[Honestly! Who does this boy think he is, leveling baseless accusations of teasing over statements of fact. And then affectionately nips at his lip and kisses all the huffy bluster at him before he even really has the chance to puff up, because Giorno knows that Fugo knows his secret: that he's actually delighted when Fugo works up the courage to tease him. It's just too difficult to be even play-annoyed with Giorno right now, whose beauty in his happiness is nothing short of transfixing.
Maybe it's a good thing, then, that it's hard to get a complete look at Giorno, what with his darting back and forth. Fugo catches him in bits and pieces; a curl of hair tumbling over his shoulder, the curve of one flushed cheek, a smiling mouth that's gone red from kissing, and bright eyes sparkling with love and mischief. Or maybe Fugo juust needs to work on his recovery time if he wants to be properly knocked out by the whole picture. Except that part of the problem is Giorno looks so terribly pleased with himself and the results of his hands and mouth: Fugo, a dazed mess, knocked back onto his pillows and holding him desperately close.
Ah, well. Later, maybe. In a time and a place when the pressure of Giorno's weight on his chest and stomach don't feel so delightful, or the feeling of Giorno's fidgety movements, skin brushing against skin, isn't so exciting. He likes this. He loves this, it feels so good, and Giorno can bully him as much as he wants if it means they can keep going.]
[So, yes: Fugo does shiver. But the trembling starts not with the kisses on his neck, but with the spidery feeling of Giorno's fingertips meandering-- oh, no, that's not true at all, they're moving with a dedicated and certain purpose down his side to a very particular place at his hip.]
Well, you-- [This sentence goes sadly nowhere. The argument over who's teasing who ends before it begins, because Giorno's mouth and fingers zero in on two places guaranteed to make him squirm. He blanks out on what he wants to say; the words get lost in his low, needy groan and the way his body twists and curves underneath and his fingers curl, possessively tight, above to better feel the way Giorno is touching him. It's so good that he, honestly, has nothing to argue about.
His breathing and heartbeat feel so-- wild, so out-of-order. Dazedly, Fugo wonder if Giorno can feel it. No, he has to; they're so close, and now Giorno's mouth is lingering over the pulse point in his neck. Fugo holds him close and shivers as he's kissed. It takes him a long moment to realize what Giorno says. And then, in turn, a long moment to realize what he said and exactly how dangerous it was to impulsively admit that sort of thing. Except is it really dangerous if he still doesn't care? He meant it when he said it, however embarrassing it is to think back on.]
Well-- ... what... [He takes a deep breath, because he really ought to now that he has half of a chance to, and takes the time to collect his words.] What have you been... thinking about-- the most?
[It's Giorno. So greedy, so needy. Of course there's a lot. And they have to start somewhere, don't they? The-- most revisited subject. That's as good of a starting point as any. Isn't it?]
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Maybe it's a good thing, then, that it's hard to get a complete look at Giorno, what with his darting back and forth. Fugo catches him in bits and pieces; a curl of hair tumbling over his shoulder, the curve of one flushed cheek, a smiling mouth that's gone red from kissing, and bright eyes sparkling with love and mischief. Or maybe Fugo juust needs to work on his recovery time if he wants to be properly knocked out by the whole picture. Except that part of the problem is Giorno looks so terribly pleased with himself and the results of his hands and mouth: Fugo, a dazed mess, knocked back onto his pillows and holding him desperately close.
Ah, well. Later, maybe. In a time and a place when the pressure of Giorno's weight on his chest and stomach don't feel so delightful, or the feeling of Giorno's fidgety movements, skin brushing against skin, isn't so exciting. He likes this. He loves this, it feels so good, and Giorno can bully him as much as he wants if it means they can keep going.]
[So, yes: Fugo does shiver. But the trembling starts not with the kisses on his neck, but with the spidery feeling of Giorno's fingertips meandering-- oh, no, that's not true at all, they're moving with a dedicated and certain purpose down his side to a very particular place at his hip.]
Well, you-- [This sentence goes sadly nowhere. The argument over who's teasing who ends before it begins, because Giorno's mouth and fingers zero in on two places guaranteed to make him squirm. He blanks out on what he wants to say; the words get lost in his low, needy groan and the way his body twists and curves underneath and his fingers curl, possessively tight, above to better feel the way Giorno is touching him. It's so good that he, honestly, has nothing to argue about.
His breathing and heartbeat feel so-- wild, so out-of-order. Dazedly, Fugo wonder if Giorno can feel it. No, he has to; they're so close, and now Giorno's mouth is lingering over the pulse point in his neck. Fugo holds him close and shivers as he's kissed. It takes him a long moment to realize what Giorno says. And then, in turn, a long moment to realize what he said and exactly how dangerous it was to impulsively admit that sort of thing. Except is it really dangerous if he still doesn't care? He meant it when he said it, however embarrassing it is to think back on.]
Well-- ... what... [He takes a deep breath, because he really ought to now that he has half of a chance to, and takes the time to collect his words.] What have you been... thinking about-- the most?
[It's Giorno. So greedy, so needy. Of course there's a lot. And they have to start somewhere, don't they? The-- most revisited subject. That's as good of a starting point as any. Isn't it?]