THE KISSING BOOTH MEME

[ruinousstrength]

THE KISSING BOOTH MEME

Easy-peasy; post your character & tag to others. congrats! One of your characters have the unfortunate task of working a kissing booth. now KISS. or don't, whatevs.

 

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[digiorno]

[It takes Giorno perhaps too long to realize that Fugo is being incredibly wicked. But, in fairness to him, it's difficult to realize. Whether he means to be or not, Fugo is very distracting, very distracting. Even just the touch to his jaw--Giorno has to lean into it, has to close his eyes against it, has to focus hard to remember to breathe. Fugo's fingers are long and cool, and even with his eyes closed he can see them: in the darkness behind his eyelids they file papers, write notes in a scratchy hand, card through his hair, leap inscrutably after a melody on black-and-white keys.]

[When he realizes, somewhere around the kiss on his cheek, he whines a little. That, at least, he's not embarrassed about. Fugo knows he's greedy. There's no point in hiding it, if everyone here knows; there's no point in hiding it ever, but especially not now. So he cracks his eyes open right as Fugo looks at him and punctuates it with a sharp little frown, his eyes shifting helplessly from Fugo's eyes to his mouth and back again. Back and forth.]

[Fugo is pretty good at revenge. That's the last thing Giorno thinks before they're kissing again, and then he's got his fingers tight in Fugo's collar, his heart beating too fast to keep track of anymore, a soft sound slipping out of him that he wouldn't have any particular control over even if he wanted to. Which he doesn't.]

[He has no idea what number they're on. But he also doesn't care, really. There are some things more important than quotas.]

You l--, [he manages, sort of, after a moment, and then tries again.] Like me greedy. Don't lie. You do.

[unholey]

[Giorno is... at a loss for words. It's nice. Is it nice? It's mostly just embarrassing. Even if that's-- not rare, or even so unusual between the two of them. Sheila disdainfully calls the two of them stupid boys, but she's never really seen them when they're being this stupid. Fugo doesn't know how they manage it, but there are times when either he or Giorno crosses some inscrutable line of getting flustered and then the other catches it. And then they become the awful mess of two people trying to pass off one enormous feeling between them except that every time it passes hands, it gets bigger and more overwhelming until neither of them can look properly at each other. Trish thinks it's absolutely hilarious but it's not funny at all.]

I do. [He can't pretend to be put off, play that. Not with Giorno looking at him so honestly, when all he wants to do is kiss and be kissed. The words just thoughtlessly and carelessly spill out of him, before he has a chance to second-guess himself.] I love that you're greedy.

[digiorno]

Oh . . .

[The word love shouldn't affect him so strongly, he knows. Especially when it's not I love you but I love that you. He can't help it, though, he can't, not when it's Fugo saying it. Fugo could read the phone book and he'd be fascinated, so hearing him say that leaves Giorno a little dizzy.]

[He might fall off his stool, actually. He sort of hates these stools right now. If it weren't for them, he could snuggle up close, tuck his head under Fugo's chin and his body against his side. All he can do with these stools is cling desperately to Fugo's shirtfront, lick his lips to remember the pressure of every kiss, and try to remember how to breathe.]

I'm--extra greedy about you. You know?

[Remember how to breathe, remember not to say I love you, not in a kissing booth, that's ridiculous--but that's as far as he can keep himself dignified, as well as he can do before his breath hitches a little and he leans forward delicately until his face is buried in Fugo's neck.]

Because you're mine.

[unholey]

[Fugo shifts under Giorno's weight, managing as carefully as he can to keep the two of them balanced. Their seating situation has gone from convenient to oddly perilous. Maybe he should have taken lightheadedness into account before taking a seat next to Giorno in the kissing booth. He hopes, distantly, that they don't fall because neither of them would want to get up and that would mean at least one of them would end up with grass stains on their clothes. It would be entirely silly.]

I know. It's okay. [As Giorno moves forward, Fugo moves his hand from Giorno's face to rest it loosely around his shoulders in a one-armed sort-of hug. There. That's... a little more stable, at least.] Because I promised you all of me, back then. So you can be as greedy as you want to be. And, you--

[Fugo can't say it, at first; instead of words his throat produces an embarrassed, overwhelmed mggghghghh sort of sound. But he swallows, pulls Giorno closer, and bravely continues on, heart pounding in his ears.]

... when you're greedy, it-- [His voice drops to a quiet, barely-audible mumble, syllables crashing and colliding in his haste to just spit the words out.] Makes me want to be greedy too.

[digiorno]

Ahh . . .

[Now that's something. Giorno can't quite help smirking a little at that; it's a little overwhelmed, like everything else about him right now, but it's still there, a sharp sliver of a smile against the curve of Fugo's neck.]

I like the idea of that. Fugo being greedy. My Fugo being greedy.

[The way he shifts a little closer, really as close as he can get now without overbalancing them and deliberately toppling them to the ground, it's overtly possessive. He tries not to be, but the moment he says it, you're mine, it's like he realizes it all over again and has to point it out to the world, too, just in case anyone's forgotten. This one is his; no one gets to bother him except Giorno, no one gets to take care of him like Giorno does, no one gets to bully him like Giorno does. He's happy to brag about it, verbally or otherwise, if he gets the chance.]

You can be greedy whenever you want to. I like it when you're greedy. I like it when you take things for yourself, no matter what they are.

[unholey]

[He can't see it. But he can feel a sharp little smile in the crook of his neck and-- well, remembers where they are with alarming clarity and how silly and stupid they're being in front of anyone crossing by. This is it. This is what does him in. Not the inherent dangerousness of Purple Haze or the rumors that he's betrayed the Boss that still float around-- but Giorno's dangerous smile, the breath of his exhale, and the possessive circle of his arm. There's absolutely no mistaking the way they're holding onto each other, if there ever was any confusion to outsiders about what sort of relationship they had.

If Trish comes out he's going to die. If Mista wakes up he's never going to live it down. If Sheila shows up she's going to-- he doesn't know, probably find some important documents to crumple up and throw at them.]

Giogio, careful, I'm going to fall. [His warning is a sort of feeble protest. Something to fill up the space while he tries to think of something a little more clever, a little more-- something. Anything. Even if he's not wrong in that his position on the stool already feels precarious and wobbly. Fugo rests his head on Giorno's curls and tries to clear his head. This is so stupid.] Well, I. You.

You're a bad influence. [There are so, so many things he never knew he wanted or needed until Giorno Giovanna came into his life. And now he has them and he doesn't think he can ever go back to living without. It's terrible and wonderful all at once.]

[digiorno]

You won't fall. And if you do, I'll catch you.

[He can't stop grinning. It probably seems terribly smug, because it is. He is in absolute awe at his own luck; his fingers toy with one of the buttons on Fugo's shirt, which is as possessive as the way he leans against him, which is as possessive as his smile, which is--and so on. Just because he's smug doesn't mean he doesn't mean it, though. Mine means lots of things, with him. One is that he keeps the people who are his safe.]

[He hums a little under his breath and sighs, a quick soft delighted little sigh, and blinks slowly, his lashes fluttering against Fugo's neck.]

If I'm a bad influence . . . I think you like that, too, Fugo. I think you like being mine and you like my bad influence and you like kissing me. You like kissing me a lot.

[Which is good. He thinks he might die a little if Fugo didn't want to kiss him, to be close to him like this. In that it goes both ways: he was fine going without, back before he knew what going with felt like.]

[Glancing up, he cups Fugo's cheek in his hand and regards him intently. Admittedly, he is mostly regarding Fugo's mouth, but still: everything is covered eventually. After a moment, he wipes the gloss off Fugo's lower lip with his thumb and very carefully ruins it immediately by kissing him again.]

You're lovely. So very. Sometimes it's hard to believe how lovely you are. I like you very much. So much. I don't have a number for how much. Bigger than numbers.

[unholey]

[He's falling, again. Past all of the cautious words he spends so much time deliberating over, head over heels over the careful way he presents himself around others. All it takes is looking at Giorno looking at him and, oh, there he goes. There's no holding back this thunderous feeling, or pretending it's anything but what it is: the only reason it doesn't bubble forth from his mouth is that as he starts to shape it Giorno kisses him again. I love you, he thinks, in the moment that can't have been more than an instant but stretches on and on, so much, too much, more every day.

He's not physically falling. But he feels dizzy after that kiss regardless, enough that this time he's the one to tip forward and try to hide away in the comfort of Giorno's collar. Giorno, who he's fallen hopelessly in love with; who he can't imagine not being a part of his life. Giorno, who's so certain about his rightness that it should be annoying except that he's entirely correct about all of those things.]

This was a mistake. [Normally, when Fugo's complaining his words sting. These are just an overwhelmed mumble into Giorno's shoulder and, even as he says them, he's holding more tightly onto him.] Coming out here when I still have work to do. When I like being yours so much. Because when I'm with you, I don't want to be anywhere else.

[When he likes being kissed so much. When he likes just being with Giorno, whether they're working or talking. Or even in the morning after Giorno has spent the night reading with him, before either of their alarms go off and one or both of them is still half-asleep. There is no way he'll be able to go back to his office. It just isn't happening.]

[digiorno]

Mm . . .

[He's all soft comfort now, at least for the moment. Probably in another few he'll turn back around and be wicked again, but for the moment he can be sweet, his hand coming up to rub gentle circles between Fugo's shoulderblades. He leans his cheek against Fugo's temple, then buries his nose in his hair. It smells good, like dust and ink and the ocean. For all his spikiness, Fugo feels good in his arms.]

So don't go anywhere else. Stay with me. Your work can wait a little while. Long enough for you to kiss me another hundred times.

[Maybe two hundred. Or maybe they can just stay like this, with his eyes closed and his nose buried in Fugo's hair, so comfortable and so safe. He hums again, and it's nearly a purr. So happy.]

I want you here with me. So stay. This mistake is . . . approved. Rubber stamped. I'm your boss, so it's fine.