Web of Passione

“It’s a shame, their gelato is fairly good.”

Your eyes crinkled at your smile. “Aw, thank you so much. At least you ordered some so maybe I can steal it off your plate.”

“No.”

“I’ll trade you some panna cotta even if it is cannibalism.”

“You must stop stealing jokes from Narancia before you begin devolving into him.”

You laughed a little loudly and glanced around to ensure nobody glared at you for it. Thankfully, the only other table that had been occupied upon your entrance had made their way out, leaving your couple alone in the sweet little restaurant.

Through the windows, the ocean fell against a dark shore – playing a melody alongside the soft songs drifting through the speakers.

“I love how sweet this place is,” you mused. “It’s so quaint.”

“Ironically, it’s one Mista dragged me to with an idea of ‘trying new things’ but he’s got a strange talent at finding small restaurants.”

“Maybe that’s what the Pistols are meant to do and kicking bullets is a secondary hobby.”

Fugo tilted his head to the side and sipped at his drink. “If that were true, it would make them a little less useless.”

You held a hand to your heart in mock offense for the small creatures. Fugo didn’t mean it with true harshness though they had been making annoyances of themselves of late by refusing to eat and getting into bad moods from it. You wondered if it had caused or been caused by the strange mood Mista was in.

But rather than thinking of why the Pistols had grown uncooperative as of late, you focused more on the desserts being placed before you.

Your panna cotta was adorable, set out with coulis and strawberries decorating the plate. You popped one into your mouth and almost immediately regretted it, eyes watering from the bitterness.

“Something wrong?”

You shook your head. “Strawberries aren’t really the sweetest.”

“That’s your fault for buying them out of season.”

With a sigh, you snuck your spoon forward to steal some of Fugo’s gelato trio. He had three different flavours and you needed to try at least some of each. “Who even came up with panna cotta?”

He smacked your spoon away with the back of his own. “I have no idea.”

“Really?”

The look he fixed you with could slice through the air. “What, do you think because it’s my name, I should know everything about it?”

“Not because it’s your name. Because you’re ridiculously smart and know everything.”

A slight pink coloured his cheeks at your compliment and you smiled in triumph – taking advantage of his momentary embarrassment to steal a scoop of gelato from his plate. He wouldn’t truly mind sharing.

“As strange as this may seem, the history of random desserts didn’t appear in my textbooks nor did it ever interest me enough to read up on it by myself. Especially not when it came to desserts I don’t even like.”

His expression turned to disgust as he looked down at the poor panna cotta on your plate, still sitting relatively untouched. You picked at another strawberry and considered asking for sugar before giving up and shoving it into your mouth. Just as bad as the last one, this one made you pull a slight face.

“If I was named after a dessert, I wouldn’t mind it being panna cotta.”

“It’s got no actual taste. The toppings do all the work.”

“Isn’t that true for almost every dessert though?”

You waited for Fugo to answer, meeting his gaze almost teasingly as you swiped another mouthful of his gelato. You knew his dislike had to run deeper than something merely tasting bad, he’d tried far worse dishes for far less pushing. You’d even witnessed him attempting to eat Bucciarati’s pasta, made when said man operated on less than an hour of sleep.

Not even Narancia finished that.

Fugo sighed and leaned over the table to take one of your strawberries, explaining, “Panna cotta is my mother’s favourite food. She had it served for us so often I grew exhausted of it. It never came out properly.”

“Fair.”

“And obviously the ridiculous and unending teasing about my name doesn’t make me any fonder of it.” His agitation at the thought had raised but found itself immediately quelled when he took a bite of the strawberry, shock softening any irritation. “That’s awful. Why are you eating those?”

You took the strawberry from his hand and popped it into your mouth, smiling around the wincing. “Because being in your company is sweet enough for me.”

He shook his head and shoved his gelato more into the center of the table. “I’m telling you; panna cotta always has something wrong with it. Either the texture or the toppings or… something.”

“You’re pretty close to perfect.”

“If you’re willing to ignore my stand’s existence.”

You fixed him with the most unimpressed look you could manage while trying not to cringe from a strawberry. “Purple Haze is one of my favourite stands in existence. Don’t be mean to him.” You broke into the pudding, surprised to find it quite gritty and plain.

“How is it?”

Choosing not to admit he was right, you glanced up at him with a coy grin. “I’ve tasted better panna cotta before.”

“I thought I told you to stop stealing jokes from Narancia.”

You covered your mouth to avoid laughing panna cotta over the table. “This place’s food is far better than their desserts. I’ve had good panna cotta before at this one restaurant if you’d like to try it. Or I can make you some.”

Fugo thought about it for long enough that you knew what his answer would be. “I’ll come with you and try something else. We’ll bring Narancia so you can learn some new jokes.”

“I wonder if you dislike it so much, would Purple Haze also?”

He glanced at you, humoured. “You want to feed it food?”

“I want to try.”

Fugo glanced around the restaurant casually, as though looking for something. The building stood mostly empty and, at this hour, you doubted anybody paid the waiters enough to focus on anything. They stood toward the far back of the kitchen, focused on their phones and waiting for you to call them if you needed anything.

You didn’t expect Purple Haze to appear beside your table, a swirling violet vortex running along the ground and over your feet.

“Panna?”

Though Fugo looked a little pained, he shrugged as casually as he could manage. “Nobody’s close enough to get hurt if he goes crazy and he’s always seemed fine with you. As long as you’re okay with this?”

“I’m just worried about whether or not you’re okay with it.”

“I wouldn’t have brought him out if I wasn’t.”

You nodded slowly, drawing your attention back to the stand. Fugo never brought Haze out unless he absolutely had to. This level of trust felt almost surreal. Trust in both him and you to handle any situations.

But you now recognised a problem you hadn’t thought of earlier.

Purple Haze couldn’t try any food with his mouth sewn shut. He stared down at you with curious eyes, remaining perfectly still as the disease cloud churned around his silhouette. You noticed a small bit of drool on the side of its mouth and quickly grabbed a serviette to help the oddly fussy stand.

“He’s not going to be able to eat anything,” you said. “I forgot about the stitches.”

They ran so deep. You winced even thinking about the concept of stitching your mouth closed though Fugo assured you neither he nor Purple Haze could experience any sort of pain from them. At least he had a mouth unlike some other stands.

Still, you ran your fingers over the stitches softly, appreciating how the stand’s often frantic breathing seemed to calm beneath your ministrations.

When you sat back down, it was impossible not to notice the slight flare of red on Fugo’s face. “Are you alright?”

“It’s a strange sensation,” he acknowledged. “I used to never feel any sensations from people touching him. Now it’s always there, faintly.”

“Really?”

Purple Haze made a small noise and disappeared almost immediately after; its user still weary about having it out in public places. You couldn’t help feeling satisfied that you’d gotten to see him at all – remembering how little you used to even acknowledge his existence when you first started seeing stands.

“Thank you for letting me try, Panna.”

Fugo shrugged. “I knew you’d forgotten about the mouth. Now stop pretending to enjoy that and just eat your half of the gelato.”

For a while, they stared at each other and you were about to answer when Giorno spoke, voice quiet.

“Bucciarati, there’s no use in pretending that anybody could be involved with us but not the life we lead. By trying to keep things secret and hidden, we’re just making it more dangerous.”

“Also, I want to assist where I can.” Your words went ignored.

“Things being kept secret is how the entire organization works. People who go digging for information rarely end up finding it.”

“Then that’s why we should provide it so nobody has to go looking,” Giorno urged.

You cleared your throat louder than needed. It hurt but it also managed to get both of their eyes on you. They both turned as though remembering that you had been in the kitchen cooking with Giorno before the discussion had even begun.

Bucciarati had been colder towards everybody lately, growing worse until even Abbacchio had made a comment about his harshness. Giorno, on the other hand, had become clingier and stuck to your side no matter what was happening even if it inconvenienced him.

“I want to know things,” you explained, mainly speaking to Bucciarati. “I live here, I see what you guys come home with, I watch you work until you’re exhausted. There are things I can help with that don’t have to put me in danger.”

His eyes softened a little. “It will. You might not think the information shared with you is worth anything but there will be those willing to kill for it.”

“If they think I have information, they’ll kill me regardless of if I know it or not,” you explained.

The words soured in your stomach but you managed to keep your voice steady. This was a discussion you’d had before in your mind. It wasn’t going to back down now.

“I don’t mean to undermine you,” Giorno said. “And I’m not trying to win affection over you.”

“I don’t think that you are.”

But he worried it was happening regardless. Bucciarati liked being needed, he liked being adored even if he pretended that it wasn’t true. He worried about Giorno stealing away the affection you had for him with the offer of everything you wanted. It was a fear he held very close to his heart.

“Bruno,” you said. “I understand why you don’t want me to get involved in any Passione business but that’s a price I’ve already chosen to pay. There’s no backing out of it now.”

“There is,” Bucciarati corrected.

“No, there isn’t. Not for me.”

He met your eyes, trying to see through the cracks in what you were saying and seeking the flaws in what you wanted. When he saw nothing there, he sighed and leaned back against the counter. “You say you understand but I often don’t think that you do.”

Giorno met his gaze and you saw a flicker of uncertainty dart through the blond’s expression before he broke the staring match in favour of whatever he was cooking. You could hardly remember what it was anymore.

“Even with what little I know Giorno has shared with you, as a capo, it should be my duty to either recruit you or have you killed,” Bucciarati explained. “The former, of course, would require you going through a Passione entrance test and with Polpo no longer around, I would need to come up with something else or get a message to the boss.”

“It’s really nothing important.”

“It’s important enough.”

You knew that it was dangerous. It wasn’t like you didn’t see the injuries they brought back from a bad job. You worried about them daily.

“Bruno,” you urged, standing up and walking closer. “I know that it means I have to be extremely careful. But knowing what I’m doing is for the better. When that stand attacked Giorno and I the other week, imagine how worse things would be if Mista hadn’t shown me how to use that gun.”

“You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“It was only a matter of time before I saw a dangerous stand.”

Bucciarati shook his head. “True or not, that doesn’t take away the problem. You have no idea how many rats I see daily. People who think they can win favour by sharing information on others. How long is it until another capo realises my own team is too close and tells higher ups?”

You frowned, looking towards Giorno and the burned food that he was attempting to save. “But then, I wouldn’t be the only one in danger?”

“No, you aren’t but you are one of the few who can avoid facing the worst of it.” He glanced towards Giorno. “And you’re easily the most vulnerable. Even Moody Blues can be used to buy time but without a stand, it’s unreasonable to think you’d survive.”

“From what I’ve heard about some of the higher ups of Passione and their stands, I don’t think I’m the only one vulnerable to them.”

That stopped Giorno from trying to scrape blackened egg from the bottom of the pan. “I haven’t spoken to you about that?”

“Uh… the Pistols are often not too sure about what they should and shouldn’t say.”

Bucciarati sighed and it was so exhausted that you wanted little more than to hug him even if he didn’t look like he was too open towards being touched at the moment.

“It seems everybody’s made a habit out of telling you things that you’re not meant to know,” he said.

Giorno forced himself to put the pan down and you watched him drag his attention away from it. Arguments of any kind stressed your blonde partner but he mostly kept it well hidden. The altercation had mellowed but that was allowing him to relax the tenuous control over his façade.

“If you’ve decided it’s too dangerous and you can’t continue with this kind of risk, that’s understandable,” he said, turning to fully face Bucciarati.

“But there’s no solution that wouldn’t be painful for everybody,” Bucciarati said. “Can’t you see the situation you’ve created? This kind of choice…”

There was a problem that lay between them, deeply embedded into the way they had always interacted with one another. One that you had spoken about in passing to Abbacchio but only realised now the level of tension it could actually create.

“If the two of you would speak to each other and find common ground instead of fighting for control all the time, maybe it would be easier to understand,” you pointed out, cutting Giorno off before he could respond.

The silence that fell across the kitchen was deafening.

“Look, I made it worse,” you admitted. “When I found out that Giorno would give me what I wanted, I took full advantage of that instead of speaking to you. I’m sorry, Bruno. Really, I am.”

His attention fell to the floor. “I sometimes forget that I can’t, or at least, I shouldn’t control your involvement.”

“We’re all at fault,” Giorno said. “I knew it would upset you both in the end but I didn’t allow that to stop me even though it should have.”

There was an awkward pause, punctuated only by the awfully strong smell of something burning.

“Perhaps we can order dinner,” Bucciarati eventually said. His eyes drifted to the smoking husk of what had once been the meal of choice. “And apologise to everybody who’s pretending not to be listening in on our conversation.”

“I’ll feed this to the Pistols then,” Giorno said, gesturing to the pan.

As though their name alone summoned them, the tiny stands shot into the kitchen to see whatever food had been set aside for them. They didn’t mind eating something burned but they would certainly complain about it. In that regard, they were extraordinarily similar to Mista.

Narancia, despite having this done to him multiple times before, genuinely got caught off guard every time. “Woah… wait, seriously?”

The waitstaff took your coat, undoubtedly looking at the eyebags under your eyes but far too professional to stare. They couldn’t help but watch Giorno nervously despite this. The blonde’s regal expression was a little too crafted for even you to feel completely comfortable around him.

You had seen the restaurant before, normally packed full of customers in the early evening. Unfortunately, somebody had gotten on Passione’s bad side.

The entire location had been cleared out except for a beautifully set table in the center of the room. Beautiful chandeliers hung from the ceiling, draping the opulent hall with a glinting light that made everything feel almost too expensive to come near.

And yet, you were led directly into the middle of it all and offered a seat across from somebody who fitted into it perfectly.

“A warning would have been nice,” you teased.

“But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.”

Narancia ran his fingers through his hair and grinned excitedly at everything around him. “This is awesome. Was this like the day-late fee?”

“Exactly.”

The waiter decided you were the most comfortable person and spoke almost entirely to you, eyes only occasionally darting to your two partners. It was a fair decision in your mind given the coldness that radiated from Giorno the moment somebody approached and the way Narancia was playing with his pocketknife.

Orders given, you placed your chin atop your folded hands and smiled at Giorno. “So, is this how your day went?”

“After organizing this, it was pretty boring,” he admitted. “I had hoped the others might also join us but you two were the only ones home.”

“Probably for the best,” Narancia laughed. “Else this place would be losing a lot of money.”

“Oh, they already are. It’s the dinner rush after all.”

You glanced over your shoulder, making eyes with an anxious hostess who immediately dropped her eyes to the menu. Surely, the customers that had had bookings here were unimpressed. You only hoped they didn’t take it out on her.

Narancia lightly kicked your ankle to get your attention. “Why’re you frowning?”

You blinked back, focusing on his and then Giorno’s worried expression. “Nothing, don’t worry about it. I’m just really tired.”

“Perhaps we can make this another night then?” Giorno said. He lifted his gaze as though to summon somebody who would undoubtedly move your plans.

You shook your head. “Oh no, don’t worry about it. It’s okay. This is amazing Gio, thank you.” You reached out to take his hand, interlacing your fingers with his own and smiling. “It’s probably just the music.”

The song playing was awfully dreary but exactly what you would have expected from a restaurant like the one you were in. Slow and relaxing so as to not annoy any customers.

But your comment clearly sparked something and Narancia pushed back from the table, heading directly for the nearest staff member.

“What do you think he’s going to have put on?” you mused.

“Something nobody would willingly listen to otherwise.”

It wasn’t actually as bad as you’d anticipated but the moment you heard the grungy hip hop begin, you couldn’t help but laugh. The fancy restaurant, waiters in suit and tie, starters you hadn’t even heard of before, and the kind of music you’d hear at one in the morning from an abandoned building. It was perfect.

Narancia was singing along when he dropped back into his seat, right in time for starters to be placed before you.

Giorno stole some venison from your plate while you were distracted. His innocent smile wasn’t half as convincing as he thought it was but, despite that, he refused to let you try his lobster which was all fine because Narancia managed to sneak a bite away from him when he was distracted.

After Narancia decided he didn’t want his bass crudo, the rest of your carpaccio was lost in an unfair trade.

“If neither of you wanted raw food, you shouldn’t have ordered it,” Giorno hummed.

“I didn’t know it was raw,” Narancia complained.

“It’s in the name of the dish?”

You, on the other hand, was fully aware that your dish was raw but the amount of rocket they’d added to the top was enough to make your eyes water.

The waitstaff only seemed to grow more nervous. The hip hop and the laughter from your table was completely out of their element. You didn’t know if they’d been expecting some kind of gang meeting but it likely wasn’t a joint attempt at seducing Giorno into giving away some of his duck when it arrived.

He didn’t fall for it once.

There was something almost funny about how awake you were by the time desserts were brought out. Good food and better company had been quick to draw your attention back into the waking world.

Dessert was the one thing Giorno hadn’t allowed for individual orders on. Instead, platters were brought out to allow each of you to taste everything on the menu.

Mousse, panna cotta, various ice creams, and more that you genuinely knew you would never be able to finish. You met his eyes across the table and giggled at the way he was smiling.

“Don’t worry, if you explode, I’ll be able to put you back together with Gold Experience.”

The waiter frowned at nothing, confusion darkening his brow as he finished laying out the last plates before hurrying away.

“It would be quite scary,” you mentioned. “To see things just turning into flowers or plants and not understand why.”

“Not as scary as losing your arm and still feeling it,” Narancia chuckled. “And there’s no blood either. Oh, or when it starts unravelling slowly from the wrist up. You should hear –“

“Narancia,” Giorno interrupted. “I don’t think Bucciarati will be too happy with you talking about that.”

Narancia shrugged. “He won’t be happy we’re here at all.”

Giorno had become the way to get around rules that Bucciarati put into place for the group. He wasn’t the capo but he had Bucciarati’s ear in a way that few others had, allowing him to get away with far more than they could. He pushed it though by doing things like this. There was a reason he’d chosen the night when most higher ups were busy.

Giorno frowned a little. “I’m sure he’ll understand it’s a simple dinner.”

“Simple?” Narancia laughed.

You had to agree there. This was the sort of restaurant you could wait months for a booking to attend and still not be guaranteed anything. And yet, you were listening to grainy and moderately offensive music during their peak hours.

“Don’t look so worried Gio,” you teased. “Bruno will be fine.” You leaned across the table to steal the nectarine slices from his cheesecake. “Especially if we bring him some of this.”

“You have your own.”

“But it tastes better stolen.”

Narancia seemed to agree because he plucked the sugar nest from your plate while you were busy defending your mousse. You tried to advantage of Giorno’s distraction only to yelp when your fork turned into a mouse.

It dropped onto the table with a ridiculous clatter of expensive cutlery and then bolted for the kitchen.

Narancia howled with laughter as the waitstaff screamed and dodged out of its way. You stared wistfully after it, even as the clatters of pots being thrown filled the kitchen. Now how were you meant to try your desserts?

“That’s rude,” you sighed.

You met the eyes of the waiter and realised you now had an answer to your question. Gold Experience’s abilities must have been truly terrifying if his expression was anything to judge by.

“Here,” Narancia said, holding up a bite of his own dessert. “We can share.”

Then his spoon turned into a very unimpressed lizard and you both stared at it until it clambered under the table, pudding still dripping from its head.

Drenched and muddy, Abbacchio stalked through the front door, holding it open for you before he tossed what he’d collected on the counter and vanished up the stairs.

Bucciarati stepped out in time to see the dark coat disappear from sight. His expression drifted to you and he smiled. “The weather today has been abysmal, hasn’t it?”

Your shoes squelched as you took them off. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet before.”

“Oh? We can remedy that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe after coffee.”

Bucciarati joined you in the kitchen, showing you a new blend he’d found and fetching a towel to gently dry your hair. When a drop of water ran down your skin, he’d lean in close to follow the path with his tongue, making you shiver every time.

Eventually, you just turned and kissed him, enjoying the way he laughed against your mouth at the impatience.

He made three mugs without even asking and you both walked upstairs, listening to the rain as it pounded against the windows. It was a beautifully relaxing melody and you knew Giorno would be extremely happy about it.

“Coffee,” Bucciarati said as he opened the door, almost humming the word.

Abbacchio didn’t turn away from where he was staring out the window, a puddle of water gathered at his feet. “With how today’s going, it’s more likely to end up in my lap.”

“At least you’ll be kept warm then,” Bucciarati responded. He placed the mug down on the windowsill before gesturing for you to sit alongside him on the bed. “And how did today go? I wasn’t expecting both of you to be back together.”

You waited for Abbacchio to respond with his ‘fine’ before explaining. “We bumped into each other while walking and I thought I could tag along. I didn’t see anything too out of place but we did bump into some officers who were doing… something. It probably wasn’t anything to worry about.”

“It wasn’t,” Abbacchio agreed. “Just trying to get something from petty thieves.”

The one thing Bucciarati had been alright with you doing was keeping a general eye on things. You weren’t easy to associate with him and so, you could see things that would be hidden from the others.

“Good,” he said, the praise doing something to your stomach. “Recognisable ones?”

Abbacchio grunted in acknowledgement. “Two that you already know.”

Presumably on Passione’s payroll then. You never got much detail about Abbacchio’s past career but you often wondered if it bothered him to see just how many officers were corrupt now that he was working with the organisation.

A flash of lighting illuminated the room. Abbacchio looked like an actor standing in the middle of a dramatic movie scene. His sharp features were beautifully shadowed by the weather, makeup smudged across his face. There was a dullness to his eyes as he watched the clouds pass, expression inattentive.

“Leone?” you asked. “Should we go?”

Abbacchio didn’t answer at first though his attention did turn to you. He seemed to think about it for a while before he walked over to where you were sitting. “No,” he said. He brought a hand to the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in your hair and tilting your head up. “Stay.”

His lips were freezing as they pressed against your own. He held you steady, tongue pushing its way into your mouth. Still tainted by the fire he usually kissed with; it wasn’t long before your lungs were burning for air.

Bucciarati took the mug from your hands, his soft chuckle a reminder that he was still there.

Abbacchio’s hair, even when wet, was like a waterfall made of silk. You tangled your fingers in it as you leaned back, pulling him with you onto the bed.

He broke the kiss and you needily drunk in the air you’d been deprived of. Abbacchio’s hands slipped under your skirt, seeking out your core while he trailed attention across your throat and chest.

His name came out as a moan, soft and desperate.

You encouraged him down to your lips again, eager to lose yourself in their silky taste of his mouth. When he next broke the kiss, he whispered something against your mouth but cotton had filled your ears and you could think of little else.

His fingers brushed your panties to the side, dipping into your burning center. The chill of his skin drew a muffled moan from you. Your grip on his hair only grew tighter and you almost forgot not to pull. But then there was a pause and your entire body became cold as he moved away.

The effect of Bucciarati’s touch was instantaneous. Abbacchio leaned into it heavily, even though it now moved him away from you. He could lose himself in those bright blue eyes and he nearly did, drowning in their depths as he stared up.

“You’re so eager to please when you’ve had a bad day,” Bucciarati hummed.

Abbacchio didn’t respond, his gaze turning downcast as though he’d been reprimanded for it. He straightened up further, eyes closing as Bucciarati continued to caress his hair.

It was easy to pick up on what the capo was wanting now that your senses weren’t being clouded. You pulled your skirt down and shifted so you were kneeling nicely on the bed instead of sprawled across it.

“Why don’t we try a different method of making you feel better?” you agreed.

Abbacchio looked like he wanted to argue; he likely wouldn’t have been interested if it were you alone. Yet, when Bucciarati leaned down to kiss him, you watched him come undone.

The rain outside nearly masked the soft sound that escaped from your normally stoic partner. The desperation in that noise alone made you want to kiss him until you chased whatever thoughts plagued his mind. Bucciarati was already trying to do that however so you busied yourself with something else.

Abbacchio’s skin was cold against your lips as you chased the water droplets down their paths, pulling off any fabric that impeded you. The slight salty taste was almost like caramel, drawing you in again and again for more.

“Allow us to look after you Leone?” Bucciarati asked.

You paused, breath causing goosebumps where it hit his skin while you waited for an answer. It wouldn’t be the furthest you’d gotten before Abbacchio had asked you to leave.

But not this time. This time, he pulled Bucciarati back down by his suit, almost growling out a response in a voice that sent shivers down your spine.

The gasp it pulled from Bucciarati was almost a loss of control on the capo’s part but he managed to keep his control. Perhaps one day you could team up on him instead but for now, you focused your attention back on Abbacchio.

It was hard not to nip or bite but you stuck with open-mouthed kisses and small licks as you continued your work.

A zip interrupted you halfway, leaving you all unburdened by the damp clothing that had been slowly ruining the sheets.

“I was busy,” you grumbled.

Bucciarati hummed in a way that said he’d done you a favour before giving your chin a small tap, letting you know to take over. He sunk to his knees, settling between Abbacchio’s legs and licking a line up his thighs.

You took a second to appreciate the way Abbacchio’s eyes darkened before you kissed him, lucky enough to capture his deep groan in your mouth. Even with the distraction of Bucciarati, you found yourself fighting to be in control of the kiss. Abbacchio huffed proudly when you eventually relented, sound cutting off into a small grunt halfway through.

There was a slight frustration in the way he kissed you. The irritation of the day seeped through into a bruising touch that ran across your back and hips.

His breathing sped up as your fingers trailed across his stomach, tracing the delicious lines and promising to eat something off them one day. Your nails dug into the sensitive skin of his hips, drawing more stuttering breaths from him.

A tap to your side and you withdrew entirely.

Bucciarati had moved you away at an amazing time. Abbacchio’s head tilted back, hair falling beautifully behind him. His eyes were closed, knuckles turning white from their grip on the sheets as he restrained himself from thrusting against Bucciarati’s mouth. You knew exactly how hard that was and it sent a bolt of arousal through your body.

Right before he could reach his peak, Bucciarati withdrew and returned his focus back onto Abbacchio’s thighs. He bit back his protest at the denial, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he spiraled back down.

“Tesoro.” Bucciarati’s voice was a sweet contrast to Abbacchio’s deeper sounds but it carried an underlying command that was getting to you.

“Yes?” You sounded like you had just run a marathon and, honestly, it felt like you had.

“Do you think Leone would prefer it if I rode him or if you did?”

Abbacchio made a choked sound. His eyes had opened once more, darting between both of you with a lust-filled gaze.

“I’m not sure,” you said, making a point to ignore the growing slick between your legs that was begging you to be selfish. “You are better at it than I am.”

Bucciarati’s eyes glinted with the praise though he didn’t seem to entirely agree with it. “And you’re willing to sit there and watch?”

“If you want me to.”

Abbacchio groaned as Bucciarati did something with his tongue. You pressed your thighs together but dared not to shift around more without being given permission. This wasn’t for you anyway.

So, you watched, trying your hardest not to let the desire get overwhelming and failing miserably. How could you not have? You were squirming even before Bucciarati sunk down in Abbacchio’s lap in a perfect lotus. They were a beautiful contrast in almost every way, especially when their foreheads pressed together and their hair curtained them from the outside world.

By the time Bucciarati began to move, his body lithe and gorgeous as he rolled his hips down, you were already long gone.

His tattoo was honestly mesmerizing, almost rippling as he worked.

Your nails bit into your thighs. Was this some form of punishment? Surely it had to be. Your entire body was shaking, the ache not going away with any slight shifting of your thighs that you thought you may get away with.

Abbacchio’s continued glances towards you, followed by small sounds every time, made it far worse.

“Nobody said you had to be quiet,” Bucciarati reminded you.

You took the cue, allowing the words to fall from your thoughts and into the air. Abbacchio’s control slipped more and more with every compliment you paid him, his lips parting each time you mentioned the roaring lust in your chest and just how jealous you were of Bucciarati at the moment.

“Do you see?” Bucciarati murmured, so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it.

Abbacchio had to swallow before he could respond, clearly trying to force his brain to clear up a little and respond. “You’re both ridiculous,” he managed.

“Perhaps but still…” Bucciarati’s eyes met yours. “Even just watching you is enough for some.”

You whimpered a little, asking for permission with the most desperate look you could manage. It didn’t even take that much effort. The moment Bucciarati inclined his head, you released your death grip on your legs and slipped a hand to your core.

It took you only a few seconds to bring yourself over the edge.

The sinful noises caused by the electricity dragging through your body were swiftly joined by a grunt as Abbacchio followed, his head buried against Bucciarati’s throat. Your legs were shaking as you came down in time to watch Bucciarati’s eyes fluttered closed, even his orgasm controlled thanks to his mood.

He immediately gathered up all the papers and closed several tabs on the laptop. You stood and edged towards the entrance, peering through the arch to see if you could catch a glimpse of who Bucciarati was with. Bright blue eyes met your own and, in an instant, you realised you needed to leave.

“Panna, do you think I can climb through the window?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

You could fit if you tried but the heat from outside was enough to convince you to take it on as a last option. Then you had an idea that, quite honestly, was one of the stupidest things you’d done in a while. But it was going to be so much fun.

“Come on,” you urged, grabbing his arm. “I know where we can hide.”

“You’re the only one who needs to.”

“It’ll be less suspicious if our food arrives or something.”

The entirety of Libeccio was open to your exploration and when you had a day to spare once with Narancia, you’d learned that there was a tiny room connected to the VIP section where you often sat. It was used for storage of extra chairs and the like but it was never opened during operating hours.

Fugo’s expression was incredulous when you opened the door and slipped inside, accidentally hitting your hip on the edge of a stacked chair.

“Perhaps your window idea has some merit.”

Before he could continue, Bucciarati’s voice rolled in from just beyond the door. You pulled Fugo into the glorified closet on instinct, shutting the door tightly behind you and locking all the light from the room. His knees bumped into yours and the chair stacks wobbled threateningly as you both struggled to not fall over.

Fugo braced himself against one of the tables. His arm wrapped around your waist to steady you and there was a moment of absolute silence as you took in just how tightly you were pressed against him. If you shifted the smallest amount, you would be grinding against his thigh.

“What were you thinking? This is –”

But you didn’t get a chance to respond before Bucciarati was speaking again from the room, his voice smooth. “It appears we missed my team. I apologise but this is something that can be expected with unexpected meetings.”

The man who responded sounded croaky, like an ancient chain smoker. You didn’t pay much attention to his words. It felt strangely intrusive.

Fugo shifted slightly, his hip bumping into something that made a rather loud creak. You gestured for him to keep it down though he likely couldn’t see anything.

“One person fits in here far better than two.”

His voice startled you a little. Closer than expected, the slight irritated twinge in an otherwise silky and rumble voice was enough to get your heartrate up. He had to be thinking something along those lines though, right? Nobody got stuck in a closet and didn’t.

“Panna –“

“No. Bucciarati would kill us.”

You didn’t agree in the slightest. Even though Bucciarati was a little on edge lately, this was exactly the kind of thing he would suggest in the first place.

Maybe not with a threat outside the door but that part with negotiable.

Fugo’s chest was pressed tightly against yours and the temptation to run your fingers across his skin was immense. “You know, if I was on my knees, we might even have more space,” you teased.

“What? No, you’re not… no.”

Flustered but not upset, you’d learned by this point how to read when Fugo was alright with something. You sighed and leaned back as much as you could to try and give him enough space to breath.

“So…”

“We should stay quiet,” Fugo muttered. “If we get caught, there’ll be trouble.”

You made a sign of zipping your lips though you were fairly certain he couldn’t see it. Like most others (yourself unfortunately included), when it came to risking a disappointed glance from Bucciarati, the stakes turned higher than if there’d been a gun involved. He just had a natural talent for making people want to please him.

You moved a little when your leg started getting a little sore. The boredom was getting to you and the restaurant hadn’t decided to waste money by putting an air conditioner in a storage room.

After far too long sweating, you pulled your shirt off and dropped it on the floor. It didn’t help much but it was something.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s hot, Panna.”

“So you’re getting undressed? What would somebody think if they opened the door right now?”

“Something a little more expected than two people shoved fully-dressed into a closet honestly.”

Fugo grumbled something that you didn’t hear and you contemplated taking your bra off also before deciding better of it.

You tried to lean back again but your back bumped into the tower of furniture. The unexpectedly loud creak startled you. Fugo’s hands caught your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. Your heart thudded, strong enough that you were sure he could feel it.

There was a deathly silence as you listened to hear if it had caught the attention of anybody outside.

The conversation didn’t lull and you let out a shaky breath.

Fugo’s lips brushed yours, a barely-there touch to feel where you were before he kissed you properly. Your surprised sound got lost in the space between you. His hands ran along your sides, leaving pebbled flesh beneath them.

It took you no time to rid him of his tie with well-practiced movements. His jacket gave you more trouble so you slipped underneath it instead.

As he unclipped your bra, the cupboard door was zipped open.

“I was going to tell you it’s safe to step out now but if you’d rather stay in here…”

Giorno’s hair was a mess and his subconscious smoothing of it wasn’t helping. He slipped from the bed and Gold Experience emerged softly.

The room felt far more dangerous than before. You could see hundreds of hiding spots where stands or their users may be lurking. Gold Experience was a powerful stand but if something caught you off guard, it may not be able to get to you in time.

Giorno closed the balcony doors firmly, the clicking of the lock loud enough to startle you.

“There were footsteps,” he told you. “Stay here.”

You weren’t planning on moving.

It felt like hours passed while he searched the room though the clock disagreed and told you it was only a few minutes. When he flicked the lights on, you winced but nothing came launching from the shadows. Everything was fine.

“Gio,” you whispered, voice still remaining soft as he started looking through the room a second time. “Maybe you dreamed it?”

“No. I don’t… I know when I’m dreaming.”

“Maybe it was somebody in the hall? Like another guest?”

Giorno shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair again. “They were here. Almost right next to the bed.”

Your eyes darted around the room once more, searching for signs of stands. You hadn’t seen many aside from the groups and the ones you encountered in other locations were very rarely there for more than a second. It was very possible that you’d missed one but you hadn’t heard anything. Certainly, footsteps that close would have woken you too? You’d been woken up by less before.

“Let me help,” you said, releasing your death hold on the blanket. This situation felt similar to something you’d experienced once before. “Were they on your side or my own?”

“I don’t know. They were probably in heavy shoes; I could hear the click against the tile.”

You glanced down at the floor with a frown. It was all wooden panelling with carpet around the bed. The only place in the hotel room with tiling was the bathroom that Giorno had already checked.

It was a big space. The footsteps wouldn’t have sounded so close if they were coming from there.

Feeling a little more confident that this wasn’t an actual threat, you got out of the bed and padded across the floor into the bathroom. Giorno was behind you in an instant but it was exactly the same as you’d left it.

“I’ve seen water-based stands before,” he mentioned. “Be careful of the drains.”

You walked to the tap and turned it on, watching the steady stream of water. Nothing strange happened to it.

Sitting on the edge of the bath, you stared up at him with curious eyes. The dredges of sleep still clung to your brain and you had to blink a few times before you could focus. “Do you want to go to a different hotel? I don’t know if any will be open at this time… we could change rooms?”

Giorno stared around the bathroom one last time before he sat beside you. “This doesn’t make sense unless you’re right.”

“About it being a dream?”

“I’ve never had a dream like that before.”

You shrugged and tried to stifle a yawn. “I have like once or twice. Then I just get Nara to look and see if there’s anything around.” You leaned your head against his shoulder. “Maybe you’re just feeling stressed.”

It was that simple movement that made you realise Giorno was trembling. Barely noticeable, his shoulders shook.

That was enough to encourage you to wake up properly.

“Were you having a dream before?” you prompted.

Giorno stood very suddenly, seeming to remember that Gold Experience was still out and hovering near the door. The stand disappeared and he helped you up, cutting off your line of thought neatly. “I’m sorry for waking you. You can get back to sleep and I’ll make sure everything’s alright.”

“How many times have I told you that if you’re not sleeping then I’m not?” you asked. “It’ll take –“

A flicker of movement to your right cut you off and you stumbled backwards as a bolt of solid water shot from the tap. It pierced through where you’d been standing, driving itself into the tiles with a horrific shatter.

Gold Experience was there before you could blink, unleashing a volley of punches on the sink. The porcelain smashed and a clear liquid-like blob leapt from the wreckage, slithering across the floor. It started changing colour in front of your eyes, taking on the texture of the tile beneath it until a punch broke it into pieces.

You waited, holding your breath as the dust settled.

And then the little chips began moving again.

“Move.”

You didn’t even think, following Giorno’s orders in an instant. Your heart leapt into your throat as the pieces began to connect, forcing you to almost hop over them as you bolted out the door. The hotel room was eerily quiet.

Gold Experience’s shout made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Its fierce battle cry was far scarier when you weren’t safe.

You nearly made it to the door before you caught sight of another blob hiding on the wall above. Its colour and papery texture were identical to the wallpaper it clung too. As it jumped, you darted away and its form expanded, wrapping around the air as though it had planned on smothering you.

In hindsight, that was probably its exact plan.

You launched at the bag sitting abandoned on the love seat, digging into it until your fingers wrapped around cool metal.

The gun itself was enough to make your stomach twist but you turned without hesitation and flicked the safety off. The blob had taken on the wooden texture of the bedpost, two large spikes beginning to form but immediately stopping when faced with the barrel.

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to take on all of Mista’s confidence with the weapon.

“Believe me,” you said. “With my stand, this is not going to be fun for you.”

It bought your bluff. There was another stand cry and shattering glass and, for just a second, your attention switched directions.

It launched one of the spikes and you barely managed to move away in time. The wood grazed your side and you pulled the trigger. Every time, you forgot how loud the crack of the weapon was. The bullet lodged directly into the thing, sending splinters of wood in every direction.

Slowly, a silver metal began creeping from its center. You cursed but, before it could do anything, Gold Experience screamed again, over and over, until the thing disappeared in front of you.

You dropped the gun with a clatter – only paying a passing thought to how much further those last stand shouts had been. There was something sticky on your shirt. The red only registered to you after a few seconds of staring down at it.

Dipping the corner of a room towel into the ice bucket, you pressed the cool water to your cut in almost complete disassociation.

Though it wouldn’t be too long before the shock melted away.

When Giorno walked back into the room, his eyes were colder than you’d ever seen them before. They betrayed no emotion as they flicked to your side and the gun lying on the floor.

“Good shot.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, pressing the towel to the cut even as the trickle slowed. “Guess I owe you an apology. You really weren’t dreaming.”

Giorno shook his head. “No, I wasn’t. I wanted his guard to be down and I knew you’d be the best target to draw out an attack. After all, he wouldn’t have any idea that you didn’t have a stand.”

“Could have given me some warning.”

Picking up the gun, Giorno flicked the safety back on and tucked it into its hidden compartment. “It was better that you didn’t know anything. If those things could hear or see, it may have given away that you weren’t a direct threat.” He was still shaking, just a little, his hands showing it obviously.

“Are you alright?” The question was pointless – you already knew the answer – but it was something to say, a way to break the iciness of the room.

“I’m fine. The stands couldn’t match Gold Experience’s speed.”

“I didn’t mean injuries, Giogio.”

He paused before decided against whatever he was going to say. “I wouldn’t have been able to locate him so quickly if you hadn’t shot his stand. Thankfully, it had a more physical nature that carried the damage back.”

You dropped the towel and pulled on a shirt (something you sort of wished you did when you first got up). “Good because I don’t think it did anything else.”

Giorno didn’t respond.

Closing the distance, you wrapped your arms around his waist. His heart was pounding so fast that you thought it may leap from his chest. Still, you closed your eyes and just listened to its rhythm, allowing that to bring you down from your adrenaline high.

It took him a minute before he moved. A minute before the shaking calmed and he buried his face into your hair to remember that you were there. His risk had paid off. He would deal with the situation a little later when he realised the stand user had been concealing himself outside and couldn’t have caused the footsteps.

“Bruno isn’t going to be happy about this,” you acknowledged.

“Neither will the cleaning staff.”

You laughed, sure your fake names were going to an immediate blacklist on the hotel’s system. “Maybe we should check out early? I’m sure I can find us a good restaurant that’s open at two in the morning.”

You were straddling Mista’s thighs, hands fisting in his sweater. The kiss was hungry but Abbacchio could easily spot the slight smile on your face as you fought not to burst into laughter. Your shirt was already being lifted half off; Mista’s playing with your chest creating a ridiculous temptation.

“Could you two not fuck on the couch?”

You broke the kiss to flash him a smirk that was far too cocky. “Not fucking. Yet.”

Mista laughed and took the brief pause to pull your shirt off entirely, throwing it directly at Abbacchio’s head. “The ‘yet’ is the important part there.”

He trailed kisses across your jaw and throat, making you tilt your chin up and arch your back. Soft sounds tumbled from your slightly swollen lips. The beautiful contrast of your skin, pressed flushed with Mista’s as he traced your spine, was intoxicating.

Your eyes flashed to Abbacchio’s, hazy with excitement. “What? You don’t appreciate the free show?”

“Of course, he does,” Mista said against your skin. “Only an idiot wouldn’t.”

Abbacchio changed how he was sitting, turning his body ever so slightly towards the two of you. “And tell me, how does a conversation about soccer players turn into this?”

“Mista’s possessive.”

The man in question chuckled. “Like Abba isn’t way worse.”

You giggled and twisted just a little. “I mean, he’s still just watching. I think he had a change of heart. He doesn’t mind anymore.”

Abbacchio scoffed, unwilling to play. You couldn’t help the brief disappointment that flared when he disappeared back into his music, sinking into the seat with headphones back in place. You pouted as prettily as you could even if he didn’t see it.

“Guido,” you whined. “Your plans suck.”

Mista’s eyes flickered to your partner and he pulled a face. “Thought for sure that would work.” He fiddled with the back of your bra, unclasping it deftly. “Let’s try one more time.”

It landed on Abbacchio’s lap but he didn’t even look to see what it was before brushing it to the side.

“Sorry babe, I tried,” Mista said. He turned his attention to your chest, eagerly lavishing attention across your skin. “Guess you’re going to have to deal with only me. I know it’s the worst, right?”

You giggled and lifted his face up, joining your lips in a kiss.

Mista’s sweater went next (also aimed at Abbacchio although your throw was off and it landed short). “I’ve always thought we should make a deal to walk around the house topless,” you teased, trailing your fingers down his toned stomach. “But then I remember I have stuff to do.”

“Why stop at topless? Clothes are overrated.”

The soccer game switched off and you both startled a little. Abbacchio dropped the remote back onto the counter without a word. He didn’t glance over.

“We could have been watching that,” you muttered.

“No, we couldn’t have,” Mista laughed.

“I can multitask.”

“Liar.”

You leaned into him, leaving red marks to show your path to his waist. He was pressed so deliciously against you. Grinding down was enough to send little flickers of pleasure through your body and you’d been doing that from the moment you dropped into his lap.

“Should we move?” you asked, rocking your hips forward.

“Not yet. I still think we can crack him. Just be as loud as you can.”

There was no need to fake the keen when Mista’s hold on your waist pulled you even further down, his lips finding purchase against your throat and working a dark mark against your pulse. Not one to usually focus so heavily on leaving marks, you knew what that was for. After all, your own little bites had been for the same reason.

A harsh grip on your hair pulled you back, drawing a startled yelp as Mista was suddenly further than you wanted him to be.

Sometimes you thought you’d gotten attuned to Abbacchio’s quieter movement. He often proved you wrong.

Harsh and unimpressed eyes flickered between both of your fevered gazes. Little pinpricks of pain shot through you as the hold on your hair tightened. “Are you telling me that between the two of you, there isn’t any self-control?”

“Didn’t know we needed any,” Mista chuckled. He played with the waistline of your pants.

The hand that wasn’t holding your head back in an achingly good pain, caught Mista’s jaw and forced his chin to the side. Abbacchio’s eyes roamed the mess you’d made of the gunslinger’s neck, appraising the small bruises and bites that littered his skin.

“See something you like?”

Abbacchio moved closer at the tease, hand shifting slightly so it cradled Mista’s throat instead of his jaw. You tried to take advantage of the distraction but you couldn’t shift from Abbacchio’s hold without falling off Mista’s lap. So, you just watched as their lips collided in a fierce, teeth-clashing kiss.

Deciding on a different course of action, your touch dipped lower until you managed to slide Mista’s belt off, palming him through the undoubtedly tight fabric. He groaned loudly and you grinned to yourself.

Abbacchio released your hair to grab your wrist, pulling you away and making you grumble.

“Leone…”

The only response you got was his hold tightening to the point of bruising.

He broke away from the kiss (Mista’s complaint was almost indecipherable). He followed your path and left a bruise for each of your own. You swore he was drawing it out for as long as he could before he finally turned to you.

You had been getting so pent up that you moaned from the softest brush of lips against your throat. Abbacchio kissed Mista’s bite from earlier.

There was a second so long it felt as though an eternity had passed. He hovered close, allowing the anticipation to build in you as he gave little more than light kisses. Then he sunk his teeth into the sensitive area right above your collarbone and your entire body flooded with lightning.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you heard Mista saying something smugly and assumed it was about his plan working. Your wrist was still being held hostage so your nails could only dig into your palms.

It was ridiculous that anybody could do this: set you ablaze with so little effort. You whined and your hips bucked into nothing.

Abbacchio released you far too suddenly.

He pushed you forward, nearly making you headbutt Mista as you slipped back into your spot from before the interruption. The gunslinger chuckled, immediately grinding you against his clothed erection, hands slotting into his favourite position on your hips.

The spot on your neck burned and you gingerly touched it with the tips of your fingers. It hadn’t broken skin but it was close. A pity.

Mista’s own neck was also flushed; the claiming nature of Abbacchio’s attention made you happier than it should have. His marks always stood out even when they weren’t smeared with lipstick. You loved both having them and seeing them decorate the others and you danced your touch across the newest ones.

A kiss against the back of your neck drew a fluttering gasp from you, shifting into a small moan as Abbacchio continued to kiss along your shoulders.

Mista brought your mouth back to his, drinking in your sweet sounds and offering a few of his own as you rocked into him.

“Ridiculously needy, both of you,” Abbacchio grumbled.

You both hummed in acknowledgement, almost perfectly in time. You dissolved into laughter immediately and Abbacchio’s exasperated sigh let you know he didn’t find your synchronising anywhere near as funny.

Mista’s touch finally slipped beneath your skirt, scratching just a little as he teasingly followed the contours of your hips.

The two of you shared a look as he made sure Abbacchio noticed your shirt hadn’t been the first piece of clothing you’d lost. You nearly giggled again until you felt fingers brush across your clit and the humour quickly vanished as the desire bubbled back up.

A harsh grip on your waist dragged you back, forcing you to grab onto Mista to avoid falling face-first into his chest.

He tried to get an understanding of how things were going to play out but received nothing from Abbacchio. It was a good thing he liked going with the flow because that looked like how it was going to be. Your game had changed control in a second and honestly, nobody minded it in the slightest.

Abbacchio lifted your hips a little. He ran a thumb across your core before moving away for a second and replacing it with his cock. He pushed in with an almost lazy movement. The unexpected slowness made the drag far more intense than you expected and your nails bit into Mista’s shoulders.

Mista groaned. Your expression was almost too much but he didn’t dare look away. His hands ran along your sides, drifted across your breasts, and toyed with your nipples. The part of your mouth and your shallow breaths ran straight through him, almost targeting his cock.

Your head started lowering and he caught your chin, encouraging you to keep your face up as Abbacchio’s slow strokes made soft moans fall from your parted lips.

Mista was quickly turning desperate for any kind of friction. He met Abbacchio’s gaze, questioning what he was allowed to do.

His answer was simple: nothing.

But that was fine, Mista supposed. He’d always prided himself on his self-control. Although, most situations didn’t have you being fucked in his lap with his own cock neglected. Your thighs shifted against his in an awfully lewd way.

The red flush on your cheeks was growing and your sounds were turning higher and higher. You met Abbacchio’s thrusts as best as you were able, struggling a little with the slight awkwardness of the position. Mista’s face turned blurry as you were pulled towards the edge, an increase in pace drawing sinful sounds from your chest.

With one last hard thrust, everything came to a stop.

Your heart pounded behind your ears and you keened in frustration as the pleasure was wrenched from your grasp. Abbacchio waited until your breathing was calmer before he readjusted you, the shift of him inside you making you moan.

A solid rock knocked you forward, the new position bringing your mouth to Mista’s red and weeping cock in a deliciously obvious way.

You wasted little time in taking it deeply into your throat; the stretch and taste familiar enough to make you moan from the movement alone. Mista’s deeply satisfied groan encouraged you to start bobbing but the moment you did, Abbacchio’s stopped you with a firm hand in your hair.

He held you there, pushing you down until your nose was pressed to Mista’s skin and tears pinpricked at your eyes.

Abbacchio control was as important as his markings. A way that he showed what was his.

And both you and Mista adored it.

Abbacchio timed your pace to his own, lowering you on Mista at the same time as his thrusts. You worked as best you could with your tongue but the hazy lust was making things difficult to concentrate. Between the sounds you were making and the view, it didn’t take Mista very long to come down your throat.

Abbacchio lifted you off in time to stop you from choking only to increase his own pace, making you spiralled higher and higher until you reached your breaking point.

Everything turned fuzzy as your orgasm hit. Your veins had been lit on fire and all you could think of was him. You dragged Abbacchio down with you, fiercely tight around him and making sounds far too sweet to be ignored. When he released his hold on your hips, you fell forward, practically collapsing across Mista’s lap.

Abbacchio traced his fingers along your spine in the slightest show of affection. He dropped into the spot where he’d been sitting earlier, pulling his headphones back on as if nothing had even happened. As though his lipstick wasn’t smudged beyond any form of deniability.

Pleased, you stretched a little and sat once more, making a show of it. The aches were a welcome reminder of your fun, though you could use a few more.

Mista grinned and tossed his head back on the seat. “Told you it would work.”

“Of course. Don’t you know how good we look together?”

You lifted your hips up and sunk onto Mista’s cock, your fluttering moan higher than usual. He groaned and you glanced toward Abbacchio with a clear invitation.

Narancia laughed and leaned even heavier against your back. “He’ll be fine. If she gets too much, he’ll snap and then storm over here.”

Luckily for both Fugo and the woman in question, Bucciarati noticed and split away from his conversation with the vendor he knew. He slipped easily between the two of them and you both noticed the way the woman’s attention switched instantly. Her expression was painfully obvious as she took in the elegant and poised man.

Narancia cackled and finally stopped putting all his weight against your back. He sat down next to you instead and handed you the rest of his cuoppo. “What do you think it is?”

“It’s the voice,” you said. “Melts anybody he speaks to. He’s also really good at flirting so everybody thinks they’re the only ones in the world.”

Fugo, initially relieved at the woman’s change in attention, seemed to be getting a little more possessive now as she moved closer to Bucciarati.

“Flirting is stupid,” Narancia huffed. “If you want to make out with somebody, just tell them.”

“Wanna make out?” you asked, nudging his shoulder with your own.

He kissed you with such force that your teeth knocked together and you nearly dropped your recently obtained food. You laughed a little into the kiss as you returned it, breaking away before Narancia pushed you over.

“You’re right, that is more efficient,” you joked. “But flirting’s nice. It’s fun.”

“Is that why you and Bucciarati flirt all the time?”

“Exactly. Fun.”

Another glance over told you that Fugo’s jealousy was beginning to show. He was starting to lightly pull on Bucciarati’s arm, drawing his attention away from the flirtatious tourist.

“Alright, tell me what to do,” Narancia said.

“Maybe a bit later when we can flirt with Leone. Start with the hardest target first and all that.”

Bucciarati met your eyes and he inclined his head softly, asking you to come over. The woman’s eyes flickered between him and Fugo, clearly trying to make sense of their relationship but failing greatly.

“Come on,” you said, reluctantly pulling yourself back onto the slightly hot dock. The wood creaked unnervingly – as though you could plunge in at any given moment. “Let’s go and help defuse everything.”

You finished your cuoppo on the way, the salty taste making your lips tingle as you did so. There was a slight hint of chilli that made your lips burn, making you crave some of the soft gelato being sold at the stall nearby. Your mouth watered but you didn’t detour from your mission. Fugo’s face was starting to get a little too red.

“Hi,” you said with a dazzling smile, momentarily confusing the tourist at your appearance.

Bucciarati greeted you sweetly and you grinned back. It would be best to disengage quickly, distracting the woman from them both before Fugo snapped. “Sorry to interrupt but if you need assistance, I’d gladly assist you?”

She glanced over your shoulder at Bucciarati and then back at you. “Oh, it’s really okay, your friend was being quite helpful.”

You turned to Bucciarati, lightly touching his hand as you did so. You brought his knuckles to your lips, lightly kissing them as you did so. “When you’re done, there’s a new flavour of gelato that I would love to try with you. Can I meet you there, bello?”

He lightly touched your bottom lip with his thumb. “Of course. It shouldn’t take too long.”

After establishing him with an easy reason to disengage, your next plan had been to steal Fugo away with light touches.

But Narancia wrapped himself around your blond partner before you could, lowering his gaze in what was undoubtedly meant to be an imitation of your dewy expression. On you, it looked natural and cute but on Narancia, it came off slightly deranged. Especially with how he was batting his eyelashes.

“Oh, cervellone,” he cooed at Fugo. “We should go stand at the edge of the dock and do nothing but watch the sunset.”

You nearly snorted with laughter and even Bucciarati coughed to hide his own chuckle. Fugo’s expression distorted, turning redder than you thought was possible as he glowered down at Narancia.

“What?”

“The sunset is beautiful from here,” Bucciarati agreed. “But you may be standing there for a few hours if you plan on going now.”

You giggled. “Maybe try a cuter nickname, Nara? Like amorino.”

“Dolcezza,” Bucciarati added, lightly caressing your cheek as he said it.

Narancia frowned, not quite seeing what had been wrong with his own word but he rolled with it and quickly referred to a very flustered and confused Fugo as a polpetto which had you laughing into Bucciarati’s shoulder. Narancia was amazing at many things but being romantic wasn’t his strongest talent.

Fugo narrowed his eyes at you. “This seems like a plan of yours.”

You stepped closer to give him a short kiss. “Not at all but isn’t it making you feel a little better… budino?”

Fugo slammed his mouth onto yours, swallowing your teasing laughter in a fire-filled kiss that tasted vaguely like strawberries. You returned it in earnest, though it was always hard to keep up with his bruising pace.

Your arms wound around his neck, back arching just slightly as he pushed closer.

Bucciarati cleared his throat, somehow always managing to keep his presence known even when your attention was wholly devoted to somebody else.

You broke the kiss with Fugo whose temper seemed to have been effectively sated by the action. He still huffed a little when you lightly tapped his red nose and you laughed before disentangling yourself from him.

“Does that also count as fun flirting?” Narancia asked. “Because it seemed a little too Fugo.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You rested a hand on Fugo’s arm to quell his voice a little and tried not to laugh. “It was fun but not flirting. You might be right with your style Nara, it’s more effective.”

“Exactly,” he huffed proudly. Turning to Bucciarati with a grin wide enough to split his face, he employed it masterfully. “Do you want to make out?”

“Later,” Bucciarati said, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “I think we should move before we obstruct the path for too much longer.”

“Oh, and we should probably help your friend – she’s gone, never mind.”

Narancia rolled his eyes. “Obviously she realised these two are ours.”

“I didn’t realise you were the jealous type,” Fugo said, a little too smug for how he was acting earlier. He looked around as though planning on teasing Narancia by initiating conversation with somebody else even though you knew he would never approach a random person unless forced to.

“It’s not jealousy,” you said. “I really do want sorbet and Narancia was practising his flirting.”

“Is that what that was?” Bucciarati asked, his head inclined a little and a small smile playing on his lips.

You sighed and leaned up to give Abbacchio a small kiss, an apology for teasing him when he was already feeling down. He caught your arm, parting your lips and overwhelming you with a response that was bordering on too intense. It felt like it would bruise your mouth and you wanted nothing more in that moment.

By the time you broke the kiss, your lungs were burning for air. Everything had been dragged into a sharp focus. The air against your fevered skin felt electrifying and you wasted no time in kissing Abbacchio again.

And again.

He tasted sweet no matter what you joked about, the lingering flavour of dessert on his tongue. You caught a groan as he dragged you closer; his hold moving to your hips and trapping you in his arms mas though there was anywhere you would rather be.

Being pinned against the wall came as no surprise. Abbacchio loved to have you against surfaces, his frame dwarfing yours as he claimed your senses.

But it was fairly unusual for him to lift you up properly, slotting between your legs and pushing you fully against the chilled tiles. You linked your ankles behind his back and groaned as he shifted you around until he found the best way to fit you together.

“The wall?” you giggled.

“Bed’s occupied,” he responded, claiming your lips again.

Your fingers raked through white strands as you rocked against him. It was ridiculous how strong Abbacchio really was.

You trailed soft bites across his throat while he helped you get rid of your beautifully picked outfit for the day. The soft green fabric had quickly become suffocating and you were happy to finally be rid of it.

“I feel like we should be being more festive,” you teased. “Given that it’s the last big holiday night and everything.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “We’ll pretend we’re under mistletoe if that’s what you really want.”

You rolled your eyes and lightly pushed on his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant.”

Abbacchio kissed you again, gentler than you were expecting. You felt light as air as he caressed your lips. There was a softness you so rarely felt with him – the slight need for reassurance that so often hounded his kisses was gone briefly. A trust he rarely let out, for the others or for you.

He continued to press light kisses across your chest and arms, wherever he could reach while you tilted your head against the wall to just enjoy the attention.

By the time his mouth was back on your own, your entire body was singing. This wasn’t how you expected anything to go but you really didn’t mind surprises.

A soft whimper and the roll of your hips encouraged Abbacchio to return to his usual pace, though with a touch more care. He wasted no time on teasing you, finding purchase and slipping inside with the slightest push.

Your gasp was sweet to the ear. Everything about the position put pressure on the best places; gravity, temperature, and movement all just about bringing you to the edge before Abbacchio had even begun moving.

But when he did… well, seeing stars didn’t even begin to cover it.

Abbacchio leaned his forehead against your own, eyelashes fluttering closed. Without his sounds muffled in your shoulder like they usually were, you found yourself drowning in small pant that felt almost too private for your ears. Your fingers dug into his back as your vision turned white again and again.

His name fell from your lips again and again. You were already so close but you forced yourself to hang on longer. It was difficult when every muscle in your body was wound tight and no movement was quite the same as the one before it.

Abbacchio opened his eyes to meet your own, pinning you with a fire-filled gaze. You came undone lost in his expression.

It wasn’t long before he followed you – your sounds overwhelming and far too sweet for him not to. Your name was a breathy whisper, lost in a sea of noise, but there all the same.

You came to your senses only when he nudged you to get you to unlock your legs from behind his back and lowered you to the ground. It was a good thing you had the wall because your legs nearly gave out beneath you.

“There are better places for this kind of stuff,” Fugo commented.

Abbacchio rarely looked ruffled but even he startled slightly at the unexpected voice. You both turned to the fridge where the blond was busy packing away the leftovers you’d forgotten about.

“It was festive,” Abbacchio sneered.

Fugo raised an eyebrow. “How?”

You quickly scooped up another spoonful of tiramisu, holding it up to Abbacchio’s lips for him to eat. “We’re finishing the desserts.”

You got up, brushing your clothes off with frigid fingers and grinning triumphantly.

It was a beautiful day, even if the temperature was a little on the cold side. If you could get a warm coat on, maybe you could take a walk around –

You were honestly proud of your reaction time and you stepped back just in time to avoid a snowball from your partner. It would have been a really impressive featif he wasn’t completely unfair.

A second and third snowball hit you, one from each side. They stung even through your clothes and you yelped in shock.

The Pistols cheered in victory.

“That’s cheating,” you complained.

Mista gave you a smug look – clearly proud of his deception even though you really should have anticipated the Pistols. “They wanted to be in on the game also,” he defended. “I didn’t ask them or anything.”

Unluckily for him, you knew the Pistols had one glaring weakness.

They were a sentient stand and one of the things they loved doing most was terrorising Mista.

“Whoever hits Guido with the most snowballs will get a kiss!”

“What?!”

The Pistols leapt to respond to your quest. A chance to hit Mista with snowballs and impress you? They literally couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity.

Cold mostly forgotten even as your fingers went numb, laughter and snow both filled the air as you darted around the garden. Everything became a potential barrier as your small team of seven worked in what was honestly, a far from balanced snowball war. Not on your side though… the Pistols aren’t exactly large and it took them forever to create snowballs. Mista’s aim was also ridiculously good.

And, though adrenaline kept you moving for the most part, it couldn’t last forever.

The snow was deep enough for you to tackle Mista without worrying about hurting him and you both hit the ground with little huffs of air knocked from your lungs.

He yelped as your freezing fingers snuck beneath his layers, somehow finding their way to the warm skin of his stomach. The man’s a living furnace – of that, you’ve become convinced more and more with each passing snow day.

“Bella,” he complained, trying to shuffle your hands out. “It’s cold.”

“And you’re so warm,” you argued. “And you threw me out here to begin with.”

Mista shifted around and you braced yourself to be rolled back into the snow but he surprised you by slowly dragging himself up, managing to lift you into the air at the same time.

He got his balance and then started walking you back to the house, shushing the complaining Pistols while he did so.

“Guido?” you asked.

“You’re so cold,” he responded as though that answered everything.

Snow fell from both of you all over the path, following you into the house in a way that would definitely need to be cleaned soon. You still breathed a sigh of relief at the considerable warmth of the house.

You were expecting to be dropped into bed and you buried your face into his throat, wrinkling your nose up when a bit of snow fell out of his hair.

It would be lovely to curl up into the blankets and nap until you were warm again. Or you could turn up the heat and have Abbacchio complain about it again (he didn’t appreciate how warm everything was kept but he lost the majority vote).

But instead, Mista carried you into the ridiculously beautiful bathroom and set you down.

“We’re having a bath?” you asked, running your fingers through your hair to dislodge some of the ice.

Mista grinned, taking your hands to kiss your palms. “I didn’t realise you weren’t wearing anything warm,” he defended. “Now it’s my fault you’re all frozen.”

You were beginning to feel a little stiff so you didn’t complain about the pampering. Mista helped you into the bath, sitting down on the side instead of joining you. He slowly rubbed your aching muscles for an unpractised but still relaxing massage.

You sunk into the water and breathed a sigh of relief. It felt like you were dissolving. The cold melted from your veins and disappeared into the gentle hands of your ever-attentive partner.

“Guido,” you hummed after he moved back to your calf again. “Join me?”

“I will bella,” he promised. “But let me take care of you first.”

You sighed and took your leg away from his hands even though you really, really didn’t want to. “Come on. I don’t want you to be cold either.”

He relented and you shifted around, the water swishing against your body so you could watch the reveal of his ridiculously well-tanned skin. Mista had a natural gift of always looking like he’d just come from a long day at the beach and you never failed to appreciate it. The contrast with the curly, dark hair was picturesque.

You moved forward so he could sit behind you and then you sank against his chest, eyes fluttering closed as he rubbed circles across your hips and stomach.

“I totally won the snowball fight,” you said.

“It was seven against one!”

“Please, the Pistols don’t even count as a single person –“

Both of you were cut off by the door opening and a fairly unimpressed Giorno peering in. His expression softened a little but he still offered an exhausted complaint of, “You both left the downstairs door open. There’s snow everywhere.”

You grimaced. “Sorry Giogio. We completely forgot.”

Mista apologised also before pulling you closer to his chest. “Why don’t you join us?”

Bucciarati paused at the door. You could almost sense the confusion that melted away into excitement as he surveyed the scene before him.

The click of the door closing sent the room into silence and you strained to hear his footsteps as he closed the distance. You would have loved to say something, maybe a teasing greeting, but you remained unable to.

Bucciarati caressed your back. His touch left a trail of fire across your skin and you shivered as he reached your hips. He gently pulled on the bow and you barely held in your gasp.

“I don’t believe many could suit red like you do,” he said, following the ribbon around. “Mia bellissima.”

A sudden kiss to the back of your neck felt like a bolt of electricity. You whimpered around the gag in your mouth, trying to readjust it and let your tongue rest easy. The darkness of the ribbon on your eyes heightened every movement with a blazing intensity.

“The packaging is so gorgeously done… I don’t know if I could bare to unwrap you.”

It was difficult not to squirm. As it was, you were shifting around on your knees to try and find a more comfortable position.

A firm hand pushed you forward until your cheek was pressed into the silken bedsheets. Your breath hitched and you lightly pulled at the bow to see if you could get free.

Bucciarati stopped you immediately. “Stay where you are.”

His voice dripped with a steady control that made you almost desperate to obey whatever it was that he wanted. The caress of your waist had you dreaming – mind drifting to the types of things he could do to you if he so wished. There were several items in his cupboard that would suit the situation perfectly.

Warm air brushed over your core and your heart leapt in your chest. You didn’t dare to move in case it stopped whatever he was planning.

The panties that had been chosen for you existed mostly in name. They did little to prevent you from feeling Bucciarati’s tongue as it dragged across you. Your sinful cry escaped regardless of the gag.

The talent he had with his mouth was unparalleled.

He flooded your mind – quickly becoming all you could think of. The grip on your legs, the dance of his tongue… it was all far, far too much.

Your orgasm felt like you’d been thrown into a brick wall. All the air was forced from your lungs and your entire body shuddered. You would have collapsed into the bed if it wasn’t for Bucciarati’s hold keeping you steady.

He wasted no time in turning you around and a feather-light touch danced across your gag.

“Do you want anything off?”

You shook your head. The darkness was turning everything into a surprise even if your jaw was aching or your heart was beating faster than ever.

He rolled your clit between two fingers, listening for a short while to the muffled noises you made and doing nothing else. Small kisses across your stomach made you shiver. You wanted more and bucked your hips just a little to help emphasis it. If he didn’t give you the attention you needed, it felt like you may burn up.

You felt his grin against your skin before he moved away.

Briefly, you wondered if you’d made a mistake but you didn’t have too long to dwell on that before Bucciarati moved.

With how you were now resting on your side, he could see the ribbons wrapping across your skin and the bow remained unhidden. Your face lay visible also, lips stretched deliciously around the gag in your mouth.

It was the type of view he wished he could take a mental image of – keep it locked in his mind for all time.

Yet…

He gently caressed your hair, smiling at the soft sigh of appreciation you let out.

Despite your earlier denial, he undid the gag and removed it from your mouth, followed shortly after by the blindfold. On another day, he would have gladly left you like that but he couldn’t deny how much he wanted to watch your expression.

Your eyes didn’t even have time to adjust before Bucciarati gently pushed into you. The whimpering gasp you made was almost desperate.

Without the gag, your soft noises felt louder than ever. Each whine and mewl was deliciously sweet as he moved. You wanted to hold onto him and pull him deeper. The begging words fell from your mouth with little care.

“Whose idea was it to have you all wrapped up as a present?” Bucciarati asked. “Leone? It seems like something he would think up.”

You shook your head, forgetting briefly that you could answer. Though, with the way his every movement set you on fire, it probably wouldn’t have been too understandable.

“No? Maybe Giorno then although I think he prefers vines.”

A slight flush covered your cheeks and you hoped Bucciarati couldn’t see it in the dim lighting of the room. That hadn’t been something you’d discussed with Giorno before even if it did hover in your mind more than was necessary.

“Who?” He leaned in close to your ear, sending little shivers down your back.

“Nara,” you bit out.

Bucciarati seemed mildly surprised but he didn’t give you much more of a reaction. His movements sped up, dragging you over the edge like the tide of an unceasing ocean. White flashed across your vision as you arched away, straining against the ribbon on your body that suddenly felt all too tight.

He followed you almost immediately, hips stuttering against you and letting free a beautiful breathless sound that was so uniquely his that it would probably never be replicated.