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Abbacchio was disposible at his job. He was worth nothing more than pleasing his superiors and doing what they told him. Sometimes, their orders clashed with the population's well-being, and Leone was forced to hurt those he swore to protect.
Once again, the corporation failed the society. Abbacchio was told to let a man go, even after he hit his wife because he had money. He had to look into that woman's teary eyes and tell he there was nothing he could do for her.
As he got into his car and drove home, Abbacchio questioned his choices. That's all a policeman does? Obeys unfair commands and gets chastised by the people he didn't protect as he should? Would there be any gratification in his career other than his payment? Would things change someday?
When the policeman arrived at the parking lot, it was almost nighttime. He walked into the elevator and pressed the button to the fifth floor, leaning against the wall and sighing. He was starting to have an annoying migraine, probably because he didn't have time to eat the packed lunch his boyfriend made.
He can hear Mista's voice from the hallway, causing a small smile to appear on his lips. As he unlocks the door, a Cane Corso, almost taller than an average human, jumps into Abbacchio's arms, barking and licking his face. It's a warm and exaggerated greeting, causing the man to land on his butt.
— Dolcezza, stop! — Abbacchio grunts, cracking a chuckle as he calms down the enormous dog by petting her. Bucciarati shows up by the door, wearing a white apron over his silk red pajamas. — Hi, caro.
— Hi, patatino. — Bucciarati smiles, pulling their dog by the collar while bringing Abbacchio back to his feet. — I was making pastries with Mista if you get what I mean.
— Of course, I do. — Abbacchio snorts, momentaneously forgetting about his terrible day. — C'mere.
Pulling Bucciarati by the waist, Abbacchio leans in for a brief kiss, savoring his boyfriend's sweet lips. It tastes like honey and feels like velvet. The perfect treat after an emotionally tiring day. His heart flutters and he craves more, but his boyfriend pulls him inside and closes the door.
As he removes his shoes and hat, the delicious scent of freshly baked delicacies lures him closer. Mista is in the living room, and he looks disastrous; his curls are white with flour, his mouth is smeared with strawberry jam, and there's mascarpone and whipping cream all over his shirt.
— Santo cielo... — Abbacchio clicks his tongue, briefly glancing at Bucciarati. — He's even worse than usual. Did he try eating the batter again?
— Of course, he did. — Bucciarati chuckles, shaking his head before heading towards the kitchen again. — Please, don't let him lie on the couch or in our bed before bathing.
Now alone with Mista, Abbacchio slowly approaches him. The boy hasn't noticed him yet, too distracted with the wildlife documentary he's watching. The cop then pulls his gun and points it at his boyfriend's head, causing him to slowly turn and smile at him.
— Put that down, will ya? — Mista cheekily says, unceremoniously pushing the gun away and getting up, ready to hug Abbacchio. — I'm not Narancia, you know? A gun won't scare me.
— Maybe not, bambino. But I know what will. — Abbacchio grins, gently flicking Mista's forehead. — Time to bathe.
— Come on, I wanna see how the momma prairie dog will find her lost offspring! — Mista protests, sulking hard as Abbacchio turns off the television and pulls him by the wrist into the bathroom. — Don't you care about the babies?!
— I'm more worried about you getting mascarpone all over the couch and getting your ass whooped. — Abbacchio chuckles, tossing his dirty uniform and Mista's clothes into the washing machine as soon as both get naked. — I'm pretty sure eating uncooked batter isn't good for your stomach, but Bruno probably has better arguments to scold you.
— It's not gonna kill me, will it? — Mista rolls his eyes while walking into the shower, cleaning the flour off his hair. — It's not that bad!
— Maybe it's not bad, but definitely weird. — Abbacchio snorts, undoing his ponytail and setting his white locks free. He closes his eyes as the cold water relaxes his tense muscles, sighing loudly. — That's better...
— You look stressed. — Mista narrows his eyes, hugging Abbacchio from behind. — Did something happen to you?
— ...how come you're so clever sometimes, you little shithead? — Abbacchio can't hide his smile, turning around and pulling Mista into a warm embrace. — I'd like to talk about it when we're with Bruno.
— Mm... — Mista nods in acknowledgment, briefly staying silent. — Want me to suck you off?
— What? No? — Abbacchio laughs heartily, smacking Mista's ass before pushing him away. — God, you're such an idiot sometimes.
— That's why you love me, right? — Mista winks at Abbacchio, grabbing the liquid soap. — Turn around, let me clean that respectable, enormous, lascivious rear end of yours.
Bruno can't contain his smile as he hears Abbacchio's scandalous laughs by far, knowing Mista is doing a great job hyping him up. He's as good at observing details as a hawk, so he knew something was up as soon as his boyfriend came home. Hearing his lovers having fun warms up his heart.
When Mista and Abbacchio return, there's a tray with countless sweets: croissants, pastries, cakes, brownies, and all kinds of good stuff. Bucciarati is washing the dishes, humming while Dolcezza tries to lick a spoon with cream cheese hanging on the edge.
— Mista, you're going to burn your tongue. — Bucciarati says without looking back, instantly hearing Mista yelp like a puppy. — I told you.
— Damn, why everything in this house is so smoking hot? — Mista pouts while smacking Abbacchio's ass, dodging a slap and running to hug Bucciarati from behind. — Hehe.
— What has gotten into you today, huh? — Abbacchio shakes his head, taking a seat and grabbing a slice of cheesecake. He digs in since he loves Bucciarati's desserts (and everything about him). — This is marvelous, as always.
— Thank you, amore mio. — Bucciarati smiles and turns around, sitting next to Abbacchio. Mista sits on his lap, stuffing his mouth with everything his sneaky hands can reach. — So... I've noticed you had a rough day.
— ...it's okay. You know, just the usual. — Abbacchio sighs, dropping the fork. — I keep questioning myself if I'm doing the right thing. If I ever helped someone someday. I feel meaningless. Helpless. It's frustrating. I wanted to become a cop to help people, yet I'm doing more harm than good.
— Oh, Leone... — Bucciarati mutters, reaching for Abbacchio's hand and caressing it. — Things aren't fair, and sometimes, people who were supposed to help those in need make them suffer out of greed. However, you're still a great cop, doing what is within your reach to aid people.
— Like, you rescued that kitten from a tree and punched the thug who stole my skate! — Mista says with his mouth full of brownies, smiling at Abbacchio. — You rock, Abba!
— Guido, don't talk with your mouth full! — Bucciarati scolds Mista but can't help but smile, staring at Abbacchio with adoring eyes. — You see? There are plenty of people who recognize and appreciate your great work. I'm sure they understand you're doing your best. And keep doing your best, Leone. You may not change the world with your actions, but you'll make people proud. I am proud of you. We are proud of you.
Abbacchio looks down, biting his bottom lip while avoiding his boyfriends' gaze. He's trying not to cry. However, fresh tears roll down his yellowish eyes as he sniffles, feeling too much at once to hold back. He's quickly embraced by Mista and Bucciarati, feeling his chest lighter and warmer.
— Don't cry, tesoro. — Bucciarati mutters, gently rocking Abbacchio in his arms. — It's okay. Everything is fine now. You're here with us. Ti amo.
— Yeah, and you're our deity. In this house, we worship your cock- your existence. — Mista whispers into Abbacchio's ear, yelping when Bucciarati pinches his waist. It causes the cop to chuckle. — See?! He laughed!
— I love you two, and I don't know what would be of me if I didn't have you by my side. — Abbacchio smiles, kissing Bucciarati and Mista on the lips while hugging them tight. — I'm so lucky to be part of this...
— Do you feel lucky enough to fare against me in a food war? — Mista grins, plunging his index into the whipping cream and brushing Abbacchio's face, causing him to grunt and grab a handful of pie. — Atta boy!
— I just cleaned this kitchen, so we're not having a food war! — Bucciarati intervenes, getting a handful of pie in his face when Mista dodges Abbacchio's blow. Both men stare at him in shock, but he cracks a laugh and grabs a wooden spoon. — You asked for it, cattivi raggazi!
Laughter filled the apartment as three grown men ran around throwing pies and whipped cream at each other, with Dolcezza barking and following them around to eat the leftovers. They'd get a noise complaint from the neighbors, but none of that mattered.
Abbacchio had a demanding job and no appreciation from his superiors or the citizens, but he didn't care anymore. For Bucciarati and Mista, he was a hero, and there were no better honors.