#oldguardfic

[pameluke]

Lay Your Head Down (5859 words) by Pameluke

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)

Rating: Explicit | Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova

Additional Tags: Team Bonding, Post-Merrick, Recovery, Domestic Downtime, Rimming, Shaving, Background Andy, Background Nile, Italy, Domestic Fluff, References to Temporary Character Dead, Porn with Feelings

Summary:

The team takes time to recover after Merrick and finds refuge in the hills of Tuscany. They find a new equilibrium, and Joe and Nicky take time to indulge in one another.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

They bunker down somewhere in the middle of nowhere in the Maremma Toscana, in a remote house in the hills, surrounded by fields, olive orchards and patches of forest. The closest village is 20 minutes away by car on a dusty rocky road up the hillside, and the closest houses are abandoned farmhouses, big, sprawling ruins that only house birds and mice now.

For a week they mostly sleep, eat and recover. Andy isn’t used to being in pain for a sustained period of time, so she’s cranky and quiet. She disappears to the roof for hours on end, staring at the wide-open skies spanning the rolling hills, her necklace held tight in her fist. But she sticks around, and that’s what matters. Nile still misses her family, going back and forth between bouts of energy in which she swims in the pool, cleans the kitchen or trains until the sweat is running down her back; or no energy at all, in which she stays on her bed or stares into her coffee for hours at a time. She joins Andy on the roof sometimes, but they don’t speak.

Booker’s betrayal isn’t mentioned by anyone, but his absence is felt all the more in the quiet and empty spaces.

Joe keeps touching the back of Nicky’s head as if to make sure he has indeed healed. Nicky keeps grinding his teeth, the callous words of dr. Kozak ringing through his head. “The Nobel Prize.” He tries yoga and meditation, but nothing frees him from the memories. It’s not so much the violence and death, he can usually shrug that off. It's the being captured and the threat of being tortured indefinitely – what if Nicky would have to have watched Joe in pain for decades, for centuries, what if they’d taken Joe away, what if Nicky would never have known if he was dead or captured somewhere, what if they’d found a way to kill him – while being faced with Andy’s new mortality.

They all have nightmares. Some old. Some new.

When the bone-deep exhaustion starts to fade, they slowly start to drift towards one another. Joe draws: the views, Nicky, some dark and violent abstracts that make Nicky kiss his temple and coax him to bed. Nicky cooks, throwing himself on old recipes that require focus and time, making sure to serve Andy some of her favorite dishes, and learning Nile’s taste in food in an attempt to cheer her up.

He doesn’t bake croissants.

Andy, always bad at doing nothing for a long time, lures Nile into sparring with her by pretending to need help with her recovery. Nile mostly agrees in an attempt to make sure Andy doesn’t put too much strain on her injuries. Soon they’re all involved and taking turns, getting used to Nile’s fighting style and presence at their backs while coming to terms with the fact that Andy is no longer unbreakable.

Nile is enthusiastic and hungry to learn, eager to battle away her demons and frustrations, and her determination to take at least one of them down makes sparring almost feel fun again. They roast and jest and mock each other goodheartedly and it doesn’t take long for it all to end up in a bet. For a moment the quiet following Nicky’s dare is deafening because they all expect Booker to throw down the gauntlet and some cash, but Nile breaks the silence and they power through it.

Nicky and Joe team up against Andy and Nile, hand to hand, no broken bones, their honor and the dishes at stake.

After almost a thousand years of fighting together, Nicky and Joe are two sides of the same blade, half a look enough to coordinate their attacks and defensive maneuvers. Andy, however, is a force of nature all on her own. Even with her still-healing injuries, she hits like a hammer. What’s worse, she knows Nicky and Joe almost as well as they know each other, so she seems able to predict every move they make. If not for Nile, the three of them would probably have ended up in an hour-long stalemate, grappling and dodging each other deep into the night. It’s Nile who serves as the tie-breaker, her moves unexpected, and her team work with Andy surprisingly smooth considering their short acquaintance.

“It’s because she tried to kill me,” Andy jokes from her position on Nicky’s back, his arm and leg in a tight hold he can only get out of if he dislocates an arm. Which he can and would do, but per the standing game rules, dislocations fall under broken bones, even if self-inflicted. So he’s well and truly stuck.

It takes Nicky a second to recognize the splashing sound in the background as Joe falling in the pool. No help is coming.

“You actually killed me!” Nile protests, indignant and breathless. Her shirt’s ripped, but she’s laughing as she holds out a hand for Andy to high five, her face alight with glee.

“Can’t argue with that kind of connection,” Joe says, spitting out pool water and wiping wet hair from his eyes. He winks at Nicky, mirth obvious in his eyes even though he looks somewhat like a wet poodle.

Andy gets off of him, patting him on the back in apology. Nicky just grins and perches his chin on his hands, staying on the terrace floor a little longer. His gaze lingers on Joe as he rises from the pool, following the water rivulets down his body and drinking in the way his wet shirt clings to his chest. He’s all smooth steps and languid stretches as he dries his hair and a familiar warmth pools in Nicky’s belly. A really attractive wet poodle, Nicky thinks.

Between a new mortal Andy and a new immortal Nile, and with the absence of Booker, they’ve both been too tired and sad, too focused on finding a new equilibrium, to do more than seek comfort and closeness. But now the warmth keeps spreading through Nicky’s body with the way every stretch puts Joe’s body on display.

Soon, Nicky thinks, licking the corner of his mouth, turning on his side to better be able to admire Joe. He gets a wet shirt in his face for his trouble.

“Later,” Joe says, grinning at him, chest bared, droplets still clinging to his chest hair. “Food first, and then the dishes.”

Nicky pretends to grumble while he gets up and they make their way back into the house, but mostly he admires Joe’s naked back while he enjoys the simmer of anticipation.

They’re paying their debt and doing the dishes when Andy joins them in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a cup of tea. “Me and Nile are going to do some sight-seeing for the next couple of days.”

Nicky’s first reaction is a deep sense of discomfort and the urge to vehemently object. Andy is mortal now, he wants to be there to watch her back. Joe’s hand creeps under the hem of his shirt, fingers pressing into his lower back, and Nicky leans into the touch, centering himself. Andy juts her chin forward as if she can read Nicky’s thoughts and disagrees on principle. “I don’t like being cooped up this long, Nile has never been to Italy before, and you two could use a little time on your own.”

It’s all true, but that doesn’t make Nicky feel any more comfortable with the situation. He’s never worried about Andy being on her own before, and it’s not like she’s lost the centuries of skills she’s gathered. It’s just that he’s supposed to have her back. He loves her. She’s family.

He’s already lost Quynh and now Booker is lost in a way as well. He can’t lose Andy too.

He doesn’t say anything, though, just sighs.

“Where will you go?” Joe asks, diffusing the tension. Internally, he’s probably making a shortlist of restaurant recommendations of the wider area, taking into account their culinary reputation as much as available exit strategies, as if Andy needs any help in that regard.

Andy shrugs. “We’ll stay in the area. Pienza, Asciano, definitely a couple of days in Siena.” Her eyes get a little glint in them, and Nicky shakes his head at her. She wouldn’t. “We’ll probably make a stop at the abbey at Monte Oliveto, to admire the frescoes.”

She would.

Next to him, Joe bursts out laughing, and Nicky groans, bumping his head against Joe’s shoulder. “Don’t,” he objects, although he knows it’s of no use.

“Don’t worry, Nile won’t recognize you,” Joe consoles him, patting his butt very deliberately. Wicked, wicked man. They both know she won’t need to recognize him, Andy will be more than happy to point him out.

“At least it’s flattering,” Andy shrugs, sealing his fate.

In the morning, Nicky makes everybody breakfast and makes Andy and Nile lunch to go. They agreed that Andy and Nile would only stay away one week, and they’ll both check-in through phone in three days.

Still, nobody can blame him if he holds Andy a little longer than he normally would. He hugs Nile too and is thanked with a softly whispered, “don’t worry, I’ll watch her back, I’ve got this.” It makes him smile with surprise at how she already knows parts of his heart.

He watches the car drive up the hill, Joe next to him until the dust on the road has settled. “They’ll be fine,” Joe says. He presses a kiss to Nicky’s cheek, then bumps their shoulders together. “At least the Palio isn’t for another couple of months, so she can’t get killed in the horse races,” Joe jokes. “Again.”

Nicky laughs, and for the next couple of hours, they reminisce about old adventures, lazing in the dappled shadow of the oak trees, soaking up the warmth and peace of Tuscan spring. In the evening, Joe reads to Nicky, Nicky’s head resting in his lap, letting Joe’s impassioned annotations and commentary wash over him.

Neither of them makes a move to turn the evening into something more. Sometimes it’s enough to be close, to take the time to be at peace together.

In the morning Nicky wakes up when Joe’s knees bump into him when he gets up, but Nicky just pats his butt and burrows back into the blankets. After two weeks in the Tuscan countryside, he feels safe enough to linger in bed alone.

When he finally gets out of bed, Joe gives him a kiss with his coffee, hands curving around Nicky’s jaw, scraping gently over his scruff. Warmth pools low in Nicky’s belly and he lets his own hand roam over Joe’s back, balancing his coffee precariously with his other hand.

“Morning,” Joe mumbles against his lips. He tastes like coffee and smells like soap and man, and his skin is still cool from his morning shower because Joe is a madman who prefers cold showers. After all, it’s the only way to wake him up right away. Nicky often argues that it’s the only thing that wakes Joe up, but that always ends up in morning blowjobs and Nicky has other ideas for today. He wants to take his time.

Nicky wants, but breakfast and coffee first.

Joe stays close, regaling him with a rundown of Nile’s texts, who’s blown away by the beauty of Pienza. Nicky likes seeing the city through her eyes when his own view of the are is colored by memories mostly, not all of them pleasant.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he tells Joe, once his coffee is finished. He can tell Joe wouldn’t be opposed to joining him, but he doesn’t press an invitation and simply lets Nicky go with a caress down his arm.

Nicky will always appreciate the luxury of a hot shower, but he doesn’t linger. Looking at himself in the steamed up mirror, his wet hair a little too long and his scruff of over a week becoming unruly, Nicky’s vague thoughts and desires become more firm. The warmth in his belly turns to heat in anticipation.

Dressed only in his briefs, he grabs his shaving kit – his straight razor is one of the few personal items he tries to keep with him when traveling – and makes his way back to the terrace, where Joe is drawing in the late morning sun.

“Beloved,” Nicky says softly, holding up the leather envelope. “Would you do me the pleasure?”

Joe smiles, eyes warm and immediately turning a little heated, and he puts away his pencils immediately. “Always,” he says softly. He hands Nicky his cup of coffee, then disappears inside with a fleeting caress to Nicky’s back.

Joe returns dressed only in briefs as well, with a towel slung over his shoulder. He carries over cushions, a bowl with warm water, more towels, and toiletries, including a brush and a collection of small bottles. When he’s gathered all the necessities – Nicky never takes this much care of himself, but Joe likes to spoil him – Joe sits down on the table, feet on the bench, knees spread with the cushions between his thighs.

“Come here, carino,” Joe invites him, voice soft and husky. Nicky slides between his legs, hands grabbing Joe’s thighs, forgetting about the shave for a moment, but filled with a need to kiss Joe that feels suddenly overwhelming. It’s languid and slow, deep kisses and soft kisses, mingled breaths and the taste of Joe on his lips.

“You know I rather like you with the beard, right,” Joe says when they part, as if Nicky still needs to be reassured of his attraction after almost a millennium. “I know,” Nicky says, diving in for another kiss. It takes a while for him to resurface and he has to catch his breath to be able to whisper, “I want to feel you against my skin.”

It’s all the explanation Joe needs, and he motions at Nicky to turn around and settle down upon the bench in front of the table. The moment Nicky is sitting down, Joe’s hands are on him, carding through his hair with his fingers, stroking down his neck and shoulders. He presses a kiss to the back of Nicky’s head, breathing him in for a moment. Nicky knows he’s thinking about the headshot at Merrick’s again, so he closes his eyes and enjoys the closeness while Joe reminds himself Nicky’s alive and well.

After a couple of breaths, Joe trails his fingers over the shell of Nicky’s ear, making Nicky shiver. Anticipation is rising with every single one of Joe’s touches, and he has to force himself to relax and not turn around and climb in Joe’s lap to devour him and be consumed in return. Blessings upon the patient and devout, and Nicky has both in spades when it comes to Joe.

Most of the time.

Gentle as always, Joe cradles Nicky’s head in his hands and guides him down, until he’s settled back with his head upon the cushions, one hand loosely wrapped around Joe’s ankle, stroking the bone. Joe strokes his cheekbones with his thumbs, and Nicky takes a couple of deep breaths, relaxing under his lover's hands. He’s safe and loved, and this moment belongs just to them.

Slowly, Joe trails his fingers over Nicky’s face, mapping the curve of his brows, the always present faint circles under his eyes. He draws the edges of Nicky’s beard, scratches softly under his jaw and circles the mole on Nicky’s cheek with a careful reverence until Nicky feels like he might drown in Joe’s effortless affection. With a soft sigh, he turns his head to press a kiss to Joe’s fingers and smush his whole face against the palm of his hand.

Above him, Joe hums and cards through Nicky’s hair with his other hand, stroking it back out of his face. It takes Nicky a couple of moments to recognize the cadence and tone, but once he does he can’t suppress his smile. “… your heart, the joy of the world,” Nicky finishes the stanza in Arabic, looking up at Joe.

“Still true,” Joe says. “I wrote it 300 years ago, and I still mean every verse.”

“327,” Nicky says with a grin. He reaches up to touch Joe’s lips, traces the corner of his smile. “You had ink stains on your fingers, and a little spot right here, and all I wanted to do was kiss it, until you started speaking and your words froze me on the spot.”

Joe’s cheeks darken slightly, and it never ceases to amaze Nicky how his beloved can have a heart filled with love and a soul filled with beauty, and can still be thrown by something as simple as Nicky’s appreciation. It’s one of the many and myriad facets Nicky loves about him, so he lets Joe distract him by lifting Nicky’s hand and kissing his fingers, and doesn’t comment further.

“Let me take care of you,” Joe says, and Nicky closes his eyes again, nodding. It’s easy to relax, the gentle sounds of Joe humming his poetry mixing with the clattering of water as Joe wets the towel. The warmth of the towel on his face only makes Nicky relax more, and for a couple of moments, he just drifts, safely sheltered by Joe’s body.

It’s a form of love, he thinks, giving himself over to his lover's capable hands.

When Joe takes away the towel, Nicky is hit with the scent of eucalyptus, and his stomach swoops at the familiar scent. “I love you,” Nicky mumbles, and almost gets a mouth full with lather for his sentiments.

Joe tsks at him and thoroughly covers Nicky’s face with soap, the brush gentle against his skin. It’s Proraso, Nicky’s favorite shaving soap for the past 50 years. Joe must have gotten it for him on his grocery run earlier in the week. The menthol prickles a little on his skin, the coolness of it contrasting with the warmth of the air and Nicky’s skin. It wakes him up, and the gentle strokes of the brush somehow make him tingle all over.

Affection and anticipation, Nicky thinks to himself, truly the most powerful of aphrodisiacs.

He’s pulled from his wandering thoughts by Joe dapping the brush against his nose, making Nicky curse and swipe at his nose, slapping Joe’s thigh with his other hand. “You know I hate that,” Nicky sputters, but Joe’s laughter is infectious as always and melts Nicky's brief annoyance away.

Nicky closes his eyes again. The familiar sounds of Joe stropping the razor fill the air, making a shiver run down his spine, the warm anticipation back once more. Joe gently tilts his face, presses the blade against his cheek, and carefully slides the blade over his skin, in short, even strokes, working his way from under his ear over his entire left cheek. Joe’s holding Nicky’s chin between his fingers, keeping his head steady, humming and vocalizing while he works. It’s a gentle hold, careful but steady, and it’s that hold that makes the very last remnants of unease leave his body. Nicky is cradled. Nicky is held. Nicky is safe.

Once his left cheek is done, Joe tilts up Nicky’s chin, pulling the skin of his neck taut. He’s even more careful here, taking the time for every stroke, gently angling Nicky’s face to give him better access. After every stroke of the blade, Joe trails a finger over the now naked skin, as if to check if he’s missed a spot. With every touch of his finger, Nicky’s skin comes alive, until his toes are tensing up with every slide of the blade, only to relax when Joe touches him skin on skin, his whole body thrumming with sensation.

When Nicky’s throat is bared completely, Joe doesn’t move to turn his face and shave his other cheek. Instead, his fingers linger on Nicky’s skin, and soon he can feel the dull side of the blade slide over his throat, following a familiar path.

There is no scar.

Nothing has left a permanent mark on his skin since the first time they killed each other. They’ve never needed the reminder, however. Nicky has lost count of how many times he’s died, but he still remembers everywhere he’d struck Joe in those first violent confrontations. Every cut and wound is imprinted on his eyelids, and he’s spent many hours kissing every memory off of Joe’s skin.

Joe’s thumb ends up at his pulse point, Nicky’s heart beating against his skin.

“I watched you bleed out,” Joe says on a whisper. It’s unclear if he means the first time he slit Nicky’s throat, or Nicky bleeding out after Keane’s headshot.

Nicky opens his eyes, grabs Joe’s fingers to kiss them, spreading shaving cream everywhere over his hand. “Beloved…” He doesn’t have any other words of comfort. Isn’t sure comfort is what Joe needs. All the violence, the hatred, the fury and rage… All the damage and violence they’ve endured. Everything they’ve put each other through when they were still righteous and sure of their respective place in the world… It all blends together. It’s all washed away by time and their shared history. Only the love between them remains, now.

Only love shall remain.

Joe is surely capable to read everything Nicky feels in his eyes, because he breathes out heavily, then curves his hand around Nicky’s throat again, even more gently than before. “Since you still trust me with your throat, I better finish the job.”

“I trust you with my heart, beloved.”

Joe just presses his thumb against Nicky’s pulse point and smiles softly at him, until Nicky closes his eyes again. Joe reapplies the soap on his face, and then the blade is pressed against Nicky’s skin. Nicky’s heart skips a beat, and it has nothing to do with fear or trust or danger. One slow stroke after another, Joe bares the rest of Nicky’s face, until Nicky can feel the breeze against his cheeks.

Joe tilts his head to the side again, until the top of Nicky’s head is resting against his thigh, and Nicky’s head is held perfectly still, between his leg and his forearm. Then, Joe pulls the skin next to his mouth taut, and carefully shaves around his mole, his upper lip and his chin.

“There, all done,” Joe murmurs. He uses the towel to wipe off the remnants of soap and hairs from Nicky’s face. Then he carefully applies some aftershave, smoothing it into Nicky’s skin with his fingers.

Nicky doesn’t open his eyes, not yet, but he can picture Joe perfectly. The little furrow in his brow he gets when he’s focused. The warmth in his eyes. The way the sun behind him will backlight him and paint a halo around his curly hair from Nicky’s vantage point.

“Are you sure you didn’t miss a spot,” Nicky asks, keeping his eyes closed.

Joe clucks his teeth at him. “Very sure,” he says, sliding his fingers over Nicky’s face, ending at his bottom lip, pressing his thumb against it. “It’s not the first time I wield a razor, you know.”

“I know,” Nicky murmurs. Joe must have shaved him hundreds of times over the centuries. “Just wanted to make sure…” He looks up at Joe, locking eyes with him. “I’m going to rub my face all over you, and I don’t want you to get beard burn.”

He can feel Joe’s thighs tense around him, can hear the faint catch of Joe’s breath. Neither of them blinks, both frozen in place.

Then, the anticipation that’s been simmering under Nicky’s skin since he woke up, crashes over him like a wave, and just like that, his whole body comes alive with arousal.

He’s not sure which of them moves first. Nicky twisting and kneeling on the bench, or Joe grabbing his arms and hauling him up, but they’re moving and touching and finally, finally they’re kissing. Joe’s breath is hot against his lips, his tongue thrusting into Nicky’s mouth while he leans back on the table, pulling Nicky with him. Joe’s beard is slightly prickly but mostly soft against his face and his lips are even softer and the catch in his breath is barely audible but it all heightens Nicky’s arousal. It feels like their first touch, their first kiss, the first time Nicky felt Joe against his skin without blood being shed.

He puts a knee on the table, slides a hand around Joe’s neck to deepen the kiss and somehow he ends up on top of Joe, straddling his thighs. Joe feels warm and steady under his hands, every curve of him familiar. With every kiss, Nicky’s desire rises, until he’s thrusting his cock against Joe’s, both of them hard and hot in their briefs.

Joe’s hand slips down under Nicky’s waistband and while that feels great and Joe should touch him everywhere, it’s not what Nicky wants right now. He tears himself away from Joe’s mouth with difficulty, panting while he tries to gain enough presence of mind to be able to form words again.

He curves his hand around Joe’s neck and lets the other slide down his chest. “I want to feel you against my face,” he says and presses Joe down against the table. Joe goes willingly, letting himself fall back and crossing his arms under his head, looking up at Nicky with a gleeful smile filled with expectation.

Anticipation.

Nicky ducks down to kiss Joe on the lips first, taking his time to properly explore all the nuances of his mouth. He cradles Joe’s face in his hands, burying his fingers in Joe’s beard until he’s sure Joe won’t move and let Nicky have his way with him. Then, with a final kiss to Joe’s lips, he moves down, nosing against Joe’s throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses everywhere. He likes the feeling of Joe’s beard against his lips, likes the feeling of it against his still sensitive and bare skin even more, and before he’s made the conscious decision, he’s rubbing himself against Joe’s cheeks and throat, until Joe lets out a sound halfway between a moan and a chuckle.

“Just let me,” Nicky murmurs. He doesn’t plead, even though his voice has turned soft and breathy, but it’s a close thing. Joe just nods and doesn’t move, except that he tilts up his chin, making himself more available for anything Nicky might want to do to him.

Nicky wants. The desire that’s been simmering on and off since he watched Joe rise from the pool yesterday has become almost overwhelming now, and seeing Joe spread out like this underneath him, all his to touch and please, is only stirring him on more.

With a soft curse, he leans down again, burying his face against Joe’s throat, kissing and mouthing his way over Joe’s skin, until he’s reached the spot under Joe’s ear that always makes him shiver. Joe doesn’t disappoint, sighing softly, and while he keeps his hands securely under his head, he wraps one leg around Nicky’s hips, pulling him closer.

Nicky answers by rolling his hips and pressing their cocks together, until Joe is pressing his cock up against him, his leg trembling where it’s wrapped around him. He grabs Joe’s thigh and shifts them both so neither of them is in danger of tumbling off the table, then he returns his attention to Joe’s throat. He follows the edge of his beard, shivering himself now when he can feel it against his cheek and eventually moves down to his collarbone.

He spends some time sucking bruises onto Joe’s skin. He likes the heat under his tongue when he sucks them to the surface, likes the way he can feel Joe’s heartbeat against his lips. He likes to see them disappear and know bone-deep that Joe is healing and alive.

He moves down further — he has plans, and while he’s taking the scenic route over Joe’s body, he’s not losing track of his goal — and rubs his face against Joe’s chest hair.

In comparison to Joe’s beard, the density is much lighter and the hair is softer too, so it almost tickles against his skin. A frisson runs down his spine, and Nicky feels like his cock might burst out of his briefs any second now. He licks at Joe’s sternum, then moves to his nipple, sucking it into his mouth until Joe is squirming and panting. When Nicky looks up, he’s satisfied to see Joe’s hands are no longer pressed under Joe’s head, but he’s grasping his own wrists, pressing them against the table above his head.

The sight of Joe, all flushed and breathless, holding himself back so Nicky can take his time, almost makes Nicky moan, his cock leaking precome, a wet stain growing in his briefs.

“Fuck,” Nicky curses, and twists Joe’s nipple, just to see him arch against his hold on himself. Their eyes meet, and Nicky knows what the heated look Joe throws him means.

If Joe reaches for him, Nicky wins.

Nicky does moan then, and his desire turns urgent. He moves back, until he’s kneeling on the bench, rather than on the table, sliding his hands over Joe’s chest and belly until he can grab Joe’s briefs and pull them off. Joe’s cock springs free, thick and dark with arousal, and Nicky’s mouth waters at the sight.

Still, he can’t resist building up both of their anticipation even more, so for now he ignores Joe’s cock. Instead, he buries his head in Joe’s groin for a moment, breathing in his scent, feeling the heat of him against his face. Joe’s pubes feel different against his skin too, not as thick as his beard, longer than his chest hair. Joe’s skin feels hot and a little sweaty, and the head of his cock is leaving wet smears against Nicky’s chin and throat.

He kisses and rubs himself all over Joe’s hips and groin, until Joe is squirming beneath him and his pants have turned into pleading moans. Joe is a man of words, but sometimes arousal turns him quiet. Nicky doesn’t mind, he has long ago learned the language of Joe’s body, the vocabulary of his movements, the meaning behind his breaths and moans.

Only when he can’t hold back anymore, he moves to Joe’s cock. He kisses the head, then slides his nose down the shaft, so he can press his face against Joe’s balls and suck them gently into his mouth. He grabs Joe’s thighs and pushes them up, spreading them open so he has better access.

Joe bumps his foot against Nicky’s back to spur him on, making Nicky grin. “Patience, habibi, patience.” He doesn’t let Joe wait much longer though, and eagerly takes him into his mouth, bobbing his head until his mouth is filled with the taste of Joe’s precome. He gets lost in it for a moment: the trembling of Joe’s muscles under his hands, the way Joe’s cock fills his mouth, the soft moans that keep spilling from Joe’s lips.

When he can hear Joe mumble something unintelligible, Nicky lets go of Joe’s cock. He doesn’t want him to come yet. He kisses Joe’s cock in apology, which makes Joe curse.

Nicky grins. Victory is close, he can tell.

He slides his hands under Joe’s ass, kneading his cheeks and pulling him closer and spreading his cheeks. He doesn’t waste time and licks over Joe’s hole, shivering when he can feel Joe’s skin and the soft hairs of his butt against his face. He starts with slow licks, making Joe nice and wet. When he pushes his tongue in, Joe’s thighs tense around his shoulders, and suddenly there’s a hand digging into his hair. Joe pulls at his hair and pushes him down simultaneously, and the feeling of it goes straight to Nicky’s cock.

Victory.

Victory is the heat of Joe against his tongue, the feeling of his fingers clutching at Nicky’s hair, and the desperate sounds that are filling his ears.

Nicky feasts. He licks and sucks and thrusts his tongue into Joe, pulling sound after sound from his lips, until Joe is cursing out his name in at least four languages, and his thighs are a vice around Nicky’s shoulders.

He thought he’d lick Joe open, get him hot and bothered and relaxed, stretch him on his fingers and tongue until Nicky could fuck him hard and slow and deep. But Joe is pulling at his hair and pleading, his hole fluttering against Nicky’s lips and Nicky knows Joe is close.

Nicky can be benevolent in victory.

He bites at the inside of Joe’s thigh, hard this time, enough for a bruise to bloom and melt away while Joe’s back arches off the table. Nicky licks at his hand, spreads Joe’s precome down his cock to make him even wetter, and then ducks between Joe’s legs again. He tries to time the thrusts of his tongue with the rhythm of his hand, and it only takes a couple for Joe to come, his whole body jerking with it.

Nicky can feel the wet heat of Joe’s fluttering hole against the bare skin of his face and when Joe lets out a satisfied little groan, the last remnants of Nicky’s restraint break. He climbs on top of Joe, on leg still on the bench, the other on the table. Joe clutches at him, welcoming him with open arms, but Nicky doesn’t have any coordination left. Joe’s come has spilled all over his lower belly, and it feels hot and wet against Nicky’s cock. Overcome at the feeling, Nicky hides his face in Joe’s armpit, breathing him in while he mindlessly ruts on top of Joe.

Joe pulls at his hair and it’s enough to pull Nicky over the threshold, his orgasm a sudden rush of pleasure, leaving him boneless on top of Joe.

Nicky drifts for a couple of moments, happy and dazed, completely sated and relaxed. It’s only when Joe starts to hum again, that Nicky finally lifts his head from Joe’s armpit.

Joe looks like a vision, flushed and a little sweaty, his whole face crinkly with satisfaction, like it only gets after a good bout of sex or after he’s finished a painting. He wipes Nicky’s hair out of his face with lazy affection, then trails a finger down to Nicky’s chin.

“I did fine work,” Joe says, his voice hoarse and a little self-satisfied.

Nicky splutters out a laugh. “I’m pretty sure I did all the work, since I just made you come on my tongue.”

“True,” Joe concedes, but the glint in his eyes says something else. “But the lack of beard burn is all me.”

Nicky laughs and ducks down to kiss Joe’s teasing mouth.

“Maybe we should move to somewhere softer,” Nicky suggests when they part. He strokes his fingers through Joe's beard and presses their groins a little closer, ignores the wet mess between them. “I think I would like to receive some beard burn of my own.”