[It's so difficult to think of anything but Fugo right now. The sounds he's making, the way he feels, how warm he is, his smell--those sounds. The ones in the back of his throat, the pleased and desperate ones; the barely-sensible babbling, the constant praise. It makes Giorno feel like his feet aren't touching the ground anymore.]
[He likes talking like this, the two of them with their lips brushing as they speak, totally inefficient and it doesn't even matter. He likes the way Fugo's breath tickles him, how warm it is, and how secret, the intimate barely-there space between kisses. He doesn't want to talk in any other way ever again.]
[Your hair smells nice makes him laugh, although it doesn't really sound like a laugh, hazy and breathless as it is.]
Your you smells nice-- [is all he manages, and then they're stumbling backwards, and Fugo's kissing him again. And there's something against the back of his legs. The bed. Oh, thank god. He sighs, relieved, and lets his nails graze Fugo's skin again in an attempt to distract from the ungraceful way he gets his shoes off, finally.]
[And then that's it. His shoes are off, this kiss is ending to make way for another, the bed is behind him. He is no longer beholden to uprightness. Finally, after the longest walk in human history, he allows himself to sit down on the edge of the bed, then to scoot backwards until he's leaned back properly against the pillows. This series of events means that he's got to let go of Fugo for a moment, but hopefully it won't be too long. With one hand he tugs his hair tie out, letting his ponytail down; with the other, he reaches out to Fugo.]
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[He likes talking like this, the two of them with their lips brushing as they speak, totally inefficient and it doesn't even matter. He likes the way Fugo's breath tickles him, how warm it is, and how secret, the intimate barely-there space between kisses. He doesn't want to talk in any other way ever again.]
[Your hair smells nice makes him laugh, although it doesn't really sound like a laugh, hazy and breathless as it is.]
Your you smells nice-- [is all he manages, and then they're stumbling backwards, and Fugo's kissing him again. And there's something against the back of his legs. The bed. Oh, thank god. He sighs, relieved, and lets his nails graze Fugo's skin again in an attempt to distract from the ungraceful way he gets his shoes off, finally.]
[And then that's it. His shoes are off, this kiss is ending to make way for another, the bed is behind him. He is no longer beholden to uprightness. Finally, after the longest walk in human history, he allows himself to sit down on the edge of the bed, then to scoot backwards until he's leaned back properly against the pillows. This series of events means that he's got to let go of Fugo for a moment, but hopefully it won't be too long. With one hand he tugs his hair tie out, letting his ponytail down; with the other, he reaches out to Fugo.]
Made it. C'mere. Baciami.