I wrote this never been done before trope starter just for @songbard
Agron is in high spirits the evening he and Duro return to the House of Batiatus. The brothers continue to fight as a gladiatorial pair in the Arena, and with good effect. They yet remain undefeated, like Demons on the Sand! Which means, of course...
“Gifts from the Dominus!” Ashur bellows from somewhere inside the Ludus. Agron sneers, his good mood souring at the mere sound of voice from Fucking Syrian. The tall gladiator slows his stride as he nears the entrance to the training ground, his eyes instead flickering to the closed gate separating the Ludus from the rest of the house. That’s when he sees him...
He might be the palest, gentlest-looking house slave Agron has ever laid eyes on. Something about the young man’s fine bone-structure and soft eyes makes Agron think he’d fit right in as a guest in the villa, eating grapes and chatting about the latest trends of Capua. But then, all Roman Fucks amount to little more than goat piss, and Agron would not dishonor this lovely boy by associating him with such.
Stepping closer to the unlocked gate, the Germani spots an instrument in the house slave’s hands. He grins, propping a bent elbow against the bars and asking in the Language from East of the Rhine, “Are you to be a Gift to the Winners, too, then?”
