A/N: Day 15: Fashion

Warning for steamy content. There's a heavy make-out session framed as a precursor to sex, but nothing too explicit (did my best to keep it rated a strong T). Clothes come off but there's no full nudity.

Formal wear looks good on Abbacchio.

This is a fact that Buccellati is familiar with, thanks to the few scattered instances when Abbacchio's dolled himself up for certain gang-related reasons. Meetings with higher ups, dinners with 'esteemed' business partners, an undercover job or two…

Tonight, though, there's a difference. A detail that makes Buccellati's stomach flood with heat and emotion at the mere thought.

Because tonight Abbacchio is wearing formal attire for him.

Abbacchio bought a new outfit. Made dinner reservations at a restaurant that's classy (but not so classy as to be out of Buccellati's comfort zone because he's a sweetheart like that). Paid for the meal, splurged for dessert, and then tangled his hand in Buccellati's to lead them both home.

And now.

Now Buccellati is in Abbacchio's pristine bedroom, pinning him to the door and kissing him breathless, while Abbacchio clings to him in turn. His arms wind tight around Buccellati's waist, his eager hands rub up and down Buccellati's back, stopping to fist in the fabric of his suit jacket as Abbacchio pulls him closer and closer.

Slick, lipstick-coated lips glide firm over Buccellati's, smearing dark purple between them – his mouth is melting under such thorough attention. Burying his hands in white hair, he uses his grip to better angle Abbacchio's head, and his efforts earn him a quiet groan, along with Abbacchio's tongue pushing in, rolling around his own.

Buccellati swallows more of those soft, pleased noises as they spill into his mouth via Abbacchio's. Each of his senses is overwhelmed with Leone and a closeness that Buccellati willingly freefalls into as deep as he can.

The short puffs of air he's stealing through his nose aren't enough, unfortunately, and he scratches at Abbacchio's scalp, tugs on fistfuls of hair until their kiss parts with a sloppy, wet noise.

Now he can try to catch his breath. It's not easy, when it keeps mingling with Abbacchio's.

It's not easy, when just the sight of Abbacchio is enough to take Buccellati's breath away. He's so beautiful.

Dark lipstick is a mess across Abbacchio's shiny, kiss-swollen mouth, and his cheeks are flushed red, the purple-gold of his eyes engulfed in blown-wide pupils – and he stares right back, eyes meeting Buccellati's. Buccellati can feel his heartbeat, the way his chest rises and falls where they're pressed together. Warm and close and real.

This right here – that he's able to be with Abbacchio – is by far his favorite gift of the day.

He drops a lingering kiss to Abbacchio's chin. The mark it leaves behind is faint, with the uneven patchy quality of stolen lipstick. But it's there, and it sends a thrill down Buccellati's spine.

So he leaves more of those marks; kisses that follow the sharp line of Abbacchio's jaw, continuing toward his pulse point. It's hammering beneath Buccellati's mouth, and Abbacchio's chest hitches on a gasp when Buccellati's teeth scrape over it.

Though. That's nothing compared to the deep groan he lets out – Buccellati can feel it, echoed in his own chest – when Buccellati sucks that skin into his mouth. Savors it between his teeth and lavishes it with his tongue –

Abbacchio goes boneless against the door, slumping down toward the floor some. So Buccellati takes the opportunity to pen him in tighter, because he might well be the only thing keeping Abbacchio upright by now. The arms around his back clutch him ever-closer as Abbacchio's hands wander: one buries in Buccellati's hair, and the other presses firm to his waist. Keeps him close.

Encouragement spills out on each gasping breath that Abbacchio takes, and Buccellati lets the words soak in as he sucks Abbacchio's skin to bruising. Moves lower to repeat the process. Leaves another mark, with careful attention.

God he can't get enough of Leone – this contact – the sounds he makes – the taste of his skin – he's so beautiful –

Long legs spread as Abbacchio sinks, until there's enough space for Buccellati to slip between them. His mouth is jostled away from its work, but he latches back on easy enough, higher on Abbacchio's neck. This new position makes the way he grinds forward all the more effective – sends heat racing down.

Abbacchio swears, short and sharp. Arches his spine and cants his hips into the contact, one leg coming up to wrap around Buccellati's waist – and he has to grab at that thigh to keep their balance but it's more than fine. He's trailing kisses over the soft warmth of Abbacchio's cheek, aiming for dark purple lips but Abbacchio beats him to it, turns his head and catches Buccellati's mouth and oh.

Swapped kisses stifle his whimpers, and Buccellati eases one hand down from where it's thoroughly knotted in long, white hair. His fingers catch on the collar of Abbacchio's suit jacket, and with the help of Sticky Fingers, the fabric starts to unzip. Just a few centimeters.

Lips pulling free and breath heaving, Abbacchio pauses.

So Buccellati does, too. "Leone," he mumbles, still close enough that his mouth brushes Abbacchio's. He squeezes the thigh cradled in his hand, fingers the zipper on the back of Abbacchio's suit. "Can I…?"

There's a nondescript sort of grunt from Abbacchio. His body is taut and shivering with pleasure. "Hang – hang on."

And oh that's interesting. Buccellati presses one last quick kiss to Abbacchio's cheek before leaning back. Giving him room to breathe. His face is flushed and his purple-gold eyes are lidded and his lips are slightly parted as he catches his breath, and it takes everything in Buccellati's power to resist kissing him.

Especially so when those lips quirk on a crooked smile, and Abbacchio says, "Let me."

That thigh stays settled on Buccellati's hip, but Abbacchio adjusts to stand steadier on his own. Brings his hands between them. Starts to undo the first button of his suit jacket – which is a form-fitting thing with a tempting keyhole that Buccellati's been dying to dip his fingers into all evening –

"I have, um…" As he speaks, Abbacchio ducks his head, focuses on unbuttoning his top, and god.

Buccellati's eyes follow Abbacchio's fingers as he, too, gets caught up in the way that tasteful suit jacket comes open to reveal black lace stretched close over pale skin.

Wrapping Abbacchio's torso in an artful way that's enough to set Buccellati's heart hammering all over again, because Abbacchio has never worn anything like this.

And – if Buccellati had given into impulse, if he'd reached into that shirt at any point of the evening, he would've felt…

Abbacchio is looking at him from beneath his eyelashes, as he shrugs his suit jacket off and lets it fall to the floor.

Heated sparks land low in Buccellati's gut and flood his chest. He's thoroughly caught between losing himself in Abbacchio's gaze and staring at the way sheer lingerie clings to him. His cleavage is left bare thanks to the plunging neckline, his nipples are barely concealed – god, Buccellati wants to touch him.

Red is spreading down Abbacchio's chest as he takes a deep breath, ducking his head again. Surely he can't be nervous? Fuck, what's there to be nervous about when you look like that?

All too eager to alleviate nerves and offer reassurance, Buccellati surges forward. He keeps one hand clutched to Abbacchio's thigh, while the other roves over every bit of skin-and-lace it can find. Glides up over Abbacchio's ribcage and across his chest, the rough texture of lace a tempting contrast to the soft of Abbacchio's skin, and Abbacchio arches into each touch, back to hauling Buccellati in close, devouring his mouth.

"You like it?" Abbacchio asks, the words so slurred between kisses that Buccellati barely catches them. "Wasn't sure if I could – pull it off –"

And Buccellati can't leave any room for doubt, so he comes up for air and gasps, "You're stunning."

Before he can dip back in for more, though, Abbacchio's mouth twitches into a grin at one corner, and his hands land gentle against Buccellati's chest, keeping their minimal distance. "There's more."

Loath as Buccellati is to separate too fully from Abbacchio, there's more, so he lets that thigh fall away. Backs up half a step.

From here, it's easier to reach for Abbacchio's custom-made pants, even with the way Buccellati's fingers are trembling. He pops the button. Drags down the zipper while eager hips arch into his hands and Abbacchio grunts at the not-friction.

Abbacchio's palms overlay Bruno's hands on his waist to help push the pants down over his hips, then his thighs, until they're pooled on the floor and Buccellati is struck speechless.

More black lace. And silk. Panties cradling Abbacchio's form but that isn't even all.

A pair of sheer thigh highs hug Abbacchio's legs. Their lace trim lands halfway up his thighs, leaving tantalizing patches of pale skin that Buccellati wants to lavish. The feeling redoubles as Abbacchio shifts, muscles in his legs flexing minutely as he steps out of his pants and is left not-quite-bare to Buccellati.

Fuck. Buccellati is torn between staring and touching, brain stalled out and insides aflame.

"It's nothing fancy, like yours," Abbacchio says, smile flickering. He's got his head bowed, and he's fiddling with the lace on one of his thigh highs, tugging it up and snapping the elastic. "But…" He makes eye contact again. "Happy birthday."

Bruno reaches for Leone, sinking against him anew and murmuring, "I love you so much," into the soft of his mouth.

A/N: This is a bit late (sorry..!) bc:
1. I slept in,
2. My ability to write hot and heavy things is forever rusty, no matter how much I oil and polish it via practice feat. the growing pile of NSFWIPs hanging out in my fanfic folders...
3. Related to point 2, I can't stop tweaking this quick little thing so please take it off my hands as is.

Thanks for reading,,