˗ˏˋ 𓅰 Among The Tides ˖°𓇼

“We don’t have a leafblower do we?”

“I could—”

“No MacGyvering.”

“Nevermind,” Nikolai shut his mouth promptly.

John put his hands on his hips before taking a deep breath and walking off to the shoe cubby by the front door, lacing up his timbs with a silent stubbornness. “I’ll be out,” John said, waiting for Nikolai’s nod of acknowledgement before heading outside.

Nikolai waited until the front door clicked shut before reclaiming his spot on the couch. Shaking his head fondly, Nikolai retrieved the pencil from between the pages of his book and returned to where he had left off once again immersed in his book about how linguistics has shifted with the internet. John accused him of trying to connect with the youth. Nikolai argued he has liked linguistics from the day John met him.

A metallic creak drifted through the open window from somewhere out back. The shed, most likely. Did he ever get John to declutter that? Seconds later came the unmistakable sound of something falling over. Then a muffled curse. Apparently not. 

After a moment of no further disturbances, Nikolai returned to his reading, making another note in the margins beside a vaguely familiar word he'd heard the sergeants toss around.

Ask Kyle MacTavish

Though when Nik went to set his pencil aside, movement caught the corner of his eye. A blur of navy blue crossing the front yard. The handle of a rake jutting briefly above the hedges. John disappeared behind the oak tree only to reappear a moment later.

Nikolai found himself neglecting the pages in his lap.

John stood in the middle of the lawn, staring critically at the sea of fallen leaves as if evaluating a tactical problem. The rake was planted beside him, one hand rested on his hip as the other scratched at his beard.

Nikolai snorted.

There it was.

Nikolai looked down at his book to find it had already closed before he could mark the page. At least there was the note. 

He stared at the cover of the book, glanced back at John rolling his sleeves up back outside. Nik sighed as he set the book back on the coffee table and drifted over to the front window.

Outside, John had barely moved a leaf, gaze sweeping from one side of the yard to the other, letting Nik catch a glimpse of blue irises as his husband surveyed the place. When John started to march off to one side of their house, Nik retreated back to his room to grab his headphones and phone, tapping at it as he walked back over.

By the time he returned John had gripped the rake and gotten to work. The first few passes were aggressive enough to suggest John believed the leaves had personally wronged him. Before long, however, the movements settled into something steadier and the tension in John’s shoulders eased, scowl fading to a stern pout. 

Rake. Pull. Step. Repeat.

The monotony that would send so many away pulled John in— and in turn, Nikolai. Nik had been told he has a staring problem. He started to get what Kate meant now.

He watched the choreography where years of training drills and close encounters informed every step, every shift of weight. Watched the tactical mind in there churn with every mundane sweep, never powered down. The rhythm that communicated habit despite the unique happenstance of today. John never quite let his back face the open road. Always scanned his surroundings even doing yard work. Some parts of his job would always be woven into his mannerisms.

The real treat was when after a few times of tugging at the bottom of his shirt John finally set aside the rake to pull his sweater over his head. His shirt rode up to show a sliver of warm skin, abs just visible, decorated with a dusting of fur that led below his waistband. Unfortunately for Nikolai his husband was modest enough to tug the bottom of his shirt down and tie his sweater around his waist.

“Shame,” Nikolai muttered to the otherwise empty house. At some point he'd dragged the ottoman from the living room over to the front window. His chin now rested in his hand as he leaned against the window sill.

Slowly John built up small piles of leaves across the lawn, occasionally frowning when one stray leaf refused to yield to the tines of the rake. 

Rake. Pull. Step. Repeat.

The muscles beneath John's shirt shifted with every pull of the rake, fabric stretching across broad shoulders before relaxing again. Nikolai could still notice the slight hitch in John’s posture whenever he shifted his weight onto his left leg a hint too quickly. The limp was still there if you knew where to look but it was better than last week. Much better than two weeks ago.

From the sidewalk Nikolai saw a familiar silhouette move from concrete to grass.

Lusya.

Or at least that’s what he’s come to call her. The stray cat that roamed the neighborhood. John and Nik usually weren’t home for long enough periods to spot her much but with John being off for recovery the cat quickly found interest in the returning residents. She didn’t ever stay for long and had scampered off the one time John tried to feed her prosciutto but she wasn't unfriendly—just wary and a little rough around the edges. Sounds familiar.

The grey feline slinked over to John, tail held high and ears shifted forward as she approached. Lusya paused before the man, maintaining some distance away from the rake cautiously. Nikolai felt a grin tug at his mouth when she approached the man from behind once there was a pause in his movement. 

The second she brushed against John’s calf the man jumped, rake going one way as his head snapped down with a yelp of “Fuckin—! Christ…” which quickly turned into a defeated sigh as he looked down at the 6 pound cat that had his hand pressed against his belt where no holster sat. John felt all his dignity leave him as he carefully laid down on the grass, running his hands over his face with a deep breath.

Nikolai had seen it all.

He tried to be mature about it; he did. He covered his mouth as a small snort escaped. He tried to brush off his shoulders shaking and screwed his eyes shut.

And then he looked up to see a very deflated John lying in the grass. 

The laughter escaped him before he could even consider being civil. Not a polite chuckle but a full, helpless bark that had him folding forward against the sill, shoulders shaking as it rolled through him. Somehow each time he glanced up it got worse. He was sure John could hear his knuckles lightly thud against the glass.

When Nik was finally able to drag in a proper breath, his side aching from laughter, he was met with a very sour-looking John, sat up and making direct eye contact. Nikolai could barely muster a sheepish grin before he was flipped off.

Nik shook his head fondly before drawing back into the house— deciding it’s been too long since either of them ate and John had worked enough for now. A couple of dirty dishes later and a cutting board in the sink and he’s fixed up some BLT wraps for them, sneaking a bite of one before heading out to collect his husband.

As Nik’s closing the door behind him he gets hit with “You’re a proper perv,” from his oh-so beloved.

“And right as I was about to tell you I made lunch for us. Ungrateful,” he retorted immediately.

John sighed as the man approached, putting down the rake. “Whassit then?”

“Blt wraps.”

John nodded in approval. “Right well I’m ‘bout done here,” he declared as he placed his hands in his pockets and rolled on the balls of his feet.

The leaves seemed to be consolidated in three piles now. Two by the sidewalk and the other next to them by the side of the house.

“Looks good,” Nikolai hummed as he watched Lusya pounce into one of the piles only to emerge with a mouse. John’s long-suffering sigh told him this was not the first time the cat messed up his work.

“At least she finally caught somethin,” John murmured.

Nikolai nodded slowly as his tongue ran over his teeth, gaze still on the leaf pile she emerged from. “Not bagging them?” he finally asked.

“Keeping some.”

“For?”

“Garden. Compost ‘m thinking.”

“Ah.” “Don’t have any bags anyways.”

“Ah,” Nikolai corrected his tone as he glanced back over. “Well, still have two weeks to take care of it all.”

John’s eyes narrowed at the mention of that specific detail. “Nikolai…”

“Johnathan.”

“I swear to urf—”

John saw the leaves billow around them before his back hit the grass. Quickly it turned into wrestling in piles of leaves like teenagers, Nikolai attempting to restrain the other man as he snuck in the occasional kiss with each complaint from John.

“Worked all day—” John braced a forearm against Nik’s chest in an attempt to shove him off.

“An hour, two max,” Nikolai grabbed his wrist and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“An’ you watch me, not helping at all,” he continued to huff, bucking a leg up in an attempt to topple the man off him despite the smile on his lips.

Nik had to brace his hands against the grass to keep him from landing face-first, John already rolling them over with a thud. Though, he did manage to sneak a hand back to John’s nape, pulling him in for another kiss, this time nipping the man’s lower lip.

“Oi! Randy cunt,” John chuckled as he shifted. Eventually John had Nikolai pinned down, straddling his waist and hands holding down his wrists. John was a sight above him. A little breathless, hair a mess now that his beanie had fallen off, blue eyes shimmering alight with smug satisfaction.

“Are you ever going to actually come inside and eat the food I made us?”

“In a second,” John answered as he leaned down to finally kiss Nik properly.

“Indecent,” Nikolai hummed when they pulled away.

“We don’t have a leafblower do we?”

“I could—”

“No MacGyvering.”

“Nevermind,” Nikolai shut his mouth promptly.

John put his hands on his hips before taking a deep breath and walking off to the shoe cubby by the front door, lacing up his timbs with a silent stubbornness. “I’ll be out,” John said, waiting for Nikolai’s nod of acknowledgement before heading outside.

Nikolai waited until the front door clicked shut before reclaiming his spot on the couch. Shaking his head fondly, Nikolai retrieved the pencil from between the pages of his book and returned to where he had left off once again immersed in his book about how linguistics has shifted with the internet. John accused him of trying to connect with the youth. Nikolai argued he has liked linguistics from the day John met him.

A metallic creak drifted through the open window from somewhere out back. The shed, most likely. Did he ever get John to declutter that? Seconds later came the unmistakable sound of something falling over. Then a muffled curse. Apparently not. 

After a moment of no further disturbances, Nikolai returned to his reading, making another note in the margins beside a vaguely familiar word he'd heard the sergeants toss around.

Ask Kyle MacTavish

Though when Nik went to set his pencil aside, movement caught the corner of his eye. A blur of navy blue crossing the front yard. The handle of a rake jutting briefly above the hedges. John disappeared behind the oak tree only to reappear a moment later.

Nikolai found himself neglecting the pages in his lap.

John stood in the middle of the lawn, staring critically at the sea of fallen leaves as if evaluating a tactical problem. The rake was planted beside him, one hand rested on his hip as the other scratched at his beard.

Nikolai snorted.

There it was.

Nikolai looked down at his book to find it had already closed before he could mark the page. At least there was the note. 

He stared at the cover of the book, glanced back at John rolling his sleeves up back outside. Nik sighed as he set the book back on the coffee table and drifted over to the front window.

Outside, John had barely moved a leaf, gaze sweeping from one side of the yard to the other, letting Nik catch a glimpse of blue irises as his husband surveyed the place. When John started to march off to one side of their house, Nik retreated back to his room to grab his headphones and phone, tapping at it as he walked back over.

By the time he returned John had gripped the rake and gotten to work. The first few passes were aggressive enough to suggest John believed the leaves had personally wronged him. Before long, however, the movements settled into something steadier and the tension in John’s shoulders eased, scowl fading to a stern pout. 

Rake. Pull. Step. Repeat.

The monotony that would send so many away pulled John in— and in turn, Nikolai. Nik had been told he has a staring problem. He started to get what Kate meant now.

He watched the choreography where years of training drills and close encounters informed every step, every shift of weight. Watched the tactical mind in there churn with every mundane sweep, never powered down. The rhythm that communicated habit despite the unique happenstance of today. John never quite let his back face the open road. Always scanned his surroundings even doing yard work. Some parts of his job would always be woven into his mannerisms.

The real treat was when after a few times of tugging at the bottom of his shirt John finally set aside the rake to pull his sweater over his head. His shirt rode up to show a sliver of warm skin, abs just visible, decorated with a dusting of fur that led below his waistband. Unfortunately for Nikolai his husband was modest enough to tug the bottom of his shirt down and tie his sweater around his waist.

“Shame,” Nikolai muttered to the otherwise empty house. At some point he'd dragged the ottoman from the living room over to the front window. His chin now rested in his hand as he leaned against the window sill.

Slowly John built up small piles of leaves across the lawn, occasionally frowning when one stray leaf refused to yield to the tines of the rake. 

Rake. Pull. Step. Repeat.

The muscles beneath John's shirt shifted with every pull of the rake, fabric stretching across broad shoulders before relaxing again. Nikolai could still notice the slight hitch in John’s posture whenever he shifted his weight onto his left leg a hint too quickly. The limp was still there if you knew where to look but it was better than last week. Much better than two weeks ago.

From the sidewalk Nikolai saw a familiar silhouette move from concrete to grass.

Lusya.

Or at least that’s what he’s come to call her. The stray cat that roamed the neighborhood. John and Nik usually weren’t home for long enough periods to spot her much but with John being off for recovery the cat quickly found interest in the returning residents. She didn’t ever stay for long and had scampered off the one time John tried to feed her prosciutto but she wasn't unfriendly—just wary and a little rough around the edges. Sounds familiar.

The grey feline slinked over to John, tail held high and ears shifted forward as she approached. Lusya paused before the man, maintaining some distance away from the rake cautiously. Nikolai felt a grin tug at his mouth when she approached the man from behind once there was a pause in his movement. 

The second she brushed against John’s calf the man jumped, rake going one way as his head snapped down with a yelp of “Fuckin—! Christ…” which quickly turned into a defeated sigh as he looked down at the 6 pound cat that had his hand pressed against his belt where no holster sat. John felt all his dignity leave him as he carefully laid down on the grass, running his hands over his face with a deep breath.

Nikolai had seen it all.

He tried to be mature about it; he did. He covered his mouth as a small snort escaped. He tried to brush off his shoulders shaking and screwed his eyes shut.

And then he looked up to see a very deflated John lying in the grass. 

The laughter escaped him before he could even consider being civil. Not a polite chuckle but a full, helpless bark that had him folding forward against the sill, shoulders shaking as it rolled through him. Somehow each time he glanced up it got worse. He was sure John could hear his knuckles lightly thud against the glass.

When Nik was finally able to drag in a proper breath, his side aching from laughter, he was met with a very sour-looking John, sat up and making direct eye contact. Nikolai could barely muster a sheepish grin before he was flipped off.

Nik shook his head fondly before drawing back into the house— deciding it’s been too long since either of them ate and John had worked enough for now. A couple of dirty dishes later and a cutting board in the sink and he’s fixed up some BLT wraps for them, sneaking a bite of one before heading out to collect his husband.

As Nik’s closing the door behind him he gets hit with “You’re a proper perv,” from his oh-so beloved.

“And right as I was about to tell you I made lunch for us. Ungrateful,” he retorted immediately.

John sighed as the man approached, putting down the rake. “Whassit then?”

“Blt wraps.”

John nodded in approval. “Right well I’m ‘bout done here,” he declared as he placed his hands in his pockets and rolled on the balls of his feet.

The leaves seemed to be consolidated in three piles now. Two by the sidewalk and the other next to them by the side of the house.

“Looks good,” Nikolai hummed as he watched Lusya pounce into one of the piles only to emerge with a mouse. John’s long-suffering sigh told him this was not the first time the cat messed up his work.

“At least she finally caught somethin,” John murmured.

Nikolai nodded slowly as his tongue ran over his teeth, gaze still on the leaf pile she emerged from. “Not bagging them?” he finally asked.

“Keeping some.”

“For?”

“Garden. Compost ‘m thinking.”

“Ah.” “Don’t have any bags anyways.”

“Ah,” Nikolai corrected his tone as he glanced back over. “Well, still have two weeks to take care of it all.”

John’s eyes narrowed at the mention of that specific detail. “Nikolai…”

“Johnathan.”

“I swear to urf—”

John saw the leaves billow around them before his back hit the grass. Quickly it turned into wrestling in piles of leaves like teenagers, Nikolai attempting to restrain the other man as he snuck in the occasional kiss with each complaint from John.

“Worked all day—” John braced a forearm against Nik’s chest in an attempt to shove him off.

“An hour, two max,” Nikolai grabbed his wrist and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“An’ you watch me, not helping at all,” he continued to huff, bucking a leg up in an attempt to topple the man off him despite the smile on his lips.

Nik had to brace his hands against the grass to keep him from landing face-first, John already rolling them over with a thud. Though, he did manage to sneak a hand back to John’s nape, pulling him in for another kiss, this time nipping the man’s lower lip.

“Oi! Randy cunt,” John chuckled as he shifted. Eventually John had Nikolai pinned down, straddling his waist and hands holding down his wrists. John was a sight above him. A little breathless, hair a mess now that his beanie had fallen off, blue eyes shimmering alight with smug satisfaction.

“Are you ever going to actually come inside and eat the food I made us?”

“In a second,” John answered as he leaned down to finally kiss Nik properly.

“Indecent,” Nikolai hummed when they pulled away.