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“So? How was the race?”
Nico grins, opening the door to let Lewis in. It’s late and the deafening buzz is finally subsiding, the circus leaving town in an ordered queue, but his chest still feels swollen, tight, as if he’s swallowed massive amounts of feelings and now he doesn’t even know where to store them. He watches Lewis, no, he beams at him. He doesn’t miss the slight, pink flush on his cheeks when Lewis catches him staring and, fuck, when was the last time he has ever felt so alive?
“Spectacular,” he says, his fingers closing around Lewis’ small wrist, his pulse tapping away under his digits. “Showstopping. Perfect, in every sense.”
He knows Lewis would like to reply. He is always the perfectionist, a veritable pain in the ass, but he snatches his mouth long before Lewis can form a coherent sentence and the kiss they share is so long, so passionate and hungry they’re both quite winded out when they part, their synchronized breaths coming out in short, gasping fits.
“You were saying…?” Lewis starts, a labored giggle bubbling over his lips, and Nico shakes his head, kissing him again, reveling in his victorious glow.
Even under the ugly lights of the hotel, Lewis looks like one of those icons of saints all pleated in gold, casting his own light – it’s not as blinding as it used to be, but it has grown into a soft, golden hue that warms up Nico’s skin, making it pleasantly tingly.
For the first time in his life, he gets to experience it: Lewis’ light doesn’t burn when you’re not standing next to him on a podium, milliseconds away from your dream. It is, on the contrary, not unlike the gentlest touch, a caress that drags along. His arms wrapped around his tiny frame, Nico feels like he’s holding something rare and so, so incredibly precious.
“I was saying that I love you. And that you were phenomenal, Lewis. I mean it.”
Lewis’ mouth curls into a soft, playful smirk.
“Say it again?”
Nico, who still remembers the rules of their game even though it feels like a lifetime has passed, smirks back, comically frowning and tentatively saying “you were phenomenal?”, waiting for Lewis to break into a laugh. He keeps his cool, though, his mouth only twitching, as he presses himself further into Nico’s chest, the messy top of his cornrows tickling Nico’s chin.
“Yes, and…?”
“And I love you, of course.”
“Say it again.”
Nico loses count of how many times he tells Lewis that he loves him. He proclaims all his love, kiss after kiss, as they hurl their bodies around the spacious room, bumping into corners and low armchairs and mismatched shoes, and it feels like holding onto the distant impression of a supernova, its heat welcoming and familiar, even though they’re not the same people they were back then. That’s the reason why it’s working, ultimately: you have to let a star burn to its core before it’s safe to hold it. Nico understands it, now. Lewis, for how fiery and proud and temperamental, understands it. It only took almost a decade of grief and heartbreak to get where they are, but it seems like age has made them both wiser…and a tad softer.
Together, they crash on the bed, but what ten years ago would have been a long, hard session of steamy-hot sex, is just a gentle cuddle – age has made them wiser, softer and it also was rather unforgiving on Lewis’ body, no matter how many hours per week he dedicates to maintaining his stunning physique.
“Alright. Where does it hurt?” Nico asks, indulgent, when Lewis hisses in pain, their lips still touching.
“Small of the back. Lumbar and sacral area. Dear God, it feels like I’ve been sitting on solid rock for two days straight…”
“Arms up,” Nico instructs, and Lewis complies with a small, apologetic smile.
“I really, really wanted to have sex, you know?”
“Don’t even apologize, please. Sex can wait, but a good massage? Oh, no. Did I tell you I took some classes from a holistic masseuse, last summer?”
Lewis laughs, trapped in the shirt for a moment before Nico can peel it off for good, its collar a little too tight to fit Lewis’ massive neck.
And, Good Lord, what a sight he is. Chiseled muscles and bulging trails of veins twitching and pulsing under his mouth-watering caramel skin, his tattoos a map of his achievements and failures. His fading scars, thin and translucent, something only Nico can locate on his body, a body that he has learnt to know as if it was his own. Yeah, fuck, sex would be lovely. But making Lewis nice and comfortable would be a hundred percent nicer, so he instructs him to lay down on his belly and starts working with slow, firm motions, from the base of his buttocks and climbing up, up, up where his muscles are all knotted and tender and his aching spine protrudes as Lewis arches his back, moaning as the pressure releases gradually – isn’t that even better than sex?
“The masseuse…did a great job. I feel better already.”
“Liar,” Nico coos. “What about we get you into a warm bath? You’re all knotted up. It’s like kneading dry dough!”
Lewis chuckles under his breath.
“What a convoluted metaphor. You’ve been reading?”
“Yeah, of course. Kafka. Letters to Milena.”
Lewis hums appreciatively. It takes them another solid fifteen minutes of cuddling and kissing before he can actually coax Lewis into following him to the spacious bathroom, almost entirely occupied by a large marble bathtub, a massive thing that adds a decadent touch to the suite.
The strain is visible on Lewis’ beautiful features, but it doesn’t detract from his handsomeness – if anything, it enhances it. Like the embodiment of a martyr, Lewis carries his suffering along with austere dignity, his face becoming even more graceful, though Nico never thought it could be possible to make perfection even better. Sure, he would never want to see Lewis in proper pain, but exhaustion does really compliment him.
“Look at us,” Lewis whispers after a while. “We’re getting old.”
Nico scoffs, roaming his beauty case until he finds an intact bottle of bath oil, and he dumps a generous dollop in the rising water, the foam filling the bathroom with the scent of patchouli and lavender. It’s aromatherapy shit, something Vivian was very much into a while ago. It’s supposed to be relaxing, though Nico doesn’t actually believe such New Age bullshit. To him, it’s just a nice smell, and he knows Lewis loves it too.
“ You are getting old, liebling. I am, au contraire, experiencing a new youth. Us, in the same hotel room? Come on, it’s like being teenagers again!”
Lewis lets out a shrieking laugh of his – you know he’s not faking it when he’s loud, loud, louder than the collision of the universes itself, and his mouth gets all big and toothy, his dimples in full show.
Oh, how much he has missed it.
He remembers their last laughs together. Short and bitter like firing bullets, all carrying resentment and hurt and grief, ugly, short-lived things he has sworn to erase from his own memory making Lewis laugh - genuinely, this time - every day, even if only for a handful of seconds.
“I’m afraid I feel every bit my age, tonight, and even some more!”
“Which is why I’ll be your crutch as you grow older and older, grandpa.”
Lewis blows him a raspberry.
“You wish. I’m still in top shape. I’m just…a little tired, that’s all!”
Smiling condescendingly, Nico shakes his head. Still his Lewis. Still his unbelievably prideful creature who doesn’t know which battles to pick.
“Get in, Lou, come on. Let me give you a proper winner's treatment, will you?”
“Only if you come in with me.”
It doesn’t really take a lot of convincing for Nico to comply.
***
There's something deeply intimate, deeply romantic in sharing a bath with someone – not anyone, of course. His soulmate. The love of his life.
Breaks like this will always be Nico's favorite: them, snuggled up in the bathtub - it doesn't seem so big when it has to accommodate two grown men - Lewis's broad back against his chest as he drifts off, his eyelids fluttering closed and his lips parting, sighing, sometimes even snoring gently.
Only them and no one else. Far from the clamoring crowd and the shouting of the departing circus, only his arms protectively wrapped around Lewis' frame which nobody would ever describe as tiny or delicate, bit to him it just feels like holding something extremely fragile and infinitely exquisite – ten years of heartbreak and longing and unspeakable grief, and look at where they are now.
A smile blooms on his lips as he kisses the top of Lewis' head.
“I missed you,” he whispers. Lewis' fingers wrap around his knee and squeeze gently.
“We woke up together this morning,” he points out, though Nico knows he's fully aware they're not talking about their most recent past. He kisses him indulgently, though, his lips lingering on Lewis' temple, instinctively drawing him closer in a splash of patchouli scented water.
“And I missed you since you left the bed,” he replies, drinking in Lewis' soft moans when he finds a particularly knotted spot in his muscles and dips his fingers in the hard flesh, slowly working through the sore muscle.
“I should never leave the bed again…” Lewis muses, his voice dropped to a low murmur that reverberates through Nico's core oh so pleasantly.
Except that it's not about the bed, it's about the broader picture all over again, and Nico sighs softly, his smile taking some sort of a melancholy quality, his forehead bumping into Lewis' temple.
“You left to do something great, liebling. I'm so proud of you, you know that?”
He catches the slightest hitch in Lewis' breath at his words, his body going even more unresisting, languid, nuzzling into his hug in a way that Nico could only describe as moving, not only because he could start cry and never stop again, but also because he knows, with the absolute certainty of a dogma, that he would move fucking mountains for him. Shift the poles if necessary. Make the Earth spin slower or faster, if Lewis was to ask him.
That's what a love laced with grief and regret does. That's what a history like theirs does.
“And you'll keep being proud? No matter how many times I will wake up long before you and just-”
He trails off, or maybe his voice falters. Nico kisses him again, his presence sturdy and reassuring. It's never easy to reminisce, but Nico has had…more means to heal himself, so to say. He doesn't feel guilty at admitting that his wounds have turned into scars faster, already fading in the background as they slowly drifted back towards each other – the sea cannot choose to stay away from the jagged coasts. For how much the impact had hurt, the rocky surface of Lewis' soul has welcomed him home, its embrace almost as familiar as the regular outlines of Vivian's sandy shore. So, where Nico is all scars, Lewis is still all barely stitched wounds, and sometimes the sutures rip, making him bleed.
“Of course I will! I will attend every race, Lou. Every race. And I’ll be proud of you no matter what.”
How much pride would have cost him to say these exact words just three, four years ago? If he thinks about it now, the difference feels…abysmal, to the point of making him quite dizzy.
“I love you.”
Nico feels it deep, deep into his chest, like the sinking sensation you get when you’re riding a rollercoaster. Here, in a bathtub that’s too small for two and decidedly too big for one, snuggled up and soaking in patchouli and lavender scented water, foam engulfing them like the softest pillow, Nico is under the distinct impression that everything is falling into place perfectly, as if impelled by gravity. It feels a lot like happiness and, for once, Nico allows himself the luxury of reveling in it, closing his eyes and breathing Lewis in.
“I love you too, Lou. Are we ready to go to bed?”
Despite Lewis’ assent, they end up soaking another fifteen minutes, none of them actually daring to move. Isn’t that how happiness works, after all? Once you have a taste, you really can’t go back, and even changing positions feels like an act of heresy, among other unpleasant things.
“Am I keeping you up past your bedtime, old man?”
Nico lets out a brief, husky laugh.
Fuck, yes, he missed this. He missed this like air.
***
“Did I ever tell you how sexy you look in my underwear?”
Lewis chuckles, nuzzling his nose in the crook of his neck, his muscular leg draped across Nico’s as to keep him there – like he really needed it.
No risk of flight on his part: everything he has ever wanted or needed is here, in this very bed, safely tucked in his arms. And he’s also wearing his boxer briefs, which is sexy as fuck according to Nico’s absolutely unbiased opinion. Faded gray is definitely a stunning color, when Lewis is wearing it.
“Never had the chance to compliment me on that, no. Care to make up for all the time we have lost while being massive assholes?”
It’s Nico’s turn to chuckle now, letting his fingertips roam the vast plane of Lewis’ shoulders, careful not to stir his sore back too much. It would be a shame to waste a good bath and a long massage session on such a petty thing, right?
“You’re so fucking sexy in my underwear. You should wear it more often.”
“Maybe under the fireproofs,” Lewis jokes. “It could be my secret lucky charm.”
“And you’d give it back all sweaty. Just like the old times!”
Lewis lets out a loud, ungraceful laugh.
“Greece, 2001. That fucking tent that smelled of sweaty ballsack all the time…”
Nico feigns a very exaggerated offense, pulling Lewis so close that not a whiff of air can pass through their tangled bodies.
“It was the smell of underage sex and cheap beer, you boor. I showered every night!”
Lewis keeps laughing and laughing, tears streaming down his face. To Nico, nothing in this world could ever compare. Nothing could ever be as beautiful as Lewis’ laugh, so open and genuine, so familiar and yet something he needs to reacquaint with every single time.
However graced with the ebbs and flows of any good, old fashioned tragedy, their last years have been filled with many things, but laughter isn’t one of them. He cherishes Lewis’ laughter as if it was a piece of his heart – and maybe it is. Maybe it’s been his missing piece all along.
“Fuck, I am tired.”
“Understandable. You had a tough race. How does it feel to be on top of the world again?”
The air sizzles with the static buzz of a solemn proclamation, when Lewis props himself on his elbow, cups Nico’s chin, and plants his impossibly languid eyes into his.
“It feels wonderful. And it doesn’t feel as lonely anymore.”
Nico smiles softly, fending off the tears prickling at the corners of his vision, making the world ripple like the surface of a lake.
“Sleep, champion,” he whispers, their lips touching briefly. It’s not quite a kiss, but it feels incredibly meaningful, so tremendously deep, just like an earthquake cracking his world in two. A before and an after Nico could have never envisioned, but that he’s grateful to witness as it unfolds in front of his eyes, as magnificent and melancholic as only the last love can be. The One. His unexpected happily ever after.
Only when Lewis is safely tucked in his embrace again and he’s breathing evenly, quietly, with his lips slightly parted, Nico lets out a long, satisfied sigh.
He’s thriving. He’s got everything he has always asked for, and even more. Yes, now he can say it for sure: this is, without the shadow of a doubt, happiness. And, this time, he will protect it. He will do right by Lewis. He will be a better person, for Lewis.
He smiles, kissing his smooth forehead, and he sinks into the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
Happiness. They owe each other as much.