[Perfect. It's perfect--Fugo is perfect. The way he feels and moves and reacts is perfect, the needy press of his lips and the push of him closer is perfect. Giorno inhales sharply when Fugo meets him halfway, just as relieved as Fugo is to finally be kissing him. It feels like he's waited forever.]
[They've both done so well. They have, they really have, they've been so brave and so good, used words and been thoughtful and figured out what they were feeling. And it was hard, and they deserve this, because today they decided--]
[The realization washes over him again: the boy that he's kissing right now is his boyfriend. Wants to be his boyfriend, wants to be his, wants him back. It makes him feel like he's drowning in the best way. They deserve this.]
[He has so many things he wants to tell Fugo. That getting to look at him with the knowledge that he's allowed to touch him is an unbelievable privilege. That he's so beautiful when he's relaxed, and that he thinks maybe he's good at getting him to relax, that he's got a real knack for it, and he'd be happy to kiss all his pain away any and every day, all day, if Fugo wanted him to. That he looks like some kind of model, or a strange and unfriendly young god, and it hurts a little that Fugo will never believe him if he says so.]
[But he doesn't want to say all of that, too, because he doesn't want to stop kissing. In fact, he thinks it might kill him if he did. So he doesn't worry about words, just lets out a sound that's soft and needy and fond and trails his knuckles along Fugo's ribs.]
Your Giogio, [he mumbles, low and clumsy in the breath between one kiss and the next--and that's enough. He feels stupid and in love, not just with Fugo but with the promises they've made each other today, too, love compounded on love. Fugo is so warm and soft under him. Fugo feels like his whole world in this moment.]
[And he can't stop thinking about it: that very particular spot. He doesn't have to be shy now, does he? Fugo thought it was a good spot. It's so easy, remembering that, to slide his hand down and then up again, under Fugo's shirt, until his fingers brush that spot again with nothing in the way.]
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[They've both done so well. They have, they really have, they've been so brave and so good, used words and been thoughtful and figured out what they were feeling. And it was hard, and they deserve this, because today they decided--]
[The realization washes over him again: the boy that he's kissing right now is his boyfriend. Wants to be his boyfriend, wants to be his, wants him back. It makes him feel like he's drowning in the best way. They deserve this.]
[He has so many things he wants to tell Fugo. That getting to look at him with the knowledge that he's allowed to touch him is an unbelievable privilege. That he's so beautiful when he's relaxed, and that he thinks maybe he's good at getting him to relax, that he's got a real knack for it, and he'd be happy to kiss all his pain away any and every day, all day, if Fugo wanted him to. That he looks like some kind of model, or a strange and unfriendly young god, and it hurts a little that Fugo will never believe him if he says so.]
[But he doesn't want to say all of that, too, because he doesn't want to stop kissing. In fact, he thinks it might kill him if he did. So he doesn't worry about words, just lets out a sound that's soft and needy and fond and trails his knuckles along Fugo's ribs.]
Your Giogio, [he mumbles, low and clumsy in the breath between one kiss and the next--and that's enough. He feels stupid and in love, not just with Fugo but with the promises they've made each other today, too, love compounded on love. Fugo is so warm and soft under him. Fugo feels like his whole world in this moment.]
[And he can't stop thinking about it: that very particular spot. He doesn't have to be shy now, does he? Fugo thought it was a good spot. It's so easy, remembering that, to slide his hand down and then up again, under Fugo's shirt, until his fingers brush that spot again with nothing in the way.]