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Sleep never came naturally to Buccellati.
A man of awe-inspiring drive and resilience, all-nighters were like second nature to him. You often worried about the lack of rest that your lover had, but so as long as he had you and his coffee, he would see to it that any task was completed.
Yet it was for that reason that he, a man in his late 20s, was hovering over a stove a little past midnight, his arm vigorously whisking away a pot of of warm milk, his expression stern with hints of irritation. He was preparing the drink just the way his mother used to when he had trouble sleeping. The ingredients remained the same--cinnamon, sugar--though the love his mother put into each cup was replaced with arm strength that could help overthrow a crime syndicate.
As mentioned, so as long as Buccellati had you around, any task could be completed. But with you gone, the mere act of sleeping was nearly impossible.
You were away on an important mission with Abbacchio, Trish and Giorno, so communication was kept to a scarce minimum, as to avoid detection from either authorities or rival gangs. The last time he saw you was when you departed, and since then, his lips could still feel that faint tingle of your goodbye kiss. His need to see you manifested in his dreams, whether something fanciful like the two of you experiencing a less immature take of Romeo and Juliet, or feasible like the two of you on a romantic getaway.
Thus increased his intake of these sweetened cups of warm milk, which made for an amused fixation by Narancia, Mista, and even Fugo. It came to the point that he had to use Sticky Fingers to sneak into the kitchen of Passione's main headquarters, else risk hearing Narancia chirp out, "Ooh Buccellati, are you drinking to get wet dreams again?"
Though the glare that would form on his features could kill via hypothermia, it was not as though Narancia was lying unfortunately.
In fact, that very reason was why his stirring was even more aggressive, though he chastised himself for being far too old to allow these things to happen.
Finally turning off the pot, he poured the milk into his mug. He stared at his drink, preferring to have the sweet taste of your lips instead before he sipped, quietly making his way back to his room.
He was more generous with the pinches of cinnamon and sugar this time around, which seemed to be effective as his dream felt more lucid and real. It wasn't a continuation of his more mature fantasy, but being able to somehow wrap his arms around you and take in your scent was magnificent. The dream wasn't so outrageous, but simple: You returning from your mission, murmuring 'good morning' in his ear sweetly before you attempted to wake up him up with gentle kisses to his neck.
In fact...
Buccellati's blue eyes shot upon while his arms launched forward, wrapping around something warm and tangible. The familiar squeak of his name was all he needed as you came into focus. He drew you close against his chest and flipped over to claim the top position.
"Good morning," he greeted, his voice thick with grogginess.
You smiled at your lover, your fingers touching his disheveled black hair before your eyes shifted to the bedside table, noting his mug. Giggling, you queried, "You had trouble sleeping again?"
"I don't wish to recall such an experience," he remarked, his stern tone mixed with exasperation.
At your amused laughter, he hushed you with a kiss, not holding back his delighted groan at finally being able to savor your lips once again.
Buccellati's face buried into your neck after another kiss, relishing in your scent and the feeling of your skin. Arms wrapped around your figure securely, he drew back slightly, his blue eyes dark and hazy,
"Don't think I'll be letting you go anytime soon, amore. I need your mission report now."