ic inbox ( ruby city ) Ⅲ

[digiorno]

buongiorno! sorry i missed you; i'll happily get back to you as soon as i'm done with whatever business i'm on. leave a message!

( text | voice | video | action )

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[digiorno]

[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.

[unholey]

[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.

[digiorno]

[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?

[unholey]

[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.

[digiorno]

[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.]

[unholey]

[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.]

[digiorno]

[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.]