Title: Burning
Pairing: Naevia/Diona (Spartacus: Gods of the Arena)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 370
Spoilers: "Reckoning"
Summary: Naevia has a dream about Diona
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, I just wanted to write for them.

The night Diona leaves, Naevia cries herself to sleep.

Diona chases her through the marketplace, skidding on loose pebbles as she rounds a corner into a side alley and collapses at Naevia’s side. Before Naevia can say a word, Diona grabs her hand and pulls her through the late afternoon shadows. The stone walls are cool to the touch, the shadows overbearing but Diona’s solid hold keeps Naevia heated and calm. The shadows break and the girls have come upon a warm, green meadow, small flowers dotting their vision with shining pinpricks of white.

They fall to the ground, hands still entwined, and breathe in the fresh scent of earth. Naevia plucks a flower from between them and tucks it behind Diona’s ear, runs her fingers along the gentle curve of the younger girl’s cheek and smiles at the blush. They move closer, trace lazy swirls on exposed skin and whisper childish nonsense to each other as the afternoon sun sets leaving them in awe as the sky deepens almost instantaneously.

Naevia closes her eyes and breathes deeply, the cool night air entering her lungs. Her eyes are still closed when she feels a soft weight on her body, feels fingers walking themselves up her ribs, skirting around her breast, sliding up her neck. She feels soft lips against her own, feels the weight on her become heavier, the pressure at her lips burns, her whole body feels like it’s on fire but only her chest hurts. A wrenching feeling, hard, painful, crushing, seizes her body and she opens to her eyes to see Diona staring down at her, all burning blue eyes and wonder.

And suddenly Naevia can see the glitter of stars through the brunette, watches the girl’s figure fade at the edges. A rushing wind tugs at her insides as the ghostly image of Diona falls straight through Naevia into the ground beneath her.

Now alone in the field, Naevia wraps her arms around herself and goes fetal, cries until the sun begins to peak over the horizon.

Naevia awakes to a tear-stained pillow, the day’s rain burning against the glittering oranges and deep reds of a fresh sun rise. The day is fresh but already empty.
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