topino | (no subject)

"You're making it very difficult to remember that I don't put out on first dates, especially when I have a review of your work from the exhibit with my editor," is Nicky's wry comment, because he is very much being pushed to the limit, he can tell.

And still, he knows this. "I'm glad to hear that it went both ways, that you were every bit as affected as me." He doesn't think this is much of a limb as he asks, "Come over to mine next weekend? For a second date?" he asks (pleads), because he doesn't think he could leave tonight without knowing they have something else set up.

That gives Joe pause and he arches his eyebrows consideringly. "Am I going to be upset by this review?" he inquires, more curious than worried. He doesn't think it could make him truly argue with Nicky, not unless he was particularly mean. More bickering then, perhaps.

Joe grins, slowly. He's going to say yes, obviously, but he can't resist a joke first. "I don't know," he teases, "do we also not put out on second dates? Because that might be more than my self-control can handle." It's clearly a joke, though, he'll keep his hands to himself for ten dates if Nicky asks.

Nicky thinks back to what he wrote in it, which had been after his and Joe's bickering flirtatious banter of the evening. Shaking his head, he can't imagine that Joe would be too upset. "It's nothing you haven't heard before," he says, because it mostly delves into expanding to other subjects, mediums, and asking why no one has given Joe more attention.

Perhaps he's already grown very defensive of this man on his behalf.

"I put out on second dates all the time," he drawls, as if there's a frequent rotating door of men that he actually sees. "You can come over, see the dip in my bed from all my second dates," is deadpanned, arching a brow at Joe.

"Oh, great," Joe says, wryly. "That's reassuring." He arches an eyebrow at Nicky, expressively. "If you think flirting with me will stop me from sending you a strongly-worded email about your review, you are dead wrong." He's joking but also, not joking at all.

"Easy there, Casanova," Joe returns, sounding amused. He knows Nicky doesn't mean it. Not that he would think less of him if he did, Joe thinks putting out on the second date is perfectly acceptable. "I'll come over. I'd like to see that dip, actually." He grins. "Will you cook me dinner?"

Nicky raises a brow, leaning forward just enough that he can focus on Joe's beautiful lips. "And what if I told you that the somewhat angry emails are my favourite bit of flirting?" he questions, and he's not entirely joking.

He does love the way they spar and snipe with each other, because it makes him feel truly alive.

"And you can absolutely come see the dip in my bed, and have homemade Italian dinner, and good wine. That I'm expecting you to bring," he informs him.

It's very distracting, to have Nicky stare at his lips like that. "What do you mean, "somewhat" angry?" Joe returns, a little weakly. "I was very angry. Upset, even. Expect 10 pages of refuting your arguments one by one." He's not entirely joking either, though he'll take criticism if he thinks it's justified.

"I can do that," Joe confirms, already thinking about wine options. "A nice Chianti, yes?" He smiles, slow and warm. "I'm looking forward to trying your cooking." And Nicky's bed, though he'll leave that implied.

Nicky purses his lips together, brow furrowed as he nods, even though it's clear that he's just humouring Joe. "Yes, of course, very angry, ten pages of angry," he dutifully agrees, even as he grins at Joe, knowing that he's not going to be that upset about it.

Of course, he'll know in a few days, before that second date.

"Nice Chianti, si," he agrees. "And I'm planning to cook from scratch for you, so you'd better like it."

Note that while it's very possible Joe will write Nicky another angry email, he's not even considering cancelling their date. He grins back, finishing his plate with a pleased sigh. This has been an excellent first date.

"I'm sure I will." Joe would probably eat Nicky's cooking even if it was burned and overly salty, however, so he's not the best judge for this. "Can I ask what you're planning to make?"

"I thought that I might as well give in to the stereotypes," he admits, settling back and sprawling comfortably in the chair. "My Nonna taught me how to make fine Italian food, I should use it to impress you, no? So I was thinking I would make you a lasagna and some cannoli for dessert."

"If," he draws out, giving Joe a playful little smile, "that's suitable for you?" He can't imagine it won't be, and of course he'll throw in some other little treats to stuff him (and maybe subconsciously woo him into liking him more with good food).

Joe grins, delighted. "I like lasagna. I don't think I've ever had home-made cannoli, so I'm curious to try them. I'm sure I'll be suitably impressed."

He pretends to think about it for a second, though the look on his face is not very convincing. "We'll make do," he answers, airily, and then chuckles. "I don't have any Italian friends, I'll try whatever you think is properly Italian." He reaches out, patting Nicky's hand gently. "But don't put too much pressure on yourself. I know you're working hard and you don't have a lot of time. I am happy to eat anything you cook for me."

Given that Nicky intends to bake them from scratch, he'd better be, but he doesn't say that out loud. He has to retain some dignity, doesn't he? Even though, right now, he's considering throwing it all out the window for a game of footsie under the table with Joe.

No. He has to behave. He has to be good.

"I can write and cook at the same time, I promise," he vows. "There's plenty of time to do both and besides," he admits, a flush rising in his cheeks, "maybe I want to impress you, after you impressed me very much today."

"Good." Joe chuckles, imagining Nicky going between scathing art criticism and cannoli baking. "And I'm glad you enjoyed this. I enjoyed it too."

He smiles, fond and warm. "Ah, but the truth is I'm already impressed, Nicolo. Not by your cooking, but by everything else." Everything he's found out about Nicky so far, he's liked. Yes, even the sharp reviews.

That surprises Nicky, maybe because he hadn't been expecting it, but also because he's not sure what he's done. He came over and posed, yes, and he'd showed up to the gallery and given Joe some unsolicited advice, but he's a little surprised that he's been able to make that impression on him.

He dabs at his lips with the napkin, heart pounding in his chest. The wine he drinks doesn't calm it down either, but in that, he's not surprised. "Maybe next week, you could tell me about what some of those things are." He doesn't trust himself, not yet, to hear them.

Nicky's surprise is obvious and Joe smiles fondly in response, shaking his head. "Maybe I will," he answers, his tone gentle. There is much to say. He doesn't know Nicky all that well but he's already been impressed by his intelligence, his honesty, his deep understanding of what art should be. Not to mention his face, which did make a lasting impression on Joe.

"Do you want dessert?" he offers, lightening the mood. "I'm not good at making them, so I got you ice cream." The nice kind too, recommended by the Italian grocery store lady.

Nicky's softened immeasurably since he first walked into Joe's home, and right now, he's staring at him with his mouth open slightly, almost as if he's utterly entranced by this gorgeous man in front of him. It's as if a spell has been cast over him.

"I always like sweet things," he agrees, eyes bright when Joe mentions ice cream. "What flavour?"

That too is a good look on Nicky's face, soft but intent, watching Joe with just as much attention as Joe is watching him. It makes it hard for Joe not to lean in and kiss his parted lips.

"I got chocolate, vanilla, and mint," he says, standing up to open the freezer and get the tubs out. "I didn't know what you liked, so I played it safe."

"And the spoons are where?" he requests (more like demands, because dinner was very good, but Nicky loves a sweet thing and right now, Joe's just put a whole line of them in front of his eyes). "You can't show me this many sugary pictures of heaven and then not give me a way to eat them."

This also feels like it could get dangerous, what with his mouth and tongue curling around the ice cream on the spoon, and vice-versa, but Nicky's brain hasn't exactly caught up to that thought, not yet.

"In the drawer over there," Joe answers, laughing at Nicky's eagerness to have ice-cream. "Get some bowls too." He opens the tubs and peels the lids back, smiling because the ice cream looks great.

He will get himself a scoop of mint, and offer whatever flavor Nicky wants to him. He hasn't really thought ahead about Nicky licking his spoon or feeding him ice-cream (the olives were bad enough) and he sits blissfully unaware of the coming danger, humming because the mint is delicious.

Nicky springs up from his seat to fetch spoons, opening several cupboards until he finds bowls, trying not to think too much about the fact that he's rifling around in Joe's kitchen like he could belong there. One day, maybe. If he doesn't fuck this up, maybe ice cream at Joe's will become something of a tradition.

Nicky digs into the chocolate, because he wants the richest thing available, and he serves it in three heaping scoops before he puts the lid back on, wrapping his tongue around the back of the spoon to clear it off, sitting back down as he laves his tongue around it one more time, not willing to waste a single bit. "This is very good," he praises, with a hint of a moan trapped in his words. "Where did you get it?"

"Same store I got the olives," Joe answers, easily. "I'll take you some day, if you like. If you sweet talk the owner in Italian, we might get a discount." He'd also like to hear Nicky talk Italian because he thinks it will be very attractive, but Nicky doesn't need to know that just yet.

Joe's eyes zero on the way Nicky's licking his spoon almost immediately, first because he's glad he's enjoying it and then because, well. Seeing Nicky lick something with great enthusiasm is not helping the simmering state of arousal he's been in all evening. "I'm glad you like it," he returns, faintly, spooning more mint ice cream in his mouth so he doesn't say anything inappropriate.

"I think you just want to hear me speak Italian," is Nicky's response to that, but it's not like he minds. He'd speak Italian to Joe all night if that's what he wants. He dips the spoon into the bowl, not so much licking now as honestly attacking the ice cream.

Dinner and the olives had been excellent, but there's always room for dessert, in his opinion.

"You uh..." He had been thinking something, hadn't he? Only, he's staring at Joe's lips now, and all the thoughts just flew out of his mind. Strange, that.

"I think you might be right, I would enjoy that," Joe admits, grinning. Italian is a beautiful language, and he knows it will sound great on Nicky's lips.

It takes Joe a few seconds to notice that Nicky has stopped right in the middle of his sentence, caught as he is watching Nicky's face while he eats his dessert, the pleased spark in his eyes, his reddened lips. "...yeah?" he prompts, his eyebrows arching. Nicky is staring at his mouth again and it sends a shiver down Joe's spine.

Nicky's lips are still parted, really only clocking the sheen on Joe's beautiful red lips, the way the spoon keeps sliding in, the hint of tongue (as his mind gets extremely jealous). He knows he's supposed to be speaking, but it takes a good minute for thoughts to click in again.

Luckily, they do.

"I was just going to say, some day, I will take you to get gelato and order for you in Italian, though, it really is done best in Italy."

To be fair, when he notices Nicky staring, Joe does lick his own spoon a little more intently, making each bite last. That probably isn't helping Nicky concentrate, but Joe is enjoying the look on his face.

"I'd like that," he agrees, smiling. "I went to Rome, when I was younger. The ice-cream was very good. And much cheaper than it is here." He tilts his head to the side. "What's your favorite flavor? So I know for next time."

It's easier to shift focus away from Joe's lips when he's given something to think about. "I always liked stracciatella," he admits. "It's vanilla, but with chocolate shavings, so you get a little of each. And, of course, there is really no comparison to a nocciola, a hazelnut," he explains a moment later.

There is probably a very filthy joke about nuts in there, but Nicky is not going to make it.

"Besides, you did very well for your choice. This, the olives, and your excellent dinner, you will hear no complaints from me. Tonight," he adds, as if he wants to keep Joe on his toes.