Work Text:
This was the first time Massimo had ever left to go anywhere without his jacket. The man wore it like a second skin, seldom taking it off, even when at home. Fugo wondered if his boyfriend overheated, stubbornly keeping that jacket on even in the intense Italian summers, but he did not seem to break a sweat. Then again, Massimo barely had any fat or muscle on his bones to retain heat.
Massimo had been called to meet with Don Giorno to discuss moving forward with the new pharmaceuticals. It was ironic that in Giorno’s attempts to stop the narcotics trade, Massimo was still making drugs, but now drugs regulated and approved as medicine. The former drug lord was a scientist after all. It was nice to see that his studies did not go to waste after having his life taken by Passione. Massimo did not share the sentiment, simply following the orders of Giorno as he had Diavolo before.
It was also not often that Massimo was called in with Fugo not on guard duty. Frowning, he worried if Giorno thought his relationship with Massimo was a distraction from his duty as the Don’s personal guard. Massimo was task-oriented, even going so far as to push Fugo away should the task at hand require his full attention. If Massimo needed to focus, Fugo could not stop him even if he tried.
He took a breath and closed his eyes. He was not going to let this get to him. Massimo loved him, Giorno respected him, and everything was right in the world.
That still didn’t explain why Massimo would leave his jacket here, laying on the sofa; haphazardly at that. Maybe he had been in a rush and forgot it? The man tended to be pretty unaware of his surroundings for the most part, so it was possible.
He picked up the jacket by the front with both hands. The outer material was cashmere, smooth and soft to the touch. The trim around the wrists, collar, and front seam were genuine fox fur, or at least that is what Massimo told him. The inner lining was a rich red silk. It reminded Fugo of a lion skin, with the thick fur collar like a mane. He had commented once that it was Massimo’s Nemean Lion pelt, looking as though it was ripped off the mythical beast’s back. It may protect Massimo from cold, but not much else. There was no tag on the inner collar. The material and expert stitching marked this as custom work from an elite designer, Fugo only wished he knew who. He was certain Giorno would enjoy something similarly elegant, but Massimo knew not where it came from.
It was a gift. Massimo never delved in further when Fugo pried him for an answer.
“I should really hang this up.” Fugo murmured to himself.
On the times Massimo did remove the jacket, it was kept in a protective sheet and hung in the closet. He cared more for the jacket then he did for himself half the time.
It was nice to cuddle up against. Warm and soft, cushioning Massimo’s otherwise bony frame. As much as Fugo enjoyed being held tight in his love’s embrace, it was roughly like being held by a skeleton. Massimo had managed to put a bit more weight on with Fugo around to keep him eating regularly, but it was not a monumental difference.
What harm was it to finally see why Massimo coddled this jacket? They had known each other for years now and had started dating about a year after their reunion. That was half a year ago. It was only a matter of time before Fugo did what all smaller of significant others did; borrow the other’s clothes.
Fugo slipped his right arm through the sleeve. It was tighter around his arm than he expected, but Massimo had thinner biceps. His fingers barely peaked out from the fur-trimmed cuff. He slid on the other sleeve, shrugging the jacket onto his shoulders. It was heavy, weighed down by the thick materials. The jacket was pure cashmere, lacking the scratchiness that wool blends tended to have. The silk lining was soft and smooth.
As suspected, the jacket was incredibly warm, insolating his body heat instantly, and yet did not overbear him. The jacket hung down to his hips where it only sat just below the waist on Massimo. He pulled the jacket tighter around him. The fur collar pressed against his cheek. He adored this fluffy collar. Sure, fur sometimes got stuck in his mouth, but it was thick and plush, the perfect pillow to nuzzle up against.
Fugo’s eyes fell closed, taking a deep sniff of the collar. Sandalwood and rosewater; scents so subtle they were barely there. But Fugo had spent enough time in Massimo’s arms to pick up on his personal scent. It resonated within the fabric, the collar especially. All of Fugo’s earlier anxieties washed away. Memories of cuddling with Massimo, feeling his cool fingers against his scalp, phantom sensation that sent shivers down his spine.
Fugo lowered himself onto the sofa, sitting at first, only to flop over onto his side and bring his feet up to lay across the beige cushions. He kept the collar closed to his face, breathing deep and slow. It felt like heaven. Massimo was never a man for material things. He was minimalist at best. But this single article of clothing radiated luxury.
It was almost as if Massimo had his arms around Fugo, keeping him close to his chest. The fur was like Massimo’s hair, long strands brushing against his neck as he leaned close to listen to Fugo’s pulse, his heartbeat.
It’s a comfort. Massimo had said to him when Fugo questioned why he always kept an ear to Fugo’s collarbone or chest. The sounds that hum within silence.
Fugo laid in that silence, curled up on the couch and holding his lover’s precious jacket tight around his body. He would wait for Massimo to return. He waited to feel those arms around him, the weight of Massimo’s chin resting against the top of his head or sharp nose pressed against the crook of his neck.
With thoughts of Massimo soothing his mind, Fugo slipped into a comfortable afternoon nap.