Abbacchio's left hand rested on his knee. His right on the table, entwined with Bruno's, fingers tangled with fingers and all. Maybe that they were resting was an overstatement. They were shaking, palms sweating, but both hands fiercely pretended to be resting. Pretence is important.
Abbacchio drank a sip of water, as it was surely going to cool him down. Surely. Maybe if he poured it straight into his pants… He choked on the sip but would rather have died than cough and spoil the moment, when Bruno's thumb caressed him softly just now. And Bruno probably hadn't even noticed all this. Surely not, he was busy arguing with Giorno. Bruno's other hand, as it happened, was holding Giorno's, the same as Abbacchio's, fingers tangled with fingers. Although, if he saw correctly, Bruno was not caressing Giorno's… Was it too sad that his pants were getting too tight from such a little touch? For now, he leaned back and waited patiently for the sip of water or for Bruno's touch to do its job and finally kill him.

"You two could be hand-twins," Giorno said, staring at Abbacchio's and Bruno's entwined hands. "You have to swap with him if you don't want to get caught."
Bruno closed his eyes. Cool statue on the outside, ticking bomb on the inside. His brain worked faster than ever but not for the sake of the mission. His priority was completely different now: to silence Giorno, immediately! Because even if they pointed a gun at his head, he would not swap with Abbacchio. Impossible, out of the question. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly and menacingly, then spoke as civilly as he possibly could.
"The reason I will swap my hand with you, Giorno, is that you won't be recognized in the bank." He, too, felt that this was his weakest argument so far. It even made him blush, for Christ's sake.
"But a minute ago we said it's an advantage that Abbacchio knows the field and the assistant. No?"
Yes. They'd said exactly that. However, that was then and this is now, and he, the capo, said differently now, and who the hell did this kid think he was anyway?! Someone needed to hold him down before he unleashed Sticky Fingers on Giorno!
"I'm swapping with you, because…" Bruno started again, shaking only a little, but Giorno interrupted him again. That was it. He was asking for that zipper on his lips…
"Swap with anyone but him, and you will look stupid."
He cannot be serious. Giorno interrupted him with this?
"Pardon me, but what the hell is this argument?" Bruno stared at him furiously.
"Your two hands will be different."
"We'll swap them both," he huffed. If Giorno wouldn't drop it he wouldn't either. Never.
"Good. With Abbacchio."
"But his skin is so much lighter!"
"That will be hidden by your sleeves."
Incredible. Would he just shut up? Bruno started counting down, afraid, he'd burst out.
"You're going to swap with me, Buccellati. I will go to the bank instead of you, with Moody Blues." Abbacchio's scratchy voice made everyone go quiet. Finally. Bruno only wished it hadn't sent a shiver through him, but it was too late. He couldn't look at his face. He only looked at their entwined hands, his hand holding Abbacchio's tight, so tight his fingers were turning white… He was watching and watching and his palm started to sweat. He quickly let go of both hands.
They were right, damn it. He had to swap with Abbacchio. But, how exactly could he allow Abbacchio to go into the field again? And then he remembered something. Maybe… There was someone who owed him. It wouldn't be complicated to arrange, it would only take a call, and it would all be alright. Maybe…
He jumped up and was already on his way out. And if he forgot to answer the others, well, that was on purpose. He'd answer when he was back. Until then they could all very well contemplate who would have the last word in this team.

For the first time in his life, Abbacchio wished he were more like Giorno: perfectly fine, calmly stirring his coffee while listening attentively to Buccellati's briefing. He even hummed from time to time.
But Abbacchio was not fine.
Abbacchio was completely sick; he spilled his coffee and was unable to register anything about Buccellati other than his voice, and how he pretended to be capo-confident, yet spoke a tiny bit too shakily. And of course he also registered his hand. His hand. That was now balancing a pen, dropping it, picking it up. The other one lay on a map. His index finger ran ahead, drew in the air, slid between dots. Then he picked up a glass but did not drink just yet. Only when he had finished his sentence did he drink. And Abbacchio watched, mesmerized by his fingers. They were brown and long and…
Ahem. Yes, the mission. Buccellati continued and Abbacchio focused a lot now, for about two seconds. Because when Bruno put his glass down his fingers remained wet, so he brushed them gently with his other hand… No way in hell would Abbacchio survive this day!
And Buccellati was only warming up. Literally, because the next second his hand reached up to the neck of his suit, two fingers sliding under the fabric, pulling, loosening it a bit. A little more was revealed of his neck this way, of that muscle on the side, of his Adam's apple, of the veins on his hand…
"Abbacchio?"
… Cazzo!
Abbacchio proceeded as if a minute hadn't passed, as if he hadn't stiffened completely, and, as coolly as he possibly could, met Bruno's gaze. Cazzo… Huge mistake again. The deadliest blue pair.
"Yes?" he swallowed, grateful that his voice still sounded perfectly aloof. As it always should.
"Do you agree with everything? Can we go?"
Abbacchio agreed with everything, they could go. But where again? And why? And what day was it today?

For now they didn't go far, only to the restroom of the restaurant. That was a walk in the park. What was not a walk in the park, however, was the fact that for this part he was left alone with Buccellati. He should have commended Giorno more! He should have shut up just before, and then maybe he would not have to be praying now for a cardiologist, at the young age of twenty one!
Because now Bruno was holding his two hands, turning them palms up then palms down, pushing his sleeves up gently… His fingers drawing a soft line on his forearm, so soft that it sent a shiver through him. God fucking dammit.
And from now on he could only watch Bruno, he could only see him. As he concentrated, frowned, bit his lips… As a midnight black lock of hair fell before his face, as he tucked it behind his ear, only to quickly drop it back again because he did not like it behind his ears. Abbacchio however, liked it there too, but also in a ponytail, as a matter of fact. To be exact, he liked it every possible way. Messy, combed, with bangs, with a braid, or without anything, completely natural, like his morning hair.
Bruno was the most beautiful man. And that tortured Abbacchio every day. Yesterday, today, this very moment. Tortured him with flames.

Bruno did not perceive any of this. He only perceived the silkiness of Abbacchio's skin and the faint blue lines of veins running under the marble white surface. A tendon stretched, a muscle tensed under the soft skin.
They really did have similar hands. But Abbacchio's were stronger, thicker, harder… Bruno swallowed. He really ought to say something now, they've been standing here for minutes. Not like Abbacchio had any idea how much he'd had to prepare for this exchange, but still, it was too much. He cleared his throat and glanced at him.
Sweet heavens above.
Abbacchio was the most beautiful man. Beautiful as he caressed Bruno with a glance, beautiful as he trusted Bruno with his life, beautiful as his face slowly flushed light pink. Madre di dio… Bruno couldn't take it any longer, he let his hands go and cleared his throat again. He turned away a bit while pulling up his own sleeves, and managed to speak in a very serious tone:
"I'll do it at the middle of the forearm, so our clothes will definitely cover the junctions," he announced and was already calling Sticky Fingers out.

Abbacchio watched helplessly as the moment was shattered before his eyes. Bullshit, there was no moment here! He steeled himself. He remembered now why he didn't like working with Buccellati anymore. Even if he used to live only for this. Without exaggeration, nothing else in this world really interested him. But this one thing right here. Buccellati.
In the last few weeks, however, there was nothing left in this either. Since the Diavolo incident, when Abbacchio almost died. That day something went wrong, Buccellati changed. The link between them loosened, and now they were barely even familiar. They rarely saw each other, rarely went on missions together. So turned Abbacchio's world slowly, silently, completely void. And he didn't even know why, what he'd done. It would've been better if Diavolo had killed him instead.
"Does it hurt?" came the hesitant question, and he looked at Bruno, confused.
"What?"
"It's just… you made a face. I thought it hurt."
It did. Like hell. But not the hand. Fuck it, whatever. He shook his head and focused on what was really important: the mission. Sticky Fingers finished zipping up their last junctions.

Bruno was aware that he was going to make them both late to their meetings, and then all preparations would have been in vain. However, they would both remain alive, too. He shook himself and squeezed Leone's hands more strongly. Or rather, his own hands on Leone.
"Can you feel this, too?" he asked smoothly, as if the squeeze were only for testing and not involuntary, at the idea.
"I can, but ouch! If possible, don't break it off just yet, before the mission."
Bruno nodded, again smoothly, his face couldn't betray him either if he didn't show it. He kept working on his fingers and it seemed that Abbacchio reacted perfectly to everything. The hand exchange had been flawless, time for the real job to begin, when they…
"And you? Does everything work perfectly for you, too?"
It was the velvety tone of Abbacchio's voice that made Bruno forget he should not have looked into his eyes.
He looked into his eyes.
Into those very deep eyes. Into those very familiar, purple-blue eyes with golden flecks that slowly became more and more tender as they were fixed on him. Bruno often imagined that Leone looked at him differently. That only he could see these eyes looking this deep, this sensitive. And even more, his face this sincere, this beautiful. His eyebrows this relaxed, his glance open and warm… his lips this curved and full…
He quickly took a breath, because he'd forgotten that for a while and he should have really said something by now, but…
"Squeeze my hand."
This was his saying, but Abbacchio used it on him now. And he couldn't resist, he complied and squeezed his hand as asked. And Abbacchio squeezed it back. Well, if it had only been a squeeze… He slipped his palm deep into Bruno's, grabbed and held it there, so, so tight…
And deliciously… yet firm…
And warm…
That it made Bruno…
Then Abbacchio slipped out of his palm, grabbed his fingers now, squeezed, brushed them, then quickly slid higher on his forearm, turned, even caressed it a bit, then clawed…
Bruno sighed, trembling. And the touch stopped immediately.
He could feel the purple gaze on him, it nearly pierced him. But he did not return the look and he did not pant. He swallowed and hardened himself.
"Everything works perfectly for me, too. We can go. We're ready."

Abbacchio praised the gods that he got to go alone for the rest of the mission. He couldn't bear Buccellati's presence. It flustered him on unmeasurable levels. Today more than ever.
But finally, he was rid of him now! He nearly felt an urge to whistle at that, rushing up the grand staircase of the bank, jumping to the glass door. That was when the wish to whistle evaporated from him in a heartbeat because the sight of his hand placed on the door knob threw him right back into the most violent depths of despair: his hand was Bruno's hand.
Bruno's.
Bruno's.
Hell, no, it was Buccellati's. Buccellati's.
He pushed the door open and glanced around. No one pulled a gun at him for staring at his own hands like a maniac. Half a success. He made his way further inside, looking for the office that he had to find according to the plan, and in the meantime he shoved his hands real, real deep into his pockets.
Whoops. Too deep… A bit less deep than that.
He chased away the thought, the agony, the images, everything, and kept looking for room 121. Found it and stepped inside. The bank assistant smiled at him, recognizing him, as planned, and it crossed his mind that Giorno had been right, this was indeed an advantage. Naturally, he would never admit this to him. On the contrary, he might tell him that he got shot at because of this. That someone had to die because of this. Just let the remorse torture that blond beautifully, on his account.
The assistant gestured to a seat, so he sat down and politely smiled. Not at all out of good spirits, but because he was obliged to. He hoped he was doing it right. If he counted well, he hadn't smiled for around fifteen years by now.

Bruno looked at his phone. Nothing. And he was already five minutes late. God damn it, he would be the one to screw this whole plan up! He'd arrived at the place long ago, way ahead of time, but hadn't been unable to actually go inside. And even now, he still could not.
Because, right now, Abbacchio was on a mission instead of him. He'd gone to the bank instead of him, he'd looked for the assistant instead of him, and he was about to sign a pile of documents with his signature. That he was forbidden from doing himself, the reason why they had to exchange hands, and why he had to show himself here now, to have an irrefutable alibi. An alibi that he was fucking up just now. He ought to really go inside now, because if he didn't, then all this was for nothing, and they would fail the mission.
It's just that thought… of Abbacchio… in the field again.
A shiver ran down his spine, but he shook it off. He pushed the car door open and got out, while focusing in earnest on chasing away the most awful images from his mind. The images of Leone lying in his own blood. Not moving, not breathing.
The images of Leone dying.
He jumped when the phone vibrated in his hand. The shortest message, a "done", and he nearly flew to the alibi meeting, feeling so much lighter.

Let come what may. Abbacchio cleared his throat - not like that was going to help him write - and pressed the pen down on the first document slid to him. He was shaking, he could see it too, so he quickly closed his eyes; the hand would do its thing by itself anyway, in theory. Should the assistant see him like this though, signing papers eyes closed…
He rather opened his eyes and glanced at the assistant in passing. Shit! The woman was staring sharply at his hand and Leone quickly followed her stare: the pen carved the otherwise perfect signature of Bruno invisibly on the page. It was beautiful. Too bad Leone had forgotten to click the pen. Idiot. Now he would have to smile again in an attempt to save his ass.

Bruno has been sitting at the alibi meeting for about half an hour now, on the verge of heart attack once again, courtesy of Abbacchio once again. Or rather, still. It seemed that was just how his day was going to be.
If the other capos and team leaders would miraculously not notice how impossibly freaked out he was right now, the mission could soon be accomplished, and that would be fantastic. If it were to be noticed, however, that the colour had drained from his face because of the nerves, they would fail. But then an ambulance would possibly be called for him, which would absolutely save his life right now, and that would be fantastic too, so…

Abbacchio was already on the third signature, and he could see that it was absolutely perfect. Why, then, was the assistant staring at his hands still so bewildered, and even more bewildered by the minute?! As if he were drawing kittens on the paper instead of a signature?! Abbacchio couldn't take it anymore, he was going to lose it, his palms started sweating, the pen sliding between his fingers…
"Signore… I believe we have a little problem…" she spoke finally, and Abbacchio froze. He'd been busted. Oh, fucking… What should he do now? Should he call out Moody Blues? But before he could do anything, the woman stood up and continued in a tense voice. "It seems that, unfortunately… Yes. Unfortunately, the documents were printed with the wrong date. My mistake, I'm so sorry. Let me fix that quickly."
Porco cane! Abbacchio now decided that he won't ever come to a bank again, unless it was for robbery.

Bruno could have sworn that he just gave order for a mission: Nero was blinking at him astonished, then nodded in silence. Yes, it had to be that. He sent them to take care of something. Or someone. Well, later he would definitely have to confirm this, or alter, or something like that. He would know, once the capo spirit had returned to him, but for now he could only lean back and keep his lips zipped. If he did not open his mouth, he could not give out involuntary orders either. That was the idea.
If only… Abbacchio would fucking finally check-in!

"And with this, we are all done," the assistant finally said, nodding, before pulling the last paper away from Abbacchio. Ah, all done, Abbacchio, breathe. "The signing authority over the bank account is solely yours as of today," she assured, and Abbacchio sighed. The bank account was officially Bruno's now, with all the other capos excluded, as the Boss requested. The assistant rose to her feet. "We thank you for coming in today, Signor Buccellati."
Abbacchio refused to let his face twitch at the name and successfully pushed himself up on his feet. He mumbled something to the woman and went on his way.
Bruno and the money were safe. Should the new Boss wish to cleanse the organisation, he could now do it undisturbed, but that was no longer his business. He only had to make it to the main entrance without getting shot or having a stroke, and the mission was a success as far as he was concerned. And he'd barely aged thirty years in the process. Totally fine.
He might have strode a little faster than he normally would, might have peeped at the security guard more warily - weren't there two of those guards here just before? - but it seemed that even all this wasn't enough to blow his cover. The door opened and he was finally out on the street, in safety, alive, on the first mission after the Diavolo case. And it hadn't even been that bad… He jumped into the first taxi he found and was already racing to the address he'd been given. The address of the cafe where he'd be meeting Buccellati. Whether that made him feel more nervous or relaxed was hard to tell.

The phone vibrated in Bruno's pocket. He let out a nervous breath and quickly reached for the phone. He opened the message under the table. Finally! This was finally Leone. He was alive and done with the job. And was alive.
Alive.
Bruno was a capo. The fact that one fateful day a mission would kill him was very clear to him, sure as hell. What he did not expect however, was that such a strange aspect of a mission would be his killer: the sheer fact that Abbacchio survived one. The most awkward heart attack.
He pressed a hand against his chest, trying to forcibly soothe his heartbeat. Then he quickly moved his hand away, remembering the skin tone difference. Quietly, sighing deeply, he tried to get a hold of himself and of the tension that was about to burst out of his chest. Then of the relief and unexplainable thrill that filled him after that.
Because Bruno now - he couldn't deny it - felt a thrill growing in him with every heartbeat. Closing his eyes, he mentally repeated Leone's message "Waiting for you in the cafe".
Then - nothing he could do about it - he imagined Leone himself: sitting in the cafe, waiting for him. In the late afternoon sunshine, leaning back leisurely, legs spread wide, calmly, with a faint smile. Alive. Then he also imagined how Leone would react when he arrived. How Leone's face would change at his sight, would maybe even allow himself to widen the smile. How he would maybe lean ahead, look into his eyes, say something, something rough, but sweet nonetheless.
Bruno's chest started heating up, a smile forming on his face. That made him snap back. That was the moment he knew he had to stop. He should not let himself think like that about Leone. About Abbacchio. He should not allow this fear, this desperate new emotion he'd felt ever since he'd seen him almost die, be more than what it really was. Friendship, comradeship, worry. It couldn't be anything else. Anything more. He was the capo, and Abbacchio his subordinate. It was only natural that he worried for him and protected him… and loved him…
And so he decided, he was not going to meet Leone in the cafe. He was not going to walk up to him, Leone was not going to smile at him and say something rude. They were not going to spend time together. He was not going to allow himself to think that way about Abbacchio.

Abbacchio was having his third lemonade, still alone. The first one was fine. The second one, meh. But the third? He took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair, then put his elbow on the table and placed his chin in his palm.
Or… What really happened was rather that his chin, and even a little part of his lips were placed into Bruno's palm. For the love of god.
Abbacchio let go of his face immediately and changed position, but it didn't improve: as he combed through his hair or rubbed his jaw, it was all done by Bruno's hand. Within moments he was covered with goosebumps, from head to toe. Having to deal with this all day hadn't been part of the deal! When would Bruno be back? And bring him his own two beautiful hands back?
Annoyed, he put his hands on his hips, not good, don't do that. He brushed his thighs to smoothen out his pants, which was even worse. He almost jumped up, but that would have drawn too much attention, so in the end, he simply, safely lay his two palms out nice and far from him on the cool tabletop.
That was it. He stared at them sternly. They were beautiful, the prettiest hands. Bruno's hands. The right one rose up by itself and just like the first time, he rested his chin on it. And a little bit touched his lips.
Santa madre di Cristo… This… on his lips… it was Buccellati's hand. His skin, his warmth, Buccellati's body…
Abbacchio let his eyes close and breathed his scent in deeply. And as he licked his lips, his tongue slipped onto his palms, ever so subtly, ever so lightly, just enough to taste him…
Abbacchio jumped up and, without thinking at all, ran from the terrace to the cafe. To the restroom. Obviously, his legs were guiding him, and not his brain, because only when he was already standing above the urinal, both hands on his fly, did he realise what he was about to do.
He gawked at his two hands, Buccellati's two hands, as they were about to open his pants. One holding the fabric, the other about to pull the zipper… And like this, a finger was slightly touching him, right there.
He shuddered and stepped back, but… but his loins were hot long ago, his stomach tingling, and there was no stopping his erection anymore. He started panting quietly, he had to do something, had to cool down and adjust it. But how?
He grabbed himself through the pants with the most neutral touch he could muster, and adjusted what he had to. His eyes drooped, his head fell back and he let out a soft sigh.
He had to go back to the terrace. Immediately. If only those three liters of lemonade weren't bursting his bladder!

Bruno headed directly to his apartment after the alibi meeting. He'd call Leone later and tell him that the thing took longer than expected and that he wouldn't be able to meet him today. They'd swap their hands back tomorrow in the Libeccio. That would be best, that was how everything would be alright. He flopped down on the couch. But why was he suffering so much then? There was a heatwave, but that wasn't why. Giorno pissed him off, also not the reason why.
Oh, come on, who was he trying to fool?! It was because two weeks, five days and three hours ago he'd almost lost Abbacchio forever. Because Abbacchio had almost died thanks to him. Because he sent him on such a mission, where Diavolo almost killed him. He'd almost signed Leone's death sentence.
Bruno broke out in a cold sweat, like he did every time at this thought, and he had to loosen the suit at his neck otherwise he would suffocate. He kept gasping for air, to no avail.
If it were up to him, he would never send Leone into the field again. And until today, he really hadn't allowed him near one. Even today, only Giorno's insufferable reasoning had convinced him, along with the fact that he knew the task in the bank was almost entirely safe. Even before he'd arranged to replace the two security guards… Never would he let Abbacchio anywhere near harm's way again, never ever, over his dead body! Now that Abbacchio had been given a second chance and survived Diavolo's attack, Bruno's job was to protect him, a thousand times more than ever, to make sure nothing would ever hurt him.
Never before in his life had Bruno felt such crystal clear resolve, such burning desire to keep Leone safe. He could barely swallow back the lump growing in his chest and throat. The feeling… this undeniable one… that he was in fucking love with Leone.

Abbacchio was getting nervous. He tried calling Bruno multiple times but never got an answer. He even went as far as calling Nero so he could at least learn that the meeting was already over and Buccellati had left.
Buccellati had left but hadn't called him and hadn't arrived at the cafe either. Abbacchio tried to calm himself and decided to wait longer. He picked up the newspaper again, for the hundredth time, and flipped through it. Some pages stuck together. He licked his fingers to separate them but… He licked his fingers?! Bruno's fingers?! For the love of god, if Buccellati didn't arrive here right now, he was going to fucking lose it!

Bruno wanted to take a shower; he'd sweat way too much today. Because of Abbacchio. But he was also the reason why he couldn't shower now. Because of his hands.
But seriously… How could he step in the shower and rub his body from head to toe with Leone's hands? God, the sheer thought was too much.
And yet he was standing here in the bathroom… Still fully clothed, but staring at the shower…

That was how long Abbacchio could take it, five unanswered phone calls. He jumped into a taxi and rushed to the Libeccio, but their table was empty and the waiters hadn't seen Buccellati either. Nothing else remained then, straight to the capo's address, and fast!

Bruno was weak today, and he knew it. He just didn't care.
He let the hot water flow all over him. He closed his eyes and surrendered himself to it, let it rush, let it burn through him. It couldn't burn him hotter anyway, than this love that was downright consuming him.
He only realised he loved Leone once he realised he could lose him. Every minute by his side had been torture ever since, his soul drowning deep and dark ever since. He'd had to rip his feelings out by the root ever since. Without the slightest hope of fulfillment, without the tiniest, innocent touch. He didn't even have the chance to hug him, for fuck's sake! To hold him in his arms and say as little as that he was glad Leone had survived.
But he had his hands now. He had to settle for this then. He hugged himself with them, determined that from tomorrow on he could shake all this off, once and for all, and their lives could restart from zero. As it should have two weeks ago. A clean slate, pure and simple, like before. He let the water flow on his head and clutched his chest tightly. Drops of water were running down his face, nothing more.

Abbacchio was already in the street. He once again called Bruno for one last time, but of course it was still to no avail. He paid the taxi driver and got out at Bruno's building. He was gasping, heart pounding, as he looked up at the windows. He prayed with all his heart that he would find Buccellati home.

Bruno let Leone's delicate fingers bury themselves in his wet hair. He let them gently massage his scalp, slide down on the back of his neck, grab his hair and even pull on it a little… Bruno moaned, voice raspy, and his head fell forward. His eyes opened and he blushed at the sight. At his own sight. At how achingly hard he'd gotten from just this.
He brushed through his hair again, not taking his eyes off of his lap. His hand slid down his chest, his abdomen, his groin.
Not his hand, Leone's hand. He grabbed his erection. It made him moan again, longer, sounding almost tortured this time. He was in love with Leone. Just today, just this one time.
From tomorrow on he'd deny everything, he'd rip it all out of his heart. From tomorrow on he won't ever think about Leone again. And his voice… his lips… his look… his scent… the unbearably delicious grip of his palm…

Abbacchio pushed the doorbell but still got no response and that made him so really, madly panicked that he felt he could explode. He pushed every button until one neighbour finally let him in, and he furiously threw open the door, rushed up the stairs three at a time. He wished nothing else from this life but to find Bruno here. But he also swore if Bruno was here, he'd kill him straight away…

Bruno, still trembling softly, took a deep breath. His body was satisfied, but his soul grew heavier. He stopped the water and reached for a towel. A knock came from the door. Or rather a banging; someone was about to break the whole thing down. He swiftly slipped into a T-shirt and boxers, sprinted to the door, and yanked it open.
Abbacchio.
Bruno.
They stared at each other with mouths agape.
"I… I called," Abbacchio groaned numbly from the relief, the anger and the sight. Bruno only had a T-shirt and a pair of boxers on… And his face was flushed with the most heart stopping blush.
"I was going to call you, I just…" the capo stammered before trailing off. He was not in a state to deal with this right now. He stepped away from the door and hoped that Abbacchio would take it as an invitation.
"You were going to call me, but you didn't! Buccellati, I…" Leone pushed his way inside, and after staring at Bruno one more time, all the way down, from behind this time, in boxers - oh, dio -, he took a deep breath and finally found his voice. "I swear, I'm gonna get you real good, just give me back my hands first, I've got to piss like hell!"
Bruno only vaguely understood the link between those words, but he did what Leone asked from him. And he said nothing, because his soul was in flames, his mind was in flames, and he couldn't say anything acceptable anyway. He wasn't completely himself just yet. Especially not before Leone.
He gave the two of them their hands back.

Abbacchio felt that he'd stridden to the bathroom with just a hint too heavy of steps, and he pulled the door behind himself shut with just a hint too violent of a slam, but he needed to take his fury and frustration out on something. And, of course, those energies flowing through him from the relief. The relief that Bruno was alive and visibly, completely unharmed.
He would murder him. He would so murder Buccellati for this, for doing this to him! The heart attack! The countless perished nerves! He promised to himself he wouldn't leave it at that. Right now, that he'd finally gotten rid of the three liters of lemonade, he'd just wash his hands, then go right back.
Hold on a second. His fingers… so wrinkly, as if he just took a bath. Porco cane! He couldn't believe it. Buccellati took a shower? With his hands? He couldn't stop himself from blushing wildly at the thought.

Bruno wanted to collapse. And also to put on pants. And also to pull himself together. But he could do none of those. Because Leone was here with him now, alone in his flat, just a couple of minutes after he made love to his hands. He felt his face turn not pink, but deep red. And that was when Leone stormed back in the living room, attacking in a flash:
"Buccellati, you took a shower with my hands?
Fuck…
"I just… rinsed myself off," he mumbled, but Abbacchio wasn't going to leave it there.
"Just rinsed yourself off? I couldn't even take a piss with your hands!"
Bruno leaned against the dresser, he couldn't take it anymore. All his feelings rushed through him at once: he loved Leone, he'd almost lost him, but he could never be with him. He made love to his hands, but he could never even hug him.

Abbacchio's inner mind was in inextricable chaos, and all he knew now was that he needed to clash with and take the tension out on Buccellati. In the end however, he couldn't say anything more, because the way Bruno was standing there now in the middle of the room, puzzled, silent, almost fragile, left him speechless, too.
"Bruno, is… is something wrong? Are you alright?" It was also Bruno's fault, damn him, that Abbacchio's voice suddenly became like this, soft and velvety. He even stepped towards him.
"I'm fine," Bruno murmured, voice too quiet to convince either of them. "Just…"
"Just?" Abbacchio took one more step.
Bruno shook his head. He wanted to say something, but shouldn't have said anything.
"For the love of god, Bruno, I'm begging you, just spit it out finally! You want me to call you a doctor? Or Giorno?"
"No. Don't. I'm fine. I only wanted to say, Leone, that…" he began, taking a big breath, then finally uttered the only thing he could say out loud without regretting. "That I'm glad you survived Diavolo. I haven't had the chance to tell you this yet. I couldn't even hug you yet… since I'd almost lost you…"
Abbacchio stood there, feet riveted to the ground. He couldn't believe his ears, but that's what Bruno had said, face glowing, cheeks flushed, hanging onto his gaze. That he'd almost lost Abbacchio. And now, Abbacchio's own mouth spoke uncontrollably:
"Do you…?" he swallowed thickly. "Do you want to hug me?"
Oh no, oh god, did he really just ask that? Bruno looked at him in a way that made him regret this a million times - what a fucking idiot he was, who would ask such a thing two weeks too late?!
Bruno stared at Abbacchio, stunned. His head dropped in a tiny nod, or maybe it was just a shiver; it was impossible to tell, but it didn't matter anymore, because Abbacchio finally closed the distance between them.

Abbacchio couldn't believe it. He didn't really have a plan, he just did what his heart demanded so badly from him that it was hammering almost madly. He stepped in front of Bruno and finally hugged him. He wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly, and let himself get lost in him.
And at that moment Bruno's arms quickly clutched his waist and squeezed him back. He hugged Bruno's shoulders and kept him there as long as he could, as long as Bruno let him. And Bruno now let him for a very long time, he asked for it for a very long time.
And at that, Leone's heart beat all the more violently, so much that it nearly killed him, when his mind also finally started to apprehend how tightly their bodies were pressed together. How hot Bruno's skin was under the T-shirt, how their hips were pushed against each other. How Bruno was trembling slightly in his embrace, and how his breath slowly began to stutter.
Abbacchio knew why he himself couldn't breathe. But Bruno…?
He held him even tighter and refused to read more into it than reasonable. Bruno feared for his life because that was just how Bruno was. With everyone, not just with him.
God, if only he hadn't held him this warmly, this tightly, gripping his waist, nuzzling into his neck! Because with all this, an idea began to slowly, irresistibly torture Abbacchio, that worsened by the second, grew more credible by the second. He had to find out!

Bruno started to lose his mind. He didn't even think it through, he pulled Leone's waist in closer, palms grabbing him on their own, praying that Leone hadn't noticed, but he really, really needed this so badly now. He took in the scent of his neck, the heat of his body, the firmness of his muscles, and the way Leone melted in his arms… Bruno started to smoulder.
Suddenly, goosebumps ran over his entire body as Leone slid a hand on the back of his neck, burying it in his hair, pulling on it a little… And Bruno sighed helplessly into his neck.

"Your hair is wet." Voice raspy, mouth dry, Abbacchio finally uttered the thought that tortured him so much. He had to say it out loud. "You didn't just rinse yourself off in the shower."
This silence, this tiny second, this will be the end of him. Abbacchio feared he wouldn't live to hear the answer, because Bruno froze in his arms at the declaration.
"I was quick," Bruno replied too quietly. It really didn't help either of them.
Abbacchio could barely contain his heart in his chest because by now Bruno was almost feverish in his embrace. He had to find it out. Right now.

Bruno felt he was revealing himself with every passing second, losing the cool mask that he had worked so hard on in the last few weeks. He had to let Abbacchio go immediately. Just one last deep breath, one last grasp. Oh, dio, if only he didn't want him so madly, with all his being, inside and out!
"Leone…" he sighed right into his skin, just one last time.
"Leone…" his voice echoed from somewhere further.
What? This isn't…! They both froze.
"What was that…?" Bruno asked paralyzed, his heart forgetting to beat.
"Moody Blues," Leone mumbled. Bruno stared at him in shock, so Leone finished the sentence right into his gaze. "From the bathroom."
This was impossible. This was not happening. Bruno felt a rush of panic, his soul was about to erupt.

Abbacchio couldn't believe it. The voice he'd heard from the bathroom… He tried to read Buccellati's face, but that was also impossible, tinted as it was with thousands of faint shades. In the end, he just stared at Bruno in desperation, suffering, aching, because even like this - flushed, wide-eyed - Bruno was so very beautiful that all Abbacchio wanted to do now was to kiss him.
"Leone… Moody Blues… please, stop him," Bruno stammered in anguish.
But Abbacchio was unable to follow an order now, unable to even comprehend. He was only able to repeat to himself what he'd just heard: Moody Blues saying his name, and that faint tone in his voice.
Bruno tried to shift in his arms, wanted to push himself away, break out of this unbearable prison, but Abbacchio didn't let him. He tensed, one hand still on the back of Bruno's neck, and forced his face towards him. Good god, Leone nearly exploded from just this, the way Bruno was now looking at him… burning. He had to say it, before it killed him:
"Say it again," he gasped, and his eyes fell on Bruno's lips.
That made Bruno breathless: "Stop him," he repeated, voice fading.
Leone swallowed: "Not that," he said. Mouth dry, he added: "My name."
Bruno couldn't believe he could live this long without a heartbeat. But there was nothing he could do, Leone had exposed him. Leone had exposed him and now demanded the irrefutable evidence. And he couldn't deny it from him. No, Leone's embrace was too impassioned to resist. His lips slowly parted, and while Leone was still staring at his mouth transfixed, he finally, finally said it: "Leone…" a sigh straight from his soul.
"Ah! Leone!" his groans from the bathroom echoed with much more sensual enthusiasm.
Abbacchio shuddered. Fuck everything, he'd been right! Then he'd kiss Bruno now. He didn't think, just fell on his lips.
"Bruno," he gasped, then couldn't speak more, he was completely lost. His wildest dreams were coming true, Buccellati sighed his name into the kiss.

Notes:

Well hello, and thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked the story at least as much as I loved writing it! For anyone interested in knowing how the first night of our lovers went on, you can find the very nsfw continuation on my ao3 account, under the same username, "Hands On - Extended". You're warned, it is explicit.

The story was written to a prompt given to me by roktavor - only the best BruAbba writer in the whole wide world.
That's it, my very first fanfic, and it wouldn't have been the same without my lovely betas. Thank you!