[Fugo can't seem to hold onto him tight enough. It makes him feel warm from his toes to the top of his head, so loved and so wanted and so needed in a way that he's only just starting to realize how much he loves--not emotionally, although that too, but physically. He's unfamiliar with someone needing him this close, but it fills a space in him that resonates with joy at being sated.]
[He loves the way Fugo can't touch him enough, really. It makes it safer to admit his own greed, which makes it easier for Fugo, and so they get more and more honest with each other. He likes it. It's a good loop.]
[He likes the way Fugo reacts to praise. He'd praise Fugo anyway, but knowing how he squirms in response makes it that much more satisfying to murmur scattered phrases between kisses: so soft, so sweet or I love you or please more, which is essentially a response to everything. More of all of this--that's what he wants.]
[And he likes the way Fugo reacts to touch. His mind keeps coming back and hooking on the eager roll of Fugo's hips, even as his thumb keeps up its slow back and forth. It wasn't a subtle movement. It's good; this is a touch that's okay, that Fugo likes, that he likes so much he felt safe saying so.]
[Giorno sucks in a breath, awed, and runs his palm over Fugo's stomach where his thumb was making its slow path just a moment ago. Fugo's skin is so warm, and it feels like his hand covers so much of his stomach, even as his fingertips still reach far enough to nearly graze Fugo's hipbone.]
Like that . . . ?
[It's soft and tentative, a very honest question accompanied by a kiss that lingers somewhere between teasing and needy. If the other thing was better, or he should stop entirely, he wants to know--wants to touch and kiss Fugo all over, to make him feel good, but so carefully, because Fugo is so precious to him it hurts sometimes.]
no subject
[He loves the way Fugo can't touch him enough, really. It makes it safer to admit his own greed, which makes it easier for Fugo, and so they get more and more honest with each other. He likes it. It's a good loop.]
[He likes the way Fugo reacts to praise. He'd praise Fugo anyway, but knowing how he squirms in response makes it that much more satisfying to murmur scattered phrases between kisses: so soft, so sweet or I love you or please more, which is essentially a response to everything. More of all of this--that's what he wants.]
[And he likes the way Fugo reacts to touch. His mind keeps coming back and hooking on the eager roll of Fugo's hips, even as his thumb keeps up its slow back and forth. It wasn't a subtle movement. It's good; this is a touch that's okay, that Fugo likes, that he likes so much he felt safe saying so.]
[Giorno sucks in a breath, awed, and runs his palm over Fugo's stomach where his thumb was making its slow path just a moment ago. Fugo's skin is so warm, and it feels like his hand covers so much of his stomach, even as his fingertips still reach far enough to nearly graze Fugo's hipbone.]
Like that . . . ?
[It's soft and tentative, a very honest question accompanied by a kiss that lingers somewhere between teasing and needy. If the other thing was better, or he should stop entirely, he wants to know--wants to touch and kiss Fugo all over, to make him feel good, but so carefully, because Fugo is so precious to him it hurts sometimes.]