bakerstreet | THE KISSING BOOTH MEME

Fugo.

[He looks aghast, covering Fugo's hand with his own as if to stifle his incorrectness.]

You can't just change a kiss value mid-game, that's cheating.

But is it cheating, [he asks, wide-eyed and completely serious,] if you haven't decided on a set value in the first place?

Edited 2016-08-22 05:14 (UTC)

Fugo . . .

[He sighs, shaking his head a little, and pats Fugo's hand.]

They've got to be one to one. Can't pass over two. One very-important-person kiss equals one general-population kiss. Anyway, the point is to get a lot of kisses, period. So inflating the value of very-important-person kisses is really just sabotaging myself.

Interesting. I would have thought that a kiss from Mista would be worth at least three or five general-population kisses, at least in terms of quality and sentiment expressed.

[Fugo, no. Fugo, you're making this up as you go along.]

But I see that in this case, since your goal is to get a lot of kisses, period, it's important to keep it one-to-one. [He pauses, for dramatic effect.] So. How far behind are you?

My goal is to get a lot of kisses.

[He chews his lip thoughtfully, though. It smears the gloss a little, but he doesn't mind. Fugo brought him a whole new tube. What a very thoughtful person he is.]

On the other hand . . . hm. Maybe you're not terribly far off base after all. Maybe there should be the potential for additional points should any particular kiss be superlative.

[What if he got lots of really good kisses, basically.]

[Is it strange, to pay attention to the way Giorno's mouth moves while he talks. Probably a little, considering that Giorno is now aware that Fugo pays attention to what sort of lip gloss he wears. Oh, well. It's too late not to notice now.]

For example, [Fugo holds one finger up, to represent the Most Important kiss Giorno's had all day:] considering that Trish only wanted your first kiss, I'm certain that she made sure it a kiss worth remembering. The sort of kiss that if you weren't so greedy, could theoretically last you all day.

[If a kiss from Trish isn't considered superlative, well. What kiss could be?]

But I am greedy, Fugo.

[Plaintively stated, but factual. He is greedy; it is simply a world's truth. The sun is bright, the grass is green, Giorno Giovanna wants as many kisses as he can conceivably have.]

It was an amazing kiss. It was very distracting. But then I also just wanted to kiss her more. Which makes it worse, really. I'm only . . . nine? Nine kisses behind, which isn't so many, but with Mista napping and Trish having principles, I don't know.

[He sighs a little, keeps chewing his lip. It's a problem, a surmountable and technically unimportant one, but one which he still wants to solve.]

[. . . Is Fugo--hm. He blinks a little, then speaks without thinking.]

You should kiss me. I want to test a theory.

You are incredibly greedy. [Fugo agrees, without spite or ill intent. Giorno being unrepentantly greedy is an important part of his personality. He's not satisfied with things like "good enough" or "partial success". Giorno has big dreams and high standards. Where others stop, Giorno pushes forward. It's usually a good thing.

But sometimes it ends up with Giorno Giovanna's kissing booth, which uses fundraising for pudding legislature as a front to get as many kisses as he possibly can. Nine's not so bad. That's a deficit Mista can and will make up for when he wakes up, after he opens up his sock drawer for his savings.

He was sort of expecting a suggestion like this, in the way that Fugo thinks about conversations and their potential outcomes. Talking to Giorno in his kissing booth carries with it a calculated risk of being kissed. He's not so surprised by that--he's just a little taken aback by how sudden and plain the shift is.]

What? Right now? [There's a joke about money laundering that he'd like to tell Giorno here. Something about the ethics of the authors of legislation moving money between them to fund the laws, as if they weren't bribing legislatures to the gills already. He probably should have taken into account how abrupt Giorno could be sometimes, because now he's flustered and he can feel the proper timing of the stupid joke slipping away from him.]

Mmhm.

[And for once, Giorno isn't trying to make Fugo embarrassed. It's much more a case of the idea having occurred to him in a context where he felt comfortable simply blurting it out. That's how he is with Fugo now: often calculated, but not always.]

[In fact, he's regarding the tinge of pink at the tips of Fugo's ears with some confusion. It seems sensible to him. He's greedy; he wants to be kissed; he has a deficit of kisses; Fugo brought him lip gloss; Fugo keeps looking at the way his mouth moves. The conclusion is simple. The idea is a good one. No one loses, everyone wins.]

Well. Is there something you want to wait for?

Edited 2016-08-24 21:56 (UTC)

[He does this to himself, he knows. He thinks too much, gets worked up or caught off-guard, and freezes. It's silly. But it's one thing to think about bringing Giorno some lip gloss, talk about something (hopefully) humorous, and kiss him and another thing entirely to actually do it.]

No, it's just-- [He shakes his head and waves his free hand, as if he's trying to physically brush away his own embarrassment. It's just him, is what he means. Impulsively, he twists his hand briefly out from under Giorno's and slips their fingers together. He squares his shoulders, and very seriously remarks:] Considering how quickly the market can change, it's best to confirm theories as soon as you can.

[He only hesitates a little, taking note of the difference in angles between their faces and shifting his position to avoid an unfortunate nose collision, before leaning in to press a careful kiss on Giorno's mouth.]

Edited 2016-08-25 02:46 (UTC)

[There's a moment when Giorno is certain Fugo will change his mind. Or at least hedge enough that he'll need to stop pushing and change the subject. It'd be fine if that happened; it's not as though his feelings will be hurt, really. He likes spending time with Fugo no matter what they're doing. He's delightfully ridiculous. He'll talk about things like pudding legislature and kiss economics like they really matter, he'll take a joke to the end of the line before he admits how stupid it is.]

[So it's fine. Except then Fugo's taken his hand and--oh. He's so surprised at the shift that he doesn't really process what's happening quickly enough, and then Fugo is kissing him.]

[He's so careful. Giorno breathes in sharply and squeezes his hand, leaning into the gentle pressure, kissing him very decisively back, savoring the strange shyness of it. Sometimes Fugo's trepidation is so contagious that his own heart beats in his ears the way he imagines Fugo's must. Or maybe it's just because any touch from Fugo is so special he has to hold it carefully in his heart, like brittle glass in shaking hands.]

[It's not a long kiss. It feels like it is, though, because Fugo was so silly about it and then all of a sudden all Giorno knows is how very happy he is. When he pulls away (albeit not very far) he's smiling in a hazy, distant way, unfocused and lazy, his fingers still locked with Fugo's.]

Mmm . . . look at that. I was right.

[Kissing Giorno is new. It still catches him offguard when it happens, even when it's as intentional, calculated even, as this. His heart pounds and his stomach flutters. For one perfect moment, everything is just Giorno; the smell of his hair, the taste of his gloss, the pressure of their mouths together, the grounding contact of their fingers together. Fugo honestly doesn't know how anyone in this house manages, if this is what it's like to kiss someone you love every time.

Giorno doesn't pull away far. There's still room for Fugo to rest their foreheads together, which he does. He feels off-balance in the best of ways, like the only way he's able to hold himself upright is because of those little points of contact. He's smiling too, soft and a little strange and entirely unselfconscious.]

You usually are. [They ... were talking about something. Oh, right. Kiss economics. Some theory. The details are sort of escaping him at the moment. Fugo blinks, trying to recall them, and instead only coming up with the thought that oh, I was right because of the way Giorno's lip gloss is smudged from kissing.] About what?

[Fugo's breath always smells a little like he spends too much time brushing his teeth. Like he's trying to scrape bad dreams off his teeth with fluoride. Even now there's a tired freshness about him. A sweetness, too. His smile is just as silly as the rest of him.]

[It's the kind of smile you have to kiss, so Giorno does, just briefly and quickly enough that Fugo doesn't have time to think about it too much. Talking is so overrated, he tells himself, when he could be kissing.]

About everything.

[This sighed out very quietly, because of course he is. It's still mostly teasing, though, because he wants to keep Fugo smiling. He's got such a good smile.]

My theory was--it's different. More, kissing someone like you. But I can't put a number to it. The difference is qualitative, not quantitative. It's not . . . a measurable variable. There aren't even words, really, I don't think.

It's just . . .

[Hm. He shrugs a little, very gently so as not to disrupt the way they're leaning together.]

Perfect.

[What. Was he even worrying about, to begin with? Giorno has already kissed him again, quick and soft, bringing their tally up to two. What Giorno says does make Fugo smile and even laugh, the sound coming from the back of his throat. Because here is a rare moment when Giorno is wrong and needs to be briefly reminded of the true authority in the house:] No, that's Trish.

[Trish is a force of nature. Who is always right all of the time. Which is occasionally sometimes frustrating to deal with, because one does not just tell Trish Una "no". But right now, there's no room left in him for anything but a fizzy, bubbly swell of affection. He loves that unstoppable girl, who mercilessly bullies him in one breath before letting him borrow a bottle of lip gloss and sending him on his way with a laugh in the next.]

That's so imprecise. [It's not a complaint, for once. It is what it is. Kiss economics are a sham and they both know it. Fugo reaches for Giorno's face, tucking a wispy flyaway back behind his ear where it belongs, and affectionately kisses the corner of his mouth.] That's three. Out of ... [He has to think for a moment. Kissing Giorno is wonderful, but extremely distracting.] Nine, you said?

Ah--

[Fugo kisses him again. Fugo kisses him again, and he feels so adrift and lazy from it, he absolutely can't remember what he was going to say. He just stares at Fugo's mouth, his lips parted a little as he tries to focus. Fugo has gloss on his mouth. That's . . . Giorno's, not his own.]

[Nine? Nine isn't so many. He squeezes Fugo's hand, the fingers of his other hand coming to tug a little at the hem of that awful jacket.]

Nine is unlucky. One after eight.

Do you know how much that lip gloss costs? It's a lot. You've made a sizable donation to the pudding agenda today.

Ten, then. [He amicably concedes, too pleased by the current state of affairs to mind that counting the numbers after (and before?) the number four and its multiples are altogether too many unlucky numbers to remember and avoid.] But you'll have to help me keep track.

[Fugo is an excellent manager. The combination of his excellent memory and detail-oriented personality means that there isn't much that gets past him. But he can't possibly be expected to remember how many kisses he's swapped with Giorno, especially when he's the middle of kissing him. His fingers continue to trace the edge of Giorno's hairline, thumb brushing the slope of his cheek.]

I have no idea. I told Trish I'd pay her back later. [Fugo thoughtfully pulls his lips together, smoothing out the smudged impressions left behind by Giorno's mouth. His mouth feels different, with a little bit of gloss on it.] It's worth it, though. The color's good on you. Very chic.

[He blinks. Oh, right. Pudding agenda.] So it should take you far.

[Oh. Oh, it takes him a second, because Fugo says that the way he says everything else, thoughtful but deliberate, purposeful, an observation presented as fact. The color's good on you. Oh. Oh, that was--oh.]

[His eyes go a little wide. He's so torn. God, but he wants to call attention to it, to make sure Fugo realizes what he's done and demand more of it. Yes, what else, tell me other things that you like about the way I look--but at the same time he knows, knows, that if he does that Fugo will never, ever do it again. Or at least not for ages.]

[Damnit. He's sort of breathless.]

It's good on you, too.

[Damnit. He laughs a little, very obviously at himself, quiet and embarrassed.]

I was going to say something a lot wittier than that. Something about how it's very expensive, so you bought a lot of kisses, if you want them. Pretend I said it and you were very impressed.

[It's Fugo's turn now to be puzzled. He can tell that Giorno, shamelessly greedy and brilliantly confident, is embarrassed by something. It can't be the kissing or the prospect of kissing, because the entire purpose of this business endeavor is that Giorno wants to collect as many kisses as he can. Could it be something he said? Fugo briefly thinks back on what he said and can't find anything out of the ordinary that would have provoked such a reaction. It doesn't occur to him that it was the compliment because, to him, it's less of a compliment and more a simple statement of fact. Giorno wears chic lip gloss, Giorno has a soft mouth, Giorno's smile is warmer than the sun. All of these are things Giorno has to already know about himself, so why would it be embarrassing to hear it from Fugo?

He doesn't mean to laugh, when Giorno sheepishly explains I was going to say something a lot wittier. He tries, very much, to pull himself together and hold the laughter in by clamping his mouth shut, bowing his head, and dropping the hand fiddling with Giorno's hairline to hold himself up on Giorno's shoulder. His own shoulders shake for a moment and he's almost able to hold it all back, but then he thinks about his own stupid joke about the ethics of them kissing right here, right now and he laughs, breathlessly and helplessly.

Because that's ridiculous. That's absolutely ridiculous that the two of them, who are usually very articulate, are so easily flustered and overwhelmed that they miss the timing of their own jokes.]

What--don't laugh at me!

[He was embarrassed before; he's frowning and flushed now, sitting up straight in his indignance. He was trying to be honest and this is what he gets! And he isn't just embarrassed anymore, either. No, if Fugo's going to laugh at him he'll make him regret it. Nobody laughs at him with impunity.]

[His hand snakes out, fingers wrapping around Fugo's tie and yanking him close. He's still pink in the face, but that danger is back in the edge of his smile, which is close enough that it's nearly a kiss in any case.]

I'm not Trish. But I can do a pretty good impression sometimes. So if you're going to laugh at me, you'll need to be ready for me to be totally honest with you about what I like about you, Fugo, all fundraising aside.

It's not-- [just you, he means, except it gets lost in another peal of laughter because Giorno's so peeved and that just makes it so much worse. The laughter bubbles out of him and he can barely keep himself upright, until Giorno's hand is on his tie and he's abruptly pulled up and forward and it's sort of a wonder that their foreheads don't clonk together.

Giorno is so close again and he's all sharpness under his softness, incredibly dangerous despite his kiss-smudged lip gloss. The contrast takes his breath away, or at least holds it tight in his chest for a moment until he remembers to push the old air out and pull in the new. It's very hard in moments like this, but he has to remember to keep breathing.]

Ethics, [he finally admits, voice still colored with the promise of laughter. In his effort to resist laughing again or to close the tiny distance between them with their unlucky fourth kiss, he pulls his lower lip between his teeth and tangles his fingers in the fabric of Giorno's jacket before bravely forging on:] I wanted to make you laugh about the ethics of policymakers buying and selling kisses, because it's sort of like money laundering because I work for you. But you surprised me, so I missed my chance.

[Very seriously:] So don't bully me.

[He knows he won't be able to fight back, at all, not when they're face-to-face and he's already so happy. He would probably just fall over and be unable to move for the rest of the afternoon.]

. . . Oh.

[It's a bad precedent to set, letting Fugo get away with laughing at him with no repercussions. Even so, his fingers loosen a little in Fugo's tie, his expression softening--not much, but a bit. He still doesn't like being laughed at, but this is a very Fugo sort of thing, isn't it. Thinking too much about the way to do something, then being tripped up when things don't go according to his script.]

I still really want to bully you. But you're so silly, it's like you just bully yourself. It would be unsporting.

[Also, he's too focused on Fugo's lip caught between his teeth and the feel of fingers in his jacket. When his eyes drift up to meet Fugo's again, he blinks, then pokes him in the shoulder.]

It would have been a prohibitively long list anyway. But I won't always be so nice to you.

[Oh. Giorno's looking at his mouth, isn't he, the way he was looking at Giorno's mouth before. That sends a flutter, pleased and embarrassed, from his stomach down to his toes. Giorno doesn't kiss people he doesn't want to, but knowing that and seeing little signs that Giorno enjoys kissing him, specifically, are always so different.

He still doesn't quite know what to make of it, other than watching Giorno look at him like that makes a hard to resist task impossible. So Fugo gives in to the inevitable and kisses Giorno again, once and then twice, so no one has to worry about the number four.]

How gracious of you, Giogio. [He tries to settle his expression into something more stern, but he can't seem to stop smiling. His cheeks hurt from all the smiling he's done today.] But that's not true. You're always nice to me.

[Too nice, some days. But the days where Fugo feels like Giorno's been too kind to him seem to happen less and less, lately.]

Am I?

[It's so hard to focus. Fugo is looking at Giorno looking at him, and Giorno is looking at the looking, and--it's just nice. Fugo is nice, this is nice, being close to him is nice. All that smiling is nice. Fugo has the best smile, but he never seems to believe it when Giorno tells him.]

[He sighs a little, so happily, when Fugo kisses him again. When Fugo kisses him for the ever-important fifth time. He would be perfectly content to just slide onto the grass and give up on the booth entirely for dramatic purposes at this point. On the other hand, he wants more kisses, so. Nevermind.]

I don't think always . . . [He fiddles with the edge of Fugo's jacket.] Sometimes I really want to make you embarrassed. That's not very nice. But it's fun. I like the way you look at me when you're embarrassed.

You're safe, though. Because I like the way you're looking at me now even better.

[Maybe not totally safe. Because Giorno just looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, then, his lip caught between his teeth in contemplation. And then he kisses him again, except it's sort of the kiss equivalent of those conversations where Giorno is trying to make Fugo as embarrassed as possible. He's still smiling, but he's also playing, which is what that has always been: a game, a chase, him always looking over his shoulder and hoping Fugo will catch up.]

[Fugo is getting better at that, lately.]

[The thing is, those words are enough all on their own to fluster Fugo a little. He knows very well how Giorno can be; how he, like Trish, takes a certain delight in embarrassing him. They're both awful bullies and, honestly, Fugo is incredibly lucky that Mista is around to be his perfect distracting self because otherwise he would probably spend most of his days entirely overwhelmed. His eyebrows come together and he pulls himself together for a retort, but then--

But then, Giorno kisses him.]

[Up until now, the kisses they've passed back and forth have been perfect and entirely too distracting gestures of affection--but they've been short, simple. Little kisses. Sentimental kisses. This is... a superlative kiss, a long and drawn out kiss, that makes him gasp and forget that they're outside and anyone could see them. He holds tightly to Giorno's jacket and leans forward to meet him and respond because if he lets himself lean back at all, he'll just tumble off of his stool into the grass. The sort of kiss that even if he wipes Giorno's gloss off of his lips, if Sheila sees him she'll wrinkle her nose and Mista would smile crookedly at the sight of him because there's some has-been-kissed quality to his mouth. An amazing kiss. A distracting kiss. But then I also just wanted to kiss her more, Giorno had described it, and isn't that just the problem?

He should, theoretically, go back to work at some point. But how can he, when Giorno leans in and kisses him like this.]

[At first, when they pull back and he remembers how to breathe again and where they are, all Fugo can manage is a feeble:] You said. [Fugo lets go of Giorno's jacket, covering his mouth with one hand because he doesn't quite trust Giorno to not laugh and lean forward to kiss him again and besides Giorno shouldn't get to see him smiling if he's just going to be a bully anyway. His words, deeply embarrassed and distinctly accusatory, are muffled a little behind his fingers. He's red all over and deeply flustered] Giogio, you said I was safe.

[Rationally speaking, that is a factual statement that he knows and believes to be true: Fugo never feels safer or more like himself when he's around Giorno, Trish, and Mista. It's safe to smile around them. Safe to play the piano for them. Safe to walk away from his work and debate kiss economics with them, although he has the distinct feeling that neither Mista or Trish would put up with that kind of discussion for very long.]

[Oh. Not good enough at catching up, apparently, not yet--which is fine, really. It's not a bad thing. No, it's . . . nice, actually, because if Giorno wasn't breathless already he would be now, looking at Fugo looking at him like that. It really is like being in an echo chamber, the two of them trading kisses and glances and getting more and more overwhelmed. Except the different between him and Fugo is . . .]

[Well, he doesn't feel the need to hide it. That's the difference. Fugo's all red and covering his mouth, and the glimpse of his mouth, his all of him, leaves Giorno breathing in quick and sharp, a little dizzy. Fugo always gets angry when he says he's cute, so he can't imagine the fuss he'd kick up over a word like pretty. But that's the truth of him all the same.]

I didn't mean to . . . not really . . .

[Maybe a little. Not this much. Except he wants to do it again and worse. He wants that a lot, he thinks, blinking slowly. It's taking him ages for his words to catch up with his brain, but action is easier, so he reaches out to wrap his fingers around Fugo's wrist, to pull it away from his mouth, to see.]

Come back. You can get revenge, if you want to.

THE KISSING BOOTH MEME

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