We'll Meet Again Some Sunny Day
Characters: Jules Bianchi, Sam Bird, Paul di Resta, Nico Hulkenberg
Pairings: Paul di Resta/Nico Hulkenberg
Rating: Black Flag
Summary: WWII AU, in which Nico is a prisoner of war assigned to work on Paul's croft. Sam and Jules are Paul's two evacuees.
Disclaimer: It's fiction. I played around a little with the actual facts, most of which were gleaned from Wartime Farm.
-
"MR DI RESTA!" The officer yells, hammers on the door. “SIR!"
"What? Have I not sufficiently blacked out my windows again?" A man grumbles, ambles around the corner with a dog at his heels, shotgun hanging from its strap on his shoulder.
"No. The War Ag have assigned you a POW."
"I-what?" He replies, frowns at Nico. Nico scowls back, shivers in the cold wind, hugging his thin jacket closer to himself.
"He’s helping you out seen as the Land Girls were needed elsewhere."
"Right. I’ve been doing fine without them. Why do I need some German messing everything up? Is he even safe?"
"Sir, you’re the one who’s armed. He’s hardly going to make a break for it, he doesn’t even know what country he’s in. And you should have that gun locked up anyway."
"Fine, whatever, get inside. You’ll want to be off back before that storm comes in proper." The man points at the black clouds rolling up the valley.
“And I need those rations books sorted for my two evacuees, tell the War Ag to get on that. Can’t do much when I can’t get enough rations to feed myself and two young 'uns."
"That’s not the War Ag’s department. That’s the Ministry Of Food." The officer finishes with, pushes Nico towards the man and marches off toward his van.
"Get in." He sighs, scowling. The dog darts in around him, heads straight in to lie in front of the fire. “Prisoner of War, eh? First Land Girls, now you. Well, at least you won’t be wishing you were down south with the GIs."
"I-what?" Nico asks, frowns and carefully shuts the door behind him, drops into the chair he’s directed to, shivers again even though he can feel the heat pouring out from the range..
"Nowhere to bloody put you either." The man’s still muttering as he potters around, gestures at a seat. “Sit down, will you? Sam? Jules?" He yells, as two kids clatter into the room, stop stock still and stare at Nico, the darker one hiding behind the smaller blonde. “Sit down, we’ve got a new farmhand, apparently."
"Nico." He whispers, quiet, unsure of himself. He’s been shipped around the country, hospital to camp to camp to some farm in the middle of nowhere.
"Paul. This is Sam and Jules, my evacuees. Boys, go wash." Paul sighs. Sam and Jules dart out as quickly as they’d entered, and Paul groans, finds plates for them all, nearly trips over an excited puppy and ends up dumping it in Nico’s lap to keep it out of the way while he finishes preparing the meal. “Do you want to go wash as well?" He asks, suddenly, frowns at Nico’s shabby clothing and tired face. Nico nods, unsure of himself and wary of the shotgun propped against the wall, ready for Paul to clean it. He has no intention of reaching for it - the state he’s in he’d win no fights, despite the relatively decent conditions he’s been in so far. “If you don’t mind cold water then there's a bucket in the sink, you can use that." He points, turns back to finding a spare bowl for Nico. Sam and Jules cautiously reappear, reassured by the food on offer and Nico’s current position leant over the sink. “So." Paul says, hands a bowl of steaming stew over to Nico, adds a fork too and a thin slice of bread. “You’re here to help on the farm then.
"It’s what I was doing in England." Nico replies. “Only there was more of us."
"Right. At least you might know what to do. An extra pair of hands will not go amiss, not with the War Ag breathing down my neck about bloody yields. Jules, you are not supposed to be wearing your food." Paul adds, as Jules looks suitably sheepish, gravy smeared across his chin.
Nico gets dispatched to his bed the same time as Sam and Jules do, though he doesn't get a bedtime story. He's sleeping in what was Sam's room, he thinks, judging by the shy reappearance of the child to rescue the teddy bear he'd forgotten. Paul pokes his head around the door to wish him goodnight, warning glare before he leaves the room, candlelight following him out to leave Nico in the dark, yet another unfamiliar room thousands of miles from home. He falls asleep easily though, surprisingly easily, snuggled under thick blankets in a fairly comfy bed.
He wakes to find Jules and Sam have been sent to wake him, Sam poking at his shoulder while Jules hangs back, skittish around him. He finds Paul already making breakfast when he plods downstairs, already dressed in his work uniform. He gets breakfast that's a damned sight nicer than what they've been fed in the work camps and then Paul gets a hard day's labour out of him, even though it's nice to work alongside someone instead of being bossed around by them, it's still hard work, physical labour and he sleeps well the next night through sheer exhaustion more than anything.
It carries on in this vein for a while. They work all day together, side by side, come rain or shine, wind or hail. Sam and Jules become less shy around him, curiosity overcoming their fear of him, the German. Paul finds him better clothing a few weeks in, when the weather starts to turn as winter approaches quickly, and his POW uniform becomes tattered and worn. That's when he first notices Paul in that way.
He's brutally suppressed these feelings for a long time. He's not stupid, he knows that he'll be taken away if he does anything about them. So he hasn't. But being surrounded by Paul's scent is the first thing he notices about the other man, the first time he's seen him in anyway other than the man he's a prisoner to, the enemy. The thick coat is snug around him, fitting nicely over a rather badly-knitted but otherwise very warm jumper, and it smells gorgeous. Musky and manly and of the outside, exactly how he imagines Paul to smell.
Nico starts noticing Paul himself then, the way the muscles in his arms flex as they pull up turnips together, the way his skin glows in the orange light of a sunset or sunrise, the laughter that he gets to hear sometimes when Paul's particularly amused by Nico falling over, the rough and warm hand that he gets offered to pull himself to his feet again with.
Winter trickles by, snow and more snow, driving rain and vicious wind, cold hands and cold feet, chilblains and sleeping in Paul's bed with both Sam and Jules and the dogs tucked between them. It's then that it turns to more than a little crush, having Paul sleep next to him. He likes having Paul's socked feet against his, a hand sometimes flung out and resting on Nico's head entirely unconsciously. He doesn't even mind Sam cuddling up to him, a little bundle of heat who sometimes would rather squirm around and hug Jules, but that's okay. For some reason, he really likes watching Paul with the children.
Spring ticks by too, marked by growing shoots and planting seeds, wobbly-legged calves and bleating lambs, a few of them at any rate, their numbers much reduced by the War Ag, at least that's what Paul complains. They stop sharing beds when it gets warm enough to, and even the local villagers stop being so angry with him, letting him enjoy the odd pint in the local pub with Paul, watching Jules and Sam play a game of football with their school friends. His English is much improved, even if he seems to have now gained a bit of a Scottish accent, which amuses Paul greatly when they're sat up chatting by the fire, Nico writing a letter home, Paul knitting a new jumper for Jules.
It works out fine until they receive a letter, postmarked from France. Paul opens it, face hardening, biting back tears. Jules is summoned, Nico ordered to take Sam out of the way with just the brief that Jules is now an orphan, so Paul can tell Jules by himself.
Nico takes Sam out for a long walk by the beach, exercising the dogs, even though technically, he shouldn't be out unsupervised by Paul. He teaches Sam how to skim stones while he tries to guess the right time to return. He still gets it wrong through, returning to find Jules is crying in Paul's arms.
"Is Jules OK?" Sam asks, tugging gently at Nico’s shirt to catch his attention. Nico’s stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Paul and Jules together.
"I don’t know." Nico admits, and it hurts, seeing Jules sobbing in Paul’s arms, fingers clinging tightly to that warm woollen jumper that’s so wonderful to wear, that wound in his heart digging a little deeper at Paul’s expression of futility, the sheer inability to make Jules’ pain go away. Sam sniffles, hugs Nico’s leg and blinks wide eyes up at him until Nico swings him up to cradle him close, offer what little comfort he can to the boy who's practically attached to Jules' hip.
They sleep together in Paul's bed again that night. Jules has cried himself to sleep, and they've all shed tears for his pain. Nico wants to apologise, even though its not his fault, just his country's. Jules doesn't seem to mind him being German though, takes the comfort Nico offers without caring too much about where Nico's from.
It takes them a while to work through it. Jules may not even be into double figures yet but he understands that his parents are never coming back, that's nobody's ever going to be coming to collect him from this lonely corner of Scotland, that he can never go back to where he used to call home. But Jules works out soon enough that this will be his new home, and Sam gets to stay too, so by the first harvest, he's nearly back to his usual self.
Paul though, Paul's gone weird. Paul avoids touching him, goes to bed earlier than usual, tries to move Nico back to being just a POW, rather than a friend.
It all comes to a head on the solstice. They've been down to the village a few miles away for the party to celebrate, and so they're still awake late into the night, sat outside watching the sun finally set, having returned early to avoid having to carry the boys all the way home. Nico stretches himself out, lying on the cut wheat field, pulling his shirt off too. And Paul finally touches him, for the first time in two months, rolling over to run fingers down the inside of Nico's arm. And Nico snaps too, yanking Paul on top of him, lips finding Paul's and Paul kisses him back, their lips moving against each other's until Paul pulls back, shaking his head. "We can't. It's wrong. I can't." Nico groans, head falling back against the scratch of the cut wheat stalks, fingers tightening around Paul's shoulders.
"Please." He begs, though he doesn't know what he's pleading for. And Paul crumbles, ruts down against him, everything Nico's been dreaming off, the pair of them rubbing their cocks together, coming in their trousers in the middle of a wheat field, Paul collapsing on top of Nico when they're done. They lay there for a few minutes, catching their breath, Nico petting at Paul's hair, running his fingers through the short, soft strands.
Paul catches his wrist as he's heading for his room, glancing across at the closed door of Sam and Jules' room before he tugs Nico after him. "Don't. Can we talk tomorrow?" He asks, watches Nico change into his pyjama pants, tearing his gaze away and doing the same, tumbling onto the bed next to Nico and soon falling asleep. Nico stays awake longer, just absorbing the feeling of Paul sleeping next to him, properly this time, their bare skin pressed together when Paul wriggles around in his sleep to cuddle up to Nico's side, Paul's gentle breaths fluttering over Nico's chest, the warm weight of his head on Nico's shoulder, the feeling of his back under Nico's palm, the scent of them mixing together and rising around him. It's some of the best sleep he's had in years, and he's almost sad when he wakes up, except for the fact that Paul is already awake, sat watching him sleep with a half-smile on his face, chin resting on the knee that's pulled to his chest.
"Morning." Paul says, leans over to kiss him. "I've been thinking."
"I'll call the fire men." Nico says, wafting away pretend smoke from around Paul's ears. Paul laughs, kisses him again.
"Nobody will know. We can have a relationship. Do you want a relationship?"
"Is it not illegal?" Nico asks him, smiling as Paul nuzzles his neck, finally exploring the soft skin there that he's been staring at for months. Nico sighs under him, going lax, relaxing into the mattress.
"There is that." Paul admits to his collarbone, bites down gently, licks over the bite and watches Nico shudder, closing his eyes and letting one of his hands curl around Paul's knee.
"Nobody can know." Nico says, fingers rubbing over the worn cotton beneath them.
"Obviously." Paul snorts. "This doesn't leave here, it can't leave here. I'll be imprisoned, you'll be imprisoned too, the boys will be taken away-" He's cut off by Nico's mouth on his, offering reassurance, that they can keep this hidden but still have it. "And at the end of the war - you'll leave."
"We will jump that fence when we get to it." Nico copies one of Paul's expressions, even if its just to see him laugh at Nico's increasing use of English idioms.
"Come on then, work to do." Paul sighs, dragging himself out of bed. Nico lazes around for a little while longer, watching Paul dress, admiring his body when Paul strips out of his pyjama trousers. Paul shoos him away before too long though, heading downstairs to make breakfast while Nico gets dressed himself and wakes the children.
They work it out, from there. 1942 ticks into 1943 as Paul's informed that Nico will be stationed with him for another year, and they both learn more about each other on nights when they stay up, lazing around in Paul's bed, asking and answering questions between soft kisses, gentle and exploratory touches. Paul pries Nico's story out of him, how he had originally been captured in 1941, flying on a raid over London. He'd been injured, and Paul kisses every single one of the long scars across his back, up his legs, faded white now after so long. He tells him about his childhood too, comparing stories with Paul's. Paul takes several days to tell him of how on earth he'd ended up with Sam and Jules, and they take several weeks, long and slow and drawn out, to learn each other's bodies, with mouths and tongues, fingers and teeth, and cocks, learning what makes the other cry out, whimper, moan, squirm and then come, gasping and groaning, pressing sticky bodies together to ride out the pleasure, sleeping pressed together to revel in the simple delight of having skin-to-skin contact.
Birthdays, Christmas, they celebrate them together, even with rationing. They've become a family, mixed up though it may be, with a Prisoner of War and two orphaned evacuees joining a crofter on the Scottish coast.
1943 ticks into 1944 and then into 1945, and they barely remember that Nico is a POW, save for when he's checked up on, and even though he still wears his uniform to work alongside Paul, they're so far out of the way that he needn't, most of the time. Paul's hardly ever armed and the gun sits silent in the kitchen, its only victims destined for the table rather than the grave. They fall in love with each other a little more every day and every night, mark each secret anniversary with a small present for each other, enjoy this love they've found, here in a quiet corner of Scotland, far away from the war that's brought them together.
But it has to come to an end. All wars end, eventually, and the news is surprisingly fast to reach them, Paul returning one morning from walking Jules and Sam to school with them both in tow, having been given the day off, because nobody can concentrate with the news that it's over. It's bittersweet though, but Nico celebrates along with everybody else at the party that's hastily thrown, smiling and laughing and dancing with anyone who asks him for one, ignores the future and focuses on what he has now.
"What are you going to do then?" Paul asks, later, watching the few people still dancing this late into the party. Nico shrugs, rubs Jules’ back as he whimpers in his sleep, tired out by the festivities and a long day. Sam’s still up, somehow, hyperactive and bouncing around between some of the older children, but Jules had crashed a while ago and had curled up on Nico’s lap for a snooze.
"I don’t know. I need papers to leave to Germany and it will be difficult to travel back still, even if I know that my parents are still alive, that my sister still is."
"Would you stay?" Paul asks then, runs his fingers around his glass of ale and stares out at the moon and the dark horizon over the lights of their celebrations, no need for a blackout tonight. Nico frowns, lets his head roll sideways to rest it on Paul’s shoulder momentarily, just a brief contact that’s enough to reassure him.
"I should think so. Only I want to see my family again, and maybe return here on my terms."
"I think these two would miss you too." Paul adds, smiles over at Nico as Sam has a tantrum over the game, over-tired and over-excited. “Come on, let’s go home. I’ve had enough celebrating for one night and so have these two."
It works out, they make it work out for them. Four years becomes a lifetime together. Nico does go back to Germany, but its hard to live there without Paul, hard to sleep without the familiar body beside him, strangely quiet in the city without the sounds of the sea, of the farm, of two children and three dogs. German sounds odd, unfamiliar, after four years of that soft Scottish lilt, and without a job available, Nico soon returns, to find not much has changed and their old routine becomes a life-long one. Sam and Jules grow up, go out in the world and find their own place in it, but never forget Nico and Paul and their little corner of Scotland. Paul smiles at Nico over the curly hair of their second great-grandchild at the reception of their long-awaited wedding, and mouths 'I love you' to him, watching Sam and Jules laugh with their wives as Nico blushes and replies in the same manner with the same words. Perfect, absolutely perfect.
-
Pairings: Paul di Resta/Nico Hulkenberg
Rating: Black Flag
Summary: WWII AU, in which Nico is a prisoner of war assigned to work on Paul's croft. Sam and Jules are Paul's two evacuees.
Disclaimer: It's fiction. I played around a little with the actual facts, most of which were gleaned from Wartime Farm.
-
"MR DI RESTA!" The officer yells, hammers on the door. “SIR!"
"What? Have I not sufficiently blacked out my windows again?" A man grumbles, ambles around the corner with a dog at his heels, shotgun hanging from its strap on his shoulder.
"No. The War Ag have assigned you a POW."
"I-what?" He replies, frowns at Nico. Nico scowls back, shivers in the cold wind, hugging his thin jacket closer to himself.
"He’s helping you out seen as the Land Girls were needed elsewhere."
"Right. I’ve been doing fine without them. Why do I need some German messing everything up? Is he even safe?"
"Sir, you’re the one who’s armed. He’s hardly going to make a break for it, he doesn’t even know what country he’s in. And you should have that gun locked up anyway."
"Fine, whatever, get inside. You’ll want to be off back before that storm comes in proper." The man points at the black clouds rolling up the valley.
“And I need those rations books sorted for my two evacuees, tell the War Ag to get on that. Can’t do much when I can’t get enough rations to feed myself and two young 'uns."
"That’s not the War Ag’s department. That’s the Ministry Of Food." The officer finishes with, pushes Nico towards the man and marches off toward his van.
"Get in." He sighs, scowling. The dog darts in around him, heads straight in to lie in front of the fire. “Prisoner of War, eh? First Land Girls, now you. Well, at least you won’t be wishing you were down south with the GIs."
"I-what?" Nico asks, frowns and carefully shuts the door behind him, drops into the chair he’s directed to, shivers again even though he can feel the heat pouring out from the range..
"Nowhere to bloody put you either." The man’s still muttering as he potters around, gestures at a seat. “Sit down, will you? Sam? Jules?" He yells, as two kids clatter into the room, stop stock still and stare at Nico, the darker one hiding behind the smaller blonde. “Sit down, we’ve got a new farmhand, apparently."
"Nico." He whispers, quiet, unsure of himself. He’s been shipped around the country, hospital to camp to camp to some farm in the middle of nowhere.
"Paul. This is Sam and Jules, my evacuees. Boys, go wash." Paul sighs. Sam and Jules dart out as quickly as they’d entered, and Paul groans, finds plates for them all, nearly trips over an excited puppy and ends up dumping it in Nico’s lap to keep it out of the way while he finishes preparing the meal. “Do you want to go wash as well?" He asks, suddenly, frowns at Nico’s shabby clothing and tired face. Nico nods, unsure of himself and wary of the shotgun propped against the wall, ready for Paul to clean it. He has no intention of reaching for it - the state he’s in he’d win no fights, despite the relatively decent conditions he’s been in so far. “If you don’t mind cold water then there's a bucket in the sink, you can use that." He points, turns back to finding a spare bowl for Nico. Sam and Jules cautiously reappear, reassured by the food on offer and Nico’s current position leant over the sink. “So." Paul says, hands a bowl of steaming stew over to Nico, adds a fork too and a thin slice of bread. “You’re here to help on the farm then.
"It’s what I was doing in England." Nico replies. “Only there was more of us."
"Right. At least you might know what to do. An extra pair of hands will not go amiss, not with the War Ag breathing down my neck about bloody yields. Jules, you are not supposed to be wearing your food." Paul adds, as Jules looks suitably sheepish, gravy smeared across his chin.
Nico gets dispatched to his bed the same time as Sam and Jules do, though he doesn't get a bedtime story. He's sleeping in what was Sam's room, he thinks, judging by the shy reappearance of the child to rescue the teddy bear he'd forgotten. Paul pokes his head around the door to wish him goodnight, warning glare before he leaves the room, candlelight following him out to leave Nico in the dark, yet another unfamiliar room thousands of miles from home. He falls asleep easily though, surprisingly easily, snuggled under thick blankets in a fairly comfy bed.
He wakes to find Jules and Sam have been sent to wake him, Sam poking at his shoulder while Jules hangs back, skittish around him. He finds Paul already making breakfast when he plods downstairs, already dressed in his work uniform. He gets breakfast that's a damned sight nicer than what they've been fed in the work camps and then Paul gets a hard day's labour out of him, even though it's nice to work alongside someone instead of being bossed around by them, it's still hard work, physical labour and he sleeps well the next night through sheer exhaustion more than anything.
It carries on in this vein for a while. They work all day together, side by side, come rain or shine, wind or hail. Sam and Jules become less shy around him, curiosity overcoming their fear of him, the German. Paul finds him better clothing a few weeks in, when the weather starts to turn as winter approaches quickly, and his POW uniform becomes tattered and worn. That's when he first notices Paul in that way.
He's brutally suppressed these feelings for a long time. He's not stupid, he knows that he'll be taken away if he does anything about them. So he hasn't. But being surrounded by Paul's scent is the first thing he notices about the other man, the first time he's seen him in anyway other than the man he's a prisoner to, the enemy. The thick coat is snug around him, fitting nicely over a rather badly-knitted but otherwise very warm jumper, and it smells gorgeous. Musky and manly and of the outside, exactly how he imagines Paul to smell.
Nico starts noticing Paul himself then, the way the muscles in his arms flex as they pull up turnips together, the way his skin glows in the orange light of a sunset or sunrise, the laughter that he gets to hear sometimes when Paul's particularly amused by Nico falling over, the rough and warm hand that he gets offered to pull himself to his feet again with.
Winter trickles by, snow and more snow, driving rain and vicious wind, cold hands and cold feet, chilblains and sleeping in Paul's bed with both Sam and Jules and the dogs tucked between them. It's then that it turns to more than a little crush, having Paul sleep next to him. He likes having Paul's socked feet against his, a hand sometimes flung out and resting on Nico's head entirely unconsciously. He doesn't even mind Sam cuddling up to him, a little bundle of heat who sometimes would rather squirm around and hug Jules, but that's okay. For some reason, he really likes watching Paul with the children.
Spring ticks by too, marked by growing shoots and planting seeds, wobbly-legged calves and bleating lambs, a few of them at any rate, their numbers much reduced by the War Ag, at least that's what Paul complains. They stop sharing beds when it gets warm enough to, and even the local villagers stop being so angry with him, letting him enjoy the odd pint in the local pub with Paul, watching Jules and Sam play a game of football with their school friends. His English is much improved, even if he seems to have now gained a bit of a Scottish accent, which amuses Paul greatly when they're sat up chatting by the fire, Nico writing a letter home, Paul knitting a new jumper for Jules.
It works out fine until they receive a letter, postmarked from France. Paul opens it, face hardening, biting back tears. Jules is summoned, Nico ordered to take Sam out of the way with just the brief that Jules is now an orphan, so Paul can tell Jules by himself.
Nico takes Sam out for a long walk by the beach, exercising the dogs, even though technically, he shouldn't be out unsupervised by Paul. He teaches Sam how to skim stones while he tries to guess the right time to return. He still gets it wrong through, returning to find Jules is crying in Paul's arms.
"Is Jules OK?" Sam asks, tugging gently at Nico’s shirt to catch his attention. Nico’s stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Paul and Jules together.
"I don’t know." Nico admits, and it hurts, seeing Jules sobbing in Paul’s arms, fingers clinging tightly to that warm woollen jumper that’s so wonderful to wear, that wound in his heart digging a little deeper at Paul’s expression of futility, the sheer inability to make Jules’ pain go away. Sam sniffles, hugs Nico’s leg and blinks wide eyes up at him until Nico swings him up to cradle him close, offer what little comfort he can to the boy who's practically attached to Jules' hip.
They sleep together in Paul's bed again that night. Jules has cried himself to sleep, and they've all shed tears for his pain. Nico wants to apologise, even though its not his fault, just his country's. Jules doesn't seem to mind him being German though, takes the comfort Nico offers without caring too much about where Nico's from.
It takes them a while to work through it. Jules may not even be into double figures yet but he understands that his parents are never coming back, that's nobody's ever going to be coming to collect him from this lonely corner of Scotland, that he can never go back to where he used to call home. But Jules works out soon enough that this will be his new home, and Sam gets to stay too, so by the first harvest, he's nearly back to his usual self.
Paul though, Paul's gone weird. Paul avoids touching him, goes to bed earlier than usual, tries to move Nico back to being just a POW, rather than a friend.
It all comes to a head on the solstice. They've been down to the village a few miles away for the party to celebrate, and so they're still awake late into the night, sat outside watching the sun finally set, having returned early to avoid having to carry the boys all the way home. Nico stretches himself out, lying on the cut wheat field, pulling his shirt off too. And Paul finally touches him, for the first time in two months, rolling over to run fingers down the inside of Nico's arm. And Nico snaps too, yanking Paul on top of him, lips finding Paul's and Paul kisses him back, their lips moving against each other's until Paul pulls back, shaking his head. "We can't. It's wrong. I can't." Nico groans, head falling back against the scratch of the cut wheat stalks, fingers tightening around Paul's shoulders.
"Please." He begs, though he doesn't know what he's pleading for. And Paul crumbles, ruts down against him, everything Nico's been dreaming off, the pair of them rubbing their cocks together, coming in their trousers in the middle of a wheat field, Paul collapsing on top of Nico when they're done. They lay there for a few minutes, catching their breath, Nico petting at Paul's hair, running his fingers through the short, soft strands.
Paul catches his wrist as he's heading for his room, glancing across at the closed door of Sam and Jules' room before he tugs Nico after him. "Don't. Can we talk tomorrow?" He asks, watches Nico change into his pyjama pants, tearing his gaze away and doing the same, tumbling onto the bed next to Nico and soon falling asleep. Nico stays awake longer, just absorbing the feeling of Paul sleeping next to him, properly this time, their bare skin pressed together when Paul wriggles around in his sleep to cuddle up to Nico's side, Paul's gentle breaths fluttering over Nico's chest, the warm weight of his head on Nico's shoulder, the feeling of his back under Nico's palm, the scent of them mixing together and rising around him. It's some of the best sleep he's had in years, and he's almost sad when he wakes up, except for the fact that Paul is already awake, sat watching him sleep with a half-smile on his face, chin resting on the knee that's pulled to his chest.
"Morning." Paul says, leans over to kiss him. "I've been thinking."
"I'll call the fire men." Nico says, wafting away pretend smoke from around Paul's ears. Paul laughs, kisses him again.
"Nobody will know. We can have a relationship. Do you want a relationship?"
"Is it not illegal?" Nico asks him, smiling as Paul nuzzles his neck, finally exploring the soft skin there that he's been staring at for months. Nico sighs under him, going lax, relaxing into the mattress.
"There is that." Paul admits to his collarbone, bites down gently, licks over the bite and watches Nico shudder, closing his eyes and letting one of his hands curl around Paul's knee.
"Nobody can know." Nico says, fingers rubbing over the worn cotton beneath them.
"Obviously." Paul snorts. "This doesn't leave here, it can't leave here. I'll be imprisoned, you'll be imprisoned too, the boys will be taken away-" He's cut off by Nico's mouth on his, offering reassurance, that they can keep this hidden but still have it. "And at the end of the war - you'll leave."
"We will jump that fence when we get to it." Nico copies one of Paul's expressions, even if its just to see him laugh at Nico's increasing use of English idioms.
"Come on then, work to do." Paul sighs, dragging himself out of bed. Nico lazes around for a little while longer, watching Paul dress, admiring his body when Paul strips out of his pyjama trousers. Paul shoos him away before too long though, heading downstairs to make breakfast while Nico gets dressed himself and wakes the children.
They work it out, from there. 1942 ticks into 1943 as Paul's informed that Nico will be stationed with him for another year, and they both learn more about each other on nights when they stay up, lazing around in Paul's bed, asking and answering questions between soft kisses, gentle and exploratory touches. Paul pries Nico's story out of him, how he had originally been captured in 1941, flying on a raid over London. He'd been injured, and Paul kisses every single one of the long scars across his back, up his legs, faded white now after so long. He tells him about his childhood too, comparing stories with Paul's. Paul takes several days to tell him of how on earth he'd ended up with Sam and Jules, and they take several weeks, long and slow and drawn out, to learn each other's bodies, with mouths and tongues, fingers and teeth, and cocks, learning what makes the other cry out, whimper, moan, squirm and then come, gasping and groaning, pressing sticky bodies together to ride out the pleasure, sleeping pressed together to revel in the simple delight of having skin-to-skin contact.
Birthdays, Christmas, they celebrate them together, even with rationing. They've become a family, mixed up though it may be, with a Prisoner of War and two orphaned evacuees joining a crofter on the Scottish coast.
1943 ticks into 1944 and then into 1945, and they barely remember that Nico is a POW, save for when he's checked up on, and even though he still wears his uniform to work alongside Paul, they're so far out of the way that he needn't, most of the time. Paul's hardly ever armed and the gun sits silent in the kitchen, its only victims destined for the table rather than the grave. They fall in love with each other a little more every day and every night, mark each secret anniversary with a small present for each other, enjoy this love they've found, here in a quiet corner of Scotland, far away from the war that's brought them together.
But it has to come to an end. All wars end, eventually, and the news is surprisingly fast to reach them, Paul returning one morning from walking Jules and Sam to school with them both in tow, having been given the day off, because nobody can concentrate with the news that it's over. It's bittersweet though, but Nico celebrates along with everybody else at the party that's hastily thrown, smiling and laughing and dancing with anyone who asks him for one, ignores the future and focuses on what he has now.
"What are you going to do then?" Paul asks, later, watching the few people still dancing this late into the party. Nico shrugs, rubs Jules’ back as he whimpers in his sleep, tired out by the festivities and a long day. Sam’s still up, somehow, hyperactive and bouncing around between some of the older children, but Jules had crashed a while ago and had curled up on Nico’s lap for a snooze.
"I don’t know. I need papers to leave to Germany and it will be difficult to travel back still, even if I know that my parents are still alive, that my sister still is."
"Would you stay?" Paul asks then, runs his fingers around his glass of ale and stares out at the moon and the dark horizon over the lights of their celebrations, no need for a blackout tonight. Nico frowns, lets his head roll sideways to rest it on Paul’s shoulder momentarily, just a brief contact that’s enough to reassure him.
"I should think so. Only I want to see my family again, and maybe return here on my terms."
"I think these two would miss you too." Paul adds, smiles over at Nico as Sam has a tantrum over the game, over-tired and over-excited. “Come on, let’s go home. I’ve had enough celebrating for one night and so have these two."
It works out, they make it work out for them. Four years becomes a lifetime together. Nico does go back to Germany, but its hard to live there without Paul, hard to sleep without the familiar body beside him, strangely quiet in the city without the sounds of the sea, of the farm, of two children and three dogs. German sounds odd, unfamiliar, after four years of that soft Scottish lilt, and without a job available, Nico soon returns, to find not much has changed and their old routine becomes a life-long one. Sam and Jules grow up, go out in the world and find their own place in it, but never forget Nico and Paul and their little corner of Scotland. Paul smiles at Nico over the curly hair of their second great-grandchild at the reception of their long-awaited wedding, and mouths 'I love you' to him, watching Sam and Jules laugh with their wives as Nico blushes and replies in the same manner with the same words. Perfect, absolutely perfect.
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