Arrivederci

homicidalvirus‌:

He nods once at Buccellati’s mention of the small girl’s bakery. Well, she supposes that it’s not hers, though it may as well be for all the people she’s managed to attract. He knows Abbacchio is fond of her. Fugo finds her nice enough as well, though he keeps his distance so as not to involve her in anything unsavory. It makes sense, though, that Buccellati would instantly strike up a conversation with her: both have an inherent charm, a certain warmth Fugo knows he lacks.

“Yes, I know of it. I haven’t been often because I don’t generally have much reason to go deeper into the city. There is a very nice library in the downtown area, though… As Kiki – I presume that’s the girl you spoke with – may have told you, we are somehow several years in the future, which is another bizarre twist. It means that there are many new books to read. Oh, and some interesting technological advances,” he adds, pulling out his smartphone. “You can access the internet and many other features.” He taps the app for twitter.com and quickly switches the view “news” because he doesn’t want Buccellati looking at his timeline. Monokuma’s Golf Retreat is the first headline. Slow news day, then. Where are there even golf courses around here?

@andthatsthepiss​

Ah. Figures that Buccellati had run into Kiki by now. Also that he already seems to be on good terms with her. That was just part of his talent, able to branch out and form connections with the people around him, seemingly at the drop of a hat. While it was mostly used to the advantage of the organization back home, it was just Buccellati’s nature to put the people around him at ease. Even though he was harboring unease at the moment, Abbacchio had no doubt that Buccellati would shine just as brightly here. 

He takes another bite of his pastry, making a mental note to stop by the bakery later. He’ll have to see where Kiki got this recipe from. In the meantime, he listens absently as Fugo shows off his phone to his superior. He’s honestly not surprised that Fugo grew so adept at using it. Kid soaks up information like a sponge, no wonder he’s glued to a tiny box that can just hook up to the internet like that. Abbacchio doesn’t really see the need for it outside of phone calls and text, but he also knows he’s a crotchety old asshole trapped in a 21 year old’s body. Give him another year and he’ll be shaking his cane at teenagers. It honestly sounds more appealing than it should. 

@zipperdaddy​

Bruno nods attentively in response, Kiki had told him about the library, but she hadn’t mentioned the new technology. Perhaps she hadn’t thought to? Or she was used to those sorts of things? He wasn’t as interested in new books as he knew Fugo was, as he wasn’t particularly well read. He’d never been secretive about his lack of academic prowess, having other skills that more than made up for it, especially in his current occupation. The technology on the other hand, is fascinating.

He can’t help the dumbstruck look on his face as Fugo uses his finger to scroll down the bright screen of the strange device. 

“Is it some kind of...small computer?” He didn’t want to sound foolish but it was the only point of reference he could come up with. At least Fugo would have figured out the ins and outs of all this new-fangled technology. He’s sure Abbacchio (while probably still less naive than himself) has little interest in becoming proficient with...whatever this thing is. 

He sits up so Abbacchio can move, leaning in to kiss his shoulder lightly as he stands. He lingers a moment on the bed, eyes drawing over his lovers form, the gentle swing of his hips, fresh bruises blooming over the expanse of his chest, hair tousled. He’s a glorious mess, and Bruno sighs happily at the sight before forcing himself to standing, taking a moment to stretch, arms reaching up and out. 

He wraps an arm around Abbacchios waist, leaning up to press another kiss against his jaw before taking his arm and leading him into the bathroom. 

It’s a small space, but he doesn’t mind the forced intimacy as he starts up the shower. One hand trails lazily across his chest, tracing invisible lines to hold over his heart, the other laces to hold fast in Abbachio’s. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t feel a need to, comfortable and at ease as he is. 

Steam begins to gather, clouding the edges of the mirror and he pulls back the shower curtain, stepping over the lip of the narrow tub. He doesn’t let go of Abbacchio’s hand, drawing him in and under the gentle spray of warm water. 

There’s a few bottles of generic bath products (he’d need to go shopping for some nicer things but they would do the job for now), and he takes one to lather in his hands. It smells sweet and clean and faintly like lavender, which is better than he could have expected. 

He has to stretch a little to massage the shampoo into Abbacchio’s scalp, fingers running slow circles. 

Bruno melts against him, every tender kiss pressed to his skin causing him to hum happily.

“I’m glad I could surpass your expectations,” he chuckles, not sure what he would have done if Abbacchio had been disappointed with his performance (he’d worked quite hard after all), “though you really ought to give yourself more credit, you felt amazing,” he turns his head to brush their noses together before dipping in for another gentle kiss.

All of the tension his body had held has seeped from him, surrendered in the blissful heat of release and the safe strong arms that held him. Every thread of him, once pulled tight with anxiety and stress, is slackened, relaxed in a way that he can’t remember feeling...had it really been that long?

It’s like a weight is gone, his vision clearer, lungs more full, even his skin feels warmer, though perhaps that was also thanks to the first full night of sleep he’d gotten in god knows how long. Still, he really had needed this, he thinks as he finds Abbacchio’s hand with his own, lacing their fingers together languidly. His thumb rubs slow circles against his lovers wrist, and he doesn’t let himself think of anything else, instead basking in their shared warmth. The steady rise and fall of Abbacchio’s chest as his breathing and heart steady is a gentle, pulling rhythm and Bruno can feel the draw of sleep on his eyelids, his body so relaxed that, though his mind is fully awake, he could drift off in a moment.

He forces himself to stir, shaking his head almost begrudgingly.

 His thrusts an untamed torrent, Bruno can feel Abbacchio teeter on the edge with him, every muscle in his body tensing as that searing heat comes to full flush. Everything is sensation as he moans into the kiss: the swelling of Abbacchio’s cock in his hand, the sweet gasps against his lips, and the desperate greedy sucking as he buries his cock one final time, unable to hold on any longer.

It’s Abbacchio’s name that pours from his mouth as they fall together, and all he can do is try to hold on as his body rocks with the intensity of his orgasm, heat spilling out of him. Abbacchio’s tight spasming muscles around his cock send wave after wave of ecstasy through him and his breath catches in his lungs, trapped by the sheer force of bliss. His vision is hazy lilacs and sunlight as he drowns in the euphoric release, mouth hanging open. God he never wants it to end. 

But it does, though he can still feel that sweet rapture tingling across his body as the world comes back into focus. Still trembling, he slumps against Abbacchio, letting his lungs fill again with air before trying to reply. 

“Anytime,” he starts, voice soft and wispy, “I also...really needed that.”

He smiles, forcing his tired muscles to sit up just enough to draw Abbacchio into another kiss, satin and delicate. 

homicidalvirus‌:

Fugo nods in agreement with Buccellati, then frowns and leans back in his seat at the edict that work is a banned topic. He notices the warm glances between Buccellati and Abbacchio, of course. 

To be honest, quiet conversation is not his comfort zone. He prefers having a task and then moving towards completing said task. He tries to remember what it was like, back when it was just the three of them. Fugo had been looking forward to it, but now he misses Narancia and Mista’s talent for filling the silence with nonsense. He misses their loudness and their joy. 

Further, when it comes to Buccellati, he thinks most often of what information his leader might find useful. But he’ll respect Buccellati’s wishes and refrain from talking about work, though most of what he does relates to his various missions. 

He tries to recall certain phrases commonly used in small talk. He sips his cappuccino, then says lightly, “How are you settling in, Buccellati?” While he had just seen the man a few days ago, it still seems like a reasonable question.

@andthatsthepiss​

Bruno somehow manages to turn the conversation into something sentimental, thanking them both, words and smile filled with gentle sincerity that still manages to tug at his chest. Abbacchio suddenly feels too self-conscious to meet his gaze, intently staring at his cup. 

“Don’t be stupid,” He he grumbles. “Goes without saying that we’d be behind you.”

He murmurs a quiet thanks as he accepts the parcel from Buccellati, and his dark mood is significantly lightened once he opens it. Baklava. Here was a man after his own heart. He delicately fishes the pastry out with a napkin, but unable to completely to prevent crumbs when he bites into the treat. Damn, that’s good. The pastry is nice and flaky, and the honey is set in evenly. 

“Hey Buccellati, where’d you pick these up from?” He asks, brushing some crumbs from his shirt. 

@zipperdaddy​

Crossing his legs, Bruno holds in a breathy chuckle at Fugo’s question, he’d always been so keen on conveying information and getting straight to a task, not one to make small talk, but he was doing his best and Bruno smiles appreciatively. 

“Thanks to you, quite well, I’ve had no trouble finding all the things I need and getting to know the area thanks to your tour and advise,” he takes a long sip from his cup, “While the amenities aren’t the highest of quality, the people who live around here are really quite lovely.”

In the short time he’s been here he’s already started forming connections with the local business owners as he knew it would be beneficial for his move into the organization. Though he would have done it regardless, it was just nice getting to know your local grocer. 

The soft look on Abbacchio’s face is a quick distraction, however, as Bruno watches him bite into the sticky pastry, obviously pleased. 

“Ah, it’s a little bakery near the castle, I think it’s called Bread, knead, and Broomsticks? There’s a young girl that works there that found me after I arrived and helped orient me. I was a bit on edge upon arriving, but she explained everything quite clearly...have you been?”

He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d found the little bakery as it was on a main stretch of road and the window displays were highly tempting. 

That growing inevitable tide ebbs for a breath, Abbacchio seeming to stumble back from the brink. Still, they’re both so close, Bruno’s cock swelling in the torrid grasping heat he’s thrusting into with a desperation now. He can feel Abbacchio’s cock throb in his hand, and when Abbacchio cups his face, Bruno can’t help but moan to see the sheer desire there.

It was always bliss to see how much Abbacchio wanted him, needed him to completely unravel every taunt muscle and nerve in his body. Swollen lips parted, brow cinched pleadingly, those beautiful eyes staring at him, wanting him. But it’s not enough, for either of them, and that tide has grown to a typhoon, hot and roiling.

He can feel the weight of that wave starting to crash down on them as Abbacchio begs for him, and it’s like a command, his body instantly trying to give in. His grip falters, catching himself on the bed as he slams unyieldingly into him again, his hand working Abbacchio’s cock with a frenzy.

“Fuck, Leone,” he groans, “together, please, cum with me,” he squeezes the words out before catching Abbacchio in a loose, open mouthed kiss.

Abbacchio’s nails biting into the expanse of his back and those gorgeous, taught legs wrapped around him only encourage his thrusts. Adorations fall from his lips, unfiltered now that his mind is fogged over with bliss. He can feel Abbacchio getting close, can sense it in the way his muscles clench desperately around him, the cloying friction sucking him in impossibly deep. 

Abbacchio cries out under him, begging for more, and Fuck if Bruno isn’t happy to comply, hips snapping forward with a fervor. He can feel himself edging closer, the mere sight of Abbacchio writhing against him, tremors shaking through him with every push of Bruno’s cock, is enough to send a shiver through him, the heat in his abdomen threatening to unravel. But he’s not there yet, not ready to let go of this fevered bliss, so he wraps his elegant fingers around Abbacchio’s cock and squeezes.

“Not yet, Leone,“ he groans with the effort, breaths shallow and gasping, “not till you beg for it.”

The helplessly grasping hands on his back sends fire through Bruno, each moan freed from Abbacchio’s sweet lips jolting through him, and then there’s that desperate plea breathed into his ear. God is he happy to oblige that request,  swallowing hard. Unable to find the words to respond he simple nods, hair sticking to his sweat slick face.

His grip on Abbacchio’s hip tightens almost to bruising as he slowly pulls back, groaning at the loss of sweet tense muscle around cock, but it’s only a moment before he’s rocking back in. He’d meant to start with an easy pace, lead into the frenzy he knew they both wanted, but Abbacchio’s ass squeezing tight around him, greedy for more, feels too good and his self control is long gone. All he can do is moan as his hips set a steady rhythm, the echo of their skin ringing in his ears, that insufferable coiling in his stomach continues to tighten with every thrust, and every sweet tremble of his lover resonates straight through his aching cock.

He shifts his weight, movements stuttering for a breath, before slamming back in, fully intent on mercilessly tormenting Abbacchio’s sweet spot, wanting to hear more of those delicious cries.

Bruno moans sweetly at the press of plush lips against his aching cock, shivering at each frantic touch. He’s grateful Abbacchio doesn’t tease him too much, though he knew he deserved it. They’re both too far gone for that.

Another shudder runs through him at those words, the last of his composure finally snapping like a seam bursting open.

“Oh, I’m going to,” he breathes, every word dripping with a hungry want.

He dips down to catch Abbacchio kiss-swollen lips with his own all the while settling between his legs to position himself properly, can feel him twitch and tremble with anticipation. Though Bruno’s not much better, just the tip of his dick pressed against Abbacchio is enough to pull a quiet whine from him.

Finally, he eases himself forward, groaning at the sweet rapture of tight heat that sucks in his aching cock. God had it been too long.

Breathing heavy, he pulls his lips away, hand moving to brush the hair from Abbacchio’s face before going to grip at his hip. His gaze, dark and hazy, never breaks from his love, soaking in the image below him: silver hair splayed artfully across the pillows, mouth pulled open, black lipstick smudged and faded, the swelling of his chest with every breath, and the deep gradient of his eyes turned dark and needing.

Basking in the mess he’s made of his lover, Bruno smiles sweetly just before rocking his hips forward, a loud moan peeling from his lips as he buries himself, mercilessly into that familiar, addictive heat.

He gives Abbacchio a moment to adjust, feeling a little sorry ( but only a little) for not giving some kind of warning.

The sweet sound of his name, desperate and keening, is nearly enough to make Bruno give in, holding on to every stitch of self control he has left as he dots soft kisses across Abbacchio’s chin and jaw. 

“Soon my love, soon I promise,” the words are whisper sweet, but there’s an underlying darkness to them, almost frantic. He steals another kiss, messier than the last, though not quite sloppy, and presses a third finger in. Every heedy whine that pulls from Abbacchio’s body is another thread pulled loose from his composure. It’s addicting, knowing that he can make the usually stoic, intimidating young man writhe and plead for more of his touch. 

Not wanting to leave Abbacchio totally unsatisfied while he finishes preparing him, he reaches down to ghost his hand across his aching cock. Touches light, almost fluid, teasing, he knows it’s cruel but he doesn’t want to push him too close to the edge yet. No. He wants to be buried in the greedy heat that’s sucking around his fingers, wants to feel Abbacchio tremble around him as he tortures that sweet spot thrust after thrust. Just the thought is enough to make him shudder, groaning as his dick strains against the tight fabric of his pants. He’s not going to last much longer himself if this keeps up.

Kissing Abbacchio again in apology, he withdraws his hand, though theres a promise of something much more satisfying as he sits up to strip. It’s a damn shame Sticky Fingers isn’t working as usual right now. Finally he slips his pants off, hissing as his cock springs free, untouched but already near weeping.

“Leone,” his voice deep and needing, though somehow still sticky honey, Bruno’s nerves are unraveling as he crawls back over him, a thin silver condom wrapper in his hand, “put it on for me?”

He can’t help the breathy chuckle as Abbacchio nods his head so enthusiastically, that pleading rasp sending electricity up his spine.

“Anything for you, Caro ”

Blue eyes watchful for any sign of pain or discomfort, he smiles sweetly as his finger eases into that tight warmth. He dips down to catch Abbacchio’s mouth in a swift kiss, finger buried to the knuckle. 

His composure is pulled taught by the simple sensation of Abbacchio around his finger as he thrusts lightly, letting him adjust. God he wants to bury himself in that heat, still, he keeps the pace tortuously slow, ignoring the pooling heat in his own abdomen. Every little twitch and sound Abbacchio makes courses through him like adrenaline, heart racing, nerves on fire. 

Patience beginning to wear thin, Bruno presses a second finger against him,  soft encouragements whispered against Abbacchio’s lips.

“Just a little longer, cuore mio,” He breathes, fingers spreading to stretch him open, “you’re doing beautifully for me.” 

He’s reaching around Abbacchio to try and arrange the pillows more comfortably, when he’s pulled up by that strong grip on his nape, breath catching in his throat as those familiar plush lips envelop his own. All his actions falter as he sinks into the kiss, Abbacchio’s tongue hot on his own. Their hips press together, and a shudder runs through him, that slight friction enough to steal a breathy moan from his lips as Abbacchio deepens the kiss almost relentless. God he wants him, wants to watch him come undone beneath his touch, sigh and moan his name as he fills him. He’s not sure if it’s Abbacchio or himself that groans into the kiss, but it’s taking every ounce of willpower not to just grind against him. It could wait, it would wait, he wanted to take his time.

As they pull apart, he tries desperately to steady his breathing, trying to focus on the sweet touch of fingers in his hair.

His stomach is tight coils, and Abbacchio’s words only twist them tighter, a thin moan keening from his swollen lips. That was unfair, he thinks, body nearly shaking with want, his patience slowly slipping away. No, no, no, he’s going to savor this, he thinks, though the soft press of Abbacchio’s lips on his cheeks is a heavenly distraction.

“Love you too,” he breaths, as he finds some string of self control to hold onto, sitting up to shift their positions. His hair is a mess, braid falling from the small clips, pants painfully tight, his bralette straps slipping from his shoulders. Holding his gaze steady, eyes locked on his lover, he pops the cap on the lube again, pouring it out slowly onto his long fingers. He makes a right show of it, payback for that kiss, he smirks.

He leans in to sprinkle light kisses along Abbacchio’s collar, hands slipping back between those waiting thighs. While it hadn’t been near as long ago for Bruno, it felt like a lifetime ago that they’d been together like this, still he could remember ever taught muscle in Abbacchio’s body, like reacquainting oneself with the pages of a favorite book.

He presses one slick finger against Abbacchio’s tight entrance, circling gently, teasing as he kisses up his jaw, tongue dragging, until his lips press gently against his lovers again.

Perched between Abbacchio’s spread legs, Bruno smiles sweetly up at him, breaking that trail of kisses to do so. 

“The view from down here is really quite lovely,” he purrs, slim fingers massaging deep into Abbacchio’s soft thighs. The gruff, raspy edge to his voice only makes Bruno’s eyes glint with mirth.

“Last night wasn’t enough to jog your memory?” he smirks, stealing one hand away to neatly tuck his hair behind his ear, “Not that I mind, I’m happy to remind you as many times as you need, Leone,” his eyes dip, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. 

He sinks down between those milky thighs, bruises slowly coming into bloom, and breathes in deep before sliding his tongue along Abbacchio’s shaft, resisting the urge to swallow him whole. His gaze flicks upwards as he takes the tip in his mouth, tongue swirling elegant circles as he teases. 

He steadies himself with one hand biting into the expanse of Abbachio’s hip, the other moving to pull the bottle of lube out of his pocket, the cap coming open with a soft pop. 

He pulls away with a sigh, hand taking his mouths place so he can stare up at his love again, this time a question in his eyes. 

homicidalvirus‌:

Fugo nods. “It’s not terribly complex,” he begins. “Really, it’s easier than it was to join the gang in Naples. There’s no arrow that creates Stand users, so our abilities are quite rare. Our capo,” he grimaces, “will have to give his approval, but I’m sure the boss will hear that it’s you and allow you to join without any issues.”

He doesn’t understand why Buccellati seems so concerned. It is understandable that he feels uncomfortable with the limits on his Stand, but at the same time, many of the organization members in Italy were not Stand users at all. 

He sighs and reaches into the box with the strawberry tart, immediately knowing which pastry Buccellati had chosen for him. The first bite dusts his pajamas with crumbs, but it’s too delicious for him to pay that any mind. “If you’re available, either Abbacchio or myself could make the call to our capo today. Perhaps it would be best to begin the process as soon as possible.”

@andthatsthepiss​

“Can we at least wait until we finish eating?” He grumbles with a bit more bitterness than intended. “Just thinking about talking to that bastard is making my stomach churn.” 

It’s not like he can’t understand Fugo’s eagerness to be working with Buccellati again. Hell, he’s the reason that either of them had even bothered with this kind of lifestyle to begin with. And having him back will at least give them some direction besides following some guy in the shadows who might get them out from under the High Council’s thumb. But he still remembered the first night Bruno came here, how shaken he had been at the prospect of the danger they’d all be placed under. Nevertheless, he seems determined to move forward. 

Still, Abbacchio has his own reasons for not wanting to talk about work. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t even want to think about his current capo. Especially after last night… 

Didn’t even bother to say there was a kid, the bastard. 

He continues to nurse his coffee, keeping his thoughts to himself as the other two continue their discussion.

@zipperdaddy

Leaning back in his seat, Bruno listens attentively, blue eyes focused on Fugo, unflinching. Again the subject of the boss comes up and he nearly brings his hand to his temple, resisting the motion to simply bring the croissant back to his mouth, chewing almost thoughtfully. The sooner they put in the call, the sooner he would know — at least to some small extent — what the boss knew, if anything at all. He tucks the swirling anxieties that come with that thought away quickly, shooting Abbacchio a grateful look when he suggests they finish their meal first.

 “I would appreciate making the call sooner as opposed to later,” he agrees stoically, “especially seeing as your current Capo seems less than savory, and waiting will only delay the inevitable...however, I also came here to thank you both, for choosing to support me here. I...I’m really very grateful.” He smiles soft and warm and sincere. He picks up one of the pastry boxes and passes it to Abbacchio, hand lingering perhaps a moment too long.

“So enough talk of work, at least until breakfast is over,” he takes a bite of his croissant.

Bruno laughs into the kiss, light and musical, loving the disgruntled look the creases Abbacchio’s face, though that laugh quickly morphs into a soft groan as teeth pull across his lower lip.

A breathy hum echoes through him as he tilts his head to allow better access to his jaw, stomach twisting. It was almost silly, how quickly Leone could rile him up, just the feeling of those soft lips pressed against his skin enough to make him flush with heat. He hums a question when Abbacchio speaks again.

The answer makes his eyes go wide as those words shudder through him, straight to his dick, moan peeling softly through his lips. Any hope of keeping his composure going right out the window as his eyes catch Leone’s, blown out, dark and wanting. The heat that coils in his abdomen is sweet and unbearable as he pulls him into another kiss, deeper than before, his tongue tracing along every inch of Abbacchio mouth, as if he could simply drink him down.

“I’d like—“ he says between kisses, “—nothing more,” he practically purrs, breaking away to stare down at the gorgeous man under him, gently pushing the hair from his face as he sits up. The gentle cast of sunlight seems almost radiant where it hits Abbacchio’s skin, and Bruno’s eyes follow that trail of red-purple bruises, as he slinks backwards, admiring his work. He leans down to add new marks where he feels the skin is too bare, a small smirk, almost wild at the corners, playing on his lips.