[When Giorno can't help but lift his hips up, when he wants too much and can't stop himself, Fugo responds by--moving with him. Which he didn't expect, even if maybe he should have. The instinct had hit him too, after all, before he'd found his place between Fugo's legs, where he wanted to be most of all. But it does surprise him, shocks a breathy, needy sound out of him, because--it's good. It's lovely. For a moment, he wants to beg Fugo to just stay, stay there, keep doing that, it's so nice.]
[But when Fugo looks at him again, he's all sweet words and heavy looks, and Giorno loses his words again because--he can't help that either. Because whatever Fugo wants to give him will be perfect. And it's the right choice; of course it is.]
[His grip on Fugo's shoulder gentles and his knuckles lose their tautness against the blankets as Fugo kisses him, first shivery over the spot he's bitten a mark into and then--all over. Comprehensively, hungrily, hands covering the places his kisses don't reach. Giorno arches into each and every touch, following Fugo's path down his body with movement even in those moments he has to briefly close his eyes. He feels more wanted than he ever has, more than he's ever imagined being. Fugo's hands and mouth on him are full of love and awe and need. He still feels wound up, but stably so, because--Fugo has him. Fugo is so careful with him, so greedy now but still so careful.]
[He doesn't realize how dazed he looks--how dazed Fugo's hands and mouth have made him, as he stares down at Fugo with his lip caught between his teeth. He's thinking slow. Things like whether this is what he looked like to Fugo when their positions were switched; but no, he could never be so pretty. Not even him. And then Fugo's long pretty fingers are on his thighs, pushing gently, and the light touch startles a gasp out of him because--oh. No wonder Fugo was so sensitive to all that biting.]
Oh, [he murmurs, breathless, and spreads his legs, pushing his nerves away. After a moment's thought, he hooks one of his legs loosely around Fugo: not a push, but a gentle invitation. And a claim, maybe, in a quiet way.]
[The smile he shoots Fugo is--moony. Awed. He looks stupidly in love, and very desperate, as he reaches down to brush Fugo's hair out of his face. He bites the inside of his cheek before offering a grin--one of those grins, the same one he'd given before asking Fugo about fucking his mouth.]
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[But when Fugo looks at him again, he's all sweet words and heavy looks, and Giorno loses his words again because--he can't help that either. Because whatever Fugo wants to give him will be perfect. And it's the right choice; of course it is.]
[His grip on Fugo's shoulder gentles and his knuckles lose their tautness against the blankets as Fugo kisses him, first shivery over the spot he's bitten a mark into and then--all over. Comprehensively, hungrily, hands covering the places his kisses don't reach. Giorno arches into each and every touch, following Fugo's path down his body with movement even in those moments he has to briefly close his eyes. He feels more wanted than he ever has, more than he's ever imagined being. Fugo's hands and mouth on him are full of love and awe and need. He still feels wound up, but stably so, because--Fugo has him. Fugo is so careful with him, so greedy now but still so careful.]
[He doesn't realize how dazed he looks--how dazed Fugo's hands and mouth have made him, as he stares down at Fugo with his lip caught between his teeth. He's thinking slow. Things like whether this is what he looked like to Fugo when their positions were switched; but no, he could never be so pretty. Not even him. And then Fugo's long pretty fingers are on his thighs, pushing gently, and the light touch startles a gasp out of him because--oh. No wonder Fugo was so sensitive to all that biting.]
Oh, [he murmurs, breathless, and spreads his legs, pushing his nerves away. After a moment's thought, he hooks one of his legs loosely around Fugo: not a push, but a gentle invitation. And a claim, maybe, in a quiet way.]
[The smile he shoots Fugo is--moony. Awed. He looks stupidly in love, and very desperate, as he reaches down to brush Fugo's hair out of his face. He bites the inside of his cheek before offering a grin--one of those grins, the same one he'd given before asking Fugo about fucking his mouth.]
I want you to take all of me, Fugetto.