theoldguardkinkmeme | Fills Post

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25765597

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25765666

Made it 5+1 just for fun.

They’re in safehouse Foxtrot, which isn’t so much a house as it is a barn, and most of the team is still sitting around the dinner table, lingering over their food and talking about where they might go next and how they should travel. Booker and Andy vote train, up to Russia, and Nile and Joe prefer to go somewhere warm by boat. Nicky doesn’t voice his opinion, because Joe has him bent over the arm of the couch, fucking him.

Nicky’s shirt is pushed up under his armpits and his pants are down around his ankles, cock rubbing roughly into the arm of the couch in a way Andy’s already told him he’s going to be the one to clean up later- really clean, not lick off for Joe’s amusement - after he comes on it. Joe’s fully dressed, except for where he fished his cock and balls out of his jeans. He even has his hat on backwards. He’s thrusting one, two, pause, three, groaning on the pause because Nicky clenches up every time, his body never catching on to the tease. Booker thinks this is hilarious, but eventually throws a wadded up napkin at them, saying “Fuck him like you mean it, asshole.”

“I’m just saying.” Joe says, absolutely not doing as Booker asks. He does thrust a little harder, tugging Nicky’s hips back towards him, but all that does it make it louder. It echoes, slightly, the wet slap. “If we went to a beach for a while maybe Nile wouldn’t think we’re a bunch of sad saps.”

“How could I possibly think that when you’re doing this right now?” Nile asks. Joe shrugs, continuing to play with Nicky, squeezing his ass around his dick.

Andy casts a critical eye over them and shrugs, saying, “I don't know, it is a little sad.”

Nicky laughs at that, even as Joe makes a mock offended noise and shifts his stance. Instantly it’s clear he’s been purposefully missing Nicky’s prostate, because now he’s hitting it on every thrust. He fucks him deep, biting his lower lip, pressing down on Nicky’s spine and the small of his back.

“I still vote Russia. They’ve got better alcohol, better women, and I can drive without getting pulled over.” Booker says, sipping from his flask.

“Agreed.” Andy says, smirking.

“I think if we’re taking a vacation it should be somewhere we can wear the least amount of clothes.” Nile argues.

Joe slides completely out of Nicky, slapping his ass when he whines and tilts his hips up to beg for it back, spits onto his cock, jacks it a few times, and slides back in. “I’d like Nicky to fuck me on the beach again. Gets all sandy.”

“And that’s fun for you?” Booker says, skeptically. He’s watching again. “Just fucking come in him already.”

“Please do.” Nicky mumbles, face buried.

“Please, do.” Andy agrees, “I thought we were going to play cards.”

“It’s fun.” Joe says, ignoring them, back to his stuttering rhythm, “The layer of discomfort is hot, and then we just go into the ocean and do it again.”

“You’re addicted to Nicky, we get it.” Andy says. “Fucking come already Joe or I’ll walk over there and make you.”

“Aw boss, you say the sweetest things.” Joe says. He sounds slightly breathless. “You close Nicky?”

“Si, si, si.” Nicky says, grinding his hips down hard on each thrust. Joe speeds up, slowly at first until he’s just rutting into Nicky without a hint of control. It’s definitely loud now, his breathing and the slap of their flesh. Booker whistles low at how pink Nicky’s getting. Nile’s watching Joe’s ass flex in his jeans. Andy’s shuffling cards.

Joe bends over Nicky and groans, dramatic, pornographic, pulsing into him in long rolls of his hips. He comes so long it starts dripping back out of Nicky’s hole. Nicky’s squirming increases, desperate, until Joe slides his dick out and shoves three fingers in with a squelch that makes everyone flush. Booker squeezes his dick in his pants watching Joe roughly fuck Nicky on his fingers until Nicky comes, keening, rubbing his face against the couch, dripping and shaking.

Booker swears in French, takes his cock out, jacks hard half a dozen times, and comes all over the floor between his feet. He looks down at his wet hand like he’s not sure how it ended up that way. Andy rolls her eyes.

“Cards, guys?” She says, pointedly. Booker tucks himself away and steals her napkin to wipe his hand off. Joe’s busy whispering endearments to Nicky about how beautiful he is, how hot, how Andy’s right he really should clean up his mess, starting with Joe’s cock.

Nile shrugs and says, “I’m in, but we’re betting on destination.”

Joe wakes with his cock hard between Nicky’s thighs. He can’t immediately remember if they fell asleep fucking, or who might be in the room, but doesn’t worry to much about it. He presses his hips forward, making the bed creek, and reaches under his pillow for the lube.

“Morning Joe.” Andy says, sitting up in bed with the paper and a cup of coffee

“Hey Andy.” Joe says, getting his hand slippery and shoving it between Nicky’s thighs. It’s a little too cold, Nicky gasps awake, settling down when Joe presses kisses across his shoulders. Joe fucks into the slick space he’s made and then gets his wet hand around Nicky’s cock.

“Morning Nicky.” Andy says, “There's coffee when you're done.”

“Thanks Andy.” Nicky says, the sleep rough quality of his voice making Joe fuck in a little harder. “Mm, tighter please, Yusuf. Ah! Just like that.”

“There you go babe. Can you squeeze the head when I- yeah perfect.” He fucks up hard enough that the bed is squeaking enough to distract Andy from her paper, pushing his dick through Nicky’s thighs and into the fleeting touch of his fingers. He’s pushing Nicky’s cock through his wet fist on every thrust.

Booker opens the door to see what the noise is about and snorts. “I’m running to the store because we ran out of eggs. Need anything else?”

“Nah we’re good.” Andy replies, sipping her coffee. “Nicky’s about to come if you want to stay and watch.”

“I’ve seen it.” Booker laughs. Nicky says, “Fuck you and your mother.” in French to him, which makes everyone laugh.

Booker closes the door behind him. Joe bites the back of Nicky’s shoulder blade and jacks him hard, trusting Andy that he’s close. Nicky sucks in a breath and comes into Joe’s fist, wet and messy. After a moment he says, “Joe, Joe, too much, please, just hold me for a moment please my love.” Joe does, holding his hips still too.

Nicky finds the coordination to rub at the head of Joe’s dick where it’s peeking out between his thighs again, and gently presses his thumbnail into the slit. He feels Joe’s cock pulse, deliciously restrained between his legs, and crows in delight at the way Joe stutters in surprise and fucks between them frantically, sliding through his own come, thrusting it out through the surprise.

Andy puts her paper down to clap for them, slightly mocking. Nicky laughs harder when that just makes Joe’s cock blurt out another string of come.

It’s movie night, they’re marathoning John Wick and doing shots of whatever they have left in the safehouse for every time they see a way they’ve died or killed someone. Joe’s hand slides into Nicky’s pants a few minutes in. Then he’s shoving those pants down and getting between Nicky’s legs.

Nicky holds his cock out to him and Joe swallows it down. He blows him lazily for a while, until Andy reaches out to pet the hair out of his face, asking if he wants them to tell him what’s happening. Nicky answers for him, “He’s seen this one. It’s his least favorite.”

Nicky holds Joe’s head steady and fucks up into it to the beat of whatever song is in the background of the fight scene they’re watching. Andy and Booker do two shots in unison. Booker feeds one to Nicky, tipping it mostly into his mouth. That seems to remind him that Joe hasn’t been keeping up with his shots, and says “Hey pull off a minute and take a swig you cheater.”

Joe does, tilting his head back so Andy can pour it directly into his mouth. Nicky takes over stroking himself, watching Joe swallow. When Joe gets his mouth back around Nicky’s dick they slow down again, Joe takes the lead, slurping loud on purpose, rubbing his tongue all over. It’s not until the final fight scene of the movie that Nicky gets too wound up to keep going at that pace. He starts shifting his hips restlessly, rubbing at his nipples through his shirt, watching Joe’s head rather than the screen.

“Just do it, you’re so distracting.” Andy complains. Nicky, like he needed the permission, pushes Joe off his cock but keeps him close, a hand gripping his curls. Joe holds his mouth open. Nicky jerks off hard, trying to aim when he gets to the edge, barreling over and coming into Joe’s mouth and beard, pushing back in for the last of it. Joe sucks at him like he wants more and then collapses back onto his ass, shoves his hand into the leg of his shorts and gets it around his cock, barely managing a couple of strokes before he shoots out along his thigh and onto the floor. He falls back onto his back afterwards, breathing hard.

Booker snorts, “You couldn’t even make it to ending?”

Joe swats at him, laughing, saying, “I really couldn’t.”

They go to the beach. Joe and Nicky share a lounge chair, Nicky between Joe’s legs, leaning back against his chest. It’s not long before Nicky’s dozing off in the sunshine and Joe’s teasing his cock to hardness through the slick fabric of his swim trunks.

“You know,” Nile says, lowering her sunglasses to look over at them, “Just because this is a private beach doesn’t mean no one will wander onto it.”

“We know.” Nicky mumbles, eyes closed.

“Last time they assumed we were celebrities and apologized a lot.” Joe says, sliding his hand up and down the stiffening shape of Nicky’s dick.

Nile shrugs and goes out into the water with Andy and Booker. The next time she thinks to check on them she can tell they’re naked, Nicky’s turned around with Joe’s legs over his shoulders.

They swim until Andy needs to reapply sunscreen and leave the water together because she’ll need help and Booker wants another drink. When they get back to their towels and chairs, Nicky and Joe are wrestling in the sand, playfully fighting about who should be on top. Clearly they already worked Joe open, because the instant Nicky has him on his back he shoves his cock in to the hilt.

Andy settles down on her chair nearby and watches, laughing. Nile sits behind her to spread sunscreen on her back, watching too. They’re pretty together. Nicky looks sunburned if not overheated and Joe keeps dragging his fingers through the sand like he wants to get leverage but can’t find any. Nicky doesn’t mess around, he gets going and fucks like a machine, maintaining the same steady rhythm until the end, telling Joe when he’s close so he’ll get a sandy hand around himself. It must hurt, the scratch against his cock, but Joe shakes his head back and forth like it hurts in a good way, eyes squeezed shut, groaning. He and Nicky seem to come simultaneously, putting on a show.

When they glance over at their audience, Andy says, “You gonna pull out?” Casual, like she’s asking what they want for lunch.

Nicky shakes his head. “I think I’ll have him at least once more, before we get in the water. He’s so warm around my cock, boss. Warmer than the sun.”

Joe smiles, big and sappy, reaching with uncoordinated hands so Nicky will lean down and kiss him.

They started fucking around in the shower but clearly forgot it’s the only bathroom in this particular safehouse. Eventually they turn the spray off, not about to use up all the hot water, and anyway it kept hitting Nicky in the face while he was trying to open Joe up around his tongue and fingers. Joe leans his face against the tile wall and takes it, moaning softly.

Booker knocks on the door twice and enters, saying “Hey assholes, I need to brush my teeth.”

“Go ahead.” Joe groans, just so Nicky doesn’t get any ideas about moving his mouth anywhere.

Booker leans back against the sink and brushes properly for the full two minutes. After he spits he says, “Nicky, I think he’s ready. You might want to hurry up before Andy kicks you out.”

“Excellent point.” Joe agrees.

Nicky sighs like they’re ganging up on him but says, “Fine, yes, can you hand me the lube behind the mirror please Book?”

Booker does and then starts flossing. Nicky slicks up his dick, slides a few wet fingers into Joe’s ass, and holds the lube back out past the shower curtain behind him, saying, “Thank you.”

Booker takes it back, puts it behind the mirror again, and tosses his floss in the trash can. “Don’t mention it. Like I said, you got five minutes before Andy’s in here, don’t think she won’t shower around you.”

Nicky and Joe don’t answer, too focused on Nicky pressing the fat head of his cock inside, sliding in slow.

Andy interrupts only a few minutes later, scratching at her bed head and yawning so big her jaw cracks. Nicky pauses, deep inside Joe who’s been slowly melting into the shower wall with pleasure, held up mainly by Nicky’s hands on his hips, and turns to greet her.

“Hi Andy. Are we in your way?”

Joe makes a grumbling noise against the tiles. Nicky kisses the back of his neck in apology and resumes the slow rolling of his hips.

“Little bit.” Andy says. “Planning to finish any time today?”

Nicky laughs, refusing to be egged on. “Si, do not worry. If you want to turn the water on it should help Joe get there, took a few minutes to heat up for us any way.”

“Sure.” Andy says. She complies sleepily, reaching through the shower curtain to turn the handle.

“Other way.” Nicky instructs, watching her, fucking deep into Joe’s velvet heat. Andy turns it the other way. The cold water hits just half of their bodies, making Joe squirm and shiver. His cock bounces on its own, the head tapping against the tile wall in front of him. Nicky fucks him and fucks him, leaning his mouth close to Joe’s ear just to whisper, “I love you.”

Just as the water gets hot Joe’s cock swells and spurts across the tiles. Nicky slides a hand around from his hip to work him through it, and snaps his hips hard a few times before he pulls out and strips his cock fast and loud, coming all over Joe’s ass. The shower washes it away quickly, especially when he catches his breath and angles Joe into the spray.

Andy holds the curtain open for them, reaching to help Joe step out of the shower on shaky legs. Everyone mutters sleepy thank yous to each other as they trade places. Nicky rubs Joe dry and then himself with the same towel, and hurries him off to bed.

+1

They check in to the honeymoon suite and collapse onto the bed. The rose petals are kind of annoying but the champagne chilling in the next room makes up for it. The jacuzzi tub does too.

Nicky turns to Joe, fiddles with the collar of his shirt, and says, “This is nice. Quiet.”

“Miss them already?” Joe teases, his eyes wrinkling with a smile.

“I love you.” Nicky says, smiling back.

“You want me to call them?”

“Yes. Put it on speaker.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25776592

Prompt here: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=104530#cmt104530

***

Their dreams show the two women among snow-capped mountains and evergreen forests, so they head north, trading work for bed and board along the way. Some of the folk they encounter seem to find a Christian and a Muslim traveling together strange, some to take hope and joy from the sight of them, and many not to care as long as they turn their hands and swords to good purpose and keep to themselves the rest of the time.

In one tiny village, Nicolo gets roped into helping a shepherd boy search for a lost sheep in the hills nearby, while Yusuf stays behind helping the boy's widowed mother with various things around the house that have fallen into disrepair. He's sitting in the doorway, repairing the torn bottom of a woven basket and trying once again to find the right poetic metaphor for the color of Nicolo's eyes--brighter than any jewels Yusuf has ever seen, clearer than any water--when the subject of his reverie returns with the lost sheep slung triumphantly over his broad shoulders, both man and beast absolutely covered in mud.

"I'm glad I amuse you," Nicolo says when Yusuf laughs at the sight of him. He lowers the sheep gently to the ground and pats her shaggy fur, murmuring something in his native tongue before the boy takes charge of her.

"Forgive me." Yusuf stands and tugs loose the sash from around his waist, dipping it in a bucket of cool, clean water that sits on the edge of the well. "Here."

Nicolo's eyes widen slightly; the sash is of fine embroidered cloth, a little ragged from their journey but still beautiful. "Thank you, Yusuf, but I don’t want to dirty it.”

“Take it,” Yusuf insists, holding out the damp cloth. “Clearly, you need it more than I.”

Nicolo nods. “Thank you,” he repeats more softly, fingers meeting Yusuf’s as he accepts the gift.

They stand like that far longer than necessary, fingers just touching as they gaze into each other’s eyes, and then startle guiltily apart when the widow calls them inside to eat.

Nicolo attempts to return the sash after washing it, and Yusuf refuses, calling it a gift. It’s not until the next time they find themselves in a fight that Yusuf notices Nicolo has wound the sash into a band around his upper arm, bright against the dull no-longer-white of his tunic as he wields his sword. Even in the midst of battle, it sends a thrill down Yusuf’s spine to realize that, and the next time they make camp he draws a hasty, furtive sketch of it, which he tears from his book to fold up and keep close to his heart.

***

A few weeks later, another village; Nicolo has not forgotten that last time he ended up chasing a sheep through mud while Yusuf sat in the shade weaving baskets, which is how Yusuf now finds himself repairing a fence under the afternoon sun while Nicolo works in the house. Their hostess is a tiny old woman, nearly blind and devoid of children or other kin, and thus ecstatic to have two strong men with clear sight and steady hands at her beck and call for the day.

It gets hot enough that Yusuf strips off his tunic, leaving him in trousers and a thin cotton undershirt. When Nicolo brings him a drink of water, Yusuf pauses in his work to stretch his arms over his head, then wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

He sees Nicolo slow in his approach, and the hand carrying the cup dips enough for water to slosh out before he rights it and looks away from Yusuf’s form, color staining his cheeks.

“Thank you,” Yusuf says as he takes the cup, and Nicolo nods.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” he says. “I should go back and make sure nothing burns...unless you need help finishing here?”

“There’s not much left to do,” Yusuf says, then adds, “But a single smile from you, should you deign to give it, would make the rest of my task fly by even were there ten times more work to be done.”

He catches him off-guard, and so he doesn’t get the little close-mouthed smile Nico shows to the world most often, but rather the broad, open one that lights up his whole face. When Yusuf presses a hand to his heart at the sight of it, it’s only a bit of an affectation.

“Truly, I am a lucky man,” he says.

Nicolo is crimson by this point, but still smiling as he shakes his head. “You, good sir, are a shameless flatterer.”

“I prefer the term ‘romantic’,” Yusuf says. “And the only shame would be if you were to think my words are not sincere.”

Nico’s smile drops as his lips part, eyes holding Yusuf’s. This is hardly the first time Yusuf has paid him a compliment or teased a smile out of him, but this is skirting the edge of something else, and they both feel it.

Nicolo takes a step toward him—then turns his head and sniffs the air. “Do you smell burning?”

Yusuf is tempted to seize Nicolo in his arms and tell him to let the old woman burn her whole damn kitchen down, but Nicolo’s already muttering “Oh, blessed Virgin,” and hurrying back toward the house.

The meal survives only slightly scorched, and Yusuf praises it as he would one perfectly cooked, both because he was raised to be a gracious guest and because it makes Nicolo smile again, though smaller this time. They wash up afterward, standing side-by-side, the old woman retiring for the evening after pointing out where they can sleep and letting them know there’s a wooden tub if they wish to bathe.

Nicolo takes the last bowl from Yusuf and wipes it carefully with a cloth, then wets his lips and speaks. “What you said earlier…”

“Yes?” Yusuf prompts gently, glancing sidelong at him.

Nicolo keeps his eyes lowered to his work, voice soft as he says, “I have never doubted your sincerity, my dear friend. Not in anything else, and not in this.”

Yusuf watches him for a moment, then lifts a hand and touches his shoulder very gently. “Nicolo, will you look at me?”

Nicolo does not, swallowing hard as he sets the bowl down. “I’ll heat some water. You bathe first, you worked harder today.”

He starts to move away, but Yusuf catches his hand, giving one brief squeeze before he lets go. “All right. Thank you.”

***

In the next place they stop, streets empty and doors shut as they approach. It’s not hard to figure out that the cause is Nicolo’s fair skin and the long, straight crusader sword at his belt. He retreats to the outskirts of the village while Yusuf goes in search of someone who’ll talk to him, then returns to Nicolo with a dark expression.

“Seven men,” he reports. “All Christian by the look of them, but they bear no identifying clothing or banners.”

“Deserters,” Nicolo confirms with a nod. There are plenty of those, men disillusioned with this war they were told was God’s will—including Nicolo himself, technically, but unlike him, many have turned desperate and cruel.

“The villagers think their camp is somewhere in those hills, to the east,” Yusuf says, pointing. “They’ve raided this or other places nearby three times in the past month.”

Some of the villagers offer to accompany them in searching for the raiders’ camp, but none of them are trained fighters and all of them are clearly scared. There’s a reason they’ve chosen to keep to their homes and try to fight these men off when they come, rather than go on the hunt and risk never coming back.

Besides, what little help they might offer isn’t worth the risk of them seeing Yusuf or Nicolo die and then rise again. The only people they want witnessing that are those who won’t be walking away from the fight.

Afterward, they go back just long enough to tell the villagers those men won’t be troubling them again, just long enough to see the looks of mingled awe and terror at the two of them, covered in other men’s blood without so much as a scratch visible on either of them.

They don’t ask if they might stay the night here.

Instead, they follow the nearest river until the village is out of sight, then find a place along its banks, sheltered by trees.

Shyness has no place here, but they each keep their eyes averted as they strip and wade into the river. Once the water covers them both to the waist, Yusuf looks at Nico, lets his eyes trace the places where he saw him take mortal wounds now long gone.

He wonders if it will ever get easier to watch Nicolo die.

“There’s blood in your hair,” Nicolo says, and Yusuf realizes that he’s been looking, too.

He starts to duck his head to wash it, but Nicolo forestalls him with a hand. “If I may—?” he asks, stepping closer, and Yusuf swallows hard as he takes his meaning.

He puts his back to Nicolo and sinks deeper, until he’s on his knees and the water is lapping at his shoulders. A moment later he feels Nicolo’s presence close behind him, and then water pours over Yusuf’s head from his cupped hands.

“You fought well today,” Nicolo says as he works.

Yusuf’s eyes close as Nicolo’s fingers sink into his hair, working through the dense curls with care. “As did you.”

Nicolo urges him to bend back until his hair‘s submerged, one hand cradling Yusuf’s head as the other works the last of the blood out. When he guides him back up, his hands stay, resting on Yusuf’s shoulders.

“It always takes my breath away to see you in battle,” he whispers, thumbs stroking back and forth just slightly on Yusuf’s wet skin. “So fierce, so brave, my Yusuf.”

Yusuf draws in a shaky breath, and reaches up to clasp one of Nicolo’s hands. Nicolo lets him, and Yusuf brings it to his lips and presses a kiss to the center of his palm. Nicolo gasps at that, and moves his hand a bit to cradle the side of Yusuf’s face.

“Habibi,” Yusuf whispers against his fingers. Nicolo’s grasp of Arabic is improving daily, but Yusuf hasn’t taught him that word yet. From the way Nico breathes out a sigh and presses his cheek, Yusuf thinks perhaps he knows it already.

Still, they look away from each other’s forms as they leave the river and dress in the one clean set of clothes they each carry, dumping the bloody ones in a pile to be dealt with later. They make a fire and Yusuf sits close to it, holding out his hands.

“Are you cold?” Nicolo asks.

“A bit,” Yusuf replies, and a moment later warmth settles over his shoulders. The cloak is wrinkled and a little musty, having lived at the bottom of Nicolo’s pack for months, but it seems they’ve finally traveled far north enough to need it.

He looks up with a smile, holding one end of the cloak out. “Nicolo, I can only accept this if you share it with me.”

Nico takes the invitation to sit beside him, settling under the curve of his arm. With his other hand, Yusuf reaches to lift Nicolo’s from where it rests on the ground between them.

“If I may?” he asks, echoing Nicolo’s request from earlier, and at a quiet “Yes,” he twines their fingers together, holding tight.

After a moment, Nicolo’s head comes to rest lightly on his shoulder, and Yusuf turns his head to bury his nose in Nicolo’s hair, breathing in the clean river-water scent of him.

“Do you think we’ll dream of our friends tonight?” Yusuf asks softly. “Maybe get some clue of which way to go beside ‘north’?”

“If the time is right, we will,” Nicolo replies. “However long the journey takes us, we’ll find them.”

Yusuf closes his eyes and holds Nicolo gently against his side, content, for now, with that.

***

Far to the north, bundled close together against the cold, two women wake at the same moment, glance at each other, and smile.

“They held hands,” Andromache says, her delight at this turn of events clear.

“They did,” Quynh replies. Andromache’s arm is around her, and she reaches one hand up to lace their fingers together as well. “Finally. I was beginning to think we’d have to draw them a picture.”

Prompt:
https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=132946#cmt132946

This is pretty hurt-heavy. Part 2 will have rescue and comfort.

*

Nicolò surges awake, gasping, choking on a scream that doesn’t belong to him. He claws at his throat, overwhelmed, until Andromache’s voice says, sharply, “Stop that. It’s not you. You can breathe.”

She’s up already. They were sleeping back-to-back, and she’s still close enough that he can feel the warmth of her body through both their clothes. Her head is tilted toward the moonlight, a blade gleaming in one hand. As Nicolò watches, she sets it aside, pushes her hair out of her face with both hands, then drives her fists into the packed dirt hard enough to break bone. “Fuck.”

“What—” Nicolò clears his throat. The images are disjointed and horrible, and horribly vivid in a way that’s entirely too familiar. That he remembers from waking up on a battlefield to the smell of death and the shriek of the crows, dreaming of Andromache across hundreds of leagues.

This dream was of a man, dark-haired and dark-eyed, naked and struggling beneath the weight of several other bodies. Lashing out and being struck hard, and the echo of terrible, mocking laughter as one of them wound a scarf around his neck and pulled—

“That was another one like us. I felt him die.” He shakes his head, rubs his throat, the phantom echo of that ache. “I felt him come back.”

She nods shortly without looking up or speaking. Nicolò closes his eyes. He almost considers asking what happened to him, but he knows. He’s been in war; he knows that for all the atrocities of the battlefield, what befalls the conquered afterward is often worse.

“We need to get to him. To save him.”

“He’s like us. He’ll heal,” Andromache says. She sounds indifferent, but she’s already packing, scuffing dirt over the embers of the fire and rolling up the bedclothes, checking her boots for scorpions before pulling them on. Nicolò follows more slowly, still disoriented. He doesn’t know how she can be so steady with herself when he still feels like he’s ringing with the echo of a dying man’s last breaths. His pain and fear and fury.

Andromache is like a force of nature when it suits her; he’s never asked how old she is, mostly because he knows she wouldn’t answer, but he knows that she was living and dying and living again long before his father’s father first drew breath. Long before.

He knows that she’s calloused against the hurts of the world, but not numb to them. “They’ll hurt him again.”

“And he’ll heal again.” She’s unhobbling the horses, stroking an absent hand over the flank of her dun mare as it lips affectionately at her hair. “Think. What did you see?”

Nicolò breathes out, scrubs a hand through his hair and over his beard, trying to think. To focus on the details beyond the horror of it. “It was… a dark room. Oil lamps. Zellīj tiles on the floor. Painted walls.” A fine torture chamber, its luxury a hideous contrast to the brutality he’d seen. “I saw no windows.”

“They spoke Frankish,” Andromache says, strapping down her pack with quick motions. “The men who were raping him.”

Nicolò flinches slightly to hear her say it so baldly, but he rallies nonetheless. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“It gives us a direction, at least. One of them wore the cross.”

“The Holy Land, really?”

She snorts and starts on his pack. “You died at the gates of Jerusalem, Nicolò. Did you see anything holy there?”

What he saw was blood and grief and men gutted like livestock to rot in the summer heat, and he knows that what went on behind those walls afterward was worse. But still. “Don’t, Andromache. Not now.”

“Jerusalem,” she says again, firmly, and tosses him his pack. “Come on. If we ride hard, we can make Constantinople in three days. We’ll get passage from there. I know a man.” She shrugs contemplatively. “Or I did. It’s been a while. If he’s dead, we’ll find another way.”

She swings up onto her horse without another word, and Nicolò shakes off the remnants of the dream and follows suit.

It takes them two days to make Constantinople. Nicolò dreams of six more deaths in that time, each one worse than the one that preceded it.

“They know what he is,” Andromache says on the third morning, cleaning her nails by the fish market and waiting for her man to arrive. She looks unaffected, but Nicolò suspects that it’s a mask. His own gut churns with sickened memory: coin changing hands, the dark-haired man spitting blood and defiance before he was pinned down with steel through his shoulders and chest and thighs and fucked savagely as he bled to death.

And then woke up again. Healed again. Nicolò knows that lasting death is a mercy, but dear God that truth has never been so clear. There’s something like grief in him at the fact that this is their first meeting. There’s no clean death to be had on a battlefield, but at least on a battlefield he had a blade in his hand. At least he could fight.

This man, this new immortal who haunts his dreams—he’d fight. Nicolò has watched him kill two of his captors while still in chains, and die two ugly deaths in reward; with steel and shield in hand he’d be unstoppable. An angel of death.

We’re coming, he thinks, shaping the words in his mind as if the man could hear them, as if he could understand them when every curse Nicolò has heard from him was in an unfamiliar tongue. We’re coming, please hold on.

The truth, of course, the terrible truth, is that he will hold on, because there is no other choice.

We're coming for you, I promise, Nicolò whispers, and closes his eyes to the salt breeze.

FILL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25786327

Edited 2020-08-09 22:37 (UTC)

Nicky started going to this coffee shop after breaking up with Keane. The place he used to go to most mornings was roughly between their apartments and he couldn’t risk running into him, not even for the excellent cold brew. The unspoken division of date spots that might usually be an even split is, in this case, almost entirely places Nicky can’t ever go to again. Keane always wanted to control what they were doing and Nicky doesn’t have good memories of most of their dates anyway.

He doesn’t know why they stayed together so long when something was clearly missing. Nicky was lonely when he first moved here. Catching Keane cheating on him was the last straw. Things almost came to blows when Keane’s boss - the guy he’s been fucking - called Nicky a mouse. To his face.

So, he goes to a new coffee place. It’s a block away from the college campus, prices are reasonable, and there’s no way Keane would be caught dead there. That’s what Nicky thinks anyway. He’s forgotten that sometimes Keane goes to strange places, running “errands” for his “boss”. Nicky exits the cafe just as he sees Keane turn the corner, and sees Keane see him.

There’s no way to make a clean getaway in the cafe’s patio area and Nicky isn’t about to go hide in the bathroom but thinking that through means he’s frozen in place for a moment, watching Keane approach with a sick sense of dread. Nicky hates having public fights. He turns away and makes for a more populated group of tables, hoping someone will take pity on him or at least be within earshot to intervene if Keane says anything truly awful this time.

In his rush, Nicky doesn’t notice a man stand up from his chair and runs right into him, barely managing not to drop his coffee. The world slows down around them.

He’s wearing a soft grey sweater, Nicky catches himself against the man’s chest and feels it under his hand. He smells nice, some woody cologne. This stranger is strong too, catching Nicky with ease, his own hands ending up at Nicky’s waist. His eyes are dark and warm, sparkling, like slamming into someone outside the coffee shop is a good surprise somehow. He’s handsome, curly hair, full beard, laugh lines. Nicky can only assume that he looks tired and pale in comparison.

“Woah, hey, are you okay?” The guy asks, and his voice is equally handsome. Nicky wants to melt into a puddle and disappear.

“Yes, thank you, I’m sorry. It’s just my ex…”

“Oh.” Handsome stranger says. Nicky realizes he hasn’t taken his hand off of his chest, that the strangers’ warm hands are still at his waist. He feels heat rise in his face and decides if he’s going to die of embarrassment in the arms of this man he might as well lean into it.

“This is too much to ask but could you possibly-“

“Kiss me.” The stranger says.

“Kiss me?” Nicky asks at the same time.

They stare at each other, the man’s eyes still sparkling, until Nicky tilts his head, leans in, and softly presses their mouths together. It’s a warm kiss, too fleeting.

Afterwards, the man glances over Nicky’s shoulder and says “He’s almost over here. I’m Joe.”

“Nicolò.” Nicky says, “Nicky.”

“I would love to be your fake boyfriend Nicky.” Joe says, smile widening, “You wanna make him really jealous?”

“I want him to never approach me again.” Nicky says, slightly too honest. Joe nods, once, and sits back down, gently guiding Nicky to sit sideways across his lap.

That’s when Nicky realizes Joe wasn’t sitting alone. Around the table are four others: an intimidating woman with short hair with her arm around another who seems mostly asleep, a hungover looking man with his face hidden by sunglasses and a coffee cup, and another woman who’s smiling ear to ear at him over her laptop. “Hi.” She says, “I’m Nile, that’s Booker, Quynh, and Andy.” She points backwards around the table, then shoots him two thumbs up and pretends to go back to her work.

Nicky barely has time to blink before Keane is there.

“Nico?” Keane says, ignoring everyone else, “What’s wrong with you, I know you saw me.”

“I didn’t.” Nicky lies, “I was looking for my boyfriend.”

Keane rolls his eyes and says, “You have to forgive me sometime.” It’s just like him to choose to ignore everything he doesn’t like, from the kiss to where Nicky’s currently sitting, to the word boyfriend.

“No, I don’t.” Nicky says, toneless. For a moment he thinks this won’t work.

And then Joe backs him up. “He really doesn’t.” he says, arm around Nicky’s waist tightening minutely.

“And who the fuck is this?” Keane asks, as though Joe exists for him now only because he’s a threat. “Come on, I made one mistake.”

“Ohhh.” Joe says, laughing softly into Nicky’s shoulder, “This is that guy.”

Nicky nods like Joe’s referencing a conversation they’ve had before, watches Keane, and sips his coffee.

“Whatever, I know you don’t really have friends Nico.” Keane sneers, and it hurts a little because he’s not totally wrong. Nicky doesn’t think it shows on his face but Joe must feel him tense up.

“You cheated on Nicky?” Joe says, making sure Keane is looking him in the eye, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“That’s your cue to fuck off.” Andy adds from across the table. Something about the weight she puts behind the words makes it clear she will stand up and make him if he gives her the slightest excuse.

Keane, seething, opens his mouth like he wants the last word, but Joe is already talking over him, turning to Nile like Keane’s already gone to say, “So tell me your thesis again?”

Nile starts talking about Rodin. Keane, still glaring at Nicky, walks away. When he’s gone, back around the corner, Nicky finally breathes. He sets his coffee down on the table and twists, catching Joe’s face between his hands and kissing him, once properly and then a few more times on his cheeks and beard just because.

“Thank you.” Nicky says, relief more than obvious.

The way Joe looks at him has Nicky blushing again, remembering they just met and he’s in the man’s lap. Joe squeezes the arm around his waist briefly, an encouragement to stay but a hold loose enough to break. There isn’t another chair for him to slide into and Joe’s thighs are pretty comfortable. Nicky stays.

“Nicky, huh?” Booker says, lowering his sunglasses to give him an appraising look.

“Nicolò di Genoa.” Nicky says, wondering if he’s passing whatever test all of Joe’s friends seem to be grading, staring at him. “Sorry to interrupt your meeting.”

“Not at all.” Joe says, offended by the suggestion.

“Do you speak French?” Booker asks.

“Oui.” Nicky says.

“Spanish?” Nile says.

“Sí, un poco.”

“Vietnamese?” Quynh asks.

Nicky regretfully shakes his head. “I would like to learn.”

“Guys, quit it, or Nicky will never want to see us again.” Joe complains.

Andy snorts, muttering “Not likely.”

“Do you work at the college too?” Nile asks.

“No, no, do you? All of you?” Nicky says, deflecting.

“Joe teaches studio art and creative writing.” Quynh says, smiling.

“Also he’s single.” Booker says.

Nicky laughs, but it’s good to have that confirmed. Joe however, shakes his head. “No, my friends, you are mistaken. I’ve just had my heart stolen by a beautiful man.” He must feel Nicky tense again, because he presses a kiss to his shoulder and looks up at him, making it very clear who he means.

“Not single, then?” Nicky checks.

“Not for long, I hope.” Joe confirms.

Andy and Booker groan in unison, but Nile shoots Nicky the same thumbs up, and Quynh says, “Welcome to the group, Nicky.”

So, it's literally been an age since I wrote anything, but this film is so incredible it has pulled me back in. (I didn't put up much of a fight.) I could really use a beta for this, so I can tidy it up and stick it on AO3 with my other stuff. Also, I don't know any languages, but imagine they're speaking whatever language you like. Anyway, it's kind of a fill for this prompt https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=155218#cmt155218 (Virginity Kink) and this one https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=165714#cmt165714 (Size kink)

He tries so hard to be quiet, but his body betrays him, and he cannot prevent the sharp hiss of breath that slips out between his teeth. He knows his lover has caught it when Joe instantly goes still. But although Joe stops, he doesn’t pull out. They both know that won’t help at this point. Nicky’s immortality would simply undo all the time spent getting them here and they would be back to square one. So, Joe just breathes slowly and waits for a signal from his lover to proceed.

However, after the space of several heartbeats, Joe does offer a gentle, “Habibi?”

Nicky has no trouble detecting the faint thread of worry in his lover’s voice, and it both warms and irritates him. After all, they have been here many, many times before.

“Un momento.” His voice is low and distorted, spoken as it is through gritted teeth. He wills himself to relax, to let Joe in. He wants this, he reminds himself. Oh, how he wants it.

But his body stubbornly refuses to acknowledge that it has ever done this act. For all that he and Joe have been lovers for so long, that experience is worthless here, when his immortality hurls him back through the centuries, to a time when he was untouched by any hand other than his own.

Nicky feels as though he could weep. He can do this. He knows that. Only Joe is… just so much. It doesn’t seem to matter how long they take to ready him; his body still rebels each and every time. Nicky has been kissed, licked, stroked and touched until he is almost mindless with need, hips rutting uselessly into the bed.

His hands bunch the sheets tangled beneath him, knuckles whitening as he spreads his legs further, trying to ease the dull ache. “Please,” he murmurs. “Please, please.” It’s both a plea for his lover to proceed and for his body to submit to his will.

Joe moves again. A steady, inexorable slide, until finally Nicky feels the heat of him against his back and buttocks. Nicky groans and drops down onto his elbows, forehead pressed against the bed. He lets out a growl of frustration and releases the sheet to fiercely slap the mattress with his free hand.

Joe’s fingers close over his own.

Nicky can feel the tension in his lover’s frame. Joe is holding himself still again now he is fully seated, but at a cost. Even so, Nicky knows Joe will wait. He turns his head and ghosts his lips over scarred knuckles. Joe’s moves his thumb slightly to brush Nicky's mouth before he turns his head away again.

Nicky pushes his hips back slightly. Joe makes a sound that is barely human, and then gently rocks forward. They start like this. Slowly they build a tentative rhythm. Nicky still feels like he is being cored open, but with each cautious stroke of Joe’s cock the tension falls away and a new feeling takes its place.

Until now Nicky’s own cock has almost been an afterthought, a distraction. They both know it’s too much for him at the start, but right now in this instant he wants Joe’s hand on it.

He yanks his fingers out from under Joe’s and grabs onto Joe’s hand instead, almost over balancing as he clumsily tugs it down between his legs.

Joe gives a huff of gentle laughter. “All right my love, yes, yes. I have you.”

Nicky whines. Over stimulated, but gloriously so, as Joe’s sure, clever fingers stroke him.

It doesn’t take long after that. Nicky comes with a gasp, hips bucking as he spills into Joe’s hand. Joe continues to milk him through it as his rhythm stutters and he floods Nicky with his own release.

Nicky shivers when Joe withdraws but stifles a moan by biting bluntly into his wrist. Joe collapses onto the bed beside him, already reaching out for him. Nicky rolls into his embrace, any lingering discomfort already fading to memory. They press up against each over. Fingers entwined as they share soft kisses that spell out the language they know best.

Prompt here: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=163410#cmt163410

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Nicky asks.

Booker startles. He hadn't been aware Nicky was even listening to him, he'd seemed absorbed in his book, hunched over the kitchen table and staring at the pages.

"Uh," Booker says. "It was very cold in Russia?"

"No, before that."

Booker smiles against his own better judgment. "I was lucky to share a bed with my lover at the time, because it was very cold in Russia."

"You've never told us about this lover," Nicky says.

Nile gives Booker a questioning look, like she's unsure if she's stepped into an old family feud by asking about Booker's time in the Napoleonic wars. Booker shrugs helplessly.

"It would have been awkward," Booker says. "Seeing as Guillaume was killed in battle two weeks before I died for the first time. And I was still married with children."

Nile snorts into her drink. "Classy," she says.

Booker shrinks in on himself. He's never made good decisions, they all know that.

"Wartime changes us all," Nicky says, unexpectedly coming to Booker's defence. "One takes comfort where one can find it."

"I wish my motives had been that pure," Booker says, "but I loved him at the time, just as much as I did my wife and I never told her about him. I had so many secrets from her after Russia anyway, what was one more."

"I never said you didn't love him," Nicky says. "Excuse me a moment."

He leaves his book face-down on the kitchen table and stalks off towards his and Joe's room, leaving Booker staring after him, incredulous.

"Sorry I asked?" Nile takes another deep drink. They've been speaking French to hone Nile's rusty high school language skills before their next mission in the Côte d'Ivoire, and her accent is really atrocious.

Booker blinks. "I honestly don't think that was your fault. I'm not even sure that was my fault." His instinct has been that everything is always his fault, ever since they let him rejoin the fold, ninety-nine years and six months earlier than he'd expected them to, but Guillaume and everything they were to each other is not something Booker ever thought he would need to justify to Nicky of all people.

They sip their drinks in silence - seltzer water for booker, a margarita for Nile - unsure of how to continue speaking now.

"Booker," Joe calls from the hall. "Booker, would you come here please?"

Booker looks over to Nile, expecting to share another bewildered glance with her on his way out the door, but instead, she looks like she's just understood string theory, and also a bit like it's Christmas morning. "Have fun with that," she snickers. "I think I'll go meet up with Andy and Quynh downtown.

Mystified, Booker continues down the hall to Joe and Nicky's room. The door is open.

"Joe?" he calls, unwilling to cross their threshold. "What is it?"

When they stay in big enough houses, when they're not sleeping six to a room, he's always felt it's impolite to trespass on their privacy. But now, Joe pushes the door open wider, ushers him in. "We were wondering," he says, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "Ah, that is..." He looks over to Nicky, apparently lost for words.

"We were wondering if you would join us for the night," Nicky says. He looks impassive, but his hands, clenching the back of a chair, are white-knuckled.

"Join...you..." Booker repeats. They're speaking Italian, as they have with each other for over two hundred years, but Booker's wondering if he's suddenly just forgotten how the language works. They can't possibly mean what he thinks they mean.

With a muttered entreaty - or possibly curse, Booker's Arabic isn't up to scratch - Joe crosses over to him, one hand warm on the back of his neck, the other cupping his cheek. His kiss is deeper than a first kiss with an old friend has any right to be, and Booker tilts his head to accept it deeper, to return everything he's getting and give back more. God, a hundred thousand nights respectfully outside their bedroom door, pretending he wasn't dying to know what happened behind it.

Joe breaks away to rest his forehead against Booker's. "You have no idea how long we've waited for that," he says hoarsely, and Booker wants to tell him that if it's anything like how long Booker's been waiting, he definitely, definitely does, but his chance is robbed by the impact of Nicky pinning him against the wall and absolutely ravaging his lips.

"Oh," he gasps in surprise when they pull apart.

"We thought," Nicky says, "that you only cared for women."

Booker swallows thickly around the intense desire to say something stupid like I care for you.

He loses his chance when Joe takes him by the hand and pulls him toward the bed, falling back on it and drawing Booker on top of him. Booker follows readily, thrilled to be lying here, on top of Joe, with Nicky crawling up behind them. He loses track of time, Joe's hands in his hair, their legs tangled together, Nicky pressing kisses up and down his neck. At some point, Nicky pulls at his shirt so hard it rips; at some point, Joe's legs wrap around his waist; at some point, Nicky presses a bottle of lube into his hands.

Watching Joe and Nicky kiss as Booker sinks into Joe to the hilt, time slams back into place and Booker groans like he's been shot.

Nicky pulls away to give him a warning look. "Don't come yet," he says. "I have plans for you."

Booker wants to ask, but if Nicky starts talking dirty, he has no chance of holding out. The sounds Joe's making are bad enough, breathy little moans when Booker presses in, deep indrawn breaths when he pulls out. His cheeks are flushed, his hair is a mess, and Booker's not sure if this is a dream he had a hundred years ago come back to haunt him or his fantasy come to life.

Nicky presses kisses to Joe's lips, to his cheeks, to his shoulders, whispering to him in Italian. He tells Joe how well he's doing, how good he is at taking it, and Booker sighs out his agreement, "Sí, sí, sí," between thrusts.

"It it as good as you imagined, my heart?" Nicky asks, and Booker thinks his own heart just stopped.

Joe stares up at him, eyes wide with desire, and groans, "Better."

Booker's hips stutter so hard he pulls out on accident.

Joe's thighs tighten around Booker's hips, and in a move Joe's used on him more than once in practice fights that left Booker panting and exhausted and yearning, he flips Booker onto his back and sinks down onto his cock again. He throws his head back and Booker has to sit up and trace the trickle of sweat down his neck with his tongue.

Nicky slides in behind Booker, keeping him upright, mouth hot on his neck.

"Joe saw you, in Saint Moritz," Nicky whispers in his ear. "With the girl from the bar."

Booker's brain is entirely focused on holding Joe's hips tight, helping him rise and fall and fuck himself back on Booker's cock, on the tight clench of Joe around him, on the warm huff of his breath against Booker's cheek. It takes him a while to sort out the non sequitur.

"You fucked her up against the wall," Joe says, hoarse and low. "I wanted to be her, fuck, Book, there, right there."

Booker remembers Saint Moritz, remembers Joe and Nicky all over each other, remembers seducing the girl serving their drinks with a wink and a smile and wishing, as he'd fucked her, that he could have what they had.

He lets his forehead thunk into Joe's collarbone, fucking Joe through the knowledge that they've wanted each other for so damn long. He's making noise, he realizes, groaning through the desire, groaning through the clench of Joe around him.

"He's close," Nicky says, low in his ear. "Don't stop and you won't even have to touch him, isn't that right, love?"

Joe groans, agreeable, leaning into Nicky's touch as he draws quick circles around Joe's nipples.

Booker does his best to follow his orders. "Please," he begs, either for Joe to come or for Nicky to let him, he's not sure. "Please, you feel too good, Joe, you feel-"

Joe groans and clenches down tight around him, comes spurting up onto Booker's chest in a series of fluttering contractions around Booker and Booker sobs with him, holding himself back by the skin of his teeth and his nails dug deep into his own thigh.

"Nicky," he gasps as Joe rides the last of it out, grinding down onto Booker in tight little circles, "Nicky, I did as you asked, I can't hold back much longer, Nicky please."

Nicky makes a hot little pleased sound against the back of his neck and Booker whimpers.

"I was going to fuck you," Nicky says, "but I don't think we can wait that long."

Joe tumbles off to the side, watching them with hazy eyes as Nicky turns Booker to his side to face Joe, as he slots himself between Booker's thighs and fucks through them, wet with sweat and lube that trickled out of Joe onto Booker, and just the thought makes Booker moan.

Joe's hand on his cock is a surprise, and Booker barely makes it a minute as soon as Joe's touching him again, as soon as Joe's kissing him, as soon as he's got Joe tight to one side and Nicky tight to the other. He shoots hard, leaving him dizzy and disoriented and twitching against Joe's hand for long moments as it passes through him, Nicky twitching and coming hot between his thighs.

"Look at him," Nicky groans. "Covered in us."

Booker is, he realizes distantly, with the single brain cell still working. Joe's come is matted into his chest hair, his own is spread across his belly and Nicky's is dripping out between his thighs onto the mattress.

His dick twitches and he gasps in pain, oversensitive after coming so spectacularly.

"Book?" Joe asks. "Booker? Still with us?

"Uh-huh," Booker groans.

Nicky pokes him in the side.

"I think you've ruined me," Booker says when he can manage words.

Joe laughs, full throated. Booker looks over at him. There's a sheen of sweat covering his body as he stretches, satisfied, and then rolls over to sling an arm across Booker. "Perhaps we were a bit too eager," he says.

Nicky noses into Booker's hair from behind. "We've been thinking about this for a very long time," he says.

"So have I," Booker says, drowsy enough to be honest.

"We'll take it slower next time," Joe says, and Booker has enough time left before he passes out to be surprised and pleased there will be a next time.

FILL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811566

(This got more d/s than intended... a spiritual sequel to Joe/Nicky casually having sex in a shared room.)

“Babe, if you wake up Andy she’ll be pissed.” Joe says, like he’s not the one making Nicky loud. Sure he’s biting the pale insides of Nicky’s thighs and rubbing his beard against every sensitive spot between his legs, only touching his cock to lick up the pearls of precum before they drip and distract him, but Joe is doing all of those things quietly. Andy’s bed is only about six feet away. Nicky has his fist shoved into his mouth but he’s still too loud.

Joe sucks a bruise into his hip just to taste it and watch it fade away, drags his nails down Nicky’s legs, licks at him, buries his face into Nicky’s groin and scrapes his beard against his cock, hot and hard. Nicky makes a sound from the back of his throat, a pitch that Joe so rarely hears from him.

Andy’s breathing hasn’t changed yet, but Joe says, “If she wakes up, you’re getting punished. We just went through that stuff with Nile, you know what it could be?”

Nicky’s eyes burn into his as he nods, silent for now.

“Good.” Joe says, kissing the inside of Nicky’s knee tenderly. Then he shoves Nicky’s legs further apart and up, so he can rub his beard and mouth against the tender skin behind Nicky’s balls. Nicky twitches, reigning himself in by pure will. Joe laughs. The breath or vibration of that makes Nicky whine again, squirming against their bed. It creaks a little and he goes very still.

Joe licks at his cock, teasing, tracing the veins with the tip of his tongue. He weighs Nicky’s balls in his hand, gives them a gentle tug. Nicky stares at him, fist in his mouth, like he’s seriously contemplating murder. It’s hot. Hot enough that Joe drags his own gaze down away from Nicky’s eyes slowly, taking in his mouth stretched wide, the broad tilt of his shoulders, his pretty pink nipples, how hard he’s breathing. Joe buries his face against Nicky’s crotch again and breathes him in.

He leans back, nudges Nicky’s cock out of the way like it’s an annoyance so he can kiss at the skin just above. Nicky makes another loud sound as his cock jerks, spitting out precum into Joe’s beard. Joe retaliates by pressing it up against the side of his face and rubbing hard against it, taking it into his mouth for one hard suck, and rubbing it against the other side of his face. Nicky keens, ripping his fist away from his mouth to say, “Fucking suck my cock Joe please, I-!”

He cuts himself off because Andy’s bed creaks, the sound of her turning towards them and sleepily blinking her eyes open, propping herself up on one elbow to get a better view. She doesn’t actually look pissed, but Nicky turns back to Joe wide-eyed, knowing he’s earned his punishment all the same.

Joe grins, runs his hands up and down Nicky’s thighs soothingly, and says, “If you can come in the next minute you can come as much as you want today, otherwise it’s part of your punishment.”

“Fuck.” Nicky whispers. Joe swallows him down to the root after that, so he barely hears Andy volunteer to time them.

Nicky manages it, by the skin of his teeth. He shouts so loud none of them hear Nile and Booker come back from the store. Joe sucks it out of him and swallows, leaning back in afterward to lick him clean with long, too-hard strokes on his sensitive cock. Nicky whines and takes it. Eventually Joe climbs up over him and kisses him, pets his face, brushes hair off his sweaty forehead.

“You woke up Andy, babe. Say you’re sorry?”

“Sorry Andy.” Nicky says to her. She’s on her back again, looking like she’s trying to decide if she wants to get up, go back to sleep, or rub one out herself. She waves it away, casual.

“We’ll do punishment at breakfast okay?” Joe asks.

“Yes.” Nicky breathes, looking forward to it even as he feels his face heat. It’s the first time in a long time, since he and Joe and Booker and Andy were all together, and now Nile’s agreed to try it. She added a lot of firm Nos to their list; Nicky’s glad she took it seriously.

Joe kisses him again, rolls off him and says, “Go on, get dressed, I have to brush my teeth first.”

Nicky laughs, climbing out of bed on shaking feet. Andy eyes his soft cock, then the state of Joe’s beard, and rubs a hand hard against the front of her borrowed boxers, saying, “Punishment better wait for me.”

Joe lazily salutes from his and Nicky’s bed, where he’s rubbing against himself too. “Aye aye boss.”

Nicky finds some briefs and a pair of jeans on the floor, which might be Booker’s actually, plus a gray shirt, and wanders his way into the kitchen. He collapses at the table and goes a little pink when Booker hands him a cup of coffee.

“What was all that noise?” Nile asks, sitting across from him with her own mug. She looks curious, teasing. Having her officially in on their sex life, with boundaries established, is a relief to them all.

“Aww,” Booker says, instantly picking up the game. He’s at the stove now, making omelettes with far too much butter. “Were you being bad, Nicky?”

Nicky has to clear his throat and take a sip of coffee before he can say, “Yes.”

Booker laughs and Nile eyes him curiously, like she wants to ask but also she’s having enough fun just imagining it.

Joe and Andy make their way out of the bedroom after a few minutes, looking rumpled and half dressed. Andy’s found sweatpants and a sports bra, Joe’s in those black zippered pants he likes but shirtless. He pauses to give Nicky a kiss that tastes like toothpaste, then steals his coffee and looms behind the back of his chair.

Booker serves Nile and Andy first, in that slightly old fashioned way that the women haven’t complained about because they’re always hungry when he does it. Then he’s back to cracking eggs. With his back turned he says, “Have a plan for our boy, Joe?”

“Yeah.” Joe says, stroking his fingers up and down Nicky’s neck. Nicky shivers but holds still, even when Joe goes higher and tugs on his ear. He gives Nicky his coffee back but stays behind him. “Gonna come on his face a few times, make him wear it for the day.”

Andy and Nile stop eating for a moment, watching Nicky go very still and very pink. Joe keeps petting him and Nicky would bet all the money they have that he’s smirking.

“You want help?” Booker asks, glancing over his shoulder.

Joe laughs but shakes his head, “Nah, it’ll be fun. Test out the refractory period, since Nile said she didn’t believe us.”

“I don’t.” Nile says, “But I’m willing to be proved wrong.”

“That’s what I like about you, kid.” Andy says, going back to her food. “This is excellent, Book.”

“That’s what you like about me, huh boss?” Booker teases.

Nicky is still frozen, imagining it, trying to breathe normally through the anticipation that’s rising in him. Joe pauses and presses his fingers just under Nicky’s jaw, checking his heart rate. It must not be concerning enough for him to check in.

“You want to eat first?” Booker asks Joe.

“Yeah, please.” Joe says, and Nicky forces himself to relax as Joe’s hands leave him, as he takes his own seat at the table.

“I think you broke Nicky already.” Nile says, watching him. Nicky’s hands shake a little as he takes a sip of coffee.

“He’s good.” Andy and Joe say together, exchanging a grin at the jinx.

Booker hands Nicky and Joe their food and tops up everyone’s coffee before settling down with his own. As the men eat, Joe and Booker enthusiastically, Nicky somewhat mechanically, barely tasting it, Andy and Nile practice their Russian. Nicky thinks they’re talking about weaponry. He thinks I’m going to wear Joe’s cum all day. All day. It’s going to drip and dry and everyone’s going to see it all day. It’s like his face already itches. He’s going to die. Nicky drops his fork and whines, soft.

“Ah ah, that’s what got you in trouble before.” Andy teases, switching to English just for a moment. Joe laughs and finishes his food a little more quickly. When he’s done he pushes his foot against a leg of the chair Nicky’s in until it scrapes against the floor and turns Nicky towards him, away from the table. Booker laughs because Nicky is obviously hard in his pants. Nicky whines again, looking beseechingly up at Joe.

“I’m still drinking my coffee, babe.” Joe says, leaning forward to kiss him once, a consolation prize. “You can get on your knees if you need to.”

Nicky thinks about it and shakes his head. He wants to wait for Joe. Joe shrugs like he doesn’t care either way, sips his coffee, and adds his two cents to the weaponry talk. They must be debating if Nile needs some kind of sword.

Finally, finally, Joe gets his cock out of his pants. He’s talking about his sword, how it was forged, the formal training he’s had with it, and he’s getting himself hard. Nicky’s the only one watching his hand move. After a minute of that he does need to get on his knees, sliding out of his chair and down onto them quietly. He waits.

Joe starts to make another argument for Nile getting her own sword, Booker’s the one who thinks it’s unnecessary and she’d be better off with throwing knives, but Andy says, “Joe, come on, are we doing this?”

Joe looks down at his cock in his hand, and then back up at the rest of them and says, “Yeah, but we’re not done talking about this.”

“She can have both and see what she prefers.” Andy says, as if she’s repeating it. Nicky honestly wouldn’t know.

Joe stands and steps towards Nicky, the look he gives him is all heat. “Can you get this wet for me please?” Joe asks, polite and utterly obscene. Nicky does his best, not lingering even though he likes the weight of Joe’s cock in his mouth. He tries to get it sloppy.

Sitting back on his heels, Nicky opens his mouth to beg for it, but Joe says, “Mouth closed, you don’t get a taste today.” Booker’s laughter makes Nicky flush.

Breathing hard, jerking himself much faster than he does when he’s really chasing pleasure, Joe says, “Ah, okay, gonna give it to you now. Close your eyes babe.” Somehow the reminder, the necessity of it, is what makes Nicky remember this is punishment. He swallows a whine and closes his eyes. Now all he can do is hear Joe’s groans, the creak of the floorboards when he shifts his weight.

Nile whispers, “Okay... damn.”

Joe comes laughing the first time. Nicky feels the head of his cock brush against his mouth, his cheeks, he flinches slightly at the first spurt, and again when one shoots out over his eye. He’s fighting to keep his mouth closed, to stay quiet this time, to be good.

Joe shifts back after a moment but the slick sounds of his hand don’t stop and he doesn’t go far. He’s making breathy noises, oversensitized. Booker, sounding smug, says, “See, he’s not even going soft.”

“It doesn’t... hurt?” Nile asks, just as quiet, “Seems like it kind of hurts.”

“Does it hurt when you go again immediately?” Andy asks, and Nile makes a considering sound. Nicky is so flushed, so hard, he doesn’t know how there’s any blood left in his body to keep his heart pumping but it’s racing too.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Joe says, biting out the consonants. “Nicky.” He groans and he’s coming again, a little harder than he expected clearly because Nicky feels it land in his hair at first, dripping down obscenely.

“Sure you don’t want help?” Booker asks.

Andy laughs at him, saying, “He can go again. He missed a few spots.”

“A few.” Nile echoes, awed. They all sound lower, more intimate, to Nicky’s ears. He can only imagine what he looks like now, what Joe looks like. He must be fucking into a fist full of his own come, whatever isn’t marking Nicky’s face. His eyes, Nicky knows, will be dark and bright.

“Can somebody-“ Joe starts, groans, picking up a slow pace again, and continues, “-uh, talk to me? Or to Nicky?”

“Poor Nicky.” Booker says, all taunts, “He’s bursting out of his jeans he wants it so bad.”

“Oh. Oh, Nicky, you can jerk off, remember? Go ahead babe, please, let me see your pretty pink cock.” Joe says, “You can do it without looking, can’t you sweetheart?”

Nicky can’t nod or open his mouth so he just pops the button on his jeans and, with as little touching as possible, reveals his cock to the room. He presses his lips together hard to keep from making noise.

“Aw, it is pretty.” Booker says. Nicky gives himself a squeeze at that, so turned on it hurts. He can only imagine how Joe feels.

He can hear people moving around. Nile explains “Andy and I are tired of craning our necks over the table, we wanted to see if Booker was right.”

“And?” Andy asks. Nicky can picture her teasing smile. He’s fallen into the same rhythm he can hear Joe using above him and he’s already close.

“Yeah.” Nile says. “You are pretty, Nicky.”

“Covered in my come.” Joe adds, speeding up, “Being so good, so quiet. I’ll get some on your cock this time too, babe.”

It’s a promise, clearly, because Nicky flinches again as Joe spurts weakly across his face. Hearing Joe move closer, feeling his come drip onto Nicky’s cock, sets him off. He makes a strangled noise from the back of his throat that he barely manages not to gasp around as he comes onto the kitchen floor.

Nicky hears Joe collapse back into his chair and takes the opportunity to fall shakily onto his hands and knees. His cock is still hanging out of his jeans and he keeps his face tilted up too, but he’s breathing hard through his nose as he comes down from the high of that last joint climax. Someone brings over a wet towel, just to swipe across his eyes. They have to rub it out of his eyelashes. Nicky realizes he can open his mouth now and does it just to groan at the sensation.

When the towel goes away, Joe taps on his nose and says “Look at me.”

Nicky opens his eyes. Joe's legs are spread wide and he’s still got himself in hand, holding gently, looking rubbed raw and gorgeous.

“Can you speak, Nicky? You feel good?” Joe asks. He can probably read the answer in Nicky’s eyes and his body language but Nicky knows he needs to hear it too.

“Si, grazie.” Nicky manages. When he talks he can feel the dried streaks on his face. It’s disgusting. He wants it off immediately and knows it’s going to be a long day of that feeling. He must make a face because everyone laughs and the humiliation burns, makes him feel like squirming and asking for more.

They talked about this, so it shouldn’t be surprising but when Nile and Booker’s hands come down and haul him to his feet, he slumps into their hold gratefully before he manages to stand. Andy zips him back into his pants, saying, “This is where I’d kiss your cheek but, Nicky? Not even for you.” He laughs.

Everybody but Joe collapses onto the couch, sticking close to Nicky and grounding him, putting on some innocuous tv drama. Joe follows after them, handing Nicky a glass of water.

“Don’t let it drip.” Joe warns, teasing but serious about the punishment. Nicky flushes, watching Joe’s eyes dart around his face and go dark. Joe does kiss him then, a gentle press of lips, and turns to sit against the front of the couch between Nicky’s legs, boneless.

“So, what do we think?” Booker says, flipping through channels, “Football? News? Romantic comedy? Porn?”

He gets hit from three directions. “Okay okay, enough of that for one day.”

“You want porn just look at Nicky’s face.” Andy grumbles. They all do and laugh. Nicky’s face burns and itches. He hates it, it feels so good. All day, he thinks, Joe’s hand settling warmly around his ankle. All day.

Prompt: Here

Tumblr link: Here

Dreamwidth link: Here

Prompt here: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/953.html?thread=953#cmt953

I’m very nervous posting this because I haven’t written anything in ages but I hope this is a little bit like what you were hoping for!!

——————————

It wasn’t the first time this had happened. It didn’t happen often, especially because Joe and Nicky weren’t normally in the mood to share, but it happened often enough that he had learned to recognise the look in their eyes, the way that Joe’s hands lingered on his arm as he passed him a plate at dinner, the way Andy’s eyes sparkled a bit more than usual.

Most of the time it happened after a mission, when they were all hot on adrenaline and needed to remember, viscerally, that they were alive, but sometimes, like this particular occasion, they were just hungering for it.

Even though all of them knew, with unspoken agreement, what was coming, they liked to drag out the anticipation. By the time Nicky cleared their plates after dinner, Booker was antsy, his foot tapping against the floor, his cock pressing uncomfortably against his pants.

Joe and Nicky started things, because of course they did. Their love was the one fixed point around which everything and everyone else moved, and so it was natural that they always ended up being the beginning and the end of these sessions. Joe went over to where Nicky was washing the plates and plastered himself against his love’s back, pressing soft kisses to Nicolo’s neck and lazily rolling his hips—without real intent at first, just chasing the simple pleasure of friction, of pressing as close to Nicolo as he could without being inside him.

“Aspetta,” Nicky complained, “I’m not finished washing everything.” The way he tilted his head back, baring more of his neck to let Joe nip lightly at the skin, made his words ring hollow, and Joe stifled a smile against Nicky’s shoulder, sucking a mark there even though it would disappear almost instantly. “You can multitask, can’t you?” Joe joked, one hand trailing up under Nicky’s shirt to trace slow circles on his belly, while the other hand rubbed Nicky’s cock through the fabric of his pants, slowly working him to hardness.

Nicky’s soft groans had Booker wishing that he had a better view, that he could see the way that Nicky’s cock was filling out even while he stubbornly continued to wash the dishes. Joe was getting his lover ready for him, Booker knew, and just the thought had him stifling a moan.

“Are you just going to watch them or are you ready to help out?” Andy asked with a grin, and when Booker turned to look at her, she had shed her clothes and was sitting nude in her chair, waiting for him. Booker gulped, drinking in the sight of her. She never failed to take him aback with her beauty, the raw power in her toned body.

Suddenly he couldn’t move fast enough, springing up and sinking to his knees in front of her. “Can I, boss?” He asked, nearly vibrating with his eagerness. She laughed at how he was barely holding himself back from touching her, but it wasn’t unkind, merely fond. “Have at it, Book,” she replied, her legs falling open to give him space.

She was already wet, and the first swipes of Booker’s tongue lacked any kind of finesse or strategy. He dove in, as desperate to taste her as if it were the first time. Her hand drifted to the top of his head, not pressing him closer to her for the moment, just holding him lightly, grounding him. “Easy, Book,” she chided gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Once his initial desperation abated somewhat, he started to show more skill, alternating between licking into her and tonguing her clit, and she rewarded him with a groan, her grip on his head tightening.

“Want me to tell you what Joe and Nicky are doing?” She asked, her voice slightly strained. He hummed in response, sending a shiver through her as she felt the vibrations against her core. “Nicky has been washing the same plate for two minutes, because Joe has pulled down his trousers and started fucking him. Nicky must have still been loose from this morning, when they woke me up because they were being so loud—ah, that’s it, Book, right there—in the shower.”

Booker groaned at the picture she was painting, his tongue working her faster as his cock twitched in his pants. He heard a hitching cry from Nicky, and Andy chuckled. “Nicky finally gave up on washing the dishes, which is convenient because Joe’s got him bent over the counter now, and I’m pretty sure he’s tormenting poor Nicky’s prostate. Fuck, Booker, why don’t we do this more often? God, you’re good at this when you want to be.”

Her eyes fell shut for a moment as she luxuriated in the feeling of Booker lapping at her, his hands gentle on her thighs, and she only opened them again when she heard Joe’s long guttural moan which she knew meant that he had finished. Joe stayed inside Nicky for a minute, peppering kisses to his shoulders and murmuring something in Italian, too quiet for the others to catch.

When he finally pulled out and Nicky turned around, his eyes locking with Andy’s, her breath caught as she saw how worked up he was, his face flushed, his cock rock hard and weeping, the head an angry red. “Mm, I’ll give you Booker in a minute,” she reassured him, her fingers carding through Booker’s hair. “Let me?” she asked the man kneeling before her, and she didn’t need to explain more, because he was already humming his assent. She cradled his head with both hands, riding his face as she chased her pleasure, and it didn’t take long before she came apart with a cry, holding him against her as her thighs trembled with the aftershocks until she was too sensitive. “So good, Sebastien,” she praised, pulling him up to reward him with a kiss, tasting her own juices on his lips. “Now, Nicky needs you I think.”

Nicky groaned. “Won’t last long,” he warned. Booker grinned. “That’s okay, I have Joe for later,” he quipped. He unbuttoned his pants and threw them to the side before settling in Andy’s lap, trading lazy kisses with her. Joe, relaxed after his orgasm, sprawled next to Andy, watching as Nicky trailed a slick finger around the rim of Booker’s hole.

“Don’t tease,” Booker whined, torn between pushing back into the finger and rutting against Andy’s thigh. Nicky looked up at Joe and Andy, grinning. “What do you think, amore mio? Boss? Should I tease him a bit?” Joe chuckled. “Good things come to those who wait,” he ventured. Andy leaned over to press a kiss to the top of Booker’s head. “Don’t tease him too badly, he was very good for me.”

Nicky would have liked to tease Booker until he was sobbing for it, but the truth was his own patience was limited. His cock was throbbing and aching to be buried in the other man’s sweet warmth, and so he made fairly quick work of opening Booker up, his fingers sliding just past his sweet spot to draw indignant whimpers from the Frenchman. “Fucking—get in me already,” he grumbled. Nicky obliged, sheathing himself to the hilt so quickly that Booker yelped, his cock blurting out precome onto Andy’s thigh.

Nicky set a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping against Booker’s so quickly that the other man could barely catch his breath in between thrusts. “Goddamn it, Nicky,” Booker gasped against Andy’s shoulder, clinging to her as Nicky pounded into him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated in every language he knew, trembling as he felt himself approaching the edge, nails digging into Andy’s arms. “Nicolo,” he breathed, almost worshipful, as he spilled against Andy’s leg.

His pleased sighs quickly turned to pained whimpers as Nicky fucked him through the aftershocks, Booker shaking with oversensitivity. Their immortality might mean that they had shorter refractory periods than usual, but the constant stimulation still had his nerves on edge, an assault of pleasure mixed with too much, too soon. Nicky’s hips stuttered, once, twice, then he drove deep into Booker and came hard, stifling his moan as he bit into the younger man’s shoulder. As strung out as Booker was, it felt like an age that Nicky was spilling in him, cock twitching with each fresh wave, but finally he pulled out, pressing a last kiss to Booker’s neck.

Booker was exhausted. His face was still wet from eating Andy out, his cock soft and lying in his own cooling release, and he had Nicky’s come trickling down his thighs. But there was one piece missing, he knew, and he lifted his head to look over at Joe. “Joe?” He asked. “How do you want me?”

Joe’s cock had slowly started to take interest in the proceedings as he had watched his lover spill deep inside Booker, but he was still mostly soft. “I want to be inside you,” he admitted, “but first I need you to get me hard for you. Do you think you can do that?”

Booker nodded, clambering off of Andy’s lap with unsteady legs. “Ah, ah,” Andy admonished, gesturing to the mess Booker had made of her thigh. “Before anything else, you need to clean that up.” Booker flushed crimson, but he immediately complied, laving her leg with long strokes until there was no trace left of the pleasure that had coursed through him just a few minutes earlier.

Nicky had beaten him to Joe, kissing his lover deeply and nipping at his lower lip. They broke apart briefly as Booker came over, and Joe laid a gentle hand on the Frenchman’s shoulder, pushing him down and feeding him his cock. Even mostly soft, sliding into Booker’s mouth felt like heaven, and Joe sighed happily against Nicky’s lips. “Do your worst, Booker,” he commanded, and the other man did his best to follow through. Booker had always loved giving oral, to men and women alike. He liked the intimacy of it, the messiness of it, the feeling of kissing soft folds or the edge of a hard length. He loved this the most, because he had to work for it. He earned the heady feeling of Joe thickening in his mouth by pulling out all the tricks he had learned over a long lifetime, one hand cradling Joe’s balls, the other stroking the base of his cock, his tongue caressing the head, dipping into the slit, lapping up beads of precome as they appeared.

Finally Joe pulled Booker off of him with a punched-out groan, rubbing the head of his cock against Booker’s lips as if he couldn’t bear to leave that wet warmth entirely. He gave Nicky a last, lingering kiss and then motioned Booker to bend over the table. “Don’t come on my table, Book,” Andy warned. “I’d like to still be able to eat breakfast there tomorrow morning.”

Booker nodded shakily, stammering out a “yes, boss” as he bent over, bracing himself against the wooden table. He expected Joe to slide in right away, but instead he felt fingers playing at the edge of his hole, not stretching him, just lazily thrusting inside, and Booker flushed as he realised that Joe was rubbing Nicky’s come into him. “Joe, please,” he begged, the overstimulation from his earlier release gone and replaced by a desperate need to have Joe spearing him open.

When Joe bottomed out inside him, Booker buried his head in his hands on the table, gasping at the stretch. Where Nicky had fucked Booker hard and fast, Joe took his time, sliding almost all the way out before pushing back in in slow, deep thrusts that unerringly brushed against Booker’s sweet spot. “So tight for me,” Joe murmured. “Even after Nicky took you earlier. Fuck, I can feel his come in you, it makes you so slick.”

Booker was too far gone to reply, his nails scrabbling at the table as Joe pushed him up it with each thrust. Distantly he heard Andy remark, amused and a little turned on: “God, the noises you make, Booker.” Booker couldn’t help the whines and gasps and soft cries—Joe felt so perfect in him, and Booker couldn’t decide which he wanted more, for this to go on forever or to feel Joe’s release inside him, joining Nicky’s. “Please,” he begged, nearly sobbing, not even sure what he was asking for. More, more of the long slow drag of Joe’s length, more friction for his aching cock, more nights like this where he felt like he had found a home amongst the team. “Please, Joe, please...”

By the time Joe finally spilled inside him, Booker had started to worry that he wouldn’t be able to keep his promise to Andy not to come on the table. He was so hard it hurt, and hearing Joe’s gasp of relief as he found his release was nearly enough to send him over the edge. “Boss, I can’t—please, Boss,” Booker pleaded, turning around once Joe had pulled out of him.

Andy got up from her chair where she had been watching the boys and lazily fingering herself, and gave Booker a soft kiss, wrapping her hand around his length. “I’ve got you, Book,” she murmured. “It’s alright, you can come now. You’ve been so good for us, you deserve it.” Her finger brushed over the head, her nail toying with the slit, and Booker lost it with a howl, coming in thick spurts all over her fist. She held him as he shook, his eyes closed as he surrendered to the pleasure.

When he finally opened his eyes again, Joe and Nicky were curled up together, kissing chastely and murmuring to each other in their habitual mishmosh of languages. Andy chuckled and shared a grin with Booker—this was how it always ended, with the two of them reaffirming that no matter what happened, they were the love of each other’s lives. Neither Andy or Booker would ever want to get between that—but they couldn’t help but enjoy sharing a piece of that love, every once in a while.

Booker/Joe/Nicky, watching out for the husbands.
Booker has had a secret crush on Joe and Nicky for decades... During his exile, he keeps his distance but he also still keeps his eye on the boys—when one or both of them gets in trouble, he steps in to save them, even though he’s afraid that they’ll extend his punishment when it comes out that he’s been keeping tabs on them. Instead, they finally realise how much Booker cares about them and take proper care of him

Copley knows, which probably means that Andy knows. But it's technically not breaking the rules if Booker doesn't make contact. He doesn't plan on making contact.

He is cleaning up his own mess. Copley will text him if there is any intel on Merrick scientists or any other pharma assholes trying to hunt down his (estranged) team.

Joe and Nicky are good at hiding their tracks, but they get soft. Distracted. So utterly wrapped up in each other that they tend to forget to keep their heads down and avoid making routines and patterns. Not content to bask in their love for each other, they fall in love with the food of a particular restaurant at least once a month and can't prevent themselves from becoming regulars until they have to relocate. Joe has a current and inexplicable addiction to Allbirds right now, and will probably order a damn replacement pair of shoes with the same alias to be delivered to their current location for fuck's sake, so yeah, they kind of need a babysitter until Book knows they have their heads back in the game.

Book's just going to watch from afar. No contact. No infiltration or planting bugs in their sub-let flat. The Ethiopian restaurant they are currently infatuated with is infuriatingly within eyesight of the front door to their building. Booker has bugged the hostess' stand in case anyone comes to inquire about their customers. (If Book can hear snatches of Nicky and Joe's conversations it is only because the men tend to prefer the table by the front window which just happens to be right next to the stand. Joe's obsession with kitfo is kind of nauseating, and his attempts to convert Nicky to accepting the merits of eating raw meat when one is not starving in the wilderness are also failing to convince Booker.)

Fort Lauderdale is a hellhole in Booker's opinion, but one interracial gay couple doesn't stand out among all the other vacationing and local white and sun-bronzed young men. Joe looks younger with his beard shaved and his hair growing out into curls, and Nicky has never been able to look very old so they are blending in well. Their neighbors think they are a newlywed couple that have come to enjoy their freedom in Florida after escaping homophobic families, and easily accept their pleas to help them lie low and requests to let them know if anyone comes asking around for them. Booker is torn about whether hiding in such a well-known LGBTQ community is smart because of the inhabitants' natural wariness of strangers, or stupid because Joe and Nicky have flaunted their relationship so blatantly in front of the Merrick people that anyone searching for them will target these communities first.

Trouble doesn't reach them for eight months. They have moved on to an American style diner where Nicky likes to get bastardized versions of crepes for brunch when Booker sees an out of place tourist bus pull into a too-small parking lot three blocks away and discharges a bunch of fit men and women wearing sturdy shoes that clash with their shorts and casual shirts. Book texts Copley to pass on an immediate bug out order, but Copley doesn't respond. As the minutes tick down, Books grinds his teeth as the suspects approach their home. Three of the guys have sweated through their shirts enough to reveal their holsters to Booker's eyes through the binoculars (amateurs, definitely a corporate security force used to working inside).

Damn the rules! Booker would pray as he dials Joe's phone, but he only has time to swear. "Fourteen-man security team approaching from north, both sides of street. Corporate, dressed to blend in, watch for their shoes." He hangs up and glances at his sniper rifle but resists uncasing it and picks up the binocs again. The security force arrays itself strategically around the building. Book can't see what's going on in the back, but the camera on the rear exit doesn't show Nicky or Joe leaving or any of the take-down team going inside of the building, so he has to assume it's a more subtle kidnapping from the street than a dramatic indoor assault.

If he knew that Nick and Joe had gotten away safely, Book might have enjoyed watching the undercover goons stay at their posts while trying to nonchalantly maintain their tourist disguises, but the locals start getting curious after thirty minutes. An expensive car parks illegally by the front door after 45 minutes, and two men in suits flash badges at one of the building's residents who allows them inside the building. Booker knows these fakers wouldn't stand a chance against either one of his brothers-in-arms, and there aren't any muzzle flashes lighting up the curtains and none of the security schmucks scramble to action, and the suit clowns come back out after fifteen minutes and drive away. The fake tourists hardly bother keeping up their act as they pull back to their bus.

Booker finally puts the binocs down and massages the rings pressed into his skin as he picks up his phone and sends a "WTF???" message to Copley. "Dois-je tout faire moi-même?" He mutters.

"I didn't see you do anything."

Booker tips his head back, closes his eyes, and sighs. "If you tell me you were ahead of me and knew they were coming before I called, I'll fuck off to another continent because then I won't have to worry so much."

Nicky is the one who admits, "We've known that you've been around for months. We didn't know about the ambush. Thanks for your call."

Booker doesn't turn around. Didn't expect a thank you. Is still anticipating an ultimatum about stalking them and a bullet to the head. "Copley's emergency line is apparently bullshit, but your emergency exit was undetectable. I have no idea how you got out of your building."

"Please tell me you didn't put transmitters in our bedroom again, like you did in Rome?" Joe says.

"Never even went inside your building," Booker says honestly. "Believe me, I learned my lesson after that once." He did. Fifty years later and he still had no desire to surveil them in their bedroom ever again, prank or not.

"Convince me you weren't selling us out again." All the levity had left Joe's voice. Book wondered briefly if his own HK45 was pointed at his head or if Joe had brought his own weapon. He didn't care enough to turn and find out.

"Joe?"

"Not now. I want an answer."

"Joe," Nicky says again.

"I didn't. I swear. I just wanted to clean up my mess," Booker says.

"Can't leave us loose ends hanging in the wind?" Joe sneered.

"I'm sorry. You don't believe me, but I am. I was just trying to keep you safe."

"Yeah? What miracle made you change your mind, traitor?"

"Joe. You should see this."

"For God's sake, Nicky! What?"

Booker's body went cold. He didn't have much in this vacant office. Laptop, sleeping bag, duffle. A few precious personal items he tried to hang on to. There wasn't much that could have gotten Nicky's interest.

Joe stomps over and throws Booker's journal on the floor at his knees, letting a handful of photos slide out into an array of memorialized moments. They weren't sorted by date. All the ones on top were of Joe and Nicky. From the 1930s and onward. The ones Booker loved looking at the most.

"Your deal with Copley went wrong in France?!" Joe hissed, his eyes narrowed in pure rage. "Wanted me out of the way? So you could comfort Nicky while you pretended to search for me?!"

Sebastien knew he wouldn't be able to convince Joe of anything. Not after spectacularly blowing up bridges and threatening their relationship. He wasn't going to cry like a child. "Cover your tracks. You belong together. I'm sorry I almost fucked it all up with my... useless attempt at suicide. My jealousy. I've dragged us all into a game with powerful players, and I just needed to make sure you two kept your heads down and maintained situational precautions." Hopefully Nicky at least was listening. "Maybe Copley can figure out how you were made and by whom, and you can pay better attention."

Joe shoved the gun's mouth against Booker's temple. "Always better than us, huh? You're the weak one, le Livre. Always have been."

The bullet didn't hurt nearly as much as Joe's words.

When Book opened his eyes again Joe and Nicky were gone. So was his journal and their pictures.

It took over five years for Joe's anger at Booker to cool. Nicky knew he needed time and kept what he had learned to himself. It had hurt, but Nicky understood it was just a fraction of the emotional pain and stress Sebatian had endured for two hundred years.

Joe still wasn't as forgiving toward Booker as Nicky would have wanted, but he had to shove the book into Joe's hands anyway. "Read it. Booker's implant hasn't moved for three weeks and Copley needs us to check it out. We're leaving in the morning."

Sebastien likes the Northern Lights. This far north the night takes up most of the day this time of year. Makes it easy to just lie back and watch the aurora until he slept until he opened his eyes to watch it again. The cold was good, too. Clean. Keeps everything quiet. He likes to hear the snowflakes hit the snow in soft pats. Sometimes he could hear wolves. There were no planes cutting up the sky and the silence in winter.

He doesn't dream because he doesn't sleep. Hardly even moves except to clear his view of the heavens. It's enormous and feels so, so close even though eternal rest is still unreachable.

This isn't too bad, though. As close to requiescat-ing in pace as a damned immortal can get. Much more serene than Quynh's unfortunate resting place. If it weren't for all the drowning it would probably be peaceful at the bottom of the sea, too.

Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=184914#cmt184914

Fill:

“This, I don’t understand,” Sebastien says, gesturing with his bottle, which is—dreadfully, regrettably—empty. “You and Josef. I do not understand it.”

“Have you not been in the army?” Nicolas says lazily, tilting his head back against Josef’s shoulder to accept a sip from the bottle they’re sharing. They still have wine, Sebastien notes with some resentment.

“Of course.”

“So you must have known men like us.”

“That’s different.”

“How?” Josef asks without opening his eyes.

“That’s just… convenience. Release. Those men will come home and take wives. They wouldn’t fuck each other if there were women available.”

“It wounds my soul to hear the transcendent experience of making love to my Nicolas described in such crass language,” Josef says serenely. Nicolas laughs softly and turns to press a kiss to Josef’s bearded jaw. It’s as sweetly tender as any man might be toward a girl he loves, and it’s exactly the sort of thing that baffles Sebastien.

“I mean no offense,” he says. And then, mournfully. “I’m out of wine.”

“That’s because you drink too fast,” Josef says, but he reaches behind him to pull another bottle off of the table and roll it across the floor to Sebastien, who manages to catch it after a few fumbling attempts.

He uncorks it with his teeth, and manages not to tip it down the front of his shirt as he drinks. It’s good wine. It would be a shame to waste it like that.

“All I mean,” he says once he’s managed to set the bottle back down upright, “is that either of you could have a woman if you wanted to. Even Andrée—”

“Oh, there’s no man who could tempt Andrée for more than a night,” Josef says lightly.

“Still. There are other women.”

He sees the two of them exchange a speaking glance. Then Josef shrugs. “Nicolas has never been much inclined toward women. And my heart has belonged to him for centuries.”

“And mine to you,” Nicolas adds, with fond exasperation.

“Of course, habibi. I’ve never doubted it. There, you see?” he adds, to Sebastien. “Why would we seek out women when we are content with one another, body and soul?”

“I just don’t see how it could compare to, to—” Sebastien gesticulates with his bottle, somewhat lewdly. “Men might offer a hand just for convenience when there are no women around, but to be taken by another man, as if you were a woman—I don’t even know how that would work.”

“Are you asking for a demonstration?” Josef asks. Sebastien chokes, heat rising to his cheeks, and Josef lifts his hands, laughing. “I’m joking, I’m joking.”

“I’m too drunk to get my pants off in any case,” Nicolas adds.

“No,” Sebastien says, and takes a long drink of wine. It does nothing to soothe his burning face. “I just don’t see how it would be… pleasant. That’s all.”

“Oh, pleasant is such an insufficient word for the bliss that is being impaled by Nico’s magnificent—”

“Stop, stop,” Nicolas laughs. “The poor man will have an apoplectic fit.”

“I will not,” Sebastien mutters, mortified. “Forget that I said anything. Please.”

“It’s not much like making love to a woman,” Josef says contemplatively. There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes that makes it clear how much he’s enjoying watching Sebastien squirm. It’s probably deserved. “Not that there aren’t many other things that two men can do together. But that particular one takes time and care.”

“You need…” Nicolas trails off, then says something in Italian. “What’s the word. Something slippery. So that it doesn’t hurt.”

“And this is enjoyable?” Sebastien asks, somewhere between appalled and fascinated.

“If you do it right,” Josef says, with a wink. “Which Nicolas always does.”

“We’ve had a long time to practice.”

“True.”

Sebastien sets his bottle down to put both his hands over his face. “I’m very happy for you. And very, very sorry to have started this conversation. Will you allow me to end it now?”

Nicolas laughs, then leans forward out of Josef’s arms to pat Sebastien’s ankle. “We will. All that matters is that you understand that I love Josef, and he loves me, and neither of us desire anything else. Yes?”

“I understand,” Sebastien says, and lifts his head to find them both watching him with expressions that hold some seriousness under the laughter. He clears his throat, then says, more sincerely, “I’m happy for you."

FILL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25842112

Not sure whether to label this dub-con or non-con as I'm not sure how it's going to go yet, but put the warning their just in case. I will try to get hold of a beta before I put it up on AO3. Anyone know where I can find one? Fill for this prompt - A night with Nicky in return for information.

https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=213692#cmt213692

The noise of traffic and people filtered up from the street below. Andy sat motionless on a chair that looked like it might have been new back when Booker was a small boy.

“You know they’re gonna be all right?” Nile winced; she hadn’t meant that to come out sounding like a question. “I mean, they’ve got to have done this before?”

Andy responded with a tired twitch of her lips. “Yes, they’ve done this before.”

Nile stepped closer, though she had long since given up any hope of catching a breeze from the open window. “So, you’re just a control freak, huh?” She grinned to take the sting out of her words.

Andy’s mouth softened into something closer to a smile. “Perhaps,” she acknowledged.

Nile knew Andy was still struggling with her newfound mortality, chiefly the limitations it imposed on her, the risks she could no longer take. This meet was a casing point. Andy would have made the first contact, but she was still recovering from their last job, so Nicky and Joe had gone instead.

Andy was glaring at her ankle now like it had personally betrayed her, which in a way, Nile supposed it had. Something as simple as a bad landing on a stairwell had left Andy cursing and hobbling. By the time they had made it back to the car it was already starting to swell, and once they had reached the safe house they had to cut off her boot to see to it. That really hadn’t gone down well. Nile had thought Andy was going to kick Joe in the face when he first tried.

The sound of a door further down the hallway and voices approaching drew their focus over to the door. Nile’s finger’s twitched around her gun, but she was already relaxing as she recognized them.

Someone knocked the signal raps on the door. Andy gave the answering raps on the dresser beside her. As soon as Joe came into the room, closely followed by Nicky, Nile knew something was wrong.

They were arguing if their body language and tone was anything to go by. Nile couldn’t follow what they were actually saying, it was a blur of old Italian, Arabic, and quite possibly a few others thrown in.

Andy called an end to it by sticking two fingers in her mouth and whistling. “Enough,” she ordered once she had their attention. “What happened?”

“That man, he. He is a-“

Joe started in English before he went off again in Italian, some of which Nile did recognize because she had heard Joe use those words before when he was watching soccer.

“Joe. Stop.”

Nicky’s voice was soft but firm and brook no further argument. Nile recognized that too. Joe stared at his love; his expression too complicated for Nile to decipher. Then he walked into the bathroom, closing the door very pointedly behind him.

Nicky watched him go and then shut his eyes briefly, as though in pain.

“Nicky?” Andy waiting until the younger man’s eyes opened and his gaze turned to her. “What happened?”

Nicky glanced over at Nile briefly. She thought he looked uncomfortable and was about to ask if she needed to give them some space when he started talking.

“The meeting went well. He has agreed to give us what we asked for. With one caveat.”

“What?” Andy asked bluntly.

Nicky sighed. “Me. He wants me.”

Nile stared at him. *What. The. Hell?*

Andy was evidently of a similar mind; her voice took on that dangerous edge that was usually a forerunner to extreme violence. “Explain.”

Nicky let out a long breath through his nose and stared at the ceiling as he spoke. “I think he is a man for whom money buys most everything he wants, so he craves those things money cannot buy.”

Andy snorted, her expression twisting in disgust. “Another man’s lover.”

“In this case, yes.”

Nile couldn’t stay silent. “That’s- No. You’re not. Nicky, no-“ Her eyes pleaded with him, but he still wouldn’t look at her.

“What were his exact terms?”

Nile felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “Andy,” she whispered. “No, you can’t-“ Andy ignored her.

“He wants one night. At a place of his choosing. And in the morning I will be allowed to leave with the information.”

“You mean after he’s finished fucking you.“ Nile refused to feel guilty at the way they both flinched. Dammit, they needed to stop with the craziness and focus on thinking up another plan.

“Nile, don’t-“ Andy began.

Nile cut her off. “No. You cannot tell me you are actually considering this? She looked from one to the other. When neither denied it, Nile threw up her hands in despair. “No. Just no.” She jabbed a finger at Nicky. “You do not prostitute yourself for some fucking papers, and you-“ Nile turned on Andy. “You do not ask him to prostitute himself.” Andy’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t respond. Nicky however, apparently felt the need to correct her.

“Nile, no. She is not asking that.”

“So, you’re not going to do this.” Nile wanted verbal confirmation that they were shelving this shit show. Her stomach did another sickening dive when Nicky spoke.

“It is my body. My choice.”

Nile shook her head. “No, Nicky. No. This is wrong. You have to see how wrong it is. Please tell me you haven’t done anything like this before?” She glanced between the two of them.

“I have not before, no,” said Nicky.

He spoke so softly Nile could barely hear him. Although, Nile was more concerned when Andy didn’t say anything. Six thousand fucking years. God. Nile decided it was time to speak to the one person who apparently hadn’t boarded the crazy train. She went over to the bathroom door and tapped on it gently. “Joe? Joe, can I come in?” The was a pause, and then the sound of movement, and then the door opened just enough to let her slip inside.

WARNINGS: Non-con - it's a dream but it's still described

Have You Any Dreams You'd Like To Sell, Part One - the Dream.

The smoke in the air made things hard to see.
The sight of the ceiling was obscured in a haze.

Joe sat up.

His vision tilted giddily like the footage from a dropped camera.

When it righted he saw Nicky lying, prostrate and vulnerable under Keane’s knee on his stomach. The soldier had two fingers lodged down to the base knuckle in Nicky’s mouth, his other hand freely fisting his angry cock; the sight made something dark and ugly burn in Joe’s stomach.

“Hey!”

Keane looked up at Joe’s shout. Nicky craned his head up as much as he could to see Joe and made a muffled shout at seeing him. Keane smirked, cruel and unbothered and taking his fingers back, prompting Nicky to gasp for air where he’d been half-choked.

“Joe!”

His cry was hoarse and short.

Keane shifted his position enough to take hold of Nicky’s shoulder and half-flip him to his front, pulling one of his arms around and behind his back. Nicky lay with his chest against the floor, Keane holding him there easily with one big hand pressing Nicky’s wrist down between his shoulder blades.

Nicky struggled for freedom but in an awkward position, his hips in a half-twist and his knees to the side, he was truly pinned.

That dark feeling in Joe’s stomach slipped low when he saw Keane tugging the waistband of Nicky’s loosened combat pants down to his knees, Nicky suddenly writhing to try and break free. He was growling low and angry, but Joe knew Nicky well enough that he could hear the fear under the anger.

Joe didn’t get up but leaned over, closer, reaching out along the floor himself in their direction and able to see the way Keane ran his free hand down Nicky’s spine.

"Yusuf!" the love of his life cried out for him desperately, his free arm stretched out over the floor with scant inches between Joe's fingers and his own. Joe would just need to reach forward a little to grasp hold of Nicky's hand, and pull him to safety; he could feel the strength in himself waiting to be used.

Keane dropped his hips to rub his cock against the swell of Nicky’s ass where he was still lying tipped. Nicky's gaze remained fierce but trusting and certain of Joe's help, flicking down to Joe's hand and up to his face again.

There was a long, slow moment of tension before it broke, the dusty air clearing as Joe sat back casually and comfortably with a wry smile, catching sight of Nicky’s confusion, that trust still there.

He looked up at Keane with a grin, a quirked eyebrow and a nod of his head towards his pinned husband with all the generosity he'd have used to offer the thug a slice of cake. "Do it."

Keane straightened out Nicky's hips perfunctorily and shoved into him with a hyena grin while Joe laughed over Nicky’s broken wail, amused at the man’s eagerness. “That’s it, just like that.”

Keane’s hands were curled cruelly around Nicky’s hips as he fucked into him hard and deep from the get-go. Nicky seemed to overcome the shock enough to try to drag himself away but he couldn’t break away from Keane yanking him back into his thrusts.

“Yusuf, please!” Nicky implored, that trust still somehow there. “It hurts, please!”

“Don’t stop, he likes it.” Yusuf told Keane, as though Nicky’s words had made the man pause.

“Yeah, look at him squirm, he’s loving it.” Keane agreed, pressing bruises into Nicky’s hips.

Joe watched Keane lunge against and into the body of his husband again and again and he felt the insistent press of his hard on against the fabric of his pants.

He reached down, still looking at Nicky, and squeezed himself through them, Nicky keening unhappily at the sight and turning his face down to hide against the hard floor.

“Take it, take it you little whore, take it-“ Keane snarled, making Joe’s cock twitch.

Nicky groaned in pain and looked up again to Joe, always back to Joe, his eyes wet now from unshed tears.

"Wait. Stop!" Joe cried out, and Keane did, still buried hard in Nicky’s body. Nicky slumped against the floor, his breath coming in hitches. "Yusuf..." he whimpered gratefully.

Joe studied him for a moment and then looked back up at Keane. "Flip him over and fuck him on his back."

Keane laughed as he followed Joe’s suggestion, unfazed by Nicky’s renewed attempts to fight away. He grabbed one of Nicky’s legs by the thigh, sliding his hand up to Nicky’s knee as he pushed it back towards Nicky’s shoulder, spreading his legs out wider until Nicky yelped in pain.

It seemed harder for Keane to push back in at this new angle and Nicky’s back arched in anguish at the first difficult, dry drag of Keane’s cock back inside him. The heel of his palm slid against the floor as he tried to push away with a high sound of agony.

"Fuck, he looks good struggling on your cock. Fuck, listen to him." Joe panted from where he’d reached into his own combat pants and was finally squeezing at his hard length, slick from his own precome.

Keane bit into Nicky’s calf where it was positioned near his mouth and Nicky bucked at the pain making Keane swear at the feeling.

“He wants it.” Joe told him, and Nicky only whined in denial.

“Dirty slut.” Keane growled, pushing the leg he had lifted down to the side against the floor.

"Fuck him hard.” Joe encouraged, pulling himself out of his trousers so he could better stroke his cock.”Yeah, come on, come on, harder, hurt him, fucking rape him."

Nicky sobbed at that, and seeing him start crying made Joe groan in pleasure.

"Hey, push one of your fingers up there with your cock, he'll fucking love it. Shit, do it anyway."

Keane lined two of his fingers up and pushed them in alongside his cock on his next thrust, Joe swearing when it made Nicky make a high, hurt sound through his gritted teeth before he seemed to break.

“Joe, Joe, make it stop, make it stop, please Joe, please make it stop, make it stop!.” He begged, frantic and wild and it was the last thing Joe heard before he jolted awake against Nicky to the feeling of coming in his pyjama pants.

Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=121170#cmt121170

Nicolo had felt the stirrings of the flesh before. He had woken up sometimes as a teenager, mind still hazy with a half-remembered dream, his length throbbing, an ache he did not know how to soothe. He had always lain there, heart pounding and gut roiling with guilt, until the problem subsided.

Once he left for the Crusades, with so much death and destruction and misery all around him, he had not felt desire for months, and he almost thought that he had mastered that part of him, stifled it like a good priest.

It had been six months since he had lain down his sword and instead offered a hand to the man who had killed him countless times, six months since they had begun travelling together, chasing half-images of two women on horseback.

They had set up camp in a sheltered valley, Nicolo laying out their bedrolls while Yusuf ventured into a nearby grove of trees to find some berries or such to complement their meagre provisions. Only he had been gone quite a bit longer than Nicky had imagined, and he was starting to fret. He shouldn’t worry so much about the other man, he knew—they couldn’t die, after all—but he had grown truly fond of him.

He warred with himself for a few minutes, fussing around with their travel bags, before he couldn’t stand it anymore. With one hand on his sword, he retraced Yusuf’s steps, moving quietly in case he needed to take any intruders by surprise. As he walked further into the trees, he heard a soft murmuring, sweet and melodic.

Yusuf was singing to himself, Nicolo saw as he rounded a corner. The other man had found a little stream and had shed his clothes and gone in to have a wash, and he was singing to himself in his own language as he poured the water over his body.

Nicolo knew that he shouldn’t stare, that now that he had found Yusuf, now that he knew he was alright, he should either step forward and greet his friend or return to their little camp. But the sight was so arresting that he couldn’t help himself, he stopped, just on the other side of the trees, and watched, fascinated, as Yusuf cleaned himself.

At first, Yusuf had been almost entirely submerged in the water, only his head and neck visible, but suddenly he stood up, the toned muscles of his bare chest on full display, and Nicky had to stifle a gasp at the sight.

All of a sudden, to his horror, he realised how his body was betraying him. He felt the same stirrings that had shamed him as a youth, but a thousand times worse, his length filling immediately, making an obscene bulge in his trousers. In a panic, Nicolo brought his hand to it, pressing down hard as if that would make it go away. He glanced up again, to make sure that Yusuf had not seen him, and was greeted with the sight of Yusuf completely nude. The man had his back to Nicolo, his firm rear golden in the afternoon sun, water dripping down his sides, and Nicolo was lost in a maelstrom of sensations that he had never felt before.

His cock twitched violently under his hand as he wet his breeches with a flood of come. He was powerless to stop it, it was all he could do to stay silent, biting his lip to keep from crying out as he shook with a pleasure unlike any he had ever known. His release was nearly painful in its intensity and he felt as if it would never end—every time he thought it was over, he would feel a fresh burst of wetness under his hand, would have to muffle a whimper of sensitivity as the head of his cock, unused to such sensations, rubbed against the damp fabric of his trousers.

When it was finally over, Nicolo ran from the clearing, finding a place further upstream from where Yusuf was bathing, so that he could wash his trousers, scrubbing away the evidence of his shame. He couldn’t quite look at his companion over dinner that night, but the next morning, as they rode away, Nicolo resolved to put the whole incident behind him. It was some peculiar effect unique to that valley, he told himself, which must have been cursed. It would not happen again.

It happened again. They were travelling up in the north, where it was a bitterer cold than Nicky had ever known, and they were having to sleep close together next to the fire. Yusuf was behind him, not touching him though no more than a hand’s breadth separated their bodies. Yusuf had fallen asleep immediately as soon as they had lain down, but Nicolo was struggling to block out the chill in the air.

Suddenly, he felt an unexpected warmth—Yusuf had sighed deeply in his sleep, and the warmth of his breath had landed on Nicky’s neck like a caress. It was such a little thing, really, and yet the next moment, Nicky was shooting off in his pants. He hadn’t even realised that he had gotten hard from Joe’s proximity, yet here he was emptying his balls for the first time since the incident at the river, his hips making aborted little thrusts into the air as he rode out the waves of pleasure. With a sigh, Nicky left the warmth of the fire to go find a place to clean up.

The next time it happened, he had just watched Joe slice his way through ten bandits who had dared to lay their hands on his horse. Nicky had long been in awe of Joe’s skill with a blade, had admired it even when they were enemies, but he had never had this kind of reaction to it before. And yet, as he saw Joe whirl around to dispatch another one of the intruders, Nicky found himself spilling untouched again. The pleasure was slightly more familiar now, slightly less overwhelming than the first time, but it still took his breath away. It always seemed to go on for so long and there always seemed to be so much of it, as if he had stored up his release through all those years of chastity and now it was leaving him in thick spurts. Thankfully, they were both such a mess with blood and gore all over their clothes that Joe never noticed the wet spot at his groin.

A few months later, Nicky came to the unpleasant realisation that it could happen merely from thoughts. They were on one of the Greek islands, Yusuf had gone to market and he was resting on the bed in their latest safe house. His mind wandered idly, and he thought about all the things Yusuf had promised to bring home from market, imagined the other man carrying the heavy bags, an easy task for his arms knotted with muscles. He couldn’t help a mental picture of those strong hands touching him, lifting him up—and that was all it took. Nicolo trembled as he came, and this time, since he was alone, he turned over, rutting against the bed to ease himself through it, gasping at how good it felt, letting out all the whimpers and moans that he had had to keep silent the other times.

After that, it didn’t happen for a while, and Nicolo began to hope that he had quelled the urges again. Malta was his undoing, however. They had been staying there for a while, in a big house with a large garden out front which gave them some privacy, and Joe had suggested that they spar, to keep their fighting skills in shape.

It had indeed been a long time since they had had to fight anyone and Nicky had begun to worry that he was losing his touch, so he agreed easily. He only realised what a catastrophic mistake it was when Joe pinned him to the ground, straddling him with a triumphant grin, and Nicky had no time to try and escape before he was coming hard, hips chasing his pleasure against Joe’s leg.

Even while he was spilling between them, his cheeks burned. He knew that this time he could not hope to hide what had happened, that Joe could not fail to notice the hard length twitching against him, the growing wet spot, the way Nicky had gone boneless with his desire.

Joe’s eyes widened as he felt the warmth spreading against his thigh, knowing intuitively what it had to be but scarcely able to believe it. His beautiful Nicky, whom he had wanted for so long, was able to be brought off just from this, just from Joe’s weight against him, pressing him into the dust? Amazed, he pressed a hand to the place where he felt the splashes of warmth, needing to see for himself.

“Oh god, Joe,” Nicky groaned as he felt the other man’s hand on him. Even through the fabric of his pants, Joe’s touch was enough to set off fresh spasms, Nicky’s cock leaping until he thought he would die from it. It was the worst time since the very first. The comforting pressure of Joe’s hand and the way Joe looked down at him with those kind eyes drove Nicky nearly to distraction, and by the time his orgasm finally subsided he had soaked both of their clothes and his cock felt raw. He didn’t know how it was possible after he had just come so hard, but he was still half-hard, still aching for Joe’s touch.

“I’m so sorry,” he said miserably. “I can’t help it, I—“ Joe cut him off with a smile. “My heart, there is nothing to apologise for. This is natural, just one of the joys that God has given us in this life. It does not have to mean anything, it can be just a simple release,” he said gently. “But...” he bit his lip, looking away for a moment. “If you want it to be more, it can be. You have all of me, if you want it.”

Choked up, Nicky surged forward to kiss Joe deeply, gasping into his mouth. “It means something,” he whispered. And when he came again a few minutes later, nearly dry as all that he had to give cooled between him and Joe, for the first time he felt no shame.

So I filled the Immortal!Keane prompt, you can find it here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25810942

And the original prompt here:

https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=175954#cmt175954

Graphic non-con, heavy angst, dead dove: do not eat,

Part One -

"Yusuf, Yusuf, please!" Nicky pleads. He's not yet crying, but Joe can tell from how his face is contorting that he is close to tears. Perhaps that should horrify him. It doesn't, the way Nicky's lips form the words and the panic in his voice is thrilling. Joe feels a response stirring in his gut, the hot bloom of arousal.

"Yus-" Nicky begins again, but his plea is choked out by a high gasp as the man atop him bites at his throat, and Joe watches the first tears fall from Nicky's eyes and slide down his face. The man is Keane, and Joe does not question why he is alive, as he does not question how or why they are here, back in the lab with the man between a weeping Nicky's thighs. Nicky writhes beneath Keane, shoving furtively at his chest, attempting to push him off.

"Hold his hands," Joe says, suddenly concerned that Nicky might succeed in fighting Keane off. He can't have that, he can't have Nicky escaping just as things promise to become good. Surprisingly, Keane obeys, knocking Nicky's hands away and seizing his wrists, pinning both of them above his head in a one-handed grip. "Yes, like that," Joe says approvingly, his eyes devouring how Nicky's body is stretched taut, and Nicky lets out a sob of fright and shock, his chest heaving and his eyes wide in horror as he twists his head to look at Joe.

"Yusuf!" he screams, his voice high and unbelieving as Keane's free hand smooths over his face and neck, his thumb passing over and dipping between his lips before moving down and over his chest. "What are you doing? Please, help me!" Joe shakes his head, tracking Keane's hand as it disappears under Nicky's shirt.

"Be quiet, my love." he orders. Under the shirt, Keane's hand roves all over, mapping out the planes of Nicky's heaving body, and when Nicky releases a sharp and pained cry, despite what Joe just said.

Joe just knows Keane must have twisted his nipples. Those are sensitive, he knows that from much experience. Nicky's cry sends another flashflare of arousal through him, heating his blood and tightening his pants. Nicky's noises are to die for, and this one in particular stirs up a dark lust, it's like the mewling of a young and frightened animal. Joe has not known until now how wonderful such a sound is.

It must stir something in Keane too, for the man growls, shoving his lower body against Nicky's, grinding down between his thighs with his hand still very much in Nicky's shirt, his fingers still clamped around a tender nipple. Nicky kicks out, bucks his hips, furiously trying to dislodge him. "Hold still, you little slut." Joe hears Keane say, but Nicky does not listen and keeps squirming frantically as Keane ruts himself on him.

"Yusuf!" Nicky calls out again, and from the tremble in his voice Joe knows he's crying in earnest. "Please, help me. Please, please." Joe makes no move to help. The sight and sounds are too alluring, too arousing. If he helps, it will all be ruined.

"Put him on his knees," he says to Keane, Nicky will be much more manageable that way, on his hands and knees. Keane does, grabbing Nicky at the waist and easily flipping him over, releasing his hands as he does. Nicky immediately tries to crawl away, but Keane holds him by the hips, drawing him back, pressing himself up against the curve of his ass.

"Where are you going?" Keane smirks, amused and predatory. Joe agrees with him. Where does Nicky think he is going? It's useless to struggle, Keane is going to fuck him, and Joe is going to watch, whether Nicky likes it or not.

Keane fumbles at Nicky's waist, undoing his pants despite Nicky's cries to stop, stop, please! Keane shoves his pants down to his knees, leaving him bare, his hand crushing bruises into Nicky's hip from the force of his grip. He raises his other hand to his mouth, licking his fingers, then brings them back down, shoving one or perhaps two, cruelly into Nicky, Joe can't exactly tell how many from this angle. Nicky's breath hitches at the intrusion, and then he sobs out in pain, resuming his efforts to crawl away.

Joe find it delicious to see, Nicky weeping as he fruitlessly tries to free himself, Keane's fingers pumping into him, making his hips twitch and jerk. It's quite a show.

Keane pulls his fingers out all too soon, but Joe doesn't mind as much, since he knows what's coming next, and it will be much better than a few fingers. So does Nicky, who meets Joe's eyes, his own glassy and red from tears. "Please, please, Yusuf," Nicky whimpers as Keane shoves his head against the floor, holding him prone with a hand wrapped around his neck, "Stop this, please."

Joe doesn't care to look him back, focusing on how Keane is unzipping himself, lining himself up with Nicky, and nearly goes dizzy with the sick pleasure he feels from it. Keane is a quite big man, and it's only when he begins to press himself inside Nicky, that Joe lets himself look at Nicky, wanting to see his expression.

Nicky's lips tremble as his mouth opens in a wordless scream, and Joe licks his own lips, wishing he was close enough to capture Nicky's mouth, to feel his lips tremble under his, to bite down on them. Nicky begins to scream aloud as the thrusts start, but his screams taper off into whimpers as Keane quickly fucks him rougher, and Joe has to strain to hear the sounds over the slap of flesh on flesh.

Keane moves his hand from Nicky's neck to drag it over his back, pushing his shirt up and clawing at his skin, nails leaving red markings as he digs his fingers in during one particularly brutal thrust, drawing a choking, broken sob from Nicky's mouth. Nicky raises his head, attempts to meet Joe's eyes again, but Joe looks past him, to Keane, and only says "Harder."

Keane obliges, taking hold of Nicky's hips with both his hands and starting to thrust brutally, swearing as he buries himself in Nicky;s body. "You're so fucking tight," he grunts out, and Joe hums along with that observation.

"Not for long." Joe chuckles meaningfully, catching Keane's eye as he begins to work his hand into the front of his own pants. "Between you and me," he goes on to Keane, "We'll make sure he's fucked properly."

Nicky whimpers, a desperate, broken little sound, and Joe can feel his cock swell under his own fingers at the noise. He wants to hear more of those. "Come on, now," he urges Keane, groaning as he palms at himself, "He can take it a little rougher. He likes it that way."

Keane leers in response, pulling Nicky back so he's flush with his hips, and Nicky drops his head onto his arms, utterly defeated, his shoulders shaking with sobs, Yusuf, Yusuf, Yusuf, please, falling brokenly from his lips -

- and Joe awakes with a start.

He pants out into the darkness around him, the residual tingle of arousal in his belly already fading into a churning nausea. What the fuck was that? How could he, how could he even dare-

He sits upright, and backs himself against the headboard of the bed, leaning against the cool wood and letting it leach the heat from his fevered skin. A dream. It was just a dream, nothing more. The taste of bile is in his mouth, and he takes a deep breath against it, running his hands through his hair, then letting them drop onto his lap. A dream, he reminds himself, his fingers twitching as his fists clench and unclench.

Certainly one of the most vivid and detailed dreams he's remembered having recently, and certainly one of the worst. Bad things, bad happenings beget bad dreams, he knows this. But it's not the dream that makes him want to vomit - he's dreamed of things like this before, dreamed of Nicky or himself in such situations - but he has never once dreamed of himself in the way that he just did.

He was...enjoying it. Even actively participating in it - hold his hands...put him on his stomach - yes, it was only a dream, but he was enjoying it, responding to it, his sweat and softening hardness are proof enough of that.

He would never, ever condone such a travesty, would never allow a hand to be placed on Nicky, the thought of bestowing an unwanted touch on him disgusts him. So why then would he dream of himself in such a manner? He refuses the idea that it's something he wants, some secret desire dredged up from the dark corners of his mind, because he knows himself at least that much after all these years, to know he harbors no such desires.

He's still gripped with the overwhelming urge to vomit, what he would do or not do is meaningless, if he is capable of taking pleasure from Nicky's pain, even in his own mind. It's a betrayal, of Nicky and of himself. He pushes aside the covers and moves to get up, Nicky is a warm weight in the bed beside him, and at any other time, for any other dream, he'd simply roll over and into his love's arms to seek comfort, but this is not something he can share in good conscience, and the idea of touching Nicky turns his stomach.

He's rising when a soft laugh comes out of the darkness, and a hand curls gently around his thigh. "Where are you going?" Nicky's voice is low and rough with sleep, but amused. Joe tenses under his grip, each of Nicky's fingers like a hot brand on his skin.

"It was...getting too warm." he lies quickly. The air is rather tepid, given their current location, so it's believable enough. Nicky laughs again, sweet, and so, so unaware of Joe's turmoil. His hand flattens on Joe's thigh, softly caressing, and Joe grabs at the bedsheets to keep himself from bolting up.

"Liar," he says, and Joe's breath catches in his throat. "You were dreaming."

Joe's eyes have adjusted to the darkness by now, and he can dimly see Nicky's face, the glint of white teeth as he grins. He's propped up on one elbow, the faded shirt he'd put on to sleep rumpled and hitched up at the waist, exposing a strip of skin. Joe sees fingers on that skin, fingers that cruelly dig in, and Nicky's smile fades into a grimace of pain.

He shakes his head, and the fingers are gone, and Nicky is smiling once more, now regarding him slyly. "It sounded like a good dream." he says, his hand sliding up Joe's thigh, his fingers skirting the waistband of his thin sleep pants. His words hang in Joe's ears, dealing another blow with their implications. Sounded. Meaning he had been vocal in his enjoyment, vocal enough for Nicky to hear.

And Nicky must have mistaken it for one of the casually sexual dreams that are common for the both of them. Why would he have any reason to think it was something otherwise?

Nicky's hand dips into his pants, slipping along his abdomen, moving dangerously low. "Tell me what it was."

"No," Joe grits out, and squeezes his eyes shut against the images that flash through his mind.

"Stubborn." Nicky murmurs, blinded by the clinging haze of sleep to Joe's tone, and now he moves, pulling himself up on his knees and shuffling up close to Joe, his hand moving lower, just shy of Joe's cock.

"Was it like this?" he speaks into Joe's ear, letting his fingers graze over Joe as he does. Joe's throat goes dry at his closeness, at his heat and the warmth of his breath against his ear. If Nicky had any idea of the true nature of his dream, he'd shove him away in disgust. "Or maybe like this?" Nicky goes on, now palming at Joe's cock, his other hand going down to tangle with one of Joe's.

Joe barely resists pulling his hand away from Nicky's, not wanting to alarm him. Nicky's touch brings none of its usual arousal, it only serves to intensify the twisting in his stomach. You shouldn't touch me, you shouldn't touch me, he thinks. Look what I let happen to you.

Nicky has no means by which to hear him, and continues his ministrations, working his hand between Joe's thighs and peppering soft kisses against his neck. He thinks nothing of Joe's stillness, as Joe is famously languid post-waking up.

"Vieni amore mio," he says in modern Italian, guiding Joe's hand to the front of his own pants, "dimmi cosa hai sognato."

Joe shakes his head, no, no. He can't tell him, he can't touch him, no. Not after - not after what he did would be inaccurate, as he has done nothing really. Nothing except watch with rapt attention as his love was violated - fueled by the shame of that thought, he pulls his hand away before Nicky can place it on his body, and shrugs Nicky firmly but gently back. Nicky's hand slips from his pants, leaving his still soft cock. He hadn't even begin to harden.

"Yusuf?" Nicky says, confused, and for moment, Joe can hear his broken and begging voice again, Yusuf, Yusuf, Yusuf, please! He draws in a deep breath and stands up, avoiding Nicky's worried eyes.

"I can't...not now, Nicolo, not now..." he says, and turns and leaves the room.

Prompt:

https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=106066#cmt106066

Fill:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25860253

prompt here:
https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=218194#cmt218194
This could either be completely gen or with Nile as part of the team poly dynamic. Can also either be art or fic prompt. I just love the idea of Nile getting so comfortable with the team that she casually wears any of their clothing on lazy Sundays or even in a tight pinch during a mission.

fill here:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882927

FILL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25884481

FILL: Andy/f, ritual sex

Andy/Quynh, nonverbal courtship

FILL: Nicky/Joe, casually having sex in a shared room

FILL: Penance, Nicky/Joe, Nicky initiates sex as self-punishment

Fill: Joe/Nicky, chaste courtship

FILL: even on the darkest nights [Joe/others, forced prostitution, non-con & rescue] 1/

FILL: Rattle Your Chains If You Love Being Free (Joe/Nicky, A/B/O, Omega Topping)

Fill: Nicky/Joe + "Quick I Need You To Kiss Me"

FILL - Too much is never enough

Fill: Nicky/Joe/Booker, surprise sexuality

FILL: Ivy (Joe/Nicky, Joe worries Nicky's getting bored)

Fill: Nicky/Joe - facial + humiliation

Fill: Nicky/Joe + Nicky Wearing Joe's Baseball Cap [Art]

Fill: Andy/Joe/Nicky/Booker, gangbang

"The Jealous Moon" Nicky/Joe/Booker, protective Booker

FILL: Wine Drunk [Joe/Nicky; Booker doesn't get them, they explain]

FILL: come get up, my baby (Joe/Nicky, Thank God We're Alive Sex)

FILL - Thou shalt not covet 1/? Nicky/Joe and Nicky/OMC (dub-con possible non-con)

FILL: Nicky/Joe, imaginary Nicky/Keane, noncon, part 1

Fill: Nicky/Joe, coming untouched

FILL: Immortal!Keane

Fill: Nicky/Joe, imaginary Nicky/Keane, noncon, Part 1

FILL: Tactical Makeouts [Andy/Nile, fake makeouts]

doodle fill: Nile wears the team members clothing

FILL: Lay All Your Love on Me (Joe/Nicky, Historical, Hate Sex, Rough Sex)