A/N: Day 6: Kiss

"Leone, can I have a kiss?"

Abbacchio chokes on his tea.

Setting the cup down with a clatter, he coughs into his fist for a good few seconds, face flushed on what's surely vibrant blush because where in the hell did that come from? "What?" he hisses as soon as he's got his breathing back under control and is no longer in danger of drowning in his own damn tea.

"Can I, um…" Buccellati readjusts in his seat. His cheeks are also dusted a telltale pink. "Can you kiss me?"

"Why?" Abbacchio growls out. Lucky that it sounds irritated.

Unfortunately, Buccellati knows Abbacchio too well to fall for that. The telltale blush might be enough on its own, but Abbacchio feels his lips quivering in that awful way they do when he's flustered. There's no way that Buccellati can't read that.

The why thing is a valid question, though. Kissing here, in the restaurant, and now, when the others are on their way – sure, they're alone for now, but in maybe five minutes they won't be. Never mind that other patrons are a thin divider away. Open displays of affection in public aren't a thing that happens between them, it's like an unspoken rule.

Well. Not like an unspoken rule, considering they've actually spoken about it before, and privacy bordering on secrecy is the way they've decided their relationship should be dealt with. All things considered.

It'd be bad if word got out that Buccellati…uh…plays favorites. For lack of a better term.

Anyway!

Abbacchio's mind is fast spiraling into sidetracked territory, all the while Buccellati hesitates. His composure is barely holding up, which serves him right, for the way he instantly shattered Abbacchio's with just a handful of words.

"You've never kissed me when you're wearing your lipstick," Buccellati blurts out, just when Abbacchio was starting to worry. His eyes catch Abbacchio's as he speaks, and they're flooded with something unrecognizable.

Ah. Is that all.

If Abbacchio was red before, his face is now a whole new level of on-fire. That tea he was previously drowning in is incredibly interesting all of a sudden, and he tears his eyes away from Buccellati's to down the rest of it in a single gulp.

Now he has to acknowledge this, huh? He sets his teacup down too heavily to be casual. "I didn't know you noticed," he mumbles to the tablecloth.

"Of course I did." Buccellati sounds almost frustrated, which isn't fair. "I've been trying to –"

He cuts himself off, and oh, that's interesting. More interesting than the goddamn tablecloth, so Abbacchio finds the courage to look at Buccellati instead.

That sure is a bona fide blush he's sporting, by now. Abbacchio's never seen him this red, or this eager to avoid eye contact. He's even sipping at his own tea, now, although slower, because his goal isn't to burn his throat.

"You've been…"

Buccellati coughs, just once. "Yes."

Well shit. That explains why Buccellati's been so fervent, when they're alone.

But Abbacchio always dodges kisses when he's wearing his lipstick. Because he figured…huh. Interesting. His mouth pulls into a pathetic excuse for a wry grin, and he points a finger at it. "You want to kiss me with this on?"

"Yes," Buccellati says, with more enthusiasm, this time. Probably more than he meant to, if the way he hurries back to his tea is any indication.

Too late, though. The damage is done, the heated thrill already racing down Abbacchio's spine at that single word. "But." Abbacchio's face was cooling down, but it gives up on that now. "It gets everywhere."

There's a tiny intake of breath from Buccellati. Or maybe a sigh? Hard to tell the difference, it's so small. Whatever the case, he sets his cup down and turns to Abbacchio, quiet for a few seconds before, "I wouldn't mind."

"…You're serious?" The lack of expression on Buccellati's face would imply that, yeah, he is. "Even in the morning, when everyone else could –"

"It's fine," Buccellati interrupts. His eyes are fixed on Abbacchio's mouth. "We can clean up."

Swallowing, Abbacchio fiddles with the handle of his empty teacup. His other hand flicks his hair over his shoulder. If he doesn't keep both hands busy, he's liable to grab Buccellati right this second.

How long has Buccellati been thinking about this, wanting it? Abbacchio tries to remember every time Buccellati's come at him right after his makeup is applied, when they find a private corner during the day, or at night right before his lipstick comes off – but he's drawing a blank on when it started, with all of Buccellati's attention so fixed.

This is something that Abbacchio never let himself consider before. Or rather, tried not to let himself consider. Secrecy-bordering-on-privacy doesn't really call for black lipstick smeared over Buccellati's mouth via Abbacchio's mouth, after all. Something like that would violate the stipulation.

And. Previous partners have complained about what a pain his lipstick is to remove, once it's started coming off and gotten spread over skin. Habitually taking it off before any kissing is par for the course, by now.

But here's Buccellati. Eyes finally flicking back to meet Abbacchio's, blue flooded with the dark of his pupils. "Is that okay with you?" he asks, and god.

Now that Abbacchio's allowing himself to picture Buccellati's smooth, tanned skin marked with dark lipstick – black pressed onto his mouth, cheek, trailed down his neck, all the way to his chest where it accents his tattoo – Abbacchio is pretty damn sure there's nothing he wants more.

"Yeah," he breathes, right onto Buccellati's lips, because suddenly they're both sitting a whole lot closer than before. Buccellati's knees brushing Abbacchio's thigh. "Yeah, it's fine."

Buccellati – already tantalizingly, dangerously close – surges forward and shoves his mouth firm to Abbacchio's.

The contact only lasts a second, Abbacchio pulling back, because even that quick kiss is enough to transfer glossy black from his lips to Buccellati's. But that, apparently, is not enough, because Buccellati cups his jaw in a gentle palm and pulls Abbacchio back in for more.

Dark lipstick slides sticky between them as Buccellati deepens the kiss. Darts his tongue into the mix here and there, sucks and bites at Abbacchio's mouth with fervor and Abbacchio pushes into the contact. Feels his lipstick spread. Buccellati's hands both find their way into Abbacchio's hair and he groans when they tangle there.

Those hands keep him held close as Buccellati gets his fill, and Abbacchio gives everything he can (and then some more). He cups Buccellati's face, then his neck, then wraps arms tight around him as he climbs into Abbacchio's lap, changing the angle of their kiss.

Drowning in Buccellati is so much better than drowning in tea.

They part with a wet sound, and Buccellati breathes out a soft, "Leone."

And. Just like that, Abbacchio is the one yanking Buccellati into a kiss.

This one is all slick and sloppy, even more so than the last. Their teeth bump together a couple times, and Abbacchio can taste lipstick on his tongue, can feel it thinning as it transfers to Buccellati's mouth. As it spreads everywhere.

Leaving that plush mouth, Abbacchio presses his trail of kisses across Buccellati's cheek before he can help it. It feels natural, somehow, especially so when he can feel the heavy beating of Buccellati's heart in his own chest at this proximity. He barely resists the urge to take his kisses down the length of Buccellati's neck – settles for pressing them in behind his ear.

"Happy now?" Abbacchio murmurs, nipping at the skin under his mouth.

Buccellati catches the rest of his breath on a content sort of sigh, and he sinks heavy against Abbacchio, going pliant in his lap. "Almost," he says, and what the fuck – what the fuck more could he want? "I want to see."

Oh.

Gentle hands tug at Abbacchio's hair, coaxing him away from the spot he's thinking of marking in earnest until they're properly face-to-face again. Black lipstick is thoroughly smeared over Buccellati's mouth. An absolute mess of it. A path of dark kiss marks are across his cheek.

Abbacchio probably doesn't look much better. Lust-blown blue eyes scan his face, settling on his mouth.

He's…admiring the mess he made, apparently. And he leans in close for another chaste kiss.

It's got Abbacchio trying to follow for more, but Buccellati's palm on his cheek stops him. From there, careful fingers brushes white hair back behind Abbacchio's ear and out of the way.

"Thank you for the kisses," Buccellati says, voice all soft as he licks his lips and wraps his arms around Abbacchio's shoulders. God.

Abbacchio gives a halfhearted snort, hands settling on Buccellati's waist. "Don't thank me for fucking up your face," he grouches – but it's not like it's a bad look…

"I asked you to," Buccellati reminds him, "and I like it."

"Holy shit." Abbacchio's face is officially way too hot. "Don't just say that."

Buccellati smiles. He smiles! Then drops a kiss onto Abbacchio's cheek, probably leaving another mark. "And I didn't even ask you to kiss my neck."

"Please shut up." If he doesn't, Abbacchio is going to combust.

Or melt. Which is what he ends up doing when a few puffs of laughter escape Buccellati. That doesn't count as shutting up. Abbacchio shows his irritation by taking his turn at kissing Buccellati's cheek. The unmarked one, this time. That'll show him…

The door to the restaurant chimes open, shattering the peace and hauling Abbacchio back down to the present – to the reality of where they are. He forgot.

The general clamor of the rest of their team is loud and getting progressively closer.

"Fuck," Buccellati mutters.

"Fuck," Abbacchio agrees.

A/N: This is actually the third rewrite of a fic that I first wrote five years ago. It was originally a lot longer, and from Bruno's POV, but I couldn't get it to a place where I was happy with it until I brought in the heavy machinery, chopped off the entire beginning, swapped to good ol' Abbacchio's POV, etc... So now here it is. In the light of day at last,

Thanks for reading! :")