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Physical intimacy was never something Giorno expected out of his relationship with Fugo. When it happened, he was graced by soft, lingering touches and the quiet, yearning wish to be touched back and held. Ever the doting boyfriend, Giorno always complied. When it didn't, that was fine too; throughout the day Giorno got his fill of platonic touches and holds from Mista and Narancia, which was already a handful but he was grateful for it. He didn't mind the long, expansive hours of reading in silence or working together to help Bruno with the burden of being the don of Passione.
He didn't need physical intimacy as much as others; quality time was just as good in his eyes.
Surprisingly to most, though not to those that truly knew him, Giorno wasn't the thrill seeking kind. He enjoyed patterns and understanding how things work, down to even the most minute detail; his partner was no exception to this quirk of his. Only, after knowing him for as long as he has; as a co-worker, friend and something beyond that realm, Giorno had been forced to learn how to sit and wait. To let Fugo dictate what he would be able to peel back and uncover, while also understanding the times when his boyfriend would want to stubbornly cover himself back up. Even in those moments, Giorno was always felt like he was left with something, traces or clues to help him figure out what Fugo needed from him, even if he didn't out rightly say it.
This time, Giorno was left with no such thing. Stranded, he could only pinch his golden strand eyebrows in confusion when he caught Fugo staring at him too hard, or tilt his head ever so slightly when the teen would approach as normal, only to hiss at himself afterwards and walk away. Though not one for self-doubt, it had been slightly troubling to think that he could be the source of Fugo's frustration. Maybe his partner was waiting to see if he would ever initiate their personal time, something that Giorno had never considered doing before due to not wanting to cross a boundary. Also, Fugo tended to be very vocal in assuring Giorno whether or not he was doing the right thing within their interactions. He only seemed to shut down when he felt as though he was doing something wrong.
Perhaps, that was the issue.
It was at times like these Giorno couldn't help but be reminded of his own inability to verbally communicate in situations like this. While on missions and delegating work to others, notably, Giorno was in his element. In more vulnerable situations, especially ones regarding his partner, Giorno could admit he was lacking in his ability to express himself, even when asking small questions such as, "Fugo, I'd like to know, what's wrong?" Asking for help on how to do so was also a struggle of his, as if admitting defeat; admitting that he couldn't communicate to his partner. To a large portion of his heart, it felt more than shameful. Yet each time the feeling arrived, it only drove him to being more proactive in squashing the feeling where it stood; regardless of not being able to "punch" it physically.
Which is why Giorno was nursing a tray to three teacups, padding softly through this particular safe house with a look of determination. By this time of day, Bruno would be taking a break imposed on him by Abbacchio; where they would chat, but under Bruno's digression would stick to his staying inside office. No lunch or drink; which is why Giorno took the liberty of bringing the refreshments. Well that, and to quell the guilt he felt for disturbing them. Unlike he and Fugo, they could communicate; good, bad or indifferent. He wasn't foolish enough to thing that it wasn't without it's own troubles and peril, yet he was only human. So sue him for assuming the sun shined brighter on the next horizon.
Giorno stabilized the tea tray in one hand and knocked on the office door with the other. On the inside, the muttering voices died off in an instant. With how thick the wood door was, Giorno could only hear muffled shuffling, a few curses mostly likely belonging to Abbacchio and a laugh, the owner definitely being Bruno. It went on for at most five more seconds, before Bruno cleared his throat and his voice rang out.
"Giorno, you can come in."
"Brat," Abbacchio hissed as Giorno made his entry; also making the mental note not to ask how Bruno knew it was him at the door.
As if reading his mind anyways, Bruno looked at the teen and smiled, "Process of elimination. Mista and Narancia don't knock, Fugo would have huffed impatiently and I didn't specifically hear Trish's heels coming down the hallway," he answers somewhat smugly and to his credit, it was well deserved. From his left, Abbacchio was sitting in the seat Fugo usually took when they were working, staring at him as if he had knocked over a cookie jar he wasn't supposed to know existed.
Not to mention, Giorno was gazing upon his bare lips, not covered in it's usual purple lipstick, so, perhaps he had.
"I see… Boss, Abbacchio; I have coffee," Giorno spoke in his usual polite tone, setting the tray down. He made quick but elegant work of disbursing the cups, Bruno first, of course, Abbacchio, then himself before taking a seat.
He took the moment the two had to check their drinks, more out of habit than distrust, to collect his thoughts. He still didn't know how he was supposed to work himself up to ask talk about how he was feeling, but the couple seemed content in slowly sipping their drinks and waiting for him to collect himself enough to speak. The fact that it was important enough for him want to come into the workspace not working himself, says a lot about the importance. He rarely ever did this.
"Did you really bring yourself a cup of coffee just to let it get cold? You're wasting it," Abbacchio says first, and gruffly at that. It's enough to get Giorno going, with the gentle shake of his head.
"Ah, no, forgive me." He says, picking up his cup and taking a sip of the brew. He didn't even like coffee; he would have preferred tea.
"It's no problem at all; so tell us Giorno, what seems to be the matter? You look as though something is troubling you," Bruno says, leaning forward in his seat. The epitome of an active listener, ready to hear him out and offer advice if needed. It was just the safety net he needed.
"I fear that I may have wronged Fugo, in some kind of way," he starts off slowly, attempting to gauge their reactions. When he wasn't met with anything that signaled for him to stop, he continued, "He isn't lashing out at me which I suppose is a good sign, but if he isn't saying it to me or I assume you either, then he may be bottling something up. I'd like to know, to help him if he need but, I'm having trouble bringing it up with him." Perhaps talking was easier than he thought, it always was once he got over his initial discomfort and internal stubbornness. He knew that even with Abbacchio here, he wouldn't be judged negatively.
"I see," Bruno says as if in deep thought already, and Giorno is relived that there could be a quick solution to his problem. Taking another sip of his coffee, he waits for Bruno to hum before returning his gaze. "I can say, Fugo has been more distant this past month."
A whole month? How was Giorno just realizing now?
"I wouldn't stress the lapsed time, Fugo has gotten better at masking what he doesn't want you see. I only know because I've known him longer, it's not your fault," the look he gave Giorno both comforting and souring. There were still parts Fugo didn't want him to see? Still things he couldn't access? How could it not be his fault? "You were also just getting off a long protection detail when I noticed his distance towards everyone else. It makes since that you simply wrote it off as his normal space your relationship."
"Oh." Was all he could say instead of rattling off about his much more attentive he should have been, even after his mission. A little work strain should not have taken his mind off of what was most important. Perhaps, Fugo had been cross at him for not noticing sooner.
"Earth to pompous brat, are you bothering to listen?" Abbacchio cut in, likely realizing that he had been thinking too hard, clutching his tea cup without ever bring it to his mouth.
"Yes, uh, yes. Sorry. I'm listening."
"Sure you are, kid. Don't pussyfoot around what you have to talk about or you'll actually be guilty of whatever you are trying to pin on yourself. As of now the only thing you're got on you is being stuck up and a cock-block–"
"Leone." The look Bruno sent him made it more than clear that was not something Giorno was meant to hear. So he pretends he didn't and Abbacchio rolls his eyes.
"Tch, whatever. Just talk about it and get it over with before you turn nothing into something," Abbacchio says, drinking the rest of the coffee in his cup before reaching to put it back on the tray. "And next time don't try to punish yourself with small stuff; you like tea, make tea. You're punishing us all with whatever you've brewed up in here." He grimaces, his frown deepening. Glancing at Bruno to see if he agreed, the man also nodded, placing his unfinished drink on the tray as well. Seems like coffee making was harder than Trish said it was.
"Oh." Giorno repeated dumbly, subconsciously reminding the two men something they all tended to forget sometimes, Giorno was only a teenager. High functioning and majorly independent, yes; but a teenager all the same.
"Back to the topic at hand, Giorno, I do agree with Leone on this matter. During moments like this, it's best to reinforce to Fugo that the communication skills you too worked so hard to build are always a viable option to work over complicated issues. I understand how that may go over for him and how you'll work to get you both to that stage, so how about I suggest something?"
Giorno blinks a couple of times as if not expecting an actual solution other than a conversation. This was much better than that alone. "Yes please, continue."
"I feel as though you may want to take your time finding the right words to say to Fugo, as that is important, however, I don't want to coddle you into letting this go on for too long. I know, that you know, with both of you off your kilter many missions can go astray, which is unexceptionable. Instead, I'll clear out the house for you on Thursday so you both can talk uninterrupted and without prying ears for two hours, you settle it then and we'll have dinner when we get back. Is that alright with you?"
Giorno thought over the idea quickly. Thursday gave him two days to pull something together without having a chance to run and avoid the topic for very long. If Giorno had to think about it deeper, mentioning their jobs and performance levels was a sure way to get him on board with whatever suggestion he came up with. Even with their odds and disputes, they never wanted it to get in the way of their team or other relationships. The way Bruno proposed was likely the best route.
"I… I think that work well Bucciarati. Thank you so much," Giorno says, a small smile gracing his lips. Just when he was about to excuse himself, Abbacchio cleared his throat with a loud cough and nudged his chair. Trying to fight his smile from growing any larger, as he packed the items he brought in and tipped his head respectfully. "Thank you aga–"
"Alright brat, get out already. Pretty sure Bruno's break is over thanks to the time you took up."
"It very well may be but never be shy to come to me or Abbacchio if you need more help," Bruno followed up after his partner. Their compatibility shining simply because of how different they are; again, Giorno thinks of how golden their sunset looks.
Thursday came up on Giorno like a bad ambush. Though, ambush. he feels is a bad word since today wasn't a surprise, he was just anticipating it too heavily. Over the past couple of days, he and Fugo hadn't exactly gotten any closer. They did read together the night before, Giorno on the couch and Fugo on the loveseat so he could maintain his space, but the latter only stayed for 30 minutes before excusing himself and running off. By the time he reached his room, the door slammed so hard it shook the house. Even then, all Giorno could think about was how in half an hour, Fugo hadn't turned one page of his book.
It seemed to be that things were getting worse.
Breakfast in the morning went as chaotic as ever. Everyone bundled into one place, talking, laughing and Narancia with his radio playing a decibel too high for everyone. It was as normal as things got with their family. It wasn't until things got rowdy everything went horribly left. It started with Mista throwing grapes in the air and catching them in his mouth. While Bruno muttered something along the lines of not playing with his food, it was over taken by Trish's whistle of approval, enjoying the show.
Narancia wanting to be in on the fun, begged Mista to throw his grapes and swore that he would catch it. The two made a show of it and Trish announced the act with playful grandeur, Giorno only watched the spectacle with the occasional glance to Fugo, who did and said nothing, not even a threat to the shorter boy to be careful of where he was going. The first grape Mista threw landed on the floor with a soft thud despite Narancia's valiant effort to angle his mouth properly. The next one they both swore that he'd make it, and perhaps they should have took the first shot as a warning. Mista's aim was terribly off, something he said was the fault of the wind and nothing to tease about since he was a top tier marksman. Narancia on the other hand, still tried to commit to their promise and lunged for the grape, even though it was headed straight for Fugo's lap.
The eruption was immediate.
"Get off me, stronzo! G-Get off, don't touch me you—you bitch! I said don't fucking touch me, move it! Move!"
Fugo all but threw Narancia off his lap and onto the ground. His ragged panting could be heard throughout the kitchen, it was even evident that Purple Haze was trying to manifest itself beyond Fugo's control. The kitchen stayed quiet, Fugo visibly trying to grab a hold of his stand before it attempted to kill of them all where they stood. Even with the culprit sitting on the floor, wide eyed and nervous, Fugo's eyes remained on him, piercing through his soul as if what he'd just said was towards him. When Fugo left and went upstairs to his room, Giorno went behind him to his own. Neither left their rooms for the rest of the day.
When nighttime came Giorno snapped back to himself, remembering what Bruno said he's do for him tonight. Somewhere in the midst of his blank staring he recalls hearing the house empty out, but he couldn't pinpoint the time in between or the time he had left to do this. There would likely be no more chances after this; Giorno let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Slowly, as he steeled his nerves and opened his door, he heard the door across from him click and looked up. Fugo, in one of his shirts and Abbacchio's sweats, looked at him too; the couple stared at each other like deer in headlights. When Giorno noticed the red of Fugo's waterline and his bruised cheeks, he was the first to move, crossing the hallway in record time before the other could react. More so like he didn't want to, the blond figured out as they stared at each other once again, and Giorno couldn't help but miss being this close to his partner.
Silently, Fugo opened his room door further for Giorno to slip in, and no wider. Once he was inside, Giorno watched as Fugo quickly closed the door behind them and locked in using the deadbolt. He was only the person with more than one lock on their bedroom door, and Giorno knew it was for a reason. Not to keep them out, or more specifically him out, but to keep Fugo inside. Despite how Giorno felt on the topic it made Fugo feel safe; he could only assume that with himself on this side of the door and the lock in place Fugo at least felt safe.
He still felt safe with him around, that was more assurance than he ever thought he'd need.
"Fugo-"
"Gio-"
They started at the same time, startling the other. When their eyes met, Giorno could feel his face turn red and watched as Fugo's mirrored his. Moments like this were scary because of how in sync they were. Coming to the same conclusions, following the others moments, one only a second behind the other. Even their breathing could be come one movement and they were just extensions of each other. Too much and not enough. Needs and wants. There was no completion without the other.
"You can sit," Fugo finally says, pointing to his desk chair and Giorno nods, quietly padding over to the spot. As he sits, the plastic covering on the chair squeaks and Giorno watches as Fugo grabs his arms, embarrassed. There are more containers around then Giorno remembers, everything stacked up and organized. Too neat. "I… was just coming to talk to you." Fugo states, keeping his distance; Giorno mourns that.
"I know, I was just coming to see you too, for the same reason," Giorno starts off, internally collecting all the talking points he thought up over the past few days. "I wanted to tell you, I'm sorry."
"Y-You're what? Why?" Fugo asked, his face scrunched in confusion.
"I didn't notice you were going through something and you've been suffering in silence. I'm sorry for not seeing… for not realizing it sooner," the teen said, shamefully but honest. Despite Abbacchio letting him off the hook for the oversight, it shouldn't be a luxury he could afford. "I should have been more attentive–"
"Giorno, just stop it, cut it out." Fugo said sharply, without raising his voice. Meeting Fugo's eyes again, the blond didn't know he ever stopped to looked away. But like always, Fugo brought him back to where he belonged, he raised his head. "It's not your fault I don't know how to piece together what's going on in my head. I know you want to know it too so, I'm trying to figure it out for the both of us. Sometimes, I don't want you to look at my mess."
At his admission, the two fell quiet and Giorno felt almost irked to think that Bruno had been right in that aspect. That there were things he wasn't allowed to see, which Giorno could understand, but because Fugo felt as though he was mess, he couldn't know? Like he was a dirty item that needed to be polished before it could be showcased? Is that what Fugo thought of himself? Is that what Fugo thought he wanted?
"Tesoro, I don't see any mess when I look at you. It's simply not possible in my eyes," Giorno says getting up from his seat. The look in Fugo's eyes made it seem like he wanted the other to sit back down, but tonight was about communication and how willing Giorno was to move the moon and stars if Fugo asked him to. "You are not without your flaws, whether you hide that from me or not, I'm not naive enough to believe so. Still, even then, there is no part of yourself I could hate or despise."
Fugo's grip on his shirt tightened, his face pinching into something sour as he shook his head, "Don't you get it? You shouldn't have to love it, it shouldn't exist. These parts of me makes... it makes me so complicated to understand. You'll have to keep peeling and searching all your life to get it, that can't possibly be worth it."
"That's for me to decide. If learning how to love you took an eternity, then no matter it's complications or how nonlinear the path is, it's mine to travel and I'm granted with the greatest reward for doing so." Their relationship being the reward he sought after; his love and care was priceless. Yet it seemed like those were things that Fugo couldn't seem to wrap his head around.
"Poeta." Fugo snorted.
"I'm not…" Giorno said sheepishly, biting the inside of his cheek. That was usually the response anytime he got caught in one of his rambles, not that he could help himself. His partner only inspired that part of him. "If it's alright Fugo, I'd like to know what's been troubling you. Even if we don't have a solution now, I'd like to help you figure it out. I want you to use me when you feel unsure, despite us not having an answer now, it won't be like that for long."
That seemed to be the right words for Giorno to say because before he knew it, Fugo was walking to close the gap and reaching out. Not wanting to spook him, Giorno willed his arms to stay by his side and let Fugo set the pace. The room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop and Giorno could feel all the blood in his body rush to his ears. He was almost there, about to grasp his shirt when he stopped a pained noise escaping him.
"I-I fucking can't– I can't do it, Giorno," Fugo says frustratedly, his hands hitting his pants with a sharp clap. The look on his face was a mix of emotions that blended too well on his face for Giorno to decipher what it was clearly he was feeling. Perhaps that whirlwind was it, that's what he was feeling and it couldn't be pulled apart because there was no separation to it. Everything was present at once.
"Do what…? Touch me? Is it something specific that's on me or is it a mental block stopping you?" Giorno asked after a minute and that also seems to be right on the money, because Fugo starts nodding vigorously and can't seem to look Giorno in the eye anymore.
The air between them was tense and Fugo's internal battle, visible on his face. Giorno doesn't know if stepping back or coming closer would help, he was stuck. They were both stuck in their own orbits unable to cross in the other's without it seeming like the wrong option. Then Fugo opened his mouth, and Giorno could hear the small pants coming from his lungs as he lick his lips and continued to dry them out again. Right when Giorno thought he would have to prompt him again to speak, finally Fugo did it on his own.
"Gio, there are times… just times when I'm so cold and fuck! I know you're warm, I want it so bad; for you to just hold me and keep me warm 'til my chills go away. So I try, and you've seen me t-try so many times, but I… Dammit– I don't feel clean enough to touch you or let you touch me. So I go shower. Again. And again. And again. And then I try again and I can't help but to stare and wonder if you're clean enough to hold me, and it fucking pisses me off! It's insulting to think like that about you, Gio, you're so… fuck. I'm fucking this up again, dolore al culo."
Giorno watched as helplessly as Fugo rattled off more self-deprecating insults at himself. As his fingers furled up in snow white locks, while Giorno wanted nothing more than to gently loosen their coils and hold them until the action was reciprocated. He wanted to do a lot, to find the words or the perfect suggestion, but with Fugo crumbling down in front of him he couldn't do a thing. Just as he was, he was useless when he wanted to be used the most at moment. He couldn't think of anything to help. A part of him wanted to call Bruno and tell him what a failure this night had been and that he needed someone who actually knew what they were doing to calm Fugo down, to help him.
Just then, the teen started heave, his fists going white to blend with his hair and breath ragged and uneven. Then, Giorno didn't know if he could think anymore, he acted.
"I'm sorry," Giorno whispered painfully as he wrapped his arms around Fugo allowing his boyfriend to thrash, kick and yell all in his arms. Something Giorno had never done before, reaching out first when he was like this; he didn't know whether to revel at the feeling of having Fugo in his arms again or hate himself for doing so without asking. It felt wrong to clutch onto him with such a relief, even while he was fighting it.
"You aren't messing anything up Fugo, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he kept repeating, not caring about the viscous way Fugo snarled back at him and the anger in his voice. If anything he deserved it, and would take this punishment the way he should.
Giorno could only marvel at the fact that Fugo's stand hadn't stepped in to protect him. It only led him to think that maybe, just maybe, Fugo felt safe like this, even when his body couldn't properly accept it. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his end and he was still as clueless as ever.
After a while Fugo's streamline of panic and frustration died down, the two stood in middle of his room and simply rocked to Giorno's slow movements and his calming mutter. The blond was surprised it worked. At some point Fugo joined into his rocking and ignored his shuttering just to hear his boyfriend's heart beat.
At last it seemed as though Fugo had found some peace.
"Gio…" Fugo muttered against his wet shirt, and Giorno believed it was finally time for him to let go. Attempting to take a step back, the teen was met with a noise shockingly similar to a whine as Fugo dropped more of his body weight on him so Giorno would be forced to hold him more. "No… not that. Please not that…" With that Giorno didn't move a muscle from where he stood.
It took another moment of silence before Fugo cleared his throat again, catching Giorno's attention for a second time. "I… me and Bruno– well. Fuck it, Gio, take a shower with me."
"Bruno?"
"Is that all you heard? I just ask you–"
"Yes, Fugo, I heard your statement. I'll take a shower with you," Giorno mused, watching as Fugo's face turned red as speckled hues in his eyes. There was also the small moment of him correcting the other, which would usually peeve him. This time around, the albino snorted and finally let go of his hair, Giorno let out a sigh of relief. "I only mentioned Bruno because I talked to him a couple days back about this very thing and he suggested that he'd clear the house for us to talk."
"I think we may have talked to him on the same day… Which would also explain why Abbacchio wished me good luck before I left. How bothersome," Fugo scoffed, the blush in his cheeks not going anywhere. In fact, Giorno wished they would stay long enough for him to work up the courage to ask to kiss them.
Staying focused however, he hummed in agreement, "So the solution the two of you came of with was a shower?"
"Yeah well, not me actually. Bruno suggested it; that maybe I could touch you in a place my mind deemed more sanitary than other places. The shower is the only place I could think of," Fugo said, seeming as though he felt it was silly to bring up, but Giorno shook his head. If that's what it took then he would adhere to it.
"Fine, I'll do," Giorno said with finality and the other made a surprised noise.
"W-What? Really? We haven't even.. well, I don't think we've ever saw each other naked since dating. I thought maybe you'd feel off about it…"
This time it was Giorno's turn to make the noise of surprise and cocked his head to the side, "It's only bathing in this regard, so perhaps we can find something special in our intimacy washing each other. Besides, how does me holding you like this make you feel?"
"Nauseous." Fugo said quickly, before adding. "But don't let go."
"I won't, and now you see the point. I'd like for you to feel comfortable when we do this, hugging you in the shower makes no difference to me. It's just… wetter," Giorno jokes, and Fugo snorts.
"You're so weird, and an ass. I don't get you sometimes, but I'd also like to get the chance to know you for eternity. That I know for sure."
"Then we're on the same page."
"Right."
The couple stand in the room for a few moments longer, Giorno simply waiting and Fugo collecting himself. When he's ready, Fugo makes the first the first move, shifting his weight to make to make it easier on Giorno to walk, while the other unlocks the door and leads them out. The house is still quiet and empty besides the two of them padding through it alone. Fugo stays walking along his side, seemingly able to shrink himself despite being the taller of the two, if only by an inch or two.
Their upstairs personal bathroom is much larger that the two guest ones downstairs, however splitting it four ways was bound to make it feel smaller. Upon entering, the two are surprised to find it clean, near spotless even to Fugo's trained eye. Giorno could only assume that Bruno had it cleaned before they left for their outing, knowing that if it wasn't, it would likely only put a damper on the progress they've made.
"Is this alright?" Giorno asks anyway, just to make sure and Fugo nods.
"Yeah, this is good. I'm good," Fugo says, more it seems to himself then to Giorno but to comfort him, he hums anyway. It takes Fugo a second before he's letting of Giorno and clutching on to the bottom of his top.
"That's my shirt…" Giorno trails off awkwardly, eyeing it with interest as he fiddles with the shirt he's wearing as well.
"Oh, is it? I think it got mixed up when we did laundry together, I'll wash it."
"No, it's alright. Keep it."
"Right."
"Right."
The two remained motionless, boyishly sneaking glances at each other while their cheeks turned rosy red. It didn't feel like things would be different when Giorno first agreed to the suggestion, downplaying it's implications. Yet now, he couldn't help but feel that the change in their relationship may have done more than he thought, even if it was just showering.
When it seemed like neither of them would be making the first move Giorno bit his cheek and slowly nodded to himself.
"I'll go first," he said determinedly, watching from the corner of his eye Fugo's mouth gape once, then twice, before following his lead.
It was unsurprising that the teens had the same habits, starting with their shirts, folding them, then their pants to do the same. When all that was left was their boxers, Fugo made a point to turn around and turn on the shower while Giorno took them off. With Fugo's back towards him, Giorno couldn't help the once over look he gave to the subtly flexed muscles. He looked fitted with a tad more muscle slotted on to the dips of his back than he remembered seeing before. It was more than complementing to his figure, in fact Giorno would go as far to say that he'd been sculpted for that look.
Which seemed to be all the more correct.
"Ahem," Fugo coughed, catching his eye in mirror. Giorno startled blinking to a focus, wondering if he had done something that crossed the line. That was, until he fully saw the look on Fugo's face; was that bashfulness? "What are you looking at?"
"Your back," Giorno said, unhelpfully. That testament proven by the eye roll Fugo gives him.
"Yeah, I know that. I mean like, what, I guess? Do you like it?" Fugo asked, moving his hair from off his neck simply exposing his nape. Giorno couldn't help but feel as though it was more lewd than it was.
"Yes, I mean of course. Not that I meant to stare but, I was surely admiring. You're quite beautiful," he says, feeling more confident with his wording. If Fugo hadn't shown any interest in his words, or even worse, a sign of discomfort in it he would have stopped immediately, yet that wasn't the case.
"Says the gold-haired Adonis," Fugo shoots back, and Giorno comes to realize that he wasn't the only one stuck staring in awe.
"You think so…? What a compliment," he muses and finally heads to the shower door, the fact that he was nude was slowly starting to slip his mind. That wasn't prevalent at all when he was working so dutifully to for Fugo's comfort. "Would you rather I get in first so you can finish getting undress? I don't mind not looking either."
"You can do what you want, I mean I tend to run the water a bit hot though. If it's too much you can always cool it down," Fugo said, nodding to the shower and stepping to the side for Giorno to step in.
Opening the shower door, the misty wave of heat Giorno was succumbed to made him frown. A bit hot was an understatement; he thought to himself as he stepped under the water. In doing so he hissed, being assaulted by the boiling temperature of the water. He could hear a soft sorry echo out over the water once he settled with standing just out of the waters range. It didn't exactly help the water pressure was as hard as it usually was; which under cooler temperatures would feel more refreshing then it did at the moment. The steam however wasn't that bad.
The only hint Giorno received that Fugo was joining him in the water was a muttered curse, before her stepped under the water himself, seemingly unfazed by the water. In his hands were two loofahs, one that he hooked onto the shower hooks and the other he kept in his hand, clutching it like a vice. The water just so happened to weigh his hair down in all the right places to frame his face. That, complemented with the roseate shade his cheeks turned thanks to steam around them, and in Giorno's eyes Fugo was clearly the better looking between the two.
Giorno didn't know whether to keep looking or to have some restrain and turn away.
"Do you mind if I start with you? I feel like– like if I could do that, prove to myself maybe that you're cleaned by me it would be alright to touch you more freely." Fugo's voice was soft yet it echoed out clear enough for him to know what it was taking for him to ask.
It was likely Fugo was trying not to offend him, assuming that he was unintentionally calling him dirty by saying he wasn't clean. However, Giorno didn't see it that way all.
"Fine then, I'm in your hands," Giorno smiles, offering his arm the him and to Fugo, it looked as though Giorno said he'd hang the stars in the sky for him.
"Thank you, Gio," Fugo whispered fervently, taking up his wrist and tentatively gliding the soapy loofah against his skin. When Giorno didn't make the move to stop him or pull away, that seemed to be enough for Fugo to seriously get started.
Outside of a few isolated situations and the teen well, washing his hands, Giorno can't say he's ever seen how particular Fugo was when cleaning. He was through and orderly, starting from his hand, down to his forearm then biceps before motioning for him to step under the water. Then the process started again with the same arm.
Though visibly confused, Giorno made a point not ask, because by the second rinse he was moving on to his left arm. Once he was there the process started again, from the tips of his fingers, down his arm, rinse, then he did it again.
"Twice," he said, feeling the need to explain himself anyways. "I do everything twice to be sure." Next was his shoulders and neck, soapy white foam dripping down his torso while Fugo scrubbed at his skin.
Giorno couldn't help but just watch, a response dying on his tongue as he tried to think of the last time he could recall being bathed, if ever. His mother wasn't truly the type once he got past a certain age, so he learned most hygiene on his own or from what he's heard from other sources. He couldn't deny that it felt different to be handled with such love and care, even if it was Fugo learning to overcome a mental block he had been stuck with. In more than one way, it was easy to say that there where helping each other.
Heading to his torso, Fugo seemed to get more shy and confident at the time. The look on his face told Giorno he was on edge, waiting for him to stop him at any time, but his hand placement was different. No longer was it just the hand holding the loofah touching him, but Fugo had worked up the courage to place his hand on his waist, leaving it to linger there as he worked on cleaning him. Giorno couldn't say he's ever felt Fugo's hands feel so sturdy while on him.
Fugo washed his stomach first, his free hand gently tracing the muscles laid out for him only on the spots covered in soap. It makes his skin jump at certain points of contact in surprise and a foreign feeling that he can't help but sigh at. When he brought the loofah to his chest, the texture made jolt, Fugo immediately looking up to see if he had done something wrong.
"Did it hurt?" Fugo asked quickly.
"No, it was just, different. Good different," he says quickly before Fugo could ask about it. Good was vague and too small of a word, but it easier than saying he was sensitive after being touched for so long. Or more accurately, that after not being touched in any way for so long, this was his reaction.
"Oh, alright," he said, starting up back again. His eyes were fixated more on his chest and where he washing; going over his skin, Fugo scrubbed the way he had been before, firm and with purpose. On the off chance that he would brush against a nipple, he was much gentler about doing so, occasionally glancing upwards to check Giorno's face.
At some point the repetitive washing and pattern became enough for Giorno to completely relax at the different points of contact. Despite never thinking he needed such a thing this much or so often, now it felt like he was missing out on something he had been deprived of.
"I trust you can wash your own balls right?" Fugo asked when there was nothing left for him to wash. Looking down at his body, while some red spots did bloom, nothing hurt. He felt as thoroughly clean as hand washed laundry and even better, Fugo looked proud of himself and his work.
"Yeah, I'm not Mista," Giorno jabs lightly, and Fugo sputters out a laugh.
"Fine, fine then. Alright," Fugo says, handing him the loofah. "I didn't go to hard, did I? I mean, I'm not saying you look hurt but I don't know. Would you tell–"
"Yes, Fugo, I'd tell you if something hurt," he said, swiftly cutting Fugo off. As he washed himself, he didn't check to the face his partner had made. Only that he said the truth, and that he hoped that Fugo would take it as such.
After rinsing off, and doing one more check for any suds, Giorno was officially labeled as clean in Fugo's eyes. It was as a cherished feeling, however now, it was time for the roles to be reversed. The water had gradually gotten cooler since they started, still hot enough to warm the skin but not the safe, scalding temperature Fugo was likely used to. Before Giorno could pick up the loofah meant for Fugo, the teen had already grabbed it in his hands.
"I…" He started off, a look of conflict written on his face. Despite him never saying that Giorno couldn't touch him back, the blond was wary over doing such a thing. He wanted to hear that it was actually okay before he did so. Fugo's chest was starting to rise more visibly, the signs of panic reaching him again.
Quickly, Giorno gave him an out, "I don't have–"
"Shut up! Fuck—sorry. I didn't mean it, I-I just feel like I'm about to back out. Please don't let me, take it," Fugo says, his hands shaking as he extends the loofah towards him and closes his eyes. Giorno nods and takes it from him, realizing how much the power difference in Fugo's eyes had changed.
He was his boyfriend. When they had first gotten together four months ago, Fugo had explained a lot of what he couldn't do. He couldn't have people stand over him or behind him, he couldn't always hold his temper to himself when shaken, he couldn't be physical without being the one to initiate it. There was a list, but Giorno had scribed it on every inch of his heart.
Now, here Fugo was asking him for help to open himself up, to push past all that he couldn't do through fear. That was something he couldn't do when they first started dating and whether Fugo knew it or not Giorno was proud. He would let him know, how proud he was.
"I won't, Caro. No more running," he whispers and Fugo nods, eyeing the way Giorno lathers the loofah up with soap. Not that it was any different from the way he had done it, but only because it was a different pair of hands doing so.
Assured they were both ready, Giorno looked at the other for guidance. Now that he was doing it, it had finally came to mind that this was his first time washing someone other than himself. He still had to learn himself.
When Giorno made a hesitant move for his wrist, Fugo reached out quickly and placed placed his hand it at the base of his neck. "H-Here… please start here," he asked, looking warily as he let go but kept his hand hovering around Giorno's wrist.
The teen nodded, slowly pressing gently onto his skin before he received another correction. Fugo pressed hand down harder against his collarbone and together they did the first scrub. Easily, lines of soap covered red streaks formed in the path and Fugo didn't flinch at it.
"That hard?"
"I-It helps."
"Doesn't it hurt?"
"A little."
"Then why…"
"Because it helps."
Giorno couldn't say he understood it. In fact it was that, that put him on the fence that Fugo was one, wary and nervous.
"Gio, please… It's not bad. I'll be fine," Fugo said, moving his hand again, but this time on the side of his neck and the same thing happens. "I-I need to feel it or it doesn't feel right, Gio. I won't ask you to do it like– like how I always do but I can handle it like this."
Fugo seemed on pleading and Giorno felt as his mouth gaping, water suddenly assaulting him and his heart feeling heavy. He didn't want Fugo to plead or beg at a moment like this, in fact he wanted to give him everything he wanted. Pain wasn't something he thought would ever he could deliver. Not to Fugo in a setting like this.
"Don't run from this Giorno," Fugo said and now it was his turn to pinch a look. Glaring into Fugo's face, despite his words, it didn't seem like something meant to poke fun at him. He seemed as though he meant it, even with his tone had felt like it grazed a nerve. "It's alright. It's alright for me, and it's alright for you."
His hand was still on top of his, moving as if it was second nature and Giorno only followed his lead. Neither of them were shy of eye contact, at times it was more honest and vulnerable then they could be to themselves. Giorno could feel Fugo calling for that in this moment, not to look at what he was doing but at him, and he couldn't help but to answer. Even under the shower he could tell Fugo's eyes were watering by the way his eyelashes fluttered, yet nothing would fall.
"I don't want control over this anymore, Gio. Caro mio, do this for me?" Fugo asked, his hand from his as if a puppet string had been snipped. There was a reflection of himself in his eye, something that usually only symbolized one thing for Fugo, trust. He would be a fool to make Fugo wavier by not trusting himself.
He would do it just the Fugo asked, just as he needed it to be done, but not without admiring all the places he had never touched before. Giorno followed Fugo's previous example, washing and rinsing each are twice, while his free hand was allowed to roam. He only touched delicately, not worried that Fugo would some how break, but for his own sake. For the sake that he wanting to memorize how neatly his waist fit into hand. Where all the dips and cuts from the strain of their work led, how Fugo reacted to his inexperienced hands just wandering.
As Giorno worked his way down to his v-line, he looked up at Fugo for the first time in a while, finding on of his hands had been covering his mouth and the other across one of his eyes; he was crying.
"H-Have I done something–"
"I love you."
"I love you too."
The response had been so quickly said afterwards, Giorno hadn't even needed to think about it. Feeling the high, and reeling of at the confession; Giorno planted a kiss right over his naval. Their first one to the relationship if their grazing pecks to the hand didn't count. This, was much more proper. Giorno made sure Fugo felt his lips press upon his wet skin.
"I love you," Giorno whispered against the spot and kept washing. He handled Fugo's legs as if it was a jewel he was never meant to view in the first place. His movements were confident in their own way. Every stripe of suds and vanilla smelling soap becoming a promise that Fugo would always be safe in his hands, under his touch and his watchful eye. Every now and then he pressed a kiss where he could reach to seal the promise to his kiss.
Once Giorno was finally finished, Fugo's body near dark red, though he hadn't seemed to mind. His eyes visibly said that he was content with Giorno's work, proud of it, and the blond couldn't stop beaming.
At last the water stopped and Fugo stepped out onto the bath rug first, going under the sink for two towels. Giorno was right behind him, pushing his curled bangs out of his face so he could see better and accept the towel. Still in their touchy mood, the two dried each other off, the job done with more lingering touched thrown into the mix and even a kiss to Giorno's shoulder from Fugo.
The blond couldn't have been happier.
"I think I got carried away when I asked you to shower with me," Fugo muttered, his mood not spoiled but the frown in his voice was evident.
"Oh, why's that?" Giorno asked, just about to drop their towels in the laundry hamper.
"We didn't bring a change of clothes," Fugo deadpanned and Giorno paused in his tracks. They in fact still needed the towels. Handing Fugo one of the ones in his hand, Giorno headed to the door and peeked out of it. The house was still relatively quiet, which wouldn't be the case if the gang was home, meaning they still had the house to themselves. Tucking his towel around his waist, if only to maintain a tad bit of decency even with the house empty, Giorno waved Fugo over to the door.
When he received a skeptical look, Giorno chuckled and opened the door wider.
"House is still empty," he said shrugging, stepping into the hallway as the cool air settled onto his skin.
"That's a coincidence, I feel like we were in there for a while."
"We were… we'll have to get quicker at sharing the shower in case we're on the move," Giorno muses and starts heading to his room since it was relatively closer to the bathroom than Fugo's was.
"Very round about way of saying you want to see me all wet again, Giorno. It doesn't exactly have to be something we do often."
"Sure, but do you want it to be?"
"I wouldn't mind it."
"Then we'll do it," Giorno says simply, closing his door behind them and Fugo locks the door.
"I don't know how you say things like that so easily. Like your word is law or something," Fugo sighs, fidgeting by the foot of Giorno's bed while he reached in his drawers for something they could wear.
"Funny you say that,
"What? I don't demand a lot, do I? I mean outside of just now, by the way. I feel like that was a lot."
"Well, no, you don't. I feel as though, in some cases, we are both fairly low maintenance to each other–"
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm getting there," Giorno chides, walking towards him with a oversize green shirt with a frog on the front he had received as a gift from Narancia, a pair of boxers that happened to belong to Fugo and another pair of sweatpants. For Giorno it was just a mid rise shirt and a pair of pink pajama pants. "What I was saying is, that even if you don't demand something from me, I seek to satisfy your wants. Whatever you dream of, that is my law. There's nothing that goes beyond that."
"…You are such a sap," Fugo says as they start getting dressed, the tips of his ears burning the color red. "I don't even know if this has fixed me. I could get caught up and–"
"Did it work now?"
"I uh– well, yeah. It did; quit cutting me–"
"Then the way I see it, right now is all we focus on," Giorno said, rolling up his sock. "When the next time comes and it doesn't work, if you want, we'll look for another solution. There will always be one."
While Fugo couldn't refute Giorno on his words, he still scowled at the blond while he smiled. The look held no heat or weight of discomfort as it did before. Visibly, even his posture was more relaxed and because of it the two seemed to gravitate side by side.
"You ready to head downstairs?"
"Yeah, with how long it's taking them we could prepare our own–"
A rough series of knocks on the door cut Fugo off, followed by a familiar voice.
"Hurry it up in there lovebirds, I'm hungry as fuck." Narancia bellowed from behind the wooden door, before banging on it harder.
"Alright, alright you little shit." The knocking continued. "I said we fucking heard you." Fugo said, rushing to unlock and open door, likely to get his hands on Narancia when the older teen could be heard laughing and running down the stairs, already the of another commotion.
Walking past Fugo, Giorno laughed softly and started heading towards the staircase as well.
"Don't laugh at my misery Giorno, I'm gonna skin that stronzo one day." Fugo grumbled, catching up the blond in a few short steps.
"I wouldn't dare dream of it," Giorno said amusedly, linking his pinky with Fugo's and the teen didn't hover away.
When the two joined everyone downstairs and helped set the table, if their family noticed Giorno or Fugo leaning into the other's space without being prompted, then no one said anything.
Instead they simply admired the small golden sunset, the couple had made for themselves.