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“Ow— Careful!”
“I told you to sit still.”
The sharp glare that shoots up could have easily sent shivers down Leone’s spine, hadn’t it been for the pathetically cranky pout softening the blow. Any leftover heat instantly sizzles out anyway when Leone reaches in again to clean off the dried blood on Bruno’s jaw after dipping the washcloth in the rapidly cooling water of the tub.
A beat of silence follows, loaded with unspoken thoughts and stirred by the occasional hitch of Bruno’s breath, be it from the sting of Leone’s careful yet firm ministrations, or from a few failed attempts at arguing the necessity of any medical care. A Bruno staple, really. The fact that Leone had managed to usher him into the tub to begin with was already quite the victory.
He’s long since learned not to grow complacent, however.
Upon seeing a hand lift in his peripheral, Leone is quick to steel himself for the inevitable game of push and shove he’s become so used to by now.
“Bruno, you really—”
The rebuttal dies in his throat when Bruno’s wet hand lands on his jaw instead, docile. A calloused thumb swipes at the tense junction under Leone’s ear, pressing slightly as Bruno coos delicately,
“You look worried.”
Leone’s eyes shoot up at that, this close to letting the fire he’d been attempting to stifle take over at such an incredibly Bruno-thing to say in this situation. Yet he melts the instant his eyes meet Bruno’s, glassy and soft and hurt.
Regretful.
“I am,” Leone responds honestly, because he knows there’s no use in hiding nor sugarcoating. “You’re not the only one who worries, Bruno.”
The hand drops from Leone’s jaw, though before it can return beneath the water’s surface to fidget with his other hand, Leone seizes it in his own.
“I’m sorry…” mutters Bruno as he sags against the back of the tub, miserable.
“And you should be.” Leone forces himself not to let Bruno’s visible wince at his sharp rebuttal stop him, even as his heart sinks just a little.
“Do you have any idea how reckless you were? I told you we had everything under control but you just had to jump in there and take matters into your own hands.”
Leone squeezes Bruno’s hand when the other threatens to avert his gaze as he continues, “It was a stupid choice and it could’ve easily ended way nastier than it did.”
Leone sucks in a deep breath, shoulders relaxing and gaze softening just a tad when he adds, perhaps for himself more so than his companion,
“But it didn’t.”
Their fingers lace together, Leone’s thumb sliding across bruised knuckles. Bruno seems to relax a bit at that, a soft, petulant huff escaping his parted lips before he mutters, “Now you know how I feel when you come back to me all battered and bruised.”
The roll of Leone’s eyes is completely involuntary, unlike the playful pinch at Bruno’s unscathed cheek in an attempt at breaking the tension. “Nice try, Capo, you’re not turning this one around though,” he snorts, letting his hand drop back into the water upon noticing his companion’s badly concealed shiver.
“In fact,” he states airily while elbow-deep into the bath water to find and pull the drain plug, only for his hand to land smack center on Bruno’s chest when the latter attempts to lift himself out of the tub, “to make up for your impulsive and dangerous behaviour, you’re going to have to do me a favour.”
The confused furrow of Bruno’s brow turns into a look of curiosity, the slight upward quirk at the corner of his split lips not going unnoticed by Leone’s watchful gaze.
“And what might that be?” Bruno dares to ask while he watches Leone replug the tub once it’s emptied out.
There’s a glint in Leone’s eye, be it mischief or perhaps a bit of smugness when he momentarily gets up from the stool he’d placed beside the tub in favour of grabbing the shower head.
“You,” Leone starts when the water is turned on again, “Are going to let me pamper you tonight.”
“Leone—”
“And,” he cuts off the start of Bruno’s flustered retort, “You’re not allowed to complain about it.”
That shuts Bruno right up for a good few seconds, taken aback by such a strange request. Their eyes meet, determined golden-violet against doubtful ultramarine. But Leone knows he’s got this in the bag when he pulls out his finishing move—
“Please.”
As if on cue, Bruno squeezes his eyes shut, pinches the bridge of his nose, and sags back into the tub.
“Fine. As you wish.”
Ha, another victory in his pocket. Seems like luck is on his side today after all.
Satisfied, Leone directs the warm stream from the shower head towards his companion, encouraging Bruno to grab hold of it for a moment as he gets up once more.
“Good. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
And off he goes, leaving Bruno to wonder what in the world Leone could be scheming while he lets the warm water soothe his aching body.
It takes a good few minutes for Leone to return, and only when he re-enters does Bruno realise that the warm, distant tones he’d been hearing weren’t his imagination after all. The smooth trumpet of none other than Miles Davis playing from the pickup in their living room dulls the sharp headache that had threatened to bubble up
He peeks an eye open, having rested them for a brief moment, and watches as Leone places what appears to be the scented candle he’d bought a little while ago on the vanity top.
Bruno huffs an amused sound. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
The response he gets isn’t quite as flustered as Bruno had hoped when Leone retorts, “And you’re terrible at pretending not to enjoy it.”
That shuts him up again, too tired to argue the obvious truth. Instead, Bruno allows himself to sink further below the water’s surface as the warm scent of cinnamon and cedar ushers away the putrid smell of the antiseptics Leone had used to clean out his wounds.
His eyes remain closed, even as Leone picks up his arm, running a clean, soapy washcloth across his skin. Some extra effort is put into cleaning his fingers, dipping his hand into warm water before lifting it up again in favour of a pair of soft lips pressing against his freshly cleaned palm.
Bruno smiles, unbeknownst to himself, but dutifully observed by Leone, who reclaims the shower head to unstick strands of raven from Bruno’s now considerably less clammy forehead.
It’s nice, Leone finds himself musing when he massages floral shampoo into Bruno’s scalp, to return the favour for a change. Neither of them are strangers to this particular scene, although as Bruno had attempted to mention before, their roles are usually reversed.
Leone has sat in this tub countless times, shivering, bruised, broken, only for a pair of gentle, yet steadfast hands to soothe him back to the present.
Perhaps he’d been a bit hypocritical, going off on Bruno like that. None of that matters right now though, he muses as the sound of Bruno quietly humming along with his favourite album pulls Leone out of his own head.
“There,” he hums lowly as the last suds are washed out of Bruno’s slicked back hair and the shower head returns to its fixture, “All done.”
Only then does Bruno reopen his eyes again to lazily follow Leone’s figure around the bathroom where he collects a towel and readies his bathrobe.
The tub empties out once more while Leone helps his companion up and out of the water, and right into a towel-clad embrace.
“I think I could get used to this,” hums Bruno into the crook of Leone’s neck while the latter pats him dry.
“See? Not that bad once you let your guard down, hm?”
Bruno smiles, complete and utter putty in Leone’s arms as he wipes away every droplet along with his worries. In this moment, nothing really matters but the hands working the tension out of his shoulders, the warm voice speaking soft nothings in his ear, and the plush lips smoothing the crease between his brows.
“Leone,” Bruno says when the man in question loosely wraps him into his bathrobe.
He receives a questioning hum in response, hands stilling over the waistband he’d just tied, “What is it?”
Their eyes meet for the umpteenth time that evening, a different intensity each and every instance; this one delicate, tender…
At least, until Bruno’s lips stretch into a playful smirk while his hands crawl up Leone’s chest and over his shoulders.
“Carry me.”
The sound that dislodges itself from Leone’s throat is a healthy mix of surprise, exasperation, and fondness, despite the fact that he wastes not a single second to fulfil his love’s request.
After all, Bruno doesn’t ask often.
“Alright, alright, as you wish,” he sighs in feigned dismay with Bruno already cradled in his arms.
“Where to, your majesty?”
~
Bruno sighs, a gesture Leone feels more than hears as it ghosts across his collarbones. He tightens his arm around Bruno’s waist, careful not to squeeze too tightly around his bruised ribs.
The click of the record reaching its final few seconds indicates the end of an evening, its current serenity juxtaposed with the franticness mere hours ago; a testament to their lives, as of late.
Or, truthfully, since the day he met Bruno Bucciarati. Sometimes Leone wonders what his life would’ve looked like if he’d never—
“Leone.”
Ah, right, he’s thinking too much again. Bruno’s always been great at figuring him out despite his aversion towards actually talking about…
A pair of lips press against his own, and just like that, his thoughts melt away. A foolproof trick, really, no matter how often Bruno pulls it out of his repertoire. Not quite unlike his own attempts earlier in the bathroom.
“Thank you,” Bruno whispers, another easy tactic, even though it’s hardly necessary right now.
And as if Leone isn’t already putty enough pressed between the mattress and the love of his life, Bruno cheekily utters the final cherry on top,
“Perhaps I’ll let you pamper me more often.”
Deal.