lit golden from the crackling fire. He’s wearing Agron’s flannel, the edges dancing around his thigh – making him look soft and small.

“Fuck!” Agron hisses again, drawing Castus’ attention back to him.

“Well, if you don’t mind,” Heracleo’s words cut through Agron’s silent raging. “We’re always game for a good party.”

“Spart-“ Agron begins, cut off by Spartacus’ raised hand.

“We’re more than happy to entertain a friend.” Spartacus’ tone is clipped, in warning. He must know something he’s not sharing with Agron. “Lugo! Get that music going!”

It seems to relax the group, the people eating going back to their plates. Someone brought corn hole with them and the game begins again. The dancers wait for the music before going back to spinning around one another. Only Nasir steps away from the group, holding his finger up to both Naevia and Pietros who try to call him back, stumbling over towards a cooler on the tailbed of Spartacus’ truck. Agron tries to make it look natural as he wanders over too, leaning into the metal as Nasir digs for his fancy hard cider.

“What was that all about?” Nasir asks, finally snatching the can out from the ice. Agron takes it from him to open it.

“Heracleo runs another frat on campus. They’re a bunch of shits though.” Agron grumbles, holding the can out to Nasir. “Think sterotypical, drunk frat shitheads.”

“Oh.” Nasir pointed glances around at the rest of the group.

“They’re not good guys.” Agron drops his voice lower. “Stay away from them, yeah?”

“Okay.” Nasir smiles easily, taking a long drag of his drink. “Do you want to just go to bed?” He looks disappointed when he says it.

“No, no. You’re having fun.” Agron, self-indulgent always- reaches out and cups Nasir’s cheek, dragging him close to kiss his temple. “I like watching you dance.”

“Oh yeah?” Nasir drunkenly giggles, leaning into Agron’s side, “You could come dance with me?”

“I could.” Agron crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not really drunk enough though.”

“Ohh no. White boy can’t dance unless he’s drunk?” Nasir hops back, poking his fingers into Agron’s stomach. “Come on, Wonder Bread. I can show you some moves.”

“Wonder Bread?” Agron raises his eyebrows at that, letting Nasir drag him forward.

Whatever Nasir’s retort was is lost in the crowd’s loud shouting, falling into the frenzy of the quickly moving bodies. This isn’t club dancing – where everything is heavy and hot – hands roaming over slick, neon painted skin. This is wild, free dancing – where everyone spins and shakes and stomps their feet into the dirt. The type of dancing that makes one feel alive, connected, significant in a huge world. And with Nasir spinning in front of him, his brother at his back, and his family around – Agron lets himself have it. Let’s his walls down and just lives.

Chapter Text

The sound of birds is what wakes him first, the sharp swing of a cardinal calling for a mate, the throaty billow of a finch. Nasir’s head seems to throb with it, throat raw with acid and bubbling. It can’t be more than five in the morning, the sound of the party raging outside of the tent seeming to barely have quieted. Nasir had let himself go a little, too drunk too fast, and had basically been carried into the tent by Agron and Mira around one. He hadn’t remembered much, only Agron bullying him out of his shoes and into the sleeping bag.

It’s the rustling inside of the tent that fully pulls him from sleeping though, the delicious heat at his back disappearing and then a heavy blanket being thrown over him. Nasir doesn’t fight it, rolling more onto his side and squinting his eyes open. It’s too dark in the tent to really gauge features, but he recognizes Duro, half stumbling from the tent and then Agron, calms the moment he cups Nasir’s face.

“Hey, go back to sleep.” Agron’s lips, dry and soft, brush over Nasir’s forehead.

“Where are you going?” Nasir isn’t sure if he even opened his mouth all the way, but hopes the words are at least semi-clear.

“Duro and I are going for a hike. We’ll be back in a little bit.” Agron’s head reaches the top of the tent, so he has to stoop to pull a sweatshirt over his head.

“It’s dark,” Nasir can’t help the whine in his voice, nuzzling his face into the blanket. He can smell Agron on it, the woodsy spice of his cologne. Nasir must still be drunk because he can’t stop himself from reaching out, fumbling hands skirting over Agron’s calf. “What if you get eaten by crazy Appalachian cannibals?”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Agron is laughing when he kneels down, tugging on his shoes. “I promised him we’d go. Brotherly bonding and all that. Besides, someone told me I should give him and Auctus my blessing.”

“That someone was dumb,” Nasir doesn’t mean it, reaching out a sleepy hand to brush his fingers over Agron’s calf. “Someone changed their mind. You should come get into this sleeping bag with me.”

“Oh yeah?” Agron leans down, kissing Nasir’s upturned faced. “Go back to sleep, someone.”

“So mean.” Nasir pouts, leaning up half an inch to nibble at Agron’s jaw.

“Don’t start.” Agron groans, using a broad hand to press Nasir down firmly into the blankets. “Donar is in here too. You don’t want to wake him up, do you?”

“Gross.” Nasir wrinkles his nose, rolling over and away from Agron. He still accepts the additional kiss to his neck though, hiding his grin in his blankets.

“I’ll be back.”

- - -

The trees are heavy with red and yellow leaves, that spiral and swing in the cool breeze. The forest always seems to know who belongs to it and it is no different with Agron and Duro. They grew up on the edge of the Black Forest – spent long afternoons running between its large, dark trees. The dirt beaten into their skin, nearly deep enough to evade their blood. There is something is mystical about it, something serene is knowing you are home – even if it’s thousands of miles away. Roots run deep.

“You’re very quiet.” Agron observes, nearly ten minutes into their hike, taking the lead up a sharp incline.

“It’s early.” Duro half whines, glaring at Agron through half lidded eyes. “And you’re up to something.”

“Up to something?” Agron laughs it off, shaking his head. “You wanted to spend some time together. You like to hike, so we’re hiking. It’s early so we shouldn’t run into anyone.”

“But that’s not the real reason you drug me out here. No one else is in the campground, except those pirate shits.” Duro pauses at the top of the hill, panting hard. “So, what did I do wrong?”

“You think I drug you out into the middle of the woods to scold you?” Agron looks at him over the top of his water bottle, rolling his eyes.

“Yes.” Duro crosses his arms over his chest. “Spartacus isn’t here to muzzle you. Or Mira with her quiet “Ags” every time you start. No Nasir to give you that look. So, lay it on me.”

Agron takes his time drinking, assessing Duro. He doesn’t look scared, more annoyed than anything, but there is something hectic about him – like he can’t settle. Agron recognizes the anxiety, the slow stress of not knowing what is coming. He takes pity on him, finally capping his bottle.

“You’re fucking Auctus.”

In hindsight, there are probably easier ways to have said that. Duro drops his own waterbottle, the metal clanking loudly on a rock and then rolling away. He doesn’t bend to retrieve it.

“Wh-What? No, I-“

“I’m not dumb, even if people think I am. And you’re not sneaky.” Agron shrugs a little, arms settling across his chest. “So, how long?”

“Agron, it’s not what you think.” Duro holds his hands up. “Really, it’s not.”

“So what? He’s fucking you?” Agron scoffs, unimpressed. “How long, Bärchen?”

“I-“ Duro hesitates, gaze huge and now frantic. He can’t lie to Agron though, not like this. “Three months. Since we got back from summer break.”

Agron mulls it over, lets the timeframe and information settle in. It’s not that he doesn’t like Auctus. He’s dumb and jockish but he’s fairly harmless. He’s one of Barca’s group, so Agron can’t use Crixus as an excuse to hate him – even though he’s friendly with the French fuck. It’s all the sneaky around that doesn’t sit well with Agron, the secrets.

“You can’t blame me for not telling you, Ags.” Duro huffs. “Everyone knows how you feel about dating.”

“Oh, so you’re dating?” Agron’s eyebrows raise. “And you just thought you shouldn’t mention it to me?”

“Come on,” A lick of that temper simmers to the front. “Like I was just going to come out and tell you? You’re the one telling me all the time that all relationships are fake and a joke and a waste of time. You would have been mean and gone after him and then Auctus would have been scared off.”

“Excuse me-“ Agron begins but Duro cuts him off, teeth clicking sharp.

“No. You know it’s true. You’d either do that or try and seduce him.” Duro hisses the words sharply. “And I don’t want to compete with you. Not when you’re the one who can have anyone and chooses to have no one.”

Agron thinks about the water clinging to Nasir’s dark eyelashes, the soft press of his mouth to Agron’s chest, hands desperate and voices raised. Could he even see himself with anyone else? Would anyone ever compare to Nasir? Agron can’t think of anyone else, everything comes back to the precipice of Nasir’s sharp cries and the frenzy of Agron’s heart every time he’s near.

“Duro,” Agron begins, slow and careful, “I want you to be happy.”

“I am.” Duro whispers, hurt and soft.

“Then why would I take that away from you?” Agron steps forward, hooks a hand around the back of Duro’s neck and drags him close, foreheads touching. “Why would I want anything but the best for you?”

“He’s really nice to me.” Duro mumbles, cheeks heating as he continues. “And I feel like I can be myself around him.”

“I’m still giving him a hell of a shovel talk.” Agron sights, put upon and scathing. “Like, I will literally take him to a cemetery and show him his grave hole.”

“Agron!” Duro laughs loudly, yanking back and smacking Agron’s shoulder.

“If you think I’m kidding, I’m not.” Agron shakes off Duro’s play fighting. “That or I’ll make him dig his own hole. That seems more fitting.”

“You’re terrible.” Duro barely gets out between giggles, sobering slowly as Agron pulls him back into a hug.

“So, is this your blessing?”

“Yeah,” Agron sighs, slow and deep, kissing the side of Duro’s head. At least Nasir can be happy now.

- - -

The first cup of coffee doesn’t help Nasir feel more like a human being, but by the second one, he can blearily open his eyes. It seems either he woke up too early or everyone else seems to be sleeping in late as the tents remain mostly silent. He did see Mira go stumbling up towards the bathrooms, hand buried deeply in her own hair, but Nasir hadn’t tried to draw her attention. Instead, he had sat hunched in a fold out chair, staring non-blinking into the low fire.

He’s replaying yesterday in his head, getting hung up on little details and then examining them all over again in a never ending loop. Nasir doesn’t want to feel like this. He doesn’t want to like Agron the way that he does. He honestly never thought he would like anyone ever again, not after the horror that Caesar and his relationship ended up being. But then, like a fucking dream, Agron just appeared and Nasir feels it every fucking time.

The sex is, for lack of better words, mind blowing. Nasir had expected, due to Agron’s popularity, that he wasn’t bad in bed. That he at least had some talent. And Nasir hadn’t been wrong. Agron is good in that slow, sultry, gives you exactly what you need sort of way. But yesterday had been different. Agron had looked so intense, had put his hands on Nasir like he was afraid to touch but also afraid to ever let go. Between the steam and the look in Agron’s eyes, Nasir had been suffocating the entire time.

Maybe that’s the real crux of it. The wound that festers and won’t heal completely. Nasir could stop liking Agron, could keep his emotions in check, if only Agron didn’t make it so easy. It’s not hard to want him, to need to be near and in his company. If Agron was something else, someone cruel or hard or callous like he was to start, then Nasir could keep himself in check. But he’s not.

Nasir can't get it out of his head. All he can think of is the water clinging to Agron's eyelashes, the slow way his fingers had trailed over Nasir's throat and down onto his chest. Nasir had felt at a loss, like he was missing something and Agron had kept it close, a secret. Nasir could only pant and cling to him, desperate that this was all going to slip out from between his fingers.

He's so lost in thinking about it that he doesn't notice the guy approaching until he steps on a stick, the wood cracking loudly. He's wearing a cut up hoodie, the sides blown out and open, a faded pirate ship inked on top of the blue green tye dye and a pair of joggers. Nasir vaguely remembers him, at least he's pretty sure he saw him last night, but he had been drunk and spent most of the night dancing around the fire with Pietros and Naevia.

"Shit, sorry." He laughs a little, pausing to rub a hand over the bandana keeping his hair back. "I didn't mean to scare you." He’s got a towel thrown over his shoulder, the fabric heavy and damp.

"It's okay." Nasir laughs it off, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down over his palms. "I was spacing."

"I get that." The guy steps closer, tilting his head. Nasir can see the glint of a septum piercing, the ring a silver jeweled thing that should look gawdy but somehow doesn't. "I'm Castus by the way."

"Nasir." Nasir can't help the grin that stretches over his face, suddenly flattered as Castus gets close enough that his slow gaze is more obvious. "You're part of Heracleo's group?"

“Yeah, VP.” Castus steps towards him some more, wandering forward in a way that feels nonchalant but isn’t - not by the way he’s smirking. “I take it you’re ATO?”

“Not really.” Nasir doesn’t know why he says it like that, leaning back in his chair a bit. The closer Castus gets the more Nasir realizes how handsome he is. “I mean, I’m friends with all of them but I haven’t been initiated or anything.”

“Shame.” Honey slow eyes trail over Nasir, that tilt of a mouth turned into a crooked, handsome grin. “Seems like a waste of your time.”

“What do you mean?” Nasir plays coy, looking through his eyelashes at Castus.

“Well, if you were hanging out with my group,” Castus uses air quotes, “then I would make sure I gave you something to keep you around. Some incentive.”

“Incentive?” Nasir grins, shameless and warm. “Like what?”

“I can think of a few things.” Castu’ grin is wide again, hooking a hand in his pockets.

Warmth burns across the nape of Nasir’s neck, crawling up onto his cheeks. Castus’ sweatpants are tight and leave an impression, especially when Nasir’s eyes betray him and glance down. It’s not like Nasir hasn’t been flirted with before. He has. But there is something about Castus’ easy, cocky way of talking to him, staring and assessing. It makes Nasir self-conscious, suddenly very aware that he’s wearing Agron’s hoodie, curled up in a lawn chair in the middle of the woods.

“I um,” Nasir scoffs, bewildered, “I’m just-”

“I speak too boldly.” Castus’ laugh is warm and slow. “You have a boyfriend?”

“No.” Nasir’s tongue burns. It’s not a lie. It’s not. But is he really single? Untethered when just an hour ago, he had been begging Agron to stay in bed with him. “I don’t.”

You know I don’t do relationships.

“Is that coffee?” Castus cuts in, grinning wide at Nasir struggling. The percolator has been bubbling over the fire, hissing as the liquid spills down the side.

“Mhm.” Nasir pulls his knees easily up on the chair. “Help yourself.”

Castus snags a spare mug left on the picnic table, reaching over to pour a hefty amount in before shaking in the dry cream. He does it all methodically, big hands covered in rings and bracelets delicately cupping the tin. There is something fluid about him, the never hesitating or awkward, but instead seems to command the space around him with cool, enticing indifference.

“What’s your major?” Nasir asks, hiding behind the rim of his cup. It’s neutral ground, small talk.

“Astronomy,” Castus settles comfortably in the chair next to Nasir’s, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankle. “Study of the cosmos. You know? We’re all just star dust and all.”

“That’s very mystical,” Nasir scolds himself when his gaze moves from the cut of Castus’ jaw, down over where his ribs are peaking out along the sides of his hoodie. “You going to do something with it? Go work at Nasa?”

“Hardly.” Castus tilts his head back, amused. “Think I’ll go steal a boat and become a pirate. Wandering the oceans. Maybe seduce a merman or two.”

“That’s very practical.” Nasir props an elbow on his knees. “How are you going to manage that?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Castus shrugs, indifferent. “I have an opening for a first mate, if you’re interested.”

“I know nothing about sailing.”

Nasir can feel himself marveling, trying to regain some sense of neutral control. Agron had warned him last night about Heracleo and his friends. That they were bad guys and Nasir should avoid them. So far though, Castus has been nothing but a little flirty, a little easy on the eyes. And yet, Nasir feels guilty for it – somehow like he’s not supposed to be doing this.

“What about you? Don’t tell me it’s something boring.” Castus rolls his head along the back of his chair. “Something probably with aesthetics?”

“English,” Nasir answers, raising an eyebrow, “With a concentration in classic lit and poetry.”

“Ah. A true artist,” Castus casually reaches over, playing with a spare thread on the arm of Nasir’s chair. “Do you write?”

“When I can,” Nasir confesses, taking a long pull of his coffee. It’s gone half cold, the grounds making it bitter. “I’m waiting to be inspired. Some crazy adventure that just sparks all the creative flow.”

“A wild thing at heart.” Castus hums, fingers trailing over to gently touch the hole in Nasir’s jeans. “You just have to let loose, right? Find something and run with it?”

“I guess.” Nasir is aware of how close they are, warmth spreading in his chest. Castus is wickedly attractive right now, dark eyes and a smirking mouth. But there is something weird and frantic twisting in the back of Nasir’s mind – that this is wrong.

“Well,” Castus says it slow, draws the words out, “what’s stopping you? You’re a classics person, right? Aren’t you supposed to be obsessed with Bacchus?”

“You think?” Nasir scoffs, shaking his head.

“Yeah, of course.” Castus’ fingertips caress over the blank spot of skin peaking through on Nasir’s thigh. “Get drunk and lose yourself in the carnal frenzy.”

“I-“

Nasir’s mouth unhinges, shocked at how forward Castus’ words are. He doesn’t have to think of a response though as Mira comes briskly walking into the campground. Her wet hair is half pulled into a ponytail, strands tangled around her fingers. She looks over them with a furrowed brow and Nasir burns with shame – caught in the act.

“Good morning.” Mira’s voice is strained, yanking her hair into a messy bun.

“Morning,” Castus is slow as he withdraws his hand from Nasir, drinking the rest of his coffee in one quick gulp.

“Hey,” Nasir mumbles, curling his legs even closer to himself.

“What are you doing here?” Mira asks, hands settling on her hips. Nasir has never seen Mira act like this, tone sharp and unwelcoming. Mira, who is all community service and cheerleader spirit, glares across the fire at the two of them.

“I was just passing by. Nasir was nice enough to offer me some coffee,” Castus doesn’t look bothered by her lack of tact, making a show of motioning to Nasir. “And pleasant conversation.”

“I’m sure your friends are missing you.” Mira smiles tight lipped, leaving little to be questioned. It’s an expression that has been echoed on Spartacus many times.

“I doubt any of them are awake to be missing me.” Castus glances around the encampment. “Or anyone here to notice.”

“There are others awake.” Mira motions to a nearby tent. “It’s late and I’m sure all of ATO will be coming out soon.”

“I’m sure they will,” Castus smirks towards her, gaze slow and assessing. “You’re Spartacus’ girl right?”

“Yes.” Mira answers, tight lipped.

“Well then, Rebel Queen, I’ve out stayed my welcome.” Castus slowly stands, setting his now empty cup on the picnic table. “Thanks for the coffee, Nasir. I’ll be seeing you around. Think about what I said.”

“Bye,” Nasir flashes him a genuine smile, watching over the rim of his cup as Castus retreats through their camp, glancing over his shoulder as he goes with a half hidden grin.

Mira turns sharply to watch him go and then gets busy pulling large pans and supplies for breakfast out of the container hidden under the picnic table. It’s ten minutes of silence, Nasir picking at his nails, before he sees her turn sharply. She seems to be hesitating, before very carefully, Mira sets the large skillet over the fire and pours herself some coffee.

“You know who that is, right?” Mira asks, tone surprisingly mild.

“I know you were just incredibly rude to him.” Nasir levels her with a look, unimpressed.

“Castus is Vice President of the Theta Chi.” Mira says it like it explains everything. “They’re big rivals of us.”

“Okay? Well, not everything is about fraternity loyalty.” Nasir rolls his eyes. “He seemed nice to me.”

“It’s not just about fraternities,” Mira seems to want to say more, hesitating over her words. “It’s about family and trust.”

“He’s literally harmless,” Nasir rolls his eyes, unconcerned. They’re all fucking college kids. How serious can this be? There was a reason Nasir left Roma – to actually have a normal college experience outside of the gangs and the violence.

“You know that Agron hates him right? Like actually hates him?” Mira takes a slow pull of her mug.

“If I hated everyone that Agron does, I wouldn’t like most of campus.” Nasir rolls his eyes, standing from his chair. He has no reason for the coiling, angry pit in his stomach that tells him he’s done something wrong. It wasn’t like he was just caught fucking Castus. They were just talking.

“But you guys are best friends, aren’t you?” Mira’s tone shifts, something odd about the way she says it. She’s staring at Nasir, brow furrowed. “Well?”

“Of course.” Nasir spits out, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re good friends, yes. But that doesn’t mean I have to avoid people just because Agron has some grudge against them. I’m my own person too, ya know.”

“You don’t just talk to Castus.” Mira’s mouth twists into a scowl. “I saw what you two were doing.”

“We were just talking! What the fuck, Mira?” Nasir is fast to rage, anger whipping through him. “You’re the one who is always up my ass about getting out and meeting people.”

“Talking and flirting are two different things.” Mira spits, glaring over at him. “I’m just saying, you should really take Agron into consideration. His feelings.”

“I just said-“ Nasir begins, still loud, when he freezes – eyes huge. “What the fuck? What the fuck is this? Come half assed shovel talk? You guys forced me to be friends with him. Practically played match maker, even though he was a fucking asshole to me, and now you’re mad that I talked to other people?”

“Nasir, that wasn’t what I was saying.” Mira fumbles over her words, cut off as the sound of a zipper echos through the campground, Spartacus stepping out his tent. “I was just saying be careful. You’re new here and-“

“What’s going on?” His voice is scratchy, glancing from one to the other. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing.” Nasir spits, not willing to fight in front of Spartacus. He’s already exhausted and is sure he can hear people on the path. “Apparently I’m not loyal enough to ATO.”

‘Mira,” Spartacus warns, watching his girlfriend fume. The food on the skillet over the fire burns and crackles, forgotten in the middle of the screaming match. It’s a long time before she looks up at Nasir.

“I never said that.” Her words are sharp, lowering her face.

“Well, newsflash, incase you didn’t notice, I’m not in ATO.” Nasir yanks the hoodie he had on – the one with Agron’s last name emblazoned on the back, and throws it back in the chair. “I’m not some new initiate that you can boss around. So fuck you and your frat.”

“Nasir, wait, that wasn’t-“ Mira tries to start, moving forward, but Spartacus is quick to catch her.

Nasir turns sharply from them, face burning and eyes watering. He's angry - and he fucking knows why. Yes, he was fucking flirting, but why the fuck is that wrong? Agron and Nasir aren't together. They'll never be together. Nasir knows this. So why the fuck does it matter? There is no reason why Nasir couldn't walk down to Heracleo's camp and fuck Castus if he wanted.

And, he’s not part of ATO. He’s, if anything, an acquaintance. He hasn’t been initiated, hell he’s not even been recruited. They all just act like as soon as he started hanging out that he was part of their fucking ragtag group. Nasir had to live through that with Caesar, bares the scars of being someone else’s property. He won’t fucking do it again.

He's angry stomping down the dirt walkway, trying to keep from crying, when he nearly runs into Agron and Duro. Both of them are sweaty, laughing and bumping into one another - clearly playing. There isn't enough space for Nasir to duck off the path, stuck watching as first Agron and then Duro spot him.

"Hey!" Duro calls, waving enthusiastically. “What are you doing out here?”

Hysteria, that’s all Nasir can call it, bubbles inside of his chest – threating to come spilling out of his mouth. He’s furious and hurt and lonely and desperate, but he can’t show that. He doesn’t want Agron to know – for him to suspect why and for it all to go to shit. Nasir knows what will happen if he tells Agron he fucked up and caught feelings. So when the brothers approach, now cautious since they are close enough to see Nasir’s expression, he does the only thing he can think to do.

Desperately, Nasir buries his face in Duro’s chest, arms coming to grip tightly onto his tank top. It’s with enough force that Duro stumbles a little, gripping onto Nasir’s shoulder and then onto the back of his neck, curling him close. It’s all wrong – so fucking wrong. Duro doesn’t smell like Agron, doesn’t feel like Agron, but if he turns his face now – it’s all going to come leaking out between his teeth.

“Hey, bro, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Duro glances up at his brother, surprised to see Agron’s shocked and hurt expression.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Nasir chokes out, furious that he’s leaking tears all over Duro’s tank top.

“If someone did something, then you need to tell us.” Duro soothes, running his fingers through Nasir’s messy hair. “That way we can fix it.”

“It’s fine.”

Nasir breaks into sobs, already drained and woozy. He hasn’t eaten anything but coffee onto of a hangover, feeling weak and sick with it all. He’s afraid to turn his face, afraid to look at Agron, afraid to know what’s written on his face. So, he clings to Duro and tries to will himself away from this terrible feeling.

The brothers are talking above him when Nasir manages to slow his crying, tilting his head enough to hear them. It’s not English, sharp German that is passed in low murmurs. Whatever Duro is saying, Agron is struggling to keep his tone level, something sharp and bitter about it. Nasir peaks between the fabric of Duro’s shirt and his own skin, sees Agron rubbing his hands over his face. He looks so much older, so weary, that Nasir nearly reaches for him.

“Nasir, do you want to go back to the camp?” Duro murmurs, gently touching Nasir’s back.

“No.” Nasir answers honestly, whispers it into the tense space between them.

“Schatz,” Agron crouches down so he’s eyelevel with Nasir, fingers slow as they trail down Nasir’s cheek. “Please.”

And what can Nasir do to combat this? How is he supposed to say no to luminescent green eyes? To a mouth that is curled down, soft enough to kiss, a memory that Nasir can’t shake. He doesn’t want to hurt Agron, to punish him because Nasir’s heart is too soft – too in love. So he puts himself up to slaughter, reaching out and hooking his fingers in Agron’s.

“I just want to go.” Nasir mumbles, “just for a little while.”

“Duro, go back to camp. Go talk to Auctus.” Agron switches easily into command mode, bodily pulling Nasir into his side.

It feels like the worst type of right – the easy slide of Nasir’s body into Agron’s – slotted together like this is how they’re supposed to be. And Nasir knows it’s true. The torture is worth the pleasure, worth the feeling of belonging and safety and serenity. So, Nasir doesn’t fight it anymore, lets Agron turn him around, lead him down the path that Agron had just come up from, to guide him back into the woods where the shadows and the green hide him away.

They walk for a good ten minutes, seeing no one and not wanting to, until the path narrows and Agron’s bicep slides from around Nasir’s shoulder to gripping his hand. It’s hard to walk like this, but Agron doesn’t let go, holds them tight as he leads them over rocky paths and up and up, until the trees begin to thin. It seems familiar to Agron, who knows where to step, until the forest falls away and all that is left is the blue, blue sky and the view from a cliff over a valley.

There is a carved boulder here, and Agron folds himself on top of it before guiding Nasir into his lap. Here, surrounded by nothing but the whole world, it is easy to forget everything that has happened – everything that is still happening. Agron is warm weight about Nasir, arms tight and secure, hooking a chin over Nasir’s shoulder.

“You know there are a lot of German fairytales about turning into birds and bears and such. And I never understood them until I found this place.” Agron’s voice is soft, barely a whisper. “To be able to disappear high up in the clouds or deep between the trees. To escape.”

“Sometimes,” Nasir sniffles, playing with Agron’s fingers. “I feel swallowed whole. Like Jonah just swallowed up by all the grief and pain and the fucking memory of it. The horror of my life.”

Agron’s lip find Nasir’s temple, the kiss slow and gentle. He’s wrapped around Nasir like a buffer, like he wants to protect Nasir from everything. There is something dark and twisting in Agron’s chest – the fear of losing, of being on the brink of a fearful ending. Agron wonders if he holds tight, if he keeps Nasir here, then maybe everything else will just go away – just leave them to heal and burn together – like a blister under the sun.

“How can you be kind when you were treated so cruel?” Nasir turns his head, meets Agron’s gaze with his own. “How can you be broken and still hold me together like this?”

“Fake it til you make it.” Agron’s smile is thin and brittle. “If you think I wake up at night and ignore the nightmares, you’re wrong. If you think I wasn’t dying and choking up when we saw him. Or every time some stranger gets too close or people are too loud or I don’t feel safe. The scars are still there, Nasir, will always be there. But I refuse to let him ruin anything else in my life.”

“What if I can’t?” Nasir is trembling, confessing too much too soon, “What if I’m always this way? This sad, pathetic little monster?”

“Then I’ll find a way to heal you,” Agron bites his tongue, can’t regret the words even though it’s too much. “Slowly over time. Even if it takes a lifetime.”

Nasir can’t handle the promise, so he silences it. He kisses Agron slow and open, spills all his feelings into the slow slide of his tongue in Agron’s mouth. It’s easy this way, to drown in the sensation with no fear of saying too much, of showing too much. This is all body, all trembling fingers and gasped breath. And if it hurts more than anything else, then they’re gluttons for pain.

Chapter Text

When Agron and Nasir make their way back into the campground, close but not touching, everyone seems to be awake. There is breakfast going, the smell of bacon and coffee filling the air, voices low. Half the group is slouched in fold out chairs, nursing water bottles and squinting in the chilly air. There is a group at the picnic table that seems to be more functioning, and Agron heads that way, finding plates for both of them. Nasir doesn’t feel like eating, isn’t sure he could keep it down, but he accepts the fried potatoes and fire toast with a small nod, moving over to sit beside Pietros.

Mira glances at him, a flicker passing over her face, before she turns back to her own breakfast. Nasir isn’t expecting an apology but feels the twist of annoyance as Agron takes the free spot next to her. He knows it’s not Agron’s fault. Everyone has been meddling since before anything even happened – both Naevia and Mira being guilty of it, hell even Duro. It’s the way that Mira had looked at him – like she assumed that Nasir would just openly hurt Agron like that. As if everything between them would be easy to throw away.

“You okay?” Nasir asks as he sinks into a fold out chair near the back of the fire. It gives him the perfect view of everyone else, even as he actively avoids looking. “You look like shit.”

“You don’t look much better. I feel like I’m a fucking zombie.” Pietros blinks slowly over the top of his mug, dark circles under his eyes. He had been drinking heavily last night, collapsing into Barca’s lap even before Nasir was gently but forcefully cut off. “How are you functioning right now?”

“Highly functioning hangover. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to take a walk this morning.” Nasir mutters, smothering ketchup over his potatoes. He doesn’t know why he lies, if he can even call it that. It’s like he has to have an excuse as to why Agron and him were gone.

“Why was it a good idea to drink so much?” Pietros rubs at his forehead. “Did you meet that Lugo guy? I don’t even think he speaks English but he kept handing me beers and shouting something at Barca. I thought I was supposed to just keep going. I don’t fucking know.”

“Oh man,” Nasir sympathizes, reaching out to rub Pietros’ shoulder. “Word of advice, don’t ever trust Lugo or Gannicus when it comes to drinking. They’re basically professional alcoholics so you’re never going to win a drinking game against them.”

“Auctus told me this morning that I tried to dance on the picnic table,” Pietros mutters, grimacing. “And strip. Like, how fucking embarrassing.”

“I don’t remember that. I was carried back to my tent by Spartacus and Agron though so I doubt I’m a great judge.” Nasir grimaces. He doesn’t really remember it, only flashes of pressing his face into Spartacus’ neck and laughing. He thinks he might have said something inappropriate to Agron when he was helping him out of his jeans, but if he did, no one has mentioned it.

“Ugh.” Pietros laments, easing a bite of eggs into his mouth. He grimaces around them, but continues to chew. “I don’t even think I could make it to the bathroom at this point. I like need to shower but I also kind of just want to go float in the lake.”

“Do you want me to walk with you? I need to shower too. I feel disgusting.” Nasir has swept his hair up, pulling the dark strands into a mess bun of sorts, but it feels stringy and gross. It’s not like he was very careful about washing yesterday, more caught up in the feeling of Agron against him than actual hygiene.

“Sure.” Pietros nods, stretching his legs out before him. It allows Nasir to actually take him in, squinting a little in the bright sunshine.

Pietros is wearing an oversized denim shirt, the sleeves long and rolled up around the wrists. He’s not wearing anything under it, a series of dark purple bruises splotchy on his throat and down into darker ones along his collarbones. They tapper off at his waist, a deep series of fingerprint size ones half hidden by the waistband of his sweats. Nasir flushes from looking at them – surprised that Pietros doesn’t seem bothered by them being on display. Nasir is sure he has his own marks, probably hickies along his shoulders, bruises on his hips from Agron’s large hands, but they’re well hidden under flannel and sweatpants.

Nasir can almost imagine what it would be like to be open about it – recklessly unbothered by the displays of intimacy and affection. Would Nasir run around half naked? Marked and claimed and finding it easy and even allowing himself the pleasure of crashing into Agron, of gaining all of his attention by sitting in his lap or intentionally brushing when they pass. Would Nasir be looked at differently by everyone? If he was Agron’s boyfriend, not just his best friend.

It’s not like Nasir doesn’t have his fucking reservations. He can’t blame it all on Agron and his inability to find worth in dating. But if Nasir is being honest with himself, it’s really not that much of a stretch. Everyone already pushes them into being partners, forcing them to buddy up whenever the need calls for it. It wasn’t even a question on who was going to ride with Agron up here. They’re already best friends. Would dating be that different?

They deposit their plates into the bin to be cleaned, both Pietros and Nasir separating to gather their shower supplies. Donar is in the tent riffling through his bag when Nasir enters. They haven’t spoken since Donar overheard them in the laundry room. Nasir isn’t dumb nor is he foolish enough to report the incident to Agron. It’s clear that Donar is jealous, sending Nasir a slitted eye glare as he grabs his stuff and flees, going to wait on the path.

“Where are you off to?” A soft hand brushes over shoulders, Agron stepping up next to him, still holding a mug of coffee. When Nasir glances over, Mira is watching them from the table, but she’s quick to drop her gaze when she sees him looking.

“I’m going to go take a shower. I think this hangover is finally easing up a bit.” Nasir feels foolish that he’s embarrassed to meet Agron’s eyes. He shouldn’t have freaked out the way he did earlier, but he isn’t sure how to apologize or even explain himself.

“Do you want company?” Agron’s fingers are slow, teasing as they play with a loose curl at Nasir’s cheek. “I know a very good hangover cure.”

“Oh yeah?” Nasir bites his bottom lip, feeling his face flush from the easy implication.

“Yeah. You’ve got to get the blood flowing, you see, work out the alcohol a bit,” Agron taps his fingers under Nasir’s chin, making him raise his head. “I’m very good at it.”

“I know you are.” Nasir shakes his head, trying to clear it from the easy temptation. “But I promised Pietros I’d walk him up there though. He feels like shit.”

“Ah. Threes a crowd then.” Agron laughs a little, shaking off the rejection.

“Unfortunately.” Looping a hand around his mug, Nasir tugs Agron’s coffee from him and takes a swallow.

Agron’s grin puts dimples in his cheeks, easily charmed by Nasir’s forwardness. There is something still simmering under the surface though, a darkness hinting just around the mirth in Nasir’s eyes. Agron doesn’t know what happened that made Nasir run from the camp earlier, he hadn’t said, but whatever it was – it seems to have a lasting effect. Taking a half a step forward, Agron lowers his voice.

“You’re sure you’re okay though? Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Nasir wants to shake it off, to forget this morning entirely. He half wishes that Pietros hadn’t asked him to walk up there. He could use the distraction of taking Agron instead, anything to get his mind off of feeling like a fucked up basket case. “Just a rough morning.”

“We can talk later, if you want.” Agron glances over Nasir’s shoulder, spotting Pietros’ slow approach. “Go for a walk or a ride or something.”

“Or something.” Nasir lets his fingers brush over Agron’s stomach, an accidental caress if it weren’t for the way he drops his gaze. When he looks up though, Agron’s brow is still furrowed, mouth falling into a thin line.

Agron isn’t upset about it – not really. Is he even allowed to be upset? Sex can be therapeutic. It’s not like Nasir has to divulge everything that is going through his head all the time. It’s just that Agron knows that look, that haunted, gutted trauma that creeps up and suffocates. This is Caesar’s brand of torture all over it, and if anyone can understand where Nasir is coming from, it should be Agron.

“If you’re going, can you carry me?” Pietros whines up at Agron, squinting in the bright sun.

“No can do.” Distracted, Agron reaches out and ruffles Pietros’ curls. “I am on dish duty and then I promised Spartacus we would play a game of rugby down by the lake.”

“How? How can you possibly be willing to do that?” Pietros moans, rubbing at his cheek. “Do you guys even know the meaning of vacation? Relaxation? A serious lack of physical effort?”

“Student athletes.” Nasir interjects, shaking his head. “Psychopaths.”

“I guess.” Pietros reaches out, looping his arm through Nasir’s. “Come on before we catch the crazy.”

Nasir flashes Agron a grin when he turns, trying for playful and reassuring. He isn’t sure it meets his eyes, still raw and a little strung out, but there isn’t really anything he can do to explain. Everything feels so fucking complicated, like it’s going to suck the oxygen from the air at any moment. Maybe Pietros had a point. Maybe a vacation – an escape from reality – is really what Nasir needs. To be able to forget and ignore all the shit that is living inside of him.

“Can I ask you something?” Pietros asks, huffing as they make their way up the hill to the shower house.

“Sure.” Nasir isn’t panting as hard, but he glances sidelong over at Pietros. He does really look like shit.

“Barca was talking to me last night about being initiated.” Kicking idly at a few stones, Pietros doesn’t look up again. “He said it was pretty uneventful. Just a big party and swearing loyalty and all that. But I wanted to know what you did for yours.”

“Oh, well,” Nasir cringes. Of all the days for this to be brought up. “I haven’t been initiated so I don’t know.”

“Wait.” Pietros skids to a stop. The shower house is only a few feet away, standing squat with stone walls and set of half dirt caked lights. “What do you mean you weren’t initiated?”

“I wasn’t initiated.” Nasir repeats himself. “I’m not part of the frat or anything.”

“Are you...” Pietros hesitates, seeming to mull over the words, “Are you sure? I mean, you seem like…I don’t know. Like definitely part of it. I thought you were Agron’s little or something. Barca made it seem like you were recruited and everything.”

“Nope.” Nasir pops the p, turning to head towards the showers, but Pietros’ hand on his arm catches him.

“But why? You’re always hanging out. You were going to movie nights even before I was invited. You’ve practically been glued to Agron or Naevia’s side the entire time I’ve known you. Hell, even Crixus adores you and he hates everyone.” Pietros’ brow is furrowed, wrinkling his forehead and pulling his entire face down into a deep frown. “Are you worried about the vigilante shit? Because I really don’t think it counts as crime-“

“The what?” Nasir’s eyes go wide, startling a few birds in the nearby tree. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh.” Pietros pulls his hand back. “I thought…Aren’t you one of Spartacus’? You must be.”

“One of Spartacus’ what?” Nasir can feel the heat of a blush beginning to work its way down his neck. “I’m not anybody’s anything.”

“I’m not trying to offend you. I just thought everyone was.” Pietros’ halts, swallowing thickly before continuing. “The way Barca explained it is that Spartacus kind of runs a halfway house disguised as a frat? Everyone who joins is from a bad background or is in trouble. Spartacus and the others, like, collect them? Or more help them get away from the bad and then give them a home. Sometimes it’s as easy as giving someone friendship or a place to belong. Other times…it’s threatening people away or making things happen.”

“What the fuck?” Nasir exhales slow, trying to rack his brain for any hint that this is truth. And it’s there, blinding and obvious. How could he possibly have been so fucking blind to it?

How many times had Naevia or Mira or hell, Spartacus himself, hinted that the fraternity was a family? That it was more than just an intense club? Everyone in the frat has some tragic backstory or horror following them around. Naevia might not have known the full extent when she first started talking to Nasir, but it’s not like he made it obvious he was okay. Nasir was a new transfer in, shy and quiet, and looking fucking haunted.

In a way, Nasir wants to be mad about it. He’s not a charity case. But in all honesty, wouldn’t Nasir do the same now? If he knew someone was hurting, someone was in danger, wouldn’t he try and reach out? It’s not brave to help someone in need, it’s necessary. Maybe that’s why Nasir feels so close to the people in ATO. Maybe that’s why it’s easy to feel safe and secure around Naevia or Agron or Crixus. Trauma, in weird ways, brings people together.

“I guess.” Nasir shrugs a little, “they just didn’t think I was ready yet.”

“You’re basically already in. I don’t think it would be a big change to be fully initiated.” Pietros turns towards the showers. “I guess you just kind of have to prove it to them that you want it.”

Nasir thinks back to Halloween. Remembers the way that Agron had pushed him behind him, how Spartacus and Crixus had stepped forward to shield him too. At the time, Nasir hadn’t understood what made them. Maybe it was just because they knew how fucked up Caesar was or that Spartacus knew his backstory. But maybe it was more than that. Maybe Nasir has been part of all of this for longer than he realized.

They don’t talk when they pick their shower stalls, Nasir adverting his eyes from the handicap at the end and taking the one next door. Under the fluorescent lights, all the marks on his skin seem sickly and deep., There is a kiss bruise on his collarbone leading into his shoulder, the skin deep purple and speckled with beard burn along the edge. A few bites make their red ring presence known on his hips, the top of his thigh, a series of fingertip shades of yellow and green on the inside skin where Agron had held him open and licked inside.

Nasir tries, as he washes his hair, not to let his mind wander to him, but it feels like every time he tries – Agron is always a spare thought away. It’s not fair. That’s all Nasir can think of, all he can really rationalize it as. It’s not fair that it’s so fucking easy to be with Agron. It’s not fair that it feels like it’s never going to happen – that Nasir knows Agron’s stance on relationships and the very fucking valid reason why. It’s not fair that Nasir doesn’t feel in control anymore. That he can’t separate his feelings. The very true and honest part of it.

He’s in love with Agron.

And maybe it was always going to end up this way. Maybe Nasir knew that. Or maybe he’s just a martyr. But it’s too good to stop. Even as Nasir knows it’s going to be the worst pain in the world when they inevitably break apart or dissolve their friends with benefits situation. But Nasir can’t stop. Not yet.

At the same time though, can Nasir really justify joining a group like this? He loves his friends, even Mira who knows too much and was only trying to protect her best friend. But Nasir is still young. He’s barely twenty. Does he really want to go from one gang to another? Even if their intentions are good, there is nothing casual about the defensive formation some of them fall into when threatened. It hints at other things – like violence.

So it begs the question, is it better to be alone or be on a side?

Thinking of the way Agron had put himself between his abuser and Nasir, it seems like Nasir already knows.

- - -

Agron needs a nap. He needs a beer and he needs a nap. Preferably with a slice of pizza or at least a grilled cheese. Even out here, in the middle of the woods, Spartacus had found a way to make them run drills. Up and down the shoddy beach, and then up a jagged path along the bank, each of them trying to keep pace and not step on each other’s heels. The back of Agron’s thighs are burning, calves a mess of tight muscle and tension. He knows he should have stretched before he came back to camp, but it took all his energy just to walk up the hill to the tent.

It’ll be dark soon, already the sun hanging low and heavy in the sky. He can hear the swell of music playing through a speaker, the shouts and bellows of people talking over a large space, the crackle of a fire. Agron lets it lull him, lets it wash over his brain til he feels hazy and warm in his sleeping bag. He really shouldn’t sleep yet, someone is going to come and find him, but it feels good to relax back into the soft pillow under his head, to inhale slow and deep into the fabric. He can smell the laundry soap there, the hint of sweat and Nasir’s hair from where he had laid on it this morning.

He’s exhausted but it doesn’t stop his cock from twitching at the memory of the man. There are times when Agron feels raw, when his emotions are ripped open and he wants to think about how attached he is. He wants to marinate on unrequited love and all that bullshit, and then sometimes he just wants to think about the curve of Nasir’s back, of his wet mouth muffling moans into his palm, of the soft skin of his thigh wrapped around Agron’s waist.

Agron rolls over, burying his nose deeper in his pillow. No one is really near the tent. He has some privacy, so he lets his hand trail down his chest, over the cut of his abs. He’s wearing sweats, the waistband thick across his hips, and he traces the edge of it for a few strokes. Nasir had done this to him once, had teased along his happy trail, kissing him slow and open, giggling as he tried to concentrate on both tasks.

“Fuck,” Agron gasps, biting into his lip as he eases his waistband down, slipping his hand inside. He’s only half mast, the skin warm and smooth to the touch, but it’s not going to take him long to go full.

Reaching blindly into his pocket, he drags his phone up and unlocks it. Agron isn’t dumb enough to save Nasir’s pictures to his gallery, especially with how nosey Duro can be, so he has to scroll to his messages to get anything of worth. He’s nearly found his name when the phone suddenly vibrates, connecting signal enough to get a slew of mixed texts over the past few days.

At first, Agron isn’t sure what he’s looking at. The number isn’t saved and the first media message takes a long time to load. When it does though, he nearly drops his phone. It’s a steamed mirror photo, the glass streaked in a long handprint. Agron recognizes himself first, the cut of his shoulders, the top of his head craned over the shoulder of a shorter, blonder man. Caesar’s wide grin is unmistakable, the phone held up by his chin.

The following photos are progressions in the impromptu photoshoot. Caesar’s gasping face, the cut of Agron’s body sinking behind him, the smear of a naked hip to stomach. It goes from beginning to graphic, the naked spread of Agron’s thighs as he kneels before Caesar, the curve of his mouth pried open by a thumb, then wider by something else. The six or so photos are followed by one line of text.

Miss you baby. Miss this.

Agron instantly recoils, hitting the side button so hard he actually turns the phone off. Rolling onto his back, Agron digs the heels of his hands into eyes, trying to rub the images out of his mind. He doesn’t fucking know how Caesar got his number, doesn’t remember taking the pictures – was probably high off his mind from something Caesar slipped him. He wants to throw up, nauseous heat digging into his cut, making him break out into a sweat.

Another thought twists sharply into the forefront of Agron’s mind – a consideration he’s never had before. Are there pictures like that of Nasir? Does Caesar text him like he texts Agron? Teases and prods at him, tries to get a reaction? Does he hold intimate information over his head? Lets the abuse rekindle and resimmer. Are Nasir’s nightmares full of skin and coke and scratching skin? Does he feel itchy and feverish and sick at the sight of his own body sometimes?

Rolling over, Agron gets to his feet, leaving his phone abandoned within his sleeping bag. He needs a bottle of water, needs to bleach his brain of all this shit. He knows Caesar is never going to stop. Some part of his brain is sick and disgusting and Agron wishes he could cut out the part of his memories that Caesar still inhabits. He tries to forget about it, tries to let his mind wander to something else, but the minute he pulls the bottle from the cooler, he spots Nasir across the encampment.

He’s bent in conversation with Spartacus, nearly touching temples as Spartacus sips slowly from a beer. Whatever it is that they’re discussing, it seems to be private as no one has taken up in the chairs near them. A twinge of neon jealousy ripples through Agron, twisting sharp and slow in his chest. It’s ridiculous. Spartacus is as straight as they come, in a very loving relationship with Mira for many years. And yet. It’s the expression on Nasir’s face, the smile stretched wide, the way he’s giggling at whatever Spartacus is saying to him.

“Hey man.” Donar appears out of no where, not block Agron’s view, but sideling up beside him. He’s got two beers in hand and Agron abandons his water bottle for the offered beverage.

“Hey, thanks.”

Agron takes a heavy pull from it, chugging half the bottle in one go. The camp site is starting to get busy with motion, someone starting food and someone cranking the radio up. All Agron can focus on though is the twist of his stomach at the texts, the burning jealousy when Nasir tilts his head back in laughter, the brush of Donar’s fingertips on the back of his arm.

“You want to go smoke?” Donar leans in close, his breath warm and soft on Agron’s throat.

It’s tempting. Agron could use some weed to mellow him out, to relax the ache and tension in his back from being on edge. He isn’t sure though that walking deep into the woods with Donar is a good idea though, especially with the way he’s slowly feeling Agron up. But it’s not like Agron and Nasir are a thing. They’re not boyfriends or dating or monogamous. Maybe it would be easy for Agron to let Donar lead him off, to give him what he clearly wants.

Part of him wonders if Nasir would even care. There are plenty of people around that would find it easy to take Nasir back to their tent. Hell, Gannicus has probably already tried or at the very least Saxa. Agron doesn’t want to think about it though. He has no claim to him, no real say in what Nasir does or doesn’t do.

“Sure,” Agron shrugs, though the twist in his gut doesn’t make him feel any better. He feels like he’s doing something wrong, even as he’s not doing anything.

Donar sends him a slow grin as he turns and Agron follows, starting to make their way back through the camp and away from the path. No one really pays them any mind, too absorbed in getting things ready or going about their business. Duro gives Agron a strange look when he passes, but he for once, keeps his comments to himself. If they have to sneak around, it’s better to go somewhere that people won’t walk up to them.

Just as their about to walk into the tall grass, warm arms suddenly circle Agron’s waist, a head pressing high on his shoulder. Agron can smell the honeysuckle shampoo, catches a glimpse of forest green manicure locked over his arms, before Mira’s grinning face slides before him. She is taking really well the camping trip – messy hair and flannel suit her.

“Hey you. You’re not trying to sneak off are you?” Mira pouts out her bottom lip. “I need help.”

“We were actually just going to go for a walk.” Donar interjects, keeping a thin grin stretched over his face. “We’ll be back in a bit.”

“No. You can’t.” Mira’s eye twitches. “Nasir agreed to go buy some extra firewood and ice. He doesn’t know the way down to the store.”

“So, show him.” Donar loops his arm through Agron’s. “Come on, man.”

“No.” Mira repeats, her voice sharp. She takes half a step closer, fingers twisting in the front of Agron’s tank. “No.”

Agron looks over at Donar, but it’s already obvious what choice he’s made. It’s like a sign – an omen that he really shouldn’t be doing this. He could lie and say it wasn’t about Nasir, about the prospect of sneaking off, but it is. If Agron has the choice between getting high and letting Donar blow him or pressing Nasir against trees to make out – he’s going to choose Nasir. Plus, he owes Mira. Owes her for her strength, her never ending loyalty even when Agron feels like he’s going to fall apart.

“Sorry, bro.” Agron claps him on the shoulder. “Can’t turn down those bambi eyes.” Agron steps closer to Mira, shaking her chin back and forth.

Donar rolls his eyes, turning sharply to leave them. Agron knows he’s going to have to talk to him later, explain himself some or at least make some sort of amends that doesn’t end up with an orgasm. Still, when Agron turns back to Mira, he’s surprised she looks so upset.

“I need you to go and smooth things over with Nasir.” Mira drops her voice to a whisper.

“I thought we needed wood and ice.” Agron’s brow furrows. Nasir hadn’t seemed angry earlier.

“We do.” Mira gnaws at her bottom lip. “But I also need you to go make nice with Nasir.”

“Why? He’s not mad at me.” Agron scoffs, shaking his head. “What did you do?”

At that, Mira falls silent, dropping her head. It’s rare when Mira can’t meet Agron head on, face to face, with enough anger behind her to act. It must have been bad then, bad enough that Mira is kicking toe of her expensive hiking boots into the dirt. Agron’s stomach, if it felt sick before, suddenly feels worse.

“What did you do?” Agron repeats slower, pausing between each word.

“It wasn’t just me!” Mira hisses, finally looking up to glare at him. “I came back this morning and Nasir was sitting by the fire, drinking coffee with Castus!”

Agron inhales sharply.

“I just told him to watch his back and that Castus was a piece of shit.” Mira defends, not daring to speak louder then a sharp hiss. “And I may have implied he was going to betray your trust by choosing to cozy up to Castus and that you would be pissed.”

“Okay.” Agron says it slow, digesting it all. As far as vacations go, this is turning out to be a rough one.

“And he got mad at me and told me to mind my own business.” Mira finishes, cringing. “And also that he wasn’t part of our family. And also I may have implied I know about you two.”

“Jesus fuck, Mira!” Agron snarls, leaning in to grip her elbow.

“I know! I know! But Castus was literally making “fuck me” eyes at Nasir and he was just letting him drink the coffee and I was worried you were going to come back and see. And I don’t think Nasir even knew he was flirting.” Mira gets out in a rush. “So now, I want you to go take him to get ice and like, make it better.”

“You know too much.” Agron glares down at her. “So what, you’re sending me to smooth over your bullshit? You expect me just to go fuck him in the woods and make everything better?”

“Yes!” Mira whispers, then back peddles. “Only if that’ll work. You could just put in a good word for me. Smooth shit over.”

“Unbelievable.” Agron runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Seriously?”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Mira instantly steps forward, eyes going wide and glassy. “I know I fucked up but I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. Not you or Nasir.”

Agron wants to be more angry than he is. He does. But he knows where Mira is coming from, and like most things, the intention was good. Nasir doesn’t know the history of everything – doesn’t know that Castus and Agron have never gotten along nor will they. If Mira overstepped, well, it was probably Agron’s fault to begin with.

“Fine. But you need to walk over there and at least try and look sorry.” Agron gestures to where Nasir is still poised by Spartacus’ side. “And stop playing Mother Hen.”

“I’ll stop playing Mother Hen when you stop getting into so much bullshit.” Mira mutters, but she turns, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

She at least has the decency to look chastised as she sidles up to her fiancé, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Whatever the two men were discussing stops as the pair approaches, Nasir leaning back in his chair with a small frown. Agron doesn’t miss the way he darts his eyes between the three of them, clearly assessing and unsure. Agron hates that he doesn’t feel secure.

“Hey,” Mira begins, rubbing a hand along Spartacus’ back.

“Hey,” Spartacus tilts his head back, kisses her cheek. “I was wondering when you were going to come over.”

“We didn’t want to interrupt.” Mira makes a slow glance at Nasir, timidly moving up to Agron as if to ask for help. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Oh,” Spartacus waves a hand, laughing it off. “Nasir was just telling me about some guy in one of his classes.”

“Really?” Mira’s eyes go wide, trying for over eager and invested. “What about him?”

“It’s nothing.” Nasir’s back stays straight in his chair, not looking at her.

They fall into an awkward silence. Spartacus keeps giving Mira meaningful glances, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. She responds with her own look, mouth twisting in a sharp line. Agron could watch them have a silent argument for a while, but he’s distracted by Nasir. He’s picking at his nails, hair half swept behind his ear, and blatantly ignoring them. It’s the play of light on his cheek, the fanning of his eyelashes as he rolls his eyes.

“Do you want to go for a walk with me?” Agron interrupts, stepping out from behind the couple.

“What?” Nasir looks up, eyebrow raised. He throws a glance towards Mira and Spartacus, but it doesn’t linger. If anything, he’s quick to go back to ignoring them.

“I need to go get some wood and some ice.” Agron explains, shrugging a little. “You want to come with? I could use the extra hands.”

“Um, sure.”

Getting to his feet, Nasir adjusts his sweatpants before stepping out around his chair. He’s careful not to brush up against Agron as he moves, curling his arms tight into his sides. Agron shoots a look at Mira, a pointed glance that promises more words later, and then follows. This time, some people in the camp wave at them. Duro, perched on Auctus’ lap, glances between the pair with a wide grin. Agron doesn’t even want to unpack that, so he leads them out of the ring of firelight and towards the main path. The sky is turning a burnt orange, the trees a smudge on the sky.

They walk for nearly five minutes in silence. Nasir keeps his hands deep in his pockets, kicking idly at the dirt every few steps. He still isn’t sure what he wants to say to Agron, if he should say anything at all. It’s pretty obvious from the way Mira was treating him earlier that she feels bad. And if she confessed to Agron, then Nasir is almost positive that she’s in trouble with him too. But in the end, Nasir didn’t really do anything wrong. He’s allowed to talk to people, especially allowed if Agron and Nasir aren’t even really dating.

“It’s getting chilly out.” Nasir comments, just something to say.

“Here.” Agron slips his hoodie off, tossing it around Nasir’s shoulders.

“Oh.” Startled, Nasir pauses his steps, craning his head back to look at Agron. He’s still got that furrow between his eyebrows, worrying his teeth into a grind. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

Slowly, Agron reaches out and fixes the collar of the jacket, smoothing out the shoulder where it falls too large over Nasir’s smaller frame. It smells like him, like cologne and sweat, like what Nasir is used to finding on his skin. It makes him want to bury himself in the fabric, to inhale until his head is dizzy, until he can only remember what Agron smells like and nothing else.

“Are we good?” Agron asks slowly, fingertips on the zipper.

“Of course we are.” Nasir takes a half step forward, letting his own hand touch Agron’s chest. The shirt he’s wearing is thin, a faded emblem on it. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“No reason. Just checking.”

Agron shrugs it off. Finds himself unable to resist it and leans in. Nasir’s mouth is soft under his, yields under the pressure. It’s never a battle, but more of a dance, as pressure slides them together and then apart, hands slipping over feverish skin. Agron could drown in the taste of him, tongues slipping against one another, breath scattered over cheeks and jaws. It’s hectic and tense, left alone with only the birds to watch them.

“Wait, wait.” Nasir wrenches his head back, mouth bruised and eyes glassy.

“What? What’s wrong?” Agron has his hands under Nasir’s shirt, fingers gripping his hips.

“Do you think…” Nasir hesitates, biting his bottom lip. “Maybe we should tell people we’re dating.”

“What?” Agron lets his hands fall, taking half a step back.

“No, no, wait. I know you don’t do relationships.” Nasir raises his hands up, placating. “But hear me out. If people thought we were dating, they would back off. Mira and Naevia would stop trying to set me up with people. You wouldn’t hear all the mean things about you being a slut. It’s the perfect scenario.”

“Okay so,” Agron drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. He really can’t believe this. “You want to tell everyone we’re dating. Then act like we’re dating. Still sleep together. But we’re not actually dating?”

Nasir cringes a little and then nods. “Aren’t you tired of people being in your business?”

“Yes.” Agron answers immediately. “But that’s only going to make them in our business more. Besides, what’s the endgame for all of this? We break up and then have to pretend to be pretend exs?”

“We can just be friends.” Nasir shrugs it off, knowing full well that it won’t work. “We’ll just be exs that remains good friends. And we only have to break up when one of us finds someone else.”

“Are you looking for someone else?” Agron inhales sharply, rocking back on his heels.

‘Well no, not right now, but I might find someone someday.” Nasir can feel the acid on his tongue from the lie. He doesn’t know what is making him say this, just anything to keep them going.

“So you’d be totally fine if I was still sleeping around even though we’re pretend dating?” Agron can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “You’d be cool with it?”

“Are you?” Nasir feels the pit growing in his stomach. “Agron! You should have told me. We’ve been fucking bareback and-“

“No!” Agron interrupts sharply, taking half a step forward. “I haven’t slept with anyone since we started.”

“Oh.”

Nasir is struck dumb, a blush beginning to creep up the back of his neck.

“Have you?” Agron asks softly, fearing the worst.

“No, of course not.” Nasir mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “I wouldn’t do that.”

They fall into an awkward silence, both of them looking in opposite directions. Around them, the sun has finally sank behind the trees, throwing the path into scattered shadows and light. It plays golden and red along the dirt, the leaves, the random debris. It feels like a metaphor for this conversation – all the pieces but nothing fitting together.

“Nasir,” Agron barely says it above a whisper, turning bright eyes towards him. “Nasir, have we been dating this whole time?”

“I-“ Nasir feels his stomach give out, eyes huge and dark. “What?”

“We’re best friends. We hang out constantly. We choose to spend time together.” Agron says it cautiously, as if he’s approaching a wounded animal. “We fuck and it’s fucking electric.”

“You don’t do relationships.” Nasir mutters, shaking his head. He’s trying to keep the tears back, but they threaten hot and fast.

“I don’t, but-“ Agron takes a slow breath. “Maybe this is okay. Maybe this is safe.”

“So what? You want to date now?” Nasir sputters the words out, a few stray tears leaking down his cheek. “How would we even do that?”

“We’re kind of already doing it, don’t you think?” Agron steps forward, gently brushing his fingers over Nasir’s jaw.

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just leans in and kisses him. It’s chaste, a brush of lips over lips, Agron cradling Nasir’s face between his large palms. They’re far enough away from the encampment that no one is going to come across them, and honestly, it’s the furthest from either of their minds.

“Are you serious?” Nasir mumbles, mouth and cheeks wet. “I don’t want to go back and have to announce it to everyone.”

“We don’t have to. We make our own rules with this.” Agron shrugs a shoulder, laughing a little breathless. “We don’t have to tell anyone anything. All I want to do is try with you. You just have to say okay.”

Nasir’s mind won’t quiet, a million thoughts racing. All the ways this could go bad. All the ways it could work out. He doesn’t even know how to unpack it all. Instead, he just leans up on his toes, kissing Agron’s grin slowly.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Though they’re in the middle of the woods, Mira makes a very valiant attempt to make an actual Thanksgiving dinner happen. It’s cold cuts of turkey warmed over the fire on a hotdog spire, foiled potatoes buried deep in the coals until their skin is bursting and crispy. The cranberry sauce is served out of its original can, plopped onto paper plates in odd shapes. The green beans a frozen bag set to warm out in the sun, smothered with skillet bacon. The rolls are soft though, toasted over the fire for barely minutes, speared through with a long stick.

There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, six people crammed onto the picnic table with the food half spread across the table and then onto the flatbed of Spartacus’ truck. There are a few people crammed onto a blanket, another group huddled around the fire with fold out chairs and people perched at their feed on a drug over log.

Agron finds himself in a fold out chair, plate balanced in one hand, Duro leaning back on his legs. They’ve been passing a bottle of Gluhein back and forth, snuck under the extra blanket in one of Agron’s saddle bags. It’s better warm anyways, the aroma not unlike mulled wine with a sharp blend of cinnamon and cloves.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Duro toasts around a mouthful, craning his neck up to look at his brother.

“You’re going to choke,” Agron rolls his eyes, making a point not to comment on the dark bruise the angle reveals on Duro’s neck. “But happy thanksgiving.”

“Are you happy?” Duro asks, voice oddly endearing for the amount of people around them.

“Of course, I’m happy.” Agron’s brow furrows, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

Setting his plate on his knee, Duro turns more properly, resting his cheek on Agron’s knee. From this angle, he looks so much younger – like sixteen-year-old Duro who followed Agron across the Atlantic like it was the only thing he could do. Like the Duro who craves Agron’s love and approval above all others. And Agron is mad at Nasir was right about that too – that Duro and Agron are almost too dependent.

“I’m fine, Duro.” Agron taps his finger onto Duro’s forehead in place of his own forehead. “Eat your dinner.”

“You know, it’s okay if you’re not.” Duro whispers, scratching a nail absently at a hole in Agron’s jeans. “It’s twenty twenty, we’re supporting therapy now. We’re not boomers.”

“I have a therapist.” Agron rolls his eyes, lightly tugging the wine bottle from Duro’s fingers. “Remember?”

“But do you actually use them?” Duro lets his gaze drop, watching his finger. “Mira told me you haven’t been taking your medication.”

“I have been taking it just fine.” Agron grits, his teeth clicking against the glass. “I’m fine, Duro. Seriously. I don’t want to fight about this. It’s Thanksgiving.”

“I just want you to make it to another Thanksgiving.” Duro mutters, recoiling back onto his blanket. Before he can go though, Agron catches his wrist.

“I’m not going to do anything stupid, Duro. I promised you that when we came over here. You’re always going to have me.”

Duro flashes a small smile, a flat line that doesn’t even reach his eyes. “Okay.”

He retreats away, finds Auctus sitting near Barca and Crixus, situates himself and his blanket nearby, leaving Agron the mostly full bottle of wine.

Agron isn’t lying. He’s been taking his medication, mostly to the prompting of Mira, but he has been trying. And maybe he’s been in his head more than normal lately, but a lot of shit has been going on. A lot of shit that Agron doesn’t really want to divulge to his baby brother. Still, there is good when there is bad, some hope.

There is a warmth that has lodged in his chest – a heat that has nothing to do with the wine. It’s the secret. The whispered knowledge that something has happened – something unexpected. Across the low flames, Agron can watch Nasir laugh between Pietros and Naevia, and know that in some way – Nasir is his. Even if he can’t pull Nasir into his lap, even if he can’t let his affection spill over, part – a precious part – of Nasir is for him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Nasir glances over at him. He’s in the middle of telling a story, cheeks flushed and hands moving wildly. Agron lets himself look, takes in the glint of fire on Nasir’s hair, the loose sleeves of his hoodie half falling off one shoulder. He doesn’t know how they’ve been getting away with this – hiding in plain sight. Agron doesn’t think he’s ever been more obvious in his life, raising the wine bottle towards Nasir in a mock toast. For his credit, Nasir has the ability to drop his gaze, cheeks rosy at the clear indication of flirting, but Pietros catches his attention with a wild peal of laughter and Nasir is ripped away from him.

Agron could let it burn through him, could go and demand that dark eyed gaze back – but he’s a patient man. There are things that are worth waiting for, and he knows how tonight is probably going to go. It’s the same it’s gone since they got here. Nasir will drink with his friends, get lost in wine or that spiced cider Naevia is so fond of. There will be dancing and then slow eyes across the fire from one another. And then magically, they’ll end up next to one another, trading slow glances and wandering hands half in the shadows.

“Attention, attention everyone!” Spartacus stands like a king at the head of the picnic table, a shining copper mug in his fist. “I want to thank everyone for coming to the annual ATO Thanksgiving trip.”

Light applause and hooting fill the clearing, cups and various bottles raised in toast.

“A very special thank you to Mira for planning and for preparing this delicious meal!” Spartacus gracefully bows to his girlfriend, who blushes and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“And thank you all for your continued support, your friendship, and your loyalty. I love all of you.” Spartacus raises his cup in a toast to the roar of those around him.

Spartacus is the type of guy who could inspire wars. The type to get people on their feet, to fight and challenge and never give up. It’s clear from the shouting and raised cups, the stomping of feet in the dirt. If Heracleo’s group is close, there is no way they can’t hear the chanting of Spartacus’ name.

It seems to dissolve from there, the music lifting from somewhere in Lugo’s campground. Bottles are passed around, the clinking of chipped mugs and enamel painted tin. Agron watches his friends descend from a feast into a frenzy, stacking the used dishes in the bin in favor of general debauchery. What could one expect from thirty college aged students out the in woods?

Agron gets drug away from the fire, bullied by Lugo’s strong arm and Nemetes’ prodding fingers and Harudes taunts. They’re playing some complicated game that’s half beer pong and half corn hole, shots lined up among the cups. Agron gets most of the instructions in German from Lugo, who leans into Agron’s body like it’s the only thing keeping him up.

Whatever is in the shot glasses is not American. Nor probably legal.

Time is a slur, a hazy creeping where one moment Agron is pretty sure he’s winning this game and the next thing he knows: he’s been thrown to the ground by Harudes’ shoulder. They tussle in the dirt, Agron swearing loudly and Harudes spitting everywhere. He’s not really sure what the fuck he said, but it must be something, because Lugo is laughing loudly, half toppled over onto Donar. Spartacus is there, breaking it up, but he doesn’t look that pissed, more amused than anything else.

Not one to slink away, Agron punches Harudes’ one more time in the solar complex before he’s practically being drug away by Duro and Auctus. He can smell sweat and beer, campfire smoke swirling up towards the sky as Auctus nearly throws him into a fold out chair. Duro wipes at his face with a half damp towel, trying to force a water bottle in his hand.

“You’re a fucking idiot. Has anyone told you that today?” Duro’s words are half slurs themselves, his eyes huge and bloodshot.

“Not yet, but it’s early.” Agron laughs wildly, throwing his head back.

“You’re fucking wasted,” Duro leans a hand into Agron’s shoulder to stand up right. “How are you this fucking drunk?”

“Oh! Fucking stop!” Agron swats him, nearly missing but managing to slap at Duro’s cheek. “Like you’re one to fucking talk.”

“Boys, boys,” Auctus grips Duro around the hips, pulling him back. “Agron, drink your water. Duro, come take a walk with me.”

“Sure!” Agron shouts at their retreating backs, waving the plastic in his fist, “Go defile my brother, Auctus. Really good plan. Don’t you fucking dare do it in my tent!”

“Fick dich!,” Duro hollers over his shoulder, leaning heavily on his boyfriend before disappearing behind a line of trees.

Agron leans heavily back into the vinyl seat, tilting his head up towards the trees. The fire is bright enough it’s blocking out the stars, but it casts flickering lights over the foliage – looking half horror and half serene. Agron wishes he could be deep about it, wishes he was some eloquent poet, but all he can do is watch and drink his water.

It’s almost bliss though, to have a blank slate, to be brain dead and drunk. Agron feels warm and sweaty, unfocused in a way that lets him forget about what happened earlier, forget about Caesar, forget about all that shit. Agron wishes he felt like this all the time.

He’s drawn to the left, neck rolling over the rough fabric, by the dancing shadows and the figures on the table. Whatever song is playing is more bass than lyrics, and like most nights, there is a spinning mass of bodies rolling together in some hypnotic dance. Agron is drunk enough that it looks hazy, a glare and shiny, half clouded as he squints to make out who is who. It doesn’t take long though to pick out faces in the rippling lights.

Agron doesn’t linger, searching and gaze bouncing, until he spots who he wants. Nasir is sandwiched against people, hands up and face shiny with sweat. He’s tied his hoodie around his waist, the fabric bunched and pulling his tank top down in the front. And Agron is fucking weak for it. He should blame it on the alcohol, blame it on the heat and the swirling in his gut, but he knows that’s not true. He wants to be there, be against Nasir, be inside Nasir.

“Fuck,” Agron grumbles to himself, feeling his cock twitch. No one is paying him any attention, but he still glances around before pressing a palm to the base, trying to relieve some of the pressure. It’s really not the place or the time for this.

Again, it’s uncanny, as Nasir’s dark gaze seems to sweep over the campsite and find Agron – almost as if he can feel being looked at. Like he likes Agron looking at him. He grins wide, a flash of teeth and a toss of his hair. It feels goading, delighted to be watched and seen, and so Agron doesn’t bother to look guilty. Instead, he makes a show of pressing into his lap, gaze unwavering.

It’s a siren call, a beckoning, and Nasir seems unable to ignore it. He doesn’t even bother saying anything to anyone, just steps out of the swirling bodies and stumbles over. The bottle in his hand is half full, a sloshing of liquid as Nasir settles into the chair next to Agron, the metal dragged over the packed dirt and as close as possible.

“Is that all for me?” Nasir glances towards Agron’s crotch.

“It could be.” Agron reaches slow for the bottle, gaze wavering over Nasir’s throat and then back to his mouth.

“Payment first?” Gasping, Nasir’s hand raises as he means to touch Agron’s cheek before he freezes, glancing around.

“Oh, I want more than this,” Agron snags it between sure fingers. The alcohol is smooth, a cherry cider that is all sugar and bite. It makes him wonder if that’s what’s stained Nasir’s mouth, if he would taste like it too.

“What do you want?” Tongue dragging over his bottom lip, Nasir lets his hand drop to Agron’s knee. To anyone looking, it would just appear that they’re leaning close to hear one another.

“You,” Agron smirks around the bottle opening, “Naked. On my lap. Preferably now.”

“You’re a tease.” Nasir laughs, tossing his head back, cheeks red. “We’re outside. In the middle of a party.”

“So?” Reaching over, Agron drags a finger under the strap of Nasir’s tank top. “No one is looking.”

“They would be if I was riding you right now.” Nasir reaches over to wrap his hand around Agron’s wrist.

“I have a tent.” Agron motions with his head. “No one is in there.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Nasir, bewildered, cannot stop himself from shaking his head. “How drunk are you?”

“The real question is, why are you not drunker?” Agron raises the bottle to his lips again, “This is good.”

Humming, Nasir waits until he’s done before he takes the bottle back, taking a hefty swig. Agron watches his throat, leans forward to press his mouth there. It’s a chaste move, a barely there brush over the tendons as they flex, but Agron lets his teeth graze too – a promise. Nasir, for his credit, doesn’t full choke – just pulls back with wide eyes.

“Agron!” He hisses, mouth wet and red.

“What? I can’t kiss my boyfriend now?” Agron leans back, raising a brow, delighted at the flush creeping over Nasir’s cheeks, down onto his chest. “That’s what you are, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Nasir confesses around a grin. “But still, I don’t need Mira or Naevia cornering me tomorrow asking me why you were kissing me.”

“Fuck them. They can mind their own damn business.” Agron grumbles, flopping back in his chair. He casts a sullen glare towards the fire, annoyed again. They shouldn’t have to hide, to sneak around to avoid judgement or the opinions of their friends.

“Don’t be like that.” Nasir taps his leg against Agron’s, jostling him.

“Yeah.”

They fall into a prolonged silence, Nasir drinking heavily from the bottle and wrapping his hands over his knees. Agron can tell he’s frustrated, words caught in his throat, but Agron isn’t fucking sober enough to have this conversation – and now neither is Nasir. They probably should have worked out the schematics of having a secret relationship before coming back to camp, but they had been distracted by sweet kisses and slow hands.

It doesn’t help that the crowd around them seems to grow in volume at the arrival of their neighbors. Heracleo comes baring gifts, large coolers drug over the dirt, the chests full of more beer and ice. Agron doesn’t even bother raising a hand in greeting – no matter the look Spartacus shoots him. He’s not going to go play nice with those fucks. He doesn’t even know why they’re entertaining them.

“I thought you guys didn’t get along,” Nasir comments, passing the bottle back to Agron.

“We don’t,” Grumbling, Agron takes a swig. “But Spartacus likes to play nice incase we need Heracleo for something. He’s a fucking leech though.”

“Yeah?” Glancing back at him, Nasir narrows his eyes a little. “Why do you say that?”

“Because, they never do anything without expecting fucking payment.” Agron sighs deeply. His head is still spinning, mind a little fuzzy with all the alcohol. Part of him wants to go lay down. Part of him wants to make Nasir come with him. “They’re bad guys.”

“I met one of them this morning,” Nasir shrugs a little, gaze bouncing off of Agron. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“I bet he wasn’t.” Agron rolls his eyes. “Come on, babe, you know about guys like that. All charm and poison.”

Nasir’s eyes meet his in the firelight, the flickers of flames in his pupils. There is an awareness – a sharpness to the corner of Nasir’s smile. They both know who they’re talking about, the memory a curling sort of sickness that creeps up and destroys. Agron doesn’t want to think about it right now, doesn’t want to pull up all that pain in Nasir’s expression.

“I’m sorry.” Agron sighs deeply, shaking his head. “That’s not fair.”

“It isn’t.” Nasir agrees, his hand slowly moving down to intwine their fingers. “Agron, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.” Agron tries not to flinch, hackles raised. He’s not a man of many words – more action than anything else. But Mira had told him once that he needs to learn to speak and if he’s going to make an effort, it will be for Nasir.

“Do you think,” Nasir begins, soft and slow. There is a slur to his words, drunk and heavy considering the joyous party around them. “Do you think we need help?”

“What do you mean?” Agron watches his profile in the flickering light, mesmerized and terrified.

“We were abused, Agron. Emotionally. Physically.” Nasir swallows thickly, glancing over. “Sexually. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’m processing it very well.”

“So, you want to go talk to a therapist?” Agron asks, not prying but simply. “To figure shit out?”

“I want to feel better.” Nasir turns to fully look at Agron, seeming to gain some courage. “I want you to feel good too. And I’m afraid that this fucking horror is constantly lingering over the top of us. What if we start dating for real and then all you can see is the Caesar in me? What if that never goes away?”

“No.” Agron shakes his head vehemently. “Nasir, I don’t. I’ve never thought of him when I was with you.”

“Okay, but Ags,” Nasir flexes his fingers, thumb brushing over the Agron’s knuckles. “Can you honestly say you’re emotionally ready for this? That you can say you’re completely over what happened to you?”

“I-“ Agron pauses, the words seeming to get stuck in his throat. He thinks about the texts still on his shut off phone, of the memories that still wake him up at night, of the fear that he’s setting them up for failure. “I don’t know.”

“See,” Nasir sighs deeply, deflating into his chair. The bottle of cherry cider stays untouched on the packed dirt between them.

“I want to be though.” Agron suddenly has the fear that Nasir is trying to break this off, burn it up before it’s even begun. “Nasir, I swear, I’m not lying when I say I want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you too.” Nasir keeps his gaze on their hands, flinching at his next words. “But how can we when it feels like Caesar is constantly looming over us? Can you even touch me without thinking of him?”

Agron reaches over and gently hooks his fingertips under Nasir’s chin. He doesn’t force it but guides him up until Agron can see the crackling light playing across Nasir’s flushed face. His eyes are glassy, drunk and full of unshed tears, and Agron doesn’t stop himself. It’s easy to give bodily comfort, to kiss Nasir’s cheek and pull him into his arms. There are shouting and slurred music around them, the heat of bodies twisting in the dirt and in the dead leaves, but Agron can only breathe in Nasir’s hair, feel his chest against Agron’s own.

“I have never thought of him when you are in my arms,” Agron hisses, holding Nasir tight. “He doesn’t get to have this too. When we are together, anytime we are together, it’s just us. All that bullshit goes away.”

“Agron,” Nasir sniffles helplessly, tucking his face into Agron’s neck.

“Maybe talking to someone will help, working through it will help,” Agron murmurs into his ear, petting over Nasir’s back. “Just to be able to move forward. And maybe we went about this a little ass backwards, but Nasir, I don’t regret us. I don’t regret letting you be my friend. I don’t regret us sleeping together. I can’t. Do you?”

“No, of course not.” Nasir pulls back, touches his fingertips to Agron’s cheek. “I can’t regret anything with you. It’s the first thing I’ve felt that is real.”

“Then it must be good,” Agron smiles faintly, letting his fingers slide along the back of Nasir’s neck. “Something worth fighting for.”

They’re close enough that they should be kissing, sharing a breath between parted lips. Agron can smell the cherry on Nasir’s breath, the scarlet stain of his lips. It doesn’t escape him though of where they are, having a drunken confession in the middle of a Bacchanal Thanksgiving. It’d be almost humorous except for the way Nasir’s eyes are half filled with tears, his fingertips warm on Agron’s jaw.

Nasir knows they should table this conversation for later, when they’re clear headed and not having to whisper yell to get over the noise. But he’s weak and he doesn’t want to pull away. He wants to be closer, wants to watch the fire flicker in Agron’s luminescent green eyes. He wants to shed the skin of trauma, to enjoy one another.

“Hey!” Pietros’ shouting cuts through their conversation, the younger man stumbling up to the pair. “Nasir! Come on! I need you!”

“What? What’s wrong?” Nasir looks up startled, automatically tightening his grip on Agron’s free wrist.

“I need your help. Saxa has this game and I need a teammate and she told me I was a lightweight and couldn’t do it and fuck that noise. You need to go beat her up. Or at least help me win.” Pietros rushes out, swaying on his feet. “Like right now.”

“Where is Barca?” Nasir laughs, shaking his head. Some of the weight from the heavy conversation rolling off his shoulders. “I highly doubt I am the one qualified to beat Two Time Wrestling Champ Saxa up.”

“I don’t need Barca! I need my best friend!” Pietros whines, reaching out to yank on Nasir’s free arm. “Sorry Agron. He’s my best friend tonight.”

“Still a no,” Agron laughs, but nudges at Nasir’s hip, “Go have fun.”

“I want to have fun with you.” Nasir mutters, fingertips dragging on Agron’s palm. “Come with me?”

Agron should go help Spartacus, should help be the bodyguard and the security – keeping fights from getting out of hand, regardless of Agron getting in half of them. But he doesn’t want to fit that role right now. He wants to follow Nasir across the dirt, to drink more of the heavy cider and possibly get drawn into the dancing frenzy of his friends.

“Okay.”

Staggering, Agron manages to make it to his feet, letting Nair’s palm slide all the way into his. Nasir’s grin is nearly blinding as he tugs him along into crowd.

Chapter Text

There is a vase of lilies on Nasir’s window frame, the petals curled wide and towards the setting sun. The glass sends shards of red and pink onto the tiled floor in a jagged pattern, half up the wall, and over the bed. It leads like a cherry path over the curve of a calf, along a thigh, over a firm ass and onto the flexing muscles of a back. It plays shadows, following the curve of a sharp thrust, dancing along the tendons and sweat on bunching shoulders.

Nasir can almost feel the lights, touches along his fingertips as he digs into Agron’s shoulders, voice lost in a moan. It feels like they’ve been going on like this for hours, like they have nothing except be lost in the press of skin, of the taste of one another, of the easy parting and sinking into one another.

“Fuck,” Agron curses wetly, mouth dragging on Nasir’s chest. He’s trying to taste all of him, to memorize the feeling of Nasir’s body against his lips.

“I’m close.” Nasir whines, hips raising to meet Agron’s, collapsing back into the sheets with each movement. There is no laying still when Agron is this deep inside of him, nerves on fire and sparking like electricity lines. “Ag-Agron! Don’t stop!”

There is no muffling the sounds of pleasure, no sweaty palms over mouths, even though Nasir is sure his neighbors are pissed about now. He can’t help it though, guards collapsing under the dedication Agron seems to have in nailing his prostate, hand flying along Nasir’s cock. It’s all sweet surrender, the cusp overflowing as Agron thrusts in, rotates, and Nasir nearly screams.

It’s suffocating and hot and perfection. Nasir clenches tight, draws Agron into him and holds with legs around his waist, arms locked until there is no space between them. And if Agron was a stronger man, maybe he could resist, but he’s not. He’ll be weak for Nasir until the day he dies. He smears his mouth across Nasir’s, tastes of his pleasured cries as his body responds, following suite into coming.

Their come down is slow, barely caught breathe gasped into each other’s mouths. Agron cannot pull out right away, so entranced by the way Nasir flutters against him, he’s caught in ecstasy all over again. There is no recoiling from this sort of pleasure, locked into one another and sharing every movement. Nasir is perfection laid out on cheap dorm sheets, eyes half lidded and hair a mess, still whimpering Agron’s name around stolen kisses.

“God, why does it always feel like the first time with you?” Agron muses, peppering soft kisses along Nasir’s sternum.

“Because you’re always so deep it feels like it,” Nasir gasps, breathless and squirming. “Best I’ve ever had.”

“Oh yeah?” Agron raises a cocky eyebrow, hands on Nasir’s hips, petting the bruises there.

“Easily.” Nasir finds it easy to feed his ego, biting back his whimper when Agron slowly draws out, mouth still moving down him. “I think you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

“Really?” Agron goads, lapping the sticky come from Nasir’s stomach. “For anyone else?”

“I can’t even jerk off without thinking about you.” Nasir presses his head deep into the pillows, gasping as Agron’s tongue trails over his balls. “You think I could ever let someone else fuck me?”

“Good.”

Seeming satisfied with his clean up, Agron moves back up, manhandling Nasir until he’s curled up on his chest in the tiny dorm bed. They usually don’t do this in Nasir’s dorm, too many neighbors and the opportunity for someone to walk in. But they had gotten a little carried away while trying to study and there was little else to distract them.

“I’m pretty sure you’re it for me.” Agron confesses, casual and slow as he trails his fingers through Nasir’s hair.

“Oh yeah?” It’s Nasir’s turn to be surprised, raising a slow, self-indulgent eyebrow. “No one else?”

“Nah.” Agron kisses Nasir’s forehead. “I love you too much. You’ve got me for life.”

“I love you too.”

Leaning in, Nasir presses his nose to Agron’s jaw. It’s not the first time he’s said the words, no that happened two months after therapy – two months where they went slow, where they learned to date and get to be even better friends. But then it had slipped out and it didn’t feel like a curse, like a joke or a slip up. Agron had said them first and Nasir could do nothing but reply.

They’ve been broken, been abused, but there is something beautiful about healing together. About taking small steps to patch together the pieces of them that are left, the pieces that are strong, are resilient. And at the end, they’ve learned to take the jagged parts and fit them together – to become stronger now that Agron and Nasir allow themselves to be honest and be together.

“We’ve got family dinner in an hour,” Agron grumbles, glancing at his watch. “You want to nap?”

“Yeah.” Nasir tugs on the spare blanket, enough to get it up over their legs, curling more into Agron for warmth. “Wake me up in thirty.”

“Shower?” Agron asks, raising a brow. “You know Mira will kill us if we’re late again.”

“No, she won’t.” Nasir shakes his head. “She’s too happy about us finally coming out.”

“She’s not the only one.” Agron can feel his eyelids getting heavy, blinking slowly at the shatters of light on the ceiling.

“You happy?” Nasir whispers against Agron’s throat, nuzzling there softly.

“I am.” Agron tangles his free hand in Nasir’s hair. “Are you?”

“Very.”