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Chapter Text

The silence in the hideout is unsettling to Bruno, but he is grateful for the privacy it allows him. His designer shoes are loud against the aged wood of the staircase, echoing out his footsteps, but he doesn’t hear it. No, the sound of his heart racing in his chest is much louder in his ears.

This is wrong.

He shouldn’t –

“Sticky Fingers.”

Within seconds, Bruno feels the presence of his stand behind him, waiting for its next command loyally like… Leone. There is a moment of hesitation, but he can’t waste time. The mission he sent Leone and the others was simple and tedious; it was following up with business owners who hadn’t paid their protection fees for one reason or another. Bruno had given Leone a list of names and instructed him to bring the boys, despite his insistence about not needing them, they’ve been cooped up in the hideout for a while.  

Bruno needs the alone time.

So, here he is standing in front of Leone’s bedroom door, with Sticky Fingers. He is never this bold about his affection (or is it more of an affliction?) for Leone. The feelings he has for Leone are… selfish after all.

Neither of them can afford having a relationship with each other. Not because Bruno thinks of himself as Leone’s superior, no. It’s because if he died, or God forbid, if Leone died, then it would be even more devastating. It’s a weakness, and Bruno already struggles to follow the Boss’ orders in the organization while protecting his men.

Shaking his head, Bruno tries to dismiss those negative thoughts. Now isn’t the time for that.

In a blur of movement, Sticky Fingers punches the bedroom door to create a zipper for Bruno to walk through and into Leone’s room. The door is always locked because the former cop is careful, and the boys are know to “borrow” whatever and then never return it. To his surprise, the room isn’t an utter mess. It’s cleaner than usual, less bottles of wines littering the floor with miscellaneous trash, but the smell of alcohol is heavy.

There’s more than the smell of alcohol though. It’s more distinct, almost like fresh rainfall, but there is something else. Something so specific to Leone, but he can’t put his finger on it.  

Taking a shaky breath, Bruno walks over to Leone’s bed which is a tangled mess of covers and sheets. He sits on the edge of the bed, his gaze drifts up at Sticky Fingers who stands in front of him now, waiting patiently. Sticky Fingers is taller than him, not by much, but it’s enough of a difference for Bruno to imagine.

He reaches out to trail his hands up Sticky Fingers’ muscular calves to feel the touch on himself with a rise of goosebumps on his feverish skin. His hands settles on the narrow waist of Sticky Fingers who shifts closer. Leaning forward, Bruno brushes his lips against the smooth metal of the long, dangling zipper in between Sticky Fingers’ legs.

Glancing up, he catches a glimpse of Sticky Fingers’ expression, its mouth agape with hot puffs of air. Even without eyes, it’s easy for Bruno to understand Sticky Fingers, to know his actions are welcomed… and encouraged. It’s without Bruno’s prompting when Sticky Fingers tangles its hand in his hair, destroying the braid on top of his head. He is tugged closer, his tongue drags up the length of the zipper with a low groan.

One of his hands drops down from Sticky Fingers’ waist to fondle the zipper while his tongue continues to lavish attention. The sounds of his stand’s guttural grunts and heavy huffs are doing more to him than the invisible touches he feels on his own body. It’s strangely familiar, but yet so different. His arousal is evident with the noticeable bulge in his tight suit pants.

As if on cue, Sticky Fingers gives a firm tug on Bruno’s head to get his attention. His cock swells and twitches from the simple action. Its hand captures Bruno’s chin to tilt his face up while its thumb traces his bottom lip slowly. “Go ahead,” he breathes out to reassure Sticky Fingers’ next action which is to zip his mouth closed. With a gentle glide of Sticky Fingers’ thumb and index finger over Bruno’s mouth, it is done.

Sticky Fingers urges Bruno onto his back on the bed before it unzips his suit in a single fluid motion. Unlike its stand user, Sticky Fingers isn’t so materialistic as it allows the suit to crumple into a pile on the bedroom floor. However, Sticky Fingers is considerate enough to remove Bruno’s designer shoes and set it aside.

Bruno tries not to squirm, but his erection is near painful. With his head on Leone’s pillow, the scent of him is invading his nostrils, and soon his thoughts. He imagines it's Leone’s calloused hands trailing up his thighs to squeeze and spread them open wide. It's Leone’s hot breath in his ear, whispering dirty things to make him blush. It's Leone’s fingers slick with lube, circling his asshole to tease him before –

‘ Leone ,’ is what Bruno tries to moan out, but it’s muffled, strained, as he feels Sticky Fingers start to stretch him with two fingers. He closes his eyes to focus on Sticky Fingers who curls and presses inside him, in search. Sticky Fingers places hot, open-mouthed kisses over Bruno’s tattooed chest to distract him from the slight discomfort of a third finger.

When Sticky Fingers finds the sensitive bundle of nerves, Bruno tries to press down further onto its fingers for more. It’s shameless as he chases after his orgasm while his cock aches painfully from the lack of touch. Sticky Fingers leans closer to him to trap his cock between their bodies, and Bruno is grateful for the delicious friction it provides.

Bruno is dizzy, his throat burns from the lack of air, but it only intensifies his arousal. His thighs tense in anticipation for the inevitable, he tries to hold on, his fingers curled around Leone’s bed sheets. Sticky Fingers is determined though, its other hand moves to wrap around Bruno’s throbbing cock to stroke in time with its precise thrusts. Within seconds, Bruno becomes undone with strangled noises, his painful ache is soothed into pleasure in hot pulses between him and Sticky Fingers.

The zipper on his mouth soon disappears so he can breathe properly. He tries to catch his breath in greedy gulps of air with a half-lidded gaze fixed on Sticky Fingers who watches him carefully. Despite his exhaustion, Bruno manages a small smile to reassure Sticky Fingers, to show his contentment. While the temptation to close his eyes again to rest is strong, he knows his time is short to clean up his mess.

Bruno sighs in resignation, his body is sore, resisting the movement to sit upright, as Sticky Fingers returns to him.

“Buccellati,” the familiar baritone voice makes him stop in the middle of the hallway, his head turns to see Leone approaching him with his eyebrows furrowed and frown set on his dark lips. “Do you know where my bed sheets are?”

He shouldn’t be surprised by the question. Of course, Leone would notice his bed was missing its sheets. The question is polite though because Leone knows it was him, who else could get into his bedroom without its key, but Leone doesn’t accuse him.

“Oh,” Bruno averts his gaze from Leone, a hint of color on his face. “It’s in the laundry. While you and the boys were out, I kept myself busy.”

Well, it isn’t a lie.

“I see.”

To Bruno’s relief, Leone doesn’t question him further about it.

“Uh, well. I found this on the floor.” Leone opens the palm of his hand to reveal a golden hair clip. His gaze is downcast from Bruno’s in a poor attempt to hide the flush of color on his pale face. It doesn’t go unnoticed though.

When Leone feels warmth slip into his hand, he resists the urge to curl his fingers in to catch Bruno’s hand. He watches Bruno take the hair clip from him with an easy smile. “Thank you,” there is a pause before he hears, “Leone.”

For a moment, Leone struggles to find his voice so he nods in acknowledgement. “You’re welcome.” He finally says, the ability to form coherent thoughts and sentences returning to him. Before an opportunity presents itself to embarrass himself further, Leone makes an excuse to return to his bedroom.

Click.

With the flick of his wrist, Leone locks the door to his bedroom. He doesn’t have to call his stand’s name for it to appear before him with its wide speaker eyes fix on him.  

“Moody Blues,” Leone hesitates for a moment before he says quietly, “Replay Bruno from three hours ago.”

Chapter Text

Leone has been acting distant.

But it’s different.

It’s not the same distance Leone puts between them when he is suffering from the weight of his past. No, Bruno has learned to recognize those signs having been there to help him through the worst of it; Leone has been sober for a while now. Still, Bruno can’t ignore the palpable tension between them lately.

He doesn’t confront Leone about it, not yet, at least. It would be a lie if Bruno didn’t say it hurt his feelings though. His conversations with Leone have become abrupt and short, there’s not even smart ass comments, but instead half-assed excuses to leave. The boys don’t seem to receive the same treatment as him from Leone.

It’s just him.

Bruno sighs while his hand drags through his hair in frustration about the situation. He can’t even focus on the pile of papers in front of him, untouched for an hour, because of his persistent thoughts of Leone. His hand drops from his head to pinch the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the headache coming on to him, but it’s useless, so he gives up and sets the papers in his other hand aside.

Part of him wants to laugh because this is a “normal” problem for someone his age, but it’s so complicated for him. His youth was stolen from him at a young age, and then it was replaced with a cruel world of violence in order to survive. There aren’t candlelit dinner dates or long walks on the beach for him. He has encounters with strangers who don’t even care for his name because it’s about their needs, not his, a physical gratification which is fleeting. He doesn’t have the experience for this .

3:09 A.M.

Another sigh, another sleepless night.

Moody Blues can’t replicate the warmth of a human body, but it does a damn good job taking the appearance of whoever in its rewind.

The whirl of Moody Blues’ replay is loud in Leone’s ears, but he is focused on the scene in front of him. The same scene he has been rewinding and rewatching for a week now of Bruno Buccellati sprawled on his bed. To most people seeing is believing, but Leone can’t believe it because why the fuck would Bruno Buccellati want a fuck up like him?

His train of thought crashes because he feels the weight of hands on his waist, Bruno’s face is mere inches from his clothed erection, the sight is enough to make him shudder in pleasure. It would be a blatant lie if Leone said he hasn’t considered this the first time he saw the rewind of Bruno in his bed. He tried to forget about it, but the image of Bruno’s back arched elegantly off of the bed, his eyes closed tightly in utter bliss, is burned in his mind.

Then, Bruno – no, Moody Blues – glances up at him with those familiar bright eyes, it’s almost too much for Leone.  

“Fuck, Buccellati –” A knock on his bedroom door startles him. He instructs Moody Blues to pause the rewind without words. His eyebrows are drawn together with sweat while he tries to calm his breathing.

Who the fuck is awake at three in the morning?

“Abbacchio?”

Of fucking course.

Leone avoids eye contact with Moody Blues who is paused with Bruno’s eyes still fixed on him, a wave of shame washing over him. He dismisses Moody Blues immediately, but his erection is still very present. For a moment, Leone considers to pretend to be asleep because he isn’t sure if he can handle seeing Bruno right now, especially in his current state. It has been a challenge to be around Bruno, but Leone can’t avoid him forever, not that he wants to.

He walks over to his bedroom door to open it in such a way it hides his erection. “Ah, Buccellati,” his voice is low in an attempt to sound like he was asleep a few minutes ago. “What is it? Is something…” Leone’s voice wavers because Bruno’s hair is wet, fresh from a shower, and there’s a towel draped on his shoulders while he stands in the hall, wearing a loose outfit intended for bed. “Is something wrong?” He tries again after clearing his throat, unable to help the slight flush on his face.

Instead of answering Leone’s question, Bruno offers a polite smile and a question of his own, “Are you busy?”

Leone hates how considerate Bruno is, because it isn’t the real question Bruno wants to ask him and it allows Leone to escape from this situation if he wants to. He doesn’t deserve Bruno’s kindness. “No,” he finally says in defeat while his bedroom door opens wider for Bruno to walk in.

The door closes once Bruno steps inside Leone’s bedroom while Leone, himself, retreats to his bed where he sits and tries his best not to seem uncomfortable. He is doing an awful job because Bruno is staring at him with concern, his brows drawn, his soft lips pursed –

“Abbacchio, are you angry with me?”

“What,” Leone is caught off guard again, there’s more color on his face, this time it’s in embarrassment because he sure as hell isn’t listening. “No, I’m,” he scolds himself for not giving the attention Bruno deserves. “I’m not angry with you.” The look Bruno gives him is skeptical of his answer.

There is a dip in the mattress accompanied with a creek from the bed frame as Bruno sits next to Leone whose eyes are wide. They’re face to face, so close Leone can hear Bruno breathe, can see those lips part to speak. Leone shifts where he sits in an attempt to put some space between them, but Bruno stops him. There is warmth against Leone’s cheek as he is drawn closer to Bruno.

“Leone,” Bruno murmurs against Leone’s pale lips. “Can I kiss you?”

‘You can do more than kiss me,’ is what Leone thinks, but he says, “Fuck, yes,” because he doesn’t want to risk embarrassing himself by confessing his love to Bruno. The space between them becomes nonexistent as their lips meet in a slow, passionate kiss. Leone is overwhelmed by Bruno’s presence; the sight, the smell, the touch of him. When Bruno’s other hand finds what he’s been hiding, Leone pulls away with a pathetic whine.

“Buccellati,” Leone breathes out, his gaze fixed on the beautiful man in front of him. There’s mischief in Bruno’s eyes which makes Leone’s cock twitch.

“Come on, Leone,” there is a scowl on Bruno’s face, feigned with disappointment, but the mischief is still there. “Say my name, my first name.” With his index finger, Bruno traces the outline of Leone’s noticeable bulge. Before Bruno can wrap his hand around Leone’s aching erection, his wrist is caught.

“Let me suck your cock,” it almost sounds like a plea from Leone who stares into Bruno’s wide eyes. “Bruno.”

Bruno bites his bottom lip because Leone’s words have more of an effect on him than he wants to admit. He doesn’t answer with words though. His arms move to wrap around those broad shoulders to drag Leone on top of him, a curtain of silver obscuring his vision, but he isn’t concerned about seeing. Not when Leone’s tongue slips inside his mouth in a slow exploration, a muffled moan between them.

When Leone’s cool hands touches his feverish skin under his shirt, Bruno gasps out in surprise and pleasure, deciding right then and there, his clothes have to go. As if reading his mind, Leone tugs Bruno’s shirt up and off on him to litter the bedroom floor. His breath catches again because Bruno is topless in his bed, squirming in anticipation.

He traces one of the tattooed swirls on Bruno’s chest with his index finger while his thumb brushes against a dusky nipple. The shuddering breath he hears from Bruno encourages his actions; his hands squeezes firm pectorals, his fingers touches sensitive nipples, his lips kisses every inch of warm skin. Every so often, Leone nips and scrapes his teeth against Bruno’s skin, but he knows better than to leave marks. God, Leone wishes he could though… The idea of covering Bruno in his dark lipstick crosses his mind, and Leone saves it for later.

But, right now, Leone has Bruno under him who is a panting mess, his once loose pants tight with an obvious strain. Part of him wants to tease Bruno more, to hear his Capo order him to get on with it, but Leone is becoming impatient. It seems Bruno is, too, because his hand tangles in Leone’s long, silver hair to tug him down where he needs him most.

It’s a wordless plea which Leone answers with a firm tug on Bruno’s pants. In a matter of seconds, Bruno is bare with his legs spread wide to give Leone space to fit better, his face flushed in arousal. Leone glances up to watch Bruno’s reaction while his tongue drags up the length of Bruno’s swollen cock then circles around the head. A long, throaty moan erupts out of Bruno who arches his hips for more, the desire to see Leone’s lips stretched over him becoming too much.

Leone must share the same thought because his mouth opens to swallow as much as he can of Bruno, his tongue swirls around the girth to taste him, the vibrations of his moan making Bruno’s thighs tremble. Bruno is tempted to tease Leone in this moment, to ask Leone why he was so good at sucking cock, but he is losing the ability to form coherent sentences, much less words.

All he can manage is Leone’s name with needy whines and strained moans because he is embarrassingly close to his climax. This is Leone after all, the man who has proven time after time his loyalty, a reliable soldier, but more than that, a true friend to Bruno. A friend which Bruno has fallen for, hard . While Leone would argue they have nothing in common, Bruno knows they have more in common than Leone wants to admit.

Their fate is intertwined.

Bruno needs Leone, needs him to be closer than this, to have him – “Leone,” Bruno chokes out, his grip on Leone’s hair tightens and tugs to get his attention. “Please, I,” he struggles to get the words out.

Leone sits upright, his tongue drags over his bottom lip to get another taste of Bruno, before he nods in acknowledgement. “I’ll take care of you,” he says breathlessly before he captures Bruno’s lips in another kiss. He moves off of the bed to get undressed, and then he reaches into the nightstand to grab the bottle of lube and a condom which was more often than not reserved for his loneliest nights.

“Moody Blues,” the sudden appearance of Leone’s stand surprises Bruno who raises an eyebrow, but he can’t hide his knowing smile. Bruno watches Leone pour a generous amount of lube into Moody Blues’ hand. “I didn’t know you’re into stuff like this, Capo.”

The use of Bruno’s title within their organization is a tease, and Bruno doesn’t hesitate to respond with, “You’re one to talk.” He tries to stifle his laughter because Leone’s reaction is cute, his face flushed in embarrassed and written with guilt, but it’s flattering to Bruno who is curious about the number of times Leone has watched him in the rewind. His thoughts are interrupted by the cool sensation of Moody Blues’ fingers easing into him. Bruno gasps because Moody Blues’ movement is very similar to Sticky Fingers, and he wonders if it’s a rewind, and if it is, he wouldn’t have minded giving Leone a live reenactment with Sticky Fingers if he asked.

Leone enjoys the sight of Bruno being stretched open for him by Moody Blues while he squeezes his aching cock. He tries not to rip the condom while he opens it in a rush, another generous amount of lube applied to it, before he moves over to Bruno and Moody Blues. He instructs Moody Blues to pause in its movement. “Are you ready? Or do you want to play with Moody Blues some more?” Moody Blues resumes with its fingers, curling in, to make Bruno whine.

“Yes,” Bruno whines again. “I’m ready, Leone, I want you.”

There is emptiness because Moody Blues is no longer there, but Leone grabs Bruno’s legs to align them, to bring them closer. Soon Bruno feels the pressure of Leone pushing inside of him, inch by inch, until he is stretched to the brim. Neither of them move for what feels like an eternity, but it’s Bruno who encourages Leone with a roll of his hips, a jolt of pleasure erupting in between them.

“Shit,” Leone huffs out. “Fuck, Bruno…” Even through the condom, Leone feels the heat of Bruno around him, so tight, so perfect. It requires all of Leone’s self-control not to press Bruno into the mattress to give him everything he has to offer. He begins to set a rhythm for them, it’s rough at first, but they find it. Their movement becomes more fluid; Bruno meets each of Leone’s thrusts to draw moans from the both of them. Sweat gathers on their bodies from the heat and strain of their actions, the sound of their coupling is obscenely loud in the small bedroom.

Bruno is close, his thighs tremble and tense, but he tries to prolong the inevitable. He doesn’t stand a chance when Leone’s calloused hand wraps around his painful erection with a firm squeeze, his thumb circles and teases the sensitive slit. At the same time, Leone continues to thrust inside of Bruno, but he is nearing his climax, too. His thrusts speed up, uncoordinated, but still determined as Bruno tries to stifle a cry of pleasure.

There is nothing, but warmth.

Leone feels light-headed, but Bruno brings him back to reality with a gentle touch. He catches Bruno’s hand against his cheek to press it closer while his lips brushes against Bruno’s wrist to feel the heavy pulse there.

“Mm, I guess you’re really not angry with me.” Bruno murmurs softly with a content smile.

Leone scoffs with a small smile of his own. “Who could ever be angry with you?”

The sound of loud banging against the wall startles them.

“The walls are thin, assholes! It’s like, four in the morning, too, what the fuck!”

Neither of them are sure who it is, but it’s definitely one of the boys… and Bruno isn’t looking forward to the awkward conversation tomorrow morning. Bruno tries to stop Leone, but it’s too late as he shouts back, “Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, brat!”