Sprawled across the gray corduroy of the living room couch, Abbacchio relished in his time spent alone. It was easy during the day to sit in the meager comfort of the team's home, made him feel more grounded. Sunlight peeked through the linen curtains over the sink, and hushed baroque music streamed throughout the living room. The boys had been sent out to gather protection money and bring back something to eat later, so no incessant squabbling filling Abbacchio's tired ears to be found.
He flipped to the next page of this month’s Vogue Italia . It really was an immaculate way to spend time in solitude.
So, of course, it couldn’t last.
To be fair, the sound of the door zipping open was always welcome in a completely different way. Bucciarati stepped through, taking off his shoes by the entrance before padding across the living room to where Leone sat. Abbacchio absently remembered that Bruno had been to visit the prison, and he had the same slightly deflated look he always failed to hide once he no longer needed to puff himself up to make a good impression.
"Hey. How was Polpo?" Abbacchio asked, although he had a good idea what the response would be.
"Voracious, as always," The younger man sighed, sinking down onto the couch next to Leone, relief apparent on his face. "He’s content with our performance, for now." He continued, rubbing his stiff neck through the starched white collar of his suit. Abbacchio hummed in response, looking back then at his magazine. If it was just Bucciarati, the goth would gladly enjoy his company.
Leaning his head against Abbacchio’s shoulder, Bruno’s stress seemed to melt out of him. Perhaps the lack of energetic banter from three teenagers was just as welcome for their infallible leader. Leone rested his own head against his companion’s glossy black hair, eyes drifting downwards to see if Bucciarati was focused on the Dolce & Gabbana Spring runway snapshots as well.
Instead, he saw the deeply entranced stare of sapphire eyes looking further downward, neither focusing on the room around them nor the magazine. Dolly black lashes stayed still, unblinking, and Abbacchio’s heart began to trickle with worry that something much more serious gripped Bucciarati’s mind.
"Something wrong?" He finally inquired.
"Nothing," Bucciarati responded, gaze unfaltering. "Your chest looks nice today."
Well, so much for a relaxing afternoon, Abbacchio thought through the pulse that just started hammering in his ears.
Bucciarati's flirts were completely unlike Mista's cheeky compliments and teases towards any cute girl walking his way, for example. They were spoken with such a straight face that Abbacchio would almost consider them impossibly dry jokes, if his heart wasn't fluttering at their painful honesty. As close as they had become in recent months, the raven-haired man’s initiative still left Leone reeling at the fact it was directed towards him.
When Bucciarati wanted something, he stubbornly set forth to take it; It just so happened that Abbacchio loved him too, and loved to follow him along the way.
So after taking this moment to regain control of his wayward heart, Abbacchio just scoffed.
"It’s the same as it always is." The words came out gruff, Abbacchio raising an eyebrow in inquisition. He fanned out the magazine in his hands. Bucciarati’s eyes crinkled in amusement, lips forming a small, feline grin. "Maybe that’s what I like about it. It’s quite comforting." He mused, hand snaking from his lap up the thick leather of Abbacchio’s coat.
Leone swallowed. Sensing he wouldn’t get the chance to finish this article now, he took a raincheck and tossed it on the coffee table.
"What’s gotten into you, Bruno?" The inquiry came out more deadpan than he intended, but Bucciarati didn’t seem to care, now leaning fully against Abbacchio with his other hand reaching around to loosely embrace the taller man.
"Just humor me a bit, Leone." His response was muffled, face pressed deep into the gothic man’s shoulder. Bucciarati’s tone was low, syrupy, as he continued to inch agile fingers upwards, spreading them on Abbacchio’s ribcage. Abbacchio, cheeks now flushing a formidable rosy tone, stayed silent as he scooched over in his seat to accommodate another grown man reclining against him.
With a satisfied purr, Bucciarati’s hands roamed further north, resting right on the pectoral swell of Abbacchio’s underbust. "Feels as good as it looks…" He observed, now putting more pressure onto the gothic man’s broad chest in the form of agonizingly slow circles of his fingers.
All of the saccharine attention being paid to his exposed pecs made Abbacchio’s brows twitch. Some small part of him was beginning to get equally self-conscious and aroused; He liked the way such low-cut clothing framed his upper body, balancing the exposure of porcelain skin to the shadow-laden shades of black that made up 90% of his wardrobe. On a good day he was aware of how much of a hot mess it made him, never entirely letting go of his self-hatred.
Still, as Bruno’s fingers finally crept beneath the corseted drawstrings of his coat to slot around his nipples, he wistfully wondered if today was the day his clothing sent his boss and lover over the edge.
Abbacchio let out a grunt, determined to not let himself get too carried away from just some menial body worship. If anyone had a body to worship here, it was Bucciarati; All glistening olive skin overlying languid muscle and softness alike, every move of his calculated innumerable steps in advance no matter the situation.
The mischievous undertone of Bucciarati’s laughter that meant he was up to no good rang out, his body now the one pushing Abbacchio down against the arm of the couch. He kneaded the taut muscle of Leone’s chest like a cat, relentless and curious at every wistful sigh that escaped lips painted black. Bruno was watching him with so much barely-restrained fascination, something Abbacchio noticed through the curtain of silvery hair that helpfully slipped down to conceal the worst of his flushed expression.
Bucciarati drew his index fingers from the taller man’s nipples towards his sternum, ghosting their way up to his clavicle, before reassuring palms laid against it. The raven-haired man let out a sound of contentment while nestled so comfortably, before his hands dipped once more down to the bottom of his chest, pinching the nipples without any warning. The sudden move caught Abbacchio off-guard, eliciting a full-blown whimper from the back of his throat. Bruno just chuckled in response.
"Why do you wear such lascivious clothing, Leone?" The question was no louder than a whisper, although it was spoken with the same steely tone Bucciarati would dole out orders with. He lazily played with the straps criss-crossing Abbacchio’s front, running his thumb along them as the rest of his fingers teased his nipples to full hardness. He reached down again to give a coy grope at each side of the goth’s chest.
Oh, it’s not fucking fair. Leone thought, face contorted in pleasure and a bit of vexation. Not that he wasn’t willing to give in utterly, completely to the whims of his insatiable lover… He had done so so many times, and intended to do so many more times. But that particular phrase, calling his ominous, well-tailored coat lewd when Bruno was dressed like that , was simply too hypocritical to pass up. Abbacchio sat up a bit, feeling Bucciarati’s hands stop their eager ministrations, but not drop entirely.
"You’re one to talk," His eyes glinted bright, golden-plum haloing the blown-out pupils directed at Bruno with that hungry focus of lust. He reached his left hand up to Bucciarati’s right side, hesitating for just a moment before fully indulging in groping at the chest before him, half-covered in stiff ermine fabric and half-exposed with onyx cotton lace leaving nothing to the imagination. "With a suit like this ."
Bruno blinked, reaction time uncharacteristically slow as he looked down at his own body to see Abbacchio’s nervous thumb run along the intricate edge of his lingerie. Scarlet flushed across his face all the way up to his ears, exposed in the sway of his fluffed-out bob. He seemed to be processing the idea that Abbacchio might reciprocate this desire to play with his chest- Why wouldn’t he, Leone thought sardonically- before he sat up straighter, now turning to face Abbacchio head-on, pulling his hands away from the gothic man entirely with an unreadable expression.
"If you wanted to touch me like that, you could’ve asked, Leone." Bruno said simply, tangling his hands once again up behind Abbacchio’s head and moonlight-colored hair in a single fluid motion. He pulled the taller man down with a huff of effort, pressing his head between the defined cleavage of his own pectoral muscles before Abbacchio could even process what was happening to him.
This must be what it’s like to die of embarrassment , Abbacchio’s brain managed to quip in-between the pounding in his ears. He was suddenly so close to Bucciarati, held against the bronzed skin on display for the entire world every day, his hand still awkwardly grasping against Bruno’s side in an attempt to right his posture. It had his dick utterly throbbing in his slacks, even more so as Bucciarati firmly pulled him closer still , not letting him get any reprieve from being smothered against his torso’s curvature.
Leone could hear the soothing sound of Bruno’s heartbeat like this, in perfect clarity.
"Feeling better now?" Bucciarati asked, voice reverberating through his chest and Abbacchio’s ears. He turned to look up at the ermine-clad man, although at this point both of their coats had been shrugged down to their elbows, likely with the help of Sticky Fingers when Leone was caught unaware.
Pleading, conflicted eyes surrounded by thick eyeliner and mascara gazed up at Bruno, a pout across Abbacchio’s smudged lips. It made something deep within Bucciarati’s being stir, to be so close to another with such vulnerability between them both. His own trousers now felt swelteringly-tight, and he adjusted his posture so Leone was the one reclining against his lap.
With a wordless nuzzle, Leone proceeded to bring his lips to one of the dusky nipples before him, and ran his tongue over it, testing the waters. Bruno’s back arched at the sensation, wet warmth dancing across the sensitive skin as he let out a heady breath. His hands were still running through the cascade of Abbacchio’s locks, deeply grounding with every encouraging stroke of the man’s scalp.
Abbacchio’s eyes grew lidded, blissed out as a flurry of wet smacks and pleased purrs filled the room. "Mmh, Leone… More…" Bucciarati murmured like a prayer, the honest, shaky tone of it making Leone’s own deep voice rumble in the back of his throat and up around Bruno’s supple chest. His hand had stopped floundering for something to grasp at, righting itself against Bucciarati’s neglected nipple, the combined pressure and unpredictable pinching upon both of them making Bruno writhe in sublime agony.
Neither of them could cum from this touch alone, but with each devilish stroke of Abbacchio’s tongue or teeth grazing against Bucciarati’s perfect flesh, the reciprocal of Bruno’s wanton pull of hair combined with the gentleness of how he stroked tickling circles along Leone’s back drew them both impossibly closer.
In a moment of lucidity amongst the debaucherous haze that had settled between them, Bucciarati started to lean forward again, pulling Abbacchio up while the taller man looked around in obfuscated confusion. Right when they were both sitting up straight again, Bruno crawled forward, pressing his chest against Leone’s. The feeling was dizzyingly affectionate, and Abbacchio was about to ask what came next before he heard the telltale sound of two zippers unfurl between them both.
The metallic shimmer of Sticky Fingers fading back into Bucciarati, Abbacchio locked arms with the man climbing on top of him, now that both of their erections were exposed to the open air. His boss’s lashes were soft, unequivocally wanting as his flushed lips smirked playfully. Abbacchio gulped again, nerves firing across his chest as he momentarily glanced down to the splay of inky kiss stains that laid across Bucciarati’s cleavage.
"You did a number on me," Bruno teased, still pressing forward to loom over Leone. The pale man grunted in semi-sarcastic affirmation, as he allowed the impossible warmth and weight of his lover push him to lay down across the couch. His pearlescent hair splayed out around his rosy face, expression devoid of the harsh, bitter lines it usually carried day-to-day. He was pinned beneath the glistening beauty of Bucciarati, who straddled him with such care that a whine escaped his smudged lips.
Bruno brought one hand down to Abbacchio’s face, cupping it like the most precious thing in the world. The swell of emotion that bloomed in the goth’s heart was devastating, breath hitching as another manicured hand fell between their legs to press their lengths together in earnest. Each stroke of Bucciarati’s hand made Leone see stars, pearls of precum smearing between them just as much as the sheen of sweat off of the undulating muscle of their chests did.
Abbacchio felt the growing heat in his stomach pull tighter and tighter, leaning up to kiss Bucciarati as though his life depended on it. As his hands stroked and petted Bruno’s now wildly mussed hair, the younger man smiled sincerely, accepting the kiss with profound desire and tangling them both closer, bodies pressed against each other without even a centimeter between.
On the upstroke of his firm grasp and pinky finger brushing over their heavy cockheads, Bruno shuddered, come spilling out of him as he braced against the reassuring strength of Leone’s form. The goth duly noted through his aching arousal that Bucciarati must’ve been much more worked up than he thought.
Bruno trembled as his head nestled under Abbacchio’s chin, the feeling of being embraced so deeply in so many places finally making the lust within him snap as well, spilling white across Bucciarati’s still-stroking hand. His grip lightened as they both started to come down, deep breaths in-tandem with each other being the only noise to fill the room now.
After what felt like an eternity, the raven-haired man poked his head up, lazily looking down at Abbacchio with a playful smile. "Glad to know we have such compatible tastes," He remarked, leaning in to kiss Leone more chastely on the lips as his finger swirled on the pale expanse of his chest for the umpteenth time that day.
Abbacchio just chuckled. "Seems to be the case every time," He responded, breathing out a sigh of intense relief he hadn’t known he was holding in.
Bruno seemed content with that, and laid his head against Leone’s sternum, both of them having experienced a more relaxing afternoon than they could’ve ever intended.