#buccellati

Bruno lets out a shaky exhale as you slowly pull away from him, only enough to make out his facial features. His magnetizing presence holds you close, the warmth from his face weakening your knees.

You can still taste him on your lips.

He slowly opens his dazed eyes, meeting your gaze. “God, you’re so…”—another shaky exhale—“…perfect.”

Miles Davis’ band quietly plays from the turntable setup along the wall behind you. 

“Bruno…” You lean in closer once again, stopping when your lips brush against his. A tipsy smile stretches across your face. “How would you like my mouth to be~”—you giggle— “…somewhere else?”

He raises his brows, excitement flashing in his eyes. His eyes dart around the room, confirming that the curtains framing his windows were draped in front of them. “Oh, really?”

You nod your head. “Mm~hmm.”

Bruno flashes a smitten smirk. ”And where would that be?”

”Oh, you know…” Your smile grows. “…Not here.” You press your lips into his, feeling the “mm,” he lets out when your hands snake their way into his suit window. His skin is warm—electric. Heart pounding within his chest, he melts into your touch. 

Bruno’s skin prickles as your lips slowly travel towards his neck, his breath quickening. Your hands work to unzip his suit collar; he immediately takes the cue and unbuttons his jacket. It falls off behind him with a light fwump.

He’s still smiling. “So where are you going to put your mouth?” His voice becomes breathier as he speaks, desperation creeping in on each word.

“You’ll see…”

He shudders as the warm air from your words dissipates on his neck; it makes his hair stand on end. His sapphire eyes widen when you begin slowly sinking downwards, his face reddening.

The lamp from the corner of the room bathes his body in a warm, radiant glow, the soft shadows contouring his toned physique. The low lighting made each ink stroke on his chest appear more crisp. 

You pause when you’re face-to-face with the light trail of hair leading straight downward from his naval.

The happy trail.

Such an appropriate name.

You can’t help but trail your pointer finger along the path, barely skimming the sparse hair and warm skin beneath. Goosebumps form under your gentle touch. Bruno’s eyes dart back and forth, wholly captivated by the scene playing in front of him. 

He feels a tug on his belt when you hook your finger around it, pulling it out of the buckle before haphazardly tossing it to the floor. It emits a light jingle. His breath catches in his throat when one of the hands unzipping his trousers “accidentally” brushes against his hard cock. 

Oops.

A playful smile stretches across your face; your hand returns to the sensitive spot, your palm teasingly grazing him. You hear a loud swallow. 

“Need me to take care of that~?“

“Please,” he practically begs, a slight tremble in his voice.

The air around you has grown oppressively hot and stuffy. The stiff humidity forms beads of sweat on your face—but neither of you is phased by this discomfort. (Not that it would have mattered because you knew Bruno wouldn’t dare crack a window open. Nothing escapes this room.)

In that moment you notice that the room was silent, the final track of the vinyl record had finished only moments ago. Bruno’s heavy pants are the only thing you can hear.

His trousers crumple to the floor; you slowly pull the front of his waistband downward until it’s barely covering him. You lean in, bringing your lips not an inch away from him. A musky mix of pheromones and light sweat fills your nose. His cock twitches as your warm, humid breath kisses the newly-exposed skin.

You hear a shuddery gasp when you flatten your tongue and press it against him. His trembling hand reflexively covers his mouth, muffling the pleasured whimper he emits as you slowly make your way up that beautiful trail, savoring every salty inch.

His stomach suddenly jumps, and he lets out a surprised groan when the palm of your hand meets his clothed cock. A small, wet spot forms when your hand makes soft, slow circles around his head.

“Merda,” he hisses. He forcefully bites his lip, the skin where his teeth meet it having turned white. 

He’s a complete wreck by the time your tongue reaches the end of the trail, his sweat-covered body trembling in shock. Turning him into a pathetic mess was never a difficult task.

You hook your pointer finger around his waistband, stretching the elastic toward you. It’s the only thing left covering him. Desperation burns within Bruno’s eyes, and he waits with bated breath as he anticipates your next move.

”I’ll be putting my mouth ri~ght here.”

Thanks for the ask!! <3 by god what a thought, I appreciate you for inspiring me!! 💕 Happy trails are like…. one of my top five favorite parts of the human body…

Oh, and I appreciate your kind words, too. 💕 Hope you enjoyed the ficlet!!