[Something like fire licks up his spine whenever Fugo looks at him like that. When he says things like that, even if that part--those words--are newer. Giorno feels caught when Fugo looks down at him, not in a bad way but very much frozen in place nonetheless. He has to look. He has to listen. He wants so desperately to absorb all of this, everything about Fugo in these moments, so he can remember later. Be distracted later. Prove Fugo right later.]
[He sort of loves it when Fugo is right, because so often it leads to him being smug.]
[Is he as flushed as he feels? Sometimes Fugo makes him so warm all over from wanting him; sometimes he feels like he wants to just look at Fugo, as though he could eat him up just with his eyes. What does that look like? Whatever it is, he hopes it's more good than strange. He hopes he looks half as perfect as Fugo does in this moment.]
You--
[He licks his lips, hovering somewhere between excited and nervous. His lips brush Fugo's stomach again; he trails light kisses down Fugo's stomach to his hip, slow, pausing to add a word or two as they trickle into his mind.]
You sound amazing. And--taste. Amazing. The way you move. When you breathe. Amazing. You smell so good.
[By the end it's practically a sigh, breathed out over Fugo's hip, because he made it. Here he is again, and now he can savor it, the sharp angle of Fugo's hipbone, which he learns as he kisses, slow and ever less methodical. He's curious, but greedy outweighs curious. He wants to kiss Fugo everywhere. Maybe he'll leave teasing behind after all, because why wouldn't he focus on Fugo, all the overwhelming and beautiful details of him?]
[He doesn't make him wait long, in any case. Just a few soft kisses--to learn what it's like to kiss Fugo on the hip, how it feels and how Fugo likes it--before he bites again, slower this time. To make a mark. Something Fugo will see later. It makes his toes curl again, deeply self-satisfied.]
no subject
[He sort of loves it when Fugo is right, because so often it leads to him being smug.]
[Is he as flushed as he feels? Sometimes Fugo makes him so warm all over from wanting him; sometimes he feels like he wants to just look at Fugo, as though he could eat him up just with his eyes. What does that look like? Whatever it is, he hopes it's more good than strange. He hopes he looks half as perfect as Fugo does in this moment.]
You--
[He licks his lips, hovering somewhere between excited and nervous. His lips brush Fugo's stomach again; he trails light kisses down Fugo's stomach to his hip, slow, pausing to add a word or two as they trickle into his mind.]
You sound amazing. And--taste. Amazing. The way you move. When you breathe. Amazing. You smell so good.
[By the end it's practically a sigh, breathed out over Fugo's hip, because he made it. Here he is again, and now he can savor it, the sharp angle of Fugo's hipbone, which he learns as he kisses, slow and ever less methodical. He's curious, but greedy outweighs curious. He wants to kiss Fugo everywhere. Maybe he'll leave teasing behind after all, because why wouldn't he focus on Fugo, all the overwhelming and beautiful details of him?]
[He doesn't make him wait long, in any case. Just a few soft kisses--to learn what it's like to kiss Fugo on the hip, how it feels and how Fugo likes it--before he bites again, slower this time. To make a mark. Something Fugo will see later. It makes his toes curl again, deeply self-satisfied.]