Chapter Text
Are you busy tonight?
It’s 4:42. So close to the weekend, not yet close enough, and Nicky has an email draft open that he could finish by 5 o’clock if he really felt like it. It’s been sitting in front of his eyes, half-complete, since just after lunch.
He sighs deeply and unlocks his phone.
If I said yes, would you believe me?
No.
He snorts.
I’m free. Why?
Come to Celeste’s, on Queen W. Tonight at 8.
And that’s all he gets out of her.
The email never gets finished. The reply to the consultant’s report will have to wait until Monday, something he doesn’t feel guilty about as he rides the elevator down from the sixteenth floor of the high-rise he works in. Corporate work culture moves too fast, in Nicky’s opinion, and there are some people in his circle he thinks could learn the art of delayed professional gratification.
Or sexual, he thinks. Lance from accounting indulges in too much locker room talk with his circle of dudes for Nicky to believe his partners get anything out of those brief encounters.
The office complex is situated right over the subway station, so he doesn’t need to go outside to get home. It’s efficient though sometimes a little claustrophobic. Nice in the wintertime. He manages to zone out waiting for the train, boarding, standing with a hand on the ceiling rail because he’s tall enough to reach it and there are others who aren’t, and arriving at his stop. Again, he doesn’t need to go outside, his condo building connected to the station via underground tunnels he’d gotten lost in on his first day.
Now, it’s all second nature. He can see through a skylight that it’s lightly raining, so that’s something in favour of sticking to the rabbit run of his commute today.
See, Nicky does like his work. He’d struggled hard to excel at university, felt genuine pride when awarded his engineer’s ring, and swelled with excitement when he’d gotten his first job offer and called his parents with the news. He likes structure, and he likes routine. Toronto is a big city, sometimes too much so, but it’s diverse and lively, and he’s been lucky at his firm to already have jumped a few levels after a few short years. He’s closer to management now than the junior position he’d started in. Truthfully, having disposable income is still novel, having grown up with parents who were both born in such a small and obscure village in the northern Italian countryside that he struggles to find it on Google Maps.
He has a lot to be grateful for, and he is. A little more excitement wouldn’t hurt, but. Life is what it is.
Andy’s impromptu invite does sound like ‘a little more excitement’, and he hadn’t had greater plans than to get a head start on laundry before the weekend. So, he changes from his tie and slacks into jeans and a clean t-shirt, both black and suitable enough for a Friday night bar scene, and returns to the subway at around 7:30. She’s his oldest friend, an intimidating RA from that first precarious weekend in international student housing when he’d been eighteen – he trusts her not to lead him into anything too unsavoury.
Celeste’s is a far cry from a dive bar, still relatively close to the business district and bookended by lively patios, open and squeezing out the last of the late September warmth. Actually, it seems more like a venue than a bar. The windows are darkened, and there’s a bouncer letting a steady trickle of people by.
“Ticket?” the guy asks. Nicky knows how this works, how Andy works.
“No,” he says. “Nico? With Andy?”
The bouncer checks down on his phone momentarily, nods gruffly. “’Kay, go ahead.” Nicky gives his own nod of thanks and heads through the heavy front door.
The darkened corridor inside takes him past a coat check counter and up a short flight of stairs into the main space. A raised stage to one side, a bar to the other, some tables and chairs in between and an open space clearly meant for a crowd to gather in. The lights are dimmed and the atmosphere is hazy, some sudden nostalgic pre-show vibes giving Nicky pause. Clearly, something is about to happen here.
There’s a familiar silhouette leaning on the bar, engaging the bartender behind it in conversation.
“Andy,” he greets her, coming to her side. Her initial look is of annoyance at being interrupted, but it fades.
“Nicolo,” she says. “Made it, I see.”
“Of course. How could I ignore such a self-explanatory and elaborate text?”
She turns and gives a small smirk. “I have to titillate you somehow, otherwise you’d never leave the house.”
“If you say so.” There’s a newly opened beer that she hands him. He takes it, cradles it in one hand, and looks towards the stage, notes the unmanned drum set and instruments waiting there. More people crowd in, the ambient noise rising to a steady murmur. “What is it that we’re seeing?”
“You know Quynh plays bass.”
“Is this her band?”
Andy takes a swig of her own beer, nods after. “Young Mortals. Yeah, she started playing with them last year.”
“The Young Mortals?” Nicky echoes. He’s heard worse band names, but it does sound like something he would have come up with in high school.
Andy lifts a shoulder. “Joe’s idea of a joke – he came up with it when it was just him and Seb, back in '09.”
“Who’s Joe?”
And he doesn’t get an answer, because the crowd, vibrating and packed in now, and made up of a lot of youngsters dressed like kids out of time from the early 2000s, starts to make a lot of noise. Yells and cheers and shrieking whistles, swelling with anticipation.
Nicky looks up to the stage.
He recognizes Quynh, tiny and striking behind the fire-engine-red bass she picks up. Another woman with long braids nudges her shoulder, laughs, passes her to take an electric guitar from it’s stand, and a tall blond guy lumbers behind them to the drum set. The slope of his shoulders seems familiar to Nicky, maybe another one of the many friends of Andy and Quynh’s he’s been introduced to over the years.
“Nile on guitar,” Andy leans over to say-shout into Nicky’s ear. “Sebastien – Booker – on drums.”
The noise reaches a crescendo when a fourth person makes an entrance.
He strides right across the front of the stage on long legs, gives Quynh clap on the shoulder on his way by, throws a nod over to the Nile, turns to share a look with Booker, and then faces the audience. Clasps the mic on its stand in two hands, smiles.
“That’s Joe,” Andy says unnecessarily, because Nicky’s with the program, now.
Joe is tall and he has a halo of dark curls that melt into a beard, and he has twin tattoos, text, on his thighs. How does Nicky know this? He knows this because Joe is wearing shorter denim shorts than Nicky has ever dared wear himself, legs capped off with combat boots chunky enough to weigh ten pounds each. Joe doesn’t need the extra height. Joe’s given it to himself anyway.
He takes the mic from its stand, his eyes wrinkling at the corners, and says, rich voice amplified all around the space, “Hey, guys.”
The crowd erupts.
“We’re so excited to be back,” he says, over all of the yelling, unfazed. “Always happy to be back at Celeste’s. Fridays, you know how it is.” He glances over his shoulder to orient himself, picks up the stand to get it out of his way. “We’ve got some old favourites and some new shit tonight, if that’s alright with you.”
Everyone is most definitely alright with this, and that’s all the warning Nicky gets before Booker cracks the drumsticks over his head once, twice, three, four-
The set rotates between covers, things Nicky has definitely heard on the radio while cooking or working out, and slower, sexier tracks, and upbeat good old fashioned rock’n’roll. The patrons of Celeste’s eat it all up, singing along to a large portion of it all.
Nicky can’t pay too much attention to the music itself, though he appreciates the talent of Nile as the lead, Quynh and Booker backing up with heavy, steady beats.
It’s Joe.
He’s a frontman in every sense of the word. He can sing, really, he can; sticks the notes, growls, even croons at one point. And he clearly loves it. He sings, but he also embodies it within himself, comfortable, at home. He’s playful with his bandmates, playful with the audience, playful with himself when he, halfway through one track, shucks off the jacket around his shoulders and proceeds to strut and saunter across the stage, feeling his bare chest with his free hand like he can’t help it.
During one moment, when Quynh takes a throbbing solo, picking expertly at the strings of her bass, Andy leans over again.
“Glad you came out tonight?”
Onstage, the drums and guitars steamroll to a crashing crescendo, and Joe belts out a final note, bringing the song to a thunderous, impressive close. In the screaming aftermath, chest beading with sweat and heaving, Joe lets the mic fall from his mouth, grinning wildly, eyes alight, so beautiful and untouchable that Nicky’s stomach tightens.
“Oh, Andy,” he says, resigned to his fate.
She taps her bottle to his arm, just says, “You’re welcome.”
It’s pushing ten-thirty. The Young Mortals are at their end, clearing off the stage as generic music takes over in their wake. The crowd mills about, people claiming chairs and tables, flocking to the bar to keep the night going, and Nicky starts to turn around to see about another drink when movement on the stage catches his eye again. Joe’s reappeared alone, still shirtless, and he jumps down off the stage. He goes relatively unnoticed since the attention of the room is off the stage now, but he does get delayed a few times by people wanting to share snippets praise on his way through.
Nicky’s breath gets stuck as he finally breaks away from a circle of fans, leaves them with a kind nod, and makes a beeline for Andy. Joe saunters, loose in the limbs, simmering near the surface of his own skin. He makes Nicky want to do something deliberate and brazen like lick his lips.
Lick Joe's lips.
"Don't think I don't see you gossiping over here," he says when he gets close enough, and he goes right for an engulfing and likely sweaty hug Andy pretends to grouse about.
"It's only ever about you, darling," she drawls.
"But of course," Joe says, planting his feet in front of them. "What else is there to talk about?"
"All that skin, maybe," Andy returns. "Really, al-Kaysani, my eyes."
"Alas, I have no more shirts."
“You’re a menace,” she tells him matter-of-factly. “Yusuf – this is Nicolo.”
That attention, so searing on stage, is then totally on Nicky.
"Hey, man – Joe." He offers his hand.
"Just Nicky," Nicky says, shaking Joe's wide palm twice.
“I know. Full names are Andy’s specialty.” Joe winks.
Nicky looks to Andy in askance, but she turns back to the bar and hails the bartender, leaving Nicky to field Joe by himself.
“I really liked the show,” Nicky says because he figures that’s the polite thing to say.
Joe’s eyes turn intrigued, flicking across Nicky’s face, upper body. “Yeah? Always happy to hear that.”
Nicky feels tongue-tied. “I don’t usually come to this kind of thing, but, uh, yeah. It was fun.” God, he just feels laid bare by Joe’s smile.
“Andy, where did you meet this charming man?” Joe asks her, making Nicky almost fumble with his beer.
“College,” Andy replies, turning with four new bottles between her fingers. “I was his RA. Caught him dancing on the tables in the common room.”
“Ah, really,” Joe laughs. He takes the drinks, clearly for himself and his bandmates. “You’ll have to come to the afterparty with us, hm?”
"Yeah." Nicky can't stop a growing smile as he contemplates the night ahead, but he doesn't dare point it in Joe's direction. Can't look directly at the sun for that long. "I haven't been out in too long."
Joe nods in understanding, tilts his head to the side ever so slightly. Appraising.
"I think we'll have fun," he murmurs, and Nicky hasn't removed a stitch of clothing. Regardless, in that second, he's naked.
Breaking the moment, Joe steps backwards and salutes Andy with the beer. "I gotta run, do the rounds. Andy, thank you for the drinks. Nicky, I will see you later." And he's gone in a flash of curls and an awful lot of beautiful golden skin for Nicky's heart to handle for the amount of alcohol he hasn’t had.
There's a pause.
"I don't know what just happened," Nicky says, internally reeling.
"He likes you." Andy is shaking her head, distantly fond. "Careful with that one, Nicky. Joe's a well-fueled fire."
"Are you warning me not to get burnt?"
She lifts a shoulder. He exhales. "I'm very much an adult," Nicky informs her. Joe might be burning, but Nicky's already being sucked in, like the last free oxygen in a room ablaze.
"I think that's the problem," Andy says. "Hey, your funeral."
"Send my ashes back to Italy, would you?"
She smiles, small and wry, and lifts her beer bottle. He grins and clinks his against hers in a salute, and downs the rest of it down his throat.
They hang out at the bar for a while, killing time by catching up – Nicky really hasn’t seen her in a long while, and he’s slowly starting to think it might be worth his time to try to go out more, judging by how this current evening is panning out.
Soon, Quynh appears, tucking herself under Andy’s arm with a pleased smile and giving Nicky a little wave in hello, and she tells them that the others are ready to move on. So, Nicky settles his tab, and follows the women outside.
A small crowd follows them from Celeste's to Club Malta, maybe ten people that are complete strangers to Nicky but clearly long-term friends and fans of the band. A couple of girls with Nile, a burly dude who catches Andy in conversation. Booker seems content to wander on ahead a bit, by himself. Around Joe, a rotating gaggle of laughing, bright people.
A twinge of jealousy under Nicky's breastbone; he's never been that easy about others. Always been an odd duck.
Apparently, those days might be behind him because Joe catches him looking, grins recklessly, and wheels Nicky in against his side. He keeps him there with a solid arm around his neck.
“Nicolo, Nico, Nicky,” he says, close to Nicky’s ear. “Having fun?”
“Starting to,” Nicky says, huffing a laugh. He’s a bit tipsy.
“Let’s be friends, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
"To new friends," Joe loudly announces, to the approving yowls of those around them.
"Hey," a young woman just beyond Joe's other side pipes up. "Are you a musician too?"
"Uh, no," Nicky answers. "No, I’m kind of here by accident."
"Yeah, snapped him right up," Joe says nonsensically, jostling them both with a skip in his step. In his Docs, he's got an additional two inches on Nicky.
The same girl scoots around their backs to come to Nicky's free side - someone else in a mesh top with impressive gauges in their ears takes her place and Joe's attention.
"I'm Hannah," the girl says to Nicky.
"Nicky."
She gives him a flirty side-eye. "So I've heard." A few more steps, along the sidewalk, then, "Can I buy you a drink? When we get there? Maybe talk some more."
She's very cute - as tall as Nicky's shoulder, and curved, with rounded cheeks expertly contoured. Her confidence is impressive.
"Yes, we can talk," he says. "Uh. Please know that I am extremely gay."
Joe seems to trip over nothing, pulling Nicky's neck with him. "Fuck, sorry," he mutters as he rights himself, a laugh hardly hidden.
On Nicky's other side, no disappointment. Hannah lifts shoulder. "Come find me later, yeah? I'll buy you that drink. First gig present, or something." She smiles and charges ahead towards Nile and her entourage.
Bemused, Nicky watches her go, and then looks toward Joe. "What is so funny?"
Joe shakes his head, grins. "You, uh, you're very straight up."
"Not very straight."
"Okay, up front, then. Direct. Is that an Italian thing?"
"I think it's just a me thing."
Joe just gives him a delighted look, eyes twinkling, and they march on down the street.
The club is fairly generic, though it’s clear that it’s a usual haunt of the band and their most loyal followers judging by how unbothered the bouncer is. Inside, Nicky soon finds himself with a drink in hand, mind delightfully fuzzy, and he hangs out with Andy and Quynh, chatting as best they can over the music on some low couches while most of the others head off to dance.
He does try to pay attention to the conversation, but his eye keeps getting drawn to Joe whenever the man appears in his line of vision, like a magnetic pull.
Quynh grins, catching him, and nods her head. “You should go dance with him.”
“Yeah, probably.” Truthfully, his mind and body are well beyond just wanting to dance with Joe.
After a bit, Nicky excuses himself for the bathroom and relieves himself quickly. He washes his hands and pushes his hair back, leaves and reenters the dim hall just beyond, where the thudding music is distant but invasive enough to still be felt in his bones through the floor. The line has dissipated. There's no one waiting, except-
Joe leans against the far wall, shadowed. His eyes reflect what little light there is, shoulders back, hips leaned outwards, as he cups a lighter around his mouth. There's a small snick, and smoke puffs around his face. He slips the lighter into his pocket and fingers the cigarette between casual fingers. Blinks across at Nicky.
"I don't think you're supposed to do that inside," Nicky says, slightly hoarse from all the strained talking through the music he's been doing, hoarse also because-
Well.
Joe takes another long drag, leans his head back and closes his eyes.
"I'm not," he agrees. He then spreads his hands. "No one to see. Unless you plan to turn me in."
"I won't."
Nicky crosses his arms across his chest and takes a few steps and leans against the wall opposite from Joe, appraises him. The lines of his body are indecent, like this, with his legs long and the grooves of his hips luring Nicky's eyes to the space above his belt. The cropped tank he’d thrown on for the walk from Celeste’s hides nothing. Nicky knows that Joe knows this.
Because he definitely is that self aware, Joe's mouth pulls up at one corner.
"What are you looking at with those awfully big eyes of yours?"
So reckless, Nicky thinks. "You," he says. He would argue that they’re dancing around themselves, but. No. The energy between them is calculated and knowing. Nicky’s not sure he’s ever encountered this sense of inevitability before, which is why any filters have dissolved and he says:
“What are you looking at?”
Joe’s eyes become lazy, gentle. Pulls the cigarette away from his mouth and says, “You.”
“Is this a good idea?” Nicky asks, the question flimsy even as it leaves his lips.
“I only ever have good ideas.” Joe shifts off the wall, stands tall. “D’you want to know my latest one?”
“Please enlighten me.”
“I think you should come closer,” he says, almost like a taunt, even as he takes the steps towards Nicky himself. The cigarette glows at his hip, and the atmosphere of him is heady when he comes into Nicky’s space. Musky scent, bared arms, dark hair. His entire presence is an unspoken challenge.
Nicky’s a quiet guy, accused of being shy. Still, he’s never backed down from any challenge. Joe is a little awe-inspiring, a flame to the moths around him, but he doesn’t intimidate Nicky.
“Now we are closer,” he murmurs.
Joe hums in agreement, plants a forearm on the wall beside Nicky’s head. He’s all Nicky can see. Intoxicated as he is on drink and this man, Nicky needs his mouth like he needs air.
He doesn’t see the need to wait. They’re here, alone, and Joe’s put himself within reach. So Nicky leans his shoulders off the wall and lifts his jaw and takes that lower lip between his own, soft, like a question. He feels Joe meet him with a satisfied sigh and the warm press of his own mouth. Still, Nicky draws back without probing for a second, because he wants to see his answer.
Joe’s answer is to drop the butt to the ground, snuff it out with his heel, take Nicky’s face in his hands and kiss him.
Hot and demanding, and slow. A hungry slide, it turns dirty quickly. A tiny, shocked moan jumps up Nicky’s throat, and a thumb hooks over his jaw, encouraging him to open. With an exhale, Joe breaks away to tilt his head and claim from a new angle, and his thigh finds home between Nicky’s. Held where he is, mouth busy, Nicky touches him. Slides his palms around his waist, down, to feel the cut of his hips and anchor onto his belt. He is hot, burning.
Andy was right, Nicky notes distantly, and then Joe pushes his chin out of the way and starts to suck there, and his thoughts dissipate.
“Fuck,” Joe mutters. Licks a stripe up to Nicky’s ear. “You are not what I bargained for tonight.”
“A frequent occurrence,” Nicky admits in a pant.
Joe chuckles, and Nicky feels it where their chests touch. He pulls back, so their eyes can meet. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” and he gives Nicky another kiss, sweeter, with closed lips. Nicky arches into the gesture, gets an elbow around the back of Joe’s neck and holds on there.
“You want more?” Joe mumbles, against Nicky’s mouth.
Nicky sees the offer for what it is. Casual, likely one time. He hasn’t known Joe long, but Nicky can clearly see him as someone untethered in a myriad of ways, sex just one of them. In truth, Nicky doesn’t usually fuck around with one night stands, prefers the chance to know someone’s body, have himself be known in turn. However, since Nicky knows Andy and Quynh, and the chemistry is there, perhaps...
Here, he thinks. Here might be a good opportunity to find some middle ground.
“Yeah,” he breathes. And he lets Joe take his hand.
He gets pulled back into the bathroom and pushed back up against the locked door. Once there, Joe doesn’t waste any time, leaning his shoulders back just enough to look so he can push Nicky’s t-shirt up his stomach and open his pants. He zeroes in on what he wants, and catches Nicky in a heated stare when he pushes a hand inside his underwear. Nicky’s only halfway hard, but Joe doesn’t seem phased. Casually brings his fingers to his mouth to gather spit, returns and takes him out and starts squeezing, coaxing.
“Okay?” he asks roughly. They’re forehead to forehead, both watching the action below, transfixed.
“Mhm,” is all Nicky can offer.
“Can I-”
“Yeah, yeah, you too.”
Both of them hard, together, wrapped in Joe’s palm. That’s enough to have Nicky thud his head back against the door.
“Oh, babe,” Joe mutters mindlessly, smearing his mouth along a collarbone. “’m so hot for you, Nicky, fuck, I want you to feel so good-”
“Feels good,” Nicky promises. His mouth drops open and he grasps at Joe’s shoulders.
“Yeah?”
“Yes, ah-” Loses whatever nonsense he would’ve said into Joe’s mouth.
Interestingly, Joe gets there first; Nicky hadn’t been expecting that, but there’s a sudden eruption of warmth onto his lower stomach, a mess that isn’t his, not just yet. Joe doesn’t miss a beat, despite the heaving of his chest and glassiness in his eyes, redoubles his efforts on the head of Nicky’s straining cock and tenderly bites into the meat of Nicky shoulder and, yes, that does it. Nicky comes with his eyes squeezed shut, shoving all the noise he wants to make back down his throat because he’s not really an exhibitionist and can’t forget they’re sort of in public.
Joe gives them a moment, final tingles fading, before roughly pulling a few squares of paper towel from the dispenser and wiping his hand. He then slips his top off and uses that to mop up the rest of the mess on Nicky’s abdomen.
“What-”
“Softer,” Joe says with a shrug. He turns and throws the soiled shirt into the garbage bin. Nicky gapes. It had barely counted as a piece of clothing before, but –
“That’s your shirt,” he says, indignant, still clawing his way to higher brain functions after his orgasm.
Joe puts his hands on his hips, looking at the bin.
“Yeah, it was.” He looks back to Nicky. “You good?”
Nicky just about has all his faculties back. He stands straight, runs a hand through his hair. “Yes. All good.”
Gesturing with his chin, Joe says, “We should-”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Nicky steps aside so he isn’t blocking the door. He opens it and lets Joe stride through first, trailing a little behind him as they leave the scene behind. Joe pulls ahead, returns to the lounge area, greeted by a couple of waves and wolf whistles at his bared chest.
Nicky veers right, finds the bar within his sights and heads there just for something to do. He hails the bartender for a cup of water. Andy appears at his side, though she already has a glass of amber liquid with her.
“Obvious?” he asks, after a moment.
“A little.”
“Okay.” He downs the water.
“Not surprising,” Andy adds. “Not with the way you two were eye-fucking each other.”
“Does he often disappear and return lacking clothing?”
“Truthfully? Not often.”
Nicky turns and leans back against the bar, and Andy’s arm brushes his as she does the same. They watch the vibrant scene before them for a moment.
“Is he really as good as he thinks he is?” Andy finally asks.
And Nicky laughs. He can’t be honest. He can’t tell her that while it was briefly fun, it doesn’t rank at the top of all the hookups he’s ever had. He can’t tell her that, yes, Joe came rather quickly. Can’t explain that, somehow, Nicky found his brusqueness afterwards endearing. That it makes him want to know Joe more, know him, underneath the stage persona.
He shakes his head. “Do you really want to know?”
“Not really,” she allows with a grimace. “I have seen and know more about that man’s body than any lesbian should have to.”
“I will uphold your innocence,” Nicky vows.
“Don’t insult me.” She gives him a wicked grin and saunters away.
Nicky just smiles into his water and knows that tonight isn't one he'll forget for a long while.