“Kiss me?” Nicky asks hopefully.
“Oh, my love,” Joe whispers, and leans in to do exactly that. The kiss is as familiar as the contours of his own body after a thousand years, as fresh and new as a first kiss shared while trembling at the risk. He knows the taste of Nicky’s mouth and the soft touch of his tongue and yet thrills to learn them again, to press Nicky down into the mattress and feel him grow heavy and boneless beneath him. He remembers the rough drag of Nicky’s stubble and the soft press of his beard, even as Nicky’s skin is now bare and sensitive to his touch. And when he pulls back, Nicky exhales against his lips, and Joe shivers head to toe, kisses him chastely, a press of his mouth, once, twice. Nicky smiles at him, and Joe still wonders how to paint that gaze, to convey the trust and affection there. “Sleep now,” he murmurs, and Nicky nods, twists onto his side, and Joe curves his own body around him. He find’s Nicky’s hand, twines their fingers, rubs his nose against the back of Nicky’s neck.
Nicky sighs contentedly, and Joe loves him in that moment with a ferocity that could block out the sun.
“Ya hayati,” he mouths against Nicky’s skin, and Nicky hums gently. Joe’s heart turns over to hear it, to feel it resonate deep in his bones. He closes his eyes, and sleeps.