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Joe stretches a little when he sees that Nicky's watching his body, showily. It brings a little color to Nicky's cheeks and Joe smiles, pleased. What is Nicky thinking about, he wonders, and how can Joe find out?

"Me neither," he says, his voice low and intent. "You promised me lasagna, after all." And many other pleasures, but Joe won't say that just yet. He knows he's going to get lost in Nicky's eyes if he stares too long so he doesn't, sitting up instead. "Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee?" he offers, trying to sound casual.

Nicky shakes his head to deny the offer. "If I have anything caffeinated, I will be up all night," he demurs, which is an excuse given that the real reason is that if Nicky stays even another half an hour, he's going to start forgetting why he's waiting.

Even now, his body is urging him to forget, but Joe isn't a one-night conquest. At least, hopefully not.

"I wouldn't want to keep you up, either," Nicky insists. "I'm sure you're a very busy man."

"I don't have much planned tomorrow," Joe answers, smiling. "I have to work on your portrait, but that's about it. But I don't want to keep you up either. Sharp-worded criticism doesn't write itself, I'm assuming." He sounds almost fond about Nicky's reviews now, which is a little stunning, even to his own ears, considering just how much he disliked them only a week ago.

Joe doesn't want Nicky to leave honestly, but he can recognize that it might be the best course of action at this point. And he doesn't want to seem clingy and make Nicky uncomfortable, either.

"Your review may be pending, but there are many other artists who are going to be mad at me, and they don't even know it." He dabs a napkin over his lips as he rises to his feet, reluctant but with a smooth motion.

Not once has he taken his eyes off Joe, not forgetting how he looked at him when Nicky had been in nothing more than that little pink robe. Next time, he will let Joe sketch him in nothing, but he's also hoping by next time, Joe will have already seen him that way.

"Walk me to the door?" he requests.

"I'm sure there are," Joe agrees, pleasantly. He arches his eyebrows and stands up as well, watching Nicky closely. It seems neither of them can look away, even now that the moment they will inevitably be apart is coming closer and closer.

"I'll get your coat." And so Joe does, holding it up for Nicky to slip into, his hand lingering on his shoulder for a few seconds. "I'll see you next week-end, then," he says, slowly, his eyes intent on Nicky's face. One corner of his lips curves out. "And reply to your review before that, I imagine."

"Grazie," Nicky praises, when Joe helps him into his coat. "Ever the perfect gentleman," is an additional tease as he turns to face Joe, letting his fingers slide right off his shoulder. He does wait until he's at the door, and even opens it with one foot keeping it open, but he's not planning to leave.

Not yet.

It really has been the perfect evening, but there's only one thing that could make it better. After staring at Joe's lips for so long with the ice cream, he thinks he deserves this. If nothing else, he should get this. Nicky lifts his gaze to Joe's temple, sliding two fingers over the hair there, tracing down his jaw, and using those fingers to get a loose hold on Joe's neck as he leans in to press a chaste, but lingering kiss to the corner of Joe's lips.

The brush of warmth is so tempting, but despite Nicky's lingering there for a moment, he finds the strength to pull back, before he takes any more. "I can't wait to check my email on Tuesday evening," he says roughly.

Joe stays very still, his eyes falling half shut as he leans into Nicky's touch, feeling the warm brush of gentle fingers against his face. His lips part a little in surprise as Nicky presses a kiss to them, slightly too off-center to be satisfying. It's electric, even this chaste brush of lips together, sending a shiver down Joe's spine. He smiles into it, his eyes bright when Nicky leans away.

His hand, he notices, has somehow landed on Nicky's elbow. He gives him a squeeze before letting go. He wants nothing more than to pull Nicky close and kiss him properly, but he'll behave.

"I'll make it work your while," Joe answers and his voice is very low, his eyes dark as they watch Nicky. He doesn't reach out, letting Nicky leave. It costs him still, and it shows on his face. "Have a nice week. I'll text you."

Nicky swears his entire being simply dissolves into a warmth he's never felt before when Joe grasps his elbow. There's a palpable tension in the air and it makes him think that seeing Joe next week will be the very best thing in his life.

Still, the hardest thing is right now, in leaving. "Enjoy the rest of your ice cream," he finally speaks, voice rough. "And I will think of you, all night," he warns, as he goes.

He stays true to his promise. He thinks of Joe that night when he's in bed, slipping his hand down his boxers. He thinks of Joe all the next day, especially when he gives up on writing reviews and turns instead to the romance novel manuscript. He thinks of Joe the whole week, especially when the review of his exhibit comes out.

And, true to his word, he keeps his phone near, eager for another text from Joe, another interaction, something more to see if that electric connection is real and can sustain.

Joe's lips curve up and he leans against the door frame, watching Nicky step back. "All night?" he teases, licking his lower lip at the idea. "That's flattering."

He doesn't actually say so but he will do much the same, tidying up the kitchen before he takes a very hot shower. When he wraps his fingers around his cock, he thinks about Nicky's large hand on his naked thigh, about the way his eyes looked as they got dark, about the warm brush of his lips to Joe's.

He keeps his word too, texting Nicky the next morning, casually asking how his day is going, just keeping in touch. He e-mails him twice during the week too.

First, to answer his review. Joe's e-mail will come soon after Nicky publishes the review because he set an alert for it and answers immediately after reading it. It's a relatively mild review -at least much kinder than Nicky's original one- but there are still a few points Joe wants to argue. He doesn't sound angry in his email however, merely disputing Nicky's conclusion.

Then, he emails Nicky scans of the art he created basing himself on Nicky's modeling. There are cleaned-up color versions of the sketches he drew, Nicky's body pale in that silky bathrobe, his eyes luminous and wanting, his strong fingers against his delicate mouth. On the last one Nicky's hand has been replaced with Joe's, his artist's fingers gently framing Nicky's jaw, his thumb leaving a dark smudge of charcoal against the corner of his lips.

Nicky can't lie. He's utterly delighted to find a reply to his review, even if he hadn't been intentionally trying to bait Joe, not this tie. Still, he loves getting the review back, because it gives him the opportunity to go over it and pick apart the reply as well, fighting back and defending his words.

Of course, then Joe has to go and leave him utterly breathless with the art. It takes him a few hours to clearly register coherent thoughts and not just want, lips tingling at the thought of Joe's finger on him. He sends a new email, holding himself together, as he replies to say: See? I told you that if you branch out, you'll find new limits. You should show this to a good friend and see if they notice, but I think there's a spark here I never saw before.

They can get a little back and forth going, Joe answering Nicky's reply, conceding some points and arguing others. It makes for a passionate debate, though not nearly as angry as their original exchange had been.

Ah, but Nicolo, is the spark in my art, or was it in your eyes?

Joe grins as he replies, but he will take Nicky's advice and forward that last drawing to his agent, Booker. Thank you. With your permission, I will send these to my agent, and see what he thinks.

Edited 2021-01-10 23:08 (UTC)

The spark was in your lips, which I think we both know.

It's not a lie, as he replies, and with the space between them, Nicky even feels safe to say it. As for the permission, there is a war within him. The stubborn part of him says that to be proven right, of course Joe must share the art, and with whomever he likes. The more cautious part with some dignity reminds him of what that art is.

Stubbornness wins out (unsurprisingly).

Send them. Then you can tell me on Saturday how I was right.

My lips, and yours, is Joe's answer. He can't wait to kiss Nicky again, properly this time, to cradle that beautiful face with both hands and hold him close.

Thank you, I will. And you'd like that, wouldn't you? Joe grins as he sends his reply. Nicky might very well be right, Joe thinks this particular drawing does have something none of his self-portraits did. But he's not sure whether it comes from Joe himself, or from his model.

In case, he does forward the drawings to Booker, and will tell Nicky his agent's reply when he sees him on Saturday. The rest of the week drags on, and Joe makes sure to keep texting Nicky, not enough to be annoying but enough to keep them both thinking about each other, sharing pictures and interesting stories.

Nicky wouldn't just like that, he would be absolutely, unendingly smug, and he thinks that Joe would just have to put up with it while he eats Nicky's delicious food and is entertained by his company. He's fairly sure that Joe could put up with all of these things.

Come Saturday, he wakes early and puts on a comfortable grey long-sleeved sweater that might just be a little too baggy, but he makes up for it with tight jeans. Barefoot, he wanders around the kitchen and works on the cannoli and the lasagna, the apron protecting his clothes.

Once it's closer to dinner, he opens the door so that Joe can wander in while he finishes up, but not before Nicky dims the lights, and lights some candles on the kitchen table, eager to set a romantic mood. He's made sure everything is perfect for tonight, so long as he doesn't screw it all up.

Joe can absolutely put up with all of these things. Nicky's smugness is a price he's fully ready to pay, considering what he gets in exchange. He'll let Nicky gloat all he wants if it gets him more dates spent sketching him, eating good food, and hopefully kissing him too.

Saturday finally comes and Joe texts Nicky when he's almost there. He bought very good Italian wine and a small bottle of limoncello to drink with Nicky's home-made cannoli. He's wearing a fitted blue shirt under his best leather jacket and his favourite jeans, the ones with the unnecessary zippers, almost tight enough to be indecent.

He raps on the door as he pushes it open, not meaning to take Nicky by surprise. "Nicolo?" he calls, stepping in. He follows the noise coming from the kitchen, grinning as he sees the flickering lights of the candles. "A little mood lighting?" he teases, leaning his shoulder against the door frame as he just takes Nicky in.

He looks good busying himself with their food, soft around the edges from the sweater he's wearing and the warm candlelight. It takes great effort not to look at his ass and thighs in those jeans though and Joe hastily moves to set the bottles on the counter instead, stepping closer. "Hey," he says, softly. He leans in and kisses Nicky's cheek, the faintest brush of lips against his skin. "It smells delicious in here."

Joe starts the evening excellently, both by calling him Nicolo, but also by wearing those pants. He turns to greet him, but then gets caught up when he's staring at the pants a little longer than is polite. He drags his attention up just in time for the kiss to his cheek, which makes him overly warm.

He's not even sure he can blame that on the singular candle in the room, even if he wants to. "Hello yourself," he greets, pausing in his work on finishing the cannoli with chocolate chips so he can lean back and kiss the other cheek, not letting Joe get away with a non-Italian greeting.

"The lasagna is nearly done, and soon I'll finish the bruschetta," he says, absently running through the checklist in his mind. "Make yourself at home," he encourages. "You can hang your jacket in the hall if you like," he offers.

Luckily Joe doesn't mind Nicky's lingering stare, preening a little as he's obviously checked out. He likes it, even, likes the way he can so easily blindside Nicky just by wearing slightly too-tight pants.

He's familiar enough with the Italian greeting that he turns his other cheek comfortably, smiling as he feels Nicky's lips there. "That sounds incredible," he says warmly, not moving away at once, his chest almost touching Nicky's shoulder. He smiles, looking at Nicky's face like he's missed it, like he hasn't seen it in years.

"Do you need any help?" he asks, nodding when Nicky tells him to hang his jacket in the hall, finally stepping away.

Nicky huffs a laugh when Joe starts preening, but he's the one who's checking him out, so he can't exactly blame him. Shaking his head, he adjusts his apron a little, stomach tumbling with butterflies for how close Joe is, turning towards him and giving him a rare grin for the offer of help.

"You can pour us some wine," he says, reaching for the bread to start slicing it, now that dessert is ready and chilling in the fridge. "I want you to relax, enjoy yourself. Give me a moment to get this in the oven, and I'll give you a tour."

It's a lovely smile and Joe is very weak for it, smiling back helplessly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I can do that," he agrees when Nicky asks him to pour the wine and relax. He removes his jacket and goes to hang it in the hall, then comes back to uncork the bottle and pour two glasses, letting the wine breathe. He sits at the table while Nicky finishes, looking at ease but watchful, his eyes following Nicky around the kitchen. "How was your week, then?" he inquires, his tone fond.

There's something very normal about all this and it has Nicky wondering when it was, the last time he had a date or a boyfriend or a partner of any kind who sat at the table and asks him how his week went. His mind jumps forward with that, leaping to thoughts of Joe in his socks and boxers, making coffee in this kitchen, of reading the paper together, of...

No, Nicky. It's a second date. You are not allowed to get this far in, not yet.

"I think it went well. I had a very nice correspondence with a very picky artist after my review went out about his exhibit, on Tuesday," he teases, giving Joe an amused look. "And? Did you send your sketches to your agent? What did he say?"

Meanwhile, Joe is sitting at the small table watching Nicky cook and trying to tell his heart to stop beating so hard in his chest. He can't be falling so hard for a man he literally met one week ago. Even for an incurable romantic like Joe, that is ridiculously fast.

"I'm sure that artist made some great points to get you to see the error of your ways," Joe taunts, grinning. The question makes him arch his eyebrows and rub his forehead, chuckling. "Ah. Well, see for yourself." He takes out his phone and brings up the text chain he's been sharing with Booker, handing it to Nicky.

Booker Tues. 3:35pm
I agree, they are very good. I think you could draw from this inspiration to make a whole series of paintings, if the model is willing to sit for you again.

Booker Tues. 3:36pm
You know, his face reminds me a little of that art critic you don't like. The one you argued with last week, Di Genova.

Booker Wed. 5:45pm
Joe?

Booker Wed. 5:50pm
JOE NO

Nicky's in his element in the kitchen. He's put on light music and he sways to it, brushing the bruschetta with olive oil and garlic, before topping it, backing up to get it into the oven before he turns to take Joe's phone to read the texts.

He smirks, smug as always, but his eyes do land on the comment about 'art critic you don't like'.

Nicky sighs, ever the melodramatic asshole. "What a shame. I'm right, but now you'll have to leave without having any lasagna," he says, with absolutely no intention of actually kicking Joe out. "Seeing as you don't like me at all," he drawls, because people don't go to dinner at someone's home if they don't like them.

And, he's fairly sure, they also don't let themselves be kissed like Nicky did last week. "I got you a present, you know. And now I find out that you have been ... come se dice in inglese...talking shit about me?"

Nicky is lovely to watch like this, relaxed but focused, so obviously pleased to have Joe around. Joe grins when Nicky sighs melodramatically, fully understanding that he doesn't mean any of it but delighted to play this game nonetheless.

He gasps, putting a hand over his heart. "Nicky, I would never! Please, I like you." He gets his phone back and takes Nicky's hand in his, leaning in to press a kiss to the back of it. "I like you a lot, I promise, please give me the lasagna." His eyes are beseeching but he only manages to bite down his grin for a second before beaming up to Nicky.

"I did talk shit about you," he admits. "I called Booker at some point between your third and fourth email, I think, and ranted for a good half an hour. He stopped listening pretty quickly but he remembered your name, apparently." Joe sits up, suddenly curious. "You got me a present?"

Luckily, Nicky has no plans to kick Joe out of his apartment. Instead, he picks up the glass of wine, even as he's having his hand kissed, sipping it as he considers everything Joe is bringing to the table. "Well," he draws out, "I guess it wouldn't be right to kick you out when I've spent all day preparing," he reasons.

"You can stay," he allows, as if it's ever been in question, gesturing with his head for Joe to follow him. "Of course I bought you a present, I said I would," he says defensively, heading into the living area to hand Joe a bag that contains a very short little silky red robe, deep burgundy, which he thinks will look excellent on Joe.

"I'm glad to hear your agent thinks this is a bad idea," he says wryly. "Do you have a history of seducing critics, maybe?"

"It wouldn't be right at all," Joe agrees, amused. He lets go of Nicky's hand so he can sip from his wine too, humming when he finds it strong and flavorful. He smiles, getting up to follow Nicky to the living room, taking his glass with him.

"Did you?" he inquires, a little puzzled. He doesn't remember Nicky promising him a gift. He shakes his head at the question, amused that Nicky even has to ask. "Oh, yes, I have seduced many critics. How do you think I get such good reviews?" he teases, giving Nicky a wink. "I didn't tell Booker we'd met and... made up, I suppose. He still thinks I dislike you, which is why he's not convinced this is a good idea." And Joe can't blame him, really.

He takes the bag, his eyebrows arching. Oh, right. And there he'd been, thinking the whole robe thing was a joke. He laughs, taking it out of the bag carefully. "Nice color," he compliments, unfolding the silky fabric and finding it very short. Well, fair is fair. He had Nicky wear a robe last week, perhaps it's his turn. He holds up the silky robe to his broad chest, letting Nicky imagine him in it. "Do you want me to put it on now," he challenges, arching an eyebrow, "or later?"