Archive of Our Own

Nicky stares at the screen of his phone. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t still be doing this. It’s been years now. They both deserve better than this. It’s fucking unhealthy is what it is. But Joe’s message is clear as anything, sent not long after Nicky’s plane took off.

>Come right over

Nicky hadn’t even booked a fucking hotel room.

It’s still a forty minute drive from the airport to his hometown. It’s plenty of time to call up any of the hotels nearby and try to find a room. Even with the holiday, there had to still be rooms available somewhere. It would be the mature, normal thing to do. It would at least maintain some semblance of politeness, as if Nicky hadn’t planned the entire trip with the assumption that he would be in Joe’s bed all four nights of his stay. He doesn’t do it, though.

Technically, he should check in with his family. He promised Luisa he would call when he got through customs. Then again, he told all of them that he wouldn’t be arriving until tomorrow. Only Joe knows that he’s coming in today. Nicky really tries not to think too hard about that.

The cabbie lets him off outside Joe’s building and Nicky pays in cash, not even noticing how much extra he throws in when he tells the man to keep the change. The cabbie is very cheerful as he drives off. Nicky just stares up at the apartment complex.

Joe’s lived in the same apartment for longer than Nicky’s ever even lived in a single country. Nicky knows which buzzer to ring without even looking. He knows when he gets inside, Joe will have a messy stack of mail on the side table, and an overflowing shoe rack right by the door, and it will smell like mint tea and whatever delicious thing he’s decided to cook. He knows if he’s up late with some combination of jet lag and insomnia, he can find a tin of drinking chocolate gathering dust behind Joe’s selection of spices because Joe hates chocolate, but keeps it around for Nicky. He knows if he opens the drawer of Joe’s coffee table, he’ll find a stack of clippings of all his own articles, organized by year, dating all the way back to his first publication. Nicky still feels lost in the cold, impersonal loft he started renting in LA eight months ago.

He rings the buzzer and holds his breath.

There’s always a moment when he’s standing here. A moment where he thinks Joe might come to his senses. A moment where he thinks Joe might realize what a selfish bastard Nicky is and finally turn him away. Joe’s had hours now to rethink his text, to decide that Nicky’s not fucking worth it. But just like every time before, the door unlocks without Joe even checking to see who it is. Like he’s always expecting Nicky.

Nicky doesn’t even have to knock when he gets to Joe’s door. It’s already being pulled open, then Joe’s got his hands fisted in Nicky’s jacket and he’s dragging him inside. There’s the mail. There’s the shoe rack. There’s the incredible smell of a home-cooked meal and a pot of tea. And there’s Joe’s mouth. Warm and familiar and open against Nicky’s.

Nicky closes the door by leaning back against it, dropping his bag and cupping both hands around the back of Joe’s head. He’s cut his hair short this year. It’s cropped close to the scalp and Nicky’s got nothing to grip. Joe makes up for it with the way he grabs on to Nicky’s hair and pushes up against him, letting Nicky and the door take all his weight. They kiss for what feels like hours, slow and deep and dazed. Nicky doesn’t even register when he starts to sweat under his jacket, only focused on the way Joe’s fitted his leg between Nicky’s and how they’re lazily grinding into each other between heavy, panting breaths.

He’s not sure how they manage it, but eventually they slow to a stop. Joe rests his forehead against Nicky’s and Nicky closes his eyes and breaths in the dry desert scent of Joe’s skin. (He always used to tease that you can take the African out of North Africa, but you can’t take Africa out of the North African. Joe would always flick him between the eyes and remind him that Tunisia wasn’t even a desert country.) Joe’s hand falls from his hair and down to his shoulder. Nicky smooths his own hands down Joe’s back. It becomes a proper embrace without conscious thought.

“Welcome home,” Joe murmurs, the first thing he’s said yet. Nicky melts a little and holds him closer.

After a bit, they disentangle. Joe goes to the kitchen to check on dinner and Nicky shakes off his coat then makes his way to the bedroom. He has to pause there to clean up the floor. Joe still doesn’t just throw his dirty clothes in the laundry basket. Nicky doesn’t know how he lives like that. When he’s hunted down the last pair of socks that inevitably get kicked under the bed, he finally changes out of his travel clothes. He knows if he opens the third drawer of Joe’s dresser, it’ll be cleared for his stuff. He ignores that right now and goes into the en-suite to take a piss and splash some water on his face. He’ll shower after he’s let Joe feed him.

“Did you clean up in here?” Joe asks through the bathroom door. As if he was expecting Nicky not to.

“Obviously,” Nicky says, drying his hands and opening the door. Joe shakes his head. “You’re in your thirties now, Joe, you really should learn what a hamper is.”

“Dinner is ready,” Joe says instead of rising to the bait. Nicky follows him out to the dining table.

Joe’s served both of them already, a smaller portion for Nicky because he knows Nicky’s not usually hungry after long plane rides. The steam is still curling from two mugs and Nicky is barely in his seat before he’s got both hands clutched around his drink. Joe’s mint tea is much sharper than anyone else’s in his family. He knows Nicky doesn’t like it too sweet, likes to feel the mint at the back of his throat when he breathes in.

“Have you actually been able to keep the plant alive then?” Nicky asks. Joe is conspicuously silent as he picks up his fork. Nicky smiles. “How you manage to kill a mint plant is an absolute mystery. You should have people pay for you to get it out of their gardens.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Joe says. “I followed your instructions to the letter. Maybe it’s your fault.”

They’ve had this argument before. It’s almost routine at this point. Nicky settles further back into his chair. The blanket of home presses down on his shoulders. It’s not suffocating, not yet, just a comforting presence that he’s very much looking forward to curling up in later. He takes a sip of tea then turns to the meal in front of him.

“Christ, you’ve outdone yourself,” he says. Joe smiles.

“It’s Swahili,” he says. “You know, it’s getting harder and harder to pick something from a place you haven’t been to.” Nicky picks up his fork, shoving the guilt aside.

“There’s still plenty of places to choose from,” he says. But he’s been traveling for over ten years now. Joe isn’t necessarily wrong.

“Where are you based these days?” Joe asks. Nicky takes his time swallowing.

“LA,” he says. “They’d very much like to keep me, but…”

“But it’s America and you’d be insane to stay there,” Joe finishes for him. But, Nicky thinks, I’m already so goddamn sick of being in one place.

“I've barely managed to survive the eight months I’ve been there,” Nicky says instead.

“Wow, eight months,” Joe says. Nicky can hear the bitterness in his voice. “That’s a long time for you.”

“It was good money,” Nicky says automatically. What a shit response. “And I didn’t spend very much time in the country anyway.”

“Of course not,” Joe agrees. He doesn’t ask where Nicky went. The coffee table holds that answer.

“How’s the gallery?” Nicky asks.

“Nile and I finally put together the artists collective,” Joe says. “We’ve got five artists sharing the studio space now, and they show exclusively in the gallery. In return, the gallery takes a much lower commission from any works sold through us.”

“That’s fantastic,” Nicky says sincerely. Joe had been working toward starting a collective since he opened the gallery.

“We have a show of their combined efforts still on display,” Joe says. “You should stop by.”

“I’d love to,” Nicky says. He means it. They both know he won’t get a chance.

Nicky eats most of his food before his stomach protests. Joe isn’t insulted, and promises he found a recipe that is supposed to taste even better the second day. He shoos Nicky over to the couch and takes their plates back to the kitchen. Nicky picks up the book that’s lying on Joe’s coffee table. He doesn’t get much time to read, even with all the long plane rides in his life. Joe’s always got the best suggestions, though.

“I wouldn’t recommend that one,” Joe says as he wanders over. “Still haven’t managed to get past the fifth chapter.” Nicky sets it back down and opens his arms. Joe makes space for himself between Nicky’s body and the back of the couch, tangling their legs together. Nicky wraps an arm around his shoulders and brushes their noses against each other.

“Why did you buy it if you didn’t like it?” he asks. Joe’s always been the person who only buys books he’s already read and enjoyed. Nicky feels Joe tense slightly.

“I’m borrowing it,” he says. If it was lent by Booker, or Andy, or Quynh, or Nile, he wouldn’t have tensed. A sharp shot of jealousy twists in Nicky’s gut. It’s not his place to comment, though.

“It does look a little too beat up to be yours,” he says instead.

“At least it’s never been dogeared,” Joe replies, but he doesn’t relax.

Nicky gives in and kisses him. It’s been a while since he walked through the door. And that possessive coil of jealousy makes him want to mark Joe. Joe kisses him back, tentative for a moment until Nicky bites his lip questioningly. It’s not his place to comment, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to ruin Joe for whoever else he’s seeing. But only if Joe wants that, too. Joe bites back and shifts so that Nicky is hovering over him. He always lets Nicky do this. Nicky hates himself for always asking.

He can’t do everything he’d actually like. He’s tired from the flight, and it always takes a little while for them to smooth down the rough places they sometimes catch on after a long period apart. He’s pushing it as it is. He doesn’t want to know what might happen if they wreck each other before they manage to settle into each other’s lives again. It might ruin whatever this still is.

He can, though, kiss Joe hard and hot like he knows Joe loves. And he can roll his hips down and grind into Joe in that way that has Joe leaking and desperate beneath him. And he can slide his hand up under Joe’s shirt and twist his nipple with just enough force to have Joe gasping into his mouth with much more pleasure than pain. So he does. And Joe pushes both their sweatpants down and wraps a hand around both of them and jerks them off relentlessly until they both spill over his fist. It’s still blindingly good.

Joe gets them up and into the shower after a few minutes basking in the afterglow. Nicky’s practically dead on his feet with the hours long flight followed by a pretty fantastic orgasm. Joe gently soaps him down, massaging over his scalp as he washes his hair until Nicky’s sure he’s going to absolutely collapse. He helps Nicky into a pair of boxers and lets him tumble into bed. Nicky reaches for him but Joe side steps with a smile. He pushes Nicky’s wet hair off his forehead and kisses him there.

“I’ll be there soon,” he murmurs. Nicky grumbles something that might be a protest, but he’s already mostly asleep. He hears Joe’s quiet chuckle, then nothing else.

Nicky wakes up warm. Joe’s spooned up behind him, one arm secure around Nicky’s middle, the other tucked under his own head. He’s only half alert, but he feels Joe brush his nose along the back of his neck and he knows Joe’s been up for at least a little while. Nicky doesn’t open his eyes to see the clock, only pushes more into Joe’s hold. Joe hums in contentment. He strokes his thumb across Nicky’s skin where his hand rests on his stomach.

Nicky sighs out, pleased and interested. He’s still not entirely awake, but he wants Joe. (He always wants Joe.) He can feel Joe’s cock stirring through his sleep pants. Joe’s thumb strokes his skin again and his hand slips a bit lower. Nicky keeps his eyes closed, bringing one hand up to rest on Joe’s forearm, not pushing him on just yet. Joe lets his hand drift down again.

“Morning,” he mumbles into Nicky’s shoulder blade.

“Shhh,” Nicky says, earning a breathy laugh. Joe scrapes his teeth over Nicky’s shoulder and Nicky shivers. He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

Joe slips his hand into Nicky’s boxers, but bypasses his cock. Warm, lazy fingers cup his balls, stroking and squeezing lightly in the way that gets Nicky worked up slow and syrupy. There’s easier ways to get him going, but today is a day for stretching it out apparently. Nicky lets himself melt into Joe’s hold, drifting on the last tendrils of sleep and the languid way Joe coaxes him to full hardness. Nicky sighs again.

Joe sucks lightly on the skin of Nicky’s shoulder, working up inch by inch to leave there-and-gone marks on his neck. He doesn’t leave real hickies anymore. Not where people might see them. It’s been years since Joe could leave rings of teeth marks on his neck and dark purple bruises under his jaw. Nicky still misses it. This morning, though, a harsh, biting hickey wouldn’t match the mood. Nicky isn’t complaining as Joe starts mouthing his way back down.

Nicky grinds back into Joe’s lap and feels the way his breath stutters. He smiles and does it again. Joe moves to cup his cock in his hand and Nicky grinds forward into that instead. Joe nips at the curve of his shoulder, then kisses the same spot. He holds his hand in place, letting Nicky writhe between his hips and his palm. Nicky’s more awake now as he moves, but it’s still not conscious thought that dictates his direction.

It takes a while like this, but Joe gives him all the time in the world. Nicky’s eyes stay closed as he rides out the pleasure now, his mouth dropping open slightly as his breathing starts to come a bit faster. When he’s dripping precome down his shaft, only then does Joe wrap his fingers around him properly. Nicky makes his first audible sound, moaning out brokenly. Joe smiles against his skin and moves his hand slowly. Nicky shudders and grinds back. Joe’s erection is radiating heat.

Nicky gets his hands to move, pushing the waistband of his boxers down. Joe works his other arm under Nicky to wrap around him entirely. He grasps Nicky’s cock with his second hand and brings his first up to Nicky’s mouth. Nicky sucks the two fingers Joe offers him into his mouth, messy and wet as Joe continues to stroke him off slowly. When he’s got spit dripping down into his palm, Joe takes his hand back. His hips tilt back for a moment and his hand pauses. Nicky hears him shuffling around, then Joe’s feet flail a bit, managing to hook into Nicky’s boxers as well to drag the rest of their clothes off. It’s not the most dignified thing, but Nicky just drooled all over his hand, so they’re even for now.

Joe’s hand is still slightly wet as he coaxes Nicky’s legs apart. Nicky catches on, letting Joe smear the mix of his spit and precome between his thighs. He’s just holding Nicky’s cock now, focused on arranging them so he can slide his own erection between Nicky’s legs. Nicky closes around it and Joe sighs out against his shoulder blade. His hand lands on Nicky’s hip and Joe thrusts experimentally.

It must chafe a little, because it’s not entirely a smooth glide for Nicky either, but Joe moans like it’s the best feeling in the world. Of the two of them, Nicky’s always been the one to prefer it a little drier, a little rougher, but Joe’s never been exactly averse. He’s leaking, too, though, and he brings his hand back up to Nicky’s mouth again. Joe starts stroking Nicky again and Nicky’s hips shift into his hand. He mouths at Joe’s palm and lets Joe control the rhythm of their bodies. When he’s gotten it all wet again, Joe brings his hand back down to the juncture of Nicky’s thighs and wets the space again. It begins to slide easier and Joe moves a bit faster.

It’s hazy and hot still. There’s no rhythm to it. Joe fucking between Nicky’s thighs in jerky rolls of his hips and only remembering to stroke Nicky off every few thrusts. Nicky reaches back to dig his fingers into Joe’s ass, feeling the muscle flex as he moves. He doesn’t even care that Joe forgets to pull him off, it’s enough to be jostled up into his fist and feel the slide of Joe’s cock between his thighs. It’s always so good with Joe. Better than anyone else every single time.

Joe comes first, panting over Nicky’s spine and coating the inside of his thighs. Nicky whines high in his throat as he feels it and Joe tightens his hand around Nicky’s cock. He hooks his chin over Nicky’s shoulder, still shifting his cock through the mess of Nicky’s legs as he softens. Nicky shudders again and rolls his hips up to meet Joe’s next stroke.

“Do you want me to talk yet?” Joe whispers in his ear. “You want me to tell you how incredible you feel? Fucking burning hot in my hand, you must be aching. And your thighs, fuck, Nicky, your thighs. I could spend hours doing this. They’re perfect.” Nicky groans, doesn’t shut him up.

“Yeah, like that,” Joe murmurs. He brings his free hand around to fondle Nicky’s sac again. “God, you’re gonna come for me. You’re gonna make such a mess. You already let me come all over your legs, I’m gonna make you paint your chest with it. Maybe I’ll let you shower after. Maybe I’ll make you wear it all morning.” Nicky’s breath catches and his cock twitches. Joe speeds up.

He never actually makes Nicky wear their come for more than about five minutes. They know exactly how long it can stay on his skin until it starts to itch and flake off. There’s a scale in both their heads that depends on the humidity of the day, how many times they want to have sex, and how worked up Nicky wants to be that dictates how long he wears their combined release.

But it’s the thought that counts in this. It’s the way Nicky feels when he’s covered in the both of them, marked over with proof that they brought each other pleasure. It feeds a greedy, possessive thing that lives beneath his breast bone and only rears its head when Nicky’s with Joe. The thing that says only Joe can give you this and only you can give Joe this. The thing that whispers mine, mine, mine when he’s got Joe in his arms, or falling apart under his fingers. And probably Joe doesn’t know just how deeply it runs, but he does know that the best way to keep Nicky keyed up is to get him messy.

Joe knows exactly when Nicky starts to come. As promised, he aims it up to Nicky’s chest. They’ve kept Joe’s come between Nicky’s thighs nice and warm with Joe still dragging his cock through it. The possessive thing in Nicky’s chest roars to life and he nearly sobs with it. Joe kisses his neck, wiping the excess on his hand onto Nicky’s hip. Nicky shivers. Joe pulls away and rolls Nicky on to his back. Nicky finally blinks his eyes open.

“Good morning,” Joe says. The sun is peeking through the curtains and backlighting him so he looks like he’s wearing a halo. Nicky smiles.

“Very good,” he agrees. Joe laughs and brushes their noses together.

“Do you want to clean up?” Joe asks. Nicky rubs his thighs together.

“Not just yet,” he says. Joe smiles and fits their mouths together for the sort of kiss that has them both teetering on the edge of turned on within minutes. Nicky moans into his mouth as Joe drags a finger through the mess on his chest.

“When do you need to call your sister?” Joe asks when they break apart. Nicky groans unhappily.

“Don’t ruin this,” he says. “And please never, ever again bring up my sister while I’m still wearing your come. Ever.” Joe laughs again.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ll rephrase. How long do I have to get you messy again before you need to pretend you just came from the airport?” Nicky hums and tilts his chin up for another kiss. Joe obliges.

“Time is it?” Nicky mutters against his lips.

“Just after 8,” Joe says.

“Plenty of time,” Nicky almost purrs. “If we skip breakfast you can sit on my face while you play with me.” Joe lets out a slightly strangled noise.

“I didn’t clean up enough for that, but keep that one on the list for later,” he says. “I got something new that you’ll love.” Nicky grins and kisses him again.

It devolves from there. Nicky lets Joe watch as he pulls himself off, teasing himself and Joe when he dips down to drag a dry finger over his rim every so often. Joe stays close, his fingerprints marking up Nicky’s thighs where he grips them. Nicky loves watching Joe watch him. It doesn’t take long to have the come trickling down his shaft again and pooling at the base of his cock. Joe bats his hand away and sits down right in the mess, Nicky’s cock nudging up between his ass cheeks, still sensitive and softening. Joe grids back and takes himself in hand and adds to the mess on Nicky’s chest and stomach.

After that, they do clean up. They share a shower again and Joe has to pinch Nicky when he sees the way Nicky’s staring hungrily at his crotch.

“As much as I love your blow jobs, I physically cannot go again so soon,” he says. Nicky tears his eyes away reluctantly, but smiles when he sees the laughter in Joe’s eyes. “Finish washing up and come have breakfast.” He steps out and dries off, peering back over his shoulder with a smirk before waltzing right out of the bathroom without a stitch of clothing on. Nicky follows his instructions, but does so very quickly.

Joe prepares toast and coffee while Nicky dries off and brushes his teeth. Nothing elaborate, except for the small jar of Nicky’s favorite apricot preserves he breaks open as Nicky comes over to the table. It’s new and fresh. Nicky knows Joe bought it just for him. They settle in to eat, Joe opening the paper while Nicky just watches the feathery flakes of snow falling past the window over his shoulder. Quiet and uncomplicated and easy, the way Nicky wishes it always would be when he finishes a trip.

After breakfast, Joe goes to brush his teeth and Nicky cleans up their plates. The clock insists on inching forward and Nicky goes to get his phone from the bedroom. His fake flight is supposed to land at 1:00 and Luisa will be waiting at the airport to pick him up. It’s completely ridiculous that he did it this way, but he calls a cab to bring him back to the airport where she can drive him back to their parents’ house. Joe watches from the bathroom doorway.

“Why not just tell her?” he asks. Nicky looks over at him.

“Because they’d all expect to see me right away,” he says like it’s obvious. It should be, to Joe. He seems pleased with Nicky’s answer anyway.

“I could drive you back to the airport you know,” he says. Nicky tosses his phone aside.

“Not after I get you down my throat, you couldn’t,” he says. Joe raises an eyebrow but he’s moving already.

“You’re really setting the bar very high,” he says. Nicky pulls him down onto the bed and slides to his knees in front of him.

“I think you know just how easily I’ll meet it,” he says. Then he drops his jaw and absolutely falls into Joe’s lap.

He can’t get his hair to lay flat after Joe’s had his fingers in it, but it’s a safe excuse that he just got off a plane. His clothes are wrinkled from lying on Joe’s floor the whole night, which can be marked down to Luisa expecting him to have just come from Côte d’Ivoire. He negotiated with her to spend the day at his parents’ house with the rest of the family, but that he would call a cab back to his hotel when he became too exhausted. A flight over six hours with a two hour time difference, Nicky figures he can safely escape before dinner is served.

“Nico!” Luisa calls happily. He arrived back at the airport in time to be in a waiting area so she wouldn’t expect to see him at a gate. He stands and smiles.

“Hey,” he says, hugging her.

“Have you been waiting long? I didn’t realize the flight was early,” she says.

“Not long at all, really only a few minutes, I think,” he lies easily. She takes his bag from him and leads the way to her car.

“How was your trip? Did you get some good information for the article?” she asks, sliding a hand into his. He squeezes hers. She’s one of the few people he misses when he travels.

“It was good. I think my editors will be very pleased with the first draft. Once I actually write it down properly,” he says. She laughs.

They talk about work on the road back to their parents’. Nicky tries to focus on her story about a new client she turned down for some reason or another, but all he can think about is how this drive feels so different when Joe is the one at the end of it. That same blanket of home that settled warm and pleasingly around him last night, begins to tighten and suffocate as the minutes tick by. Nicky already wants to leave again. He laughs when Luisa hits a punchline and she glances at him. Okay, sounded too forced.

“Sorry,” Nicky says. “I’m exhausted.”

“I tried to tell Mama,” Luisa says. “But then Violetta started in about you never coming home, and that was the end of the discussion.” Nicky sighs.

“It’ll be everyone, won’t it?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. It’s Christmas, of course everyone will be there.

“And the babies,” Luisa confirms. Nicky looks out the window, watching Joe’s apartment block go past as they drive through the center of town. There’s a stupid impulse to unbuckle his seat belt and just tumble out of the car. He doesn’t, if only to avoid traumatizing his sister.

“I’m skipping dinner,” Nicky says.

“Probably a good idea,” Luisa agrees. She drives through the gates at the top of their parents’ street without even a second glance from the security guard. Nicky would be questioned if he arrived in a cab.

“Gian and Gio are already here,” she says as they get to the house. “But Papà’s trying to work right up until the last minute, you might be able to avoid him.”

“Let’s hope,” Nicky says. He sighs heavily and gets out of the car.

“Mama? We’re back!” Luisa calls as they let themselves in. Imelda DiGenova comes rushing out of the kitchen immediately.

“Nicolò!” she says, wrapping him up in her arms. “My little Nico, welcome home.” The words fall like weights, not at all like the blooming peacefulness that filled Nicky when Joe said the exact same thing.

“Hi, Mama,” he says, hugging her back and mustering up a smile.

“Come in, come in,” she says. “Shoes off, that’s it.” As if they didn’t live in this house their whole lives. Luisa and Nicky exchange a look and kick their shoes to the side.

“Tell me all about where you’ve been this year,” Imelda says as she links her arm through Nicky’s and brings him through to the living room.

Giancarlo and Giovanni are sitting in the only two armchairs in the room. Violetta is perched on the couch between her husband and Bianca, who looks halfway asleep herself. The twins’ wives are laying out tea and sandwiches, and all of Nicky’s nieces and nephews are sprawled across the floor. There’s a chorus of hello’s ranging from vaguely hostile (the twins) to completely apathetic (the few children who actually remember Nicky’s face). No one but his mother sounds even remotely enthusiastic. Imelda seems to completely miss all of this, pulling Nicky down next to her on the last available loveseat and looking at him eagerly. Her arm still looped through his feels like a set of handcuffs.

Nicky tells her where he’s traveled, shows her some of the pictures he took for his personal collection. She gushes about them and asks him questions more suited to a travel brochure than what he actually writes about. He still answers as best he can. She never really understood that Nicky chose to travel for reasons beyond exotic vacation destinations. She’s also never read his articles. To Nicky’s knowledge, only Luisa has ever read what he’s written. Bianca, maybe, but she doesn’t have much time to read for pleasure with all of the manuscripts being sent her way. (And Joe, of course.)

Bianca saves him mid-way through his mother asking somewhat tasteless questions about his recent trip to Côte d’Ivoire by begging him to change Chiara’s diaper. She plays it up by placing a hand on her belly as if to emphasize that she is simply too pregnant to stand and carry the baby upstairs. Nicky doesn’t even care that he’s changing a diaper, he just needs to escape. He scoops up his youngest niece and shoots Bianca a grateful look, then takes the diaper bag and goes up to the room Bianca’s staying in.

He closes the door behind himself and bounces his niece on his hip.

“Be glad you don’t understand a word of what she’s saying,” Nicky tells the little girl. Chiara reaches out to pet his cheek.

She’s cooperative as he lays her on the changing table, patient even through the cold process of wiping her down, and quietly takes the fresh diaper without complaint. He sets her carefully at the center of the bed while he goes to wash his hands, and closes the door again when he comes back in. Chiara occupied herself by sucking on her own toes while he was gone. Nicky sits next to her and picks her up to set her little feet on the bed.

“Must be nice to be amused by something so simple,” he tells her. Chiara drools over her thumb and smiles at him. He can’t help smiling back.

“Do you think it’s too early to leave?” he asks, bouncing her a little. She giggles. “I think the longer I stay the more likely it is I’ll run into my father. I’m sure he’s very nice to you, but I’d like to avoid him as long as possible.” Chiara laughs again and Nicky smiles wider.

He dances Chiara across the mattress, letting his mind wander just a little. He doesn’t like to indulge in this line of thought too often, but it always comes back around when he’s in his hometown. He thinks about the pictures Joe has of himself playing with his own nieces and nephews. Thinks about the way he’s smiling in them, the absolute adoration overflowing in his eyes. Thinks about the sound of a baby’s laugh greeting him as he walks through the door, and the way Joe might carry them over to Nicky to say hello and wave their tiny fist to say goodbye. Thinks about a child with tightly curled hair and big brown eyes whose mouth would shape “papa” in as many languages as he and Joe speak. Nicky brings Chiara in close and holds her tightly, pressing his nose into her head and blinking back tears. She wraps her little fingers in the fabric of his shirt and snuffles closer.

“Precious girl,” he murmurs. “I hope you grow up and leave this place.”

He wastes a few more minutes, then goes back downstairs. The conversation has moved on without him and only Bianca looks up to take her daughter back. Nicky looks at the time and pulls out his phone. He’s been here for two hours. That’s plenty long enough.

“Oh are you leaving already?” Imelda asks. “Won’t you stay until your father gets here at least?”

“I’m tired, Mama,” Nicky says, and it’s not even a lie. “I’ll see you all for dinner and mass tomorrow anyway.”

“You spend so little time here, why come home at all?” Gio asks. Nicky ignores him. He doesn’t have the energy to start an argument with the twins right now. He walks out of the room as if to call a cab, but only opens his text messages.

Come get me<

>I’ll be at there in 7 minutes

End of the street please<

>Sure

Nicky doesn’t even bother going back into the living room. He picks up his bag from the front hall where he left it and slides his shoes on. His mother comes out to find him, frowning.

“You don’t have to take a taxi everywhere,” she says. “We can drive you.”

“It’s alright, Mama. I wouldn’t want to take anyone else away from family time,” he says. He kisses her on the head and already his feet are itching to move.

“Well it’s not as though you’re very far away,” she says. No, he’s not very far away. She just doesn’t know how close he is.

“Go play with your grandkids,” Nicky says, giving her one last hug. “I’m going to meet the cab at the gates.” She frowns.

“I’ve spoken to them about letting cabs through, they should be able to pick you up right at the end of the driveway,” she says.

“The walk will keep me awake until I get back to my room,” Nicky lies, giving her a smile. Imelda smiles back and pats his cheek.

“Well thank you for coming over at all,” she says. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Nicky confirms, then barely refrains from running out the door.

Joe doesn’t meet him exactly at the end of the street. He knows better than to be seen by the guards, who would question him for loitering outside the gates. He stops where he always does, where he always used to, just beyond where the guards can see him from their booth, but visible to anyone who hit the corner and looked down the road. It took him and Nicky years to figure out the exact location, and when they were teens they used to mark it with a spot of day-glow paint. Now, it’s muscle memory. Exactly seven minutes after Nicky sent the text, he climbs into the passenger side of Joe’s car and leans across the center console to kiss him. Joe cups his cheek in one hand and strokes a thumb under his eye.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

“I didn’t see my father,” Nicky says, “so much better than I could be.” Joe smiles sadly.

“Let’s get out of here before he sees my car, then,” he says.

“Please,” Nicky says. Joe pulls away from the curb and sets a hand on Nicky’s knee. Nicky breathes out slowly, the constricting feeling in his chest loosening a little.

The light is already fading, but Joe doesn’t turn the car back toward his apartment just yet. It was a funny thing when they were teens, trying to find a place to make out for a bit where none of their classmates already were. Half their Friday nights were passing cars they recognized and throwing out ideas for places that would still be unoccupied. If they were quick enough, they might be the ones laughing as other cars honked their horns in annoyance as they drove past. Nicky and Joe were hardly ever out early enough to get a good spot with a view, so they’d had to find a place all their own.

It had taken quite a bit of exploring, but they’d come across a broken down barn just on the edge of town, down a blind drive that was mostly shielded by trees and barely wide enough for a single car. In all their nights of going out there, never once had they been found. Joe drives down the dirt path at a snail’s pace, rolling over the holes and rocks carefully. Since no one comes out here, no one knows the road needs maintaining at all. Nicky wonders how much longer it’ll be before it’s impossible to drive on. They finally emerge at the barn, though, just as the sun begins to set properly. Joe parks and turns off the engine. It’ll be cold in a few minutes, and they’re a bit too tall — and a bit too old — to really try for anything in the back seat to keep warm, but Nicky appreciates the gesture.

Out here was where Nicky kissed Joe the very first time, shy and unsure. It was where he also found out that he really liked having Joe’s cock in his mouth. And where he found out he really, really liked having Joe’s fingers inside him. It was where Joe shouted himself hoarse about how unfair it was that his parents refused to pay for his schooling if he went into art. And it was where Nicky called his father every single horrible thing he would never be able to say to his face. It was where Joe first looked into his eyes and told Nicky he loved him. And it was where Nicky looked right back and said he loved Joe, too.

Joe gets out now and Nicky follows without question. They lean against the hood of Joe’s car and watch the stars slowly wink into existence. Nicky shuffles up close to Joe and Joe puts an arm around him and kisses his temple. The sharp winter air seems to calm the clawing thing in Nicky’s chest that always tells him to move out. Or maybe it’s the memories of the hours they spent here, safe from the rest of the world, entirely wrapped up in each other. (Sometimes, Nicky thinks he could stay right here. Longer than his usual five months, longer than eight even, longer, maybe, than a year. But it’s really nothing but a silly fantasy, and he dismissed the idea long ago.)

“I fucking hate coming home,” Nicky says. He grabs Joe’s hand and squeezes it, but Joe still tenses.

“You don’t exactly have to,” he says. “You could always schedule a trip over the holidays and use that as an excuse.”

“That would get very obvious if I do it more than two years in a row,” Nicky says.

“This is the first time you’ve been back all year,” Joe points out unnecessarily.

“And I already regret it,” Nicky blurts out before he can stop himself. Joe leans away and takes his hands back to cross his arms.

“Why come at all then?” he asks. Nicky winces. Joe can’t know it’s exactly what Gio said, but it hurts that much more to hear it a second time.

“I didn’t mean that,” Nicky says.

“You always want to leave as soon as you get here,” Joe says. “Just stay away if that’s what you really want. You don’t owe them anything, you know. And Luisa would visit you wherever you go.”

You wouldn’t, Nicky thinks. He has the good sense to suppress that one.

“It’s not the town,” he says instead. “It’s just them. It’s not you.” Joe doesn’t release his arms.

“I know how shitty your family is,” Joe says, “I’ve been here the whole time, I’m sure you remember. I don’t understand why you feel such an obligation to be here and see them. It just seems exhausting.” Nicky searches his face for what he’s desperately hoping to find. It’s too dark out here for him to see clearly, though.

“It is exhausting,” Nicky finally says. Joe holds still for a moment or two more, possibly searching Nicky’s face for something he wants. Nicky doesn’t know what he’s supposed to offer. Joe sighs quietly and releases his arms slowly. He reaches out, his cold fingers smoothing over Nicky’s brow.

“You know you don’t have to tell them you’ll be in town,” he says quietly, hopefully. “You can just hide out with me.” Nicky slides both arms around Joe’s waist.

“Isn’t that what I’m doing now?” he says. Joe nudges their noses together.

“You hungry?”

“I could eat,” Nicky says. Joe kisses the tip of his nose and steps away to get back into the car. Nicky follows.

Joe reheats last night’s food for them and they eat off the same plate, tangled together on the couch. Joe has music playing, something new from an artist Nicky might recognize the name of if Joe told him, but not one he can remember on his own. Nicky’s always been someone to stick to his tried and true favorites. It still drives Joe crazy that he hasn’t updated his musical tastes since secondary school. Nicky always responds that Joe’s favorite books haven’t changed in the same amount of time, so he has no room to judge. I still read new things, though, he says every time. You never listen to new music. Nicky does bring him back a list of songs he’s heard from the popular artists of wherever he travels, though, and that’s usually enough to settle the argument.

Nicky sighs when he’s finished, turning to tuck his face into Joe’s neck. Joe eats the last few bites with one hand, the other combing through Nicky’s hair. Nicky drifts a little, not quite dozing, but not fully alert either. He hears Joe put down his fork, then the hand in his hair disappears and he hears the rustle of a napkin. After a moment, Joe’s hand is back on his head, the other coming to rest on the arm Nicky’s got slung around his middle.

“What time is it?” Nicky mumbles.

“Just around 7:30,” Joe says. “What do you want to do tonight?” Nicky hums softly as he thinks.

“Bake something,” he decides.

“Hmm bake what?” Joe asks. But he’ll have already picked up any ingredients Nicky might need. Nicky knows he has.

“Something simple,” Nicky says. “English scones maybe.”

“Honey and lemon,” Joe says. “Glazed.” Nicky smiles.

“Whatever you want.”

They stay on the couch for a little longer still, just breathing together. There’s nowhere to be tomorrow morning, so they’re in no rush to go to bed. Nicky’s family thinks he’s writing the first draft of his article. They don’t know he wrote it on the plane. He’s only obligated to show up for dinner then go with them to Midnight Mass. Joe closes the gallery for both his and Nile’s observances, so he gets two days off as well. And actually, this is why Nicky chooses to come home on the holidays. The time stretches a little more when there’s no one expecting them anywhere.

Eventually, Nicky pushes himself off Joe’s chest and pulls his arms over his head with a quiet groan. Joe pokes the sliver of skin that peeks out where his shirt rides up and ducks out of the way of Nicky’s swat. He darts into the kitchen before Nicky can catch him and Nicky smiles as he follows at a normal pace. Joe’s already pulling out bowls and whisks. Nicky rattles off ingredients and measurements from memory, impressing even himself. He hasn’t had much time to bake since the last time he was here. They prep elbow to elbow, and Joe stands back to watch as Nicky kneads the dough into shape. It’s snowing again when they put the tray into the oven. In the warm glow of the kitchen, Nicky steps back into Joe’s waiting arms and they lean up against the counter, listening to the timer tick down.

“I have to see my father tomorrow,” Nicky says. Joe holds him a little tighter.

“You’ll make it through,” he says. “And I’ll be here. I’ll wait up for you.”

“Have to see him the day after, too,” Nicky says.

“I’ll still be here,” Joe reminds him.

“That’s what I hate,” Nicky says. “Not this town. Just that he still lives in it.” Joe rubs a hand down his back.

“I know,” he says. The timer ticks. The snow falls. Nicky and Joe breathe together.

“Do you think you’ll visit more next year?” Joe asks. His voice sounds neutral enough, but Nicky knows him, hears the undercurrent of hope there. A little flame Nicky constantly has to douse lights up in his chest.

“I can try,” he says noncommittally.

“No one has to know you’re here,” Joe says. “I can make it so you never have to leave this apartment.” He has to feel Nicky tense. Nicky doesn’t mean to, not when he never wants to leave this apartment. It’s the possibility of being trapped that does it, though.

“I’ll wear a disguise so no one even knows it’s me,” he says, trying to diffuse the sudden tension in the room.

“You could grow your beard out again,” Joe says. Nicky loosens up, smiles a little.

“You hated that beard,” he says.

“Hiding your jawline is positively criminal, Nicky,” Joe says seriously. Nicky laughs.

“You just hate when I give you beard burn. Despite having no problem the other way around,” Nicky accuses. Joe bends to scrape the tightly shorn beard he’s keeping along Nicky’s neck.

“Maybe if you didn’t like it so much,” he whispers. Nicky shivers and pushes Joe back far enough to get at his mouth.

They end up in flipped places, Joe backing Nicky into the counter. His hands brace against the edge, holding on as Nicky gets his own hands up under Joe’s shirt. They’re both pleasantly satisfied from the morning, but Joe steps in closer like maybe they could go again before bed. Nicky would never object, any time they can carve out together never feels like enough. He licks into Joe’s mouth, sucks on his tongue, and thinks about having this for more than just a few days at a time. Maybe putting down roots would be bearable if this were the soil that would nurture them.

They pull back, catching their breath, when the timer rings. There’s a pause where they exist in each other’s space for just a moment more, then Joe steps back and opens the oven.

They eat warm scones at 10:00 at night, feeding each other bites rather than each taking one for themselves. Nicky sits up on the counter, licks the glaze from the pads of Joe’s fingers where he stands between his legs. Joe returns the favor, letting his teeth graze along Nicky’s thumb. The intent is there, simmering under the surface, but they make no decisions. They go through three scones together like that.

After cleaning up the kitchen, they collapse together into bed. Nothing else happens.

The morning dawns gray and cold. It’s Christmas Eve and Nicky’s absolutely dreading it. Right now, Violetta has to be at their parents’ house, arranging the gifts under the Christmas tree so they look more like decorations than actual presents to be opened. Nicky had shipped his in slowly over the year, picking up things from his travels that are equally beautiful, but generic. He’s lost track of the interests of all his nieces and nephews, and most of his siblings. (For Luisa he chose something more personal, but that gift has already been opened and cherished. Bianca, too, received more thought in her gift, but that also won’t be opened in front of the family.) He knows the gifts with his name on them will be no less generic than any he’s giving.

“Stay here with me,” Joe murmurs into his shoulder blade. He knows what Nicky is thinking, knows that Nicky is thinking at all this soon after waking. Maybe because Nicky’s said it enough times, maybe because they can still read each other like they could all those years ago. Nicky doesn’t dwell on his hopes that it’s the latter.

“I can’t,” he says back. Joe reaches up to brush a hand through Nicky’s hair and Nicky catches it to kiss the inside of his wrist.

“Tell them you’ve fallen deathly ill,” Joe says. Nicky smiles against his skin and kisses him again. “Tell them you’ve gone absolutely weak with exhaustion, no amount of sleep can cure it, you must simply stay in bed.” Nicky hums.

“I’ll tell them that I’ve been so thoroughly fucked by the most magnificent of cocks that I can’t walk or sit down for weeks,” he says. Joe breathes out slow and measured against the back of his neck and Nicky feels his cock twitch.

“The most magnificent, hmm?” Joe asks. Nicky nods.

“The only problem is, for that to be true, I would have to get out of bed and find the man in possession of it,” he says solemnly. Joe gives an overexaggerated gasp and turns Nicky on to his back. Nicky smiles, unrepentant. “I suppose I shall have to settle for yours.”

“Oh well, since it is such a hardship, perhaps I won’t give you my cock,” Joe says, mischief glinting in his eyes. Nicky takes notice, perks up a little more seriously.

“What would you give me instead?” he asks.

“Go clean up very carefully and maybe you’ll find out,” Joe challenges. He rears back from Nicky’s attempt to kiss him and lightly slaps his hip. Nicky narrows his eyes but rolls out of bed and goes to the bathroom. He leaves the door wide open so Joe can see him undressing. He turns on the shower just as he hears Joe pull out his box of toys.

Nicky comes back into the room to see Joe’s got something special in mind. He’s arranged the pillows so Nicky can lean up against the headboard, and set a chair angled toward the bed. He’s going to watch this morning. Heat steals through Nicky. Joe comes back in with a glass of water and a couple scones, setting both on his dresser for after. He takes a good, long moment to eye Nicky up as he stands there, damp from the shower and trying to guess at what Joe might have for him.

“Well come on,” Joe says. He nods to the mound of pillows. “On the bed.” Nicky tries very hard to move at a sedate pace, not seem overeager. Joe is not at all fooled.

He waits while Nicky finds a comfortable position, then picks up the little black bag sitting next to the lube on the nightstand. Nicky raises an eyebrow as Joe shakes out an egg vibrator with its remote attached to a very long wire. It looks expensive.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Nicky asks, running his fingers over the toy.

“Months, Nicky,” Joe says, “ months. ” He grabs the lube and tosses it to him. “Now open yourself up.”

Nicky waits until Joe’s gone over to his chair and settled into it before popping the cap on the lube. He’s staying clothed for this, apparently, which is a special kind of torture for both of them, but that’s the game he wants to play today. Nicky slicks his fingers and glances at Joe. Sometimes Joe just wants to watch, sometimes he wants to tell him how to do it. Joe is silent so Nicky does it his way.

He starts with two fingers right away, loves the burn of it. His eyes are stuck on the remote Joe had grabbed up before he got a good look at it. He has no idea how many settings there are, he has a feeling Joe will keep him going until he finds out. Nicky shivers and twists his fingers in deeper. He spends a little more time than he usually would. If Joe were going to fuck him, he might stop a little early, might let Joe finish the job with his cock, careful and devastating. But he can spend a little more time with Joe’s eyes on him, he’s less impatient when he can see the way Joe stares at his hand. He draws it out for him.

“Okay,” Joe stops him, breathless already. “Put it in.” Nicky slicks the toy and lowers his lashes as he pushes against his entrance. He watches Joe watch him through half-lidded eyes. He knows what he looks like, if only because Joe’s drawn it for him many times. He wouldn’t be surprised if he came back tonight to a new drawing of this.

Joe waits for him to fit it where he wants it then picks up the remote. He smirks as if to say are you ready for it? Nicky splays his legs a little wider and tucks his hands up behind his head with a smirk of his own. Show me what you’ve got.

Joe switches on the toy.

It’s positively earth shattering. Every new setting, every new combination of vibe and speed, takes Nicky’s breath away. The toy sits right up along his prostate, shifting a little when he moves, but never far away. His hands are fisted in his hair and his feet slide over the bed, trying to find purchase to thrust into or onto something, but failing as his legs give out every time. He can’t hear anything — can barely hear Joe, which is a travesty — over the rushing of blood in his ears, or the sounds coming from his own throat. He thinks he’s begging, but he’s so breathless he can’t even tell if he’s saying real words.

Joe doesn’t stop him when Nicky finally has to grab his own cock. He only groans from deep in his own chest, watching Nicky pull himself off desperately. Nicky’s eyes close and he feels it building at the base of his spine. He already knows this one will outrank one of his top five orgasms. His back bows, the pressure releasing all at once, and he clenches his teeth around a shout. At least some of it hits his chin. Joe backs off with the vibe, but doesn’t turn it off completely. Nicky can hear himself whining slightly on every breath as he tries to fill his lungs. There are tears clinging to his lashes. It’s so fucking good. But.

“Color?” Joe asks, his finger hovering over the stop button. Nicky’s still got a hold of his own cock and he squeezes himself a little. He could go again. But.

“Yellow,” he says. Joe stops the vibe and comes over immediately, sitting on the side of the bed and thumbing the tears from Nicky’s cheeks.

“Okay, alright, I’m here,” he murmurs. “Look at me, Nicky. There you are.” Nicky licks his lips, feels grounded with Joe’s hands on him. The empty feeling recedes.

“I’m good,” he says. “I’m good. I want to go again. Just need you here.” Joe leans down and kisses his forehead, both of his cheeks, and finally his lips. Nicky kisses back, sweet despite the way he’s still dripping just a little from the head of his cock.

“You sure?” Joe says.

“Please,” Nicky says. “Just stay here this time. Keep touching me.”

“You ask so much of me,” Joe says, smiling. Nicky laughs breathlessly. “Do you want me naked?”

“Obviously,” Nicky says. This time Joe laughs. He leans back far enough to take off his clothes, leaving a hand on Nicky as much as he can while he undresses. Nicky catches his breath, stroking himself idly once or twice just to keep the mood.

Joe stretches out next to him, one hand splayed out over his ribs. He kisses Nicky’s neck and strokes over his side. Nicky smiles, letting his eyes close. With his free hand he clumsily reaches around and runs his nails up Joe’s back. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to be felt. Joe shivers and leans up to kiss him properly. The mood shifts again and they’re back in it, easy as anything.

“Shall I turn it back on?” Joe asks. Nicky groans in frustration. He knows that tone. Joe is going to make him beg this time. He feels Joe smirk against his skin. “Well?”

“Please,” Nicky says. Joe hums and kisses him.

“Please,” Nicky tries when Joe’s had enough of sucking on his tongue.

“Please,” Nicky repeats when Joe licks over his nipple and slides a hand to the inside of his thigh

“ Please, ” Nicky finally begs when Joe’s spent a good long time mouthing around the place where Nicky’s holding himself and catching the precome on his tongue. Joe looks up at him and switches on the toy.

He’s still a little sensitive, but the brief slow down gave him some time to recover. It’s not quite painful, just how he likes it, and this time Joe is here to keep him grounded. He stays right at Nicky’s side, throwing a leg over his and grinding his own erection into Nicky’s hip. Nicky keens, feeling Joe smear his own precome over his skin. He jolts when Joe changes settings and Joe grabs his wrist tightly, stopping him from finishing the job too soon.

“Work for it,” Joe whispers. Nicky tries to plant his feet again, to fuck up into his own fist. He gets two or three messy thrusts before the vibe changes again and his leg spasms. He finds purchase again, thrusts up again, once, twice, and Joe changes the setting again.

“Bastard,” Nicky manages through clenched teeth. Joe kisses his jaw and up over his cheek.

“You can do it,” Joe says, ignoring Nicky’s name calling. He runs his fingers up and down the inside of Nicky’s forearm. “Let me see it.”

Nicky thrusts into his fist again and Joe’s fingers brush across the head. The second one always builds a little slower, takes a little more coaxing, but Joe’s learned Nicky’s body by now, traverses it with absolute expertise. He sucks Nicky’s right nipple into his mouth, only enough suction for Nicky to feel the pull, not enough to hurt because that’s the one place he doesn’t like it to hurt. He keeps circling the base of Nicky’s cock with his fingers, teasing at knocking Nicky’s hand out of the way to finish the job himself, but never following through. He’s settled on a single setting for the toy, because it’s just a climb to the finish now. Too much and it’ll spiral backwards, too little and Nicky won’t make it there. The relentless speed of a steady vibe is perfect, though, and Nicky turns his head to moan his pleasure right into Joe’s neck.

When he finally comes, Nicky swears he’s being turned inside out. It’s mind-numbingly good. Joe grinding into him and releasing onto his skin adds a single precious final pulse right at the end that leaves Nicky with nothing more than a gasp. He lets himself go and Joe turns off the toy and gently pulls it out.

“Fuck,” Nicky says succinctly. He hasn’t quite got a grasp on any other language yet. Joe smiles.

“I’m going to get something to clean you up, okay?” he says. Nicky nods and closes his eyes as Joe’s weight disappears.

Joe comes back moments later and picks up Nicky’s limp hand, wiping that off first before sweeping between his legs to clear up the excess lube. He swabs away the mess on Nicky’s skin and finishes with a sweet kiss to the center of his sternum. Nicky opens his eyes with some effort. He’s still half propped up against the headboard, so he can drink when Joe pushes the glass of water against his lips.

“Fuck,” Nicky repeats, much more coherent now. “I think I very well might not sit down properly for weeks.” Joe laughs and puts the glass down.

“Even without my magnificent cock,” he says. He slides up next to Nicky again and Nicky rolls enough to rest his head on Joe’s chest. He sighs contentedly as Joe starts finger combing his hair.

“Still wasn’t talking about you,” Nicky mumbles into Joe’s chest belatedly. Joe laughs again.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“Sleep more,” Nicky says firmly.

“Alright,” Joe says, and Nicky can hear the fond smile in his voice. “You sleep, babe, I’ll be right here.” His voice fades to static.

When Nicky wakes up again, there’s a weak sun slanting into the room. Joe is still warm beneath his cheek and when he notices Nicky’s change in breathing he slides a hand up his spine to cup the back of his neck. Nicky yawns and turns his face up to meet Joe’s eyes. Joe smiles warmly.

“Good morning,” he says. He turns his head. “Or, actually, good afternoon technically. It’s about 12:15.” Nicky hums and stretches. He can already feel the slight ache in his legs and lower back. He chooses not to think about what excuse he’ll have to make if his family catches him limping a little.

“Five more hours,” he mutters. Joe kisses the top of his head.

“Let’s eat,” he says. “Do you want to shower again?”

“Shower,” Nicky muses aloud, “or sit at the dinner table with my father with a little lube still keeping me wet?”

“And through mass,” Joe adds. “Don’t forget about sitting with God.” Nicky smiles.

“Maybe later,” he says in response to the question.

“Either way,” Joe says, “get up. I’m hungry and my arm is falling asleep.” He swats at Nicky’s ass with said arm, undermining his complaint completely, and Nicky pinches his side in retaliation. He pushes himself up, though, and Joe goes over to get the plate of scones he left on the dresser.

That achingly familiar untethered emptiness that came over him earlier is gone now, hiding away again until the next time Nicky’s in another hotel room in another city in another country feeling small and alone. He’s not used to it surging up while he’s here, but maybe it’s because he’s already thinking about leaving. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Joe settles in next to him again, setting the plate between them on the mattress.

“You okay?” Joe asks, deceptively casual. He’s caught something in Nicky’s eyes.

“Fine,” Nicky lies. Joe looks at him for a long time, then turns to his breakfast.

They migrate to the couch after a while longer in bed. Joe sits on one end with his sketchbook, Nicky sets himself up with his laptop on the other end. In the middle, their legs tangle together. Nicky idly scrolls through his list of ideas for his next article, but almost as if Joe can sense him shifting into work mode, he reaches over and snaps the lid of the computer closed. Nicky flips him off, but puts it aside under Joe’s scrutiny. Joe doesn’t ask where he’s headed next.

At 4:30, Nicky has to force himself away from Joe’s warmth. He forgoes the shower in the end, and he is still just a little slick from the morning (there’s a sick satisfaction in knowing he’ll be seeing his father with lube still wetting his asshole). He pulls his nicer clothes from the bottom of his bag and gets changed. His mother didn’t mention his hair yesterday, but he’s sure the subject of a trim will come up today. It is longer than usual. Joe stands in the doorway to the bathroom and watches him shave.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you?” he offers, like he always does. Nicky’s already called a cab.

“I’d rather not deal with their questions,” Nicky says. He sees something flash through Joe’s eyes, irritation or hurt maybe, but it’s gone before he can fully grasp it. “It’s for your sake, too.”

“They do a good job of avoiding me,” Joe says.

“And if they know I’m still sleeping with you, do you think they still would?” Nicky says. The irritation is more pronounced this time.

“I really don’t give a shit what they do,” Joe says. “I never have.” Nicky rinses his razor and wipes off the last of the shaving cream.

“I just want to get through the holiday,” he says quietly, not meeting Joe’s eye. “And it’s easier for me if that doesn’t include them taking shots at you.”

“Taking shots at you for being with me, you mean,” Joe says. “Just admit it’s all about you, Nicolò.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Nicky says. I’m not even with you, he thinks. He’s already so tired.

“Sure,” Joe says neutrally. It’s not forgiveness. Hints of that aching emptiness drill holes into Nicky’s lungs.

“I’ll see you later,” Nicky says, stepping past him to leave. Joe follows him to the door. Nicky turns to look at him before he leaves. Joe cups a hand over his jaw and kisses him.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s not—” Nicky starts. He sighs. “I’m sorry, too.” He kisses Joe again and more than anything he wishes he didn’t have to walk out the door right now. Joe breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against Nicky’s.

“You didn’t shower,” he says. Nicky almost smiles.

“If I’m still loose when I get back, I do want that magnificent cock of yours,” he says.

“I thought you weren’t talking about me,” Joe says. Nicky kisses him, harder than the last. Joe drags him closer. Outside, a car horn blares.

“Fuck,” Nicky mutters against Joe’s mouth. Joe nips his lip then lets him go. Nicky puts on his shoes and jacket reluctantly. He looks over his shoulder again as he heads out the door. Nonsensically, for a moment, Nicky almost says I’ll miss you. But he’s coming back here tonight. So he turns and leaves before he’s late to dinner.

Nicky still feels like he has to knock on his parents’ door. Like he might one day be turned away. (He can only hope.) He bites back the urge as he gets out of the cab and just goes right in. He can hear his family gathered in the dining room, the sound of plates and silverware being set out, but he doesn’t call out. He kicks off his shoes and shakes off his jacket and braces himself.

“Nicolò!” his mother says happily as he walks in. “Right on time, just like always.” He accepts her hug and ignores the sour looks from his siblings who were undoubtedly here all afternoon helping cook and prepare the table. “Your father is in his office, why don’t you go get him for dinner?”

Nicky truly does not understand how his mother can be so deeply in denial. He’s the very last person his father ever wants to see.

“Alright,” he says, instead of reminding her of that. He usually does try to keep the peace on the holidays, for her sake. He’s acutely aware of the sedate pace he takes to avoid irritating the slight ache still present in his lower back.

Eduardo’s office has always been the most unwelcoming part of the house. The door was always closed when he wasn’t in it, and when he was well… he was in it. The office was where punishments were dealt out, after a long time spent listing every wrong committed up to and including the current incident. It was where they had each gone in turn to have their grades read aloud and their work ethic critiqued each school year. It was where Nicky had stood toe to toe with his father and told him that not only was he gay, he was also uncategorically in love Joe Al-Kaysani. It was where Nicky had been slapped by his father the first and only time.

“Papà,” he says now, softly and obediently and entirely as if he still isn’t feeling the phantom remains of Joe’s come on his hip. “Dinner’s ready.” Eduardo doesn’t even look up from his work.

“Nicolò,” he says. “I was surprised you didn’t stay long enough to see me yesterday.” Nicky suppresses his wince because he knows Eduardo is watching from the corner of his eye.

“I was very jet-lagged,” he says. Eduardo makes a sound that could either be neutral acknowledgement or disbelief. He finishes whatever he was pretending to work on and stands. He’s always seemed so much taller than Nicky.

“I expect you’ve caught up on your sleep then, since you haven’t been here all day,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” Nicky says automatically. He turns and grits his teeth as he walks back to the dining room, his father’s heavy footsteps coming down behind him.

Nicky allows himself to tentatively relax as his father opens by doting on his grandchildren, listening to the yearly reports on each of them from their respective parents, and spends several minutes making pleasant conversation with each of his in-laws. The longer Nicky gets ignored the better. They’re nearly through the meal by the time Eduardo gets to him. Nicky is close to hoping he’ll make it all the way through mass tonight without incident. Of course, Eduardo wasn’t ever going to make it that easy.

“Nicolò,” he says, when he’s done asking Bianca why her husband couldn’t join them this year. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been home. Have you caught up on any of the local news?” Nicky knows it’s not an innocent question.

“Haven't had a chance,” he says carefully. His father sips his wine and spears a carrot.

“It’s not very thrilling, as you can imagine,” he says mildly. He takes a bite and Nicky just nods a bit while he waits for him to finish chewing. Everything his father does is measured and thought out. “But that Al-Kaysani boy has certainly started some talk.”

“Joe,” Nicky corrects automatically. “And he’s my age.” Eduardo ignores him.

“He and that little American he has working for him—”

“Her name is Nile,” Nicky cuts in, a little louder. “And she’s his business partner. She doesn’t work for him.”

“Don’t interrupt your father, Nico,” his mother reprimands. Eduardo just goes on as if Nicky hadn’t even opened his mouth.

“They’ve started up an artists collective that specifically prioritizes gay artists, but they’ve gone and filled up most of the spots with non-white people, too,” he continues. “Can you believe that? Blatant discrimination.” Nicky grips his fork tighter.

“If only I’d been an artist,” he says, his tone is absolutely acidic. “I’d have been able to get myself a secure position in a collective. And right here in town, just like Mama’s always wanted.” He sees Luisa give him a warning look from the corner of her eye.

“There’s no need for talk like that,” Imelda says.

“Talk like what, Mama?” Nicky says. “Talk of my sexuality?” Under the table Luisa pinches his leg. He shouldn’t be antagonizing tonight. They still have all of tomorrow to get through.

“Do not speak to your mother like that, Nicolò,” Eduardo says. “Apologize to her.” Nicky clenches his jaw and Luisa pinches him again, harder.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Nicky says. Sorry that I’ve reminded you all that I’m gay, he doesn’t add.

The conversation turns to Joe’s artists collective, to the absolute audacity he has to so openly exclude good, straight, white, Christian artists. Nicky knows Eduardo brought it up to make him listen to this. He can try fighting back, but there’s nothing he can say that he hasn’t already attempted with this family. He stares at his plate and finishes his dinner and thinks about the warm place in Joe’s bed that’s waiting for him.

There’s still a few hours left before they go to mass once dinner is put away. Imelda managed to mention for the eighth year in a row how she couldn’t wait for the grandchildren to be grown so they could properly go at midnight again. Nicky hopes his siblings keep popping out kids just so they have an excuse to keep going to the 10:00 service. One or two hours waiting around after dinner is much too long already, four or five would be unbearable.

Nicky does his part to clear the table, stacking dishes next to the sink and wishing there was just a little more leniency on traditional gender roles in his household. His brother’s wives are perfectly tolerable in that they hardly ever look at him. He could easily waste time in the kitchen being invisible rather than having to sit in the living room getting side eyes from his brothers and being systematically broken down by his father. Luisa catches him just as he puts the last dish on the counter and tucks something into his pocket. Nicky slides his hand in and touches a cigarette and lighter. He kisses her temple and escapes to the back porch. It’s freezing without his jacket, but a damn sight warmer than inside the house.

He lingers on the cigarette as much as he can. His phone is clutched in his other hand, and he keeps opening and closing Joe’s message thread. Joe would get a kick out of showing up here to drive him away. When they were teens, he used to make sure to hold Nicky’s hand and kiss his cheek whenever they ran into one of Nicky’s siblings around town. They’d once ended up in the same movie as Giancarlo and his girlfriend and Joe had dragged Nicky to the row directly in front of the pair, and put his arm around Nicky’s shoulders, and even went so far as to feed Nicky popcorn until Nicky had to pinch himself to keep from laughing out loud. It would only take one text. But some stupid familial loyalty stops him every time he thinks about it.

His thoughts are interrupted by a quiet voice from behind him. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Uncle Nicolò?”

Nicky turns. It’s one of his nephews. One of Giovanni’s older kids, he can’t even remember which one. He’s not sure he’s ever gotten the names of all his nieces and nephews and he’s always wondered if it wasn’t at least somewhat purposeful.

“What is it?” Nicky says, when the boy doesn’t immediately continue. The kid regards him warily for a long time and Nicky wonders what Giovanni says about him in private. When he finally speaks again, Nicky almost doesn’t catch his words.

“How did you know you were gay?”

Nicky’s heart shatters. He has to swallow a few times before he can answer.

“I realized I wanted to marry the same movie stars all my sisters did,” he says. The boy nods a little and wraps his arms around himself.

“You never grew out of it?” he asks. Nicky tries to figure out how old the kid must be. He estimates 12 or 13, old enough to have heard the way his father talks about homosexuality.

“I think you know it doesn’t work like that,” Nicky says. The boy shuffles closer, speaks even quieter.

“Did you ever pretend?” he asks. “Was it easier?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Nicky says. “But I’ve never wanted to anyway. There’s someone I love too much to pretend otherwise. He’s always been more important to me.” They watch each other silently. It’s too dark to read the boy’s expression.

“Antonio! Come inside, it’s freezing out!” Giovanni’s wife calls to him. Antonio jumps and turns quickly, practically running back into the house. Nicky takes a long drag of his cigarette and blinks away tears.

Nicky has no fight left in him once he gets back to the house. He doesn’t rise to any bait dangled by his father or his brothers. He barely looks at anyone. The clawing, desperate thing in his chest that always tells him when it’s time to move scratches uselessly at his rib cage. A suffocating, heavy weight absolutely envelopes him and he can’t even find the motivation to breathe through it.

“I’ll drive Nico to the hotel,” he hears Luisa say as they leave the church. It all passed in a haze and Nicky’s surprised to find that he made it through in one piece.

“You don’t have to,” he tells her, but she takes his arm and tows him to her car. He gets in without any more protest and rests his head against the window. He closes his eyes as she turns on the car.

It feels like a long time before Luisa pulls to a stop. Nicky opens his eyes. They’re in front of Joe’s building. She gives him a sympathetic look when he turns to her.

“You never said which hotel you were staying at,” she says. Nicky sighs. He unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle.

“Nico, he’s seeing someone,” Luisa says, stopping him. “You know that, right?” Nicky’s heart clenches.

“He asked me to come over,” he says. But Nicky was the one who didn’t leave.

“They’re not serious,” she allows, “but they’ve been out a few times now.” Nicky tries to swallow around his tight throat. She puts a hand on his arm. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.” Nicky snorts a little.

“When have I ever?” he asks. He shakes her off and gets out of the car. He can feel her concerned look as he rings Joe’s buzzer and hears the door unlock. She only drives away once he’s inside.

Joe is waiting for him at his apartment door. One look at his face and he gathers Nicky into his arms, locking up behind him one handed as the other brushes through his hair. Nicky wraps his arms around Joe’s waist and breathes in his scent. He feels like his lungs are finally filling again.

“What happened?” Joe asks quietly. Nicky kicks off his shoes and Joe helps him out of his coat. Together they move toward the bedroom. There’s a mug of hot chocolate sitting on the nightstand on the side of the bed Nicky usually takes. His throat feels tight. Joe sits him on the edge of the bed and puts the hot chocolate in his hands. Nicky wraps his fingers around the mug and doesn’t say a word until Joe’s kneeled down to look him in the eye.

“I think one of my brother’s kids is gay,” Nicky finally says. Joe closes his eyes and leans in to rest his forehead against Nicky’s. He doesn’t bother asking which brother.

“He— his name is Antonio and I didn’t even know that until his mother called for him,” he continues. Joe stands and begins unbuttoning his shirt for him. Nicky doesn’t move to help. “This is the fucking family I have! They tolerate me because it would look worse for them if they didn’t, but they always make sure it’s clear that I’m not welcome.” Joe coaxes his shirt off his shoulders and has him stand so he can undo his pants. He knows all of this, he’s been through all of it, right beside Nicky from the start.

“I wish I didn’t have to show up tomorrow,” Nicky says. He steps out of his pants when Joe taps his leg, and then lifts each leg again when Joe holds out his sweatpants. Nicky takes a sip of the hot chocolate. It’s warm enough to feel as he swallows but not so hot that it burns his tongue.

“You don’t have to,” Joe says.

“I do,” Nicky says. Joe rests both hands on Nicky’s hips.

“Why?” he asks. And Nicky pauses. Joe raises an eyebrow. “What’s stopping you from just not showing up? Are they going to come looking for you? They don’t know you’re here. And if you aren’t welcome, what reason do they have for coming to look for you?

“For that matter, why come home at all? You dread it every time you’re here to see them and then when you do see them, you end up like this. Why do you come here?” And there’s the flicker again, the irritation or pain or both, and the same question from last night, too.

Because you’re here, Nicky thinks.

“Maybe I should stop,” Nicky says.  He lowers the mug and looks at Joe more carefully. Joe looks away and Nicky knows he’s said the wrong thing.

“Maybe,” Joe echoes. Nicky breaks his hold to go put the mug back down, then comes back and reaches up to take Joe’s face in his hands. Joe resists for a moment, but lets Nicky turn his head. He doesn’t meet Nicky’s eyes though.

“Do you want me here?” Nicky asks. Joe looks incredulous, eyes snapping to Nicky’s out of shock.

“Yes,” he answers immediately. “Did you think that was in question?”

“You’re seeing someone else,” Nicky says. And it’s way too fucking late for this conversation and Nicky is so fucking tired, but Luisa’s voice is rattling around in his skull and Nicky shouldn’t still be doing this.

“A few dates isn’t “seeing someone,”” Joe says.

“It’s the start of it,” Nicky says. A debate rises in Joe’s eyes, but he doesn’t voice any of it.

“Can we not do this right now?” he says, just like Nicky did earlier. Nicky lets it drop just like Joe had.

“Sure,” he says. His hands fall from Joe’s face. Joe takes his shoulders and pushes him down into bed again. He motions to the mug.

“Drink your awful concoction and go to sleep,” he orders as Nicky takes the hot chocolate again, hiding his slight smile as he sips. Joe crawls under the blankets next to him and Nicky leans into him like he didn’t just ask if Joe was starting to move on. Joe wraps an arm around him willingly, easily, and presses his nose to the side of Nicky’s neck. “Don’t know how you enjoy that,” he murmurs, sweet and teasing, like nothing ever happened.

“You are the only person I have ever met who doesn’t like chocolate,” Nicky says. “I believe it’s your fatal flaw.”

“More like common sense,” Joe mutters. Nicky smiles a little more and sips his drink. Joe drifts off against his shoulder.

Nicky’s alarm goes off bright and early on Christmas morning and Nicky’s surprised to find he’s alone in bed. He turns off the incessant ringing and twists around in the covers that Joe tucked in snugly when he got up. Joe steps into the room a moment later, a demitasse in one hand and a small, wrapped box in the other. He smiles as Nicky sits up.

“Happy Christmas,” he says. Nicky reaches for the espresso first and Joe looks amused.

“You know what I’m going to say,” Nicky says. Joe smiles wider.

“You don’t have to get me anything, Yusuf,” he quotes, imitating Nicky’s intonation almost perfectly. “To which you know I’ll say, I want to. And then you’ll open it anyway.” Nicky shakes his head a little and lets Joe hand him the gift.

The box contains two things. The first is a new, sleek, unobtrusive luggage lock. Practical and something Nicky always considers essential even if he’s never had a problem with his luggage being opened. It’s keyless, but easy to unlock if he’s ever questioned, and it holds both zipper pulls in place against the side of the suitcase instead of dangling with a chunky padlock keeping them closed. Nicky thanks him with a kiss before looking at the second thing.

It’s a leather luggage tag. On one side is Nicky’s name, embossed carefully and dusted with a shimmering gray color to make the letters stand out. On the other is an intricate geometric design, undoubtedly also embossed by hand because Nicky can see the tiniest details marking it as Joe’s work and no one else’s. He’s always had a particular way with his mosaic designs, a signature all his own. Nicky only knows because he was there to see Joe develop it. Laid out carefully on such a small surface, in a medium Joe isn’t overly familiar with, Nicky knows it had to have taken days.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs. Joe smiles.

“Nile helped me reinforce the strap so it wouldn’t wear out easily. It should last you a while,” he says. “Long enough for me to make you another, anyway.” Nicky feels his mouth curve up in amusement, but he’s still mesmerized by the intricacies of the design.

“Thank you,” he says after a few minutes more of staring and tracing the lines. He turns to kiss Joe again, but Joe places a hand over his mouth.

“You’re very lovely and soft in the morning,” he says, “but I put a limit on how much morning breath I’ll deal with from you. Brush your teeth.” Nicky rolls his eyes and licks his palm. Joe laughs and moves off the bed so Nicky can get up.

Joe’s still on the bed when Nicky comes back and Nicky crawls up next to him instead of thinking about the fact that he needs to be getting dressed and calling a cab if he’s going to make it to his parents’. Joe welcomes him back with the kiss Nicky was after, starting it slow before opening his mouth to deepen it. Nicky melts into it and Joe falls backward across the sheets so Nicky can hover over him and kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him.

They break off to breathe eventually, but Nicky can’t stop himself from planting kisses on the corner of Joe’s lips, the curve of his chin, the tip of his nose, the hollow beneath each eye, until Joe is smiling and dragging him back to his mouth. The possessive beast in Nicky’s chest rises up, slow and inexorable, and Nicky remembers that Joe has been dating, has borrowed a book from this date, has possibly been kissing a man who isn’t Nicky. It’s entirely unfair, but the urge to wreck Joe comes up again and Nicky hates that he has to leave.

Joe very nearly whines when Nicky pulls back.

“Stay,” he urges. Nicky hesitates. Joe opens his eyes and buries both hands in Nicky’s hair. “Stay here today.”

“It’s Christmas,” Nicky says, as if Joe doesn’t know.

“You hate going there.”

“They’re expecting me.”

“Fuck them,” Joe says. “Stay with me.” He holds Nicky’s eye and moves his knee to run along the interested bulge in Nicky’s boxers. And for the first time, Nicky relents.

“How about I fuck you instead?” he asks. Joe’s grin is all triumph and genuine pleasure. He kisses Nicky like it’s a shared victory and pulls at his head and shoulders until Nicky lets his weight fall into Joe’s chest.

Utter and absolute freedom crashes over Nicky, something so close to the feeling that overtakes him when his plane is climbing into the air, bringing him away from a place he’s felt trapped in for too long. Nicky gets a hand in Joe’s curls and pushes past his teeth with his own tongue, licking away the triumph and taking it all for himself. Joe gives it willingly, dragging the back of Nicky’s shirt up to pull it off. Nicky can barely pull himself away long enough to get them both undressed, as if having all the time in the world today has made things, incongruently, more urgent. Or maybe it’s because he’s finally going to ruin Joe.

The lube is still out because they never fool themselves when Nicky is here. Joe arranges himself while Nicky warms it between his fingers. It’s a goddamn intoxicating sight, having Joe spread out and welcoming for him. He’s painted in patches of sunlight from the windows and Nicky wishes he’d taken more advice from his photographer. He doesn’t think he’s capable of truly capturing this sight himself.

“Not that I blame you,” Joe says, “but are you really just going to sit there staring?” He trails a hand down his own chest to wrap around his cock. Nicky pushes one of his thighs wider, wide enough that Joe takes a sharp breath at the stretch, and sets his finger against Joe’s hole.

“Tell me you want it,” he says. Joe has his form of teasing, Nicky gets him back when he can.

“I want it,” Joe says. Nicky circles his hole and holds his leg incrementally wider.

“How much?” he prompts. Joe groans.

“Nicky,” he says. He’s already breathless. Right, he’s still stroking himself. Nicky puts a stop to that.

“How much do you want me, Joe?” Nicky asks again.

“More than words can even say,” Joe tells him, because he’s still a fucking poet even now, “I want it more than my fucking mint plant wants water.” Nicky snorts. Not feeling that poetic then.

“I think you always overwater it actually,” he says. Joe gives him a disgruntled look.

“Just get on with it,” he says. Nicky smirks.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he repeats. Joe rolls his eyes, but Nicky sees the spark in them. Joe is about to make him lose it.

“I don’t want it, Nicolò,” Joe breathes, holding his gaze, “I need it. I need it like I need air or sunlight. I need it like a dying man searching for water in the hottest desert. I need it like the sinner begging for forgiveness. I need you. I need you.” Nicky is still a little embarrassed he has to grab the base of his dick just at Joe’s words, but Joe is smirking because he knows he’s won and Nicky loves how smugness looks on him. He wipes it off Joe’s face though by pushing his first finger in and curving it up slightly to find his prostate from memory.

He’s three fingers deep, Joe moaning like Nicky’s already fucking him, when his phone goes off with a text. He pauses to look over at it. Joe clears his throat pointedly and clenches down on his fingers. Nicky smiles and pushes back in, brushing along Joe’s prostate again. Joe groans and lets his head fall back. Nicky twists his fingers and leans back down to get his teeth on Joe’s neck where he’d been happily working on a dark bruise. It’s barely a minute later that his phone starts ringing.

“Nicky, I swear,” Joe says as Nicky pauses again. Nicky bites down, earning a gasp, and ignores it.

The third time it rings, Nicky withdraws, to Joe’s loud protestations, and grabs it with his clean hand. It’s Luisa. Given the time, they’ll be partially through breakfast, if they’re not waiting on him. Nicky sends her to voicemail and hears Joe tearing open a condom. He doesn’t even get the chance to turn back to him when his phone rings yet again.

“Nicky,” Joe starts.

“Luisa?” Nicky picks up, trying for all the world to sound like he’s not messing up the bedsheets with Joe instead of going to spend Christmas with his family like he’s expected to.

“Nico, where are you?!” Luisa says desperately. “Mama is worried sick and Papa is furious. They’re holding breakfast for you.”

“Don’t bother,” Nicky says. “Tell them to eat.” Joe grabs him by the shoulders rolling him onto his back. Nicky grasps at his hip, fingers still slippery with lube, trying to hold him off. He can’t help grinning, though, as Joe straddles him with a defiant look.

“What do you mean?” Luisa demands.

“I’m not coming,” Nicky tells her. Not yet, you’re not, Joe mouths cheekily. Nicky bites his lip as Joe rolls on the condom. His fingers tighten on Joe’s hip in warning, but Joe ignores him.

“You’re not coming?” Luisa repeats incredulously.

“That’s right,” Nicky says, distracted as Joe grabs hold of his cock to slick it a little more.

“Nicolò, I’m coming to pick you up,” she says. “You had better be dressed and ready to leave by the time I get there.”

“I very much will not be, Luisa, so don’t go out of your way,” Nicky says. “Now, I have to—” He cuts off abruptly as Joe sinks down onto his cock. Joe smirks down at him and Nicky only looks at his phone long enough to hang up on his sister before tossing it to the floor.

“I hope you have a sturdy case,” Joe comments. Nicky grabs his hips properly and plants his feet. Joe knows exactly what’s coming, placing his own hands on Nicky’s chest and swiveling his hips. There’s a challenge in his eyes.

“It’s like that is it?” he says.

“Why even resist?” Nicky returns with a raised eyebrow. He grinds up, getting just a touch deeper. Joe inhales sharply. “You want it.”

“Maybe I want to ride you more,” Joe says. Nicky sets his shoulders against the bed.

“You need it,” he says. Then pushes up and over to topple Joe to the side.

Joe groans as his cock slips out, but in a moment Nicky’s hovering over him fully. He grips one of Joe’s thighs, holding it in place as he guides himself back in. Joe braces one hand against the headboard and grabs Nicky’s bicep with the other. He’s hot and tight and perfect around Nicky and Nicky barely gives him a moment to adjust before pulling halfway out to thrust back in hard. Joe lets out a punched out sound, his head falling back against the pillows.

“Yes, Nicky, like that,” he says. Nicky smiles, lifts Joe’s leg a little higher and redistributes his own weight.

“Like that,” he echoes breathlessly and starts to move in earnest.

Joe is loud and unashamed below him. Nicky spares a thought to his neighbors before deciding he doesn’t really give a shit right now. He could gag Joe, they’ve played that way before, but the way Joe is moaning, Nicky’s giving it to him way too good to consider stopping for that discussion right now. Joe would probably kill him if he stopped now. Nicky would probably die if he had to.

It’s so fucking good he could cry. Every time they do this it’s like no time has passed between them, like they’ve never been apart. Nicky pushes in, again and again, knowing his cock at this angle is brushing along Joe’s prostate in uncoordinated, messy strokes. It’s the sort of tease Joe loves, that not-quite-enough of Nicky missing more often than not. His breath stutters every time Nicky hits, and his exhales end in something nearing a whine every time he misses. Nicky’s waiting for the moment when he decides he’s had enough, every bit of what’s left of his focus turned to holding out long enough to hear Joe beg. He puts just a bit more power behind his thrust, gritting his teeth against how incredible it is, how incredible it always is with Joe, and waits for it.

“Fuck, oh, fuck, ” Joe bursts out finally, “Nicky, fuck, give it to me. Now, please.” And Nicky doesn’t even wait.

He shifts, bracing a hand beside Joe’s head and hitching his hips up a little. He spreads his knees a bit wider and bites down on his tongue to avoid coming just from the expression of ecstatic expectation on Joe’s face. They’re both ready for it to be devastating. Joe nudges up quickly for a too-short kiss, then makes sure his hand is braced again and nods.

Nicky pulls almost all the way out and thrusts in hard, right where Joe wants him. Joe throws his head back and lets his entire apartment block know that he’s absolutely drowning in pleasure. The possessive creature in Nicky’s chest forces its way into his throat, fights to make it out past his clenched teeth. He holds back the words dying to escape, words to keep Joe, words to beg him to wait every time Nicky leaves. You could have this, the creature shouts. But somewhere there, buried under the noise, the clawing, desperate beast that fights for space beneath his breastbone whispers, it’s time to go.

Nicky leans down and bites at Joe’s neck, shutting off any coherent portion of his brain and giving himself over completely to the surge of his hips against Joe’s. Joe sobs out his pleasure, working a hand between them to grasp at his own cock. Nicky speeds up a little more, desperately holding out until Joe’s come first. He leaves an imprint of his teeth on Joe’s skin and doesn’t even feel a little bad about it.

“Come on, babe,” he whispers and Joe half-sobs again. “Come for me, Joe, please.” Joe cries out and Nicky barely registers the first splash of his release between them before he’s gone completely, working out his own pleasure in Joe’s body.

His arm gives out and he collapses on top of Joe. Joe lets out a giddy, breathless laugh and brings his hand down to stroke through Nicky’s hair. Nicky catches his breath for a moment before pushing up with an exhausted groan to grab at the base of the condom and pull out. Joe hisses and Nicky pauses for a moment to check him over. Joe nudges his leg with a foot as Nicky gingerly touches the edge of Joe’s hole.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. “Stop worrying so much. You’re not the only one who likes it rough sometimes.”

“Like you don’t check me, too,” Nicky says, sitting back when he’s satisfied to pull off the condom. Joe doesn’t say anything, but he’s smiling softly. Nicky’s heart clenches.

He stands on unsteady legs and manages to get to the bathroom without any major injury. He swears as he stubs his toe against the doorframe and Joe laughs. Just for that, Nicky wipes down his own front before getting back to Joe. Joe is still grinning in amusement as Nicky cleans him up as well. On the floor, Nicky’s phone starts to ring. He wonders how long it’s been doing that while they fucked. He ignores it again and his stomach swoops a little at the hint of pride in Joe’s gaze.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Nicky asks.

“I admire you for thinking you’ll be able to stand making anything after that,” Joe says.

“I’m not the one who was just fucked into oblivion,” Nicky says. Joe grins.

“Not quite oblivion,” he says. “You’re not that good.” Nicky smacks his side with the dirty washcloth. Joe laughs. “Payback,” he says between giggles, “for your disparaging of my magnificent cock.”

“I never said it wasn’t magnificent,” Nicky reminds him as he goes to toss the washcloth back into the bathroom, “just not the most magnificent.”

“And I never said your skill in bed wasn’t good,” Joe counters. Nicky smiles helplessly and goes to find some fresh boxers.

He wanders into the kitchen, letting the sweat dry in the small of his back and the creases of his limbs. It adds to the chill of the morning, but Joe keeps the heat blasting all through winter so he’s not truly cold. He doesn’t hear Joe moving around the bedroom, which probably means Nicky will be able to bring him breakfast in bed. A rare treat they both like to indulge in when they can. He rummages through Joe’s cabinets and fridge, automatic reaches for the things he needs because even if Joe has shifted a few things Nicky knows him well enough to figure where they’ll be in the new organizational system. He’s not thinking of anything really as he cooks, just drifting like the flakes of snow settling on the windowsill.

“What’re you thinking about?” Joe asks suddenly. Nicky hadn’t even heard him approach, but he manages to check himself before jumping. There’s something off in Joe’s voice, something slightly sharp, but then Joe’s arm’s are curling around Nicky’s waist and his stubble is scratching along Nicky’s shoulder and Nicky’s already forgetting exactly how he sounded seconds ago.

“Nothing,” he says honestly. “I guess, maybe, that this is the first Christmas in my life that I haven’t spent with my family.” Joe’s arms tighten and he turns his head slightly to press his lips against Nicky’s neck.

Nicky is honestly not sure how he feels about that revelation. It’s true. All 30-something years of his life have been spent in front of the professionally decorated Christmas tree with his parents and siblings. It wasn’t all bad, of course. When they were younger it was fun, when Nicky was just a normal kid in their eyes, when he was just the baby of the family, to be doted on and spoiled to the envy of his older siblings (and to be fair, Gian and Gio had never liked him very much for that reason alone). There have even been times when Nicky thought fondly of those early Christmases. It was only when Joe came into his life that things took a turn. (But always since then, Nicky hasn’t really cared so much about what he lost as long as he still had Joe.)

It never occurred to Nicky to actually miss spending Christmas with his family. For the simple fact that he never expected that he wouldn’t. Even as Joe tried to talk him out of it year after year, Nicky had still known. in that hazy sort of way of knowing what the future is supposed to look like, that he’d go to his parents’, attend Christmas mass, and then spend the rest of the day in his childhood home receiving half-hearted gifts and being given third and fourth helpings of his mother’s cooking. Not once, ever, had he entertained the possibility of being anywhere else.

He doesn’t, though. Miss it, that is. He finds that he doesn’t as he aimlessly pushes cubes of potato around the pan to keep them from burning. How could he, when all he ever wanted all along was to give into Joe’s convincing and stay with him? It’s just that he isn’t sure how to translate what he feels about finally breaking the cycle. He isn’t sure what it means for him to suddenly have the option of not. Not going to his parents’. Not attending Christmas mass. Not spending the day opening presents he would inevitably end up donating or throwing out and trying to imprint the memory of homemade food for the next time he found himself eating take-out in some hotel room somewhere. It’s as if opening that door and actually stepping through has entirely altered the trajectory of his future. All by simply adjusting how he views his obligations on one single day out of all 365.

“Hey,” Joe says, “come back to me, would you?” Nicky breathes deep, puts a hand over one of Joe’s where it rests on his stomach and tilts his head enough to touch his temple to Joe’s.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just… a bit lost with all this freedom. Not sure what to do with it.”

And that’s it. Right there.

It’s not real freedom, not like when he finally steps off the airplane in a new country and breathes in air he hasn’t tasted before. But it still comes with a lightness, a weightlessness that he rarely feels in this town. Something he’s come to associate with Joe, the way he feels grounded but not trapped. Even the pitiful creature in his chest is quiet for now. (Certainly, it’ll start up again soon, it always does. But for now, it’s almost as if it’s not there at all.)

“Mmm, I can think of a few things,” Joe mutters into his skin. The hand Nicky’s not holding plunges right down the front of Nicky’s boxers and this time Nicky does jump.

“I’m cooking, you’re going to get someone hurt!” Nicky admonishes immediately. Joe’s already stepping back, laughing, and Nicky can’t help his own amusement as he swats at him with the spatula. “You’re a menace.”

Now that Joe’s suggested it, breakfast is entirely relegated to fueling up. Nicky’s not the least bit guilty. Joe rushes his food just a bit, leaving his dishes in the sink and catching Nicky in a filthy promise of a kiss before telling him he’s going to go clean up extremely carefully. Which would have been nearly enough to undo Nicky entirely if Joe hadn’t then snapped on the most ridiculous eye-sore of a shower cap that could only have come from Booker because he didn’t want to deal with his hair twice in as many days. Nicky has to lay halfway across the table just so he doesn’t fall out of his chair. Joe doesn’t even try to sound anything other than amused when he threatens to withhold the sex if Nicky doesn’t stop laughing at him.

While Joe’s in the shower, Nicky finishes straightening the kitchen. There’s a few scones left and he brings those, with a couple glasses of water, back to the bedroom. He locates his phone as soon as he puts down the food and turns it off entirely, ignoring the number of missed calls and voicemails he has. Joe is still in the shower so Nicky strips off the top sheet they already messed up and stacks the pillows how he wants them. He also grabs a fresh set of sheets from the linen closet because they have sort of just been ignoring how much sweat and come they’ve been letting dry on the bedding and it’s getting a little too disgusting to think about. By the time Joe steps back into the room, Nicky’s reclining across the bed decadently with a hand on his cock.

“Do you want…?” Joe starts, straying toward his box of toys. Nicky shakes his head, taking his hand from his cock and reaching for Joe. Joe lifts an eyebrow, crawling up to straddle him. “Really, nothing? What if I want to put another vibrator in you and watch you try to focus like that?” Nicky grabs his hips, tugging to get him shuffling up from his waist to his chest. Joe purposefully resists. Nicky rolls his eyes at the smirk he gets.

“You’ve gotten plenty of what you want already, I think,” he says, as if this will be some sort of hardship for Joe. “Now get up here and try not to suffocate me.” Joe laughs, but complies, finally letting Nicky maneuver him around so his knees rest up by Nicky’s shoulders and Nicky has all the access he wants.

Joe is still loose from being thoroughly fucked earlier and slightly damp from his shower. They do this infrequently enough that it’s a new thing for Nicky to be able to point his tongue and get it as far inside Joe as possible right in the opening act. From Joe’s sudden and choked off moan above him, he wasn’t expecting it either. Nicky lets himself smile for a second before fully throwing himself into his task.

Joe braces himself with his hands on Nicky’s thighs, falling forward a little as Nicky starts to suck at his rim. Nicky can feel the suggestion of breath against his own cock and as much as he wants to do this for Joe, there is still a helplessly selfish part of him that’s hoping Joe will lean down those last few inches and get his mouth on him. He pushes that aside though, focused on the way Joe’s moan hitch in the middle when he flicks his tongue against his rim whenever he pulls it out.

It’s messy like this, it’s always messy when Nicky gets to do this because that’s the way Joe likes it, and Nicky’s got his own spit running down his chin already. He can feel drops of precome smearing on his chest where Joe’s cock rests. He’s got one hand cupped around the beautiful curve of Joe’s ass and the other holding on to his thigh, feeling the flex of his muscles as he holds himself up so Nicky can keep breathing. They don’t get to do this nearly as often as Nicky would like, nearly as often as Joe would probably like. The last time must’ve been years ago, in some hotel room, Nicky thinks, when he and Joe had crossed paths, Nicky on a job and Joe on vacation and neither of them able to resist ending up in the same room.

“Don’t tell me you’re already tired,” Joe gasps above him. Nicky realizes he’s been idly licking around his hole without intent for a minute or two while his brain went elsewhere. He doesn’t respond, probably can’t in this position, just points his tongue and fucks it in a few times until Joe’s lost coherency again.

Nicky redoubles his efforts, making up for his lapse of focus, twisting his wrist to get his fingers teasing up and down the cleft of Joe’s ass. Joe’s bent just a bit further now, the breaths on Nicky’s cock have turned just a bit wetter and just a bit closer. He can feel himself twitch as another bead of precome lands on his skin. Joe’s legs shake again and Nicky tilts his head up just a bit more, pushing his tongue in as deep as he can. He knows Joe is close, he wants to feel him clench down on his tongue. He moves his hand from Joe’s thigh around to press his cock against his own chest. Joe’s moan stutters out and he shifts his hips into the friction.

From there it’s a matter of minutes. Nicky alternating between fucking his tongue into Joe and drawing teasing circles around his rim, Joe pushing forward to feel his cock drag over Nicky’s skin then back to get his mouth again. The warm breath on Nicky’s cock, and the way Joe’s half whining as he moves mindlessly, has him leaking nearly as much as Joe is. He loves getting to do this for Joe, promises himself he won’t let another two or three years go by without doing this, knows he won’t be able to keep that promise because there’s never enough time when they see each other to do everything they want. So he makes it good now. Presses down on Joe’s cock just a little tighter, stretches his tongue just a little further, digs his nails into Joe’s ass just a little harder and holds out for the moment of truth.

Joe comes with barely enough breath for a grunt of pleasure. He grinds back onto Nicky’s face as he rides it out before getting ahold of himself and remembering that Nicky needs to breathe, but it’s tantalizingly hot for those few seconds where his airflow is cut off and Nicky spares a thought to the webpage on erotic asphyxiation he skimmed once. But then he registers the way Joe’s still dragging his cock through the wet release on his chest and his own arousal demands attention. Still he holds Joe in place a second longer, flicking his tongue against his rim a few more times, before finally giving his jaw a rest and letting Joe up.

Joe flops rather gracelessly beside him, practically face planting into Nicky’s thigh as he pulls his leg over to stop straddling his head and lands with his hip half on Nicky’s shoulder, his cock still twitching just a little. He sighs out contentedly and Nicky nearly takes a knee to his face as Joe settles.

“Watch it,” he admonishes without heat. Joe hums against his skin and doesn’t apologize. “I’m going to come in your hair if you stay like that.” Nicky gets a hand around his own cock, his hips nudging up into it immediately even with Joe’s weight half holding him down.

“Don’t you dare,” Joe mutters. Nicky tugs his cock and ignores him, his mouth dropping open as he pushes his tongue flat up behind his teeth, trying to recall the way it felt to have Joe clenching around him. Joe levers himself up with a groan and drops his mouth over the head of Nicky’s cock. Nicky’s fist bumps his lips only a few times before he’s coming over Joe’s tongue.

“Fuck,” Nicky breathes out, “that was good.” Joe hums again, laying his head back on Nicky’s thigh.

“I’ll say. You got lost in thought again for a little while, though,” he says. And there’s something almost accusing in his tone, for all that he’s still slurring slightly in the blissed aftermath of a good orgasm.

“I was thinking about the last time we did this,” Nicky says, feeling defensive all of a sudden. Joe rubs his face on Nicky’s leg like a particularly large cat, leaving a patch of beard burn that Nicky will remember in the coming days after he’s left here.

“Last time was in Barbados, wasn't it?” he asks. Nicky’s hand comes up to scratch along Joe’s scalp. It’s easier to do when his hair is short like this and Joe seems very close to purring.

“Yeah,” Nicky says, “about two years ago.” Joe seems to contemplate for a moment before speaking again.

“Fine, you’re forgiven. That was a good time,” he says. “Made that my number three spot, actually.”

“Really? Number three, huh?” Nicky says. He can’t help his smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, go on and pat yourself on the back, you smug bastard,” Joe says. “Don’t pretend your list hasn’t been updated recently.”

“Yesterday was a particular highlight,” Nicky concedes. “I might steal that thing.” Joe snorts.

“You know it was only that good because you weren’t in control and I was here to watch.” The incriminating twitch of Nicky’s cock answers for him. He can feel Joe’s smile against his skin. “So where do you place it then if it was so good?”

“I’m willing to put it at number three,” Nicky says. “So that knocks off me riding you into the mattress that one time in Alicante.”

“Are you sure?” Joe asks. “That was a fantastic time.”

“You’re allowed to have it on your list still,” Nicky sniffs. Joe gives an amused huff of breath and kisses his thigh.

“Still haven’t beaten out the one and two spots, then?” he says.

“No,” Nicky says quietly.

Not the one and two spots that both happened on their celebratory vacation when they finally graduated college. Not the one and two spots from the last time they’d officially been together before Nicky had settled on a career and Joe had all but flown him out of the country himself. Not the one and two spots earned when Joe still whispered I love you when he made love to him. No, Nicky doesn’t think those will ever be outranked.

Joe kisses his leg again, oblivious to the ache of longing in Nicky’s chest. With a sigh he pushes himself up, nearly kicks Nicky again, and manages to maneuver around to lay beside Nicky properly. He gropes for the towel he discarded earlier and wipes down Nicky’s chest for him. He kisses his collar bone and settles again, sliding their palms together and twining their fingers.

“So how mad are they?” he asks after a bit of silence. “Your family.” Nicky smiles.

“I don’t know. I turned off my phone,” he says. He glances over to see the grin on Joe’s face. Joe kisses down his neck, small, gleeful little pecks one after another.

“Go brush your teeth,” he orders, just before nipping at his Adam’s apple. “Then come back here and make out with me. We’ve got all fucking day.”

They end up napping again for a while. The sun slowly warms the bedroom as they doze together. Christmas morning passes in the scent of Joe’s shampoo and the warmth of his arms. Nicky’s never had a better one in his life. He wakes when the bed borders on too hot and nudges his nose against Joe’s until Joe opens his eyes too. Joe smiles, lazy and soft and a little fuzzy and so goddamn beautiful Nicky almost says—

“I love— this look on you.” He catches himself just in time. Joe blinks slowly.

“My bedhead?” he asks, running the words together.

“You haven’t even got any hair to ruin,” Nicky says. “I meant this.” He nudges Joe’s calf with his toes. “Sunshine and sleep.” Joe tilts his head up and brushes his lips along the closest part of Nicky he can reach. Somewhere in the space of his upper lip right next to his nose.

“It’s not half bad on you either,” he says. There’s a particular way Joe purses his lips around words he’s trying not to say. Nicky wishes he didn’t know what that looked like so well. “Hungry?”

“Getting there,” Nicky says. Joe yawns and begins to get up. Nicky lets out an incredibly undignified whine and Joe laughs, low and raspy with sleep. Nicky still does. It’s never more obvious than in moments like this, and every year there’s at least one.

Joe smiles and grabs a pair of gym shorts, wandering out of the room with that particular tilt to his walk that speaks to a twinge in the lower back and a tightness in the thighs. Nicky preens to himself. He watches for a while before rolling out of bed himself. He bypasses his phone completely and doesn’t even feel a single smidge of guilt. He’s too happy in this moment. He pulls on fresh boxers and helps himself to one of Joe’s shirts because he knows what it does to him then trails Joe out of the bedroom.

While Joe puts a pot of tea on and starts rummaging for something else for them to eat, Nicky sits on his couch and contemplates the coffee table. He looks in there from time to time. Because no one else he knows actually keeps his articles. It’s always been with a goal in mind, though. Reminding himself whether he did actually travel to this place or that, or when needed to reread an article he was now writing a follow-up on. Since he knows where they all are reliably, it’s easier than skimming through his cloud files.

Joe always gets a bit touchy whenever Nicky does look, but he never stops him. Nicky’s never asked why. He’s always assumed it’s because he was never supposed to know what was in the drawer at all. Joe never told him he kept his articles. It was an accident that Nicky even found out.

It was years ago now. They were still in their 20s and Nicky had only been to a few countries, still sending his meager portfolio to any publication who put out travel articles, begging for the opportunity to get his byline printed. He’d come here to collapse into comforting arms and despair for the dwindling funds in his bank account. Joe had welcomed him as unquestioningly as always and it hadn’t occurred to Nicky then to feel guilty and selfish yet. But when he’d walked in and seen the clipping of his last article sitting on Joe’s coffee table, there had been a moment where they both seemed to remember that, technically, they’d broken up. Joe had snatched it up, closing it in the single drawer, and they hadn’t spoken about it. Nicky had left three days later with a new offer in his email and the lingering remains of Joe’s hands holding his own.

Joe whistles to himself, poking at the dead mint plant and pouring a little shot glass of water over the soil as if it’ll help. Nicky smiles a little and shakes his head. He’s neglected his usual attempts to nurse it back to health, but Joe has apparently not given up. His back turned now, Nicky finally opens the single drawer of the coffee table. It’s a stupid thing to do when he knows Joe doesn’t like it, but today he needs to see evidence of someone caring where he’s been, what he’s done.

This year’s folio is green. Carefully clipped or printed, held together in a folio by year, all of his articles are there, just like they always have been. It looks shockingly long like this. The way the more recent years hold many more articles than the ones from his first few years. The way these even record his byline slowly shifting from the more casual Nico DiGenova he started with to the professional, more well-known Nicolò DiGenova he can sell for twice as much now. Over ten years of travel writing, lovingly kept out of sight. Over ten years of his life away from Joe, over ten years since he left. (And then came back, and came back, and kept coming back.)

“The next one coming out is Indonesia, right?” Joe asks, walking over. Nicky jumps. Joe’s expression is pinched the way it always is when the drawer is open.

“Yes, Indonesia is scheduled next. Then Hawaii. And once I actually finalize Côte d’Ivoire, that’ll be the last one I’ve got lined up until I finish planning my next trip,” he says. Joe nods, looking away to set their plate on the coffee table, carefully shifting the folios out of the way. Nicky continues, trying to maintain some sense of casual normalcy as if it can drive away Joe’s bad mood (which he caused). “I’m thinking of going back to Africa. I could do a series. I haven’t done a series since I spent that year in Mexico.”

“Those were the ones nominated for an award, right?” Joe says, turning to go back to the kitchen. They were. It was the first award nomination Nicky ever received. None of his family know that, but Joe does. (Not that Joe’s mentioned knowing that before. Not that he made any acknowledgement when it happened, or when Nicky received any of his other nominations and awards.)

It seems every time they snag on something when Nicky’s here, they don’t talk about it. They continue to not talk about it. But this year is different. This year, Nicky’s shifted their balance entirely. He’s already asked a question he has no right to, and now he’s here on Christmas when he never has been before. This is not like other years and maybe that’s why Nicky feels like he wants to push back, wants to understand why he shouldn’t open the drawer of Joe’s coffee table, and why Joe tracks his career if they’re never going to mention it. So.

“What?” he asks. A cabinet closes a little harder than usual.

“Nothing, never mind,” Joe says. In that tone that Nicky’s come to recognize so well as meaning a lot and I will continue thinking about this.

“Joe,” Nicky says.

“Let’s eat,” Joe replies. He sweeps up the folios, stacking them and shoving them back in the drawer. He says nothing about Nicky’s choice of clothing, but he’s definitely had to have noticed by now. Nicky takes his fork silently and Joe focuses on the plate in front of them. Nicky wishes he hadn’t opened the drawer.

And yet, when they’re done eating and Nicky’s made up his mind to ask again because Joe’s been tense and silent through their whole meal, Joe turns suddenly, grabbing Nicky by the collar of the shirt he borrowed and dragging him into a deep, devastating kiss. Nicky’s always been powerless to do anything but kiss him back. Joe sweeps his tongue along Nicky’s lower lip and all thought of asking Joe what’s wrong flees Nicky’s mind entirely. He has Joe under his hands. As long as that’s true, he can’t bring himself to ruin the moment. (Because he’s a selfish, selfish, selfish bastard.)

“When is your flight?” Joe asks as he pushes Nicky down onto his back.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Nicky gasps, helping Joe strip his shirt off. After coming twice in the morning, his cock does little more than twitch pathetically in his boxers, but he wants Joe closer anyway. Joe’s still soft against his leg as he stretches out over Nicky and their kisses turn sticky and smeared. The messy sound of their mingling breath has Nicky wishing he could get it up again, but that is a hopeless cause for at least a little longer.

“I want to see you come on my vibrator one more time,” Joe whispers between kisses. Nicky shudders.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, please.” Joe smirks faintly and kisses him again. Nicky forgets all about the articles in the coffee table drawer and the list of subjects on his laptop and the way Joe looked like he’d already left when Nicky mentioned what would be next.

Nicky doesn’t know how long it is when he registers that they’ve stopped kissing. That he’s scratching over Joe’s scalp in hypnotic circles. That Joe’s breath is slow and lazy against his collarbone. Outside, children are laughing as families enjoy their afternoon and something rattles in Nicky’s chest. Something like the feeling of holding Chiara close. Something like existing in this moment for longer than just a few days. Something like longing.

Tell me to stay, he thinks. The way it crosses his mind, bright and fast and tinged with desperation, scares Nicky. He’s never wanted to stay. That was the whole point. He loves his job, loves being out in the world, loves being away from this place. Except.

Joe makes a low, disgruntled sound and Nicky realizes his hand has stopped. He scratches over Joe’s head again and Joe hums in contentment, nuzzling his nose in closer to Nicky’s skin if that’s even possible. Nicky smiles, uncontrolled. The words tingle across his tongue and he swallows and swallows them down.

“Is this all we’re going to do today?” he murmurs. Joe shrugs, but doesn’t quite fully relax after. Nicky cranes his neck uncomfortably to try to get a look at his face. Joe looks up and bursts into laughter.

“Have I told you recently that you’re beautiful?” Joe asks. Nicky’s heart skips a beat. In fact, he hasn’t. He holds his position.

“No,” he said, voice strained from the way he’s compressing his own throat. Joe laughs again and Nicky just— so very much.

“Well, what else would you like to do?” Joe asks, propping himself up. Nicky can’t resist kissing him, can’t resist leaning into it just to savor the tenderness of his mouth after hours, hours, hours, of kissing Joe. Joe fits his hand around the back of his head, holding him close like he can’t resist either. He takes a long, sated breath when they break apart, eyes still closed. “Was your proposal more of that, or something else?” Nicky smiles, kisses his closed eyes.

“I didn’t have very much in mind,” he says. “If I was stuck at my parents I might’ve begged out of family time to start planning my next article.” Joe frowns, opening his eyes. There’s a storm brewing there.

“No work today,” Joe says. “It’s Christmas.”

“You don’t celebrate,” Nicky points out. “And the only reason I do is because of my parents.” Joe’s hand flexes in his hair, pulling it a little. Nicky jolts a little in surprise and Joe quickly lets go with a quiet apology.

“No work,” he repeats. He tilts away before Nicky can read more of his gaze, nipping at his neck and earlobe and jaw.

“Okay,” Nicky says slowly, enjoying Joe’s teeth on his skin. “No work. What else, then?”

“You suggested other things,” Joe mutters.

“Let’s get out of the apartment for a bit,” Nicky says. “Take me to the gallery.” Joe pushes up suddenly, unmistakable excitement in his eyes.

“Yeah?” The way he sounds makes Nicky so fucking guilty. He’s only ever seen it once since Joe opened.

“If it’s not too much like work,” Nicky says, trying to pretend he’s not breathless with Joe’s elation.

“It’s not,” Joe says firmly. He’s up and full of energy like a switch flipped, grabbing Nicky’s hand to pull him to his feet, too. Nicky goes easily, happily, feeding off Joe’s joy. He’s smiling wider than he has all year.

They walk to the gallery hand in hand. It feels almost like it used to. The way Joe would skip two or three steps ahead, tugging on Nicky’s hand and turning back just to smile as Nicky laughed helplessly and tried to pull him back to his side. Joe’s more sedate than when they were teens and something twinges beneath Nicky’s breastbone, demanding to know when and why Joe decided he couldn’t skip down streets anymore. He should always be able to be as exuberant and loud and dazzling as he wants.

“This is the show from your new collective, right?” Nicky asks as Joe unlocks the front door. He hasn’t actually forgotten.

“Yeah,” Joe says, pulling him inside because Nicky’s feet apparently aren’t rising fast enough for him. Nicky wants to wrap him in his arms and kiss him again, but Joe is already off, switching on lights and talking about the incredible things their collective is doing, how much work Nile put in to help them achieve this goal, and how thrilled they both are with the first artists who joined, and this is better. This, seeing him light up as he talks about the things he’s proud of, this truly is better than tasting his smile.

“Stop just standing there, come on,” Joe says impatiently. Nicky laughs a little and follows him in, taking his offered hand again and letting Joe drag him to each work in turn. Nicky forgets to look at the pieces.

“Hey, Nicolò,” Joe says, trying to sound irritated but falling so very short, “I am trying to show you the art.”

“I’m looking at it,” Nicky says without thought. It is such a line, they both start laughing immediately. Joe comes close to grab Nicky’s face in his hands. He doesn’t kiss him, just looks in his eye and smiles so widely Nicky’s face hurts. Or maybe that’s his own grin. And he knows, he knows, what Joe looks like when he purses his lips around words he’s trying not to say. He can’t stop smiling, but Nicky feels like crying a bit.

“Come on,” Joe says, his voice a little tight. “Look at the actual art, please.” He lets Nicky go and grabs his sleeve to bring him to the next piece.

It’s dark when they leave and Nicky’s never felt better. He’s walking on air, buoyed up by Joe’s laughter and pride. Positively weightless with the way they both knew this was his first time seeing the gallery in all its glory, a show up, all dressed to impress. Riding on the high of his own happiness at Joe’s happiness for him actually getting to see something Joe helped build. There’s nothing in his chest, no beast that begs him to leave, no clawing creature that makes him desperately jealous for every scrap of Joe’s attention diverted from him. He feels empty in a way he never has before and he likes it. He could live in this feeling for the rest of his life.

It sets his heart pounding and his palms sweat in his gloves.

They’re both hungry and trying to cook is chaotic. They’re sampling the ingredients wherever they can and Joe mourns loudly and dramatically that he no longer makes portion sizes that last weeks on end. He’s lived alone for so long that his leftovers never last long when there’s two people here. Nicky doesn’t know what he feels about the comment so he lets it pass and eats another green bean as he continues to trim their ends. (Joe, menace that he is, bites off the end where it sticks out of his mouth and Nicky has to grab him and pin his hips to the counter and kiss him because one tantalizing tease of his lips just isn’t going to be enough. He’s leaving tomorrow.)

They manage something that’s hot and end up bent awkwardly over the counter, battling with their forks for better bites because they didn’t make up a second plate. Their shoulders are pressed together and Nicky feels like he’s taking up too much space. But Joe doesn’t seem to mind, stepping on his foot purposefully so Nicky fumbles the piece of chicken that’s particularly sauce-covered so he can grab it for himself. Nicky pushes him back with an illegal hip check so he can scoop up the last of the green beans. Joe laughs in his ear. Nicky’s leaving tomorrow.

An unfamiliar weight settles in his lungs. It should be the other way around.

They make it back to the couch after eating, and Joe tries to be subtle about shoving the drawer of the coffee table fully closed. Nicky does notice and almost wants to open it again, like nudging at the edges of an open wound just to see what it feels like. (He knows it’ll hurt, both him and Joe, but what if. Just this once.) Joe notices him noticing and grabs his face to kiss him. 

But Nicky pulls away. Anxiety from what he’s let himself think all day battles with his usual fears of being trapped which wars with this unusual lightness that’s at odds with the dreaded weight when he thinks about leaving. This Christmas is different. And the reckless, selfish part of him that, for some reason apparently wants to hurt Joe and keep hurting him, demands that they acknowledge that.

“What if you could come with me?” he asks. Which is not at all what he was planning on saying. Joe frowns, pushes him off to sit up.

“Come with you where?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Nicky says. “Back to LA for a bit. Or on one of my jobs.”

“Your jobs sometimes take months,” Joe says, dragging his legs from under Nicky, too, separating them completely. “I can’t just leave for that long.”

“For a week then, maybe two if Nile can handle things,” Nicky says.

“And do what?” Joe snaps. He takes a breath and visibly calms himself. “You’ve never asked me along before.”

“Yeah,” Nicky says. “But I’m leaving tomorrow and I don’t really want to leave you.” Which is the most truthful, most terrifying thing he’s said, possibly ever. Joe turns to look at him and for once Nicky doesn’t know what he’s seeing in Joe’s eyes.

“You don’t even have anything lined up” he says, so blisteringly neutral he might as well have not even bothered masking it.

“No, but—” Nicky starts.

“So you’re just asking me to come along so you can leave but still be with me,” Joe cuts in. He stands and turns away from the couch.

“Yeah,” Nicky says slowly. Because that is exactly what he’s doing, but Joe’s storm is right under the surface and Nicky isn’t sure how to calm it anymore.

“Did you ever consider maybe just staying here until you had something to leave for?” Joe demands. Nicky freezes. He— Well, he hadn’t.

“I hadn’t,” he admits aloud because Joe deserves that much. Joe’s laugh is brittle and unlike anything else Nicky’s heard all day.

“Of course you hadn’t,” he mutters. “Of course not, Nicolò! Because you fucking hate it here, I know, okay? I know you do. But just for once, fucking sue me, but just this once I thought you might actually choose to stay a little longer. I know it’s fucking stupid, but I really thought maybe this would be the first time you actually pretended to be happy to be here.”

“Pretended?” Nicky says, finally standing himself. “Joe, I am happy to be here!”

“Are you?” Joe counters. “Haven't you, since the very first night, only been concerned with how soon you could finally leave?”

“No,” Nicky says. “I want to be here.”

“That’s not the song you’ve been singing the past four days, Nicolò,” Joe says, his tone turning ever more biting.

“You know why I hate it here!” Nicky says, starting to snap himself. “You know it’s not about you!”

“I do know that,” Joe agrees, but it’s not a move toward peace, “because it’s actually all about you. It has always just been about you.” He turns on Nicky, then, blazing rage in his eyes. He’s still beautiful. He’s still everything Nicky wants.

“It’s always your feelings, Nicolò. It’s you who decides you’re lonely enough to come back and see me. It’s you who decides how long we get to have together, you who decides when you leave. It’s you who decides how our days will go, whether you’ll torture yourself through family time or stay with me. It’s always you.

“My feelings don’t matter, my life doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what I want. It doesn’t matter that I really thought maybe you would stay a little longer, it doesn’t matter that I was hoping you would. It doesn’t even matter that I’ve started dating someone else, as long as you still can fuck me at the end of the day. It doesn’t matter that I put my work on hold so I can spend as much time with you as possible. Did you even notice I closed the gallery all five days so I could spend them with you? It doesn’t matter that I want to see you stop hurting yourself by being with your family because you just take every bit of support I give you until I’m used up and wrung out. None of it matters as long as you get to leave at the end of it. And I just—

“Have you ever seen what you look like when you finally get to leave this place?” Nicky shakes his head silently. Joe’s been carrying this for a long time. Maybe finally letting him tell Nicky how much it hurts will be the thing that gets Nicky to stay away. Maybe he can let Joe heal.

“It breaks my fucking heart,” Joe whispers, rubbing at  his eyes before dropping his hands to his side uselessly. “The look of relief you get when the airport comes into sight. All the darkness that gathers in your eyes just lifts, like clouds after a storm. Like you’ve seen your fucking salvation or something. And I watch you stand up straighter and this weight you’re carrying around disappears and it breaks my heart.

“I told you to leave. I remember the first time I drove you to the airport and told you to get on a plane. And I remember seeing that look for the first time. I watched you go through security and I realized you had been trapped in this town for so long, and you stayed for me and…” Joe trails off, sighs, wipes the tear tracks from his face. “I never wanted to be another link in the chain holding you to this place, but it doesn’t stop me from wishing I could reforge it every time you’re here. And I get so fucking guilty for that, that every time you come back, I do what I can to carry you and support you through being stuck in this town until you can get back on that plane and get away from here. But I don’t know if I can keep doing it. You’ve taken a lot from me, Nicky. There’s always more for me to give, for you there’s always more, but it’s getting so fucking hard to find it all.”

Nicky tries to breathe, tries to take just one single breath. The beast that begs him to go roars back to life and overtakes everything else and Nicky can’t fill his lungs around the panic of the thing. Joe is right, Nicky knows he is. Because it’s the same goddamn thing he’s thought for so many years now, that he shows up here on his own whims for his own reasons and takes up Joe’s time, and energy, and care only to leave again as soon as he possibly can. It’s what’s made him so guilty for so long and maybe this is finally it. Maybe he can let Joe go finally, leave him alone because Joe asked him to, and Joe can move the fuck on. Even if it breaks Nicky’s heart.

“Why did you ever?” Nicky hears himself ask. Which he shouldn’t ask, he doesn’t deserve to know. He wants to grab the question out of the air between them where it hangs like a cloud. Joe stares at him.

“Why did I ever what?” he asks, wary and defensive, as he has every right to be. “Why did I tell you to leave the first time? Why did I let you in this time, and every other time? Why do I keep giving you everything I have?”

“Yes,” Nicky says, nonsensically. Joe lets out a slightly hysterical laugh.

“Ya rab,” he mutters, digging the knuckles of one hand into his forehead as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t make me fucking say it, Nicky.” He drops his hand and opens his eyes to plead with him.

“Tell me,” Nicky begs, he doesn’t even know why. Why he’s trying to draw this out when Joe’s here offering to break that link that’s slowly killing the both of them.

“Because I’m still in love with you!” Joe half-shouts. Nicky isn’t quite quick enough to stifle his sob.

“I will always love you, Nicky,” Joe continues, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Sometimes I hate you for that, like right fucking now. But I can’t change it. So, you know what, go on and leave. Keep telling yourself you won’t be back, because I know you do that every single time or you might actually call more than a few hours ahead to let me know your plans. And however long it takes for you to give in and come back, I’ll still be waiting. And I’ll give you everything I possibly have until I’m used up and wrung out. Just like always.”

And Nicky feels empty. The usual sort of empty. Empty like he gets in those bland, faceless hotel rooms. Empty like he gets when it’s been too long since he’s heard from Joe. Empty like Joe’s finally cut him off from this fix he keeps craving. Empty like he’s just lost him entirely.

“Come with me,” Nicky says selfishly, fucking selfishly. Because letting it out once meant it would be out there forever, apparently. Because he’s been keeping it down, keeping it trapped and hidden away because Joe was always supposed to put down roots and open his gallery and start his artists collective and stay, until he decided this Christmas was different and he would finally let it see light . He never should have.

“Fuck you,” Joe says, but it’s tired and hurting. “Get out of my apartment.” Nicky wipes his eyes.

“Yusuf, I—” he starts.

“Get. Out,” Joe repeats, firm and unyielding. And Nicky, God help him, finally does what Joe wants.

He calls Luisa. Walks a quarter mile away from Joe’s apartment and calls her to pick him up. His flight’s not for over twelve hours, but people fall asleep in airports all the time. Or maybe he can switch to an earlier one.

The drive is silent. Luisa doesn’t ask why he’s left early, doesn’t do more than offer him a packet of tissues when she sees his eyes. She doesn’t say anything about it, though. Nicky doesn’t know if he’s grateful or not.

He feels neither weightless nor suffocated now.

The plane touches down at LAX and Nicky feels like all those old tethers that held him home are fluttering behind him, severed but still desperately reaching for the other end to reconnect to. It’s painful and relieving all at once. The back-breaking labor of dragging around his family obligations has evaporated, but that humming little tie that had kept him linked to Joe is cold and decomposing.

He supposes this is what true freedom is. No friends, no family, no future except the one he plans for himself alone. Just his bag and his money and his work. What he always wanted, isn’t it? But there’s no comfort in walking to baggage claim and calling a ride to the stupid apartment he doesn’t even like. He’s free to fuck off from the month-to-month lease, joy of joys, and he emails his supervisor to set a meeting as soon as he steps through his door.

He’s done with this place. He’s done with LA, he needs to get out. His pathetic, clawing beast is still alive and well beneath his breastbone and the only way he knows to shut it up is to pack up and run. It had been novel to have steady publication for a little while, but if he’s locked to one home-base, it is not going to be in fucking America. He doesn’t even unpack his bag, just starts finding every suitcase he owns and folding the rest of his clothes. He doesn’t know where he’s going to go next, just that it’s not here. (He knows where he wants to go, and the beast pokes holes in his lungs in its panic.)

In the two days it takes for his supervisor to get him in his schedule, Nicky’s almost entirely packed his apartment. This is his life. These open suitcases filled with clothes, some obligatory picture frames, his own photography equipment for when he’s sent on assignment without an appointed photographer. The barest essentials needed to exist in a fully-furnished apartment and nothing more. Nothing that ever makes his places a home. (No overflowing shoe rack, no teetering stack of mail, no dusty tin of drinking chocolate, no comforting smells to welcome him through the door.) He’s never hated it quite like this until now.

“Nicolò!” one of his colleagues says when he steps off the elevator at their offices on Wednesday. His apartment is entirely packed and all that’s left to do is finalize his article and figure out where the fuck he’s going.

“Hey,” Nicky says, smiling something that’s pasted-on and brittle. He doesn’t remember this man’s name.

“You look like you had a good holiday break,” the man says. Nicky nods, has no idea what to say because he feels tensed all the way down to his toes.

“I did,” he lies anyway. “You look pretty relaxed yourself.” The man smiles and tells him a brief story about the new drum set his in-laws bought for his eldest daughter. Nicky grimaces and laughs in the right places and by the time he walks away, he is baffled by the fact that the man seemed to think it was all genuine. Not that it matters much to Nicky, he doesn’t intend to be coming back here.

“Nicolò, come on in,” his supervisor says when Nicky gets to his office. “I was just rereading your article on Côte d’Ivoire. Excellent, as always.” He smiles and gestures to the chair across from him.

“Thank you,” Nicky says. “There’s just a couple things I want to make sure are right before it goes for final look.” His supervisor nods.

“Of course, take your time, no need to rush it. So, what do you want to talk to me about?” The man is kind. A good supervisor, someone Nicky respects with a solid portfolio of his own to prove his deserved position. Nicky has liked working with him, so he wants to be gentle.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says carefully. He’s rehearsed this. “I’m honored to have been asked to work with you here, and I’m so grateful for the opportunity and all the wonderful support and feedback you’ve given me. I’ve had a great time, really.”

“But you’re looking to move on,” his supervisor says. Nicky shrugs a little, sheepish. His supervisor smiles at him, though. “I figured when we got you to sign on with us you wouldn’t be here long. You’re a freelancer, and I respect that. I only wish you had made it through the full year. I might’ve lost some money on you.” Nicky laughs unexpectedly, relieved.

“You bet how long I’d be here?” he says. His supervisor shrugs.

“Like I said, we all know you’re more of a freelance or contract writer. Ten years of writing and you’ve never settled at a single steady publication? Come on,” he says. And it actually hurts a little, hearing it put out like that. Nicky’s never settled. In ten years, he’s never settled. Unless it was in the patch of sunlight that falls across Joe’s bed.

“Well, thank you for being so understanding,” Nicky says, smiling. His supervisor smiles back.

“Thank you for writing for us,” he says. “Where will you go next, do you think? Are you planning to stay here in LA?”

“No,” Nicky says immediately. Too fast, possibly, because his supervisor laughs.

“Head back home, then?” he guesses. And he probably means Italy because the DiGenova’s maintain their heritage, their language, their fucking accents. Which actually might be nice. Nicky hasn’t been back to Italy in a very long time.

But all he can really think of is a shoe rack, a place to stack mail, a kitchen that’s so overstocked it’s easy to forget what’s in there, a dying mint plant on the windowsill, a smile that lights him up down to his core. His supervisor cocks his head to the side a bit, seeing something on Nicky’s face.

“Been a while since you’ve been home, huh?” he guesses. And Nicky does like him.

“We’re all a little homesick no matter how long it’s been, aren’t we?” he says. The other man smiles a little wistfully and nods. He stands and offers Nicky a hand. Nicky gets up and shakes it.

“Pleasure working with you, Nicky.”

“You as well,” Nicky says. “I’ll send you the final draft within a week.”

“No rush, like I said. But I look forward to it,” his supervisor — ex-supervisor — says. With nothing else to say, Nicky heads out, desperately glad that there was no suggestion of a going-away party. He would’ve skipped it anyway.

He does end up heading to Italy. His nonna is very pleased to see him, puts him up in a cramped but comfortable bedroom for as long as you need, darling. He helps out his nonno in the garden, repairs part of the roof for them, doesn’t plan his next article at all. Sits in the afternoon sun coming through his bedroom window and pretends he isn’t missing the one place that’s ever come close to feeling like a home to him. (Pretends, like he always, always, does, that he won’t be going back.)

Joe deserves settled, is the thing. He deserves someone who will be there. Someone who will cook him meals just as often as he cooks for them. Someone who can welcome him back into an apartment that’s light and warm and full of life. Someone who doesn’t travel most of the year and live out of hotel rooms and isn’t… him. Isn’t someone who’s never wanted to settle. Except that.

Except that Nicky does, doesn’t he? As long as it’s with Joe.

He hadn’t ever truly considered staying before, but he considers it now. Considers how he always feels happier as soon as he sees Joe’s face. Considers how his favorite place to be is Joe’s apartment. Considers how often he’s fantasized about the family he wished he could build with the man he’s always loved; the path he could’ve chosen if only he weren’t so focused on himself all the time. And lying in the narrow bed of his grandparents’ house, he misses it. The chance he had before he decided to throw it all away for a freedom that, in the end, is more miserable than he could’ve ever imagined.

The pathetic, panicked part of him, his clawing, desperate little beast, whispers that it was four days. Four days out of the entire year where he thought that he might like it, not that he was positive it was the right choice. It whispers that Joe might not still want him, not after what he’s put him through, not after everything Joe said. It whispers that the parts of that place that he’s always hated haven’t actually changed, and it’s a laborious thing to rest his happiness on one person’s shoulders and expect everything else to just even out. But Nicky strangles that beast into silence and buys the fucking plane ticket because, if nothing else, he wants to tell Joe everything he’s been biting back every year for the past decade. It nothing else, Joe deserves a proper apology.

Early March doesn’t look much different from late December, but Nicky can’t help feeling like everything’s changed. Or, it’s about to. He steps out of the cab, rings the buzzer without looking at it. Waits.

“Hello?” He didn’t tell Joe he was coming. The part that’s still desperately cowardly didn’t want to be told not to come.

“It’s me.” The silence stretches.

“Well it took less time than I expected,” Joe finally says. The door doesn’t unlock. For the first time ever, the door doesn’t immediately unlock.

“Can you let me up, please?” Nicky asks. “I’d rather not do this through the intercom.” There’s a long pause, then Joe lets him in.

He makes Nicky knock when he gets upstairs, too. And when he opens the door he just stands there instead of making room for Nicky to come in. At least Nicky can see his face, though. He looks tired. Resigned. Not even angry anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Nicky says. “I’m sorry for how I left things last time. You’re right, I’ve been a selfish bastard ever since I decided on this career path and I’m sorry I’ve never properly considered your feelings. I shouldn’t have let things get this bad, I should have spoken to you so much earlier about what I wanted and expected, and let you tell me what you wanted and expected, too. And I shouldn’t have walked out, even if you told me to, I should’ve stayed and had a proper discussion with you. If you want me to leave and not come back, I understand. But I wanted to apologize. You deserve that much, at least.” Joe scrubs a hand over his face.

“Thank you,” he says. “But I don’t know if it’s entirely your fault. I mean, it’s never going to be your fault that I can’t move on.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that,” Nicky says. “It is my fault. I’m the one who keeps coming back. I’m the one who always leaves.” Joe sighs.

“I get why you do,” he says. He grimaces, shakes his head, but goes on, a confession he’s been holding on to but appears to have finally given up hiding. “For fuck’s sake, all I’ve ever done is encourage you to get out of here. I fucking get it, even if it hurts every goddamn time. But I want you to go because you’re happier when you’re away from here. I know you are. You’ve always loved the freedom more than you loved me, and I’ve learned to live with that—”

“No, do you know what I love?” Nicky interrupts. Joe looks up, a little surprised by the sudden forcefulness in Nicky’s tone. Nicky is, too, but if he’s being given this opportunity he will run with it as long as he possibly can.

“I love knowing that when I walk into this apartment, there’s going to be a stack of mail you keep swearing you’ll sort, until it gets so heaped up it topples over and you just end up recycling the whole damn pile. I love knowing that you can’t stop buying new shoes even though you also have this compulsion to wear shoes until they’re absolutely falling apart, so that shoe rack just inside your door is always too small for the number of pairs you have. I love knowing that you keep hot chocolate around because you know that it’s the only thing that puts me to sleep when I’m up in the middle of the night. I love leaving you detailed instructions for how to take care of a mint plant and I love knowing that by the time I come back you’ll still have managed to kill the thing.

“I love having someplace to come back to, Joe,” Nicky says. “I love coming back to you. You’re right again, I’m never leaving you. And as long as you’re here, I don’t care that the rest of this town is just a trap of bad memories.” Joe stands a little straighter and crosses his arms.

“So where are you based these days?” he asks, so very carefully. Nicky knows him, though, sees the spark of hope in his eyes.

“ Here, ” Nicky says. “Right fucking here. If you’ll have me.” Joe lets out a shaky breath.

“I’ll always have you, Nicky,” he says quietly. He reaches out but Nicky holds up a hand.

“Can I just say one more thing?” he says. Joe raises an eyebrow but waves for him to continue.

“I still love you, Yusuf,” Nicky says. “I have always loved you. I will always love you. And you’re an absolute moron for thinking I could love anything more than I love you.” Joe grabs him then, hauling him into the apartment.

“You know I’ve always considered it the height of romance to be called a moron in the middle of a love confession,” he says sarcastically, slamming the door behind them. Nicky grins and starts helping Joe pull his clothes off.

“I need you on all fours on my bed immediately,” Joe continues as they stumble past the pile of mail, past the overflowing shoe rack, past the wilted pot of mint on the windowsill in the kitchen. “I didn’t get to fuck you last time and that needs to be rectified. Multiple times over.”

“Ah, the height of romance,” Nicky echoes. Joe fits a hand into his jeans and grabs his already half-hard cock. Nicky’s laugh melts into a moan and Joe’s right there, catching it directly off his tongue. Nicky feels lighter than air.