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babygirlyusuf · 10 months

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j/n fluff with some immortal family feels for @ournextdoorneighbor who deserves all the fluff in the world!!! <333

Nicky hefts the laundry basket higher in his arms and wanders past the kitchen, breathing in deep as the spices Joe is cooking with drift out into the hallway.

He means to walk to the living room and set the basket down, but the sight of Joe stirring at a pan in front of the stove stops Nicky in his tracks.

Joe is wearing what would look like a randomly cozy assortment of clothing if Nicky didn’t know better. The gray oversized hoodie, hem hanging down past his hips and sleeves scrunched up to his elbows is Booker’s. The sweat-shorts are most certainly Andy’s, recognizable by the fraying at the bottom where Andy had taken a pair of scissors to them the last time they were all at this house.

Joe must’ve dug through Andy and Booker’s closets for them, which means he’s missing them more than he’s let on. They’ve all been apart for 6 months now, and though they’ve gone much longer without seeing each other, Joe had taken it hard when neither Andy nor Booker had been eager to set a reunion date. Nicky understands— neither of them have handled long periods apart as well as they did before Quynh.

He doesn’t seem too upset right now though, a slight sway in his hips as he moves to the tune he’s humming. Nicky’s heart beats a little faster, watching the evening sun glint through his curls and the muscles shift in his thighs.

Nicky sets the basket down by the kitchen door. “Do you need any help, my heart?”

“Hm?” Joe clicks the burner off and turns, smiling when he sees Nicky. “Oh, yes please, Nicolò. Will you come taste this?”

Nicky smiles back instinctively. “Of course.”

But when Nicky comes up to take a bite of the baby carrot he’s offering, Joe’s smile turns mischievous and he quickly takes the bite himself, holding the carrot between his teeth with one end sticking out.

Joe tilts his head expectantly, smirking around the carrot.

Nicky huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Joe only has to pout dramatically for a second before Nicky relents, and leans in to take a bite. As soon as he’s close enough, Joe’s hands find their ways to Nicky’s hips, tugging him close for a messy, closed-mouth kiss.

They’re both smiling too much for it to be much of a kiss at all but Nicky leans into it, slipping his hands under Joe’s sweater, just happy to have Joe warm, playful, and close. Eventually, they each take half of the carrot for themselves and Joe leans back, chewing his bite with a twinkle in his eye.

“Good?”

Nicky finishes chewing too. He tastes the warmth of cumin, the bite of chillies, and the familiar sweetness of Joe’s lips. He brushes their noses together, then kisses the freckle that adorns the apple of Joe’s cheek. “Good.”

Mischievous expression softening, Joe smiles then hugs Nicky close, rubbing his nose against Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky holds him as tightly as he can, rucking up his hoodie as he strokes the warm skin of Joe’s back.

“Will you get the plates, darling?”

Nicky nuzzles his cheek against Joe’s curls. “Of course.”

They separate and set the table in tandem, comfortable silence filling in the empty space of the room. By the time they sit down, the sun has sunk heavy and low, dark enough that they have to turn the dining room lights on.

Their meal is silent too, just the clink of silverware on their plates, their glasses knocking against the wood of the table. The stir-fry and jasmine rice that Joe had whipped up is perfect for this kind of night. Flavourful, filling and comforting.

Though they don’t speak, they wordlessly move their chairs closer together so that their knees stay pressed together throughout the meal. Nicky can’t help but be watchful of Joe’s expressions, of his body language, vigilant for a turn for the melancholy but it never comes. Joe’s soft smiles remain whenever he catches Nicky’s eye and he even has second helpings.

When they’ve cleaned up as much as either of them are willing to on a quiet night like this, Joe pulls out his little basket of crochet materials and Nicky pulls out a book he’s been finding dense but compelling.

They settle in on the couch for the evening with their respective entertainment but, as it has been true for hundreds of years, Nicky soon finds himself distracted by Joe. Distracted by Joe’s hands, specifically: the quick, nimble movements of his elegant fingers, the graceful turn of his wrist as he loops the thread into an easy pattern. Joe makes it look easy anyway.

Nicky gives up on the book completely, leaning against Joe’s shoulder instead and indulging in a favorite past-time: staring at Joe. He’s soothed by Joe’s repetitive movement and the warm press of Joe’s body against his.

Without ceasing his crocheting, Joe twists his head to drop a sweet, smacking kiss on Nicky’s head.

Nicky turns his face into Joe’s arm, breathing in the scent of mothballs and Booker’s preferred cigarettes clinging to the borrowed sweater.

“What are you making?”

“A scarf. For Andromache.”

Nicky lifts in an eyebrow. “Bright purple?”

“That part is for me.” Joe says, “I like to see her in color.”

Nicky snuggles in a little closer and hums in agreement.

“She told me once,” Joe continues, taking on that particular storytelling cadence that sends Nicky back to cold dusty night, spent around a fire when they were still learning each other, “that even though she thinks all of her earliest memories must be dreams by this point, that she trusts her touch-memories the most. One of those earliest ones is mending and weaving fabric.” The fondness Joe reserves for their little family is present in his tone, in the soft expression gracing his handsome features. His hands never stop moving. “She remembers it being impossibly soft. She didn’t say the material — maybe wool?— but it made me want to make her something soft, as well.”

Nicky’s heart aches with love— for his sweet, thoughtful Yusuf, for their family, for this small moment right here. He reaches out to touch one of the finished parts of the scarf as gently as he can. The threads are plush and downy. “It is soft. Impossibly so.”

Joe’s hands stop moving. He turns to face Nicky. The hint of vulnerability in those big, brown eyes makes Nicky’s heart skip a beat.

“Will she like it, Nicolo?”

“I know she will.” He waits until Joe’s smile returns and starts crocheting again before adding, “What color is Booker’s going to be?”

“Who said I’m making Booker one?” Nicky waits him out, hiding his own smile against Joe’s arm. Only a few moments pass before Joe gives in, “I was thinking of a forest green. What do you think?”

“Hm. I think that’s perfect, my heart.” Nicky closes his eyes, letting the whisper of looping yarn lull him. “Perfect.”

#posting here bc im impatient and AO3 IS STILL DOWN.#my fic #when's the last time i posted fic here hmm....#joenicky fic #the old guard fic

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laviejaguardia · 11 months

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Technical Support - read on ao3

NOW COMPLETE

Joe/Nicky. F1 AU. Rated M. 96k words.

Formula 1 driver Yusuf "Joe" Kaysani has just signed with Old Guard Racing, under the management of Team Principal Andromache Scythian. Like in any new partnership, there's edges to file down to fit and roles to coordinate so it all goes smoothly. In between those questions is the matter of who will be his new race engineer and run comms for him during races. It's a big ask that needs a delicate balance, it can't be just anyone. Engineer Nicolò di Genova has been working at Old Guard Racing for a few years, putting his analytical mind to good use filing down milliseconds off their lap times. He's been content with his work behind the scenes, only briefly stepping into the spotlight when the occasion called for it. Despite the sport's unpredictability, it's been good steady work, surely this new partnership won't change things much for him. Or: Joe runs his mouth when high on adrenaline, Nicky's voice is soothing, and a lot of things can happen in a single F1 season.

Hope you enjoy this labor of love, try to drop a kudos or a comment if you do, they're the blood and bone of fandom :)

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negotiumcrucis · 3 months

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When Joe’s bag gave way, spilling all its contents on the corridor floor, it took every ounce of willpower not to fall on his knees and weep like a child. Of course, Hana had finally settled down in her carrier, and she continued to sleep despite the crash of a half dozen cans of baby formula hitting the carpet, so Joe merely blinked back unshed tears and took a deep breath, finding his key and unlocking his flat. He left the door ajar as he carefully put Hana’s carrier on the sofa and quickly went back to retrieve the scattered cans.

After the tragic passing of his omega sibling, alpha Joe got custody of his newborn niece. Unfortunately, things weren’t progressing as well as they should and now Joe has found himself in dire need of a wet nurse.

a heart like mine a slow burn JoeNicky omegaverse AU

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linaxart · 1 year

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A drawing I made for an AU idea with @ignisentis a while ago 💚

#the old guard #yusuf al kaysani #tog #joenicky #immortal husbands #kaysanova #joe al kaysani #tog fanart #digital art #fanart #sketchbook #photoshop #accessible art #artists on tumblr #regalitos #this one's so old i don't have the file on my laptop anymore lol #holy shit just checked #it's from august 2021 :O #and we've done so much together since igni!! the vineyard fic! our RBB! the knitting drawing! so many lovely memories ;_;

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azraeldoesnotdispute · 1 year

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crusades era joenicky recs

dana asked me to make a crusades era joenicky fic rec list when I mentioned how much I loved them so that no one would rec me what I had already read, so here you go (apologies, I can’t get the read more to work)

The Stiff Heart

I ALWAYS love dana’s fics and it was just by chance that hers was the first one that popped up in my search. This has them having already established a truce and working together to find ‘the dream women’, but it has such a lovely build up to when they get together, sprinkled with plenty of UST and world building as they learn more about each other and dashes of them coming together to a truce.

The Favored Son(s)

Crusade era Yusuf and Nicolo are transported to current time and the boys, Joe in particular, have a hard time reconciling who they were with the love they now share. It’s like having a slow burn, but your OTP is already there and happy together at the same time. Lots of Joe doting, which is always a bonus, and the other two learning about each other and overcoming their past.

The Land of Turquoise

The immortals dream of each other when the universe has decreed that they are not close enough to one another. Joe and Nicky start dreaming of each other a month and a half into their truce, when they are sleeping side-by-side every night in the desert. How much closer can they be?

Honestly, I can’t sum it up better than the actual summary. So much UST and trust building!!!

Ardeo In Te

Omegaverse and soulmates? My fucking JAM

Djinn’s Eyes

Man, this fucking fic. It’s so good, has so much build up and world building, learning to overcome preconceived notions and find love. I can’t even find the words, it’s such a wonderful fic.

Lessons Exquisitely Crafted

Yusuf goes home, leaving Nicolo behind, but he can’t shake him off because these are dumbasses who are meant to be together. It takes time for them to come back together, but they do, because they’re destiny.

The Weight of Fear

mpreg fic, where they have a night of passion and then Yusuf runs away, only to learn that Nicolo is pregnant once the girls find him to kick his ass. I love the story, how Nicky’s anxieties are written, how much Joe is stressed once he finds out that he accidentally knocked him up.

Heavy with the Weight of Who We Are

Yusuf can’t shake Nicolo, no matter how hard he tries, so they’re stuck together, learning each others languages and trying to figure out how to work together despite their differences.

Beginnings, Middles, Ends

Wind_Ryder did an amazing job with this series! It showcases how PTSD can affect a person, what having someone who cares about you can do to help you heal, and wraps it up by showing that somethings don’t just magically disappear over time.

Pistachios and Rosewater

The food alone makes reading this fic worth it, all of it looks delicious and it’s worked into the story so well, showing the progress of time and how cooking can mean love.

Holiest Among The Living

This actually has very little joenicky, but I had to include it because it shows Nicolo’s journey to understanding everything he thought was true, isn’t, and that even people you thought were good can disregard others just because they’re a different color/religion/etc

O Jerusalem

Has selective mute Nicky in it, because PTSD is a serious thing, and soft Yusuf caring enough about the man who killed him to not leave him abandoned in Jerusalem. This is definitely a story about kindness and healing.

Death is Just a Beginning

Plenty of hate and anger, and not all at each other. Includes Nicolo being found out for having revived and Yusuf saving him, but the road is paved with plenty of fighting before they find their footing and destiny.

#joenicky #joenicky fic rec

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scimitar-and-longsword · 26 days

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Free Fall Chapter 1/3 This is a sequel to Pilot!Nicky smut I wrote in Nov 2020. Surprise?? Nicky makes another trip to Amsterdam to see his new... casual hook up? Sure. Casual. More mutual pining while having ridiculous sex, but this time from Nicky’s POV. Read it on AO3

#my fics #my stuff #feels like flying verse #joenicky #kaysanova #the old guard #the old guard fic #kaysanova fic

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zairaalbereo · 1 year

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“This is your friend in the Norse countries, I think.” It is not quite a question. “What is his name?” Yusuf looks down at the paper again, and sighs. “Nicolò. Nicolò of Genova.”

— Frost and Fjords by Arkada I’ve been reading @ao3-arkada’s Frost and Fjords and couldn’t help but channel Yusuf.

If you haven’t read it you absolutely should! Plus it has a sequel I’m thoroughly enjoying as well. 🌌

#the old guard #tog fanart #art for fic #fic rec #kaysanova #joenicky #joe/nicky #nicolò di genova #norse au #it’s so beautiful #the pining #idiots to friends to lovers my beloved

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highbeeans · 2 years

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Hello everyone. I’ve partnered up with the lovely Lilja for @theoldguardevents reverse big bang! Do check out her fic over HERE and don’t forget to leave kudos/comments! 💜💜💜

#togrbb22 #immortal husbands #kaysanova #joenicky #the old guard #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #joe x nicky #joe #nicky #tog #fan art #fic #panpan au

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nilefreemans · 1 year

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why are you covered in blood? + joenicky if it strikes a vibe

IT DOES STRIKE A VIBE

I'm typing this on mobile so sorry for the mistakes ALSO you know me so have a snippit of an AU that came to my mind with the plot

* * *

The forest is quiet, eerily so.

It's long since grown used to Nicolo and considers it one of it's own. It does not still for him like it did when he first arrived some fifteen years ago.

Nicolo and the forest are connected.

He knows his forest, and he knows that whoever runs within is not a danger, but that they are in danger.

Nicolo moves to prepare his bow, but the trouble finds him first.

The person crashes into him, and the sharp smell of blood fills his nostrills and his eyes flash.

"Why are you covered in blood?" Nicolo asks, alarmed, trying to take in the stranger's injuries in the setting sun. He looks up, and knows that they will be out of time soon.

"Sir please-"

The stranger groans, and collapses in Nicolo's arms. He sighs. There isn't much time left before dark.

He heaves the stranger onto his shoulders and goes to his cabin.

The cabin is small but old. Nicolo had come to it when he first came to the Forest and found sanctuary within its walls. He's made it his own over the years, repairing it and making it comfortable.

He isn't a medic, and this isn't a place of healing, but Nicolo will do his best.

The cabin only has room for one bed and Nicolo lays the stranger down on it's only blanket. He will need to take his furs out should the stranger be cold from blood loss, if this was indeed his blood.

He hurries to light a candle, letting it light his way as he goes to the washbin to get fresh water. He pours it into a bowl and grabs a rag.

Nicolo says nothing as he begins to wipe away the blood from the man's face. He would turn on a fire, but if the man was running from something, Nicolo doesn't want to give away their position.

The candle is more than enough light for Nicolo. Most nights he doesn't need it at all.

The flickering light dances across the man's face and even through the blood and grime Nicolo can make out the stranger's handsome features. He has a full beard, soft and well groomed, and there are freckles across the bridge of his nose. His eyes are scrunched, revealing laughlines that should be lit up in a smile but are only deepened with pain.

Nicolo keeps his touch brief, cleaning away the blood. There are scratches across his neck and chest, his clothing torn from his journey in the woods. The callouses on Nicolo's hands catch at the fine fabric.

This man could be noble with such fine clothes.

Lower he finds a worrying wound and Nicolo's fingers brush against it-

The man gasps and shoots up. A glint of metal flashes in the candlelight and Nicolo's neck is on the other end of a blade.

A blade that he is very familiar with.

Nicolo backs away as if burned and his hands go up. There's a phantom pain across his face as he remembers the last time he had seen the blade.

The Dragon Blade of the Crowned Prince.

Prince Yusuf al- Kaysani.

"Who are you?" The Prince hisses in a language that had been foreign to Nicolo fourteen years ago but has now become as comfortable to him as his own childhood's tongue.

The Prince stares at him as Nicolo fights to beat his own silence. His gaze flickers to the scar across Nicolo's face, but the man's eyes show no spark of recognition.

Nicolo moves to speak but the man groans then and the blade in his hand shakes before he drops it.

"Where am I?" The Prince grits out and he's tugging at his hair.

He stares up at Nicolo then, his dark eyes shine in the candlelight, reminding Nicolo of the dark sky at night.

They're filled with tears, wide and terrified.

"Who am I?"

#usermoonlight #kaysanova #usernicolo #the old guard #my fics #my writting #prompts #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #togfics #joenicky

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lovelikedestiny · 11 months

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For @socialanxietyrabbit<3 I hope some blind!Nicky can cheer you up a little.

Tip-tap. Tip-tap-tip-tap. Tiptaptiptap.

The rain creates an unique symphony of sound, each droplet of water forming a different tune as they’re pouring their life-spending beauty over the world. Jewels of the sky. Crystal and glass, so fragile and yet unbreakable.

Nicky tilts his head a bit more to the side, fully immersing himself in the masterful piece nature is only playing for him. A private concert meant to be cherished. Meant to remind mankind of the humble gifts their environment offers them every day. Meant to make them aware what they have been blessed with and what they tend to forget in the fast paced daily routine. When they cannot even take a tiny fragment of time to themselves to simply breathe and exist.

That’s precisely what Nicky is doing at this very moment. He is.

Letting his mind wander without aim or intention, relishing in the various sounds, smells and other sensations he can perceive during this magnificent cloudburst.

The air tastes vivid and promising with a hint of lightning’s tingling electricity, the rich earthiness of the forest surrounding their current residence, and the sweet humidity of the rain Nicky is listening to.

He can smell the trees more clearly through the extreme moisture, distinguish the whiff of delicate moss and comforting resin. It’s the promising tale of summer, already speaking of days filled with kind sunshine and mild evenings under a sky Joe likes to describe to him as a kiss between night and day, moon and sun, before he kisses Nicky, because “you’re my moon in darkness, habibi, how can I kiss you not?”.

Nile simply describes the sky as purple.

The raindrops sound differently when they splash on leaves, a staggered rhythm created as they get unexpectedly caught by branches in various heights on their way down. On the rooftop of their safehouse it resonates constantly, almost like a monotonous lullaby, and on the meadow it is nearly quiet like the rain wouldn’t want to wake the sleeping flowers, thriving in its fall.

Nicky is so engrossed in harking to what mother nature is telling him that he misses Joe’s soft, unhasty footsteps approaching behind him, and only registers his presence by his scent having accompanied him for centuries, the whiff of freshly brewed coffee, and a gentle touch on his shoulder.

He doesn’t flinch, though.

“Thank you,” he says as Joe places a warm mug in his outstretched hand, letting his fingers linger longer on Nicky’s knuckles, caressing the sensitive, thin skin.

“Not for that.” Joe’s voice is drenched in the honey of love and Nicky wants to tell him that he will thank him every day as long as they live for his mere presence and each smile Joe gifts Nicky with which he may not be able to see but can feel whenever he maps his beloved’s face with his hands.

Nicky only smiles, because Joe knows his trail of thought, savoring the cinnamony steam of his hot beverage.

It is strange how the pure simplicity like Joe being aware of the way Nicky prefers to drink his coffee - black with just a touch of cinnamon - can have so much power to make his heart stutter in his chest.

The real source for the comfort seeping into his bones and erasing the last remains of the past mission however, is the missing taste of copper in the air.

Joe has freshly showered and the clean, soapy scent of an unharmed body without the sticky, overwhelming thickness of blood and death lets Nicky relax with a silent exhale of relief.

On their job this morning, in the crisp, breathtaking cold of dawn, Joe had been shot three times while shielding the abducted children with his body to protect them.

A heart too big for this world.

Even though it hasn’t been the first time one of them has died and it certainly won’t be the last, Nicky had still waited in agony next to Joe, anxiously spending the dragging on seconds it took his husband to heal listening for a sharp inhale or feeling for the onset of his heartbeat under shaking hands, pressed to Joe’s chest.

The physical reminder of this nightmare may be swept away, down the drain, but Joe’s missing breathing and warmth have persistently taken root in Nicky’s own chest. A parasite in its own form.

Joe and he sit and drink in silence for a few minutes, content with each other’s company, shoulders touching, thighs plastered together. Nicky is focused intensively on the sounds Joe creates, not paying attention to the rainstorm anymore - cooling blows in his mug, sipping the hot fluid, black like Nicky’s own, but with precisely three tablespoons of sugar. Focused on any signs of discomfort, a tense shift of Joe’s posture, a suppressed hiss of pain, an uneven breath.

He perceives none of that but one reassurance is left for the sake of Nicky’s soul.

The hand he holds out to the love of his life moves hesitantly, almost timidly, and his voice is nothing more than a whisper. “May I?”

Joe hums fondly before grabbing Nicky’s wrist, slim artist fingers curling protectively around delicate bones, to guide his palm to the place where Joe’s heart is reliably and strongly beating in his ribcage.

“You never have to ask, Nicolo.”

Joe places his own hand on Nicky’s, sensing the familiar thump of the other half of his soul, the rhythm engraved in his very bones.

And finally, finally, the last trace of unease diminishes, melting away under the sheer devotion Joe radiates like a cozy campfire with his warmth.

Nicky’s own personal sun.

“I’m okay,” Joe promises him and crosses their fingers until their palms are slotted together like a perfect matching puzzle.

“I’m glad you are,” Nicky replies, allowing the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth to come into bloom.

Joe kisses the top of his thumb, letting Nicky’s breath hitch with a faint touch just like this, and continues to press his lips to each of his fingertips. “I was worried about you.”

Incredulously Nicky moves his head to the side, a twitch of confusion, and instinctively tightens his grip on Joe’s hand. “About me? You got shot,” he reminds him softly, oh so softly as to not rouse the begone horrors of today. “You died, Yusuf.”

“But I know how it feels for you and I am sorry it happened this morning, hayati.”

The uncertainty. The suffocating vines of nothingness. The overwhelming thorns of fear. The helplessness of listening, praying, for a noise of life. The disorientation.

Most of the time, Nicky doesn’t miss his sight. How could he miss something he never had? But whenever the other half of his soul dies, he feels so utterly lost it frightens him, shaking him to his core. How dependent he is on sound.

Spending seconds without an indication of Joe coming back to life, returning to a world they both share, is excruciating. Torture. Making his handicap more obvious to him which ignites a spark of self-hatred in him that comes with the dangerous feeling of being useless.

Nicky stays silent a little too long, prompting Joe to scoot closer to him, bridging the last minimum of free space between them, so that their whole sides are pressed together. Sharing warmth and comfort like life-spending oxygen.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more gentle this time. The real apology behind it brushes gossamer over Nicky’s cheekbone.

I’m sorry for leaving you.

Nicky shakes his head no, an automatism because he never has to apologize for something he has no power over.

A heart too full of love.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he points out, setting his mug carefully down on one step of the stairs they’re perched on to use his free hand to touch Joe’s face, cupping his beautiful jaw like something infinitely precious.

Joe smiles, lips curling into the beloved shape under Nicky’s thumb. “It wasn’t yours either.”

Yes. Because I hadn’t got your back. Because I couldn’t protect you. Because I was useless.

“You led the children to safety.” Joe has guessed where his bad thoughts have dragged him. Of course he has. “You did great, Nicolo.”

I didn’t do enough.

He doesn’t voice it, though, Joe can read the words clearly on his face anyway and makes an unhappy guttural sound.

“You saved them,” Nicky points out.

Joe doesn’t respond to that but the stiffness in the atmosphere gives Nicky enough indication. As he withdraws his hand from Joe’s face, letting it fall limp in his lap, Jow draws a pattern onto the skin of the hand he is still holding. Each brush of his fingers conveys another emotion Joe is wordlessly communicating to him. Pride. Trust. Devotion. Support. Concern. Heartache and sadness for the troubled thoughts on Nicky’s mind.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you did great, ya amar. We saved them. Together.” Needless to say, Joe knows of these moments of doubt and self-consciousness Nicky experiences from time to time about his missing sight. And as always he does what he can do best: show Nicky his love.

You’re not worthless, their first kiss tells him.

You’re worth something, the second says.

You're worth everything, the third and final kiss expresses.

Exhaling deeply, his nose buried in the safe crook of Joe’s neck, Nicky stays for a few minutes, allowing the supporting words of his partner to wash over him, plucking the seeds of self hatred out of his heart before they can sprout.

Joe holds him without disrupting the pleasant rush of the rain weaving a protecting cocoon around them. Hiding them in their personal little bubble. For now.

“How can I make it up to you?” Joe eventually wants to know tenderly, not for Nicky’s but his own sake, his own guilt for contributing to Nicky’s feelings although he certainly is not to blame.

Nicky moves his nose slowly across Joe’s mouth, following the curve of his cheek until it boops slightly against Joe’s, causing the latter to huff in amusement.

“Enjoy this concert with me,” he invites him with a lopsided smile.

Relaxed, Joe settles back, reaching for his mug again, but not breaking their skin-to-skin contact one. “It would be my pleasure, tesoro. What is it called, if I may ask?”

“The lullaby of the rain.”

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