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Small as it was, they had their own room in the London safe house, which was a good thing because Joe was prying open Nicky’s mouth with his fingers. Not with his tongue, much as Nicky would prefer it, but with three calloused fingers sneaking inside his lips as if Nicky wouldn’t wake up from the intrusion. He was on his back, Joe pressed closer to him than his own shadow. The slant of moonlight from the window illuminated Joe’s dark eyes as he bent over Nicky. Joe sucked in the corner of his mouth, a tell that he’d never shaken off all these long centuries.
‘I had a nightmare,’ said Joe, his fingernails scraping the tip of Nicky’s tongue.
Nicky really couldn’t speak with his mouth full and so he arched his eyebrows, instead.
Joe gently pushed his fingers deeper. They’d already had sex earlier but Nicky’s dick still gave an interested twitch. His body, to this day, awakens a passion you will never know and all that.
However, this wasn’t one of their weird, kinky games.
Joe’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘You got shot in the mouth and you didn’t wake up.’
Nicky could still remember the smoke in his lungs weakening him. The sound of Joe coughing. The hard shove of the gun into his mouth. The tail end of Joe’s horrified grimace as he looked away from the carnage of Nicky’s throat before muscle and tissue knitted themselves back together. He vividly flashed to the way Joe had tenderly held him by the throat as they’d fucked in their post-battle tradition.
Nicky should have known.
He curled his tongue around Joe’s fingers and lightly sucked. Joe’s eyelashes fluttered and his breathing quickened. Nicky knew it wasn’t from arousal. He curled a leg around Joe’s hip and pressed down. Joe obeyed, blanketing Nicky from belly to ankles. His fingers hooked over Nicky’s lower teeth, saliva gleaming around the middle knuckles. Nicky ran his fingers through Joe’s tight curls and gripped the scruff at his nape.
Nicky smiled around his mouthful and gave a small nod.
Reluctantly, Joe pulled his hand back, fingers popping out one by one, and traced Nicky’s bottom lip with his thumb.
‘Yusuf, my love,’ said Nicky, voice hoarse not from the gunshot but with tender understanding, ‘kiss me.’
Sighing, Joe leaned down and kissed the hollow between Nicky’s collarbones. His beard scratched and tickled the way Nicky liked it. Nicky tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Joe slowly mouthed his way up Nicky’s neck, making Nicky hum in approval. Si, bene. Soon, Joe crested over Nicky’s proud chin and Nicky opened his eyes to meet Joe’s gaze as their lips met. Electricity, as always. There was something potent and elemental that sparked through them whenever they touched. Nicky wound his arms around Joe’s neck. Joe kissed him slowly and with purpose, tracing the shape of his lips, filling the cave of his mouth. Nicky found the spot on Joe’s neck where he’d been stabbed and covered it with his thumb. His own personal balm.
Nicky felt the tension bleed out of Joe, the weight on top of him growing heavier as a result. He suckled on Joe’s bottom lip, dragged his fingernails along the back of Joe’s skull. That did the trick. With another sigh, this one less burdened, Joe ended the kiss with a soft glide of his lips. He pressed their foreheads together. They stayed that way for a long while, breathing quietly in the dark.
There was no need to ask if Joe felt better. It was there in his eyes, as clear as the best sunrises Nicky had ever seen in his life. Joe’s mouth curled in a small smile and he kissed Nicky on the nose.
‘Fuck, I’m sleepy.’
Nicky snorted. ‘We were sleeping, Joe.’
‘Forgive me for waking you,’ said Joe, his knuckles tracing the line of Nicky’s jaw.
‘There’s nothing to forgive.’
‘Then, why are you getting out of bed?’
Nicky gave Joe an amused look over his shoulder as he left their tiny matchbox of a room and made his way to the bathroom at the end of the corridor, not bothering to switch on the lights as he went inside. Underneath the smell of citrus and flowery body wash was the acrid tang of blood. It was one of the few scents he could pick out anywhere, second only to the smell that was uniquely Joe. He grabbed a flannel and dampened it under the cold tap. The flat was quiet, everyone else asleep from exhaustion and misery or both. Booker, Nicky knew, was on the sofa, and the thought of him brought a rush of complicated emotions. He didn’t mind the betrayal itself so much as the consequences of it: Joe dead over and over again. It didn’t matter that Joe had come back to life every time; any of those deaths could have been the last. In a way, Nicky understood where Booker was coming from. Since the beginning, even on opposing sides of a holy war, Nicky had Joe. They had never separated, the string of fate binding them too short to allow it. Joe was enough for Nicky, his beginning and end.
In time, Nicky could forgive, and given more time, which they all had, he could also forget.
Nicky shut off the tap and wrung the flannel dry. London was cold at the best of times and in the middle of the night, nearing the change of seasons, it was frigid. Nicky wanted to be back in bed with Joe draped over him, keeping him warm.
Joe was right where Nicky left him, lying still with an arm covering his eyes, but Nicky knew he was awake by the rhythm of his breathing. Nicky sat on the edge of the bed and took hold of Joe’s wrist, pulling it off from his face.
‘Hello,’ said Joe, his gaze warm.
‘Hello,’ said Nicky. He wiped down Joe’s fingers with the flannel, careful to include the delicate skin in-between.
‘You don’t have to do that, Nicky.’
‘I am not doing anything I don’t want to, Joe.’
‘I know, babe, you’re too nice for your own good. Be selfish sometimes.’
‘I am immensely selfish,’ said Nicky, putting the flannel away and kissing Joe’s clean fingertips.
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Hmm.’
‘Name one time you were selfish.’
‘When I met you.’
Joe curled his fingers and rotated his wrist until they were holding hands. ‘Me?’ he asked with innocent shock.
‘Yes – ’ Nicky bent down and kissed Joe on the forehead. ‘I don’t share you with anyone else, do I?’
‘Oh, you incurable romantic,’ teased Joe. He caught Nicky by the shoulder and pulled him down to lie beside him. Nicky shifted to his side and Joe did the same, slotting their bodies together, an arm flung over Nicky’s waist. A long nose prodded the back of Nicky’s head. He heard Joe inhale deeply.
‘I’m here,’ murmured Nicky, covering Joe’s hand with his own.
Joe kissed the outside of his ear. ‘As am I,’ he said. ‘Goodnight, habib albi.’
Closing his eyes, Nicky slept and dreamt of two figures in the sand, bloodied but hale, both of them confused and resigned, having just entered immortality but still on the precipice of falling in love.
'Yusuf,' said one of them, placing a hand that had been severed several times on his chest.
The other glanced over. He did not know the man's language but thought by the gesture that it must be a name. 'I am Nicolo.'
'Nicolo,' said Yusuf carefully, awkwardly.
For some reason, it made Nicolo's heart race.