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I Am Conjuring You / From Fresh Dirt

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At this point it was undeniable. He’d harbored the suspicion for a long while, even though it sounded absurd, but only now did all of the pieces seem to fit together to create one unshakable conclusion: someone was stealing Bruno’s underwear.

It was weird, and he knew it was weird, but he couldn’t think of any other explanation. He’d noticed the discrepancy in how many pairs he owned while doing laundry a few months ago, but hadn’t thought all that much of it at the time, seeing as it wasn’t the sort of thing he kept an exact count of. So he was down a pair or two; he blamed it on their cheap washer and dryer, that some step in the process must have obliterated it, but no big loss. What he couldn’t explain though was that he seemed to be up again in the next week’s laundry, like they had spontaneously regenerated in his clothing drawer. Well, that was strange—but still he didn’t think about it too much. Not until it happened again, and one more time, which was far too strange to be coincidence at that point. It was then he started keeping a real count, just to be sure he wasn’t losing his mind, and the numbers didn’t lie: almost every week without fail he’d be short at least one pair of underwear only for it to mysteriously resurface in the wash the following week.

So who the hell was it, then, huh? Probably not one of the kids—teenagers, he supposed was more accurate, but the gap still felt big enough there that he assumed Narancia and Fugo were off the hook on this one. If Mista was doing it it was probably because he thought it was funny, and the joke would have worn off long before now. That only left one candidate...the person who had come to mind in a fleeting thought the second Bruno had realized what was going on, some sort of strange association he couldn’t entirely wrap his head around the reasoning of. Right, the person he’d thought of first, for no real reason, and had quickly dismissed without any further pressing on the matter: Leone. There wasn’t anyone else it could be, logically. But even still, he wasn’t entirely was the why that eluded him, the motive for such an action that in its conventional explanation would have been completely out of character for a man like him.

He decided to bring it up one night, casually at dinner, making the joke out of it that he supposed it really was objectively. And it was a joke, everyone laughing (guffawing, maybe even, in Mista’s case at least)—everyone except Leone, who hesitated just a little too long before joining in just a little too cautiously. He was called out on this—accused, jokingly, though that time maybe it was Bruno’s turn to fail at putting that edge on it—denied it, perhaps jokingly as well—and one thing led to another—

“Well you gotta use your trick on him, Bucciarati, obviously! Come on, do it!”

That was Narancia’s contribution, a wide grin splitting their face to show off bright metal-bracketed teeth: for whatever reason they loved Bruno’s little lie detection bit, begging him to teach them (even if they got politely turned down every time). Well, Bruno was feeling playful enough to oblige, making eye contact with Leone and quirking one eyebrow before sauntering over to him in a purposefully exaggerated performance. Just as he’d showed off so many times before, he leaned in close to land one long, exaggerated lick up the narrow line of Leone’s jaw and cheek…

The sweat there was sweet enough to let him know Leone was full of bullshit, though he refused to reveal the outcome of his trick to further stoke the flames of their shared joke, but in the end it wasn’t that he got the most useful information out of. It was the redness that had so subtly filled Leone’s cheeks at Narancia’s suggestion, the hard swallow Bruno saw as he approached, the small but oh-so telling shiver down the length of his spine in tandem with the upward trace of Bruno’s tongue, that really started to give him an idea of what was going on here.

Maybe it wasn’t so out-of-character or unexpected, after all. Something like that—Bruno struggled a little still to put an exact wording on it, like it occupied some blanked out space in his head—it seemed to make more sense the more he thought about it. Undeniably there was a devotion on Leone’s end, the result of the circumstances in which they’d met that to this day ran strong (if unwieldy and masochistic at times). But Bruno had always thought of that as something workman-like, professional in scope or at the very much strictly platonic. Had he been wrong to assume? Wrong to assume his own feelings about their relationship as it stood were universal—but that posed a problem too, he frowned to himself, trying to realign his thoughts to the dull thud of his bare feet pacing the hallway. Simply put, Leone was an attractive man who he lived with and felt fondly towards: who he knew, and who knew him, probably better than almost anyone else in their lives. Thinking about it in that sort of plain and reductive way, facts opposed to the messier and more feely thorns that dug into them, something seemed to make sense about himself too. The late night conversations they held in low voices after everyone else had gone to sleep, professional dinners just between the two of them that lapsed from their pretense into purely social meetings more times than either would admit to a superior...those things, thought about again, at once got new context. A context that had to be true, from how light and airy it settled in his chest like a fluttering relief.

So Bruno figured, as a hesitant half-conclusion, that he would—whatever that might mean, the entirety of it—were Leone to ask him first. He was far too cautious to make a move like that himself in any direction, not on such limited ‘evidence’ as he had, and it would feel kind of icky to be forward given the dynamic of their positions. At the same time, he knew Leone well enough to suspect it was unlikely the other man would take that sort of initiative...more than likely he was trying to keep it in, suppress it from himself, a thought that was equal parts sad and sweet in some weird fake-poetic way. Of course, all of that was assuming Bruno wasn’t completely off the mark and projecting all sorts of shit on poor Leone out of a workaround to processing it himself. The only answer, then, was that something would have to happen. Some third-party event, uninitiated by either of them but so conveniently forcing them into a situation where they would have to or get to say something—but what would that even look like—?

As though with the suspicious sound of a flag raising, Bruno was snapped from his self-consumed pondering by a strange creak of wood coming from behind the door he’d paused himself in front of: Leone’s room.

It was almost too quiet to catch at first, and Bruno was almost ready to brush it off as a product of his own imagination skewed by the new train of thought he’d booked himself a ticket for, until it came again. Just slightly louder this time, a distinctly wooden creaking as if someone (like himself) were walking around on the floorboards—but there were no footsteps to accompany it, free of any weight. Listening closer it was rhythmic, too, slow with long pauses in between but an undeniable rhythm that Bruno could soon enough start to predict. In the time he stood there listening, the rhythm was punctuated just barely by a distinctly human sound: that of a breath in, shaky and muffled, the qualities of which Bruno couldn’t put a finger on towards identifying but which made his mouth feel dry and the core of his stomach feel suddenly warm. With this new sound he turned his head to the door itself, from where he’d been standing back flush against the wall, and caught the thin strip of yellow light emanating from where Leone’s door was cracked ever so slightly open. Just open enough to approach maybe, to lean in and get an eyeful…

He shouldn’t. Bruno knew that. Knew that it would be an invasion of privacy—but, he supposed, if Leone had really done what he was starting to suspect him of, that was an invasion of privacy too, and one that was much more invasive than (as he was already planning for his excuse) innocently hearing a strange noise and being concerned. It would cancel out, sort of, at least enough to make a case for in his head. He also really wanted to, a want deep rooted in his gut instead of floating around in his brain. He chalked it up to pure, inescapable curiosity as he tiptoed his way to the open slit of the door and pressed one cautious eye up against it, even though he couldn’t help but feel as if he knew already just what Leone was up to now.

For a second it looked as if maybe Leone were asleep, blanket pulled halfway up his bare back where he lay prone on his stomach—but he jolted his hips beyond noticeably, giving another suppressed breath as the upward motion of it caused the blanket to slip down and reveal the nude curve of his ass. He was moving his hips, back and forth in shallow thrusts against his mattress and making Bruno’s breath hitch in his throat. As though that weren’t enough to put two and two together, one of his hands was out of sight and pinned underneath his body, an image only made more erotic by how it obscured its obvious content. As for the other hand...Bruno searched for it as an excuse to rake his eyes across the alluring line of Leone’s muscular body, shifting uncomfortably where he stood as arousal started to unabashedly throb within him. Looking closer and pressing himself up against the wall, he found it pressed up against Leone’s face, clutching in its long fingers (perhaps inevitably) a dark bunched-up cloth which could have only been a pair of Bruno’s underwear. Mystery solved.

Leone let out another muffled sound—fuck, muffled by that!—which was undeniably some nervous, quiet little moan, and Bruno suddenly found himself at a high-stakes crossroads. The right thing to do would be to walk away and say nothing about this; he could go back to his room, take care of himself much the same way, and simply live with Leone’s apparent habit as part of a new routine in his life that made him wet just to think about. That was the safe option. And the same time, he couldn’t help but think that maybe this was it. Maybe this was that thing that would have to happen for them to move forward in the face of whatever strange tension had been boiling between them unaddressed. If Bruno had totally misinterpreted everything—even though admittedly the sight before him seemed pretty self-explanatory—then it would be a bad choice to make, probably the worst. But if his hunch was right...well, there wasn’t really any telling what would happen, was there? Not unless he fucked around and found out. The choice came easily enough in the end that Bruno suspected he’d probably already made it, and debated with himself out of some lingering attempt to seem civil and respectable about something like this that was feeling more and more like the opposite every second. He cleared his throat before speaking quieter than he intended, voice going inadvertently low and professional given the circumstances:


It went unnoticed, perhaps understandably, so he tried again with a stronger conviction he worked up from his lower gut.


But still he was just doing it, and Bruno realized he couldn’t take much more of it, and when his third time was the charm it was so much louder and more desperate than he ever intended.


Like he was reacting to a gunshot, Leone immediately stilled his hips, turning his head wildly in the direction of the door—before meeting Bruno’s one visible eye through its crack and promptly burying his face into his pillow in some attempt at hiding. Muffled even more completely he seemed to make some drawn out, mortified sound that Bruno supposed he felt a little bad for having inspired the emotion behind...even though his embarrassment was a turn on, too. God. He waited for a moment, trying to get hold of himself enough to articulate some thought as he awkwardly shifted his weight from hip to hip (and marvelled slightly at how slick his thighs were already starting to get as they brushed against one another with the movement).

“I’m not mad at you,” He breathed out hastily, because that seemed like the place to start regardless of how unconvinced Leone seemed of it. Leone’s only response to that was to groan once more against the shield of the pillow, a heated sound that could easily have been some crass word of frustration rendered inaudible. Bruno swallowed hard, tried again: “Can I...come in?”

His attempt at trying to play it cool went out the window on that one, voice leaving his reign and shifting undeniably into some low register that betrayed the heat currently throbbing between his legs. In a silver lining, though, softening his own embarrassment, Leone seemed to understand it too—tensing and raising his head to finally return eye contact with a bewildered look on his brightly flushed face. From just the tone of his voice; at least now Bruno wouldn’t have to say anything more, embarrass himself with his words alongside with his voice. That unspoken knowledge passed between them, Leone worried his lower lip as he seemed to weigh it in his mind...before giving a shockingly meek little nod that struck Bruno right between the ribs and immediately burrowing his face back into his pillow. Permission, then, holy shit.

Reeling a little, Bruno got a hold of himself enough to enter the room and shut the door behind him almost too politely, given the circumstances. He approached slowly, still unsure entirely of what he could and couldn’t do, eventually opting to kneel hesitantly at the side of the bed. Close enough to Leone to see the sweat on his back, to watch his shaky breaths move his frame up and down—he was gorgeous like this.

“Bucciarati, I’m so sorry—” Leone started, but Bruno gently shushed him, putting a finger to his lips partially in service of hiding the smirk that was starting to overtake them all on its own. Now having completed the hard part, it was slowly dawning on him the sort of power he had in a situation like this, object of desire that he was. Not that he didn’t desire Leone, too—but he didn’t know that, not yet. He had to be sure he used that power responsibly

“Don’t be, Leone. I already told you I’m not it’s been you, then?” He kept his voice firm but gentle, unable to keep just the suggestion of want even as he went about this deliberately slow and considerate. It was the voice Leone would undeniably recognize as that of his capo, with just enough of a tinge of perversion that he’d squirm—it worked like a charm. He flicked his eyes up for just a second towards the underwear, which Leone still clutched in his hand as his comparable scarlet letter, and he paled slightly and quickly chucked it off the side of the bed with a snap of his wrist like that would do anything.

“...Yes,” he eventually answered from the pillow again, voice thick with guilt but at the same time what was still clearly arousal.

“And this is what you do with it?”

Obviously.” He pressed his head down further to make himself nearly inaudible, words accompanied by a frustrated grunt of a sigh. “Shit. You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“I suspected just as much,” Bruno tried to joke, though it didn’t seem like the kind of thing Leone really wanted to joke about. His hand itched at his side, eager to touch, but not yet—he had to go about this right, not screw it up.

The quiet between them just began overstaying its welcome before Leone spoke again, voice low and subdued even beyond how muffled it was by circumstance. “I know it’s...gross.” He started, each word strained like it was a battle to get them out. “I tried to stop doing it...but…” he took in a deep, shivering breath that Bruno watched in his chest before picking up his thought nervous and thick in the back of his throat. “I can’t help myself.” Jesus, he probably didn’t have a clue just how hot that was.

“...Gross or not,” Bruno replied once he managed to think of words, to further structure out exactly what he was going to do as his urge to touch itched still, “I really don’t mind all that much. Promise. At first I found it funny for the most part...a little strange, maybe...but now…” He had to pause to catch his breath again before he could think of continuing, like he was half-about to back out of it—though there was no chance of a thing like that really happening, not when he’d gotten this far, not when Leone was looking at him from just the very corner of his eye where his face was still pressed into the pillow. “Now I think I like it. And I think you know I like it, too.”

Embarrassed still as he was, that same mutual knowledge from before flashed in Leone’s eyes alongside the vulnerability of being read like that. It was true—after all, Bruno had asked to come in, and Leone had said yes. He was expecting, or hoping, for something somewhere in the realm of what Bruno was growing more and more anxious to initiate. So this was it, then, and hesitatingly he brought a single hand up and rested it on Leone’s shoulder. The effect was instantaneous in the shiver it brought, Leone gasping in a mouth-watering sound and jerking his hips down on an impulse (as well as a lovely reminder that one of his hands was still pinned down there, out of sight).

“Bucciarati—?” He started to ask, voice breaking, and Bruno moved to correct him.

“Use my first name,” he returned with what he tried to make a knowing smile—a proposition for them to not have to worry about it, to talk later and act now. A proposition Leone seemed to accept, from how his shoulders dropped noticeable tension and he looked to Bruno with wide and yielding eyes. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes. Please.” Leone nodded, quick and eager, and the desperation of it only stoked the fire already burning at a dull rage in Bruno’s stomach. “Fuck, Bruno. I can’t believe—”

“Ssh.” A playful hint overtook his expression as he started to trail his hand down Leone’s nude back at a hungry yet agonizingly slow pace. “Don’t think about it too much, Leone. We can talk about it another time. For now...just relax.”

As he moved his hand, he dragged the blanket down and off with him, revealing more and more of Leone’s pale body to the cool air of the room. It was maddening just how hot he was like this, sprawled out nude on the bed like he'd been waiting and eager all this time for Bruno to touch him like that. The little noises he made along with the slow trace of Bruno’s hand only spurred him on further, breathy sighs as he made his way down his hips to the base of his spine and culminating in what was nearly a moan as Bruno couldn’t resist playfully squeezing Leone’s ass.

“Sorry if it feels like I’m stringing you along,” Bruno spoke low and close to Leone’s ear as he brought his hand back up to the base of his neck, rooting it loosely in his long hair to idly play with the soft strands. “I want to take my sweet time. But you seem so worked up...enough to sneak around and steal your capo’s underwear to do gross things with it, clearly,” he teased, relishing in how the words made Leone shiver. “Am I right?”

“Ah...mhm…” Leone muttered into his pillow, cheeks burning hot enough for Bruno to almost feel himself.

“Turn over and show me. Please.”

Leone hesitated only a moment, shaky breath going through his body, before he obliged and shifted to lie flat on his back and reveal just how worked up he really was. Bruno almost felt bad that his eyes were drawn away so quickly from Leone’s sweat-slick muscles and stiff pink nipples down towards the main spectacle. Holy shit. He’d assumed Leone was using his hand, or perhaps just rutting up against his mattress, but in truth he was fully sheathed inside what was undeniably a one-hundred-percent-bona-fide fleshlight. Which, upon closer inspection, seemed to be subtly leaking with what had to be his own cum—Christ, he’d already finished in it once and was going for round two. Bruno pressed his thighs tight together in a largely-ineffective attempt to quell the wave of arousal that crashed on him at the sight, at the thought.

“God, Leone,” Bruno sighed out without even thinking, and Leone threw a free arm over his face to hide it in the crook of his elbow from embarrassment—he had no idea just how much Bruno loved seeing him like this. “You’re going to be the death of me if you keep this up.” Trailing one hand down the length of Leone’s body once more, he went further than before to grab the base of the fleshlight in a move that elicited a surprised gasp and brief flash of Leone’s eyes from behind his arm. Once he’d caught Leone’s eyes and attention once more, Bruno kept that contact as he slowly pulled the toy off of him, drawing out a quiet prolonged moan from the man underneath him.

Leone’s cock, fully hard and eager, smacked against his flat stomach with a lewd sound as it was released, and he shivered in response and squirmed ever so slightly where he acted almost pinned down by Bruno’s touch. Sure enough, he was slick still with what had to have been his previous orgasm, and Bruno couldn’t keep his tongue from darting across his lips at the thought of cleaning it off of him—licking a thick stripe up the length of it the same as he’d done to Leone’s face just hours before. But a plan was forming ever so hazily in his lust-addled mind, and so he resisted that urge as he pulled away from Leone and stood to loom over him. He was feeling generous enough to give his subordinate exactly what he wanted—well, what it seemed like he wanted, at least.

“Look at me,” he requested softly as he looked down at Leone, who turned his head immediately where he lay splayed out still to meet Bruno’s gaze with wide eyes. Without another word he reached up to start undressing himself, evening the playing field between the two of them in silence. By the time he was done he stood in front of Leone in nothing but his (at this point considerably soaked through and uncomfortable-growing) boxer briefs. Leone watched this process with a hard swallow, keeping his hands politely at his sides even as his cock throbbed untouched at the sight in front of him—cute. Smirking just to himself, he took a few steps forward towards the bed and boldly moved to climb on top of Leone and straddle his stomach, much to Leone’s just as cute surprise.

“This okay?” He asked quietly, just a tiny bit of concern sneaking its way into his voice at the sight of just how bewildered Leone looked as he stared up at him from this new and probably never-imagined angle. His face, though, was still flushed bright red with his arousal, and once he’d seemingly gotten enough of a hold on himself to process what was going on he nodded eagerly enough to make Bruno smile. “Good, good,” he encouraged, reaching forward as he was unable to resist playing with Leone’s hair again. “Come on, don’t be shy. Put your hands on me.”

Even with his urging, Leone seemed just slightly hesitant—like he couldn't believe it was really happening, that he wasn’t dreaming. Just a few moments later he seemed to work up enough nerve to lift his shaky hands and bring them first up to Bruno’s face, running long fingers through his hair before cupping his cheeks in a strangely chaste and intimate motion. He left them there for a good while, like he was savoring it, before trailing his hands down lower. First down his neck, then onto his shoulders and chest to trace the lines of his tattoo and run his thumbs across the twin scars it covered up...Bruno couldn’t help but shiver at the touch of those familiar hands in such an unfamiliar place. As if emboldened by the response he got, Leone even went to far as to lightly pinch and toy at Bruno’s nipples; they were hardly as sensitive as they’d been before he started transitioning, but it was the thought that counted, the sight and the fact that it was Leone doing it making him gasp out loud.

He only reached down to grab Leone’s wrist and stop him in his tracks as his fingers brushed ever so slightly at the waistband of his underwear, one finger curling into it like he intended to take them off. Appealing as such a prospect was, it would have disrupted Bruno’s plan. “Mm, patience, Leone,” he sighed at the confused and somewhat frustrated look he got from the other man at his actions. “I have something I want to do first...something I want to do for you. Does that sound good?”

A clear intrigue flashed in Leone’s eyes even through the arousal that had taken solid root there, and he nodded just a little like he maybe didn’t trust his voice. Smirk spreading on his face again, the next part of the plan went into action—”I’m glad. You’ll just have to tell me something first…” Slowly but undeniably, Bruno crawled up further and lifted his body up slightly, supporting himself on the headrest of the bed and spreading his legs further all for the express purpose of assuring that Leone’s head was firmly situated between his thighs. He was certain that in this position he was giving Leone quite the eyeful of just how soaked he was, perhaps even the oh-so-subtle protrusion of his cock through the just-tight-enough fabric...Leone himself proved it as he shivered hard under Bruno, audibly gulping. “You’ll have to tell me if you like my underwear just as much when it’s on me,” he finished his thought with a cheeky tone slipping into his rough voice.

Though in this position Bruno couldn’t see Leone’s face, he heard the shifting of his pillowcase as he must have been nodding in response. But that was hardly any fun, was it? “Use your words.”

“Yes,” Leone’s voice came quick and ragged, wrecked already. “Fuck, Bruno, quit teasing me, I can’t—I want—”

“What do you want?”

“Isn’t it fucking obvious?” Leone hissed, but was decidedly defanged as Bruno planted his hips firmly against his face without another word. It was obvious, after all.

“How’s that?” Bruno rushed out in a hot breath, adjusting himself and rolling his hips experimentally downwards against Leone. He wasn’t expecting any real answer, given the circumstances, but Leone gave a deliciously muffled groan that told him everything he needed or wanted to know. Bruno had caught him lips parted in the adorable angry half-begging he’d started, so soon as he caught up to what was happening he was already clumsily mouthing at Bruno through the fabric of his underwear, tongue poking against him and making him have to hold back embarrassing little whines. Even beyond the physical sensation that was sending hard pulses of heat to the core of his body, the eager desperation with which Leone worked his mouth was making it hard to think.

He ground his hips against Leone in a slow, purposefully gentle movement as he tightly clutched the headboard of his bed; hard as it was to keep from losing himself to the sensation, he was more than a little afraid he’d end up smothering the poor man if he went too hard. If Leone had the same fear, he didn’t show it at all. He was hard at work dampening the fabric of Bruno’s boxer briefs further with broad, needy sweeps of his tongue, accompanied by stifled moans that vibrated up through Bruno’s whole body and made him whine with pleasure. “Good, Leone, that’s so good,” he praised, words he knew would go unresponded to falling loosely from his mouth. Leone’s answer to that was to give a groan against him and redouble his efforts—if such a thing were even possible.

He couldn’t see, but heard the shifting of sheets as Leone seemed to reach down to hurriedly stroke himself—with a smug smirk only to himself, Bruno stretched a foot back to playfully nudge Leone’s hand away with it. Just to see what he would do, maybe, if he’d stay just as cute and obedient as he’d been so far...he whined frustratedly but kept at what he was doing, as though trying even harder to please Bruno. He was so much more than Bruno could have ever imagined. “Mm, patience, Leone, I’ll take care of you soon enough,” he promised in a breathy gasp with one particularly strong thrust down against Leone’s open and willing mouth. “And I’d hate for you to be distracted—nngh, not when you’re treating me so well—”

It was quickly getting to be too much to handle—Bruno paused, lifting his hips up off of Leone for just a second to awkwardly free himself of his underwear and hastily chuck it over the side of the bed to parts unknown. “You can keep that pair,” he joked shakily, but re-assumed his position before Leone could respond to encourage him to keep using his mouth for other things. Which he seemed more than happy to pick up again, giving small muffled noises as he continued to run his tongue over every inch of Bruno available to him like he was trying to learn all of it by heart. No longer inhibited by the fabric of Bruno’s underwear, each sensation was all the more striking and potent as Leone experimentally thrust his tongue into his slick entrance. Fuck, he even toyed with Bruno’s cock, wrapping his lips around it best he could and all but sucking him off by the end.

Bruno’s orgasm nearly caught him by surprise, so wrapped up in the feeling that he was hardly paying any attention to signs his body might have been giving him that he was about to go over the edge. What did it ultimately wasn’t even anything Leone was doing with his mouth, great as that was; it was that, as though realizing he was allowed to, he’d shakily brought his hands up to solidly grip Bruno’s waist. He gave a half-stifled cry as he came, louder than was perhaps advisable given the time of night, and pressed his thighs together tighter on either side of Leone’s head beyond his own control—he would have apologized for it if Leone’s muffled groan and similarly tightened grip on his hips didn’t seem to indicate his approval. Only once he’d ridden out his orgasm completely did Bruno pull away, moving back down to straddle Leone like he’d done before and panting as he got a look at his face for the first time in a while.

Though his face was devoid of makeup, Bruno could picture clear in his mind just how smeared and fucked-up it would look right about now—in line with how deep his blush went, and his shaky panting as he tried to catch his breath like he’d been the one who just came. Leone’s wide eyes were for a moment unfocused with lust, reeling, before he seemed to snap back into the moment and seek Bruno’s gaze with a vulnerable and needy expression, swallowing visibly. It shouldn’t have been allowed, him being so cute—Bruno realizing he was so cute, and had been without him knowing the whole time. He couldn’t resist leaning in to press a hilariously innocent kiss to Leone’s lips, though still erotic in how Bruno could taste himself on his subordinate’s mouth.

“Do you have a condom?” He asked point-blank as soon as he pulled away, though his voice was still low and breathy, and Leone nodded before taking a few extra moments to get words working again. He pointed over the side of the bed to his night stand as he struggled to form a complete sentence:

“B-Bottom drawer—there should be some—shit, I think I need a second—”

Perfectly understandable, though Bruno felt almost the exact opposite, like he could hardly wait for more. He used that second to dismount from Leone’s chest and hastily fish out one condom from the aforementioned drawer, before crawling back on top of him and making sure Leone was watching him as he moved to execute part two of his (so far incredibly successful) plan. Leone was still hard—twitching now even, perhaps in anticipation of the real thing—and had been for quite some time, Bruno realized; poor guy must have been so sensitive, at least from how he gasped and shivered like he was trying to hold back as Bruno rolled the condom on.

“Ready now?” Bruno asked as he positioned himself, hiking Leone’s legs up and settling agonizingly close to Leone’s stiff and aching cock. Leone nodded quickly, once more threw an arm over his face as though he were embarrassed—

“Use your words.”

“Yes—!” Leone gasped it out more than said it, faster than Bruno was expecting. “Y-Yes, Bruno, please, I need it—God—I w-wanna cum—”

That was all Bruno needed to hear; he pitched his hips forward to lower himself onto Leone’s throbbing cock. He bit back a quiet moan as he leaned forward, shifting to still pin Leone’s legs apart with both hands, but it was nothing on the fucking whimper Leone let out and clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle just a second too late. Bruno smirked, keeping whatever tease he might have had to himself in favor of simply starting to move his hips in a rhythm gentle in contrast to the hurried, eager thrusts with which Leone met him. Fun as it would have been, watching Leone finally get his relief was so much sweeter.

He didn’t last all that much longer, all but writhing under Bruno with adorable little moans as he came, but it was about what Bruno expected—honestly, given how much he’d seemed to be enjoying himself before, he was surprised Leone had lasted out this long at all. Bruno slumped forward to lay against Leone’s chest as he pulled out of him, resting against him in silence for a good long moment and feeling their breaths rise and fall in shallow, matched-up rhythms. He snaked a hand between his legs to finish himself off for the second time—but it was almost more like a chore, the necessity of scratching that itch and not leaving it to boil in him. What he was getting the most out of was this closeness after, skin on skin, sensual in place of sexual. Above all nice, something he liked, and wanted to do again. And again.

Eventually Leone wiggled awkwardly under his weight and they took it as a mutual sign to get started on the necessary if unsexy process of cleaning up—but even as they separated, Leone to the trashcan across his room and Bruno hastily to the bathroom across the hall, they came back together and lay next to each other, just looking into each other eyes. Not speaking just yet; the moment was in equal measure too awkward and too warm and fuzzy to disrupt that way. Of course, it was something they would have to talk about, but maybe it could wait until that next morning, leaving tonight undisrupted and continuous. That would be nice, Bruno thought to himself with a small smile, sappy in his steadily growing exhaustion.

He closed his eyes for just a second and yawned, opening them to find Leone’s staring back at him just as they had the whole time—slightly confused still, but above all warm and satiated, just as tired. Bruno fumbled to find Leone’s hand and put his own over it before speaking unintentionally low and half-whispery. “I’m starting to get really tired.”

Leone blinked like the sound surprised him, pulling him out of some dream and into reality. “ too.”

“Can I stay here?”

He blushed at that, like it was that part of everything they’d done already that was raw and exposing. “I’d really like it.”

“I’d like it too.” Bruno’s smile dipped ever-so-slightly into a knowing expression, and his voice did just the same. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Leone nodded, before stretching a little and bringing his hands around to pull Bruno close to himself and hold him with a gentle sigh. Like he was at ease, a sound Bruno was happy beyond words to hear from him. “‘Night, Bruno.”

“Goodnight, Leone.”

So they fell asleep, then, at ease together.

“Okay, I’m getting a full picture now. So this is how I think it went down,” Mista asserted as he and Narancia’s intense conversation that morning reached its half-hour mark—the topic of the strange noise they had all heard last night, at varying volumes and interludes, was of course so pressing as to require such in-depth analysis. “First, Bucciarati finds out Abbacchio’s the one who was stealing his boxers or whatever. That part we know for certain. Then real late last night, when you me and Fugo were all in our rooms already, he goes to Abbacchio’s room and like—I dunno. Sees him doing weird stuff or something. So they chew it out, and then Bucciarati, you know, roughs him up a little for being a pervert.”

Narancia screwed their face up in disagreement. “Like, they were fighting? No way, man, Bucciarati wouldn’t just do something like that—”

“I dunno, I can see it. He can be a real scary guy sometimes.”

“Yeah, but he likes Abba,” Narancia insisted. “I don’t think he’d, like, beat him up. Not even if he did something weird. They were probably just talking or something.”

“Well, I sure didn’t hear all that much talking. I know what I heard and I’d know that sound anywhere. Abbacchio was totally getting his ass handed to him—”

“How can you really know, though? I heard it too, you know, and I don’t think I’m too sure.”

“Trust me, dude, I know damn well what getting punched in the face sounds like. I’d bet you hundred bucks if I had it that Abbacchio’s gonna come out here with a black eye.”

“Okay but—”

“You two are insufferable,” Fugo piped up for the first time, hunched and scowling over a cup of coffee and nothing else—he was, after all, the one with the room closest to Leone’s. “They were fucking.”


“You heard me,” He grumbled, getting up to enjoy his pitiful breakfast somewhere with more peace and quiet. But they actually hadn’t, caught up in their own conversation still, so it went on, the question ultimately unanswered and eventually forgotten.