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Chapter Text

why can't you want me like the other boys do?


his hair is like a blanket of lavender, falling onto his shoulders in delicate tufts, framing his solemn face with utter elegance. his skin is slick with sweat, his chest rising and falling almost as if the music was his lifeline. 

his hands grip the pole with determination, but his concentration was anywhere but.


they stare at me while I stare at you


his eyes scan the audience diligently, pleadingly, until they settle on him. bruno bucciarati, capo to a newly forming group of passione . his face looked soft, kind, but abbacchio knew it was probably a cover-up. ultimately, bruno was no better than the man who sat next to him, the owner of the “ club” ; just another underling in the countless ranks of the gang.


  why can't I keep you safe as my own?


try as he might, he can’t find himself able to shake the man out of his thoughts. bright blue eyes, soft pink lips, well maintained tufts of dark hair that haunts his dreams with its soft appearance. anytime he sees bruno lingering around the club, he finds himself captivated. he goes ‘home’ to sleep, but finds no true rest.


one moment I have you, the next you are gone


what he does find is that the feeling seems to not be mutual. of the countless times he’s seen bucciarati, he recalls only a couple where he found himself under that piercing blue gaze. there’s been glances, sure, but only fleeting. only once he watched him with true attentiveness, plush lips raised in a small smile the entirety of his routine. abbacchio made sure his movements were flawless for him. 


rehearsed steps on an empty stage, that boy's got my heart in a silver cage 


sometimes abbacchio finds himself growing tired of performing. he hasn’t a choice, his life is not his own to control anymore, and will never be his own once again, but he still falters at times. but if bruno is present, regardless of where his attention is, he gives it his all. usually by the time he’s gone, abbacchio is completely breathless, and can’t help but collapse when he’s backstage, even before he redresses himself. it’s worth it, though.


why can't you want me like the other boys do?


he craves him. he craves the soft gaze he holds, the press of his hands against him- his cravings know no boundaries. it confuses him sometimes, leaves him an emotional mess even more- but these feelings never seem to waver. 


they stare at me while I crave you


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he goes home after a long day of loneliness and longing. an uneventful day, but one that leaves him exhausted. his apartment is share with several others in his perdiciment, but none are up at late as him.


he strips his coat off as soon as he enters the threshold of this borrowed apartment. he shrugs off his shoes, strips down. his body craves substance, nutrients- but he finds himself gravitating towards his bed instead. he flops down with the grace of a fish, not even bothering to remove his makeup, and sleeps. 


he dreams. 


he dreams of a day where he’s no longer used like a doll. a day where his life is his to control, a day where his body is his alone. he dreams of fresh air, a soft sky. of the gentle breeze of the ocean, comforting company. the things that make life worth living.  


but then he dreams of a day where his ‘owner’ approaches him, documentation in hand, and tells him he’s being bought- his heart sinks. has he not done enough? the club was his best option.


he’s given a date to prepare his meager belongings, a time to be present at the club for transportation. he’s given no means of identifying his buyer, and no chance of escape. he simply follows orders, keeps his head down. he knew this would happen eventually. 


he’s given that day alone. it’s far more time than he’d actually require, he need only collect his few belongings- some clothes, makeup, and a handkerchief that bruno had dropped once and he’d been too nervous to return- the extra time only makes him anxious. 


slowly but surely, the time arrives, and he bids the club farewell. he doesn’t think he’ll miss it, won’t miss the back breaking work, the abuse and sexual misuse of his body- but he does worry if it can and will get worse. he forces these thoughts out of his head, and pushes on. 


he’s transported via a black car and multiple men. at first, this prospect initially scared him, which itself was ironic with his natural scary look, but he eventually got used to it. the car takes off as soon as he enters it, and he knows this’ll be the last time he sees the club. 


the car drives smoothly through the busy italian streets, out of the city and through the countryside. leone isn’t sure he’s ever been out this way, but the sight is stunning. it’s at least an hour before the car stops, but he absorbs every second of it gratefully. 


but his enjoyment comes to a close when he’s snapped out of his thoughts and brought back to reality. he’s ushered quickly out of the car, into a building. he’s not given the chance to take in the details of his newfound setting. 


he’s greeted with a rush of cool air when he enters the building. 


and a familiar face. 


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the surprise is surely evident on his face. when he enters, his initial surprise is courtesy of the grand scale of the room. marble flooring, a stunning spiral staircase, delicate looking trinkets of decoration- he’s taken aback by the beauty of the place. it’s the nicest place he’s ever been in.


then his sullen gaze shifts, and he’s greeted with the sight of him. of his infamous bruno, of the man he’d been watching for months. all too suddenly his mouth is dry and he’s fidgeting with his hands. is this real? was he dreaming?


he stares at bruno, it’s all he can do. he’s smiling at him so fondly, and it’s so genuine looking. his hands are rested neatly underneath his chin, and he sits ever so gracefully in a turned around chair. he’s beautiful, abbacchio thinks.


maybe this dream wasn’t so bad.