Chapter Text
Bruno Buccellati was pretty close to perfection.
Hair that was so sleek and full of shine. He was cool, calm, and collected. He was reliable, trustworthy, caring, and so passionate. A body that was slim, yet toned. Perfectly tanned skin that looked smooth to the touch. A voice so deep it sent shivers down Giorno Giovanna’s spine.
He was meant to be worshipped.
Often, Giorno wondered if Buccellati knew what he was doing to him. The lingering gazes every time the two spoke. When around the others, it wasn’t as apparent. But when the two were alone, it seemed intentional. Usually accompanied by a slight smirk that Giorno couldn’t tell if it was actually there or if he was just imagining it. But maybe that was part of it.
Part of Buccellati’s plan.
He had to have had a plan, right? It wasn’t just the way he looked at Giorno. It was the way his voice seemed to deepen every time he spoke to the younger boy. It was the way Buccellati would just so happen to lick his lips, or even bite his bottom lip whenever Giorno looked his way. It was the way his hips seemed to sway just a bit more each time he walked away or out of a room.
Intentional or not, it was driving Giorno insane.
And he just couldn’t help but imagine how Bucialatti would look sprawled out underneath the boy. Body glistening with sweat, chest rising and falling in rapid succession with how out of breath he was, the sweet low moans that would escape from his throat while he begged for more…
It was just too much to even imagine at times.
Giorno Giovanna had been the new Leader of Passione for the last 3 years now. After the gang defeated Diavolo and saved Trish, they came back home. Only this time, they lived in a large condo overlooking their great city. Initially, it was Buccellati who was in charge. This was his gang. They were his boys. But now, they answered to Giorno. It was an adjustment for all, especially for both Buccellati and Abbacchio.
But in these 3 years, Giorno came to realize some things. One, just how attracted he was to Buccellati. Two, he just didn’t think he would ever gain Abbacchio’s trust and respect. And three, Buccellati and Abbacchio were dating.
Now, this last thing wasn’t made aware to the others. Mista had suspicions but he never would voice them aloud. He and Buccellati were friends and he figured they would tell him in their own time. Narancia was clueless. He was so focused on Trish all the time that he didn’t have time to worry about who his ex-boss was screwing.
Trish knew as well. It was usually the topic of hers and Giorno’s conversations.
With Abbacchio in the way, it seemed hopeless to Giorno most days. He saw the was Buccellati looked at Abbacchio when he thought no one else was watching. He saw the way Abbacchio would bite his bottom lip if Buccellati needed to bend down in front of him for any reason. And when they traveled, they just always happened to be paired together in the same room, or their hotel rooms were right next to each other. Giorno was no fool. He knew exactly what was going on.
But if they were together, why was Buccellati throwing out these clear signs to Giorno? They were signs, right? They had to be. Perhaps he was just teasing the younger boy.
After all, Giorno was only 18. Buccellati was turning 23 soon. Their age difference wasn’t great, but Giorno couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking at times. There was no way Buccellati would be interested in a kid like him. Though he had proven himself many times to be more than capable of being a respectable man. There just still seemed like there was no way.
It was possible Buccellati still just viewed Giorno as a kid he needed to protect.
Or now that he was the boss, it was possible Buccellati couldn’t respect him anymore. Although, that seemed more far-fetched. He was always nothing but supportive of Giorno’s new leadership role. And he was always the first to agree with any plan that Giorno had. Really, he was a great friend.
Giorno watched as Mista threw his head back and let out a hard laugh at something Narancia said. But judging by the look on Narancia’s face, what he said wasn’t meant to be a joke. “You jerk, don’t laugh at me!” Narancia exclaimed.
Mista covered his mouth but continued to laugh.
Giorno glanced toward Abbacchio who was always trying to hold back a laugh. Even Buccellati, cool and calm Buccellati, was covering his own mouth and looking away to not make eye contact with the man.
Narancia looked to Giorno.
He sighed. “Maybe we should hear him out a little more?” Giorno suggested, not even knowing what they were talking about. But he was hoping Narancia could explain it more. He looked at Buccellati again, whose eyes seemed to light up when they looked at each other. It was like a proud mother looking at her boy.
“Yes, I agree, Giorno.” His voice was like silk that he couldn’t touch.
Buccellati was standing up, the only one who was. He leaned against a support beam of the restaurant they were currently in. Abbacchio sat down to the left of Giorno. While Mista sat directly across from him, Narancia was next to Mista. There were two empty chairs at this table. Trish usually would sit to the right of Giorno, just preferring that spot. And Buccellati would sit in the chair next to Abbacchio, but he stood today.
Narancia used his index finger to poke the table they were sitting at. “Okay, so we go back to Sardinia. We don’t need to send any assassins; we can do it ourselves.” Narancia smiled, proud at himself. Giorno found himself frowning. But before he could express his confusion, Buccellati sensing this takes a seat next to Giorno.
Giorno can only watch the man in white next to him, as he puts his hand on Giorno’s shoulder and leans forward. “If they are smuggling drugs in Sardinia, then it will need to be taken care of immediately, I agree.” Buccellati turns to face Giorno, looking deep into his eyes. “What do we do, Giorno?”
Giorno nodded, understanding. There was more drug smuggling in Italy. They would normally send an assassin team to take care of this. But Narancia was suggesting they go instead. Giorno furrowed his eyebrows together while nodding. “This is troubling; we’ve worked so hard to stop the drug trading here. So, it’s only natural that we do something.” Giorno looked at Narancia directly now, instead of staring at Buccellati’s beautifully and perfectly plump lips. “Narancia, and Mista, you guys go handle this.”
Narancia’s face lit up in delight.
Mista looked surprised. “You sure, boss?”
“I’m sure.”
He heard a laugh from the left of him.
Turning his head, he noticed that Abbacchio was now scowling at him. And soon, the warmth of Buccellati’s hand resting on Giorno’s shoulder was then gone. “Sending these two on a mission together?” Abbacchio questioned. “You must not want the job done right, boss.”
His words were low and condescending. And Giorno wanted to wipe that smug look off of his face. Buccellati spoke though and when he did, Giorno instantly put his attention back onto him. “Then perhaps you would like to accompany Mista and Narancia then, Abbacchio, hmm? Just to keep them on track?” The annoyance in his tone did not go unnoticed.
Abbacchio only shrugged. “If I must go, boss.”
Giorno nodded. “You may go, Abbacchio. See to it that Narancia and Mista don’t kill each other or get each other killed with their antics.”
Abbacchio stood from the table, pushing his chair back so hard it made a harsh screeching sound colliding with the wooden floors. He noticed the way Buccellati’s shoulders tensed at the sound. And he even noticed the look on Buccellati’s face as he watched Abbacchio leave the room. He looked upset at Giorno. But that look was quickly gone when he turned back to face the others.
Mista stood up then. “Alright, I’m gonna go start packing.”
“You leave for Sardinia tonight.” Giorno instructed.
Mista nodded as Narancia stood as well. Mista waited until Narancia was ready, and the two left the room together. Buccellati stayed planted in his chair. When the others were gone, Buccellati cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Giorno, it seems I’ve done it again.”
“Done what, Buccellati?”
“Giving orders.” He answered. “That’s not my job anymore. That’s yours, boss.”
And the way the word boss left his lips made Giorno’s dick twitch in his pants. Giorno quickly shook his head, pushing out the thoughts of Buccellati begging for his boss to fuck him. “No, no, it’s fine, Buccellati. You know I value anything you have to say or suggest.”
Buccellati stood. “Thank you, Giorno. I’m going to go see if Abbacchio needs any help preparing for his trip.”
And then Buccellati was walking away and out of the room, swaying his hips a little more than usual. And Giorno watched in awe. He was alone now.
Abbacchio was going on a mission with Mista and Narancia. Leaving Buccellati and Giorno alone for the next few days. Minus Trish, but she was always out shopping. Who knew when she would be home?
Giorno finished the rest of his meal alone before retiring back home for the night. It wasn’t a long walk from the condo the gang all shared. It was becoming darker outside now. As he walked, he heard the sound of heels clicking against the pavement.
“Giorno, hey! Wait up!”
Her familiar voice rang out. Giorno stopped to wait for Trish. She was carrying some shopping bags in her hands. She walked quickly to be next to Giorno. He reached his hand out without even being asked, taking two of the 3 bags she carried. “Oh, thanks, Giorno.” She told him.
“Doing some shopping, Trish?” Giorno lifted the bags up and down a few times. “You didn’t clean them out this time. Must have been a bad shopping day.”
Trish laughed as she shook her head. “No, I just got a few hair products for myself and Narancia.”
“Speaking of Narancia, I’m sending him on a mission to Sardinia.”
Trish’s eyebrows furrowed as she stopped walking.
“Sardinia?”
Giorno nodded, knowingly. Sardinia could drum up some bad memories for Trish. Her mother. Her father. Who tried to kill her. And now they were going back. “Don’t worry; Abbacchio and Mista will be with him.”
She continued walking. “That makes me feel a little better. Thanks for telling me.” She said to the man. Giorno didn’t say anything in response. What else could be said? Her best friend and boss just told her that her best friend Narancia was going on a dangerous mission to a place that only brought back anger and would hurt her. Trish could ask to go. But she felt she would just get in the way.
When Trish opened the door, she was met with Narancia and Mista sitting in the living room. They both said hey to her. The two had their stands out with Aerosmith pointed right at Mista, and Mista in return had his gun that carried Sex Pistols pointing at Narancia. Giorno smiled at the sight. “What’s going on here?”
Aerosmith disappeared. “Testing to see how fast we can pull out our stands.”
“Just in case.” Mista added.
Trish rolled her eyes at the boys. “I’m gonna go put my bags away, take a nice warm bath and fall asleep to forget I live with you idiots.” She took her bags from Giorno now and he allowed her to. “Good night and good luck guys. Don’t forget to keep us updated.”
Mista and Narancia said goodnight to Trish as she made her way upstairs. Abbacchio was coming down the stairs now, nodding to Trish as they passed each other. “Well, I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”
Narancia grabbed a small bag that sat on top of the sofa. “Come on, Abbacchio. It’ll be fun. Like the old times. We haven’t gone out into the action in almost a whole year.” It was true, Giorno preferred not to allow his friends to go out on missions when he knew there was imminent danger. And it was probably that they all missed that. Mista loved any chance he got to use his gun. Narancia loved using Aerosmith. And Abbacchio.
Well, he was here because Buccellati told him to be.
“Be safe, guys.” Giorno told them. Abbacchio only glared at Giorno. But Mista and Narancia said their goodbyes. Narancia opened the door and the two men walked out after him. The door shut and silence filled the place.
With nothing else to do, Giorno decided to retire for the evening. It was still early, but maybe he could get some work done. Now that he was in charge of Passione, it surprisingly came with a lot of paperwork. Things to do with the city, things that needed approval or denial. Motions that the public was bringing to him instead of their local government.
Once in the room, Giorno got his files ready, placed them on his desk, and sat down. He grabbed a pen and then lightly touched the tip of it to his tongue before writing something down on the sheet in front of him. Giorno carefully read over the handwritten note, nodding his head along as he read it. Soon, that short 30 seconds turned into 30 minutes later. Then, to a long one hour and thirty minutes later.
But something caught his attention. Just as Giorno was about to sign his name, he heard a noise. It made him pause his movement and turn to face his opened door. But it was quiet again. It might be my imagination, Giorno deduced.
He signed his name on the paper, touching the pen to his tongue again before doing so.
And then there it was again, that noise. It was a loud ‘hmm’ sound. Giorno stood up now. He wasn’t sure why he stood up. But he did. And his feet were carrying him toward the sound of the noise. It wasn’t as loud, but he definitely heard something.
Giorno followed the sound of the noises because it couldn’t be what he was thinking it was right? The voice was too deep, too masculine to belong to Trish. Besides, her bedroom was on the first floor. There was no way he’d hear her all the way upstairs.
Soon, his feet led him right to Buccellati’s door. His feet slowed down and his footsteps were deliberately soft, as to not alert anyone of his presence.
He pushed his ear to the door to get a better listen.
Giorno heard the sounds a little more clearly now. It was obvious that whatever Buccellati was doing, he was trying to keep quiet. And why would he be doing that? Unless he was really doing what Giorno thought.
The thought alone could instantly make Giorno finish in his own pants without even touching himself.
Soft hmms and ahs were heard by Giorno. He pressed his ear closer to the door, as close as he could get it. Was Buccellati masturbating right now?
There just wasn’t any way that was the case. Giorno couldn’t get so lucky.
He absentmindedly began palming himself through his own pants, noticing how tight they were suddenly becoming.
“Ah… oh… oh god,” he could hear. It was soft, his voice was husky. Giorno felt his breathing becoming more slowed now, not wanting to breath too loudly. He only wanted to hear the sound of Buccellati getting himself off. Giorno wondered how he did it; did Buccellati have toys? Honestly, Giorno didn’t think he was the type. Maybe he was just using his fingers to stretch himself out. Or maybe he was just rubbing his own cock. Giorno wanted so desperately to know. He just wanted to barge right into the room, see Buccellati waiting for him on the bed, beckoning him over. And when he came over, Buccellati would wrap his arms around Giorno and place hurried kisses on his lips, his cheeks, his neck before finally begging the man to fuck him hard and—
“God yes!” This one was louder this time, quickly followed by a muffled hmm sound. Giorno almost came right there listening. He started palming himself even faster through his pants. He almost burst through the door, wanting to just flip the man over right onto his hands and knees and fuck him hard from behind. “Please…” His voice was so low.
“Hmm...”
Giorno was so turned on by the sound.
“…Please Giorno.”
Giorno stilled his movement.
Did Buccellati just say his name? He stopped touching himself and felt his breath stop. Was he being too loud? Did Buccellati know that Giorno was outside of his room, listening to the man get himself off while he masturbated himself? There was just no way. Was he caught? How could he explain himself out of this one?
The sounds stopped completely. Did he finish? Was Buccellati done now? Was he waiting to confront Giorno?
A thought crossed Giorno’s mind.
What if Buccellati was calling out for him because he knew he was out there? And he wanted Giorno to come in?
Could that be it?
There were so many possibilities.
Giorno stared at the door handle. He could just quietly poke his head in. Maybe Buccellati was in the attached bathroom now and was cleaning himself off. Or maybe he was just waiting for Giorno. He wished.
Without even thinking, Giorno reached his hand out and gripped the door handle. He slowly turned it and pushed it open a little. He figured he would just poke his head in to see what was going on. And then he would leave undetected.
But when he slowly pushed the door open, another loud moan was heard and Giorno froze.
There in the almost dark room was Buccellati. The room was dimly lit by two candles. And Buccellati was on the floor, his face pressed against the cold wood floor in front of a large mirror. He was wearing something red across his chest that Giorno would think was a bra if he were a woman. But he was wearing a red thong, with it pushed to the side. His ass was facing the door, so Giorno got a front-row seat of Buccellati fucking himself with what appeared to be just two fingers on his right hand. Buccellati was looking his own reflection right in the eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed together tight and he was biting his bottom lip so hard that Giorno was worried he might draw blood.
But when Giorno looked down to admire those long tanned legs, he noticed the sheer white calf-high stockings and the white heeled shoes on his feet.
He couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped his lips. And then Buccellati’s eyes were on Giorno through the reflection. Giorno couldn’t move, while Buccellati was scrambling, taking his fingers out of himself and pushing himself off the floor so that his face wasn’t mashed against it anymore. Buccellati tried to stand quickly, but stumbled on his own heels and fell back down to his knees with a thud.
Giorno quickly made his way over to the man. He was grabbing his arms, trying to get Buccellati to wrap his arm around his shoulder for assistance. “Are you okay? I have you. Can you stand?”
Buccellati pushed Giorno away, stumbling as he did so, but he didn’t fall this time.
“Giorno, what the hell, have you ever heard of knocking?” Buccellati almost yelled at him. Except, he was probably aware that Trish was home. “Don’t touch me, just get out of here.”
Giorno was eyeing Buccellati’s chest.
It was a bra. Cupping his perfectly small chest. And his nipples were so hard.
Buccellati must have noticed, because he quickly used his left hand to cover his chest, and used his right hand to cover his ever-growing erection as the eyes raked over his body.
“Buccellati…”
“Please get out of here.”
“I’m sorry for not knocking, Buccellati.” Giorno told him.
He swore he heard Buccellati gulp in response.
Giorno couldn’t help himself. He reached his hand out, grabbed the left hand that covered himself, and pushed it out of the way. Buccellati made no attempt in stopping him. His chest was exposed again. Giorno glided a finger over the lace, tracing the pattern on it. When his finger grazed over a nipple, he heard Buccellati moan at the sensation.
Giorno looked him in the eyes.
And then he slowly moved to the other nipple, this time, using two fingers to gently squeeze the small bud. Buccellati bit his lip to stop himself from moaning again.
“Were you calling my name, Buccellati?” Giorno’s voice was nothing more than a whisper. “Were you thinking of me when you were fucking yourself? Were you imagining my fingers inside of you?”
And with that, Buccellati shuddered and Giorno halted his movements. Looking down, he saw the white sticky liquid now coating the panty’s and Buccellati’s hand. If he could, he bet he would be able to see Buccellati blush. He ducked his head and looked down in shame. Giorno stopped touching the man's nipples and put his hands by his own sides.
“You came from just that?”
“Giorno…” His voice was so low. His eyes looked pleading.
Giorno pushed his lips against Buccellati’s, capturing them into a kiss. A jolt of electricity shot through the younger male when he felt Buccellati’s hips buck toward his own erection. Giorno grabbed Buccellati’s hands and held them into place. “Tell me what you want, Buccellati.” Giorno instructed him.
Buccellati almost looked like he wanted to cry. “Please, Giorno…”
“What is it?”
“I need you.”
“For what?” He was feigning ignorance. Would he really make Buccellati say it out loud? And furthermore, would the older man actually do it? Would he beg for Giorno?
Buccellati let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Please just fuck me.”
Giorno grabbed Buccellati by his hips and forced him to turn around. Buccellati gasped, Giorno heard. Giorno caught his eye again in the reflection. Buccellati looked worn out already, and Giorno hadn’t even begun taking him yet. His bangs were stuck to his face by a thin layer of sweat on the man's forehead. Giorno pressed his lips to Buccellati’s ear. “Were you watching yourself in the mirror?” He asked him. Buccellati could only nod in response. “And what are you wearing; I’ve only ever seen this sort of thing on women, but it looks good on you. But you must know that already. You could pull off anything, Buccellati.”
Buccellati closed his eyes. “Giorno, please.”
“Right, you want me to fuck you now. Is that it?”
Buccellati eagerly nodded. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
Even now, Buccellati was still so polite. Giorno wondered if he even knew it. It was endearing. It was just such a Buccellati answer. To say please and thank you during intimate moments. Giorno released Buccellati’s hips for a moment, reaching down into his pants to take himself out. Not once did he lose his erection, if anything, it was only getting harder as he looked at the beautiful man in front of him.
Giorno put his hand on Buccellati’s back, gently pushing him, coaxing him to bend at the waste.
“Standing up?” Buccellati had his eyes open now. Giorno nodded at him through the reflection. He complied easily, and Giorno used a finger to move the lacy string from in between Buccellati’s ass. He could see it was grasping for something, clearly needing something back inside it. It was needy. Buccellati’s fingers just wouldn’t do anymore. It needed something much bigger.
“Put your hands on the mirror to keep yourself up,” Giorno instructed. Buccellati looked apprehensive. This was an expensive mirror after all. But Giorno wouldn’t break it. Buccellati reached out in front of him and placed his palms on the mirror. And when he did, he heard soft praise from Giorno that instantly made his own dick twitch again. “Good job, Buccellati.”
Buccellati watched Giorno’s face in the mirror. It was full of concentration but most of all, it was full of lust. Lust as he watched Buccellati. Almost with instinct, the man began moving his legs to sway his hips gently. Almost like an invitation. Waiting and wanting Giorno to fuck him. Then a hand was gripping his waist tight, and he felt something pushing inside.
It was slow. It burned a little. But it was so hot. The farther inside it went, the hotter it began to feel for Buccellati. He felt himself coming again, and he couldn’t even stop the loud moan that escaped from his lips. Which only made the younger man grip his waist even tighter as he plunged himself fully into the man's ass.
Giorno felt Buccellati’s legs shaking. Was he shaking from the excitement? The overstimulation? His eyes were closed now and he was biting on his bottom lip again. Giorno moved back slowly, causing Buccellati’s eyebrows to furrow even more. And when he snapped his hips forward, he saw a smile creeping across Buccellati’s face. His eyes were wide open now. And they were latched onto Giorno’s. His mouth was wide open as Giorno thrust in and out of him. The moans that escaped from his lips told Giorno that he was in pure ecstasy.
It was sinful with how delicious Buccellati looked. To think that his once boss would be here in front of him, fucking himself on the floor in a red lacey matching bra and panty set, while wearing calf-high white socks and black heels. It wasn’t something Giorno ever imagined. But he was happy he followed the sounds now.
And for Buccellati, he never once thought he would be here like this with Giorno. This was Giorno Giovanna. The man in charge. The man who saved them all. He was younger than Buccellati. But he was so mature. And here he was fucking him so hard that Buccellati could barely stand up.
Buccellati let his gaze drop as his head lolled forward. The sensation was becoming too much again. He felt his dick bobbing, smacking himself in the stomach with each thrust. He was so close again. He closed his eyes tight, relishing the moment. Feeling each thrust that Giorno was giving him, he wanted to take it all. He wanted so much more from Giorno. He turned his head to the left now.
When Buccellati opened his eyes again, he saw something on the desk that sat in his room. It was a simple brown brush. It was Abbacchio’s brush. Buccellati felt himself gasp but that began stuck in his throat as Giorno thrust harder and faster. “Oh yes, please Giorno,” Buccellati’s eyes were glued to that brush. He could see some of the lighter pink hairs in them. He felt a hand snaking up his waist and toward his chest. He closed his eyes tight, hoping that Giorno wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t handle it right now if Giorno played with his nipples.
And that was exactly what happened. Giorno’s right hand caught one of the buds in between his fingers and began squeezing it. Buccellati’s eyes opened again, looking at Giorno hard. He let out another silky moan that Giorno could only interpret as pleasure. And Buccellati was coming undone again for the third time tonight. Buccellati’s voice went higher, eliciting what could be described as a slight squeak as he came again. And he clenched so tight around Giorno’s dick, that he could barely move inside the man.
“You’re so tight, Buccellati,” Giorno told him. But Buccellati was too far gone. He wasn’t listening to Giorno anymore. He could only feel the man plunging in and out of him, increasing his speed. And the movement was becoming more and more erratic and he knew what that meant. Giorno was going to cum and then it would all be over. And the thought of Giorno not being inside of him anymore almost made him want to cry. He didn’t want this feeling to stop. So when Giorno began to pull himself back, Buccellati followed him, thrusting his hips back again. “Oh god, wait, Buccellati.” He said, moving back again. But Buccellati only moaned as he made eye contact with Giorno.
And that was it, Giorno was spilling out so deep inside of Buccellati that he moaned himself, crying out along with Buccellati.
Both men stayed like that for a while. Breathing erratically. Chest rising and falling. Sweat glistened in the candlelight. But both stayed looking at each other through the reflection of the mirror.
I love you.
That was what Giorno wanted to say.
He noticed Buccellati’s eyes were slowly closing. He looked worn out. Giorno slowly took himself out of Buccellati, who only let out another low moan when he did so. His eyes opened, just barely to stare at the man. When he was fully out, Buccellati seemed to hiss from the sudden loss. Giorno did not say another word. He only held onto Buccellati. He grabbed a tissue from the desk next to them and used it to wipe the seed that was spilling from his hole. When he deemed it clean enough, Giorno simply helped Buccellati to sit on the bed. He easily complied.
He must have been exhausted.
Wordlessly, Giorno dropped to his knees on the floor and gripped Buccellati’s right calf. He lifted it in the air, and gently pulled the shoe off his foot. Then gently placed his fingers into the entrance of the smooth stocking and pulled it down to expose the smooth skin underneath. Giorno then did the same with Buccellati’s other leg, taking the shoe off and the stocking and gently folding them, and placing them on the desk. They were white, and Giorno did not want to ruin them.
Buccellati looked at Giorno under deeply hooded eyes. Before he even knew it, he was reaching out to Giorno, wanting him to...
Well, he didn’t know what he wanted.
But still, Giorno complied, taking Buccellati’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m here.”
“Thank you.”
“Lay down, get some sleep.” Giorno instructed him. Buccellati only nodded and released Giorno's hand to adjust himself. He lay there, still facing Giorno. He didn’t want to close his eyes. What if the next time he opens them again, Giorno is gone? He didn’t want that. “Don’t go.”
Giorno’s eyebrow raised as he shook his head. “I won't. I promise.” To prove it, Giorno lay down right next to Buccellati. And he closed his own eyes. Buccellati watched the man. He was breathing softly. Everything about Giorno was so soft and gentle.
Except for sex.
He was rough and passionate.
Buccellati turned his head back toward his desk. Abbacchio left his brush behind. He would probably need it no doubt.
He turned back to Giorno, who was already looking at him. “Will you tell him?” Giorno asked. And Buccellati didn’t want to answer that question. Of course, Giorno knew. Did the others know about him and Abbacchio? Giorno had always been incredibly perceptive.
Instead of answering, Buccellati simply closed his eyes, wanting to rest. And so, Giorno did as well.
They could discuss this in the morning.