Chapter Text
“I’ll be there in a moment, Yusuf. I just want to organize my pack,” Nicolò di Genova called over his shoulder.
“If you must, but don’t take too long. You deserve to wash the crust of travel off as well,” Yusuf al Kaysani answered in kind, speaking in their unique hodgepodge of language, something they’d cobbled together from Greek, Arabic, Latin, several trade languages, and Ligurian. The grammar tended to follow the Greek, but words from any number of languages could be peppered in at any time depending on their mutual vocabulary.
Nicolò set aside the soap and cloth he’d bought in the last town they’d visited next to Yusuf’s discarded clothing and then pulled out the rest of the contents of his bag, placing them neatly on a log next to the rocky riverbank.
It was remarkable how much he’d accumulated in their year of traveling together: bits of parchment, linen, and papyrus he could give Yusuf when he ran out, a spare pen and inkwell wrapped in a scrap of old tunic for the same reason, many packages of dried food and nuts, two spare sets of clothes, a head scarf to keep the sun off his pale skin, several knives of varying lengths, a crossbow, herbs for tea and cooking; extra soap, a comb, and other grooming supplies, like an extra bottle of Yusuf’s beard oil; a cooking pot, a wooden bowl and cup, four water skins, and a few random, pretty things Yusuf had found and given him that he couldn’t bear to part with.
When they’d left Jerusalem behind, he’d only had the clothes on his back, his poorly fitting chainmail, and his long sword. He still had the sword, of course, and used it regularly, but he’d sunk the mail in the first river and then burned his bloodied and tattered surcoat and underclothes the second he bought replacements.
Now, though, his pack burst at the seams. It spoke of a life, a life shared with another. Yusuf’s presence was written all over it.
Who’d bought him the crossbow? Yusuf.
Who’d helped him pick out his new clothes? Yusuf.
Who’d taught him how to make tea and use spices? Yusuf.
Who’d told him to buy a scarf for his head? Yusuf.
Though he could never speak it aloud, his pack told a story of love and devotion, and Nicolò cherished every item as he cherished the man for whom they reminded him.
A splash, followed by a gleeful “Whoop,” sounded behind him, making Nicolò smile. Yusuf was joy itself, and his exuberance for life was infectious. Of course he was playing in the water.
Nicolò had a tendency to brood, his natural expression a frown, but around Yusuf it was impossible not to appreciate the beauty of the world, the glory of being alive. Nicolò smiled so much more than he had before.
Another “whoop” and loud splash sounded.
Yes, he had reason to smile now.
If he was going to be kept here on earth to live and live and rise again forever, doing so with Yusuf was a fair trade off for never reaching paradise.
He rolled his clothes again, refolded the packages to make them smaller, and inventoried their food supplies, making a list in his head for the next town before packing everything up as tightly as possible. He reached for Yusuf’s pack to do the same, but behind him Yusuf called, “No. Leave it. Come enjoy the water with me. I’ll do that after.”
Nicolò nodded in response, unable to catch another smile before it slipped out.
He set aside the water skins to refill at the river and stood to take off his boots and clothes. As he finished peeling off his breeches and socks, he turned to face the river and froze.
Yusuf had just risen from the water. He stood knee deep in the calm current, clear liquid streaming down his skin, setting him alight in a glittering display, like twinkling stars, as the sun highlighted every perfect feature. Nicolò stood transfixed.
Rivulets of water cascaded all over Yusuf’s body. His skin glowed a deep bronze, giving off an aura of vitality and strength. Water droplets fell from the tight, dark curls at his brow, framing his face in a curtain of water, his beard shimmering in the sunlight, and then in a move that had Nicolò’s heart stopping in his chest, he lifted both hands overhead to sweep his hair off of his face, running them up and back over his head, accentuating his broad chest, covered in a light dusting of hair, that tapered into a narrow waist and deep grooves of muscles that rippled around his rib cage.
The move reshaped the trail of water, and Nicolò followed its path down his chest, over his defined stomach, down the V-shaped grooves toward his groin. The droplets caught in the dark, curly hairs on his upper thighs and surrounding his soft, perfect dick, its progress slowed. Even so, it was no less mesmerizing. Water dripped from his groin in light splashes and another trail zigzagged down his firm legs, moving around the hair, tracing solid thigh muscles that twitched in the chilly air.
It was a sight straight out of Nicolò’s dreams. In fact, he was sure he’d dreamed of this or something like it more than once. This was not the first time they’d bathed together, nor the first time Nicolò had stared at his stunning immortal partner. It was, perhaps, the first time the sun and water had conspired to show off his resemblance to a Greek god.
And now, Nicolò took some pride in those looks. Yusuf’s stomach and shoulders had always been defined and beautiful, arms strong from fighting, the muscles on his abdomen lithe and sinewy even when he was starving, a bedraggled man escaping across the desert; but now that they ate more often, that Nicolò had learned to cook and feed him better, that they visited towns and worked odd jobs that required lifting and their fighting skills, his chest and shoulders had filled out to a point that Nicolò could hardly look away. They’d started out together as bare ghosts of men, held together by a common mystery and a shared hatred for the cruelty the Crusades had wrought to the land and people.
Now, they thrived.
Yusuf, standing boldly in the water, joyfully enjoying a bath, proved it. Whatever hardships they’d suffered—and there had been many—were worth it to see a carefree, healthy Yusuf.
As Nicolò stood barefoot on the rocky bank of the river, staring at his partner, three things happened in quick succession.
Yusuf opened his brown eyes and caught Nicolò’s gaze.
He smiled his softest twitch of a smile, the one that revealed his dimple and rounded his cheeks, setting a stark contrast to all the angles and chiseled features on the rest of his body, the one that simultaneously made Nicolò’s heart melt and his body ache with want.
Which led to the third thing. All of a sudden, Nicolò became aware of his own arousal, that he stood, staring at his friend, his dick a hard, heavy, obvious protrusion before him.
He pivoted immediately, turning his back to the river, mortified that Yusuf had likely seen his reaction. How embarrassing for both of them! That Nicolò couldn’t control himself around Yusuf was bad enough, but now Yusuf knew about his feelings, his interest . And for Yusuf to realize that he was bound to someone, possibly forever, who felt for him in a way he could not return—the horror.
Nicolò’s cheeks flamed, and he looked down at his bare feet, scrunching his toes up to crunch the rocks beneath him.
“ Habibi.”
The voice startled Nicolò so much he jumped, and a hand grabbed his elbow to catch him as he slipped on the wet stones. Yusuf didn’t let go.
“Sorry to scare you.” Yusuf’s voice came from directly behind him, puffs of air filtering through his hair and onto the back of his neck. The sensation nearly sent Nicolò slipping again.
“But , why do you turn from me?”
“Wha— Why?” repeated Nicolò, incredulous. He would have thought the answer obvious.
“Yes, habibi , why.”
“Because…” he trailed off. “I don’t— What is habibi, Yusuf? You have not taught me that one yet.”
“You are changing the subject.” Yusuf chuckled, and Nicolò realized just how close behind him he stood. He could feel each exhale and sense the lift and fall of Yusuf’s chest and shoulders.
“I am afraid of the subject,” Nicolò admitted truthfully.
“Do not be.” Yusuf’s hand squeezed his elbow. “Now tell me.”
Nicolò took a shaky inhale and then said, “Because I did not want to make you uncomfortable. Most men would not like…” He gave up and just waved his hand vaguely about before him.
“Most men are not me.”
“I—“
“Nicolò?” Yusuf’s voice was perceptibly closer, the heat of his breath fluffing Nicolò’s long hair.
“Yes?” he whispered.
“Is it that you are ashamed to be attracted to me, or—“
“No,” Nicolò interrupted.
“So it was just that you thought I wouldn’t like it?”
“Yes. Mostly.”
“Ahh, mostly .”
A strong hand curled over Nicolò’s shoulder, squeezing firmly and pulling him backwards slightly off balance.
“Have you then…not been attracted to a man before?”
“I…have.” It was getting difficult to speak, difficult to think. Yusuf was everywhere. All around him. His warm breath, his big hands, cool and damp from the river, sending goosebumps down his arms, his body naked and looming behind him, the heat radiating off of him and into Nicolò.
“I see. Have you ever been with a man?” The hand on his shoulder slid forward to rest over his sternum, the palm flat, fingers wide.
“I am— Or, I was a priest,” Nicolò said indignantly. In his opinion that should be answer enough.
“But that has not stopped priests before. From bedding men or women, so I have heard.”
“I am not those priests.”
“Of course you are not, hayati. ” The thumb on his sternum began to caress his skin, dipping into the hollow below his throat, soft and sure, causing Nicolò’s heart to race. Surely Yusuf could feel it, the rapid tap, tap, tap against his palm?
Feeling compelled to explain, and that it would help Yusuf understand him more, he said, “Vows mean something to me, Yusuf. Promises matter. I willingly chose chastity in order to serve my God. Though I must admit, giving up something I couldn’t really have anyway was not a challenge.”
“Could you not? There are places where men can find one another.”
“I could not have it the way I wanted and, once again, that mattered to me.”
The hand holding his elbow let go, and Yusuf trailed his knuckles up Nicolò’s arm. The light brush sent electric shocks shooting down to his fingertips, where he fisted his palms in response.
“Yusuf?” Nicolò breathed, trying to stay focused amidst all the sensations coursing through him.
Yusuf didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers continued their trek up over his shoulder and neck until he cupped the side of Nicolò’s face. “Yes.”
“Have you—Did you ever go to one of those places?” Nicolò nearly choked on the question, desperate to hear the answer, yet dreading it. Did he want an affirmative, to know that Yusuf desired men, that he had been with other men, men who were not Nicolò, or did he want a negative, left to his original dilemma—that he’d spend eternity with a man who could not want him back?
“I have.”
Nicolò exhaled in relief, his shoulders dropping imperceptibly
Yusuf continued, his breath warm, “Since you are being so honest with me, I will be forthcoming with you. I have been with both men and women, though it has not been often. Do you also desire both?” The thumb on Nicolò’s face began to match the rhythm of the one on his chest, caressing the spot where his beard disappeared into his hair.
Shivers darted all over Nicolò. He felt like he was being wrapped up, drawn in, and slowly devoured, like Yusuf was following a carefully laid plan.
“I…do not,” he said, inhaling sharply as both of Yusuf’s hands found a sensitive spot.
“Ahh, my Nicolò, are you attracted to me?” He asked the question so sincerely that the “of course I am, you idiot. Have you seen me recently?” died on his lips.
Instead he said, “Yes,” softly, confidently.
“Do you want me?”
Nicolò’s heart nearly exploded in his chest, his breath hitched, and his dick gave a resounding twitch in affirmation. The simple answer was yes, of course, always , but should he give in to his heart’s desire, allow himself to believe he could have what he wanted—all that he wanted—for even a second. He’d never felt it was worth it before, and it hadn’t been, not without promises and commitment. But with Yusuf, maybe—
“I’m going to need you to say it, habibi. ” Yusuf’s breath was so warm, so close, his hands like magic, his aura overwhelming.
Maybe this once, then.
“Yes,” he choked out, scared and yet more aroused than he’d ever been in his life.
“May I touch you?”
“You already are,” he said on a nervous laugh.
“No, I mean may I touch you? Between your legs? Your ass? May I kiss you?” Yusuf breathed his words into Nicolò’s skin, his mouth hovering just above the skin of his shoulder.
“Pleeeeease,” Nicolò whined, giving in. If Yusuf wanted him, even just this once, then he would seize the opportunity. Having Yusuf so close was intoxicating, and he struggled to think, to breathe, to stand.
Yusuf pulled Nicolò’s shoulder length hair aside and kissed the back of his neck. Nicolò first went rigid with shock at the soft brush of beard and the delicate press of lips, and then, when Yusuf’s lips moved, sliding over his skin, the tickle of his beard more incredible than he’d imagined, he melted back into him, his knees giving out.
Yusuf caught him, his chest flush with Nicolò’s back, his chest hair surprisingly soft, and he wrapped his arms around Nicolò to hold him up. He kissed a line from one shoulder to the other, stopping at the nape of Nicolò’s neck to kiss up to his hairline and back down.
Not sure what to do with his hands, Nicolò reached back and cupped Yusuf’s head to hold him closer, to press his mouth deeper. The wet curls pillowed beneath his palm, and he wondered what they’d feel like dry, in both his hands. Would it be like his beard?
Yusuf smiled into his skin and asked, “You like this?”
“Very much. Your beard…against my skin…is heaven,” Nicolò breathed.
“High praise. Would you like to feel my beard elsewhere?”
The whine that escaped Nicolò’s mouth was as embarrassing as it was long, but it was the best answer he could give. Just the idea of Yusuf’s beard touching his legs, his stomach, or his chest set his skin on fire. The possibilities were endless and each one better than the last.
Yusuf chuckled into his shoulder and then nipped it playfully, which had Nicolò falling back into him again. A laugh burst out. How remarkable that they could laugh while standing like this, doing…this.
“I love when you smile, my Nicolò. You should do it more.”
For not the first time the musical way Yusuf said his name had his stomach fluttering and his heart performing cartwheels. “I’ve never smiled so much in my life.”
Yusuf pressed a long kiss into the side of his neck. “Oh Nicolò, that makes my heart sad.”
“You mistake me. Do not be sad. I am happy, happier in this odd afterlife with you than I’ve ever been.”
Yusuf hugged him closer, bringing their bodies fully flush together, knees to chest. “It does make me sad, though. To think that—” he lowered the hand on Nicolò’s chest to his stomach, tugging him even closer “—it means that you weren’t happy before, and I only ever want you to be happy.”
“Yusuf,” Nicolò began, fully meaning to argue that he had been content in the monastery while also admitting that their current life was better; however, the words died on his lips when the hardness pressing into his ass finally entered his awareness. That was—
Yusuf.
His Yusuf.
Could he be his Yusuf?
Hard between them, wanting him?
To Nicolò it was already a miracle that Yusuf chose to stay with him, to allow him to travel by his side, to live within the warmth of his presence, the focus of his generosity, the counterpoint to his charisma. Yusuf was life itself, the light in every room, kindness incarnate. His talent and competency shone in every action and endeavor, and he was beloved wherever he went. Of course Nicolò would love him, want him. Who wouldn’t?
But to be wanted in return? By such a man?
How was that possible? To not only find himself blessed in eternity with an honorable, likable, lovable man but to also have that man match his preferences and then return his interest?
What had he done to deserve such an overflow of gifts?
Nothing.
Truth be told, his tally was far the other direction. No previous life of service to the people and dedication to the church could make up for his participation in the crusade. No penance would truly wash away the horror he’d seen and done, the thoughts and beliefs he’d had. He’d come there to destroy the man he loved.
And yet he’d been rewarded with immortality and a companion who shone like the sun breaking through the clouds after a spring rain.
Truly, life made no sense.
“ Hayati, where did you go? Should I stop?”
Nicolò blinked, coming back to himself and once again feeling the line of contact at his back and the strong arms around his torso, soft lips and beard nibbling at his neck.
“No. Please don’t stop, Yusuf. I…am just overwhelmed.” That was one word for it, at least.
“I see. Maybe I can do something for you. Are your thoughts getting in the way?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then let me help you relax.” The kisses along his back and neck resumed, and the hand on his stomach began to make broader and broader circles.
When Yusuf’s pinky grazed his pubic hair Nicolo gasped aloud, and when his lips brushed the shell of his ear he moaned, sinking further back into Yusuf, needing to be closer, wanting more but not sure how to ask.
He fisted Yusuf’s hair and lifted his other hand behind him to frame Yusuf’s face, palm firmly pressing into his beard, fingers caressing the hairs at his jawline.
Heaven.
“Ah my Nicolò, you do love my beard.” Yusuf licked the shell of his ear.
“I do.”
“Shall I tell you about all the places I’d like to kiss you, to tickle your skin with it?”
“Please…”
He kissed a line from ear to shoulder point and then rubbed his cheek against it, forcing Nicolò to drop his hand. The soft circles filled him with such yearning that he instinctively reached back to cup Yusuf’s ass to bring him closer. The resulting thrust, followed by a rumbling groan of pleasure let him know the action was appreciated.
“Nicolò, Nicolò, you are so lovely, so beautiful, kindness itself—“
“No, you—”
“Shhhh, it’s your turn to listen. Turn off that voice in your head.” He purposefully dragged his open mouth and beard across Nicolò’s shoulders and back, rubbing his cheek into the other shoulder, sending shivers dancing across Nicolò’s skin. “You are selfless, always thinking of others. Your heart encompasses the world. Let me think of you, take care of you.”
Just as Yusuf kissed his shoulder blade again, the pinky of his lower hand dipped deeper into his pubic hair, brushing the base of his dick. Instead of responding, he groaned.
“I would like to brush my beard all over your body. Mouth across your chest from nipple to nipple. Lick a line down the ridges of your stomach. Kiss your hip bones and brush my cheeks up and down your thighs. Then, once you’ve forgotten your name, I would kiss along your length and take you into my mouth.”
“Oh my God, Yusuf. Yusuf!” Nicolò’s body was fire. His dick throbbed, and he was sure, if Yusuf let go, that he’d collapse.
“Ah yes, you will forget your name, but not mine. Mine you will scream.” His hand circled lower, this time lightly gripping his shaft before drifting back up.
“Yes, please…Yusuf,” he begged.
“I’ve got you, hayati. ” This time when his hand circled lower, he left it there, carefully wrapping his palm around his length before stroking him in a slow, steady rhythm that had Nicolò rambling nonsense in his own tongue in seconds.
He rarely allowed himself this indulgence, rarely needed it, yet the difference between his own hand and Yusuf’s was staggering.
Yusuf’s palm was calloused from hard work and sword fighting, but his grip was gentle, firm but so careful. Unlike Nicolò’s usually hurried strokes, he moved with purpose, drawing out the part where he rolled over the tip, adding pressure whenever Nicolò moaned, speeding up and slowing down to keep Nicolò gasping, always surprised, always intense.
He had talented hands, another artform Nicolò could admire.
Eventually Nicolò’s ramblings reverted to heavy breathing, his chest rising and falling on gasping inhales. Trying to match the movements of Yusuf’s hand he rocked his hips forward and back, pushing deeper into the circle of his hand while also pressing back into Yusuf’s hardness, the feel of it a delightfully new sensation that had him wanting to go back as much as forward. After a time, Yusuf began to thrust back, seeking friction against Nicolò’s ass, and they moved together in tandem, Nicolò’s world narrowing to the points where they touched.
As strange as their position was, essentially rubbing against one another in the open by the river, it felt perfect, like he belonged in Yusuf’s arms, like they were meant to be like this.
He felt no shame. No distress. No fear or regret. Only rightness, except—
It still wasn’t enough. He needed more. More Yusuf.
“Yusuf. Yusuf…”
“Yes.”
“You forgot…one spot,” Nicolò said, fighting through the onslaught of sensations.
“One spot, what—“
Taking charge, Nicolò turned his head to the side and smashed their lips together in a sloppy, lopsided kiss.
“Oof, oh.”
Pressing their foreheads together for just a moment, he whispered, “You never mentioned my lips.”
“Oh Nicolò, how could I forget your beautiful mouth? I could spend the rest of eternity exploring it. Come here.”
Yusuf captured his lips in a soft pressure that ripped Nicolò’s chest open. His lips were chapped from the sand and sun, but still so soft, and he tasted of dates and smelled like fresh water. The tickle of his beard on Nicolò’s cheeks and chin was a whole new sensation that he couldn’t get enough of. Their beards mingled, creating their own friction to match that of their hips.
It was perfection.
At first Yusuf’s kisses were tentative, seeking affirmation, waiting to see what Nicolò liked. He pressed lightly, licked the seam of his lips, and then pressed again.
The problem was that Nicolò was done waiting.
This was Yusuf!
Yusuf’s mouth. Yusuf’s hands. Yusuf’s beard. Yusuf’s chest. Yusuf’s needy dick pressing into him, leaking and sliding over his ass cheek.
More. More. More. Nicolò needed more.
He grunted out a frustrated noise and plunged his tongue into Yusuf’s mouth, sliding it against Yusuf’s before doing it again. The action released the butterflies that lived in his stomach, and they fluttered madly before plunging directly to his groin in an overwhelming swooping sensation that took him out at the knees.
Yusuf must have felt it too because he said, “Ohhh. Nicolò, ” but he said it like a prayer.
From that point their kisses grew furious, matching the movement of their bodies. Everything was sensation. Everything was overwhelming. Everything was perfect.
His skin felt like lightning.
His heart had outgrown his chest.
His insides had melted into a puddle of fire.
His limbs shook.
His brain could only think of two words, “More” and “Yusuf.”
The tension in his lower back and deep within him grew, building up into an intense pressure that Nicolò wasn’t sure he could survive.
He didn’t know it could be like this. Earth-shattering. Devastating. His soul was an inferno as much as his body, every conscious part of him screaming Yusuf’s name.
He came with a drawn out moan into Yusuf’s mouth, his body undulating erratically as Yusuf held him up.
It was–
Nicolò was undone, wonderfully and completely unmade.
Yusuf whispered incomprehensibly into his ear, petted his hair, and stroked his body, still rocking slowly against him as he let Nicolò come down from his high. “You are so beautiful, my Nicolò.” He kissed his cheek, his nose, his beard, his cheek again, his lips.
“Mmmm,” was all Nicolò could manage for several minutes.
Slowly, like coming out of a fog on an early morning, the pressure sliding against his rear caught his attention. “Oh. Yusuf. You haven’t–”
“Shhh, it’s okay. Just give me–”
Ignoring him, Nicolò turned within the circle of his arms and, reaching down, took him in a tentative grip.
“Oh…my…Nicolò!” Yusuf growled into his neck, moving his hips faster.
Nicolò watched him move in and out of the circle of his hand, the heat, the slick, the soft skin, the contrasting hardness. It was gorgeous. Yusuf was gorgeous. After a few moments, he gained some confidence and began to move his hand.
Yusuf practically yowled in response, which made Nicolò smile.
The angle was strange, and it was nothing like stroking himself; but it was familiar. Soon he was imitating all the motions he usually liked, pulling louder and longer noises out of Yusuf. As he started to shake, his limbs going loose, Yusuf’s hands crawled up Nicolò’s body, seeking his face. He pulled him back into a sloppy kiss, almost as if he were trying to climb inside of Nicolò, to get even closer.
Nicolò slid their tongues together and that was all it took. Yusuf shook in his arms, his groan vibrating against Nicolò’s tongue. Sticky warmth spread over Nicolò’s hand, and Yusuf thrust a few more times before falling still. He kissed Nicolò again before tugging him into a tight hug, trapping his soiled hand between them.
Yusuf laughed, pulling them apart long enough to wipe his hand across their stomachs to clean it off. He then smashed them back together, smearing the mess between them.
Now it was Nicolò’s turn to laugh. “I don’t think that helped.”
“Shhh,” he said into his neck, “I’m basking.”
They stayed that way until their breaths slowed. “Nicolò, would you like to do that again?” Yusuf asked, pulling back enough to look in his eyes.
“Yes…”
Yusuf rubbed his back. “Why do I feel there is a ‘but’ in there?”
Nicolò dropped his gaze, disappointment taking over as conviction warred with desire. “Because there is.” It wouldn’t be enough. It’d never be enough and that was the problem.
He couldn’t live that way—aching for connection between short firestorms of passion.
“What’s wrong, my Nicolò? Please tell me so that I can fix it. Did I hurt you? Are you ashamed? Let me make it right.” Worry lines formed around his beautiful brown eyes, eyes that had turned sad, worried. Nicolò ‘s heart shattered knowing that he was the reason they were there, that he’d caused Yusuf any pain, that he thought the problem could at all be his fault.
“No, no,” Nicolò said, emphasizing his meaning by taking Yusuf’s face into his hands. “It’s not that. It’s—“
How to explain when it barely made sense to him?
“Remember when I said I could not be with a man the way I wanted, that that prevented me from seeking companionship?”
“Yes.”
“Because vows matter.” His gaze bore into Yusuf’s willing him to understand, wishing that he could just crack his heart open and explain more directly.
“I—“ Yusuf’s brows furrowed and the intensity of his dark eyes took on a vagueness, like he wasn’t there anymore.
Nicolò was losing him.
“Yusuf, I want more than physical release. I can take or leave that. For me, physical intimacy is about commitment, sharing promises. I cannot— I do not…” he trailed off, trying to find the words in their hodgepodge of languages and falling woefully short. “It is not something I take lightly. It is meant to be shared between committed partners.”
Yusuf opened his mouth as if to speak, but Nicolò plowed on, “Marriage is a sacrament, a vow. The priesthood is a sacrament, yet another vow. They matter to me. I don’t want sex without the emotional intimacy, without the commitment. I cannot just…do that. It’s not in me. I want more, and since more was impossible, I chose the priesthood, a vow I could honor and keep with dignity.”
Slowly, the confusion fell from Yusuf’s expression, and he smiled, slow and broad. He pushed Nicolò’s hair back off his face and brought their foreheads together. “What you’re saying is that you want permanence, that you want vows and commitment?”
“I need them, Yusuf.”
“What is more permanent than this never ending cycle of rebirth that we share?”
“True.” He allowed himself a wistful smile. “But the promise must be mutual.”
“Nicolò,” Yusuf half groaned, half shouted, “You are so ridiculously and adorably obtuse!” He barked out a laugh and peppered Nicolò’s face with kisses, landing a final one square on his lips with a loud smack.
“What?”
“Just… that habibi means ‘beloved’ and hayati means ‘my life.’ Nicolò, Nicolò, Nicolò, you lovely, generous, faithful man, you are my heart, my life, my beloved already.” He smoothed his hand over Nicolò’s cheek, shaking his head in awe and disbelief. “Today was just the first time I understood that you wanted me in return. I jumped at the chance, Nicolò, because I love you so much. Does this mean you love me too? Am I that blessed?”
Nicolò’s face split into a grin so broad his cheeks hurt, yet he couldn’t stop himself. Yusuf loved him?
It was plain to see on his face, the way his eyes shone with light, the deep brown molten with fond devotion, the way his smile mirrored Nicolò’s own, his dimple on full display, the way he practically vibrated with joy, gripping Nicolò with an intensity that could have shot them into the sky.
Eventually, he said, “Yusuf, my heart, it is I who am blessed. Your love is a greater gift than I deserve. How could I not love you? You are the best man, no…person, I have ever met. You have no equal. Loving you is like breathing. It’s easy. It’s natural. You’re…perfect.”
“I am not,” he answered, chuckling, “So far from it. But you make me better.”
“As do you.” Nicolò let his fingers trail up into Yusuf’s hair, pressing into the delicious curls. Using his leverage, he forced eye contact, staring intently at him so that he knew he was serious.
They stood that way for a long moment, breathing together and basking in the acknowledgment of their love.
Yusuf broke first. “So, you love me, and I love you. Where does that leave us?” And he pointedly looked down at their naked bodies, pressed tightly together in a hug.
“I—“ Nicolò opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure. Yusuf had said he loved him, not that he agreed to Nicolò's desire for commitment.
“Shhh, habibi, you’re thinking too hard again.” Yusuf kissed his forehead. “From what I see we make each other happy. We make each other better.” On that one he winked at Nicolò teasingly. “We desire each other (and I must say we are damn good together).” Nicolò blushed at this one, just as Yusuf intended. “We’re some form of immortal, and we’ve decided to stay together.” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t have plans to set off without me, do you?”
“No! Never!” The words shot out of his mouth so fast he missed the twinkle in Yusuf’s eye. He rolled his eyes and gave his hair a light tug.
“Mmmm,” Yusuf hummed in response, his eyelids fluttering closed. “We need to experiment with that next time.” He gave his shoulders a little shake and then opened his eyes, his gaze piercing directly into Nicolò’s soul. “Where were we? Ah yes, vows.”
Yusuf’s tone changed from playful to serious in an instant, and Nicolò swallowed nervously, his skin buzzing and his stomach clenching with sudden anticipation and fear.
“Nicolò,” he tipped his chin up, “You are my life now. I live because I must. Because I cannot die. But I am content because I can spend that eternity with you. Without you this life would be misery. With you, I am whole. We were meant to be together.”
“Destiny,” Nicolò whispered.
“Yes, you are my destiny. I cannot exactly marry you, but is that enough of a promise? I can make any vow you wish. I—“
Nicolò silenced him with a kiss, brushing their lips together softly before sliding his tongue deep into his mouth. They kissed languorously, Nicolò’s hands playing with Yusuf’s hair while Yusuf held him close, one hand on his face, the other on his rear.
Nicolò loved this. He’d only had it for a few minutes, and already he was addicted. He could spend ages exploring Yusuf’s mouth, his body, his every detail, and in a sense that’s exactly what he had. Time. Time stretched out before them, and in every corner he looked he found Yusuf, charismatic and joyful, always by his side.
Yusuf was his future.
And the future was bright.
Nicolò reluctantly pulled back, hovering his lips just over Yusuf’s as he said, “Destiny is enough. I wish to never be parted from you.”
“Then I will do everything in my power to stay by your side.”
“I love you, Yusuf, so intensely. You are my life now, too, my whole world.”
Yusuf kissed him long and deep. “And I love you. Desperately. So much so that my heart nearly burst every day for the last few months wanting you to be mine, completely.”
Nicolò brushed their noses together. “I am yours. Always.”
“Well, then, my love, shall we bathe? I feel we have some extra washing to do now.” His eyes sparkled as he smiled down at their entwined bodies.
Nicolò chuckled. “Yes, my Yusuf, let’s bathe.”
They untangled themselves, and Nicolò bent down to grab the new block of soap. As he rose, Yusuf’s gave his ass a sharp smack. “You–” he shouted.
Cackling, Yusuf took off for the water, and Nicolò chased after, muttering threats they both knew he didn’t mean.