He's Touched Your Perfect Body With His Mind

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/33223867.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Relationship: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nicky | Nicolò di
Genova/OMC (mentioned), Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/OMC (mentioned)
Character: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Andy | Andromache
of Scythia, Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Booker | Sebastien le Livre's
Children, Nile Freeman
Additional Tags: not so much enemies to lovers as dumbasses to hook-ups to he's all
and he's more, fast sexual burn slow emotional burn, Mutual Pining,
Miscommunication, Karaoke, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Rimming, Hand
Jobs, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Light Bondage, Rope Bondage, Shibari,
Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Competence Kink, Begging, Nipple Play,
Fucking against the bookcases Nicky built, Alternate Universe -
Modern: No Powers, Professor!Joe, Carpenter!Nicky
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2021-08-13 Completed: 2021-09-24 Chapters: 9/9 Words:
31994

He's Touched Your Perfect Body With His Mind

by BazinMousqueton

Summary

Town versus gown romance set in Oxford. Featuring professor!Joe -- beautiful, clever and
in reading glasses -- and carpenter!Nicky -- strong, sweaty and shirtless.

Nicky sang along to the van's radio, ignoring Andy's glare. The sun was
shining, the van smelt of freshly cut timber, and he was looking forward to
spending the week handcrafting bookcases. He'd recently heard a radio
interview with the client, Joe Al-Kaysani, and admired his warmth and
enthusiasm while picturing an ageing man in tweed and corduroy, with
grizzled hair and laugh-lines. With any luck he'd be easy to be around, long
past the need to prove his masculinity by interfering with Nicky's work and,
pray God, the owner of a decent coffee machine.

Spoiler alert: Joe does not own a decent coffee machine. (Also, Nicky is about to discover
how wrong his mental picture is...!)

Notes

Let me know if anything concerns you or if you need any additional tags.
See the end of the work for more notes
 Too Hot for Coffee
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Long Vac

Nicky sang along to the van's radio, ignoring Andy's glare. The sun was shining, the van smelt of
freshly cut timber, and he was looking forward to spending the week handcrafting bookcases. He'd
recently heard a radio interview with the client, Joe Al-Kaysani, and admired his warmth and
enthusiasm while picturing an ageing man in tweed and corduroy, with grizzled hair and laugh-
lines. With any luck he'd be easy to be around, long past the need to prove his masculinity by
interfering with Nicky's work and, pray God, the owner of a decent coffee machine.

Andy parked the van outside an end-terrace house and helped Nicky unload his tools and materials.

"Is Professor Al-Kaysani friendly in person?" asked Nicky. "He sounded kind on the radio.
Avuncular, is that the word?"

Andy shot him a look he couldn't interpret. She retrieved a copy of their standard contract from the
glove compartment, locked the van, and rapped on Al-Kaysani's front door. The door opened.
Nicky froze.

A gorgeous thirty-something in skinny jeans and a white t-shirt opened the door wide. He had eyes
to die for, a beard Nicky desperately wanted to feel against his skin -- ideally between his thighs --
and beautiful black curly hair.

"Joe," said Andy.

This was Joe Al-Kaysani? Nicky swallowed.

"Andy!" Al-Kaysani beamed. His eyes crinkled. He had dimples.

Nicky stopped breathing.

Andy elbowed him.

"Uh..." He took a deep breath. "Where can I set up my workbench?"

"Back garden," said Al-Kaysani. "Here, let me show you."

Nicky followed Al-Kaysani around the side of the house and tried not to drool, aware of Andy right
behind him. Al-Kaysani had a cute ass -- the skinny jeans were working for him -- and it was hard
to focus while watching him pad around barefoot. Nicky still felt light-headed from The Smile.
He'd do anything to have it aimed at him.

Please let this man be into men.

Andy held up her paperwork. "I need your signature."

"Come into the kitchen." Al-Kaysani looked at Nicky. "Do you have everything you need?"

"For now." Nicky took another a deep breath. He needed so much from this man.

Al-Kaysani and Andy disappeared through a set of French doors, leaving Nicky to slump against
the garden wall. Why hadn't he googled Professor Al-Kaysani? He got out his phone and made up
for it, discovering Al-Kaysani was definitely gay and getting lost in a series of photos of him
accepting an award. Al-Kaysani in black tie was--

"I'm leaving," called Andy.

Nicky jumped. He shoved his phone into his pocket and waved goodbye to Andy, forcing his mind
back to his work. The first part of the morning vanished in a blur of setting up, the familiar tasks
calming him. He loved working with timber and he was good at it. He also looked good doing it,
especially as the day grew hotter and his t-shirt clung, sweat-soaked, to his shoulders and chest. He
hoped Al-Kaysani was watching. A discreet scout around, under the pretext of checking
measurements in the study, had revealed no couple-photos, and the mug in the bathroom contained
only one toothbrush.

Nicky turned up his music and sang along, in Italian. He wasn't above playing dirty to get Al-
Kaysani's attention. It hadn't escaped his notice that Al-Kaysani, after muttering something about
going to the library, had instead gone upstairs and opened a window overlooking the back garden.

---

The drilling stopped. Joe glanced at the window, fighting the urge to walk across and stare down at
the carpenter. The drill re-started. It wasn't quite loud enough to drown out the Europop playlist,
nor the man singing along. Joe had left the window open -- it was a warm day, no other reason --
and the smell of sawdust mingled with the scent of cut grass from next door.

The carpenter had an Italian accent and a beautiful, deep singing voice. Joe's work, reviewing
Marcus du Sautoy's latest for the Guardian, had stuttered to a halt some time ago. He'd planned to
spend the week in the Whitehead Library, well away from the noise and dust and disruption, but
here he was in his bedroom, the contents of his study boxed up and piled around him.

It would do no harm to look outside. Just to see how his bookcases were coming along.

He took off his reading glasses and stood, stretching, before approaching the window from the
side, hoping to remain unseen. The carpenter had set up a workbench on the patio, one floor down.
He was facing away, bent over a piece of wood. His many-pocketed trousers strained across one of
the finest asses Joe had ever seen. Joe swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, thoughts of what he'd like
to do to that ass filling his mind. He leaned forward to stare. His foot hit a stack of framed prints
from the study and sent the top one flying. He grabbed and missed. It clattered to the floor. The
glass cracked.

Joe swore.

The drilling stopped. "Is everything alright?"

Joe turned, finding himself in front of the window, in full view. The carpenter gazed up at him.
Shame burned in Joe's cheeks. What sort of man was he, to ogle someone while they were at
work? "I was just, um... " He swallowed. "I mean... do you want a cup of tea? Or is it too hot?"

"Do you have coffee? It's never too hot for coffee."

Did he have coffee? Joe remembered buying a jar of instant decaf years ago, for visits from a
neighbour who'd since moved away. It must still be in the cupboard.

"Of course. How do you like it?"

The carpenter put down his drill. He paused before speaking, a long enough pause for Joe to first
regret his wording and then to imagine asking the same question in an entirely different context.
The right side of the carpenter's mouth curved into a slight smile and butterflies fluttered through
Joe's stomach. "Strong with plenty of sugar. No milk."

Joe nodded, not trusting himself to reply. He picked his way across the bedroom and lectured
himself under his breath as he walked downstairs. The carpenter was a professional doing his job
and deserved not to be objectified.

The kitchen had French doors opening onto the patio; Joe resolutely kept his back turned and his
focus on making drinks. The coffee granules looked paler than he remembered; he peered into the
jar suspiciously before ladling several spoonfuls into one of his favourite mugs. Coffee couldn't go
off, could it?

The kettle boiled. He poured hot water onto the coffee granules and added three spoons of sugar,
sniffing as he stirred. It smelt like coffee. He relaxed and made himself a mug of mint tea. His t-
shirt rode up as he put the sugar back in the wall cupboard; he tugged it back down and turned to
find the carpenter standing at the French doors.

The carpenter dragged his gaze slowly up from Joe's waistband -- he must have seen a few
centimetres of exposed skin -- to his face. His look was serious; there wasn't a hint of a smile. Joe
internally berated himself for making the man uncomfortable. He handed over the coffee, making
sure their fingers didn't touch, and reached for a polite smile and the tone of neutral interest he used
for small talk. "I don't think Andy told me your name."

"The boss never does introductions." The carpenter held out his right hand. "I'm Nicky."

He pronounced it Nee-key. Joe's knees went weak. It took every social grace he'd ever learned to
take Nicky's hand, shake it once and release it. Nicky's palms were wide and powerful; his fingers
long and blunt. "Pleased to meet you, Nicky." Joe pronounced it as Nicky had, and savoured the
two syllables on his tongue and lips. "Is that short for something?"

"Nicolò. At home I'm Nico, but here in Oxford it's always--" he paused, straightening and holding
himself in a recognisably more English stance "--Nicky." He spat out the short i, grimaced, and
softened his body language.

Joe chuckled. The English take on Yusuf was equally repulsive. "Would you prefer me to call you
Nicolò? Or Nico?" He was careful with the pronunciation, glad of the Italian classes he'd taken
before giving a keynote in Milan the previous year.

"I like how you say Nicky."

"Nicky it is, then." Joe smiled, gazing into Nicky's eyes, before catching himself and looking away.
No ogling. "And I'm Joe."

"Joe Al-Kaysani, I know. The mathematician. I heard your interview on The Life Scientific last
month."

Joe raised an eyebrow and glanced at Nicky's phone on the workbench outside, playing something
upbeat and Italian, not speech radio.

Nicky dismissed Joe's silent judgement with a hand gesture. "I listen to songs to make the work go
faster and so I can sing along..." he gave Joe a sidelong glance "...maybe dance, but I listen to Radio
4 in the kitchen when I'm cooking."

"You don't dance when you're cooking?"

"There was an incident with the tucco. My family prefer the sauce in the pan, not decorating the
kitchen walls."

His family. Of course he had a family, this beautiful man who worked with his hands and cooked;
there'd be a beautiful wife and two beautiful kids. Joe still couldn't stop his next words. "In that
case, feel free to dance around my garden. I wouldn't want all that pent-up dance energy to go to
waste."

Pent-up dance energy? Where had that come from? Nicky stared down into his coffee. Joe's head
filled with curses. He had a reputation for eloquence -- he was considered to be one of the few
mathematicians capable of holding a conversation, which was why he got the Radio 4 gigs and
Guardian articles he was using to pay for these bookshelves -- and yet here he was, not only
flirting with this poor man, but flirting in the persona of his seventeen-year-old self.

Nicky looked up from his mug, another tiny smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. "Do you
dance when you're doing maths? Maybe I'll join you."

Joe laughed. "I don't think that would work. My area is knot theory -- my feet would get tangled if
I tried to dance while thinking about it."

"Knot theory?" Had Nicky's voice got deeper? "I prefer the practical applications."

"Oh, yes. The biologists are doing marvellous things with modelling DNA, and then there's
encryption..." He shook his head, recognising the beginning of a familiar spiel, one he usually
brought out in interviews. "Don't let me get started, Nicky, I'll be talking all afternoon."

"I would like that, but your bookcases wouldn't get built." Nicky took his first sip of coffee. His
face went blank. Joe panicked, apologies falling over themselves in his mind. The coffee had
clearly gone off. He opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, Nicky handed the coffee back,
the tips of his fingers brushing Joe's. "You were right."

Joe clutched the mug, aftershocks from Nicky's touch still tingling up his arm. "I was? What
about?"

"It's too hot for coffee." Nicky reached behind his neck and gripped the collar of his t-shirt. He
pulled the shirt over his head, muscles flexing, tossed it onto his toolbox and strolled back to his
workbench. Joe's mouth dropped open. He couldn't stop staring. A high-pitched buzz filled his
head. Nicky didn't glance over his shoulder. He stroked the piece of wood he'd been working on,
oblivious to the effect he was having on Joe, and picked up his drill.

---

Nicky got through the day without coffee. He did his best to forget how vile Joe's coffee had been
by remembering the way Joe said Nicky. Joe pronounced the objectionable English nickname like
an Italian, stressing the first syllable and holding the long i. It made Nicky's heart thump every
time.

He also remembered how Joe had stretched up to his cupboard, exposing a delicious hand-span of
skin. Nicky had moved closer, steps quiet. He'd let his gaze travel slowly up to Joe's face, not
trying to hide his interest. He wanted to get his mouth on Joe; to drop to his knees and kiss the
small of Joe's back, then use his tongue to--

He heard Joe moving around in the kitchen and reached for his water bottle, taking a deep pull
before emptying it over his head. He pushed wet hair out of his eyes and prowled towards the
French doors, drops of water running down his bare chest.
"May I have a refill?" he asked, holding the bottle out.

Joe turned. His gaze raked across Nicky's body then snapped back to his face, eyes wide. Nicky
smiled. He stepped forward and handed the bottle to Joe, making sure he touched Joe's hand. Joe's
skin was soft and he had beautiful fingers: long and finely-shaped. Nicky suppressed a shiver at the
thought of those fingers wrapped around his cock.

"It must be thirsty work," said Joe. "Carpentry, I mean."

"It depends on the job." Nicky licked his lips. "I'm certainly thirsting today."

Joe nearly dropped the water bottle. He stumbled to the sink and turned on the tap, his face
averted, looking so flustered Nicky stepped back. Heat prickled across his shoulders and face.
What was he doing? He'd just sexually harassed Professor Al-Kaysani in his own home.

Joe put the full water bottle on the counter in front of Nicky and fled the kitchen.

---

Joe sat on his bed, his head in his hands. The sight of Nicky shirtless, drops of water glittering on
his nipples and caught in his chest hair, had been--

And the smell of his sweat--

And, especially, his tongue when he licked his lips--

Joe shuddered and scrubbed a hand across his face. He needed to stop lusting over the workman he
was employing and begin behaving like a decent human being. A good starting point would be to
go to the Whitehead Library, as he'd originally planned, and finish his review. He grabbed his
laptop and the proof copy of du Sautoy's book and checked his pockets: keys, phone, wallet,
reading glasses.

He considered leaving without telling Nicky, then chastised himself for cowardice and retrieved
his spare key from a drawer in the hallway. He laid it on the kitchen counter and poked his head
out of the French doors.

"Nicky," he called. "I have to go to the library, I won't be back until late. Could you lock up when
you leave?"

Nicky straightened and stepped back, not putting down his plane. "Certainly."

"The key's on the counter."

Joe crammed his cycle helmet over his curls and left. Half way down the High he had a realisation:
he could stay away all week. He slammed on his brakes, stopping in the crenellated shadow of St
Mary the Virgin, and called Booker.

"Hey, Book, can I stay in your spare room?"

Booker chuckled. "I told you the workies would be too loud. What was it, the incessant drilling or
the inexplicable addiction to Jack FM?"
"Jack FM would have been a relief. There's only so much Europop I can handle." Joe frowned,
hating the lie but not wanting Booker to know the truth. He wasn't ready to own his behaviour.

"Spare room's all yours. Fair warning, though: Jean-Pierre's dinosaur obsession is getting worse."

"I've got it covered. I've been stockpiling dinosaur jokes. Where do dinosaurs go shopping?"

Booker hung up before Joe could give the punchline: the dino-store. He grinned at his phone. A
week with the LeLivres was exactly what he needed. He sent Andy a quick text and cycled on, his
shoulders loosening as if a weight had been lifted. He never needed to see Nicky again.

---

Nicky tidied up the patio, stacking the remaining planks and covering them with a tarpaulin. He
packed his toolbox, folded up his workbench, and carried them to the pavement as Andy pulled up
in the van. True to his word, Joe hadn't returned. Nicky ducked into the house to close the French
doors and fetch the front door key, running over his prepared request for Andy one last time.

When he returned she'd loaded his gear and was leaning against the side of the van, arms folded.

"I need to swap jobs," he said. "Let me finish your kitchen installation and you can do the
bookcases."

"Nicky. You begged me for this job."

"I've changed my mind."

"You hate kitchen installations. What happened?"

"The worst coffee I've ever tasted."

Andy laughed. "Clients' coffee is always a gamble. You should bring your own."

"That'd be rude." Nicky locked the front door and pushed the letterbox open, ready to drop the key
through.

"Not as rude as whatever face you made when you drank Joe's coffee. Don't let go of that key --
you're going to need it."

He closed his fist around the key, tilting his head at Andy in query.

"Joe texted," she said. "He's moving out until the job's done. So, I'm asking again: what
happened?"

Nicky stilled. He and Andy were friends, but he'd still lose his job if she couldn't trust him to treat
clients respectfully. "What did Joe say?"

"Very little."

"Nothing happened." The lie felt like a stone in Nicky's throat. "Joe drinks mint tea. He made me
back-of-the-cupboard coffee."
 "Tasted like dust?"

"Centuries-old dust. And I think it was decaf. Green lid?"

Andy grimaced in sympathy and slung her arm around his shoulders. "Enough said. You must have
given poor Joe your death stare. I'll send him apology flowers when you've finished his
bookcases."

"Boss... I'd be happier if you finished them." He shouldn't be in Joe's house, not after driving Joe
away. Not after treating Joe the way he had.

"I'll buy you a tin of Illy Classico."

He dropped his gaze. He couldn't argue further without telling the truth. He'd make the best
bookcases he could and then get out of Joe's house and out of his life.

Chapter End Notes

[Image ID: rom com style movie poster. The background is white and the title "He's
Touched Your Perfect Body With His Mind" runs in pink/red capitals across the
middle. The star's names are shown as Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicolò di Genova. A
portrait of Marwan Kenzari, with a short beard and curly hair, wearing a tweed jacket
and white shirt, is above the title, superimposed on an Oxford skyline painted in
rainbow-coloured splashes. A portrait of Luca Marinelli, with well-styled short hair
and a short beard, wearing a black t-shirt, is below the title, superimposed on another
part of the same skyline. The skyline is by artist Michael Tompsett; the photo of
Marwan Kenzari by David Dijkhoff; and the photo of Luca Marinelli by Francois
Berthier.]
 I Must Confess
Chapter Summary

Karaoke followed by porn. That's it; that's the entire chapter.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Michaelmas Term

Joe found Booker already drinking whisky in the lounge bar, watching Sky's pre-match coverage
on the big screen. Footage of Olympique de Marseille losing their last match had him slumped in
his seat. Joe shook rain from his hair and shrugged off his tweed jacket. He'd come straight from
his last tute of the day.

"Marseille don't stand a chance against Liverpool," he said. Booker snarled. Joe nodded at his
glass: "Another?"

He didn't wait for a reply before going to the bar. The bartender was busy, giving Joe time to scan
the events chalkboard next to the Champions League fixtures list. He checked the date, groaned,
and shouted across to Booker.

"It's karaoke night."

Booker waved him off, not looking away from the screen. "In the main bar. We won't hear it from
here."

The pub was Booker's choice -- a townie place where they were unlikely to run into any of Joe's
students or Booker's colleagues from the Bod. Other events on the chalkboard included bingo
night, a quiz, and a darts competition. The bartender finished serving a group of young men and
turned to Joe with a tired smile. Joe ordered, sticking to orange juice for himself and picking up a
selection of crisps along with Booker's whisky.

"Three minutes to kick off," Booker called.

Joe hurried across. "If we have to watch the game to a soundtrack of drunks singing Bohemian
Rhapsody..."

"...I know, I know: you'll never talk to me again."

"I was going to say I'll buy Jean-Pierre that roaring dinosaur toy he wants."

"You wouldn't."

"With spare batteries."

"You're better than that, Joe."

"Don't count on it."

By half time Marseille were one-nil down, thanks to a goal from Mo Salah. Joe cheered Liverpool
enthusiastically -- he and Booker always made a point of supporting opposite teams. The lounge
bar had filled up; the air was thick with the smell of beer and football fans. Joe made his way
through the crush and headed across the main bar to the bathroom. He shook his head at the
caterwauling coming from the karaoke stage -- two older women butchering Don't Go Breaking
My Heart -- and hurried past.

On his way back a man had taken over the microphone. He was facing away, waiting for the music
to start. Joe paused, his gaze caught by broad shoulders and a fantastic ass. The singer wore Cuban-
heeled boots, dark jeans and a sequinned shirt that glittered under the pub's one disco light. His
music started -- an upbeat pop song Joe vaguely recognised. The singer spun, eyes raking across
the room.

"Oh baby, baby."

Joe's mouth dropped open. It was the carpenter, Nicky; the one who'd built his exquisite bookcases.
The one whose hands Joe remembered every time he shelved a book. Nicky's voice caressed the
lyrics, a couple of octaves lower than the backing track. His shirt hung open over a tight black t-
shirt and black eyeliner drew attention to his pale eyes. His powerful fingers cradled the mic. The
karaoke crowd cheered him.

"My loneliness is killing me."

Joe could hear his heartbeat in his ears, almost drowning out Nicky's singing. Nicky hadn't seen
him, yet, but he would if Joe didn't move.

Did Joe want that?

Was ogling Nicky in a public place any better than ogling him at work? Joe tried to think straight.
Yes, it was better. He could talk to Nicky after his song. Maybe apologise for flirting before --
pent-up dance energy, he remembered, feeling queasy -- and buy Nicky a drink? He didn't know if
Nicky was into men, but this wasn't the most heterosexual karaoke song he'd ever heard, and
maybe Nicky had chosen it because he really was lonely...

"Give me a sign."

Nicky stepped forward, starting to turn in Joe's direction, and Joe lost his nerve. He ducked his
head and retreated to the lounge bar.

"I was about to send out a search party," said Booker. "Did you get lost?"

Joe's pulse raced. "I... uh... saw someone I know. What's that song?"

"What song?"

"The karaoke." Joe could still hear Nicky's voice, but perhaps it was only in his head. "Something
about loneliness killing me and needing a sign."

Booker laughed. "You don't recognise Britney? Could you be any more of a stereotypical don,
Joe?"

The referee blew his whistle to start the second half. Joe stared at the screen, too distracted to pay
attention to the game. He'd been this close to finding significance in Britney Spears lyrics and he
couldn't even find it funny.
The game ended in a loss for Marseille and switched over to highlights of the evening's other play.
Booker groaned when the score for the Paris Saint-Germain match came up: a 3-2 win for PSG. He
drained his whisky and thumped the empty glass back on the table. "I promised I'd go straight
home."

"I'm going to watch the round-up," said Joe. He stood and pulled Booker into a goodbye hug. "See
you and Jean-Pierre on Sunday?"

Booker grunted. Joe watched him leave, listening for sounds from the main bar. Was karaoke night
still going? Would Nicky still be there? Every time he blinked he saw Nicky bent over his
workbench, perfect ass in the air. He had to talk to him.

He left his half-full glass of orange juice on the table, put on his jacket, and crossed to the door
leading to the main bar. He wasn't the only football supporter moving on: four lads in Liverpool
shirts had taken a table near the karaoke stage and were singing discordant backing vocals to
Sweet Caroline.

"Ba ba ba!"

Joe leant on the back wall, hip cocked and arms folded. The lights had been dimmed since earlier.
He searched for Nicky, not realising he was holding his breath until he caught a glimpse of broad
shoulders in a sparkly shirt and breathed out in relief. Nicky was flicking through a folder -- Joe
guessed it must be a song list -- and laughing off suggestions from the people around him. He
pointed at something, shook his head when there were objections, and pushed himself to his feet.

His eyes met Joe's.

A shock ran through Joe. Nicky stared. Joe felt as if he'd been pinned to the wall. His chest
tightened. He swallowed with difficulty and licked his dry lips. Nicky's eyes widened then dropped.
He strode across to the woman controlling the karaoke machine to make his song selection and
waited next to her.

Sweet Caroline came to an end, to the disappointment of the Liverpool fans. Nicky slipped out of
his shirt and stepped up to the mic. His t-shirt strained across his shoulders and clung to his biceps.
Joe bit his bottom lip. Nicky didn't look at him.

The backing track's opening notes were familiar: a simple guitar melody. Leonard Cohen's
Suzanne, Joe identified, a moment before Nicky started singing. Joe shivered, the richness of
Nicky's voice stoking a fever deep inside him and sending heat through his veins. The room stilled
as conversations were broken off. Nicky sung quietly, barely moving, all his performance in his
voice and in the way his hands curled around the mic.

He slipped into Italian at the chorus. Joe, already under his thrall, gasped for breath. Nicky's gaze
snapped to him, slicing through what little composure Joe had left. Joe ached to take Nicky in his
arms. He clenched his fists until the painful bite of his own fingernails gave him something safer to
hold onto.

---

Nicky had seen Joe Al-Kaysani in his dreams so often that glimpsing him while he sang Baby One
More Time could easily be written off as another guilty fantasy. The combination of the man's
beauty and Nicky's dishonourable behaviour would, it seemed, haunt him forever. He closed his
eyes and sang louder, shame crawling under his skin and heating his face. When he dared look
again the apparition had vanished.

It reappeared at the end of the evening, distinctly corporeal and wearing tweed. Nicky looked up
and found himself held by Joe's gaze. Joe's curls were wild, as were his eyes. How long had he been
there? Nicky's legs turned to jelly. He'd shaped and re-shaped an apology to Joe, never daring to
put it in writing or imagining he might have the chance to speak it, and its words filled his mind
and paralysed him.

Joe's tongue darted across his exquisite bottom lip. The movement brought Nicky's surroundings
crashing back -- the crowded room, the noise, the stuffy air, the stink of spilt lager -- and freed him
from Joe's spell. Autopilot took him across the bar, through his song selection, and onto the
karaoke stage. He didn't dare look at Joe; he couldn't think of anything except Joe.

He seduced the audience without thinking.

He only realised he'd done it when he cupped the mic and heard Joe's gasp across an otherwise
silent room. He looked up, caught Joe's eyes, and forgot about everyone else. Joe was a dazzling
blend of softness and intensity. Nicky needed to stroke that beard, to trail kisses down the line of
Joe's neck and to find out what it would take to release the tension holding him taut.

Nicky switched back to English for the second chorus.

And you want to travel with him, and you want to travel blind
And then you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind

It wasn't the apology he'd had in mind, but from Joe's expression it might do. He finished,
acknowledged the applause with a nod, and went straight to Joe.

"Nicky's pulled again," said one of the regulars, to laughter.

Joe showed no sign of having heard. His gaze went to Nicky's hips. Nicky, fully aware he was
prowling, exaggerated the movement. Joe pushed himself off the wall and stood straight, waiting
for Nicky. Nicky didn't stop until he was a half-step too close, crowding into Joe's personal space,
fuelled by performance adrenaline and desire.

---

Joe swallowed, reminded himself he was allowed to flirt with Nicky, and begged his seventeen-
year-old self to keep quiet. He leant towards Nicky and spoke directly into his ear.

"I think your voice has enchanted me. May I buy you a drink?"

"A true siren wouldn't be satisfied with a drink."

"If I captained a ship I'd surrender it in a heartbeat. Would you accept my apology instead?"

"For not being a pirate captain?"

"No." Joe steeled himself. "I'm sorry I flirted with you when you were building my bookcases. It
was inappropriate. And--" he winced "--terribly clumsy."

"No." Nicky stepped away, hands up in protest. "No, you cannot apologise to me."

Joe's breath hitched. He sagged against the wall, weighed down by the spurned apology. Nicky
was right to refuse; Joe's behaviour had been unforgivable.

Nicky dragged his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up in clumps. "I'm the one who
should be apologising. Joe, I'm sorry. I harassed you." Joe frowned. Nicky stared at his feet, then
back at Joe. "I shouldn't have said I was thirsting after you. You trusted me to work in your home
and I broke that trust. I have no excuse."

Relief flooded through Joe. "I ogled you."

"I took off my shirt to encourage you to ogle."

"Did you now? I spied on you while you were working."

"I used my siren song on you. Unsuccessfully, I might add."

"...Not entirely unsuccessfully." The admission won Joe one of Nicky's small smiles. "I made you
terrible coffee."

Nicky hesitated, then laughed. The laugh turned into a snort that made Joe feel warm inside. "Truly
terrible coffee. The worst coffee I have ever tasted."

Joe leant forward, sensing victory. "Do you accept my apology?"

"For the coffee. For nothing else. Do you accept my apology?"

"For saying you were thirsting and nothing else. Now, about that drink..."

Nicky grabbed Joe's hand, a wide smile transforming his face. "Neither of us is thirsting for a
drink. Come home with me."

Joe's thoughts scattered. A wave of heat rushed through him. He nodded, not trusting himself to
speak, and let himself be led across the room. Nicky picked up his shirt from the karaoke stage, a
coat from the back of a chair, and an umbrella from the stand near the back door. His friends threw
a couple of teasing comments after them; Nicky responded with a gesture Joe's Italian teacher had
warned him never to make in Italy, its offensiveness undercut by another broad smile.

The drizzle from earlier had turned into a full downpour. Nicky opened his umbrella and held it
high in invitation. Joe stepped close, wrapping his arm around Nicky. Nicky shivered, pressed
himself into Joe's side and turned his head to brush a teasing kiss across Joe's lips. Rain beat
against the umbrella and cascaded from its brim, shielding them from view. They spent the short
walk stealing touches and kisses from each other.

Nicky stopped at a terraced house much like Joe's and unlocked the door. He lowered the umbrella,
dragged Joe into a cramped lobby, unlocked another door, and pulled him up a steep staircase.

"My flatmate is working late," said Nicky, the first words either of them had spoken since leaving
the pub, hooking the umbrella onto the stair's handrail and switching on a light. "We have the place
to ourselves."
He caught Joe's gaze, eyes heated. Joe stopped breathing. Nicky placed one hand flat against Joe's
chest, paused long enough that Joe could have objected -- as if there were the faintest chance of that
-- and shoved Joe into the wall. Joe gasped. Nicky pressed against him and caught his lips in a hard
kiss. Joe kissed back, opening his mouth and grabbing the back of Nicky's head. The touch of
Nicky's tongue against his sent a shiver through him. He tangled his fingers in the soft hair at
Nicky's nape. Nicky murmured into the kiss, then scraped his teeth over Joe's lower lip. Joe gasped
again. He had to feel more of Nicky. He fumbled with Nicky's coat buttons, pushing Nicky away to
get at them. Nicky grinned and helped, tearing off his coat, slipping out of his shirt, and tugging
Joe's jacket off his shoulders. They crashed back together, Nicky unbuttoning Joe's shirt while
kissing him breathless. Joe skimmed his hands over Nicky's shoulders and down to his waist,
stretching his fingers across the small of Nicky's back.

Nicky arched into the touch.

His hard cock, straining against his jeans, pressed into Joe's thigh. Joe clutched Nicky's ass and
pulled him closer. Nicky rutted against Joe's thigh, his hands hot on Joe's chest, and tipped his head
back. Joe ran biting kisses up Nicky's neck and under his jaw, tasting his sweat. Nicky's hands
tightened, fingernails scraping across Joe's nipples.

Joe whimpered.

Nicky circled both nipples with his fingertips, his skin callused but his touch light and teasing. He
rubbed his thumbs down across each nipple. Joe bucked forward. Nicky pinched. Joe's breath
caught on a whine. He felt Nicky's grin against his cheek and knew the balance of power had
shifted. They were no longer equals; they were siren and willing victim.

"So sensitive," Nicky said. "Take the shirt off."

Joe obeyed. Nicky licked his lips and looked Joe up and down, taking his time. Joe's pulse raced.
He moved his hands to his flies, glancing at Nicky for his consent. Nicky nodded and stepped back
to watch. Joe slowly unbuttoned and unzipped himself. His hands shook.

"You look so good undressing for me," said Nicky. A thrill ran down Joe's spine at the praise. He
swallowed his moan too late, knowing he'd given himself away again. Nicky's eyes narrowed. "I
bet your cock is as pretty as your face. Let me see."

Joe spread his trousers open. The tip of his hard cock peeked out from his boxers.

"You can't wait to be naked for me," said Nicky, palming his own cock through his jeans.

Joe reached for the scraps of his eloquence. "Your song shipwrecked me. I'm adrift with your voice
my only guide." He bent and managed to unlace his shoes and kick them off without losing his
dignity, then pushed down his trousers and stepped out of them. He stripped off his socks and
straightened, wearing only his boxers and knowing how little they were concealing.

Nicky's eyes had darkened. "Will you let my voice guide you to a safe harbour?"

"You are my safe harbour."

"Fuck, Joe," said Nicky, his voice the deepest Joe had heard it. "I need you out of those shorts and
in my bed."

He turned away. Joe followed him, wriggling out of his boxers as he went. Nicky led him into a
bedroom that was almost all bed: the house's original front room had been split in half by a
plasterboard partition and a massive four-poster filled Nicky's half of the space. Joe stared.
Something about the bed's proportions and the way the wood had been turned were familiar.

He ran a hand down one of the posts. "You made this."

Nicky nodded, pulling the door shut, still clad in tight t-shirt, jeans and boots. He advanced on Joe.
Joe leant back against the bedpost, putting his naked body on display, the wanton behaviour
making his cock flush hot and hard.

Nicky stared. "I was right. Your cock is beautiful."

Joe smiled, basking in the praise and wielding his dimples like a weapon. "As pretty as my face?"

"I'd have to take a closer look."

Nicky lowered himself to his knees and leant forwards. His jeans stretched across his ass. His
breath ghosted against Joe's cock. Joe shuddered. Nicky closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek up
Joe's length. He turned his head, looked up at Joe, opened his mouth--

Joe clutched the bedpost. His cock throbbed.

Nicky flicked out his tongue and licked Joe's cock. Joe sucked in a shaky breath. Nicky wrapped
his lips around Joe's cockhead, circled the tip with his tongue and sucked, hard, while keeping eye
contact with Joe. Joe's knees trembled.

"Nicky," he breathed, careful with his pronunciation. Nee-key.

Nicky moaned around Joe's cock, his eyes going wide. He pulled away, stripped off his t-shirt, and
got his mouth back on Joe, lapping at the underside of Joe's cock.

"Look at you, Nicky."

Nicky moaned again. Joe grinned, glad to regain a measure of control. He'd happily keep saying
Nicky's name if this were the effect it had. He'd say nothing but Nicky's name--

But, first, he had to know how he could have this beautiful man.

"Nicky, are you a top or a bottom?"

Nicky blinked, focused, and stopped licking Joe's cock. He pressed his cheek into it again. "I'm a
rope top, but otherwise I'm vers. You?"

Rope top? Joe's heart thumped. "Also vers and, uh... I really like being tied up."

Nicky smiled, stood, and took back control. He licked his right hand, making a performance of
getting it dripping wet before wrapping it around Joe's cock and stroking slowly. Joe groaned.
Nicky used his left hand to to trace lines across Joe's chest. "Purple rope would suit you, I think.
Has anyone ever tied a chest harness around your gorgeous pecs?"

Joe's cock twitched. He'd looked at a lot of shibari online, but-- "My experiences are more of the
wrists-tied-to-headboard variety."

Nicky leant close to whisper into Joe's ear. "I can do so much more."

"I bet you can. I..." Joe's voice rasped into silence. He swallowed, mouth dry, and tried again. "I
want that. Nicky, I want it so much."
Nicky tightened his grip on Joe's cock, then released him and stepped back. Joe gasped at the
sudden cold and curled his own hand around his cock, the last of Nicky's warm spit slick under his
fingers. Nicky crossed to the far side of the bed, bent to open a drawer and pulled out several hanks
of indigo rope and a pair of safety shears. He looked back, saw Joe jerking himself, and froze.

"Joe," he said, voice strangled. "I'm a patient man, but--" he squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep
breath before continuing "--I need to get my mouth back on your pretty cock. Do you have
somewhere you need to be in the morning?"

"The morning? No?"

Nicky grabbed a hank of rope and moved fast. He stood in front of Joe, unlooping the rope and
running it through his fingers. "Give me your hands. Tomorrow I'm going to tie you into a rope
corset and fuck your ass with the care and attention it deserves. Right now, I would like to bind
your wrists, tie you to my bed, and choke myself on your cock until you come down my throat... if
that's alright with you?"

"Fuck, yes." Joe's body juddered as desire ran through him. He held out his hands, all his words
lost. Nicky folded the rope in half and wrapped it twice around Joe's wrists. His blunt fingers
moved with confidence, looping the rope between Joe's arms and knotting it. His skill left Joe
breathless. Nicky pulled the knots tight and slipped a finger between each of Joe's wrists and the
rope.

"Not too tight?" he asked. Joe shook his head, still not finding words. Nicky gave him an amused
glance then nodded at something above Joe's head. "I'm going to tie you to that fixing."

Joe looked up. He hadn't noticed before, but the top beams of the bed had metal loops and hooks
spaced regularly, clearly allowing Nicky to bind his partners as he wished. The thought sent
another shiver through Joe. Nicky gripped the knot between Joe's wrists and raised it, stretching
Joe's arms above his head. He fastened the rope to a fixing at the top of the bedpost and tugged to
check it was secure.

"Is that comfortable?"

Joe nodded, humming happily. The pull on his shoulders was just right and he loved having his
pecs on display. His cock was hard and heavy. He felt as if he were floating in a warm sea--

"Tell me in words."

Joe concentrated. "It's good." He arched his back. "I'm good."

"You're very good. I need you to tell me if you lose any sensation, or feel uncomfortable, or want to
be released for any reason. Can you do that? Do you have a safeword?"

There was concern in Nicky's voice. That wouldn't do. Joe reclaimed his scattered words: "Traffic
light system. I'm green."

"And if you're non-verbal?"

"I won't be." He had his words back now and he was determined to use them. Nicky folded his
arms. Joe huffed impatiently. "Fine, if I'm non verbal I'll tap my foot twice." He demonstrated.
Nicky nodded, satisfied, caressed Joe's flank and ground himself into Joe, pressing him back into
the bedpost. Joe hummed his approval. Nicky stepped back, eyes hooded.

"Tied to my bed is a good look for you."

"Sucking my cock was a good look for you... and yet..." Joe raised his eyebrows "...you're over
there admiring your handiwork."

"Admiring your body." Nicky pulled off his boots and unzipped his jeans.

"It's not your admiration I need."

"Ah, Joe, we both know that isn't true."

"It's not only your admiration I need. I also need your siren's mouth to make good on its promises."

Nicky pushed down his jeans and briefs, hopping to drag them over his feet and then taking off his
socks. He was magnificent naked: wide shoulders, narrow waist, powerful thighs. He had work-
muscle, not gym-muscle like Joe: his arms and chest were strong without being sculpted and he
had a soft curve of belly Joe wanted to nuzzle. Without boots he was a smidge shorter than Joe. He
leant in for a kiss. Joe fucked his tongue into Nicky's mouth; Nicky captured his tongue and
sucked. Joe's head spun.

Nicky pulled away and dropped to his knees. He arched his back, displaying the perfect curve of
his ass, and took Joe's cock into his mouth. He licked and sucked, not taking Joe too deep, drooling
and moaning happily. Once Joe's shaft was dripping wet, Nicky gripped it in his right hand and
began to work Joe with a steady rhythm: mouth sucking, tongue lapping, hand stroking. His eyelids
fluttered closed, a flush spread across his cheeks, and he smiled around Joe's cock.

Joe gasped, pulling against the rope in a futile attempt to get a hand free and sink it into Nicky's
hair. Sweat beaded across his chest. He loved this: not being able to touch and having to tease with
language instead. "I feel like Odysseus."

Nicky looked up and raised an eyebrow in question, lips still wrapped around Joe's cock.

"Odysseus wanted to hear the sirens' song but didn't want to steer his ship onto the rocks so he had
his crew tie him to the mast."

Nicky pulled his mouth off, working Joe with his hand. "Enjoyment without consequences? How
did that work out for Odysseus?" He shifted down to tongue Joe's perineum.

Joe gasped. He clenched his hands into fists, fingernails cutting crescents into his palms. "Pretty
well. He survived. No shipwreck."

"And how's it working out for you?"

Nicky opened his mouth and impaled himself on Joe's cock, pushing his lips down the full length
of Joe's shaft. His strong hands gripped Joe's ass and pulled him in. Joe's cockhead pushed against
the back of Nicky's throat and slid deeper. Nicky swallowed. The sensation -- tight and wet and
pulling Joe in -- made Joe groan. Nicky moaned in response, vibrating against Joe's cock. Nicky
bobbed his head, taking Joe millimetres deeper each time. His nose pressed into Joe's groin.

Joe looked down at the picture Nicky made: his face blissed out, eyeliner smudged and drool
running down his chin, and his ass shimmying as he took Joe as deep as he could. "It's working out
pretty well for me too, Nicky."

Nicky shivered at the sound of his name. His cock was hard. Joe thrust his hips forward, making
Nicky moan, and pulled on his ropes, revelling in their bite around his wrists. "Nicky."

Nicky pulled off, jerking Joe right-handed and taking panting gasps of air. His lips were swollen.
He licked them. "You're fucking my throat so well."

"Fuck, Nicky! I'm so close."

Nicky took Joe back into his mouth and sucked as he pushed his lips down Joe's cock. Joe closed
his eyes. His world spiralled inwards. He ground himself into Nicky, spurred on by his own arousal
and Nicky's ecstatic moan, fucking again and again into Nicky's tight throat. Nicky's choked
sounds filled Joe's ears. Nicky's grip on Joe's ass tightened; letting Joe know exactly how much
Nicky wanted him, how much he was enjoying himself. Joe kept thrusting, pushing deeper and
deeper. His balls slapped against Nicky's chin. His cock pounded against the back of Nicky's throat.
Nicky moaned louder.

Joe's balls tightened. He bucked. Nicky gagged and swallowed, squeezing Joe's cock. Joe jerked.
His cock spasmed. His brain shut off and he came hard, crying out and screwing his eyes tightly
shut as colours exploded across his eyelids. His legs wobbled. He panted and slumped, letting the
rope hold him up.

Nicky swallowed one last time, licked Joe's softening cock clean, and released it. Joe cracked open
his eyes and saw Nicky, head bowed, breathing rapidly. Nicky tilted his head up and Joe's heart
lurched. Nicky's pale eyes glittered, his lips were parted and his expression was open. Joe wanted
to give him the moon.

Nicky pushed himself to his feet, untied the rope with a deft flick of his fingers and gathered Joe
into his arms. Joe let himself be guided onto the bed and wrapped in a full-body embrace,
overwhelmed and content to relax into the afterglow. Nicky stroked his chest and arms and sang in
whispered Italian, his voice husky. The sound lulled Joe.

"It's like waves washing against the beach," he said.

Nicky gave him an amused look. "What is?"

"Your singing."

"I thought it was going to shipwreck you on my rocks."

"I'm Odysseus, remember? No shipwreck." Joe frowned, tasting untruth in his words, but too dazed
to understand why. His mind swirled with memories of Nicky singing, almost always in Italian,
except-- "Why did you sing Britney in English?"

"You heard? I wasn't certain I'd seen you." Nicky propped himself up on one elbow and gazed
down at Joe. "Baby One More Time is written in English."

"So is Suzanne."

"But..." Nicky bent to press a gentle kiss into Joe's shoulder, "...I learnt it in Italian. My earliest
memories are of singing with my nonna, my grandmother, in her kitchen. She loved Fabrizio De
André -- I knew all his songs before I was six. I was in my twenties when I first heard Suzanne in
English and found out Faber's version was a cover."

"Do you like Leonard Cohen's original?"

"I do." Nicky shifted and looked away. "But when I sing it in Italian I smell basil and focaccia, and
feel sun-warmed terracotta tiles under my feet and my nonna's love in every note. In English it's
cheap cigarettes, unanswered prayers and loneliness."
 Joe turned his head and kissed Nicky's arm. "My grandfather in Tunisia, my jad, taught me to
weave. Whenever I see a silk scarf with geometric patterns or a particular shade of crimson, I'm
reminded that my family's love is the warp onto which I weave the weft of my life."

"That's beautiful, Joe."

"My jad also taught me to never get into debt." Joe glanced down at Nicky's cock, still half-hard,
and trailed his fingers up Nicky's thigh. "He would be most disappointed if I didn't repay the
breathtaking orgasm I owe you."

"Should you really be thinking about your grandfather right now?"

"You seduced me with your grandmother's music." Joe scraped his fingernails across Nicky's ass.

"Ah...! So I did."

"May I bite your ass?"

"Only if I stop thinking about my nonna."

"May I eat your ass?"

"Fuck, Joe, the mouth on you! What would your jad say?"

"Probably that I should stop talking and get on with my work. Please, Nicky, let me eat you out."

"I need to shower first." Nicky scrambled off the bed. He pushed Joe back when he tried to follow.
"There isn't space for two."

"Hurry, Nicky."

Chapter End Notes

Here's Fabrizio De André's version of Suzanne:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qobpXm5VeE0

And, just in case you haven't seen it, here's that Luca Marinelli karaoke scene from Lo
Chiamavano Jeeg Robot: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6myJ3gRf0WA

Finally, some beautiful fanart by hesnotmy of Joe tied up which was definitely
inspiring.
 How to Silence a Siren
Chapter Summary

More porn, more feelings, and then... well... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I promise there
will be a happy ending eventually.

Nicky hurried, his mind playing Joe's words -- please, Nicky, let me eat you out -- on repeat. He
twisted in the tiny shower cubicle, shoulders scraping against its sides, and focused on getting
clean. His throat ached where Joe had fucked it; the image of Joe tied to his bed was burnt into his
memory. He pictured Joe's torso criss-crossed with rope, thinking through how he would create a
laced-up effect for the back of the corset, and only realised he'd frozen when water dripped into his
open mouth.

He forced the thought away and finished his shower in record time. On his way back through the
hallway he gathered Joe's clothes, hanging up his jacket, tucking his shoes under the coat rack, and
carrying everything else through to the bedroom.

"Clearing up for your flatmate?" Joe asked. He was sprawled across Nicky's bed.

Nicky nodded, dropping Joe's clothes. "She only moved in two weeks ago and I've hardly seen her.
I shouldn't traumatise her just yet."

"When's she due back?"

"Not for a couple of hours."

Joe grinned, dimples making Nicky's chest tighten, and stretched to grab at Nicky's towel. Nicky
dodged. Joe threw himself across the bed. He snagged the corner of Nicky's towel and yanked.
Nicky tumbled onto the bed and they rolled together in an ungainly, laughing mess, tangled in the
damp towel. Nicky already knew he could lose his heart to Joe Al-Kaysani -- Nicky adored playful
sex and clever men, so Joe using Odysseus to flirt while getting blown had been mesmerising --
and the ease between them made him dare to hope Joe might feel the same, despite his claim to
have escaped shipwreck. Joe had talked about his grandfather. He'd agreed to stay the night and
continue their scene in the morning. Surely he'd give Nicky his number before he left, maybe say
yes to a date?

Joe pulled him into a kiss. Nicky hadn't brushed his teeth or rinsed his mouth; he hadn't wanted to
lose the taste of Joe's cum. His previous partners hadn't always liked tasting themselves but Joe
seemed into it -- he deepened the kiss, licking into Nicky's mouth. Nicky ran his hands up Joe's
arms and across his chest, enjoying the contrast of soft hair over hard muscle. He remembered how
sensitive Joe's nipples were and grazed his palms over them. Joe pushed into the touch. Nicky
cupped Joe's pecs and squeezed.

Joe moaned and bit Nicky's bottom lip, tugging it gently, then dragged his teeth across Nicky's jaw
and onto his neck. Joe's beard rasped. Nicky tilted his head back, his cock hardening as Joe
alternated between warm, wet kisses and sharp nips.

"You're good with your mouth," Nicky said, smiling when his words coaxed a shiver from Joe. He
was going to have so much fun with Joe's praise kink. "And your beard scratches beautifully. I've
wanted to feel it between my thighs since the moment I met you." Joe swallowed, then rubbed his
chin deliberately across Nicky's chest. Nicky gasped. "Ah, perfect." Joe moved further down, using
his lips and teeth and tongue and beard to make Nicky writhe. Nicky's cock jerked, fully hard. "Joe,
you're turning me on so much."

Joe glanced up, eyes wide and pupils blown. Nicky recognised the look and smiled in satisfaction:
Joe was non-verbal again. How long could Nicky keep him there?

"You have beautiful hands, Joe. I can't wait to have them around my cock."

Joe moaned. He scrambled to reposition them: shoving the wet towel onto the floor and pulling
Nicky onto his hands and knees, feet apart so Joe could kneel between them. He gripped Nicky's
hips, bent forward, and skimmed his beard up Nicky's inner thigh.

"Harder, Joe. I can still feel your cock in my throat. Make me feel your beard too."

Joe ground his chin between Nicky's thighs and licked a long stripe up from the back of Nicky's
balls, pressing hard. Nicky shivered into the sensation. "Ah, you're so good for me." Joe's tongue
reached Nicky's hole and circled. "Fuck, Joe, your tongue is talented."

Nicky craned to look over his shoulder, getting glimpses of Joe's curls, Joe's long fingers, Joe's
biceps--

Joe lapped across Nicky's hole then sucked on his rim. Nicky keened. Joe shuffled closer, teasing
Nicky's rim with his tongue, the scrape of his beard in delicious contrast to his mouth's wet heat.
Nicky arched his back as Joe moved into a regular pattern of swirling licks and hard, sucking
kisses. Joe sped up, the tip of his tongue pushing into Nicky's hole. Nicky panted for breath. A
bead of sweat rolled down his neck. He tried to speak, to praise Joe. Only whimpers came out.

"So that's how to silence a siren," Joe said, reaching around to grip Nicky's cock. "If only Odysseus
had known."

Nicky's arms gave way. He collapsed, catching himself on his elbows and whining into the duvet
when he realised he'd jolted his ass away from Joe's mouth. Joe knelt upright. Nicky turned his
head to look up at him. He fought to control his breathing and speak the words filling his mind:
"Don't stop."

Joe's victorious smile lit up the room. "Oh, Nicky..." and the way Joe pronounced the name, the
care he took with the long i, sent tingles through Nicky's body. He shuddered. Joe licked his lips.
"Nicky, Nicky, Nicky. I haven't finished with you yet, not by a long way."

Nicky swayed his hips, putting himself on show, very aware that Joe had regained the upper hand.
Joe leant down and planted a kiss at the top of Nicky's crack, followed by a flick of his tongue, and
a deep, performative sniff. "You smell of Turkish delight, Nicky. Why is that?"

Nicky blinked. He ran Joe's words through his mind again while Joe fondled his ass, waiting for a
reply. Turkish delight? Why did that mean something to him? Joe grazed his teeth across Nicky's
left buttock then bit down. The sting brought Nicky's memory back online. Narnia.

"Rose petal soap," he said. "Would you sell your family to eat out my Turkish delight scented ass?"

Joe chuckled. "Maybe some of the more annoying cousins." He scuffed his beard across Nicky's
right buttock. "You can have Wahid, he's always bellyaching. And Amemi has terrible taste in both
clothes and men, we wouldn't miss her." He bit down, sending thrills straight to Nicky's cock.
Nicky wriggled happily. He liked verbal Joe as much as non-verbal Joe, and he loved the way they
were playing -- taking turns to take control, teasing, exploring each other's preferences. Joe
smirked, eyes glittering. "Where's the lube, Nicky?"

"Drawer," Nicky said, nodding to the right. Joe leaned off the edge of the bed and opened the
drawer. He sucked in a breath when he saw Nicky's collection of ropes and toys. Nicky grinned.
"Something you like the look of?"

"I'll sell you another cousin if I can wear those nipple clamps when you fuck me tomorrow."

"The ones with the chain?"

"The ones with the weights."

"They'll cost you two cousins. Are you certain you want to use your cousins as currency?"

Joe straightened, brandishing the lube. "Why not? I have an overabundance."

"Keep the cousins. All you have to do for the nipple clamps is beg me for them." Joe gulped.
Nicky's cock throbbed. He cricked his neck and looked into Joe's eyes. "Do you like to beg?"

"I like to ask for what I want." Joe's voice had deepened.

"You asked to eat me out... and yet..." Nicky paused to grin, giving Joe time to recognise his own
taunt "...you're still talking. I think your jad may have had a point."

Joe placed his palm between Nicky's shoulder blades and pushed Nicky's chest into the bed. Nicky
buried his face in the duvet and raised his ass. Joe grabbed it, pulling his buttocks apart and
flattening his tongue onto Nicky's hole. Nicky's cock jumped. He swore. Joe worked his lips
against Nicky's rim, his tongue darting and soothing and his beard prickling under Nicky's balls.
Nicky screwed his eyes shut as Joe regained his earlier tempo, licking and kissing. Heat washed
over Nicky.

Joe's lube-slick hand closed around Nicky's cock.

"Fuck, yes, Joe!"

Joe tightened his grip. His tongue pressed into Nicky as he dragged his hand up and down Nicky's
cock. Nicky's legs shook. Joe sped up and Nicky's world narrowed to the hot wet rhythm at his rim
and the slide of his cock through Joe's perfect fingers. Joe thumbed across his cockhead on the
upstrokes and clenched his fist as he pulled down. He lapped at Nicky's hole, gasping words Nicky
couldn't catch, and cupped Nicky's balls.

Nicky moaned louder, the triple attack on cock and balls and ass almost too much for him to
process. Joe flexed his fingers. Nicky thrashed. He thrust his cock into Joe's fist, cried out when
Joe's grip on his balls pulled the skin on his cock taut, and thrust again. And again. He'd lost the
beat; all he knew was more and faster. Joe burrowed his face into Nicky's ass, his mouth frenzied.

"Joe!"

Nicky's body went rigid.

He braced, his release surging through him. His cock pulsed in Joe's fist, shooting cum across the
duvet. Joe pressed kisses to the base of his spine and stroked him through the orgasm. They
collapsed in a tangle of limbs, Nicky shaking and Joe panting; Joe looking as overcome as Nicky
felt.

Nicky fell asleep to Joe petting his hair and whispering his name.

---

Joe woke up curled around Nicky's back, needing the bathroom. It was still dark; the room was lit
only by an orange stripe where a street light shone through the gap in the curtains. Rain beat
against the window, heightening the pressure on his bladder. He extricated himself from Nicky
slowly, bleary-eyed -- unable to resist brushing a kiss across those broad shoulders, but careful not
to disturb him.

Joe remembered the flatmate and pulled on his trousers before tip-toeing out into the hallway. He
didn't switch on the light. He glanced through an open door to a small kitchen, passed an
overloaded coat rack, and followed a whiff of rose petals to the bathroom. Nicky had been right
about the shower: it definitely wouldn't fit two. Joe stared at it while he pissed, head tilted and
brow furrowed as he sleepily tried to work out how Nicky squeezed in there. Diagonally, he
decided.

He left the bathroom and blinked, surprised by the brightness of the hallway. Light flooded out
from the kitchen, along with the murmur of a one-sided conversation: someone on the phone,
speaking quietly in an inexplicably familiar voice. The speaker -- presumably Nicky's flatmate --
laughed. Joe frowned. He'd heard that laugh before.

A woman strode into the hallway. Joe knew her immediately: his newest DPhil student, A Quest
for New Combinatorial Invariants of Virtual Strings. Adrenaline spiked. He dived back into the
bathroom. The woman -- Nile, her name was Nile -- walked straight to the bedroom next to
Nicky's, still talking, without glancing in Joe's direction. She didn't close the door behind her. Joe
collapsed against the bathroom wall, heartbeat thrashing in his ears.

Fucking one of his students' flatmates was not a good look, and indulging in a shibari scene with
only a jerry-built partition between him and a student was unthinkable.

He had to get away before Nile came back out. He couldn't run into her in the hallway.

He'd left his shirt, boxers and socks on Nicky's bedroom floor. He checked the coat rack with
shaking hands and breathed out in relief when he found his jacket and shoes. He buttoned the
jacket up over his bare chest and shoved his bare feet into the shoes. He couldn't look more like a
man fleeing an unauthorised bedroom.

Nicky's umbrella still hung over the stair handrail. Joe grabbed it, crept down the stairs, and let
himself out.
 The Ease Between Them
Chapter Summary

Conversations with friends and So. Many. Regrets.

Michaelmas Term

Joe shoved aside the undergraduate assignments covering his desk to make space for the stack of
post he'd been handed at reception, and collapsed into his chair. His head pounded. He flicked
through the post: a book the Guardian wanted him to review by a writer he didn't rate; the new
issue of Journal of Topology without his latest paper because peer reviewer B had demanded more
changes; a paltry royalty statement...

A knock startled him. He pressed his fingertips to his temples and squinted at the doorway. Booker
poked his head through. Joe flopped back in his seat, groaning.

"You up for the match tonight?" asked Booker.

"If this headache doesn't kill me first."

"I've got paracetamol." Booker rummaged in his pockets and lobbed a half-empty blister pack
across the room. Joe caught it and nodded his thanks.

"I'll buy you a drink later." He gestured at the royalty statement. "With my newfound wealth."

Booker glanced at the statement, recognised the publisher's logo and huffed a laugh. "How much?"

"£14.79. It's an insult, Booker."

"It's two whiskies and an orange juice. Same pub as last time?"

Joe opened his mouth to reply and froze. What if he saw Nicky? He swallowed, mouth dry. "Uh...
can we go somewhere else?"

"I like that place. Is this about the karaoke?"

"Kind of."

Booker frowned. He peered at Joe's face. "What's up?"

"I told you, I've got a headache. I haven't been sleeping."

"You only lose sleep when you're overthinking something. What's going on?" Booker closed the
door and planted himself in Joe's visitor chair, arms folded. "Did something happen after I left last
week?"

"You could say that." Joe massaged his forehead.

"Joe?"
"Remember I saw someone I knew? It was the carpenter who built my bookcases."

"The one so noisy you had to move out? Europop guy?"

"Uh, yeah. Him. I might have... well..."

"Joe! You hooked up with your carpenter?" Booker whooped with laughter. "He's hardly your
type."

Joe stiffened. "What does that mean?"

"That professor in Greats you've been flirting with--"

"He's been flirting with me. Not the other way round."

"--is an internationally-renowned authority on early Christian and Byzantine art. Your carpenter
knows how to use a chisel."

"Don't talk about him like that."

"At least tell me he wasn't there for karaoke night."

Joe couldn't hold Booker's gaze.

"No way! I can see why you're regretting it. What about St Aldates instead? There shouldn't be too
many construction workers in there -- just don't hook up with any of the bar staff. I want to be able
to go back."

Booker laughed at his own joke, pushed himself to his feet and left. Joe buried his face in his
hands. Booker, as ever, had completely missed the point. Joe didn't regret the time with Nicky; he
regretted leaving and he regretted everything he'd done -- or, rather, hadn't done -- since. He should
have contacted Nicky. He should have apologised. Explained. At the very least, he should have
returned the umbrella.

Joe had realised four things while walking home from Nicky's, as rainwater soaked his shoes and
his panic curdled into remorse.

One: he'd walked out halfway through the best night of his life.

Two: the sex had been mind-blowing, but it was the ease between them that was going to haunt
Joe. The way they'd joked and flirted, slipped into talking about their families, and taken care of
each other.

Three, a lightbulb moment: Nicky living with a student didn't mean they couldn't see each other.
Joe had thought it through, twirling Nicky's umbrella. Nicky wasn't a student. If they told Nile
sensitively, and Joe made sure to never, ever, walk around Nicky's flat half-naked again, and they
only fucked at Joe's or when Nile was out, then there was no reason they couldn't date.

Four, a kick in the teeth: Nicky hadn't said anything about dating.

They hadn't exchanged numbers or talked about seeing each other again. They'd just discussed
round two in the morning, and then Joe had left.

Joe swore, crumpled the royalty statement into a ball and hurled it at the bin. It ricocheted and hit
him in the face. He deserved it. That first night he'd decided to send Nicky's umbrella back with a
letter. He'd tried to write it when he got home, but couldn't get the tone right. It needed to be
charming and interested, but not too interested. Casually interested. Let's-go-on-a-date interested.
Not desperate-to-see-his-perfect-man-again interested.

Booker had been right about one thing: Joe had spent all week overthinking. He'd tried to write the
letter again the following morning. And the next day. And the next. The longer he left it, the
harder it got. Not only did he need to explain why he'd run, he had to justify taking so long to get in
touch.

Joe picked up Booker's painkillers, popped out two pills, and swallowed them dry. He grabbed his
note book for another draft of the letter. He'd get it right this time. He wanted to hear Nicky's voice
again; to hear more about his nonna; to find out who had read him the Narnia books and what it
had meant to him. He wanted to see Nicky bent over his workbench and have permission to ogle;
wanted to feel Nicky's clever hands tying rope around Joe's body. His face burned at the memory of
Nicky, eyeliner smeared across his cheeks, choking himself on Joe's cock. (Joe had been wrong
about point two: the sex haunted him as much as the intimacy.) Nicky's drawer, filled with ropes
and toys, had promised so much. Nicky's bed--

Joe froze. His mind, adept at finding patterns, lined up the clues. Nicky's bed: built for playing
with a partner. Nicky's karaoke buddies: cracking well-worn jokes about Nicky taking someone
home, their familiarity part of the fun. Nicky's interest in dating, or even chatting over a drink
before hooking up: non-existent. Conclusion: Nicky frequently found partners for casual sex. Joe
hadn't been special -- he'd been available and easy to enchant.

Joe's gorge rose. He swallowed, paracetamol bitter on his tongue and acid burning his throat, and
breathed deeply. He forced himself to stay calm. It had been one night. He'd had fun, but it hadn't
meant anything. He'd heard the beauty of the siren's song and survived.

He hadn't been shipwrecked.

If he kept telling himself he might, eventually, believe it.

---

Christmas Vac

Nicky stayed in bed, flat on his back with his eyes closed, until he heard his hookup's motorbike
turn onto the main road and roar away. He checked the time -- 3am -- and groaned before getting
up and staggering to the kitchen.

Nile was sitting at their tiny dining table, a pot of tea and two cups in front of her. "Another biker?
You really like bad boys, don't you Nicky?"

"Bad boys really like me." Nicky dropped into the chair opposite her, scrubbing a hand across his
face. "I like sensitive intellectual men."

"Maybe you should look somewhere other than karaoke night?" Nile poured him a cup of tea,
added a spoonful of honey and passed it over. This had become a ritual over the previous two
months: Nile's arrival home from her late shift at the library generally coincided with Nicky's latest
hookup making himself scarce, and they both liked winding down with chitchat.

"Karaoke night works for me." Nicky sipped his tea and sighed as it soothed his throat. Motorbike
guy hadn't had much conversation, but his cock had been well worth deepthroating. Nicky liked
sex. He enjoyed using his body to give and receive pleasure; he found it satisfying in the same way
carpentry was satisfying. Romance was more complicated. "I don't want to hook up with someone I
like."

He realised his mistake when Nile's expression sharpened. "What happened? Out with it, Nicky."

"There's nothing to tell. I brought someone from the University home, let myself think it could be
more than a hookup, and woke up to an empty bed. The bastard even stole my umbrella."

"Sounds like a bad boy to me."

"He wore tweed, not leather. He told me about his grandfather--" Nicky broke off. Once he'd got to
know Nile he'd found out she worked with Joe. He didn't want to make things weird for her by
accidentally identifying her professor as his crush. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. He left."

"Did you get his number?"

"I was going to ask in the morning. He said he'd stay, but I think..." Nicky's voice caught. He hadn't
said this out loud before. "I think he realised I wouldn't fit into his life."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't have a degree, Nile! I do manual labour. What would we talk about outside bed? How
could he introduce me to his friends? What would his colleagues think? His family?"

"You've thought about this a lot."

Nicky's cheeks burned. He covered his face with his hands, swearing in Italian.

Nile laughed. "So now you're sticking to bad boys?"

"Bad boys are safer." Nicky took a deep breath. He needed to change the subject. "What about
you? How was the library?"

Nile grimaced. "It's too quiet overnight. Sometimes I just want to run through the stacks yelling,
you know?"

"I should introduce you to my boss. She loves making a noise."

"Go-big-or-go-home Andy?" Nile raised an interested eyebrow. "Yeah, you should."

A chill ran through Nicky at the thought of Nile and Andy teaming up against him. "I've changed
my mind. You'd be dangerous together."

"Only to assholes and umbrella-thieves. Hey, I've got next Friday off. Can I come to karaoke
night? I want to see you in action."

Nicky groaned in exaggerated frustration. "I won't be getting any action if you've got the night off."

"Come on, Nicky, it'll be fun! We could duet."

"I've heard you singing in the shower. Are you sure you want other people to hear that?"

"I have a great voice!"

"You have a loud voice -- it's not the same thing. You must have something better to do with your
Friday night."

"I'm only taking the night off so I'm awake for the Prof's Christmas lecture the next morning."
Nile's face lit up. "I know! You take me to karaoke and I'll take you to the Prof's lecture! I'll even
introduce you afterwards -- he's a sensitive, intellectual man. Just your type."

"I've met him." Nicky had never been more grateful for his poker face. "I built him some
bookshelves a while back."

"You've never said."

"I'm sure I did." He hadn't. If he were to start talking about Joe to Nile, someone who knew and
admired him, he might never stop.

"Go on, come to the lecture."

"I won't understand it."

"You know what a knot is. You and the Prof could talk about theory versus practice."

Nicky groaned. Discussing shibari with Nile had been a terrible idea. He made all his worst
decisions in the early hours of the morning in this kitchen.

"Say yes, Nicky!"

Nicky reached for the teapot, delaying the inevitable. He poured for them both.

"It'll be good for us," said Nile. "I'll see your world and you'll see mine."

Nicky rolled his eyes.

"Please, Nicky." Nile looked away. "I haven't got any friends at the Institute yet, apart from the
Prof. I don't want to sit on my own."

He squeezed her hand, cursing internally, bad decision made. Seeing Joe might be difficult, but he
couldn't turn down a friend who needed help. "I'll come. The karaoke's going to be a challenge,
though. We'll need a duet with only one singing part... or something where everyone will join in
and drown out your caterwauling."

Nile hit him with her teaspoon.

 The Simplest Knot
Chapter Summary

The Christmas lecture: Joe charms a lecture theatre and Nicky makes a new friend.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Christmas Vac

The Christmas Lectures were a new tradition, stolen from London's Royal Society. Excited chatter
filled the Institute's main lecture theatre as people found their seats -- children waving the long
balloons they'd been given on the way in, two postdocs waging a swashbuckling balloon sword
fight down the middle aisle, and a coven of emeritus professors cackling at the back.

Joe, waiting in the front row, soaked up the buzz and ruffled Jean-Pierre's hair. Jean-Pierre was
wearing his favourite megalosaurus t-shirt over pink leggings and his brow was creased in a junior
version of Booker's nervous frown.

"Balloon pump?" Joe asked. Jean-Pierre held it up. Joe winked. "You've got this, J-P. We're going
to be a great team."

---

Nicky followed Nile into the lecture hall, darting glances left and right until he spotted Joe sitting
at the front. A boy next to him, probably about eight or nine years old, said something and Joe
pulled him into a hug. Nicky's pulse accelerated. He turned his head away abruptly, not wanting to
be caught staring. The room was modern, with raked seating, curved desks veneered in ash, and
wall panels of ash and elm.

"Over here," said Nile, pointing at their seats: two thirds back, on the opposite side to the lectern.
Nicky breathed a sigh of relief. They wouldn't be directly in Joe's line of vision. If Nicky were
lucky Joe wouldn't spot them at all.

"Where are your colleagues?" asked Nicky, as they squeezed along their row, past a family playing
"I Spy" and a woman trying to convince over-excited twin girls not to pop their balloons.

Nile shrugged.

Nicky ended up sitting next to one of the twins. He leant forward, craning for another glimpse of
Joe. The lights dimmed. An older man, in full tweed and a bow tie, shambled onto the stage to
introduce Joe. Nicky barely listened. He was having almost as much trouble staying still as the girl
next to him, his body thrumming with nervous excitement.

Joe strode onto the stage.

He wore pale jeans and a striped t-shirt; he looked relaxed and comfortable. His curls, longer than
when Nicky had last seen him, bounced. Nicky's hands clenched reflexively. He shoved them under
his thighs. He couldn't decide whether to watch Joe directly or to focus on the big screen at the
back of the stage. The camera operator zoomed in on Joe's face as Joe beckoned to the boy he'd
been hugging earlier, smiling so widely his dimples showed. Nicky's heart thumped.

Why had he let Nile talk him into this? An hour of watching Joe, of being in the same room as Joe,
and knowing he couldn't talk to him, couldn't touch him, would never touch him again...

The audience laughed. Nicky dragged his attention back to the lecture. Joe held up a balloon
flower, to a round of applause, and handed it to his young assistant with a whispered instruction.
The boy darted off the stage, handed the flower to a tall man in the front row, and ran back to Joe's
side. Nicky stared at the back of the tall man's head, willing him to turn around. He needed to see
what sort of man Joe would give flowers to.

"Dr LeLivre," Nile whispered. Nicky glanced at her. She nodded at the tall man. "Digital Services
Librarian at the Bod."

"The library you work at?" Nile nodded. Nicky looked back at Dr LeLivre. A librarian with a
doctorate. How could Nicky compete?

On stage, Joe was talking about knots while the boy used a balloon pump to blow up two red
balloons. He handed one to Joe and kept the other.

"Thank you, Jean-Pierre. Now, this is where I need everyone's help. If you have a balloon, wave it
above your head now." Across the room, children jumped up, shouted, and brandished balloons.
The twin next to Nicky bounced in her seat, balloon flailing. Nicky ducked. "There are three
colours of balloons. Can you each find one other person with the same colour balloon as you?"

The twins turned to each other, grinning, both holding a green balloon. The woman with them
glanced over their heads and caught Nicky's gaze. "My daughters insisted on having the same
colour."

"Good call." Nicky looked around at the children searching for a balloon-soulmate: some running,
some screaming, some climbing on the desks. "I predict tears."

And yet, somehow, Joe managed to direct the kids into neat pairs, calm the parents whose
extroverts had abandoned them to find new friends, and coax the shyest children into pairing up.
Nicky sat back in his seat, eyes wide. Joe taking control was quite something.

"How's he doing that?" he asked Nile.

"Doing what?" Nile reached across and tapped his chin. "Your jaw has literally dropped."

Nicky snapped his mouth shut and glared at her. "How does he have the whole room in the palm of
his hand?"

"No idea. He does it at Institute meetings too."

He does it in bed, too, Nicky managed not to say. "It must be the smile," he couldn't stop himself
blurting out.

Nile gave him an amused side-eye.

The twins' mother sighed. "It's definitely the smile," she said. "It's pure sunshine."
Joe talked the children through twisting their pairs of balloons into a square -- he and Jean-Pierre
demonstrated, several times -- while explaining to the adults that they were making something
called an "unknot". Nicky, helping the twins and their mum, missed most of the explanation.

"It's the simplest knot," Nile told him, unhelpfully, as he tweaked the twins' wonky balloon
rhombus into a respectable square.

Nicky gave up any attempt at following the lecture and contented himself with being dazzled by
Joe. Joe's arms flexed as he took three audience-made squares and linked them together.

("Borromean rings!" said Nile, clapping.)

Joe's eyes sparkled as he thanked Jean-Pierre for his help and sent him back to his seat. Joe's curls
bounced as he held his balloon sculpture in one hand, a hatpin in the other, and called for an adult
volunteer. He picked a pretty young man -- dark hair, dark eyes, besotted grin -- and jealousy coiled
in Nicky's stomach.

("Removing any one ring unlinks the others," said Nile.)

The lecture finished with a Q&A session, where Joe answered questions from five-year-olds and
fellow dons with equal gravity, and Jean-Pierre ran on stage with a bouquet of balloon flowers for
Joe. Joe beamed, flashing his dimples with no regard for the possible casualties, and Nicky choked
on his own spit. Rapturous applause drowned his coughs; a small mercy among the torture.

"Could he be any more charming?" asked the twins' mother afterwards, wrapping her girls in their
coats and scarfs and herding them towards the exit.

"Not without a license," said Nicky.

"Dr LeLivre!" called Nile, waving.

Nicky's head snapped round. The tall man -- Joe's boyfriend? -- strode towards them, balloon
flower in his hand and Jean-Pierre bounding along by his side.

"Is this your son?" asked Nile.

LeLivre nodded. "Jean-Pierre, this is Nile and...?" he raised an eyebrow at Nicky.

"Nicky. I'm Nile's flatmate." Nicky shook hands with LeLivre and smiled at Jean-Pierre. Focusing
on the boy would be easier than dealing with Joe's maybe-boyfriend. "I like your t-shirt, Jean-
Pierre. Megalosaurus is my favourite dinosaur."

Jean-Pierre beamed at Nicky. "Most people think it's Tyrannosaurus Rex. Even you, Papa."

LeLivre chuckled. "Does that make Nicky your new favourite grown-up, J-P?"

"Joe's still my favourite."

Nicky couldn't fault Jean-Pierre's taste. LeLivre gave Nicky an apologetic shrug. "No one can
compete with Joe. What are you reading, Nicky?"

Nicky's mind went blank. He couldn't tell Joe's librarian boyfriend he only read romance novels
and furniture catalogues.

"Nicky's not a student," said Nile, rescuing him. Nicky blinked. It took a long moment to remember
that Oxford students "read" their subject instead of "studying" it. He hated English, especially
Oxford English: it was less a proper language than a collection of quirks. Nile elbowed him.
"Nicky has a real job, which makes him my favourite grown-up. His life doesn't revolve around
collections, eights and formals."

Nicky blinked again and decided against trying to decipher Nile's words. He turned back to Jean-
Pierre, hoping for some easy-to-understand dinosaur facts, only to see the boy darting into the
crowd. LeLivre watched him go.

"I'm surprised you're even awake, Nile," he said. "Don't you work the late shift on Fridays?"

"I had last night off. Nicky and I sang karaoke."

"I'm not sure 'sang' is the correct verb," said Nicky.

"We brought the house down with Bohemian Rhapsody. It was so much fun!"

"What was fun?" Joe asked, appearing behind Nile, Jean-Pierre riding on his shoulders.

Booker laughed. "Your literal worst nightmare. Karaoke Bohemian Rhapsody."

---

Joe had been delighted when Jean-Pierre had rescued him from a conversation with the College
Principal -- he'd been running out of excuses for not attending the next gaudy. He'd apologised,
laughing, as J-P tugged his hand and babbled about a new friend who liked Megalosaurus. The
Principal had graciously waved him away, beelining towards an alumna known to support
scholarship funds. Joe had winked at her, swung a squealing J-P onto his shoulders and bounded
across the lecture theatre. Booker, taller than everyone around him and chatting with Nile, had
been easy to find.

Joe had joined their conversation without noticing a third person was with them.

"What was fun?" he asked, stepping forward. The man next to Nile turned, eyes meeting Joe's. Joe
jolted to a halt. J-P tipped forward and grabbed Joe's curls for balance. Joe winced. His internal
monologue screamed Nicky, Nicky, Nicky. He ignored it and reached up to ease J-P's fists out of his
hair.

"Your literal worst nightmare," said Booker, closer to the truth than he knew. "Karaoke Bohemian
Rhapsody."

"The crowd loved it," Nile said. "Nicky has a fan club. Or are they your groupies, Nicky?"

Joe staggered and lowered J-P to the floor. Nausea threatened. Nile had confirmed his fear: he'd
been one of many conquests to Nicky.

J-P pulled on Joe's arm. "This is Nicky. He's my friend."

Joe forced a polite smile and held out his hand. "We've met. How are you, Nicky?"

Nicky wore a brick red jumper that flattered his pale skin and emphasised his shoulders. It looked
soft. His hand was warm; his handshake firm. Hair spilled across his forehead. "I'm well, thank
you Professor Al-Kaysani."
 The full name hit Joe like a slap to the face.

"Did you meet through Nile?" asked Booker, voice edged with suspicion.

Nile shook her head. "Nicky built some bookcases for the Prof."

"You're Joe's carpenter." Booker looked Nicky up and down. A blush spread across Nicky's
cheekbones. His lips tightened into a thin line. Joe wished he hadn't told Booker. He wished the
ground would swallow him. The silence stretched. J-P broke it, oblivious to the tension and
squirming with excitement.

"Can I tell the carpenter joke, Papa, can I can I can I?"

Booker's expression softened. He put his arm around J-P's shoulders. "Remember what we
practised? Don't jump straight to the punchline." J-P nodded and pulled away from Booker,
standing up straight. Booker smiled. "On you go."

"What tool does a prehistoric carpenter use?" J-P looked at Nicky, stuffing his fist in his mouth to
stop the answer escaping.

"I don't know," said Nicky. "What tool does a prehistoric carpenter use?"

"A dino-saw!"

Nicky threw his head back and laughed: loud, genuine, and ending with a snort. Joe's legs
threatened to buckle. He grabbed the nearest seat-back for balance, ignoring the look Booker gave
him. Joe needed to spend more time with this siren of a man. He didn't care if it didn't mean
anything to Nicky, didn't care how many other people Nicky fucked, as long as he got to hear that
laugh again. As long as he got to have mind-blowing sex with a man who praised him in that deep,
Italian-accented voice and sounded -- at least in the moment -- as if he meant every word.

Nicky gave J-P one of his wide, crooked smiles. "Good joke, Jean-Pierre. May I borrow it to tell to
my boss?"

J-P nodded. "You mustn't go straight to the punchline."

"I won't," said Nicky, face serious. "I'll tell it exactly as you did. Andy will love it."

Joe saw his chance, took a deep breath, and set sail. "That reminds me: Andy wanted to take photos
of my bookcases once I'd re-shelved everything. For the company website, she said. Could you ask
her to call to arrange a time?" He paused, aiming for nonchalance. "Will she still have my
number?"

Nicky stared at Joe, eyes intent. "Andy takes terrible photos. She'll send me round."

"When would suit you?"

"One evening this week? Give me your number and we can set something up."

Joe typed his number into Nicky's phone, his heart pounding.

Chapter End Notes

Jean-Pierre LeLivre is a total self-insert, sorry not sorry. He just wants to tell his
dinosaur jokes and for his friends to all be friends with each other and I IDENTIFY SO
HARD!!!
 It Wasn't a Date
Chapter Summary

Joe and Nicky's second hook up: Joe asks for what he wants, and what he wants is to
be fucked against the bookcases Nicky built.

Christmas Vac

Nicky climbed out of Andy's van outside Joe's house and slung his camera bag over his shoulder.
He brushed himself down; he'd changed out of his work trousers and into jeans, but was still
covered in sawdust.

"Don't drink the coffee," said Andy, reaching over to close the door.

"Very funny, boss."

"And get Joe in some of the photos. He's Oxford-famous, and he looks ok."

Nicky made a strangled noise, an image of Joe posing naked filling his mind. Andy slammed the
van door shut, waved and drove off, beeping her horn. Nicky gripped the camera bag and checked
his watch: five minutes after the time they'd agreed. Joe would be waiting for him.

He walked the few steps to Joe's front door and brushed himself down again, wondering what to
expect. His breath plumed in the cold air as he reconsidered Joe's words after the lecture. Joe hadn't
invited Nicky round, but he'd wanted to give Nicky his number -- the photos were a transparent
excuse -- and he'd been quick to agree when Nicky offered to visit.

It wasn't a date, but it might be a hook-up.

He knocked. Joe opened the door wearing jeans and a purple shirt, top two buttons undone. He
smiled his devastating, eye-crinkling, dimpled smile. Nicky smiled back, unable to do anything
else. He forgot himself and stepped into Joe's arms, curved his hand around Joe's jaw, and kissed
him. Joe kissed back, mouth open. Nicky pushed forward, pressing himself into Joe, who pulled
them both into the house, kicked the door shut, and shoved Nicky against it. They both gasped for
breath. Joe smelt of sandalwood and coconut and his hair was damp.

"Did you shower?" asked Nicky. Joe nodded, grinding himself against Nicky and tilting his head to
bite Nicky's neck. Nicky unwound his scarf to give Joe better access. "Did you shower for me?"

Joe paused, his teeth nipping at Nicky's collarbone, and looked up. His eyes gleamed. He
straightened to whisper into Nicky's ear: "I showered because I want you to fuck me, Nicky."

Nicky shivered, a thrill running through his body. He moved both hands to cup Joe's ass and
squeezed, drawing a moan out of Joe. It didn't matter if this was a date or a hook-up; it didn't
matter if Nicky never saw Joe again. Nothing would ever be more perfect than the way Joe said
Nicky's name or how much Joe wanted to be fucked.

I like to ask for what I want, Joe had said.

Nicky smiled. "You're already being good for me, Joe, and we haven't even said 'hello'." Nicky
deepened his voice. "Tell me how you want to be fucked."

"I want to undress for you." Joe's breath caught. "I want your mouth on my nipples. I want you to
bite."

"Then what?" Nicky dragged his fingers across Joe's chest, enjoying the toned planes of his pecs
through his shirt and scraping harder over his nipples.

"Nicky."

Joe groaned and backed away, unbuttoning his shirt with unsteady hands. Nicky put the camera bag
down and lounged against the door. He licked his lips. Joe's gaze followed the movement. He
undid his cuff buttons, slid the shirt off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor.

"You're beautiful," said Nicky. "But, you know that, don't you? You love showing off."

Joe rested his hands on his waistband, fingers teasing the button of his flies, his urgency melting
into playfulness. "I'm not the only one. Did your karaoke t-shirt shrink in the wash or did you buy it
a size too small?"

"Two sizes too small."

"All the better to enchant your audience?"

Nicky scoffed. "As if your audiences aren't spellbound. Don't forget, Joe, I've seen you lecture."

"What did you think?"

"I think you should be more careful with your dimples."

"And if I were to deploy them recklessly?"

"I can't be held responsible for my actions."

"I plan to enjoy your actions, Nicky." Joe stretched out the long i in Nicky's name and grinned,
dimples blazing. He unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them open, displaying the hard line of his
cock through stretched boxer shorts. "Do you have any idea what your eyes look like right now?
You look like you're going to devour me."

"Take the rest of your clothes off and I might."

Joe stripped and stood straight for Nicky to admire. Nicky, still fully dressed, slowly looked him
up and down, trying not to think about the camera at his feet. Joe's cock, fully erect, bobbed against
his stomach. His chest heaved. He was in no state to consent to photography, but he'd look amazing
on film.

"Gorgeous," said Nicky, reaching into his coat pocket to distract himself. "I brought something you
might enjoy."

"Show me?"

Nicky held out his closed fist. "Not yet. Tell me what you want to happen after I bite your nipples."

Joe shivered. "May I undress you?"

"Later." Nicky wanted to stay in control until Joe had told him everything he wanted; he'd never
manage that if Joe touched him. "I like having you naked and asking for my cock. How do you
want it?"

Joe whimpered. His fingers clenched and he shoved his hands behind his back. "Against the
bookshelves. Can you lift me?"

"Yes."

"I want you to finger me open. I want to wrap my legs around your waist. I want you to lift me so I
can drop down onto your cock." Joe's breathing was ragged. "I want to ride you. I want to feel
every centimetre of you inside me. I want to hold onto those shoulders of yours while your hands
dig into my thighs." Joe's voice rasped. "I want you to come inside me while my cock is untouched
between us."

"Will you come like that?"

Joe ducked his head and looked up through his eyelashes. "No."

Nicky pushed himself off the door and circled Joe, crowding him without touching and leaning in
to speak, making sure Joe could feel his breath. "You're so hot when you ask for what you want."
Joe moaned. Nicky stopped in front of him and opened his fist, revealing the nipple clamps Joe had
liked. "You can wear them if you tell me how you want to come."

Joe made a croaking noise that might have been a word. He swallowed and tried again: "Your
mouth."

"Louder, Joe."

Nicky's voice cracked on Joe's name, his control fraying. Joe's eyes lit up. He stepped in, wrapped
his arms around Nicky's neck, and plastered his naked body against Nicky's front. He held eye
contact when he spoke. "I want you on your knees, Nicky. I'm going to come down your throat."

Nicky's knees threatened to buckle. "Again?" He pulled Joe close, delighting in the press of
muscles and cock even through his coat and jeans, and ran a hand down Joe's bare back. "You had
my mouth last time. Don't you want a bit of variety?"

Joe tensed. "Is that what you like? Variety?"

Nicky nodded, his mind racing through all the different ways he and Joe could have each other. His
cock ached. He gathered the loose ends of his self-control and eased Joe away. If he didn't slow
things down he wouldn't last long enough to give Joe the fuck he deserved.

"Can you undress me without touching my skin?" Nicky asked.

"I could, but why would I?"

"Consider it a form of restraint."

Joe's eyes widened. He began unbuttoning Nicky's coat buttons. "I wondered if you'd bring rope."

"I came straight from work."

"So?"

"My boss drove me!"

"You brought nipple clamps."

Nicky laughed. "Enough rope to bind you properly won't fit in a coat pocket." The tremor that ran
through Joe emboldened Nicky to take a risk: "I'll tie you up next time."

Joe grinned. He undid the last button and whisked Nicky's coat off, turning away to hang it on a
hook by the door. He was still smiling when he turned back.

It wasn't a yes to "next time", but it certainly wasn't a no.

Joe knelt to untie Nicky's laces. The contrast between his nakedness and Nicky's sawdust-flecked
jeans and workboots made Nicky's mouth go dry. Had he developed a previously-unsuspected
clothed/naked kink or did he simply have a Joe kink?

"I could leave work laden with rope," Joe said. "My Head of Department wouldn't pay any
attention."

"Used to the eccentricity of Oxford dons?"

"She'd assume I was giving a public lecture or running a workshop. I do a lot of outreach."

Nicky allowed Joe to steady him, fingertips to clothed arm, as he stepped out of his boots. "I
thought you used balloons?"

"Not always. They're good for kids, good for large lecture theatres. Sometimes you need something
a little more... intimate." Joe gripped the hem of Nicky's t-shirt and dragged it upwards, slowly,
allowing the fabric to caress Nicky's skin in place of his fingers.

Nicky clenched his fist around the nipple clamps, fighting the urge to beg for Joe's touch. "Where
did you learn to tie balloons?" he asked instead.

"Summer job."

"As what? A circus clown?"

"Artist's assistant. They made large-scale balloon installations; it takes an army of helpers. I keep in
practice because the little cousins always want me to make their favourite animals. At the moment
it's giraffes for Salma, cephalopods for Nesrine..." Joe trailed off as he pulled Nicky's t-shirt over
his head and arms and dropped it on the floor, his gaze fixed on Nicky's naked torso.

"How many cousins do you have?"

"More than I can count." Joe dropped to his knees again, placing his hands on Nicky's belt buckle.
"Family gatherings are deafening."

"Ours too, although it's mostly mamma and her sisters. You wouldn't believe the noise five middle-
aged Italian women can produce, even when they're not arguing with each other." Joe unbuckled
Nicky's belt and looked up at him, all big eyes and perfect cheekbones. Nicky frowned. "Are you
choosing your angles?"

"Would I?"

"Would you calculate the best ways to flaunt yourself to drive me wild? I think you would, Joe."

"Perhaps all my angles are good angles, Nicky. Am I driving you wild?"
Nicky paused to find the right words, Joe's praise kink in his sights. "I've been hard since you
admitted you showered for me. Watching you exhibit yourself for my enjoyment is making me
feral."

Joe dimpled. He undid Nicky's jeans and tugged them down, still careful not to touch skin to skin.
Nicky lifted each foot in turn and let Joe slide off his jeans and then his socks. It left Nicky in only
his briefs: pale blue jersey, tented around his hard cock. Joe leaned closer. His breath warmed
Nicky's thigh. Joe reached out--

Nicky handed him the nipple clamps and backed away, stripping off his own briefs. He gestured
for Joe to stand. They stood facing each other: both naked, both breathing fast, neither able to look
away from the other's body. Nicky broke first. He paced forward, grabbed Joe's shoulders and
kissed him hard. He kept walking, forcing Joe backwards into his study and ramming him up
against the bookshelves. He raked his hands across Joe's chest. Joe shuddered and moaned into the
kiss. Nicky sucked on Joe's bottom lip, drawing out a whimper, before kissing across the scratchy-
softness of his beard, down his neck and across his chest. He swirled his tongue around Joe's left
nipple. Joe shuddered and curled into the touch; Nicky flattened his hands on Joe's shoulders and
held him back.

Joe's nipple hardened as Nicky sucked and licked it. He switched sides, mouthing at the right
nipple while bringing one hand down to play with the left. Joe gasped and bucked forward before
catching himself and straightening, pressing his shoulders back into the bookcase.

Nicky pulled off to praise him -- "You're perfect, Joe. Tell me what you want." -- then went straight
back to tonguing his right nipple.

"You know what I want!" Joe's voice was high with need. He curled a shaking hand around Nicky's
head. His other hand still clutched Nicky's nipple clamps.

"Ask me again."

"Your teeth, Nicky. Give me your teeth."

Nicky bit down. Joe tightened his fist, yanking Nicky's hair, and whined. Nicky soothed the bitten
nipple with his tongue, sucked it back into his mouth, and bit again. Joe's back arched. Nicky
licked across Joe's pecs to the other nipple and grazed it with his front teeth.

"More," gasped Joe.

Nicky nipped harder, pulling back to stretch Joe's nipple. Joe moaned. Nicky listened carefully as
he increased the pressure. Joe drew out his moan, then shuddered into panting and swearing. Nicky
held him in place and switched to using his tongue.

"Your siren's mouth will be the death of me," said Joe.

"I'll resist the obvious 'little death' comment," said Nicky.

He basked in the sunshine of Joe's laugh, staring at the crinkles around Joe's eyes. Nicky had
fucked plenty of handsome men, but never anyone like Joe: gorgeous, clever and full of joy. Being
around Joe reminded Nicky of the first time he'd made a dovetail joint -- he'd been astounded that
something so simple could connect so perfectly and he'd known, beyond all doubt, that he'd found
his vocation.

He bent back down to Joe's chest, showing his appreciation of Joe's pecs by kissing every square
millimetre of skin. His lips tingled at the contrast between the soft curls of Joe's chest hair and the
firm planes of his muscle.

"Do you want the nipple clamps?" he asked. Joe immediately handed them over. Nicky teased Joe's
nipples with the clamps' rubber-covered tips. Joe pushed into the touch with a needy mewl. Nicky
smiled and attached the clamps, supporting the weights in his hands. "You're beautiful like this,
Joe. Are you ready?"

"Please, Nicky."

Nicky released the weights and stepped back to admire the way they fell against Joe's chest,
swinging with every breath. Joe closed his eyes.

"Fuck. That's a lot."

"Too much?"

"No! Not yet enough."

Nicky slammed Joe against the bookshelves to tongue-fuck his mouth. The cold metal weights and
the heat of Joe's body overwhelmed him. He ground his cock into the hollow of Joe's hipbone,
making them both groan. Joe gripped Nicky's nape and kissed back hard. When they broke for air
Joe had unfocused eyes, swollen red lips, and a bead of sweat running down his forehead. Nicky
stared, open mouthed.

"Debauched suits you," he said.

Joe's gaze sharpened. "I'm not sure I'm fully debauched yet."

"Is that so?"

"Mildly dissipated, maybe?" Joe's message was undercut by the shallowness of his breath.

"I can see I'll have to work harder." Nicky swivelled his hips to press their cocks together and
grinned when Joe gasped. "It's tricky. The siren manual doesn't cover what to do with victims once
they've taken the bait."

"How lucky that I've given you easy-to-follow instructions. Perhaps you could--" Joe circled his
hand "--move onto the next step?"

"As if I were assembling an IKEA bookshelf?"

"As if you were handcrafting bespoke bookcases to my exact specifications." Joe splayed himself
against the bookcases, inadvertently fulfilling a fantasy Nicky had jerked off to more than once.
Nicky thought again of the camera -- and of Andy's instruction to include Joe in some of the photos
-- and turned away to hide his hunger.

"Where's your lube, Joe?"

"Desk."

Nicky perched on the edge of the desk. Joe had left a strip of condoms handy. Nicky tore off the
top one and ripped open the packet -- always easier without slippery fingers -- before pouring lube
into his palm. He meticulously slicked up a single finger then glanced back at Joe.

"More, Nicky."
Nicky repeated the performance with a second finger, slowly and deliberately, watching Joe's self-
possession crumble.

"More."

Nicky kept eye contact with Joe as he coated a third finger and poured more lube into his palm. Joe
licked his bottom lip, slow and teasing.

"Shameless." Nicky stood and strolled back to stand next to Joe, tucking the lube onto a shelf
between a couple of hardbacks. "Perhaps you could--" he gestured a circle, giving Joe a cheeky
grin "-- turn around for me?"

Joe turned to face the bookshelves, gripped the edge of a shelf at eye-level, and braced himself
with legs apart, back arched, and ass on display. The weights hanging from his nipples swung. He
looked sidelong at Nicky and winked. Nicky dripped the lube in his palm down Joe's crack,
following it with his fingers and stroking over Joe's rim. Joe sucked in a gasping breath. Nicky
circled Joe's rim with the tip of his middle finger, pressed, and pushed in. Joe widened his legs.
Nicky eased his finger in, delighting in the feeling of Joe relaxing around him. He worked Joe open
slowly, adding lube and gradually increasing the stretch with a second finger, while Joe begged for
more. The begging turned non-verbal: moans and movements rather than words. Sweat gleamed
across Joe's back; Nicky bent to lick a salt-sharp stripe up his spine.

Joe whimpered.

Nicky curled the two fingers he had inside Joe. "You're doing so well. One more finger?"

Joe nodded, frantic. Nicky slipped a third finger into him. He cried out and Nicky froze.

"No no no no!" Joe pushed himself back onto Nicky's fingers. "Don't stop."

Nicky let Joe set the pace, fucking himself onto Nicky's fingers. Nicky's fingertips brushed against
the bulb of Joe's prostate. He raised his wrist to adjust his approach and was rewarded by a groan
from Joe. Heat flooded through Nicky's body. Feeling Joe stretched out for him; watching Joe take
pleasure from his fingers; hearing Joe's sounds--

It was too much and not enough.

Nicky and bent over to whisper into Joe's ear. "You feel perfect. I want my cock inside you."

"Yes, yes, Nicky."

Nicky slid his fingers out and wiped them against his thighs to get rid of some of the lube. He
stretched across to the desk and snagged the condom he'd laid out earlier, rolling it on with shaking
hands. Joe turned, grabbed Nicky, and pulled him into a sloppy kiss, all heat and tongue. Joe
wrapped his right leg around Nicky's waist; Nicky tucked his hand under Joe's thigh and held it
tight. Joe shuddered and pulled out of the kiss. He gripped Nicky's shoulders.

"Sure you can hold me?"

Nicky nodded. He was built to hold Joe. He bent his knees and reached for Joe's other thigh. Joe's
fingers tightened on Nicky's shoulders as he climbed into Nicky's arms. Nicky scooped him up and
held him close, breathing steadily around his solid weight, relishing the strain in his biceps and
thighs. His heart swelled with the trust Joe had given him. He turned his head to lay kiss upon kiss
along the side of Joe's neck.
Joe's head fell back to rest against the bookcase, eyes closed. "Fuck, Nicky, this is so hot. I've never
-- no one has ever--"

"What, Joe? Held you in his arms? Made you feel it was a privilege to bear your weight?"

Joe's eye's flicked open. He stared at Nicky, mouth working as if he were testing and discarding
words. Dread tingled across Nicky's chest. He'd said too much. Joe had been clear about what he
wanted: he wanted to be fucked; he didn't want declarations. Nicky bent his head, took one of the
nipple-clamp weights in his mouth, and tugged. Joe's eyes went wide; a moan swept his words
away.

Nicky hoisted Joe higher, adjusting his legs for stability, and stepped forward, trapping Joe against
the bookcase and transferring some of his weight. The ache in his arms eased. The tip of his cock
brushed against Joe's perineum, sending a flash of heat through his body. He bent his elbows to lift
Joe another couple of centimetres.

"Joe, can you...?"

Joe reached down and repositioned Nicky's cock. He kept his hand in place, holding Nicky steady,
as Nicky lowered him. Nicky's cockhead hit Joe's stretched rim. Nicky groaned. Joe swore. Nicky's
legs shook. Sweat prickled across his forehead. He locked his knees as his cock slid inside Joe,
watching Joe's face to make sure he wasn't filling him too fast. Joe's mouth dropped open. He
nodded. Nicky tightened his grip on Joe's thighs and thrust up into him, sheathing his cock fully in
Joe's ass.

"You feel so good, Joe." He thrust again, his awareness narrowing to the hot tightness around his
cock. His arms trembled as he lifted Joe; his knees shook as he pounded his cock into Joe. "You're
taking me so well."

Joe's hands clutched Nicky's shoulders. He picked up Nicky's rhythm, raising himself and sinking
down onto Nicky's cock, gasping each time Nicky filled him. They moved together, speeding up,
Nicky praising Joe between gasps, Joe's cock a scorching line against Nicky's stomach. Nicky kept
thrusting, biceps burning, chasing friction, chasing heat, balls tightening, cock throbbing, teetering
on the precipice--

Joe grabbed a handful of Nicky's hair, yanked his head back, and kissed him. Nicky's orgasm hit.
He staggered, crushed Joe into the bookcase, and lost himself in sensation. Joe stroked his nape,
crooning softly in an unfamiliar language. Patterns in the words teased what was left of Nicky's
mind: were they maths or poetry or simply a shopping list made transcendent by obscurity?

He came back to himself enough to slip his cock out of Joe and deal with the condom. He guided
Joe's legs off his hips and lowered his feet to the floor, making sure he found his balance. Nicky
sunk to his knees. He nuzzled the hair at Joe's groin and breathed in his smell. Joe's cock bounced,
hard and beautiful. Nicky turned his head and mouthed at its base. It felt perfect; he dragged his
lips upwards and sighed at its warmth. His limbs ached pleasantly.

"Nicky?"

Nicky shivered. There was power in the way Joe said his name. It grounded him; it thrilled him; it
held him bound. He looked up. "Are you Fae? I should never have told you my name."

Joe laughed. "You gave it to me freely, Nicolò. Nicky. Are you ok? You seem a little out of it."

"Out of it in a good way." Nicky lapped at Joe's cock, pleased when Joe's breath stuttered. He kept
lapping, clumsier than usual, stretching up to reach the cockhead and moaning in pleasure at the
feel of silky-smooth skin.

His tongue slipped.

Joe's cock bounced forward and slapped Nicky in the face. Nicky jumped, startled.

"You don't have to blow me," said Joe.

"You promised." Nicky wanted Joe's cock in his mouth. He stretched up again--

Joe caught his chin. He smoothed Nicky's hair back, unsticking sweaty strands from his forehead.
"Relax. Enjoy the afterglow. I can wait."

"I can't."

"Nicky--"

"Fuck me, Joe."

Nicky pushed out of Joe's grip. He got his mouth around Joe's cockhead, grabbed Joe's hands and
placed them on the back of his head. Joe tangled his fingers in Nicky's hair. Nicky moaned,
wrapped his lips around his teeth, and pushed himself onto Joe's cock, looking up at Joe to make
sure he understood how much Nicky wanted this.

Joe bit his lip, his self-restraint clearly near breaking point. Nicky sucked as hard as he could.

"Fuck, Nicky!"

Nicky shuddered. He was warm all over, still tingling from his orgasm. He kept tonguing Joe's
cock and settled into a loose-limbed kneeling sprawl, not the careful arched-back posture that
showed off his ass; he was too spaced-out for finesse. Joe's fingers tightened.

"I'm going to fuck your throat. Is that what you want?"

Nicky nodded. Finally.

"Tap my leg if you need me to stop."

Nicky nodded again, whining. Joe gripped the back of Nicky's head and thrust into his mouth, hard
and fast and perfect. Nicky closed his eyes. Joe pulled back and thrust again, forcing his cock deep
into Nicky's throat, and mashing Nicky's face into his groin. Nicky moaned, drool dripping down
his chin. Joe started a brutal, beautiful rhythm. His cock hit the back of Nicky's throat each time.
Nicky was relaxed enough that he didn't need to worry about his gag reflex; he concentrated
instead on pressing his tongue against Joe's cock, swallowing as often as he could, and breathing
through his nose when Joe pulled back.

Nicky's senses filled with Joe: the glimpse of skin and hair when he cracked open his eyelids, the
weight of Joe's cock on his tongue, the taste of his precum, the smell of his sweat, his gasping
breaths--

Nicky moaned, half-gagged by Joe's cock. Joe shouted his name in response. Nicky moaned again.
Joe was close; he could feel it. The knowledge -- knowing he was making Joe feel good; knowing
Joe wanted him; knowing Joe was going to come because of him -- made him dizzy.

Joe tensed. He tore off the nipple clamps and pulled Nicky in, curving over his head, as he came.
Nicky swallowed, swallowed, swallowed; nose crushed, lips stinging, head spinning.

Time blurred.

Joe relaxed his grip and released Nicky's hair. Nicky whimpered at the loss of connection.

Some time later they were both on the carpet, tangled together. Nicky burrowed into Joe's arms.

Even later, Joe stirred and pressed a kiss to the top of Nicky's head. Nicky looked up. Joe's eyes
were wide and soft. He stroked Nicky's cheek. Nicky straightened and grimaced as his ankle
twinged, his knee cracked, and his arm prickled with pins and needles. He shook out his arm,
shared a wry glance with Joe -- we're too old to curl up like this -- and disentangled. They ended up
sitting side-by-side, backs against the bookcase, legs stretched out, and shoulders pressed together.

"I think I'm officially debauched now," said Joe. "I've never come that hard before."

"I have. Gonna be fuzzy for a while."

"You really like having your face fucked, don't you?"

Nicky nodded, touching his smarting lips. "And fucking your ass."

"I liked that part too." Joe paused. "I liked all the parts."

"I like all your parts too."

Joe laughed. "Good to know. We should do this again."

"Mmm, yes. You taste good, Joe."

Joe leant his head against Nicky's. They sat in companionable silence until Nicky shivered, sweat
cooling on bare skin. Joe made a long arm, snagged a fleece blanket from his desk chair, and
wrapped it around them.

"What?" he said, in response to Nicky's raised eyebrow. "I always have a blanket at my desk. I get
cold when I'm working."

"I get hot."

"I remember: 'too hot for coffee.' Would you like a coffee now?"

"Not your coffee."

"I bought better coffee."

Nicky snorted. "That's not saying much."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Not when it comes to coffee."

"Come on Nicky, take a chance. Would I disappoint you?"

Nicky looked away, flashing back to the gut-punch of waking alone, and didn't speak. He'd say
something too serious; something that would betray the depth of his feelings and scare Joe off. Joe
stood. It put his cock at Nicky's eye-height and gave Nicky a way to reply. He leant forward,
kissed Joe's cock -- still pretty, even soft -- and spoke directly to it: "You've certainly never
disappointed me."

Joe laughed and pushed him away.

 Have You Asked Him Why?
Chapter Summary

Nicky talks to Andy, not Joe. Joe talks to Booker, not Nicky. Only one of them gets
useful advice.

Christmas Vac

Joe picked up his shirt on the way to the kitchen and slipped it over his shoulders, not buttoning it
up. Its tails reached half-way down his thighs. He put the kettle on then measured coffee beans into
his shiny new grinder, scowled at the racket it made while grinding, and tipped the ground coffee
into his shiny new moka pot.

He could still feel Nicky's kiss on his cock.

He leant back against the kitchen counter as the coffee brewed and attempted to manage his own
expectations. Nicky had said yes to more sex, nothing else. His bleary, post-coital softness was
adorable, but it didn't mean anything except that he'd enjoyed the sex. And felt privileged to bear
your weight, Joe's memory supplied, unhelpfully.

His shirt brushed against his nipples and their sting sparked sympathetic aches across his body: a
twinge where Nicky's fingers had gripped his thighs; a throb in his ass; a pang from the elbow he'd
been leaning on when curled up on the floor; and a prickle in his kiss-swollen lips. He stretched,
delighting in the soreness. He spent too much time at a desk; he usually only got this feeling of
physicality, of embodiment, after a session in the gym.

He frowned, shaking his head. The comparison wasn't right. A workout only exercised his body;
being with Nicky stretched his mind. The games they played with control; the thread of
conversation they wove through their touches; their need to tease each other verbally even when
nearly overwhelmed with pleasure -- it wasn't purely physical, it was--

The moka pot hissed.

Joe let his thought slip away. He lifted the lid, dodging a cloud of steam, and checked the pot was
full. He poured Nicky a mug, remembered Nicky's preferences -- plenty of sugar, no milk -- and
stirred in three spoons of sugar. He made himself mint tea, grabbed a packet of ginger biscuits, and
headed back to the study.

Nicky had put on his jeans. They fit him well, emphasising the curve of his ass and his extreme
shoulder-to-waist ratio. He'd folded Joe's blanket and put it back on the chair; the lube was in its
original place next to the condoms; and he'd moved a couple of lamps through from the living
room -- the big floor lamp and Joe's reading anglepoise. The light fell on the bookcases at an angle,
highlighting the details of the woodwork. Nicky was holding his camera and thumbing through his
shots.

Joe cleared his throat. Nicky turned, with a crooked smile that made Joe's heart skip a beat. He
took the mug Joe handed him.
"It smells like coffee." He sounded dubious.

"I told you: trust me. Booker buys this brand of beans, and you know what the French are like
about their coffee."

"Booker?"

"You met him at the lecture -- Dr LeLivre. Jean-Pierre's dad."

"Ah, yes. The librarian. Are you and he...?" Nicky left the question hanging. It took a while for Joe
to understand what he was getting at; Booker had been happily married for as long as Joe had
known him.

"No! We're brothers."

"You told him that we...?" This time Nicky's meaning was clear.

"No. I mean yes. I mean--" Joe took a breath. He didn't want Nicky to think he'd been bragging
about him; treating him as some kind of conquest. "I had to give Booker an explanation for not
wanting to go back to your pub."

"You didn't want to come back?"

Shit. Joe was digging himself deeper. "I didn't want to bump into you when I was watching the
football with Booker."

Nicky answered slowly, picking his words carefully. "I understand. Sometimes it's best to keep the
different parts of your life separate."

"Exactly." Joe smiled, relieved. It wasn't quite what he'd meant, but it was close enough.

Nicky raised the coffee mug. He sniffed it, then took a sip. Joe held his breath. Nicky held the
coffee in his mouth, looking serious. He swallowed.

He didn't speak.

Joe raised an eyebrow.

"It's good." Nicky took another mouthful. "Dr LeLivre has excellent taste."

Joe let out the breath he'd been holding. "I wouldn't go that far."

They sat on the desk and shared the biscuits.

"So, photos?" said Joe.

"Another couple of shots and I'll be done." Nicky glanced at Joe, mouth curving into a half-smile.
"Andy suggested I should get you in some of the photos."

Joe struck a pose, his shirt falling open. "How do I look?"

"Well-fucked."

"Very well fucked."

Nicky's half-smile stretched into a grin. "I don't think it's what Andy had in mind, but I'd love to
photograph you looking well-fucked some time. Maybe when you're tied in that rope corset I
promised?" Joe's blood rushed south. His cock thickened. Nicky's gaze dropped to it, and his grin
widened. "My place, this weekend?"

"Friday night, when Nile's working?"

Nicky's smile slipped. "I can't do Friday..."

Joe cursed himself silently. Of course not: Nicky had other people to do on Friday nights.
"Karaoke night?"

"...I'm taking Nile to Heathrow Airport," Nicky continued, ignoring Joe's interruption. "Andy's
lending me the van. Nile's going home for Christmas -- she'll be away until the 30th. What about
Saturday night? Or sometime next week?"

"I can't. I'm going away too; my flight's on Saturday morning."

"Visiting the cousins?"

Joe shook his head. "Only my parents, in The Hague. We don't celebrate Christmas, but it's good to
see them while everything's closed here. What about you?"

"I'm working. Andy always finds someone willing to pay us a fortune to remodel their house while
they're away for Christmas. This year it's a kitchen installation -- bespoke cabinets with doors made
from driftwood."

"So that's what you do with all the shipwrecks you cause."

Nicky laughed. "I wish. No, Andy drags me down to the south coast for regular beachcombing
trips. She loves working in driftwood."

"Will your family miss you? I'm guessing you do celebrate Christmas...?"

"I went home a couple of weeks ago for the weekend of L'Immacolata Concezione -- the feast of
the Immaculate Conception, it's a big deal in Italy -- and I'll speak to them on Christmas Eve and
Christmas Day. They're used to me having to work."

"Will you be lonely on your own?"

"I won't have the time!" He smiled, a soft smile full of affection. "Andy and I don't often work on
the same job, so our Christmas collaborations are special."

Nicky drained his coffee, put down the mug and picked up his camera, declaring himself done after
taking three more shots. He dressed quickly, sitting on the hall floor to lace up his boots. "I should
go."

"Can I text you when I get back from The Hague?"

Nicky's gaze travelled up Joe's body, making Joe glad he hadn't put his clothes back on. "You're not
leaving until Saturday? I'm free Thursday night; I could come here after dinner."

Joe agreed so quickly his words tripped over each other.

---
Andy picked Nicky up at 7:30 on Saturday morning. He climbed into the van, deposited a travel
mug of fresh coffee into Andy's cupholder, and took an abricotine from the open paper bag on the
dashboard.

"Morning, boss. You went to Gatineau?"

"Figured we deserve a treat. Don't touch the pain au chocolat."

"I wouldn't dare." He wolfed the abricotine, licked icing sugar and crème pâtissière off his fingers
and peered into the bag. "Is the cinnamon bun mine?"

"Of course."

Andy drove with panache, steering the van through Jericho and towards Park Town. Their client's
house was on the main crescent: a three-storey-plus-basement townhouse with a terrible 1980s
kitchen. They spent the morning ripping it out -- exhausting, noisy work that made chatting
impossible. Nicky, distracted and dreading the moment Andy called him out for his preoccupation,
felt he'd dodged a bullet.

They dumped the last of the old cabinet carcasses in the skip, dropped the rolled-up lino on top,
and collapsed on the steps running up to the front door. Nicky sighed in pleasure at contact with the
cold stone. He stripped off his gloves, wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and unstuck his
t-shirt from his stomach then used it to fan himself. Andy squeezed his shoulder and handed him a
bottle of water.

"Go find us lunch. I'll chop up the old countertop."

"I brought us sandwiches. Mozzarella, rocket, tomato and pesto on focaccia."

"I knew I hired you for a reason."

"Does that mean you'll still chop up the countertop?

"It means if we chop it up together we'll get to your sandwiches quicker."

Andy didn't ask him questions that afternoon. Their plumber and electrician -- a gay couple --
arrived for first fix. They were devoted to one another, had been for two decades, but adored the
cheap thrill of vicarious promiscuity and always pressed Nicky for titbits about his latest hook-ups.
Andy gave him a long, assessing look when he didn't indulge them as he usually would, but let it
go.

She didn't ask him questions the next day either. They fixed plywood to the floor and started to put
the wall units up: solid timber, not chipboard; heavy to work with, but beautiful. The driftwood
doors, stacked against the hallway wall, hadn't lost their briny scent. Salt mingled with sawdust and
wax as they worked. Andy brought out a tub of black Gaeta olives towards the end of the
afternoon: a concession to Nicky's tastes that hinted at her concern. She didn't often entertain non-
sugary snacks. She still didn't ask.

She saved the questions for Christmas Day. They were in Andy's workshop, not on site -- partly out
of consideration for their client's neighbours, and partly because they'd saved the best part of the
project as a Christmas gift to themselves. They spread driftwood across the workbench, looking for
the perfect pieces to carve into cabinet handles. Each one would be different; its final shape a
combination of the wood's natural tendency and Andy and Nicky's craft.
Nicky chose a branch with a curve like a crescent moon and clamped it in his vice.

"I get that you don't want to talk about it," said Andy, bent over her own vice.

"So you're going to leave me alone to brood, right, boss?"

Andy laughed. "Of course I'm not! I'm going to besiege you until you tell me everything. You may
as well concede defeat now."

Nicky considered holding out, but he knew Andy was right: she'd wear him down eventually. He
also needed to talk to someone and he couldn't discuss Joe with Nile, not without putting Nile in an
awkward position.

"I've hooked up three times with the same guy," he said.

"It's not like you to do repeats. He must be special."

"That's the problem. I think he is."

"Why is that a problem? Does he make you happy?"

"He makes me want more."

"Chocolates and flowers and soft kisses in the moonlight?"

"...more."

Andy put down her drawknife and turned to him, eyes narrowing. "And he doesn't feel the same?
Give me the word and I'll hunt him down."

"He's done nothing wrong."

"I'll be the judge of that. What did he say when you asked him out?" Nicky swallowed and looked
away. Andy folded her arms. "You have asked him out?"

"He's been clear he only wants to hook up."

"Clear in words?"

"Clear in his actions."

Andy groaned and punched his shoulder. "Dumbass."

"He left in the middle of the night when we first hooked up!"

"Have you asked him why? Maybe he thought you expected him to."

"And he didn't want to tell his friend about me."

"Didn't want to? Did he tell them or didn't he?"

"He did... but he won't come round when Nile's there -- he doesn't want to be seen with me."

"More like he doesn't want to be heard with you. Show some sense, Nicky. You never have hook-
ups round when Nile's there because the wall between your rooms is made of cardboard; your guy
is behaving decently."
Nicky's mind raced. He didn't know why Joe had left; he hadn't let Joe explain his conversation
with Dr LeLivre; and Andy had a point about the lack of soundproofing in his flat. He blinked,
eyes prickling.

"Oh, Nicky." Andy curled her hand around his nape and touched her forehead to his. "He hasn't
told you how he thinks about you, but has he shown it? Outside bed, I mean."

Nicky thought, then nodded. "Coffee. He had proper coffee for me when I went round."

"Proper coffee...?" Andy pulled back. "Nicky? Are you fucking Joe Al-Kaysani?" Nicky's face
burned, giving Andy her answer. "Motherfucker! Tell me you didn't hook up with one of my clients
on the clock."

"No. No! We both... flirted a bit much, but nothing happened then. We didn't hook up until weeks
later."

Andy muttered something that combined threats and curses. She picked her knife back up and
gestured with it. "You're hooking up with a man who's gone out of his way to provide a caffeine fix
that meets your excessively high standards, who's known for his articulacy -- an actual public
intellectual -- and you can't bring yourself to have a conversation with him about your emotions.
Why, Nicky?"

"That's why! He's an 'actual public intellectual' and I'm a carpenter! Entertaining to fuck on the
side, but hardly relationship material." Andy glared at him. He hung his head. "I'm sorry, I
shouldn't have said that. There's nothing wrong with being a carpenter. I'm projecting my own
insecurities."

"If Joe looks down on you, wouldn't it be better to know?" Andy's gentle tone was worse than a
rebuke.

"And risk loosing him entirely?"

"Have a little faith, Nicky."

---

Joe lounged on the bed in his childhood bedroom to FaceTime the LeLivres. Jean-Pierre, wearing
fairy wings and a Spiderman costume, showed off his presents, talking so fast he was unintelligible.
Joe smiled, asked questions in what he hoped were the right places, and drank in J-P's excitement.
Eventually Booker wrestled the iPad out of J-P's hands and sent him off to help his mum in the
kitchen.

"Sorry about that. We shouldn't have let him drink so much coke."

"Don't apologise. He was delightful."

"He loves the palaeontology kit, and Adèle says thanks for not getting the roaring dinosaur."

"Would I do that to you?"

"Of course you would." Booker closed the door to the living room and collapsed on the sofa,
pulling out his whisky flask. "You haven't told me how the photo session with your carpenter went.
Nice job getting his number, by the way. Very slick."

"I thought so."

"I can see the attraction. Those shoulders! And that mouth! I'd do him too, if I were single."

"Must you be so crass?"

"Yes. You did do him again, I take it?"

Joe sighed, wondering -- not for the first time -- why he confided in Booker, and -- not for the first
time -- going ahead and confessing to him anyway. "I'm hoping to keep doing him."

Booker sat up. "Hoping?"

"He likes variety."

"Do you want more than something casual?"

"I..." Joe pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think so, but I don't think there's any chance of that. I'll
take casual over nothing."

"You know what you've got to do, then."

"What?"

Booker laughed. "Give the man variety, Joe. Think of it as a set theory problem -- first, define the
set of all the ways you can get your handsome carpenter off..."

Joe flipped him off and hung up.

 More Beautiful Than Euler's Identity
Chapter Summary

Shibari, a sleepy bath and sleepier morning after, and Nicky finally works up the
courage to ask Joe on a date.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Hilary Term

Nicky read Joe's text again -- My place, Thu, 8ish? Bring rope -- while towelling himself off and
deciding what to wear. On the one hand it didn't matter: Joe would clearly be getting him out of his
clothes soon after he arrived. There was no way to interpret the message as anything other than a
booty call.

On the other hand, Nicky wanted to look good for Joe. He chose a tight, navy blue t-shirt, found his
favourite silver hoop earrings, and pulled on the jeans that showed off his ass.

On another hand -- and, even without a maths degree, he knew that was too many hands -- he
wanted to look like someone Joe might go on a date with. He looked down at himself and cringed.
If he went to one of the university pubs he wouldn't blend in with the clientele; he'd be mistaken
for a bartender.

A hot bartender, but still a bartender.

Inspiration hit him: the jumper he'd worn to Joe's lecture. He put it on and checked himself in the
bathroom mirror. Red worked for him and although it clung to his shoulders the overall impression
was more subtle. He could definitely ask Joe out dressed like that.

He brushed his teeth, filled his bag with rope the same brick-red as the jumper and set out on foot,
a bounce in his step.

Joe's expression when he opened his door confirmed Nicky had made the right choice. His eyes
widened, his lips parted, and his gaze snagged on Nicky's shoulders. He backed up a couple of
steps to let Nicky in, wordless. Nicky grinned, strutted across Joe's threshold, and closed the door
behind him.

"May I...?" Joe asked, reaching for Nicky. Nicky nodded. Joe ran his hands up Nicky's chest and
around his shoulders, humming appreciatively. "Mmm, soft." He leant in and mouthed at Nicky's
neck, his jaw, and up to his earlobe. He nibbled around the earring, gently touching it with the tip
of his tongue. "I like these."

Nicky put his arms around Joe and pulled him close, swivelling his hips to grind their cocks
together. They both moaned. Nicky abandoned his plan to talk to Joe before they fucked. He
reached into his bag. "I brought rope."

Joe glanced down. "Colour-coordinated rope. Very tasteful."

"When I tie you up you'll look like you belong to me. Is that to your taste?"

Joe's breath hitched. He hesitated before replying, as if swallowing his first response. When he
spoke his voice was hoarse. "Being tied up and possessed is exactly what I had in mind, yes." He
grabbed Nicky's hand and dragged him towards the stairs. "Bedroom. Now."

Nicky followed Joe to a large bedroom at the back of the house: the first time he'd been invited
upstairs. They kissed, urgent, rucking up each other's clothes in search of skin. Nicky got his hands
under Joe's t-shirt and flattened them against his back. Joe slid his fingertips under Nicky's
waistband, making Nicky shiver, then gripped the bottom of his jumper. Nicky raised his arms and
let Joe pull the jumper off. Joe stepped back, clutching the jumper to his chest, staring at Nicky
again.

"Did you paint that t-shirt on?"

"Says the man wearing skinny jeans. I enjoyed the view following you upstairs."

"I'm glad, because there's no dignified way to take them off."

"Let's forget dignified and go for quick."

They both stripped off their t-shirts. Nicky untied his boots and tugged them off, wriggled out of
his jeans, and rolled off his socks. Joe pushed his jeans down to his knees, sat on the bed and lifted
his legs.

"A little help?"

Nicky yanked the jeans down, turning them inside out, and getting them caught on Joe's feet. They
both giggled as he fought to get them free. Nicky pulled, Joe pointed his feet, and the jeans came
off, sending Nicky staggering backwards. He laughed, dropped the jeans, and pounced on Joe,
pushing him onto his back on the bed and straddling him. Joe pulled him down and gasped as the
full length of their bodies pressed together. Nicky rubbed against him. Joe trailed his fingers from
Nicky's nape to his ass. Nicky arched his back and found himself staring at a solid beech
headboard. He stilled.

"Joe?"

Joe, head lifted and mouth about to close around Nicky's nipple, murmured something that might
have been "Nicky?"

"When you said you had experience of being tied to the headboard, I imagined you had a
headboard I could tie you to."

Joe stopped licking Nicky's nipple, twisted to glance at the headboard then looked up at Nicky.
"Sorry."

"No, it's alright." Nicky grinned, rolled off Joe, and reached for his bag. "I can work with this. On
your back, arms up in a 'Y' shape."

"Am I going to have to do an 'M' next?"

"No, next you'll be doing me."

Joe chuckled, showing his dimples. Nicky pulled out the first hank of rope and placed his safety
shears on the bedside table, next to a stack of books, the lube, and a strip of condoms. "Traffic light
system, right?"

"Right."

Nicky found the centre of the rope, asked Joe to lift his nearest arm, and tied a single column tie
around his wrist. He slipped two fingers under the rope to check it wasn't too tight and laid Joe's
arm down on the bed. Joe's breath was shallow; his chest heaving. Nicky took the time to properly
look at him, letting Joe see his appreciation.

"You look stunning laid out for me."

Joe winked. Nicky smiled back, slid off the bed and crouched down. He wrapped the ends of his
rope round the bed's leg, threaded them back through the centre loop he'd left sticking out of Joe's
wrist tie, and double half-hitched all the ropes together next to the bed leg. He walked to the far
side of the bed and repeated the process with the other wrist, stretching Joe's arms wide.

"Pull," he told Joe. Joe pulled. He could only move his arms a little. "Is it comfortable?"

"Yes. Your rope is as soft as your jumper."

Nicky kissed the inside of Joe's wrist next to the rope. "As soft as your skin. I know you like
restraint, but I don't know how you feel about rope burns. I have rougher rope at home if you
prefer."

"I don't. This feels perfect."

Nicky indulged himself: he lay on top of Joe and ran kisses up his arm, across his chest, and down
the other arm, glorying in having Joe spread out and at his mercy. Joe's fingers curled, reaching for
Nicky; Nicky evaded him and slithered down the length of Joe's body, hands caressing and mouth
teasing, breathing in Joe's scent. He grazed his cheek against Joe's cock. Joe's hips bucked up.
Nicky held them down. He nosed into the curls at the base of Joe's cock and licked his balls. Joe
gasped and shuddered underneath him. Nicky took his time. He sucked Joe's balls, taking each one
into his mouth in turn, while he rubbed Joe's cock with the side of his nose. He treasured Joe's
gasps, moans and muttered phrases.

He pulled off when Joe was fully hard, smiling at Joe's whine, and picked up another hank of rope.
Joe, seeing the rope, took a shuddering breath and smiled. Nicky sat up straight.

"I'm going to bind your legs," he said. "Wide straps around your thighs and decorative wraps
around your lower legs, holding them together. Once that's done I'll ask you to bend your knees so I
can tie your ankles back to your thighs. Do you have any leg or ankle injuries?"

"No."

"How flexible are you?"

"Pretty flexible."

"Good. I won't tie you in a position you're not comfortable holding. I need you to tell me if you feel
any numbness or tingling, or feel too hot or cold, or if you want to be released for any reason. If
you're non-verbal, make a fist twice with either hand or tap your feet twice and I'll stop and check
in."

"I'd claim I won't be non-verbal, but you might take that as a challenge."
"I might." Nicky held the middle of his rope ready to start. "Would that be a bad thing?"

"Uh... no."

"Do you want to know why I want your knees raised and your legs bent?" Nicky made his first
wrap.

Joe shivered at the touch of the rope. "Tell me."

"I want to lean back against your thighs when I ride you." Joe's eyes widened. He licked his lips.
Nicky turned away to hide his smile. He tied a hitch and made another wrap as Joe searched for
words. Joe opened his mouth to speak and Nicky beat him to it. "You're so hard I'll be able to force
myself open on your cock. Can you imagine how tight I'll be?"

"Yes, Nicky, fuck."

Nicky kept tying, his movements deliberate. He'd learnt to keep his hands steady while binding a
partner, no matter how turned on he was; no matter how beautifully Joe said his name. Confidence
and competence were part of how he chose to be a rope top. Joe relaxed, closing his eyes and
making small contented noises. His cock twitched. Nicky attached his last hank of rope, wrapped
Joe's ankles, and moved to one side, laying Joe's legs down on the duvet and tapping his knee.

"Bend your legs."

Joe obeyed, bringing his heels almost to his ass.

"You are flexible." Nicky moved Joe's feet further away. "Let's make it a little easier. I'm planning
to take my time riding you."

He fastened Joe's ankles to his thighs, checked Joe was comfortable, and repeated the instructions
about when and how Joe could call a halt. Joe strained against the binding to test it. He arched his
back and his cock bobbed, hard and enticing. The taut lines of his body dazzled Nicky.

"Do you want to see yourself?" Nicky asked. Joe nodded. Nicky crossed to a full-length mirror
hanging on the wall. He lifted it off its hook and held it up for Joe. "You look sublime. Gift-
wrapped for me."

Joe's eyes raked down his own body in the mirror. "Tethered by my own research subject. I
applaud your practical application of knots."

"I can see that." Nicky eyed Joe's cock. "You stayed hard throughout."

"I had a good incentive. Am I hard enough to force yourself open on?"

"Let's see." Nicky leaned the mirror against the wall, reached for a condom and rolled it on to Joe.
Joe's cock was stiff and hot and handsome. "Perfect. Just what I need."

He grabbed the lube and slicked Joe's cock and his own rim, his hands unsteady. Lube ran down
onto Joe's balls and dripped on the duvet. Nicky straddled Joe, lined himself up, and drank in the
sight below him: Joe, pupils blown wide, arms stretched across the pillows, red rope vivid at his
wrists, and his nipples as hard as his cock. Nicky lined himself up, gasping when his rim touched
Joe's cockhead.

"Nicky," said Joe. "Stop teasing and ride me."

Nicky grasped Joe's cock and lowered himself onto it. The stretch burned deliciously. "Ah, Joe, I
was right. Your cock is perfect for this."

His cheeks and chest flushed hot. He glanced sideways at the mirror; he was red-faced and wild-
eyed. He'd taken only half of Joe's cock. His thighs trembled as he pushed down. Joe closed his
eyes and moaned. Nicky lifted himself up a couple of centimetres then dropped down, not stopping
until Joe had bottomed out. Joe's cock felt huge inside him. Joe's eyes flicked open and they stared
at each other, both panting.

Nicky put his hands flat on Joe's chest. He ground down onto Joe, hips circling. His inner thighs
were suddenly slippery with sweat. His cock ached, warning him to slow down if he wanted this to
last. He arched his back to raise his hips and slid back down, setting up a steady, lazy beat. Relief
flashed across Joe's face; Nicky hadn't been the only one worried about finishing too soon.

Nicky leaned back, plastering himself against Joe's rope-bound thighs. He used his hands to spread
his own thighs and kept his slow rhythm going. Joe made a strangled noise. He gestured with his
right hand, snapping the rope taut.

"Your body is extraordinary, Nicky." He slipped into another language -- something fast and
flowing -- and spoke a few lines.

"Is that poetry?"

"In a manner of speaking." Joe broke off to swear as Nicky clenched around him. "It's a
mathematical theorem about bisecting triangles."

"And I am the triangle being bisected?"

"You are."

"Is there more?"

Joe frowned in concentration. He stuttered and repeated a line before finding his flow again. Nicky
set his rhythm by Joe's words. The initial burn of taking Joe had melted into a heady sensation of
fullness. Nicky slanted his hips back, changing the angle of bisection, lining up his prostate and
Joe's cockhead. The first direct hit on his prostate made him moan and grind down into Joe's lap,
gliding through their shared sweat. The smell was intoxicating.

Joe interrupted his theorem-- "I'm close, Nicky."

"Me too." Nicky curled his right hand around his own cock and sighed. "Your giant mathematical
brain is almost as sexy as your gorgeous pecs."

Joe thrust his hips up, his pace frantic. Nicky matched it. He slammed down onto Joe, his prostate
throbbing, and stripped his own cock fast and hard. A thrill shot up his spine. His thighs shook. Joe
reached towards him, pulling against his wrist ties. The futile flex of his biceps and expansion of
his chest was beautiful: Joe's strength fettered for Nicky's pleasure.

Nicky shuddered as his orgasm consumed him. He tightened his grip on his cock. His cum arced
across Joe's stomach. He lost his rhythm and fell forward, hands on Joe's shoulders, clenching
around Joe's cock. His breath rasped. His pulse sang in his ears. Sweat ran down his face and
dripped onto Joe's chest. Joe swore, his eyes screwed shut, and arched his back, thrusting up once,
twice, three times --

Joe cried out and went limp. Nicky collapsed on top of him, smearing his cum between them, and
tucked his face into the curve of Joe's neck. Joe's heartbeat raced; he panted for breath. Nicky
eased himself off Joe's cock, shifting his weight to the bed. Their breathing synced up. Joe opened
his eyes and twisted to look at Nicky, his eyelashes damp and his expression dazed. Nicky fumbled
the condom off, tied a knot, and dropped it to the floor.

Nicky pushed himself to his knees and released Joe's nearest wrist, leaving the rope trailing across
the bed. He reached across to the other wrist, then shuffled down to Joe's legs. Joe bent his arms,
rolling his shoulders and wrists, before reaching out for Nicky. He hooked his hand around Nicky's
foot and smiled. Nicky smiled back and untied the knot fixing Joe's ankles to his thighs, letting him
straighten his legs. Joe sighed as he stretched out.

"I like being ridden by you."

"That's good, because there are so many ways I want to ride you."

"Such as?"

"With your hands free so you can touch me. Or maybe just one hand so you can touch my cock. So
I can come in your fist instead of my own." Nicky started unwrapping Joe's legs.

"Already on my list."

"With you tied exactly like this, but me facing the other way. You get to watch my ass as I ride you
and I get to rub myself off on your bound thighs."

"Fuck, yes. I'll add it to the list."

"Sitting in your lap, your arms around me."

"On the list."

"With a vibrator in your ass and the controller in my hand."

Joe shivered, his hand tightening around Nicky's foot. "I'll definitely add that one to the list."

Nicky froze, rope pooling in his lap and Joe's legs still half bound. Something about Joe's voice
made him wonder--

"Joe? This list of yours? Is it metaphorical or do you actually have a list? A -- what would you call
it? -- fucking bucket list?"

Joe laughed, loud and delighted. "'Fucking bucket list' is perfect. I'll re-title my spreadsheet."

"You have a spreadsheet?"

"Is that too ridiculous?"

"You could never be ridiculous. But..." Nicky fiddled with the whipped end of the rope. "...what
happens when we reach the end of the list?"

"It's a long list! And we're adding more things to it than we're ticking off."

Nicky didn't point out that Joe hadn't answered his question. He shouldn't have asked; he didn't
want to know what happened when Joe got bored of fucking him. He finished untying Joe's legs,
placed them in his lap, and massaged them, fingers rubbing over the rope imprints on Joe's skin.
Joe relaxed under his touch, eyelids heavy. Nicky spotted a box of tissues on the bedside table and
wiped his cum off Joe's stomach and then his own. Joe spread his arms and Nicky moved into
them, resting his head on Joe's shoulder, throwing an arm across his chest, and curling a leg over
his thighs. They snuggled into each other, Nicky tangling his fingers in Joe's chest hair and Joe
caressing Nicky's back.

"Any idea what time it is?" asked Nicky.

"Does it matter?" Joe's voice was drowsy.

"I've got an early start. Andy picks me up at 7:30am, at my place."

Joe stiffened. He disentangled himself from Nicky. "You're welcome to shower before you leave."

The bottom fell out of Nicky's stomach. He rolled away from Joe, swung his legs off the bed and
sat up. He couldn't ask Joe out after that dismissal. He bit his lip, fighting back tears. He couldn't
even regret not asking Joe out when he'd arrived. If Joe had said no, Nicky would have missed out
on seeing him bound and desperate; on hearing him asking to be ridden; and on being held in his
arms. For a blissful few minutes he'd been able to pretend he had everything he wanted.

Nicky dressed, looped his rope back into figure-eight hanks, and dropped it onto Joe's bedside
table.

"For next time?" he said.

"For next time," said Joe, propping himself up on one elbow.

Nicky ached to kiss him goodbye. He gave an awkward half-wave instead, made his way
downstairs, and let himself out. The cold night air startled him fully awake and the walk home
gave him time to worry about how he'd answer Andy's, inevitable, questions.

---

Joe was dicing vegetables when his phone beeped. He'd spent his Saturday afternoon making bread
-- his dough was shaped and part-way through its second prove -- and had decided to eat it with
soup. He wiped his hands and opened the message.

Nicky: running late - won't be home until 8:30ish and I need to grab food. Is 9:30 too late to come
over?

Joe glanced back at the mountain of diced vegetables and answered immediately: have dinner here.
I'm making soup, there's plenty for two

He waited for a reply. None came. He re-read his message: too pushy? Too much like a date? Had
he broken the unspoken rules of their agreement? The bars on his phone dropped from four to one
and he rushed through to the lounge in search of better reception. His mouth tasted sour. He paced
across the bay window -- two steps and turn, two steps and turn -- mentally composing a series of
follow-up messages, each more abject than the last.

An email beeped its arrival: marketing from the Ashmolean. He deleted it. Dizziness hit; he
steadied himself on the windowsill, opened the message thread, and started typing. And deleting.
And typing again.
No worries if you

You don't have to

It's fine if

I understand

9:30 is ok good

He was deleting again when a message popped in.

Nicky: thanks. See you in about an hour

Joe put the phone down hastily, worried he'd drop it. He bent over, letting his head fall forward and
bracing his hands against his knees, overwhelmed by relief. He breathed deeply. Once he had his
breathing back under control he picked up the phone, hands unsteady, and typed a quick
acknowledgement. A minute later he added: how do you feel about garlic?

Nicky's response pinged back immediately: I'm Italian

Followed by: and you've seen me in full sunlight

Joe smiled and sank down onto the sofa. I'll double the number of cloves, he sent. Any dietary
restrictions?

None. Can I bring anything? Anything you can buy at a service station, that is. We're on the A34

Just bring you

:-)

Joe finished his chopping, set the soup to simmer, put his bread in the oven, and jumped in the
shower. He lathered himself with shower gel, his mind turning to Nicky. He hadn't thought twice
about inviting Nicky to dinner; all his misgivings had been about scaring Nicky off. He'd known
for a long while -- since that first walk home in the rain -- that he wanted everything Nicky would
give him and more. He hadn't let himself consider why.

It wasn't simply that Nicky was beautiful, the best fuck Joe had ever had, and combined confidence
and competence in a way that left Joe defenceless. It wasn't even that being with him felt
comfortable; felt right.

It was that Nicky was his equal.

He loved their verbal sparring. He'd never had anyone who could keep up with him the way Nicky
did; never had anyone who'd come close. He swallowed, his mouth dry, finally understanding why
Nicky was different, why Nicky had slipped past his guard: Nicky's mind.

Joe rinsed himself off and reached for the butt plug and lube he'd left in the shower earlier, when
planning the evening. Liking Nicky's mind didn't make Joe any less desperate to try everything on
their fucking bucket list, especially as holding Nicky's interest was the only way Joe could keep
Nicky.

When Nicky arrived Joe was fully dressed, five minutes from taking the bread out of the oven, and
extremely aware of the butt plug inside him.
"Dinner smells good," said Nicky. He leant in for a disarming, charming double cheek kiss.

"We kiss three times in the Netherlands," said Joe. Nicky caught the nape of his neck, drew him
close, and kissed him slowly.

"Like that?"

"That would be considered unusual in The Hague. You might get away with it in Amsterdam." Joe
ran his hands through Nicky's hair, kissed him again, then pulled away, frowning. "Your hair's full
of sand."

Nicky's hands flew to his head. "Sorry! I thought I'd managed to comb it all out."

"You can shower--" Joe's oven timer went off. "After dinner."

Nicky followed him through to the kitchen and exclaimed as he took the bread out of the oven. Joe
sliced two of the baguette-style loaves and put them on a serving plate, ladled soup into two bowls,
and carried everything to the table. He held up a bottle of red wine in query.

"Best not," said Nicky, sitting down heavily. "I'm shattered. If I drink I'll fall asleep at the table."

"Successful beachcombing trip?"

"Andy's happy. We filled the van and found some gorgeous pieces, including a couple of whole
trees several miles from the car park. Chopping them up to move took hours." Nicky let his
shoulders slump, performing exhaustion, and bit into a slice of bread. He made an appreciative
murmur. "Nigella seeds?"

"My grandmother's recipe, from Tunisia. We call it khobz talian, Italian bread, but I'm not sure
how Italian it really is." Joe laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm a bit embarrassed I made it
for you. In my defence, it was already proving when I invited you over."

"The texture is perfect. The nigella seeds... would be considered unusual in Genoa."

They chatted through dinner, swapping stories and recipes. Nicky's movements slowed and his
Italian accent got stronger. He rubbed his right shoulder a couple of times, rolling it and not quite
hiding a wince.

"Would you like a bath?" asked Joe. "You can wash off the sand and soak away the aches and
pains."

"That would be marvellous. Will you join me?"

They soaked together, Joe with his back to the end of the bath and Nicky lounging in Joe's arms,
both of them letting their hands wander, trading sleepy, garlic- and nigella-flavoured kisses over
Nicky's shoulder. Delight shone in Nicky's face when he discovered Joe's butt plug. In bed, Joe
rode Nicky, unhurried and gentle. He came in Nicky's hand, across Nicky's chest, to the sound of
Nicky's praise and the clench and gasp of Nicky reaching his own orgasm.

---

Joe woke.
Sunlight filtered through his yellow curtains, turning the room gold. He'd spooned Nicky in the
night: arms wrapped around him, legs tangled together, nose pressed to the back of Nicky's neck.
Nicky smelt of sea salt and Joe's bath oil. Joe's hard cock was nestled between Nicky's buttocks;
Nicky stirred and pressed back into Joe. Joe's heart expanded. Waking with Nicky felt absolutely
fucking perfect. He dropped a kiss on Nicky's shoulder and murmured a good morning.

Nicky circled his hips to tease Joe's cock. "It certainly feels good from here. Round two?"

Round two was almost as drowsy as round one. Joe lubed up Nicky's thighs and fucked them from
behind, dragging his cock over Nicky's balls, biting and sucking Nicky's neck, and stroking Nicky
off. Neither of them lasted long. Nicky rolled over to face Joe after he'd come and they fell back to
sleep in each other's arms.

---

Joe woke.

He was alone. The bed was cold. Rain slammed against the window. The light had turned grey. He
tugged the duvet, wanting it over his shoulders. It didn't move. He raised his head to find out why.

Nicky was sitting on the end of the bed, naked, rubbing his eyes.

"Nicky?"

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"Do you have to go?"

Nicky's brow furrowed as he turned to face Joe. His eyes were hooded; his shoulders rigid. "Do
you want me to?"

"No."

Some of the tension left Nicky. He searched Joe's face. Joe, not knowing what Nicky hoped to find,
tamped down his adoration. He lifted the edge of the duvet in invitation: "You must be cold."

Nicky pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged and dragged the duvet over his thighs. Joe, feeling at a
disadvantage, also sat up. They faced each other without speaking. Wind whistled outside, rattling
the window. Nicky bit his lip. Joe wanted to break the silence. He wanted to reach for Nicky. He
didn't know if he wanted to stop Nicky from speaking -- scared Nicky was about to end things -- or
to coax all Nicky's unspoken words from him.

Joe clasped his hands together and said nothing.

"Joe... that first night. Why did you leave?"

Joe flinched and spoke past a lump in his throat. "I went to the bathroom and saw Nile. I..." Nicky's
face was blank. "I panicked. I'd only met her once; I didn't want our second meeting to be in the
middle of the night, while I was half-naked and clearly hooking up with her flatmate."

"You didn't want to be seen with me?"

 "I didn't want a new student to encounter me in a sexual situation without warning."

The corner of Nicky's mouth twitched. "So you ran out into a storm to avoid her, with a stolen
umbrella and no socks?"

"I'm sorry. I still have the umbrella."

Nicky glanced towards the window. "I'll need it to get home."

"You're leaving?" Joe's voice broke.

Nicky's expression softened. "Eventually. I need to ask you something first."

"I really am sorry. If it helps, I realised I'd made a mistake about five minutes after I left."

"It helps." Nicky shifted, straightening his legs. His toes nudged Joe under the duvet. Joe reached
down, lifted Nicky's feet into his lap, and curled his fingers around them. Nicky smiled.

"I like having you in my bed," said Joe.

"I know you do." Nicky's smile turned filthy. Joe rolled his eyes.

"Not just having you having you. I like you being in my bed, even when we're not fucking. I like
holding you." Joe hesitated, then screwed up his own courage. If Nicky could ask questions, so
could he. "Why didn't you stay the night last week?"

"I wanted to stay. I thought you wanted me to leave."

"I never want you to leave." Fuck, too much. "I mean, I really like cuddling after sex."

"Me too. Joe...?"

Nicky's voice was serious. Joe raised his head. "Yes...?"

"Would you like to go on a date? With me?"

Joe's thoughts scattered. His heartbeat raced. He managed not to fling himself at Nicky, but
couldn't contain his grin. "I'd love to."

"Dinner? Next Saturday?"

"Next Saturday would be perfect."

Nicky's smile was the most beautiful thing Joe had ever seen; more beautiful than Euler's identity
and brighter than the moon in darkness. "I promise not to arrive at the restaurant with half a beach
in my hair."

"I promise not to run away if I see one of my students." Joe frowned. "We should tell Nile we're
dating... we are dating?"

"Yes, we're dating." Nicky crawled into Joe's arms, all heat and softness, and kissed him. "I'll tell
Nile. It shouldn't be a big deal."

Chapter End Notes

Update: I realised I should probably have left a note here to say that Euler's identity is
a particularly elegant equation. I was being so careful not to nerd out at length that I
forgot to give you the basic information you need!
 The Love of my Life
Chapter Summary

A first date, at last; friends bonding over karaoke and frivolous bets; and plenty of sex,
shibari and adoration. The happy ending we've all been waiting for.

Hilary Term

Nicky paused outside the restaurant. He tugged his jumper down -- a dark blue v-neck, brand new -
- and raked his fingers through his hair. What if he bored Joe? He unbuttoned the top button of his
shirt, re-buttoned it, then unbuttoned it again, hands clammy with sweat. He could picture himself
running out of conversation and sitting in awkward silence while Joe wondered why he'd agreed to
the date.

Joe was already at their table, in a cosy alcove at the back, engrossed in a book. The scent of
cumin, coriander and turmeric drifted out from the kitchen. Soft string music played. The server
took Nicky's coat and led him across the room, footsteps muted by the carpet tiles. Joe didn't notice
until they were almost on him. He raised his head and smiled. Nicky froze.

Joe was wearing black-framed glasses. The effect, in combination with his full eye-crinkling,
dimpled smile, set Nicky's heart racing.

Joe fumbled the glasses off, shoved them in his jacket pocket, and stood, holding his hands out to
Nicky. They exchanged cheek kisses. Joe looked gorgeous in a black jacket and black shirt, top
button undone. Nicky ached to touch the triangle of exposed skin. Somehow he managed to release
Joe, sit down, and accept a menu from the server. Joe smiled at him again when the server left and
Nicky's nervousness evaporated. He felt weightless, giddy.

They chatted easily as they made their menu choices, telling each other about their days. The
server took their order and left them alone. Joe tucked his book into the bag slung across the back
of his chair and placed one hand on the table, palm up, in invitation. Nicky reached across and took
it. They grinned, fingers tightly entwined.

"So, you told Nile we were dating...?" said Joe.

Nicky laughed. "It turned out to be a big deal."

"You're telling me. She practically gave me a shovel speech at this week's supervision."

"Sorry!"

"No, no, it was cute." Joe pulled a face. "And a little bit terrifying. She doesn't really have an axe,
does she?"

"No, but Andy does. I introduced them, to make it up to Nile for keeping secrets. I already regret
it."

The server brought their drinks. They unlinked hands; Nicky stretched out his legs instead, so he
could press his foot to the side of Joe's. He cleared his throat when the server had gone.
"I didn't know you wore glasses."

"Only for reading." Joe dropped his gaze. "I didn't mean for you to see them."

"I like them."

"You do?"

"Would you wear them in bed for me sometimes? Just the glasses, nothing else." Nicky kept his
voice low.

Joe looked up, eyes wide. "You like the intellectual look?"

"I like that my boyfriend is a professor."

"Boyfriend?" Joe grinned and checked the server wasn't nearby. "In that case, I'd love to wear them
in bed for you, boyfriend. I'll add it to the fucking bucket list... as long as you don't want to
roleplay. I had an ex who... but you don't want to hear that."

"Tell me."

"He insisted on roleplaying professor and failing student, but the thought of doing anything sexual
with a student, let alone something so exploitative..." Joe shook his head. "I lasted about thirty
seconds before breaking character, and the relationship didn't last much longer."

"I'm sorry, Joe."

"I'm not." Joe took Nicky's hand again, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it. A shiver ran down Nicky's
spine. "I'm not sorry for anything that's led us both here."

"Me neither. I've never been so glad I can't be mistaken for a student."

"We do have mature students, you know."

"But I'm too stupid. I always struggled at school -- my teachers despaired."

Joe gripped Nicky's hand tightly and drew breath to speak--

--as their dinner arrived. Nicky, grateful for the interruption, released Joe's hand. He let Joe deal
with the server. His head had filled with panicky static, the words I'm too stupid drowning out
everything else. His cheeks burned. Joe obviously knew they weren't intellectual equals, but why
did Nicky have to--

"Nicky?"

"Sorry." Nicky pulled his attention back to the restaurant, and picked up a fork, not looking at Joe.
"The food smells good."

"Nicky." Joe waited until Nicky looked at him. Nicky set the fork down, his heart in his throat, and
gazed into Joe's eyes. Joe took both of Nicky's hands. "Your mind is as beautiful as your body. If
anyone has told you different, especially a teacher, they weren't worthy of the privilege of knowing
you. The way you speak, the way we speak and create a world with our words -- I've never known
anything like it. You can turn me on with one sentence and make me laugh with the next; you
make connections faster than anyone I've met; and the way you talked about singing Suzanne was
poetry." Joe's eyes glittered. "Your ass is perfect, but it's your mind I love you for."
Nicky's heart thumped. "You love me?"

"Fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to--"

Nicky leaned across the table and kissed him, forgetting their surroundings, aware only of the
passion and joy of being with Joe. Of being in love with Joe.

Of knowing Joe loved him back.

He smiled into the kiss, feeling Joe's matching smile, and pulled back to speak. "I love you for
your mind too. Your perfect pecs are merely a fringe benefit."

Joe laughed. "I spend a lot of time in the gym to bring you that fringe benefit."

"I appreciate your efforts." Nicky ghosted his fingers over Joe's throat, dipping down into the vee
of his open shirt and stroking a curl of chest hair. "I plan to show you exactly how much when I get
you alone."

Joe's eyes widened and they both pulled away, remembering they were in public. Nicky
straightened his clothes, aware of the heat spreading across his own face and Joe's kiss-swollen
bottom lip. They shared a conspiratorial smile, picked up their cutlery, and started a conversation
about the puzzle box Nicky planned to make for Nile's birthday.

When the server returned, Nicky sat back to watch Joe compliment the food and ask about desserts.
He didn't join the discussion, concentrating on memorising Joe's expression -- the easy smile, the
sparkle in his eyes -- so he could savour it later. He hooked his foot around Joe's ankle, wishing he
could hug him; wishing he could hug the whole world.

Joe loved him. He loved Joe. They fit together like a perfect mortice and tenon joint: precise,
strong and beautiful.

---

Easter Vac

Joe held the pub door open for Nicky and Nile. Nicky wore eyeliner and one of his skintight t-
shirts; both he and Nile had something gold and sparkly brushed onto their cheekbones, and Joe's
nails were painted the same emerald green as Nile's. Getting ready had been a blast.

"Sure about this?" asked Joe.

Nicky shrugged. "All our friends in one room, with alcohol, and the knowledge that Nile will sing
later? What could possibly go wrong?"

Nile elbowed him in the ribs and they stumbled into the pub together, laughing. Andy was already
at the bar, deep in conversation with the bar tender. She broke off to greet them all with hugs. Joe,
who had only recently been admitted to the set of people Andy hugged, squeezed her tight,
breathing in the familiar smell of sawdust.

Nicky led them across to his karaoke buddies and introduced them: "This is Andy, my boss, be
nice to her. You remember Nile--"
"Scaramouch, Scaramouch, will you do the Fandango!" a younger man sung, pointedly out of
tune. Nile sent him a rude hand gesture she'd picked up from Nicky.

Nicky continued, his hand warm on Joe's lower back: "--and this is Joe."

"We remember Joe too," said a butch woman wearing plaid.

"Suzanne and the sequinned shirt," said the brunette holding her hand. "Are you why we don't see
so much of Nicky these days?"

"Guilty as charged," said Joe, sitting down and listening as Nicky continued with his introductions.
By the time Booker arrived the only chair left was at the far end of the table, next to an elderly man
-- Beanie, apparently -- in fringed denim. Beanie was twice Booker's age and about half his size;
the two of them struck up an unlikely friendship, competing to tell the most outrageous stories.
When the song list reached them they bent their heads over the folder, picked something out, and
roared with laughter.

Booker stood, drained his whisky, and thumped down the empty glass. "We're doing Islands in the
Stream."

Gasps of horror erupted around the table.

"Booker, no," said Nicky. Joe wondered when he'd graduated from Sebastien to Booker. "We
respect Dolly Parton in this pub."

Booker opened his wallet and pulled out some notes. "Fifty quid says we'll make Dolly proud."

"Fifty quid says you'll make Dolly weep." Nicky tossed the cash onto the table.

When their turn came, Booker helped Beanie to his feet and onto the stage, carrying a chair and
adjusting the mic so Beanie could sing sitting down. The opening chords played. Joe, kneeling in
front of the stage and filming on his phone so he could show Jean-Pierre, glanced sideways and
saw Nicky scrubbing his hand across his face. Andy punched him on the shoulder and said
something that made him snort with laughter.

Beanie had a warm, deep voice, stronger than Joe had expected. He sung the first verse alone.
Booker came in on the second verse, fluking his voice up to a harmonious falsetto. Joe's mouth
dropped open. By the time Booker reached his solo, the crowd was on their feet. Booker threw
Nicky a triumphant look, tossed imaginary blonde curls off his shoulders, and belted out the
chorus.

He bought a round of drinks for the table with his winnings.

Joe lounged back in his seat, crossing his hands behind his head, content to watch his friends
making new friends. Even Andy and Nile's duet -- Rasputin, with minimum tune and maximum
audience participation -- couldn't ruin his mood. Andy, as the designated driver, was singing sober.
Joe's respect for her, already high, increased.

Nicky went up to choose his song. Andy nudged Booker and raised her chin to point out a well-
muscled man in a white t-shirt and leather jacket, sitting alone at the bar. "Fifty says he'll hit on
Nicky after he sings."

Booker shook his head. "No way. Nicky couldn't be more obviously taken if Joe had put a ring on
him."
"You haven't seen Nicky sing," said Andy. "I had to ban it on building sites."

Beanie chipped in to back Andy up: "Nicky always pulls."

"What about him?" Nile said, gesturing to a man at the back of the room. "He's been ogling Nicky
all night."

"The scrawny white guy?" Booker said, offended on Nicky's behalf. "He wouldn't have a chance
even without Joe."

"Won't stop him trying," said Nile. "Never underestimate the ego of a scrawny white guy."

"You're both wrong," said Booker.

"Fifty each?" said Andy.

"You're on." Booker grinned. "I love karaoke night. Easiest money I've ever made."

Joe laughed, then turned his attention to the stage as Nicky crossed to the mic. The crowd
quietened. Nicky looked straight at Joe, his eyes piercing. Joe made a point of looking him up and
down, letting his appreciation show, and winked. Nicky gave him a brief half-smile as the music
started.

He'd chosen Suzanne.

He sang in Italian throughout, not looking away from Joe. Joe's chest swelled with Nicky's love and
the warmth of the Mediterranean sun. He smelt basil and foccacia. His head filled with the
journeys he wanted to take with Nicky; the life he wanted them to share. He would never stop
being grateful for having been shipwrecked on Nicky's rocks.

Nicky finished, to cheers. He strode off the stage, focused on Joe, not noticing the two men
beelining for him. Leather jacket guy reached him first, and took Nicky's brush-off with a good-
natured shrug. Scrawny white guy didn't. He planted himself in Nicky's way, placed his hand on
Nicky's arm, and leaned close to persuade him.

Nicky stepped back, shaking him off, and pointed at Joe. "I'm here with the love of my life."

Joe's breath caught. He could feel his pulse in his throat.

"Sickening," said Booker, his voice soft, taking out his wallet to pay Andy and Nile. "When are
you going to put a ring on him, Joe?"

"It's the simplest knot," said Nile.

"What is?" asked Nicky, arriving at Joe's side. Joe stood and pulled him into a kiss, dipping him
dramatically, to groans from their friends. Nicky loved him. He loved Nicky. Their equation was
perfectly balanced.

---

Andy drove them all home in her van, dropping Nicky, Nile and Joe off first.
"Sure you don't want to come beachcombing tomorrow?" she asked Nicky and Joe. "Sea air is good
for hangovers."

"We're sure," said Nicky. "You and Nile are on your own."

"We have other plans," said Joe.

Nile put her hands over her ears and raced to the front door, squealing to block out anything else
Joe might say.

---

Nicky jolted awake to a familiar honk-honk from Andy's van. Nile thumped on his bedroom door.

"Last chance to join us!" she shouted.

Nicky sat up, slipping out of Joe's arms. "No way," he yelled back.

"Your loss." Nile raced down the stairs, slamming the front door behind her.

Joe stirred, blinking, and reached for Nicky's hip. "Morning already?"

"Not by your definition. Go back to sleep, my love."

Joe wriggled closer, pulling Nicky down and kissing his neck, eyes barely open. "Or we could--"
he fondled Nicky's cock "--fuck and then go back to sleep?"

"You're an incurable romantic. Do you remember what we planned?"

Joe stilled. He opened his eyes fully, a smile spreading across his face. "I do now. I'm awake. Can
we start?"

"I want you fully rested. A couple more hours of sleep?"

"Without the fuck?"

Nicky laughed and straddled Joe. His beloved, despite his wide eyes and eager words, was half
asleep. Nicky adored him like this: soft, affectionate and horny. He licked his right hand and
wrapped it around both of their cocks. Joe shuddered and spread his arms wide, feasting on Nicky's
attention. Nicky stroked slowly, dragging his calluses up Joe's shaft to make him moan. Joe's cock
warmed Nicky's palm and blazed against Nicky's cock.

"Your cock is magnificent," said Nicky. "I love how it feels in my hand."

"I love you. Do you have any idea how many times I fantasised about your hands after you built
my bookcases? Those fingers--" Joe broke off with a groan.

Nicky rubbed his thumb across the tip of Joe's cock, increased his speed and spoke between gasped
breaths. "Did you jerk off pretending it was my hands on you?"

"And in me."
Nicky sucked the middle finger of his left hand into his mouth. Joe stared. Nicky licked the finger,
sloppy and performative. Joe shifted position, raising his knees and spreading his legs for Nicky.

"Good," said Nicky, twisting and reaching back left-handed, right hand still working on their
cocks. He ran his wet finger across the heat of Joe's perineum and up between his cheeks, finding
his rim and circling it. Joe whined, his hips twitching, his sounds matching the rhythm of Nicky's
hand on his cock. Nicky eased his finger into Joe. Joe sucked in a breath and shivered. His cock
jumped in Nicky's hand. Nicky squeezed. A pulse raced against his fingers; he didn't know whose.

His patience snapped.

He stroked them off roughly, crooking his finger inside Joe. Joe shook. Nicky repeated the
movement, pressing hard. Sweat slicked his shoulders and dripped down his back. The rub of Joe's
cock against his own pushed him close to the edge. He tensed. Joe shut his eyes, bucking up into
Nicky's grasp and shouting as he came. His cum hit Nicky's stomach and spattered on his hand and
cock; Nicky came a second later, undone by the picture Joe made.

They curled up together, sweaty, satisfied and covered in cum. Nicky's last thought before falling
asleep combined contentment and amazement: Joe was his.

---

Joe woke to the smell of buttery pastries and mint tea. He slitted open his eyes, caught a glimpse of
Nicky carrying a tray, and pushed himself up onto his elbows, eyes widening.

Nicky was wearing only his oldest, softest jeans; he'd gelled his damp hair into stylish disarray and
put on eyeliner.

"You look exceedingly fuckable," said Joe.

"That's the plan."

Nicky sat on the edge of the bed and leant across for a kiss. He smelt of rose petal soap and tasted
of toothpaste; Joe, aware of his morning breath, pulled away, apologising.

"A small price to pay for waking up with you," said Nicky, handing Joe his mug of tea. Joe sat up
and grabbed a croissant. Nicky's gaze dropped to his bare chest. "You look remarkably fuckable
yourself."

"We could add that to the plan."

"I'm too old to go three rounds in one day. I'll fuck you tomorrow."

"I like having tomorrows with you."

"I like it too, but right now I want you to concentrate on today."

Joe grinned, bolted his croissant, and gulped down the tea. He kissed Nicky properly before
heading to the bathroom. His products were lined up alongside Nicky and Nile's, but he chose to
use Nicky's soap in the shower. He loved smelling of Nicky; loved feeling as if Nicky were
wrapped around him.
He trimmed and oiled his beard and teased his curls into place. He didn't dress. He checked
himself out in the mirror and smiled.

He strutted back into the bedroom.

The room was different -- the light had changed, for a start -- but Joe couldn't focus on anything but
Nicky, sprawled across the bed playing with his camera. Nicky looked up and did a gratifying
double-take. He put down the camera and prowled across the room, taking Joe by the shoulders
and backing him up to the wall. Joe cupped his hands around Nicky's ass and pulled him in. Nicky
kissed him, lips soft and tongue teasing. Joe opened his mouth and shivered as their tongues met.
Nicky's heat pressing against his chest contrasted with the cold wall at his back and left him
reeling. He tilted his head to kiss deeper, tightening his grip on Nicky. Nicky moaned into the kiss.
He shoved a denim-clad leg between Joe's thighs. Joe shifted his thigh forward so Nicky could
grind into it, feeling the heat and hardness of Nicky's cock through his jeans.

"One kiss and you're this hard?" said Joe.

"Seeing you naked and I'm this hard."

"You see me naked all the time."

"That doesn't reduce the impact." Nicky trailed his fingers down Joe's body and to his cock, also
hard. "What's your excuse? I'm not even naked."

"No, but the eyeliner is cheating. It turns your pretty eyes into weapons of mass seduction."

Nicky rolled his pretty eyes at the pun. "So now I'm a Gorgon, turning you to stone with a glance?
Is there no end to my mythological abilities?"

"I hope not, Nicky." Joe used Nicky's name deliberately, knowing the effect it had on him. "I'm
expecting a legendary performance."

"Ah, but Joe, I'm not the performer today."

Nicky released Joe and glanced over at his camera, then at the tripod set up in the corner of the
room. Joe looked around, taking in all the changes. The room was filled with bright, soft light:
spring sunlight filtering through gauzy white fabric Nicky had hung across the window. He'd
changed the bedlinen too, to pure white cotton, and laid out half a dozen hanks of indigo rope on
the duvet. Safety shears, lube, condoms and a choice of nipple clamps waited within reach.

Nicky stood behind Joe and wrapped his arms around him. "Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes."

"Stay here."

Nicky crossed to the bed and picked up a hank of rope. He unlooped it and folded it in half, his
gaze on Joe. Joe stood straighter. Nicky circled to stand behind him again.

"Arms out," Nicky said, breath warm on Joe's shoulder.

Joe obeyed. Nicky passed the double-folded rope under his right arm, across his chest -- brushing
across both nipples -- and under his left arm. He settled the rope above Joe's pecs and tightened it,
careful not to make it too tight. Joe shivered. Having all Nicky's attention on him was exhilarating:
Nicky's eyes, intent; Nicky's hands, deft; Nicky's concentration, unwavering. Nicky teased him as
he worked, dropping kisses on Joe's neck, trailing the ends of his rope across Joe's nipples and
cock, and brushing his fingertips across Joe's skin, murmuring praise. Joe relaxed into it. He
followed Nicky's whispered instructions and lost himself in every caress.

His eyes half closed. He caught glimpses of Nicky's hands -- the blunt fingers sure as they wrapped
him in rope -- and the flex of his arms. Soft rope circled his ribs: tight enough that he felt contained,
but not so tight it constricted. With each loop of the rope Nicky patiently worked another
connection in the column of knots lying against Joe's spine.

Nicky stopped touching him. Joe opened his eyes. Nicky was picking up another hank of rope from
the bed. He kissed Joe's lips when he returned; Joe arched into the kiss and let his eyelids close.

Nicky kept working, his touch soothing Joe at the same time it heated him. Joe drifted away,
present to sensation but unaware of time passing. Rope embraced him. Nicky adored him. Joe's
cock throbbed.

The hot-wet-warm of Nicky's mouth on Joe's nipple, followed by the sharp sting of teeth, brought
Joe back. He looked down. Nicky looked up: pale eyes bright and dark hair rumpled. He smiled
around Joe's nipple, tongue lapping. Bands of purple looped above Joe's chest and clothed him
from below his pecs to his hips, fastened by neat herringbone ties down the centre and anchored by
thigh wraps. Nicky's hand cupped Joe's balls. Joe's cock, fully hard, stood proud.

Joe blinked. His breathing turned ragged. His mouth was dry; he swallowed and searched for
words.

Nicky beat him to it, straightening: "Good to have you back."

Joe laughed. "Did you enchant me to keep me still?"

"No enchantment needed -- you relaxed beautifully. You were made for this."

"Made for you."

"We were made for each other." Nicky leant in for a kiss; a soft, smiling caress. "And you were
made to be photographed. You're gorgeous, Joe."

The praise sent tingles across Joe's body. Nicky led him to the end of the bed and gently pushed
him back against the bedpost; the one he'd been tied to on that first night. Joe posed as he had then,
arching his back and curling his hand around his cock. Nicky, as he had then, froze, staring at Joe's
fingers. Joe smiled. He was back in charge.

"Are you going to tie me to your bed, Nicky?"

Nicky gulped. He grabbed another hank of rope. Joe released his cock, leaving it bobbing, and held
out his hands. Nicky dragged his gaze from Joe's cock to his wrists with difficulty. He fumbled the
rope, stopped to take a deep breath, and started again. He lifted Joe's arms above his head and
bound his wrists to the fixing at the top of the bedpost. Joe luxuriated in the stretch, pushing out his
chest, knowing the rope corset accentuated the curve of his pecs.

"Fuck, Joe, your chest." Nicky picked up the last hank of rope and dropped to his knees. His eyes
widened. He leant towards Joe's cock as if pulled by a magnet, stretching out his back and neck.

Joe admired the view -- the length of Nicky's back and the curve of his ass -- and grinned as Nicky
ran his tongue up Joe's shaft and wrapped his lips around the cockhead. "For a man who claims to
enjoy variety, you spend a lot of time sucking my cock."
Nicky closed his eyes and hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard, before pulling off and looking up at
Joe. "You have a very pretty cock."

"Should I update the fucking bucket list? Replace everything with 'Nicky sucks Joe's pretty cock'?"

"Don't you dare! I want your pretty cock a thousand and one ways."

Nicky held Joe's cock, licked its tip, and then took it into his mouth. He pushed himself forward
slowly, steadily. The tightness of Nicky's throat made Joe gasp. He pulled against his wrist
restraints, unthinking, desperate to pull Nicky further onto him. Nicky swallowed. Joe moaned. So
did Nicky. The tightness, the heat, Nicky's eagerness--

"Nicky, stop!"

Nicky pulled off and sat back on his heels. His eyes were clouded, his chin wet with drool. Joe
panted, fighting for self-control. He couldn't come this soon.

"When I said I loved you for your mind," he said, voice hoarse, "I may have underestimated how
much I appreciate your deepthroating skills."

Nicky wiped his chin, eyes focusing and narrowing. He smirked. "That's quite an oversight. When
I said I loved you for your mind I didn't realise you were prone to miscalculations."

He bent down, bound Joe's ankles together, and fixed them to the base of the bedpost. Joe, tied
hand and foot, trembled. Nicky placed his hand on Joe's calf. Heat spread from it and rushed up
Joe's body. Sweat shined on his pecs and dripped down his back. His cock jumped.

"Perfect," said Nicky. He pushed himself to his feet and picked up his camera, big hands cradling
it. "Turn your head a couple of degrees towards the window."

Joe obeyed, knowing he'd do anything for Nicky and loving showing off for him. He made
bedroom eyes at the camera. Its shutter clicked.

"Smile for me," said Nicky.

Joe smiled slowly, teasing Nicky. He knew exactly when his dimples appeared: Nicky's breath
caught and his face flushed. Joe smiled wider. Nicky's hands tightened around the camera. He
moved closer, capturing Joe from different angles. Joe followed every instruction: posing, pouting,
winking, taunting; working to make Nicky lose his composure. It didn't take long. Nicky's
breathing became shallow. He bit his lower lip. He found it harder and harder to tear his gaze away
from Joe's cock. Joe circled his hips, making his cock bounce. Nicky crouched to take a series of
dick pics. The tip of his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth.

"Are you taking a thousand and one pictures of my pretty cock, Nicky?"

Nicky's posture straightened, gaze darting up to meet Joe's. Joe cursed silently. He'd played his
hand too soon and ceded control. Nicky stepped away, swapping out his camera lens and fetching
his tripod, and spoke casually, not looking at Joe: "Tell me how you want to fuck me."

Arousal shot through Joe. They'd decided how to fuck when agreeing the scene, and yet the
thought of asking for what he wanted still made his face heat and his balls tighten. He whimpered.
Nicky spun to face him. "What do you want?"

Joe swallowed. His heart pounded. His mind filled with thoughts of fucking Nicky; he thrilled at
the idea of putting them into words and saying them out loud. His nipples stiffened enough to hurt.
"I want to worship your ass."

"How?" Nicky demanded, adjusting the focus on his camera.

"I want you on your hands and knees so I can take you from behind. I want to hold your hips and
see my cock sinking into your gorgeous ass." Pre-cum leaked from Joe's cock.

"Good." Nicky bent over his camera. "Are you hard enough to open me on your cock?"

Blood rushed to Joe's cock. He laughed. "I'm hard enough to pound rocks."

"Stick to pounding me. Which nipple clamps do you want?"

"The ones with the chain."

"They'll look good against the rope. Would you like them on now?"

Joe nodded. Nicky fetched them. He stood in front of Joe, slowly adjusting the tension on the
clamps. Joe panted for breath. Nicky made him wait. He shook out the chain and rolled it across
Joe's nipples. Joe pulled against his rope bindings. Nicky stroked his face, soothing, and attached
the clamps. Joe hissed at their bite, his muscles tensing, and turned his head to kiss Nicky's palm.
Nicky closed his other hand around the chain and pulled, making Joe moan into the kiss. His head
swam.

"Where are your reading glasses?" asked Nicky.

"My-- what?"

"Your reading glasses."

Joe closed his eyes, trying to process. Physical sensations -- restraints holding his wrists and
ankles, rope embracing him, nipple clamps biting, the exhilaration of Nicky's touch -- threatened to
overwhelm him. He breathed deeply and silently listed prime numbers: two, three, five, seven...

By twenty-three he could think again. Reading glasses. Nicky wanted his reading glasses. Joe
opened his eyes. "Inside pocket of my jacket."

Nicky fetched them and slid them on to Joe's ears. His lips parted. He grabbed his camera,
releasing and dropping the tripod, and shot a sequence of close-ups of Joe's face, camera shutter
snapping. "Fuck, Joe, you're beautiful. My boyfriend the intellectual."

"Boyfriend?" Joe licked his lips and grinned. "I thought I was the love of your life."

Nicky grinned back. "That was before I knew you loved me mainly for my blowjob technique."

"Are you ever going to let me forget that?"

"Never." Joe pouted. Nicky kissed him. "I'm going to release your hands and feet. I want you in my
bed."

Nicky moved fast, reaching up to untie Joe's wrists and kneeling to untie his ankles. Joe rubbed his
wrists, flexing his fingers and admiring the emerald nail polish, and shook out his legs. Nicky
looked away to put down his camera and strip off his jeans and briefs. Joe stretched himself across
the bed, pushed his glasses down his nose so he could stare over them, and gave Nicky's back his
best come hither look.
Nicky turned around and got caught in the beam of Joe's look. He ran a hand through his hair,
making it stand on end, and bent to pick up his camera without looking away from Joe.

"Perfect," he said, snapping furiously. Joe palmed his own cock. Nicky leaned in. "Grip tighter...
yes, like that."

"See how hard I am for you, Nicky?"

"Gorgon petrification at its finest." Nicky peered at the camera screen, flicked through the photos
he'd taken, and turned the screen to show Joe. "You look amazing in my bed."

He'd chosen a full-length shot. Joe's golden-brown skin, the shimmer of green on his fingernails,
and the indigo of the ropes were set off by the pure white of the bedlinen. It made a striking image;
the love shining in Joe's eyes transformed it from obscene to intimate. Joe, faced with the evidence
of everything he felt, never wanted the feelings to end. He wanted to be with Nicky forever; he
wanted to spend every day wrapped in his love.

"I look spectacular in your bed," said Joe. "Have you ever thought about how good your bed would
look in my bedroom?"

Nicky frowned. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"Yes. Please, Nicky -- love of my life, better half of my mind, giver of phenomenal blowjobs --
move in with me." Nicky threw himself on top of Joe. They kissed until they were both panting. Joe
pulled away first. "Is that a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes. I love you. Why aren't you fucking me yet?"

Joe laughed. He knelt, reaching for the lube and condoms. Nicky rolled onto his hands and knees,
wiggling his ass. Joe couldn't resist: he held Nicky still and showered his ass with kisses. He smelt
of Turkish delight overlaid with fresh sweat. Joe teased the top of Nicky's crack with his tongue,
earning a torrent of Italian swearwords. He rolled a condom onto his cock and smoothed lube over
it, barely touching himself.

"I might not last long," he warned.

Nicky looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. "If I wanted this to last I wouldn't have spent two
hours getting us both worked up. I want it hard and I want it fast."

"I love you." Joe poured lube around Nicky's rim and onto his hole, lined up his cock, and thrust
into him. Nicky cried out; Joe, knowing how much he liked the burn of being forced open, pushed
deeper. Nicky's body welcomed him: hot and tight and pulling him in. They moved together, first
finding a rhythm that made them both moan and then adjusting their angle until Joe's cockhead
brushed against Nicky's prostate.

Sweat poured down Joe's chest and soaked into his rope corset. He gripped Nicky's hip with one
hand and used the other to pull on the chain connecting his nipple clamps. He arched into the
pleasure-pain. Nicky twisted to watch, his mouth open. He scrambled to get his hand on his own
cock, gaze fixed on Joe, and jerked himself desperately. Joe sped up to match his beat. Nicky
clenched, squeezing Joe's cock. Joe groaned, clawing the nipple clamps off and falling forward
onto Nicky as they both came. He pounded Nicky into the bed. His cock pulsed. Nicky thrashed
under him, then stilled, shaking.

Joe kissed the nape of Nicky's neck. Tremors shook them both. Joe gathered his strength, peeled
himself off Nicky, and pulled out his cock. He eased off the condom and dropped it off the edge of
 the bed.

They lay on their backs on top of the covers, out of breath, shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand.
Joe's heart raced. Random tingles fired across his body.

"Is the sex better because we're in love?" he asked.

"The sex has always been good." Nicky lifted his head to look at Joe, expression serious. Joe
smiled. He loved Nicky's pronouncements. Nicky smiled back. His eyes lit up. "It's everything else
that's better. Life is better because we're in love."

Joe reached for him, his love for Nicky and his dreams of their future weaving together and filling
his heart. Nicky reached back, devotion in the clutch of his fingers. They touched their foreheads
together, eyes closed, each breathing in the other's contentment; both knowing they shared a
treasure beyond words.

End Notes

Thanks for reading! If you feel like leaving a comment that would be lovely :)

I'm bazinmousqueton on tumblr too.

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