Chapter Text
He was a heavy weight on Fugo’s hips, legs spread, knees pressed to the sheets on either side of Fugo’s body. Bright, inescapable eyes, lucent like precious stone in the soft candlelight. Fugo almost wished he had chosen a different source of illumination because the softness of this one made Giorno look unbearably beautiful, a warmth and roundness lent to his delicate, porcelain grace.
Warm. Yes, warm. He felt warm, too, on the inside, on his skin where Fugo’s desperate hands smoothed up and down his sides, trying to settle on his hips but too hungry to be still. Wanting, always wanting, trying to reach him through the barrier still present, the distance that still remained, even though they were skin against skin, close in body, connected where a part of Fugo breached the confines of Giorno’s form.
Giorno’s hands were steady on Fugo’s breast.
Look, but don’t touch. Was it absurd for Fugo to feel this way? He could touch, was touching, was inside of Giorno, had been accepted into him, and Giorno arched and moaned when Fugo’s hand stroked down his back. But still his eyes were sharp, hair still neatly in place, and the rolling of his hips remained even and regular. His little smile was so poised, while beneath him Fugo was falling to pieces even with their slow, steady pace. I can look all I want with my hands but I can never touch his heart.
Fugo imagined ruining him. Drawing a moan from his lips that wasn’t designed, pulling him down to leave marks all over his collar, high up where they would be seen, tangling fingers in his braid and pulling it loose. Making him scream in incomprehensible pleasure. Coming inside him, watching his own dirty seed drip out from between Giorno’s perfect thighs.
Sow him but not reap him, kiss him but not keep him. He will never be mine.
“Fugo,” purred Giorno, “Oh, Fugo-”
Fugo cried out Giorno’s name and shattered.