Work Text:
Abbacchio snapped his phone open to an incoming message, one foot out the door of the restaurant the team had been regrouping in. They had orders to carry out and he didn’t feel like watching them fall through due to a lack of preparation or common understanding of what was to be expected of them. Usually he didn’t concern himself with things of that nature, but today Bruno had “other business to attend to”, leaving Abbacchio as the de facto leader, given that he was the oldest. It wasn’t a position he particularly enjoyed, but if it meant he didn’t have to be bossed around by high schoolers, he was more than keen.
That all came crashing down when he read the message scrolling across the tiny green screen of his phone.
Come over now
The moment he read the text, Abbacchio could feel his blood pressure sky rocket. There was no need to check the number, he already knew who it was from, but he did so anyways, once, twice, then three times, just to be sure. It was from Bruno, beyond a shadow of a doubt. While usually such a message would be cause for excitement, he could feel his stomach sour as he recognized obvious signs that this was a rushed message. There was no punctuation, no opening, and no explanation, which was a surprise, as Bruno was known for well worded, concise texts, meaning this had to be dire.
“Hey,” a voice called from a pace before him.
Abbacchio’s attention snapped up from his phone to meet Mista’s confused gaze. The young man had been a few steps ahead of him on his way out to the car when Abbacchio paused in the doorway to check his phone, and it seemed he’d noticed him lagging and circled back.
“What is it?” he asked, sidling up to him to try and get a look at the screen of his phone, which Abbacchio instinctively denied him, turning his hand so the screen faced his chest without much thought.
Abbacchio wasn’t even sure how to respond to his question. He didn’t know that Bruno had been home on his errand, as that’s the only place he could imagine ‘over’ was referring to. Given that he’d been provided no explanation, he had no idea what to tell his teammates, or if he even should tell them.
“I- I need to leave,” Abbacchio said curtly. If it was this urgent there was no point wasting time trying to walk through what ‘it’ could be with Mista.
Mista’s eyebrows shot up. “What! The three of us were supposed to be heading down to the station to try and bail out the Greek’s kid, fuckin’.... Moo… Moocasa…”
“Moussaka,” Abbacchio corrected flatly.
Mista flicked his hands up dramatically, gesturing as if Abbacchio had just made his point for him. “That’s exactly why we need you there!” he insisted.
“Well tough shit, I need to leave!” Abbacchio snapped, already positioning himself to duck out of the doorway past Mista and head off in the direction of the corner where he knew he'd have the best luck hailing a cab. “The two of you can make do, Buccellati just texted me and it sounds urgent.”
“More urgent than this?!” Mista protested, gesturing back to the car still parked on the curb.
Abbacchio shut his phone dramatically, the plastic halves clacking together. He was losing his temper with Mista, feeling increasingly crowded in the doorway. “Yes, now go! I’m positive Fugo can pronounce Moussaka!” Abbacchio said harshly. He had no patience whatsoever.
“I absolutely can!” Fugo hollered through the open car window, already waiting impatiently in the driver’s seat. He’d been working towards getting his license and completely monopolized conducting every car they found themselves in. Not that Abbacchio was complaining, he hated driving around with kids in the backseat.
Seeing that he would be getting nowhere, Mista threw his hands up, head flopping back as he turned dramatically and stomped off to the idling car in a huff. He kept up the stomping and puffing all the way around the front of the car, yanking open the passenger side door and throwing his body into the seat like a toddler throwing a tantrum, slamming the door shut behind him. He sulked in the front seat, slouched down and refusing to buckle his seatbelt, swinging his feet up on the dashboard, shoes propped over the glove box. Fugo gave him a side eye before looking over to Abbacchio, who was still idling in the doorway.
Abbacchio didn’t react to Mista’s theatrics, just shooting Fugo a glance and shooing him off with a half hearted swat. Fugo rolled his eyes before throwing the car into drive and speeding away, Mista seemingly unbothered by his lack of concern for traffic laws in the wake of his irritation with Abbacchio getting to jump ship at the last second.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Abbacchio jammed his phone into his pants pocket and dipped out of the doorway, rushing down to the corner nearest the center of town. Had he not been so worked up over the ominous text he would have been thankful for being spared the duty of showing his face at the precinct. It was a toss up whether he’d be recognized, it had been a big department, and many of the cadets he’d graduated with went off to work in other locales, but he was certainly an individual who stood out, based on height and complexion alone. It wasn’t unusual for him to find himself being eyed up by a handful of older detectives on the rare occasion he was forced to drop in. It appeared that they all knew better than to say something though, not that Abbacchio would make anything of it. They seemed to recognize well enough that his favor was Buccellati’s, so they spared him any comment. As sick as he was to admit it to himself, if it saved him from getting jeered or jumped, at the end of the day that was all he could ask for.
He put that out of his mind for the time being as he urgently flagged down the driver of one of the scarce parked cabs along the main street. The driver gave him a nod and he sprinted across the road, dodging pedestrians on his way. When he approached the car he could hear the rear passenger door unlock and he threw it open, breathlessly giving the driver the address of the building across from Bruno’s as he tumbled in.
Abbacchio wasn’t necessarily well recognized in name, as Bruno was, but in this area it was generally very easy for people to tell that he was with Passione. For that reason the cab driver drove with an extra hint of urgency and spared him any small talk. He was thankful enough for that, he could barely process his thoughts as it were.
As the car sped down the blocks, he realized dimly that he could have just made Fugo drop him off, but for whatever reason 'getting somewhere quickly' existed hand in hand with going alone. It was all as well, he figured. Had Fugo driven him, the younger boys would have wanted to accompany him in, and it would have interfered with their actual assignment. There was no way he could have dissuaded them from trying to investigate, had he told them he’d received a rushed text from Bruno that required him to go to his apartment immediately.
As he recognized that he was approaching Bruno’s block, he dug his wallet from his inner jacket pocket, fishing more than enough cash to cover the fare from within the divider. He didn’t care about change or being exact, not even bothering to look at the ticker mounted on the back of the passenger seat. He just needed himself in Bruno’s residence as quickly as humanly possible, with as little hassle as possible. The moment the car parked and the driver turned over his shoulder towards him for fare, he shoved the cash in the man’s face with his left hand, his right already poised on the inner door handle. The driver accepted the cash and he popped the door open, rolling gracelessly from the back seat and slamming the door shut behind him, already looking to make a break across the street.
“Hey, Sir!” the driver called after him, but Abbacchio ignored him, head on a swivel as he looked up and down the block to spot a break in the passing traffic.
The moment he spotted an opportunity, he took it, darting across the street at a fast clip. The sound of passing vehicles and pedestrians blurred into the background as his focus narrowed in on Bruno’s rental. It was a tall, yellowed building, the entrances to each individual residence accessible from the outside and laundry lines running between it and the neighboring building. It wasn't much to look at from the outside, but it was a lovely complex. Abbacchio stepped between it and the neighboring complex, the small set of stairs leading up to Bruno's door tucked in the small alley, a tiny, unkempt garden crowded between trash bins. Calling it a garden was generous, given that it was a tiny strip of dirt with a few badly beaten hostas jammed into it. Bruno still seemed to find pleasure in it though. He always mentioned them the few times he'd invited Abbacchio out onto his tiny veranda. It overlooked the "garden", and he seemed more than content with that.
Abbacchio bounded up the steps, knocking harshly on the wooden door. He leaned against the frame, peering back down the alley and into the street as he listened.
No response.
When it was clear no one would be answering, he knocked again, growing increasingly anxious as he did.
He meant to come to his house, right? There's no way "over" could have meant somewhere else… unless I missed something…
Still not hearing movement from within, Abbacchio knocked a third time, pulling his phone from his trousers pocket as he did. He listened impatiently, ear nearly pressed to the door and breath held fast as he opened his phone. He scrolled through his messages as he strained to hear anything other than the clamor on the street or the sound of his own pulse in his skull. There were no new messages. Just the words "come over now" glaring back at him, followed by days old texts. He hadn't missed anything.
Maybe it was an old text that hadn't made it through in time and it's too late… Maybe it was meant for someone else.
Both possibilities made his stomach sink like a stone. The latter much more so than the first.
If it was old Bruno would have mentioned it. If it was meant for somebody else… No. He rationalized, no, Bruno wouldn't do something like that. He's not that kind of person.
He snapped his phone shut once more, pocketing it before cautiously testing the door handle. He turned it slowly, expecting it to catch on the lock, but it didn't. It just kept turning until the door to Bruno's apartment was ajar before him.
What the fuck…
“Buccellati!” Abbacchio called into the apartment.
Again, no response came.
Abbacchio took one last glance down the alley before stepping into the residence, his right hand slipping under his jacket to meet the holster hidden beneath his left armpit.
“Buccellati, where are you!” he called again.
He unfastened the snap securing the gun and slid his fingers into the small pouch concealing his Beretta, fingers curling around the grip, but shying away from the trigger, his index instead laying alongside the trigger guard. He didn’t want to run the risk of firing on Bruno himself, should he be in distress somewhere within the apartment.
“Hello?!” he hollered, withdrawing his firearm slowly as he took another step forward, glancing through the living room and into the doorway to the kitchen.
Bruno’s place was significantly larger than his, though Bruno's belongings were sparse, and he very rarely had guests, it seemed. Hardly a thing had moved since his last visit, save the absence of Bruno's person, of course. The residence was silent, no movement from within, and all of the internal doors visible from the entryway were shut. Abbacchio could feel his breath still in his chest, held tight as he tried in vain to listen for anything other than the sound of his own elevated pulse in his skull.
He steadied himself on the balls of his feet, inching slowly into the apartment, gun held out before him, clutched by white knuckles. Everything narrowed to a dot as his gaze swept nervously over the open space, scanning for any sign of movement. It wasn't too dark within the apartment, despite all of the lights being turned off, ambient light from the kitchen windows filtering through gauzy curtains. He usually found that aspect of Bruno's living space to be calming and peaceful, but now it only served as a source of distracting shadows.
“Oh, perfect, you’re just in time," a warm voice sounded from directly behind him.
Abbacchio whirled around in a start, somehow maintaining the peace of mind necessary to not discharge his weapon, the handgun still aimed safely down at the floor.
Bruno had stepped up into the entryway behind him, a basket overflowing with linens in his hands. He was back-lit by the warm light filtering in through the alley, a soft golden glow settling on his shoulder and the curve of his hip helping him support the basket.
"You seem startled," he said softly. "I apologize, I didn't mean to scare you."
Abbacchio couldn't speak. He couldn't even begin to wrap his head around what was going on, the disconnect between Bruno's ease and calming air and his own trembling hands was glaring. He felt like he was living out two separate, unrelated scenes, his anxiety over Bruno's dark apartment overlaid by Bruno's unperturbed, domestic demeanor. He couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong even at the sight of him.
Ever unbothered, Bruno stepped in closer, gently touched his forearm as he brushed by, his tan hand contrasting Abbacchio's dark jacket; vibrant even in its simplicity, and calming. His palm was comfortingly warm and firm, even through the material. He didn't tell him to holster his firearm, but Abbacchio took the hint.
Bruno hiked the basket up against his hip, smiling pleased as he watched Abbacchio fumble to decock and slide his handgun back into its holster, ensuring the safety remained on in the process. Once he finished snapping the holster shut he could feel the disconnect begin to ease, and all of his previous questions returned.
“I'm just in time?” Abbacchio asked, his brain only now catching up to what Bruno had said in the doorway.
"Mmhm," Bruno responded absently, his arm unzipping to shut the door behind them, his hand turning the locks before the limb rezipped, slowly spiraling back past Abbacchio until Bruno's hand was firmly reattached to his wrist, the golden zipper disappearing.
That never failed to unnerve Abbacchio, but he let it go without comment this once, still working on keeping his spine straight and expression even. He always felt he got into a weird, crouched, flighty mood whenever he investigated suspect areas, and it seemed Bruno's apartment was no exception. He just stared wordlessly back at Bruno, waiting for further explanation, which Bruno did not offer. Rather, he raised his reattached hand in invitation.
“Come,” Bruno beckoned. “Follow me.”
Abbacchio did not need to be asked twice.
The dark haired man turned on heel a few paces before him and led them through his living area and into the short hall off which his bedroom was located. Abbacchio knew well enough. As they drew closer he could see that the door to his room hadn't been shut, and the window within was left open, a pleasant breeze gusting lightly down the hall. He had been so worked up he hadn't noticed it at all when he was outside.
Abbacchio crossed the threshold into his room hesitantly, Bruno already having crossed the space in a few light steps. He then idled there in the doorway, watching as Bruno dumped the basket onto his bare mattress, spreading the mass of fresh linens out before setting the basket aside. Bruno toed his shoes off, kicking them at the foot of the bed before turning his shoulder and flopping down into the pile of sheets. It was abrupt and unceremonious, but graceful all the same. He seemed childishly at ease and carefree; smiling to himself, curling up in the bedding, feet dangling lazily off the end of the bed.
Abbacchio stared in awe. He couldn't recall a single thought running through his head, his mouth hanging open as he gaped at the sight before him.
Bruno looked like he was in heaven, hell, he looked like he was heaven.
"I always end up laying around in the blankets after I pull them from the dryer, so I thought it would be nice if you could join me," Bruno murmured in explanation. He spoke without so much as looking up at the other man, eyes still lidded as he snuggled into his laundry pile.
Unbelievable.
Bruno's eyes opened lazily and he lifted his head slightly, dark locks tumbling from his cheeks and hanging lovely around his face, framing his jaw and coyly hiding his ears.
"Would you like to join me?" he asked, sparing Abbacchio from having to ask for clarification on his vague invitation.
Abbacchio nodded numbly, still slow to words. He wanted nothing more than to be buried there in Bruno's pile of blankets. He still couldn't tell what was expected of him, and he did not enjoy that feeling, but he accepted Bruno's proposition nonetheless.
Stepping on the back of his own shoe, he popped his heel from within and slid the shoe off to the side of the doorway before repeating the process with the other. Then, with his shoes removed he stepped quietly into the room, his socked feet making little more noise than the muted creak of the bare floorboards beneath his weight. Abbacchio slowly slipped off his jacket as he walked, discarding it beside the dresser, Bruno’s brilliant blue eyes looking increasingly ravenous as he watched, reclined on his bed. He didn't care if the jacket wrinkled.
Stopping there by the dresser Abbacchio averted his gaze, moving to unbuckle the harness of his holster on the right of his chest. He was never one to lay down wearing it if it could be helped. It was a massive safety risk, and he certainly wasn't about to bring it anywhere near Bruno's bed.
"Wait, don't take that off yet," Bruno said, sitting up. "Come here a minute."
Abbacchio stopped, fingers halting as he looked back up to meet Bruno's gaze. The smaller man had sat up further, looking mussed but sharply alert; hair lightly tousled and plain shirt untucked from his slacks, collar unbuttoned and vibrant eyes piercing in their keen interest. Bruno beckoned him and Abbacchio heeded, stepping across the room and standing obediently at the foot of the bed from which Bruno had been appraising him.
The man straightened up further before slipping off the edge of the mattress, standing in Abbacchio’s space. Bruno ran his hands over his chest from sternum to ribs, stretching his shirt over his body, the buttons fastening it shut pulled taught as he admired him. "I like how this frames you," he said warmly, fingers fiddling with the leather straps running under his armpits. "It makes your chest look broader and it really defines your body shape.”
Abbacchio could feel himself flushing at the praise, watching captivated as Bruno brushed and caressed him, his skin tingling where his warm hands pressed into him. His attention was monopolized by how those fingers dipped into the cloth of his shirt, and Bruno equally so, if the brief glance he snuck at his face was any indicator. His pupils were blown wide, the tiniest smile playing on his lips.
“Turn around for me," he requested.
Leone could physically feel the blood rush to his head as he thoughtlessly complied.
The moment he turned he could feel Bruno's fingers on him again, running slow and firm over the expanse of his back.
"Ohh, wow…" Bruno purred. "I like this a lot. It's doing your back as much justice as it does your chest…"
Bruno gently brushed his hair aside, pushing it off over his right shoulder, Abbacchio's skin prickling at every brush of contact. He could feel his fingers tracing and tugging lightly at the straps crossing his back. It was ticklish and deeply exciting, he would have felt ashamed over just how overwhelming such simple touches were, if it weren't for how oddly empowered Bruno's praise made him feel. He'd make a fool of himself for a moment of this man's attention and he knew it.
Without warning Bruno's hands slid to his hips and he felt something press against the center of his back, larger than a hand and convex, but significantly less forceful with its touch. He realized simultaneously that it was both Bruno's face, and that he'd kissed him, his brain catching up the moment he heard the tiny smack his lips made when they parted, pressed to him lighter than the tip of his nose, which buried itself in the valley of Abbacchio's spine.
"Buccellati-" he started, but Bruno tutted, cutting him off.
"Bruno," he insisted. "Just Bruno when you're with me."
"Bruno," Abbacchio murmured, the name so shy on his lips he barely uttered it at all.
He could hear Bruno hum a pleased note behind him.
There being nothing more to his statement than his acknowledgement, Abbacchio let the silence linger as Bruno pulled his face back, the hands resting on Abbacchio's waist slowly slipping away, traveling up over his hips and across the small of his back with wanting pressure. Abbacchio hoped he hadn't stiffened too much, briefly worried that he had unintentionally made it seem as if Bruno's attention had been undesirable. Fortunately, as his partner shifted back, edging himself towards the mattress behind him, he realized that it was just a further invitation.
Hearing Bruno's feet step slowly over the floor, Abbacchio began to turn, doing his best to keep his fluster at bay as he straightened to watch Bruno settle himself back on the foot of his bed, lounging comfortably among his blankets. He reminded Abbacchio of a panther, observing prey at a distance as it decided whether or not it wanted to strike. The connection between the spots on great cat's fur and the pattern on Bruno's frankly garish favorite jacket only heightened this association.
As Bruno reclined in observation, Abbacchio took the moment's opportunity to finally unbuckle his holster, shrugging it off of his shoulders and carefully lowering it to the floor, placing it atop his jacket with a dull thump.
"You can take your belt off too," Bruno called. "I'm not wearing one, it'll just dig into you." He smirked softly before adding, "It might dig into me too."
… what?
Abbacchio stared blankly at him, his eyes darting down to Bruno's waist to confirm that he was, in fact, beltless. There were only a few reasons Bruno would insist on having him remove his belt, the most obvious of which was blatantly apparent even to Abbacchio in his reduced state.
He nodded with only a shy murmur of an "okay" before he dropped eye contact completely, hands fumbling for his belt buckle.
Does… he want to have sex?
He was too scared to ask outright. It seemed like the most glaringly obvious reason he would have called him, and yet so many things seemed off.
Why would he do laundry if he wanted to have sex? He'd just have to clean everything all over again, it makes no sense.
Abbacchio didn't want to over-step by asking for clarification. He didn't want to seem too eager, even if he was. He also didn't want to disappoint Bruno by not making a move when he was being so open.
Still idling on his decision to press for clarification, Abbacchio coiled his belt and dropped it on top of his jacket and holster, the item coming undone immediately, straightening out of its loop and its buckle clattering against the flooring. He almost rushed to scramble and recoil it, startled by the noise and not wanting to seem rude by letting it bounce off of Bruno's floor, no matter how unintentional, but he stopped himself. It didn't matter one bit. Bruno didn't look startled or alarmed or irritated, he had stopped looking at the belt the second Abbacchio had pulled it from the final loop. Neatening it now would just be a waste of Bruno's time.
Abbacchio made himself approach the bed as calmly as possible, watching as Bruno eagerly shifted back to give him room, relaxed in warm linens. He got his knee up on the edge of the bed, the frame complaining under his weight and he drew himself atop it. Bruno watched intensely as Abbacchio crawled onto the mattress, a smile playing coy on his lips. He looked like he was trying and failing to suppress his display of joy.
Abbacchio laid down beside him, the fresh blankets warm under his side and shoulder as he came to rest among them. He kept his arms tucked up against his chest, his legs held together rigidly as he tried to navigate just what the fuck Bruno wanted with him. All things considered, it was a comfortable lay. Abbacchio would have happily fallen asleep if not for the sheer amount of energy Bruno was putting out. The man was charged with… something, and Abbacchio couldn't put it out of his mind.
Bruno rolled fully onto his side, gazing admiringly at him. His hair tumbled into his cheek, strands catching on his lips and eyelashes at the corner of his eye, but he did not move to brush it aside. He had to have felt that it was there, there was no way it wasn't bothering him, Abbacchio knew he was too picky to not care, meaning he was leaving it intentionally. If he was trying to be cute, it was certainly working, unless…
Does he want me to…?
Abbacchio couldn't finish that thought. He couldn't move his hands from his chest, fingers coiled tight in the blankets he held before his shirt. His shield.
Bruno's coy smile quirked as he continued his sustained appraisal of his partner. "You still seem startled… were you worried someone broke in?" he asked.
Abbacchio nodded sheepishly. He had been preoccupied by the thought that Bruno had been in distress, as much as it shamed him to admit. That worry had simply bled into the current bout of nervousness he was experiencing, and he did not have it in him to bring that up to Bruno at the moment either.
"Why didn't you just use Moody Blues? You would have seen me leaving, so you wouldn't have worried yourself like that," Bruno said softly.
Abbacchio could feel a wave of shame wash over him. Why hadn't he thought to use his Stand? He didn't rightly have an answer, he supposed the thought had just never occurred to him, which was embarrassing in and of itself. He felt his mouth open and close of its own accord, unable to reply to him.
Bruno smiled warmly. "You didn't think about that did you? You just came in to make sure I was okay."
Abbacchio nodded thoughtlessly in agreement. It was an easy out, made even easier by the fact that when he thought about it, Bruno was right on the money.
"Mm," Bruno murmured, sounding oddly pleased. "That's what I like about you."
Abbacchio could have sworn he felt his brain fully melt. All of his thoughts were reduced to idle, frantic buzzing in his head and his will to say or do something, anything , to redeem his steadfastness and composure was out the window. He knew it, and he had a sneaking suspicion Bruno did too.
"You're allowed to touch me, you know…" Bruno murmured. "Only if you'd like though. I won't force you."
Fuck, did Abbacchio want to touch him.
Deciding not to disappoint, he lifted his hand, hovering above the side of Bruno's face, finally ready to brush that lock of hair from the side of his face. He had been given permission, and yet he still idled. If he gave in and touched him, would Bruno expect escalation? Would he be disappointed if he didn't take the lead to give him what he wanted, or would he be more disappointed that he tried to soil his fresh linens without Bruno's expressed direction? Would it be weird to just pet him? He felt this inexplicable urge to stroke him as if he were a kitten, and stranger yet he wouldn't have been at all surprised had Bruno purred.
Bruno watched him, expression warm and expectant; his lovely blue irises pinned directly on Abbacchio's, goading, yet restrained. He wasn't sure how, exactly, but for some reason, despite everything, Bruno still seemed restrained in his mind. He had no idea how, all things considering, but he never came off as pushy, or needy, or clingy to him. He couldn’t tell if he was prey being toyed with, or if this was Bruno’s genuine reaction. Was this him flirting in earnest, or was he playing with his food?
Fuck it.
That strand of hair at the corner of Bruno's eye was beginning to irritate him now. He felt the urge to itch his own face just looking at it, and at this rate he needed to brush it away for his own sake, not just Bruno’s.
Abbacchio relaxed his arms, allowing his hands to unballed before he raised his left, as steadily as possible. He could see a slight tremor in his fingers. Fuck, he was so anxious it was appalling.
Bruno's eyes fluttered shut before his hand even reached him, his touch feather light when it met his skin. He started near the corner of his eye, pushing the hair away from his eyelashes and over the curve of his cheek. Abbacchio carded his fingers through his hair, his touch little more than a gentle brush, just shifting the top layer back away from Bruno’s face. He was hesitant to press his fingertips further, something about sinking them all the way to Bruno’s scalp making him uneasy. His hair was silky and lightly fragrant, his shampoo delicate and floral. He was extremely well kept, and Abbacchio couldn't help but admire that. He didn't want to be too invasive with his touches.
He allowed his hand to settle near the back of Bruno's head, keeping his hair pulled from his face, his wrist resting against the side of his neck. He could feel the warmth of his skin against the inside of his wrist, the joint nuzzled so close to the corner of his jaw he was almost surprised he couldn't detect his pulse. He almost considered removing his hand when Bruno shifted himself nearer, nestling himself as close to Abbacchio’s chest as he could without pressing their bodies together quite yet. Their legs bumped, and Abbacchio did his best to prevent them from tangling, but Bruno seemed to be less preoccupied on that front. With his face a few centimeters away he couldn't stifle his fluster. He could hear him breathing.
"Are you enjoying them?" Bruno asked. His voice was so low it just leaned into a whisper.
"Them?" Abbacchio asked weakly. He had been so preoccupied with Bruno and how he was just trying to sneak an ankle between Abbacchio's shins to be bothered with following Bruno's question.
"The blankets," Bruno clarified. "Are you enjoying them?"
Abbacchio nodded like a fool, doing his best to keep his lips pressed in a firm line to prevent it from slipping that he was much more enjoying him.
Bruno smiled and closed his eyes, thick black lashes touching and brow relaxed. His right hand came up then, gently caressing the arm that bridged their shoulders, Abbacchio's wrist still pressed anxiously to the side of his neck, hand weakly cupping the back of his head. It was yet another invitation; an invitation to stay.
It was an invitation Abbacchio accepted, relaxing his arm and doing his best to settle into the pile of linens. He closed his eyes and listened to each of Bruno's soft breaths, finding his concerns more manageable when he didn't preoccupy himself with monitoring Bruno's every little expression. He even managed to find the strength to let his fingers absently play with Bruno's hair, pressing deeper into his locks, but still shying away from rubbing against his scalp. He allowed that sneaky leg to slip between his shins, the heel of Bruno's foot rubbing against his calf as their limbs entwined.
He felt unbelievably comfortable like this. Bruno was right to have made it sound so simple and blissful, it beyond a doubt was. He could feel Bruno's shoulder rise languidly against his arm with each calm breath, and he tried to match his pace, feeling himself ease further. He could feel himself bordering on contentment.
After a long moment Bruno made a soft vocalization, shifting in the blankets beside him, and Abbacchio opened his eyes slowly once more.
"Leone Abbacchio," Bruno murmured, his eyes still lidded.
"Mm?"
"I like your name," he said softly. "Leone Abbacchio… It sounds strong all together like that. Just Leone on its own though is so tender, it sounds like a pet-name…"
"Oh," Abbacchio responded quietly. It was all he could say.
"Were you ever called Leo?" Bruno asked.
Abbacchio could feel himself fluster.
Leo…
It was something he hadn't been referred to as in a good long while, and the thought of such a sweet name leaving Bruno's lips was overwhelming.
"Once or twice," he said. It was the safest response.
"Mmm…" Bruno hummed. "Would you mind being called it once or twice more?"
Abbacchio took longer to answer this time. Bruno wanted his consent for a nickname and he didn't know how to respond. He didn't know what response would be best, or fairest. Was this a trade? Did Bruno want him to make up one as well? He had no idea what it should be, if so. Brunello? Bru? Abbacchio was horrible with pet names. 'Bruno' was tender enough in his mind, it was nearly sickening to even consider calling him something else. But then, he supposed he didn't mind if Bruno wanted one for him. Leone was a mouthful and a sort of proud, irritating name. If Bruno wanted to soften and tame it a bit he did not mind in the slightest. 'Leo' could never hope to compare to 'Bruno's softness and grace.
"I don't care," he murmured at long last.
Fuck, that came out so harsh. You don't mind , you fucking jackass.
Bruno didn't give him the opportunity to correct himself. He just murmured happily, wiggling himself closer, his head now a mere centimeter away from Abbacchio's face.
"Good," he purred. "I'm happy to hear that."
God, Abbacchio wanted to wrap him in his arms and roll over on top of him. Bruno wasn't making it easy not to. Somehow Bruno managed to make laying in warm laundry together more intense and awkward than the first time they had sex.
"Say," he whispered, rolling himself up onto Abbacchio's chest and finally opening those vibrant blue eyes to peer down on him. "Does the holster leave creases on your skin when you take it off?"
“Creases?” he parroted absently. He could barely get the word out, Bruno as heavy on his chest as he was mind-numbingly captivating.
“Yeah…” he murmured. “Does it leave red lines on your skin? Does it cut into you?” he asked.
“I don’t,” Abbacchio started. “I don’t know, I don’t really pay attention…”
Bruno smiled coyly, fingers crawling slowly up to the spread of shirt covering the area between his chest and shoulder, just below his collar. “Should we check?” he asked.
Abbacchio could feel his heart leap into his throat. “Y-yeah, sure. By all means. Be my guest.” He couldn’t even begin to tell whether Bruno was being a little cock-tease intentionally, or whether he was just that eccentric and completely oblivious. He couldn’t begin to care either way, so long as Bruno just kept paying him attention.
Bruno beamed and crawled up onto his lap, rolling Abbacchio into his back by the shoulders. He sat straddling his hips, knees bent so that one sat to the outside of his leg, and one overlapped, his shin crossing Abbacchio's femur, a socked foot pressed to the inside of his thigh. The way the sharp edge of his shin bone put pressure on the top of his leg made the position a bit stressful, despite how exciting it was to have Bruno straddling him.
He carefully unbuttoned Abbacchio's dress shirt and Abbacchio used every last ounce of willpower he had in him to not swallow too harshly, self conscious of how his throat pressed into Bruno's knuckles as he gently worked his collar open. As Bruno worked his way slowly down, Abbacchio did his best to avert his eyes, to think about anything other thant what was going on right now. Anything other than Bruno undressing him, if only part way. It was too exciting. Too nerve-wracking. Every brush with Bruno's hands lingered on his flesh and his mind was sent in a flurry. Bruno was straddled right over his hips, if anything were to happen he'd feel it right against his-
"Ohh… your poor skin…" Bruno said softly.
Abbacchio's train of thought was cut short when he snapped back to reality and realized that Bruno had unbuttoned him nearly to the waist and was gazing down at his chest, warm hands coming to just ever so softly brush the afflicted area, sending a shiver diving down Abbacchio's spine. He followed Bruno's gaze, looking down to see that there was only a whisper of a red line crossing either shoulder where the holster had sat.
"That's nothing, don't worry about it," was what he wanted badly to say, reassuring Bruno that it was, in fact, nothing, but when his lips parted he let out nothing but a soft gasp, a nervous crackle whispering up from his lungs. He was too taken with how Bruno's eyes didn't leave the tiny welt on his left, his hands massaging and kneading at Abbacchio's shoulders as he fussed over his skin. He was completely dismantled by every one of his touches.
Then Bruno bent down over him and kissed the mark ever so softly, and Abbacchio was left truly speechless.
His lips roamed over sensitive skin, kissing and soothing at every inch of irritation. His hair dipped and brushed Abbacchio's chest, tickling him like a raven feather as Bruno advanced. Abbacchio's fingers curled in the wad of fabric to his sides, trying his best to ground himself as Bruno lavished affection over his opposite shoulder as well now.
Without warning Bruno laid himself down, pressing their torsos flush, his abdomen still hunched and straddling Abbacchio's hips uncomfortably. He pressed his cheek to Abbacchio’s breast, a smile just visible on his lips, hands coming to cup his ribs on either side through his shirt.
"Your heart's beating so fast…" he whispered, his breath tickling the exposed skin on the opposite side of his sternum. "Are you excited, or nervous?" he asked softly.
Abbacchio couldn't answer. He didn't even know which answer was more correct. Bruno seemed so genuinely delighted by him, he didn't want to upset him by admitting he was nervous, likewise he didn't want to upset him by lying and saying it was just excitement. Not to mention if he said he was excited, Bruno might decide to press upon what it could be he was excited for, and he was never one to enjoy putting pressure on a partner. That being said he was excited, but he was also so nervous he felt borderline terrified.
Abbacchio kept his lips pressed into a firm line, saying nothing as he continued to stare down at him. Bruno stared back expectantly before suddenly looking crestfallen for a beat.
Fuck fuck fuck, he was trying to have a moment there, Abbacchio thought in a panic. He was listening to my heart, he must have been trying to be romantic, fuck me!
Abbacchio floundered, still saying nothing as his mouth gaped uselessly.
"Why are you being so shy?" Bruno asked quietly, prompting him for a response.
Because I'm not used to you crawling all over me. Hell, I'm not used to being fawned over.
"I'm not being shy," he murmured instead.
Bruno raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but smiled all the same. "You're just a man of few words, huh…" he said quietly.
Abbacchio raised his gaze up to the ceiling, doing so as slowly as he could so as not to make it seem like he was shying away in a fluster. He had no choice but to prove Bruno right with his silence. He could feel his cheeks burning, and he didn't want to give Bruno the satisfaction of watching him blush away from those prying blue eyes. It was amazing how easy he was to tease, and he was embarrassed by his bashful side, which only furthered his shy, childish reaction to Bruno's prodding.
"I like having you here. I'd like to have you here a lot more often," he muttered.
Abbacchio's breath caught in his throat. Bruno was honest, sure, but he was never quite that open and Abbacchio didn't know what to make of that.
You need to say something to him.
"I like being here…" he whispered.
Bruno immediately made a little content murmur, and when Abbacchio forced himself to glance back down at him, he could see him beaming. Fuck if that didn't make him feel good about himself. For once.
They relaxed into one another, Bruno snuggling into the soft swell of muscle to the left of his chest and Abbacchio laying like a brick beneath him. Like his he could much more appreciate the pleasant surrounding warmth; Bruno's body atop him and his fresh blankets beneath. His detergent smelled good too, the scent competing with the milder scent of Bruno's hair. Abbacchio almost wanted to ask just how in the hell he managed to make everything in his aura smell so nice without being overpowering, but he kept his mouth shut. He was much more content to just be, dwindling worry about whether or not Bruno wanted to be schmoozed into sex aside.
It wasn't long before Bruno started squirming though, the awkward placement of his shin across Abbacchio's thigh making itself known. For as composed as he was, he was never very good at staying still for long.
Bruno sat back up, gazing admiringly down on him. Abbacchio could now do nothing but stare right back up. He didn't know what to do with himself. He couldn't tell if Bruno was waiting for him to make a move, or if this was exactly what he wanted. Either way he was content to lay still and let Bruno have his way, whatever 'his way' may be.
After a moment of fond staring Bruno broke the silence again. "I love your eyes," he cooed. "They're so pretty, I could stare at them all day…"
Abbacchio could only feel himself begin to get bashful at the praise.
"I wish I could kiss them," Bruno purred quietly. He barely even seemed aware of himself.
Okay, he's weird. He's definitely just weird, there's no way.
"You can if I close them," Abbacchio mumbled without thinking. He couldn't even begin to comprehend what he was agreeing to, or what sort of beast he may be feeding by offering up that suggestion, but when he saw Bruno's face light up, he knew he couldn't take it back.
"Can I?" Bruno asked. There was such an innocent, childlike sparkle in his eyes when he asked. He looked like an elementary schooler just given permission to pet his neighbour's dog. Unbridled, barely restrained glee so thinly veiled on his face.
Abbacchio nodded without hesitation.
Bruno posted up over him, leaning in to kiss his left eye first. Abbacchio's eyes instinctively shut, doing his best not to scrunch them up, instead lidding them lightly in order to give Bruno more room.
He could feel his eyelids quiver as Bruno's breath met them, struggling not to furrow his brow. He put his hands on Bruno's thighs to steady him without thinking. His brain short circuited when he realized what he'd done, but he did not move them.
Bruno moved slowly, his touch was feather light, lips pressing gently up against the corner of his eye. He moved on, lips brushing up high on the center of his eyelid, each kiss soft and carefully placed. He took his time moving over to Abbacchio's other eye, kissing as gently as he could there too. He kissed more brow than he did eyelid, Abbacchio noticed, which in a way was somewhat comforting. He figured if he had a thing for eyes he would have gone for it a bit more, but he barely even touched on his actual eyeball.
The fact that he even had to consider that at all would have normally been a huge red flag, but he overlooked it with such ease he astounded himself. Bruno was an eccentric, a unique individual in all regards. Abbacchio decided he could handle unique.
He felt Bruno withdraw, seeming to have had his fill with lavishing attention on his eyes. When he opened his eyes again Bruno was smiling softly down at him.
"Did that feel weird?" he asked.
"Maybe a little…"
No one's ever wanted to kiss my fucking eyes before.
"Your eyelids are soft…" Bruno murmured pleasantly before startling up, a concerned expression crossing his face. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked with what appeared to be sudden realization.
Abbacchio shook his head quickly, the cooling blankets around him rustling as his head moved. He was anxious, but he wasn't uncomfortable in the slightest. Not that he knew how to express it, but he was charmed by Bruno's complete enthrallment with him and his body. He shied away from such attention, but he didn't dislike it.
Bruno's worried expression eased back into its open smile. He had this strange, barely contained childish glee about him. His smooth, somewhat aloof demeanor had completely evaporated, all that was left was raw excitement and interest. Abbacchio had thought that it had been put on at first, as playfully performative as his more poised persona. But it wasn't. There was no way it could be. Bruno Buccellati didn't know how to comport himself and it was blindingly obvious.
Not that Abbacchio knew any better, but that was besides the point.
Bruno eased himself back down against Abbacchio's chest, his fingers creeping up to pet his exposed chest, the pads of his fingertips rolling over goose pimpled skin. Abbacchio could still feel that he was being antsy, but he decided to go with it, content not to press.
He stretched out more, holding Bruno to his chest as he did. Now that the blankets were cooling that fresh breeze was giving him a bit of a chill, especially with his shirt undone.
"I think your blankets are getting cold," he murmured.
Bruno propped himself up slightly, patting down the blankets to their side. "That they are…" He sheepishly returned his attention to Abbacchio, staring down at him before bidding himself to speak again. "Well… now that you're here… would you mind helping me fold them?"