#asked!

Even after all these years, Nicky still pretty much hates the constant silent shadow on his side.

Maybe it would be different, had he never known another life. Nicky’s father hadn’t always been directly in line for the Genovan crown, but when his uncle died childless after a long illness, everything changed. Nicky’s family had to move back to Genoa from London, uprooting Nicky’s life – and, incidentally, ending things between Nicky and his very first boyfriend at the tender age of fourteen.

Being back in Genoa hadn’t been too bad, all things considered, after Nicky had gotten over the loss of Philip – except for the sudden never-ending sudden attention. Naturally shy, he never liked being the centre of anything, preferring to quietly sink into the background and being generally invisible. But overnight, he was constantly watched, observed, noticed – by the public, by the paparazzi, and by his bodyguard.

Because Nicky is now third in line for the throne, and that puts Nicky in danger.

Unfortunately, there’s a very outspoken anti-monarchy faction in Genoa, and they are not above trying to force things by violence. Privately, Nicky fervently wishes they’d reach their goal – if only so he doesn’t have to become king – but it’d be great if they could go about it with a bit less guns involved.

Maybe then Nicky wouldn’t need 24/7 protection – he’s only deemed safe in the innermost parts of the palace, where his apartments are located. As soon as he takes one step out of them, he’s followed – quietly and as non-obtrusively as possible, but it’s not nearly as non-obtrusive as Nicky would like.

It's torture – to be seen, to be perceived. To never be alone. To have someone passively stand half a step behind him when he slips away to the kitchen to stress-bake, have someone stare at a non-descript point vaguely above his left shoulder when he picks flowers for his sister in the palace gardens, have someone pick up his book of queer love poetry when he forgets it in the car.

And it’s even worse since Joe got assigned exclusively to Nicky’s detail.

No doubt his father meant well – hoping Nicky would strike some sort of rapport with the man, rather than feeling intimidated by the surly, burly, fifty-something ex-military guy who’d been protecting Nicky before Joe.

But Nicky’s throat constricts every time he feels those dark eyes resting on him, stumbles when he catches a whiff of Joe’s spice cologne, and then suffers dangerous heart palpitations when Joe steadies him with a strong hand on his wrist, his hip, the small of his back.

The thing is – it’s not all that easy to hook up with someone when you’re third in line for the throne and have a surly, burly, fifty-something ex-military guy glare at every handsome man you meet. So Nicky’s experience is pretty much limited to Philip, and back then it had felt pretty daring to use tongue when they kissed, so Nicky’s – inexperienced. Frustrated. And horny as hell.

His very beautiful, competent, friendly, grinning, rainbow-pin-displaying bodyguard is not helping the matter. In fact, Joe’s obvious glances at Nicky’s ass, the lingering brushes of his hand when he shoulders past Nicky to sweep a room, his sinful smirks are actively making things worse – the same way his intelligent conversation during long car rides, the longing in his voice when he talks about his family, and his charming manner towards everybody he interacts with do.

They have been pulling and pushing for months now, openly flirting, touching each other in ways that are hardly subtle, and then setting the boundaries firmly in place again: Joe clearly, pointedly calling Nicky Your Highness again, as if to remind them both that there cannot be anything between them; Nicky purposely asking Joe when his next day off is, in a heavy-handed attempt to remind them both that Nicky is, technically, Joe’s boss.

The unresolved sexual tension runs high, and Nicky is halfway to the point where he loses his mind. He’s not sure what will happen, yet – either he jumps Joe’s bones during an official function, or he fires Joe and never leaves his room again.

And then, on a visit to a newly built children’s hospital high up in the mountains, everything changes. The secret service informs Joe that there’s chatter about a plot against the royal family, and the instructions are clear: Under no circumstance is Nicky to come back to the palace until the secret service gives the all clear.

There’s nothing to it but spend the rest of the day – and the night, and who knows how many more of those – in the only hotel in the small town, in the one room Joe can confidently guard all by himself until extra manpower can be sent up.

It isn’t a very big room, and Nicky is instructed to keep away from the door and the windows, which means he’s basically condemned to the bed. The tv is on, but the volume is low, so Joe can hear the updates being relayed to him via his earpiece as he paces the room.

Not that Nicky is watching – he’s worried about his parents, his sisters, even his cat – though Joe has pulled a bunch of strings to get someone to enter Nicky’s rooms to put out fresh food. And he’s worried for Joe. Joe’s nervousness makes Nicky itch – he’s gotten so used to Joe being a calm presence in his back, a port to anchor his ship in the storm. Joe, grinning from behind his sunglasses, one curl peeking out through his backwards cap, whenever he assures Nicky everything is safe with a cocky wink. Joe, self-assured, his fingertips loosely on the holster of his gun as he goes first into potential danger.

Nicky hasn’t prayed in a long time. But he quietly mumbles some half-forgotten formula, looking up, touching the tiny golden cross his nonna gave him on his confirmation day and he wears more in her memory than as a reminder of the faith he grew up in.

Pink light is creeping through the gap in the curtains when the word finally comes – everybody is safe, and the plan to abduct a member of the royal family has been foiled by the secret service.

Nicky is exhausted, and the dark circles under his eyes are purple, when he jumps from the bed, and hugs Joe tight in palpable relief, tears on his cheeks.

And then, suddenly, Joe is wiping at the salty drops with his thumb, and murmuring that everything is fine, and Nicky can feel his breath fan over his skin, and there is no way he can stop himself from closing his eyes and breathing out Joe’s name.

And then Joe kisses him, and Nicky kisses him back, and it’s nothing compared to the chaste, fumbling kisses with Philip, and then –

And then Joe’s earpiece, which he threw on the armchair after he got the good news, beeps, and Nicky remembers.

He pushes Joe away with a trembling hand on his chest, and Joe makes a sound as if he’s wounded, and Nicky needs him to understand.

“It’s not you, Joe, it’s – it’s my enemies.”

It barely makes sense, but it’s – it’s a bunch of conflicting things that tumble out of his mouth in no logical order.

There’s the fact that Joe will be fired if somebody finds out. There’s the fact that Nicky wants more than just a quick hook up to release the tension. There’s the fact that Nicky is Joe’s boss, that he doesn’t want Joe to feel pressured. There’s the fact that if Joe and Nicky are together, then Joe will be in danger as a part of the royal family, too –

It takes Joe three attempts to shut Nicky up verbally, and finally he resorts to kissing as a way more effective manner.

And then he tells Nicky he doesn’t want this to be a one-time thing, and that he’ll gladly resign if it means being with Nicky, and that he’s not doing this out of any sort of misplaced obligation towards a client. And that he’s already in danger from Nicky’s enemies, because – and Nicky swears he melts at the intensity in Joe’s voice – anyone will have to come through him to get to Nicky, whether he’d by Nicky’s side as his bodyguard, or as something else.

He sounds solemn, as if it’s an undeniable truth, the same way the sun comes up in the east and water boils at a hundred degrees. It makes Nicky shiver, the promise in those words.

He remembers how it felt when he asked Philip if Philip wanted to be Nicky’s boyfriend. It’s a silly question, juvenile and clumsy, yet he repeats it now, to Joe, with the same beating heart. Butterflies make it hard to breathe as he nervously waits for an answer.

Joe shakes his head.

“You’re not my boyfriend,” he says, and then, before Nicky can interpret this in the worst possible way, “You’re is more to me than anyone can dream. You’re the moon when I’m lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold. And your kiss thrills me more than anything else ever could, even if I lived a millennium. Your heart overflows with the kindness of which this world is not worthy. I love you beyond measure and reason. You’re not my boyfriend. You’re all and you’re more.”