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Bruno walks into a dimly lit restaurant inside a notoriously ugly building in the Napoli city center, which probably hasn’t been renovated since the middle of the past century.
It’s all tall windows and swiveling doors, comfortably silent after the buzz of a busy street. Pull handles polished to the light golden color by the touch of many hands, glass ribbons of chandeliers floating under the ceiling, bar counter along the back wall clad in dark boiserie and white tablecloths reflecting in the mirrors. The faint smell of old cigarettes is still tangible in the air, six years after smoking inside has been prohibited.
This place belongs to an always empty hotel that occupies several floors above. One of Passione’s money laundering venues, a perfect place for formal (and informal) meetings.
The food is surprisingly good here. Bruno doesn’t know how it’s possible, considering the usual absence of the customers, but somehow almost everything on the menu is fresh and tasty. Maybe the chef has a Stand.
“Signore Buccellati, benvenuto!” The maître greets him, hurrying from behind his desk, beaming as he approaches.
Buccellati is a respectable gangster now, a retired capo. People either shudder in horror seeing him or light up as if he were the sun itself, bringing a promise of better life. A beam breaking through the clouds of their miserable existence.
“There is a guest waiting at your table, sir.”
Bruno nods, responding to the greeting.
٭
He already knows who’s there inside, the only member of his old team who agreed to come to this ‘reunion’ meeting he called a month ago.
And, although he’s been readying himself for several days and is reluctant to admit it, the prospect of meeting the man scares the shit out of him.
He still wakes up at night sweating and shaking from the nightmares about the events that happened ten years ago. The sunlit scene on the beach appears bright and clear is his memory, a vision of the bleeding, mutilated body spread across the stones make his heart ache as if that happened just yesterday.
And then there are the feelings. The ever-present longing, the unbidden desire mixed with pain and remorse, all this taking on new energy, spurred by nervous anticipation.
God forbid this evening turn into a date, he’ll never forgive himself.
‘This is a mistake.’ His mind screams. ‘Don’t drag him back into your problems, he deserves to have a life. Turn back before it’s too late.’
Bullshit. He can make it. This time he won’t run away.
He braces himself and steps through the glass doors into the dining hall.
٭
The rest of the group declined his invitation for one reason or another.
Abbacchio is the only guest in the restaurant right now, looking lonely as he sits there with his back turned to the entrance. His long unruly white hair is held in place by a familiar headpiece, fanning over the stooped shoulders clad in black.
The desire to touch him is overwhelming. Bruno put his hands in the pockets and firmly covers the distance between them in several quick steps.
“Leone.”
They don’t work together anymore, and half a year of difference in age doesn't seem that significant anymore once you're an adult, so it only makes sense for them to be on a first-name basis.
The greeting makes the man jolt, as if he’s heard a ghost.
He looks up from the menu and scowls at Buccellati, whose heart has been doing funky somersaults for the last several minutes, since he entered the building.
Abbacchio didn’t change at all, if anything, he became even more handsome. His pale features matured, the perpetual wrinkles around the corners of his mouth and under his sunset eyes somehow have settled in his gaunt face and suit him now.
“Buccellati.”
He stands up from his chair, tall and lanky and fit, like a greyhound, and reluctantly squeezes Bruno’s palm in an shyly offered hand shake, timid, even, for those who know his natural strength.
٭
The orders have been placed and they’re drinking wine now, waiting for the food to arrive and exchanging the news.
There’s a lot to catch up on. Even though they both always found small talk essentially useless, it’s less annoying when there’re years of information to share. Still, it feels awkward, the two of them in the empty restaurant.
For an umpteenth time this evening, Bruno mentally curses his former subordinates for leaving him here on his own. He’s not ready for this. He can’t even remember another occasion when he’d be spending that much time with Abbacchio alone, what with the ‘brats’ always being around to distract them.
He takes a sip from his glass. Maybe once they get drunk Leone will become more relaxed. And this time for sure, Bruno is going to join him.
“Have you heard from Giorno?”
Abbacchio shakes his head.
“Nah. I worked for him for several years, he’d ask for my Stand from time to time back then. But not lately. Guess he found another way to spy on the enemies, or maybe he just fucking eliminated them all. Have you?
I mean, heard from anyone else?”
Leone’s voice is gruff, trailing away as if he blames himself for the lack of eloquence.
“Not much. We’re still close with Narancia. He’s got a nice family, they had a second kid last year, so I didn’t expect him to show up today anyway.
Mista is still with Giorno from what I know, but as you said, we haven’t been in touch lately.
I heard that Trish opened a modelling agency in Milano and is doing really well.”
He smiles.
٭
The empty restaurant feels a little creepy, although he knows that Abbacchio probably prefers this to a crowd, unlike Bruno, who likes busy places. But now there’s a song playing on the radio, some modern electronics like the ones he has in his playlist, because recently he has decided that his music tastes are outdated and it wouldn’t hurt to try something new.
“Giorno said he and Mista are working this week, but that we’re both invited to his birthday in April.”
“Hypocritical bastards.”
Bruno smiles again.
“What are you doing for living these days?”
Abbacchio shrugs. Not that he’s been avoiding conversation the whole evening, but his gaze zooms around the room, never stopping on Bruno even once.
“Private security.”
He says it like it's no big deal, and Bruno wants to tell him that there’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s as fine a job as any, and any job is better than what Abbacchio has been doing for years under his command, but he doesn’t say it.
Instead, he orders another bottle of wine.
٭
“How’s everything else?”
“Like what?”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“Not… at the moment. You?”
Bruno sighs and pokes at the last remaining piece of calamari in his plate with his fork.
“It’s probably too late to say it, but I was married for several years.”
The bottom of Leone’s glass gets caught on the edge of his plate, slips out of his hand and crashes on the floor with a deafening sound.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.”
The next few minutes they spend in the company of waiters fussing around with washcloths and cleaning products, Abbacchio blushing and muttering apologies.
Once the commotion subsides, Bruno returns the napkin back on his lap and continues.
“It’s old news. We divorced a while ago, I left her the house and everything. Apparently, she was after my money rather than my looks, so…”
He waves a hand in the air, dismissively, and Leone stares at him, looking him directly in the eye for the first time this evening, as intensely as only Leone can look at something.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, if you ever thought that no one can resist my looks, apparently you were wrong.”
Leone slowly puts down his fork, curls his hands into fists on the either side of his plate, and says with feigned indifference,
“I came out last year.”
And now it’s Bruno’s turn to stare.
“Were there… I mean, were you seeing someone in particular, then?”
Abbacchio shrugs.
“More or less. It didn’t work out. The usual story, seems like nothing ever works out for me.”
Bruno takes another sip from his glass, carefully places it back on the table, reaches out and for a fleeting second covers Leone’s clenched hand with his own.
“Tonight’s going pretty well. I’m glad you agreed to see me, Leone.”
٭
“How about a drink?”
They’re finally outside, after a good meal and away from the stuffy old-fashioned atmosphere of the restaurant, and Leone is the first to ask a question that’s been hanging in the air for a while.
“Sure.” Bruno looks at his watch. It’s still early, the dinner took no more than a couple of hours. “Where shall we go? I can’t believe how much the city has changed, haven’t been here for years. Not sure if any of the old bars are still there.”
“I know a place you might like.”
It takes about fifteen minutes to walk uphill to an old inconspicuous palazzo and they step inside into a small bar.
It’s full of people, cigarette smoke and steam hanging in the air like clouds. A DJ plays in the background, switching from one remix to another, the speakers sending waves of bass through the floor and up their spines.
Bruno feels drunk, and he registers the way reality begins to split in separate frames, like a movie ; a cute barmen flirting across the counter over his drink, Leone gulping water from a bottle, his head thrown back and the long hair falling like a waterfall down his shoulders, a glass of whiskey in his own hand, ice cubes melting inside, a bitter realization of how their roles have reversed over time.
The place allures to him, as Leone said it will. High vaulted ceiling disappears into the darkness above their heads, shadows casted by low pendants dance across the walls, a dimly lit bar and cozy tables standing in the corners. Everyone is wearing something either shiny or black, or shiny and black, half naked bodies everywhere, tattoos and leather and all sorts of hair colors surrounding them.
He leans closer toward Leone and smiles.
٭
They have to shout to hear each other over the loud music, but it’s an excuse to bring their heads closer, so Leone doesn’t mind.
“So you live in Marche now. For how long?”
“Last three years, after my divorce. Always wanted to move back to the seaside.”
“You like it there?”
“Nah. But I needed it, I guess. Different people, different problems. What about you, you’re still here?”
“Yep.”
“Never thought about moving?”
“Why? As if anywhere else is any different.”
“It could be. How would you know if you don’t give it a try? To tell you the truth, I thought you’d leave, after everything. There are too many memories here, buried in these walls.”
Leone sighs at that. He wishes it was an idiom, but knowing the nature of the work Buccellati did for Passione, he wouldn’t be surprised if there were actual bodies buried behind the zippers.
But then…
“It’s not like all of that memories are bad, you know.”
٭
“Wanna dance?!”
“Yeah. This all feels so strange…”
They squeeze though the crowd to the dancing floor, shoulders touching.
“I feel old!” Bruno has to shout to break through the waves of rave passing through them, moving gracefully to the music. Surrounded by the crowd, they don’t have any other choice but to move closer to each other, so that not to hit the others with the elbows, and Bruno drunkenly presses into Leone, his head swimming from the alcohol and the heat. “We might be the oldest people in here!”
They’re still good looking though, after all these years.
Now that they dance close to each other, he can see that Leone has prepared for this night. His long hair is freshly done, layers on layers of immaculate makeup applied with practiced ease, making his pale complexion more prominent, remarkable. Nails are carefully trimmed and polished, probably cleaner than Bruno has ever seen them during the time they worked together.
But it’s also obvious that he is tired.
He makes another step forward and slightly tips his head, so that his cheek is almost touching Leone’s shoulder. Takes in his perfume, a slight tinge of sweat drifting off his clothes, feels his warmth as they both move to the beat of the music.
The melody changes to a lighter rhythmic one, a woman singing with a Swedish accent.
٭
“I need a smoke.”
Leone looks tired, loose strands of hair glued to his forehead, sweat gathering in tiny droplets over the pale skin.
They stumble into a warm April night holding onto each other and end up under a dark archway at the building next to the club, the ancient cobblestones under their feet already peppered with white stubs.
Leone snatches a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, takes one out and tosses the pack to Bruno. Brings out a lighter and waits until the other leans closer, so that their faces almost touch in an old, familiar pose. Lights both cigarettes with a single stroke of his thumb and inhales deeply.
“Do you still have troubles sleeping?”
Bruno nods.
“Lately, yes. Again.”
“Me too. Let’s go for a ride?”
“Are you sure you can drive?”
“I’m not that drunk.”
In fact, he might be not, thinks Bruno. He didn’t see the man drinking anything but water in the last hour or so.
“Car’s over there.”
It takes them another ten minutes to get to the place where Leone has parked.
٭
“Remember the owner?
Kids called him nano, because he was short and ugly, and he got enraged and chased them all the way down to the embankment, meanwhile their friends came into the store and swiped off the shelves everything they could carry out in one go.”
“Of course! He came to me to complain every week and I explained that he’d better calm his nerves and keep an eye on the store instead.
And here, look, this is the cinema where Mista used to pick up girls.”
“Until he figured that boys are more fun.”
“And that’s Narancia’s favorite streetwear store, can’t believe it’s still there... And here we tried to escape from your former colleagues and you called them ‘pigs’ while running away.”
“Then you zipped a hole in the parapet and they were very disappointed, thought we had jumped down the cliff and broke our necks.”
“You’re right. There are many memories. Not all of them are bad.”
“Wait until we get to the place.”
٭
After a few minutes’ drive they find themselves high above the city.
Leone leaves his car under the ‘no parking’ sign and walks down the pathway to the viewpoint.
Bruno follows him to the parapet, watches in awe the scenery below. The full moon hangs low on the horizon, lopsided and huge and yellow as a yolk, casting a sparkling pillar of reflection onto the dark surface of the sea.
The city looks endless from here, a crescent of twinkling lights framing the harbor beneath.
“Wow.”
He smiles, looking at the dark figure beside him, the pale hair framing the face as if it is reflecting the moon, too.
“You come here often?”
“Sometimes.”
“It’s a nice place to escape to.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Of course. I’ve been everywhere in Napoli.”
٭
“Well, that was… precise.”
Bruno checks his watch, lit by the light of the slowly rising moon.
“Have you planned all this?”
“Kind of. I couldn’t sleep yesterday, went for a walk, saw the moon, figured out it should be up around this time today.”
Bruno looks sideways at him, and at this angle it’s clear that the man is tired. Bags under his sunset eyes became visible through the make-up and wrinkles start to show against the foundation.
And he suddenly sees Leone, sees him for real, for what he is.
His life that has been granted by the other without asking, and which is not his anymore to get rid of, no matter how he might want to try.
Lonely days and even lonelier nights, haunting memories, waking up in sweat in the morning and living the same day over and over again, trying to keep it together, without purpose or comfort. Surrounded by people who haven’t seen one millionth of the atrocities he’s been through.
Bruno’s heart contracts, painfully. And then the butterflies appear.
He can’t remember the last time he felt like this. Excited. Belonging. More than anything right now, he wants to touch this man, the one who has always been by his side at the times when he himself was real, in the past, when being a Stand user meant something. To keep him close, love him, comfort him.
٭
Bruno leans back against the parapet and rummages in his pockets. Takes out his iPod and a headset and passes one of the earbuds to the man standing next to him, comfortably close, in silence.
Here, high above the city, it’s windier than down below, and he welcomes the warmth.
And once again this evening, thinks about how their roles reversed tonight.
Before it was Abbacchio who would sit with his headphones on, drinking, while he was the one to stay sober and drive and keep the small talk.
“Never thought you’d be listening to something like this.”
“I’m trying to catch up a little, you know. Trying the new music and things I’ve never had time to do before, just for fun. I even started surfing.”
The melody plays in his ear, something similar to what they’ve heard at the club, people living the best time of their lives, having their problems, falling in love and making love.
“My English isn’t that good. Just enough to understand it’s something about romance.”
Leone keeps silent for a moment, then turns his head.
“Can I ask you a question? When you listen to this kind of songs, do you imagine yourself saying all these lines, or is it more like someone else is singing it to you?”
Bruno pauses, surprised by the nature of this question. Not that he knows many people who would put it like that.
“You don’t need to answer if you don’t want.”
“No, it’s just… I’m not a good singer, to be honest…”
He laughs.
“But I guess the catchiest songs are the ones where you associate yourself with the singer, the character or whoever is expressing those emotions. Why?”
“I don’t know. For me it sounds like a promise. Like someone's saying they’ll come one day, take me by the hand and lead me into some sort of happy life.
Maybe, because it happened once, I still believe it could happen again.”
They stand there for a while looking into the night surrounding them, listening to the music, watching the moon crawl up the dark sky until it’s barely reflecting in the sea anymore.
It's quiet, even the noise of cars from the city streets below can barely be heard at this distance.
The only unsettling thing are the butterflies swarming in Bruno’s chest.
٭
The music soothes, adds a veil of human emotion to the dark landscape, carries freedom and the hope that comes with it.
Bruno takes a step closer to Leone, stays pressed into his side, and at some point the taller man gingerly wraps and arm around his shoulders, so now they’re standing close, really close. Enough to turn a head to the side and feel the other man’s breath.
But eventually, the playlist ends, and he takes the earbud out and drops it back into Bruno’s open hand.
“Leone."
“Mm?”
“All these years, why didn’t you call me? I could’ve come back earlier.”
Leone’s gaze is fixed on something behind his shoulder, probably on the moon and the water below, looking but not seeing.
“You can’t always be the one who arrives to my aid like some fucking hero, Bruno.”
“Why not? I would’ve liked that.”
“It’s just your savior complex talking.”
The bitterness in his voice sends Bruno’s butterflies into a vortex. He turns to face the man and rests a palm on the lapel of his coat.
“Back then, I didn’t have luxury of choice, Leone.
I helped you and the boys because that was the least I could do, and it does nothing to the blood on my hands.
You know how old I was when I started working for Passione. At some point I stopped wanting anything for myself in order to stay sane.
But things are different now. I want to live. And if I say I want something, I mean it.”
Leone watches him with a puzzled expression on his face, his features sharp and even more handsome in the moonlight. Until he takes another step forward, so that Bruno has no other choice but lean against the parapet, his hand still resting on the other man’s chest, while the purple lips slowly dip down and briefly brush against Bruno's own.
It’s over too fast, too light and still too ambiguous, that gesture of maybe a plain affection and maybe not. And it’s not what Bruno wants. Or rather, not what the damn butterflies inside him want.
He arches his body, leaning back on the railing, and presses against Leone, catches the sleeves of his black overcoat with both hands and pulls him closer to plant a proper kiss on that plush painted lips.
٭
As if his soul has left his body at that moment, he will later remember the next few minutes observed from the outside, like he was only a viewer.
Leone’s whole body responds to his movement. He leans over and flattens himself against Bruno’s front, wraps his arms around the man’s shoulders, embraces him so tight that he might stop breathing. Kisses him back, deeper.
Bruno finds support in the parapet behind him, and does the same, spreads his legs apart and welcomes the other to stand between them, nudges him even closer. His hands travel down the taller man’s chest and rest on his waist, pull him tighter into the kiss, their lips melting together, unwilling to separate even to catch a breath.
The city below shimmers with vibrant lights, brighter than the moon above, and there’s no one around, just the two of them, finally becoming one.
٭
“Leone… We shouldn’t be doing it right here.”
He chides, smiling, pressed against the door of the car where a side mirror keeps to get in the way of his elbow.
Having recently found their way under his clothes, Leone’s hands are all over him, thumbs caressing the soft skin just above his waistband, loving and trembling.
“Okay. Where’re you staying?”
His proximity is so intoxicating that Bruno finds it hard to concentrate.
“I don’t want to return to the hotel. Can we go to your place?”
Leone stops for a moment, his mouth pressed to the side of Bruno’s head.
“Are you sure?”
“Mm-hmm. I want it to be meaningful... I can drive if you want.”
“Wow. Do you know the address?”
Bruno chuckles, tugging at Leone’s clothes.
“Come on, I might’ve retired but I still have access to the national databases and Interpol. Of course, I know where you live.”
Not that he wants this moment to end, to tell the truth. It’s comfortable, the way Leone is enveloping him, the sticky stains of his lipstick all around his mouth, their shared warmth.
Bruno smiles, wriggles out of the embrace and raises on his tiptoes to kiss Leone on the temple.
٭
After that, they don’t let go of each other.
Leone’s hand stays across Bruno’s hips all the way to their destination, while he confidently drives through the city he left a long time ago, only asking once or twice for the directions and where it would be better to park.
They leave the car holding hands, sharing one last remaining tissue to wipe the lipstick off their faces as they walk side by side down the empty late night street to the building, and they kiss again as soon as they enter the lift.
To say that Leone’s apartment is minimalistic would be an understatement.
There’s a single chair propped against the wall in the spacious kitchen, a TV and a reading light on the floor in the otherwise empty living room and a mattress where the bed normally would be. Several boxes are piled up in the corridor and inside another spare room.
“I thought you moved months ago.”
“Couldn’t decide where to put the furniture.”
“What helps you decide? Feng-shui?”
“Something like that. I like moving pieces around until it feels right.”
“Sounds like fun. Can I participate, too?”
Warm hands nudge Leone in the direction of the makeshift bed. They shrug off their shoes and coats on the way and Bruno lightly pushes the taller man to sit on the mattress, straddles his lap and loops his arms around his neck, touching and kissing in the dark, relaxed and obviously feeling very much at home in Leone’s bare bedroom.
٭
Their kisses last for eternity.
Tanned fingers rake relentlessly through Leone’s long hair, tugging at every strand with such reverent care as if it is made of pure silver. Bruno takes a handful, wraps over his fist and pulls to the side, opening the long pale neck for more kisses. Earning himself a deep moan, too.
After all these years, Leone still exudes that restrained power that Bruno fell in love with in the first place. Like a tame wild animal, taught to conceal its muscles and pheromones and the fighting spirit behind the feigned modesty.
“Come here.”
He lies back and nudges Leone to crawl on top of him, pulls him into another kiss while reaching out to touch him from behind, to squeeze his hips, caress his thighs and rub gentle circles into the bulge between his long legs.
“I’ve been waiting for this for years.”
“Me too.”
Sticky Fingers’ blue armored hands appear in the air next to Bruno’s, reach behind Leone and unzip his shirt, black jeans and underwear, applying a zipper along each pant leg and letting the clothes fall to the mattress and get pushed over the edge to the floor to be put back together later, then does the same with Bruno’s own clothes, cutting them in parts by serrated golden lines and placing out of the way.
Something tiny glitters against Leone’s chest freed from the discarded clothes.
Hands travel over his waist, ribs and tits, feeling all of it in the darkness and halting against the nipples, fingertips studying the piercings.
“Oh my. How lewd.”
“Look who’s talking...”
Leone stares in awe at the dark swirls and lacy patterns of ink covering Bruno’s whole torso, barely visible in the dim light of the last hour before the dawn, but unmistakably reminding of the lingerie that mafioso used to wear years ago.
He leans over and trails his tongue along the black lines, following the contours of the tattoo, kissing the scar that covers half of the space between the dark nipples, each lap of his tongue adding to the swelling in his guts.
“Bruno.”
The man’s breath hitches below him, and Leone can feel the strong hands squeezing his buttocks with need, fingers trailing along his cleft, pressing at his entrance.
٭
“I didn’t think you…”
“What? You thought I only jump women?”
“Fuck… I thought you don’t do it at all. Like some fucking saint or something…”
“I’ve changed. Lube?”
“A box to your left. Condoms’re there, too.”
Hands leave then return with cool liquid sleeked over the fingers, reach back to Leone’s hole, circling around, caring and soothing, fingertips press at the opening and easily slide inside, stretching the perimeter and sleeking the insides with obscene squelching noises.
All air leaves Leone’s lungs, spurred by the lewd sensation, and his cock responds by immediately getting hard.
He presses against the fingers, trembling with anticipation, rocking his hips back and forth, as if silently asking for more.
The rustle of a tiny foil package ripped by eager hands is followed by the sound of latex stretched and rolled over the flesh, more squelching of the lube, and then the same hands gently guide him down, aligning his butt with Bruno’s rock hard cock.
It comes in easily halfway, but then its size starts to feel. Leone bites his lower lip not to cry aloud, because it’s huge and it’s spreading his insides and fills him all the way up to his lungs, making it impossible to breath.
But it’s gentle, too, and he has time to adjust, to stay still for a second, and then to start moving on his own accord, choosing the rhythm and the depth as he pleases.
Leone suddenly understands why Bruno allowed him to be on the top this first time, and his heart swells with gratitude as he leans forward to plant a kiss on the soft parted lips and starts rocking his hips at the same time.
Bruno’s hands hold him by the waist and carefully guide him up and down, spacing the motions and keeping a tantalizingly slow rhythm.
“Is this okay?”
“Fuck, yeah.”
“You feel incredible.”
“Shut up. Just move. Faster.”
And his former superior obliges.
٭
Skin slides against skin with salaciously wet sounds, low whining and moaning adding to the rhythm of their intercourse. Both keep their voices down, as if they want to be secretive about this act, to share it only with each other and not to involve anyone else.
Their lovemaking is greedy, powerful and demanding. Leone’s propped on his elbows against the mattress, leaning in for a kiss now and again, while Bruno’s hands explore his body, travel up and down along his spine caressing the old scar on the way, press his hips downwards to meet his own rocking up relentlessly with practiced ease. It’s affectionate and it’s hot, the way they show each other they’re loved and they’re cared for.
But he wants more. He’s been waiting for too long, he wants more of Buccellati now.
“Can you do it from the back?”
Bruno raises his head for a kiss before crawling away and kneeling on his side, holding Leone by the waist and bringing him upright, too, then kisses him again, their wet cocks rubbing against each other. Sweat runs down their tightly pressed together bodies, the even sheen of it now visible on their skin in the faint early morning light.
Leone falls back on his knees and Bruno stands behind him, hands firmly squeezing his hips.
This time when he starts moving it’s faster and deeper, too. As if no longer able to contain himself and finally letting go, he bends over and rests his weight on Leone’s back, brutalizing his hole in earnest, biting the long neck and sucking at the pale skin. One of his hands travels down, rubbing along Leone’s leaking, smearing pre-cum with every downstroke all over its length, the other, once again, gathers his hair in a fist and pulls, bringing his shoulders down, allowing Bruno to penetrate his ass deeper with every thrust of his hips.
Tears and sweat and pre-cum gather on the bedsheets, and there’s a wayward thought in Leone’s head that maybe they should’ve put down the towel first. But then he’s turned over on his back and Bruno leans over him again, thrusting mercilessly and pumping his cock, circling his thumb over its swollen reddened tip and putting such care into every motion that Leone can’t hold any longer and at the next upstroke he comes, shaking, clenching the bedsheets in his fists and trusting his hips up into Bruno’s hand.
He must’ve clenched his ass in the climax, because he hears a shuddering sigh, and as if in reward for his troubles the other man cums, too, buried deep inside him, trembling and moaning, shaking off the last drops before falling on top of him, breathless.
Leone raises a shaking hand and brushes the dark bangs out of the sweaty face of his lover, tucks it behind his ear, holds him and rocks on his chest, soothing.
“Bruno.”
“Mm-hm.”
“You’re the best.”
٭
“That was definitely the best anniversary I’ve ever attended.”
“Have you attended many others?”
“Sure. Didn’t you? Kindergarten ten years’ anniversary, middle school graduation five and ten years, Accademia five and ten years. The only one I didn’t attend were two years of joining the police force, but that's only because I was drunk.
Now it’s ‘the blond brat became a boss’ ten years’ and I feel like my standards are slipping.”
“Hey, that blond brat saved your life, show some respect.”
“He saved my body. You are the only one who saved my soul, Buccellati.”
“Glad to hear that. Can I have one, too?”
“If you ask nicely.”
“Please. And stop calling me by my surname.”
A harsh burst of laughter comes from his right, and Bruno’s being pulled closer by a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders. Pale fingers in his line of sight fish a cigarette out of a freshly opened pack, bring it to his lips and light it, hiding the flame in the palm of the other hand, while he sucks in the air through it.
It feels cozy, domestic, safe to sit like that on the terrace floor, their bodies intertwined, smoking and watching the dawn. They probably both smoke much less now, and every cigarette itself becomes an event, a memory, a point frozen in time.
“Thanks.”
He sucks lazily at the cigarette, the small amber at its end lighting up and dying again with every breath, while their surroundings gradually become more and more visible as the morning sunshine fills the air behind the railing.
“Bruno.”
“Mm?”
“Would you like to stay for a while?”
The sleeping butterflies in Bruno’s chest suddenly perform a summersault.
“Maybe. I don’t have anything urgent to attend to right now. Would you like me to stay?”
Leone looks at him sideways for a moment and then returns to watching the sky.
“I’d love to. I mean, I bought this apartment thinking that maybe someone else will live here one day. But I don’t want to live with anyone but you.”
He sighs and presses his lips to the side of Bruno’s head.
“I’ll order a bed tomorrow, I promise.”
Bruno smiles, savoring the warmth of his partner, the colors of the sky and the minty tint of the smoke.
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“Pronto.”
“Hey, boss.”
A yawn cracks from the speaker.
“Mista...”
“Sorry for calling this late, but you told me to call anyway if there’s news, and I have good news.”
“What is it? And stop calling me boss at this hour.”
“They’re both at Abbacchio’s place, Gio, for real. Been there for a while.”
There’s a brief silence on the other side of the line.
“Are you sure they’re together?”
Suddenly there’s not a single note of sleepiness in that deep voice anymore.
“Yep. To be honest I’ve lost them after the club, but I waited here, as you said, and they came back together, hands holding and all. I swear, they were kissing in the car, too. I guess that’s success?”
“That’s definitely good news. Thank you, Mista. Keep an eye on the apartment, and leave a card before you go, will you?”
“Of course. I’ll keep watch until morning, just in case. Sorry for leaving you alone tonight, Gio.”
“No worries. I hope it’s for the good cause. I’ll buy you a steak tonight.”
“Deal, man.”
“And tell the others, when you have a moment.”
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“What the fuck is that?”
Leone stares suspiciously at the piece of paper lying on the kitchen counter, shaped like a purple ladybug.
He’s been lost deep in thoughts about the plans for today (collect Bruno’s things from the hotel and drive his car over here, maybe order some clothes and furniture, a table at least, book a restaurant for dinner, probably they could go eat sushi in that new place at the piazza near the fortress…) and the sight of unfamiliar object put him off the track.
Bruno comes silently from behind, tying the belt of his bathrobe on the way. Curls his arm around Leone’s hips, rests a head on his shoulder and smiles.
“Looks like a message from Giorno. Want me to open it?”
Leone sighs, reaches for the card and holds it so that they can both read the text inside,
Dear Bruno & Leone
We’re immensely happy to learn that you have finally got an opportunity to open your hearts to each other, and found your feelings reciprocated.
Giorno Giovanna, Guido Mista, Pannacota Fugo, Narancia Ghirga, Trish Una
& J e a n P i e r r e P o l n a r e f f
P.S. I would like to invite both of you to my birthday party on April 16th, to express my gratitude and to personally apologize for missing our reunion yesterday.
You’ll find the address printed below.
P.P.S. Mista said you need furniture for the apartment. You can take some from my old place, if you like.
Sincerely yours,
Giorno
“What do you think?”
Leone shrugs vacantly, his arm wrapped around Bruno’s shoulders.
“I think he means his old villa. For sure, it’s better than Ikea… How big is your car? That sneaky bastard didn’t show up at your invitation, I guess it’ll be only fair if we steal some of his antique cabinets.”
“Borrow. You mean, borrow, Leone.”
It's definitely been a long time since Bruno last smiled so much.
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