Chapter Text
Diavolo might not bother to kill him now.
Abbacchio woke up in the first light of dawn, lying on the icy ground, stiff and aching from head to toe. He twisted his neck and looked around. He moved twice and barely supported his body to get up a bit. This process took a long time, and he vaguely saw what seemed to be happening in front of him. No one came to kill him, or call him to join the fight. He suspected that he was still an empty shell similar to a corpse.
He could see the children in the distance. Closer to him was a young man in white, lying on the ground with his hands down, his eyes half-opened, and his mouth opened stiffly as if to say something. Abbacchio stood up numbly. He bent down and closed his dilated pupils for the man. It was him who did all this for Buccellati.
It was too easy for him to die, Diavolo did it easily. Wasn't he almost killed in Sardinia before?
He couldn't remember anything after that, he trusted Giorno in the end, and he was right to believe him. His last memory is of Giorno putting his finger over the penetrating wound in his chest. Obviously he had completed the task like supposed to, and just closed his eyes slowly in the beautiful sunshine of Sardinia, but Giorno leaned over to block the light in front of him. Giorno's face was shrouded in shadow, his facial features were blurred, and his mouth seemed to be tightly pursed.He was always like this. The boy's fingers are still very thin, and the joints are far less distinct than those of them who have held guns for a long time. The fingertips coldly attached to his body that is gradually losing temperature.
Giorno might be crying, some liquid fell on his face. He guessed that Giorno probably had a gloomy face, with tears streaming down his stubborn eyes, and frowning as if he had no emotion. He was not in the mood to accompany Giorno in this performance, what should be done for Giorno, he had finished every bit, and owed him nothing. He had chosen to walk the path he should go, but unfortunately there wan no embrace from the darkness ahead.
What followed was a long dream. In his dream, he was still the defeated,the underdog. He sat drinking wine on the side of the dirty road, slumped in a corner with a pile of discarded rubbish. Pain and depravity are the sensory switches.
All kinds of people roam into the streets of Naples, idlers and fighters, and no one can tell whether all these are due to bad nature or bad luck. Among them are many young drunks with fluttering hair like him.
Everything was as usual until a white coat of Buccellati appeared in the night. Goals, tasks, and a bunch of things were placed on his shoulders, but he felt extraordinarily relaxed. Buccellati looked at the streets ahead, at three or two people like Abbacchio, and at countless ordinary people. His black hair fluttered gently in the wind, and his blue eyes were bright and pure. Abbacchio sat on the curb, turned his head and looked up at Buccellati. Buccellati was leaning against the wall, with one leg crossed over the other nonchalantly, and the leather shoes were full of scratches and mud marks. Abbacchio gazed all the way from his neck and gentle jawline to his sun-tanned complexion and handsome nose.
Abbacchio got up and stood beside Buccellati. He hadn't stood up straight for a long time, and his spine and neck were a little stiff. He looked at the dirty city seriously. From then on, his dignity and the meaning of life came from Buccellati's blue eyes. A young and handsome gangster from that sea, his eyes are more dignified and deeper than the clear water on the shore. He stood up, tall and silent, and nothing had shaken his loyalty and determination since that moment.
The sky in the dream was always dim, and Abbacchio felt the process of his spine being forged again very clearly. He is calm and cautious, and has a frame as strong as iron to support everyone. It's just that in the dream, all he could see was the drowsy sky and Buccellati's blue eyes.
Giorno was surrounded by Mista's voice. Mista always seemed to be by his side. Trish grew up overnight, and ran to Buccellati with him noisily pushing and shoving. Giorno just looked at everything in front of him. The wind is not strong, it just swirls faintly, blowing up three or two leaves on the ground, a few cigarette butts and a paper ball. His hair caressed his cheek, the way he had imagined his mother touching his dirty face when he was a child. The clouds in the distance were still trimmed with gold rims just now, but now they are flying higher and higher, melting into the sky. His eyes lost focus as the clouds blurred, and the gentle and ethereal "You don't need to care" hovered in his mind. In the face of fate, the golden wind can only blow away people's emotional instincts again and again?
Giorno is mentally prepared for the tears of Mista and Trish. But when he looked back at Abbacchio's thin back in the dark place, he felt a dull pain in his chest before he could react rationally.
It was already dawn, and Abbacchio was still standing in the shadows. He slowly turned Giorno around. Giorno saw clearly the body he was holding horizontally, and ran over without thinking. Halfway through the run, his legs gave way and he fell to the ground. He tried to stand up on his hands. After stepping on the hard ground with one foot, he couldn't resist wiping his face with dusty hands and then rubbing his sore eyes. He wiped off the dust from his hands, his clothes, and raised his legs again to walk towards Buccellati and Abbacchio. He tried to speed up his pace, but his legs were extraordinarily weak, as if he was stepping on clouds.
He saw Mista and Trish coming from behind him, seized the last moment and lowered his head to stare at Buccellati in Abbacchio's arms. Buccellati was like a marionette. No one had had the opportunity to observe him carefully during his lifetime. His pupils were not only dilated but already clouded. There were cracks everywhere that never heal. He heard screams and sobs, raised his head with difficulty, and met Abbacchio's cold eyes. He has seen this kind of look on the street, but he has never seen anyone with this kind of emotion because of a certain person's departure.
Go back, Giorno was the first one to ask everyone to go back. There were still tears of anger in Trish's eyes, and Mista patiently explained that the matter here was over, but he just stared straight at the ground in front of him. You can't just wait here to die. They a group of inexperienced people who don't know whether they will have a few good days in the future. Abbacchio walked in the front with Buccellati's cold body in his arms, and the three people behind trotted all the way to keep up. Seeing that something was wrong with Giorno, Mista gave him a hand and asked if he was okay. Giorno breathed heavily, and waved his hands without saying a word.
Giorno was still left behind for a while. Abbacchio was waiting for him when he finally caught up.
"I'm here." Giorno walked up to Abbacchio. Abbacchio kept his head down and stared at Buccellati's face. It took a long time before he raised his head to look at Giorno, and spoke sternly. Giorno sounds like a trial.
"Why him, Giorno, why him?"
Giorno was not afraid of his gaze. This is the final verdict after fighting against fate. Looking at Buccellati's lifeless body, he didn't say what happened in the bell tower that time, and he didn't intend to reveal what Buccellati's soul left before he flew to heaven. He didn't know how fate would play with people.
"...I'm sorry." Giorno spoke as if trying to light a damp box of matches.
He wondered if the trust like thin ice was about to be completely shattered at this moment. He walked silently on the side of Abbacchio, and from the corner of his eye glanced at Buccellati's limbs swaying with Abbacchio's steps.
This night came more peacefully than the previous nine, and much colder than the previous one. Killing the boss is just the first step for Giorno to become the leader of the gang. With this sleep today, he can temporarily sleep peacefully in the hotel. He wondered where fate would lead them tomorrow, would they take a step forward on the wire rope, or would they fall into a situation where they would never be able to recover because of something?
Giorno pushed the door of Abbacchio's room. The door was unlocked, and Giorno opened the door to enter. There was only a body of Buccellati on the bed.
Giorno found Abbacchio on the balcony. The man had just taken a shower, with a towel wrapped around his waist, waiting for his long hair to dry in the night wind. Giorno saw an unnatural scar on his chest, which was crooked and uneven. The golden experience was too anxious when doing this part of the work, and didn't care about the appearance.
"Let Buccellati go to my room, Narancia is there too."
Abbacchio didn't answer.
Giorno said that booking for an extra room would make people suspicious. Abbacchio just nodded. Abbacchio looked up at the starry sky, Giorno could only see the lower half of his face and his sharp jawline. His lips parted slightly. Without lipstick, his lips are dry and chapped a bit.
After putting Buccellati and Narancia on the bed, Abbacchio left Giorno's room. Giorno came out after him. Abbacchio ignored him and pushed open the door. Giorno continued to follow behind the tall figure and closed the door gently. Abbacchio slowly closed the thin curtains, and when he turned around, he saw Giorno in pajamas sitting on the bed with his hair loose.
Giorno waited for Abbacchio to drive him away, anyway, Mista's room was enough for two people to sleep. But Abbacchio lay down beside him as usual. Giorno, who had been waiting to yell, was a little disturbed by the unexpected calm.
He turned his eyes to sneak a look at Abbacchio. Abbacchio leaned against the head of the bed, crossed his hands behind his head, and messed up his long hair. He raised his head and squinted his eyes, probably looking at some stain on the ceiling. He didn't know when he had taken off his pajamas, only a pair of underwear remained on his whole body, his upper body was naked, his muscles were well-defined even when relaxing, his skin seemed to have not been exposed to the wind and sun, and there were scars here and there in various shapes,random like a child's scribbling with a paintbrush. With one leg resting on the other, he remained motionless, wondering if he would be numb after a while. His legs are naturally long, and he walks quickly, with long strides. Giorno suddenly recalled the mood when he tried his most to keep up with Abbacchio.
After a moment of silence, Abbacchio spoke first. He didn't look at Giorno, still just staring at the ceiling, talking dully.
"Are you going to start first or should I start first?" He didn't move a single bit except his mouth. When Giorno turned over, he spread his legs casually, and the lowered leg hit the bed hard, without even intending to look at him. .
His flexibility didn't get any worse from being motionless for the past few days. Giorno put his legs on his shoulders with ease.
Giorno wasn't sure what Abbacchio was thinking, but he went ahead anyway. Making love was the only physical contact he could think of right now. He gently stroked his chest and abdominal muscles with his fingertips from the collarbone all the way, along the external oblique muscles, ripped off the side of the underwear, and put his hand on his erected penis, as if asking for permission The same suddenly glanced at Abbacchio.
Seeing Abbacchio breathing with his mouth slightly open, Giorno simply stroked his penis a few times, unskillfully ripped off his underwear completely, pushed his legs with both hands until his knees almost touched his shoulders, and went over to lick and kiss his collarbone. Giorno could feel his hair rubbing against Abbacchio's face,scratching like a feather.
Giorno heard Abbacchio talking, but because his words were interrupted by panting, he couldn't guess a single word. He gently kissed Abbacchio's neck and smelled the perfume he sprayed on the back of his neck. Abbacchio found a speaking rhythm suitable for quick words, and spoke in a hoarse voice.
"Why... tell me why, Giorno." Every word was sprayed hotly in Giorno's ear. It was as if Giorno's spine had been instantly frozen, all the way down from his head was cold and numb, and was painfully pierced by the ice shards. Giorno stepped back and lowered his head, licking his nipple with his tongue, hearing the white-haired man's uncontrollable moans. Giorno didn't look up again, just listening to the accelerated breathing of the man below him, biting the man's abdominal muscles all the way, leaving a string of red teeth marks, and holding his penis in his mouth. Hearing Abbacchio gritted his teeth and grunted, he swallowed the front of the penis without hesitation and reached his throat, and he was too uncomfortable to hold back before spitting it out, repeating this action again and again.
After Abbacchio ejaculated in his mouth, Giorno seemed to seize a certain moment, and quickly entered him with the semen in his mouth without hesitation. Just as he thought, Abbacchio had already lubricated. But the man still screamed because of the pain. Giorno had never had any other sexual partners, so he couldn't imagine what it would be like to be more cooperative than Abbacchio. He was already a little confused at the moment, just doing his own movements instinctively, getting deeper and deeper again and again. He felt Abbacchio's legs wrapped around his waist forcefully, and he accelerated and rushed into Abbacchio's body even more excitedly. Abbacchio raised his arms, pressing his shoulders and the back of his neck with his hands, and he lowered his head along the way, leaning over to rub the ears of the person below him, letting the man's arms wrap around him, pressing down on his hair and pulling it painfully.
"Why him..." Abbacchio turned his head, the tip of his nose brushed against his cheek, his voice was weak and hoarse, but Giorno could hear him clearly. "...why not you."
Giorno turned his head gently and kissed his eyelashes, while the strength of his lower body seemed to penetrate him. At that moment, Giorno suddenly wanted to see what almost inhuman posture Abbacchio could fold his waist and legs into.
He kissed the red marks on Abbacchio's neck, daubed Abbacchio's dark lipstick on his fingers, looked at him like a prey, and licked the tip of his tongue that came out because of his orgasm. He knows how hard it is to clean up without a condom, but he doesn't hesitate to cum inside Abbacchio.
He waited for Abbacchio to drive him away. Before that, Abbacchio kept kicking him out of bed when he was in a bad mood, and he could straighten his trousers and put on his clothes in a few steps. But Abbacchio didn't say anything, and let him pull the corner of the quilt to face the man with his hands behind his head. Abbacchio has already changed into pajamas, and the quilt has scribbled over half of his body. Giorno burrowed into the quilt and tentatively stretched out his hand to pull the man's skirt, Abbacchio turned his head and looked at him meaningfully before turning his head back. Giorno pulled up the quilt on the other side to cover Abbacchio's waist and his hands, and closed his eyes.
These days, before the Sardinia incident, they make love whenever they can. Abbacchio held back his loath toward Giorno, so naturally that no one would think that the two of them could just sleep together so hastily. After sleeping, Abbacchio still scolded him. Giorno enjoyed the fact that Abbacchio scolded him by his collar one moment, and swayed on him the next moment.
In Abbacchio's words, he hates arrogant brats the most. The first meeting was not pleasant, but Giorno faintly felt that there was something else hidden under the surface. He was a little confused, whether it was because of the way Abbacchio looked at him, or because of a vague idea that he didn't know where he came from. Facing Abbacchio's provocative eyes, he subconsciously bit his lower lip.
That time in the ancient city of Pompeii, after he and Fugo finished talking, they turned their heads to meet Abbacchio at the corner, and both of them were taken aback but no one looked away. He yelled at Abbacchio as he helped him put his hand on. Abbacchio's lips turned white, lying in his own blood, he finished all the words to blame him. Abbacchio looked in pain, his eyes were squinted, his eyebrows were twisted into a ball, his teeth were clenched, but cold sweat was streaming from his hair. Giorno politely asked him if it hurt.
"It's okay, I'm used to it." Abbacchio frowned and rolled his still fierce eyes at him, "I planned to beat you up immediately."
"I did something that made you angry, but you can't do anything now?" Giorno thought thoughtfully.
After Abbacchio told him not to be complacent, he asked back, "What do you see, you also have eyes."
Giorno got close to Abbacchio while avoiding his flying sideways kick while lying on the ground. He put one hand on Abbacchio's chest and bit the man's lips. It happened that the golden experience took over from Abbacchio.
"Okay." Giorno shrugged, "Waiting for you to go back and settle the score with me."
That night, Giorno pushed the door of Abbacchio's room open a crack, and saw Abbacchio was about to put on his pajamas through the crack. He didn't have any plans for the next step, he just watched Abbacchio's back quietly. The door squeaked, and Abbacchio turned his head quickly, his squinted eyes met Giorno's, but he turned his head again. He put his hands behind his head and simply tied his hair into a ponytail and folded it a few times.
"When are you going to come in?" Abbacchio took his hands from his hair and shouted at Giorno with his back turned.
Giorno walked in the door, walked lightly to Abbacchio, sat next to him, and looked at his curly hair sideways. Abbacchio looks particularly good only when his face is expressionless. Giorno watched Abbacchio's eyelashes flutter as his eyes moved, but suddenly wanted to avoid possible eye contact, so he focused his observation on the tip of his nose and his lips bouncing back and forth. After watching for a long time, Giorno finally casually asked why the senior tied up his hair.
"In case you pull my hair by accident." Abbacchio's tone was exactly the same as when he was in the ancient city during the day.
Giorno was a little panicked, and felt a burst of heat on his face. He didn't believe that good luck would be used in such a strange place, subconsciously pinching the bed sheet with his fingers.
Abbacchio turned around and put his legs on the bed, leaned against the head of the bed to spread his legs, reached into the edge of his underwear, and looked at him provocatively.
"Hurry up, I'll start by myself if you don't come." Seeing Giorno's expression, he didn't seem to mind at all, and added, "Then you get out."
"I have no experience." Giorno tried to keep his expression calm, "Senior, tell me what to do."
"Come here, I'll demonstrate." Abbacchio stretched out his hand and pulled Giorno almost to the ground on top of him.
Abbacchio leaned close to his ear and licked his earlobe with his tongue, pinched his chin and kissed his eyebrows, eyelids, nose tip, and lips all the way. Giorno watched closely the lips painted with black lipstick enlarged in front of his eyes. The tip of his nose collided with Giorno as he kissed Giorno's lips lightly and nibbled. Abbacchio asked him, as if blowing in his ear, if he regretted the gauntlet, but Giorno just tried to hold his breath.
Fortunately, Giorno is a quick learner. He licked Abbacchio's neck along his collarbone. Appa basically grabbed one of Giorno's wrists. He just left a lip print on the back of the young man's hand without haste. Giorno's fingertips were caught between his lips before he had time to put it into his mouth. inside. Giorno felt Abbacchio's body tremble, and at the same time the silver-haired man moaned deliberately.
Giorno always takes one step at a time when things are overwhelming. His mind was chaotic, and the licking and kissing on the long-haired man's neck gradually turned into biting, and the tip of his tongue swirled around his Adam's apple. One of his hands was still held by Abbacchio, but the other hand had already been placed on his chest, and his fingertips brushed against the man's areola again and again. He gags the man's mouth with his tongue as he enters the man's back hole, while the man beneath him turns his head on purpose and groans loudly. He speeded up his thrusts, listening to the voice of the man beneath him grow quicker with his rhythm. He lowered his head to inhale the scent of the man's perfume, and while pressing his hand on his side, he pulled out his penis and shot it between his legs. The semen spot stains left patches of white spots near the groin of Abbacchio's legs.
Abbacchio raised his upper body, put one arm around the boy's neck, and praised him for doing well this time. Giorno fell asleep next to Abbacchio, having a rare good night's sleep.
It was only a few days before this one night, but everything was different. This time he closed his eyes and his mind was more confused and clear. He fell asleep in this tortured waiting.
He woke up in pain. The curtains were drawn, and no light came in. The golden experience walked over and opened the corner of the curtain, it was still night. The bed sheet was a little wet, he wiped it, saw the almost black liquid on his hands, and belatedly realized the fishy-sweet taste in his mouth.
Giorno rolled over and got out of bed, and pushed open the bathroom door. The light in front of the mirror was pale. The bright red drips on his hands and on his chest were a bit dazzling. Golden Experience did a very careful inspection of his whole body. Along with this process, he felt sharp pains, and when he unbuttoned his collar, he found that inexplicable bruises appeared on his chest again. He thought back to the first time he saw Buccellati no longer bleeding.
He glanced back at Abbacchio who was sleeping with his back turned to him, pushed open the door and walked into the empty corridor, stood at the door of Mista's room, raised his hand but put it down, turned his head and paced back and forth in the corridor.
Abbacchio has been listening to Giorno's footsteps from getting out of bed to going out, and he doesn't know what made him so nervous that he forgot to close the door. Not in the mood to pretend to be asleep, he turned over from the bed and sat up. Seeing Giorno circling outside, he hesitated and got up.
"Come back." Giorno heard Abbacchio's low voice. He turned his head to see a tall figure standing just a few feet away from him. He looked at Abbacchio speechlessly. Abbacchio turned his head and left without hesitation. He just followed slowly and silently.
He sat up on the bed as Abbacchio got a dampened tissue from the bathroom. He raised his hand, but firstly leaned his head forward, kissed Giorno's lips lightly, lowered his eyelashes and looked away. Abbacchio wiped vigorously, and the paper towel wiped Giorno's face, which was icy cold. Abbacchio's knuckles were beautiful, slender with a little old scars, and the nails were evenly trimmed around the edges. The fist of the golden experience landed on the blood-stained clothes and quilt, the blood disappeared, and a rose appeared in Giorno's hand. He took the face tissue from the hand in front of him,put the blood made rose into the empty hand. Giorno rolled the tissue into a ball and threw it into the trash can.
Abbacchio looked down at him, his lips trembled a few times, and he squeezed the rose stem tightly with his fingers. After cursing that he was crazy, he turned off the light and returned to the bed, continued to lie down with his back to Giorno. Giorno turned to look at his face, and saw that Abbacchio's eyes were wide open, his bottomless eyes were just looking out of the window, his hair was disheveled, his hands were clasped together with fingers crossed. Abbacchio ignored his gaze, and Giorno was tortured by fatigue and sleepiness he had never experienced before, and fell asleep without doing anything else.
He vaguely felt as if an arm had pulled him into an embrace. It still hurts to breathe, but he finally felt a bit relaxee. In the second half of the night, he had no dreams, and slept as peaceful as the day he had sex with Abbacchio for the first time.