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Joe’s yell cut through the smoke as that arsehole Keane stuck his gun in Nicky’s mouth and pulled the trigger. No matter how many centuries it had been, how many battles, how many injuries – any time Joe saw Nicky get injured or die his own heart seemed to stop. Little mattered if Nicky wasn’t breathing.
He crawled through the debris and coughed the acrid gas out of his lungs as he reached his love. Nicky’s perfect blue eyes stared into nothing, his hair red with too much fresh blood. Thank fuck the pool of blood had stopped growing, Joe knew it wouldn’t be long.
Still, every second of wait was painfully long.
Joe put his hand to Nicky’s cheek and he saw his pupils dilate a moment before he gasped for breath. Joe let out the breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding onto – if his Nicolo wasn’t breathing neither would he, apparently.
The relief he felt at Nicky coming back from that gruesome injury was palpable, a sob escaped his throat. Nicky reached his arms to Joe and pulled him close. I’m here, I haven’t left he seemed to say.
“You took too long” Joe said to his love.
Nicky smiled. “Am I fashionably late, at least?”
Joe scoffed and brushed Nicky’s hair off his eyes. “Not at all, habibi,” he teased, “our guests are waiting for us upstairs.”
Nicky laughed and sat up. “Well, let’s get on with our entertainment then.”
Joe helped Nicky up as he laughed and couldn’t resist pulling Nicky in an embrace. He held him close, enjoying his touch, his heat, the feel of his heart thudding as it had been for the last millennia, still refusing to give up.
Nicky looked at Joe in the eye and saw his worry. He ran his hand down his cheek to the back of his neck and pulled their foreheads together. “Siamo ancora insieme amore mio.” He whispered.
Joe kissed Nicky tenderly. “Sempre. Now let’s get these motherfuckers.”
Nicky laughed again and pulled away. “You’re an incurable romantic.”
“For you, always.” Joe teased, pulling Nicky to the door.