Luck's sitting behind his big mahogany desk when Firo lets himself in, shuffling some papers around and drumming his nails idly.
Firo had tipped his hat to Luck's secretary on the way in—the girl had given him a scathing sort of look, like she'd thought he'd been making fun of her. He supposes he can't blame her; people don't really do that sort of thing anymore, but old habits die hard.
"Hey there, stranger," Luck greets him. He's got a pen in his hand, poised to put his signature on something that is no doubt of the utmost importance.
It's gotten darker outside, storm clouds rolling in over the city, and it doesn't look like Luck's bothered to turn on any lights.
"Afternoon," Firo says, as he settles himself in the chair in front of the desk.
"When did you get back?" Luck asks, signing the paper in small, precise strokes.
"Last night," Firo answers. "It's a little dreary in here, ain't it? Trying to preserve the environment or somethin'?"
Luck's lips twitch, just a little. Even after all these years (or maybe, especially after all these years) he's still got one hell of a poker face.
"I don't like the lights in here," he says, putting his pen down. "They make my eyes itch."
Firo makes an amused sound in his throat. Fluorescent lights are one of the things he wishes had never been invented, but all in all, things have gotten better. Or, at least easier.
"You got time?" Firo asks.
Luck pulls out his mobile phone—sleek and small and shiny black, checking the time. "Not really," he says evenly. "But I can push some things back."
Firo grins, standing back up and coming round the desk, trailing his fingers over the shiny wood, chilled by the constant circulation of the air conditioning. Luck's dressed in a shirt and tie, jacket slung over the back of his chair. He still likes grey, even after all these years. And it still suits him.
"Did Ennis come back too?" Luck asks.
Firo feels warm, even with the canned air, the few seconds before they touch radiating between them, heating up the air like the molecules have started to tumble over one another.
"She's staying in Italy, at least for another few weeks. She likes it there."
"What about you?" Luck prods. He's sitting motionless, but Firo can see a flush starting in his cheeks. "You weren't impressed with the mother country?"
Firo shrugs. "I don't speak the language. And I've been there before." He taps his head. "At least up here."
"You know…" Luck's had darts out and catches him by a belt loop. "I think you do this casual thing better than I do."
"Oh yeah?" He looks down at himself before letting himself be pulled up against Luck, not quite in his lap. He's in pale-washed jeans and a fitted t-shirt. He laughs. "Well, I gotta blend in with the young people, don't I?"
"I like it," Luck says, and now he's grinning for real. His hands go to the button on Firo's jeans, unsnapping it easily. "Simpler to get off."
Firo tugs at Luck's tie. "Yeah? And you're as complicated as ever."
"Yeah, well, the world hasn't really changed that much. Except for the fact that we could probably do this on the street now, without getting shot."
Firo laughs, before leaning in and kissing him. Luck's lips are soft and slightly chapped, and his mouth tastes of cinnamon gum. His hands slide up Firo's chest, holding him solidly by the shoulders.
At first doing these sort of things had been strange, especially with so many people rattling around in his brain-- associations that weren't there before, desires and hang-ups that don't belong to him, or didn't used to. He hasn't ever been completely sure where his own preferences end and the others begin, but he'd stopped worrying about it a long time ago.
He doesn't remember if he'd been interested in Luck before that night in 1930, beyond the fact that they were best friends, but it doesn't really matter right now, since Luck's hands feel so good creeping down to lift the hem of his shirt to rub over his stomach. When Luck sucking at his neck makes him shudder, tongue moving slick and warm against the sensitive spot beneath his ear something almost everyone in his head can decide is a good thing.
"How much time do you have?" Firo asks, when he finally gets Luck's tie off.
"Not much. Got a meeting after this," Luck murmurs. His eyes are lidded and glassy, and he rolls his hips against Firo's in perfect counterpoint to the thunder that echoes lazily overhead. "I have to stay relatively neat."
Firo grins. "Alright, then. We'll do it like this,." He slides to his knees, down on the thick Persian carpet that's way too expensive to belong to a legitimate businessman. The mob might not have quite the reputation and hold they had in the old days, but they're still there, even if Firo's more or less broken away. As young as he is, people tended to notice when he didn't age in a couple years, but Luck's still a player, and probably always will be. Which is actually sort of odd, since Luck's one of the nicest guys Firo knows, but maybe he's just like that around family.
He pulls his belt out, undoing the fly of his pants with practiced ease. Luck groans at the first touch of his tongue to his cock. "You'd think you would get sick of doing this after seventy years."
Firo hums in his throat, which makes Luck's hips stutter. He pulls off with a wet, sloppy sound. "I haven't gotten sick of anything yet."
When they'd first started doing this, Luck had been much too considerate to take what he wanted, even if Firo wanted nothing more than to give it to him. Now, he twists his fingers in his hair and tugs, making Firo's cock twitch and forcing him down further. He swallows as best he can, feeling the tremors in Luck's thighs as he gets closer.
"Firo…god, this…I'm…I missed you," he groans, as Firo backs up to lap at the head of his cock, tasting slick, feeling the weight of Luck's hand around the back of his neck, the way his nails dig into his skin as he comes, breath escaping in a low gasp.
Firo swallows and gives his cock a few more licks with the flat of his tongue, before pulling back and grinning. Despite their best attempts to keep him presentable, Luck looks considerably more disheveled than he had been when Firo walked in.
"Ready for that meeting?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He's been on his knees for awhile, but the carpet is so soft he barely even feels it.
Luck chuckles and runs his fingers through Firo's hair. "I'm seriously considering cancelling the meeting at this point."
"Aw, and disappoint all those important businessmen who are about to have their fortunes stolen right from under their noses?"
Luck smiles lazily. Firo loves the way he looks right now, muscles loose and eyes soft. One of his fingers traces Firo's mouth, dipping into his mouth.
"Hey, it's my office," Luck says. "My rules."