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There were a lot of things that Peter Nureyev liked about Juno Steel.
Sadly, there were far less things that the detective liked about himself. Nureyev aimed to change that, someday, but for the time being Juno barely trusted him enough to participate in this mission with him.
And even that was probably only because he had no other choice.
So it was highly unlikely that Juno would listen to anything Nureyev said that was unrelated to the mission at hand or that wasn’t the answer to a specific question Juno had asked.
Juno did have so many questions. It was endearing.
Nureyev sighed and rolled over in the resort bed. Say what you would about the company that was kept here, they did have excellent furniture. Sleep still eluded him, but at least he could comfortable in his insomnia.
His mind supplied him with a few other activities that would suit this particular bed far more than simply lying in it and not sleeping. The memory of Juno, lips chapped and catching against his own… It was a compelling one. Nureyev reached up to touch his own lips, and wondered if the detective would ever let him kiss him again.
He had almost thought he would, in Juno’s car in that desert. Juno had leaned in on his own, those clever eyes fastened on Nureyev’s mouth. Nureyev had had to smirk. It’s not like he couldn’t see the way it affected Juno, after all. The detective would flush and bite his lower lip and for a moment Nureyev could revel in the fact that he knew they were both picturing Nureyev biting said lip, instead of Juno.
But Juno hadn’t kissed him.
And now here they were. In a room they probably shouldn’t be sharing, under names that weren’t their own, bonded by a fake marriage certificate. Or, well, here Nureyev was, lying alone in a bed meant more for newlyweds than a thief and a private eye and the secrets that lay unspoken between them.
Because Juno did not trust him, and that hurt Nureyev far more than was wise.
Nureyev shouldn’t have kissed Juno in the first place. He should have forgotten about the plucky detective the moment he stole his keys and escaped from his apartment, and he really shouldn’t have told Juno his real name.
(He didn’t regret it. Not one bit.)
The door slid open, and Nureyev could just make out Juno silhouetted in the light of the hallway.
He sat up in the bed. “You came back.”
Juno came further into the room, and when he was no longer in silhouette, Nureyev could just make out his expression. A heavy brow and pursed lips. Dark, dark shadows along his cheekbones and under his eyes. He looked tired , and guilt twisted in Nureyev’s gut like a knife knowing that he was the reason Juno looked so tired.
With a sigh, Juno sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”
Nureyev tried for a smirk, not knowing if Juno would notice it in the dim light. “I’m sure you could charm your way into any room you wanted, darling.”
Juno shook his head. When he glanced up, his eyes caught Nureyev’s and for a single second the tension in the room was unbearable. Then he smirked right back at Nureyev and Nureyev immediately realized that if Juno felt this way every time Nureyev smirked at him, then he was highly impressed with Juno’s self control not to jump him on the spot.
As it was, it was only Juno himself beginning to speak that stopped Nureyev from leaning in. “You know, I would have thought you of all people would know better.” And it was Juno who leaned in, leaned in close enough that Nureyev could sense the warmth of Juno’s skin (Juno’s lips, lord) , scarcely millimeters from his own. “After all,” he whispered. “I’m a married man, Duke Rose.”
“My name is Peter Nureyev,” Nureyev mumbled, and tipped his head back to let Juno kiss him.
He shouldn’t have.
But he did.
He didn’t regret it this time, either. Not when Juno’s eyes were closed so gently, his dark lashes just brushing his cheeks. Not when the lines of stress on his forehead were finally smoothing out, and the flush in his cheeks was drawn from desire rather than anger.
Juno pulled away from the kiss slowly, and Nureyev couldn’t help but lean forward and chase after his lips. Kissing Juno was addictive.
“I… I can’t, Nureyev,” he whispered. “Not now.”
Nureyev nodded, and reached out to rest a hand on Juno’s neck, right where it met his shoulders. He may have briefly entertained the ideas of the marks he could leave there, but he would never do anything such as that, the moment Juno said no. “Of course, Juno,” he agreed. “Just sleep, then?”
Juno froze at the end of the bed, and Nureyev could see the indecisiveness in every flick of his gaze from Nureyev to the bed to the couch that he would have to sleep on if he didn’t share.
“I won’t even touch you, Juno, if you tell me not to,” Nureyev promised.
The detective’s face twisted into a wry grin. “That’s not actually what I’m afraid of.”
“What are you afraid of?” Nureyev asked, more quietly than before.
“Shouldn’t you have won a hand before I have to answer that question?” Juno shot back without missing a beat. Nureyev didn’t miss the way Juno’s hands fisted in the bed covers, the way he twisted them back and forth with nervous tension.
“You don’t have to answer anything,” Nureyev murmured. He let his hand, still resting on Juno’s neck, slowly slide down his arm until his hand rested on top of one of Juno’s. “You just have to sleep.”
“I…” Juno was staring at their hands, something in his eyes like wonder. He breathed in slowly, and turned his hand to entwine with Nureyev’s. “Yeah,” he finally agreed, barely even audible. “Sleep.”
Nureyev pulled him forward so gently he might not have been pulling at all, but Juno followed anyway. He didn’t even seem to want to change, just slid under the covers and turned away from Nureyev, away from whatever had just happened or changed between them. Nureyev knew there was no way Juno fell asleep that quickly, but if the detective wanted to close his eyes and regulate his breathing and pretend - well, who was Nureyev to stop him?
It was possible to be lonely even with someone he might ‘tolerate’ and actually trusted sleeping less than a foot away from him.
(It was not possible to be lonely the next morning, when Nureyev woke up to find Juno’s head tucked under his chin and his stubble scraping Nureyev’s neck and the feeling of his chest rising and falling against Nureyev’s own. He pressed a kiss to Juno’s forehead and closed his eyes again, finding falling back asleep to be far easier than normal. They still had time before seven, after all. And Juno looked relaxed for one of the very, very few times that Nureyev had ever seen. He didn’t want to ruin that just yet.)