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Nicky wakes in the familiar warm circle of Joe’s arms and realises that from today on there is no mission looming, no meetings, no reconnaissance, nothing for at least a few weeks. He sighs happily and carefully wiggles out of bed without waking Joe.
He returns to the bedroom with two cups of coffee just in time to catch Joe waking up. He stretches with a content groan, once for his own enjoyment and a second time very obviously for Nicky’s pleasure.
Nicky watches skin stretch and muscles ripple, watches the rise and fall of Joe’s chest and he keeps watching even after Joe has stilled again, watches intently until goosebumps break out all over Joe’s skin and Nicky’s name is nothing but a small, breathless sound on his lips.
Nicky smiles and lifts the cups, dispelling some of the tension he’d let build between them. Joe sits up making room for Nicky on the bed and steals a kiss, together with his cup. Joe is not a morning person and Nicky is happy to just sit with him in silence while they drink their coffee.
When the coffee is finished, Joe gets up and wanders towards the bathroom. Nicky claims his spot in bed, nestling into the lingering body warmth, closing his eyes.
He hears Joe come back and opens his eyes in time to see him take in the scene, before turning back to the living room. He clearly deduced (rightly so) that Nicky was not inclined to get up yet, so he returns with both their books and settles on the bed with his head on Nicky’s chest.
Since Nicky doesn’t feel like reading, he puts the book on the nightstand and lets his thoughts wander while Joe disappears into the architecture of the Mughal Empire.
They haven’t had this house for long, just a couple of decades and it had been pretty run down when they bought it. There is still room to fill with memories, next to the ones they’ve already made here.
Like the dent in the kitchen wall where Joe flung a pot while washing up because a bat flew in and scared him half to death, like the mismatched cups in the cupboard because they couldn’t decide on the designs and just bought all three of them, and like the oil stain in the hall where Nicky kicked over a bottle of very expensive olive oil.
That day he’d been to the market early in the morning because the day had already promised to be exceptionally hot and when he returned, he found Joe in the hall, on his knees in nothing but his underwear, sanding the floorboards.
Nicky had stared, groceries in his hands forgotten, transfixed by the sweat beads on Joe’s skin and the swaying of his hips. He must have made a sound because Joe turned to look at him and Nicky had been glad to have bought the oil because he realised they were never going to make it to the bedroom.
Neither of them minds sex being rough on occasion but in hindsight maybe they should’ve stayed off the unfinished floor.
Nicky’s laugh, when he remembers the aftermath, jolts Joe enough to return him to the present from Mughal India. He turns his head to catch Nicky's eyes and and hums a question at him.
“Do you remember,” Nicky laughs again, “when we first bought this house and you decided to sand the floor in your underwear?”
Joe laughs so hard that he drops his book.
“Oh, the splinters!”
He catches Nicky’s left hand in his and presses a kiss to the knuckles before he continues, voice much softer.
“Worth it, though.”
“You said so back then, too,” Nicky says, smiling fondly.
Joe hums happily and hugs Nicky’s hand to his chest.
Later there will be time to rekindle the spark of interest that ignited low in Nicky’s belly when he thought about Joe on his knees. For now, he is content to lie here with Joe in his arms in this bubble of love and laughter.
.