Work Text:
After a week of chasing a CEO around the world, Joe is more than ready to bury himself under the covers with Nicky and only come out once this generation of adults is dead. Is he being dramatic? Andy would say yes, but Andy wasn’t schmoozing with the lowest scum on earth (aka rich, sleazy business tycoons), for the past week with no promise of being able to stab at least five of them. Joe sniffs — it’s mighty easy to judge from a sniper's nest three rooftops away.
Joe kicks the door to the safe house shut and tosses the keys into the designated key bowl. He immediately spots Nicky resting on the couch, his neck is bent at a god-awful angle that has definitely been inspired by Booker and his ridiculously long legs are hanging over the other end of the tiny sofa, his feet crossed at the ankles like he’s the queen or something. Joe can’t help but smile fondly at his sleeping husband. He looks like cooked linguine.
With gentle steps, Joe pads over to the head of the couch to crouch down in front of Nicky’s face. Nicky’s rhythmic breathing doesn’t falter, a steady in and a breathy out through his nose that isn’t loud, but not quiet either. It used to drive Joe insane back in the days, keeping him up for hours every night. Then again, everything Nicky used to do drove him insane. Still does, if he’s being honest.
Leaning forward, Joe places a soft kiss on Nicky’s forehead, brushing a strand of gravity-defying hair away from his eyes when he pulls back. He traces invisible laugh lines that would be long overdue in a mortal thousand-year-old man, his touch feathery-soft and loving, oh so loving that anybody else would surely shatter underneath his fingers. As it is, Nicky’s breath stutters in his chest as he toes the line of consciousness, only sinking back into slumber once his subconscious registers the situation as safe, protected even. Joe continues his quiet exploration, occasionally kissing smooth patches of skin in a silent form of gratitude.
He should wake Nicky up. Afternoon naps always kill Nicky’s sleep schedule and as much as he loves all of Nicky’s sides, the backside especially, his grumpy side is definitely one Joe prefers well-hidden. But he looks so peaceful, Joe’s inner thoughts protest. And he does. He looks like a regular 31-year-old, younger even with how long his hair is, not an immortal who’s fought in countless wars and always wears this little frown when awake. He looks untouched and Joe wants to preserve this look for as long as he can.
In the end, it doesn’t matter because the choice is taken out of his hands. Maybe sensing his inner turmoil, Nicky blinks awake between one breath and another and then they’re staring at each other, sun-warmed earth meeting storm-raged clouds. Always so alive, Joe thinks with a bit of awe. He feels like if he leans in and kisses Nicky right now, he’ll taste the crackle of lightning, bright and electrifying on his tongue, setting afire every nerve ending in his body in the best way possible, a feeling that would be unparalleled to anything else on this earth and —
And then Nicky is guiding him down with a steady hand on the back of his neck, easily reading his every thought even upside down, and it’s nothing like a storm. It’s high pressure as his heart pounds frantically in his chest, it’s the almost sweet taste of petrichor dancing on his tongue, it’s the warmth of basking in the first rays of sunshine after a tireless storm. The angle is all off, a Spider-Man kiss Nile would call it, and Joe doesn’t care, he keeps kissing Nicky like he will die if he stops. He takes every kiss that these past two weeks have stolen plus interest. He fists his hands in Nicky’s hair and burns in the humid heat of Nicky’s mouth.
Eventually, Joe pulls back with a dazed look, dizzy in a way he hasn’t been in a long time that he can’t even manage a snarky comeback at Nicky’s smug grin.
“Welcome home,” Nicky pants, toying with the curls at the nape of Joe’s neck. It tickles and Joe squirms, whines at Nicky’s low huff of amusement, but he stays right there, right in Nicky’s grip, forever trapped in his storm.