topino | (no subject)

Nicky steps inside and takes off his coat, draping it over his arm as he follows him to the kitchen, aware that he's in someone else's home. More than that, he doesn't think that this is all an elaborate set-up, not when Joe has cooked for him.

"It smells incredible, of course I do," he insists, searching over his shoulder for a spoon that he can use to dip into it. "I don't think I've had shakshuka at all," he admits, "but I've heard such good things and yours smells incredible. Do you always cook like this or am I special?"

"I'll take your coat," Joe says gently, easing it from Nicky's arm. He can tell that Nicky is a little tentative, a little unsure, and he wants to put him at ease.

He hangs the coat and comes back to watch Nicky grab a spoon and taste the shakshuka. "It's my mother's recipe, so it's obviously incredible," he teases, smiling. He gestures for Nicky to take a bite. "Let me know if it needs more spices," he says, coming closer.

"I often cook," he reveals, sounding amused. His smile is earnest, though. "But you are definitely special."

Nicky nods his thanks, starting to feel more comfortable with every passing moment. He dips the spoon into the shakshuka, taking a small taste while letting out an unexpected moan. His eyes widen when he catches himself, coughing to try and cover it up.

Well. That had been unexpected. "Maybe in my next review, I will have to suggest that you draw with as much passion as you cook," he admits. "This is very good, Joe." Very, very good.

It helps, too, to ignore the comment that he's special, which he doesn't know exactly what to do with, yet.

The noise Nicky makes when he tries the dish is both amusing and attractive and Joe grins, leaning against the counter. "I do everything with passion," he answers, playfully. "Thank you. I hoped you'd like it."

He reaches out for glasses, pouring them both a glass of wine carefully. "It'll need to cook for a while more. Let's have a drink, yes?" He leads the way to the living room, where he laid out a few snacks on the coffee table, including the really good olives from the Italian grocery store he got to impress Nicky.

Nicky sets the spoon down into the sink, his cheeks high with a flush as he leans back against the counter, putting a safe distance between him and Joe. He's still wary, of course, mainly because he only slightly knows him. One scathing review and several emails, plus a gallery meeting doesn't equal close friends.

Maybe they'll get there, both physically and emotionally soon.

He follows Joe into the living room, arching a brow when he smells the olives. He ducks to pop one into his mouth. This time, he's prepared, but it's no less good. "These are incredible," he praises. "Where did you get them?"

Joe likes the flush high on Nicky's cheekbones but he won't try to step closer, mindful to take this slow. He doesn't want to push Nicky too hard, it's true, but he's also wary of getting his own heart broken. Joe doesn't fall in love easily but when he does it's very deep, and while he thinks there could be something here, he doesn't want to get his hopes up and end up disappointed.

"Italian grocery store a few blocks away," Joe answers, taking a seat and grinning up to Nicky. "I asked what to buy to impress an Italian man and they recommended these."

Nicky bends over to pop an olive into his mouth, ducking down to pick up a few more. If this truly is for him and Joe had been trying to impress him, then it's no skin off his back if he has some more, is it? He gives Joe an appreciative smile as he settles down, sprawling out on the couch.

"You went to a lot of trouble for this and I only spent money on wine," Nicky admits, glad that he'd purchased a nice wine, at least. "But, consider this Italian man very impressed," he allows, giving him a happy nod.

"Have some," he encourages, gesturing to the olives. "I would feel awful if I ate them all."

Joe smiles, pleased that Nicky is enjoying the olives.

"You're willing to model for me for free, that's the least I can do," Joe corrects, sounding amused. "Models aren't cheap, and it's very boring to just sit there, I'm told. At least you get good olives out of this."

He leans in to try the olives, humming. "Pretty good." He smirks. "Are you going to leave if I tell you I prefer the Greek ones, though?"

"Are you going to sketch me eating olives?" If that's the case, suddenly Nicky's afternoon looks entirely better than before. He arches a brow when Joe insults him like that, shaking his head. "Yusuf," he sighs, using his proper name. "And here I thought we were starting to get along, then you had to go and say that."

It's a shame, it is, that his good opinion had to be reduced like this.

"You do realize I am going to talk to you while you work. It can't be that boring, or are you insulting yourself?"

It makes Joe laugh and he shakes his head, nodding easily. "You can keep the olives if you want, I don't mind." His name sounds good on Nicky's lips and Joe grins.

"I'm sorry bello, you had to find out about my fatal flaw one way or another." He's a bit tentative about the pet name, but the lady who'd recommended the olives at the Italian store had called him that and she hasn't let him down so far.

"Ah," Joe says, leaning back. "Yes, we'll talk. I'm probably going to sound a little distracted, though. It's difficult to focus on drawing and talking at the same time." He smiles. He will try his best to keep the conversation going, still. "But I'll listen to you. Some of my models have enjoyed ranting about their lives to me, while I was drawing them."

"You assume I will not eat them all," Nicky replies, leaning forward to pop another one into his mouth. They're very good and Nicky is already experiencing a great lift in his opinion of Joe, who must have gone to a good degree of trouble to find these for him.

He raises a brow, though, when Joe breaks out that name. "You're not using that word correctly," he chides, the critic at large once again. "To use it right, I'd say it to you. Un uomo bellissimmo," he praises. "Not for me."

He hums thoughtfully at the thought of a rant. "I think the only thing that gets me worked up is the artists I review," he admits, "but would that make you jealous?"

Joe laughs, leaning back to watch Nicky eat with obvious pleasure. "I'm fully aware you will eat them all," he corrects. "And quite ready to let you."

He tilts his head to the side when Nicky corrects his Italian, assuming he made a mistake. He grins when he understands what Nicky means, slow but warm. "Oh, so my mistake wasn't grammar, it was subject choice," he teases. "That's a lot more subjective I'm afraid, so we might have to agree to disagree."

Shrugging, Joe steals an olive before Nicky eats them all. "Unless you call them bellissimmo too, I think I'd be okay with it." He gives Nicky a playful wink. "I know you review other artists, Nicolo."

Nicky pops another olive into his mouth, dragging his thumb over his bottom lip as he does, unable to help his proud smile as he watches Joe, laughing under his breath at his continued conviction that Nicky is as handsome as he says.

He knows he's not ugly as shit, but he thinks it's rich coming from someone like Joe, who is so handsome, and so perfect.

"I don't call any of them handsome, because none of them are. Well," he drawls, "not like you. There have been one or two lookers, admittedly."

Does the casual stroke of Nicky's thumb over his own lip draw Joe's attention and rob him of his ability to reply for a full second? Yes, it does.

"Yes, well. Let's focus on the ugly ones, if you don't mind," Joe drawls, mock-archly. He takes a sip from his wine, humming low at the taste. "This is good wine," he says, grinning to Nicky. Perhaps he wasn't the only one trying to impress, after all.

"What if they're attractive, but assholes? I have one or two of those," he assures, nodding his head with a scoff as he thinks about those smug artists who think they are god's gift to humanity. He reaches for his own glass, shrugging and trying to play it off.

"It's like you said. If this is going to go for a while, I want to be comfortable and enjoy myself, yes?" He sips it, grateful when it tastes decent, arching a brow. "You should instruct me on what I need to do, before I sink into your sofa and do nothing but drink wine and eat olives. Unless you want to sketch that?"

"Let's focus on the assholery, then," Joe quips, before chuckling and standing up when Nicky prompts him to start sketching. "Alright, I'll show you the studio." He arches an eyebrow. "Take your wine and olives with you."

It's a small room next to Joe's bedroom, with large windows overlooking a park. There is still a lot of sunlight coming in, so Joe won't need to add any artificial lights. He likes this; Nicky will look good in direct sunlight.

There is a old couch for Nicky to sprawl on, covered by a soft plaid blanket. In front of it are Joe's chair and desk, covered in paint tubes, brushes, charcoal sticks, pastels and watercolour pots. On the chair is a stack of drawing notebooks, sharp pencils on top of them.

Joe grabs the bathrobe that was on the sofa and takes a second to compose himself. You will not make this weird, he tells himself. He's drawn many nude models, and it's never been inappropriate. Granted, he wasn't attracted to any of them the way he's attracted to Nicky, but still. He. Can do this.

"Here," he says, handing Nicky the bathrobe. He smiles and makes himself meet Nicky's eyes, keeping his voice casual. "You can undress in the bathroom, if you'd like."

Nicky reaches down for the olives and the wine, following Joe into the studio. He's so occupied staring at the lighting, the space, the couch, and it's all a bit much so that he doesn't process what Joe says. It's also because English is not his first language, so it takes him a moment to process that Joe just asked him to strip.

"I..." He blinks, setting down olives and wine before he drops them. "What?"

He's missed something, hasn't he? He doesn't remember saying anything about posing for Joe naked, yet he's just offered to give him a place to undress. Given that he's not pinning Nicky to the couch and making out with him, he also thinks the request has more to do with art and less to do with anything fun. He does take the bathrobe, aware that it's leading him towards opening the door, feeling slightly unmoored.

Joe can clearly see that Nicky is surprised, even as he takes the bathrobe. He tilts his head to the side, wondering what part of this is coming as a shock.

"I mean, you could do it here if you'd rather, I won't peek," he jokes, lightly. He watches as the look on Nicky's face grows more and more confused, his own eyebrows furrowing. "Nicky, are you okay?"

"When we talked about this, I didn't realize that you would want me to sit for nude portraits," Nicky admits, feeling like he should be honest about the misunderstanding. "I should have asked more questions, but I thought that it wouldn't be so personal when we hardly know each other."

Even if it feels otherwise, as if they have a connection deeper than the few times they've met and talked, so far.

He turns the robe over in his hands a few times. "I still want to sit for you, but I'm not sure how I feel about being fully nude today; not for the first time," he amends, leaving the door open for another time. "Would you be willing to sketch me in...just this?" he suggests, letting the robe dangle from two fingers.

Oh. Oh.

Joe's eyes go wide. "Shit! I didn't even think of making sure! All the portraits at the exhibit were nudes, and the ones I've done before too, so I thought you knew." His eyebrows furrow in genuine worry and he reaches out, touching Nicky's arm gently. "I should have asked, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

He shakes his head, giving Nicky's arm a squeeze. "Listen, Nicolo. You can sit fully dressed if you'd rather. I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do."

On the other hand, the thought of Nicky wearing just the silky bathrobe and a blush is... not terrible. But, no. Joe will be good. "Anything you'd like," he states, very earnestly. He's such an idiot, he can't believe he didn't even think of this.

Nicky says nothing.

He tightens his hold on the robe as he considers it, and then, heads to change without saying another word. He doesn't intend to take the robe off, but he thinks that he can compromise to a degree. He strips off all his clothes, even the underwear, and ties the robe before he exits, clearing his throat as he heads back for the wine to sip it and give himself the liquid courage he needs.

He settles on the couch, stretching out his legs and folding one bent knee over the other, sitting sideways and draping his arm over the knee with the wine. "Which artist do you want me to talk about?" he starts, intending not to call attention to how he's dressed. "The handsome man who is an aggressive asshole, or the timid woman who you would think would not be a problem, but then is vindictive and stubborn and digs her heels in after?"

As he gets no reply, Joe worries that he messed this up and Nicky is going to leave. But Nicky is clearly headed for the bathroom and he took the robe, so Joe feels hopeful he's decided to stay and sit for him. He busies himself preparing his pencils and charcoal sticks, making sure he can sit in front of Nicky comfortably and attempt to capture his unique beauty.

He nearly drops his notebook when Nicky comes back, wearing -as far as Joe can tell- nothing but the robe. Somehow it feels more illicit than him being naked, that little tease of silky fabric moving against Nicky's bare thighs, showing just a little of his chest and arms.

Joe has to swallow hard and sit down, not looking at Nicky for a few seconds as he composes himself. When he glances up, he's firmly considering Nicky like a model, not an object of desire. "Pick a position you're comfortable keeping for a while," he advises, gently. "And please look my way." Nicky doesn't have to look at Joe (perhaps it's better for Joe's sanity he doesn't, really) but Joe would like to see his face clearly.

He grins, trying to relax and focus, picking up a pencil. "I think you'll have time for both, so start with whichever bothered you most."

Nicky feels suitably covered like this, if only that it gives him a chance to tease a little. Given that Joe looks somewhat flustered when he arrives back, it gives Nicky a thrill that makes him feel very powerful. He arranges his arm over the back of the sofa, draping it over as he stretches one leg out, the other knee bent.

It allows the robe to ride up, revealing all of his thigh and a hint of more. It gives Nicky the ability to casually rest his chin on his shoulder as he peers at Joe, noticing that he seems to have rebounded just fine. He is looking straight at him, though, his gaze intense and unflinching.

"Maybe you should start," he suggests. "Who was the last person to wear this little robe, Joe? Before me?"

Joe is professional enough about this that he can set his desire aside and look at the shapes, colors, lights and shadows that make Nicky up, focusing on drawing him.

He's not, however, professional enough to stop himself from staring at Nicky's bare thigh as the robe rides up and up and up. He promptly looks down at his notebook when Nicky meets his eyes, setting down a few lines, the general shape of Nicky's body. This is going to be difficult, he can already tell, for more reasons than one.

"A professional model I hired a few months ago," Joe answers, glancing back to Nicky but not meeting his gaze, sketching slowly. "He used to be a bodybuilder. Interesting to draw." He smiles. "He didn't keep the robe on for very long, though. It was too small and he felt silly."

Edited 2021-01-02 00:15 (UTC)

Nicky is going to try and take this seriously, try and not move, but it's like asking him not to think about a pink elephant. He's going to think about it, and probably dancing in the corner of the room. He keeps his gaze fixated on Joe, as if the beautiful line of his jaw will distract him from the fact that he is naked.

And that he's sharing this robe with a bodybuilder. "Did you pay him in olives too? Or was he not Italian and wouldn't appreciate them?"

He shifts his hand to his thigh, and it's not moving, not really, but he's absently stroking his skin in light brushes, just to give him something to focus on that isn't the overall position.