A/N: Day 14: Games

Another silly, domestic one,

Inspired by a conversation I had with Anticia a little while back! So, thank you. :'D

Abbacchio is sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, enjoying some hard-won peace and quiet, when Buccellati strolls in.

Nothing odd there. Brewing coffee in this house tends to draw a crowd, so really, Abbacchio shouldn't have expected to be alone for long – and at least it's just Buccellati. He's the only one here who won't make Abbacchio's headache worse or disturb the peace in any way. (He'll enhance the peace, if anything.)

…Plus, he probably has paperwork or something to be getting back to. So it's not like he'll stick around, once he's got his coffee.

Except. He isn't going for the coffee pot.

Abbacchio lowers his mug back to the table, wraps both hands around the warmth of it, and watches as Buccellati walks the length of the kitchen. All the way to the cupboard at the far end, where the snacks are kept.

Most everything in there belongs to the kids – unless Buccellati moved his secret stash of sweets to a new, more obvious location. Abbacchio wouldn't put that past him. The zipper noise seems to confirm this, but when that zipper closes and Buccellati steps back from the cabinet, he isn't holding a secretly stashed sweet.

Instead, he's got a small handful of chips.

And they aren't just any chips, either. These chips, Abbacchio recognizes as belonging to Narancia, because a couple of weeks ago, Abbacchio had to diffuse a fistfight over their ownership and who had the rights to be eating them. Many chips flew. He knows them well, even from a distance.

They're some kind of spicy flavor, so hot you can't taste anything but your tongue burning off. (And they don't feel much better if you get their residue in your eye courtesy of flailing, fighting teenagers.)

Buccellati is popping them into his mouth like candy as he casually peruses the other shelves.

"Aren't those Narancia's?" Abbacchio finds it in himself to ask.

In answer, Buccellati gives an affirmative hum. While munching on the last of his stolen chips.

Abbacchio narrows his eyes. "The ones he bought last night, that he hasn't opened yet?"

There's a certain something in Buccellati's expression. A different twitch to his lips, arch to his brow, and shine in his eye as he glances sideways at Abbacchio. It catches Abbacchio thoroughly off guard – instantly disarms him of any lingering foul mood and replaces it with curiosity.

Buccellati doesn't disappoint. Looks like Fugo's unopened expensive-yet-disgusting black licorice is his next victim, and he plucks it out of the cupboard. Holds it up for Abbacchio to see as Sticky Fingers zips a hole in the bag, and Buccellati takes a few pieces before resealing it and placing it back exactly where it was. Like he was never there.

A sharp huff of laughter forces its way up Abbacchio's throat, and he gives a crooked smirk. "You little shit."

"I just wanted a couple pieces," is Buccellati's excuse, "and a few chips." He looks quite pleased with himself, and quite content with his pilfered snacks. It's adorable, but at the same time:

"You're on your own if you get caught."

"They won't get mad at me," Buccellati says, fully confident in that statement. And he's right, damn him. It must be nice to have so much immunity that you can even dip into Trish's fancy chocolates without fear of repercussion. "But I won't get caught."

Of course he won't. Who the hell would suspect someone – especially Buccellati – of stealing food right from the closed package?

Though, if he were to get caught, now would be the time, because he's got a mouthful of chocolate, and there are approaching footsteps that most definitely belong to one of the kids.

Buccellati remains composed as ever. He places the chocolates back on the shelf, closes the cupboard, and makes polite, quiet haste to Abbacchio's side. Leans against his chair. Acts casual…with a hand on Abbacchio's shoulder…body pressed against his…pretending to poke around at the newspaper that someone left here earlier…

Narancia practically skips into the kitchen, way too energetic for – fuck, what time is it? – this late in the afternoon. "Hi Buccellati, Abbacchio!"

"Hey," Abbacchio grunts, doing his damndest not to side-eye Buccellati. Maybe he should fake reading the paper, too, but he's watching Narancia make a beeline for the snack cabinet instead.

Sure enough, Narancia goes right for that bag of chips. Plucks them out, then hefts them in his hand with a pout and whines to himself, "I swear, they keep putting less and less in these – it's a rip off…"

Abbacchio has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

Especially so when Buccellati gives a genuine sympathetic hum. Which is all that crafty bastard can manage, being as his mouth is full of stolen chocolate that was probably eaten to chase away the burn from those horrible chips.

At this rate, Abbacchio really will laugh. He coughs to disguise the one that escapes.

Noticing absolutely nothing amiss, Narancia grabs a few drinks from the fridge (ah, looks like it'll be civilized sharing today, instead of fistfights) and carries on his merry way out of the kitchen. Back upstairs, or to the living room, or wherever the hell he came from.

Only when the coast is clear does Abbacchio let loose a grin, and maybe a snicker or two. "What was that about not getting caught?"

That playful little sparkle is still in Buccellati's eyes as he sucks on the remains of the melting chocolate. He leans in close, then, and Abbacchio has about three seconds to feel overwhelmed before Buccellati is kissing him. Tasting mostly like chocolate, but with other lingering flavors that don't blend well – but Abbacchio can't really care, weak as ever to the feel of those lips against his own.

He's got even less room to complain when Buccellati tilts his head and deepens it – sharing the chocolate – which is – holy fuck.

By the time they separate, Abbacchio is breathless, and Buccellati's mouth is stained with lipstick.

Abbacchio can't help it. Steals one last quick kiss. Warm and spicy-sweet.

"Now you're my accomplice," Buccellati announces, murmuring right into Abbacchio's mouth. He pulls back with a tiny, charming smile in place. It's made all the more heart-stopping by the lipstick.

"Told you you're on your own for this one," Abbacchio attempts to gripe, with the taste of Buccellati mixed with incriminating evidence on his tongue. "I'm uninvolved."

Buccellati presses his lips to the top of Abbacchio's head, and pats his shoulder in a placating sort of way. "You ate the chocolate, too," he reminds, which is an entire lie and a completely fabricated setup – but he's walking away with a cup of coffee before Abbacchio can argue.

God, that man…Abbacchio will not take part in this little game of his. If he does, he's got a sinking feeling that he'll wind up as a convenient scapegoat someday. One that the kids won't be as kind to as they would Buccellati.

…Though, that's some damn good chocolate. He might make an exception for that, if Buccellati ever offers to share again. Especially the way he did today.

Oh well. For now, Abbacchio is left to his peace and quiet. The first order of business should be cleaning up his face, because if Buccellati has lipstick everywhere, then Abbacchio definitely does. He'll take his coffee up with him, and –

His hand closes on empty air.

The coffee mug that had just been on the table is gone.

…

Buccellati walked away with a coffee, come to think of it.

Pushing to his feet and unable to banish a sappy smile, Abbacchio grumbles the whole way to the coffee machine and the whole way through fixing another cup of coffee – just the way Buccellati likes it, this time.

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, and thanks for reading!