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Nureyev sits at his desk, floorplans and schematics sprawled before him when he hears it. It’s taken very little time abord the Carte Blanche to memorize the footfalls of each of his crewmates, but Nureyev is already entirely familiar with this set of footsteps. Heavy, powerful, but, most importantly, rather loud. He never was one for subtly, was he?
He pauses, listening to the sound of pacing in the hallway. He’s deliberating, Peter can feel it in the sudden thickness in the air. His eyes glance to his comms; 2:00 A.M., ship-time. The pacing continues, for a moment, and he wonders if he’d stand out there all night if he let him.
He wouldn’t, of course. He’s not nearly that cruel. But still, he waits another moment, the schematics in front of him, for once, long since forgotten. He hears a sigh from the other side of the door, the breath quavering and heavy. He’s halfway out of his chair when there’s a gentle knock at the door. He shuts the lamp on his desk out, stacking the papers as though they are of little importance. His walk to the door is brisk but refuses to let this sudden urgency show on my face. He fails.
Lit dimly by automatic lights in the hall, there Juno stands, right arm tightly gripping his left. He’s dressed in a Tie-dye sleep shirt embellished with puff-paint hearts, Rita’s doing, no doubt, and a pair of shorts that cut off at his thick, well-muscled upper thighs – file it away, Peter.
He isn’t exactly panting, but his breathing is far from controlled. Meaning, Nureyev suspects, Juno didn’t come to his door straight away, but rather, stayed in his quarters doing what possible to calm himself down. He didn’t come to him on a whim; he’d considered it carefully and Nureyev’s not entirely sure how that makes him feel. The look in Juno’s eye is akin to panic and visibly, he’s trembling just so. The moment his eye meets Nureyev’s, that panic only increases.
“Nureyev,” he breaths out, sounding frantic and the thief wants nothing more than to take him into his arms, “I’m- sorry, I know it’s late. I just… I- I didn’t know what to–.” The words fizzle out when he lays a hand on Juno’s shoulder. Juno stares at Nureyev, at the hand on his shoulder, and then back to him again.
“Come in,” says Nureyev softly, gesturing inside. Juno pauses, relief flooding his expression then nods, following him inside.
Nureyev sits on the bed, patting the spot beside him which Juno settles into, worry-worn and tired. He stares down at his lap, his trembling maturing to full-on shaking.
“Juno…”
“I’m sorry,” he says again, wobbly, “This is stupid, I- I shouldn’t have bothered you like this.”
“And who said you were bothering me? Because whoever it was, I’d like to have a word with them.”
“It’s two in the morning…” he says guiltily.
“And what has that got to do with anything?” Nureyev asks, reaching out to hold his hand, an embrace that’s immediately reciprocated, thank goodness.
“Don’t laugh,” Juno begins. Nureyev frown, the idea that he could think anything that causes him distress would be laughable setting a pit in his stomach.
“I would never.”
“It’s just I- god, I had a nightmare,” he says as though it’s shameful, “Which I know is no good reason to come in here in the middle of the night–.”
“I disagree with that statement rather strongly, I’ll have you know,” Nureyev interrupts, their eyes meet once more. He notices several things simultaneously: Juno’s deep-brown eye is blown wide, that look of terror refusing to leave him, his eyepatch is off-kilter ever so slightly, revealing only a sliver of the messily healed wound, and he’s clutching the edge of the bed so tightly his knuckles have gone white.
“Yeah, well…” he trails off, sounding so ashamed. That won’t do, not at all. “I just- I dunno, it felt real. And the weird thing is- is that I don’t even remember what it was about. Not really. It was just… bad. And I shouldn’t need to be fucking coddled. I shouldn’t,” he breaths in sharply, teeth clenched, “But here I am…”
“Juno. Dear, you’ve done nothing wrong. I would never want you to suffer,” Nureyev says, letting go of his hand and gingerly cupping either side of his face. Despite his obvious hesitations, Juno leans into the touch, “We all have nightmares. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Juno has grown so much since last they met. He isn’t the same man Nureyev met on Mars, always neck-deep in self-inflicted torture. He isn’t nearly as willing to fling himself into incoming danger without any regard for himself, thank the heavens. Juno Steel has changed, largely for the better and Nureyev will never be able to express how proud of him he is. But evidently this, this is what he considers a line crossed.
Juno lets out a sigh, breathing growing slightly more ragged. He brushes the thief’s hands aside and readjusts his eyepatch, his shaking never ceasing.
“Juno,” Nureyev says, “What can I do to ease your mind?”
It strikes him just as it always does when he looks at Juno, protectiveness coiling in his gut. He would go to such lengths for him if only he asked. He would do anything for Juno Steel, anything at all. He wonders how much of that Juno comprehends.
“I…” the ex-detective says, swallowing thickly, “I- I don’t want to make you uncomfortable o-or anything. In fact, I’m probably good to go back to my room now.”
He doesn’t sound anywhere ‘good’ to go anywhere at the moment.
“Dear,” Nureyev says, pointedly and marred with worry, “You’re shaking. You have been since you came in.”
“Oh… yeah. I guess I am.”
Juno sounds as though he had no idea. He glances down at his hand for a moment, watching as it tremors before turning his face as far away from Nureyev as possible. He brought himself here, to Nureyev’s quarters, on his own accord. But… now that he’s here, it’s clear he hadn’t thought past Nureyev opening the door.
It’s been several weeks since Nova Zolotovna now. To say that things have been improving between him and Juno would barely scratch the surface. They’ve had quite a lot of their late-night talks, occurring every night since they’d procured the Gilded Globe. Things aren’t going perfectly – that much was obvious from the way Juno is behaving now – but they’re good. Very good.
Nureyev had known he missed Juno in their year apart. Of course, he knew, considering the countless sleepless nights, the endless tears and memories of the detective that he couldn’t wave away, try though he did. But having him again, living together and working together and just being so close… well, it’s reduced him to an even sappier fool than he started out as.
“Darling,” Nureyev says searchingly, “I want to help. Please, let me do that for you.”
Despite his best intentions, Nureyev cannot keep the desperation from seeping into his voice. It’s far from the first time he’s seen Juno in a vulnerable position. His mind wanders to a Martian tomb, both of them caked in blood and sweat, believing they might very well d- no. No, he doesn’t have the time nor the mental bandwidth to think of such things. The point is, Juno is hurting, and he needs to do something about it, preferably quickly.
He knows Juno trusts him. There are few things that Nureyev has ever been so certain about. Even after all that occurred between them, he doesn’t believe that trust has ever wavered, not really. And god, regardless of his strong will and best intentions, it took very little time to find himself trusting Juno just as he did before. They make a good pair; Nureyev called Juno his better half after knowing him for less than a day and he will always stand by that.
Juno trusts him and he trusts Juno… and that should be enough, is enough most days. But now Juno’s shaking like a leaf on his bed looking ten seconds from bolting from the room refusing to make eye contact and call him a fool, but Nureyev is scared.
He hasn’t been frightened over something like this in so long. The sting of inadequacy settles uncomfortably in his chest, reminding him far too much of a night in a hotel. In his life, there have been very few people Peter Nureyev has felt a deep emotional connection to. Getting attached is a recipe for disaster and so he, for the most part, abstained. For the most part.
Because the moment he met Detective Juno Steel, Nureyev fell hard and fast, and from every day forward he’s only continued his descent. Everything about Juno is a blessing to know and love. His laugh, his sharp wit, his sense of humor, his beauty. Nureyev knows what a gift it is to call this Goddess his and, at the moment, he doesn’t feel deserving.
“Dearest. It pains me so to see you this way.”
Juno’s form is racked with shivers, his eye wet with unshed tears. Even in the dim room, his dark skin is visibly peakish. Nureyev would never breathe it out into the world, but… Juno looks like hell.
The ex-detective worries his bottom lip, running a hand up and down his arm nervously. Nureyev can’t help but be reminded of a caged animal, trapped and desperate for escape. For a moment, Juno’s eye darts around the room, landing several times on the door and Nureyev is certain he’s failed. Then,
“Can I stay here tonight?” The question comes out in a rushed gasp. Nureyev finally manages to catch Juno’s gaze as he continues. “I– I know we haven’t. Uh, haven’t slept together ye– I mean, i-in the same bed, yet. On the ship. A-and I don’t have to, if that’s, like, weird. I just…” Juno sucks in a breath through his nose, muscles wound tight, “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
“Oh, Juno.” Nureyev whispers, his hand settling over Juno’s, “Of course you can. You hadn’t any reason to ask.”
Juno’s face goes slack with shock. He’d expected push-back, then. He hadn’t anticipated a yes right away and god, what Nureyev would do to fix that.
“You’re… you’re sure?”
“Positive.” Nureyev removes his hand from Juno’s. “May I hold you?” Juno nods with a weary sigh, shoulders slumping.
“Please.”
Slowly, Nureyev scoots closer to him, slowly encircling him in an embrace. The moment contact is made, Juno buries his face against Nureyev’s collarbone, his strong arms winding around the thief’s neck fervently. His trembling breaths escalate to hiccups, the warmth of tears wetting Nureyev’s camisole and bare skin.
Nureyev rubs circles into his back, allowing Juno to cling to him as tightly as he needs to, the line between sadness and relief blurring. As dreadful as it is to see Juno this way, the fact that he has decided to take comfort in him is something that offers so much solace.
“Shh. Shh, it’s alright, dear. Everything’s going to be alright,” Nureyev coos. With their chests pressed together, he can feel the thundering of Juno’s heart, his breath still hitching.
“N-Nureyev-.”
“I’ve got you. I’m not going to let you go, Juno. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Juno’s breath stutters as he clutches the thief as though he’ll disappear the moment he lets go. Nureyev returns the embrace nearly as tightly, pressing kisses into his hair and whispering words of assurance.
It dawns on him that he has very little experience doing this, consoling another person. There have been so few individuals that Peter Nureyev has felt safe enough to get close to, and even in that small group, none of them had presented the raw whole of their soul this way. He knows the basics in ways of comfort. In their time together aboard the Carte Blanche, Juno has been nothing but supportive and considerate towards him, it’s only right he does the same.
Nureyev had never considered the importance of this role but being here now with Juno in his arms, he prays that, at the very least, he’s doing an adequate job. There’s a nagging, needling part of his mind that wonders: what if you’re only making things worse? Despite himself, Nureyev can’t altogether ignore the thought. What if Juno expects more of him? What if this isn’t helping and he isn’t providing enough support or comfort? What if –
No. While Nureyev is exceptional at giving way to insecurity, he cannot do so now. Despite what foolishness his mind is attempting to bring on, Juno is clearly growing tranquil in his arms, his cries dying down and breathing gradually growing more regular. He might not be the best at this but he’s helping. If nothing else, he’s helping.
He isn’t quite sure how long it’s been when Juno’s cries cease and he pulls away slightly, his eye still red and wet.
“Nureyev,” he says hoarsely, that familiar look of panic spreading across his face again, “I- I'm–.”
“If you’re about to apologize,” Nureyev intervenes hastily, “Please know you don’t have any reason to.”
Juno visibly deflates, a look of such terrible defeat etched into his features.
"I… Jesus, this is so stupid.”
“It isn’t Juno. Nothing about the way you’ve behaved is stupid,” Nureyev says, pulling Juno back into his orbit and combing over his hair with long, nimble fingers. Despite himself, Juno relaxes. “You know… I’m glad. That you came to me.”
“Really?”
While Juno is clearly trying to sound as though he doesn’t care, the hope in his voice is unmistakable.
“Of course. I would never want you to be in pain. Never. Can’t you see that?” Juno sighs.
“I mean, yeah. I know you wouldn’t. You’re an insanely wonderful…” he pauses, holding his breath a moment, the impending words a crushing weight, “you’re a great boyfriend, Nureyev.”
Nureyev doesn’t think Juno’s ever actually used the word. He tries to school his expression into neutrality and fails if Juno’s expression is anything to go off of. But that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a bad thing.
“You’re… really good. It’s just…” he groans, closing his eye, “This feels like an… overstep. I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Fine! It definitely feels like an overstep, okay?” Juno admits hurriedly, his body stiffening.
“Juno. Darling, I promise you, you aren’t overstepping anything,” Nureyev says, praying every ounce of his conviction makes itself known, “I’m happy to have you stay tonight.” Juno doesn’t entirely unclench his fists, his form still wrought with tension, but he loosens up a bit.
“Your… still cool with me staying? You want me to?”
“More than anything, dear detective,” Nureyev answers, pleased to note the look of relief in Juno’s eye.
“Oh. Okay. Okay, that’s– thank you. Seriously, that, uh. That means a lot.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Juno. It’s my pleasure.”
Slowly, they slid into bed together and pull the blankets over themselves. To say the action is awkward would be an understatement. Juno’s still wound up like a spring and, more pressingly, it’s the first time they’ve shared a bed since that night.
By the time Nureyev considers that important detail he’s already lying beside Juno. For a moment, he’s gripped with a clawing, familiar fear, visions of an empty hotel bed flashing in his mind. He feels himself stiffen and his jaw set tight. In the dark, Juno turns to face him.
“Hey, you okay?”
Hearing Juno’s voice suddenly wrought with worry brings him back to reality. Juno isn’t going anywhere; he came here seeking Nureyev’s comfort. Comfort he’s going to have quite the difficulty finding from the distance he’s put them at, the space between them feeling like a million-mile expanse.
“I’m just fine,” Nureyev answers once he’s collected himself, reaching out across the breadth and finds Juno’s hand. He laces their fingers together, giving a squeeze. “I’m wonderful. Come closer, won’t you? I won’t bite, you know.”
Juno scoffs and he has no right to make something so simple sound that sweet.
“You kinda do, though,” Juno points out, an unbearably teasing lithe in his voice.
Nureyev can’t help the surprised laugh that leaps from his mouth.
“Only when I’ve got permission, detective. Now come here; I’m certain I’ll die of sorrow if you stay so far away.”
Juno laughs again, brighter this time, and Nureyev is reminded of how very important it is to always strive towards making Juno Steel laugh.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. We wouldn’t want that.”
“I should certainly hope not.”
Slowly, Juno shifts closer, reaching an apprehensive hand out towards the thief. Without wasting time, Nureyev pulls him close, laying his head on Juno’s broad chest and wrapping his arms around his waist.
“Do my tits look like a pillow to you?”
“Mhm,” Nureyev hums, smiling as Juno slings an arm over his shoulder, their legs tangling together.
Gradually, the tension that’s invaded Juno’s body dissipates. He holds onto Nureyev a touch too tight, but neither of them is in any position to complain. As it is, Nureyev’s probably holding him just as securely.
“Nureyev?” Juno asks after a long beat of silence.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Thanks for this. ‘s nice, being with you.” Juno’s voice slurs with drowsiness and it’s, admittedly, very adorable.
“It’s nice being with you too, Juno. You’re welcome here anytime.”
“I am?”
“By all means. I don’t see any reason in either of us sleeping alone if we don’t have to.”
Nureyev knows this is a huge thing he’s propositioning, and they should probably be having this conversation in a more wakeful state, but the words are flowing with such ease. Like it’s where they were always meant to be. Juno hums, thoughtfully and sleepily before saying,
“So I can sleep here tomorrow?”
“And every day after that, if you wish.”
“I’d… I’d like that, ‘Reyev. Sounds,” his words melt into a yawn, “sounds real nice.”
The idea of sleeping beside Juno every night from here on out doesn’t fill him with the trepidations he’d expected. He doesn’t fear for this raw, uncertain future, but rather, embraces it with open arms. As though they were never meant to be apart.
“Goodnight, Juno,” Nureyev says, contentment washing over them in gentle, rolling waves.
“Night,” Juno mumbles, seconds from slumber, “Love you.”
“I love you too, dear.”
It takes Nureyev a moment to realize it’s the first time since their reunion that they’ve said ‘I love you.’ And despite past hesitations, Nureyev says the words with no fear.
Within minutes, they drift off in each other’s arms, both embracing the future that spreads out before them and all that is to come.
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