Despite what most people would say, Leone Abbacchio is a rational man.
He knows he has problems, and he's working on some of them and successfully and effectively ignoring the rest. He knows his own mind, all the darkest, foulest nooks and crannies; he knows how his trauma affects his behaviour, and he recognises his bad coping mechanisms. All this is because, even though most days he hates his brain and his thoughts and would rather focus on anything else than facing himself head on, he hates people who don't know themselves even more. The arrogant bastards who imagine they're funny or brave or good… they make his skin crawl. He'd rather be too pessimistic than too optimistic, if only to avoid letting down himself or the people who rely on him.
There was a time when he was naive, idealistic and stupid, and then mistakes were made and people died, leaving him a depressed and maudlin husk of a person. Eventually Bruno came along and took Abbacchio with him, giving him first a purpose and then gradually, one lost child at a time, a family. Learning to be with them mellowed him out, and though he's still a moody bastard, he's developed a soft side for Bruno and the brats, and instead of either extreme, innocence or all-consuming depression, he's become a realist.
He prides himself on this facet of his personality, his ability to predict how things will go and how he'll react. That's why the arrival of Bruno's newest recruit fucks him up so badly: he doesn't expect Giorno Giovanna, and once the brat appears in his life and decides to stay, he has no idea how to deal with it.
When asked, he'll simply say Giorno annoys him, but it's more complicated than that. He's worked on figuring out why exactly it is he hates him so much, but it's not a simple thing to explain. It's made up from a sum of parts, some of those Giorno's but most of them Abbacchio's own.
Maybe chiefest among them is idealism: despite all the horrible things life has thrown at Giorno, the boy still has that bright look in his eyes and that unwavering belief in the world and his ability to shape it to his will. Abbacchio hates it because it's like a window into the soul of his past self. The Abbacchio of today knows it doesn't work that way; you can fight and believe all you want, but eventually something will crush you. He hates Giorno because the boy refuses to be crushed, perhaps because it forces Abbacchio to see himself as the weaker of the two of them.
His second reason, embarrassingly enough, is envy: Giorno is like Abbacchio from a few years back, except he's strong and smart and better. Giorno actually has everything Abbacchio once thought he had, and it fucks with his head, makes him resent both Giorno and the grudging admiration he's starting to feel for the brat.
His sense of self worth shouldn't be tied to the likes of Giorno Giovanna, but he can't help how worthless he sometimes feels standing next to him; Giorno fits in seamlessly with the rest of the team, easily becoming an unbreakable duo of leaders for Passione with Bruno and acting like a long-suffering but loving brother with the others. Reason says Abbacchio isn't replaceable, isn't someone useless the others want to exchange for this perfect golden intruder, but there's a dark side to his thoughts and it whispers poison into his ears whenever Giorno does something brilliant or makes the others smile.
He has trouble handling Giovanna on any regular day of the week, but lately it's been harder, because the little demon has started showing a less-than-perfect side towards him, determined to annoy and rile him up whenever he has a chance.
Abbacchio tries not to think anything of it and just act his usual level of petty and annoyed, and it works for a while, until Giorno decides to take it further. He chooses a perfectly inconspicuous evening for it, and Abbacchio gets swept up and shaken until he has to admit, at least to himself, that he might not be so reasonable after all, perhaps not even sane.
It all starts with Abbacchio sprawled on the sofa, idly leafing through a book and listening to classical music, nursing a half-full glass of good wine as he often does. Bruno's disappeared upstairs a while ago, saying something about a call with Risotto and Prosciutto before bed. Soon after, Trish has led Mista, Narancia and Fugo upstairs as well. Abbacchio’s watched them all go, playfully jostling each other as they went, and hasn’t been able to help the melancholic feeling that’s taken hold of him as he stayed in the living room alone.
It's not that he isn't honestly happy for all of them. He sleeps easier knowing they're safe and happy and enjoying life together. It’s just that watching them go makes it a little too clear that he and Giovanna are the only ones not content and in a loving relationship with someone.
Abbacchio’s so absorbed in his gloom that Giorno’s appearance takes him by surprise.
“Hello”, Giorno says, appearing beside the couch as if from thin air. Abbacchio jumps a little, doing his best to mask it as adjusting his position into a more comfortable slouch.
“Where are the others?” Giorno inquires, looking around like he expects Mista or Trish to suddenly appear from under the sofas.
“Bruno went upstairs for the usual call, and the kids are probably already passed out in a puppy pile in their room”, Abbacchio tells him. It’s not like he keeps tabs on where everyone is, but sometimes it helps him feel more at ease in the vast house. To know they’re all comfortable and safe. It’s saying something that Giorno’s asking him, trusting that he’ll know.
“Good”, Giorno says softly, a gentle smile fleeting across his face. This they have in common, if nothing else - they both care for the others more than they’d ever admit in front of each other, but there’s a certain kind of mutual accord: they both do their best to protect their ragtag little family.
Giorno seats himself on the sofa next to Abbacchio’s feet. He seems to have come straight from the shower: he’s wearing only an obscenely short white bathrobe, and there’s still water glistening on his skin. The robe parts to reveal the top of a pale thigh. Abbacchio pushes his cold feet under the thigh just to be annoying, but Giorno doesn’t seem to mind, only shifting slightly and draping an arm over the backrest.
His hair is still damp, coloured a darker golden brown by the water, but he’s already fixed it into the weird buns and a loose braid.
“Why aren’t you going to sleep too”, Abbacchio asks.There's no reason for Giorno to be here when he could be resting, or talking with Bruno, or doing anything other than annoying Abbacchio.
“It’s still early. I figured I'd entertain myself with you", Giorno answers, a slight smile tilting a corner of his mouth. Two little droplets of water drip from the end of his braid onto a sliver of skin revealed by the neck of the bathrobe. One speeds its way down, disappearing under the fabric, but the other stops on his collar bone, stays clinging to the shower-flushed skin, inviting fingers to brush it off or lips to -
"No thanks", Abbacchio scoffs, a little too loudly, and empties his wine glass. He sets it on the side table, preparing to get up and leave. "I'm not feeling like a circus monkey today."
"No", Giorno agrees, mirth colouring his voice. "You're more like a-"
"If you say lion, I'll hit you."
Giorno chuckles, and the sound is like bells, light and infuriating.
"No… to be honest, I was thinking more along the lines of a bear - fluffy but moody, likely to bite? Or maybe a goose -"
"Come here, you little bitch-" Abbacchio growls and catches Giorno around a wrist, yanking hard so he stumbles sideways right into Abbacchio's knobby knees.
"Oof", Giorno says as one of them digs into his stomach, and Abbacchio reaches over to roughly mess up his hair, trying to destroy the carefully coiffed buns. He misses as Giovanna moves his head, and ends up just sort of roughly stroking the back of his head.
"Brat", he spits, half amused.
"Quite", Giorno admits, pulling up on his arms, though he looks miffed at the state of his hair. He tucks a newly freed lock of hair behind his ear and huffs. Abbacchio expects him to get up and finally leave him in peace, but he has no luck. Giorno merely rises into an upright position again and turns to face him, pulling his feet under him. He settles against the armrest, one knee digging into Abbacchio's thigh now. He stops there, looking at Abbacchio, searching for something. Abbacchio would rather not think about what Giorno might be finding on his face, whether his thoughts and unfortunate desires are written on his features as legibly as he fears they must be.
"What do you want, Giovanna?" he sighs. He wants Giorno to say his piece and then just go away.
"I want…" Giorno says, slowly, tasting the words. "A lot of things. To make Buccellati proud. To finally end the drug trade completely. To have all of Italy on its knees before me." His voice is soft and sweet and casual, like he's talking about something cute and trivial. His eyes are steely though, and Abbacchio looks on with helpless understanding; if Giorno Giovanna wants something, he’ll get it. Sooner or later, no matter what he has to do to make it happen, no matter how many people have to die.
"What do you want with me", Abbacchio snaps.
Bruno already loves this kid like the little brother he never had, and Giorno's resolve tells Abbacchio the brat will one day reach all of his goals and fulfill his dream. And bothering Abbacchio isn’t exactly bringing Giorno closer to anything he wants.
"I've seen the way you look at me", Giorno confesses quietly, turning his gaze past Abbacchio, aiming it at the wall. There's nothing interesting there, but apparently it's better to look at than Abbacchio's face.
The words hit him like a punch to the stomach, and he closes his eyes.
There's nothing else for him to say. There's nothing else to do but to wait for the verdict: whether Giorno will be furious or disgusted enough to sack him or to station him in Rome, which would perhaps be a worse punishment, or whether he feels such things are so entirely beneath him he'll just want to go on like nothing has ever happened. Like Abbacchio isn't thinking of tearing the bathrobe off him and taking his young don right here on this couch.
“I need to know what it means.”
“Fuck you, Giovanna. You know what it means”, Abbacchio hisses, needing Giorno to just stop talking. Giorno isn’t deterred though, and just keeps talking.
"You’re always getting up in my face and touching me when you’re angry, but I don’t think that’s all there is to it. You just want to get your hands on me.”
Abbacchio says nothing and keeps his eyes closed, until what Giorno says next shocks them open.
“You're always wanting to touch me”, Giorno says so quietly it’s almost a whisper, “so touch me.”
Abbacchio’s eyes snap open and he can’t help the stupidly eager way he turns to look at Giorno.
The brat’s slid his bathrobe off one shoulder and spread his legs just a little, so that Abbacchio has no choice but to look. He can almost see Giorno’s cock, it’s right there, and his skin is still damp and he’s looking at Abbacchio now, green eyes wide with arousal and maybe a hint of fear at the naked want he must see on Abbacchio’s face.
“I don’t like you”, Abbacchio croaks, a warning, almost true.
“You don’t have to”, Giorno promises, shifting closer.
Abbacchio groans and lets himself go. He lets his primal impulses take control for a moment, throwing aside all notions of propriety and shame. He takes Giorno by the shoulders and wrenches him forward until he ends up sprawled on Abbacchio’s lap. He gives him no time to adjust, pulling him roughly forward and kissing him.
Giorno whines high in his throat and throws his arms around Abbacchio’s shoulders, answering the kiss clumsily but enthusiastically.
Abbacchio’s left hand settles on Giorno’s lower back and pulls him closer as he grinds up against him, and the right travels up the boy’s warm thigh, disappearing under the bathrobe. Giorno smiles against his lips and lets him grind their cocks together through layers of fabric. It feels heavenly, the hot weight of Giorno’s arousal against his own, his little panting breaths over Abbacchio’s face, his tight grip around him.
Abbacchio pulls away and drops to bite an earlobe, hard. Giorno whimpers again, and sighs shakily as Abbacchio soothes the bite with softer kisses.
“I won’t be nice to you”, he whispers in Giorno’s ear, and feels him shiver on his lap.
“This is nice”, Giorno says, stubborn, as Abbacchio’s nails dig into his thigh.
“Kinky little brat.” Abbacchio pulls on the back of the bathrobe until the knot at the front gives way. Giorno untangles his hands from Abbacchio’s hair, lowering his arms until Abbacchio can pull the thing off him and throw it somewhere on the floor.
He lets his hands roam the warm skin of Giorno's back and sides, mapping curves and planes, scratching lightly with his nails. Giorno leans back in, searching for kisses, and fumbles Abbacchio's pants open. His movements are unpracticed, and he tugs Abbacchio's pants down with a bit of difficulty, but it doesn't matter. He's eager, practically panting for it, and when his hand finally meets Abbacchio's bare cock, Abbacchio forgets about any inexperience he may have demonstrated.
He takes Giorno by the hips and hauls him closer. Their cocks rub against each other and it feels so fucking good, especially after Giorno wraps his hands around the both of them. His skin smooth, and his cock feels hot against Abbacchio's. His grip becomes more sure, even as his moans get more desperate. He makes so much noise it's annoying, but it also makes Abbacchio feel powerful. Even their rough kisses can't do much to muffle Giorno. Abbacchio smirks against Giorno's lips, enjoying the obvious signs of his need. He's sorry he's forgone lipstick today; Giorno would look gorgeous with messy black or purple smudges on his pale skin.
Giorno pulls back to rest his forehead against Abbacchio's and to catch his breath. His hands are mostly still now, just holding a tight grip for them both to thrust into. The movements of Giorno's slender hips are getting jerky, and his hands shake. He must be getting close to the edge.
Abbacchio watches their cocks moving together. They look good, it's hard to believe he's really seeing and feeling and doing all of this with Giorno. He's not all wonder and gratitude though: he can’t help noticing he’s thicker and longer than Giorno, and it gives him a savage rush of pleasure - at least in this he's better than the boy.
Somewhat against his will, he's learning a lot of new things about said boy who's so recklessly letting him touch him. He learns how Giorno likes having his back and ass petted, how he mewls helplessly when Abbacchio's fingers slip between his cheeks to rub gently at his hole. How he likes to dive in for kisses and how he tries to take control, but is content to be lead if Abbacchio doesn't give over.
He wants to ask questions; what the hell brought this on? Why is Giorno suddenly interested in him in this way, especially with how prickly Abbacchio’s always been towards him? Or is that maybe what Giorno really likes? Being treated badly?
He doesn’t ask any of them out loud, because he doesn’t want Giorno to stop to answer him. He’s warm and surprisingly heavy on Abbacchio’s lap, and the soft sounds he makes into their kisses are sweeter than Abbacchio wants to admit.
He slides his hand up Giorno’s side and past his shoulderblades into his hair. It’s still a little damp and feels silken in his fingers. He takes a good grip and pulls, not hard but enough to make Giorno sigh and shudder. Abbacchio uses his hold to pull Giorno away enough to be able to speak.
“What do you want, Giovanna?”
“Fuck me”, Giorno pants, pushing his ass against Abbacchio's hand and trying to pull him back into a frenzied kiss. Abbacchio wrenches him back by his hair and enjoys his little sound of discomfort a touch more than he should.
“I don’t have anything”, Abbacchio growls, “And we’re not going anywhere looking like this.”
Giorno looks around them, perhaps hoping to find a stray bottle of hand lotion or something, but comes up with nothing. He chuckles awkwardly.
“I didn’t really think this through, did I?” He looks honestly confused, like he’s not used to not having an answer to everything, to things not always going his way. Spoiled little thing. If they had lube, Abbacchio would make him feel how angry he is with him.
“No, because everything about this is stupid and a terrible idea”, Abbacchio growls, leaning in to place a nipping kiss on Giorno’s throat. Giorno laughs breathlessly.
“I do believe this is one of my better ones”, he whispers, grinding his hips against Abbacchio’s. His cock slides along Abbacchio’s, hot and slick, and though Abbacchio would never admit it, maybe he’s right.
“So, within our limited options”, Abbacchio murmurs against Giorno’s skin, hand sliding in his hair to find the back of his neck, “what do you want?”
“Your hands, just - be as rough with me as you want.”
Abbacchio swallows a groan and does as he’s bid. He tightens his grip on Giorno’s neck, holding him in place. He knocks Giorno's hand out of the way and grips his cock in his other hand. He strokes it, squeezing harder than should be comfortable, but Giorno seems to enjoy it. Abbacchio swipes a thumb over the red tip of Giorno’s cock, collecting the precome to ease his strokes. He presses hard on the soft skin just under the head, and Giorno moans, pleased, thrusting his hips forward to meet Abbacchio’s hand.
Abbacchio leans closer, catching his lips in a rough kiss again, moving his hand faster. Giorno hums into the kiss, his long eyelashes tickling Abbacchio’s cheek. His lips go slack as his pleasure mounts, and he shakes. Abbacchio quickens his pace, and Giorno stays right there, pliant in his hold. It’s mindblowing, holding him like this, being the sole thing keeping him upright.
“Be good for me”, Abbacchio murmurs against Giorno’s lips, commanding. He can feel Giorno’s defences falling, his hips beginning to stutter uncontrollably. His thighs shake as he moves on Abbacchio’s lap. Abbacchio pulls him closer by the neck and bites at his lower lip, hard, and it’s not long until he’s groaning loudly and coming hard.
He messes up Abbacchio’s hand and coat and shakes for a long time, grasping Abbacchio’s arms and panting, flushed and sweaty. His buns are completely unraveled now, the golden curls sticking to his forehead and to the sides to his face. Abbacchio brushes them aside, burying his hand in Giorno’s hair again.
Giorno opens his eyes and the green of them is so deep it startles Abbacchio. Giorno looks at him, a small satisfied smile tilting his mouth. He leans in to steal a kiss, two, three. It’s too gentle and Abbacchio is still uncomfortably hard, so he shifts his hold on Giorno, lays a hand on the small of his back instead. He pulls Giorno closer so their cocks touch again, laughing at Giorno’s dismayed face at the friction on his softening, oversensitive cock.
He wraps his arms about Abbacchio’s neck, stretching against him like a cat.
“Thank you, Leone”, he murmurs. A white hot rage at the name flares in Abbacchio; some random, rushed handjob doesn’t give Giorno the right to use Abbacchio’s first name. Only good people who he loves get to do that, good friends like Bruno. Giorno isn’t anything like that, and spilling from his kiss-pink lips, the name sounds like an insult, despite his honeyed tone.
“Fuck you”, Abbacchio hums and bites Giorno’s abused lower lip again. The boy shifts on his lap uncomfortably, but doesn’t pull away or relinquish his hold on Abbacchio.
“Let me take care of you too”, Giorno says, and it’s more order than request. Abbacchio scoffs and takes Giorno by the hips, shifting him easily.
“You’ve got this all wrong, Giovanna”, he growls. “You got yours, now I’ll take mine.”
He throws Giorno onto the sofa and gets on top of him, sitting on his thighs. Giorno tries to sit up, but Abbacchio pushes him back down. Giorno doesn’t struggle, he only looks up at Abbacchio and smiles, as if being thrown around is exactly what he wants from this encounter.
Abbacchio hates his smug little face, but he can’t deny how gorgeous Giorno looks like this. His hair is spread out around his head like a goddamned halo, and his flushed skin looks rosy, glowing against the dark fabric of the cushions. His lip is slightly split now - Abbacchio aches to suck on it until he tastes blood and hears Giorno whimper in pain - and there are a few drops of his come clinging to his stomach above his navel. He’s just lying there, messy but content and beautiful and completely bare. The contrast is striking, Abbacchio leaning over him, fully clothed, in control and holding him down with the weight of his body. Giorno looks small under him, delicate and painfully young, but his face tells a different story. The look in his eyes is so powerful Abbacchio has to look away for a moment.
He shifts closer until he's above Giorno's chest, his knees caging him in, and takes himself in hand, beginning to jerk off. His cock is close to Giorno's face, and when Abbacchio finally looks at Giorno again, he finds Giorno looking at his cock like it’s something divine.
"Come closer", Giorno whispers, his hands settling on Abbacchio's thighs. He can feel their warmth through his pants, and Giorno's look is so arresting Abbacchio can't say no. He nods and goes, shifting until his knees sink into the sofa right under Giorno's armpits and his cock is right there, so close to Giorno he can feel his hot breaths on the sensitive skin.
Giorno looks him in the eyes and leans up, opening his mouth and pressing a wet kiss to the underside of Abbacchio's cock. Abbacchio shudders and his hips twitch, nudging the head against Giorno's lips. Giorno obeys the wordless command and opens his mouth wider, taking Abbacchio into his mouth properly.
It feels heavenly. Giorno's mouth is soft and hot and wet, and he tightens his lips and moves his tongue in ways that make something hot coil tight in Abbacchio's stomach. His hips twitch and he has to fight not to thrust hard into Giorno's throat. He's been worked up for a long time already, and he doesn't think he'll be able to last long, what with how perfect this feels and how obscenely pretty Giorno looks with his lips stretched around a big dick.
Giorno tries to go deeper, but he can only fit half of Abbacchio's cock until it triggers his gag reflex and he has to pull away, coughing. Abbacchio tilts Giorno's head with a hand and guides him back onto his cock, gentle but commanding. Giorno takes him deep again, moaning around his girth. His green eyes fill with unshed tears and his cheeks flush. Abbacchio doesn't think he can breathe properly like this, but still Giorno keeps going.
This is supposed to be a one-off, but as his hand slides into Giorno's hair to gentle him and slow him down, his traitorous brain whispers that they could keep doing this all the time, and surely Giorno could learn fast… he's a competitive little brat at heart, he'd train relentlessly and be a master in no time, like he always is, he’d be able to take Abbacchio’s cock down his throat -
Abbacchio closes his eyes and tries to shake these thoughts from his mind. Now is not the time, right now he wants to just focus on how amazing he's feeling. He strokes the part of his cock that Giorno can't reach, and Giorno matches his rhythm. His lips meet Abbacchio's hand in the middle, obscenely kissing his fingers with his mouth full of cock, and this should be humiliating but Giorno just looks ecstatic, like there's nothing he'd rather be doing.
Giorno's pleasure makes Abbacchio's own mount, fast, his moans vibrating deliciously on his cock, and soon Abbacchio's world narrows down to the feel of that beautiful mouth on him, his eyes squeezing tightly shut and the movement of his hand stuttering and stilling. He comes with a low groan, and Giorno pulls back just in time to catch his come on his tongue and cheek, instead of choking on it.
Abbacchio says still for a moment, panting and blinking through the blinding glow his orgasm leaves behind. The head of his cock rests on Giorno's chin as the boy licks his lips, smirking like the cat that got the cream. Giorno licks it up like it’s delicious, and Abbacchio can feel his confusion and shame burn red on his cheeks. He lets his trembling thighs rest, sitting on Giorno’s chest for a moment, catching his breath.
"Thank you for that too", Giorno says, his big green eyes wide and innocent like he didn't just suck a cock with embarrassing enthusiasm, like there isn’t an obvious smear of come high on his cheekbone. Abbacchio has no idea how to answer him, so he says nothing. The gravity of the situation is coming to him in stages and filling him with regret. How the fuck did he end up in a situation like this? Anyone could have walked in on them, but in the heat of the moment it didn’t even cross his mind to worry about that.
He’s never fucked his boss before, and he shouldn’t have started now. He can tell it’s going to make living and working with Giorno even more difficult, if only because now Abbacchio has actual memories to distract him instead of just the daydreams and the dirty fantasies.
“We’ll do this again”, Giorno says, smiling lazily, and it’s not a question or a request, it’s a statement. Like he knows. Giorno Giovanna wishes it so, so it’ll happen, because the universe always bends to his will. There’s no reason Leone Abbacchio wouldn’t. Giorno’s hands settle on Abbacchio's hips like they belong there, holding him securely. Stating ownership.
Abbacchio scoffs and shrugs out of Giorno’s hold, climbing off of him and tucking his cock back inside his pants. He feels hot and sticky in his clothes, and a shower sounds like a great reason to get away from Giorno.
“Night”, he growls and leaves, not looking back to see whether Giorno stays or whether he starts gathering his bathrobe and getting himself back together.
“Sweet dreams, Leone”, Giorno’s voice follows him, laughter colouring the words. Abbacchio gives him the finger over his shoulder and stomps into the hall.
The worst thing, he thinks helplessly as he climbs the stairs towards his room, is that Giorno is right. Abbacchio’s had a taste of him now, and he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to resist if Giorno ever offers to let him have more.
It’s a shitty situation, but a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth anyway. Giorno is infuriating and unpredictable and will probably make life very hard for Abbacchio in the near future, but something tells him he’s going to enjoy the ride.