Chapter Text
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Not really, no.”
Isaac takes a surreptitious step towards the closet, pulling Nigel with him with as much subterfuge as he can manage. It's crowded in here, with ghosts as well as livings, and he's careful not to draw anyone's attention.
“Then why are we doing this, again?”
“Because it will be fun,” Isaac says firmly. “And I read about it in one of Sam's magazines. You remember, I told you about the article a few days ago.”
“Ah, yes,” Nigel says, casting him a dubious glance. “‘Ten Ways to Spice Up Your Relationship This Holiday Season.’ Clearly, the pinnacle of modern journalism.”
Isaac hesitates, then slowly runs one hand up and down Nigel's back. He feels the involuntary shiver at once, even through the layers of Nigel's uniform, and has to bite back a smile. The knowledge that Nigel has done this so many times before, with so many other men, used to make Isaac feel vaguely inadequate; surely, he thought, Nigel must find his naivety unsatisfying. But Nigel taught him – repeatedly, in fact – that all the experience in the world hadn't prepared him for this. For Isaac, specifically, and how Isaac makes him feel. And so now, knowing that he can reduce Nigel to a quivering mess despite his inexperience just makes Isaac feel more empowered, not less.
“You're playing dirty, Isaac,” Nigel protests, but doesn't sound particularly mad about it.
“Just using all the tools at my disposal, sweetie,” Isaac replies, and delights at the blush the endearment elicits. Anyone who doesn’t know their history, Isaac muses, would likely think Nigel was the ingenue between them, and not the other way around.
“Oh, all right, fine,” Nigel finally relents. “Let's get on with this, then. I don't want to miss smelling the spiced wine I saw Jay preparing earlier.”
Isaac wraps one arm around Nigel's slight frame, pulling him closer, before glancing around the room. Everyone is preoccupied with their own conversations and holiday cheer; no one pays them any heed at all. Now or never, Isaac thinks.
He gets a firm grip around Nigel's waist, then pulls them both backwards and right through the closet doors until they're alone and out of sight.
“I can barely see anything in here,” Nigel mutters. They pass through various coats and jackets until they come to a relatively empty space near the back corner. Isaac feels Nigel's hands patting his chest and shoulders, as though trying to map him out in the dark. “How are we supposed to –”
Isaac finds the back of Nigel's neck and cuts him off with a quick kiss, pulling him forward until their lips meet. Their aim is slightly off but they course correct quickly, and then it's as easy as it is every time they do this: the firm press of lips and soft sweeps of tongue, not to mention the maddening nibble of teeth, too, and Isaac gives himself over to it, lets Nigel put all that experience to good use and draw it out, draw him under, until he feels so tightly wound he thinks he might burst. And Nigel is no less affected, his breaths harsh and hot, panting against Isaac's mouth and throat the few times they manage to pull themselves apart.
“Isaac,” Nigel whispers against his neck, one hand fisted in Isaac's hair and the other gripping him tightly about the hips. “I take it back, this was an excellent idea, you're a genius, my love, an absolute and utter –”
But Isaac cuts off the rambling before it really gathers steam, getting a thigh between Nigel's legs and pulling him even closer. He wishes he could lean back against the wall and get some leverage but if he does, they'll both just fall right through it, so he does his best to stay as still as he can while Nigel starts moving against him, shameless and wanton and loud, nothing at all like the composed and formal British officer he first met, all those centuries ago. This is a Nigel that Isaac knows is reserved only for him now – now and always, should Isaac wish it to be that way. They haven't spoken explicitly of marriage or commitment since they rekindled their romance but Isaac’s vision has improved considerably these days, and it’s crystal clear now that Nigel is, and always has been, in this for the long haul. Isaac has only to say the word and Nigel will promise him forever in an instant.
“Isaac, Isaac,” Nigel gasps, clutching at him tighter, and Isaac fervently wishes it wasn't so dark in here, that he could see Nigel's face as he gives himself over to his pleasure. And as Isaac’s own pleasure rapidly spirals out of control, he finds Nigel's mouth and kisses him again, deep and desperate, trying to say with lips and tongue all the things he still can't quite manage with his voice.
Yes, Isaac tells him, pressing the word into Nigel's mouth. I’ll take your forever.
Yes, he promises, pushing Nigel's collar aside and sucking hard at his collarbone. I'll give you mine, too.
And as he feels Nigel unravel against him, as Isaac himself follows him swiftly over the edge, he takes Nigel's face in his shaking hands and tells him, with kisses so tender they verge on painful, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry it's taking me so long to tell you this properly.
But then, Nigel covers Isaac's hands with his own and gently pulls them away from his face. They can barely see each other in the dark but there's a faint gleam of white when Nigel smiles at him, before he takes one of Isaac's hands and presses it against his own chest. Over the gorget, above his twice-pierced heart.
“Third time's the charm, perhaps,” Nigel says softly. He smiles again. “Happy Christmas, Isaac.”
Isaac slides his hand up, curling around the back of Nigel's neck and pulling him close again, until their foreheads meet. He still can't say the words, not yet, but he can at least let Nigel know he's getting there. Will get there. Soon.
“The happiest I've ever had,” Isaac replies, and means it. And if the kiss he gets in response is any indication, Nigel somehow hears his true meaning perfectly.