theoldguardkinkmeme | Fills Post

Filled here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26932447

Original prompt here: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2998.html?thread=768438#cmt768438

https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=293308#cmt293308

(A second fill for this prompt since I glossed over the fact that it already had one while browsing prompts on the pinboard >.> Also this got a little angstier than I meant it to, whoops.)

Yusuf has seen Nicolo die and revive—has, in fact, been the cause of it—enough times to not worry overmuch about it. But when he falls to a blow that nearly severs his head from his shoulders Yusuf’s heart jumps into his throat nonetheless.

He dispatches their last opponent and races to Nicolo, kneeling at his lover’s side as blood continues to spurt from the wound. The blow wasn’t enough to sever his spine, which seems to be the only thing keeping his head on. Yusuf can see the severed flesh and muscle twitching grotesquely, as if trying to knit back together, but the wound gapes too far apart for them to do so.

Gingerly, but emboldened by the idea that he probably can't make this worse, Yusuf slides his hands under Nicolo's head and lifts it just enough to press the ragged edges of the wound together. Heedless of the blood that stains his hands, he holds Nico's head in place, closes his eyes, and prays.

Please, not yet. Not when we've had so little time together. Please, don't take him from me.

Nicolo lurches in his grip, a ragged gasp tearing itself from a still-healing throat, and Yusuf sags in relief. "I'm here," he says when Nicolo tries to say his name. "I've got you, hayati.”

Nicolo asks about it later, while Yusuf is carefully washing the blood from his hair. "You called me something in Arabic earlier. Not habibi like you have before, but--"

Yusuf feels an absurd urge to blush, as if he were a boy trying to work up the nerve to court a sweetheart and not a man speaking to his lover of over a year. "Hayati. It means 'my life'."

Nico ducks his head, his ears tinged pink, and Yusuf can see a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hayati,” he repeats, copying Yusuf’s pronunciation as much as his accent allows for. “That’s lovely.”

Yusuf kisses the crown of his head, fingers gently tracing the line where Nicolo’s body put itself back together. “It’s also true.”

***

A bowstring snapping in the heat of battle is not really a laughing matter, but the look of utter betrayal Quynh gives the broken weapon in her hand is so funny that Yusuf can’t help but let out a short bark of laughter. It earns him a brief, fierce glare from before she pulls the short sword from her belt and fights on.

The incident seems forgotten by the time they make camp that night, but Yusuf still makes a point of being the one to repair Quynh’s bow. He presents it to her with great ceremony, dropping to one knee with the bow laid across his open palms. “Here you are, my lady.”

Quynh gives him a fond smile as she takes it from him. “My thanks, kind sir.”

Afterward, they call each other by those names in the sort of private joke you could never explain to anyone else because of how little there is to it.

Centuries later, on the anniversary of no day in particular, Joe stands on a seaside cliff and tosses a wreath of white flowers into the stormy Atlantic.

“We miss you, my lady,” he says quietly, watching the delicate flowers disappear among the waves.

***

They spend weeks on a mission that allows them no time or privacy for more than a quick tumble in the dark. When it’s finally over and they have a room to themselves and a door that locks, they spend days in bed to make up for it, days of bare skin and tangled limbs and endearments sighed and whispered and screamed in Arabic and Zeneize and Greek and Latin and every other tongue they know.

“My beloved,” Nico murmurs, carding his hands through his lover’s curls as Yusuf swallows his cock to the root. “My sweetheart, my light, my soul.”

“My darling,” Yusuf gasps out later as Nicolo rides him, both of them trembling and sore and filthy but still hungry for each other’s bodies. “My treasure, my only one.”

***

After another attempt to find Quynh yields only bitter disappointment, after they've returned to the little seaside cottage they've taken in Gibraltar, Andromache goes straight to her bedroom and shuts the door, leaving Yusuf and Nicolo to hold each other and talk in murmurs to soft to reach even her keen ears.

The next day, her door is unbarred, so they enter the room to find her sitting by the window, dressed in the same clothes and looking for all the world like she may turn to stone that way, unmoving, gazing out at the sea.

Nico settles on the floor by her feet and touches her knee gently; Yusuf stands behind them and puts a hand on Andromache’s shoulder. She shows no reaction to their touch, neither leaning into it nor pushing them away.

They sit in silence for a while, and then Nico asks, “Can we do anything for you, dear heart?”

“No,” Andromache replies, her voice rough, and then her hand settles on his hair, stroking gently. “But thank you for wanting to.”

***

The first time they go back to Genoa and hear more standard Italian than Zeneize spoken in the streets, Nicky sulks about it for days.

“I’m not sulking,” he insists, in the midst of cooking an aggressively Ligurian dinner, and Joe replies “Of course you aren’t, habibi,” because you don’t argue with the man preparing your food.

Later, as they’re washing up, Joe wraps his arms around Nicky from behind and cuddles up close, kisses the side of his neck and the shell of his ear and whispers amore, cuore mio, luce dei miei occhi until he teases a soft huff of laughter out of him, and then keeps going, carino, la vita mia, anima gemella until Nicky abruptly turns to cup his face in soapy hands and kiss him, leaving the remaining dishes abandoned in the sink.

***

The hotel room is the kind of luxury they only spring for on special occasions, with rose petals scattered across the bedspread and champagne chilling in an ice bucket nearby.

The certificate is just paper, signed with aliases they’ll abandon in a decade or so. The simple silver rings they exchanged will be worn on cords around necks more often than on fingers, if they’re worn at all after tonight, and the vows are nothing they haven’t said thousands of times before, often when there was no one but the two of them to bear witness.

They’re here partly to revel in the world’s progress, the wonderful newness of a union like this being not only legal but celebrated, and partly because even if they’ve said the words a thousand times before, neither of them will ever refuse the opportunity to say them again.

They stand on the balcony drinking champagne from delicate crystal flutes, and Nicky leans his head against Joe’s shoulder with a contented sigh.

“Husband,” he says, because he can, and thrills when Joe says it back to him.

***

“Baby, can you get me a—“ Joe says, and before he can finish the sentence Nicky’s there with the thing he needs—a hairbrush, a bookmark, a freshly sharpened pencil, a cup of tea.

Watching this happen for the fifth time in as many hours, Nile asks, "Okay, you guys would tell me if you had telepathy, right?"

Joe curls up under the blanket Nicky just brought him with a smug look. "Only the sort that comes from loving each other for so long."

***

Nicky peers at the recipe book open on the counter, and then at the spice rack. “Are we out of tarragon?”

“Hang on, I think there’s some—“ Nile goes over to the pantry, rummaging through it for a few moments and emerging with a jar in her hand and a triumphant “Aha!”

“Thank you, topolina,” Nicky says as she places it on the counter in front of him.

Nile looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, I know you just called me a little something, but…?”

“Ah, ‘little mouse’,” Nicky clarifies, turning sheepish. “It’s just an expression, Nile, I don’t mean anything by it.”

“No, it’s fine,” she replies, smiling. “That’s...actually really adorable.”

“Yes, well, so are you,” Nicky says matter-of-factly as he measures out seasonings and adds them to the saucepan.

“Shut up,” Nile tells him, scrunching up her face.

“I rest my case,” Nicky says with a cheeky smile, and goes back to stirring.

***

Booker's booted foot slips on a patch of ice, and without even thinking about it Joe catches his elbow to steady him.

"Careful, brother," he says, and then when the other man halts and stares at him, "What?"

Booker averts his eyes quickly. "Nothing, it's just--that's the first time you've called me that. Since."

He doesn't need to say since what, and Joe's jaw tightens at the memory, but-- "You never stopped being my brother, Sebastien."

Booker still won't meet his eyes, but he mutters, "Thank you, mon frere," before he clears his throat and turns his attention back to the mission.

***

The time Andy has left is long and good and lived to the fullest, and at the same time it’s not enough, her death (natural, peaceful, surrounded by those who love her) comes too soon, they’re not ready for it.

Quynh is the one it’s most bitterly unfair to—so much of the time they should have had together was stolen from them—but Nicky’s thoughts turn selfishly to himself and Joe. To the possibility, rarely spoken of but always lurking in the backs of their minds, that the universe won’t grant their prayer to go together when it’s time, that one of them will have to leave the other bereft.

There’s nothing they can do, no way to prepare for that, so they leave Quynh in Nile and Booker’s care and slip away for a while, stepping outside to hold each other tight under the stars.

“Tesoro,” Nicky whispers as he buries his face in Joe’s neck, clinging to him.

“Ya amar,” Joe replies softly, and Nicky feels the dampness of tears on his shoulder. “No matter what happens, I will love you until the stars burn out.”

Nicky nods against him, both I know and me too. “Always, hayati.”

For this prompt (https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=74578#cmt74578). First attempt at writing these characters, hope it's ok!

+++

His beloved is too tall.

Nicolò stands more than a head taller than Yusuf. Nicolò, Yusuf reflects, blearily, is...too much. There is too much of him. It is not the most eloquent description, but Yusuf has recently had his head cleaved from his body. Ineloquence can be excused. He blinks, waiting for his vision to clear, even as he rubs clumsily at his neck. Even after decades of immortality, a part of him is always surprised by the absence of pain.

“Well,” he croaks. He hears Nicolò inhale in relief. “Now we know what happens if we are beheaded.”

“Do not joke,” Nicolò says. “I had to hold your head in place to reattach it. If I had not been there…”

“But you were.”

Now Yusuf can see clearly again; the healing must be complete. There is Nicolò’s face, as dear to him as ever, a handsbreadth away from Yusuf’s. Nicolò is bent over him in what must be an uncomfortable position, expression wrought. Above him, Yusuf can see the stars, and they are beautiful--nothing to Nicolò’s eyes, or the small smile Yusuf has learned to coax from him unerringly--but beautiful, all the same. A perfect backdrop for the thought that crosses Yusuf’s mind: if Nicolò would bend down a little more, Yusuf could kiss him.

“When we first met,” Yusuf says, “I thought you were an enormous brute.”

“When we first met, I was,” Nicolò replies. He wipes at Yusuf’s cheek with a wet cloth, where Yusuf’s skin itches under dried blood. “Did I not kill you many times?” Always he deflects praise.

“You did.” He trails off, lost for a moment in Nicolò’s eyes. “Your reach is too long, Nicolò. Keeping you in clothes and boots is a constant annoyance, to say nothing of the trouble in finding horses fit to carry you. Subtlety with a companion such as yourself is impossible; every coward’s eyes are drawn to you.”

“True,” Nicolò says, “but I cannot help it.”

“And yet, when we are in the sun, you always endeavour to keep me in your shade.”

Nicolò’s hand on his cheek stills.

“You are capable of great gentleness and mercy; I have seen it. You will feed stray animals before yourself, and give away your coin to little children.” Nicolò opens his mouth, no doubt to protest that starvation cannot kill him. “Though we are both immortal, you have thrown yourself between me and both blade and arrow.” He touches the bloody hole in Nicolò’s sleeve, where he must have been shot earlier. The sight is familiar, but it still pierces Yusuf’s heart.

“As you would do for me.” Nicolò starts to wash the blood from Yusuf’s throat.

“As you would do for anyone who deserved it.”

“You think too much of me.”

“I cannot think enough of you.” Yusuf catches the front of Nicolò’s tunic and pulls him down. “Do you know what it is like, to love a man whose eyes are worthy of poetry, and whose mouth is never within reach?”

Nicolò blinks at him, just once, and then closes the distance between their mouths.

It is much easier to kiss him when they are both lying down.

Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2726.html?thread=644774#cmt644774

I'm going to be honest, I haven't edited this for errors. It took me 4 days to write and got way out of control and I wanted to post it to feel some sort of accomplishment lol so I'll edit errors out when it goes on AO3.

The part with the OMC got way out of hand, it's literally the first 3k so if you're wanting to skip just start reading at "Nicky takes the long road home".
********

It's the laughter that draws his attention. Boisterous and sincere, this person was genuinely having a good time. More often than not when Nicky saw laughter in a bar it was artificial and tense - put on for the benefit of others, or to hide insecurities, or to convince themselves that they were where they wanted to be. This was free and inhibited laughter and it drew his eyes to a dark haired fair skinned man sitting with his back against the wall, holding his stomach in his mirth. He had sharp nose and cheekbones, an angular jaw covered with a dusting of dark hair, and hooded brown eyes or maybe hazel darkend by the poor lighting. He was handsome and Nicolò found himself staring without meaning to. He had a great smile, one that reached his eyes and caused familiar fine lines. Like his Yusuf.

That wasn't something that he's done before, picked a man that reminded him of his husband. There was no bother because there was no comparison. If he ever tried he was sure he would leave empty handed so the thought caught him by surprise. Now he finds himself unable to look away because his curiosity had been sparked. He wanted to know if there were any other familiarities to the love of his life that he might find within this stranger. Not that this stranger guarranteed a fruitful night, but he needed this sated before furthering with his plans.

As if feeling the weight of his stare, the man turned and their eyes met. Nicolò had long ago given up feeling shame - knowing well the true meaning of it, so he continued on his gazing and then they were locked in a battle of wills. He was well on his way to victory when the stranger wigled his brows and the surprise of it made Nicky narrow his gaze which caused him to blink. His competitor grinned, wide and victorious and Nicky acknowledged his defeat by glancing away. When he turned back the stranger had risen up and was walking towards him. It looked like he would not have to look further after all.

“I couldn’t help notice you’re vying for my attention” The handsome stranger spoke once he reached him and settled into the empty stool, “Now that you have it, what should we do next?” He finishes with a wide grin and Nicky noted that his eyes were indeed warm brown. “I’m married” Nicky says because it was the first thing that came to mind. The stranger’s approach held the aura of self-assuredness. His posture wide, open, and strong spoke of confidence that wasn’t easily deterred. The sort that liked a challenge. He was on most days a great judge of character.

“Ah. Shame.” The stranger says but doesn’t sound the least bit affected, “Is your fella around?” He continued on, a brow raised in question and Nicky gave a small smile in return. “No.” He says insistent to convey the purpose of his outing and negate unnecessary information. “Well then” The dark haired man half-turns to face the counter and signals for the bartender, “I’ll buy you a drink on his behalf” and flashed Nicolò another blinding smile. It was the smile of a man who knows he is a sight to behold. It’s cocky, brazen, and charming. He usually didn’t get this far in his pursuits. He’s never allowed himself to be charmed before.

“I would like that” Nicky answers honestly and finds himself not dreading the awkward small talk that usually accompanied casual sex.

*

His name was Cillian Bowe, he was thirty-three, an architect, and he’d just secured a deal for his firm that guaranteed him partner and would make him the most hated man in the building for the next ten years. He hadn’t seen the outside of his office in eight weeks and he came out to get so inebriated that he wakes up naked on a different continent.

Nicky had chuckled and said “I can help with one of those” and then been bodily dragged into a bathroom stall clearly not designed to fit two adult men. It was the last thing on his mind when Cillian licked his palm and wrapped nimble fingers around his cock taking him from half-mast to fully hard with a few quick strokes. There were also fingers in his hair, holding his head steady as they kissed deep and Cillian licked into every corner of his mouth, rubbing against his palate and curling around his tongue. It was a good kiss plus he had very skilled hands and it made Nicky eager to get to the next part.

He reaches down to undo the other’s belt and get his pants open when Cillian pulls back from their kiss with mischievous eyes and a pleased smirk. “Does your husband know you’re this easy?” He whispers close enough that their lips brush together. “I wouldn’t advise telling him” Nicolò counters not missing a beat and getting his hand around the heavy hard length of him to relieve him of the briefs. He also had a beautiful cock, Nicolò thought. There’s no comparison to Yusuf, but he can appreciate it.

“Well that’s too bad” Cillian says with laughter in his tone as his fingers circles the sensitive crown of Nicky’s cock and pulls a whine from his throat, “I’m great at conversation” He grins thumb pressing into the slit and gathering pre-come to ease the short and fast strokes centered at the head of him.

“Unh…” Nicky’s eyes closed as he moans and his body arches off the metal stall and into Cillian’s delicious torture. He was weak for oversensitive play and began steadily leaking which Cillian would gather in the upstroke to make the slide wetter and messier. His hands really were very skilled. Nicolò’s on the other hand had become a resting touch, unable to coordinate movement with the pleasure working through him. He felt as if he was going to come already as heat pooled rapidly in his groin and his stomach muscles tighten. Then all at once it was gone and he was pushed back from the ledge. His eyes snapped open with a groan of displeasure and Cillian was kissing him again. Sucking at his lower lip and thrusting his tongue into his mouth. Fingers grazed against his cock before wrapping at the base with a tight squeeze and Nicolò grunted into his mouth and pulled away.

He’s thinking of how he’s never felt this desperate except with Yusuf when Cillian’s words comes back to him. He’s out of breath when he speaks “Is that all you’re planning to do?” voice hoarse and eyes darkened with lust, “Conversation?” Cillian grins, releasing his hold and stepping back to turn Nicky around, “It’s called foreplay love” He says bunching the shirt up around the other man’s abdomen as Nicky braces his forearms and head against the stall. “Does he need a lesson?” Cillian whispers pressing against him and sliding his hands up and down his flank.

“You’re very talkative” Nicky answers in lieu of taking the bait. There wasn’t usually this much chatter between him and the men he allowed to drag him into tiny bathroom stalls. With a normal tryst he’d be full by now. “It’s part of the charm” Cillian quips back, a hand coming around his torso to pluck at his nipples and the other sliding into the back of his jeans.

Fingers roam against his buttocks, slides in between his crack with back and forth strokes against his rim and Nicolò pushes back against it and tilts forward hoping for penetration. “Why the hurry?” Cillian whispers at his ear and purposely avoids pressure against the puckered hole. “Bar hook ups are supposed to be quick and efficient” Nicolò bites out a bit frustrated in his need and lack of release or satisfaction. “I’m celebrating” Cillian responds unbothered by the change of tone, “I’m allowed to savor my prize” his fingers dipped into the rim with the next stroke and pulls away when Nicky pushes back again with a soft moan. He’s climbing from a bit frustrated to ‘I have taken more lives than you could imagine’ as the seconds tick on. “I have a date” Nicky says breathless from the teasing and Cillian stops in his ministrations to pulls his pants down to upper thighs and expose his ass, “Ah. Well. Why didn’t you say so?” He retorts through a smile and rubs flat palms against the round flesh, groping and kneading top to bottom.

Nicky was starting to feel as though he really might snap when the other man parts his cheeks and presses his thumb against the puckered hole. He’s unable to hold the push back into the touch and Cillian meets his force and inserts the digit to the first knuckle. It’s dry but it’s good and Nicky groans deep and low seeking more of the touch. “This is deadly”, Cillian says digging his thumb in deeper but not being able to get much further pass the first knuckle “Anyone tell you you’ve got a perfect ass?” He tugs on the rim from the inside and continues grinding his finger in, “It’s fucking tight” Cillian mumbles more to himself than Nicky and works the digit out. “It’s been said” Nicky responded catching his breath as the other dug in his pockets for a packet of lube and a condom.

“By your date?” Cillian asks smirk in his tone and Nicky turns his head to watch the other man apply the lube on his fingers when he replies, “Yes”. Cillian hums and holds his cheeks apart again to rub fingers along his rim with gentle pushes. “Guess this means I won’t be getting one than?” He asks slipping the tip of his index in and not going any further. “Not if I kill you in the next few minutes” Nicky answers, frustration returning with the other man’s teasing. Cillian laughs genuinely amused and pushes in.

The digit sinks into him and Nicolò groans ass pushing back and feet shuffling further apart. ‘Finally’ he thinks letting more of his weight onto his forearms and hears a low chuckle behind him, “Good things come to those who wait darling” Cillian replies and Nicky realizes he had spoken aloud. “You’re not making a good case for staying alive” he forces out with short breaths to cover his blunder, and Cillian responds with sliding the digit out to the tip and then back again until he has set a slow pace. “Mmm... Silly me” Cillian says and inserts another finger, providing a better stretch that makes him moans but continues the same ‘not enough’ pace. Nicky wants to tell him to hurry up but knows he would be wasting his breath so he grinds his hips back instead and bites back his sounds at the knuckles twisting against his rim and the digits spreading apart inside him.

“Ready for another?” The other man asks, his voice taking a lower gravelly tone that betrays his composure and if Nicky hadn’t been teased so far he would’ve mention it. Instead he nods, breathing heavily and is rewarded with three fingers prodding at his entrance. “Christ, so tight.” Cillian mumbles again as it takes firmer pressure, some twisting, and pulling Nicky against him to work them all in. Nicky whines, pushing back at the stretch and the digits grinding their way inside him. “I can take it” He voices under his breath as they work to the third knuckle and Cillian splays them out for a stretch. He surprisingly doesn’t say anything back and Nicky finally starts to feel like he’s getting somewhere.

Cillian starts with shallow pumps and holds a tentative pace, allowing Nicky to get use to the stretch and only speeding up when he pushes back against him with a pleading moan. He’s stroking in deeper, curling his fingers searching and Nicky’s rocking back against him every time. It takes a minute of pumping and repositioning until pleasure shoots down his spine and shocks him still with a loud “Ah!” tearing out of his throat. “Fuck.” Cillian mutters so low that Nicky barely hears it over the sounds of his loud moaning when the other man does it again, fingers tips pressing against his prostate insistently and the base of his knuckles grinding at the rim. “I’m ready, I’m ready” Nicky cries, eyes shut and rubbing his head against his forearm to distract him from the throbbing of his cock leaking and heavy between his legs. “Please I’m ready… ahh… fuck please” He begs, another sharp burst of pleasure turning his spine to jelly, “Please, please” his pleading turning into a whine when the sudden absence of Cillian’s fingers leaves him grasping at nothing.

“Fuck. Fuck.” Nicky whispers taking big gulps of air in an attempt to get himself back in control. It doesn’t last long cause soon the blunt head of Cillian’s cock is at his entrance and pressing in. “Unh…” he’s moaning, shifting his legs and trying to get a lower bend at his waist to ease the passage, “Yes…” Nicky groans voice low and desperate. Cillian is thick and it burns in the best way, it takes a harsh push to get inside and passed the crown and Nicolò thinks of Yusuf. “Ungh” the sound gets stuck in his throat and comes out garbled as his walls squeezes at the sudden intrusion. “Christ darling” Cillian gasps, fingers digging into Nicky’s thigh as he keeps the slow steady push of his cock invading Nicolò’s body. “Yes… please.” he groans out and sinks teeth into his lower lip thinking of his husband filling every part of him to the brim and holding him there until he can taste it. “Just like that” Cillian mumbles behind him when his hips presses flush at Nicky’s ass, and Nicky moans softly as he works to anchor himself to the moment.

I haven’t finished this yet but posting the first part here to try and motivate myself to finish writing it soon!

Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3653.html?thread=998981#cmt998981

——————————

It had been a lovely surprise for Joe, when his old college friend Booker texted him that he had moved to the same city, and he invited Booker out for a few drinks to welcome him to town. Three beers in, they had regained all of their old camaraderie even though it had been nearly ten years and they had lost touch over the decade, and Joe had an arm slung loosely over Booker’s shoulder when all of a sudden something occurred to him.

He nudged Booker, lightly, and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “So,” he asked. “You met anyone...special lately?” Booker knew immediately what Joe meant, of course—after too many late night confessions while they were roommates their last year of university, Joe knew about almost all of Booker’s kinks, and in return Booker knew way too much about Joe’s then-long distance boyfriend Nicky, who was a switch like himself. There was a surprising flash of sadness in Booker’s eyes, a genuine look of grief, and then he shook his head. “No, nobody,” he replied, sounding a little dejected, and, well, Joe couldn’t have that.

“Hey,” he murmured, slipping a business card into Booker’s shirt pocket and patting it a little sloppily. “My friend, Andy. She and her wife Quynh have a place, it’s a good place,” he insisted. “Andy and Quynh run a tight ship, a safe space that’s very welcoming. Give her a call if you want to stop by sometime, Nicky and I go every Thursday night and a number of our friends work there.”

Booker dialled the number a few days later in a fit of pique, and obviously hadn’t realised that Andy vetted everyone who came to the club, which turned out to be a mildly terrifying experience. She invited him to a cafe, sat outside with him, fingers tapping impatiently against the table. He felt like she was scrutinising every move he made, every tentative half-answer. She asked him seemingly innocuous questions about himself, then more personal things about what he was interested in—not the details, but trying to get a general sense. He squirmed under her gaze, equal parts terrified and turned on, and he had no remote idea what she thought of him, her face impassive, but the next day he had a text from Joe that was just a string of thumbs up emojis and then a follow up that said “Andy says you’re good people (obviously!) and that you should come by the club sometime sooooon.”

It took him a week to work up his courage to go, and he purposefully decided on Thursday night, when Joe had said that he would be there. It had been long enough since they had been out of touch that he didn’t know any of Joe’s friends except for Nicky (Booker hadn’t been surprised in the slightest that they were still together, now married for three years). Joe had tried to tell him about each of them, but Booker had been a bit overwhelmed and had forgotten some of the details. There was Nile, a baby Domme and killer bartender that Andy and Quynh had taken under their wing; there was Copley, who apparently had a career that nobody could talk about and liked to forget about the stress of his day job by getting whipped until he bled, and then there were a few more characters that Booker had forgotten. He hoped that they weren’t all as sexy and intimidating as Andy, or he felt like he would melt into a puddle by the end of the night.

Booker was so worried about showing up late that he showed up uncomfortably early, looking in despair around the nearly-empty club. He heard a soft chuckle from behind the bar, and looked over to see a young woman with a cute smile that he knew immediately would be Nile. “You’re the fresh blood, aren’t you?” She asked, leaning on her elbows on the bar. “Andy told me to look out for you.” He laughed, shrugging a little sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”

She grinned enigmatically. “I plead the fifth.” She quirked her head, as if trying to figure something out. “Your accent...French?” He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Guilty as charged.”

“Well, monsieur, what can I get you?” She asked, and he thought to himself how cute she was before he pushed the thought away, forcefully. He didn’t need to alienate all of Joe’s friends right from the get-go. “Uh, a gin and tonic?” He ventured and she shook her head good-naturedly. “Only non-alcoholic drinks here, sorry. Andy’s rules.” She leaned over the bar a bit to whisper to him. “Privately, I can confess that Andy doesn’t always follow her own rules and sometimes she makes an exception for her friends too, but we’d better play it safe on your first night. I can mix something up that I think you’ll like if you like gin and tonics?” She suggested, quirking an eyebrow, and he nodded, looking around what he could see of the club while she mixed up his drink. There was what was clearly a main stage for floor shows, then a number of cozy nooks and crannies where people could be at least partially secluded and a hallway which he suspected led to private playrooms.

He couldn’t tell quite what she had mixed together, but it definitely had that combination of pleasant fizz and juniper berries that he enjoyed in a good gin and tonic, and he tipped his head, impressed. “This is delicious,” he thanked her. “How much do I owe you?” But she waved away his wallet, grinning as she spotted Joe and Nicky coming in. “I think we can afford to treat you on your first night here. Consider it a welcome gift, on the house.”

For all his anxiety, Booker needn’t have worried—he fit into their little group nicely. He had always liked Nicky when he would come visit them in college, Copley was sweet and eager to please, Nile was a ray of sunshine, and Andy and Quynh were terrifying but surprisingly friendly. He had never seen anything quite as hot in his entire life as when he would watch Andy, Quynh, or both pick a sub out of the crowd, take them up onto the main stage and break them apart piece by piece.

Booker secretly always wished that they would pick him, but he never made a move himself, not with them or any of their friends, too afraid that it would mess up their burgeoning friendship if a scene didn’t go well—or if it went too well and he started to develop feelings. He had no shortage of people ready to give him what he wanted, anyway—especially once it became known around the club for being willing to try pretty much anything. It wasn’t...well, it wasn’t the greatest feeling to know that he had developed a reputation as a wanton slut who would take any kind of pain and degradation without complaint, but, well, at least it meant that he had a scene partner every Thursday night, meant that for a few minutes he could get what he needed and quiet the constant roaring in his mind, the rush of grief and unwanted memories.

He was willing to do anything, would stammer out “green” even when he was in agony and hating himself, but he usually asked for one of the private rooms. Bad enough he had to know the desperation he was capable of, he didn’t want his new friends to have to see it too. He caught a glimpse of pity or concern anyway sometimes, usually from Andy, when he would come back from a scene to curl up bonelessly on a plush velvet bench next to the others, usually still bleeding or covered in someone’s cooling release underneath his loose clothing.

It was going well, he thought, and if he wasn’t happy—wasn’t sure he could ever be happy again—he at least felt a little more settled, between his new friends and his Thursday nights filled with pain.

Filled here:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/26952571

Post-exile Booker leaves Europe to make sure he doesn't awkwardly run into any of the guard (perhaps Quynh already found him/ he was awkwardly rejected by them after she reunited with Andy?).
This leads him to drink his way across either America or Canada and a chance meeting with some mutants.
Maybe he meets Logan in a dive bar in Canada or he meets up with gambit in New Orleans.
Anyway, I think it'd be an interesting scenario, especially since they would think Booker is a mutant like them lol. Perhaps it would be a chance to rest and heal with people he could actually open up to and make connections with outside of the Old Guard.

Filled on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954848/chapters/65787520

There is one very simple reason Booker prefers not to go to games with just Joe: he’s a talker. Joe knows this, knows Booker wants at least one of their friends between them so he can pretend he doesn’t know Joe when he starts chatting with everyone around them, but he can’t help it. They’re all fans of the same team in this section of bleachers, all wearing the same colors, and they’re sharing the same experience. It’s practically a recipe for friendship. He gets excited.

They get beer and snacks first, finding their seats during warm-ups. Joe settles into his in the middle of arguing with Booker about the team’s chances at making playoffs this year but stops talking abruptly as his knee knocks into somebody else’s. He’s been trying to stop sitting this way, spreading his legs wider than necessary, but embarrassingly it’s still the way he tends to sprawl out if a chair is either very comfortable or very uncomfortable. These plastic bleacher seats are, of course, the latter.

“I’m so sorry.” Joe says to the guy beside him. Then his mouth snaps closed, because the guy is… is…

“No worries.” The stranger says, smiling minutely. He’s handsome, eyes reflecting the color of the slightly overcast sky as they take in Joe’s backwards hat. This is Joe’s favorite hat, it has the team logo in rainbow.

Joe smiles back and they stop staring at each other in a mutually flustered hurry. Booker, when Joe turns back to him, is smirking.

“Not going to start introducing yourself to the whole section yet, Joe?” Booker says, definitely loud enough for the handsome stranger to overhear.

Joe glares at him. “Why bother if you’ll do it for me, Sébastien?”

Booker rolls his eyes, taking a long drink from his plastic cup of beer.

This minor argument is quickly forgotten as the game starts, Joe eggs Booker into joining every single chant and each time the wave goes around their hands are in the air. So are his handsome neighbor’s. Every time their hands brush together they exchange shy smiles. It happens a lot. Joe’s definitely doing it on purpose and he suspects his neighbor is too.

When Booker gets up to use the bathroom during a stop in play, Joe turns to the man and says, “I’m Joe.”

“I heard.” He says, laughing, “Nicky.”

“Nice to meet you, Nicky. Big fan?”

“Can you keep a secret?” Nicky asks, tone deadly serious but Joe thinks he can pick up the joke lingering at the corner of his mouth. He quickly stops looking.

“If you tell me you’re rooting for the other team…”

“I am.” Nicky admits, that little smile growing. He’s so gorgeous Joe’s really about to forgive him for infiltrating this section of the stands.

“No wonder you’re so quiet.” Joe laughs, “You don’t know the songs.”

“I don’t.” Nicky admits, “I just moved here, a friend from work gave me her tickets.”

He says tickets plural, but the seat next to him has been empty the entire game. Joe’s noticed because it means if Nicky really didn’t like their little flirtations he definitely could have moved over towards the mom wrangling three kids on his other side.

“I could teach you?” Joe offers.

That’s how Booker finds them when he comes back, Joe loudly leading everyone around them in a slightly-off key but enthusiastic rendition of the team’s fight song, complete with bleacher stomping and clapping, Nicky laughing his ass off and doing his best to correctly answer every call-and-response bit. His voice is gorgeous too. This is all starting to be a little unfair.

Things get more tense in the middle of the game because it’s all tied up. Nicky and Booker start arguing around Joe, which he finds a little overwhelming, both of them leaning against him to gesture and make their points. They slip into French at one point, Booker to say something a little more rude and Nicky to one-up him and reveal his own fluency.

That’s what gets Joe uncharacteristically tongue tied, listening to Nicky curse in French and then glance worriedly over his shoulder to make sure the kids behind him don’t also speak it. They don’t. He keeps cursing. Joe realizes how Booker must have felt at previous games, amused but embarrassed by the attention they’re getting, awkward that he has nothing to say. Eventually this heckling dies down as the home team scores a couple times.

“Would you mind watching my bag for a minute, Joe?” Nicky asks, setting it down in his chair as he stands.

“Sure, run away.” Booker teases, but they both ignore him. Joe really likes hearing Nicky say his name.

“No problem.”

“Thank you, I’ll be right back.”

Nicky’s gone longer than he expected, probably unaware of how long the lines get for bathrooms at this point in the game. His phone starts ringing, once and then twice and then annoying enough that other people start shooting Joe very pointed glances. He turns the sound off, but whoever it is keeps calling. Worried that this might be an emergency that he should track Nicky down for, Joe looks at Booker who just shrugs unhelpfully. The next time it rings, Joe answers it.

“Hello?”

“Uh, do I have the wrong number? Who is this?”

“This is Joe, Nicky should be right back. Is something wrong?”

“Nicky huh? Sorry Joe, no emergency just worried about him. He usually answers on the first ring. Have him call me back after the game, ok?”

“Will do. Have a good one?”

“You too.” She says, laughing, and hangs up.

Nicky gets back seconds later, when Joe is still holding his phone. He looks pretty concerned about this, which Joe understands.

“Sorry! Your phone kept ringing and I thought it might be an emergency? She just said to call her back after the game though.”

“Oh, okay. Um. Thank you.”

As Joe is handing it back to Nicky the screen lights up with a message from ‘Nile’. It says ‘he sounds cute, you should go for it! 😉’. Joe pretends he doesn’t see, though the pink tips of Nicky’s ears are adorable enough that he almost teases him. He reminds himself they’ve only known each other for an hour or so and lets Nicky sit back down in peace.

That peace is short-lived because up on the big screen the Kiss Cam is going around. It settles on Joe and Nicky fairly early in the rotation around the stands, just after an older couple and a parent kissing their baby who’s fast asleep in enormous noise cancelling headphones. Nicky, when Joe nudges him and gestures at the screen, goes wide eyed and ducks to hide his face behind Joe, mostly succeeding in headbutting Joe’s shoulder as he moves closer unexpectedly. There’s quiet laughter from their neighboring fans, including Booker, but the camera moves away.

Joe nudges Nicky’s leg with his knee and says, “Coast is clear, Mr. Camera Shy.”

“Thank you.” Nicky says, tugging Joe’s sleeve back down in a fretful sort of way that's still casual enough touching that Joe’s heart feels too big for his chest. He knows he’s smiling wide and sappy at Nicky but he can’t make himself stop. “I uh, I cannot let my family see me on TV.”

“Oh, as a traitor you mean?” Joe jokes. Nicky nods very seriously, making him laugh. “It doesn’t usually come back to someone who hides.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that, because a minute or so later, after devoting some time to every single service dog the cameras can spot, the kiss cam turns back on and returns to Joe and Nicky immediately.

Nicky hides his face in his hands this time, Joe grins at the camera, waving hello and then waving it off. He pats Nicky’s shoulder consolingly with his other hand. The screen cuts to two blonde women already kissing, one of them with the same rainbow logo cap on backwards that Joe has. Then there’s some teens, one kisses the other on the cheek. Then it’s back to Joe and Nicky.

Nicky says, “Oh ma seriamente?” in incredulous Italian. Joe bursts into laughter and Nicky turns to him, knocking their shoulders together, and says, “Did you bribe someone?”

“To kiss you? I would have, if I’d known it was an option.” Joe says. Booker makes some kind of choking noise, apparently not expecting Joe to shoot his shot like this. Sometimes Joe isn’t expecting it either, his mouth runs away with him. Nicky gave him an opening and he took it.

They’re turned in their seats, knees knocking together, just staring at each other for what feels like minutes. The camera must move along. Joe licks his lips. Nicky’s eyes darken.

“Yeah?” Nicky asks, still looking at Joe’s mouth.

“Yeah, can I?” Joe checks, lifting a hand to the flannel Nicky has layered over his T-shirt, fiddling with a button.

Nicky’s hand raises up to touch Joe’s forearm gently. It strikes Joe as funny how welcome Nicky’s touch has been this whole time and how welcome his own has seemed for Nicky, when strangers usually have more solid boundaries. Nicky says, “We have to wait for the kiss cam.”

“You’re still on it.” Booker complains. “I think I speak for everyone here when I say: kiss already.”

There’s echoed encouragement from the audience they’ve gained in their section as well as some muffled shouting from the announcers, the kind of tone they usually only slip into when the home team scores. Joe and Nicky meet in the middle.

It doesn’t feel like a first kiss to Joe. He wonders if it looks like one to their very large audience. His hand has come up from Nicky’s shirt to gently hold the side of his face and neck, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. Nicky’s hand has slid upward too, clutching Joe’s bicep. Nicky closes his eyes, lips slanting over Joe’s so sweet, a simple press of mouths. Joe feels simultaneously like he’s never kissed anyone before and like he’s kissed Nicky a hundred thousand times but it’s still somehow thrilling.

Watching Nicky’s eyes blink back open when they separate, seeing the slow way they focus on Joe’s face, and watching him smile like he felt it too is life changing. Then the sound of people clapping breaks into their moment.

Nicky goes pink and leans forward to hide his face against Joe’s shirt again, making Joe laugh in delight and hold him close, both of them leaning awkwardly over the hard metal armrest between their chairs. They don’t pull away from this cuddle until the game starts back up and Booker sighs in a put-upon way about whatever play is going wrong, assured that nobody is still watching.

“Sorry.” Joe says, “If your family sees you kissing the other side, I mean.”

Nicky shrugs and says, so quietly serious it takes Joe's breath away, “Worth it.”

For whatever reason this makes Joe shy, makes him grin down at his shoes and not say anything. He’s so full of anticipation for a future where he gets to kiss Nicky again, imagining a thousand scenarios, he forgets to say them out loud. When he looks up again, Nicky is fussing with his phone, frowning down at it with a little furrow between his brows.

The game is winding down before Nicky looks up again. A bunch of fans are leaving already, trying to beat the traffic that always happens at the end, and it seems Nicky might join them. Joe tries to swallow his overwhelming disappointment, still tongue tied, still feeling strangely off balance, still wanting Nicky to bump into him and take up his space.

“I should go and call my friend back.” Nicky says, not quite looking at Joe.

“Okay.” Joe says, quiet.

“Thank you for um, teaching me the songs. It was nicer on this side than I thought it would be.”

‘Nice?’, Joe thinks. He might be frowning. The kiss was more than nice for him, but maybe Nicky doesn’t agree. “Any time.”

“Hey.” Booker says, popping their awkward bubble, “Nicky, can I get your number? So I can send you the video? Or should I just get it from Joe?”

Nicky looks at Booker, opens his mouth, looks at Joe, and closes it. Joe winces, recognizing that Booker is trying to be his wingman but it cuts unexpectedly deep that Nicky hasn’t offered his number. Only, well, Joe hasn’t asked for it either, has he? Since the kiss he hasn’t even touched Nicky, he’s just been daydreaming about Nicky touching him. He’s really fucked this up.

“I’d like to see you again.” Joe says in a rush, too earnest, too desperate. He winces again afterward, but Nicky takes his hand.

“Yes please.” Nicky says softly, “Can I see your phone?”

“Only fair.” Joe manages to joke, swallowing hard. Having Nicky’s full attention back is almost too much, the gentle way his fingers are curled around Joe’s so much better than his daydream because it’s really happening. Unlocking his phone and opening a new contacts page one-handed, Joe passes it to Nicky who, unfortunately, takes his hand back to type with both thumbs.

He puts his full name in, along with his number, and the notes field says ‘💋📷’. He looks pretty proud of himself when Joe sees that and bursts out laughing.

“Text me so I have yours too?” Nicky asks, then adds, “I really do have to go.”

Quickly, Joe types out, ‘This is Joe’ and hits send, just to make sure Nicky didn’t type his number wrong. If they became a missed connection he might have a hell of an easy time finding Nicky with a video of them kissing, but Joe doesn’t want to risk it. Nicky smiles as his screen lights up and stands slowly, lifting his bag up over his shoulder.

Joe has no idea if the game is over, if they’ve stopped play, or what. It’s bad manners but he stands too. Nicky pauses, watching him, taking in the way they’re just about of a height.

“Kiss goodbye?” Nicky asks, that same breathlessness and immediate embarrassment that Joe just went through.

He can’t wait until they’re at the point where these leaps aren’t so scary. In the meantime, Joe steps closer and says, “For us this time, not the camera.”

They don’t notice Booker taking pictures when they kiss this second time. Joe won’t find out until the next time he sees Andy. He makes her forward him the pictures so he can show Nicky on their first date.

Nicky will smile and glance up at Joe coyly from the phone screen to say, “We still haven’t kissed off camera, huh? Should we try again?”

(Author anon)

I meant to have a note at the end to say happy Thanksgiving! But I forgot, so happy Thanksgiving. :) You're all so amazing, I cannot even begin to say.

P.S. (Yes, it IS in October, the Americans have lied to you.)

Prompt: Joe is walking to work and it's absolutely pouring, and on his way he sees a man without an umbrella and offers to share his until they reach their respective destinations

Age 5

Yusuf couldn’t help but stare. They had been walking back from the market when his mother abruptly stopped. She had wanted to talk to the woman from the house down the street for a few days now. Yusuf had overheard his parents talking about a new family that had moved in from Italy. His father had mentioned they had a son about his age. The woman standing in front of him looked kind. She had a warm smile and the big floppy hat she was wearing was riddled with flowers. Yusuf studied the woman, from her chocolate brown hair to the bright orange apron she was wearing. That’s when he saw him.

A small fist clutched on to that apron as if its life depended on it. He followed the line up that hand to a little round face smooshed into the side of the woman’s hip. A boy stood there. A boy with wild hair as if he has just woken up from a nap. A boy with eyes as blue as his favorite marble back home. Yusuf couldn’t help but stare into those eyes. He thought if he looked away, even for a moment, they would be gone forever. He worried if he stopped looking he would never again know the joy he felt when looking into those eyes. However, as if in an instant, his mother was pulling him along to head back to their home. Not wanting to loose contact with those eyes, he could barely walk straight as his feet moved forward but his gaze stayed with the boy.

Luckily for him the school year started a few days later. He was giddy when his mother told him that the boy down the street would be attending his preschool. Yusuf smiled to himself knowing he would be able to look into those eyes once again. On the first day he learned the boys name was Nicolo. He also learned that Nicolo was shy; very, very, shy. Try as he might, day after day, week after week, he could not find a way to become friends with Nicolo. The boy was perfectly fine on his own. Eating lunch by himself while simultaneously coloring, sitting under the trees by himself while playing with ladybugs, even napping by himself in the farthest corner while pretending to not read a picture book under his blanket. Yes, Yusuf knew his every move.

Then one day it happened. The forecast had warned of possible rain in the afternoon; around the time that he walked home from preschool. They lived right around the corner from the school and Yusuf’s parents had given him permission to walk himself. Nicolo’s parents as well. Yusuf often waited for Nicolo to leave so he could walk behind the boy. School had let out and he made his way to his cubby to grab his bag and bright red umbrella. His mother had made sure he came back for it as he tried to run out the door in the morning. As Yusuf walked out of the building and stood under the awning to open his umbrella he noticed a small figure sitting on the steps. It was Nicolo. He gasped as his mind raced back to that morning. Nicolo hadn’t had an umbrella with him when he walked to school. The skies had been clear at that time and maybe Nicolo just didn’t know it was going to rain.

This was it. This was his chance to finally become friends with Nicolo. He inhaled deeply, steadied his hand on his umbrella, and stepped forward. Without even a word he walked over to Nicolo and tilted the umbrella over the small boys’ head. Nicolo looked up as he wondered why the raindrops had stopped peppering his cheeks. A boy, he remembered his name was Yusuf, was standing next to him and using his umbrella to shield him from the rain. He watched as Yusuf slowly extend his unoccupied hand down towards him. It was Nicolo’s turn to stare. Then, with the smallest gesture, Yusuf turned his palm up and wiggled his fingers. Nicolo wasn’t certain but he thought that Yusuf wanted him to take his hand. Not wanting to sit in the rain much longer and also wanting to get home, he did.

Yusuf thought he would melt right there. He intertwined his fingers with Nicolo’s and held on for life as if even the smallest movement would scare the boy away. He pulled Nicolo up with the all the strength he had and made way to scurry down the stairs. Not wanting to fall, Nicolo hurried himself to keep up with Yusuf. The two continued to hold hands as they walked towards their homes. Not speaking a word to each other but walking shoulder to shoulder under the umbrella. If he was honest with himself Yusuf couldn’t even think of what to say. A quick glance over to Nicolo showed that the smaller boy looked as he always did, content. Nicolo’s grip on Yusuf’s hand only gave way when they reached the gate to his house. He was thankful to the boy for sharing his umbrella but, he had a hard time with words. So he did what they did in his family when they were thankful or appreciative of something. He gave Yusuf a soft kiss on the cheek and hurried inside. Yusuf turning bright red in the process and refusing to explain to his mother later on why he didn’t want to take a bath that evening.

The next day at school Yusuf almost spit out his apple juice when Nicolo came and sat with him at lunch time. Nicolo did not speak, just sat there with him and offered a few orange slices when he could not finish them himself. Nicolo just did not speak much at all Yusuf realized. So he looked for other ways to see what they boy was feeling. For the next year he would grow to appreciate the presence of his new friend and understand that words were not always necessary.

Age 20

It was just his luck that he hadn’t brought an umbrella with him when boarding the plane this morning. He had flown home for the winter holidays and had not anticipated the change in weather. As usual. As he walked through the terminal he glanced at the shops seeing if he could purchase an umbrella. His mother was busy preparing for the holiday and his father was still at work so he had offered to arrive home on his own. The walk to the train was out in the open as well as the walk to his childhood home. Taking a taxi would be murderous to the small amount of cash he had on him. The prices of the umbrellas in the terminal were extravagant and he figured he’d rather be soaking wet than purchase one.

As he made his way to baggage claim he could see how wet it was outside through the large windows in the airport. He audibly sighed, thinking that maybe the overpriced umbrella would have been worth it. Waiting by the conveyor belts he thought to himself if Yusuf would also be home. They had both gone on to different colleges. Yusuf being farther than he was and possibly not having enough time to come home, even for the holiday. He hoped this was not the case.

The two had a unique friendship. Throughout their younger years they had gone to school together up until college. Yusuf, being the outspoken, ever-so-friendly, person that he was, was quite popular in their years growing up. He had many friends, joined a variety of clubs, played sports and was outgoing as all. Nicolo on the other hand really just had Yusuf. That was all he needed. Nicolo stuck to his books, helped his mother around the house, letting her teach him how to cook. If he did do anything after school it was watch Yusuf. They would often walk home together and Yusuf frequently had sports or club activities to partake in. Nicolo would hang around and take the time to finish schoolwork or read for himself. Sometimes he would just sit and observe his surroundings.

As he collected his bags Nicolo prepared himself for the weather outside. He tried to think up a plan that would keep him from getting completely soaked. If he hurried along fast enough he could make it to the station in record time. Wishing this was one of those days where Yusuf was there to offer him an umbrella he made his way towards the station. As if on queue, a man rushed into baggage claim looking slightly disheveled. Carrying two umbrellas. The man looked up and looked in every direction for the person he was meant to meet. Nicolo stood there dumbfounded. It was Yusuf. He knew he should call out but he was so taken aback that he was at a loss fo words. He couldn’t possibly be the person Yusuf was looking for.

Yusuf hoped he hadn’t missed him. He knew he should have left earlier as the storm would mean more traffic. He had overheard their mother’s conversation about Nicolo flying in from school and eagerly offered to go pick him up from the airport. As he rushed inside he surveyed the area hoping Nicolo hand’t made his way toward the train. Yusuf then locked eyes with Nicolo. A large smile formed across his face. With large strides he made his was over towards Nicolo, clearly seeing the look of shock on his friend’s face. Without words spoken between them he closed the space and gathered Nicolo into a tight hug. He had missed his friend.

Yusuf then shoved the extra umbrella into Nicolo’s hand and grabbed one of his bags. Nicolo just stood there for a minute still taking in the situation. He thought he wouldn’t even see Yusuf during this time and here he was picking him up from the airport. Yusuf however, wanted to beat the traffic back home and he was hungry. He knew that the families had planned to have dinner together and wanted to get home quickly so Nicolo could rest before the evening. As he started to walk away he noticed that his friend was not yet following him. Turning around to look Nicolo in the eyes, those beautifully blue eyes, he gestured for Nicolo to follow suit. Nicolo stood there as if frozen in time. Yusuf stood there and chuckled to himself. With one hand holding the umbrella, ready to open it as he went outside, he stretched out the other hand towards Nicolo for him to hold. That made Nicolo smile. Walking towards Yusuf he playfully slapped his hand as he walked on by. They weren’t children anymore and though he had nothing against holding hands with Yusuf he could manage on his own.

torture recovery

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26967829

short fill for this prompt - https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4011.html?thread=1148843#cmt1148843

__________________________________

“Have you gotten comfortable?”

Joe slides a hand up his rib cage and Nicky thinks this is as comfortable as he is going to be.

“Yes. I think so.”

Holding himself apart while he’s ass up and face down on the bed has to have it’s own scale of what comfortable is so that is the best that he can manage.

“The article advised starting with testing hits until we find one you like then we’ll count from there.”

He can feel the heat of Joe behind him as he speaks and it catches.

“Alright.” Nicky replies trying to remain as relaxed as possible.

They have done spanking before. Just not to this degree. He was excited but a little nervous as he wasn’t sure what to expect.

There’s cool leather running up his thigh then underneath his cheek then just barely on the inside.

“Ready my love?” Joe’s asks with gentle strokes of the crop.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

Nicky hears the ‘swish’ of the riding crop in the air the same moment that it strikes at his hole and he flinches.

It felt like a bee sting or a quick smack on the hand. It wasn’t enough.

“Harder”

Joe delivered and this felt like touching a hot stove. it made him want to recoil, his muscles to tense and his fingers to dig harder against his skin. He liked it, but not for receiving 10 blows. It was a one or two type of strike.

“A little less”

His voice took a huskier quality as he spoke and widened his legs beneath him. It seemed comfortable was going to be related to the strength of the leather striking at his rim.

“Should we break?” Joe asks of course noticing his small adjustment.

“No,” Nicky answers heart full of love, “Just a little less. It is good Joe.”

‘Thwack’. The leather strikes his reddening hole like a pinch. The sort that got more painful the longer it was held.

“Yes. Good.”

Nicky says feeling already like he was going to lose his breath. It was becoming more tender.

“We’ll do ten to start, count to keep track”

Joe’s voice is also different when he speaks and Nicky is happy to have this reaction on his husband.

“Yes. Alright”

The crop swishes in the air and there’s another pinch at his rim.

“One” Nicky counts then “Two” when the pinch is sharper and causes his hole to twitch.

‘Thwack’ “Three” It makes him jolt, then “Four” with a gurgle at his throat as his foot flexes and his toes curl.

The pain had increased substantially but so did the diffused pleasure it left behind. Its sensation was beginning to radiate to every point in his body.

His voice broke on “Five” and “Six” barely made it passed his lips and turned to a raspy whisper.

His breathing was shallow and he felt restless in his skin due to the fact that there was a continuous clenching and releasing at his rim as if his body wasn’t sure what it should be doing.

‘Thwack’ He couldn’t find the strength to speak and instead groaned loudly against the sheets, his hole fluttering and sharp bursts of lightning shooting through his spine and settling at his core.

He almost misses the touch at his ankle until his beloved starts etching circles with his fingers.

“You’re doing so well my heart” Joe’s saying somewhere outside of the haze, “We’re almost there, you’re being so good”

Nicky breathes, and thinks ‘three more’.

‘Thwack’ “Eig...” He tries but ends biting his lips against the guttural sounds trying to escape.

‘Nine’ is a whimper that slides his body further up the bed as he’s begun to lose his composure and his muscles started to quiver.

‘One more’ Nicky thinks, the sound of blood rushing eclipsing everything around him.

‘Thwack’ He had been holding his breath and it rushed out of him with a broken sob.

“Ten” he breathes into the pillow with relief as his pulse is racing and his body is trembling.

He’s aware that Joe is speaking but they are separated by a thick cloud and Nicky can not make out what he is saying.

His body is live on a current, point of contact at his hole and that’s the only thing that he feels or hears.

Prompt here: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/953.html?thread=27833#cmt27833

--

In the early days, sweetness was hard to come by. It was a wild and dangerous thing, often sought after but not often found. They used to have to forage for it by hand, climbing trees, breaking branches, and braving the wrath of the hive just for one little taste of the delicious nectar that lay within.

In time, it became easier. Domesticating bees became less of a suicide mission and more of a skill, and soon enough Quynh was as in tune with her hive as she was with her horse. She knew when it was angry, and when it was calm. She could sense when it was about to lash out, and she understood when it needed a soft touch. Best of all, she knew when it was overproducing, and wouldn’t mind if she skimmed some off the top.

Andy always stood back during the harvest, wary of stings despite how quickly they healed, but she enjoyed the fruits of the hive nonetheless—perhaps even more so than Quynh did. It was Andy, after all, who first realized there were more creative things they could do with the honey than simply eat it.

It started innocently enough. They kissed once, while chewing through pieces of honeycomb, and the moan Andy let off at the taste was enough to shake Quynh’s bones. They both ended up with sticky faces, and no honeycomb left for later, but full of ideas for next time.

In those years, they could only harvest honey during the summer, and so they would spend the hottest days just lying in wait, letting the honey seep out from its comb beneath the midday sun. They would lie next to it, sweating in the heat, imagining what they would do once they had the sweetness on their tongues again. Sun-drunk, Quynh called it. Andy had another word for it.

Once the honey was ready, Quynh would scoop it up by hand and drizzle it over her naked body, taking care to make a new pattern each time. Sometimes she let it fall across her whole body, head to toe and back again, setting up an hours-long maze for Andromache to complete. Other times she couldn’t resist her own hunger, and she simply crouched over the pool of honey and dipped her breasts in it, one at a time, until they were shining in the sun as if they’d been dipped in gold. Always she would sit back once finished, reclining on her elbows or against a tree as Andy crawled over her.

“Suck,” Quynh directed one day, holding her honey-covered breast aloft with one hand and using the other to cup the back of Andy’s neck and guide her down to her nipple.

As if she needed the encouragement. The only thing Andy took more seriously than fucking was fighting, though not by much. When she swooped down onto Quynh’s chest it was with a steely determination that she usually reserved solely for battle.

As greedy as a newborn, Quynh often thought with a smile, stroking the back of Andy’s neck as she sucked at her tit. Mostly she kept the comparison to herself, knowing Andy didn’t like it, though sometimes she said it aloud anyway, just to feel Andy bite her nipple hard in retaliation. Today she felt like a gentler day.

“So good, my heart,” Quynh whispered, gathering Andy’s hair carefully in her fist. She twirled the coil around her wrist, partly to keep it from falling into the honey and partly because she knew how Andy loved it when Quynh pulled on her hair as they made love.

For now, she kept things gentle, abiding by the slow pace Andy had set with her tongue. Andy had finally sucked all the honey off of Quynh’s right nipple, and now her tongue lapped outward in slow, ever-growing circles. It wasn’t long until Andy’s entire face was a sticky mess from the work, but she never stopped to clean off or take a breather. Quynh marveled at her work ethic, sweating under the sun as she lay motionless.

Or, as motionless as she could manage. It was impossible to lie completely still when Andy paid this sort of attention to her breasts. She couldn’t go more than a few seconds without squirming, and she tightened her grip on Andy’s hair, and the ground beneath her, so she wouldn’t be tempted to touch herself.

Still, she couldn’t help shifting downward just a little bit. Andy was crouched over her on her hands and knees, and one of her knees was nearly within reach. Quynh had rutted on far worse before, thinking of having Andy inside her. If she could slide herself down far enough…

But no, Andy could sense her moving—of course she could—and she moved her knee out of reach just as Quynh was getting close enough. Quynh swore, and then scowled when she felt Andy laugh against her breast. It didn’t seem right that Andy could manage to have this sort of upper hand when she was supposed to be the one delirious with desire.

In retribution, Quynh tugged on Andy’s hair, jerking her off her tit. Andy groaned, straining against the hold, tipping her chin as far forward as possible and stretching her tongue out. It undulated in the heavy air, seeking its home.

“Look how desperate you are for sweetness,” Quynh smirked, tightening her hold. “You’d pull out all your hair for it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Andy panted, still straining. “Yes, if you want me to.”

“I should fill your cunt up with honey, and then maybe you’ll finally have had enough,” Quynh remarked, relishing the feral whine Andy gave off.

They had tried that before, but truth be told, it had made a bit too much of a mess between Quynh’s thighs to be worth the pleasure. As diligent as Andy was, even her tongue couldn’t reach every crevice, to say nothing of the matted pubic hair, which she’d had to shave off with a dagger later. Still, Quynh knew Andy liked the idea of it. And Quynh had always loved teasing her.

“Would you like that, my heart? To have your sweetness filled with theirs?”

“Quynh, please—”

“Answer, and I’ll let you go.” She slackened her hold just a little, watching as Andy stole the centimeters back. “Answer, and you can return to your feast.”

Andy’s hungry eyes left her honeyed tits and rose, jumpy, to Quynh’s face. They stared at one another for a long moment until finally Andy answered.

“The only thing I want filling me is you,” she whispered, so quiet and careful, as if it were a secret.

Quynh smiled, and loosened her grip.

She expected Andy to duck down and return to her breasts, but instead Andy’s mouth found hers. Quynh moaned into the kiss—it was the first taste of honey she’d had all day—but after the honey was gone, she found she liked the pure taste of Andromache even more.

As Andy deepened the kiss, bringing her hands up to cup Quynh’s face, she shuffled her knees forward until she was crouched down on Quynh’s thigh.

“Mm,” Quynh murmured, breaking the kiss as she felt Andy slide against her. “You’re slick like a fish.”

“For you,” Andy mumbled, burying her face in between Quynh’s breasts as she ground down against Quynh’s thigh. “All for you. Want you.”

“Are you going to come for me like this, my heart?” Quynh whispered, tangling her hands in Andy’s hair again, and pulling on the strands until she arched her back in pain and whined. “Are you going to come in my lap, all covered in honey, too desperate to even wash off first?”

Andy whimpered, riding her leg in earnest as she clutched her shoulder for support.

“Do it, my love. Come for me. Come here, now, and then I will clean you off—every drop of you—with my tongue.”

It was the promise that did her in. Quynh didn’t make promises lightly, and they both knew it. As soon as Andromache returned from the edge, Quynh made good on her word. Andy spent the rest of the afternoon returning the favor.

(Why is this all super-Regency? No idea, that’s just how it came out.)

Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5194.html?thread=1632586#cmt1632586

Yusuf was sitting in the rose garden sketching when he saw Lady Nile approaching. It was a fine warm day in early summer, and he had known the odds of being here undisturbed for more than an hour were low; nevertheless, Lady Nile was perhaps the last person he wished to speak with right now. He looked around, but the garden was hedged in, and there was nowhere to go without making it obvious he was snubbing her. He sighed internally, and put down his pencil.

“My lord,” she said. “I see you are busy, but may we speak?”

“Only sketching,” Yusuf said.

“Art is a worthy pursuit, and not only anything,” she said, seating herself a little way along the marble bench. “I wish I were left alone to my own work more often, so please believe me, I am not disturbing yours lightly.”

“This is not my work – only my pleasure.”

“Again,” she said, smiling wistfully, “we should not discount the things that give us pleasure. But yes, I know you are Prince Nicolò’s chancellor. Or the kingdom’s, rather.”

“I don’t meant to be rude,” Yusuf said, “but is it proper for you to be speaking with your betrothed’s chancellor, without any chaperone?”

“Lady Andromache is waiting at the entrance to the garden,” she replied promptly, “and I am thought to have a very good set of lungs, in the unlikely event that I needed her assistance.”

Yusuf held up his hands. “Believe me, my lady, I mean you no harm. It is only – until you are married, for your sake and Prince Nicolò’s, your reputation…”

“I know,” she said, making a very petulant face for a second; Yusuf, despite his wish to dislike her, bit his lip on a laugh. “It is very unfair, don’t you agree?”

“Exceedingly, but unfortunately I don’t make the rules of proper behaviour. If I did, I promise they would be much less rigorous, and much kinder.”

Lady Nile laughed. “I think I believe that.” She fiddled with her reticule. “My lord Chancellor…I am here on my mother-in-law to be’s recommendation.”

“Really?” said Yusuf, who had not been expecting that at all. “Queen Maria advised you to speak to me?” He racked his brain for why that might be. “Is it about the matter of your dowry, and its management –”

“I do want to talk to you about that, since I heard Prince Nicolò leaves all such matters in your hands, but no. She said, if I wished to know my betrothed better, and understand what might come of our marriage, I should speak with you – that you had been great friends since you were young and knew his heart better than anyone.”

Yusuf closed his eyes and counted to ten. It didn’t help. “How…very kind of the queen.”

“You are good friends, are you not?” Lady Nile said, sounding a little anxious. “I thought I had observed it.”

Yusuf kept his mouth shut, and looked away, at the hedge. If he said anything, it was going to ruin – everything, and he owed Nicolò better; he owed even the queen better, as she had supported Nicolò in appointing him to his current role, as his Regent; he simply could not make himself speak. It had been enough of an effort to stand there while Nicolò pledged himself to marry Lady Nile, and smile as though he were pleased about it. To speak with her about Nicolò - he did not know how to begin.

“Please,” Lady Nile said. She put a hand on Yusuf’s, where he was still holding his pencil. “It is – difficult, coming to a new court, and knowing little of what is going on under the surface. I do not mean to be unkind. If there is…anything I should know, that I may not offend later, I beg you tell me. I am not a spreader of secrets.”

“It isn’t a secret,” Yusuf said, his voice sounding rusty to his own ears. “And it would be unkind and more than unkind if you were not told, but I thought Nicolò might…”

“I have not seen him since the betrothal two days past,” said Lady Nile. She took her hand away, but Yusuf turned back to face her, and she was sitting within reach now.
“Believe me, I wish to speak with him, but any such meeting, until we are married, will certainly be chaperoned in reality and not in gesture, and I do not think it will lend itself to private conversation. Unless he wishes to work for it.”

“I think I begin to see the queen’s mind here.” Yusuf sighed. Lady Nile looked so earnest, and was so far from her own home. “Very well, my lady, if you will have it plainly: the prince is the joy of my life and the light of my eyes; I have loved him since we were boys and I will love him until we are grey; I know he feels the same, as I know the breath in my own lungs; but kings need heirs, and he will not have them from me.” He managed, barely, to bite back and not for lack of trying. “And so he is to marry you.”

He expected Lady Nile show some sign of embarrassment, or to hear her utter some protest; even for her to flee the garden. He had hoped for it, a little, to cut this short. Instead she looked at him with surprise that melted into kindness, and it was worse. Or better. He could not say.

“And you say this isn’t a secret.”

“It is not spoken of casually, but no.” Yusuf gave her a wry smile. “I do not mean to offend by saying this, but we were not very discreet when we were younger, and obviously I am still at court, and favored, so…”

She gave a very un-lady-like snort. “Oh, I can imagine, my lord. We are none of us very discreet when we are that age; it is just that girls are warned against it more strictly.”

“Er,” Yusuf said. “Just so.”

“Well,” said Lady Nile, folding out her fan and waving it briskly; the day was very warm. “That explains a great deal, and it was right of my mama-in-law to tell me, but I really do not see why she could not have told me herself and saved you the embarrassment.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” said Yusuf, startled. “I merely did not want to upset you, when as you say, you are so new here and do not know the currents under the surface.” And when he did not know if she might have some turn of jealousy, or demand he be sent from court. She would not win the battle, but it would have been unpleasant for everybody if she had been minded to try. He raised an eyebrow. “Besides which, it would be a poor start with the queen to be, to tell her something she might not want to hear. Queens and kings do not do well with that, I find, or at least the king Nicolò’s father did not.”

“They do not if they are poor queens and kings,” Lady Nile said in the forthright tones of someone who had opinions on that subject. “You will forgive my brashness, but I do not intend to be one of those.”

“My lady, you do not seem set for it, based on our brief acquaintance.”

“You are very kind,” said Lady Nile, and gave him an impish smile from behind her fan.
Yusuf smiled back hesitantly and was surprised by how like flirting this felt, except that he did not mean or desire to flirt with her at all, and doubted she did with him. “Which I am glad for; I feel it would be best if we could be friends.”

“I – would hope so too,” Yusuf said, surprised again, but not finding himself displeased. “Since we are…exchanging confidences, may I ask – is there anyone you have left behind, for this betrothal?”

“No,” Lady Nile said, glancing towards the entrance of the garden. Yusuf could just make out a tall woman standing by the hedge there. She was dressed as Lady Nile was, in the fashion of the court, but she stood like a soldier. “Nobody I have left behind.” She caught Yusuf’s eye. “But I promise, you need not fear any bastards from me.”

“Then you and the prince are set to have the most remarkably bastard-free marriage this court has seen in some decades,” Yusuf said; Prince Nicolò had five or six siblings, though only he and his older sister were true-born. The old king had not been notably faithful.

“It is my great hope we will deal well together.” Lady Nile put her fan down. “I liked him, in what speech we were permitted to have.”

“Well, I can sing you all his praises if you like, but you know already they will not be an unbiased account.”

She laughed. “I understand. Perhaps another time. May I ask what you were drawing?”

“Certainly,” Yusuf said, relieved at the turn of conversation, and opened his sketchbook; he had been drawing the statue in the centre of the garden. He kept his hand on the page, lest she turn it; despite her equanimity, he did not think she needed to see a portrait of her betrothed without any clothes on.

“You are very good,” she said approvingly. “I enjoy drawing, but my favourite is when I get to work in oils; I have not been able to do it often, as it is considered inappropriate for a young lady. My teacher kept trying to turn me back to watercolors.”

“Oh, watercolors are all very well if that is the effect you intend, but they are not at all a substitute,” Yusuf said, and they had a very agreeable discussion about different mediums of painting for a good quarter-hour; Lady Nile proved extremely knowledgeable in the matter, and seemed more excited about the prospect of overseeing the palace’s art collection than the rank of queen she was about to ascend to. Prince Nicolò would be crowned once he was wed.

It was Nicolò who intruded upon their conversation, with Lady Andromache on his arm. Yusuf had not seen much of her, at the betrothal, among Lady Nile’s companions; she moved like a soldier as well as stood like one, never mind her skirts. Yusuf was fascinated to know the story there.

“Forgive me,” Nicolò said, “but my mother said she had…and Lady Andromache and I thought perhaps we should not leave you both unchaperoned.”

“You mean to chaperone me, my prince?” Yusuf said.

“Well, you are unwed, my lord Chancellor,” Nicolò teased him, and his smile struck Yusuf anew, as it did every day; loving Nicolò was part of his very soul.

“Oh, is that what the queen wanted you to talk about,” Lady Andromache said, with some fascination.

“I beg your pardon?” Nicolò said.

“You know,” Lady Nile said, “I hate to criticize, but you aren’t very discreet even now, you know, Lord Yusuf.”

“We’re not in the habit,” said Yusuf. “Er. We will try harder.”

“No we won’t,” Nicolò said, unexpectedly firm. “Lady Nile, forgive me, I mean you no disrespect in the world, but I think perhaps it is time to tell you that –”

Lady Nile stood. “There is no need, I promise; the Chancellor and I have been having a most fascinating discussion.”

“About oil painting?” Lady Andromache said. “That was the topic I heard.”

“It ranged across many subjects,” said Lady Nile.

“Is that what they call it here,” said Lady Andromache, grinning.

“Andromache, come,” Lady Nile said. “I’m sure the Prince and the Chancellor have duties they must attend to, and I have not seen even a quarter of the gardens.”

“If one was looking for a place to have a truly private conversation,” Yusuf mused, “one might try the water garden; the noise of the fountains makes it very hard to overhear anything. And it is at the far end, and almost nobody comes there except the gardeners.”

“And us,” Nicolò said, quietly, but not so quietly that the ladies did not hear him.

“How interesting,” said Lady Nile. She turned to Nicolò. “Your highness; I hope we will have the opportunity to speak, perhaps with…trusted company…before the wedding. I feel there is much we could discuss. I would hate to start our marriage on the wrong foot.”

Nicolò glanced at Yusuf, who nodded. “My lady, I will be sure to arrange it.” He hesitated, for a minute looking younger than his years. “You are…not what I expected.”

“I do not think any of us are what we expected,” said Lady Nile. “And all the better for it.”

“Quite so,” Nicolò said, and kissed her hand. She let him, with a quiet smile. As she walked off, Yusuf had cause to observe that next to Andromache, Lady Nile had a little of the soldier in her gait as well; now that was fascinating.

“Would it upset you, my heart,” Nicolò said, sitting down next to him, “if I said that I liked her?”

“No, love,” Yusuf said, taking his hand. “I think I do as well.”

Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5194.html?thread=1620554#cmt1620554

*

Obviously this was a dream.

Booker stared at the mirror, from which Nicky's befuddled face stared back. He raised an eyebrow; Nicky raised his. He poked at his stomach; Nicky poked at his.

He had woken up alone in bed - a bed which he only now realized was in a safe house which was familiar to him but was not the one he'd passed out in the night before - and shuffled to the bathroom yawning, only to yelp at the apparition in the mirror. That had been about ten minutes ago, as far as he could tell, and Nicky's face had yet to resolve into his own, or into anything more obviously hallucinatory.

He would wake up any minute now, surely. Splashing cold water on his face hadn’t worked. Pinching himself cruelly - the delicate skin under Nicky’s arm blooming black and blue in a way that did feel nightmarish - hadn't worked.

He could shoot his dream-self in the dream-head to wake up, presumably. He knew without looking that Nicky had a gun on the night table, if he was feeling relaxed, or under his pillow, if he wasn’t. He and Nicky’s face grimaced at each other. Somehow the thought of putting the muzzle to Nicky's temple and pulling the trigger didn't appeal.

He realized he could hear voices, dimly, filtering up from downstairs. Andy and Nile. They texted him occasionally. They called him more rarely, separately or together, and even Joe had called, once, recently, but he hadn't heard their voices in person in one year, two months, one week, and three days. Not that he was counting.

He hadn’t spoken to Nicky since London.

So it was a dream. Fine. And why shouldn't he have a good dream, for fucking once? Wasn’t he due?

Nicky’s face twisted in the mirror, looking peevish and aggrieved. Ah, there I am, Booker thought, and laughed at himself. It would be just like him, he thought, to ruin the first good dream he'd had in years with anger over the good dreams he hadn’t had. On brand, as Nile might say, and in the mirror Nicky's mouth tilted in a rueful smile that almost looked right on his face.

*

Andy and Nile were lazing on the couch in the living room to his left as he came to the bottom of the stairs. There was a movie playing on the TV, something bright and playful. Nile was singing along with one of the characters, and Andy was trying and failing to look severe.

"Good morning," he said.

He couldn’t tell what his voice sounded like. It didn’t sound like him, but it didn’t sound like Nicky, either. But of course he had no idea what Nicky’s voice sounded like, to himself, inside his own head. He blinked and wondered if it was possible to give his dream-self a dream-headache.

"Good morning," Nile said, smiling over her shoulder. She had a wonderful smile. He’d miss it when he woke up, even more than usual. “Coffee’s on.”

"Thanks." He wondered if he should go sit down between them, sink down into the worn cushions and close his eyes and let the warmth of their company cover him like a blanket. He wanted to. But it might put him to sleep, which might wake him up, and he wasn’t ready to leave. “Where's Joe?"

"Went for a run," Andy said, looking back at him with the mildest of questions in her eyes. "Same time as every morning," she added, and he shrugged, smiling, trying to look extra-sleepy to account for any confusion.

She hummed and turned back to the movie. Her feet were resting on the coffee table and her toes were twitching, ever so slightly, to the cheerful music. Booker took a deep breath, memorizing the sight, then turned right and went into the kitchen. Maybe coffee would keep him awake, which would keep him asleep. Dream logic.

He walked through the swinging door, letting it shut behind him, to find that Joe was not on his run anymore, but instead was sitting in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, his shirt damp with sweat, leaning over to untie his running shoes. Booker froze.

Joe looked up and smiled, happy and loving and open, and Booker met his eyes and took a breath.

A single breath.

Then Booker was crashing back through the swinging door, the kinetic energy of Joe's entire body powering him backwards and down, and he couldn’t do anything but fall.

Not a dream, he thought, astonished, as Joe pinned him to the floor.

He gaped up at Joe, only vaguely aware of Andy and Nile making surprised noises somewhere behind and above his head. The cheap carpet was rough against his hands, the backs of his arms. His shoulders ached from where they'd hit the door and the floor in rapid succession. Joe's familiar hands were steady; his grip inescapable. This is real, he thought, helplessly, his mind spinning, but this has to be a dream, but this isn’t a dream, but this has to be a dream. No sound escaped his lips.

Joe looked straight down into his eyes, Nicky's eyes, the eyes Joe knew best in the world, windows to the soul Joe had loved wholly for almost a thousand years, and said, "Who the fuck are you?"

Prompt
AU where Joe is an artist. Or he used to be until his previous partner broke both of his hands. Now, he's got some lasting damage to his hands that make it very difficult to work.

https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4108.html?thread=1374220&posted=1#cmt1656332

Fill:
A Work in Progress

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26971801

Prompt: What it says on the tin folks.

Bonus points for some filthy dirty talk from Joe about how well Nicky takes his cock.

Author's Note: This went a little wild but, the cap is there!

“Why did you do that?” Nicky’s eyes narrowed as he looked towards Joe.

“Do what?” Joe just stood there, not turning around to look at Nicky as he spoke.

“You know what!” Nicky spat. He was angry. Angry at Joe for doing something so stupid, angry at him for not thinking he could take care of himself. 
“Is this about the mission?” Joe asked, a small smirk forming on his face.

“You jumped right in front of me!” Nicky shouted as he stepped closer. “I could have killed you!”

Nicky was fuming. The thought of him accidentally shooting Joe had been scratching at the back of his mind since the incident. Yes, they had killed each other many times before and each time had been forgiven since but this, this was different. Every day was a gift, every time they woke up was a gift. He couldn’t live with the thought of personally adding another tally mark to the number of deaths they had each survived.

“What if it had been the last time!” Tears welled in Nicky’s eyes as he took more steps towards Joe, wanting the man to look at him.

Joe moved quickly. He swung around, grabbing Nicky by the neck and slamming him down on the table beside them. Nicky gasped as he hit the hard surface below. He tried to push himself up but Joe had him pinned. He struggled for a bit, becoming frustrated that Joe had overpowered him. Joe pressed down on him harder, never hurting Nicky but, letting him feel his full weight across his entire body.

“Harder.”

Joe went still. Not sure if he heard correctly.

“Say it again.” Joe’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Please.” Nicky sobbed.

Joe went feral at that. In one swift motion he lifted his hand off of Nicky’s neck and to the brim of his cap, shifting it backwards. With the cap out of the way he leaned forward, his breath ghosting over Nicky’s ear. His hand then fell towards Nicky’s front. He quickly made work of Nicky’s belt and shoved his pants down just enough, working on his own after. He thought about prep, wanted to, but something in his mind was telling him to not even try. So he took himself in hand grinding into Nicky, letting him feel what he was about to get. Nicky lay there, barely making a sound, let alone a movement.

“Yes?” Joe questioned. The only word he felt he could get out at that moment. If Nicky said no, shook his head, faltered for even one second Joe would stop in a heartbeat.

Nicky didn’t. A simple nod was all it took and Joe pressed forward, pushing inside of the man below him, feeling the tight heat as he made way for his hips to fully press against Nicky’s backside. Nicky was tight, too tight. It didn’t matter though, he needed to feel this. Wanted to. The tears he had been holding back fell down his cheeks as Joe kept pressing forward. Once all the way in Joe looked down at the man below him. Nicky was shaking, obviously in pain, but Joe could see the tinge of pink spread across his cheeks. He adjusted his arms, no longer needing to hold Nicky down, and made his way to fully envelop the man underneath him.

“This is why.” Joe let out. His voice low, almost in a snarl.

Nicky whimpered at that. Joe hadn’t moved since pushing inside of him but Nicky wanted him too. He shifted underneath the man above him, trying to get Joe to move.

“You do not get to make the rules after questioning my actions for you.” Joe’s voice was cold. Hurt even.

Joe didn’t move for quite some time. He kept leaning into Nicky, as if their bodies would become one if hey lay there long enough. He was pressed so tightly as if to suffocate the space around Nicky. Then with one movement he slowly shifted his hips back, almost pulling completely out of the pliant body beneath him. Then he completely stopped.

“Understand this.” Joe gritted out. “I will do it again.”

Joe snapped his hips forward with such force that Nicky felt all the air leave his lungs. He cried out, grasping at the table beneath him. It hurt. Pulling out and slamming back in Joe moved his hands to Nicky’s wrists. He held them firm as he pushed deep into Nicky, feeling as Nicky would squirm underneath him. Nicky’s body was struggling with itself. Each thrust meant a slow drag of Joe’s cock out of him and then a deep plunge back in. He wanted it, wanted to feel the man he loved above him, knowing he was still alive. It hurt though and he had to fight himself every time Joe would push back inside. Nicky didn’t want to move away, he wanted to keep this feeling.

“Take it.” Joe growled. “Take what I give you.”

“You wanted my attention,” Joe thrust forward, “you wanted a good fuck and now you are getting it.”

One particularly angled thrust left Nicky mewling, voice rough and breaking. Joe had sped up his thrusts, barely giving Nicky a chance to recover from the force.

“Sometimes I wish you wouldn’t heal.” Joe stoped.

Nicky almost died in that moment. If Joe didn’t want him to heal then why had he stepped in front of him? Why did he say he would do it again? Nicky felt all the pleasure drifting away and the pain taking over.

“I can thrust into you over and over,” Joe’s voice was shaky, “hoping that you will feel the shape of my cock for days but you won’t.”

Nicky breathed out. Letting go of the lump he had felt in his throat the minute he thought Joe didn’t want him.

“I want to be able to mark you so that when we are apart you know that I am yours. Always with you.” Joe’s thrusts were becoming erratic. The grip on Nicky’s wrists tightening.

Joe kept pushing forward. Snapping his hips as if he would never get another chance. Over and over he thrust into Nicky. He was close, so close, but he didn’t want it to end. Joe wanted to fuck Nicky forever. He wanted to feel that closeness, know that Nicky could feel him, need him. Make sure that Nicky knew he was always there for him, would always protect him, give his life for him over and over. With one last frantic snap of his hips Joe lunged forward, deep into Nicky as he released inside the man below him.

Breathing heavily, he slowly lifted himself up, cock still deep inside as he ran his hand over his face, up towards his cap. He rested his hand there for a moment, grasping at the stiff fabric, as he caught his breath. He looked down at Nicky. His love was shaking. From anger, fear, or lust, he couldn’t tell. Joe pulled out slowly, eliciting a sharp sound from Nicky. As he tucked himself back into his pants he knelt down. He let his thumb hook where he had been connected to Nicky. Saw the skin there, red and bruised. He knew it wouldn’t last long.

He pulled Nicky’s pants back up. Fastening the belt again. Not a word had been spoken between them since his release. Nicky was still hunched over the table. Not moving except in the ways Joe adjusted him. Joe thought for a minute that this might have been it. This might be the moment in which he went too far. He shuddered at the thought. Nicky would have stopped him if he didn’t want it. Wouldn’t he? Joe made to turn Nicky over. He wanted to see his love’s face and make sure he was okay.

The site that greeted him was something else. Nicky’s hair was a mess, cheeks completely flushed and tear stained, eyes red. His lip was swollen from where it had collided with the table. His wrists were fully bruised as well as a mark on his neck. Joe had thoroughly fucked him.

“Commit this to memory.” Nicky smiled. Joe’s mouth fell agape, eyes wide.

“I always feel you.” Nicky looked up at Joe. “I always crave you.”

It was now Joe’s turn to have tears.

“I may heal but your touch never leaves me.” Nicky took Joe’s hand, led it to rest on his heart. “Your love is always with me, as mine is with you.

Joe shook his head in agreement. Taking Nicky in his arms, holding him close. They sat there for a while. Nicky resting his head on Joe’s shoulder as Joe rubbed circles into his back. Eventually they agreed it was time for a wash and maybe a nice long nap. As Nicky headed towards the shower Joe watched him. Knowing, Nicky stopped at the door, turning the handle but not entering.

“Oh and Joe,” Nicky said over his shoulder, “I never forget the shape of your cock.”

for the prompt about non-sexual kneeling. please take this op im sorry its short

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999935

The first time it happens is an accident.

One moment, Joe’s rocking into Nicky with all of the intensity and focus that Nicky deserves when the next, Nicky is gasping in pain and shoving against him. Joe jerks back but Nicky lets out a sharp hiss so he stills himself, cock half way out while the rest of him is still buried deep inside of the pink and twitching rim.

Joe pets Nicky’s hips, a small comfort that helps him to relax before leaning over and kissing the backs of Nicolo’s shoulders.

“Have I hurt you, Hayati?”

Nicky brings a hand between his legs, thumbing at the newly healed skin stretched tight around Joe's dick. Strange...he could've sworn that-

“N-no I thought- I thought for a moment that maybe you had, but all is good now,” Nicky sighs, glancing over his shoulder at Joe with a wink. “Keep going, please.”

What kind of husband would Joe be, to deny him that?

*

The next time it happens, Joe is the first to notice.

They've been at it for days now, fucking non-stop in order to make up for lost time, and maybe that's the reason why it happens. They are on their sixth or seventh round (lost count sometime around the fourth,) and they haven't stopped going since.

Joe’s got Nicky folded over himself in the middle of their hotel room floor. He’s got both of his lover’s legs thrown over his shoulders, pounding Nicky into the carpet with abandon when suddenly he lets out that soft little sound of pain again, Joe can’t help but freeze mid-thrust.

“Why’d you stop?” Nicky groans, cracking an eye open.

“Nicky,” Joe gasps, glancing down to where their bodies meet. “You have…you’re…”

“I’m what?”

“Prolapsed,” Joe says, eyes wide, watching as the inner lining of Nicky’s hole unfolds and hugs itself around his cock in a warm heat that pulses with a heartbeat of its own. It is the red color of viscera, somehow contained by the internal lining of his rectum. The folds of it remind Joe of a rosebud, clenched tight against the harshness of winter.

Joe can’t help himself, he pets at the slick tissues slipping out of his husband’s ass with a quiet sound of awe.

“Joe,” Nicky says with a shudder, face screwed up slightly from the feel of his body healing itself around Joe’s cock. His asshole clenches around Joe with a newly healed tightness, his dick twitches with interest, once again filling itself out after softening from the initial bite of pain.

It is a strange sensation, but a part of Nicolo is…starting to enjoy it.

“Nicky-“

“Hayati, please, continue.”

“But-“

Nicky grinds himself up on Joe’s dick, gasping at the sensitivity. He can feel that part of his body begin to open Into a sluggish gape once again, and it thrills him.

“Please,” Nicky moans, wrapping his arms around Joe’s neck and bringing him down for a kiss. “Keep going.”

His body has begun to heal itself again, squeezing down on Joe’s cock like it was made for him. Joe can’t help the moan that escapes him, he presses a kiss to Nicky’s brow, then the mark at the side of his cheek and then finally, on the fine lips of his mouth, just as red as the rosebud forming where their two bodies meet.

Joe pants a question against his mouth. “Are you sure?”

“Yes," Nicky gasps, rolling his hips. "Yes. Please. Continue.”

What kind of husband would Joe be, to deny him that?

Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2998.html?thread=764854#cmt764854

“A wild Nicolo appears, with the setting of the sun he has abandoned his shelter and come in search of food”

Nile raises her head to peer over the couch to see Nicky standing in the doorway with a glare usually reserved for their enemies fixed pointedly at Joe who sat at the table alone.

“Blue eyes the color of the sea and just as vast, he attempts to strike fear in the heart of his prey but it does not work...”

Nicky walks into the room and goes to the small kitchen, completely ignoring the love of his life and Nile turns to Andy in confusion.

“...What is happening?” She tries as low as she could managed without whispering.

“Joe does this whenever he wants to sleep on the couch for a few days” Andy replies unfazed, her eyes still glued to the television.

“So... they’re... fighting?” Nile was even more confused by the explanation. She’s still very new. It’s only been a few months of traveling with the group but Joe and Nicky truly seemed like the perfect couple. She had assumed 900 years meant there was nothing else to fight about.

“He assessed the refrigerator and found it lacking, dinner was going to be difficult”

“Not yet” Andy says just as bored as before and Nile really wishes she would give a little bit more. She turns her attention back to the pair of lovers.

“Ah... what’s this? The wild Nicolo has found something that peaked his interest. Deadly hands retrieved the bag of carrots. Steadfast...”

“...I don’t get it...” Nile turns to Andy again and she gives a deep sigh and finally looks at her.

“Honestly, none of us do. It’s better if you just ignore it.”

But she couldn’t because Nicky was violently chopping up carrots and Joe was narrating about ‘skill and precision of a deadly hand that is so adept at caring for others’

“...Should I be worried about Joe getting stabbed?” Nile was genuinely concerned and Andy was way too chill and she felt a little like she was losing her mind.

“Probably not?” Andy says but doesn’t sound sure enough to be comforting.

“He takes a pot from the cupboards, an instrument to contain sustenance for his pack...”

“...okay.” Nile says with her attention back to watch Nicky walk around the kitchen like he was working very hard to not strangle his husband.

“Okay.” Nile repeats and decides she needs to see how this plays out.

prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5194.html?thread=1702474#cmt1702474

Joe and Nicky are together and bonded. They've had some issues, as it's not generally accepted for an omega to bond to a beta, and not an alpha. Joe and Nicky don't care, though. They're as together as they love each other and ignore the naysayers.
Joe uses knotting dildos with Nicky when he needs to, and Joe is the only one who sees Nicky through his heats.
The issue starts when Booker joins the team. He finds it offensive that an omega is bonded to a beta, and thinks Nicky should be with him instead of Joe (also not going to happen). He tries to push Nicky into fucking him (Nicky would never) and break Nicky's bond with Joe.
Nicky has no intention of ever fucking Booker and has no desire to be bonded to anyone but Joe.
At the lab, Booker claims that he would never have betrayed them if Nicky had been a proper omega and bonded with Booker, instead of staying with Joe.
What's the fallout from this?
Again, please do not have Booker join Joe and Nicky. This is not a threesome, Joe and Nicky want no one but each other.

This goes on AO3 once it's done, there'll be a part 2 focused on Joe and Nicky next!
____

The words drop into the room like a bombshell.
“Yeah well, if Nicky had been a proper Omega and let me claim him the way he should’ve, we wouldn’t be here!”
For a second, Nicky thinks someone shot him, or maybe the insane scientist started another of her tests. His lungs don’t seem to function as intended, because he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but lie there and stare at the Alpha strapped down on Andy’s other side.
Joe makes a noise Nicky hasn’t heard from him in a long, long time – a wordless sound of rage, primitive and powerful. He yanks on his restraints, and Nicky is absolutely certain that if he was free – or if he got free, somehow, right now – he would tear Booker limb from limb, not necessarily with his saif.
It wakes Nicky up rather effectively, too. Rage bubbles up from deep in his soul, but now is not the time nor the place, and he needs to calm Joe down before the man hurts himself trying to get to Booker. It would heal, of course it would, but Nicky will not have Joe hurt for a single second because of Booker if he can prevent it.
“Shhh, Yusuf, calm yourself,” he says, turning onto his side as far as he can, turning towards Joe. He wishes he could tuck Joe’s face into his neck, soothe him with his touch and scent, but his voice will have to do. He slips into the mix of Ligurian and Arabic they spoke at the very start, old and familiar and hopefully enough to call Joe back to him. “You are my mate,” he tells Joe, holds those wide, angry eyes when Joe finally looks at him. “I neither want nor need anyone else. Hush, my darling. Now is not the time.”
For a moment, he thinks it useless because Joe stares at him, but he keeps pulling against his restraints and his eyes are still so wide and angry. “Please,” he whispers, and that seems to do the trick: Joe breathes deep, and slumps. Nicky breathes a sigh of relief and keeps his gaze on Joe, ignores Booker’s ranting and Andy’s stony silence and all the implications. His priority is Joe, has always been since the day their hands met on the sands of a far-away land, and nothing will change that.
This is not the first knotheaded Alpha to make disparaging remarks about an Omega mating a Beta, and Nicky knows it won’t be the last. They’ve weathered them all, proven them all wrong – Joe is all Nicky has ever needed, ever wanted. Modern amenities make it easier, yes, and he loves it when Joe uses toys to mimic a knot and fucks him silly… but it isn't needed. They’ve made do for centuries before those were an option, and Nicky hasn’t gone unsatisfied a single heat since Joe’s fingers closed around his, that long-ago day.
No, Booker isn't the first to make unwelcome remarks and advances because Nicky chose a Beta as his mate. He just is the first they trusted to have their backs, despite this having been an issue from the start. He’d never let them down when it counted – or so Nicky thought. Now, he wants to call everything into question, and that hurts in a way no stupid remark about who he chose as a mate ever could.
Nicky tucks his own anger down deep and holds Joe’s gaze, watches him breathe. Finally, Joe gives him a tiny smile, and Nicky smiles back as his world rights itself.

Nile rescues them, because of course she does. This woman with her young heart and old eyes, who still has ideals she clings to and who will be a fresh breath of air to all of them, stuck as they have been in their ways. Nile, who challenges Andy in a way none of them have done in centuries – Joe and Nicky because they know Andy’s grief and still feel the need to shield her in whatever small ways she will let them, Booker because he doesn’t have the balls.
Their escape is a dance of bullets and blood and death, and Nicky’s only regrets are the pain in Joe’s eyes where he hovers over Nicky when he gasps back to life, a mocking halo of his own blood around his head, and that he isn't the one to end the rotten bastard who thought he could use them as lab mice. He is a barrier between Joe and Booker in the car, because he knows his beloved – Joe’s anger is still burning high, and it is best if he can pretend Booker isn't there at all. Nicky himself deals with having the Alpha pressed to his side with gritted teeth and the dregs of his control. The clear line of sight he has through the windshield helps, as does the gun he’s still holding in one hand. He is not above ramming the muzzle into Booker’s leg whenever the man twitches as if he might want to start talking.
The uneasy truce holds, aided by their mutual desire to get as far away from Merrick Pharmaceuticals as humanly possible, as fast as humanly possible. It even holds all the way to one of their safehouses, out of the car and into the house itself.
It shatters when Nicky ignores Joe’s gesture towards the stairs and the waiting shower and walks through into the kitchen, because he wants a bottle of water yesterday and the blood matting down his hair and drenching the back of his shirt will not get any worse for the five minutes he will take to drain said bottle – and Booker has the gall to snort and open his mouth.
“He can’t even treat you right in this,” he says, scorn dripping from every word. “No omega should keep walking around like… like that.”
Nicky stops dead in his tracks as the thin, thin strand of his patience snaps. The anger he’d stuffed into a mental corner back in the lab bubbles up again, and this time it’s not just anger. It’s all the little remarks Booker made over the years. It’s his shameless attempts to take Nicky to his bed, the constant unwelcome touches he ignored because he thought the damn Alpha would eventually tire of them. It’s all the remarks he made about Joe’s inadequacy, all the times he barged in on them as they were making love or just plain fucking.
It’s the pheromones he made a point to leave on Nicky’s clothes, more than once, just before a heat. As if Nicky didn’t know exactly who his mate was, and who he wanted in his bed. As if their bond might be broken by weak pheromones.
The rage bubbles forth, and on the heels of it wakes something old, something that rarely stirs these days. Nicky lets it wash over him, allows his heartbeat to pick up and his breath to slow in anticipation. He knows he’s grinning as he turns, and a part of him notices Nile stepping back, wide-eyed as she catches his expression. He notes Joe had advanced on Booker, who stands in the middle of the almost-empty room that once was the living room as if he has all the right to be there. He notes Andy just behind Joe, face pale and furious, and wonders if she was about to hold Joe back or help him.
It doesn’t matter.
This is Nicky’s show now, and by the God of his past, he will deliver.

Nile freezes when Nicky turns on his heel.
He’d been nothing but kind and gentle with her, that evening in Goussainville when she’d still been mostly shell-shocked by the abrupt change of her life, by the choices that had been taken from her and the ones she was facing now. She’d been reeling and alone even among those who were like her, those men and that woman who were so singularly able to understand her as nobody else in the world could, now.
It had been Nicky who’d asked about food intolerances when he made dinner, Nicky who showed her where she could sleep, Nicky who made sure she had a pillow and a sleeping bag and a goddamn toothbrush. He’d been intense, yes, but also… calm, and gentle. Sure, she’d since seen him kill his way through the hired guns at Merrick Pharmaceuticals, and he’d been quick and competent and unflinching from the violence – but this, this is something else.
The smile on his face is cold and shows far too many teeth, and his eyes are chips of blue-green ice. The blood spattered over his face just adds to the expression, and suddenly she has no problem at all, imagining him with a sword in his hand on an ancient battleground.
She steps back on instinct until her back hits the wall, and feels slightly vindicated when Joe and Andy do the same – though Joe does it far, far slower, and when his shoulders hit the wall, he leans back against it as if he might be watching a particularly interesting match of chess. Nile blinks at him, at his nonchalance, and then she sees his hands: clawed where they dig into the fabric of his shirt over his elbows. She understands. Joe’s nonchalance is a thin veneer, and he’s just as furious as Nicky looks to be, beneath it.
Booker, she notices when she looks at the Alpha, doesn’t seem to understand just how fucked he is.
“I have had it with your remarks and your frankly unwanted offers,” Nicky says, and his voice has gone cold in a way Nile instinctively knows is wrong. Nicky isn't supposed to sound like that – but it works. Her own hair wants to stand on end, and she isn't even in his focus. “You’ve been fucking insufferable about our relationship from the start. You think you know how I want to be treated? You think I can’t make those decisions by myself perfectly well?”
“It’s not your place,” Booker insists, and fuck he sounds obnoxious. Nile has heard the whole it’s not your place shit before, though that wasn’t about her secondary gender but about being a woman who chose a soldier’s career. “An Omega should mate an Alpha who can take proper care of them. Everywhere.”
Nicky snorts, and his hands clench and unclench. “You think you can leave me wet with a single glance, a single word?” he taunts. “I’ve got news for you, Sebastièn: your pheromones disgust me. You think you can satisfy me? You couldn’t even dream to actually claim me if I had a hand tied to my back the whole time.”
Booker draws himself up to his full height, all insulted Alpha, and growls. Nile presses herself more firmly against the wall. Booker charges Nicky, who sidesteps with an elegance Nile doesn’t think she’s seen before. He slams an elbow into Booker’s back as the Alpha passes him, and Nile winces. Booker grunts, and then he’s turning and charging again, and this time Nicky meets him head-on.
They’re angled so Nile can’t really see how he does it, but Nicky throws Booker’s not-insubstantial weight over his shoulder in a smooth roll, tucks and comes up ready as Booker slams into the floor. He stretches and grins down at Booker, cold and cruel and entirely different from the Nicky Nile met before.
There’s a soft huff next to her, and Nile looks up and sees Joe – and he’s smiling. What the fuck.
A growl wrenches Nile’s attention back to the men in the middle of the room. Booker has gotten back onto his feet. He doesn’t stay there for long, Nicky’s fist breaking his nose with a solid crunching noise. Blood washes down over his mouth, and while the break itself heals fast, the blood remains. Nicky delicately shakes his hand out. “Had enough yet?” he asks, and when Booker wipes his mouth on his sleeve and snarls at him, laughs. “Guess not.”
Booker actually manages to grab Nicky’s arm this time, and Nile holds her breath because if Booker tries to get his teeth anywhere Nicky’s throat, she’s pretty sure Joe will lose it – but she soon sees she needn’t have worried.
Nicky uses Booker’s grip on his forearm to pull him in close, then drops him with a swift knee to the groin and a palm to the chin. Booker crashes into the wooden floor hard enough to rattle the furniture, making a high, pained noise, and Nicky follows him down with all the grace of a cat. His knee slams into Booker’s chest, and Nile just knows he’s putting all his weight onto that point of contact. She thinks she can hear a rib or two break upon impact. Nicky pins Booker to the floor with that knee. There’s a sudden gleam of metal in his hand, and Booker screams.
Nile doesn’t flinch when she sees blood bloom on his jeans, between his legs. Nicky’s blade stills, and his hand in Booker’s hair pulls his head back until his throat is bared. Nicky’s voice is very, very quiet and very, very cold as he speaks.
“If I thought it would take, I would cut your fucking balls off and hang them on my wall,” he tells Booker, and twists his blade just a little. Booker makes another pained noise, his body twisting beneath Nicky involuntarily. “Hold still. See, I’ve done just that to other Alphas in the past who wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone, but you were family.”
Joe growls, soft and menacing. So does Andy. Nile swallows as she realizes just how deep this betrayal cut into these people. She remembers Andy’s determination to get Nicky and Joe back from Copley, remembers her pain and her exhaustion in that lab, and wonders how she could ever have thought Andy to be a heartless killing machine. She remembers the way Andy had said “They’d do the same for you” about two men who had met her for all of a few hours marching to a small war to free her if she’d been taken, with the conviction of someone who has the utmost confidence in her word, and wonders how the fuck Booker could betray these people after two centuries of that kind of trust.
“I will say this once, and I expect you to listen well,” Nicky continues, still focused entirely on Booker. “I am not yours to court, and I never will be. I make my own choices in who I take to my bed, and you have never been and will never be on that list. Next time you even think about touching me, I will cut your balls off. Next time you do touch me, I will cut your pathetic prick off along with them. And then I will sit back and watch my Yusuf have fun with you, capisci?”
Booker barely manages to nod with how tight Nicky must be holding his hair, but it seems to be enough. Nicky’s grin widens. “Good boy,” he drawls, and then his blade is gone from between Booker’s legs and buried in his chest before Nile can do so much as blink. Booker chokes, but Nicky has already released him, walked over him as if he’s meaningless.
Joe pushes off the wall and holds out both arms, and Nicky goes to him as if drawn on strings. Nile almost looks away from their kiss because it feels so… intimate, but she can’t. Because the feral, cold Nicky who just threatened to castrate Booker cups Joe’s face between his hands as if the other man is something fragile, something to be treated with reverence. Her heart aches, suddenly, with a yearning to find something similar. She wonders how Booker ever thought he could compete with this, because it’s more than obvious to her that these two were meant to be, two halves of a whole. She swallows and looks away as Nicky’s eyes drift closed. Andy meets her gaze with a wry smile and a softness to her eyes Nile hasn’t seen before. She jerks her head to the doorway, and Nile nods and follows her, stepping over Booker where he’s still pinned to the floor by Nicky’s blade.
She doesn’t look down at him.

Prompt here: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3653.html?thread=994117#cmt994117

Filled on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27014836

Prompt:
https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5194.html?thread=1615178#cmt1615178

*

“You don’t have to mon cherie”

Nile looks up from the buckle in front of her to meet Booker’s eyes. He looked apologetic, he always looked apologetic except for when he looked unsure and disbelieving.

“Obviously I don’t have to Booker” Nile says fighting back the need to roll her eyes that she even has to say that, “Clearly, I want to.” Nile finishes and watches his eyes change from his one mood to the other.

It was a little bit of a struggle, trying to convince Booker that he deserved nice things sometimes.

She didn’t have the history of the guard or their relationship so it’s warranted that his actions, though as despicable as they were, didn’t affect her the same but Nile thinks it’s because she’s able to empathize with him a lot more.

There were plenty of times where she thought she would give up her arm and leg if it meant seeing her father again. Hell, even now with no offense to the guard, she would kick this immortality thing in a heartbeat to see her mom and brother and hear them laugh and tell them how much she missed them.

She can’t say if that need extended to a ‘whatever it takes mentality’ but she also hadn’t been stewing in it for 200 years.

The point was, yes, Booker fucked up in a major way and they had every reason to exile him but at the end of the day people made mistakes, especially those locked in grief. She understood, and if she wanted to blow him then she damn well would.

“It has been a while though so, full disclosure” Nile says with a small smile and returned to her very important work of getting his pants undone.

Truthfully, it had been more than a while and she was very nervous that she probably forgot how to even do this. Or at least do it well enough that it was good for him. Her blowjob experiences included high school boyfriends who couldn’t tell the difference not grown adult widows that had multiple kids and knew what they liked and what they didn’t.

There was just a tiny bit of self imposed pressure but she was getting this done because Booker’s mouth was a godsend and he deserved a nice blowjob in return.

With her hand slipping into his boxers to reveal the full length of him, some of her nerves gave way to the heat of arousal instead. Her fingers wrapped around him and Booker gave a hitch of breath that pulled her gaze.

His eyes looked as heated as she felt and Nile’s confidence grew a bit more. She adjusted her position in between his legs from sitting back on hers to actually kneeling with a hand resting high on his thigh.

“You just gotta tell me if I’m screwing it up” Nile says as she strokes him slowly to get use to the warmth and weight of him.

“C’est bon, you are not screwing it up” Booker speaks like he’s holding his breath and Nile feels emboldened to just go for it.

She steadies her hand at the base and takes him into her mouth with a whispered “Merde” from Booker.

He’s thicker than she remembers from her limited experience and she’s suddenly very worried about teeth when she hollows her cheeks to suck at the crown and swirls her tongue around him.

Her head bobs, taking a bit more, feeling him heavy against her tongue as it winds against his shaft to feel the difference in texture before pulling up the crown again.

“C’est bon, Nile,” Booker is muttering and she risks a glance to see his eyes have closed and he’s leaning his head back against the couch.

“Good, it’s good, your hand” Booker says than he’s wrapping his larger one around her’s to guide her in slow pulls at his shaft where her lips haven’t reached.

“Yes, fuck, perfect” Booker says pulling off once she gets the idea and starts stroking him with the bobs of her head along his cock.

She’s twisting on the upstroke and taking more into her mouth with each downstroke until she’s sucking most of him into her mouth. It doesn’t take long until she’s at that full feeling and her tongue is only able to reach the underside of his cock as her focus changed mainly to suction with each sink of him. Any further and he would be at her throat.

“Fuck, Cheri, your mouth” Booker is saying with throaty groans and heavy breaths, “Perfect, you’re perfect”

Nile pulls back for a breath and her hand follows in her wake, saliva from her mouth providing a slicker faster slide around his cock.

“You can touch me” Nile says once Booker’s darkened eyes meets her, “I want you to”

She doesn’t give him a chance to answer before she’s swallowing him down again, she’s pushes herself to take more until she has to release the base of his cock and he’s pushing past her tongue.

“Fuck, Nile, amour,” Booker says hips tilting up, pushing his cock further into her throat and causing her to gag around him and pull back.

“Merde, pardon” Booker’s muttering and he has a hand at her neck stroking the base of her skull in apology.

Nile hums around him in acknowledgment and is ready when he does it again, swallowing down against him before pulling up and sinking back down.

“It’s good, you’re good, perfect, trop parfait, ne mérite pas” His muttering trails into breathless whispers and Nile feels his hand tensing her against her neck.

She speeds up her movements, now very eager to make him lose his composure and come in her mouth.

Nile takes him to the root and back, swallows and hums when he’s at her throat and giving hard suction when she’s back enough to work her tongue.

His breathing is coming in faster and his fingers are stroking her scalp. His words have gone quiet, only low moans and grunts as she works him and tries not to think about the way her jaw is beginning to feel stiff.

“Ahh... Cherie,” His voice urgent suddenly as he looks at her and shifts against the couch, “Please, you’re going to make me come” Booker says gaze pleading and hand insistent against her neck.

Nile sinks down again, taking him deep as she reaches a hand under to roll his testicles in her palm.

He’s quiet when he comes, only giving a surprised sounding “Nile! Merde. Cherie” when he tenses and spills in her mouth.

She has a brief moment of ‘oh yea, that’s what that tastes like’ before she’s pulling back enough that she can stroke and twist her hand around his shaft to wring his orgasm out of him.

He’s hissing when he stops her movement with a “C’est bon mon amour, please” and Nile is swallowing down his come and gently letting him slip out of her mouth.

“Good?” She asks mostly to hear him tell her one more time.

“Yes. You are perfect.” Booker says pulling her off of her knees so that he could kiss her.

Nile smiles against him lips, happy that she could’ve done this for him and that she apparently still knew what she was doing.

Nicky was first to spot the tracks. They'd gone up the game trail seeking rabbits or even deer, but the prints in the mud were distinctly human.

Whomever had made them, they were clearly injured; they'd been dragging one foot and small splatters of blood splotched the nearby vegetation. They didn't even catch the heat-scent until they were nearly on him.

The man was bent nearly double, catching his breath in short gasps. He was dressed in a ragged gray tunic several sizes too large for him, and no trousers. His feet were bare, and the blood they'd noticed was trickling down his leg. Hearing them approach he snapped upright, turning wild storm-colored eyes on them. Joe thought he'd be handsome enough were his hair not lank and shaggy, and were he not filthy and clearly scared out of his mind. His panicked gaze flicked between the two of them, one arm coming up as if to potentially ward off a blow. It was only then that Joe noticed the shackle on his other wrist, a length of broken chain dangling from it. His stomach turned; this omega had not been bonded by choice.

Bless Nicky, ever the caretaker and soother of frightened creatures. He approached the man slowly, his voice soft and his hands open. The man shuddered all over but stood his ground as Nicky nodded for Joe to come join him.

"This is Sebastian. He needs a place to stay tonight. We can do that, yes?"

Joe nodded.

"Of course. These woods are wretchedly cold at night; come and get warm and have something to eat."

The very thought of food seemed to sap all Sebastian's remaining strength; he sagged against Nicky, hunger pangs doubling him over again. Joe didn't hesitate to scoop him up. He was a tall gangly thing, but disturbingly thin. The tunic shifted as Sebastian settled in his arms and Joe realized he very nearly could count his ribs. Whomever had bonded him, they didn't deserve the title of Alpha.

Sebastian pressed a burning cheek into Joe's chest as they walked, mumbling incoherently, and Nicky reached over with a frown to palm the back of his neck. He'd noticed what Joe had quickly realized; their new charge was feverish, and not simply in heat. As they exited the treeline into the warm yellow porch light, Nicky ran ahead to alert Nile and Andy, and get his kit ready.

At the threshold Sebastian blinked awake, sea-gray eyes foggy and confused.

"Where---?"

"A safe place, sweet one. You are among friends here."

The smile Sebastian turned on him was heartbreaking.

"Love you, Steven..."

Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5194.html?thread=1637706#cmt1637706

Dark Joe & Nicky type shit. This is my first non-con, so go easy. I also can’t believe I wrote this. Thank God for Anon.

———————————————

It wasn’t as if they could help themselves when he made himself look so inviting.

Lying across the dingy couch - legs spread, one on the couch and one the floor, head lolled to the side, arms flaccid, shirt rising up to reveal the most tantalizing strip of skin - he looked like an offering and it would be rude to not accept.

Nicky kicks at his foot, hard at the ankle as to see if he would rise or react and the man didn’t. Simply kept on sleeping, chest rising softly with each breath.

Joe bent down next to him to observe his face. He looked at peace for once. It would be a shame to waste it.

“Booker” Joe spoke loudly hovering close to his face, “Booker, wake up” he tried again and the man doesn’t budge.

Whatever poison he had ingested earlier tonight left him very much unconscious and very much at his and Nicky’s disposal.

“I think he’s sleeping dear heart” Joe says flashing Nicky a wide grin where he stood waiting at Booker’s feet, “What should we do with him?” He had a brow raised in jest, quite aware of where his husband’s mind had wandered upon entering the apartment.

“Lets put him to bed” Nicky says, “The couch looks uncomfortable.” He lets his gaze roam over Booker’s sleeping form once more before Joe steps in to pull the man against him and over his shoulder.

“Ever the humanitarian.” Joe says walking passed him and into the bedroom. The bed was smaller than they would’ve like, it seemed barely able to fit Booker’s body let alone three adults.

Joe lays him down gently then takes a minute to caress his face and see if that would steer him. Still nothing. He was almost kind of disappointed.

“You need to take his clothes off Joe” Nicky says behind him and Joe turns to see Nicolo working on unfastening his belt, “So he doesn’t sweat to death” Nicky continues flashing a feral smile when he notices Joe’s staring.

“Ah, of course”. Joe acquiesces and gets to work on undressing their sleeping friend.

The shirt comes off easier than his pants which required a lot of tugging but soon enough Booker was lying naked in the bed, ivory skin covered with fine brown hair just begging to touch.

“He’s actually beautiful” Joe says running his hands up the sleeping man’s legs, to his thighs, and back down.

“Don’t tease Joe” Nicky says walking around him to knee at Booker’s torso and pluck his nipples until they are reddening and taking form, “If you’re going to touch him then touch him”.

“So wise you are” Joe says sitting on the edge of the tiny bed and taking Booker’s soft cock in his palm, “or so impatient” he flashes Nicky a smirk that the other ignores in favor of watching Joe’s hand pulling and massaging at Booker’s cock until it hardens.

“Suck him,” Nicky says once Booker’s cock was standing erect, “I want to see how he comes” Nicky continues driving a hand to Joe’s curls to push him along when the man didn’t move fast enough.

“And what will you be doing?” Joe asks pulling out of his grip to adjusts himself more comfortably before taking Booker into his mouth.

He moans loudly just to tease Nicolo who is watching with dangerous intent as his lips descend on Booker’s length until he’s nosing his pubes.

“mmmMmm” Joe moans again, pulling up from Booker’s cock and taking him to his throat again,

“You’re so gorgeous” Nicky says and takes himself in hand, “We should wake him so he could see” he starts at a pace to mimic Joe’s movements until the other pulls off to speak

“I don’t think he will be waking tonight my love” He circles his hand at the crown of Booker’s cock and rubs the gathering pre-come down his length when he sucks him in again.

“That’s too bad, I wanted his mouth” Nicky says, the fingers of his free hand sliding against Booker’s lips and sliding inside to rub at the inside of his cheek and at his teeth.

He was so warm and wet and Nicky only wanted him more. They would have to come back when he haven’t drunk himself into a coma. They would come back and he would have his eyes open and Nicky would stare into them while he chokes him on his cock.

He thrusts into his hand harder at the thought and turned his attention to his husband who was putting on a spectacular show.

“Maybe your skills are lacking” Nicky says just as Joe is pulling off and he notices Booker’s cock twitching between his lips.

Joe adjust his position again, kneeling further up the bed and bringing Booker’s legs around his hips as he unbuckles his pants and shoved them and the boxer briefs down.

He spits the evidence of Booker’s release into his palm and finally gives Nicky an answering smile.

“You’re welcome to do better dear Nicolo” Joe says and coats his hard cock with his spit and Booker’s come.

Nicky’s eyes are fixed on his as he hooks an arm under Booker’s knees to raise his hips off the bed and prod fingers at his entrance.

“Don’t tease Joe” Nicky repeats eyes dark and pushing the head of his cock in Booker’s lips as far back into his cheek as the closed mouth and teeth will let him,

“Just give it to him already” Nicky says stroking at his cock and Joe relents.

He shoves hard and fast and groans as he’s swallowed up by Booker’s tight heat.

“Fuck,” Joe wrings from his throat, pulling out and shoving back in, starting a fast pace that will undo him in no time.

“Tell me Yusuf” Nicky says breathless, stripping his cock and giving minuscule jerks into Booker’s mouth,

“It is heaven” Joe says frantic as he thrusts in deep, balls slapping against Booker’s ass with every push of his hips.

“Look at me, I want to see” Nicky’s voice breaks as he speaks and Joe opens his eyes to watch as he jerks and comes into Booker’s pliant mouth. He pulls out to get the final spurts against the man’s lips and chin and that’s all Joe could take before he’s spilling into Booker’s tight heat.

“You’re so gorgeous, both of you” Nicky’s saying as he stands on wobbly legs to walk to Joe and tongues deep into his mouth.

Joe kisses back with all the love he can muster then they’re breaking apart and he’s pulling out of Booker’s body.

“We should wait until morning” Nicky says when he stands to pull his pants back to his hips, “to see that he is okay”

“Of course,” Joe agrees shooting a grin at his Nicolo, “That’s what brothers are for”.

Eyes on the Stars: Joe/Nicky, Sci-Fi AU Arranged Marriage

Fill: Nicky/Joe, terms of endearment

FILL: within reach (joe/nicky, height difference as seen in the comics)

FILL: Nicky/Joe - Infidelity kink, degradation kink, spanking, rough sex , crying 1/3

Booker/Nile, Booker & Team, BDSM Club AU (1/?)

FILL: Re: Joe/Nicky, Human AU, Sex Toy Tester

Fill: Crossover, X-men & Booker

Fill: Nicky/Joe + Mistaken For A Couple On The Kiss-Cam

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Nicky/Joe + Sharing an Umbrella, AU

Fill: Joe/Nicky, Joe/Anyone - non-con/torture and recovery

Fill: Nicky/Joe - Hole Spanking

FILL: Andy/Quynh, Andy licking honey off Quynh's tits

FILL: Joe/Nicky, Concubine AU

Fill: Nicky/Joe + Booker and Nicky Bodyswap 1/?

A Work in Progress ⟵ Joe/Nicky - abuse, broken hand

Joe/Nicky - Joe Wearing his Backwards Cap as he fucks Nicky

[FILL] Nicky/Joe - Kneeling

Fill: Nicky/Joe Anal Prolapse