Work Text:
This is Highly Unprofessional
Bucciarati would have passed out if Abbacchio hadn’t forced him to sit down. He took him by the shoulders, pushed him onto the chair, and, very sternly said, “Don’t you dare move from that spot.”
He followed this by forcing a glass of water into the twenty-year-old’s hand. “Drink this.” he said, “Now.” Blue eyes blinked at him. “…Please. Tch.” Abbacchio’s two-colored gaze was as stern as ever, not glaring, no, never glaring, not at Bucciarati, anyway, but for once the cynical cold from the violet seemed to overpower the bright warmth of the golden color below it. He stood there, bent his knee, popped his hip, and placed an impatient hand to rest against the pelvic bone beneath the worn leather of his coat. He tapped his shiny black nails of his other hand against his flared pants and watched him.
Knowing he would either have to give in to Abbacchio’s “take care of yourself” nags or suffer the silent treatment for the rest of the weekend, Bucciarati relented. He murmured a thank you and drank some of the water that had been generously poured for him and aggressively shoved into his line of sight. He drank a few dainty sips, and then set the glass onto the coffee table coaster. He tried to get up again, staggering slightly. A pair of firm hands pushed him back into the chair.
“No. You’re not allowed to move from that spot.”
Bucciarati’s eyes narrowed, “But the boys—”
“Are almost adults, they can take care of themselves while you rest.”
“But Trish—”
“—Is having a particularly horrible case of PMS and will attack you with Spice Girl if you get anywhere remotely near her.”
“What about Coco Jumbo?”
“Coco is currently sleeping in his designer tank.” Abbacchio reported, “So really, you have no excuse to get up right now. Everyone is fine. Now for the love of all that is good and holy will you please stay your ass in the chair for five minutes? You need a break.” He finished his statement with a rather irritated huff.
“Well, someone is being a bit rough today isn’t he.” Bruno commented.
“You weren’t listening to the needs of your own body,” Leone scoffed, “So I had to force the issue. Seriously, how many times have you almost fainted in the past couple of weeks? You’re overworking yourself and the exhaustion is catching up with you. We’ve been through this one too many times amore mio. It’s the same conversation over and over again. You tell us all the time to get our asses in gear. Get it together. But you don’t ever follow your own advice. I’m worried.”
Bucciarati sighed, “I appreciate the concern. But I’m fine. Really, don’t worry about—”
“But you’re not. Tell the kids that all you want, but I can see right through you.” Abbacchio snipped, “Look. We really appreciate everything you do for us, but you can’t forget to take some time to take care of yourself too. And if you won’t allow yourself to do that then…then I’ll keep taking it upon myself to look after you and to make sure you do.” his annoyance faded when he swooped forward, and plopped himself right onto the capo’s lap.
“Hey what the he—what is the—what are you doing!? This is highly unprofessional to just—”
“It’s highly unprofessional to detect liars by licking people’s faces, Bruno.” Abbacchio commented. He immediately fell silent. A short silence filled the room, while the young capo half-gaped. (Abbacchio knew this fact because, in order to humor his beloved and try to make an effort with Giorno, he had used Moody Blues to replay the first encounter Bruno and the kid had had.)
“…And what am I doing, you ask? I’m making sure you take care of yourself and don’t move from this spot, just like I said I would.” He looked him dead in the eye and offered a sly smirk.
Bucciarati’s irritation melted away into a lovingly amused smile. He teasingly called Leone a rude name and kissed the smirk right off the former cop’s face, deliberately smearing the perfectly applied lipstick.
Abbacchio stood up to readjust his position.
“Take off your jacket.” he said.
Bruno gaped, “Excuse me?”
“Look, your muscles have gotta be stiff and I can’t massage them very well if there’s fabric in the way.” Leone explained, “So would you please take it off?”
He studied him for another second, and then fluidly removed the white jacket, carefully draping it over the back of the chair.
Abbacchio resumed his position on Bucciarati’s lap. Then, he lightly pressed his fingers into the dips between Bruno’s neck and shoulders, discovering a couple of decent sized knots had formed. He began to prod and rub the area with slow deliberate circles in attempt to loosen them up. Bruno studied him. He drank in his hyper-focused gaze and his knitted brows. His shiny purple lips tightly pulled into a Jessica Rabbit pout, the loose fly-aways of ashy lavender hair that had fallen from the two front strands he had pulled behind his head. His eyes were bright, unhidden, out of the usual shadow of his hair and down-turned head, further highlighted by the sultry eye makeup he always wore. Bruno relaxed into the touch, and really took the time to enjoy the sensation of tight muscles slowly loosening.
The loud racket of boys upstairs split the quiet serenity of the air. There was a resounding “thump”.
The capo stiffened immediately, and tried to move, jolting up so violently he bumped into Abbacchio’s chest. The rich, earthy, gentle sweetness of leather with a dash of light cologne briefly engulfed Bruno’s senses. A light hand pushed him back against the chair.
“Calmati, amore mio.” Abbacchio crooned. "They’re probably just rough housing. A few bruises and scrapes are nothing compared to some other injuries we’ve all had.” Bruno sighed.
If anyone comes down here and sees us like this… Bruno thought, considering this suggestive position they were in, what with him being half naked underneath Leone, who was straddling his lap. It wasn’t as if the kids didn’t know the two of them were a thing…but, uh, hello decency? They were the household parental units after all. And this…
“...This is even more unprofessional…” Bruno grumbled, though he didn’t protest further than this. Abbacchio’s steady hands moved towards his shoulders. Bucciarati lightly took his wrist.
“Be careful on the—”
“Bad shoulder.” Abbacchio finished, “I know.” He stopped, “Has it been bothering you? It looks a little irritated. Do you want me to get you some ice?”
“It’s just been a little stiff is all.” Bruno replied. Abbacchio nodded, promising to be as gentle as he could, before proceeding. He lightly touched Bruno’s bad shoulder. There was a humungous knot in it, and he couldn’t help but feel his stomach twist itself into a small one.
“It’s really tight.” Abbacchio said, “Like, ridiculously tight. I don’t want to hurt you, so…why don’t you try some breathing squares while I work on your shoulders? You know, like the ones you taught Narancia? If you relax your muscles, it should be a little easier…I think? I’m not a medical expert but…”
“Sure. I can do that.” Bruno shifted slightly. His eyes fluttered closed. He breathed in through his nose...1...2...3...4. Hold. 1...2...3...4...Breathed out through his mouth. 1...2...3...4…Hold. 1...2...3...4. Breathe in. 1…2…3…4. Hold. 1…2…3…4. Breath out. 1…2…3…4…Hold…Repeat….
Fingers pressed and prodded. Gently at first, picking up in pressure the longer Bruno kept going with his four-square breathing.
Leone continued to massage all the stiff, tight kinks from them, squeezing here, pushing, pulling there. After a short while, Bruno’s worry of the boys ceased. He melted right into the touch, sighing contently as a great weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. He even lightly gripped Leone’s lower back while the ex-cop pressed and kneaded all the stress away.
With a rustle of leather, Abbacchio pulled away slightly. Bruno slowly opened his bright blue oceans, blinking up at his beloved.
“You feel better?” Leone asked.
“Actually, yes.” Bruno replied. He leaned up to give Leone a gentle peck, “Thank you.” He tried to move, “But I really should get up and go...'
Abbacchio finished his sentence, “Go drink some more water and lie down on your stomach so I can massage your back.” the ex-cop slowly pulled himself off the capo’s lap and watched him carefully while he downed several more drinks from the tall glass of water. He got up from the chair.
In a fluid motion, Leone scooped Bruno into his arms and carried him to the sectional, positioning him on the “fainting couch”-esque portion of it, (i.e. the longest seat with the ottoman). Bruno grabbed a throw pillow and rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face into the square cushion. Abbacchio turned on some smooth jazz, knelt on the floor beside him and got to work once more, working through all the kinks in his back. This caused a plethora of quiet, breathy, pleasure-filled sounds to elicit from Bruno’s mouth.
-xXx-
At some point, the group of bambini thundered down the stairs to pillage the pantry and loot the fridge for some midday snacks. But this time Bruno made no move to look towards them or speak to them or scold them. He simply remained where he was, lost in a sovereign of contented sighs and groans, not at all suggestive, within a world of smooth jazz, kept there by the sincere touch of his lover’s—no— his loving husband’s hand.
And then curiosity killed the cats, when the boys (and Trish) poked their heads into the living room to figure out why the hell their mama was making sounds like that. Five pairs of wide and curious eyes peeked from around the corner of the living room’s arch.
Abbacchio’s eyes flashed up at them. He raised a slender finger to his painted lips and shushed them. He then shooed them away by throwing a pillow that he may or may not have squarely aimed at Giorno Giovanna's face.
"You shouldn't be rubbernecking you know." he scoffed, "It's highly unprofessional."