Work Text:
Nicky wakes up to the familiar scratching of charcoal on paper. He blinks a sleepy eye open and lets out a soft yawn. The scratching stops for a moment, then resumes.
Nicky closes his eye again, content to just lie there for a while and listen to Joe drawing. The bed is warm and cosy and smells like both of them and the sounds of the charcoal and of Joe's quiet breathing are soothing. Nicky loves to indulge in the little things; in moments like this. Over his life (or lives, depending on how you count – is a life after a non-permanent death a new life?) he has come to greatly appreciate them. They are what keeps life bearable; they are what let him stay sane. They are where he is truly happy still, even after all these years.
Soon, the scratching stops. Nicky lies still for a few more minutes, basking in the quietness of the morning. (If it is still morning). Then he opens both eyes at last and stretches. His lips stretch into a content smile.
He props himself up on his elbows and looks up at Joe. The man sits with his back against the wall, sketchbook at his side and watches Nicky with a soft look. "Finally awake too, no, Nicolò?", he gently teases before the leans down to softly kiss Nicky good morning. Nicky chuckles when Joe makes a face at his morning breath. He always pulls faces at it and, unerringly, the next morning he will kiss Nicky again, unbrushed teeth and all.
Nicky reaches for the sketchbook, which is still open, and peers at the recent page. He had not always been so quick to reach for Joe's drawings. In the beginning, or rather fairly in the beginning of the stage after their continuous murder of each other, he had not wanted to overstep, their dynamic still new and their boundaries unsure. He had always asked permission, in the beginning. At some point, Joe had told him that he did not have to ask again. That he had blanket permission to look at every drawing he ever created. For a while, Nicky had kept asking permission, just to be sure. Joe had kept on allowing him time and again, until he finally stopped asking. He had not ever been denied.
Nicky laughs when he sees the finished sketch. It is him as he had just slept, face slack and slightly curled in on himself. The way Joe has drawn the blankets draped over him makes it look almost artful and even in black and white, in how Joe has captured the early morning light shining upon Nicky makes him look ethereal. It was not even that far off, he supposes, even though he has never left earth. To some people, they would be like gods. If they would pray over them or try and ward themselves against them or if they would be completely indifferent was another question entirely.
"Doesn't it ever get old, drawing me?", Nicky asks, just to hear him say it. Joe does not disappoint.
"How could it ever get old? I love drawing you. I already keep you in my heart, but I like to keep you on paper, too." He frowns a little in that cute way he does and Nicky feels all soft and gooey inside.
With a sappy smile that nobody else would ever get to see he sits up. He leans forward to capture Joe's lips into a kiss that doesn't quite work out because he is still smiling too broadly and brings his hands up to card through Joe's hair. He pulls away to rest his forehead against Joe's.
"And I love having you draw me", Nicky says then. "It always reminds me that I'm yours. Not that I need the reminder but... it's still nice."
Joe lets out a soft noise. "Nicolò", he murmurs and brings his hands up to cup Nicky's cheeks before he dives in for a deep kiss.
Nicky's heart feels full.