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When Giorno comes up to Buccellati on the beach to tell him that Abbacchio just nearly died, the Capo’s first thought is to smack the newbie for not being attentive enough to avoid the situation entirely, quickly followed by guilt for leaving Abbacchio alone while Moody Blues was rewinding.
So instead of saying anything, he speeds up, not quite breaking into a run yet, and turns the corner to see Abbacchio sitting on a large rock, Mista by his side offering a water bottle. Leone himself looks more shaken than anything; the shoulder of his shirt is partially torn off. Giorno is explaining that an enemy Stand user tried to punch through his heart, but slipped when Mista and Giorno arrived, only managing collateral damage that was easy, albeit painful, to repair. Not that Bruno is listening, his brain is buzzing with worry as he squats in front of Abbacchio, stroking his thigh lightly. He’s abruptly pulled up into a shaky hug and distantly hears himself sob as he pats Leone’s back.
The gang ends up in a hotel for the night. Only that they can’t exactly waltz in there now that the enemy is aware of them, so Mista changes into more casual clothes stored in one of many pocket voids on Buccellati’s body, and with some effort (that consists mainly of the gunman flirting with the girl at the front desk, while offering her way too much money for such a shoddy hotel) they get two rooms for the night. Giorno, Mista, Narancia and Trish are taking one; one of them will stand guard at all times, with two of them resting on a double bed and Trish having her own.
The other one is solely for Buccellati and Abbacchio; Leone is still distressed, clinging to Bruno’s side as much as he can, teeth clenched and hands shaking. He spent the better part of the day on the sofa inside the turtle, with Narancia hugging him and blabbering to keep them both occupied. Trish lounged in one of the chairs, ignoring them, except for the moment they materialized inside the room to decide what to do next.
She was pale when Giorno finished talking, walking awkwardly over to still standing Abbacchio to pull him into a hug, apologizing over and over for having caused them trouble. The man put one of his arms around her almost mechanically, the other coming up to run through her hair when he told her that he didn’t blame her, none of them did.
That’s how they end up in front of a red-tinted wooden door, with Abbacchio looking ready to keel over at any moment if Buccellati let go of the grip he had around the taller man’s waist. He doesn't bother unlocking the door, opting to walk through a zipper instead, holding Leone close and only letting go when they’re inside and the door is closed, touch still lingering.
"Leone," Bruno presses him against the closed door, arms wrapping around his waist, "please tell me how you feel." Leone embraces him in return, face nuzzling into the top of his head, but doesn't say anything, simply breathing, afraid he could break if he spoke before preparing enough.
"I'm a fucking failure, Buccellati." The hands on his back grip onto the suit, threatening to tear it. "I want- I'm supposed to protect you, and instead I nearly get myself killed by some shithead because I didn't pay enough attention-" he whimpers, body trembling. Bruno pulls away.
"You aren't a failure, Leone," he's intertwined their fingers, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into Abbacchio's calloused palms. The taller man looks like he doesn't know what to do with himself, eyes sliding around the room, avoiding looking at Bruno who's slowly walking them to the bed, sitting down when his knees hit the foot of it. Abbacchio still doesn't look at him, head turned down and slightly to the side. His throat is twitching from suppressed sobs.
"I am. I'm supposed to protect you, you're my- our Capo,” he corrects himself quickly, “and I care, and I can't get myself killed, I can't, not after you nearly died, I was useless then, I'm useless now, why do you bother wi-" his entire body is shaking, the fingers in Buccellati's hold twitching, bottom lip twitching as he continues: “you can’t die, they all need you, we need you-” and the Capo knows this look far too well from the time they've spent together to just ignore it.
"Abbacchio. Calm down and sit." Buccellati's command is a tad more forceful than needed, the tone too staunch, making the man in front of him flinch, but the effect is there. It buzzes in the air, shifting into an unspoken dynamic that makes Abbacchio's eyes widen every time, that straightens his back up instantly.
Abbacchio drops onto the floor immediately, the length of his shirt falling to the floor slower and pooling around him with grace, glossy eyes staring into Buccellati's blue ones with something akin to worship, mouth agape. His whole body is trembling even when he's sat down, chest shaking with ragged breaths under the weight of undeserved gentleness in the eyes of the man in front of him. He kneels between Buccellati’s spread legs, looking up at the man's face, leaning onto Bruno's hand where it's laid on his cheek; his breaths are threatening to slip over into sobs.
"Leone," Bruno's voice is soft, matching the hand caressing Leone's cheek, "what exactly do you need? I'm aware that deep down, you know how much you are worth to me, to all of us." He adds his other hand, rubbing circles onto Abbacchio's tensed up face and pushing a loose strand of silver hair behind the man's ear. Leone doesn't reply, but his shoulders are shaking, the unsaid plea heavy in the air between them.
Buccellati spreads his legs just a tiny bit further apart, and carefully takes off the purple headpiece on Abbacchio's head, thinking. His voice is stern when he speaks again, much more like the day-to-day tone he uses on his team.
"Abbacchio. Look at me." The man's gaze snaps up to him immediately, purple-yellow irises disappearing and reappearing as he blinks.
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes, Capo." Pretty lips painted an even prettier purple are slightly open yet again, but this time around, Leone's breath doesn't waver as he speaks, chest rising and falling more evenly, completely transfixed on his Capo.
"Are you aware you can refuse my orders at any time, for any reason, and I won't hold it against you?"
"Yes, Capo." Abbacchio's eyes aren't glossy anymore; instead they have a slight fogginess to them, seemingly out of focus, Bruno's voice resonating in his head and moving in waves through his body as to rid him of all the pent up tension.
"Good." A pause. Sticky Fingers appears out of thin air, bathing Buccellati in blue light, effectively unzipping his pants at once and then putting a zipper on his underwear, but leaving it closed. Abbacchio's gaze is following the Stand's movements, but his hands are still in his lap. Bruno leans back on one elbow, his other hand raking through Leone's hair to bunch some of it up and give a firm tug. Leone's eyes flutter closed, body going limp under the pull.
"Abbacchio," Bruno sits up straight again, holding the man's usually perfectly smoothed out hair in two makeshift ponytails on the top of his head, "touch me." The words lack the usual force of a command, but the impact is visible anyway, with the way Leone shudders, with the way his hands are immediately at the fabric over Buccellati's bulge, opening the phantom zipper. Bruno huffs in laughter at the eagerness, the sound turning into a breathy moan the moment Leone's hand wraps around him, thumb swiping at the precome and then smoothly sliding to press just under the head.
Buccellati is twisting the ponytails around his hands, resolutely pulling downwards. "Do you need to be told what to do, Abbacchio?" Said man is staring up at him with clouded, half-lidded eyes, breathes deep and even; and realistically, Bruno knows what he wants, what they both want, but seeing the man between his knees mindlessly let his tongue slip past his lips ever so slightly instead of answering goes straight to his dick.
"Open your mouth." Leone obeys. "Tongue out." Obeys again. "You know, you're so good at this. All of it." Leone's cheeks turn pink at this, and he leans forward towards the Capo, licking the underside of his cock towards the tip, before taking the head in, tongue swirling. His hands are pressed to the sitting man's thighs, light hands with nails painted black starkly contrasting with tanned legs underneath.
The blush only darkens when the Capo doesn't stop talking.
"You're doing so well, you know. Not just now, with all this, but always, you’re always there for me, always have my back.” His hips buck up into Leone’s mouth, testing the waters, and that earns him a sharp exhale followed by Abbacchio’s head lowering to take more of his dick in, tongue pressed flat on its underside, pushing and licking. Bruno tightens his hold on Leone’s hair, thrusts as he pushes the man’s head down roughly, letting out a gasp that mixes with a low groan from Abbacchio’s throat.
“God, you’re lovely,” the words are accentuated by a particularly sharp thrust, and Leone angles his head just so, and Bruno can see his eyes fluttering open and closed as he swallows around the cock in his mouth, palms pressing into Bruno’s thighs, “you’re so pretty even like this, cuore mio, God, how do you- ah- manage to look pretty even on your knees, “ Abbacchio is gagging slightly, hands snaking around to hold Buccellati as close as he can, against his better judgement, against the need for air. His hips are bucking into the air with nothing to rub on, making his mind even foggier, “you’re amazing at everything you do, Leone, you know that, right? You’re strong, so strong, so good tesoro, so so good.” Bruno is aware he’s not really making sense, orgasm building up quick; he presses Abbacchio’s head down harshly one more time, feeling his throat spasm, and that finally knocks him over the edge as he slightly pulls away, the head of his cock still inside as he cums. Leone is pulling off, coughing hoarsely and leaning back on the heels of his palms, smeared lipstick revealing puffy lips curved into a smile.
"Abbacchio," he offers the silver haired man a hand, pulling him up onto shaky legs, "take your shirt off." He does as he’s told, expression fogged as he pulls at the strings keeping the front of his top together, shaking the fabric off his shoulders. He can faintly feel his Capo working his zipper open. The clothes drops as Buccellati pulls him towards and on the bed, with Sticky Fingers taking his shoes off. Buccellati has moved to sit with his back pressed to the headboard, sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead and one of the golden hairpins barely hanging on his hair as he pats the bed in front of himself in invitation. Abbacchio crawls forward almost mechanically, eyes fixed on the lace fully revealed by Buccellati taking his jacket off sometime during this whole process, arms shaking slightly, then sits down between the ankles of Buccellati's outstretched legs. The Capo hums in approval as he moves closer to bend his legs around Leone's stiff form; and Abbacchio settles down like he's used to, legs over Buccellati's, knees softly bumping his sides as they slide into a more comfortable position, one that allows them to pull closer together. Leone dips his head forward to press his forehead into Bruno's shoulder and breathes in deep, while the black-haired man smoothes down disheveled silver hair that will surely need washing later.
"Leone, caro," his Capo nearly sing-songs, free hand sneaking lower onto the taller man’s cock, already freed from his underwear by Sticky Fingers. Leone pulls a shaky, whiny breath and his shoulders shudder as he slumps further forward. The hand on his dick has settled into a steady rhythm, thumb going over the head to spread precum for an easier slide; the other hand slides smoothly over his hair to his lower back as Buccellati pulls him closer, forcing his head to turn upwards. There’s black hair tickling his nose, and the smell of Buccellati hits Leone then, sweat-salty from the day’s exertion, almondy from his perfume, and underneath all of it was the soft lavender of their bedsheets at home that always clung to their skin no matter how long they were gone.
Leone chokes out a sob. “Bucce-”
Buccellati shuts him off immediately, turning his head to press a kiss to Leone’s cheek. “Leone,” he picks up the pace, hand jerking him in a familiar pace, “love, don’t do that. It’s you and me, just you and me, I am here for you.” Leone’s thighs flex on top of his when he opens his mouth to let Bruno slide his tongue inside, the kiss almost unfittingly gentle. His own hand slides down to come on top of Bruno’s to coax him into a faster tempo and when they pull apart, Bruno can see the tears inadvertently rolling down Leone’s heated cheeks, the distant gaze in his eyes softened from need to want.
“Bruno, fuck-” he shudders, prompting a small smile to tug at Bruno’s lips at the sight of the silver-haired man biting his lip.
“Come on, caro,” he leans in to press a wet kiss to Leone’s face, “come on, you deserve this, you know that,” the man’s hips are buckling into their hands in a jerky rhythm, and Bruno’s breath his hot on his ear, “I know that.” And Leone lets a moan struggle out of his throat, then a whimper, and his achingly hard cock is sliding in Bruno’s grip for a moment more, until he arches his back and the muscles in his thighs twitch. He looks up at the black-haired man almost apologetically, and Bruno laughs and pulls him for another kiss, taking his time to smudge whatever is left of the lipstick. And there is laughter bubbling deep inside Leone’s chest too.
“That was, yeah, I mean- fuck, thank you, Bruno.” Leone pushes their foreheads together, shoulders finally slumped.
“No need to thank me, love,” he coos in reply, relishing in the way Leone scrunches his nose in disgust but blushes anyway. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to clean us up, and then we can cuddle up and sleep, yeah?”
Leone falls to the bed, too tired to reply by anything but a nod.
There is a knock at the door that would’ve ended with someone getting their teeth punched out had Leone not already been awake. He doesn’t respond, choosing to look down at Bruno, wrapped in his arms in apparent deep sleep. His hair is tucked behind his ear, a few strands spilling over, and Leone could probably stay here like this the whole day, staring at the way Bruno’s tan looks tucked under his own pale arms. They’re tangled together under the sheets, radiating heat to each other.
There's a knock on the door again, and Leone really doesn't want yell Calm the fuck down at whoever is in the corridor, because that would definitely wake Bruno up, and he deserves the sleep. There are bony knees digging into his, familiar and comforting, like the shape of Bruno's slightly open mouth, and Leone closes his eyes and just listens to how their breathing mixes in the morning silence.
There’s no more knocking at the door; instead, a gust of wind rushes through the room, followed by a faint smell, wet and earthy. Leone actually lifts his head at that, just to see Giorno standing where the door used to be, thick vines hanging behind him. He’s shifting on his heels with hands behind his back as he speaks.
“I’m sorry for intruding, but, Fugo, uh, he sent me to ask what you want for breakfast. Mista is going out to buy something in a few.”
Leone looks at him properly. The brat looks about ready to continue their mission already, those stupid cannoli curls high on his head, smooth and somehow holding shape, but his face looks tired, with slight dark circles under his eyes, and his pink suit is visibly creased. Leone frowns.
“Tell him to buy some bread and jam, that’s enough. And coffee for both of us. He will know what kind.” Americano with a ton of sugar for Leone, and a latte macchiato for Bruno, but the brat doesn’t need to know that. Giorno nods and turns to leave, brushing a vine out of his way, but stopping when there’s a cough behind him. He turns his head towards the bed.
“Turn the vines back when you leave, would you?” He nods. “And Giova- uh, Giorno,” the boy can hear the embarrassment in Abbacchio’s voice, “thank you. For saving me and all that shit. Yeah. Thanks, kid.” There’s a bit of a stutter in the man’s voice. Giorno smiles in that barely-there, annoying way.
“You’re a good man, Ab-”
“No, cut that shit. Please. Just tell me why. Why did you save me? I just yell at you constantly, don’t I?”
Giorno turns back around to face him, brows furrowed in quiet consideration. “You make Buccellati happy. Well, you two make each other happy. And you’re a family to the rest, really, even when you act like you dislike them, Abbacchio.”
“Okay, I didn’t need you psychoanalyzing me, fucking hell. I care about them too, kinda. Not you tho,” he adds quickly, eyes narrowing. “But Bruno might try and adopt you or some bullshit he does. Be prepared for that.” And Giorno actually has the audacity to laugh at that. Damned brat.
“I will be, thank you for the warning.” He’s full on grinning. This kid is unbelievable, Leone thinks, the feeling only deepening when Buccellati stirs in his hold. Blue eyes blink up at him and then at Giorno standing in the doorway.
“Morning, Giorno,” Bruno says that into Leone’s chest, and the taller man can’t help but snort in amusement. Giorno gives a curt bow in return.
“Good morning, Buccellati. We’ll be in our room with breakfast in about 30 minutes, so feel free to join us whenever.” The black haired man hums in response, shamelessly nuzzling into Leone’s chest as Giorno takes his leave.
“Giovanna! Turn the door back to how it was!” And the boy does, vines solidifying back to wood, leaving them in comfortable silence. Bruno untangles himself from Leone and sits up, hair messy and bangs mostly sticking up and to the sides, but there is a satisfied smile on his face when he takes one of Leone’s hands in his.
“How did you sleep, love?”
“Oh, you know. The usual. Was really warm, now I’m hungry. Gotta wash my hair first tho, no way I’m letting the brats see me like this.” His silver hair really is a mess, with strands tangled in that way where trying to brush the knots out would hurt like hell and scalp aching slightly. Bruno raises a hand to run through his own hair at that, cringing when he touches the thing that has become of his bangs.
“Yeah, me too.” His lips turn into a mischievous little smile, eyes glinting. “What would you say to a joint shower so we save water, hm?”
Leone allows himself to laugh out loud. “Definitely wouldn’t say no.”