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Giorno was driving. For some reason, Leone was riding front. Leone very quickly decided that, like all things Giorno, he hated Giorno’s driving.


Giorno kept sneaking… glances at him. 


Leone scowled. “What are you looking at?” 


“Nothing,” said Giorno. “The road.” His lips curved upwards ever-so-slightly.


The road. Yeah. Sure. 


In the back, Bruno’s mom-voice was being drowned out by the sound of a ridiculous argument. Narancia and Mista were trying to convince Fugo the Earth was flat again, mostly because they knew it would raise his blood pressure beyond reasonable levels and they all needed something to fight about after the day they’d had. They all needed something to fight about, and Bruno, as much as he would hate to admit it, needed to be the adult and calm them down, and Leone needed to sit up front and sulk and pretend he hadn’t just about died of panic earlier when that Stand had Narancia-




Giorno was looking at him again.


“Stop that,” Leone hissed.


Giorno raised one perfectly-tweezed eyebrow. “Stop what?” 


“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, you little shit,” he snapped. “You keep fucking staring at me. Stop that. It’s creepy.” 


“I’m not staring,” said Giorno, sounding infinitely amused. Leone felt his blood pressure increase. 


Narancia and Mista needed to goad Fugo into getting pissed off, and Fugo needed to get pissed in a place where it didn’t matter. Bruno needed to be their parent, like no one had been for him. Leone needed to sulk and pretend that he didn’t desperately care. So, what the hell did Giorno need? There he was, sitting pretty as a swan, just… driving. Just fucking driving. And sneaking glances at Leone every so often for no good reason, he was damn sure. Nothing was ever good with Giorno involved. 


Fuck, he probably doesn’t even have his license, Leone realized belatedly. 


Ah, who gave a shit. They were mafia. If they got pulled over, Bruno could just start zipping off body parts until the cops ran, screaming for their mommies.


Speaking of. 


“Mom, he’s hurting meeee,” whined Narancia, clinging to Bruno’s arm as Fugo whacked him over the head with a rolled-up newspaper, while simultaneously pulling Mista into a headlock. 


Bruno was frantically trying to break them up. “Fugo! Stop that! And did you just call me Mom , Narancia?!” 


Leone watched the scene play out in the rearview mirror, trying to convince himself this sudden bout of intense fondness was completely against his will. His eyes, bright gold, met Bruno’s cooler, bluer ones in the glass. They shared a Meaningful Look.


Of all his teammates, he and Bruno were probably the closest to being actual adult friends, Leone thought. He gave Bruno advice sometimes, and of course Bruno had saved his life. They got on well. They liked each other - or at least, Leone really hoped they did. The thought of Bruno not liking him seemed rather crushing. 


“Hey, Momma,” he called with a smirk. “Can we stop and eat soon? I’m starving.” 


“Abbacchio!” Bruno’s face went pink. “Wh- You-” 


Leone’s smirk deepened. “Yeah, Mom?”


“Oh, for god’s sake.” Bruno buried his face in his hands. “Sure, fine. We can stop. How close are we to Naples, Giorno?” 


“About thirty minutes out,” Giorno replied. “A little more.” 


“Aww, come on,” groaned Mista, finally free from Fugo’s avenging bicep. “I’m hungry, too!” 


“We’ll wait until we get into the city,” said Bruno. “Giorno, stop at the first place you see.” 


“Okay,” said Giorno. A beat. “Yes, Mother.” 


The look on Bruno’s face said it all. 


Tch. Leone glared vaguely in the direction of the driver’s seat. Who did this brat think he was, joking around with Capo like that? Bruno showed him a little kindness, and suddenly it was like he’d completely forgotten he was new. Give him an inch and he’d take a mile. Never mind that Fugo was half in love with him, that Narancia had definitely adopted him, that Mista’s Sex Pistols liked messing with his braid and sitting on his shoulders sometimes. God, what a nightmare it must be to have a stand with opinions. Leone liked his own Moody Blues just fine. It didn’t talk, didn’t complain, didn’t have to be fed for Christ’s sake-


Giorno caught his gaze. “Now who’s staring?” 


Leone’s glare turned murderous. He’d have loved nothing more than to reach over and choke the little bitch, but alas, Giorno was driving. He had no desire to commit a sextuple-murder/suicide. By car, no less. There were few lamer ways to achieve death. 


“I hope you realize the only reason my foot isn’t up your ass right now is because Bucciarati likes you,” he said. Thankfully Bruno, too busy trying to quell the currents of the latest backseat brawl, did not hear him.


And Giorno was still looking at him. Marvelous. 


“I’d let you do that, you know.” 


Leone choked on air. “What.” 


“You could do that to me,” said Giorno, casually, as if he wasn’t… Leone didn’t even fucking know what was happening right now. “If you wanted to. I’d let you. Other things, too.” 


His tone of voice had changed from earlier. He no longer sounded amused. In fact, he sounded… something. Leone didn’t know. More accurately, Leone didn’t want to know. Because if Giorno Giovanna was suddenly out-of-the-blue admitting he had sexual fantasies about Leone Abbacchio, he sure as hell shouldn’t be sounding vulnerable about it. 


And… okay, Leone would steadfastly deny to his dying breath that he’d ever thought about it. But he had. He had thought about it. Fantasized about it even, just once, against his better judgement, after a particularly frustrating mission. But even so. 


“What the fuck,” he wheezed. “Are you talking about. Giovanna.” 


Giorno flushed, just the barest dusting of pink above his cheeks. “I’d better watch the road,” he said, sounding all demure, and Leone was suddenly reminded of how he’d thought about popping Golden Boy over there’s mouth open and just… 


He was suddenly very, very glad he wore such heavy foundation.


“What the fuck,” he muttered to himself, softly, but with feeling.

A few days later, he ran into Giorno in the men’s bathroom at the hotel they were staying in on the organization’s dime as a reward for a job well done. Officially, they were there to breathe down the owner’s neck, remind him why he should pay his dues to Passione on time. Unofficially, they’d just had a hard time of it with a rival gang trying to encroach on their territory and they all needed some time to unwind. 


The hotel was nice. It was by the beach. Their second day, Bruno woke them all up at the ass-crack of dawn to go fishing, which Leone had enjoyed way more than he’d ever admit. The only thing he hadn’t liked about it was how Giorno kept using Golden Experience to turn their trash into fish right by Narancia’s hook.


It wasn’t like Leone had anything against Narancia having fun. It was just… people didn’t do things like that. Especially not for their idiot coworker whom they’d only known for about a week. It only served to bolster his gut feeling that this Giorno character was suspicious.


Shit. Two weeks, at this point. At the least. Leone was distressed to realize it was getting closer to three.


Three weeks ago, he’d met the shitstain-on-a-bootlicker’s-face named Giorno Giovanna and made him drink his piss, and now he was standing next to him in the bathroom, trying to do his damn business and ignore Golden Boy taking his dick out at the urinal right beside him.


Because of course he’d have no concept of personal space. 


That fuck-ass conversation they’d had in the car that one time rose to Leone’s mind, completely unbidden. He remembered the look on Giorno’s face when he’d said- 


I am not, he thought, putting his dick away, going to pop a boner in front of Giorno Giovanna. I am not. Especially not because of something he said to me last week. In a car. With everybody else in the back.


He’d have told himself not to look at his dick, either, but Leone had already failed that objective. 


Giorno did have a nice dick. 


“See something you like?” 


Leone jolted out of his haze, coming face to face with his current anathema. “The fuck did you just say to me?” 


Giorno hadn’t even put the damn thing away. He was just… holding it. Holding it, while he looked Leone right in the face, hardly even blushing at all. 


For some reason (he’d long since given up understanding why), it pissed him the hell off. 


He stepped forward and seized Giorno by the edges of his stupid little heart-shaped titty window, growling. “The fuck kind of shit are you trying to pull?”


Giorno’s pupils were blown, big black circles in the middle of his pretty green eyes. 


“You were staring, so I thought you might want to see more,” he said.


“Shut the fuck up. I wasn’t staring at your dick,” said Leone, even though he totally had been. What the fuck was happening today? Was it just him, or were their faces entirely too close together? “I asked you a fucking question. What the hell are you doing, Giovanna? I see your damn eyes. Are you fucking high?”


“Of course I’m not high,” said Giorno. “I hate drugs.” 


Of course he did. But. High or not, he was still so…


“The fuck is wrong with you,” Leone breathed, adjusting his grip on Giorno’s suit. 


He looked at Giorno’s lips. They were parted. He was breathing hard, shuddering a little, and Leone didn’t know why. He watched Giorno’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. What the hell am I doing?


Just as he’d made his mind up to let him go, Giorno spoke. 


“Anything you want,” he said. 


“What,” said Leone, fingers tightening on reflex. 


Giorno swallowed again. His throat bobbed again. And Leone thought about it, thought about popping Golden Boy’s mouth open and… 


“Whatever you want,” said Giorno. “I’ll let you.” 


He was still holding his dick. Leone took a glance at it. It was hard, flushed pink, and all Leone could think was how stupidly pretty it was for a dick. Giorno wasn’t even stroking himself. He was hard, aroused enough for it to twitch, and he wasn’t even- he was just holding it in his hands, both of them clasped around it like it was his fucking wallet or something. Not even doing anything about it. 


“Fuck,” said Leone, and shoved him to his knees on the bathroom floor. 


This turned out to be a huge mistake. Giorno looked up at him from under his thick, thick lashes, eyes so pretty, staring up at Leone like there was nothing else in the whole world. This was not at all romantic. It genuinely looked like Giorno wasn’t registering the existence of anything else at the moment. His hands still weren’t moving. Leone wondered why . Then he opened his mouth and stuck his pink, wet tongue out over his plush bottom lip, and that was it. 


Leone fumbled his own cock out of his pants. “Open wide, bitch,” he told Giorno, patting him on the cheek with it almost affectionately. 


Giorno fucking whined and did as he was told, opening his mouth so fast he broke it. Leone saw a split develop under his cupid’s bow. He tapped the head of his dick against it and Giorno made a noise like he’d just been… Leone didn’t even know. He just smeared his dick all over Giorno’s open mouth like it was lipstick, and Giorno just knelt there and took it, tears brimming in his bottle-green eyes. 


Whatever you want, he’d said. 


“Stick your tongue out,” Leone growled. 


Giorno did. He was starting to drool a little bit, and his lips were shiny and wet with… God. Actually, fuck that, God had nothing to do with this. Il Diavolo. Leone wanted to come all over his pretty little face. 


He rested his dick on Giorno’s tongue, rubbing the underside all over it, making sure he could taste it. Then he put it inside Giorno’s mouth and stroked the insides of his cheeks, the silky-smooth heat making him shiver. Giorno sat there like a good boy and held his mouth open, panting, letting out these soft little moans, and the pool of tears in his right eye spilled over and ran down his cheek. Why the hell was he crying? Should they stop? Why did Leone suddenly care? He banished the uneasiness and stuck his cock down Giorno’s throat. 


Giorno gagged, but didn’t pull away, and didn’t bite down. The death grip he had on his own dick had to be hurting him. His breath began to hitch and more tears ran down his cheeks, and Leone was starting to worry. Except Giorno was also making these tiny little bitten-off moans as he swallowed around Leone’s cock, and his hips were rocking and his eyes were rolling back and he looked like he was drunk on it. 


And. Giorno said. He said he’d let Leone do anything.


So, instead of doing the right thing and putting an end to this downward spiral, he said, “Haven’t you ever sucked a cock before, princess? Use your fucking tongue. And take your hands off your dick before you hurt yourself.”


Giorno moaned , clasping his arms behind his back and leaning onto Leone’s dick. He wasn’t very good at giving head, but damn, he could deepthroat. The only problem was he did it so fucking slow, so Leone grabbed a fistful of his pretty blond hair and yanked him forward. 


With his nose jammed up against Leone’s crotch, he couldn’t do much more than whimper and cry, shutting his eyes tight. 


“Oh shit,” said Leone. “Giovanna- Giorno. Look at me.”


He did, lashes fluttering, and the want in his glassy stare dispelled the last of Leone’s doubts. He pulled Giorno off just a bit so he’d have a little room to breathe, and when he deemed break time over he jerked Golden Boy forward again to start fucking his face in earnest. Giorno made a distressed noise, throat convulsing, but he held Leone’s gaze with a desperate heat that belied the physical reaction he was having. Fat tears slid down to join the drool dripping off his chin. So messy. Leone groaned, heat curling in his belly. 


“I bet you did this often,” he panted. “Pretty little whore. Did it pay well? Cover the bills?”


Giorno keened, hips making an aborted little jerk into the air. He shut his eyes tight and wriggled his tongue under Leone’s dick. 


So Golden Boy liked being talked down to. 


“Open your eyes,” Leone hissed. “Look at me. Fucking look at me, slut.” Giorno did, with a shocked little shudder. “How many, huh?” Leone punctuated the words with particularly brutal thrusts, resisting the urge to groan at the feeling. “How many guys have been in your mouth?” Giorno whined. “No, don’t answer that, I’m sure I don’t want to know.” 


He was getting close now, and Giorno’s cries were steadily increasing in pitifulness and frequency. His rhythm kept stuttering and his fingers kept scrabbling over his own elbows where he had his arms locked together. Leone couldn’t see his dick, but he was willing to bet it was leaking all over the tile.


“Did you like it?” he panted. “Were they good to you? Did they pet your hair, and call you pretty, and let you touch yourself while you sucked them?” Giorno breaths were hitching sobs. “Or were they cruel? Pulling your hair, calling you the bitch you are, choking you on their…” Leone couldn’t finish his fucking sentence. He’d run out of air. He took a big gasp and tugged Giorno off his dick, jacking himself off with his other hand. And- oh, the sight of him was glorious , stained with tears, lips red and swollen and quivering, eyes brimming over with wetness and begging for more.


“Abbacchio,” he cried, so softly, like all the breath in him had been fucked out, voice so hoarse out of his abused throat.


Fuck ,” said Leone, and came all over his face.


It took a while to work through the aftershocks. Giorno’s expression was not helping in the slightest, all blissful and ruined. He had not closed his fucking mouth, and some of the semen landed on his tongue. When Leone was done, Giorno very deliberately looked him straight in the eye and swallowed it.


Jesus Christ.


It was at that moment Leone remembered they were inside a public restroom. His head whipped up towards the door on instinct. He relaxed when he saw that it was covered with a lattice of woody vines. 


“Didn’t want anyone interrupting our fun, did you?” he said to Giorno.


Giorno shook his head, and after a couple of false starts, he wet his lips and said, “Please.” 


For a moment Leone was confused. Then he remembered Giorno hadn’t come yet. Hell, Giorno still had his arms behind his back. He was sitting on his haunches, trying not to let his hips move too much, and all the while his cock twitched and drooled, desperate for attention.


Leone put his own dick away while he contemplated what to do. When he was done, he lifted his leg and kicked Giorno over onto his side. 


Giorno cried out, finally disengaging his arms to break his fall. He looked up at Leone with wide eyes, cringing away. Leone shoved at his shoulders with a foot until he was lying on his back, then pressed the sole of his boot to Giorno’s poor little leaking cock. 


Immediately, Giorno let loose a ragged whine. He ground up into Leone’s shoe erratically, almost unintentionally, body moving of its own accord. He moaned and sniffled and his hips thrust up, stuttering. 


“I can’t,” he sobbed, dick sliding against the hard rubber treads of the boot. “Please, please, I can’t.”


Leone pressed down harder. “Can’t what?”


Giorno shook his head frantically. He gasped and hiccuped and tried to say something, but it was like he’d forgotten how to speak. Leone shifted his weight unthinkingly, and that must’ve done something important, because suddenly a long string of incoherent syllables poured out of Giorno’s mouth and he jerked pathetically, keening. All at once he seized up and cried out, and then he was coming all over his suit in spurts. Leone felt sorry for him. Every convulsion sounded like it hurt. 


Afterwards, he just lay there, breath hitching gently. His eyes were open, but they didn’t seem to be seeing much. His entire body shivered a couple of times. Leone had no idea what to do, so he just stood there and waited for Giorno to come to his senses. 


“Need a hand up?” he tried, feeling awkward. Even if he did hate Golden Boy, it only seemed polite to offer him some assistance after what he’d just done to him. 


“No thank you.” Giorno’s smile was concerningly blank as he sat up and got to his feet. He put himself away, took his jacket off and rinsed it in the sink, then manifested Golden Experience to take the vines off the door. Leone took that as his cue to leave. He glanced back at Giorno once, who was putting a wet paper towel over his face, and made his exit. 


Later that night, he couldn’t sleep, unable to banish the image of dead-eyed Giorno rinsing his cum-stained jacket in a bathroom sink like it was something he did every Tuesday. Oh god, what if I’ve done something awful?


He rolled out of bed and sat at the edge, staring at the door of his hotel room. Usually they all shared, and usually he shared with Bruno because Bruno was the only one he could stand being in close quarters with (which is what he told himself, despite handling those nights they all had to pile into the same shitty motel room just fine), but tonight he was alone because this trip was being paid for by somebody else. He kind of wished he wasn’t. He wanted to talk to Bruno, and yet he had no idea what the hell he would say. 


Hey, I think something’s wrong with Giorno. Oh? Why? Because I face-fucked him in the bathroom earlier and stepped on his dick, and none of that seemed to bother him very much. How the hell did that happen? Well, earlier he said he’d let me do anything I wanted to him. 


Leone winced. That should’ve been the first indication, shouldn’t’ve it. 


Instead of going to bother his hard-working capo (and friend) at Ass O’Clock in the morning, he found himself in front of Giorno’s door, fist poised to knock. 


What the fuck am I doing?


He shouldn’t be here. He should just…


The door swung open to reveal the most elusive of all cryptids: Giorno Giovanna with his hair down. He was even dressed casually - just a t-shirt. Just a t-shirt. It was way too big for him. The bottom hem nearly reached his mid-thigh and the collar kept slipping off his shoulder. Leone followed it with his eyes at it did exactly that, then followed it again as Giorno tugged it back up. 


“Golden Experience told me it sensed life energy at my door,” he said. His voice was quiet, a little hoarse. 


“Yeah,” mumbled Leone. “I just… Look, don’t get the wrong idea here, but I wanted to ask: Are you okay?”


Giorno’s eyes widened. For half a second, he looked caught off-guard - almost frightened, even. Leone couldn’t stop himself from feeling bad. Had he really been that cruel to Giorno, that a question like that would make him afraid? He was just… he didn’t really hate Giorno, he was just new, and so blond, and… 


God, what the fuck was happening?


Whatever had been on Giorno’s face vanished, replaced with a heavy-lidded sultry smile. “You were worried about me?” he cooed. 


Leone didn’t really know how to answer that. It made him frustrated, so he did what he always did and engaged bitch mode. “Well?” he snapped. “Should I be, or are you fine?”


“I don’t know. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” Giorno replied. 


Leone stared at him. “What the hell kind of answer is that?!”


“You tell me,” said Giorno, running his fingers down the laces of Leone’s coat, and before he knew it he was being pulled into the room with surprising strength. 


Leone took a deep breath. This was going all wrong. He should never have gotten out of bed, he should have gone to Bruno, he should have…


The door closed. 


He breathed out. Steeled himself. “Giorno, I don’t think-”


But the look on Giorno’s face, half shy, half sinful, made the rest of the words die in his throat.


“Abbacchio,” he purred. 


Leone Abbacchio opened his mouth. This was his chance to make some sense of all this, to stop it in its tracks, to say something that would break through whatever script Giorno was going through and get to the meat of his person beneath-




Or that. That could also happen. 


He felt the strangest urge to laugh. 


“Come now, you didn’t knock on my door in the middle of the night just to ask me if I was okay,” Giorno was saying, pressing up against him. Leone tried to explain, but Giorno backed him into an armchair. Then he straddled him, at which point all semblance of coherency abandoned him like a baby on a doorstep. 


“Giorno,” he found himself saying desperately. 


Giorno dropped his weight into Leone’s lap. “Hmm?”


Leone swallowed. “What- what is-”


“It’s simple,” said Giorno. Their mouths were so close together that his breath puffed over Leone’s lips. “It’s anything you want it to be.”


And there it was again: The single hottest and most worrying statement of the year. 


A strong man would’ve resisted. A good man would’ve gently pushed him away, would’ve sat him down and asked him again if he was really okay. However, Leone was not either of these things, so instead he surged forward and kissed Giorno with everything he had. 


His lips were so soft. Leone wondered if he did anything with them, like moisturizing or those sugar scrubs on TV. He tasted like what warm cotton smells like, fresh out of the dryer, clean and whole. His arms were draped around Leone’s neck and he shifted his weight to get closer and Leone skimmed his hands up his thighs and discovered that he was, in fact, just wearing a t-shirt. 




Leone kneaded at his plush ass and Giorno sighed into their kiss, pulling him closer. His fingers dug into the soft flesh and pulled the two halves apart, explored the cleft, and found wetness at Giorno’s opening. 


His thought process stuttered to a halt. 


Giorno sighed again and pulled back a little to nuzzle under his jaw. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered. “I just had to see what it would feel like.”


Had to- What- 


Oh shit. Oh, shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. 


“Giorno,” he managed, “have you ever done this before?”


Giorno giggled, bright and mischievous. It did not sound right. He did not sound- he sounded high again. Something was wrong. Leone found himself hugging him uncertainly, like that was going to help anything. God, this was so weird, in the worst of ways. What do I do? What would Bruno do? 


What would Bruno do was moot, because Bruno never would’ve let it get to this point. Bruno was a strong man, a good man. He would’ve stopped it back in the bathroom. Hell, he would’ve stopped it back in the car. Leone had never been good at making good decisions. His entire life had been a train wreck that resulted in him joining the mafia. He was barely twenty years old, already an alcoholic, and unable to admit even to himself when he loved people. Now here he was, letting this barely-legal mentally screwed twink take the brunt of his sexual and emotional frustration. 


And Giorno was a fucking virgin. 


They had to stop. Somebody was going to get hurt. Giorno was- was pushing himself to do this or something. Maybe he thought Leone would treat him better if he did this to himself, or maybe he was such an obsequious little people-pleaser that he just couldn’t stand not being adored- Which, come to think of it, was not exactly the picture of emotional stability! Fuck! Leone knew nothing about Giorno’s life before this. Some serious shit could’ve happened to him to make him this way, to make him get on his knees for a guy who, to his knowledge, hated his guts…


To make him kiss his way down Leone’s neck, grind into him slow, lean back and squeeze his own pecs together with his hands like they were breasts through the shirt that had fallen completely off one shoulder. Leone watched him dumbly, unable to comprehend how hot he was. 


“Don’t you want me?” he was saying, running his hands down his front, pausing a moment to moan as he stroked over his nipples. “Abbacchio,” he sighed. He hooked his fingers under his shirt and tugged it up, up, over his head, tossing it to the floor. He had the cutest pink flush that started at his cheeks and ended at his chest, so pretty Leone could die. Giorno cupped his pecs again and turned to the side all shy-like, green eyes sparkling in the half-light of the lamp through his lashes. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”


It was like Leone’s hands had a mind of their own. They abruptly clamped down around Giorno’s tiny waist. Leone dug his fingers in and produced a helpless growl out of the back of his throat. 


Giorno made the cutest little ah! sound, jumping as he was unexpectedly seized. He leaned in close, clasping his hands behind Leone’s neck, letting their foreheads rest together so their mouths were less than inches away, breath intermingling. Leone could feel how he shuddered from how the air puffed out of him all shaky. 


“Abbacchio,” he murmured, lips so close they brushed against Leone’s. “Take me.”


Leone’s grip tightened. He imagined the bruise he was leaving and bodily flinched, forcing himself to relax. Fuck. This wasn’t- this wasn’t fair. He couldn’t-


Giorno sighed out and pulled himself even closer, pressing his naked chest against Leone’s through his coat. He dipped his head to nuzzle again behind Leone’s jaw, leaving a single soft kiss. 


“Please be gentle with me,” he whispered. “It’s my first time.”




That was it. 


Leone was gone. 


He surged out of the chair, scooping Giorno up and slinging him over his shoulder, delivering a solid spank to his plump ass when he squeaked and struggled. The bed - this place was so nice, it was in a separate little alcove - was easy to find, and Giorno, who weighed maybe a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, was easier to toss onto it. He bounced on the mattress as he landed, eyes wide, scrambling for purchase. 


Leone tugged off his own clothes with the practiced ease of a man who has desperately needed to get into a shower right that instant a countless number of times, and nearly died in the process as he slid his pants down over his aching cock. God, he’d gotten so fucking hard and he hadn’t even realized it, so wrapped up in Giorno’s spell he hadn’t been able to perceive anything else. Was this how Giorno had felt on the bathroom floor? Leone didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to get his dick in Giorno right now. 


Unfortunately, this was not possible. Well, it was, but Giorno wasn’t nearly stretched enough, and Leone didn’t want to hurt him, especially not after - God, not after Giorno begged him to be gentle. He was going to be so fucking gentle. He grabbed the bottle of lube off the nightstand, open cap and everything. Why did Giorno have that? And why was it open? Had he been fingering himself right before…


Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t think about that, or he was going to come on the spot. 


So instead, he focused on Giorno. Giorno, looking up at him with wide green eyes, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Giorno, whose slender body looked so warm and inviting in the half-light, so pretty all over he couldn’t stand it. Giorno, who made the softest of noises and clutched at the sheets and let his head fall back when Leone breached him with a finger, so lovely it hardly seemed like he was real. 


But he was real. He gasped and shuddered and peeked up at Leone through his lashes, and he bucked and twisted when Leone found his sweet spot, calling out in pleasure. Leone was going to make him do that all night, make him feel so good he’d cry, make him come so much he wouldn’t know what mercy he was begging for. 


Even now, his eyes pleaded, but his words and noises seemed stuck in his throat. He grabbed at Leone’s arm helplessly, breathing hard through his nose, legs moving of their own accord. Leone caught one with the arm he wasn’t using to fingerbang Giorno and encouraged the other one to wrap around his waist, which worked well. 


Giorno seemed to be tearing apart at the seams. He couldn’t decide between trying to be quiet and letting his voice out, half wanton, half shy. Leone loved him like this. He couldn’t get enough. He drove his fingers into Giorno’s prostate, held them there and massaged it. Giorno’s whole body tensed and jerked and he whimpered like he was being tortured. His cock twitched violently, blurting precome onto his belly. It almost looked like- no, he was reaching a limit, and it didn’t look like he could be pushed over it. Not this way, at least. 


“Aww, here I was hoping I could make you come on my fingers,” said Leone in mock disappointment. 


“You- you might- ah- be able to,” said Giorno miserably. “It- I think it  hurts…”




Leone made to pull his fingers out, but Giorno stopped him with his grip around Leone’s wrist, shaking his head profusely. “No! Please, please don’t stop,” he whined. “It’s good- Feels so good- Abba- Abbacchio-”


“Oh my god, you little masochist,” said Leone, chuckling. “And what’s with ‘Abbacchio?’ We’re having sex. You can call me by my first name.”


Giorno’s eyes widened. “R-really?”


“Oh, Giorno,” drawled Leone, sliding his fingers in deep and crooking them just right, “I’m not you, dear. I don’t tell lies.”


That made him flinch a little and try to hide his face in his shoulder, which only sort of worked. Leone just slipped in a third finger and stretched him open some more, which had him tossing his head and moaning anyways. 


“Abbacchio, please,” he begged. “I’m ready, I- I think- I need…”


“Come on, now, you can say it,” Leone coaxed, rubbing just shy of all his sensitive spots, letting a finger pad drift just slightly over one or two. 


Giorno bucked, panting hard. His face was already burning red from the exertion, but it seemed to grow even redder from the embarrassment. “I- I-” 


After all he’d teased Leone, now that it was happening, he was too shy to say it. “Come on,” said Leone. “It’s not like I don’t already know what a dirty little slut you are. You sucked my dick in a bathroom. You can tell me what you want from me right now.”


“Please,” cried Giorno, followed by something incomprehensible. 


Leone tsk’d. “Sorry, I can’t understand you. Use your words, Giorno.”


Instead of trying again, Giorno began to sob. His whole body trembled with it and his chest heaved, but curiously enough, no tears came out. His eyes were completely dry. 


“Poor thing,” Leone cooed, slowing the movement of his fingers to a near stop. “Did I go too hard on you? Do we need to stop?”


A desperate keen left Giorno’s throat. His lips moved in a false start. He tried again, tried to form the word ‘please,’ but he gave up halfway through to draw in a breath and gasp, “Fuck me!” 


And the dam broke. Mindless pleas poured out of him, half of them unfinished. He was leaving loose syllables everywhere. All the while, he kept shaking and sobbing dry, like he was trying to cry but he didn’t know how. 


Leone nodded approvingly. “I think that’s the first honest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he mused. “Good boy.” Giorno tightened around his fingers. So he likes that, too. “There’s just one more thing. Giorno,” he dragged it out into almost a purr, “what’s my name?”


“A- Abbacchio-”


“No, not that one,” said Leone. “My first name.”


Giorno whined. 


Leone snorted. “Oh, don’t be like that. Come on, Giorno. Who am I? Whose cock are you begging for right now? What’s my name?”


A hitch in Giorno’s breath like a dry sob. Then, quietly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to: “Leone.”


“That’s it,” whispered Leone, bending over Giorno to brush his lips against his ear. He didn’t know why he was smiling. 


Slowly, carefully, he lined up his cock and pushed into Giorno’s wet heat, biting his lip against how good it felt to finally sink his aching erection into something soft and warm. He’d done a good job loosening Giorno up - all that prep had really been necessary, even if the teasing hadn’t - but he was still so unbelievably tight. Leone wasn’t going to be able to get it in all the way if he didn’t relax. So he kissed Giorno gently on the cheek where their faces were nestled together and asked him to, stroking down his side. 


“I can’t,” said Giorno. His eyes were screwed shut, and he tried to press into every single point of contact between them. “I don’t know how.”


Leone almost wanted to poke fun at him, but then Giorno’s hand tentatively joined his where it cupped Giorno’s waist, and every single bit of ill will he’d ever felt towards him evaporated with that small, quiet touch. So instead, he taught him how to breathe in a rhythm, going even slower and being even more gentle and kissing Giorno everywhere within range. There was something building up in his chest and he had to let Giorno know somehow, because… 




Then he was all the way in. 


It was all he could do to stop himself from coming. Giorno felt so good. He wanted to pull back and thrust in deep, pound into him until he came inside him and it oozed onto Giorno’s thighs - but he couldn’t, he had to be gentle. Giorno was still adjusting, clenching and shuddering around him. If his muscles kept fluttering like that, Leone was going to die right there and then. Sexed to death by a teenage virgin. 


Well, he’s not a virgin anymore


Shit. The thought made him rock forward unthinkingly, and the noise Giorno made- the feel of pushing into him all smooth and wet and warm- Leone couldn’t take it anymore. He started up a gentle rhythm, and when Giorno didn’t seem to be in any pain he went just a little harder. Then he shifted a little and something happened that made Giorno honest-to-god scream and lock up, clawing at his back and clamping his thighs onto Leone’s waist. 


Huh. I think I just found his prostate, but I’d better make sure he’s- 


But he never got to it, because all of a sudden, Giorno surged up with surprising strength, knocking him back into the bed. He hit the sheets with a grunt, wind knocked out of him. Giorno was gasping, bent over him with his hands braced on Leone’s shoulders. Leone couldn’t see his expression. He could feel his cock sliding out as Giorno leaned forward. Then, he very abruptly rocked back and sat up, spearing himself on Leone and bottoming out fast, whining as his ass met Leone’s hips.  


Leone felt like he’d been punched. “Holy shit , Giovanna,” he gasped, trying very hard not to buck up. 


“Feels… good,” Giorno moaned. His hair was a mess, curls gone, tumbling down his shoulders, brushed gold in the lamplight. He tossed his head back to expose the long, pale line of his neck. “I- I couldn’t-” He rose up and sank down. A frustrated noise escaped him and he bounced himself roughly, but not very high. A shudder ran through him and he rolled his hips and keened, grinding himself down on Leone’s cock. Little blurbs of precum dribbled down from Giorno’s own, dripping onto Leone with each twitch. 


He’s not any good at this , Leone realized, fondling his waist. He’s never done this before. I teased him to his breaking point and all he wants to do is take , but he doesn’t know how.


The thought sent a wicked grin curving over his lips. “Aww, look at you,” he crooned, rubbing a thumb over Giorno’s soft belly. “Aren’t you sweet. Was I too mean to you? I’m sorry, I was just trying to be gentle.”


“Abbacchio,” cried Giorno, tears running down his cheeks. 


Leone tsk’d. “Well, that’s no good. You’re using the wrong name again. Who am I, Giorno? Whose cock are you on?”


Giorno just moaned. He was building up a bit of a rhythm - a quick study even in this - but not enough to make it good. It was frustrating enough for Leone, but he could hold out, if only to watch Giorno fall to pieces. 


“Pretty thing,” he said. “Do you not remember whose dick you’re trying to ride? Don’t tell me you’ve thought about other people. Who else have you been imagining? Is it Mista? He seems to like you. Or maybe Fugo? He’s nearly as pretty as you. But- oh,” he gasped in mock surprise, “don’t tell me it’s Bucciarati! Our good capo. Isn’t he so handsome?”


“No, no, no,” cried Giorno. He was starting to get the hang of it. Leone had to fight through the sensation now. 


But he forged on. “Aww, it is Bruno, isn’t it? He’d be so nice to you, I know it. You’re his favorite anyways. He’d treat you so well, spoil you like a little princess. You’d be his doll.”


Giorno whimpered. Leone was becoming addicted to his sounds. 


“He likes lingerie, you know,” he told Giorno. “Bruno does. He even wears it himself. I bet he’d get so hard if you showed up at his door in a little lace number, with those cute little tits of yours. He wouldn’t be able to turn you away.”


“No,” moaned Giorno. He was bouncing properly now. 


Leone grunted and put his hands on Giorno’s hips. It felt so good. He just had to hold on a moment longer… “If you showed up like that,” he said, “Bruno wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you. He’d make you sit on his lap so he could grope you, and then he’d bend you over it so he could fondle your ass. Maybe he’d even spank you, if you were naughty enough. If you begged for it.”


“No,” sobbed Giorno. “No, I don’t want- I don’t want Bruno,” he cried. His chest heaved; he looked exhausted , and his cock bobbed up and down with every undulation of his hips. He’d gone back to bracing his hands on Leone, and his poor dick looked so swollen and red, twitching like he was about to come. 


Oh, no. Not yet. Leone tightened his hold, forcing him to still. “No? You don’t want Bruno? Who do you want, then?”


Giorno whined and jerked hard, trying to wrench himself out of Leone’s grasp. He was incredibly strong for his size, and it nearly worked, but Leone had braced for it so he just ended up bruising himself against Leone’s hands. There would be dark purple fingerprints on his hips tomorrow. 


“Please,” he begged. 


“Not yet,” said Leone. “Come on, Giorno, we’re having a conversation here. You were going to tell me who you wanted, remember?”


Giorno shook his head limply and bit his lip. He clenched down hard on Leone, who swore and almost fucked up into him. Luckily, he caught himself just in time. He could feel Giorno rocking from side to side the little he could, desperate for stimulation. 


“Oh, I know what the problem is,” said Leone. “You’re shy, aren’t you?”


That seemed to have hit the mark. Giorno drew in a sharp breath and turned away, hiding his face in his own shoulder. 


Leone grinned victoriously. “You little shit!” he declared. “Getting me all hot and bothered, and now you can’t even handle what you’re asking for?” In one smooth movement, he knocked Giorno over, flipped their positions, and manhandled Giorno over his knee, delivering a hearty smack to his cute little ass. Giorno squealed, so he did it again. 


“Abbacchio,” he gasped out in shock, eyes wide. 


Leone tutted and administered another smack. Giorno’s skin was beginning to flush red. “Now, that’s not quite right, is it? Come on, you know what I want to hear.” 


Giorno twisted and squirmed, but Leone held him tight and spanked him until he moaned like a whore and stopped wriggling. Fuck, Leone was so hard. He just wanted to haul one of Giorno’s long, slim legs over his shoulder and go to town, but the brat had to be taught a lesson. “You like that?” he taunted, slipping his fingers into Giorno and feeling for his sweet spot. 


Giorno tensed and mewled, pushing back onto his hand. “Yes,” he panted, “yes yes yes- More- Fuck me, please!”


“Fuck me, please, who?” Leone growled. “Whose cock do you want in that tight little ass?” He punctuated the words with a sharp slap to the area in question, making the fat bounce. 


That seemed to be the last straw. “Leone!” cried Giorno. “Fuck me, Leone, please, I want it so bad-”


Oh, finally, finally. “Good boy,” growled Leone, abruptly reorienting him so he could toss Giorno’s leg over his shoulder and press in. 


Giorno whined, clutching at the bedspread. His pretty green eyes rolled back and his mouth hung open as Leone seized him by the hips and yanked him forward, damn near folding him in half and pounding him into the mattress. Fuck, it was so good, finally getting to bury himself inside the brat and give it to him, make him take it—


“I’m gonna come,”  gasped Giorno, high and breathy. “Abbacchio- I’m gonna-” 


“I heard you,” Leone grunted. “I’m not gonna stop.” 


Giorno whimpered. Leone slid a hand between his legs, taking hold of his hard, dripping cock, working it in time with his own thrusts and relishing in the desperate noises spilling past Giorno’s lips. The brat was so loud. Leone wanted to fuck him harder, so he did, ramming into him fast enough to make his own muscles burn. He thanked God for his stamina. He wanted to hear the sounds Giorno would make after the sensitivity from his orgasm set in. 


“Leone,” cried Giorno. Fuck, he was never going to get tired of hearing Giorno moan his name. “I- I’m really gonna-” 


“Then do it,” Leone told him, almost rolling his eyes. He tightened his fist and pulled slow on Giorno from root to leaking tip, and Giorno screamed like he was being tortured and came long and hard into Abbacchio’s hand. 


The force of it almost sent Leone himself over the edge. “Fuck,” he gasped, “fuck- you’re so tight-” Giorno was shaking, his body seizing up and clamping down hard on Leone’s cock, head thrown back and lips parted and eyes glassy and broken and gone. Leone wanted to bite down on his soft white neck, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Giorno’s face, tear-stained and flushed. He looked utterly ruined, ravaged and crying in pleasure. Leone had taken that poised figure and that schooled mask and shattered them like glass on stone. It was a sweet, sweet triumph. 


He fucked Giorno through it, until the spasms subsided and the last of his mess dripped onto his own belly, and then kept fucking him, chasing his own orgasm. Giorno’s moans grew even more pitiful, writhing and squirming, too spent, too sensitive, indescribably precious in the fragile moment, and Leone could not help but come inside him. 


Afterwards, Giorno seemed to drift into sleep. Leone looked over the wreck of a person he had created, and the guilt came crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. Oh God, what have I done? Giorno was going to have bruises— He was— He—


Oh, fuck. I took his virginity. His innocence. I made him beg for it and I—


“Abbacchio?” murmured a sleepy voice. Giorno’s eyes blinked open blearily. “Are you going to leave?”


Leone, thought Abbacchio, call me Leone, please—  


Giorno was frowning at him expectantly. 


“I- Do you want me to leave?” he asked, trying to sound gruff. 


Giorno’s eyes grew sad. “Don’t go,” he whispered. 


Leone cleared his throat awkwardly. “Okay,” he said. “I won’t- yeah. What should I…”


“Hold me,” sighed Giorno, shifting closer. 


“Okay,” said Leone. “Okay, let me just… Let’s get under the blankets. Um, actually, do you want me to clean up…”


Giorno stretched out his arms, still looking so sad. “Leone? Please?”


“Okay,” said Leone, because he couldn’t think of anything else. “I- uh- Okay.”


They got under the blankets, Giorno still wet between his thighs and seemingly barely conscious. He clung to Leone and curled into him like his life depended on it, and Leone was helpless to him, putting an arm around his back to keep him in place. 


“Abbacchio,” Giorno mumbled against his skin. “You’re not bad. You would never hurt me. You wouldn’t.”


Leone didn’t know what to say. 


“You would never hurt me,” said Giorno. “You would never throw me away. Right?” His voice was so impossibly small. 


Oh, God. What do I say? 


“Leone?” whispered Giorno, quiet, like it was a secret, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. 


Abbacchio’s voice remained stuck in his throat.