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Early morning sunlight filtered through the cracked blinds, lighting up the sparse hotel room. There was a rustle from underneath the bed sheets, and Abbacchio regarded the covered form with a grin. He couldn’t bring himself to wake the other up, especially when he knew he was the apparent cause of his oversleeping. That caused his warm smile to morph into a smirk.
The silver-haired man went through his hygiene routine, which was much more normal and thorough than the average man’s. Even so, Abbacchio put much pride into his outward appearance now that he was no longer in the force, which always made him the last to get ready.
So it was so odd when he was fully dressed, save for doing up his face, and Buccellati had yet to wake up. He crept over to the bed, grasping a pillow and mulling over ways he could rouse his lover.
If he was going with his gut, the pillow would’ve already impacted the other’s face and Buccellati would’ve woken up frazzled and with a hardened expression on his face. An expression Abbacchio witnessed too often because of their lives as gangsters.
But instead, a hand feathered its way through Buccellati’s hair, fingers grazing the braid that had loosened some in his sleep. He was going to have to help him redo that.
Abbacchio wasn’t necessarily one for sappy words or actions (even expressing his most passionate, sincere feelings for Buccellati would leave him with a deep flush and a tied tongue), so he was at a loss of what else to do.
However, Buccellati rolled his head some into Abbacchio’s hand, his exposed shoulders and chest finally seeing the light of the morning. So he was awake.
The taller man made a forced utterance with his throat and retracted his hand. Buccellati finally opened his eyes, drowsiness clouding them as he looked up at the other.
“Good morning,” was his soft greeting, until he added, “If it’s still morning.”
There was a smug grin on Abbacchio’s lips, his head tilted once he stood up again. “You’re in luck.”
Buccellati crawled out of bed, unknowing of Abbacchio’s gaze on his otherwise naked body until he turned to him. His expression had already softened, not a single hint of embarrassment because of his nudity.
“Where’d you put my clothes?”
“There.” Abbacchio nodded over to the dresser, having neatly folded them up earlier before taking a seat at his vanity.
He reached for his eyeliner but stopped upon catching his reflection, or rather, what was behind him. He silently watched Buccellati redress himself, feeling reluctant towards the long day ahead of them and upset that their private time together was over. They’d soon be reunited with their friends, Buccellati’s attention lessening on Abbacchio in the process.
He bit his lip as he pondered this, annoyed that something so minor bothered him so. He hated recognizing his own jealousy, and even if he tamed it most of the time, it would often jump out whenever Giorno was involved.
Of course, the kid wasn’t fetching for Buccellati’s affections, but his immediate closeness to his lover had messed with Abbacchio’s conscience since the first day he’d joined them.
He let out a heavy exhale, closing his eyes as he tried to calm himself.
“Is something the matter?” Buccellati was gazing over the top of his head now, fully dressed now.
Abbacchio swallowed, once again struggling to admit his vulnerabilities. He knew Buccellati was used to it now to the point that the other read him like a book oftentimes, but he loathed being a burden or rousing any worry from the capo. Yet, Buccellati would never let him off the hook unless he said something.
“We’re traveling again today.” Which meant they wouldn’t have a stable place to rest for a few days. Which meant that they probably wouldn’t have much alone time.
Buccellati looked at him through the mirror with a frown, his hand sliding to Abbacchio’s shoulder and giving it a slight squeeze.
“It’s unavoidable.” he didn’t want to say that, yet it was the only thing he could say. “And you know we can’t--”
“I know.”
Their relationship would draw away from their mission and the overall team dynamic. They both knew that, but Abbacchio resented that fact the most.
Buccellati’s arm wrapped around his shoulders as he leaned down then, pressing a simple kiss to Abbacchio’s temple.
“It’ll be time to rest before you know it.”
He turned to him, nose grazing along Buccellati’s cheek before he captured his lips in a slow, gentle kiss, savoring the sensation since he knew he wouldn’t have the chance later.
When they parted, lavender met blue for a moment, Buccellati longing to continue but knew it wouldn’t be feasible. They were already running late, thanks to his sudden desire to sleep in.
Not another word was exchanged when he started to step back, Abbacchio suddenly grasping his arm and pulling him into his lap.
Abbacchio savored that mild look of shock that usually came to Buccellati’s face whenever he did such things. He really wasn’t much of a man of impulse so it was understandable. But he loved constantly putting the capo on edge, particularly because he was usually difficult to unsettle.
“I need your help with getting ready.” He fibbed, wrapping his arms around the other.
“Really?” Buccellati asked in obvious disbelief, a fine eyebrow of his raising. He would scold the other on their current schedule, but something told him to let it go.
“Yes,” he reached over handed the other mascara, eyeliner, and eyebrow liner.
Buccellati stared down at these objects dumbly and Abbacchio continued, “you need more practice anyways besides that wobbly eyeliner you put on that one time.”
The brunet grimaced and Abbacchio laughed, giving his lower back a reassuring caress. “It was your first time and probably only I could tell.”
Buccellati had some doubts about that statement now that he thought back on it (the boys were just way too observant) but started on his assigned task anyways.
It was easily something he was capable of doing since he’d watched Abbacchio countless times do it. Now he was taking it as an opportunity to observe his lover’s face up close, internally fawning over the perfect arch his eyebrows had been sculpted into, the height and angle of his cheek bones, the length of his eyelashes-- really, the list was endless, and Buccellati managed to keep his composure, even under Abbacchio’s steady gaze.
He was absorbing just how concentrated Buccellati looked completing such a mundane task, trying not to smile at the pride he was garnering from that.
“Done.” he said after about 5 minutes, using his thumb to wipe away a stray mark of eyeliner before it dried.
Abbacchio looked in the mirror, humming once in approval before he grabbed his lipstick.
“One last thing.”
Of course, Abbacchio’s lips weren’t that luscious purple Buccellati had grown so accustomed to. He could easily recall the first time he’d seen his face rid of anything-- it wasn’t notably different, but seeing his lips a natural shade of pink was...surprising.
Then again, it was similar to how Abbacchio responded to his braid undone and his lace undershirt being just...that.
Buccellati uncapped the lipstick with a muted eagerness and tilted Abbacchio’s chin up.
At a near sensual pace, he began applying it, Abbacchio’s upper lip twitching when he caught that mischievous twinkle in Buccellati’s eye. It was something so...simple but arousing. He had once admitted to Abbacchio in a heated moment how sinful his lips were and now they had become a formidable weapon. He really tried not to think about even last night when Abbacchio had taken his time with peppering kisses across Buccellati’s body, practically from head to toe.
The brunet swallowed as he finished and returned the lipstick to its rightful place.
“Thank you.” Abbacchio purred, grabbing a hold of Buccellati’s hand and giving it a gentle rub with his thumb. Buccellati, regrettably, recalled the fact that now he couldn’t give or receive any kisses without a smear being left behind. So he simply took his face into his hands and smiled.
“Let’s get on with the day.”