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For someone who considered himself nearly as poor as a beggar, Prosciutto believed that he slept like a king. The size of the mattress fit the description, along with its soft cotton sheets and cloud-like pillows, endowed with the scent of him and the other man who had him entangled in his arms.
Risotto was very clingy, but his large and warm body made his clinginess feel like an embrace from a life sized teddy bear. It was especially nice during the chillier winter nights, when money became tighter in time for the holidays and they wanted to save up by temporarily neglecting the use of their space heaters. Though Prosciutto didn't want to admit it, he loved whenever his boyfriend would become a total sap before bed. Risotto would run his fingers through his long hair free from his knots and ties, as he planted gentle kisses against his forehead and murmured a ramble about how much he adored him.
If Risotto was exhausted enough, sometimes he would subconsciously speak in half Italian, half Sicilian nonsense that Prosciutto could only understand bits and pieces of, but he didn't need to understand any of it to know that he was being sweet talked.
Before the couple had moved into their own apartment, way back when all of the hitmen lived underneath a single roof, there was always some random shenanigans that would have kept him up. It could have ranged from unnecessarily loud sex to part of the ceiling caving in on someone's room— the possibilities were truly endless. After they settled into their new home, there hadn't been an issue since Pesci somehow managed to set their entire stove on fire.
However, a loud and redheaded inconvenience to him had recently come their way, and day by day he disliked it more and more, feeling as if their tranquility had been breached. As much as his Capo tried to convince him not to stress so much over the matter, that night had just about crossed the line when the ginger's mangy feline decided it would be a great idea to eat his hair.
The first thing he felt was the pressure of the animal's paws aimlessly tiptoeing along his body. His sleep was only slightly disturbed, his eyebrows furrowing and his blank mask scrunching up into one of confusion. But he reflexively jolted awake with a curse when there was the sound of licking and munching on his blond locks, along with the obnoxiously loud rumble within the beast's chest.
Blue eyes shot open to glare daggers at his intruder. Under the moonlight, the dilated pupils of the monster gleamed back at him, and though he knew better than to think a cat could smile, its expression was almost like a simper. But it was purring so much that Prosciutto still couldn't help but presume the thing must have been satisfied with its onslaught on his beauty sleep.
You're nothing but a bastard, he thought about the cat, as it busied itself by cleaning its left paw. He slightly disentangled himself from Risotto's hold to pick it up the best he could and toss it onto the floor. Shoo.
The cat ran off to somewhere he didn't know and didn't care enough to know about, but it laid off long enough for him to begin to drift back into a deep sleep. A small sigh came from Risotto as Prosciutto situated himself back into his partner's embrace, who instinctively brought him closer even in the midst of his own snoozing. But right when Prosciutto reached the very peak of another dream's beginning, the beast hopped back onto their bed and resumed its midnight snack on his hair, purring much louder than before.
"God," he snatched his head away from his pillow, "motherfucking," he used his arms to sit himself up, "dammit." His irises were the bluest fire as he glowered at the cat. "I'm fucking sick of you," he hissed, but was only given the opposite reaction with a chirpy, almost unheard mewl and a slow blink of its eyes.
He really wanted to push the damned thing off of their bed, fling it into the hallway, and slam the door shut so that it couldn't get back in. That's how it had to have gotten in, he realized; one of them must have accidentally left the door open before they went to bed, given how said door was now nearly halfway open from the cat's intrusion. But getting it out of their room would mean he would have to get out of bed, manhandle a cat that didn't even belong to him, and cause an uproar that would absolutely ruin his night. Because somehow, some way, Formaggio had a sixth sense when it came to his cat, even when he was passed the absolute fuck out and snoring away on their couch. If he felt there was foul play, he would never let it go without one of his long unneeded lectures about treating other people's pets with respect. Ironically enough, that cat scratched him up more than she would scratch up his furniture.
So instead of stirring up mess, he turned back over to the sleeping soul next to him. His silver hair was in disarray, his face was still and peaceful, and his light wheezes were revealed with every breath. He would hate to ruin his beauty sleep, but he also needed his beauty sleep, and there was no way he could get it with that feline prowling around their bed.
"Risotto," he whispered.
Seconds had passed without a response. The only answer he was getting was from the loud cat that murrped as it marked its scent along his pillow.
"Risotto," he called again, reaching over to gently shake his shoulder. "Risotto, wake up."
There was a noticeable shift of Risotto's long legs underneath the covers, and a slight arch in his brows that appeared seconds before his deep red eyes. His sight needed some time to adjust, so he could only see the blur of his boyfriend looking down at him when he groggily asked, "What's wrong?"
"This fucking cat is what's wrong," Prosciutto retorted, as he sent an angry glimpse back at Formaggio's pet. "She won't leave me the hell alone. It's taking everything I have in me not to toss her out the damn window."
"Mmm... Formaggio wouldn't like that," the Capo said absentmindedly. "Doesn't want anybody hurting his kitty."
"I know that already." Risotto sat himself up with his forearm and elbow, revealing part of his bare chest from underneath their covers. He scratched his head as his eyes finally processed the grey cat on their bed. "God, I would've been mostly fine with him staying with us if it weren't for this stupid fucking cat," Prosciutto went on. "It's already costing us enough to house him alone. What was the point of bringing her with him?"
"That's his pet," Risotto uttered. "He wouldn't just leave her in that house to starve."
"Then maybe he should've given her to a shelter that could actually afford to take care of her, or just let her run away and live on the streets," Prosciutto argued. "That way, the damn thing wouldn't have an owner so irresponsible that he somehow blows his entire paycheck on a fucking rocket launcher, the fucking idiota. I still can't believe he spent that much money on a broken rocket launcher for three times its normal price. He couldn't even get his money back from resale, since he obviously got fucking scammed."
"Shelters often overflow with pets that are given away for that very reason," Risotto said with a yawn, "and living on the streets is never ideal for a domesticated cat. He rescued her from the side of a dumpster when she was only a kitten, so taking her in for all these years only to put her right back out would be redundant. But as for the... rocket launcher, um..." There were many things he could have said regarding that situation, but he chose to leave it alone for now. "All I can say is that people make mistakes, and I won't hold it against him."
"That was far worse than a mistake, it was a major fuckup," said Prosciutto. "A really fucking dumb one, at that, and we're the ones who always have to pay the price by letting him sleep on our couch and eat up all of our damn food. His cat is just another liability."
"Well I—"
"Actually, y'know what?" Prosciutto's face lit up with a sudden realization, and he scoffed as if it were more of a joke than it was a factor that made him even more upset. "Risotto, I have a really good fucking question. Why the fuck didn't he just ask to stay at Illuso's place? All they did was smoke pot and fuck each other's brains out when he still had his own apartment. Wouldn't he be better off at Lu's? Eating all of his shit and letting him deal with his stupid cat?"
A frustrated groan rolled out of Risotto's throat. He would be a liar if he said that Prosciutto hadn't brought up a good point, but it was not the time nor the place for them to discuss that topic. It would be ideal for them to speak on it when they both had enough rest, not in the middle of "God knew what time it was" AM.
"Listen," he began, trying to rub the fatigue out of his eyes, "you're obviously a little grouchy from being woken up out of your sleep—"
"Oh, I'm not grouchy," the other interjected. "I am pissed."
"—and you being pissed means you're not in the right mood to talk about this, so it's best we continue this conversation in the morning, over a delicious breakfast, a warm cup of coffee, and your favorite brand of cigarettes," Risotto disclosed. "Deal?"
Prosciutto accepted his offer after a short moment of silence, save the cat's purring and the violent snoring they could hear from the assassin knocked out in their living room. "Okay, deal. Whatever. Now, please handle this cat before I do."
The cat had ventured across their bed and crawled over their bodies as if they were mountains to explore throughout the entire altercation. Now, she was back to bothering Prosciutto again, purring into his ear like it were a soothing melody.
"Did you try putting her on the floor and letting her roam back out on her own?"
"Thanks for the help, you fucking genius." Risotto immediately frowned at his sarcastic remark. "Of fucking course I tried that, and the damn cat jumped right ba—" Prosciutto flinched as the cat's rear end came dangerously close to his face. "Right back up here."
"Then..." His red eyes followed the cat's retreating body, as she moved to the end of their bed only to start attacking Risotto's toes that wiggled under the sheets. "Then why didn't you— ow, just get up and put her out of the room?"
"Too much damn effort," Prosciutto stated. "I was comfortable, and I would rather not have to get out of bed for a fucking feline."
"Mio signore," Risotto grumbled with a long roll of his eyes. "For someone who despises cats, you tend to act just as spoiled as one."
The blond snorted at him. "Oh, please. Just get this cat outta my hair so I can sleep, for Christ's sake."
Risotto turned and twisted until he was sitting fully upright, letting out a grunt from the strain. After he breathed out a long sigh, he held his arms out to the cat and motioned for her to get closer as he made a clicking sound with his tongue. "Come here, gattu."
She perked up at the noise, but only seemed to follow his voice, and accompanied her strut towards his awaiting hands with a tiny mew that appeared to have been caught in her throat. Risotto greeted her by rubbing her under her chin, and she responded with even more purring and loving headbutts as he caressed her in all the places he knew she loved. After a moment longer, he suddenly scooped her up and cradled her as he reclined back onto the bed, placing her by his side and enveloping her with his arm.
Prosciutto watched as he stroked her soft little head and gave her scritches on the side of her neck. All the good feelings and attention eventually made her settle down into nothing but a noisy grey blob. By occasion, he would peck her on top of her head and praise her in his native Sicilian tongue, and it calmed her down enough that she began to doze off to sleep on her own.
"See? It's not that hard to get her to lie down," he said to Prosciutto. "All you have to do is snuggle up with her. You're lucky she doesn't scream in people's ears whenever she wants attention anymore."
"I don't know how many times I have to tell you that I don't like cats." Prosciutto let his head fall back onto his pillow full of cat hair and turned his body away from them. "And can you at least get her to shut up? The purring is driving me nuts."
"Aww, what's wrong with her purring?" Risotto teased. "Are you saying you don't enjoy the sound of a happy kitten?"
"No, I don't," he spoke out into the empty side of the room. "It's loud and obnoxious."
"You'll get used to it. She'll stop when she falls asleep. Amore, come over here."
Prosciutto sat up again, and turned over to give Risotto a puzzled look in his eye. "What?"
"Come here," he repeated in a softer tone. "Get closer to me."
"...But the cat's in the way."
"Then we can put her on your side."
Prosciutto had to stop himself from letting out a pleading whine. "Risotto..."
"She's about to go to sleep. She won't bother you." And before Prosciutto could protest any further, Risotto scooped and cradled the plump cat once again, and he shuffled so close to Prosciutto that he could feel his back against his chest. He parked the cat next to Prosciutto's side before he let his arms find their comfortable place around his body.
The cat rubbed against him before she reclined along his side, squinting up at his cold expression with a chirp as a request for affection. Prosciutto hesitated, but a smooth voice in his ear convinced him to give her a pet, and underneath his hand she reacted just the same as she did with Risotto. Leaning her head into his touch, she closed her eyes and made herself comfortable enough for her own cat nap.
"All it takes is a little love." Risotto nuzzled closer to the nape of his neck, breathing in the sweet scent of his expensive shampoo. "That's all it takes. She's only a cat, you know."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Prosciutto laid his head back against his pillow with a huff. He massaged her head for a moment longer before he found that he could stop without disturbing her peace, but she continued to purr as if he were giving her all the attention in the world. "God, she's loud."
"You'll get used to it," the other mumbled against his skin. "I promise."
"Yeah, sure, but why couldn't she just—?"
"Shhhh." Risotto brought his index finger near Prosciutto's lips. "We'll talk in the morning, remember? You need your sleep."
As much as Prosciutto could run his mouth, he couldn't argue with that at all, and with a small sigh he finally decided to relax and close his eyes. Her purring still bothered him, but as he drifted off once more it was almost as if he could hardly notice it. She soon became less of a nuisance to him, and rather more of a soft and fuzzy warmth near his arms. Risotto had fallen asleep long before Prosciutto had reached his dreamland again, the blond content in his lover's arms and within the vicinity of a bothersome feline.