Work Text:
Nikandros chose to ignore the faint buzz of his phone as he erased what he had just drawn, yet again. Huffing, he stretched, letting his shoulder muscles unstiffen and his joints pop - he had been in the same position ever since lunch, and that had been a couple of hours ago.
Deciding he needed a break, he got up from his chair, feeling his legs going numb under him. He took a mental note to start setting up alarms whenever he started working on new tattoo designs, or else he’d have an old man’s back by the time he reached 30.
His phone buzzed again as he opened the fridge’s door to get something to eat. He took a bite out of a donut that had probably been sitting there for an uncomfortable amount of time as he checked his phone. He had gotten a message from Damen.
From: Damen
hey dude, want to grab dinner later? Havent seen you in forever!
From: Damen
I have a photoshoot today but you can come pick me up after? it should end at 8.
Taking another glance at the commission he was working on, he weighed his options. On one hand he had to finish this over-elaborate piece before Monday, and at the current rate, he would have to drastically cut down on his sleeping hours if he wanted to keep his customers happy. But on the other, he hadn’t properly hung out with his best friend Damen since he had come over to complain about this other model he hated over a month ago. He missed him, and he missed their easy conversations – texting just wasn’t the same thing.
Whipping his hand on his jeans, he typed out a reply.
To: Damen
sure. just text me the address
He put his phone back into his pocket after checking out the directions Damen had sent. It wasn’t too far away and he figured he could leave 10 minutes before 8 and still get there on time, which meant he still had a couple of hours to try to make something out of the horrible mess that was sitting on top of his desk. Running a hand over his hair, he sighed and sat back down.
***
“Shit”, he cursed under his breath.
He was currently standing outside, locked out of the building where Damen was supposedly in, except the giant idiot wasn’t picking up his phone or answering any of his texts, which meant that Nikandros had to sit there in the cold, praying it wouldn’t rain since he had only brought a flimsy hoodie with him.
He was calling Damen for the ninth time in less than 3 minutes and the door suddenly opened, throwing him slightly off balance.
As he stumbled he felt a strong grip on his shoulder, settling him in place. He had to glance up to meet the stranger’s gaze, and once he did he felt as if got thrown out of balance again. The man had deep, grey eyes - the kind that would make you think they had been photoshopped if you saw a picture of them. To match the steeliness of his eyes, the man also had scars scattered all across his face, the most pronounced one splitting his left brow into two.
“Are you okay?”
Nikandros nodded, highly aware that the stranger’s hand was still on his shoulder.
“Are you waiting for someone?” The man took his hand back and dove it into the pocket of his suit pants, retrieving a pack of cigarettes as he spoke. That explained his raspy, sultry voice.
“Yeah. My friend Damen– Damianos? He’s doing a photoshoot here and told me to come pick him up after he was done. He’s not picking up his phone, so that’s why I’m here. Outside. In the cold.” He offered his hand, “I’m Nikandros by the way. Just Nik is fine.”
A calloused hand slipped into his, “Jord.”
Nikandros nodded, thinking the name suited him.
“So, are they done in there or?”
Jord lit up his cigarette, blowing smoke into the cold night. “They haven’t even started yet.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Jord smirked, amused, as he offered Nikandros a cigarette. He shook his head and the cigarette pack was neatly tucked back into the inner pocket of a clearly designer suit jacket. The man had good taste.
Resigning himself to wait, Nikandros leaned against the railing, crossing his arms and trying not to stare too obviously. He wondered if Jord had any more scars hidden away beneath that suit.
“You said you were friends with Damianos?”
He glanced up into Jord’s steel-coloured eyes. “Yeah. Best friends actually. I’ve known that big idiot my whole life.”
Jord hummed, taking another drag from his cigarette.
“Do you work here?” Nikandros asked.
“Obviously I’m one of the models,” Jord deadpanned.
Nikandros let out a short laugh, finding the tone of Jord’s voice paired with his blank expression hilarious.
Jord smiled at him. “I’m a manager.”
“You mean a glorified nanny,” he teased.
“That’s exactly what it is.” The black-haired man threw the stub of his cigarette onto the ground, stepping on it to put it out. “It’s cold out here, you can wait inside.”
Jord held out the door open for him, and Nikandros walked past him murmuring a quick thanks. Immediately the temperature difference hit him – while outside it was cold and windy, the telltale signs of an early winter, indoors it was stuffy and hot, almost smothering. Nikandros shed off his hoodie.
Trusting Jord to take him to Damen, Nikandros looked around the set, curious about what kind of photoshoot his friend was doing today. He just hoped it wasn’t a nude one. Again.
“That’s your friend over there.”
Nikandros followed Jord’s line of sight and sure enough there was Damianos – with clothes on, thank god - and next to him sat the palest man Nikandros had ever seen, his complexion even fairer than Jokaste’s, and his hair more golden. In fact, he seemed like a more bright and sparkling version of Damen’s ex-girlfriend. Knowingly, he studied his friend’s face, pressing his lips into a thin line at the look in Damen’s eyes.
“I now see why they haven’t started shooting yet.”
Jord snickered. “I’m glad I’m not the only one that sees it.”
“My friend, you’d have to be blind to not notice when Damen is pining,” Nikandros shook his head. His friend was so predictable sometimes.
“Well, half of this set is in love with Laurent,” Jord gestured to the blond man. “You can’t really blame him.”
“And the other half?”
“Wants to kill him,” Jord completed.
Nikandros looked back to the stony-looking man, his eyebrow furrowing at the familiarity of the name. He was sure he had heard the name before, probably from Damen.
“Have they worked together before?”
The scarred man shook his head, “No, first time. Hence the commotion; they usually work for opposing brands.”
Nikandros chortled, as he made the connection between face and name. Damen had always complained about this unfairly good-looking model that kept stealing the campaigns he wanted to get. He had never mentioned said model had the token blue eyes and blond hair that made Damen do extremely dumb things.
Jord raised one of his eyebrows in question, so Nikandros explained, “I’ve heard Damen complain about him before, so I recognised the name. Laurent de Vere, right?”
“Yes. I work for him,” Jord squared his shoulders. Unintentional or not, Nikandros could see the man’s loyalty to Laurent in his features.
He hummed in acknowledgement, glancing back to the set and watching the pair work. He could see that Damen was trying to keep his distance from the other man, presumably to make him more comfortable, but Laurent kept inching closer and closer, his regal expression always impassive. They were an odd pair, but blended together perfectly; Damen with his deep, rich skin tone and his muscled body against the lean, beautiful whites and golds of Laurent’s complexion – it painted a very pretty picture. Nikandros could already tell this would be a very successful campaign.
“Let’s go sit down.” Jord walked both of them over to a couch towards the back of the room where they had an ample view of the entire set. Nikandros tried not pay much mind to the warmth of Jord’s thigh against his.
“What do you do for a living, Nikandros?”
He showed him his arm, “I’m a tattoo artist.”
Jord lifted an eyebrow in surprise, taking a closer look to his arm. “This is incredible. Did you design this?”
Nikandros grinned in response, letting Jord inspect the myriad of tattoos scattered across his left arm. Most of them were of his making, but he had let some of his close friends that were also tattoo artists design a few for him. He was quite fond of his expanding collection.
“Can I?” Jord hovered his hand above Nikandros’ forearm, hesitating.
“Go ahead.”
Nikandros observed Jord as he traced the lines of the siren that sat on his skin with such attention and admiration, the touch so gentle he could barely feel it. Nikandros hoped
Jord couldn’t feel his heartbeat through his fingertips.
Jord moved Nik’s hand, so that he could take a look at the inner part of his forearm. Nikandros smiled at the wonder in the man’s face - it always made him happy when people appreciated his art.
“That one is my favourite.”
Jord nodded. “How many tattoos do you have?”
“47.”
“Jesus.”
Nikandros laughed as he offered his right hand for Jord’s inspection. He found that he quite liked having Jord trail his calloused fingers over his skin, goosebumps slowly rising.
“Do you have any?”
Jord looked back at him and shook his head.
“Shame. I reckon you’d look really good with tattoos.”
Only when Jord smirked at his words did Nikandros realise what he had just said. And he blushed, profusely.
“Thank you,” Jord diverted his attention towards Nikandros’ hands, almost as if he was sparing him of further embarrassment. “Maybe you can design something for me.”
“Maybe I will.” They smiled at each other.
Jord gave Nikandros’ hands back to him, and turned his attention back to the photoshoot. Nikandros followed his line of sight, a bit disappointed that Jord’s fingers were no longer on his arm.
Damen hadn’t notice him yet, busy as he was trying to juggle doing his job and gawking at Laurent at the same time. They were talking, though Nikandros couldn’t make out the words from where he was sitting, but by the expression in Laurent’s face, he clearly wasn’t impressed. Nikandros snickered.
“Has Damen tried to hit on Laurent yet?”
“What do you mean yet.” Jord’s flat voice made his words even more hilarious and Nikandros released a small chuckle. Jord smiled at him.
“He’s clearly not impressed.”
“Laurent is never impressed.”
“That much I remember Damen telling me,” Nikandros said. “I believe he also used the words pretentious and cast-iron bitch to describe him. Viper too.”
Jord looked back at Laurent, falling silent for a moment. And then, “There’s more to him than anyone thinks.”
Nikandros stared at Jord’s profile, seeing the seriousness in his face. The man was loyal, and he cared about Laurent, that much he could see.
“You like him.”
“I’ve been with him for so many years, he’s like family now.” There was a smile in his voice.
“How many years?” Nikandros asked.
Jord sat back in his seat, putting his hand to his lips in thought. He said, “I found Laurent when he was around 14? So I’d say 7 years.”
“Wow,” Nikandros sat back too. “That’s a long time.”
“Yeah. Before that I was in the navy. That’s why I have this,” he gestured to his face.
Nikandros didn’t let his eyes leave Jord’s. He asked, “How on earth did you go from the navy to fashion?”
Jord laughed, “That’s a long story.”
“Maybe you can tell me later,” Nikandros said, a smile on his lips.
“I’d like that.”
Jord asked him about his tattoo shop, which launched Nikandros into a rant about the commission he was currently working on. And then Nikandros got Jord to talk about his military training. And just like that, Nikandros felt as if he and Jord were the only ones in the whole room – the conversation flowing from topic to topic in a seamless manner.
He found he quite liked talking to Jord. He also found he quite liked Jord: with his scars and calloused hands and his flat, deadpan humour. He had even forgot that he and Damen were supposed to be having dinner.
That is until his stomach growled so hard he thought the whole building had heard it.
“Are you okay?” Jord laughed.
“I’m so fucking hungry,” Jord admitted, embarrassed. “That douche over there made me come here because we were going out for dinner after and now- Wait what time is it?”
Jord pushed back his sleeve, revealing an obviously expensive watch. “It’s just past 10.”
“Oh my god,” he groaned. “I’m starving, man.”
“It doesn’t look like they’re going to be done any time soon,” Jord said simply.
Nikandros sighed, crossing his arms. He resigned himself to throw metaphorical daggers at Damen with his eyes.
“I’m hungry too,” Jord added, in barely a whisper.
Nikandros slowly sat straighter, an idea popping to his head. Before he could talk himself out of it he said:
“Wanna ditch these guys and go grab dinner with me?”
Jord looked at him and Nikandros had to harness all of his resolve to not tremble beneath the steely gaze - was he being too forward? He could tell that the older man was taking everything into consideration in that calm manner of his, glancing briefly to where Laurent was.
After a moment, Jord turned back to him, nodded and smiled. It was a contagious one, it made the corner of Nikandros’ eyes wrinkle and his heart jump.
Five minutes was what they needed for Jord to let Laurent know where he was going and for them to look up some place that was close and that served decent food on Nikandros’ phone. They decided on a small Mexican place, since Nikandros was tired of his regular junk-food-based diet and Jord liked spicy food – a fact that Nikandros stored away in a neat little file as he was eager to collect as many facts about the other man as he could.
The restaurant was about a ten minute car drive away, and Jord offered to drive them there since Nikandros had walked to the photoshoot site. As he got into the passenger seat of the car and settled in for the short journey, Nikandros tried not to dwell too much on the lingering cologne that was so distinctly Jord’s, and how it filled his head with very impure thoughts. Needless to say, it was a very hard task.
They spent the short journey bouncing between random topics, without a single lull in their conversation. It was so easy to talk to Jord; so easy to get lost in the small details: the tiny quirk of his lip whenever something amused him, the steadiness of his voice, the glint in his eyes whenever Nikandros laughed at one of his jokes. He was so enthralled by all of this, it took Jord opening the door of the driver’s seat for Nikandros to realise they had arrived at the restaurant.
It was a small and cozy place, right by the side of a small road, hidden away behind an equally small hotel. Even though the outside didn’t look like much, the inside was bursting with activity, and it was as inviting as it was busy. They were guided by the waiter to their seats, and Nikandros smiled when he saw their table - there was a lit candle right in the middle of it.
Nikandros glanced at Jord’s serene face as they sat down, and even though his heart was racing at the romanticness of the situation, Jord seemed to not even notice it. Or if he did, he thought nothing of it. Nikandros couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.
They ordered their food, Nikandros opting for something he at least knew about, and Jord for the spiciest item on their menu. The waitress had even quirked an eyebrow at him. And there it was again - the small quirk in Jord’s lip.
“Why do you like suffering?” He asked him.
A smile, and then, “It’s just spicy food. I’m sure it’s not that bad”.
“A little spiciness is okay, it adds flavour and excitement, that I can understand.” Nikandros met Jord’s amused eyes over their plates. “But why would you willingly set your mouth on fire?”
With that, Jord laughed. Nikandros didn’t like what that sound did to his stomach, or how he couldn’t stop a grin from taking over his face because of it.
“I take it spicy food is not your thing.”
“Nope,” Nikandros replied, taking another bite out of his fajita.
“What is your thing then?” Jord asked, his blank face almost masking the true meaning of his question. If it wasn’t for the hint of mischievousness in his voice, Nikandros would have genuinely thought the man was asking him about his favourite foods.
Nikandros smirked, taking the challenge thrown at him in stride.
“Are you asking me about my sexuality? Why, Jord, you’re quite forward aren’t you?” That earned him a hearty laugh, the kind that made Nikandros’ ears ring and his skin buzz with joy.
The other man shrugged, a playful smile on his lips.
Nikandros took a sip of his water, masking the slight jitteriness of his hand, “I wouldn’t have asked you to come to dinner with me if I wasn’t interested.”
Jord was silent for a bit, and Nikandros trained his eyes on his almost empty plate, shifting a piece of red pepper around with his fork. Nikandros didn’t like silence, it made his stomach twist and turn with anticipation.
“Nikandros.” Jord called out, waiting until Nikandros’ eyes were on him before continuing, “I wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t interested as well.”
Nikandros moved his hand across the table, placing it on top of Jord’s, and he grinned, his teeth flashing his joy to the world. Jord smiled to him in return, shifting his hand so that their palms were facing each other, and they could hold each other’s hands.
“Say, you think this is the right time to ask you for your number?” Nikandros asked, and reveled in the sound of Jord’s laugh.
This felt right - having Jord’s hand in his, feeling the contrast between the warmth and the rough callouses of his palm, seeing the other man smile, and the gentleness behind his eyes.
It was right.
He was glad that Damen’s photoshoot had run as late as it did.