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but nothing ever stops you leaving

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They stumble into Nico’s room before Marti can even take his jacket off, Marti backing him into every wall on the short way. He’s been waiting for this for too long, and he wouldn’t wait more now, clothes coming off between hungry kisses, words like I missed you and I can’t believe you’re here whispered on each other’s lips. Marti had imagined this on the train, knot after knot tying up in his stomach thinking about Nico’s reaction and loosening the moment he saw Nico smiling at him from the top of the staircase.

What he wants now is everything, every part of Nico touching every part of him. His smell and his skin and the sound of his voice. He wants everything. He pushes Nico down on the bed and crawls on top of him, kisses up his legs and hips, takes off his boxers, already naked himself. He straddles Nico’s thighs and takes Nico’s hands, helping him up. Nico looks at him like he can’t quite believe him and kisses him, and Marti guides his hands to his ass, to the back of his thighs, where he wants him the most. Nico digs his thumbs in the soft flesh of his thighs and Marti grins into their kiss, exhaling. He wants things slow and fast at the same time, so overwhelmed by Nico’s presence his brain can’t catch up, but Nico is taking the lube from the nightstand and already coating his fingers, ‘cause that’s what you want, right, he asks, and Marti nods, biting his bottom lip.

With his knees on either side of Nico’s legs, he lifts himself up and takes Nico’s wrist, guides his arm behind his back and down, Nico’s other hand coming up to spread his cheeks. He pushes down on Nico’s finger with his own and the first finger slides all the way in easily, Marti sighing at the familiar yet longed-for feeling. Nico curls his finger just slightly, giving him time to adjust. Marti doesn’t want that time, doesn’t need it, he nudges Nico’s hand again and the second finger pushes in, starts stretching him properly. He leaves Nico’s hand and wraps his arms around his neck instead, anchoring himself as Nico starts moving his fingers, a slow drag out and an expert curl on the way in, where he knows he will make Marti feel good. The transition from discomfort to pleasure comes naturally and soon Marti is whimpering into Nico’s ear, breath hitching and hips rolling down to meet his thrusts up, riding Nico’s fingers. He hasn’t done this since the last time they were together, stopped doing it by himself because it just doesn’t feel the same, because it makes him miss Nico more.

He’s stopped doing a lot of things because they make him miss Nico more.

“More,” he whines, and he hasn’t needed three fingers before, but he wants them, he wants them more than ever. Nico huffs, looks at him with something akin to awe and hunger when their eyes meet. He slips his fingers out slowly and lubes them up again, distracted by kissing Marti’s chest, and one by one he pushes his fingers back in, Marti exhaling sharply on the third one. It’s a whole different stretch, somehow feels more than he’s ever had, more than Nico’s dick. He nods to signal that he wants Nico to move, and the first small, hesitant thrust feels good, kicks a moan of out his lips, Nico’s fingertips brushing that spot that makes his eyes roll back and toes curl.

“Good?” Nico asks, caressing his inner thigh.

Marti hums, nods. “Good.”

He is torn between throwing himself back to fuck himself better on Nico’s fingers and clutching him closer than he already is. And he wants more, doesn’t know what, just more, more pressure, he wants Nico whole. He wants to feel Nico so close, so deep inside of him that nothing can pull them apart again, that he doesn’t know where he ends and where Nico begins. He wants to stay a bit longer this time. He wants to be selfish and take him with him on the train back to Rome and he wants to hold on to him, hold on to his shoulders, to his hair, and never let him go. He wants Nico’s mouth of him, on every inch of him. He wants every kiss, every brush of Nico’s lips on his skin, even if it breaks him down.

He wants, he wants, he wants.

Nico mouths at his chest, his collarbones, kisses his neck and the underside of his chin, just out of reach of his face. Had Marti not wrapped his arms around his neck so tight, he could have kissed him on the lips, panted into his open mouth, smiled into the kiss until it was just a funny clash of teeth, but Marti wants him there, wants Nico to focus on the tiny circular patterns he’s tracing on his neck, tongue insistent and repetitive and lips closing and sucking. He wants him to leave a mark that he will take home and press his fingers into when he misses him, and another one, and another one, red and purple patches as a souvenir. The swirl of his tongue matches the thrust of his fingers, upwards and inwards, and Nico is slow, so slow, like he is trying to slow time down himself, flicking the hands of a clock back second by second with the tip of his fingers, while Marti wishes he could rip those hands altogether every time he is here, stop time so he doesn’t have to leave.

He closes his eyes, shuts them tight and shakes his head to get rid of his thoughts, to shake away the guilt that’s already creeping up. He won’t let his selfishness cloud the happiness of this coming home, not when Nico is here, giving him everything he is asking for wordlessly.

Nico deserves better than Marti already dreading the moment he’ll have to say goodbye again instead of living the one they’re in right now.

He inches closer still, knees tight around Nico’s hips, Nico’s free hand grabbing the inside of his sweat-sticky thigh and the fleshy part of his cheek, spreading him more. He focuses on Nico’s fingers moving in and out of him, on the wonderful stretch, and his eyes stay closed, eyelids and lashes tickled by the hair falling in his face and Nico’s curls, where he’s buried his nose. The repetitive motions almost hypnotize him into a trance, lifting himself up and back down on Nico’s fingers, scooting closer and closer but not close enough.

“More,” he says again, voice breaking, and he opens his eyes and allows Nico to pull back and look at him, but he doesn’t stop moving, gasps when Nico’s fingers curl up into that spot again.

“More?” Nico asks, leans up for a kiss now that Marti’s arms have let go a bit. Marti feels his pinky trace circles on his cheek, inch closer to his rim, and he almost wants to try it, four fingers, the thought of it making something clench in his belly, but not now, that’s not what he meant. He shakes his head and kisses Nico back, bites his lips and drags them, arms like jelly as he finally slides them down Nico’s neck, hands tracing his sculpted chest and torso, nails scraping the trail of coarse black hair under his navel. He grabs Nico’s dick with one hand and Nico gasps, a shock of a groan into his mouth. Marti starts stroking him, tight and with purpose, and his other hand reaches back for the lube by his feet.

“Marti, wait, the condoms,” Nico says between heavy breaths and kisses, leaning back and right, towards the nightstand.

“No,” he says, stops Nico before he can move another inch away from him, centers him back between his legs. Nico looks at him, surprised.

“I...” Marti hesitates, closes his eyes because even after years these words don’t come easy to him, because they still make him blush, because he needs to gather the courage to say them. But he swallows and opens his eyes, takes Nico’s head with gentle hands, rests his forehead against his and finishes the thought he started, whispers it low in the space between their lips. “I want to feel you.”

They got tested a few months ago, because they're not teenagers anymore and Filo had suggested it, just to be safe. They were fine. Marti had been sure of it, but the procedure was nerve-wracking for Nico, who doesn't like medical examinations, hospitals, doesn’t deal well with them for obvious reasons. But they were fine, and they could do this. The first time they did it, it felt like a new first time entirely. No barriers between them. A whole new experience.

Nico kisses him softly, then hard and breathless, and carefully he takes his fingers out one by one, Marti’s brows furrowing at the unpleasant feeling of their loss. He helps Marti back up with a hand on his hip and Marti lubes him up generously. Nico strokes his hair away from his face and peppers kisses wherever he can reach, his jaw, his freckled cheekbones, his throat, distracts himself from Marti’s touch and tries to take some of the tension off Marti himself. It works.

With Nico’s help, he lines Nico’s dick up and slowly lowers himself, thighs shaking with the effort. He stops midway and closes his eyes, exhales. He’s had a good prep, but it’s been a while, too long. He tries to relax, but a few seconds later he lifts himself back up and off, taking another deep breath, mouth open and eyes blurry, Nico’s hand gentle and cool on his face, whispering encouragements.

“It’s okay, take your time.”

Marti nods. On the second try, with more lube and less haste, he slowly takes Nico all the way and sits back on his calves. He can feel all of him, and before he moves, he takes a few seconds just to appreciate this, the feeling of Nico inside of him, feeling so full it almost numbs him, feeling whole. He laughs, laughs, tears in his eyes because it feels so good, holding Nico closer as if there's any space left between them, and if there is there shouldn't be, shouldn’t dare to be.

Nico hugs his waist, reverent hands flat at the center of his back, and they start moving, first just Marti, lifting himself up and rolling his hips down, finding a good angle and a good rhythm, hitching gasps escaping his lips on every slide down. Then Nico starts meeting Marti’s movements with subtle thrusts that soon turn deep and long, Marti’s eyes transfixed on the muscles moving under his skin.

“Faster,” he says, hears himself say because he isn’t controlling what is coming out of his mouth anymore, and Nico changes his grip on him to hold him down and thrust up faster, picking up his pace until Marti all but freezes up, overwhelmed, and lets him fuck him like this, hard and fast, his own gasps and moans filling his ears. His eyes roll back to the ceiling, and he blinks back tears that still manage to escape and wet his cheeks and the corners of his lips.

Whether he is crying because it feels good or because he’s missed it, missed Nico so much, he doesn’t know. It’s unfair.

Nico comes first, comes inside of him and Marti clenches around him, he doesn’t want to let him go yet. The sound of Nico’s groans and a couple of quick strokes to his dick send Marti over the edge too, a choked Ni on the tip of his tongue. He comes all over his and Nico’s stomach and chest, gasping into Nico’s mouth with fingers clutching his face and tangled in his curls.

When he opens his eyes, trying to catch his breath, Nico is looking up at him, his brows pinched. He looks worried, and he wipes Marti’s cheeks, and this is when Marti realizes he is still crying, silent teardrops running down his cheeks and the tip of his nose without him knowing. He touches his face and laughs, embarrassed. Nico purses his lips, asks him if he’s okay.

“I’m more than okay,” he replies, and he means it, he does.

“I was that bad, huh?” Nico jokes, rubbing Marti's nose. Marti rolls his eyes, pushing him lightly.

“Scemo.”

Nico’s hands stroke up and down his sweat-slicked back, and he presses a kiss to the center of his throat, resting his nose in the hollow and breathing Marti in. Marti’s head feels light, but his body feels lead-heavy, slumped over Nico. Nico scoots forward and rearranges them to lie down. Marti winces when Nico slips out of him, wetness coating the inner part of his thighs, but at that moment he’s almost absurdly and selfishly proud of that. Like he wants to keep everything that Nico’s given him.

“I’ll get a towel,” Nico says, starting to sit up but Marti shakes his head and pulls him back down, laying his head on his chest. Nico chuckles, muttering an okay and hugging him closer.

The way he looks at Marti barely hides a hint of worry. But Marti isn’t ready for that yet.

“Can we just stay like this for a little while?” he whispers, despite the fear of sounding clingy, of being needy and scaring him. Of giving his pain away.

“Of course,” Nico says. “We can stay like this as long as you like,” he adds, kissing the top of his head.

Marti smiles, and pushes down the little voice in his head that reminds him that isn’t true.