digiorno | ic inbox ( ruby city ) Ⅲ

Told you. I'm all yours.

[He sighs, not quite wistfully but--in a drifting sort of way. Like he's being lulled into comfort by the breaths they're sharing. Which is true. He places another lazy, imprecise kiss against the corner of Fugo's mouth and just. Stays there, speaking softly, really barely audibly.]

Mio corpo. Mio cuore. La mia anima. I told you . . .

[It's a lot of almost kisses. But Giorno isn't really concerned by the math. Instead, one arm tightens around Fugo's waist while he reaches up so he can curiously brush his fingers against the mark Fugo's made. He kind of wants to see it, but he'd have to disentangle himself from Fugo, which sounds like pretty much the worst idea ever.]

Mm. Think it'll stay a while? I hope so.

[Fugo knows. He remembers. He remembers a lot of things, especially things that Giorno has said to him, because that's just how his mind works. And he almost always is paying close attention to what Giorno says. He's not going to forget that moment in a hurry, or this one; or the silly smacking sound Giorno made when he kissed his jaw after teasing him about the marks Giorno left behind on him to begin with.

But it's a little (a lot) like how, now that he's no longer afraid of thinking it, Fugo wants to tell Giorno he loves him whenever he can. He knows that Giorno knows. But he wants to say it, again and again. Because he likes to and thinks Giorno should hear it every day. I love you, ti amo, aishiteru.]

[But all of that's too complicated to sort out, especially when he's so hazy and unfocused to begin with by the soft brush of Giorno's lips on his cheek. So many almost-kisses. Too many to count.]

Um. Yours do. But you keep-- [Fugo shifts in place, a little shy, eyes twitching this way and that.] You keep coming back to the same places. So it's hard to say for sure.

. . . Oh.

[He pauses to consider this. As scientific ponderings go, this one is slow as molasses; he's leaned in so close, his cheekbone resting lightly against Fugo's jaw, that every slow blink leaves his eyelashes brushing against Fugo's cheek.]

Yes, [he concludes eventually.] Isn't that strange . . . mm.

[Another moment of silence. He rubs his cheek against Fugo's jaw, then pulls him a little closer by the waist and presses a thoughtful kiss to his throat.]

I want to leave them everywhere. But I also want to make you happy . . . so if I know which places make you squirm I want to come back to those, because I love that best. That's the choice I'll usually make . . . instant gratification.

[Honestly the worst part of this is that he isn't even trying to tease. This is a genuine train of thought he's experiencing.]

Human behavior is really strange.

Mm-hmm. [Fugo ... honestly isn't expecting Giorno to continue his thought. His hands lazily drift away from Giorno's face, one catching in his hair while the other settles around his shoulder. His eyes drift mostly closed and he allows himself to simply enjoy the way Giorno is leaning against him, the little ticklish flutter of his eyelashes against his jaw, the certainty of the grip on his hip. He sighs contently when he's kissed, further curling into Giorno's arms.

And then Giorno starts talking again. Fugo's eyes snap open and he freezes a little, startled by Giorno's careful examination of his own motives. I want to make you happy, is ... something he knows, both because he can infer it from Giorno's behavior and because he's said it before, but he's never connected it before with so if I know which places make you squirm.]

Oh-- I-- [If they weren't so caught up in each other this would be the point where Fugo, trying to the way he's gone red in the face, would bury his face in a nearby pillow, or hide underneath a blanket, or if all else fails just behind his hands. But Giorno's got a grip on his waist still, so all this amounts to is wiggling in place.] Oh.

[What does he say. What does he do with this information? Make a silly flustered sound and hold on a little tighter onto Giorno instead of pulling away. Is Giorno bullying him, or just thinking out loud? Right now it's very hard for him to tell. He wants to say something, but all of his words are so clumsy and silly all of a sudden.]

Is... that. How it is.

That's how it is.

[But he wonders. Fugo's gone stiff and nervous. Sometimes it's hard to know: is that good stiff and nervous, or bad, or just neutrally overwhelmed?]

[Giorno hesitates. He makes an effort to . . . not get nervous. To not stiffen up, himself. Wouldn't that just make Fugo more tense anyway? So instead, he lets his hand fall from Fugo's shoulder to rub careful circles at the small of Fugo's back, then sets another kiss against his throat.]

If I do something by accident, or not really thinking about it, and it makes you feel so good you don't know what to do with yourself, I want to do it again. Because I love that best. It makes me very happy.

I wonder if . . . I shouldn't have said it? You're so tense now. But it's true.

[Giorno is so quick to react to the signals his body is sending. There's a hand at his back, easing the tension out of him in slow circles, and another comforting kiss on his throat. Little by little, his posture starts to relax again. He doesn't reply right away; instead, he gives himself space to settle and to ease into Giorno's touch.]

I knew that. I think. [It's a sort of knowing that's hard to put into words, because this is one of those subjects that's almost too embarrassing to think about. It makes very good sense, the idea that Giorno comes back to the places that feel so good he can't help but squirm. Because Giorno wants him to feel good. Giorno wants him to happy.] Hearing it feels... bigger. You surprised me, that's all.

[He falls quiet. The hand on Giorno's shoulder moves back, then forth, before dropping to reach his collarbone. When Fugo's thumb finds it, he carefully draws a line until he finds the place where he made a mark; it comes to a rest there and, after a moment of hesitation, starts to mimic the motion Fugo feels at his back.]

Because-- I want the same thing. [Here, he fumbles with his words. But even though his voice isn't much more than a shy, embarrassed mumble, he continues on.] You make me feel very good. I want you to feel the same way.

[Fugo is relaxing. That's good. Fugo is taking a moment, and that's good too. Fugo is talking again, and what he says makes Giorno feel a lot better--less like he's made some terrible misstep, although he's gradually starting to believe just a little bit that nothing he says to Fugo could really ruin everything.]

[And that's all very good, and calms him down a lot himself, but. Then Fugo brushes his thumb across the mark he made, and it becomes abruptly very hard to focus. It's more sensitive still than he expected, and--surprising, yes, and it makes him squeak and bury his face against the crook of Fugo's neck and shoulder until he figures out how to breathe right.]

[Fugo smells good. The . . . smell of him, that alone is enough to help. Giorno squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in and tries to think, although it's hard. What he wants, really, is to kiss Fugo very hard on the mouth, but--he doesn't know. It's hard to know. He wants to kiss, but he wants to talk, too, and he wants to sink his teeth in and leave a mark where Fugo won't be able to hide it.]

Fugo, I--

[Wait, no. It would--help if he could see, right? If he can see Fugo's face, he won't be so worried. Because if Fugo says it's okay and doesn't mean it, he'll be able to tell. And if Fugo is unhappy, he'll be able to tell. And knowing that he'd know if something was wrong . . . will also let him know when it isn't. Right?]

[He lifts his head, still a little flushed but determined as he looks at Fugo, who is. Being very brave for him, again. Always.]

I think it's--hard to know, sometimes. If you're just flustered or--really unhappy, or uncomfortable. And it's hard to know because I'm not good at people, but I--want to be good for you, I do.

I like making you flustered. A lot. But I don't want to make you unhappy or uncomfortable. And it's easier not to ask, because sometimes--it seems like asking some things makes you uncomfortable, but I.

[He breathes in sharply. Out. Finding words is so hard, sometimes, at the worst, most inconvenient times.]

Do you--I. Will you tell me? If you want me to stop talking about it? This or anything. Now or ever. I love you, and I think we should talk, and you've already been so brave for me, but sometimes I just--don't know what the right choice is. You know?

[Fugo's done being a bully tonight. He doesn't laugh, or even chuckle, when Giorno squeaks, or point out that it happened. Just smiles, soft and wan, and gently strokes the top of his head. He's glad. He's so glad they can just-- be together like this, that Giorno likes to curl up and hide on his shoulder. He's content to stay this way for as long as Giorno needs.

His expression when Giorno pulls himself up is the sort that's so open it's a little painful to look at. He listens, eyes slowly widening as he realizes what Giorno is talking about. It lines up in a strange way next to something Giorno said earlier this evening. About how the more okay he seems, the less okay he feels. And I'm really scared, still. But I trust you. His mouth trembles, he pulls in a breath and, although his eyes are watery, he doesn't cry.]

You're ... [Fugo closes his eyes and swallows. He has to, because his voice would wobble otherwise.] So careful with me. [There isn't a thing he wouldn't do, wouldn't give to Giorno. That's the weight of his promise: everything. When he opens his eyes again, he's brought his eyebrows together and there's an adamant set to his jaw.] Yes. I promise.

If there's something I can't talk about, or if I feel uncomfortable, I promise I'll tell you. And if you're worried or can't tell, it's okay to ask. I'll never lie to you, even if the only way I can think to explain is stupid.

I--

[For the millionth time, he asks himself: How is Fugo real? His fingers drift up helplessly to brush the sharp line of Fugo's jaw, his expression awed, amazed.]

I'm so in love with you. That's what I am.

[It's saccharine. It's silly. But it's relevant. Not a correction, but an addition to what Fugo's saying. He traces the tension at the corner of his jaw, up to the furrow between his brows, the curve of his lips. Then he kisses them, and rests his forehead against Fugo's, and exhales in sharp relief.]

You're so amazing. I love everything about you, every piece and every part. The parts of you that you like or hate or don't care about, I love them all so much that sometimes it feels like my heart's just not big enough to hold all of it.

I'm so in love with you, Fugo. Thank you for--

[And then he stops, because--how would he even list it? How would he explain? He wouldn't, he can't. He just bites his lip and closes his eyes. This is another almost-kiss. He hasn't quite thought about it in those terms yet, but he knows it's what he wants right now.]

Thank you. You're being careful with me, too. It goes both ways, always.

[Fugo finds it difficult to be resolute when Giorno touches him, fingertips touching featherlight to memorize all the sharp corners that come together to make up his face when he frowns. By the time Giorno starts to kiss those places, around his jaw and between his brows and finally on his mouth, it's half-unraveled. When he speaks, it's fallen completely to pieces. He can't help but make a soft noise when Giorno pulls back just enough to speak again, a silly wordless murmur half-shaped into the words come back.

(He knows, now, exactly how mean it was earlier to tease Giorno when he was trapped by his own mistletoe. To lean in and almost-kiss Giorno, letting their mouths almost but not-quite come together with every syllable. This doesn't mean he won't do it again. It's just that since he knows, he'll have to save this for when he's feeling particularly contrary.)

Giorno is ... reflecting back at him something he said on the first of the month. All of you. The parts he likes. The parts he hates. All of him. And, oh, it hurts. He can't hide that it hurts either, not when they're so close and Giorno knows him so well. He brushes their noses together and smiles softly, happy and sad at once. Feelings really are stupid, aren't they?]

I believe you. [He... can't stand it, really, not being able to kiss Giorno when they're so close. So he just does it, briefly focused on nothing else but that. He's a little fuzzy and out-of-focus after, but as far as he's concerned it's a fair trade.] Because-- aishiteru. I'll always meet you halfway. Always.

[Oh. Fugo kissed him. It's--not a surprise, exactly, and he's so oversaturated with happiness that he doesn't get quite as overwhelmed, proportionally, at the kiss. But it's still a perfect moment. Every moment is a perfect moment with Fugo. Every kiss is perfect, too.]

[He blinks hazily at Fugo when, eventually, they're not kissing anymore. Fugo looks so distracted. Addled. Pretty.]

Aishiteru, [he murmurs, and twines his fingers in the white-blond hair at the back of Fugo's neck, and kisses him again, soft and content.]

[It's a good kiss. He feels at ease, in a way that he knows is hard for either of them to access. They're getting better at finding it together, though. Because . . . they're so careful with each other, he thinks. That has to be it. So he's careful after the kiss, too, because it's good to take care of the people you love. It's hard to pull away, so he does it in fits and starts, feeling fond and foggy. He brushes his nose against Fugo's and sighs.]

Sometimes I feel like, on those days when I know how to talk, I should get all the talking out at once so I don't have to worry about it later. But . . . that's probably not a good idea, right? We've already talked so much.

Can I ask you one thing, though? So I can understand, and think about it for the next time we're feeling brave.

[Fugo sinks contently into the kiss, finding it difficult to think of anything but the softness of Giorno's mouth, the tickle of fingers in his hair, how they pull away and then come together. Slow and easy. It's a kiss where they take their time. He feels relaxed, which is sort of strange in its own way given how tense he usually is, and he can tell by the way Giorno moves and the easy set of his shoulders that he feels the same, which is delightful.]

Mmm. [This nose thing they do, it's awfully silly. Downright foolish. But he can't help but like it. Giorno's got such a cute nose, which is an equally silly thought. But true? It's a fact. Fugo wonders if he should tell Giorno this sometime. Not now, because Giorno wants to ask him something, one last thing.] I'm ... running out of words, I think. But I have enough for your question. What is it?

[Fugo looks so relaxed. It makes him smile, not a sunshine smile but one of gentle satisfaction. He loves that. He's never going to get over it, how sometimes when he kisses Fugo enough he just melts.]

One question, then.

[His fingers rake gently through Fugo's hair; he bites his lip for a moment, thoughtful, before speaking.]

My question is . . . when we talk about-- [Another, shorter hesitation. Then he brushes the knuckle of his other hand against Fugo's bottom rib, the place he indicated before for the first mark.] Things like this. It seems like that makes you more . . . uncomfortable? Embarrassed? Than anything else. So I was wondering, do you know why?

[As if to prove Giorno's case in point, Fugo can feel himself getting warm all over. His eyes slide away from Giorno's face and he worries at his lip. It's one question, but-- even though the answer should be simple, it's all a complicated, messy knot tied tight in his chest.]

Can I-- have a moment? To think. [Fugo doesn't pull away, or even make Giorno let go of him. Instead he shifts and adjusts his weight, leaning against Giorno, temple-to-temple, while he picks and pulls at his feelings. He's quite for a good long while, enough that his breathing inadvertently winds up matching in time with Giorno's. But he does speak up eventually.]

It doesn't make me uncomfortable. I-- want to be with you. In every way I can. I like it when we can be together. But this-- all of this-- it's new to me. It's not something I ever thought I could have. Because when I was in school, everyone was always older than me. Most of them didn't even like that I was there. And those that didn't mind thought I was--

Strange. You know? [As miserable as the experience was, the closest thing he can remember to a friendly class was the baffled student body of the Università di Bologna. Who weren't unfriendly, but just couldn't understand how or why he was there with them.] So I didn't even let myself think about it. Especially after Purple Haze. It didn't... feel safe. Because it isn't safe to be around me.

I never thought this was something I could have. That I would ever meet someone who wanted to be with me the way you do. That it was-- okay. For me to want to be with someone, the way I want to be with you. It's so new to me. I don't know what to do with any of it.

[The question is a foregone conclusion. Giorno was prepared to wait for a response; he was prepared to wait as long as it took. With Fugo, he finds himself so much more patient than he is with anyone else in the world.]

[As he waits, he breathes, slow and steady in and out, carefully monitoring Fugo's breathing while being very careful to keep himself calm. And when the answer comes . . .]

[Well. It's sort of a relief, actually. Newness is easier to deal with than shame, and less sad, too. So he listens, and he turns it over in his mind, and when he's sure that Fugo's done speaking, he leans in and kisses him softly.]

Thank you for telling me. That makes sense, and I'm glad I know.

[It's easier to just ask; he has to keep reminding himself of that. It's easier to ask than to worry in silence. If Fugo can be so brave, then so can he. And they're bravest together, the two of them.]

[A feeling jolts through him, strange and unfamiliar. It takes him a moment to realize it's pride--not just in Fugo, and not just in himself (although that would be strange enough on its own), but in both of them.]

[He glances at Fugo through his lashes, a little shy, and smiles, a little shyer.]

I don't think you're strange. I think you're amazing. I think you're the person in the world I feel safest around. I want to be with you. So it's okay if you don't know what to do, or how to feel--it's not like I'm going anywhere.

[This time, it's Fugo's shoulders that slump with relief. He was expecting confusion; a series of gentle questions. But Giorno just quietly watches him and listens, thinks quietly to himself, and leans in to kiss him when he's done.

Fugo stares at him when he pulls away, eyes wide and wondering. Oh. Oh, Giorno just gets it, even though everything he just said barely makes sense in his own head. And then he just continues to amaze him, word after word.]

I'm... glad. [He reaches again for Giorno's face, tracing his hairline. He doesn't realize it, but he's smiling again. Really smiling, warm and relieved and lopsided, even though he can't help the red that's flooding his cheeks. Giorno doesn't think he's strange. Giorno understands what he means. Giorno feels safest when they're together. He can't look away from him, from the way he's smiling.] I'm so glad. [He pulls his lower lip between his teeth; it's sensitive from all this kissing, but the gesture makes him feel better.] We'll-- figure it out together, won't we. Because we have time. Because ... we're better together. Than we would be on our own.

[None of these are questions. They're just facts, at the heart of this thing between them that they're puzzling out and piecing together. Little by little. Bit by bit. Half-step by half-step.]

[Giorno nods immediately, confidently. It's not a question, but he agrees: this is what he knows with more surety than anything.]

That's true. You make me feel much stronger than I do on my own.

[It's ironic, probably, that such a visually fragile--emotionally fragile--boy could make someone as strong as Giorno Giovanna even stronger. But appearances can be deceiving. Even theirs--especially theirs.]

[But also: Fugo is staring at him. And smiling, and biting his lip. Giorno is so in love with him he feels physically weak from it, but he doesn't mind. At least he's not alone in it. He can just lean in and kiss Fugo--which he does--until Fugo relaxes enough that he can draw that bitten lip between his own teeth and tug just a little, teasingly. Just for a moment, before he pulls away and loops his arms around Fugo's neck, relaxed and playful.]

Can we be done talking now? I want to kiss you a lot, and I want you to read to me, and I want pudding. [A beat.] In that order. The last two can happen at the same time, but I'd prefer them to all happen sequentially.

[Fugo is kissed, so sweet and soft that he lets go of his little nervous gesture-- only for Giorno to tug on his lip instead. Not hard enough to leave a mark. Yet. Giorno's question, followed by the list of things he wants, makes Fugo chuckle. They were going to be done earlier, except they got caught up in talking again. It's funny.]

Yes, please. [He slides his hands down from Giorno's face, fingers tracing a careful and precise path around his jaw and down his neck; they fan out on his shoulders, palms brushing across his chest until they reach his sides. Then, it's a straight shot down his sides and past the dip of his waist until they find a secure place on Giorno's hips. Fugo presses as close as he can.] Let's be done.

I ... [Color floods his face. He knows what he wants. But can he say it? He knows he should. So, even though it would be easier to just lean in and kiss Giorno, he gives himself half a moment for the worst flutters in his stomach to pass.] Want you to kiss me so much that when we're finished, I won't be able to recite a single fact about macroglossum stellatarum. I'll have to start over when we move on to the second item on your list.

[Oh. Oh, Giorno thinks, eyes wide as Fugo runs his hands over him, down from his jaw all the way to his hips. He's flushed a delicate pink by the time Fugo settles, pressed close; his heart is beating a little faster, his movements slow and more curious than tentative when he creeps two fingers up the back of Fugo's neck to twine in his hair.]

That's what you want, huh . . . ?

[Fugo is very cute. Fugo is also really easy to bully. Giorno would think, logically, that if Fugo is decisive and straightforward about how much he enjoys being flustered, it would be less heart-racingly delightful.]

[In practice, this is not the case at all. All at once, Giorno's eyes light up. He twists just a little, dumps Fugo sideways on the bed, crawls over him, leans in. Very close. But not kissing. Not quite, not yet.]

Are you sure?

[It doesn't take much at all to tip Fugo over. In the moment before Giorno twists his posture is easy and relaxed in a way it only ever is when it's just the two of them, only ever when they're this close. He's focused less on Giorno's posture and more on the light, soothing, and incredibly distracting touch of his fingertips on the nape of his neck slowly catching and settling in his hair.

And then Giorno twists underneath him and, very unceremoniously, tips him onto the bed. (For the record: while Fugo might later claim he absolutely didn't squeak in surprise when this happened, the sound he made very much meets the qualifications of a squeak.) Fugo barely has time go get his bearings before--

Oh. There's Giorno again, looking very pleased with himself and the position he's put them both in. He-- is such a bully. He's such a bully and Fugo is a little exasperated with himself and the way his heart his racing; about how in love he is with him, this boy who's pushed him down and is smiling dangerously at him and still isn't kissing him.]

I said it. Didn't I? [Fugo pulls his brows together and manages to frown, caught halfway between being stubborn and flustered. When Giorno tipped him over, Fugo his grip on his hips; so he reaches up again, this time securing his position by bunching his fingers up in Giorno's nightgown.] I'm certain.

[God. Fugo is so pretty. It's so hard to focus on being smug when he's so pretty, startled and sulky and disheveled. It's hard to maintain that sharp edge when Fugo looks so soft, his hair messy and spread around his face as he twists his face into a stubborn frown.]

[It gets a little easier when Fugo's fingers find their way back to his hips again, anchoring themselves stubbornly in the fabric of his nightgown. The softness of Giorno's smile ticks up a notch again, teeth showing. But he rests one hand over one of Fugo's anyway, brushing over the tension in his wrist.]

Don't worry. I won't make you let go. I promise.

[Why would he? This is perfect. The only thing that would make it more perfect is if he were kissing Fugo already, which--soon. He trails his fingers up Fugo's arm to his shoulder, then back down again, slowly, until he gets to the place under Fugo's ribcage that he's marked out twice before. He hasn't forgotten. Marks are important.]

[His fingertips brush over that spot as he brushes his lips against Fugo's, one last wickedness.] I'll help you learn your facts again, later. [And it's only after that that he kisses him properly, fiercely and with no little relief, because he's been torturing himself all this time, too. Teasing is fun, but kissing is a whole lot better.]

[How is it. That with just a little touch like that, Giorno can undo the knots of tension that threaten to tie themselves up in-- all of him, really. Fugo shivers at the trail Giorno's fingertips take, winding up his arm; across his shoulder, then down his side.

Because that's the first place that Giorno is going to leave a mark on him tonight. There: right there, at that very particular spot underneath his ribs.]

Giogio-- [In this moment, what he feels is just ... too big for words. He wants so badly to be touched, for Giorno to stop teasing him and kiss him already, but he also just wants to stare up at him like this forever. Giorno is beautiful every day: that's simply a fact. But he's particularly beautiful when he's being wicked, with his smile sharp as the blade of a knife. It's so overwhelming. Fugo loves him even though he's so mean, and why won't he kiss him--

Oh. Oh, thank God. Fugo can't help the sound of relief that escapes him when Giorno finally, finally closes the gap between them. It just sort of happens, like the way he presses up to meet him, insistent and needy and with very little of his usual carefulness, and how his fingers let go of the nightgown so he can fit his hands around Giorno's waist instead. There. That will keep Giorno in place; close and warm and perfect.]

[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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