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Nicky tilted his face into the spray from the shower, letting the hot water slide over his skin and wash the dried blood and bone from his hair. It was not the first time Nicky had cleaned away the evidence of death -- his own and others -- but modern plumbing made it so much more convenient. The warmth soothed the memory of pain that echoed under Nicky’s skin. His wounds had healed, the only remaining traces in the red brown-tinged water running down the drain, but the lingering ache remained. It was like that sometimes when there were too many deaths too close together, like his mind still could not understand his miraculous survival even after all these centuries.
In the aftermath of Nile’s rescue and their fight with Merrick and his security, they’d headed to a safehouse in Limehouse he and Joe had picked up sometime in the 1740s. Despite Andy’s protests, they hadn’t left London, because they’d had no changes of clothes to hide the blood stains and Andy had needed medical attention. By the time they had ditched the car and snuck inside, everyone had been exhausted.
Nicky had patched Andy up as best as he could with Nile’s help, Joe and Booker hovering nervously in the background until Andy had snapped at them. Nicky would have to improve his medical skills -- he’d always had some, because as much as the team may heal, the people they rescued had usually needed help along with kindness to ease pain and suffering. To use his hands to heal instead of causing pain and death had always been a relief for Nicky, a reminder he was more than just a soldier. That he had a purpose .
Joe, ever the scholar, had learned medicine, too. His interest had been sparked by the great physicians Ibn Al Nafis and Ibn Abi Usaibia during their time in Damascus. He’d been able to describe the respiratory system and surgical techniques well before modern medical science, and he devoured medical journals whenever he wasn’t reading his favourite novels. Yet, when it came to more practical knowledge, Joe was at best left with nothing more complicated than antiseptic. Unless they needed to devise a treatment method with no supplies or equipment. Joe was very good at that.
Either way, Nicky and Nile had been the ones to check Andy’s wounds and wipe the blood from her skin. Nile’s skills were better than his -- maybe she could come with him to learn new ones now that it had become so important.
They’d adapt. They always did.
Booker had come with them to the safehouse, despite Joe’s still palpable anger, evident in the way he had taken the front seat of the car beside Andy without asking, putting as much distance between himself and Booker as he could. Nicky was angry, too, a kernel of fury that blazed low in his stomach. An anger directed at Merrick and his arrogance, at Copley, at Booker. At seeing the love of his life cut open and tortured by a doctor who had justified the pain she was causing with false morality, as if her thoughts really had been for others and not for the glory her achievements would bring.
Nicky would forgive Booker, eventually. So would Joe. They were family and had been for almost two hundred years. Booker was still hurting in his grief, and the only sin he was truly guilty of was selfishness. Joe would remember that, too, when his anger had cooled and he had reassured himself that Nicky was alive and whole. Joe never had been able to think clearly when Nicky was hurt.
Booker was still young, even if he didn’t understand that. He had been wrong when he’d said Nicky and Joe could not understand the weight of grief and pain, although perhaps they could not understand it in the same way. The team was family, yes, but Nicky had loved others, too. Brothers and sisters in arms, friends -- souls like Nile, who shone so brightly it lit up the darkness around them. Booker had not yet lived long enough to hear his language change, for the city of his birth to become almost unrecognizable, until only small pockets of familiar cobbled streets remained.
Yet, Booker had been right, too. Joe had been his salvation those many centuries ago, and he was still Nicky’s salvation every day.
The bathroom door opened with a creak and shut quietly, and Nicky was already smiling softly as he turned to find Joe leaning against it. Joe smiled back, although exhaustion and hurt were obvious in the creases around his eyes and shadowing the planes of his face.
“Room for one more?” Joe asked, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the water.
“Always,” Nicky replied.
Joe efficiently stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a dirty heap on the bathroom floor. Nicky watched, unabashed, as Joe revealed all of his warm brown skin, dusted with dark hair and hiding both the muscle and grace of the warrior and the heart and soul of the poet. Even in the harsh light, Joe stole his breath. He always had. Back when they’d fought and killed each other, it had been Joe’s ferocity and strength. Now, it was the reminders of Joe’s love and his generous heart as much as his beauty.
When Joe stepped into the shower, he immediately pulled Nicky into his arms. Nicky offered no resistance, sliding his own arms around Joe’s back and ducking his head to press his face into the space between Joe’s shoulder and neck. As the warm water fell around them, Joe’s calloused hands traced all the remembered bullet wounds he could reach, even as Nicky did the same for all the places Joe had been stabbed and sliced open by that doctor’s scalpel.
Nicky could easily turn the soft touches into caresses designed to ignite the embers of passion in them both, to feed the fire that burned between them until it was bright and hot. He had done it many times before, and even the presence of Nile, Andy and Booker in the other room would not deter him. After centuries of living atop one another, Andy and Booker had witnessed more intimate moments. More than once, Andy had offered suggestions before Booker had dragged her out of the room.
Maybe the heat and passion would come later, when they were entwined among the sheets of their bed and Nicky could trace the moonlight along Joe’s skin, but for now it was closeness that Nicky craved.
Joe carded his fingers through Nicky’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “You should grow your hair long again,” he said, slipping into the tangled mix of Arabic, Italian and Genoese they spoke when they were alone.
“Oh?” Nicky said, pulling back just enough to look into Joe’s beautiful, dark eyes.
“It’s the fashion now,” Joe said, and there was the familiar glint of teasing mischief. “You could pull it off.”
Nicky smiled. So often, their appearances were created to be unremarkable, fitting in with the crowds around them so they could slip from place to place, country to country, as inconspicuous as possible. Even the names on their passports -- Nicky Smith and Joseph Jones -- were designed to make sure they were hard to track. Sometimes it was nice to remember they were more than that, even if Joe was just angling for more of an excuse to run his fingers through Nicky’s hair.
Touch had always soothed them both, and they had spent many peaceful afternoons reading together, Nicky’s head in Joe’s lap and Joe’s hands carding through his hair.
“You just want to make sure you’re not the only one with bed head,” Nicky told him.
“Hey,” Joe protested. “You said I looked nicely tousled.”
Nicky’s smile grew. “I did,” he said, because Joe would always be beautiful. “You are.”
He stretched up a hand to trace over Joe’s cheek, brushing away the droplets of water that clung to his skin, and Joe ducked his head to press a kiss to Nicky’s palm.
The moment was broken by a loud bang on the door. “Hey,” Andy called out. “Don’t use all the hot water!”
Nicky groaned, dropping his head to Joe’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be resting?” Joe called loudly back at Andy.
Joe scratched his fingers through Nicky’s hair again. “Andy is always a sledgehammer to my plans to seduce you,” he mused.
Careful not to dislodge Joe’s clever fingers, Nicky raised his head. “Were you going to seduce me?” he asked.
Tilting his head to the side, Joe grinned. “What? You don’t think I can?” he said. “That after all these centuries, I don’t know how to make your knees weak?”
Nicky raised his eyebrows, smiling at the answering spark in Joe’s eyes. Neither one of them had ever been able to turn down a challenge.
Joe dipped his head to press a kiss to Nicky’s shoulder, and then another where Nicky’s neck and shoulder met. “I could tell you that your touch awakens passion that the rest of the world can only dream to know,” he said softly. He pressed another kiss to Nicky’s neck. “Or I could say that your kisses are still as sweet as the first, and every one thrills me, even after all these centuries.”
A shiver slid down Nicky’s spine as Joe trailed his lips further up Nicky’s neck. The words were an echo of Joe’s passionate speech in the armoured van, words Joe had pressed against his skin under the moonlight and whispered in his ear in the sunshine. Combined with his touch, it was setting Nicky afire.
“Or,” Joe continued, pressing a kiss to the hinge of Nicky’s jaw. “Perhaps I will simply say that you are the love of my life, my Nicolò.”
Perhaps Nicky had been too hasty in thinking he did not need more of Joe’s sweet, drugging kisses now that Joe was so close to him. He reached behind Joe to turn the water off. They were clean enough and could always shower again later. Joe raised both eyebrows at him, but his grip on Nicky’s waist tightened and his eyes were hot.
“See?” Joe said. “I told you I could seduce you.”
“Yes. I did not doubt you,” Nicky replied, because he would never be ashamed of the passion Joe inspired in him, the need to be as physically close as possible as Joe wrung waves of pleasure from his body. He had been addicted from his first taste.
He leaned closer, barely resisting the urge to press forwards for a kiss. If he started, he wouldn’t stop. “Bedroom. Now.”
Nicky climbed out of the shower, barely pausing for a towel as Joe laughed behind him. The future was uncertain and tomorrow might bring heartache and sadness, but for now he and Joe were alive and safe. Nicky would revel in this moment of peace they’d carved for themselves and give thanks to the God that had granted him his salvation.
He’d barely opened the bathroom door, a towel slung around his waist for at least a little modesty, when strong arms grabbed Nicky from behind and pulled him back against a firm, if damp, chest. “ Yusuf ,” Nick said, torn between exasperation and the eternal delight of having Joe’s skin pressed against his.
The exasperation won because Nick was not to be deterred from his objective, especially when that objective involved getting Joe into their bedroom and safely behind a locked door. Joe’s wandering hands were making it hard for Nicky to keep his focus, and they should definitely move this out of the hallway if they didn’t want a repeat of Casablanca in ‘42. Andy had not been impressed with their antics.
Nile gave a startled noise as she rounded the corner from the kitchen, mug clutched in her hand. She blinked, keeping her eyes very firmly fixed on Nicky’s face, and cleared her throat. “I’m just gonna go back to the other room,” she said.
“Are they naked again?” Andy asked from somewhere nearby.
“Uhh,” Nile said, still vainly trying to keep her eyes from drifting. Nicky appreciated her efforts.
“They do that,” Andy said, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen with her arms folded over her chest. She raised both of her eyebrows at Nicky and Joe. “Are you breaking the rules again?”
“Who, us?” Joe said and Nicky didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to hear the smile. “Never, Boss.”
Joe started pulling Nicky down the hallway, chuckling softly in Nicky’s ear, even as Nile turned to Andy and demanded, “What rules?”
Nicky didn’t bother listening to Andy’s answer. He’d heard variations of it before when he and Joe had trouble keeping their hands off each other. He didn’t need to listen, anyway -- Andy would be happy to tease them again over breakfast.
“At least look at it his way, Boss,” Joe said, hands still around Nicky as he dragged them backwards. “The hot water is all yours now.”
It was only after Joe opened the door to their bedroom and firmly shut it behind them that Nicky realized Joe had not bothered with a towel. “Incorrigible,” he muttered, his lips curving into a smile.
Joe smiled, the love shining out of his dark eyes enough to make Nicky melt. “No, yours,” he whispered.
No matter what plans God had for them, that was the fundamental truth. Joe was his and much as he was Joe’s, and that would never change.
“Mine,” Nicky agreed and pulled Joe in for a kiss.
End.