#davyra

“Which are you admiring,” Ian said without taking his eyes off the water. “The city, or me?”

Wolfe chuckled airily, taking a step back from the edge of the roof. 

“Can’t I be doing both?”

“Napoli is not a city that takes just half of one’s attention.” 

The breeze ruffled Ian’s hair, tugging silvery strands free from the collar of his coat and up against his cheeks. It was down now, as it usually was when he went to work, but Wolfe knew that if he pulled it up there would be a lovely bruise on the nape of his neck. Just the size and shape of Wolfe’s mouth.

“Can you blame me for being distracted?” he asked absently, the thoughts of the glowing city already lost to him. 

He pivoted, wandering across the roof to the other side, eyes never leaving Ian’s form. Ian stayed as he was, seemingly relaxed, his hands in the pockets of his aviator’s jacket.

“We don’t often get to work together.” 

“Well, there aren’t often arms dealers attempting to resurrect archaic entities and their demonic hoards.” Ian scoffed, casting a bemused look over his shoulder at Wolfe.

After a moment, the shaman’s grin got to him and he snorted, looking away again.

“Ah, who am I kidding.” he sighed. “There’s always someone trying to do that. They never learn.”

The sound of moving water and the soft breeze over the shore filled the silence between them again. They both watched the water, but it took only moments for Wolfe’s gaze to stray back to his companion. His eyes were far away, attentive, but drifting into memories. 

It was a look only Wolfe was able to truly discern in his expression, one he had learned after hours upon hours spent observing him. He approached him slowly, creeping up on him with footsteps just loud enough to be heard. Ian didn’t move, but neither did he tense in anticipation of an attack.

“And you?” Wolfe hummed. “Is it Napoli’s waters you admire, or are you just immune to the city’s allure?”

Ian breathed out through his nose slowly, the only acknowledgement he offered that Wolfe had spoken.

“I was born in Sicily.” Ian said, after a pause. “Naples is just a day’s drive. Less if you go by boat. It made for a good getaway on holiday weekends.”

It was but a vague kernel of information, but Wolfe listened to it intently nonetheless. Ian did not speak of his past readily, not even after so long. The bits and pieces he revealed were sacred, in a sense, a privilege he shared tentatively. 

Wolfe wondered what a Sicilian accent sounded like, and if those were traces of it he heard in Ian’s voice. 

Curiosity begged him to inquire further, but he knew better than to press for more information than he had been given. It was a difficult urge to repress. Whenever he shared a fragment of himself, a happy one, Ian’s eyes took on a softness than he rarely exhibited. Something Wolfe could never resist, no matter how he tried.

He gripped his lover’s chin and turned his head, leaning up to close the space between them so he could press their mouths together. Ian gave in to his kiss without restraint, melting into the softness of it the same way he might in their bedroom back in London. It took all of Wolfe’s willpower not to surge up against him and deepen the kiss.

As much as he wanted it, this was neither the time nor the place. He allowed them to pull apart, if only just.

“I want to wander around the city and get zeppoles with you.” he hummed into the space between them.

“You can get zeppoles anywhere in Italy.”

“You can also get them here in Napoli.”

Ian’s arms were trapped against his sides, hands still in his pockets, while Wolfe slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. He didn’t protest to the capture, however flimsy. Not long ago he would have shook himself free and scowled at his lover.

Now he just sighed.