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An eagle's old age, a sparrow's youth

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The faucet is dripping. 

The bathroom door is ajar, which means it’s more noticeable than it could be, but the constant drip, drip, drip- would also be audible when it’s closed, Nicky knows. Hasn’t tested the theory yet, but he’s been in enough run-down little hotels with flimsy little doors to know. 

They’re in Athens, because they both appreciate the climate and Greece seemed like a good option to lay low for a while. Still in the EU, but far enough from the United Kingdom, far enough from the epicenter, right on the outskirts of everything, easy enough to disappear into a number of different directions if that turns out to be necessary. 

“Let’s get to work,” Andy had said, except of course, they’d done a lot of very visible work just then, and the obvious decision, after a moment of consideration, turned out to be: Let’s just lay low for a while. Few months, they decided, maybe half a year. Copley seemed to be all for it too, which… fuck this guy's opinion on anything, Joe had muttered angrily, but he didn’t disagree, because, well. Facts are facts.

So now here they are, in some dingy little hotel that definitely doesn’t have any security cameras installed, to recuperate. It’s nice. The surroundings aren’t, not really, but then again, it’s the 21st century, so they’re above and beyond regardless. Nicky’s had so much worse. Also, they might just move along to some beach in a few days, who knows. Andy is off on some shady little airfield near Tripolis, teaching Nile how to fly a plane, or at the very least making sure somebody else does it properly. Might join them, see how that particular venture is going.

“Hang on,” Joe mutters suddenly. 

He’s a warm, familiar weight draped across Nicky’s back, except then he isn’t anymore, because he’s busy heaving himself upright.

“Didn’t say anything,” Nicky says, which is very true. It’s half-muffled by the pillow, but Joe hears it anyway. Gets the overall sentiment at the very least, because he says, “No, but you were thinking it,” as he shuffles into the bathroom. He’s in his boxer briefs, which he still insists is the most practical form of male underwear in this day and age, and Nicky unabashedly stares at his ass with his one available eye, the other one rendered blind by the pillow. Then he’s disappeared into their tiny bathroom.

Nicky can hear him pull one of the towels off the rack, probably to ball it up and put it in the sink. The dripping stops, in any case, and Joe comes shuffling back into the room, heavy footsteps that mean he’s either tired, or not really trying, or both. Familiar as breathing. Nicky’d recognize him anywhere, walking among a million of strangers.

“How did you know what I’m thinking?” he says, face still mashed into his pillow. 

Joe crawls back into the bed, fits himself against Nicky’s back where he belongs with a satisfied sigh. 

“How could I not know what you’re thinking,” he says. His hand comes to rest low on Nicky’s abdomen, warm and secure, thumb hooking into the waistband of Nicky’s boxers. It’s casual, not a trace of urgency to it, but a suggestion all the same. Something shifts between them, as it always does, languid and hot, something that changes the tension in the air, makes Nicky breathe out slowly through his nose.

Been a while, he thinks idly, as Joe grinds against his ass once, slowly, pulling Nicky back against him at the same time, fingers splayed wide. 

“Been a while, no?” Nicky says out loud, amazed at how his own voice sounds a bit hoarse already. Still. Each and every time. Doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Joe says, sly grin to his voice. Nicky can feel his breath ghost over the back of his neck before Joe kisses him there, dragging his mouth down the side of his neck. Nicky presses back against him, grinds back against the hard outline of his dick. Huffs a disbelieving little laugh at the shiver of anticipation that goes through him at the feeling, at the arousal pooling low and hot in his gut. 

Joe carefully pushes his hand lower then, pushes it inside, touches him where it counts. 

“Hnnn,” Nicky says. Can feel his own dick harden even further, Joe’s fingers wrapped securely around it. “If you don’t know what I mean, this is very fucking forward, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Forward?” Joe says, pretending to be confused, like he’s innocence personified. Fuck, Nicky loves him. “But I’m not doing anything?”

“Well, in that case, just for the record,” Nicky says, relishing in the way his own voice sounds, breathless and turned on. “You should keep not doing anything, because you not doing anything is really, really working for me.”

“I can tell,” Joe says, not a trace of irony in his voice. He’s moving his hand now, slow and easy, access restricted by Nicky still wearing his boxers. Nevertheless, it feels amazing -- Joe knows what he likes, knows how to touch him, knows how to treat him right -- has Nicky press back against him in no time, absolutely shameless about it. 

They get rid of their underwear eventually, Joe carefully pulling Nicky’s boxers over his erection and further down, helping him take them off with sure and gentle hands. Kicks off his own right after, quick and efficient and maybe a tad impatient about it, which shouldn’t be endearing of all things, but it is. Always seems to have all the time in the world to consider Nicky and anything he might need, but no time to waste on himself. 

“You wanna turn around for me?” Joe murmurs, once they’re done.

“You wanna ask nicely, maybe?” Nicky says, mischievous, everything inside of him already lighting up at the suggestion, body saying yes, yes, yes. 

Joe’s grip around his waist tightens then, muscles flexing, which is all the warning Nicky gets before he’s pulled over and onto his back, Joe rolling on top of him, settling down between his spread legs. He’s heavy, a solid weight, and something inside of Nicky settles too, each and every time, having him on top like this, undeniably alive and present and there. They’re both grinning at each other, stupidly turned on and helplessly amused by that fact. 

Nicky draws up one leg, lazily curls it around the back of Joe’s thigh. Tries to pull him down, because he still seems too far away, propped up on his elbows, but Joe furrows his brow and then he says, very seriously, “Please.”

It’s not a joke, of course it isn’t -- Nicky told him to ask nicely and Joe is nothing if not courteous. Romantic bastard. It’s moments like this that make Nicky’s mouth go dry, even after all of this fucking time, make him swallow around the sudden lump in his throat, make him feel charmed and protective and completely defenseless all at the same time. 

“Please what,” he says, just to keep up appearances. Joe’s staring down at him with that knowing, fond look in his eyes, the one that means Nicky must be showing everything on his face right now. 

“Please…” Joe says and then he dips down, finally, fitting their mouths together, unhurried and sweet, before he pulls back a bit, continues, “...let me make love to you.”

“Well,” Nicky says, pretending to have to think about it. They’re grinding against each other now, Nicky’s dick trapped in the groove between Joe’s thigh and his hip, and it feels amazing, friction just this side of not enough. “That, that’s-” 

He can feel his breath hitch and then they’re kissing again, because Joe loves it when he’s breathless, actually breathless and struggling to remember what he was even trying to say. It’s deep and hungry this time around, Joe’s tongue in his mouth, pushing deep, taking whatever he wants, which… he can have it all as far as Nicky is concerned. He can take whatever he fucking likes and Nicky will only offer up more.

“I’ll rephrase,” Joe murmurs eventually, close enough he’s speaking the words right against Nicky’s mouth. “Please let me make love to you, because I swear, I’ll make you forget your own name. You won’t want to move again for a week.”

“A whole week,” Nicky says, faux-impressed. “Well, how can I say no to that?”

“You can’t,” Joe says, still very seriously, but now there’s humor to his voice “And you really, really shouldn’t.”

“Do your worst, then,” Nicky says, snickering when Joe actually winks at him. Thinks for what has to be the billionth time in his life how ridiculous he is and how that shouldn’t work; but how it still works on Nicky to an almost ridiculous degree. 

They end up fucking like that, too -- Nicky on his back, both of the pillows stuff underneath to raise his hips up comfortably, legs wrapped securely around Joe’s waist at first, until Joe sneaks one arm underneath his leg, pushes Nicky’s knee up, hooked over the crook of his arm. 

“Fuuuuck,” Nicky groans, change in angle making everything feel better, more intense. Can’t stop himself from panting, his back arching into it immediately. He’s well aware of the fact that Joe is watching him with dark eyes, paying attention to every little detail, taking it all in. Doesn’t even care -- Joe is supposed to know, Joe can have it all. 

“Beautiful,” Joe mutters promptly, like he’s talking to himself more than anybody else, and Nicky pants, “Fuck me, then, c’mon,” digging his fingers into the small of Joe’s back. 

“If you insist,” Joe says, faintly amused, but he’s serious about it too, of course he is, and then he does. 

Nicky’s a moaning, helpless mess in no time -- because it’s been a while, because it’s Joe, because he loves doing this and he loves feeling like this. Loves having this weight on top of him, loves being pinned down by a hard cock in his ass, loves the intrusion, loves being fucked. Loves winding a hand into Joe’s hair, holding on tight. Loves Joe’s hand on his thigh, grip hard enough to bruise. 

Doesn’t quite forget his own name, doesn’t quite forget who they are and what they’re doing, but that only makes it better anyway. 

It’s obvious that Joe wants him to come first -- always does, and sometimes they make a competition out of it -- and the thing is, Nicky easily could after the first five minutes. All he’d have to do is to start stroking himself and he’d be done for in no time at all, and they both know it. Joe probably can read it on him, easy as he can read anything else, but he seems perfectly content with letting Nicky take his time, enjoy it first. 

Which Nicky does, thank you very much, basks in all of the sensations until he can barely stand it anymore, dick twitching every time Joe fucks deep again, red and swollen, smearing precome all over his own stomach. 

“I missed this,” he rasps, voice low and too honest, which… can’t even remember how many times they’ve done this at this point, how many times Joe has made him feel like this, got him to this point of complete abandon, shuddering with arousal; but then again, it’s been a couple of really shitty weeks, the kind that make you want to stop and reconsider. The kind that make you want to appreciate the finer things in life once more.

Like gripping your own dick tight, groaning at the sensation and bucking into your own hand, like coming all over yourself, stomach wet with your own release; like having the stupidly romantic love of your life, the one man allowed to make you feel like this, the one man allowed to do anything at all, the one man allowed push your leg up even further and really fuck you into oblivion, selfishly chasing his own pleasure now, pushing himself as deep as he possibly can when he finally starts to come as well.

Nicky wraps his free arm around Joe’s shoulders then, as he's burying down during his orgasm, holds him tight. Can feel him pulse hot and wet, deep inside, moving and fucking moving, like he can’t stop himself. Joe props himself up eventually, balances on his underarms a bit shakily, staring down at Nicky with a look of wonder on his face, like he’s never seen him before. He’s red-faced and disheveled, mouth hanging open- and then they’re suddenly kissing again, making out deeply, like they haven’t just fucked hard enough for Nicky’s legs to feel weak.

“That was very nice,” Nicky manages, after. Pushes a hand into Joe’s damp mop of hair, smooths it back against his head. “I have to admit.”

“Nice!” Joe says, pretending to be outraged. “Nice, he says. I’ll have you know, I was aiming a bit higher than just nice.”

“Very nice, then,” Nicky says solemnly. Manages to stop himself from grinning from ear to ear, just for a few seconds, but in all honesty… it’s a losing battle.

Then Joe is kissing him again anyway, nipping at his lower lip, so it doesn’t really matter at all. Maybe they’ll check out of here tomorrow, he thinks, go and settle closer to the sea. Maybe they’ll stay a bit longer. Maybe they’ll decide to go somewhere else entirely. Malta might be nice after all. 

For now, the faucet has stopped dripping and they’re both safe and sound; Joe nosing at his cheek, looking fucked out and happy and maybe a bit smug, and that is worth something.

That is almost enough.