Joe/Nicky + "Is that... my shirt?"
They’re packing up their small camp together, getting their few items ready for the horses for another long journey ahead of them. Constantly being on the move meant that there was no steady income, and the past few weeks had been rough on the two of them. The few towns they had managed to come across had been wary of the two of them, whispers following them labeled the pair as bandits, despite the simple fact that both men wanted nothing but peace.
Unfortunately greater powers have determined that the two would run into trouble and given their talents, it would be selfish to stand by when both were capable of doing some good.
Fighting was inevitable, and in a world where cruel men would kill to get what they desired, their clothing was the largest casualty. So many shirts had been sacrificed to the greater good, their threads slashed apart and dyed red with blood.
Yusuf had mourned the loss of many good shirts. High-quality fabric that was soft against his skin and deep colors that he knew had Nicolo’s gaze linger for longer than was appropriate. If he was going to continue to die, Yusuf was determined that he would at least not look like a dead man walking.
Nicolo on the other hand, whilst being a dear friend, did not care about his state of dress. It was both endlessly endearing and frustrating. Many times Yusuf had tried to get Nicolo to be more conscious of the clothes he would purchase the few times they were given the chance. But often, as it usually was with Nicolo, he would spend less on things for himself and more for others.
For every threadbare article of clothing he purchased, someone would be finding food when before they had none.
Between the two of them, Nicolo had less worldly possesions, beyond his weapons, but Yusuf could not fault the man for his kind nature.
It brings them to now, however, the night after a messy run-in with some violent thieves had left both of them bloodied and exhausted, After riding far from the scene of their battle they had fallen asleep quickly, and now in the morning, they were witnessing just how little they had left in the morning light.
“Is that... my shirt?” Yusuf asks, when he turns to Nicolo, watching him stretch next to his own horse, a deep red shirt hanging off his frame. Yusuf’s shirt.
“I’m afraid my last one was suddenly filled with too many holes to wear,” Nicolo says, his crooked smile lighting his face that seemed to shine brighter than the morning sun itself. “Stab wounds have that unfortunate side effect.”
“You make jokes while stealing my clothes?” Yusuf replies with his own smile and joins in when Nicolo laughs brightly, shaking his head as he finishes strapping his small pack to his horse.
“I’ll return it as soon as I’m able,” Nicolo mounts his horse, as Yusuf has seen him do thousands of times before, but with the addition of red silk falling over strong shoulders, Yusuf can’t help but watch as if he’s never seen the action before. “Surely you’d prefer me sharing then seeing me bare for however long we have until we find another town.”
Yusuf was known to always be able to find the words, his talented tongue was a gift he had for his whole life. He could compose passionate poetry at the drop of a hat, but at Nicolo’s teasing words he can’t seem to find any to reply.
“No I wouldn’t mind,” Yusuf swallows, looking Nicolo up and down with the same suggestive glance the two had been exchanging for months now, neither acting on it, afraid for irrational reasons. Yusuf wasn’t ready for that though, so quickly he adds, “you wearing my shirt. It’s better than watching the sun reflect off your white skin into my eyes.”
Nicolo laughs again, his whole body shaking on his horse, and Yusuf watches again, entranced by how his shirt shifted against Nicolo’s skin. He would not mind witnessing the man before him bare for the world to see, but he found the idea of Nicolo wearing his shirts somewhat more desirable, more intimate.
“I’ll do my best not to damage it,” Nicolo says earnestly, shaking Yusuf from his yearning thoughts.
“We’re around the same size,” Yusuf hurries, reassuring his friend that despite the teasing he really didn’t mind. He does not add that he would actually enjoy the sight of Nicolo in more of his clothing, though he aches to say the words, to be the first to break from the dance they’ve been sharing, to extend an invitation to something more.
Instead, he mounts his own horse and rides with Nicolo, a little distance behind so he can watch the way red silk moves across capable shoulders as they ride.
