A/N: Day 17: Tender

...Sappy fluff.

The sound of rain falling heavy on the roof is enough to lull Buccellati to sleep where he stands. It eggs him on, as he pads across the bedroom carpet and climbs into his half of the bed, slipping beneath the covers.

Abbacchio gives a quiet grunt as he's jostled with the movement, and Buccellati mutters an equally quiet apology as he settles beside him. The bottle of black nail polish pressed precariously between Abbacchio's knees stays put, and he gets right back to adding a second coat to his nails.

"Do you have to do that now?"

"I'm not waking up early to do it in the morning," Abbacchio grumbles, and that's fair, Buccellati supposes.

At the same time, though: it's bedtime. The mattress is soft, their blankets are warm, and that rain is still falling outside in a way that creates a perfect ambience. Buccellati could very easily sink into sleep, with or without company, but.

It's cuddling weather. Abbacchio is warmer than the blankets.

Sitting up, Buccellati scooches toward Abbacchio, careful not to bump him too much (lest he mess up and have to start all over) while closing as much of the distance between them as possible. Maximum closeness achieved, he leans fully against Abbacchio. Winds his arms in sideways around Abbacchio's waist, and rests a cheek on his strong shoulder.

There's a soft, comfortable noise from Abbacchio, and if Buccellati tips his face up, he can catch a faint splash of pink coloring high cheekbones.

Kissing one of those cheekbones sounds divine. It'd require too much movement, though, and he's quite comfortable here. So he settles for brushing his lips over Abbacchio's jaw instead, before relaxing back to his shoulder pillow.

"Can I finish, now?" Abbacchio mutters, no heat at all in his voice. His hands are stilled with the nail polish brush halfway out of the bottle.

Something about it makes Buccellati want to smile. "I'm not stopping you."

Abbacchio lets out an amused huff, and re-dips the brush to start in on his right hand. "Stop moving, then," he says, when Buccellati can't help but nuzzle into the warm-soft feel of the shoulder beneath his cheek.

It's not his fault that Abbacchio makes such a comfortable pillow, but he'll try to hold still, for the sake of Abbacchio finishing up and curling into bed with him quicker. This is the second coat, after all, so it should be done soon, no matter how much Abbacchio's tutting under his breath about it coming out messier than his left hand.

All of it looks fine to Buccellati. Because Abbacchio's hands always look good to him, all long, graceful fingers and soft palms, a perfect size and shape to tangle with Buccellati's own hands…

"You done?" he asks, when the nail polish is capped but not set aside.

"They still have to dry, Bruno."

Ah, of course.

…This isn't fair. Ordinarily, Abbacchio is the one ushering him into bed, so it just figures that the one time Buccellati actually wants to sleep, Abbacchio is bent on staying up too late. If only by a handful of minutes.

Buccellati squeezes him in a tight hug, and basks in the warm kiss that's pressed to his forehead in return. This'll do, while the nail polish dries. Another few minutes here, then he can finally drag Abbacchio under the covers. Wrap around him properly, and be held in turn. Just like this type of cold, rainy, borderline miserable weather calls for.

Abbacchio is blowing on his nails, leaning his warm weight into Buccellati's hold.

He's just so…he's perfect, for nights like this. Broad with soft muscle, and long limbs that Buccellati loves to tangle himself in until he loses track of whose body is whose. The strong lines of his face rendered approachable without makeup. No lipstick between their kisses.

He's just…Leone. And that's…

Clutching Abbacchio's shirt, Buccellati slumps in ever-closer. His desire to melt into Abbacchio and sleep the night away cozied up is getting progressively stronger, with each feather-light touch of lips to his forehead. Keeping his eyes open is an absolute chore.

"You must be tired," Abbacchio mumbles, directly into Buccellati's hair.

Buccellati makes a sound that he hopes is affirmative, because duh. It's getting awfully difficult to resist the drowsy pull of sleep, with Abbacchio so close and wrapping an arm around him…holding his hand…

He's over halfway asleep, and sinking fast.

At least until a cold touch on his fingernail has him cracking open an eye. His palm is cradled in one of Abbacchio's, with fingers positioned just so as Abbacchio brushes black polish onto his nails.

"Leone," he grumbles.

"Sleepyhead," Abbacchio accuses, in what is the biggest hypocrite move of all time. He's the real sleepyhead around here, and they both know it. It's an unusual happenstance that he wound up with the lion's share of the energy tonight, while Buccellati is forced to give in to exhaustion.

"Don't." It's an empty complaint, because in reality, Buccellati has no desire to reclaim his hand and no energy to pretend otherwise.

A puff of air ruffles Buccellati's bangs as Abbacchio gives a light laugh. "I just want to see what it would look like on you," he says. "Just one coat." But no matter how many kisses he presses to Buccellati's forehead, this bedtime delay will not be forgotten anytime soon.

Still. When Buccellati convinces both of his eyes to open fully, there's attractive black polish on his nails, and an even more attractive pink flush on Abbacchio's cheeks.

A rush of affection fills Buccellati's chest to the brim, spilling over the sides. He shifts around until he can drop a kiss to Abbacchio's neck, feeling and hearing his soft sigh in response. The first hand is released, so Buccellati offers the other, because he can't deny the giddy feeling in his heart brought on by matching nail polish.

Luckily, Abbacchio is well-practiced at and therefore quick at painting nails. It doesn't take him long to finish up, and set the bottle down on their bedside table at last.

And then Abbacchio's arms wind around Buccellati, hugging him in close, and he sinks into the finally-returned contact, greedily soaking up Abbacchio's proximity.

…At the same time, though:

"Now I have to wait for this to dry."

"It won't take long."

"Hm." Buccellati isn't sure he believes that. These few seconds have already felt too long. He tugs on Abbacchio's shirt, coaxing him to bend close enough to kiss. Just an easy press of lips, soft and warm and somehow even more relaxing, though Buccellati was certain he was already all-the-way relaxed. "Sleep," he mutters against Abbacchio's mouth.

"Okay." Another gentle kiss. "But when your nails are fucked up in the morning, don't blame me."

That would be his fault to begin with, for doing it so late, but Buccellati is too tired to mention it. The only thing he has energy for right now is lying back down, and welcoming Abbacchio beneath the covers when he finally slips under them.

They settle face to face, and as they do Buccellati distantly notes the not-dry polish on his nails catching on blankets and clothes and Abbacchio's hair – but it's not enough to give him significant pause.

And it's definitely not enough to keep him from wrapping his entire body around Abbacchio's warm presence. Buccellati wriggles forward until there isn't a single centimeter of space separating them, and tangles their legs together.

He hugs Abbacchio tight. Presses a kiss to his throat.

"You're fixing our nails tomorrow," Abbacchio grouches, disrupting the comfort in a way that only makes Buccellati feel more at ease, somehow.

"Mh," Buccellati responds. Noncommittal confirmation. Tomorrow he'll worry about getting Abbacchio to fix their nails. Tonight, he's falling asleep in the space of those safe arms, with the sound of the rain as a pleasant backdrop. "Love you."

There's some muttering that Buccellati is too sleepy to decipher, and then Abbacchio is nosing through his bangs to deposit one last kiss to his forehead.

"Love you, too."

A/N: Thanks for reading!