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As terrible as he is, Joe can't deny that Nicky scrubs up well. Even from clear across the room the lines of his suit are sharp enough to cut glass. The stretch of his shoulders alone is indecent in the low light. He tips his head back in a laugh at something a socialite says (fake, Joe assumes. In all the years he's known Nicky, he's barely even seen him crack a smile) and pats her hand gently when she curls it around his forearm.
It rankles, really it does, that someone can be so good at pretending to be charming whilst lacking a single legitimately charming bone in his entire body. Joe should know, he's worked with him often enough. Quiet and direct and utterly intolerable. Maybe he shouldn't still be surprised, Joe thinks to himself. Of course there has to be a caveat when someone is that pretty, and he's man enough to admit that it isn't like Nicky lacks in intelligence. Obviously it has to be his personality that suffers.
(He ignores Quynh's voice in his head, singing Nicky's praises and giggling over his quiet wit. She just likes to mess with people.)
Joe drags his eyes away from Nicky and refocuses. He has a job to do here too after all.
In that vein, he sets his (untouched) drink down on a low table as he passes and makes his way out to the dance floor. A handful of seconds and a smile later, he has a partner and a convincing reason to be within earshot of a knot of board members discussing something entirely inappropriate to the festive atmosphere, if the looks on their faces are anything to go by.
Nicky passes by in his own dance. They don't look at each other; their shoulders are a handspan apart as they twist in opposite directions.
The board members aren't even using coded language. They're discussing shipments and money trails in public like nothing and no one can touch them. Joe bares his teeth in a grin at the man in his arms who stares back at him like he's seeing the sun rise for the first time. It would be flattering, but to be invited to this party legitimately is to be involved with such unsavoury people that the most feeling Joe can muster is contempt.
Out of time with the music, three short pips sound in Joe's ear.
The song ends, Joe extricates himself from his partner with a kiss to his knuckles and the promise of a dance again later in the evening. He knows without having to check that Nicky is doing the same somewhere. Out of sight of each other, discreetly as either are able, they slip from the party from two different exits.
They have ten minutes.
Joe cuts through the cloakroom, across the tiny covered courtyard that separates the wings of the tackiest manorhouse he's ever seen, and into the kitchen with his most convincing look of confusion. A bemused chef turns him around and shows him to the gardens. When Joe reaches the fountain, he has a pendrive in his pocket and Nicky in his sights.
It's a pity he's so intolerable, Joe studiously pretends he isn't thinking. The moon on his face would make a wonderful study otherwise, his cheekbones and the proud hook of his nose hold the light so well.
'Good evening,' Nicky is perfectly capable of disguising his accent while he's working. He doesn't, in briefings, and it bothers Joe for reasons he can't quite pin down.
'Isn't it just?'
Another thing that bothers Joe is just how boring Nicky's code phrases always are. He knows they have to be discreet, but they could at least have a little fun with it. Yes, okay, they've communicated that Joe made the pickup without incident and Nicky made his own drop-off, but where's the glamour?
'It's nice to get a breath of air, isn't it?' Are you ready for extraction?
'It's a beautiful night.' Awaiting confirmation.
'Are you enjoying the party?' Andromache?
'The music is wonderful.' Nile.
Nicky nods, and leans back against the edge of the fountain, looking for all the world like a man taking in the air.
'I've never been a fan of seafood canapés,' he says, idly, and Joe can't help squinting at him. That's not a code he knows. They agreed them together, there shouldn't be any he's unfamiliar with. Nicky catches his look, and raises an eyebrow minutely. 'They never stay fresh, they make the room smell bad.'
Is this… an actual opinion? From Nicky Di Genova? The most stonefaced agent in the industry?
'I… can't say I disagree,' says Joe slowly, keeping the pleasant smile on his face only by grace of his years of training. 'But then, I'm not a fan of canapés in general.'
Is that a smile, in the flex of di Genova's cheek? Can't be. Surely not.
'Unfulfilling, aren't they?'
Joe wonders, slightly hysterically, if someone slipped something into his drink. He didn't even taste it, but maybe just touching the glass was enough. Five years of animosity, and mid-mission Nicky decides to make small talk? Flirtatious small talk?
The smile hiding in the corner of Nicky's mouth starts to fade. Never let it be said that Yusuf Al-Kaysani is a coward.
'Can't be satisfied with less than a mouthful.' If this was anywhere else, anyone else, Joe would have winked. From the tiny widening of Nicky's eyes, clearly he knows that too.
Before they can take it further, whatever it is, four pips sound in their earpieces. Nile is ready.
'I think they're serving—,' Nicky's return to their encoded conversation is interrupted by heavy footsteps and voices from the ostentatious hedge maze to their left. They look at each other, momentarily thrown. They know that voice well. That's their target. He isn't even supposed to be in the country, let alone at this party. Something is going down.
The garden, hedge maze and fountain aside, is one long stretch of nothing. No trees, no flowers, no sculptures. Just grass perfect enough to play golf on and absolutely nothing to hide behind. They have bare seconds before he spots them, and he's definitely not alone. They can't sprint for the exits, they can't explain what they're doing there, and it's best for all involved if he doesn't get a look at their faces. Far, far less than ideal, frankly.
The footsteps get closer. Joe wildly scrambles for options and briefly considers pushing Nicky into the fountain, just for the spectacle of it all, when Nicky's hand closes around his tie, and he pulls him forward, hard.
Joe has a very brief second to grudgingly admire Nicky's very firm and very broad chest, before Nicky cups the back of his head and kisses him so thoroughly that all sense flies out of his head.
That's cheating, he thinks as Nicky toys with his hair where it meets his neck, dragging a shiver up his back to meet his fingertips. His waist feels tiny under the span of Joe's hands. He isn't even sure when he put them there, all he can focus on is how soft Nicky's lips are, and the slide of his tongue.
A chuckle behind Joe makes him freeze in Nicky's arms. Nicky rubs his thumb against the side of his neck, gentling him.
'Carry on, gentlemen. Don't let me interrupt.' The target is laughing at them. It's still less than ideal that he's seen them, but Joe has to give it to Nicky, there are worse ways to distract someone from seeing your face.
Three sets of footsteps pass by. They've stopped kissing now, but in the interests of carrying on their ruse Joe has his face pressed to Nicky's throat, and Nicky's nuzzling his nose against his hair.
They stand like that, embracing against the edge of the fountain, until they can't hear anything but their own breath and the burbling water.
Two pips, in their ears, so close Joe can almost hear Nicky's. It's time to go.
They don't look each other in the eye as they separate. They take different routes to the extraction point. They say nothing at all to each other for the rest of the night.
Joe falls into bed later, alone and exhausted, the taste of Nicky's mouth still on his tongue.