Malta

[peace_inthe_violence]

This is a fairy tale of blood and bullets
It is the story of three men and three women and a small island between Italy and Africa.
This is a story about tragedy and pain, about healing and hope, but mostly it is about
love.

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[transfuge]

Booker caught Joe's hand as he pulled away from his hair and drew it back in. He pressed a kiss to the meaty part of his palm. When was the last time he showed Joe this kind of easy affection? He couldn't quite remember which meant it had probably been awhile.

"Perfect, like always." He released his hand and stood up. "Knew I could trust you."

Hopefully, Joe caught the undercurrent of meaning that was more than a haircut. Booker was coming back to himself, coming back to his family and their love for him. He would trust that going forward.

Or God help him, he'd just lose his fucking mind the whole way.

[nicely_tousled]

He just smiled at the kiss, some small fraction of lingering tension unwinding from the base of his spine at the apparently reflexive affection.

He nodded at the statement, letting that hand slide around to cradle the side of Booker's neck, thumb running along the line of his jaw, "Of course you can, albi, any time." There were layers to the answer the same way there were to the initial statement. Even if they didn't always agree -and they didn't- they could still trust each other.