[Talking instead of kissing: a controversial debate. For Giorno's part, he likes these moments in between, the liminal spaces between "not" and "kissing". There's a power to it, the inevitability that they'll meet in the middle eventually as well as the way they circle each other like some kind of celestial improbability.]
[There's something special about this, specifically, this rare occasion when Fugo gathers his nerve and takes initiative--although it's getting gradually less and less rare. To Giorno, Fugo's self-consciousness has always been part of his charm and something of a challenge. Can he get Fugo to smile? To laugh? To relax? So when Fugo feels comfortable and happy enough to tease him, to flirt with him, to take the reins even for a moment--]
[Giorno doesn't know the word for that. Magnificent, maybe. Fascinating, definitely. In a way it's almost hypnotic, and it certainly makes it impossible for him to focus on anything else. What Fugo says isn't terrifically smooth, but it doesn't need to be; the sheer existence in the space between them of these words out of Fugo's mouth, clumsy as they may be, is enough to absolutely ruin Giorno in no time.]
[It's around unless that Giorno's gaze flickers down to Fugo's mouth and stays there. Oh, he tries to glance up once or twice to meet Fugo's eyes, but it never sticks. He wants so badly to kiss Fugo, but even more so to be kissed by Fugo, to have Fugo close the gap between them and make this kiss very special.]
[God. Truthfully Giorno's expression has already crumpled in overwhelmed pleasure long before Fugo does close that gap. If the words weren't enough, the fingers in his hair would be, or the hand covering his, or the look on Fugo's face.]
[And then the tension breaks, and Fugo kisses him, and he--melts. Immediately, with no time or desire for resistance, he meets Fugo halfway with a desperate kiss and hands that have no option but to cling. If he doesn't hang on tight, he'll fall. He's breathless because Fugo's stolen it, but he doesn't mind; he likes the feeling of his heart beating so hard in his chest he can hear it in his ears. Or is that Fugo's? Is there enough of a difference that it matters?]
[Fugo is so warm, pressed so close, kissing him perfectly, and it would be nice to have the breath or thought to say how this is so much better than enough it exists in a different universe, but words don't exist right now. Giorno kisses back instead, breathless and hungry and not at all teasing now, just--yes. Yearning is the word. His hands drift up, over Fugo's chest to his shoulders; he has enough presence of mind to realize he can push Fugo's shirt off his shoulders, which he does, but none whatsoever to follow up on that action, so he doesn't bother. Just runs his hands along Fugo's shoulders and kisses him and--he couldn't possibly be happier or think of anything more special.]
no subject
[There's something special about this, specifically, this rare occasion when Fugo gathers his nerve and takes initiative--although it's getting gradually less and less rare. To Giorno, Fugo's self-consciousness has always been part of his charm and something of a challenge. Can he get Fugo to smile? To laugh? To relax? So when Fugo feels comfortable and happy enough to tease him, to flirt with him, to take the reins even for a moment--]
[Giorno doesn't know the word for that. Magnificent, maybe. Fascinating, definitely. In a way it's almost hypnotic, and it certainly makes it impossible for him to focus on anything else. What Fugo says isn't terrifically smooth, but it doesn't need to be; the sheer existence in the space between them of these words out of Fugo's mouth, clumsy as they may be, is enough to absolutely ruin Giorno in no time.]
[It's around unless that Giorno's gaze flickers down to Fugo's mouth and stays there. Oh, he tries to glance up once or twice to meet Fugo's eyes, but it never sticks. He wants so badly to kiss Fugo, but even more so to be kissed by Fugo, to have Fugo close the gap between them and make this kiss very special.]
[God. Truthfully Giorno's expression has already crumpled in overwhelmed pleasure long before Fugo does close that gap. If the words weren't enough, the fingers in his hair would be, or the hand covering his, or the look on Fugo's face.]
[And then the tension breaks, and Fugo kisses him, and he--melts. Immediately, with no time or desire for resistance, he meets Fugo halfway with a desperate kiss and hands that have no option but to cling. If he doesn't hang on tight, he'll fall. He's breathless because Fugo's stolen it, but he doesn't mind; he likes the feeling of his heart beating so hard in his chest he can hear it in his ears. Or is that Fugo's? Is there enough of a difference that it matters?]
[Fugo is so warm, pressed so close, kissing him perfectly, and it would be nice to have the breath or thought to say how this is so much better than enough it exists in a different universe, but words don't exist right now. Giorno kisses back instead, breathless and hungry and not at all teasing now, just--yes. Yearning is the word. His hands drift up, over Fugo's chest to his shoulders; he has enough presence of mind to realize he can push Fugo's shirt off his shoulders, which he does, but none whatsoever to follow up on that action, so he doesn't bother. Just runs his hands along Fugo's shoulders and kisses him and--he couldn't possibly be happier or think of anything more special.]