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“Mhm. Mista, your pistol is poking my butt.”
“Sh’not m’ pistol…” His breath is hot and damp on the back of Trish’s neck. It makes her squeal, and Mista uses the distraction to snake his arm underneath the curve of her waist.
“Merry Christmas Eve.” Mista traces patterns on Trish’s tummy. He’s got a leg draped over her’s, and Trish is wondering whether or not she should just tell him he’s not as subtle as he thinks he’s being when he’s lightly thrusting against her back.
She smiles to no one in particular.
“Merry Christmas Eve.”
“Merry Christmas Eve.”
The two bolt up. Giorno is sitting on the couch adjacent to the one they ended up cuddling in. There’s a saucer on Giorno’s knee and the morning paper in front of his face.
“How long have you been sitting there?”
Giorno lowers the newspaper, “No one in this room actually wants to dignify that with an answer.”
“You guys are nasty.” Fugo barks as he enters the room. His biting words would have had gravity if he wasn’t wearing a ridiculous snowman apron and carrying breakfast pastries.
“Sorry, sorry. We’ll bolt and then you can go unwrap Giorno or whatever.” Mista guffaws at the face Fugo pulls.
“He’s-! That’s your boss!” Fugo scolds, face pink.
“Yours too. And I bet that you all hot and bothered–”
Giorno takes the plate from Fugo, smile tender. he returns to stoicism not soon after. “Mista, please, we agreed. No discussions about sex before 11AM. You signed it. Now shut up and have a pastry.”
Trish leans forward to accept some croissants with a thank you. The hands around her waist wrangle her backwards. She falls into Mista’s lap with a giggle, stuffing his face with breakfast before he can get his morning breath anywhere near her.
“What time will you two leave for Bucciarati’s?”
“I’ll be a little late.”
“Sh’cker…!” Mista speaks through his mouthful.
Fugo gives him a pointed look. “During Christmas’ Giogio?”
“It’s not work. Well, not work-work.” He folds the morning paper into a neat square and creases the edges twice. “I’m going to assist Narancia in the preparations for his high school’s Christmas drive for the less fortunate.”
“Aw, Giorno!” Trish coos, “That’s so sweet!”
He waves off the compliment with a graceful flick of the wrist, “It’s just some paperwork and red tape. I make more than I spend.”
“Aw man,” Mista whines, “I thought you were talking about like… becoming Santa or something for some kids!”
“I don’t think I’d be the person for that job, if ever.” Giorno scratches his chin, taking the suggestion too seriously. “Perhaps Abbacchio would be a more suitable candidate given his height bc his natural hair color. But I don’t even know if they’d need a Santa for this event.”
“If you can get Abbacchio to play Santa, I’ll do literally anything you want.” Fugo declares, eyes wide in both fear but excitement.
“As if you wouldn’t already do anything for him.” Mista rolls his eyes. He jostles Trish in his lap. “But I think you’d be a really cute Santa girl, Trish~”
“Oh?” Trish huffs, clapping the crumbs out of her hands from her breakfast.
“That’s right~ And I’ve been very naughty this year, you know~”
“No foreplay in this house. Again, you signed those papers yourself.” Giorno warns. Fugo retches.
“Ah, youth.” Polnareff pipes up from the floor, next to Trish’s feet. She picks him and sets him on her lap.