Chapter Text
Yusuf would generally consider himself to be an outgoing and charming person. He’d never had a problem making friends when he was a child, and his mother would often lament his tendency to wander off with a new friend wherever he went. During his few years at Al-Azhar University before he set off for al-Quds, Yusuf had delighted to be in the company of like-minded scholars, and he made many friends during his time there. At the university, he’d also found his charm to be useful in finding his way into the beds of beautiful men and women.
All this to say that Yusuf had always been the one to make others stammer and blush, never the other way around. That is, until he meets Nicolò.
The first time Nicolò manages to truly fluster Yusuf happens a few decades after they first meet and kill each other. Since then, they’ve settled into a friendship that Yusuf cherishes. Despite their initial enmity, Yusuf doesn’t think he could traverse this blessing (curse?) of immortality without Nicolò’s steady presence at his side.
They’re travelling along the Mediterannean coast, guarding a merchant family as they journey to Tripoli. Yusuf and Nicolò had been in need of coin but it’s also a nice change of pace; their inability to find the women in their dreams has proven to be frustrating.
The family they’ve been charged with protecting is small: a couple and their two children. They’ve been travelling for a week, and it’s been a pleasant experience so far, with fair weather and pleasant company at his side. The eldest sister of the family, Rania, is five years old, precocious and particularly taken with Nicolò, finding him curiously exotic with his light features and accented Arabic.
Yusuf can’t blame her. Against his better judgement, he finds himself quite taken with Nicolò these days too.
They’ve stopped for the night, and Yusuf and Nicolò make a plan for the night’s watch. Nicolò offers to take the first shift, so Yusuf settles down beside him and digs a scrap piece of parchment and a nub of charcoal out of his bag to sketch before he goes to sleep.
As has been his habit these days, he finds himself tracing Nicolò's profile onto the page. He thinks that he could draw Nico’s face from memory alone by now, but he is loath to waste the excuse to gaze at Nicolò when he can. Yusuf is very much not willing to parse out what that says about his feelings for his friend. For now, he regards Nicolò from a distance and sketches his handsome face by the light of the fire.
Rania flits over from where her mother is fussing over her baby sister. Yusuf watches in amusement as she reaches up and tugs on Nicolò’s sleeve. When he looks down, she asks in that unashamed way that only children can, “How did you turn your eyes blue?”
Yusuf barks a laugh, “Yes, do tell us, how did you manage that?”
Nicolò ignores him and gets down on one knee so that he and Rania are of a more similar height. Yusuf can’t help but be delighted by the adorable picture they make. He flips his piece of paper over to outline the image of the two of them, as Nicolò gives the girl a small smile and explains, “I was born with these eyes.”
She asks in disbelief, “So you’ve never had normal eyes? Like mine?”
Yusuf laughs even harder. Nicolò shakes his head, “Unfortunately not, little one.”
Rania pats his cheek consolingly with her tiny hand, “It’s alright, Nicolò. They’re still nice to look at.” She switches gears abruptly, “Can I hold your sword? Baba never lets me touch his.”
Nicolò’s eyes widen in panic, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” When she just pouts at him, Nicolò turns to where Yusuf is watching their interaction with poorly concealed glee. “Why don’t you go see what Yusuf is drawing?”
Yusuf smiles at them, feeling fond and willing to give Nico the out. “Come here Rania, I think you’ll like this one.”
Rania gives one last longing look to the longsword strapped to Nicolò’s hip, sighs and ambles over to Yusuf. She stands behind his shoulder and gasps excitedly when she sees the drawing. “That’s me! And Nicolò!”
Nicolò says, “He’s very good, isn’t he?”
Rania nods enthusiastically. Yusuf shrugs, “It is not really-”
“Yusuf.” Nicolò interrupts him and waits for Yusuf to meet his gaze before he says firmly in that straightforward and sincere way of his, “Your work is beautiful. You are the most talented artist I’ve ever known.”
The unexpected compliments cause a blush to rise to Yusuf’s cheeks and he feels his heart beat a little faster at the intensity of those crystalline eyes on him. He opens his mouth to thank him but starts stuttering in a way he never has before, “Oh, I, um, I-”
Thankfully Rania interrupts his embarrassing stammering by leaning over to stage-whisper helpfully in his ear, “Umi says that you should say thank you when someone says something nice about you.” Then she runs off back to her family.
Yusuf ducks his head, knowing that if he is subject to those eyes any longer, he’ll say something truly stupid. “Thank you, Nico, that’s very-” Yusuf clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, “Very kind of you.”
“It is just the truth.” Nicolò says. “Get some rest, I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
Yusuf lays on his bedroll, turning away to hide the smile he can’t stop from tugging at his lips.
A few days later they make it to Tripoli without any incident. Rania is sad to see them part when they reach the city however, so Yusuf gifts her the finished drawing of her and Nicolò to soothe her little frown. Rania accepts it with a delighted smile and sends them away with an exuberant wave, the drawing clutched to her chest.
With their coin purse considerably fuller, Yusuf and Nicolò head in the direction of the market to gather supplies. As they walk, Nicolò bumps his shoulder to Yusuf’s, “That was sweet of you to give her the drawing. Although I’m a little jealous.”
Yusuf raises an eyebrow, “Are you?”
“Yes. She’s the proud owner of an authentic piece by Yusuf al-Kaysani, and I am not.”
He takes in Nicolo’s small, crooked smile and something blooms in Yusuf’s chest, bright and sharp. Yusuf ducks his head to hide the grin threatening to overtake his face. “Don’t worry, Nicolò. The next one is all yours.”
***
Decades later, Yusuf, Nicolò, Andromache and Quynh find themselves in the city of Constantinople. In this particular era, the capital city is flourishing, though Yusuf suspects that this will be short lived with the whispers of unrest that are floating around.
For now, Yusuf is happy to spend some time in a city like Constantinople. The opportunity is rare because Andromache doesn’t have an affinity for the kind of place that Yusuf grew up in, much preferring to just sleep out in the open world. However, their latest job has landed them in the city, and Yusuf and Nicolò had convinced their older sisters to spend an extra few months here even after their work finished.
He and Quynh are at the same market they’ve been visiting these past weeks, and Yusuf relishes the small bit of familiarity with the surrounding vendors. It’s not often they stay anywhere long enough to get to know the mortals around them.
Yusuf haggles with one of the vegetable merchants, an older woman named Zara who he’s fond of lingering and chatting with. He gestures to her wares and gives her a playful grin when she tells him the cost of their purchases. “Really? I’m buying carrots today too, you can’t cut me a deal?”
She shakes her head at him, tutting, “Don’t even try those dimples on me, Yusuf. I’m not budging today.”
He sighs and pouts overdramatically, causing Quynh to roll her eyes at his antics. “I don’t know what you’re accusing me of, I’m just asking for a fair price.”
Zara narrows her eyes at him, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t budge on the price, though Yusuf’s smile widens when he sees her slip some extra beets into their bag before shooing them off to make space for other customers.
Quynh takes his offered arm as they make their way back to the small house the four of them are currently renting. She interrupts his admiration of a mosaic adorning a church wall by pinching his hip, and ignoring his yelp of pain to say, “I don’t understand you.”
“Well it’s very simple, Quynh,” Yusuf says and rubs at his hip, “Your nails are very sharp and I am not made of wood.”
“Not that.” She tugs him away from the mosaic before he can get distracted again. “You’re so charming, usually.”
“I would say thank you but something is telling me to hold back.”
“Good instinct.” Quynh continues. “As charming as you are, when it comes to Nicolò, you have all the charisma and wit of a particularly stupid goat.”
He splutters and stops in the middle of the path, feeling young and petulant in the way only Quynh or Andromache can make him feel. “I do not!”
“Yusuf, em trai,” she deadpans, “The man gave you the bigger half of a honey-cake the other day and you almost melted off of your chair.”
“It was the last one. It was sweet of him!” Yusuf insists as Quynh gets them to start walking again, tucking her calloused hand into the crook of his elbow. “Besides, you and Andromache were bemoaning my flowery declarations of love just the other day! Nico finds them charming.”
“Oh, I’m not arguing that.” Quynh says, “But when Nicolò says or does something similar, I would think you a young maiden meeting her betrothed for the first time.”
He opens his mouth to respond but the thing is - Quynh is right.
He and Nicolò confessed their love for each other decades ago but he’ll still look at Nico sometimes and be overwhelmed by the aching, beautiful way he loves him. And when Nicolò expresses the same to him, in that honest, straightforward way of his, Yusuf doesn’t think there’s any choice but to melt.
If Yusuf says any of this aloud, however, he’ll only prove her point.
He settles for a joke instead to deflect as they come to the front door of their little house. “Now there’s a game we haven’t played yet,” Yusuf muses, “Nicolò, the dashing… prince, perhaps. Me, his betrothed, the inexperienced virgin who just needs a firm-”
“Who’s a virgin in this house?” Andromache asks as they come into the kitchen, interrupting the little fantasy that Yusuf was actually getting quite invested in.
Quynh snorts, and leans down to kiss her wife in greeting where she and Nicolò are sitting at their small table. “Yusuf, apparently.”
Yusuf ignores them to plop himself down onto a welcoming Nicolò’s lap, the chair creaking dangerously under their combined weights. He holds up the rucksack holding their purchases from the market, “I got you the onions you wanted.”
“Thank you, love.” Nico smiles at him, presses a kiss to his neck, then leans back and just, just - looks at him for a long moment, eyes soft and indescribably fond.
Yusuf squirms a little at the sudden, undivided attention. “What is it?”
Nicolò shakes his head, expression unchanging. “It’s nothing. It just overwhelms me sometimes. How beautiful you are.”
Yusuf’s heart hammers in his chest, and his breath catches as he tries to respond- to thank Nico, tell him how much he loves him, anything really, but no words come. Realizing that he’s gaping like a fish out of water and proving Quynh’s point exactly, Yusuf gives up his search for words and leans down to kiss Nico firmly.
Quynh’s voice sounds behind him, “What did I tell you?”
Just to annoy her, Yusuf takes his time, sucking on Nicolò’s tongue languidly. When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far, draping his arms over Nico’s broad shoulders. “Nicolò, hayati, please tell our dear sister to fuck off.”
Nicolò obeys easily, eyes trained on Yusuf’s bottom lip. “Fuck off, Quynh.”
Yusuf grins, hopelessly enamoured. “My hero.”
***
Centuries later, Joseph wakes up to the sound of Nicolas shuffling around their bedroom. It takes him a moment to sit up; his recently severed limbs are healed completely now but the phantom pain of it lingers in his bones.
Once his eyes adjust to the dark, he can see with sudden and startling clarity that Nicolas is splattered with blood. The crimson stains seem to glow under the waning strains of moonlight spilling through the window.
They showered together after the mission- how is it possible that Nico is covered in blood again? Joseph fumbles for the bedside lamp, and before it even turns on, he realizes what has happened. If he didn’t figure it out himself, the defiant look in Nicolas’ eyes would give it away.
Nico starts to defend himself before Joseph even says anything, “Don’t be-”
“You went back. I told you not to go back there and you did it anyway.”
“Yusuf.” Nicolas’ jaw sets in the way that Joseph recognizes as a precursor to Nico digging his heels in. He speaks in a measured tone, though his eyes are blazing. “They cut your arm off, slit your throat, and then ran away like fucking cowards.”
The last thing Joseph wants is to be fighting with his husband but the day’s events have left him feeling irritated, and waking up to a bed that doesn’t have Nico in it is bound to make him even crankier. “So your solution was to what? Run in there - without backup - and kill the lot of them yourself?”
Nicolas pulls off his blood-soaked shirt, not giving an inch to Joseph’s argument. “It worked. And they deserved it.”
Joseph does his best not to yell. “What if it didn’t work? What if they’d slit your throat this time and no one was there to drag you out before someone noticed something?”
“Amore mio, I am not playing the what-if game with you.” Nicolas says shortly and grabs a clean towel.
He looks over at where Joseph is sitting on the bed, and seems to deflate at whatever he sees on Joseph’s face. Nicolas sighs and comes up to stand on Joseph’s side of the bed, lifting a hand to cup his jaw. “Will you join me in the shower?”
Joseph closes his eyes and can’t help but lean into the touch briefly. When he opens them again, he sees the blood clinging to Nico’s bare chest and his earlier frustration returns.
Joseph shakes his head sharply, says, “We just showered a few hours ago,” then flops back onto the bed, out of reach of Nico’s warm hand. He hears Nicolas make a noise of exasperation above him, but he doesn’t turn to look until he hears Nicolas close the door behind him.
He lays there for only a few moments more, images of Nico’s idiotic, revenge-fueled mission gone wrong tumbling through his head. He makes his own noise of exasperation and gets out of bed. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep without Nicolas safely in his arms, anyway.
He makes his way to the living room, where Sebastian is lounging on the couch, a worn and well-loved book in his hands, a glass of whiskey keeping him company on the table. Joseph collapses on the couch next to him, jostling Sebastian enough that he looks up and raises an eyebrow.
Sebastian kicks at his calf, “What’s with you?”
Joseph kicks back halfheartedly, then crosses his arms and sinks back into the lumpy couch. “Nico did something stupid. I’m upset with him.”
“You’re upset?”
“Yes.”
“With Nicolas?”
“Yes, Bas.” Joseph narrows his eyes at him, “It’s just whiskey in that glass, right?”
Sebastian rolls his eyes and goes back to his book. “You’re never upset with Nico. Not properly, anyhow.”
Joseph is about to defend himself, when Nicolas walks into the living room, hair wet, wearing sleep pants and nothing else. He comes over to the couch and tangles his fingers into the curls at the nape of Joseph’s neck, voice soft as he asks, “Are you coming to bed, my heart?”
Joseph is in the mood to sulk just a little bit longer (and maybe he wants to prove a point to Bas) so he says, “You go, I’ll be there in a bit. I’m talking with Sebastian.”
Sebastian flips a page of his book pointedly loud, but doesn’t comment.
Nicolas doesn’t go back to their room. Instead he comes around the couch to kneel in between Joseph’s legs, those broad hands of his coming up to hold Joseph’s face, so that he has no choice but to meet Nicolas’ gaze.
“Yusuf,” he says, thumbs brushing across Joseph’s cheekbones. “I’m sorry I didn’t do as you asked. But I won’t apologize for going back and giving those men what they deserved.” Nico’s voice doesn’t rise, but his eyes express the vehemency of his words. “You are the most wonderful, beautiful thing to grace this world, my love. Anyone who would try to rid the universe of you deserves a just punishment, and I am more than happy to dole it out.”
Hot tears spring to Joseph’s eyes, and he’d like to blame them even partly on the tumultuous events of the day or the fact that his left arm still feels like it’s throbbing, but he can’t. He can’t because these tears are all Nicolas’ fault, brought forth by his matter-of-fact tone, like he knows a secret about Joseph that the rest of the world doesn’t: ‘Of course Yusuf is the most wonderful, most beautiful person,’ he seems to say, ‘Of course.’
Joseph’s frustration and irritation melts away in an instant, as if it never existed at all. He leans down and wraps his arms around Nico’s chest, hauling him half into his lap so that Nicolas has to kneel up. Joseph buries his face in Nico’s neck, tears mingling with the dampness lingering on Nicolas’ skin from his shower.
“That’s cheating.” Joseph mumbles into his neck.
Nicolas cards one hand through Joseph’s curls, the other strokes his back. There’s a smile in his voice, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Sebastian snorts from where he’s sitting beside them, obviously amused by the night’s proceedings and the fact that Joseph has proven him right so easily. “I’m sure,” he agrees, mockingly.
Joseph reaches over without detaching his face from Nico’s neck to smack at Sebastian’s knee.
Nicolas repeats his earlier question, warm and low in Joseph’s ear. “Will you come to bed now?”
Joseph tightens his arms around Nico, stomach fluttering as if they’re going to bed together for the first time. “If you insist.”
***
A century later, Joe, Nicky, Andy and Nile are doing prep work for their next job.
Joe likes Nile. She’s full of energy, easy to laugh and quick-witted in a way that he warmed to almost instantly. Currently, he finds himself liking her much more than he likes Andy, and he tells her so, tucking her under his arm. “That’s why you’re my favorite, Nile.”
He, Andy and Nile are crowded around a too-small table at a dive bar. Nicky is across the room, extracting info from their source, while the other three keep watch. It’s overkill, really, because this part of their latest mission isn’t too serious, but the three of them were really just looking for an excuse to get out of the cramped apartment they’re currently staying in.
The three of them arrived shortly after Nicky, doing their best not to call attention to themselves. Joe went up to the bar to get them all drinks. As he waited for the bartender’s attention, a voice sounded next to him. “Hey.”
Joe turned to the voice, finding it attached to the man sitting at the barstool next to him. He was handsome, Joe noted absently, dark skin and dark eyes, friendly smile. Joe smiled back politely, “Hello.”
“Are you new around here?”
“Mm. I'm just passing through.”
“Thought so, I definitely would’ve remembered you if I’d seen you around.” Joe was vaguely amused at the flirting. The man continued, “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Ah,” Joe said, flashing his left hand with his ring. “I’m married, actually.”
The man took it in stride, his smile barely faltering. “No worries. Worth a try, right?” Joe chuckled, agreed and wished the man a good night before he returned to the table with their drinks.
Nile grinned at him, taking her beer. “He was hot. Bet you have a lot of practice turning people down though, huh?”
Joe winked at her, affecting his best I’m-an-asshole tone and puffing his chest out. “Oh, you know, it’s hard but I do my best to let them down easy.”
Nile laughed, and Andy’s smile took on a mischievous slant before she informed Nile, “That’s only true for strangers. He turns into an idiot when Nicky does anything resembling flirting with him.”
Joe glared at her, the urge to automatically disagree with his older sister about this ingrained in him. Whether or not she was right was a different matter. “That is not true. Not anymore.”
Nile gave Andy a skeptical look. “I mean, I kind of have to agree with Joe. They’ve been together for, like, centuries. How much could a little flirting affect him?”
Joe nodded emphatically. “Thank you, Nile!”
Andy’s eyes sparkled. “Wanna bet on it? 50 bucks and loser has to do dishes for the week.”
Nile considered it, eyes narrowing. “Fine,” she pointed at him, “I’m placing my faith in you, Joe.” Which is what led to Joe’s ardent declaration of Nile as his favorite.
Nile wraps her arm around his waist, as tactile as Joe in her affection. “Liar,” she says, leaning into his chest, “we all know Nicky’s got that spot.”
“Second favorite.” Joe amends.
As Nile clarifies the finer points of the bet with Andy, Joe watches Nicky finish up his conversation. There’s a tension in the line of Nicky’s shoulders, and his expression is hard, jaw set and eyes unforgiving as he interrogates the man sitting across from him. It’s an unfairly sexy look on him.
Once the other man slinks away, Nicky looks over to catch Joe’s eye, and the expression fades into a more familiar one; he shoots Joe a crooked smile, eyes softening. Joe likes this look even better.
Nicky makes his way over, but before he can come too close, Nile strides in front of him, blocking his path. She sticks her hand out cheerfully, eyes dancing with laughter. “Hi,” she says, to Joe’s confusion, “I’m Nile.”
Nicky blinks, evidently as confused as Joe. “Uh.” He shakes her hand reflexively. “Hello, Nile.”
Nile’s grin grows, and she turns and gestures behind her. “This is my friend Joe. He’s been distracted by you all night, so I thought I’d be a good wingwoman and make his move for him.”
Joe catches on to the game only a second before Nicky does.
He gives Nicky a little wave, smiling in the way that never fails to draw Nicky’s attention to the crinkles around his eyes. “Ignore my friend,” he says as Nicky comes to stand across from him, “I would’ve said something eventually.”
“I don’t mind speeding things up a little.” Nicky says and puts his forearms on the little table. Joe can’t help but be drawn to the way the movement pulls the grey sweater he’s wearing tighter to his shoulders and arms.
Joe forces himself to meet Nicky’s gaze, who’s smirking like he knows exactly what Joe’s mind is stuck on. Joe steels himself; he will not let Nile down, nor will he give Andy any more material to tease him with for the next few decades.
He clears his throat, and says, “Well before we get too far- I never got your name.”
“It’s Nicolò.” Nicky says.
For some nonsensical reason, Nicky giving him his birth name instead of his nickname pulls at something in Joe’s chest. He leans his elbows onto the sticky table top too, and they’re definitely crossing the lines of how ordinary strangers would act in this situation now, for how close their faces are from one another.
From the corner of his eye he can see Nile watching them like a tennis match. “Nicolò, I hope this isn’t too forward, but I must say,” Joe lowers his voice a little, to the register he uses to get Nicky to spend the day in bed with him. “You have the most beautiful eyes. They remind me of the Mediterannean where I grew up.”
Nicky smiles, genuinely pleased at the compliment, as if Joe hasn’t said the exact same thing a thousand times over in their long life together.
He drops his chin, looking up at Joe through his eyelashes. It’s a dirty, calculated move. “Thank you.” Nicky says. Then, “Since we’re being so bold, I hope you don’t mind me saying that you have beautiful hands.”
Joe blinks. “My hands?”
Nicky nods, then reaches for where one of Joe’s hands is curled around the neck of his beer bottle. “May I?” Joe holds out his hand, and Nicky takes it gently in one of his, turning it so that Joe’s palm is facing up. Nicky runs a finger across Joe’s palm, tracing his lifeline. A shiver runs down Joe’s spine.
Nicky’s eyes are looking down at Joe’s hand as he speaks, voice warm and quiet, “You have the calluses of a warrior.” It’s something a stranger would never say to another stranger, especially in this day and age, but Joe is enraptured. Nicky continues, “But these long, elegant fingers- you must be an artist, yes?”
Joe draws in a shaky breath as Nicky caresses one of the fingers in question. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, “I am.”
Nicky hums, hands still moving lightly over Joe’s. Then he looks up and meets Joe’s eyes, that clear, blue gaze pinning Joe in place. He speaks without breaking their eye contact, and they’re so close now that Joe can feel Nicky’s breath against his lips when he speaks again.
“I think these hands have known love.” His grip on Joe’s hand tightens just slightly, “I think they know how to love. How to pleasure.”
Nicky’s gaze dips to Joe’s mouth, and Joe’s breath catches.
Joe’s pulse is hammering in his wrist, and the heat in his cheeks tells him he must be blushing. His world has narrowed to the sensation of Nicky’s hand in his, Nicky’s heavy-lidded gaze, the curve of Nicky’s cupid’s bow - Joe has to kiss his husband right now.
Joe does just that, closing the scant space between them, crushing his mouth to Nicky’s. As he goes to tangle a hand in Nicky’s hair to tug him closer (haul him over the table separating them, perhaps), Joe’s arm knocks his beer bottle clear off the table and it falls to the floor with a resounding crash.
Nicky and Joe jump at the sound, separating with a slick noise.
Joe feels a sharp slap on his arm. He looks over to where Nile is glaring at him, Andy smiling triumphantly next to her.
Nile’s tone is near murderous, “Joe, are you fucking kidding me?”