[Fugo doesn't know why he likes it when Giorno leaves marks on him. It's not something that he can put into words that make sense. It hurts. And he hates the idea of anyone else looking at them. But the pain is like a lens: it makes everything else brighter and sharper and better. And it makes him feel so wanted, both in the moment and later when he catches sight of them in the mirror. He looks at them and thinks I let Giorno do that and remembers the promise he made.
He's worried, more than he probably should be, about hurting Giorno-- who has told him first with his words and now with his whole body, that this is what he wants. But all of those worries fall apart like so much miss when Giorno's breath catches and he makes a sound that might be his name; when his fingers, rough and insistent, hold him tightly in place at his hip and in his hair. He can't pull away. But he doesn't need to read Giorno's expression to know that everything is fine. In response, Fugo's arm tightens around Giorno's waist and, despite the fact there's no space between them, pushes up against Giorno; the other snakes back under his other arm so he can get a solid grip on Giorno's shoulder.
He stops. But only briefly, only to pull in a breath-- only to kiss ti amo on the mark he's made but can't see. And then he bites Giorno again, because he wants to hear Giorno make that sound again. Because he wants this to be a mark that lasts. He wants Giorno to feel wanted and loved completely whenever he looks at it, to remember him and everything they talked about tonight.]
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He's worried, more than he probably should be, about hurting Giorno-- who has told him first with his words and now with his whole body, that this is what he wants. But all of those worries fall apart like so much miss when Giorno's breath catches and he makes a sound that might be his name; when his fingers, rough and insistent, hold him tightly in place at his hip and in his hair. He can't pull away. But he doesn't need to read Giorno's expression to know that everything is fine. In response, Fugo's arm tightens around Giorno's waist and, despite the fact there's no space between them, pushes up against Giorno; the other snakes back under his other arm so he can get a solid grip on Giorno's shoulder.
He stops. But only briefly, only to pull in a breath-- only to kiss ti amo on the mark he's made but can't see. And then he bites Giorno again, because he wants to hear Giorno make that sound again. Because he wants this to be a mark that lasts. He wants Giorno to feel wanted and loved completely whenever he looks at it, to remember him and everything they talked about tonight.]