Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wednesday | starting word: carry.

Joe stands behind the faded yellow line at the train station, head buried in his phone. The little black squares of the daily wordle taunt him, as does Nile’s score (how she did this in three attempts before seven in the morning is beyond him), still lingering in his notifications. Maybe he can figure out what letters she got correct based on her grid (she almost always starts with anime, whereas Joe likes to switch it up based on whatever first comes to mind), but she’ll know if he cheats; apparently, he has a terrible poker face.

A cool breeze shivers through the railway line, making Joe tuck his phone in closer to him, brown sweater doing its best to keep him warm. What’s the point of living in a subtropical climate if it’s going to drop to single digit degrees in May? His first winter here, he’d foolishly assumed he wouldn’t get cold, and the archivist – Booker, now one of Joe’s closest friends – still teases him about inability to deal with the cold.

The voice on the overhead speaker announces that the train will arrive in two minutes. Joe closes his phone and scratches at his beard, looking around the cool blue morning. The thing is, he could sleep in for another hour and take the express train, but he’d rather sit for a longer, quieter commute than stand in a packed carriage.

It’s definitely not because this is the same train that the hot dad with his adorable baby takes a few days a week. No matter what Booker and Nile say. It really is a nicer commute, even if pre-crush Joe would rather die than get up earlier than he needs to.

His starting word the first day he saw Nicky was green.

(“Green, Joe? Come on, you’re not even trying to beat me anymore,” Nile had bemoaned, dimples flashing nonetheless, resting her chin on her hands at the library front desk.

Joe was busying himself scanning returned books from that morning and not thinking about the hot dad on the train, thank you very much.

“I mean, you’re a librarian-”

“Library technician,” Joe corrected without looking up.

“-surely there’s some sorta policy against being bad at wordle.”

He finally glanced at her. “Who was the one that lost their streak on ahead?”

Her eye twitched. “The one time I change my starting word,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Fine, I hear you. But green?”

She had a point. Yesterday he’d started with epoch, and the day before had been azure. This was an obvious outlier. And his terrible poker face must’ve given the rest away, because Nile’s expression went from incredulous to restrained joy as soon as he thought to that morning on the bus.)

When the train rattles in, he picks the quiet carriage and puts his earbuds in, settling into the right-side seat with a stifled sigh. The sun is just starting to rise above the tree line, streaming through the windows of the train. Joe can’t quite look directly out of it, turning his face toward the front of the carriage.

He doesn’t need to hear the announcer to know when they’re arriving at hot dad’s stop (Joe feels a little guilty referring to a stranger this way, but in his defense, it’s better than dilf, which Booker insists on calling him). His internal body clock knows how long it takes to arrive there, stomach already fluttering a little in anticipation. It’s frankly embarrassing, the effect that this man has on Joe’s internal organs. He’s thirty-three for crying out loud, and yet the mere thought of making brief eye contact with a human being he finds attractive makes him feel like he’s seventeen again.

The doors slide open. A few passengers get on first; Joe watches them pass by the empty seat across from him and tries to conceal his relief. Then hot dad steps on, wearing his customary sling, baby nestled against his chest.

There’s a small yellow beanie covering her ears (a few weeks ago, he’d accidentally overheard a phone call in which he’d learned a) this is his daughter, and b) holy fuck hot dad has a deep low voice and a slight accent that Joe wants to curl himself around.) Joe’s heart swells three sizes in his chest. Hot dad looks down the carriage and his eyes connect with Joe, before a small smile creases his features. Joe returns it and hopes he doesn’t look weird. They’ve never spoken, but they have a silent standing appointment in this carriage. 

He takes the empty seat across from Joe.

(“There might have been a man on the train with green eyes,” Joe admitted.

Nile’s answering laugh was unnecessary, in his opinion.

“Oh, Joe,” she said, “you’re an incurable romantic.”

“Terminal,” Joe agreed, leaning on one hand. He could feel his brows dipping into an all-too-earnest expression as he continued, “he was holding a baby, Nile.”

Nile nodded sympathetically. “We’ve all been there, buddy. It’s a tough one to resist.”

Joe sighed. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll probably never see him again.”)

Hot dad’s side of the train doesn’t have the sun, and he looks out the window, one large hand resting on the baby’s covered head while the other holds the small of her back (Last Wednesday’s starting word was hands). Joe takes the opportunity to linger.

He’s wearing khakis and a cotton button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows – Joe almost wants to ask how he’s not shivering. The baby's eyes are closed, chubby cheeks a little red from the cold. A tiny fist bunched in the fabric of the man’s shirt has Joe melting despite the temperature. Maybe that’s how he stays so warm.

When hot dad shifts and turns from the window, Joe looks down at his phone. Another notification.

Nile: I know you’re ignoring me.

Joe lets out a sharp exhale through his nose. He taps out a response.

Joe: haven’t done today’s wordle yet. Hot dad is on the train, how am I supposed to concentrate on five-letter words when all I can think of is some very inappropriate four-letter ones?

The little thought bubbles rise, one by one, and collapse again after a moment. Then he gets another notification, this time from the group chat.

Nile: Just ask out the guy already, you see him almost every day

Booker: Are we talking about the dilf?

Joe: EXACTLY, I see him all the time, I don’t want to make things awkward, the poor guy is just trying to live his life. he probably has a partner anyway

Nile: What’s a five-letter word for scared?

Booker: Yusuf

Joe: I'm turning off my notifications now

Booker: Daddy is also a five-letter word

Nile: Gross

Putting away his phone, Joe chances another glance back up to the left of him, just in time to see hot dad place a kiss to the top of the baby’s head, smoothing over the beanie with his hand. He holds her a little closer against his chest, and Joe aches in the best kind of way. The sun on his face, streaming in further through the train windows, will have to be touch enough.

There’s a tray of coffee in Joe’s hands as he shoulders his way into the back door of the library. Booker is already in, if the light in the archive room is any indication, but Nile won’t be in until after they open. He puts her cold brew in the staff fridge before making his way over to Booker’s room.

He knocks twice before a gruff voice tells him to come in. Joe opens the door and finds Booker hunched over low lamplight, glasses almost hanging off his nose. He’s still wearing his coat, a brown tattered thing that’s seen better days, and he’s forgotten to shave this morning. His gloved hands are gently lifting a piece of paper from a large folder, squinting at its contents.

Archivists are weird. That’s a fact that anyone who’s worked in a library knows. They’re almost always Joe’s favourite people.

“Got your coffee,” he says, lifting it up. “You’re in a little earlier today.”

Joe’s usually the first one to arrive due to the early train he takes. His supervisor is very impressed with his dedication.

Booker doesn’t look away from the paper yet. “JP had a nightmare and stayed in our bed.”

“I see,” Joe grimaces in sympathy. “Didn’t sleep well then?”

“The kid’s going to grow up to be a great kicker in football.” He doesn’t quite smother the fond smile as he says it though. Joe knows how much he adores his children, how he scraped himself together, with the gentle strength that seemed to belong to all archivists, to become the man and father he is today. 

Placing the coffee cup on a separate table (because you don’t make that mistake twice), Joe leaves him be for the moment. Booker is always much more outgoing after his third coffee.

By the time Joe’s settled down at his desk to check his emails, warm coffee cradled against his chest, he’s almost kidded himself into thinking he won’t spend his shift daydreaming about the man on the train.

There's just something about him. The quiet way he moves. His broad (Monday’s starting word) shoulders and roman nose and green, green eyes. The way his knees bump against the back of the seat in front of him; they’ve never stood close (last Friday) enough for Joe to know if they were of a similar height, but the width of his palms (two Tuesdays ago) look like they could hold him so easily. The adoring look he regularly gives his daughter never fails to make Joe feel a little weak.

He followed his college boyfriend here from Amsterdam over a decade ago; he still has a habit of throwing his heart and life away on people too soon. 

The library opens at 9am; the rest of the lights flicker on lazily between the shelves, and people slowly start petering in and out. Not long after the doors open for the day does Nile come breezing in, making a beeline for Joe’s desk.

Joe greets her by handing over the cold brew, watching with warm satisfaction as she takes a sip and lets out a satisfied sigh. 

“I love you.”

Joe smiles, eyes crinkling. He likes Nile. She’s been coming to the library for years now, preferring the quiet space here to most places on campus. The first time they spoke was when Nile had a group assignment in which all of the members had skirted their responsibility, and she already felt out of place being so much older, she took on the whole project alone. He caught her mid-panic attack in the reference section the night before it was due, and helped her breathe through it, before sitting her down in the lounge with a coffee and some gluten free biscuits. At the end, she told him his comfort snacks sucked. They've been friends ever since. 

“Are you talking to me or the coffee?”

“Yes,” she says, before swinging her bag onto Joe’s desk. “By the way, I need a favour.”

Joe looks at her and counts the beats of silence, taking in her hopeful eyes. This can’t be good.

He does his best attempt at stern. “If this is about getting something from downstairs…”

Nile’s eyes get even bigger. “Please, my tutor has been a pain in my ass all semester, and I need a primary source for this paper.” Nile’s in her final year of university, and she has a sleeping schedule to match. “If you’re busy, I could go down myself-”

“If you make Booker find something for you, he’s going to complain about not having an archive technician, and then they’re going to make me do it, and I already have too much work to do as it is-”

“How many coffees has he had?”

“Not enough.”

Nile turns a little and smirks. “See, what I’m hearing is, he could use some caffeine. Maybe I’ll bring it down, and if the topic of a certain source gets brought up, well…” she trails off and waggles her brows.

Joe shakes his head fondly as she marches back out, throwing a this doesn't mean you're off the hook from earlier! behind her before opening the door.

After a brief glance around (the library is as quiet as ever on a Wednesday morning), he takes out his phone again. Maybe he can get the word of the day before Nile comes back. 

Chapter Text

Thursday | starting word: laugh.

A storm thundered through the previous night, and rain still lingers everywhere - Joe didn’t even attempt make his hair look good this morning, knowing that as soon as he stepped outside, it would be a lost cause. The first part of his commute is spent watching the rain drops run down the train window and considering whether he should shave his hair short again.

When hot dad gets on the train, he looks a little more tired than usual. His daughter is already sleeping against his shoulder, occasionally squirming in the sling but quickly soothed by his hand down her back.

The quiet carriage is a little busier this morning; almost every seat has been filled. Joe keeps habitually thumbing the screen of his phone, swiping it open only to lock it immediately. He’s just about to risk another glance over, knee bouncing, when a sharp trill rings through the carriage.

Everyone turns their head toward the door to find a startled teenager, guilty hand shoving his phone back into his pockets. A few passengers shake their head in disapproval.

Joe flicks his gaze to hot dad and his baby, who’s been unceremoniously startled awake from the sound. Her brown eyes blink slowly at her dad, before taking in her surroundings with a frown. Her bottom lip quivers and tears well in her eyes. Joe suppresses a wince at the impending breakdown. There’s a panicked expression on hot dad’s face, quietly cooing at the baby to no avail.

The low muttering of the carriage is broken by a wail. Joe watches as the passengers from the other side of the carriage look sharply at him as he attempts to calm her down. She fusses in the sling, cry building in intensity, pushing at her dad’s shirt.

Joe hears him murmur to her in Italian, something repetitive and reassuring, adjusting her in the sling. Hot dad glances up and around, a little flushed to find so many eyes on him.

“Who brings a baby on the quiet carriage?” someone in front of hot dad grumbles.

Now hot dad looks uncomfortable, which isn’t helping him focus on quieting his daughter. Joe ignores the person who spoke and leans over the aisle.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound gentle while raising his voice to be heard over the crying, “would you like to come sit over here?”

Hot dad looks over at him, a little hesitant and confused, but one glance over at the people on his side has him quickly nodding. He stands, boots scuffing the floor as he shuffles out with the baby, shouldering his backpack on the way, until he sits down next to Joe.

“I’m so sorry about this,” he starts, “she didn’t go down at all last night because of the storm, so her sleep schedule is all thrown out, and I didn’t even realize this was a quiet carriage-”

He’s interrupted by his baby hiccoughing into another loud cry.

“I know, mia cara,” he whispers against her head, rocking her a little. To Joe, he says, “My name is Nicolo. Nicky.” He draws out the vowels, so it comes out more like Nee-key. “And this is Thea- Dorothea.”

He tilts her forward a little, until she can look properly up at them. Thea blinks at the change in view, looking first to her dad, then at Joe, and then back at Nicky again. She takes a few deep breaths, like she might cry again, but then nothing happens. Nicky opens his mouth a little and raises his brows at her, and she stares intensely at him, seemingly lulled by just his face.

“Joe. Or Yusuf,” Joe replies distractedly. He gives Thea a little wave. She kicks her leg out in response, which Joe takes as a positive.

Nicky takes Thea's foot between his thumb and forefinger. She smiles, letting out a short, happy babble. Disaster averted. Nicky sighs in relief, tipping his head back a little. Joe tries not to stare at his jawline too hard.

“We should probably finish our commute in another carriage,” Nicky says to him, voice hushed, mouth a chagrined line.

Joe nods solemnly. “I fear we’ve both made some lifelong enemies today.”

And nothing could prepare him for the way Nicky laughs at that, a soft low chuckle that’s interrupted by a small snort. It’s too endearing for Joe to bear.

In the next carriage, he and Nicky sit down together, Joe on the aisle because his stop is first. Nicky’s shoulders seem to carry less tension, though sleep still lingers like bruises under his eyes.

Nicky shifts in his seat, back to cradling Thea against his chest. She’s got a pacifier in now, which replaced her fist when they first got up before.

“Thank you for being so kind,” he says, eyes terribly earnest when they land back on Joe. “We really appreciate it.”

Between Thea and Nicky, Joe doesn’t know how he’s supposed to survive this morning. As it is, he swallows and tries for a reassuring smile.

“Of course- I couldn’t leave a fellow commuter to fend for himself.”

Another laugh from Nicky, this one softer and shorter, but no less affecting. Joe thinks he could live off the warmth that sound brings him.

“All the same.” Nicky looks back down at Thea, and the weight of his love is dangerous this close. “She’s usually a perfect sleeper, which I’ve been taking for granted, clearly. Her aunts are in for an interesting day,” he says wryly.

“Do they look after her often?”

Nicky nods, “when I’m on shift. I don’t know what we’d do without them.”

The train rattles through a tunnel, light dimming for a few seconds, changing the shadows on their faces. It’s oddly intimate, looking at each other in the dark, however brief. Joe swallows the impulse to look away.

“What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a firefighter.”

And that’s-

“A firefighter,” Joe repeats faintly. He can’t help but drop his gaze to those large, capable hands again.

Nicky dips his head, as if reluctant, nose just shy of Thea’s head. “It is not the safest job. Some nights it takes me away from her for too long. But I can do some good, this way. That matters.”

Joe aches for him a little in that moment, unsure how to respond.

Before he can think of something, Nicky’s attention snaps back into the moment.

“How about you? I feel like I’ve been selfish.”

Joe has a feeling this man wouldn’t know selfish if it hit him on the head.

“I work in the state library,” Joe says, smoothing his palms over the top of his knees, “part-time.”

With the back of his hand, Nicky smothers a yawn. “My apologies- it’s not you, I promise.” Joe waves him off. “That sounds lovely. Do you enjoy it?”

Joe nods once, “yeah, it’s-” he cuts himself off with his own yawn this time, putting his fist up to his mouth to cover it. “it’s good,” he finishes. Then he winces. “I feel like I made you wait for that, and it wasn’t very interesting, I’m sorry.”

Nicky snorts. “Perhaps we could both do with more sleep.”

That conjures up the image of Nicky sleeping in his bed, and Joe has to clear his throat to dispel it. He manages an empathetic smile, and they fall into a lull, a little awkward with their unfamiliarity. Joe checks his phone out of habit and doesn’t even look at what’s on the screen.

“What’s the time?” Nicky asks.

Joe pauses. “Um.” Fuck. “Hang on.”

He pulls out his phone again. His face feels very warm. To Nicky’s credit, he doesn’t comment on Joe’s momentary lapse in sanity.

“A quarter to seven,” he reads.

“Thank you, Joe.”

If Joe thought he liked his voice before, it’s nothing compared to the way it sounds when he says Joe’s name. He could live in that sound.

The announcer comes over the speaker, informing them that the train is arriving at Joe’s stop. Joe tilts his head and gestures to the ceiling.

“That’s me.”

He stands up, watching as Nicky tilts his head to follow. Thea is still sleeping against his chest.

“I suppose I’ll see you next week?” He grabs at one of the overhead rails as the train starts slowing down.

“We’ll probably refrain from bothering the quiet carriage from now on,” Nicky tells him with a wry tick of his mouth.

Before he can stop himself, Joe blurts out, “Some things are worth giving up a little quiet for.”

Nicky blinks. Joe flushes all over.  

Thankfully, the doors slide open right after, providing him with a convenient exit.

“You said what?”

Joe places a book on the shelf to block Nile’s face.

“You heard me,” he mutters, pulling another book from the left that’s been put back in the wrong place before setting it on the cart.

He walks further down the aisle, Nile following from the next row.

“A firefighter and a single dad.” she says, eyes visible over the books, “Joe.”

“I know.”

She holds her hands up in surrender. “At least he’s not a cop. By the way, have you done today’s wordle?”

“I have not.” Joe reaches up to return another book to its rightful place.

The air conditioning is relentless in this building, so Joe’s still wearing his sweater despite the temperature warming over the course of the morning.

“Too busy daydreaming about Nee-key?” She draws his name out longer than necessary, making Joe roll his eyes.

“How did that sourcing that reference go yesterday?” He asks her, eager for a change in subject.

Nile grins. “The bribery went off without a hitch. I’m actually considering a professional career in heisting.”

“So you can steal back-”

“So I can steal back from the British Museum!” Nile whisper shouts while Joe nods in commiseration. To her credit, out of anyone he knows, Nile would be the most likely to actually pull that off.

Soon after that, Nile leaves for class, with a promise that they’ll meet up over the weekend. Now, Joe’s entering the part of the afternoon where his morning coffee is wearing off and it’s still an hour until his next break – the valley of despair, as he likes to call it. He’s only got one guess left for today’s word.

So, when the fire alarm goes off, Joe’s first reaction is, admittedly, to groan.

The librarian on duty today is James Copley. A nice man, English, who mostly keeps to himself. His strong voice carries through the library.

“If you could all follow the exit signs-yes, ma’am- no, this is not a drill, and I can’t process that right now, the building might be on fire, and we need to evacuate- no running, please!”

Ears ringing from the alarm, dull headache swelling into something sharper with every moment, Joe gets up and checks the bathrooms – empty – before sending Booker a text to check that he’s leaving too. He’s about 90% sure of the cause of the alarm, but it doesn’t hurt to follow protocol.

Copley leaves at the same time, double checking the children’s nook before nodding to Joe. They head outside and round the corner of the building, squinting a little in the light of day.

Just as Joe expected, there’s a delivery truck parked too far forward in the loading dock, and the exhaust has tripped the outside alarm.

“Who had mid-May for the next false alarm?”

There are sirens in the distance, getting closer.

“I believe it was Celeste,” Copley says. “I won’t tell if you don’t, though.”

“You’re just upset that it’s scaled according to salary.” Joe spots Booker on the bench, sipping the same coffee that Joe gave him that morning, which must be lukewarm at best by now, surely.

Copley huffs a laugh. “Quite right, Mr. Al-Kaysani. I need to check that everyone is accounted for, could you deal with…” he trails off and gestures to the loading bay.

Joe suppresses a sigh and nods.

The delivery driver, to his credit, looks at least a little sorry as he leans his elbow out the window of the truck.

“Should I move?”

Joe pinches the bridge of his nose. His head is pounding, and the back of his neck is hot from the sun behind him.

“Yes, please. I think we’ve been over this before, right? We put signs up,” he says, pointing at said signs, vast in their size and quantity, the clearly marked line on the ground, and the empty milk crates, which previously formed a makeshift barricade, now scattered on the ground.

The driver flashes a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I’m new.”

Joe thinks the library’s delivery company must have the highest turnover rate in the country.

The reverse motion alarm in the truck starts up, the shrill sound piercing Joe’s ears.

Shortly after, a fire truck pulls into the parking lot. The sirens cut off as it stops in front of the building’s entrance, and two firefighters, clad in full gear, hop down. Joe waves them over.

“Hi,” Joe starts apologetically as they get nearer, “the exhaust on the truck tripped the fire alarm; nothing’s on fire as far as we’re aware-”

He stops short when he sees Nicky’s unmistakable green eyes from under the visor of the helmet.

“We’ll have to do a routine check, just in case, before we reset the alarm system,” the other man says, not unkindly. If he notices the strange tension between him and Nicky, he doesn’t comment on it. “What level is the office?”

Joe blinks and tries to remember where he left his functioning brain.

“It’s on the first level as you go through those doors,” Joe says, nodding to the back.

The first man thanks him and turns to go inside. Before he can follow suit, Nicky pauses.

“We shouldn’t be too long. Nice to see you again, Joe.”

He’s heading inside before Joe can even process that, let alone answer.

Joe comes to sit next to Booker and tries not to look too deflated. It would be nice if he could encounter Nicky when he wasn’t half-asleep or flustered from the heat, but the universe clearly has other plans.

“Coffee?” Booker offers the takeaway cup to him.

Joe wrinkles his nose. “Is it hot?”

“Of course it’s hot, I’m not a masochist,” Booker tuts, “I was microwaving it when the alarm went off,” he explains, failing to see the irony.

Still skeptical, Joe takes the coffee and is surprised to find it’s quite warm. He takes a sip and almost moans in relief. A thought occurs to him.

“Did you wait until the microwave was finished before you evacuated?”

“Legally,” Booker says, taking the coffee back, “I am not at liberty to say.”

Joe laughs, shaking his head.

It’s not long before they hear the alarm shut off inside the building, and then Nicky emerges from the front exit, carrying his helmet in his hands. Joe gets up and walks over, highly aware that he’s sweating now.

Nicky says something to one of the other firefighters still in the truck, before jogging up to meet Joe halfway.

“Thanks for coming,” Joe says, “and sorry if we wasted your time.”

Nicky shakes his head, “It’s no trouble. Outside of a natural disaster, we’d much rather get called out for false alarms than to see anyone in real danger.”

His eyes are sincere and so kind; Joe wants to hook himself on that look and drag it out forever.

“Of course. I’d definitely prefer it if the fire alarm didn’t go off every two months for no reason, though,” Joe only half-jokes, rolling up his sleeves to relieve some of the heat.

The corner of Nicky’s mouth ticks up. “I take it this is not one of the things worth giving up a little quiet for?”

Joe laughs at the unexpected joke, a little light-headed that Nicky remembered what he said and is gently teasing him about it. He doesn’t say that talking to Nicky is very much worth it, because he does have some measure of self-control.

The other firefighter emerges from the building and yells something out. Nicky glances behind him before looking back to Joe.

“Lykon has reset your alarm system; you are safe to re-enter the building,” he tells Joe. It sounds rehearsed, like something he says often, which, Joe supposes, he does. Though the formality drops into something more casual as he continues, “Someone burnt some coffee in your break room, though.”

Joe suppresses a grin. “Is that against fire code regulations?”

“No,” Nicky replies, before that small smile returns. “But it should be.”

The truck comes to life, causing Joe to remember where, in fact, they are right now.

Nicky seems to come to the same realization. “I should go, but- it really was nice seeing you again, Joe.”

Joe didn’t think he could feel warmer under the sun in his sweater, but Nicky proves him wrong. “It was nice to see you as well,” he says, possibly too soft, possibly lost in the rumble of the engine behind Nicky, but Nicky’s smile widens a fraction before he turns away to get in the truck; an infinitesimal difference really, but Joe has a feeling it’s as good as a grin on anyone else.

He watches them go fondly, running his hand up his bicep. It’s only after the truck pulls out of the parking lot that he catches Booker looking at him.

“What?” Even Joe knows he sounds defensive.

Booker’s answering smirk is of the shit-eating variety. “I can’t wait to tell Nile about this.”

As Joe lays down to sleep that night, he goes over their conversation in his head like it’s a love letter he could run his fingers over. Something warm settles in his chest, pressed like a wax seal, ready to be cracked open.

Chapter Text

Monday | starting word: swell

“She didn’t.”

“She did. I’ve never felt so betrayed.”

Joe can’t help but laugh at Nicky’s expression, stricken and yet still so painfully adoring as he looks down at Thea.

The trees in the window rush by behind him, casting through the glass in gold and green. His eyes compliment the morning scene, blinking awake and full of light. He wonders what it is Nicky sees when he looks at Joe, bathed in it and catching its warmth.

It’s been over a week of this, of sitting beside one another on the train in the morning and talking amongst the chatter from the rest of the commuters.

Joe’s learned that Nicky likes to bake in his spare time, that he’s part of a regional firefighter football team, and that Thea is his whole word.

In return, he's told Nicky how he loves cooking, that he’s terrible at wordle (Nicky, it turns out, has an infuriatingly methodical approach that even Nile would be envious of), and that he dropped out of art school before moving here. 

Thea babbles, as if arguing with Nicky’s statement.

“Does she still prefer the penguin?”

Nicky nods, a put-upon sigh leaving his mouth. “The mouse is somewhere discarded in a box. Andy has never let me forget it.”

Joe tries to smother a laugh; he can’t remember the last time he felt this giddy just from a conversation. Surely, he’s too old to feel this way.

Still, he’s warm up to his chest when he says, “It sounds like she has a lot of love in her life.”

Nicky’s smile turns bittersweet for a brief moment.

“Yes,” he says softly, “she does. She always has.”

The train jostles them, causing Thea to let out a squeal and seemingly breaking Nicky from whatever brought his attention away. He shifts her in his lap and clears his throat.

"What do you like to do, when you’re not at the library? I live vicariously through others,” he asks, adding the last part with a crooked smile and a meaningful look to Thea.

Joe snorts. He suspects Nicky doesn’t mind one bit - last week he’d told Joe (only slightly guiltily) that he has indeed used Thea to get him out of social obligations he’d otherwise have to participate in.

There’s only so many times you can go for after-work drinks before it becomes more exhausting than relaxing, he’d told Joe, and the baby excuse is hard to beat.

“Well, it’s nothing too exciting. I draw, or read. Sometimes I manage to beat Nile at wordle.”

Nicky tilts his head. “You draw?”

“Yeah,” Joe swallows. He isn't usually so up front with people about his art, but. “I can show you? If you want. I have some pieces on my phone.”

Nicky hums in affirmative, leaning in a little closer while Joe brings up the photo album. He holds Thea’s hands in each of his own, gently guiding her away from Joe’s phone so she doesn’t knock it accidentally. Her hand can barely wrap around his thumb.

Joe swipes across the screen until he finds a finished project, before tilting it to show Nicky. “This was part of an installation I got to do last year.”

It was a mixed media piece, where Joe sculpted a tree-like figure and threaded gold lines through the bark. The figure was reaching, twisting, yearning, longing. Joe had spent many lonely nights carving it out of himself. A peculiar ache, he’d titled it. Looking at it now, through Nicky's eyes, Joe tries not to feel cored out and exposed. 

“Beautiful,” Nicky remarks softly, almost to himself. Gently cleaving Joe with it. “Do you have any work up at the moment?” 

Shaking his head, Joe swipes across to another photo of the same piece, this time with Joe standing next to it, talking with someone outside of the camera's view. “Not right now, but submissions are opening for their emerging artists exhibition in the spring.”

“I have no doubt you’ll get it,” Nicky says, sure and sweet, still looking at Joe’s phone.

Joe’s cheeks warm at the compliment, highly aware of their current proximity. Nicky smells like fresh linen and mint over his cologne. This close, Joe could count the colours in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he replies, just shy of awkwardness as he puts his phone away, before looking at Thea. “Do you like drawing?” He pitches his voice a little to catch her attention, echoing the way he’s seen Nicky talk to her.

Thea stares at him, mouth open. Nicky makes an amused noise and lifts her hands slightly.

“It’s a little early for artistry – she can hold a crayon, but it will end up in her mouth rather than on the paper, won’t it, piccola?” He bounces her a little and she smiles, giggling like she’s in on the joke.

“Well, we do art for kids at the library during the summer. It’s more of a social club, really, but it’s good for their fine motor skills and for some kids it’s the only access they have to the materials. I run the younger ones, and Celeste takes the pre-teens.” He’s spent many an afternoon running around after toddlers and having serious conversations about which blue the sky is meant to be.

Nicky beams. “We’ll have to check it out in the future.”

Joe spends the rest of the train ride trying to calm the swell in his chest, rising like the sun in the window.

Around midday, just before Joe goes on lunch, a young man walks into the library looking a little worse for wear. Mostly, he looks tired. Joe watches him as he nervously approaches the desk.

“Can I help?” Joe asks gently, peering up at the man’s face. He hasn’t seen him in here before.

The man taps on the desk twice before shoving his hand back in his pocket. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Joe tips his head to the left and points behind him. “It’s just past the reading nook; there should be a sign around the corner.”

He mumbles a thank-you and hurries off. Joe leans back in his chair and tries to spot Nile on this floor, and finds her at one of the tables, curled over a textbook, headphones in, lips moving as she reads.

When he comes back a few minutes later, Joe smiles at him but doesn’t let his stare linger, returning his gaze back to his computer.

The man doesn’t end up returning to the desk; instead he passes by the nook and sits down in a quiet corner, settling into one of the upholstered sofas. Joe makes a mental note to bring out the blankets they have from storage for when it gets colder.

By the time Celeste arrives for her afternoon shift, the man is curled up and sleeping on the chair. She glances over before smiling at Joe; she doesn’t lean on the desk, but she does idly rub at a spare bit of blue tac with her painted thumbnail.

“You look like you could use a break.”

“Always,” Joe says. He nods over to the nook while he hands over his lanyard. “He’s all good, just resting. I was waiting in case he wanted help accessing anything.”

Celeste takes it and shoves the keys in her front pocket. “If it’s his first time, I doubt he’ll ask.”

She has a point. Still, Joe shrugs. “You never know.”

Celeste once helped him bandage a young woman who’d come in with a gash on her arm, unsure of where to go or who to ask for aid until she’d stumbled into their library.

“Your business is yours,” she’d said as Joe came in with a cup of tea and some pamphlets. He set them down and handed Celeste another strip. She smoothed it over the cut gently. “But if you need help, we’re here.”

“We have resources,” Joe added, sliding over the tea to the wide-eyed woman, understandably distrustful. “Places where you can stay. Internet access. Come in anytime.”

She still visits sometimes; Joe remembers the day she came in to apply for a library card with her proof of address, the quiet pride in her smile when Joe handed it over to her.

Most people just want a quiet place to sleep or read. A relief. They do their best to offer it where they can.

“I’m just going to use the restroom,” Celeste says, “then I can take over the front for you.”

Joe thanks her and signs off on the staff computer. As she walks away, the door to the library opens again. He glances over to see Nicky holding the door open for another patron before coming inside himself.

Maybe one day seeing him won’t make Joe's heart pound against his ribcage like it’s begging to be let out.

Today is not that day.

“Hey stranger,” he says, hoping it doesn’t come out as breathy as his lungs feel right now.

Nicky is wearing a standard issue shirt, navy blue, tucked into the khakis that Joe is used to seeing him in. The shirt sits snug across his broad shoulders. Without the button-up that usually covers him up, Joe can see more of Nicky’s figure, the way the thin material sits over his biceps.

“Hi Joe,” Nicky makes his way over to the desk, resting one hand on it. “Are you busy?”

“Nope,” Joe shakes his head, ignoring the pang of hunger in his stomach. “Were you thinking of getting some books for Thea? I can recommend some stuff for you to read to her.”

Nicky rubs the back of his neck like he’s nervous. “Oh- no, actually. Thea is more likely to throw or eat them, so I’ve been reading to her from some secondhand books to avoid destroying government property.” He drops his hand and looks directly at Joe. “Is there somewhere we could talk?”

Joe nods one too many times before remembering he should actually say something.

“Of course!” It comes out far too loud. In his periphery, he spots Nile looking up and over at them.

Quieter, he tries again. “Um. I’m actually going on a break right now.”

He spots Celeste coming back from the toilet and gets up from around the desk, avoiding Nile’s delighted gaze.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Joe suggests quickly, “there’s a café not far from here.” It’s the one he goes to every morning before work.

Nicky turns to gesture Joe onward. “Lead the way.”

And that’s how Joe came to be strolling beside Nicky, acutely aware of their hands barely brushing as they moved. It’s a cooler day today, a little overcast.

They exchange pleasantries about their days so far, and it’d be perfectly ordinary, were it not for the thrum of something between them, the lingering looks when they stop for traffic before crossing the road.

They sit down in a small booth, crowding, knees knocking together in the cramped space. Joe pretends to read the menu for a moment before giving up and looking at Nicky, who’s smoothing his hands over the table.

“I’m sorry for being so…” Nicky trails off and waves his hand instead of explaining. “I am not well-versed in how to do this.”

Joe’s heart skips a beat. “This, being?” Hope swells and swells ‘til he can barely breathe.

Nicky shifts in his chair. “I want to be up front with you, Joe. My life is…not conducive to a normal relationship. Between my shifts at the station and Thea, I have time for little else, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, because I love her, and I love what I do. But I find you very attractive, and kind, and funny- and I’d very much like to get to know you better. Just- I might need to take things slow.”

He’s a little flushed when it’s over, the words tumbling more than anything out of his mouth. But he keeps his gaze steady on Joe’s the whole time he speaks, one breathless rush of honesty that Joe can’t help but be touched by.

Joe breathes in deep, thinking of all the times he imagined Nicky in his life. How easily he’s started falling for this man already in the last two weeks. So it’s natural, inevitable, that these are the next words out of his mouth:

“As long as we’re being honest, I have a habit of throwing myself into things too soon. And I haven’t felt this way in a long time, and I’m so-” Joe clears his throat and swallows. “That is, taking it slow sounds good, Nicky. Something tells me that this might be worth a little waiting for.”

He places his hand, palm upward, on the table. Nicky smiles, slides his own over Joe’s; his skin is warm, fingers calloused but so gentle as his thumb strokes Joe’s pulse.

“Something tells me the very same thing.”

Chapter Text

Joe returns from the coffee shop with Nicky’s number tucked away in his phone like a love note, his inner wrist tingling from Nicky’s fingers.

Nile is waiting for him when Joe walks back through the door. He glances at her and then walks a little faster.

“Nu-uh,” he hears Nile call out, turning to follow him, “you’re not getting out of it that easy.”

She catches up to him just before he can reach the staff door, putting herself in front of it and shooting him a meaningful look.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He doesn’t. And his stomach definitely doesn’t flip when he thinks about what he doesn’t know, either.

The door opens behind them, revealing a bleary-eyed Booker, startling to find two people blocking the entrance.

“Merde,” he mutters, looking between them.

Joe is getting ready to sigh in relief at the distraction, when:

“Blocking the door like this is a fire hazard.” Booker smirks. “But I suppose you can call your firefighter to rescue you.”

“Even you, B-”

“Pssh,” Booker waves him off. “You knew it would come to this.”

Both he and Nile look at him. Joe folds his arms over his chest.

“There’s not much to tell. We’re taking it slow.” Their conversation echoes back in his mind  

Nile clasps her hands together and gives him a look entirely too tender for his sensibilities today. “Well, I’m happy for you, Joe. Really.”

“Really?” Joe swallows the sudden swell of emotions sticking in his throat. Curse him and his inability to remain chill about anything.

Booker fits his hand over Joe’s shoulder, thumb swiping over his bicep. “Really. Now please, get out of the doorway. I need to pee.”

That night, as Joe gets out the shower, he sends a message to Nicky (he definitely didn’t agonize over said text for an hour. That would be ridiculous).

Joe: have you done today’s wordle?

Okay. It’s not his best, or most original. But in his defense, he’s spent most of the evening running his own finger absentmindedly over his wrist while he tries to concentrate on anything other than figuring out the exact shade of green in Nicky’s eyes.

A few minutes later, his phone lights up.

Nicky: Are you requesting my help to cheat?

Joe smiles far too wide, but no one else is in his apartment to see it. He gathers up a spare pillow to his chest, like it might spontaneously turn into Nicky or quell the way his heart has begun racing; he reads the message another three times before responding.

Joe: I would never. I resent the assumption, actually.

Joe: On an unrelated note, do you know any five-letter words that have an F in them?

The response is quicker this time. Joe barks out a short laugh. The next few texts come one after the other, each one making Joe’s smile widen further.

Nicky: Is this where I offer a clue?

Joe: To be frank, I could really use it.

Nicky: I don’t often break the rules, you know.

Joe: If anyone asks, I’ll feign ignorance

Everything is still for a few moments. Then his phone starts vibrating with Nicky’s call. He answers before he can second guess himself.

“I just stepped out for a moment,” Nicky says by way of greeting, “because Lykon kept asking to see the pictures of Thea I was staring at, when I was actually talking to you.”

“Oh,” Joe breathes out, the words sinking in.

He holds the phone closer to his ear and traces a pattern with his index finger on the pillow held close to his chest. It’s only fair that he offers a confession in return. “I’ve been trying to stop myself smiling like a fool all day, thinking about you, so. You’re not alone.”

He hears a car going by on the street, and Nicky’s soft breathing on the other end of the line.

“I’m really glad to hear that, Joe,” he says, hushed like it would be if they were standing close enough to touch.

That thought makes Joe’s ears feel warm. He clears his throat. “So, about that wordle answer?”

Nicky laughs, and Joe grins just to hear it, to know he caused it.

“You haven’t found it yet?”

Joe shakes his head, and then remembers Nicky can’t see him. “I haven’t, but it isn’t my fault.”

“No?” Nicky’s tone is laced with amusement.

“No,” Joe repeats, “I got very distracted after my lunch break, which is when I usually do it.”

 A sound like a boot scuffing on concrete. “Should I apologize-”

“Don’t you dare.”

Nicky lets out a soft chuckle. “Okay. You know, I think you’ll figure it out.”

In his head, Joe counts. “That’s six letters.”

“…I have faith in you.”

“Better,” Joe says, just to hear Nicky snort.

Someone calls out from Nicky’s end. Joe hears his muffled reply, like Nicky’s pressed the phone to his chest.

When Nicky speaks into the receiver again, it’s pinched with regret. “I have to go, but let me know when you get it.”

“Of course,” Joe says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He winces a little at the hopefulness in his own tone.

“You will,” Nicky confirms, “I look forward to it. Goodnight, Joe.”

“Be safe,” Joe says, before they hang up.

He sighs when the call disconnects, putting his phone on his nightstand. Turning to his side, Joe puts his face in the pillow and closes his eyes tight, like he could commit the sound of Nicky’s voice in his ear to memory.

He falls asleep before he can guess the word, ruining his streak. He couldn’t care less.

 Wednesday | starting word: heart

If Joe had any doubts about his ability to maintain some sort of calm façade in front of Nicky (If, a voice that sounds a lot like Nile says), they’re all but confirmed a couple nights later, when he meets Nicky for dinner at a small Italian bistro not far from the fire station.

He almost choked on air when he saw Nicky in that same standard issue shirt tucked into his pants, only this time with a pair of suspenders looped over his shoulders.

(They’d agreed to get a casual dinner together on Nicky’s break that morning on the train, after Joe said he’d never been to Nicky’s favourite restaurant, and Nicky decided that that simply couldn’t continue any longer. At some point, their pinkies were brushing where their hands sat on their knees – Joe’s left, Nicky’s right – and they shared a quiet, meaningful smile, interrupted after a moment by Thea babbling, and then they rightfully returned their attention where it belonged.)

Right now, Nicky is twirling a fork through his spaghetti, and Joe’s doing his best not to stare at his wrist while he does so. He decides to distract himself by looking around the restaurant.

“I’ve never been here before,” he says.

It’s a nice place, authentic looking to Joe’s untrained eye, and well. Nicky likes it, so it must be, somewhat. The booth they’re in is squished in the corner, a warm light hanging above them, soaking into the worn wood of the tables. They’re past the dinner rush, only a quiet murmur of scattered patrons left besides them. It’s intimate. Cozy. Joe can see why it’s his favourite.

(He’d been welcomed enthusiastically by an older man at the door, pulling Nicky in for a hug, speaking in Italian. Nicky introduced them both and said something that made the man clap his hands and usher them into their seats, before bringing them menus. At some point, Nicky said the word sfogliatelle, and Joe’s still recovering from it.)

When he brings his attention back to the table, Nicky’s looking at him strangely, and Joe blinks, before realization dawns.

“But you knew that,” he adds slowly, smiling wryly. “Because that’s why we’re here.”

Nicky nods, mouth quirked to the side, a kind, teasing facial expression Joe has become all too familiar with in the relatively short time he’s known him.

“Astute and handsome? I must be in a dream,” he says, softening the joke by bringing his left hand across the table to take Joe’s, caressing his knuckles, before returning to his meal.

He picks up his fork again and goes on eating, like he hasn’t just upended Joe’s world twice in a matter of seconds. Though when Joe braves another glance his way, he notices Nicky’s cheeks look pinker than they did a few moments ago.

“Okay,” Joe says, nodding like he understands, “I see how it is. Do you insult all your dates, or am I special?”

Nicky shakes his head. “You are special,” he answers, far too sincerely.

Joe walked right into that one he supposes, looking into Nicky’s earnest eyes for a second too long before clearing his throat and continuing to parse through his own food. The portions sizes, which are normal here from what Joe’s gathered, are huge. He’s barely halfway through his carbonara and he already feels full.

Being on shift, Nicky isn’t drinking, and Joe doesn’t drink often or alone, so there’s really no reason why they keep locking eyes and smiling like idiots, except there is, because Joe’s so infatuated he thinks his heart might just burst looking at Nicky doing something as mundane as chewing pasta.

“So, Nicky,” he starts eventually, pushing his plate to the side so he can lean on his elbows, palms lying flat on the table.

“Joe,” Nicky responds in kind, leaning forward too, which makes Joe break focus and laugh, leaning back into his seat instead.

“How long have you been a firefighter?”

Nicky’s fork makes four indents into his bottom lip as he thinks.

“Seven years? No, eight. A long time, anyway,” he shrugs, “I’d never found more fulfilling work than the job- until Thea, at least.” His smile goes fond and soft at the edges, the way it does whenever he’s holding her.

“How old is she?”

“Almost eight months,” Nicky says, taking a sip of water. The condensation on the outside of the glass leaves his fingertips wet. “I’ve had her for six of those.”

The line of his mouth becomes bittersweet again, like it did the other day. Joe wonders for a moment whether he should ask and settles instead on offering his hand for Nicky to take again.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I’m here either way.”

Nicky looks at him before sliding his hand into Joe’s gratefully. His fingers are a little cold.

“I don’t mind, it’s only…” he trails off, and Joe squeezes his fingers. Nicky squeezes back. “It’s not traditionally a first date conversation.”

Gently, Joe reminds him, “I just want to know you, Nicky. At whatever pace you like.”

Nicky takes a few moments, as if gathering himself. Then he speaks.

“Her mother’s name was Irene. We were on our way back from another job when we got the call. House fire. The neighbours had called it in, and we were aware of two persons that were trapped inside.” Nicky’s other hand rubs at the back of his neck. “A mother and- her baby.”

Joe tightens his grip without meaning to, and then forces himself to relax.

“Our response time is one of the best. Andy prides herself on that. But even a few minutes is crucial with smoke inhalation. I was sent inside with Lykon, and we managed to retrieve both of them without any debris blocking our way.” Nicky closes his eyes briefly.

“But we weren’t fast enough. Irene had already passed out by the time we’d gotten her out, and Thea-” he swallows, “They were both in critical condition. I rode with them on the way to the hospital. Irene didn’t- she didn’t make it."

A lived-in guilt weighs briefly heavier on those shoulders.

“It was a miracle that Thea did. She was having trouble breathing, because the smoke had irritated her lungs and her throat. She was a preterm baby, so her respiratory system was already weak. It was hours before they were even sure she’d make it.

“And then- she got sick,” Nicky’s voice breaks, and he visibly composes himself. “The doctors said she didn’t have the strength to fight off an infection while dealing with the pollutants in her lungs. She spent a week further in intensive care.

“She was so tiny,” Nicky continues, as if he still can’t believe it, “only weeks into the world. More alone than she’s ever been in her entire life. I couldn’t hold her when she cried.” This, of all things, seems to hit Nicky the most, like he’d failed as a father before he even became one.

“In the meantime, finding next of kin was proving to be impossible. No father was listed on the birth certificate, and no other blood relatives had been located.”

Nicky looks at him, and Joe breaks open a little.

“You couldn’t leave her there.”

Nicky nods. “Her mother loved her. She spent her last conscious moments trying to protect her baby from the smoke. I felt a responsibility to carry that love for her. I still do.”

Joe lifts their joined hands until he can kiss Nicky’s fingers, his other hand coming to hold Nicky’s between his own.

“She loves you too, you know. She looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky.”

In the low light, Nicky’s eyes seem full and deep. Joe wonders if he could make this feeling small enough to fit between his teeth and utter it out loud.

A voice from beside them fills the air, interrupting them and causing Joe to drop Nicky’s hand.

“Nicolò! Vuole un dolce?”

Nicky smiles at the owner, bringing his hand back toward himself. He says something in Italian, before turning to Joe.

“My break will be ending soon, but Piero won’t leave us leave without taking some sfogliatelle,” he explains with a fond look about him.

Who is Joe to argue? They end up with two takeaway containers filled with it when they leave the bistro. Joe promises to text Nicky his reaction when he tries it.

“It’s that good?” Joe asks on their way back to the train station.

The streetlights circle them as they walk. It’s quiet enough here that Joe can hear the sound of their shoes scuffing the concrete.

“Mine is better,” Nicky says, without an ounce of humility or doubt, glancing over at him, “but Piero is a close second.”

Joe rolls his eyes to cover the wayward stab of arousal at Nicky’s confident smirk. They round the corner to the station, and Joe doesn’t imagine the way their steps both slow a little, putting off the inevitable.

“You’ll have to put your money where your mouth is,” Joe says as they near the gate.

They come to a stop, and Nicky turns to face him.

“You are just trying to procure more sfogliatelle,” he accuses, which is a lie. He’s trying to procure another date. But he’ll settle for getting Nicky to say sfogliatelle again.

“And those are the words of a man who’s afraid to be proven wrong.”

Nicky laughs, the sound ringing out into the night air. Joe can’t help leaning in a little, just to catch it. When it’s quiet again, they’re standing closer together.

“This was nice,” Joe says, looking anywhere but Nicky’s lips, because he’s afraid if he starts, he won’t stop. “Thank you for taking me to your favourite place.”

“Of course,” Nicky lifts his shoulders. “I apologize if I said too much. I didn’t mean to dampen the evening.”

Joe shakes his head. “No, no, no, don’t worry,” he says softly, stepping forward again, “I meant what I said. I want to know you.”

Nicky makes a small noise in his throat, before leaning in to kiss Joe’s cheek. His hand comes to rest on Joe’s elbow as he does so, holding him close, before drawing back.

“I want to know you, too.”

Joe feels breathless the whole ride home.

Chapter Text

Saturday | starting word: palms

Joe arrives at the address Nicky gave him with a bottle of wine in his hand and butterflies in his stomach.

The townhouse is brick laid; front door enclosed under an archway with a few concrete stairs leading up to it. It looks cozy, and lived-in – Joe skips the first two steps in one long stride and his heart leaps in his throat. He recalls Nicky’s shy smile as he’d written the address on a slip of paper and folded it into his palm, with a soft there’s no obligation to, of course.

As if Joe would pass up any opportunity to know more of Nicky, to press himself in every corner that Nicky allows him into, just like the paper creasing in his hand from rubbing his thumb nervously over it. Until everything is well-worn at the edges of a feeling he’s not brave enough to name just yet.

He adjusts the collar under his sweater – the nights have been cooler lately, but Joe is already flushed with nerves – and presses the doorbell. There’s the sound of voices from inside, then a chair dragging against the floor. Joe shifts his weight and readjusts his grip on the wine.

The door opens, soft yellow light spilling out from behind it. It frames a silhouette around a woman around Joe’s height, with short hair and sharp eyes that soften as she smiles at him.

“You must be Joe,” she says, opening the door a little more and gesturing with her head. “I’m Andy. Come on in.”

He toes off his shoes as Andy shuts the door. “I hope I’m not too early,” he starts, glancing into the apartment. “Nicky-”

“You’re good,” Andy waves him off, gentle but firm. “Nicky’s changing a dirty diaper right now, but he’ll be out in a sec.”

“Is that him?” A voice calls out from further inside.

“No, it’s some other guy,” Andy calls back, throwing Joe a wink, before she walks him down the entryway. “He brought wine, though,” she continues, a little quieter as they round the first corner into the kitchen and dining area.

A woman Joe assumes is Quynh is standing by a butcher’s block, dicing something carefully. Her hair is pulled back into a short ponytail, a few strands falling in front of her face.

“Oh, well, as long as there’s wine,” she says with a half-shrug.

She finishes what she’s doing and turns toward them. The tip of the knife digs into cutting board as she rests her hand on the end of the handle.

Andy snorts. “My wife, Quynh. But I’m sure you figured that out.”

Joe ducks his head with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you both,” he says politely. “Nicky talks about you all the time.”

Quynh’s mouth skews into a smile. “Same here. We wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Joe tilts his head and opens his mouth at that, but before he can ask, Nicky comes in from another room, holding Thea against his side. He adjusts her on his hip, before lifting his head to look over at them.

“Joe,” he says warmly as their eyes meet. “I thought I heard your voice.”

Thinking about Nicky listening out for and recognising his voice sends something warm through Joe’s body. He manages a weak yeah in response before clearing his throat.

“I brought wine,” he says, lifting the bottle for emphasis. He thinks he hears Andy smother a snort beside him.

Nicky just smiles. “So you did. Andy, why don’t you show Joe where he can find some glasses?”

Andy takes the bottle from Joe and opens a baby-proofed draw, pulling out a corkscrew. “They’re just behind you in the top cupboards,” she says, nodding to Joe’s right.

“None for me, thanks,” Quynh says. She’s returned to chopping what Joe can now see are bell peppers. “Early shift tomorrow.”

Joe pulls out three glasses from the cupboard and places it on the bench next to Andy. Hands free for the first time, he scratches at his beard.

“You’re a nurse?” Joe says, phrasing it like a question, even though Nicky's told him about both their jobs. Andy hands him back two glasses, now filled.

Quynh nods, sliding the diced bell pepper into a metal bowl with the knife, before running her index finger over the blade to get the rest. “Correct. ED.”

Letting out an impressed whistle, Joe brings the glasses over to the dining table, where Nicky’s sitting on the end, holding a babbling Thea in his lap. Their fingers brush as Joe hands the glass of wine over. Joe watches as Nicky takes a sip, before placing the glass on the table and sliding it as far as possible toward the middle.

He sits down in the chair next to Nicky, trying to resist the urge to take his free hand. He distracts himself by refocusing on the conversation.

“Wow. I bet you have some stories to tell.”

From the way Quynh looks up at him, delighted, and Andy and Nicky collectively groan, Joe knows he’s said either something very right or very wrong.

“Babe, come finish frying this up. I have a guest to entertain.”

Beside him, Nicky knocks his knee against Joe’s outer thigh. Joe presses back, and lets warmth bleed like light into him, slow and dawning.

After dinner, Andy and Quynh start collecting their plates to bring back to the kitchen. When Joe tries to offer to do the dishes, Andy gives him another firm shake of her head.

“Please,” she says, stopping to make a silly face at Thea as she rounds Nicky to pick up his plate, “we’re two emergency responders. Do you really think we’d survive without a dishwasher?”

Quynh nods across from him in agreement as she gets up too. “Andy installed one in the second year of my nursing degree. Still the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.” She punctuates the sentence by placing a quick peck to Andy’s lips.

As they leave, Joe thumbs the stem of his wine glass and looks over at Nicky.

“I like them,” he says, quiet enough so it won’t carry over to the kitchen.

Nicky uses his free hand to take Joe’s, lifting it to press a kiss over his knuckles.

“I’m glad,” he whispers in return, before throwing a conspirative glance to his side. “They like you too. I can tell.”

A weight Joe didn’t know he was carrying lifts from his shoulders, gaze flickering to where Nicky’s lips grazed his skin. “Yeah?”

Nicky’s smile widens. “Yes. You’re very easy to like.”

Joe’s face heats at the compliment. He squeezes Nicky’s hand.

“I could say the same about you.”

When did eye contact become this devastating? Joe can feel every thump of his heart in his chest as they look and look at each other, mouth pulling into a smile like they’re sharing an open secret across the dinner table.

 After a beat, Joe clears his throat and drops his gaze to look at Thea, who, over the course of dinner, has begun drifting off against Nicky’s shoulder. Her lashes fan her cheeks, eyes closed, face tucked into Nicky’s collarbone. He can’t help but wonder if she likes him too.

Nicky tilts his head, as if he can hear Joe’s thoughts.

“Would you like to hold her?”

Joe’s sure his eyes must be huge, staring for a beat like he’s waiting for Nicky to withdraw his offer, before nodding.

With a smile, Nicky stands up to get closer. He smells like baby powder and soap, which shouldn’t be thrilling, but Joe’s heart still skips a beat as he breathes it in.

“She might be a little fussy, it’s almost her bedtime,” Nicky warns him, and Joe can only nod again earnestly, reaching his hands out, ready to accept her.

Nicky shifts her a bit, before sidling up beside Joe to pass her over as gently as possible. Joe gets his hand between Nicky’s palm and the back of her head, cradling it carefully as he takes her – light in his arms, but heavy as the world on his shoulders.

Her little arm rests on his right pec, as she folds into him, sleepy eyes still fluttered shut. Her mousy hair flatter on one side, rosy cheek pressed to his shoulder.

A quiet awe settles over him as he looks down at her, palm hovering over her back in case she shifts.

“Look at you,” Joe whispers, unsure what to do with the tightness in his throat.

He manages to glance away from her long enough to catch Nicky looking at him with something unbearably soft in his eyes.

Nicky leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head, palm coming to rest over Joe’s own on her back.

When he draws back, their eyes catch each other again. Joe glances down at his lips. Nicky’s tongue darts briefly out to swipe along his bottom lip, and Joe narrows in on the spot before he can help himself.

He’s felt those lips on his hand, against his cheek. He wants to feel them against his own.

Before he can get carried away, his attention is quickly called back to Thea as she shifts in his arms. Joe looks down in time to see her eyes blink slowly at her papa, her hand curling into a fist in Joe’s sweater. Joe exhales quickly through his nose at her sleep-addled movements. It’s only then that Thea seems to realise that she is not, in fact, in her papa’s arms, but is instead being held by someone else.

Her lips turn downward into a pout, an adorable frown gathering on her face. Joe’s heart squeezes in his chest.

She lets out an unhappy sound, followed by small, fussy noises as she tries to wriggle out of Joe’s embrace to reach for Nicky.

Nicky makes a noise to match, reaching back for her immediately.

“Oh, I know piccola, you’re okay,” he murmurs, shooting Joe an apologetic look as he hoists Thea back into his arms.

Joe tries very hard not to pout in response, arms empty, bereft, as Thea buries her face into Nicky’s shirt.

“Oh god,” Andy mutters, appearing with Quynh as if from nowhere, glancing between Thea and Joe. “There’s two of them.”

Nicky shoots Andy a glare before softening to look at Joe.

“Don’t take it personally,” he implores, sitting down again, “she’s just tired.”

Joe manages to restrain a forlorn look at how tightly Thea’s holding onto Nicky, shyly peeking one eye at him before tucking her face further in Nicky’s neck.

“He’s right,” Quynh adds, sitting back down across from Joe. “Also, Nicky is her favourite. Obviously. He has been since the moment he first held her in the hospital.”

Nicky murmurs something in Italian, and Joe shoots a curious glance over at her, now thoroughly distracted from his momentary despair.

“You were working that day,” he surmises.

Quynh nods, grabbing Andy’s hand to urge her to come sit beside her. “I’ll never forget it. Our Nicky, still in all of his gear, covered in ash, sleeping in those terrible hospital chairs because he didn’t want to go home without knowing this little baby was okay.”

The image of Nicky sprawled into a chair, exhausted and worried, makes Joe’s heart stutter. He looks back at Nicky, whose hand on Thea’s back has become a little firmer, like he’s remembering what it was like not to be able to hold her.

His ears have gone a little red from the attention. Joe rests his hand on Nicky’s knee under the table, hoping to reassure him, and gets a grateful look in return.

Andy clears her throat and nods over at Thea. “So yeah. Nicky is her papa. She’s always going to want him,” she says, before adding, “She’s a little shy, but she comes ‘round quick - bribery helps.”

Joe catches her teasing smile and lets himself return it, eyes sliding over to where Thea is still looking at him from underneath Nicky’s jaw. She makes a noise close to a squeal when their eyes meet.

“I will win you over,” he vows gravely, pitching his voice to a whisper, like he’s making a sacred oath.   

In response, she squeals again and sticks half her fist in her mouth around a smile.

Nicky looks between them and grins. “I have no doubts.”

Joe is starting to realise that he doesn't have any either. 

Chapter Text

Friday | Starting word: falls

June brings rain, and the promise of warmth in the shivering cold.

Joe starts working on his submission for the spring art exhibition, leaving him up late and lonely, bent over his desk until he can’t concentrate anymore.

Less than a week in, Nicky starts bringing a thermos of coffee for him, on the mornings they commute together. The first time he did it, Joe very nearly burst into tears from sheer gratefulness. If Nicky noticed, he didn’t comment on it, but he has brought one every time since.

“You look about as tired as I usually do,” he jokes, the morning after Joe spent two hours deciding the exact shade of blue he wanted to use.

The train windows are still a little foggy. Thea is wearing her beanie again, and her cheeks are still pink from the cold. Nicky’s nose is a little red too – both him and Joe have complained about not being able to handle the cool weather; these days, Joe’s daydreams look like lying in bed with Nicky, pressed together until spring.

Nicky reaches out to swipe a thumb under Joe’s eye. Thea babbles, and he tilts his head with a smile. “See? She agrees with me. You should get some rest.”

Joe’s initial reaction is to brush it off, a flinch of indignation – he’s an adult. He doesn’t need someone to take care of him.

But Nicky waits beside him, with patient eyes and understanding. All at once, being taken care of doesn’t sound as terrifying as it might have before. He looks at Nicky’s hands again, large and rough-hewn and so gentle, and thinks about letting them hold him.

So he sighs, and he speaks.

“I have trouble pulling myself out when I’m working on something. I won’t stop – not to eat, not to rest, not to shower – until it’s done. But this submission is big; it’s the largest piece I’ve ever attempted, so it’s going to take some time. Until then…” he trails off, realizing that he’s been rubbing his thumb over Nicky’s hand distractedly. He almost stops before he glances back up at Nicky to find him looking back, perfectly happy to let Joe touch him casually like this.

In response to his pause, Nicky threads their fingers together. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow after work? I will make dinner, and you can have a break.”

(Nicky works four days on, four days off – in a few months, he starts his overnight shift roster, and Joe thinks he’s dreading it as much as Nicky is. For now, though, he gets to see Nicky a few times a week most weeks. Maybe by the time Nicky’s roster changes, they’ll be seeing more of each other; but Joe will still miss mornings like this, he knows, when everything was brimming with potential.)

A lump rises in Joe’s throat at the gesture. He thinks about going home to a blank page, and his mind is made up.

“Dinner sounds great, Nicky. I can’t wait.” He squeezes Nicky’s hand gratefully, and Nicky squeezes back.

They make plans for the following day; Nicky says they’ll be heading into the city for a doctor’s appointment in the morning on their usual train, but he’ll be free the rest of the day. Joe has to work, but he'll have time to head home and shower before their date.

As they talk, the train rattles to a stop. The doors slide open, and Joe’s lungs fill up with the breath of something new. Everything smells like June rain and Nicky. 

The next day, Joe sleeps through his alarm and misses his train.

He’d worked too late the night before, until well after midnight had slipped by his awareness. He couldn’t be sure what time it was when he’d passed out at his desk, but he felt far from rested when he awoke, bleary-eyed, a piece of paper stuck to the side of his face from drool.

Once he realized he missed his alarm, he tried his best to get ready in time for the express train – a feat which he accomplished only through forgoing doing his hair, and throwing on the first thing he could find in his closet. He barely managed to brush his teeth and tie his shoelaces.

No early train means no Nicky, no Thea, no coffee, and no time to get the decent coffee from the corner café before his shift starts.

It says a lot about how tired Joe feels that coffee is competing with not seeing Nicky for the worst part of his morning.

“Joe?” a muffled voice, sounding far away.

“Joe.” Clearer this time, accompanied by an elbow.

He startles, sitting up and opening his eyes. Next to him, Booker leans over.

“Copley wants to know if you’ve set up the new display yet,” he mutters, tilting his head meaningfully over to the head of the table, where Copley is leading their monthly staff meeting. 

Ah. The display. The one he was going to begin early today, before the meeting. The ‘TikTok Reads’ one, that required Joe to know how to operate TikTok and find out which books were trending with the youth of today.

He’d complained about it to Nicky, who looked at him fondly and called him a snob, which Joe indignantly refuted, until Nicky pointed out that he’d judged Thea’s book pile when Nicky dropped them off last week, and Joe felt himself flush, making Nicky laugh before pressing a kiss to his shoulder and mumbling that he didn’t mind, so long as Joe didn’t mind that he was a snob about food-

Copley clears his throat, drawing Joe’s attention back to the room.

“Thank you, Mr. Le Livre, for providing clarity. Mr. Al-Kaysani, are you feeling alright?”

Joe nods, plastering on a smile. “I just haven’t had my morning coffee yet – it won’t happen again. And I’ll get the display up by the end of the day.”

He gives Copley a thumbs up for good measure, and they move on.

Booker gives him a look, as if to say, what’s going on with you? But Joe only shakes his head. When the meeting finishes, he all but drags Joe from his path upstairs to the main floor and redirects him to the instant coffee and the kettle.

“The place won’t collapse in the next ten minutes, but you might,” Booker says gruffly, before disappearing into the archive room.

By the time he gets to the front desk, coffee clutched like a lifeline in his hands, Nile’s already waiting for him. As is, to his dismay, an overfilled returns trolley.

“Hey, Joe,” she says, tapping on her phone. When she looks up, she zeroes in on the cup in her hands, eyes widening. “Is that coffee?”

Instinctively, Joe draws the mug closer to himself. “It might be.”

Nile levels her big, brown eyes at him, and Joe caves. He hands her the coffee, waving off her grateful thank you so much, resolving to make one for himself after he’s finished his returns.

He tries not to eye her jealously as she takes a sip, but it dispels instantly when she sighs softly, fingers curling around the handle to bring it against her chest.

“Done the wordle?”

“Nope!” Joe slides into his chair, rubbing his temple to fend off the headache he knows is imminent. “I haven’t even looked at it. Have you?”

“Of course,” Nile nods down at him. “I sent my grid to you.”

Joe fishes out his phone to find that she has indeed sent him her grid. As has Nicky, followed by: I missed you on the train this morning, I hope you’re okay.

Shit. He’d forgotten to text Nicky in all the rush. He lets out a groan, dropping his head onto the desk. He taps a quick reply to let Nicky know he’s alive.

“You okay?”

Joe lets out a long sigh, sitting back up. “Yeah, it’s just been long day.”

Nile looks at him. “Joe, it’s only 9:15.”

“Don’t remind me.”

His phone vibrates, lighting up with another message from Nicky: thank you for telling me – do you need to cancel tonight?

That’s the last thing Joe wants. He should say that.

“Do you want your coffee back?”

Right. He was in the middle of a conversation.

Joe shakes his head firmly. “No, you need it. Isn’t your final exam tomorrow?”

“Don’t remind me,” she echoes back at him, rolling her eyes. “I have to memorize about an entire textbook’s worth of diseases in under 24 hours.”

If Joe knows anything about Nile, it’s that she’s already got them memorized. And has had for a week, at least. But tests aren’t her favourite, so Joe also knows that she’s probably gotten less sleep than he has from worrying about it.

“Well, you better get started. No more coffee after midday for you either,” he tells her, “You need a good night’s sleep.”

Nile raises a brow. “Look who’s talking,” she says, before heading off to find a quiet space to study.

Joe looks at his book cart, and then back at the loading screen of his computer, before rolling back in his chair and getting up. He might as well make that cup of coffee now.

As he rounds the desk, an older gentleman catches his eye and starts towards him.

“Excuse me, sir, but could you help me find something?”

He doesn’t get back to the coffee.

Several hours, dozens of returns, some slow back-and-forth with Nicky, and one overrated book display later, Joe finally clocks out. He’d stayed a little later than he normally would to get everything done, so he ends up on another peak hour train in the evening, blinking under the harsh yellow lighting, standing in a crowd of people, all trying not to fall over when the train lurches at each stop.

When he gets home, he has time for a quick shower (careful to keep his hair dry), before heading straight back out the door again. His tiredness replaced temporarily with the excitement of seeing two of his favourite people and getting to try some of Nicky’s food, he manages to stay awake on the short train ride to Nicky’s stop.

He shrugs his shoulders as he steps off, tightening his coat a little across his middle. It’s not a long walk to Nicky’s place; he’d given Joe the address earlier today, between Joe taking photos of the many ‘a [noun] of [noun] and [noun]’ books he was shelving, and Nicky texting back pictures of Thea, each one more adorable than the last (one of them included a selfie of their cheeks pressed together, which Joe spent most of his break lingering over).

Nicky’s brownstone apartment is near the end of the street. In front of it stands a large tree, obscuring the front window. Its’ dark green leaves hang low, brushing his shoulder as he walks up to the front door.

He knocks. Waits, breath caught with expectation.

Nicky answers. The door swings open, all of a sudden, he’s there, looking at Joe, smiling at him, and Joe feels the tension of his whole day slough off him like spring finally breaking loose.

“Hi,” he hears himself say, muffled to his own ears as he stares at Nicky.

He’s wearing simple jeans and a grey shirt, a tea towel slung over his right shoulder; he looks good – he looks like home, and Joe swallows a feeling much too large this early in the evening.

“Hello,” Nicky says, “I’m just feeding Thea. Please, come in, I’ll take your coat.”

He steps back to let Joe in, waiting patiently as Joe turns to shuck off his overcoat. Nicky stands behind him as he slides it off, and Joe is aware of the heat of his body so close, before he turns and passes it over.

The apartment is tidy and well-lit, with a few toys strewn about, and clean baby bottles lined up on the kitchen counter. Next to the dining table, Thea sits in a highchair, tapping a plastic spoon against the white tray.

Nicky walks him over with a hand resting on the small of his back before sitting down in the chair in front of Thea, and gestures for Joe to sit too.

“We’re just finishing up, aren’t we, baby? Can you say hi to Joe?”

Thea’s fist moves up and down jerkily with the spoon like she did before, which Joe decides to take as a wave.

“Hi pumpkin,” he says, waving back at her. “How was your visit to the doctor today?”

Nicky scoops the last of something green and mushy out of a small bowl and brings it to her mouth, cooing at her when she takes it easily, mashing it with her gums.

“Well enough,” Nicky tells him, “She is not as developed as other children her age. But that makes sense since she was premature. They’re watching her lungs, in particular. But no bad signs so far.”

He’s considering Thea with a complicated smile on his face. Joe’s chest tightens just to see it, thinking over what he told Joe about those first few weeks with Thea home, fraught with fear and uncertainty.

“That’s a good thing, right?” he prompts Nicky gently, drawing him back to the present.

Nicky nods, smoothing a hand over Thea’s hair, before looking back at Joe softly.

“Yes, it’s good.”

Thea makes a gurgling sound, and Nicky turns back to her. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yes?” He uses her bib to wipe her mouth, before unclasping the velcro and placing it on the tray.

Standing, he picks Thea up, her little legs wiggling as he lifts her in the air before drawing her back against his chest.

To Joe, he says, “I’m just going to put her in her travel crib, and then we can eat. There’s a lasagna in the oven.”

Joe’s stomach grumbles, reminding him just how hungry he is.

Just as he turns around, though, his phone rings. Nicky fishes it out of his pocket and looks at the caller ID, before muttering something in Italian.

“Scusami,” he says apologetically, before holding the phone up to his ear. “Andy, I’m on a date-” there’s a brief pause, as Andy says something on the other line that makes Nicky’s mouth go tight. (Joe's definitely not swooning about Nicky calling this a date.)

“Cazzo, how far away? Have you got- ah. Okay. One moment.”

Joe stands up as Nicky presses the phone against his chest. “Is everything okay?” By Nicky’s pinched expression, he thinks he already knows the answer. 

“There’s an emergency not far from here, and they’re a few people down- it’s flu season, and so we’re all stretched thin, but they need me.” He pauses, regretful. “I’m so sorry Joe, I’m going to have to reschedule the rest of our date for another night. I need to get Thea to Quynh-”

A murmur coming from the phone prompts Nicky to lift it back to his ears. Thea starts squirming, picking up on her papa’s stress, and Nicky murmurs something gentle at her, trying to calm her down, before turning back to the phone. “Dio, Andy, well what am I supposed to-”

“I can watch her,” Joe offers before he can second guess himself, trying to cut through all the noise.

Nicky looks at him, caught between surprised and confused, just like the first time he offered to help Nicky on the train. 

Stepping forward, he continues, “I’m here; let me help you look after her.” 

“Joe,” Nicky says, “are you sure?”

Joe nods, everything else falling away, replaced with the need to help this brave, wonderful man. 

“I’m sure. Besides, this gives me a chance to win her over,” he jokes, trying to lighten some of the burden weighing on Nicky's shoulders. 

Taking a deep breath, Nicky holds eye contact with him as he speaks back into the phone. “Andy, could you pick me up on the way? Bring some gear, I’ll be outside waiting.”

It’s a frantic few seconds while Nicky passes over a sleepy Thea and gets himself ready, and then they’re at the front door, waiting on the truck to arrive further up the street.

Nicky turns to Joe, holding Thea against his chest. He presses a kiss to the back of Thea’s head, before cupping the side of Joe’s face with one hand.

“You were supposed to be resting tonight,” he says, like he’s disappointed in himself for a situation entirely out of his control.

Joe shrugs. “We’ll keep each other company.”

“If I’m not back in two hours, she’ll need to be put to bed or she’ll get cranky. The lasagna is in the oven, keeping warm, if you want to eat now. But if you don’t, could you take it out and put it in the fridge? Make sure you turn the oven off, too, and if she needs changing-”

“Then I will change her,” Joe interrupts gently, before reminding him, “My older sisters all had babies by the time I was a teenager, and I used to babysit JP all the time when Booker was living by himself.”

Nicky softens. “I know, Joe. I trust you, I’m just-”

“Being a good father?”

His shoulders drop. “Somehow, it doesn’t feel as true when I’m hurrying out the door.”

Before Joe can reply to that, they hear sirens coming up the street. Nicky checks his phone screen again.

“You can call or text me if anything happens. There are other numbers on the fridge too if you need.”

Joe repeats it back to him. “Got it. Numbers are on the fridge, and I’ll keep you updated.”

The sound is closer now. Nicky pauses for a second, eyes scanning Joe’s face, before he leans forward and gently knocks their foreheads together.

He pulls away after a moment. “Thank you for this, truly. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

And then he’s out the door, and into the night.

Joe waits until the sirens fade before shifting Thea in his arms, glancing down at his socked feet, charcoal against the white tiles of the kitchen.

It should feel strange, he thinks to himself, holding someone else’s daughter, in someone else’s home. But it wasn’t someone, it was Nicky; and it feels as natural as breathing to walk into the kitchen with her, humming a soft aimless tune under his breath.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

Navigating a tray of lasagna and an eight-month-old baby at the same time turns out to be too much of a challenge for his novice babysitting skills. Before even attempting to open the oven, Joe puts Thea down in her travel cot, so she’s somewhere safe while Joe wolfs down a few mouthfuls of lasagna. He puts the rest away, foil-covered, into the fridge for later. Then he triple-checks that the oven is off before leaving the kitchen, shooting Nicky a text thanking him for the delicious meal, before pocketing his phone again.

When he returns to the cot, Thea’s trying to pull herself up with little success, looking around as much as she can for her papa.

She spots Joe, realizes he’s not Nicky, and her face promptly scrunches up, tears welling in her eyes.

“Oh no,” Joe pleads with her gently, scooping her up into his arms, “if you cry, then I’m going to cry, and where will we be then, hmm?”

She looks up at him with wide eyes, as if registering what he’s telling her, before more tears start gathering in her eyelashes. Instantly, Joe can see what Nicky saw all those months ago, and if it felt even a fraction as heartbreaking as it feels right now, Joe’s not sure how Nicky survived not being able to pick her up and calm her down.

He starts swaying her on his hip, shushing her softly to the rhythm of his movements, looking around for something to distract her, to take her mind off the fact that her papa isn’t here.

Before he can find it, a small hand bumps against his jaw, fingers curling into his beard. Joe looks down to see Thea staring, wide-eyed, at where her hand is –tears forgotten in her newfound fascination with Joe’s facial hair.

Something fierce wells in Joe’s chest. “You like my beard, habibti?” He turns his head a little and readjusts her on his hip, and her other hand catches his chin, keeping him in place.

(The nickname is one he gave to all his nieces and nephews, and JP when he was a little younger. He’d always felt a deep fondness for children; wanting kids had been part of why he and Pieter had broken up. It was why Joe felt so stupid, following him across the world when he knew it could never work. But all that mattered was that Pieter wanted him, and loved him – it was easy to leave pieces of himself behind in pursuit of that love, until one day he looked in the mirror and didn’t recognise himself anymore.)

“Okay,” he chuckles, “No moving, message received.”

She babbles nonsensically at him in reply. Her hand curls into a fist to help haul herself up more, attention caught on something else. She starts reaching for a curl behind his ear eagerly.

Before she can get there, Joe intercepts her movement and holds onto her hand instead, moving it up and down playfully.

“Ah. I don’t think your papa would like it if you got in the habit of yanking on people’s hair,” he tells her, softening the admonishment by leaning in to press a butterfly kiss over her nose.

She giggles, foot softly kicking against his ribs. Smile growing, Joe does it again, and she shrieks in delight, bonking their heads together in her excitement.

Pulling out his phone, Joe texts Nicky an update, followed by a photo of them both with Thea’s hand on his face.

(This time, it feels different. Like pieces falling into place.)

Two hours later, Joe stirs at the feeling of a warm hand on his shoulder.

Opening his eyes, he’s temporarily disoriented by where he is, and the gentle weight on his chest, until he remembers sitting down in Nicky’s comfy armchair, Thea nestled against his chest. He must have drifted off to sleep. Now, he's surprised at how rested and content he feels cradling her; maybe Thea had the right idea about napping at every opportunity. 

“Hey,” Nicky whispers, looking down at them both with an incredibly soft expression, making Joe’s heart leap in his chest.

“Hi,” Joe replies, equally as quiet, glancing down at Thea’s sleeping form. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Opening his mouth to reply, Nicky glances between them again, before his eyes narrow slightly to the left of Joe. He leans down, thumb caressing a stray curl below Joe's ear for a breath, held and then released.

Joe’s heart beats hard enough that he’s worried it’ll wake Thea up.

"Like father, like daughter," he whispers, soft and low and wondrous.

A small crease in Nicky’s brow makes Joe let out a quietly amused huff, shaking his head.

Nicky’s thumb brushes the skin of his neck, causing him to shiver. It’s a tragedy that Joe is too tired to be able to remember everything about this moment; in fact, he’s not entirely sure that this isn’t a dream.

“How did it go?” Joe asks, not entirely sure what the etiquette is for asking about emergencies.

If what he said was odd, Nicky doesn’t comment on it. His hand moves to cup Thea’s head. She snuggles further into Joe’s arms, bringing a smile to both their faces.

“No casualties, only minor injuries,” Nicky says without looking at him.

Joe reaches out his own hand, palm fitting atop Nicky’s. He waits for Nicky to meet his eyes.

This time, he says it with more conviction. “That’s a good thing.”

This time, Nicky’s smile is surer. “Yes, it’s good.”

Some good, Nicky had called it, when they first spoke. He could use some good, Joe thinks. This could be good; they could be so good that Joe aches with all of it, the possibility under his fingertips.

“Joe,” Nicky says, drawing him back into the moment.

“Hm?”

Joe blinks up at him, but Nicky doesn’t continue immediately. He just takes a moment, looking at Joe in a way that he doesn’t quite recognise.

Then he draws in a breath, and he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Straightforward, just shy enough to break Joe’s gaze and drop to his lips. As if he doesn’t know that Joe has been thinking about exactly this for weeks.

“Yes,” Joe breathes, each beat of his heart more unbearable than the next without knowing what it feels like to kiss Nicky.

Leaning down, Nicky’s lips brush over his own. It’s warm, and a little dry, and already perfect. And then Joe tilts his face up, and Nicky brings their hands, still cupping each other, to rest on Joe’s neck, and then they’re kissing, mouths sliding together in a slow and full throb.

Just like that. Like June rain, helpless to it, Joe falls.

Chapter Text

Interlude: light

When Nicky closes the front door to his house, the first thought that crosses his mind is that he should have kissed Joe before he left.

He barely contains himself from going back inside to do just that. Instead he forces one foot in front of the other, until he gets to the street where Andy is waiting for him. And then he climbs into the truck, closing the door, and he lets everything else fall away in favour for the call. 

The siren wails above them as the traffic rushes by in a blur of fury and motion. It’s midday on a Tuesday, but they’re moving quick, on schedule. Nicky sits, hands splayed atop his thighs, as he listens to Andy’s report of the situation.

“Nicky, Lykon - if the structure is stable, I want you two on retrieval.”

Beside him, Lykon raises his fist for Nicky to bump. He does, with a wry smile; Lykon may be young, but he’s got a good heart. He nods over to Nicky as if to say, we got this.

(Nicky remembers what it was like to feel unbreakable. He remembers when Andy gave him the same look he’s giving Lykon, when he first came here, the furthest he could get from Genoa and his family’s disappointment.)

In minutes, they arrive at the scene. There’s already another team on the way – but they may not have enough time to wait for that, Nicky realises, scanning his eyes over the house, steadily being engulfed by flames.

“Lykon-”

“Right behind you.” He’s already grabbing a medical kit, checking for oxygen masks.

Nicky takes a breath and lets it out into the air. With no time to spare, they make their way inside.

Lykon tends to push forward before checking if the roof is going to collapse on his head, so Nicky leads the way. He’s cautious, but efficient, as they pick their way through the flames.

Even through his suit and years of experience, it still feels claustrophobic – unable to see further than his hands past the heavy fumes, fire rising higher with the boiling heat, Nicky starts to worry that he won’t find them in time.

That’s when he hears it: the sharp cry of an infant, just loud enough to cut through the noise and smoke.

She’s so tiny.

Even at four weeks, she’s far too small, Nicky thinks, watching the nurses monitor her through the glass. Too little to be all alone, face screwed up in an anguished cry as they try to regulate her breathing and temperature.

Quynh finds him hours later, slumped in a hospital chair. Nicky sees her shoes first; her favourite pair, the ones he’d gotten her for her birthday last year.

“Should I let Andy know you won’t be coming in tomorrow?”

It startles a tired snort out of him. He scrubs a hand down the side of his face, looking up at her. Whatever she sees on his face makes the good-natured tease in her smile disappear.  

She sits down beside him with an understanding sigh.

“You know this isn’t your fault, Nicky. She’s only here because you and Lykon saved her.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not about guilt.”

They did the best they could to save both her and her mother. Nicky holds onto that fiercer than any crucifix he was raised on.

Quynh lays a hand on his knee. He hadn’t realized he was bouncing it, an anxious habit he’s usually successful at hiding.

Her face is open, and patient. “Then what is it about?”

Nicky looks to the glass windows, picturing what he knows is somewhere on the other side. It’s not rational, or even sane, but he feels like he’s holding the entire universe together just to let her sleep.

“I need to know she’s okay.”

The first night that he brings Thea home is fraught with worry. She cries through the night, and nothing Nicky does can soothe her. It breaks his heart to hear it, to feel her cough and struggle from the effort, her lungs not yet able to keep up with her fussing.

Near dawn, Nicky’s still holding her to his chest, cradling her head in his palm. He’s shushing her steadily, fighting his own tears, throat tight from exhaustion and fear. Quynh has already received three calls throughout the night, the last one followed by her asking if they needed to come over, which Nicky reflexively refused, before apologizing for disturbing them and promptly hanging up.

They’ve already done so much for him. Between Quynh organizing the foster process (with the intent to adopt, pending approval), and Andy-

(“Andy-”

“Nope, we’re not arguing about this.”

“I can’t ask-”

“You didn’t; they offered to take your shifts. It’s already done. And if I see you in here in the next two months, I’ll kick your ass myself, got it?”)

The least they deserve is a decent night’s sleep, after the stress of the last few weeks.

Thea lets out another cry, loud and unrestrained, arms squirming in her swaddle. Nicky holds her a little closer and thinks of those first days after they brought her in to the hospital – her arms outstretched, waiting for someone to hold her and give her comfort.

“Someone has you,” he whispers to her, “You’re not alone.”

Nicky begins rocking slightly on his feet, humming quietly under his breath to hush her cries. Thea flails her arms again, fabric finally giving way to one stubborn little arm, and Nicky lets her catch one of his pinkies and clutch it tightly, sending something warm and fiercely protective through him.

He brushes a few fingers over the fine dark hairs on top of her head, singing softly under his breath, swaying in a soothing rhythm.

She emits a softer cry, burrowing into his arms.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs. “You’re alright. I’m here; I have you.”

As if finally recognizing his voice, Thea falls quiet. She blinks her eyes up at him, and Nicky can’t help the watery smile he gives her.

“Hey, piccola,” he coos, “will you sleep for me? I’ll still be here when you wake.”

Nothing can compare to the relief he feels when she closes her eyes and settles. The first threads of sunlight are streaking through the gaps in the curtain of the nursery, spilling out its warmth on the soft carpet beneath Nicky’s feet.

Morning has come, and Thea is asleep.

He’d left the seminary against his parents’ wishes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s still carrying the words they’d left him with – that he’d never be able to have a family, that his choices would lead only to misery.

Nicky hadn’t realized until now, looking down at little Thea, face soft and peaceful, that some part of him had believed they were right.

Placing Thea gently into her cot, he sits down on the floor against the wall – adding ‘chair’ to the mental list of things Nicky needs to get – not quite able to bring himself to leave the room.

A soft knock comes at the door a few hours later, along with Andy and Quynh, carrying armfuls of groceries and a schedule ready to be filled between them.

Andy tells him he looks like shit, but she softens it with a gentle hand on his nape. Quynh orders him to never apologize for calling them.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” she tells him, pulling him into a tight hug.

And Nicky realizes that his parents were wrong. Because having Thea didn’t make them a family; she was just the newest, brightest addition to one he’d already made for himself. 

Joe comes into his life in a similar fashion to Thea; completely unexpected, a voice cutting through the noise to reach him.

And just like Thea, Nicky’s pretty sure he fell in love almost instantly.

Joe with his beautiful smile and kind, dark eyes. A man with a unique ability to make Nicky feel at once completely at ease and utterly flustered. Surely, Joe must notice the way Nicky has to choose his words carefully around him, desperately trying to avoid blurting out too much, too soon. How Nicky has to force himself to drag his eyes away whenever he’s near.

Lykon had been teasing him about the guy on the train for weeks before they first spoke, after wondering what Nicky had been quietly smiling about while they cleaned the fire truck.

That was the morning he’d first noticed Joe across from him, bouncing his knee and staring with a slight frown at his phone, bottom lip drawn between his teeth.

What he was concentrating so hard on that early in the morning, Nicky didn’t know, but he wanted to smooth out those worry lines with his thumb. The light coming from behind Nicky caught on Joe’s curls, and Nicky could just make out a freckle on his nose.

Then Thea squealed to get his attention, and Joe had turned to look over at the noise – catching Nicky looking at him in the process. They’d stared at each other for a long moment, before Joe had dropped his gaze guiltily, as if he was the one being weird.

Warm to his ears, Nicky had dipped his head down. His lips brushed the top of Thea’s head so he could quietly accuse her of treachery. She’d only babbled in response, and he’d smiled despite himself.

Getting to know Joe has been unlike anything else. Like coming home to a place he’d never visited. Or the break of dawn after a long, sleepless night. Nicky catches himself replaying Joe’s soft laughter, smiling despite himself – he can’t help it, thinking of Joe.

He thinks about kissing Joe more than he’d be willing to admit out loud. About sliding his hands underneath Joe’s sweater to feel warm skin beneath his palm, to hear Joe sigh against his mouth, soft beard grazing his chin. In his thoughts, all they do is kiss, and kiss, and kiss, just because they can.

Andy drops him back off at the end of the call, empty street under an emptier sky. Nicky shivers a little into the night as he opens the door of the truck, internally cursing himself for not bringing a jacket.

“Sorry for interrupting your date,” Andy says, drumming her fingers over the steering wheel. “I wouldn’t have asked if I had another option.”

Nicky waves her off. “You’d do the same for me,” he says, looking past the gaps in the tree leaves to where the light is still on inside. His stomach flutters for a moment, imagining that this is normal – that he always has Joe to come home to.

Andy elbows him in the side, jostling him from his thoughts. “What are you waiting for? It’s freezing.”

When Nicky blinks at her, her expression shifts, tilting her head toward the house. “You know we’re happy for you, Nicky. I know it’s early, yet, but I think he might be one of the good guys.”

It is early, Nicky reminds himself. Far too early for the things he felt when Joe sent him that picture, with his face pressed against one of Thea’s chubby, rosy cheeks, matching dimples flashing in their smiles.

Still, he knows this; when he murmurs back he is, Nicky is completely certain of his words. He wouldn’t have left his daughter with Joe if he wasn’t certain that Joe was good- that he’d be good to her. And just maybe, Nicky hopes, they can be good to each other, too.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he gets inside, but his palms feel clammy on the handle, even after the cold walk up the front steps.

He opens the front door to silence. It’s an odd kind of silence though – not the empty, flat silence that he’d grown accustomed to before Thea; this is a full, quiet hush.

And even still, Nicky is in no way prepared with what he’s faced with when he walks further inside and finds Joe.

Well, Joe and Thea, because Nicky has apparently intruded on his date and his daughter taking a nap together on one of his lounge chairs. Joe’s hair is still wild as it was when he arrived that day – a detail that didn’t slip by Nicky’s awareness in the slightest – half-pressed into the cushion.

Lying on his chest is Thea. Her fist is bunched in Joe’s sweater, and her eyes are closed. Completely asleep in his arms. Joe holds her close, one hand on her back and the other cupping her head.

All at once, Nicky doesn’t care that it’s too early for what he’s feeling. All he knows is that he wants more. More of this, more of Joe – all of Joe.

He almost feels bad, waking him. But he can’t stand another night not knowing what Joe’s lips feel like pressed against his own.

“Hey,” Nicky whispers, resting a hand on Joe’s shoulder, skin-warm and lovely.

When Joe opens his eyes, he blinks a few times in confusion, as if he didn’t mean to fall asleep and completely obliterate Nicky’s entire world. The hand on Thea’s head lifts to scratch at his beard, and out of the corner of Nicky’s eye, he catches Joe’s sweater lift a little with the movement.

“Hi,” he says in a low voice. Nicky glances at Thea instinctually, and Joe follows. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Nicky wants to say it’s fine in a way that also says I want you here always, falling asleep while holding my daughter, looking like everything home should be, but his attention is caught on one of Joe’s curls, bathed in the warm light of the living room, fraying out behind his ear.

Before he can stop himself, he’s reaching out to hold it between his thumb and forefinger.

He hears Joe inhale sharply, and his gaze slides back to that gorgeous face, looking up at him, open and gentle.

He hears Joe whispers a soft, "Like father, like daughter,” sending something aching right through him.

Nicky’s thumb brushes the skin of his neck, and Joe shivers – and oh, Nicky wants to kiss him. Can he hold the universe together just to let them kiss for a while?

“How did it go?”

It takes Nicky a moment to figure out what Joe is asking of him. When he does, he can’t help but reach for Thea, fitting his palm over her head. It’s as much a comfort for himself as it is for her, these days.

He has to smile when she snuggles into Joe’s arms further, or else his heart might burst into pieces.

“No casualties, only minor injuries,” he murmurs.

Joe’s hand rests over Nicky’s, making him look up to find deep brown eyes watching him intently.  

“That’s a good thing.” Just like before.

One of the good ones, Nicky thinks, smile growing.

“Yes, it’s good.”

A brief pause, filled with anticipation.

Then:

“Joe.”

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Nicky leans down and presses their lips together.

Joe’s mouth is plush and warm, beard soft against Nicky’s skin. The kiss is sweet and breathtaking, and then even sweeter when Joe shifts, and Nicky can trace his tongue along the seam of Joe’s lips, opening them up, sliding against each other.

It’s a short kiss, as kisses go, and yet they’re both panting a little when they break apart.

Joe glances down at Nicky’s mouth before clearing his throat. “It’s pretty late, huh?”

“You could stay here?” Nicky offers before he can think better of it, thumb caressing Joe’s jaw. “Just to sleep.” He can’t quite keep the hope out of his tone.

Joe’s mouth forms a regretful line, and Nicky immediately understands. He kisses Joe again softly, and resting their foreheads together, keeping his eyes closed even after they part.

“I want to,” Joe whispers, breath fanning Nicky’s cheek, “Nicky, you have no idea- I’ve been dreaming about lying next to you for weeks.”

Nicky sighs, nodding. “But it’s too soon,” he agrees, glancing back down at Thea’s sleeping form.

“Nicky,” Joe laughs quietly, unexpectedly fond. “baby, if I didn’t have to work again tomorrow morning, and I had a change of clothes, even a toothbrush- I’d be all yours tonight.”

A quiet thrill goes through Nicky, chuckling softly too. At the same time, a small weight lifts from his shoulders; some part of him can’t quite believe that it, this, love, can be so easy. With Joe, it feels like the simplest thing in the world.

“Perhaps next time,” he whispers, gaze dropping to Joe’s lips.

Joe’s next kiss is full of heat and promise.

Chapter Text

Thursday | Starting word: burns

Two weeks later, in the cold evening hours, Joe finishes his submission. Or at least, he forces himself to put his brush down, leaving it to rest in the mug of water on the floor among the other cups of coffee and tea strewn about, along with some leftovers Joe had remembered to eat a few hours ago.

He stretches on his stool, rolling his right shoulder a few times to work out the stiffness there. He glances outside, the world rushing back in, and for the first time, notices how dark it’s gotten.

Cups stacked and gathered carefully in his arms, he makes his way to the kitchen and rinses them out, leaving them upside down on the drying rack. He flicks on the kitchen light, blinking at the harsh glow, before going into the bedroom to retrieve his phone, where it’s been tucked away to avoid distracting himself.

Tapping the screen, Joe reads over the various notifications, swiping away at a few, rubbing at his beard. He unlocks it and opens the one from Nile first.

She’s sent him her wordle score, followed by some encouragement, and then a selfie of her walking out of her last exam for the semester. Joe replies to the last one, congratulating her and asking if they should meet up later this week for celebratory drinks.

Booker wants to know if they’re doing football night at Nicky’s again, which makes him smile. Last week, they’d watched the game at Nicky’s place, because Joe wanted them to get to know each other better. They bickered dispassionately the entire time, from books to the game to feeding schedules, and at the end of the night Booker squeezed his shoulder and said Nicky was a keeper. Joe leaves that one unanswered, but makes a note to ask Nicky about it.

Nicky’s messages start with him telling Joe he won’t send him his wordle score because Joe knows his strategy and it’s too easy for him to cheat, but he got it in three. His other message is after he finished work that afternoon, asking Joe to let him know when he’s finished his submission.

He sits on his bed, scrolling up and down on their messages, chewing his bottom lip. It’s late now, and something tells him Nicky is probably already in bed, because he’s responsible like that, but Joe really wants to see him. Finishing the piece has left him both relieved and restless, tired but too worked up to try and sleep.

He’s been thinking about that night a while ago when Nicky kissed him after their date. They haven’t really gotten the chance to make good on that next time, yet, although Nicky’s made a habit out of kissing him hello and goodbye, each one lasting a little longer, like it takes a bit more effort each time for him to let go of Joe. The feeling is very mutual.

Tapping out a message, Joe puts the phone down on the bed and thinks about showering. Then his phone starts vibrating next to him, and his heart leaps in his throat. He picks up it up and presses it to his ear.

“Hey, you. Did I wake you?”

There’s a rustling sound on the other end. “You did, but I don’t mind.” His voice is rougher than usual, making Joe close his eyes to picture him drowsy and warm and calling Joe anyway. “How did it go?”

“Good,” Joe says, picking at a loose thread on the duvet, “I was actually hoping to see you tonight, but I know it’s late. I can wait until tomorrow.”

A long pause, like maybe Nicky’s checking the time on his phone. “You’ll have to be quiet,” he tells Joe, lowering his voice to match, “Thea is asleep in the nursery. Text me when you get here, I’ll open the door for you. Don’t knock.”

Joe’s stomach flips. “Okay, I’ll catch a ride, so I should be there soon.”

“I look forward to it,” Nicky replies, sounding more awake.

After they end their call, Joe taps on his phone to request a ride, rushing to grab some things. He debates the presumptuousness of bringing a toothbrush before rolling his eyes at himself and packing spare underwear and a change of clothes, too. He snaps a quick photo at his submission piece on the way out, wincing at how his phone has warped some of the colours.

When he arrives, Nicky’s already at the door, holding it open with his shoulder as he watches Joe make his way up the steps. He’s wearing a white shirt and soft sleep pants with no socks, looking as if he’s just run his fingers through his hair.

Joe reaches him, and Nicky kisses him hello, sliding Joe’s backpack off his shoulder in the process, setting it down on the entryway table.

“It’s good to see you,” Nicky says, “I’m glad you texted.”

They’re standing in the hallway, facing each other. Joe doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

He ends up nodding, before clearing his throat. “Yeah,” he says, “me too. I finished up and pretty much immediately wanted to see you.”

Nicky smiles. “Can I see it?”

“Ah,” Joe starts, feeling a pang of hesitation, “you can. I took a photo of it. But maybe later? I’m not sure how I feel about it yet.”

“Of course,” Nicky nods, gaze flickering down. He tilts his head just enough to catch Joe’s lips with his own.

His nose is a little cold, as are the tips of his fingers where they brush Joe’s cheek. His mouth is warm though, making Joe push into the kiss with a content sigh.

Nicky exhales softly through his nose as they sink into it, barely breaking the kiss to breathe before he’s back again; each time a little firmer, each time making Joe’s heart falter a little more, blood rushing south, save for the heat he can feel flushed along his face.

While they kiss, his hands find their way into Nicky’s hair, fingers carding through the short strands on the back of his neck. He curls them, just enough to catch on the fine hairs, to drag Nicky in a little further, making him stand on the balls of his feet to keep close and upright.

He feels Nicky’s shoulders lift in a shudder; his teeth catch Joe’s bottom lip for a second before letting go, sighing shakily.

Joe opens his eyes slowly. Nicky’s pupils are huge and dark, lips damp and kiss-swollen, cheeks pink and lovely. Joe can see the way he’s trying not to pant too harshly, chest rising and falling heavy, restrained.

His eyes drag across Joe’s face, searching.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Joe whispers, dazed, before clearing his throat. “This arrangement might be difficult to maintain for much longer, though.”

He glances down at their feet.

Nicky looks like he might protest, before following Joe’s gaze and then blinking shyly back at him. He lowers his feet until they rest flat on the floor, hands sliding down to Joe’s waist in the same motion. He steps them back until Nicky’s resting against the wall, drawing Joe against him.

His nose brushes along Joe’s jaw.

“Better?”

Joe responds by kissing him again.

Nicky’s fingers dip underneath his sweater, cold enough that it makes Joe shiver and press closer, knee sliding in-between Nicky’s legs in his attempt to get as flush as possible.

Legs intertwined, Joe dips his head to kiss along Nicky’s jaw, a little rough with stubble. Nicky lets out a soft sound, thigh between Joe’s lifting up, nudging his hardening length.

“Hmm,” Joe exhales softly.

Nicky watches him, repeating the movement, firmer this time.

His eyes flutter shut. “Maybe we should take this to the bedroom?”

Nicky kisses him on the cheek. Then he takes Joe’s hands and leads him down the short corridor leading to a closed door.

Once inside, Joe takes a look around. There’s an empty cot pushed a little ways from the bed, and the sheets are a deep blue, like the sea at night, inviting Joe to sink back against them.

“I’m just going to clean up,” he says, gesturing to the ensuite. “I’ll be right back.”

Nicky nods, offering him a small smile. “There are fresh towels underneath the sink.”

In the bathroom, Joe fiddles with the shower taps until he reaches an ideal temperature – as hot as he can stand it – and then steps into the tub. Craning his neck to avoid his hair getting wet, he reaches his hand down past his stomach, glancing over his half-hard cock. He reaches under his balls, fingers slipping between the cleft of his cheeks. Anticipation hums.

When he returns to the bedroom, naked apart from his briefs, which he’d slipped back on after drying himself, it’s to Nicky sitting on the side of the bed, toes resting upon the soft carpet. He looks up as Joe enters, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click.

“Hi,” Joe whispers, mouth twitching.

“Hello,” Nicky whispers back, smile growing wider, tilting his head up as Joe steps closer.

Before they reach each other, Joe pauses.

“I haven’t done this in a while.”

Now it’s Nicky’s turn to blink, shifting on the bed.

“Neither have I.”

He takes Joe’s hand, kissing every knuckle, before guiding Joe closer against him, until his knees are pressed to the mattress on either side of Nicky’s hips.

Like this, Nicky has to lean back a little to look at him properly, watching his face for a beat before going down the length of Joe’s body.

Vulnerability opens him; like he’s just stepped out in the face of the moon. He wonders what Nicky sees; the soft roll of his stomach, the hair scratched down his chest.

Nicky kisses him some more. Joe slides Nicky’s shirt off of him, mussing his hair a little in the process, leaning back in for another kiss as soon as he’s tugged it free.

Nicky looks even broader like this. Joe can barely look, all skin and skin and skin, dotted with the occasional freckle or mole, including one right next to his belly button. Nicky catches Joe’s gaze, as warm and firm as his palms along Joe’s elbows.

“Joe,” he sighs the name like it’s private, like it’s just for him. His eyes are heavy-lidded. “How would you like this?”

Joe doesn’t have to think about it for very long. “I’d very much like you to fuck me, Nicky. Please. If you want.”

Nicky’s next kiss is fiercer. He licks into Joe’s mouth, hands sliding down to his rear. Slipping his fingers underneath the fabric of his briefs, he pulls Joe closer.

“Lie down for me, will you?”

Once situated on the bed, with Joe lying on his back, propped up on his elbows, Nicky sits before him on his knees. His fingertips brush the skin underneath Joe’s thigh, causing him to flinch and shiver.

At Nicky’s pause, Joe flushes self-effacingly. “Your fingers are cold.”

His expression shifts to one of bemused ruefulness – on Nicky, this looks like his lips thinning into an apologetic line that crooks upward a little too much to be entirely genuine.

“My apologies. Poor circulation,” he explains, wiggling his fingers slightly. “I can warm them up for you.”

Nicky rubs his hands together; a very cute, concentrated pinch to his brows, tongue poking out.

Joe sits up and cups them in his own hands, stilling his attempts.

“Here, let me,” he whispers, drawing them to his mouth.

Eyes holding Nicky’s gaze, he breathes warm puffs of air against his fingers. Nicky’s thumb presses against his bearded chin, watching him very intensely for a moment, before leaning down to kiss him.

They lose a few more minutes like that, Nicky’s fingers trapped between them in Joe’s grip.  

When his hand returns to cupping underneath Joe’s knee, it’s pleasantly warm. Nicky looks to him again, question in his eyes.

Joe nods, and Nicky gives him a satisfied smile, squeezing his leg. He sticks the lube under his armpit for good measure, a casual gesture that shouldn’t gut Joe with its intimacy but does anyway.

Nicky tears a condom wrapper open, dropping it on the bed. Joe reaches down to grab it between his fingers and drop it on the bedside table. Nicky flashes him a quick smile, like he’s amused or maybe grateful, Joe can’t tell.

He rolls it over Joe’s length, thumbs dipping into Joe’s pubic hair as he works it over his cock. Then he swallows it down his throat.

Joe shudders, watching Nicky take him. He traces the line of Nicky’s jaw with his index finger, flushing further. A lock of Nicky’s hair falls over his face, so Joe puts his hands through it, thumbs stroking behind his ears.

He feels Nicky stroking over his rim and shivers in anticipation. Nicky pulls off and kisses Joe’s hip bone and his stomach and his thighs. Joe can hardly take it, making little ‘oh’ sounds with his mouth, brows drawing together earnestly.

Nicky takes Joe back into his mouth, and at the same time sinks the tip of his index finger inside of him. His spare hand slides up underneath Joe’s thigh, to the underside of his knee, lifting it up and pushing it back. Then his finger bumps something inside Joe that makes him cry out softly.

After a while of this, Nicky pulls off of his cock. He’s breathing a little heavier, mouth wet. He flicks his gaze over Joe, eyes hooded, lashes fanning his pink cheeks, almost shy.

“Joe,” he sighs, thumb pressing above the thin skin of his rim. He looks at Joe for a moment, mouth moving silently, face unreadable. Then through hooded eyes, he faintly asks, “May I eat you out?”

Joe’s stomach flips, heat rushing to his cheeks.

“Yes,” he whispers.

Nicky smiles, pleased. He turns Joe over, hands broad and heavy and present on his hips as they guide him onto his stomach.

Joe presses his face into the pillow; it smells of Nicky’s shampoo. He takes a breath through his nose, holding it in his lungs.

Nicky spreads his cheeks, thumbs pushing into his skin, sliding, softly cursing as he tries to get a proper grip. The ghost of heat shivers over his rim, and then Joe feels the wet rasp of a warm tongue over him.

“Oh,” he breathes out heavily.

Nicky hums over him. Then he moves his tongue inside Joe.

He gasps, hips shifting, bumping Nicky’s nose.

Open-mouthed, his breaths puff out warm, but return cold to his cheeks. Nicky lets out a soft sigh before licking into him again. He can just make out Nicky’s pulse in his wrist, where it’s pushed against Joe’s buttocks. Nicky moves in time with his heartbeat; steady, and then faster, more intense.   

Joe’s cock starts to drip, beading at the tip.

He tenses, arching his back – Nicky slides his hand up to the dip at his waist, as if wanting to feel the way Joe’s bending for him.

Joe shakes and clutches the sheets, and Nicky draws away, kissing the backs of his thighs, the dimples at the base of his spine.

“Stay there a moment,” he says against his skin. His fingers brush the curls on the nape of Joe’s neck as he gets up. “Let me brush my teeth.”

Joe hears the tap running for a few seconds over his pounding heart. When he turns his head to the bathroom, peeking through the gap in the door, he sees Nicky’s bare feet on the tile. He watches for a moment before rolling back onto his front and squeezing his eyes shut.

His thumb rubs circles into the sheets, waiting patiently. Nicky pads back into the room. The bed dips with his weight, the warmth of his presence returning at Joe’s back.

He kisses Joe’s shoulder, palm skirting over the same spot on its way to fit under Joe’s chin gently, tilting his head up to press their lips together.

Nicky tastes of mint toothpaste, cool when Joe pushes his tongue into Nicky’s mouth. Nicky hums lowly, fingers at Joe’s jaw going a little tighter.

He feels the warm drag of Nicky’s cock against his upper thigh.

“Please,” Joe murmurs.

“Yes,” Nicky agrees against his mouth.

Joe gets a hand under himself, rolling the condom off his length with a shiver, curling up on himself a little as he discards it.

Nicky’s fingers slide back between the crease of his cheeks, where he’s still spit-soaked from Nicky’s earlier work. There’s the click of the lube bottle opening, the funny noise as it’s squeezed out onto Nicky’s hand. A few seconds pass while Nicky lets it warm to skin temperature. Joe’s heart quickens. 

The pad of his finger is smoother this time. Joe breathes a little heavier and swallows. Nicky gently presses another finger inside of him, sliding alongside the first to brush over his prostate. Joe lets out a high, ragged cry.

“I’m ready,” he pants. “Nicky, please.”

A small noise, followed by: “Okay. How would you like me?”

“Like this is fine,” Joe says, and Nicky says something like right, one moment, while Joe tries not to shift too much. He feels very far away from himself all of a sudden, as if his body ceases to belong to him for those few seconds.   

Another condom is opened. Nicky’s hands drop to the bed beside Joe’s head, and Joe reaches up to thumb the pulse of his wrist. He noses underneath Joe’s jaw, breathing him in. Then he gently nudges Joe’s legs apart, knee between his thighs.

Joe breathes carefully as Nicky presses inside until their bodies are flush together.

They don’t move for several seconds, breathing harshly together, until a low noise catches in Nicky’s throat.

“Mm,” he says unevenly. He has Joe by the hip, keeping them still. “Sorry.” He huffs an embarrassed little laugh.

Joe’s shaking his head. “It’s okay,” he whispers. He’s holding Nicky’s wrist tight enough to form bruises now, just as overwhelmed.

Nicky takes a breath in, then very quietly sighs. His face is hot and pink-splotched where it’s pressed to the back of Joe’s neck, like he’s sunburned. “Joe, I’m.” A beat of silence, then he confesses softly, “You feel incredible.”

Joe’s eyes slip closed, turning his smile into the pillow. He clenches, trembling, full. “Do I?”  

Nicky lets out a hard gasp, grip tightening on his hip. “Christ, Dio. Yes.”

They’re still for a few moments, breathing hard. Nicky moves a little inside Joe, a slight drag away and then closer. “Is this okay?”

Joe nods, eyes still shut. His mouth opens as Nicky repeats the movement, fucking him slow. Shivering over and over when he presses deep, which seems to make Nicky shake too, as if more turned on by Joe’s reactions than the physical sensation of being inside him.

They move together like that for a while, both letting out small pleasurable sounds, collapsing into hard but mostly silent breathing. Joe’s brows gather together each time Nicky rolls his hips in. He lets out a little hurt sound as Nicky presses deep, moving over him.

Nicky stills, gently rubbing down Joe’s back. “Are you alright?”

Joe’s face feels very hot, struggling to speak. “Yes,” he manages, before admitting, “It’s a lot, I’m very full. I don’t- sorry,” he breaks off self-consciously, tears gathering easily in his crow’s feet, spilling out from under closed eyes. “I can’t explain it. You feel good, I want to keep going. Please.”

He lets out a shaky breath, sniffing. Honestly, he should have expected this to happen, and maybe warned Nicky about his tendency to get overwhelmed and emotional in bed. He swallows the urge to apologize again.

Nicky says nothing for a moment, hand running up Joe’s spine, brushing the damp curls by his neck again. “Hm,” he murmurs. “Can I turn you over? I’d like to see your face, if that’s okay with you.”

“Okay,” Joe agrees thickly.

Nicky pulls out of him then, leaning back on his knees, and Joe shifts onto his back.

“Ah, there you are,” Nicky murmurs, watching him. 

Joe rolls his eyes at himself, averting Nicky’s gaze as he wipes at his eyes. “You must think I’m a mess.”

“I don’t,” he replies easily, sidling up to Joe, drawing him close with a hand at his hip. “I want you very much right now. Will you look at me?”

Joe does. The tips of Nicky’s ears are red, and he’s still very hard. The hand not on his side reaches up, knuckles brushing his face, tracing a pillow crease in his warm cheek. Whatever he sees in Joe’s expression must satisfy him, because Nicky leans in and kisses him softly again, noses pressed together. His thumb strokes over his jaw, scratching at his beard lightly. They’re both flushed, with the bridge of Nicky’s nose pressed to Joe’s, their shared breathing feels incredibly intimate.

They take a pillow from the other side of the bed, placing it under Joe’s hips. Nicky tucks his knee under Joe’s thigh, spreading the other up and out.

He presses back inside, holding Joe to him firmly. Joe makes a whimpering noise. “That feels so good,” he says, hushed against Nicky’s cheek. He hears a quiet groan next to his ear, Nicky nodding, with a yes? followed by, I’m glad.

Nicky lifts his head to look at him. His hand passes over Joe’s stomach, down his happy trail. He touches Joe, first with two of his fingers over the wet tip, then he wraps one gentle palm over his cock, opening his mouth as he watches as Joe’s breath comes high and quick.

“Beautiful,” he says.

Joe’s eyes fall shut again, more tears slipping free, overwhelmed. He’s flushed warm down to his chest.

“I’m close,” he mutters, breathless now.

“That’s good,” Nicky tells him, still touching him and moving inside him.

Joe’s mouth moves soundlessly on the precipice, lying perfectly still like he’s unsure it’s going to happen; Nicky doesn’t falter. A single sob escapes him when he comes, trying to stifle it into his knuckles so it’s not too loud. He tilts his face up as the line of his body goes tense and pulsing and then finally relaxes, soft and yielding, under Nicky.

Nicky’s still hard inside him when he opens his eyes again. He blinks, eyelashes wet with lingering tears, looking up at Nicky’s handsome face. He seems happy to wait Joe out, no signs of impatience in his features as he strokes up and down Joe’s side, over his ribs.

Joe tilts his face up and Nicky obliges him with a long kiss. He runs his hand over the back of Nicky’s neck, where his hair is a little damp.

Nicky hums. “Can you keep going, or would you like me to stop?”

Lowering his thigh with a cringe, Joe stretches his leg out before hooking his ankle behind Nicky’s thigh. “You can keep going, I don’t mind.”

Nicky asks if he’s sure. Joe blushes, and swallows, and tells him he likes it. Nicky closes his eyes for a second, ducking his head.

“I’m not going to last very long, anyway,” he admits, back to looking at Joe now, guileless. “I haven’t, in a while.”

“I know,” Joe nods, smiling warmly. “Remember?”

“Right,” Nicky murmurs, distracted. His eyes flutter as his hips rock forward gently. “Dio, you are perfect.”

Joe’s shoulders drop with a shudder. He’s by no means small, but Nicky makes him feel that way, broadness covering him. Joe clings to him, tucking his face in the crook of Nicky’s neck as he starts fucking into Joe a little harder, holding him close, more desperate than before.

He’s not rough by any definition of the word, avoiding Joe’s prostate carefully. When he does brush against it, he’s gentle enough that it only makes Joe gasp against his collarbone, then exhale softly, half-lidded and pliant.

In the end, Joe utters a quiet please, followed by Nicky, suddenly filled with a desperation to feel him let go, to know Joe caused it. Nicky puts his hands on Joe’s waist, sliding underneath him to splay wide on his back. He pulls Joe urgently toward him again and again, holding himself deep, before he groans and shivers and then eases again, lying down over Joe’s body.

They breathe together like that for a few moments before Nicky shifts off him to remove the condom and discard it. He hands Joe some tissues to clean himself up. After, they lie back down on their sides, looking at each other.

“Thank you,” Joe whispers, before breaking off into a self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t know why I said that. Fuck,” he takes a deep breath, feeling off-kilter.

Nicky turns further toward him, smiling languidly at him, running his eyes down Joe’s body. “Come over here.”

He tugs Joe against his chest, running a drowsy hand down his spine. Joe’s eyes fall closed with a sigh.

“Let me try that again: that was nice, I enjoyed myself.”

Lips graze the top of his head. “I enjoyed you too.”

Joe presses his smile into Nicky’s clavicle, warm and content.

He drifts off like that. At some point, Nicky gets up to settle Thea and bring her back to the room, laying her in the bedside cot. He falls asleep facing her, Joe rolled onto his side, pressed along his back.

In the morning (if you can call it that, Joe grumbles to himself, sitting up on his elbow to check his phone), Joe wakes alone, though he can hear Nicky’s voice through the open bedroom door. Rolling onto his back, he scratches his stomach absentmindedly, stretching.

Beside him, Thea is still in her cot, covered fist pushed into one chubby cheek, eyes closed. Joe watches her for a moment, the little rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. Then he quietly gets up, searching for some clothes that he can pull on without having to go retrieve his backpack. He manages to grab a shirt and his boxers, but his socks are nowhere to be found.

Joe pads out of the bedroom, shivering a little at the cold floor under his feet. In the kitchen, Nicky is speaking into the phone in a low murmur, postured relaxed. Joe clocks his own socks on Nicky’s feet.

“Yes, of course.” A pause, and then he laughs. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ear pressed to the screen, cradled against his shoulder as he uses both hands to pour coffee. There are two cups on the bench. Folded clean laundry in a basket on the dining table.

Nicky opens the fridge and pulls out some milk, listening to the voice on the other end of the line with an unreadable expression. When he glances to the side, he sees Joe.

Into the phone, he says, “I have to go now. I’ll see you soon.”

Joe nods at his phone as he slides it into his back pocket. “Was that Andy?”

Nicky nods, “but don’t worry. I am here to stay.”

“Oh yeah? Not running off to be a hero?” The milk carton sweats a little on the counter next to the press.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Nicky says mildly, “do you take milk?”

Joe leans back against the opposite counter. “Running, or being a hero? And yes to the milk, please.”

“Either? Oh, is that enough?” When Joe nods, Nicky puts the milk back in the shelf of the fridge door and turns back toward him. “it’s a job. Like any other.”

“There’s no risk of dying at my job,” Joe points out, “I mean, unless you count of boredom at administration meetings.”

Nicky snorts. He taps Joe’s elbow. “Scusami,” he mutters politely. Joe shifts enough for Nicky to open a drawer and take out a spoon. “Believe it or not, my job can get very boring.”

Joe raises his eyebrows. “You mean you’re not constantly rescuing helpless librarians from fire alarm-induced headaches?” Nicky hands him his coffee with an amused look about him.

“If only I were,” Nicky sighs, taking a sip from his own cup. “No, saving handsome librarians aside, there are certainly quiet days. Dull nights, too.”

“What do you think about on these dull nights?”

Nicky looks at him, deadpan. “Workplace propriety.”

Joe laughs. “I’m sure,” he says. He chews his cheek for a few seconds, before adding, “I think about you a lot at work, actually.”

Nicky’s face doesn’t change, but his ears pinken. “I think about you, too.”

Joe puts his coffee cup down and leans against the counter. Nicky drains the rest of his, walks over to the sink, and rinses it before setting it down. Then he comes to stand in front of Joe.

Nicky’s fingers don’t quite touch his stomach. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

Joe takes his hand and places it on his waist. Nicky feels the cotton material between his thumb and index finger, lifting it slightly. “You noticed.” It’s breathier than he intends it to be. He clears his throat. “Fair’s fair. You stole my socks.”

“Did I?” Nicky murmurs, not looking the least bit guilty, still staring at the bit of goosebumped skin he’s revealed below Joe’s hip. “Are you cold?”

“No,” Joe replies, although he is, a little bit.

“Hm.” Nicky looks back up at him, eyes dark. The previous night hums between them. Then, as if just now remembering, he blinks and steps away.

“Thea will be waking up soon. Trust me, we do not want to wait until she’s crying to start preparing her bottle,” he says ruefully, rubbing the back of his pink neck.

Joe grins, at least a little pleased that he’s managed to fluster Nicky. “I can get her, if you want to start on that?”

She only fusses a little when Joe goes to pick her up, before settling in his arms. He changes her diaper in the nursery, while Nicky checks the temperature of the baby bottle. As Joe shushes Thea’s cries from being too cold and zips her back into her onesie, Nicky places a drop of milk on the meat of his thumb and licks it with a look of intense concentration on his face. Joe taps each of Thea’s cheeks with his index finger and then her nose, smiling wide when she smiles.

By the time he’s walking back into the kitchen, however, she’s crying again, squirming in Joe’s arms, having fully awoken and realized she’s hungry.

Nicky gives her a fond, exasperated smile, taking her from Joe and easily guiding her to the bottle. She makes deep breathing noises through her nose as she drinks, one little hand pushed against Nicky’s chest.

“Do we have breakfast food? I’ll make us something,” Joe offers, opening the fridge.

“Ah,” Nicky says, looking up from Thea. “It’s grocery day, I’m afraid.”

The empty shelves make Joe’s stomach rumble. “Right,” he says, closing the door. “Farmer’s market?”

A feed, a nappy change (a second one after Thea pees on the new diaper as soon as Nicky gets it under her, forcing them both to laugh at her self-satisfied smile), and some burping later, Joe and Nicky and Thea walk through the winding stalls farmer’s market, Joe holding a wire basket, Nicky holding Thea in her sling.

While Joe’s distracted by some secondhand books, Nicky catches his elbow to guide him out of the way of another patron, sliding his hand down Joe’s forearm to interlock their fingers, until Joe needs a spare hand to pick up a punnett of strawberries and drop it into their handbasket.

Nicky picks up a peach and hold it to Thea’s nose, letting her touch the fuzzy skin curiously, before placing it carefully next to the strawberries. Sometimes, Joe will stop and show something to Nicky, and he’ll either nod or shake his head or smile accordingly. They order baked pastries from one of the last stalls, and Nicky mentions something about wanting to try making the flavour himself when he can find the time. He’s careful to not drop any crumbs on Thea’s head, even though she’d be none the wiser, having fallen asleep despite the crowds of people bustling around them.

The grass is a little wet from the morning dew, but it’s sunny out, making everything feel warmer than it probably is. They eat most of the strawberries on the way back, mouths sweet, stomachs full.

Nicky asks Joe if he can stay another night. Joe agrees between curbside tree and a lamp post, reaching out to rub the back of Nicky’s neck, hot from the sun, before kissing him on the cheek.

Back at the house, Joe’s toothbrush sits next to Nicky’s in the bathroom. Two towels dry on the rack. In the bedroom, his socks hide below Nicky’s shirt in the dirty laundry hamper. A second charging cable is plugged into the wall, and a pair of mugs sit next to each other in the kitchen sink.

That evening, Joe stands by the sink and fills the kettle up with water. After a few moments, he turns the tap off. Beside him, Nicky brings over two mugs, and asks Joe what kind of tea he’d like with a hand to his lower back. Occasionally, a car passes by on the street and rain can be heard splashing up on the pavement.

With his mug, Joe curls up on one end of the couch, facing the other end, where Nicky sits with his feet resting on the floor. On the coffee table lies his own cup, steam rising off the lip, along with a few books and an unlit candle.

Cradling his tea against his chest, Joe looks over at Nicky. His face is half lit in the blue hue of the television, volume low. He still somehow manages to look handsome in the unflattering light.

“Thea should be down for a few hours,” Nicky tells him lightly, without looking away from the screen, not really watching it either.

Joe checks his phone with one hand, the sound of the screen unlocking loud in the otherwise quiet room. 7.12pm. He sits it on the side table behind him and stretches his leg out on the couch, toes bumping Nicky’s side.

“Are you tired?” Joe asks, still looking at him.

It’s been a quiet day, all things considered. They each finished the wordle over lunch, occasionally looking up from their phones at each other to smile conspiratorially. Nicky got the word in three; Joe in four. They’ve been deliberating on ordering a pizza for dinner, but no solid plans have been made yet. It’s been achingly domestic, really. Joe doesn’t look forward to leaving tomorrow morning, which he’s only doing because he needs to go home and take some better photos of his piece for his submission portfolio, and then he has to work in the afternoon.

Nicky hums and lifts Joe’s feet up into his lap. “No,” he says, and then he gives Joe a wry smile. “Well, yes. But no more so than usual.” With his thumb, he rubs the arch of Joe’s foot.

“Shouldn’t I be doing that for you?” Joe says, not making any appearances of moving to do so.

Nicky glances at him, then back down again. “Why should you?”

Joe shrugs, looking down at his tea. “I don’t know,” he says. “Don’t you work on your feet all week?”

Quietly, Nicky says, “I do. I still want to do this for you, though.”

Joe watches him for a long time, then. “Okay,” he says finally, settling further into the couch.

Nicky raises his eyebrows. “Okay?” he touches Joe’s ankle, running a finger up and down his calf under the material of his pants.

This makes Joe shiver, and then laugh. “Do you ever do anything for yourself?”

“I think,” Nicky responds, laying his other hand heavily on the top of Joe’s foot, “in a way, this is for me. I like being needed,” the last part he adds with a slight blush.

He touches the back of Joe’s knee, and Joe makes a low noise in his throat.

“I suppose I’m left to conclude that this is an entirely selfish act then,” he says quietly, smiling when Nicky looks at him mildly in response.

“I am very happy to be touching you, so yes, I don’t believe one could consider this truly altruistic.”

Joe puts his tea down next to his phone, shifting on the couch to offer Nicky his other foot. Nicky takes it wordlessly, thumbs rolling into his skin softly like he did before.

“I like it when you say things like that,” Joe admits.

Nicky hums, replying without looking at him. “You do? That’s nice to hear.”

“Yeah,” Joe nods. “It’s honest. Straightforward.”

Nicky splays his fingers out on Joe’s leg, thinking this over.

“I know I can be…difficult to read. Cold. So, I try to be direct.”

Joe remembers the coffee shop when Nicky told him about his feelings. All the times he watched Nicky holding his daughter.

“I wouldn’t describe you as cold.”

Nicky shrugs, as if it can’t be helped. Joe leans his head against the couch cushion, watching him silently, waiting for him to continue.

“My last relationship ended with my partner telling me he felt like he knew nothing about me, after a year of dating. He was convinced that I was hiding from him an intense inner world.”

“Were you?”

Shaking his head, Nicky replies, “not intentionally, I don’t think. Truthfully, he assumed it because I was quiet. But I was just tired, most of the time. In retrospect, I feel a little guilty about it. He probably just wanted to find that I was harboring some deep love for him, which was far kinder than the alternative, that I was just a normal person with normal feelings, and that we weren’t very compatible. Anyway, I have been talking too long, now.” He says the last part drawing his hands away from Joe and into his own lap.

Joe misses them terribly. “You can keep touching me, if you want,” he says.

Nicky smiles. “Can I?” His hand slides over the top of Joe’s pants, under his knee, index finger tracing along his inner thigh.

“I’m indulging these selfish tendencies of yours,” Joe jokes, sighing a little when Nicky reaches the crease of his thigh. “Hey, Nicky?”

“Hm?”

“There’s nothing ‘just’ about you. For the record.”

Nicky gazes back at him, blinking slowly.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, squeezing Joe’s thigh.

Joe makes a low noise. “You have such nice hands,” he says, looking sweetly at him from underneath his eyelashes. “You’re so good at touching me with them.”

He sees Nicky swallow, thumb rubbing just shy of Joe’s hardening length. “Is it terrible of me to admit that he might have been right after all? Because there’s nothing normal about the way I feel for you.”

His hips shift up a bit, mouth parting a little. “That’s not terrible. I think that happens all the time actually.”

Nicky shakes his head, “Not to me.”

“I fall in love all the time,” Joe admits, a little embarrassed, one foot sliding off the couch to the floor, spreading himself wider.

Nicky undoes his fly and cups him through the thin cotton of his briefs. They’re both flushed, breathing a little harder than necessary.

“Have you? With me?” he asks quietly, fingers stroking the soft head of his cock, shuddering at the dampness there.

Joe’s eyes fall closed. He nods silently, gasping when Nicky grasps him fully, breathing out a small yes as fresh tears burn behind his eyelids.

He hears Nicky breathe out carefully. “That feels so good to hear, Joe. Thank you for telling me. Would you like me to fuck you like this?”

“God,” Joe shakes. “Please.”

Nicky excuses himself to get lube and condoms, dropping them on the couch when he returns so he can kiss Joe deeply, fingers playing with the curls below his ear while his other hand dips back into his briefs, warm along Joe’s cock, making him gasp into Nicky’s mouth.

“I’m very happy that you’re here,” Nicky tells him, fingers slipping through the wetness along Joe’s tip, “I was glad to get your text yesterday, and excited to see you at my door, in my home.”

After loosening Joe up with his fingers, Nicky pushes in with a quiet groan, knees pressed into the cushions, tilting Joe’s hips up as he sinks in so he can get very deep inside of him. Joe lets slip a soft cry when Nicky holds him close, the small movements of his hips making Joe tremble.

A tear falls free, running past his temple. Nicky shushes him, coos at him, dropping down to wipe it away. “Oh, Joe. I love that you’re letting me take care of you like this. You feel very good around me.”

Joe lets out a sob, covering his mouth while he calms his breathing. His other hand clutches Nicky’s bicep, feeling the muscles shift and flex as Nicky draws holds himself up with one hand, the other softly stroking Joe’s hair, all curled over him, leaving Joe to keep his legs up.

Nicky kisses his cheek and his jaw, before sighing deeply into Joe’s neck. Then he lifts his hips with a little grunt of effort, before dropping back down.

“Uhn,” Joe moans, removing his hand from his mouth to cup his thigh, holding himself open.

This won’t do for Nicky, evidently, as he then shifts them until he’s lying on his side behind Joe, sliding under Joe’s knee until it rests in his elbow. He guides himself back inside, and Joe lets out a soft curse.

“Like this?” Nicky asks breathily, repeating the movement. In his periphery, Joe can see his red ear, the flush high along his cheekbones.

Joe nods, whispers, “yes, please,” letting his eyes fall shut once more as Nicky starts moving.

Nicky plants one of his feet to get better leverage, forcing small sounds out of Joe each time he presses in deep, sighing behind Joe unevenly with every thrust.

“I’ll miss you when you go,” Nicky murmurs, “I always do.”

Turning slightly so he can kiss Nicky clumsily, Joe looks at him through a half-lidded gaze and exhales, “I love you,” against his lips, breath hitched.

“Oh,” Nicky says breathlessly, before closing his eyes and pushing in quickly, “Joe, is it okay- I’m very close,” he whispers, grip on Joe’s thigh tightening a fraction.

“It’s okay,” Joe sighs, wrapping a hand around himself, “I want you to.”

Nicky gathers Joe closer, nose behind his ear so Joe can hear each unsteady breath he takes as he starts fucking him harder. He hits Joe’s prostate on every second thrust, but somehow that’s even better, making Joe writhe and shake in Nicky’s arms, working himself over with barely-there whimpers, so close he can feel it behind his teeth.

With one final press inside, Nicky makes a little wounded noise, hips twitching against Joe’s skin. Joe sighs, shivering at the way Nicky’s still trying to get as deep as possible in him. Nicky reaches down to press on Joe’s stomach, holding him against Nicky’s cock, before sneaking past Joe’s hand to cup his balls, thumb pressing gently on his perinium.

Joe shakes apart almost noiselessly, sob caught in his throat as he comes, Nicky massaging it all out of him, holding him close.

They remain there like that for some time, just breathing together. Nicky presses a kiss to the skin behind Joe’s ear, threading their fingers together.

“We should get cleaned up,” he says. “I’ll warm up the shower. Would you like to order us food? I’ll eat whatever you like.”

A little later, ends of his hair still damp, Nicky picks the olives off of Joe’s pizza and gives him half of his jalapenos. Joe asks about having the game on here again, and invites Nicky out to see Nile for drinks in a few days.

Thea sleeps on in the nursery, unaware of the rain outside, or the lives of the two people in the next room becoming more and more intwined.

Chapter Text

Tuesday | starting word: arise

They fill the corner booth of the small bistro Andy recommended. Thea is in her pram beside them, rocked slowly back and forth by Nicky’s steady hand on the safety bar. His other hand is resting on Joe’s thigh next to him, and then there’s Booker, Nile, and Andy and Quynh, forming a half-circle around the dark table.

Across the room, on a makeshift stage, someone is delicately plucking a guitar, singing gently into a microphone. It’s mid-afternoon, and the sun coming in from the wide window is hitting the bottles stacked behind the bar, melodic light that Joe swears he can hear too, harmonizing with the artist’s dulcet tones carrying through the air.

Lykon arrives last, offering a shy wave to the unfamiliar faces and a warm smile to the rest. Andy opens her mouth to greet him but cuts herself off and glances over at Nicky before she can make any noise.

(It’d taken two of them to get Thea asleep in the pram; Nicky to lay her down as slowly as possible, watching her fluttering eyelids carefully, and Joe holding the pram, moving it in a slow sway as to shush her back to sleep when she inevitably startled from being put down. They’d all let out a collective sigh of relief when she’d drifted back into a doze, and when Joe met Nicky’s eyes over the hood of the pram, they shared a private, pleased smile at their teamwork.)

“She’s okay,” Nicky says, glancing over at her. “Now that she’s asleep, she shouldn’t wake for a while.”

With his reassurance, Andy shoulders Quynh, and they both get up to pull Lykon into a short hug. She slaps him on the back, and he makes an exaggerated oof face, eyes going to the rest of the table to soak in their laughter. Joe doesn’t miss the way they linger a second longer on Nile’s dimpled smile.

“You made it!” she says, ushering him into the booth so he’s sitting next to Nile, before filing in next to him and tugging Quynh down beside her.

“I did,” he says, nodding to Joe in acknowledgement, smile turning into a smirk when he glances next to him. “Couldn’t miss a chance to properly meet the hot guy on the train.”

Nicky’s ears go red at that, but it effectively breaks the tension between the two groups; Nile grins, touching Booker on the shoulder while they launch into their own version of events leading up to Joe and Nicky’s meeting.

They order food, and the conversation moves on, breaking from one group discussion into a few smaller talks. Apart from a brief conversation about his submission piece, Joe for the most part is happy to just listen, sitting back into the booth, Nicky’s warm palm on his leg, bathing in the quiet noise of his friends and Nicky’s friends getting to know each other.

“What are you studying, Nile?” Andy asks, fingers idly playing with a strand of Quynh’s hair. Her drink is half-gone, sweating into the napkin beneath it. Quynh is picking at the bowl of fries in the middle of the table, swirled with sriracha.

Nile swallows her own mouthful of fries, smiling bashfully, chin resting on her fist.

“I’m majoring in paramedicine, with a minor in art history,” she says, scrunching her noise somewhat self-effacingly. Joe shoots her a proud smile as a show of support, and her shoulders relax a fraction.

Andy whistles. “That’s impressive, kid.”

The nickname makes Quynh snort. “She’s not a kid, my dear,” she says.

“Don’t make me feel old,” Andy mutters back, eyes softening back at her.

Nicky frowns. “I think Lykon is the youngest here, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Joe told you my age?” Nile’s face is open, curious.

“Only in the context of how impressive you are for it,” Nicky answers back, glancing over at Joe.

Joe can’t even be sure when he told Nicky that; that he still remembers fills him with unexpected warmth.

Andy watches this exchange, considering, before turning back to Nile.

“Final year, then?”

Nile nods. “It’s kicking my ass,” she groans, to everyone’s sympathetic laughter.

“I hear getting a job in paramedicine is a nightmare straight out of university here,” Nicky adds. A silent conversation is occurring between him and Andy that Joe can’t discern the meaning of.

When he catches Nicky’s eyes, he squeezes Joe’s thigh reassuringly.

Nile winces. “Yeah. It’s weird. Most people have to move to London to get a job.”

Quynh nods a little, confirming that.

“Well,” Andy starts, sitting up a bit. “it might not be what you were picturing, but we’re constantly short an EMT at the station. I’d be happy to give you an interview when you’re done.”

“You’re shitting me,” Nile says. “For real?”

“For real.”

Nile thanks her, looking over at Booker and Joe with bright eyes. He echoes her happiness, smiling so fondly it hurts. Lykon knocks shoulders with her gently.

“Welcome to the team,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Joe to catch.

“She’s not in yet,” Andy reminds him. “The physical exam is pretty intense. Think you can handle it?”

At her challenging tone, Nile squares her shoulders. “I played sport all through high school and most of college.”

Nicky clears his throat, shooting Andy a chastising look. “Maybe Nile could come play rugby with us sometime, to get a feel for the team?”

Plans are made over post-lunch espresso. While they swap contact details between each other, Thea starts to awaken from her nap. Joe’s attention slides over to her just as her brows draw together and she starts making small, fussing noises.

 “Piccola,” Nicky coos, bopping her nose before resuming his rocking of her, pram wheels rolling in quarter turns along the floor. The rhythmic movements even have Joe feeling drowsy, which Quynh catches across from him, making her smile teasingly at him.

After they’re all ready to go, they spill out onto the rainy street, shrugging their coats on further as they hug themselves for warmth, idly checking pockets to make sure they remembered to pick up their phones.

Book wanders down the side alley of the bistro, away from everyone else, holding an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

Joe follows him, leaving Nicky closer to the street with Thea, pulling the hood of the pram further over her sleeping form.

“I’ll wait ‘til they’re gone. Should quit anyway,” Booker mutters as Joe approaches, nodding at Thea and Nicky.

Joe nods, scratching one side of his nose. Truthfully, as long as he’s not touching a drink, Joe doesn’t mind if Booker has the occasional cigarette or five coffees a day.

Quynh’s there, then, walking past Joe to sidle up beside Booker. He wordlessly offers her another cigarette, which she takes and pockets with a small thanks.

“It doesn’t count if it belongs to someone else,” she says, looking beyond Joe.

“You’re a nurse,” Andy deadpans from behind him, “so I know you know that’s bullshit.”

Quynh pushes off the wall, tugging her in to kiss her on the cheek. Both of their noses a bit red from the cold already.

From back toward the street, Joe hears Nicky laugh. He turns his head towards the sound in time to see his warm breath, visible in the cool evening air, amused at something Nile is telling him. He watches her squeeze his forearm before hurrying to meet Lykon underneath the shelter of the bus stop.

As if tugged by an invisible string, he finds himself standing in front of Nicky in no time, watching the odd drop of rain hit his face.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

Joe kisses his cheek, lingering there to smell the rain, cold against the warm flush of his skin.

Nicky tilts his head enough to catch Joe’s lips as he draws away into a proper kiss, sending that warm flush straight into his belly. Joe’s fingers curl in the lapels of Nicky’s jacket, a quiet ask that Nicky answers by stepping forward and pressing them more firmly together.

Beyond their kiss, a teasing whistle sings out to them, and they break away with a small huff that’s reserved for lovers trying not to show how affected they are by each other in front of their friends.

“I should probably get going,” Nicky says regretfully into the space between their kiss. “She’ll need some more food when she wakes up again.”

Joe nods, stepping back to give them both room to breathe. Nicky catches his hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

Andy and Quynh rejoin them; Booker is on the phone now, and Joe can tell by his smile that it’s Adele on the other line. In his periphery, he sees Nile and Lykon speaking quietly by the bus stop, heads tilted toward each other amongst the rush of cars going by on the street next to them.

“You know, we can take her for a night, if you like. Give you two a proper date night sometime,” Andy offers.

At Nicky’s instant anxious expression, Quynh adds, “we’ve had her before overnight, Nicky; it’s not any different than you being on shift. You’re allowed to spend time without her that doesn’t involve working, you know.”

Joe watches Nicky try to sit comfortably with that information.

“No pressure,” he says, squeezing Nicky’s hand.

Nicky squeezes back, relaxing, and Joe marvels at being able to do that, at being able to read Nicky and provide him with comfort.

He agrees to think about it. From Andy’s softly surprised expression, Joe gets the impression that even that is a considerable step.  

The afternoon draws to a calm close, with all of them heading off in separate directions. He and Nicky turn their heads back in the rain more than once for another final wave goodbye, and laugh at themselves for it each time.

It’s July now, and Joe is in love.

The gentle whir of the printer is the only thing keeping him company this early in the library. Booker is downstairs in the archive room, placated by the coffee Joe dropped off to him.

His own cup he’s sipping from intermittently, drumming the top of the machine not impatiently, humming. Once the pages are done, he picks them up – sighing a little at the warmth of the paper as it settles against his chest – and heads back to the front desk.

Eyes passing over the returns trolley – only a few remaining, which means Celeste worked yesterday afternoon – he settles down into his chair and logs on to the computer. The overhead lights soak the wooden desk, inviting its patrons to lay a book upon it.

His submission concept is currently being reviewed; every email notification he gets is a heart leapfrogging in his throat. He knows the owner, and his art has been in her gallery before. He’s happy with what he created- well, as happy as any artist can be about a piece so personal. But that doesn’t stop the self-doubt, or the nerves.

Nicky hasn’t seen it yet. Joe had deliberated over showing him a photo, then reconsidered showing it to him in person, but ultimately decided to wait and see if it would be included in the exhibition. If it is, he wants Nicky to see the full set altogether.

A little later in the day, after his break, Nile comes to visit him. He hasn’t seen as much of her in the last two weeks since her final exam, given that the library doesn’t continue to operate as her second home during semester break.

“So,” he says, idly refreshing his emails on the library computer, “you and Lykon, huh?”

Nile keeps her face carefully even. “What about me and Lykon?”

Shrugging, Joe replies, “you seemed awfully close the other day, is all.”

“There were a lot of people squished in that booth.”

“And the bus stop?”

“I couldn’t hear him over the rain.”

Joe stops clicking to side-eye her properly. “Uhuh.”

Nile wraps her knuckles on the desk, not meeting his gaze. “Why? Did Nicky say something?”

Nicky did, in fact, say something. It went along the lines of ‘Lykon asked me about getting Nile’s number off of you, but I told him Andy already has it, so he should ask her,’ while he made Joe dinner last night, and Joe still isn’t sure if Nicky was being oblivious or pulling a very cruel, straight-faced prank on his coworker.

“I mean, it’s pretty clear he likes you. I’m sure he’ll be in touch.”

And Andy will never let him forget it.

When Nile asks him about how everything’s going with him and Nicky, Joe’s terrible poker face gives away the news of their latest relationship milestone almost instantly.  

“With the baby there and everything?” is her first question, which is enough to make Joe swivel away from the computer entirely to face her.

“Nile. I know you have a brother, so I know you must realise that people keep having sex after they have children.” He tries to keep his voice as low as possible, mortified at the idea of being overheard.

Nile rolls her eyes. “I meant, like, weren’t you worried that you’d wake her up?”

“We were quiet!” Joe whisper-shouts, before settling down again. “It was fine.”

“I’m just saying,” she continues, “if I were that baby’s father, I wouldn’t be able to fully relax knowing I might have to stop at any point and take care of her, you know?”

Truthfully, he hadn’t really thought about it like that. Casting his mind over it, now Joe recognizes the signs of Nicky’s meticulous control; how quiet he’d been, his setting of the pace, how, even when Joe told him to let go, he was still careful with himself, and with Joe too.

I like being needed, Nicky had told him. When was the last time he let himself need someone else?

“Point taken,” he says, swiveling back to the computer. “But don’t think I didn’t notice your starting word today was ‘bicep.’ And that yesterday was ‘smile’.”

After Nile leaves – not without threatening to fight Joe if he breathed a word of this to Nicky - Joe thinks more about what she said. He resolves to be that someone else for Nicky. And then he resolves to stop compulsively checking his emails for the rest of the day.

A free morning for them both means Joe in Nicky’s bed, sharing warm breaths and keeping the cold out.

He’d come over early, ears warm despite the temperature. The coffee he brought half-abandoned on the bedside table, is surely too cold to drink now. Joe doesn’t mind; not when Nicky’s kissing him the way he is right now, head tilted up to meet Joe’s mouth, caressing the rosy shell of his ear in a way that makes Joe press closer in his lap, socked feet slipping on the sheets as he tries to gain purchase.

One of them is sliding off the heel of his foot, breaking his focus from Nicky’s soft, sure kissing of him. He makes a small noise in his throat, pulling away just enough to try and yank it back on properly.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “this is going to keep bothering me unless I fix it.”

Nicky follows his line of sight, looking to where Joe’s toes are poking him, before huffing quietly, finger slipping under the fabric. He tugs it over his heel, following the arch up to his calf. Then he presses a kiss to the top of his knee.

“It’s okay,” he replies. “Thea has trouble keeping her booties on too.”

Joe traces the slight quirk of his smile with his eyes, something funny trapped in his chest. He rocks forward enough that their erections brush together, loving and loving and loving the flutter of Nicky’s eyelids, the mottle of his cheeks.

Leaning in again, he mutters, “You’re a fucking menace,” kneeing him gently for good measure.

“Am I?” Nicky catches it against his ribs, keeping him there. His fingers are stroking the underside of his thigh, and he’s watching Joe’s parted mouth exhale shakily, like it’s the only thing worth looking at.

Nodding, he rolls his hips harder into Nicky’s groin, brows creasing as Nicky shifts his hips up at the same time. Their twin moans get lost in each other’s mouths.

“You like it when I tease you,” Nicky observes. It’s not a question, but his tone invites Joe to respond.

“I do,” he says, eyes briefly closing as Nicky cups his cheek, thumb stroking his beard. When he opens them again, he adds, “It really turns me on- shit, Nicky, I mean, everything you do turns me on.”

The way Nicky touches him brings him to ruins each time. How does he know all the places that Joe has always ached to be touched? Or is it that, by touching them, Nicky has somehow retroactively created and then filled that ache with his hands?

He does it again; hands sliding under the hem of Joe’s sweater, circling his side, and then Nicky’s middle finger strokes his coccyx. And all at once, Joe feels as though he’s being touched just where he’s always needed to be touched. It unravels his spine, like Nicky pulled at a thread in his sweater instead, shoulders curving in, bending down to tuck his face in the crook of Nicky’s neck while he shifts closer under Nicky’s gentle guiding movements.

“Nicky,” he breathes wetly, close to a whine. He’s so, so warm now, especially in the face, with how affected he is.

“That’s it, baby. Don’t be embarrassed. I love how my touch does this to you. Sometimes I think about making you come with just my finger, stroking up and down your cock like this,” he murmurs, showing Joe on his lower spine what he means.

Joe chokes out a moan, hands bunched into fists in Nicky’s soft sleep shirt.

“Just like that, Joe. It makes me crazy, thinking of you coming undone under my touch.”

Nicky’s finger makes a gentle circle, like he’s rounding the tip of his cock, nail just scraping his skin, and Joe feels it so acutely, he thinks for a second he might actually come like this, half-dressed, cock throbbing alongside Nicky’s but otherwise untouched.

He’s too warm, though. With a short little laugh, he reaches down to tug off his socks completely. No sooner has he gotten one off than Nicky has the other one, dropping it onto the floor.

“Sweater, too?” he asks, still tracing his skin along the hem. His face is similarly flushed, redder than it was before, like his confession made him helplessly pleased and embarrassed as well.

Up until this point, their making-out toed the line of no return; like they could have kissed for hours and gone no further, eventually drawing away to return to the real world. With one breath, it’s tipped over to an urgent need, rising up in him.

Joe nods.

Nicky lifts the sweater over his shoulders, discarding it on the bed next to them. Smiling, his hands cup Joe’s jaw to draw him down into another kiss, fingers curling in his hair.

When Joe rolls his hips down again, Nicky grunts, grip tightening, a pleasant pull that sends shivers down Joe’s spine.

“Joe,” Nicky sighs, kissing the corner of his mouth. His hands slide down to find the curve of Joe’s spine again, urging him on, “Dio, Joe, if you keep doing that, I’m going to come.”

Joe glances down at the wet spot on both their briefs, and feels himself throb heavily. “’M right there with you.”

His thighs squeeze around Nicky’s ribs, and Nicky lets out a small, satisfied noise between them, dipping his face to nose under Joe’s jaw, breathing harshly. Their movements get faster, Joe riding the line of Nicky’s cock, Nicky pressing his fingers into Joe’s skin to pull him closer and closer.

Barely out of bed like this, Joe can smell the clean sweat on Nicky’s skin, the scent of slept-in soap and his shampoo. It’s intimate, and warm, and when he breathes it in, it makes his stomach flutter dangerously.

“Please,” he whines, and he isn’t even sure what he’s asking for really, but it’s okay, because Nicky seems to.

“Hm. Yes,” he breathes, distracted, “Joe- Uh. Let me-” His thumb dips into Joe’s waistband, cutting himself off with a soft curse as he touches the silky, wet tip of his cock.

“Oh.” Joe’s brows draw together, mouth opening on a noiseless sound of need. Then Nicky makes a tight circle for him to fuck up into, and he can’t help the sharp cry that tears out of him.

From the bedside table, the baby monitor crackles.

They both go very, very still.

“…was that Thea?” Joe whispers.

He meets Nicky’s flustered expression, which reminds Joe somewhat of someone who’s had a bucket of cold water poured over them. For his part, Joe’s heart is still racing, but it’s an odd, manic sort of thing.

A few moments pass, the both of them straining to hear for any more signs of a woken, hungry baby. The monitor remains blessedly quiet.

Nicky breathes out a sigh of relief, followed by a wry, soft huff. His hand is still wrapped around Joe, but he’s gone mostly soft.

“Sorry.” Nicky clears his throat, tucking Joe back into his underwear.

Joe wrinkles his nose at the apology, but lets it go. “Probably for the best,” he says instead, tilting his head to catch Nicky’s gaze and smile self-effacingly, “I didn’t bring a spare change of clothes.”

Making a show of rolling his eyes but looking grateful for Joe’s good humor towards the situation nonetheless, Nicky runs a hand through his hair. “As if you wouldn’t love an excuse to steal another one of my shirts.”

Joe snorts.

Arousal dampened, he is starting to feel the cold again. He reaches for his sweater, suppressing a shiver as he tugs it back on.

“I’ll go check on her,” he says, scratching behind his ear at the stray curl tickling him.

Nicky’s hair is a mess, and his face is still handsomely pink. At his soft surprised expression, Joe leans in to kiss him once more, close-mouthed, soft-lipped.

“The coffee is probably cold by now,” he murmurs, smoothing a hand over Nicky’s face, enjoying the warmth of him, the way his eyes half-close at the touch. “’should probably make some more before she wakes up properly, hmm? I’ll switch the kettle on too.”

He leaves Nicky in bed, rumpled and sleep-mussed, and has to suppress a smile at how clear it is that he’s so unused to staying put.

In the nursery, Thea has rolled onto her side in her crib. She’s almost awake, lids barely open, slowly taking Joe in as he approaches.

“Hey habibti,” he whispers, still bowled over by how much he’s come to care for her already. His chest tightens when she smiles back at him, before clumsily rubbing her eye.

Leaning down, he picks her up and holds her against his chest, shifting his weight to rock her gently.

“I think you have at least 20 minutes more of sleep in you, pumpkin,” he murmurs. “And then you can very loudly announce yourself to the world, okay?”

After a few moments, she snuggles into him further, settling down again. A quiet pride swells in him at his ability to calm her. As if she’s telling him, ‘It’s okay. We got this.’

It’s a tricky process, putting her down without jostling her too much, but Joe manages it. Once her eyes are shut, he stays in there for a little longer, just watching her sleep.

When he does make it out to the kitchen, Nicky is already there, preparing coffee, wearing Joe’s socks.

And that’s when Joe realizes that he really did mean it, when he said he liked being needed. Joe can’t change that even if he wanted to. All he can do is try to be there for Nicky as much as he can, to make him aware that not everything has to rest squarely on his shoulders.

Joe’s hands can carry some of that weight too.

(A little later, over fresh mugs and breakfast leftovers, Nicky texts Andy in between wordle guesses, asking if there’s a good day for them to take Thea in the next week.

She replies before he’s got the word, messaging him a few possible dates, followed by a confusing series of suggestive emojis, and then:

‘I’m proud of you. We’ll take care of her. And you can let someone else take care of you for a change.)

Chapter Text

Thursday | starting word: sleep

Joe is reading in bed when Nicky calls him.

“Is now a bad time?” is the first thing he says, followed by, “I wanted to hear your voice.”

As if that doesn’t just upend Joe completely.

Some part of him wants to tease, to cover the butterflies in his stomach, but they haven’t seen much of each other this week; Joe’s been taking a later train in, because he needs all the spare hours he can get to prepare for the upcoming exhibit, and the rest of the time he’s been filling in for Celeste, who’s had rehearsals all week.

(When he found out his work had been selected, Nicky had been the first person he called. Now that it’s real, and the show is approaching, encroaching on his time, he’s starting to reckon with the fact that Nicky’s eyes will inevitably rest on his piece; this piece of himself. It’s one thing to bare yourself to strangers; it’s entirely another thing to expose yourself to someone whose hands you’ve already placed your heart into.)

“Now is fine,” Joe says, “I was just reading. I packed up a while ago.” He rubs at his own eyes, making a mental note to schedule an optometry appointment after the show is over.

“How is it coming along?”

“Eh,” Joe shrugs, even though Nicky can’t see him. “it’ll get there.”

He sounds flat even to his own ears; it’s been a long week without seeing him or Thea. He was supposed to visit again last week, and had to cancel because he was too tired. During his commute this week, he stared at the empty seat across from his own and fiddled with the daily wordle; his starting words of late: apart, empty, spent, agony.

(His mother called two days ago, just after he’d gotten home for the afternoon. Her voice was enough to bring him to tears. He hasn’t told her about Nicky yet- they’d barely gotten through the ‘Pieter and I ended things’ conversation. The distance between them feels as though it grows greater each time they talk, with each part of his life that Yusuf decides to keep separate from her. It certainly hasn’t helped his overall mood this week.)

Each bit of longing he channels into his piece, but he’d rather quell it by pressing his face to Nicky’s sternum and listening to his heartbeat.

Maybe it’s dramatic. Maybe he’s overreacting, overemotional because he’s tired and stressed. Maybe he should reel this in before it becomes painfully obvious to Nicky just how far in this he’s gotten.

There’s a pause, like Nicky’s considering something.

And then:

“You sound tired, baby. If you need to, we can cancel tomorrow-”

Joe sits up, heart leaping in his throat. “Nick-”

“Really, Joe, I won’t mind, if you need the time-”

“Getting to sleep next to you again has been the only thing getting me through this week,” Joe forces himself to say it in one breath. “Trust me, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be tomorrow.” Ever, he wants to add, but doesn’t.

He swallows, listening to Nicky’s steady breathing on the other line. Spares a thought for the last time Nicky called him while he was in bed and how the embarrassing ache he felt then has only increased since then. A little nugget of shame, lodged in him for as long as he can remember, burns red-hot in Joe’s chest as he waits on a response.

“I feel as though I’m a little too old to fear that I might split apart from missing someone,” Nicky eventually confesses, and even through the warble of their unsteady connection, Joe experiences a colossus crumbling behind his rib cage for the vulnerability echoed in his voice.

“I’m splitting apart right now,” he whispers back. “You’re not alone.”

And he might be imagining it, but Joe swears he can feel the way Nicky relaxes his shoulders on the other end of the line.

Taking a moment to look up at the ceiling, Joe has to close his eyes when he adds, “I wish I was there right now,” because his heart is a wild thing, beating erratically as the wings of a small bird struggling to take flight. He’s working with only the memory of Nicky’s kind, patient eyes against years of being told he’s too much, and truth be told, it’s harder to utter this simple honesty over the phone, where Nicky can’t reach out to him and settle that old, old war in him with just the touch of a hand.

Like a fucking lightning rod to his fears, Nicky answers, “If you were, I can’t guarantee I’d let you leave.”

It startles a short, delighted laugh out of him. Singing light strikes every nerve in his body, and his heartbeat races for an entirely different reason; the air in the room more charged than it was a moment ago.

“Are you gonna tie me to the bed?” he jokes. God, is he in love. Fuck the doubt, and the war inside him.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Joe chuckles again, shifting against his bed frame, adjusting his grip on the phone.

“You know, all this week, I keep thinking about that last morning we had together,” he says, looking around the room as if someone might overhear him.

“Hm. I have too,” comes Nicky’s reply, “I was enjoying myself before we were interrupted.”

Joe smiles, stomach fluttering. “Yeah?”

“It was rather obvious, I thought.” His voice is warm, fond. “But yes. I love the noises you make for me.”

Joe is suddenly aware of the fact that Nicky can probably hear his breathing.

“I try to be quiet,” he whispers, following the line of hair from his belly button to the top of his briefs and back again.

“I know, baby. You’re very good.”

A groan gets trapped in his throat. “Nicky, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll make me hard.” His face feels hot. Goosebumps rise along his stomach, making him suppress a shiver.

Nicky hums on the other end of the line.

“That’s okay, I’m hard just remembering it. Will you touch yourself for me so I can hear you again?”

“Uhn- yeah, I can-” Joe shifts, pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder while he wriggles out of his briefs.

“Dio, I wish I could see you right now,” Nicky sighs.

Joe snorts. “You wish you could see me struggling to get naked?”

“Yes.”

As always, Nicky’s straightforward honesty threatens to unravel him completely. He pretends his heart isn’t beating ridiculously hard as he drops his underwear on the floor.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “I’m naked now.”

“No socks?”

That makes him laugh again, which turns him on even more.

“Does that ruin your mental image?” He wriggles his toes through the bright yellow pair he’s wearing, enjoying the stretch of his calves, his arousal making him more grounded in his body.

“Not at all. They’re cute. You’re cute, and I want to touch you all the time.”

Joe’s dimple deepens to the point where it hurts. He slides one leg up and plants his foot, rolling his hips up a little into the air.

“I want to touch you, too,” he murmurs, eyes falling shut as he reaches down, “God, Nicky, you have no idea-”

Nicky makes a noise in his throat. “Let me hear you, baby. I can’t wait to have you all to myself.”

“’M all yours already,” Joe breathes, and means it.

Joe lets himself in with the key Nicky gave him the last time he came over in the morning.

(Because your nose is always so cold from waiting outside for me to open the door, was Nicky’s excuse, but even Joe could tell it was a flimsy one. Joe felt the impression of it in his pocket during the train home that day and couldn’t stop smiling.)

He shuts the door quietly out of habit, before remembering.

“Hey, babe,” he calls, dropping his coat on the wall rack and toeing off his shoes.

When there’s no response, Joe checks his phone again to make sure he didn’t miss a text or call. No updates, just the last one from Nicky, reading: I just dropped her off. You can come over anytime, along with a photo of Thea squished between Andy and Quynh with a wide smile.

It remains quiet as he walks past the kitchen, the living room-

That’s when he spots it. A lump on the couch. In the shape of his boyfriend.

Nicky’s face is half-covered, nose shoved into the collar of what Joe is pretty sure is his own hoodie, completely passed out.

Joe thinks back to the conversation they had the previous night; the plans they made together while whispering filth over the line.

There’s a tiny spot of drool on the couch cushion next to Nicky’s cheek.

What else is he supposed to do?

“Hmph,” the small noise Nicky makes as Joe puts a hand on his shoulder and gently nudges him. There’s a slight furrow to his brows as he opens his eyes.

Joe can’t help but smile.

“Hey,” he whispers, smoothing a hand over Nicky’s hair. “Missed you. Wanna come to bed?”

That’s how he finds himself an indeterminate amount of time later, in bed, with Nicky pressed against him. Legs intertwined, Nicky’s (well. Joe’s) hoodie rucked up a little from shifting in his sleep.

He fell asleep not long after Nicky did; it wasn’t hard, with the week he’s had, and between breathing in Nicky’s shampoo, hand tucked under his sweater, and Nicky’s nose pressed to his collarbone, he found himself drifting off in no time.

Now, he feels Nicky’s soft puffs of breath against his skin, and reaches up to sink his fingers in Nicky’s tousled hair.

The movement stirs; Nicky’s breathing changes, and Joe gets to watch the process of his muscles tensing, and then relaxing again as reality sets in, pressing further against Joe.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” Nicky mumbles against his shoulder, “S’ry.”

“S’okay,” Joe murmurs back, thumb tracing the top knob of Nicky’s spine in slow circles. “It was nice.”

“Hmm.” Nicky tucks his nose up under Joe’s jaw, inhaling deeply. “You smell nice.”

His thigh rocks up a little, brushing against Joe, half-hard. He kisses Joe’s neck, just under his beard, just once, just asking, just enough to have Joe’s heart skip with possibility. He slides his hand around to cup Nicky's jaw, tilting his head up to press their lips together.

Maybe it's the post-sleep haze, or the fact that they haven't seen each other in so long. Either way, when Nicky parts his mouth and lets Joe lick into him, Nicky whines. Something hot swoops in his stomach in response, quick and dirty.

When he pulls away, he has to stroke the high flush on Nicky's face, already ruddy, eyes half-closed, mouth still parted.

“Oh,” Joe whispers, looking down at him.

Nicky surges up and kisses him again. He curls fingers into Joe’s hair, tugging him closer, rolling their hips together.

“I want to ride you,” Joe murmurs against his lips, “Like that other morning, like we talked about on the phone,” another kiss, growing more and more desperate, “is that okay?”

It’s no time at all before Joe’s naked in his lap, stroking lube over the condom on Nicky’s cock. With the hoodie still shrugged on, and their warm bodies pressed together, Nicky is flushed pink, hair wild, eyes drowsy.

“Joe. Joe,” he’s sighing, breathy and repeated, almost like it’s unintentional. Joe wants to stay like this always.

“Me too, baby,” Joe answers, shifting up and over him.

As he sinks down, Nicky’s hands find his hips- gripping tight enough to elicit a soft groan. Everything is hazy and heated, with slow, sleep-dazed hitches of breath passing between them as Joe rocks forward, mouths brushing together with Nicky’s face tilted up to meet him.

Joe can’t help but moan when he’s taken all of Nicky, just a tiny little thing, broken off because he can’t quite get his lungs to work with him, so instead it flutters in his chest and down his stomach. The rest is stuck in his throat, a small ‘hmm,’ sound vibrating out of him. Nicky dips his face to Joe’s neck, mouthing at the skin there like he wants to feel the echoes of Joe’s pleasure.

“You’re very warm,” he murmurs, face still splotchy, hands spasming at his sides.

“Am I?” Joe returns, smiling to the ceiling.

“Yes- Dio, Joe, you feel so-” he swallows. “-so good.”

Joe cups Nicky’s neck, drawing him up for a slow kiss while they rock together, barely moving, just feeling each other, Nicky’s cock a heavy weight inside him, a slow pulsing throb. Each time they move, Nicky clutches him closer, Joe’s own cock brushing the soft material of the hoodie, making him tremble with sensitivity.

Planting one hand on the bed and the other on Nicky’s calf, Joe lifts himself up and shudders down again. He has to lean away from Nicky to do it, but that’s okay, because it gives him an incredible view of Nicky’s face as he’s fully seated again, the way his eyes fall shut for a brief moment before flickering open again like he can’t quite bear to look away for longer than that. His gaze drags over Joe like a physical touch, drawing him in.

“Oh, f-uh,” Nicky moans when Joe repeats the motion, before returning to Joe’s name again; Joe, a little desperate, cheeks made up of ruddy crescent moons, ears an endearing shade of red.

“Let me hear you, honey,” Joe says, turning Nicky’s phrase back on him, “you feel so good, so warm, and I love feeling you inside me like this.”

Nicky keens, head dropping back against the headboard, fingers digging into Joe’s thighs. His thumb rubs into the crease of Joe’s pelvis, making him shudder and squirm, pushing the tip of Nicky’s cock right over his prostate. When Joe moans, clenching around him, Nicky lets out a short sob.

“I don’t- oh, Joe, I want you to come,” he begs, face screwed up, like it’s taking everything he has not to let himself go right this second.

Joe shakes his head ruefully, heart fluttering. He tugs on the hoodie to give Nicky a quick peck. “Even now you’re still trying to make it good for me, trying to put me first. Incorrigible.”

It makes Nicky laugh, breaking the tension. His hand finds Joe’s, tugging him forward again.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers, covering Joe’s cock, circling the tip with his finger. He does something with his pelvis that makes his cock jerk inside Joe, just enough, consistent enough that it has Joe shaking in no time. “You can let go.”

And it’s so easy to; Joe spills over without so much as another word, just Nicky’s steady push and pull, and his soft touch ruining him, working him over. Nicky even makes sure to keep his palm over the top, catching his release so it doesn’t end up all over the hoodie. If noticing that makes Joe’s eyes fill with tears, well. Who will tell.

Nicky follows him right down, holding him close, moaning hotly into his neck. Joe almost misses it, he’s still going through the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

They’re both a bit shaky after; Joe reaches over to tug some tissues out of the box, wiping his spend off Nicky’s fingers as best he can. He hasn’t moved off of Nicky just yet, both of them enjoying the warmth of each other.

Nicky tucks his nose back into the collar of the hoodie, breathing in. Joe snorts, knocking their heads together gently.

“Hey, I’m right here,” he says, affronted, sliding his hand into Nicky’s frankly ridiculous hair, encouraging him to tuck his face in the crook of his neck instead.

He plays with a frayed drawstring. Nicky strokes his lower spine while their breathing calms down.

“Hmm,” he hums, blinking slow as he lifts his head. “I suppose we recovered some of our day together, even after I fell asleep on you.” The crease in the corner of his eyes tells Joe he’s joking.

Laughing softly against his cheek, Joe replies, “Are you kidding me? I got to nap next to you, and we had sleepy morning sex?” he presses a kiss to Nicky’s nose. “Best date ever.”

Wrinkling it, Nicky takes a hold of Joe’s chin and tilts his face down to peck his forehead. He drops his head back against the pillow and sighs.

Glancing over at Joe, he asks, “Would it be awful if we slept for a bit more?”

Joe slides his hands back under the hoodie, tucking his chin over Nicky's shoulder. “I think I could sleep forever next to you, Nicky.”

Lying together later that day, they talk for what feels like hours.

Nicky tells him about his childhood in Genoa, the way faith dictated love in so many ways that he still has trouble untangling the two. They both share memories of harsh discipline delivered with open palms or wooden spoons from their mothers – distant fathers whose eyes slid off them like water until they were older.

“I would never lay a hand on my daughter,” Nicky says seriously, eyes briefly squeezing shut, as if staving off a headache, before opening them again to look at Joe. “I understand why she did it. Out of everything I still can’t forgive, this one was easier to digest. There were so many of us, and she was mostly alone to deal with our raising. But we know better now, yes? We can understand, and still do differently.”

Joe nods, sliding his fingers between Nicky’s and shifting closer. He presses his lips together in a thin line, thinking over his next words.

“I didn’t come out so much as I was caught kissing Pieter in my room when we were fifteen.”

He hears Nicky’s sharp inhale and squeezes his hand reassuringly. From what he described, this would have ended very differently if it were his parents.

“I suppose I was lucky. They didn’t shout or throw me out. It was all very calm when they asked Pieter to wait outside while they sat me down in the living room. I remember my lips were still numb from kissing him, and I felt like I was going to throw up. But all they said was that they didn’t leave Tunis just to carry its prejudices with them.” He huffs a short, humourless laugh. “It wasn’t that simple, though. Not really.”

“It was never spoken aloud, but. I felt it. This new pressure to be perfect – as if, because I’d failed them in one aspect as a son, I couldn’t fail anywhere else. I don’t remember the last time I prayed, because for too many years I projected this façade of a perfect Muslim son. All so my parents could tell their friends when asked that ‘yes, Yusuf is gay, but he always attends Mosque on Fridays.’ ‘He’s not like the others; he’s in a chaperoned relationship.’ ‘My son likes men, but he’s going to get a doctorate!’”

Nicky’s thumb brushes his knuckles, understanding so sharp that it cuts right through Joe too.

“I think that’s why I left with Pieter, and then why I stayed with him longer than I should have; why I never told my parents about dropping out of university. I’d already broken their hearts once, how could I do it again? But I didn’t care about whether I was successful, or if my relationship was haram. I just wanted to-” Joe swallows. “I just wanted to be loved for who I was.”

Nicky draws Joe, loving, to his side. His fingers stroke the curls about his temple.

“Cuore mio,” he says, ever so soft, looking down at him. “I have not been able to stop myself from loving you for exactly who you are.”

The words reach Joe somewhere close and deep in his chest, unravelling the years that went by him, the years he needed to hear them, the years he pretended he could live without them.

“Nicky,” he says, breathless.

“I mean it,” Nicky goes on, lifting their joined hands, kissing his fingertips, stroking the meat of his thumb. “From that first cup of coffee, maybe. Me, still in my work shirt, asking to glo slow. You, meeting me right there. You made love seem so easy in that moment, so straightforward, and it was the easiest thing in the world to fall for you.”

 Joe reaches up and pulls him down into a kiss, their hands getting trapped between them.

“I love you,” he whispers against Nicky’s mouth, pecking his bottom lip. “I want to love you, and take care of you, and bring you from the couch to the bedroom when you fall to sleep.”

Nicky kisses him back, warming him everywhere. His nose ends up pressed up the side of Joe’s, blocking one of his nostrils. It means he ends up halfway to breathless in no time, Nicky’s thumb sliding along his jaw, encouraging him to open up a little further with each kiss.

When he breaks away, his eyes are deep and dark, watching him close.

“I’d really like you to fuck me,” he murmurs, in that low, rough voice that never fails to make Joe shiver.

“Yeah,” Joe breathes, staring down at Nicky’s lips, “I can do that.”

The hoodie comes off; Nicky shivers when it does, pressing their bodies together. Joe rolls them a little, until he’s hovering over Nicky, and then he kisses him until Nicky lets out a soft moan.

“How do you like it?”

Something in Nicky’s face spasms. “Before I answer, I should probably tell you, I have trouble, ah, finishing, when I bottom. I hope that’s okay.”

“More than okay,” Joe says easily. “As long as you want this, I’m happy to figure it out with you.”

“I love it,” he confesses, ears already pink-tipped, “I’m really excited about having you inside me. I only don’t want you to take it to heart if I don’t…” he trails off for a moment, waving his hand. “Orgasm.”

Joe shrugs. “We’ll make it work.” He trails a hand down Nicky’s side, and Nicky’s gaze follows him, all the way to his cock, which is about half-hard at this point. He cups Nicky there, delighting in the little shudder he gives in return.

“Is there anything you don’t like?”  

Nicky considers him, splaying his thigh out a little more when Joe’s grip shifts on his cock.

“I’ll let you know,” he finally decides, giving Joe a wry smile. “But nothing comes to mind from what we've already done.”

“Okay, good,” Joe says, a little out of breath from anticipation. He leans down to hover over him again.

He catches Nicky’s bottom lip between his own, sliding their mouths together slowly. Nicky reaches up to cup his nape, keeping him there. It never fails to amaze Joe, how just this can make his heart flutter and swoop into his stomach, just this, and Nicky’s soft sigh when Joe traces his tongue along the seam of his lips. He gasps as he opens up, and Joe hums into his mouth.

Once Nicky is breathing heavier into his mouth, legs widening to encourage Joe to drop down between them, Joe pulls away. With one hand, he traces the dip and roll of Nicky’s right shoulder.

“These shoulders,” he mutters, like they’re an offence. Can’t help but smile fondly though. “They look like they’re holding up the world, all the time.”

Nicky turns his head, cheek against the pillow, looking over at Joe. His expression is so unbelievably tender that Joe can’t help but feel a lump in his throat.

“Let me take some of that weight, baby,” he continues, rubbing his bicep, down along to his hand. He picks it up and kisses Nicky’s knuckles, massaging the meat of his thumb gently.

Nicky swallows, adam’s apple bobbing. He looks to the side, eyes watery. “I don’t- I’m not very good at this.”

Heart aching, Joe drops down and plants a lingering kiss on his cheek.

“I know, habibi. Can’t be good at everything, I suppose.”

It makes Nicky snort, then hum unevenly; Joe kisses him properly this time, sure and firm, taking Nicky’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Shift down a little bit for me?”

Once Nicky’s lying flat on his back, Joe directs him to raise his legs, and traces the smooth swell of his ass cheek. His thumb dips in the crease, parting his mouth slightly. A muscle in Nicky’s thigh flexes.

When Joe dips his head down to kiss his perineum, Nicky curses softly and cups himself, holding his balls up out of the way so Joe can lick into him.

“Good boy,” Joe breathes, getting a half-moan, half-laugh in response.

Digging his thumb into one cheek, Joe parts it and swipes his tongue over Nicky’s rim. He closes his eyes, listening to Nicky’s ragged breathing, waiting for the click in his throat when Joe presses in, just a little.

When he opens them again, Nicky’s idly tracing the tip of his cock, still cupping himself, rubbing his thumb over in little circles in time to Joe’s tongue. It’s unbearably hot, and Joe has to reach down and squeeze his own cock to relieve some of the throbbing pressure.

He goes a little faster, glancing up to watch the spooling blush down Nicky’s chest, before pausing to kiss along his thigh and buttocks, nose pressed into plush skin. His teeth sink in a bit, and Nicky presses his head back into the pillow, groaning throatily, low and deep, as his hips shift up a little more into Joe’s touch.

Joe returns to eating him out, getting messier with it, encouraged by Nicky’s unsteady breathing, the fingers over his hair, not quite sinking into them because he knows Joe doesn’t like the curls on the top of his head being messed with.

When Nicky starts rocking into Joe’s face and stroking his cock in earnest, Joe flicks his tongue harder, ignoring the slight ache in his jaw, because Nicky losing himself to Joe’s touch is just about the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.

Gradually, though, he slows the pace, enjoying the way Nicky slows with him, meeting him in tandem. He draws away eventually, kissing every bit of skin available, up to the inside of Nicky’s knee, sliding his hand down and around his thigh, eliciting a shiver.

“Let me go brush my teeth.”

From the bathroom doorway, he watches Nicky idly stroke himself, tracing a finger up his stomach, then down again.

He's so in love, it’s worth having to scrub the toothpaste out of his beard.

Soon enough, he’s back in bed with Nicky, kissing from his shoulder up to his mouth, whispering an apology at Nicky’s small complaint of his cold lips. They warm quickly.

Prepping Nicky is a languid, patient affair. Every shift of his fingers makes Nicky blush harder, a crease in his brows, mouth parted on a barely-there moan.

“I know, Nicky,” Joe tells him, “I know, it’s been so long since someone took their time with you, hasn’t it? So long since you could let yourself go.”

He punctuates his words with another finger, sliding in just far enough to crook his fingers and rub along Nicky’s prostate.

Nicky’s breathing goes high and funny, harsh pants as he rolls his head back into the pillow, like he’s trying to get away from his own pleasure. The muscles of his neck are tense from holding everything in.

Joe kisses his knee, encouraging him to push his legs back further, making him even more open and helpless. Nothing to do but lay there and take Joe’s touch and listen to his words.

“No one’s coming to interrupt us or drag you away. No one’s around to hear you but me. And Nicky, baby, I want to hear you so bad. I want all of you, always.”

“Joe,” Nicky whines, blinking pleading eyes up at him.

Joe wastes no time putting the condom on, spreading extra lube over himself. He kneels up over Nicky, taking one leg to place over his shoulder, with the other hand guiding himself inside.

He presses in slow. Wants to catalogue every expression that passes over Nicky’s face as he works his way inside.

Nicky clutches his bicep, mouth dropping open a little further while Joe pushes further and further, until they’re flush together.

“Oh,” Nicky sighs, and then “Oh-oh, Joe,” as Joe shifts that little bit more, scrambling for purchase.

He feels so good. Tight, and hot, and oh-so-slick, Joe has to close his eyes briefly at the rush that floods him, pooling in his gut. But what’s even better is the image of Nicky under him, face open, arched spine, so fucking beautiful Joe can barely take it.

Joe draws away and thrusts back in again, deep enough that it knocks the breath from Nicky, makes him knock their foreheads together as he cries out. Joe gets a whiff of his shampoo, apples to apples, and it makes his heart kick and his eyes water, fondness surging up in him like a tidal wave.

“That’s it,” Joe manages, pulling out to drop his hips back in, a controlled slide that Nicky sobs right through. He slides his hand around Nicky’s wrist, thumb stroking his pulse, before threading their fingers together to press them into the sheets.

He watches Nicky become more and more undone, fucking him deep, and slow, and sure, the same way he loves him. They work up a rhythm that makes Joe’s blood sing, and Nicky tremble with each rock of his hips.

At some point, Nicky starts babbling, a mess of Italian and English, Joe’s name, soft cursing that goes high and breathy every time Joe sinks all the way in again, heavy and anchored. His fingers find Joe’s beard, stroking the soft hair, thumbing his dimples, brows creasing in wonder.

Joe leans down and kisses him firmly, greedy palms sliding over his thighs and up his sides, brushing over Nicky’s nipples, and then again when it makes him giggle-groan, a stupid deep sound that Joe fucking loves, so he does it one more time, before reaching back down to touch his cock.

Nicky breaks away with a gasp.

“Oh, god, Joe, please touch me,” he pants, “uhh- yes, just like that, your hands-fuck, I’m so hard-”

He is, is the thing, rosy-tipped and dewy, velvet soft when Joe wraps his fingers around the head. Nicky scrapes a hairy calf along Joe’s side, and something about that, about Nicky, bare-footed and cozy and comfortable under Joe, has him burning.

He slides out then, cursing at the way Nicky clenches around him as he goes, before making his way back down Nicky’s body and settling between his legs.

“Dio,” Nicky sighs explosively, running a hand through his hair.

Joe traces the rise and fall of his tummy, kissing below his navel.

“Okay?”

Nicky smiles, turning his head into the pillow before glancing down at Joe. “More than.” He stretches his legs out, groaning a little. Joe catches his calf and rubs it, earning an appreciative look in return. His hand comes down to circle the tip of his cock; Joe takes it and kisses it, then kisses Nicky’s cock in turn, sweet and quick little pecks, until he reaches the tip, holding him by the base, where he takes the head into his mouth and lets his tongue dip into his slit, tasting him.

“F-baby, uhn,” Nicky groans. “You’re making me feel so good.”

Heat creeps up Joe’s face, the praise making a mess of his nervous system.

Nicky draws one leg up, planting his foot, and Joe wraps his free hand around Nicky’s ankle, glancing up before taking more into his mouth, stroking the rest.

There’s a hand along his shoulder, playing with the curls over his ears, squeezing his arm, like Nicky can’t seem to help himself, needs to be touching Joe in some way or another, just like Joe has to take breaks to kiss Nicky’s stomach and pelvis and thighs, gathering his spit along Nicky’s cock as he does so, before taking him down again.

He’s not rushed about it; they’ve got nowhere to be, he tells Nicky when he draws away the second time, just letting it build, and build, and build, taking his time.

It’s that reminder, funnily enough, that seems to have Nicky’s muscles stiffening and then trembling as he deliberately relaxes them again, that seems to have Nicky sniffling and teary and overwhelmed. His hips rock in small motions, punctuated by sobs, until Joe gets on board and starts pressing his tongue to the sensitive bit under the head of his cock every time he does it, until Nicky’s just tensing, over and over, reaching above his head and clutching at the pillow as he climbs higher and oohfuckyesJoe-higher, before falling over the edge.

Joe doesn’t let up, letting Nicky rock himself through it, in gasps and shakes and cries, until he tastes Nicky’s spend on his tongue and swallows it down.

“Hmm, Joe,” Nicky pants, cock softening, slipping out of Joe’s mouth. He sits up, leaning down to draw him into a long kiss that tastes like salt from the wayward tear stain on his cheek.

“Joe. Lovely, sweet Joe- my Joe,” he continues, smiling giddy against his lips, tracing his jaw line.

Joe's been rutting into the sheets; each drag of his cock makes him feel dizzy with arousal. He reaches down and tugs the condom off, shuddering quietly as the cool air hits his throbbing length.

Nicky curls into him more, drowsy and sated, until he’s practically sitting up, Joe’s head in his lap, Nicky’s hand in his hair and the other tracing one finger up and down beside his spine, right near his shoulder blade, in another one of those places Joe didn’t know existed until now, except now it’s everything he’s ever wanted, for that spot to be traced over in time with the roll of his hips into the bed.

"Yes, Joe, that's it. Mhmm, you can do it. You've made me feel so good baby, so good, and now I want to watch you fall apart under me."

And just like he fell for Nicky, eventually, and all at once, he’s close. So close, that between one breath and the next, he’s there, hips stuttering, cock pulsing, spilling onto the sheets, hearing Nicky’s quiet-awed gasp above him, feeling so fucking good he can do nothing but laugh too, curling onto his side in Nicky’s lap, pulling him down for another kiss. Nicky runs his hands over Joe’s chest, touching just because, with those burning hands that make ruins of doubt, that make his heart do something funny in a way that's no joke to him.

And lying like this, the room becomes completely unfamiliar, and the ceiling feels as far away as the stars; the whole world tilted and made new again, with Nicky right in the center of his vision. 

(They make it to lunch the following day before caving and picking Thea up early.)

(When Joe returns home Sunday evening, he leaves his mother a voicemail, saying he's met someone, and he's in love.)

Chapter Text

Wednesday | starting word: fever.

As the year settles into August, they settle into a routine.

Well, between Nicky’s rotating roster, Joe’s work and exhibition schedule, and Thea — it’s not so much a routine as a steadfast dedication to spend as much time as they can together.

That is, it’s making room for each other. Nicky clears out a few drawers in his bedroom, and starts putting Joe’s shifts into his phone calendar; Joe keeps Nicky’s preferred coffee beans next to his tea on the rarer occasion they’re both at Joe’s place. Joe knows where Nicky keeps his spare batteries and his laundry detergent.

More often than not, he spends the night with Nicky, except when he works late.

Today is one of the more oftens; it’s a Wednesday afternoon, and Joe is stacking shelves. He can just about hear the soft patter of rain outside, which sounds about right, because it’s been struggling all day, sky overcast and grey, making the cold weather seem even chillier.

It’s been quiet. Nile’s finished her exams, and Booker has been cooped up in the archives with a 16^th century Parisian illuminated manuscript for the last week, so Joe has been puttering about mostly unaccompanied, answering emails, processing holds and returns, and inspecting books to bring down to Booker for mending and rebinding.

When Celeste drops in early for her shift, she brings him a coffee and makes fun of his argyle sweater. Joe’s been cataloging for two hours, and his eyes are starting to feel fuzzy, so he accepts the coffee gratefully and only registers her comment once she’s already disappeared into the office.

He looks down and promptly blushes.

(He’d picked it out of Nicky’s closet that morning; Nicky spent almost the entire train ride idly rubbing his thumb over the soft material of Joe’s sleeves, just where it met his wrist.

“You know, if you wanted to wear this today, I could have worn my own,” Joe told him, ignoring the butterflies swooping in his stomach whenever Nicky grazed his skin.

Nicky blinked. “Ah. I didn’t—”

“Don’t tell me you have reservations about sharing clothes,” Joe grinned, nudging him. “Sock thief.”

“I— that’s different. Hm.”

A clearing of the throat. Signature pink cheeks. Gaze stitched on his collar.

“I like you in my clothes.”

Joe’s brain screeched to a halt.

“It’s not about ownership,” Nicky quickly added, “or rather, it’s not why I…” he trailed off to look at their hands.

“I’m glad that the man I love is comfortable in my home. In my clothing.”)

Joe traces the pattern of the sweater now, thinking about the kiss he drew Nicky into afterward, clinging to his shirt, smiling wide, and how out of place it felt, amongst the commuters and the arrival announcements playing overhead, to be so devastatingly happy.

The last half-hour of his shift breezes by him. Actually, he’s so lost in thought and the sweet memory morning tucked away in his mind that he doesn’t realise he’s finished for the day until he notices Nicky by the front desk, talking with Celeste while he waits patiently for Joe to float back down to reality.

 “Hello, Joe— oh, Booker. I didn’t know you were working today.”

Joe turns, and sure enough, Booker has indeed emerged from the depths of the archives.

Greeting interrupted, Nicky seems to settle for drawing Joe casually to his side and dropping a kiss to his shoulder.

Booker lifts his chin.

“Nicky. I’ve got a pontifical downstairs you might be interested in.”

“Oh?” Nicky’s brows lift. “Is it in Italian?”

“No. French.”

The brows drop.

“My condolences. No one should be forced to read French.”

Joe doesn’t know what it is – national pride and home team football rivalry, perhaps. The fact that they’re both quietly stubborn men. Or maybe they just bring out the bastard in each other.

 Whatever it is, since the first time they hung out, whenever Booker and Nicky are together in a room, there’s a decent chance Joe ends up breaking up a fight.

They both insist that they’re well on their way to becoming the best of friends.

So before Booker can open his mouth to respond, Joe grabs Nicky by the hand and starts leading him out the door.

“Bye Celeste! Good to see you Book!” he calls as he goes, snorting at Celeste’s puzzled wave.

Nicky manages to shoot Booker a final smirk before Joe closes the door behind them.

He regards Nicky steadily.

“You know, you don’t really even watch the game when Booker comes over. You make food and stand next to the couch until Booker gives you something to argue about.”

“So?”

Joe rolls his eyes, turning toward the street.

“You’re both menaces.”

Nicky follows suit, feigning ignorance.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

He takes Joe’s hand and kisses his knuckles soundly.

Joe laughs.

“Oh, you’re lucky I like you.”

They pick up Thea on the way home (more often than not, these days, Joe thinks of Nicky’s place as home) and make dinner together.

Joe talks about his day in between taste tests of Nicky’s pasta sauce (he’s affectionately called Nicky an Italian nonna on a number of occasions now, and each time Nicky pretends to headbutt him, as if that dispels the myth); Nicky’s on call tonight, so the wine stays in the fridge.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Nicky says once they’re finished with dinner, after they’ve put Thea to bed.

They’re on either end of the couch; Nicky had been reading, but sometime between Joe’s glimpses at his downturned nose buried between the pages, he’d set it down over his chest, spine creasing.

He resists the urge to wince.

“Uh-hmm?”

Nicky exhales through his nose, picking up the book again to thumb through the pages. Really, it isn’t fair how big his hands are.

“I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

That catches his attention. Joe sits up a little straighter.

“Okay. Hit me.”

“I’d like to meet your parents.”

Mashallah, Yusuf. When can I meet him?

(The voicemail from his mother has been sitting in his pocket for over a week, now. The first time he heard it was on this very same couch, folded against Nicky’s chest, with Nicky’s forearm resting over him, clasping his shoulder, like he thought he could hold Joe together if he just tried hard enough.

It almost worked.

To his credit, he only started to fall apart when she asked him why he hadn’t come visited for Bakra Eid, and if he was going to make it sometime next year during Ramadan.)

Afterward, he’d sobbed tear stains into Nicky’s shirt. And although they talked at length about most parts of that voicemail, like his sister's pregnancy, what home means, on being on the outskirts of his own family- they’d skirted that particular inevitability.

“That technically wasn’t a question,” Joe hedges.

A pointed pause.

“Do you want me to meet your parents?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then-”

“But not yet,” he continues. “I want to talk to her first. Properly.”

Nicky considers this. The pages of the book fall further victim to the working of his thumb and forefinger.

Finally, before Joe can start fidgeting, he nods.

“Okay.”

Joe blinks.

“Okay?”

Nicky reopens his book and settles back onto the couch. He seems to find Joe’s bewilderment amusing.

“Yes, okay.”

He knows he’s staring. Nicky knows he’s staring too, but he doesn’t look up again, mouth skewed into a smile.

“You’re going easy on me.” Joe surmises.

A shrug.

“I like you at ease.”

And that’s that.

All in all, it’s not a recipe for a particularly intense mid-week fuck.

Yet, when Nicky gets him to the bedroom that night, hands skirting the bottom of his – who is he kidding, their – argyle sweater, something about the past few weeks catch up and collide in Joe’s brain, and suddenly all he wants is for Nicky to be in him, deep as possible, now.

Nicky seems just as inexplicably desperate, reacting to Joe’s neediness as if it were his own. They kiss until they’re both flushed and swearing, shucking off each other’s clothes in a hurry, and Joe’s heart ratchets up a few notches at the impatient huff Nicky makes over the stubborn button of his work slacks.

Something about the whole endeavor is unbearably arousing, how stupidly into Nicky he is, how much he wants this, how excited they both are, that by the time Nicky’s shoving them down and kissing the trail of hair down his stomach that Joe feels about ready to die and they haven’t even started.

He ends up face down on the mattress, hips raised up by Nicky’s hands, getting the breath pushed out of him.

Nicky rocks into Joe slow and steady, making little sighs and hums of pleasure, telling Joe how good he feels while Joe flushes deeply and his throat goes tight with the well of emotion in his chest.

He keens when Nicky drops down, covering him, the head of his dick brushing against Joe’s prostate. He presses kisses across the back of his shoulders, elbows either side of Joe’s, bracketing him.

“Please, please, please.”

He’s not sure what he’s asking for, if he’s asking for anything, but one of Nicky’s hands slide around to his chest, pressing them together, pulling him back into the motion of Nicky’s hips, before slipping down to his thighs, stroking up and up and so close to where he wants it that Joe does sob.

“Love-ugh, christ- I love you.”

Nicky’s voice, low and rough in his ear, makes him shiver. His words make the first tears slip free, and then Nicky’s cooing, kissing his wet, mottled cheeks, before sitting back and returning to deep, even rolls of his hips. Nicky braces his foot against the bed to get better leverage while Joe does the same, leaning his weight on his elbows to meet Nicky’s thrusts.

“Oh-f, baby, Nicky,” Joe cries out, voice breaking on the last vowel.

In response, Nicky pushes into him harder, picking up the pace until Joe can barely catch his breath. He’s feverish, warm against the cool, panting into the sheets.

When he does come, on a sob, on a moan, on Nicky’s easy give and take of his body, Nicky- beautiful, brilliant Nicky, who listens, who pays attention, who always gives him exactly what he needs- doesn’t stop, doesn’t hesitate. Instead, his palm settles on Joe’s warm back, holding him down while he continues to move in him so deeply that it very nearly ruins Joe’s ability to breathe at all.

“Fuck fuck—oh fuck. Fuck.”

He keeps talking, knows he’s muffling Nicky’s name and God’s name into the pillow, plus more nonsense he can’t keep track of because he’s too preoccupied getting hard a second time under Nicky’s thrusts.

It’s times like these that Joe remembers the rigorous physical training Nicky does as a firefighter, and he praises God for it. Then again, and again, and again.

Then Nicky does something with his hips that makes Joe’s eyes roll back into his head, and he forgets how to say anything at all.

After, sweaty even for the August chill, Joe presses his face into Nicky’s neck while Nicky settles a hand over the top knob of his spine. He breathes and breathes and breathes, heart kicking like a fist, feeling the flutter of Nicky’s pulse until it settles again.

Then they get up and change the sheets.