Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being a submissive is a curse that he wouldn't wish on anyone. It overwrites you. Seeping into each crevice of your brain matter and pouring into your psyche. Leone wants to be spat on. He wants to be slapped, spanked, and verbally assaulted until his mind goes utterly blank. At times, he'll lay awake in bed yearning for a cruel touch that he's made sure will never meet him. Sexual deviancy is disgusting and he is not a deviant. It's not him that wants these things, it's his submissive side that yearns for it. Besides, it's not in his character to want this. An external force was driving him to be a pervert, as far-fetched as that sounded. Whatever the research said about his innermost desires was false — he did not want to be this way and he will spend the rest of his days pretending he isn’t.

From the police force to the corporate world, Leone has chased normalcy and escaped his gnarly desires like his life depended on it. Punishing criminals in an attempt to punish himself. Cleansing the streets of Italy hoping it’ll purify his soul drenched in corruption. However, as he spent more time in the force, he realised that no amount of police work would make him pure. The criminal underbelly of the world was much more complex than bad people doing bad things . As he rised up the ranks, more and more important decisions were placed into his palms. Investigations that spanned months, with various eye witnesses and alibis that needed to be cross-checked and referenced. It made him lose sight of his goal. Did he even want to do this anymore? Nostalgia clouded his vision and made him miss the days of chasing lowly pickpockets and shoplifters; handing in his two-week notice and searching for a much more boring career.

Currently, he works for a pharmaceutical company. Business administration or whatever. It’s incredibly dull. Looking over resources, time, and people; balancing books and arranging meetings. Tirelessly slaving away for a faceless CEO who demands more from the team and gives them less time to do it. Overtime corrodes his health to the point that he aches for domination. Aching for someone to force him, monopolise him and make him forget his long days at work. If only he had a dominant, he’d think to himself. If only there was a firm hand on his behind to get his mind off of things. Not that he would allow that to happen. Not at all. Of course, he takes his suppressants… what reasonable person wouldn’t? But suppressants slowly lose their efficacy when used for as long as Leone has been using his.

Ever since he got his blood test for his dynamic, Leone was prescribed suppressants. The alternative was to find a dominant to appease his inner sub… which was not an option. If the choice was between sleeping with random men to alleviate his urges or taking a drug to make his problem go away; Leone knows exactly which choice he’d make. Yet, suppressants could only do so much. Internally, his submissive clawed at his insides until he grew nauseous. Tore his innards up to the point where he struggled to keep food down at times — head aching as his skull shrunk like a cotton shirt in the dryer. His doctor frowned, telling the man he needed to find a dominant… Leone simply asked for stronger suppressants.

Normals don’t understand. Nor do dominants. If anything, Leone wishes he could be normal. Free from all these dynamics and rules, dating a normal person and probably having a normal sex life. But he can’t. He’s not wired that way. Even if he wishes upon every star in the known galaxy, his body still yearns for something it mustn't want. Lusting after his superior, with his tanned skin and blunt-cut bob. Those veined arms being showcased as he pushes the button-up shirt past his elbows. Leone can’t help but stare. Violet eyes fixated on the man’s Adam's apple as it bobs up and down, small rivulets of water slipping past his lips and down his long neck.

Bruno Buccellati is as vanilla as they come. Overbearingly kind, patient, with just a hint of a temper. Bruno is the type of man that many wish they were. Bruno is the type of man that most will never be, though they desperately try to. And Bruno is the type of man Leone yearns for. A soft, gentle man who knows when to turn it on. He hadn’t always been this twisted. He hadn't always wanted brutality, but his inner sub had gotten so desperate he was lusting after normals. It’s the safest option for him. He's scared that a real dominant would take advantage of his desperation. Take advantage of his weak constitution and his inherent need to rely on others. At least, if it were Buccellati, he’d be able to trust him.

Buccellati doesn't reciprocate these feelings. Leone isn't an idiot and he certainly isn't selfish. Taking him away from a normal partner is unfair, and dragging him into this curse was a fate he wouldn’t wish on anyone. Bruno is a normal man and deserves a normal partner… but Leone is allowed to yearn. It’s one of the only things he allows himself to have. Especially when the man proves himself, time and time again, that he’s a better man than the ex-cop would ever be.

Bruno took it upon himself to hire new graduates, convicts, and anyone deemed undesirable to the average employer. Something about the man saw the best in people and wanted to drag out their qualities and assets. Guido Mista had never had a job for longer than 3 months before he was hired, and now he’d been working in Passione for years. Narancia had been to juvie when he was younger; with a troubled past and faulty parenting to blame. Bruno saw that and let the kid in any way. Pannacotta was a bright kid, freshly graduated, but with a terrible temper that made him almost unbearable to work with at times… yet Bruno saw through all of that.

These new hires were a problem, however. Well, this new hire was a problem. Trish had been estranged from her father (the CEO of the company), but he had allowed her to work for Bruno. Although she was a bit of a brat at times, Leone didn’t mind the girl all too much. Giorno on the other hand… Leone couldn’t stand him. If you were to ask him what it was, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. Maybe it was hate at first sight? Science can’t properly put into words what it is, but dominants and submissives know when they are in the company of each other. Perhaps it’s pheromones? Or the way they hold themselves? Maybe it’s an amalgamation of traits that Leone does not care about… it doesn’t matter. Giorno is a dominant and Leone is adamant about not spending a single second of his professional life near the blond.

So, of course, he’s tasked with training the new hires. Out of everyone, he has the most experience with the systems in place. Being the most efficient at his job, the oldest in their team, and being Buccellati’s favourite ; he was assigned this job. There was not a bone in his body that would say no to a request made by his superior. Buccellati would tell him to jump and he’d ask how high. Hell, he’d buy a pogo stick if he couldn’t reach the required height. It’s not that he wants to be around the new graduates, but it’s simply because his superior told him to… so he will.

Trish is uninterested. More preoccupied with clocking out on the dot and going out with her friends to go clubbing, drinking, and whatever young women enjoy doing these days. He doesn’t mind training Trish as she doesn’t ask questions, and keeps to herself. She’s a quick learner and doesn’t stray too far from the beaten path if it means that she’ll be left alone to text during work hours. As long as she gets the work done, Leone will turn a blind eye to her slacking. That much is fine. What isn’t fine is Giorno. Giorno insists on asking a question for every single thing Leone tells him to do. Offering suggestions on how to further simplify and streamline his process. Who does he think he is? This is what Bruno told him to do, and this is what he must do. Does he think he’s better than Bruno? This new kid who doesn’t even know what he’s doing has the gall to offer corrections. The audacity sickens him.

Giorno had the luxury of a wealthy father. Similar to Trish, he hadn’t grown up wealthy but suddenly came into money when his father passed away and gave his inheritance to all his estranged children. It says a lot about the man who, even when he knew of his children while he was alive, did not even attempt to speak to them. At least he gave them money after his passing. Maybe he can pay his way out of being a deadbeat. Besides, it’s not like Giorno lacked resources before his father passed. While he wasn’t filthy rich, he had scholarships upon scholarships due to his high intellect. With grades so high they felt inhuman and a resume that didn’t lack activities. From rugby to water polo, the kid had done it all and was the captain for every extra-curricular known to man. Giorno had all the connections. Giorno clawed his way into the best schools with brainpower alone — proving himself to be an asset in every way.

Dominants sure had life easy, didn’t they? If a high-ranking official had a dynamic, they would be a dominant. It was almost written in the stars. Maybe working, bossing others around and putting those in their place, was fulfilling in and of itself. Perhaps it fulfilled them enough to pour themselves into a career. Not feeling the tug and strain behind their eyeballs after a stressful workday like Leone normally would. Even within this dynamic, submissives just had it worse, didn’t they? Just the thought of that made Leone’s scowl even deeper.

A team meeting. Mandatory and so boring. Going over stocks and figures that never seemed to change. Talking about staff etiquette in their roundabout way of reminding Pannacotta to calm down when Narancia is being incompetent. Reminding Mista to put away his lunches properly so they don’t spoil in the staff cupboards. All in all, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Then, afterwards, Giorno had asked a simple question. A question about stocks and potentially investing in a smaller company that would help with the distribution of drugs. It was just a question. A question he was allowed to ask… but a question Leone could not bear to hear.

“While that company is much younger, their stocks seem to be rapidly increasing. Perhaps partnering with them will help with our numbers,” Giorno says, tapping his pen lid against his lip in thought. Leone’s brow twitches. Just who does he think he is? To speak up so freely as though he owns the place. It’s only been a couple of weeks and he’s acting as though he’d worked here his entire life. That pitiful and short existence that the older man wishes never happened. Right now, he’s Bruno’s darling. All Bruno does is sing his praises. Tells the team how great Giorno is adapting and how amazing he is at his job. Leone never got these praises. Leone never gets this recognition from his superior and, honestly, he deserves it more than the blond ever will.

“That’s a massive risk to take, Giorno,” the superior replies, leaning his elbows on the table as his head tilts in thought. “But I think we may consider it. I’ll bring it up in the next managerial meeting.” And just like that, Giorno is taking the spotlight. Coming up with these crazy plans that have no business working. It’s not fair that he’s streamlined Leone’s job to the point where he feels obsolete. How will he be of use to Buccellati now? How will he earn the praise he so desperately craves if Giorno is hogging that resource like his life depended on it? And why does it irritate him so much when the blond gets his way?

“Just who do you think you are?” the older man sneers, lips snarled. The skin between his brows scrunched as he bared his fangs to the world. The room falls silent; with the air feeling dense and his stomach churning painfully. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that Giorno gets his attention and Leone doesn’t. Leone does so much and none of it gets acknowledged, and now Giorno gets to saunter in and bask in Buccellati’s glow. What has he done to deserve it? When life has been so good for him, why would he take the one thing Leone has away from him?

“Leone. Step outside.” Bruno snaps, stern and unyielding. The submissive gulps, lip drawn in a thin line. He wants to argue. Wants to yell and force Bruno to listen. Bruno trusts him too much. For just some guy he’s just met, it’s unfair that he’s got such an influence on the team already. Yet, he can’t muster up the courage (nor the words, for that matter). What Bruno says is final, and he slams the door behind him when he exits the conference room. Leone ceremoniously makes his exit with his superior hot on his tail.

“Talk to me, Leone. What is the problem?” Bruno sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. It feels good. To finally have his attention again after all these weeks, even if he had to throw a bit of a fit to get it. Leone would much rather be scolded than ignored and he misbehaves just so Bruno can tell him off. Lately, he’d been strung up. Sleepless nights, uneaten dinners, and migraines that seemed to last for hours on end. His doctor won’t let him up his dosage of suppressants, and he’s growing desperate. He doesn’t want a dominant. He can’t be with a man if it’s not Bruno… even if Bruno will never want him.

“You’re seriously going to let him boss you around like that? Are you his superior or not?” Leone scoffs, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. Digging in where it should hurt to get a reaction out of the man. But he’s too understanding, tucking a stray strand of grey hair behind Leone’s ear with a knowing look. It’s not fair when he does that. Giving Leone more hope than he knows what to do with.

“How have you been feeling lately? Are your suppressants working as they should?” Because it’s not the first time he’s lashed out. Nor will it be the last. This is probably what women feel when all their emotional turmoil is boiled down to period hormones . It’s infuriating but it’s true and Leone can’t even dispute that. Violet eyes averting as he stared holes into the floor beneath them.

“You trust him too much.” And he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like that Giorno is taking Bruno away from him. Even if it makes no sense… even if that’s not his intention. The blond is taking Bruno from him and he can’t sleep at night knowing that Bruno won’t praise him again. Chest squeezing and limbs quivering as he looks at Bruno smile so softly at the younger man. That should be him. He’ll do anything to be praised by him.

“Am I not supposed to?” And what will he even say to that? Yes, you’re not supposed to trust anyone on the team unless I give my say-so. Leone isn’t that important, nor is he that self-aggrandising. He wanted to start his career over again because he yearned for submission. Wanted to be told what to do again. He shouldn’t be calling the shots, but it makes him uncomfortable when a sudden change happens. “I think it will be good for both of you to get acquainted.”

“Because he’s a dominant… and I’m a submissive…” Leone scowls, tone accusatory and prodding. All of Leone’s life, he has been scurrying away from dominants. Chugging down suppressants to render all commands utterly useless on him, erasing his identity and passing himself off as a normal. He doesn’t need a dominant. Needing someone else to regulate himself is weak and Leone is not weak.

“For a variety of reasons,” Bruno sighs and Leone rolls his eyes. “You know I’ve done what I can for you. I’m unqualified. Maybe it’s good that he came at the time he did.”

“I am not sleeping with my colleague.”

“Nobody said you had to, Leone,” Bruno exhales. What else can a dominant and submissive do? Other than having disgusting, filthy sex that would probably leave Leone empty inside. The operative word is probably… Leone has never been touched by another man in that way. He’s scared. Scared that it won’t be enough. Ultimately terrified at the fact that his body might just be too broken for anyone to want to touch. Any information his doctor hands out in the form of leaflets, he refuses to read. Any knowledge that could be passed onto him, he ignores and chooses to live in ignorance. Running from an enemy he doesn’t know the look of. Ignorance is bliss, and Leone is a very happy man in that regard.

The next time he sees Giorno is at the Christmas office party. Only a month after that brief altercation with Buccellati; in which Giorno is proved to be God’s gift to the stock market and Passione’s shares are… who fucking cares . Seriously who cares? Giorno is good at his job. Well, congrats! He’s a dominant, it comes with the dynamic. Success is hardcoded into him, and it’s not impressive in the slightest. Nor does Leone even care at all. If he can just avoid Giorno forever and ever he’ll be content. Sticking to the opposite side of the bar and keeping to himself. Perking up when Bruno saunters over to check on him, lavishing all his attention on his superior in the hopes he’ll abandon every other team member and focus on him. It’s useless. He’s useless and he shouldn’t even try to get his affections. He needs to earn it but he’s not sure how.

Something about the blond is so infuriating. Stealing all of Bruno’s attention with his small smile and his calming demeanour. Despite his young age, he’s so sure of himself. So certain of who he is Leone feels like a failure when he’s next to him. Giorno holds himself to a standard that the rest of the team doesn’t; perfect posture and gentle demeanour. He’s a quiet man. A man of little words, but the words he says are impactful and they matter . Speaking as though it’s only natural for you to listen to him. As though he has control over the very room he stands in the moment he steps into it. Everyone he speaks to stops what they’re doing to listen, and Leone is not going to be one of them.

“You have the habit of stealing glances at me when you think no one is looking,” a deep, sultry voice emanates, and Leone can feel his pheromones ooze out. Without even turning, he knows who it is, and his defences are up. Bringing his limbs in and whipping around to take in his face. Gorgeous, chiselled yet soft, with delicate features and a dangerous glint in his eye. Giorno is attractive; androgyny amping up his already appealing features in a way that felt unfair. Looking the man in the face was like staring into the sun, and Leone wasn’t too keen on ending up blind.

“Nobody wants to fucking look at you,” he snaps, lips pouting as he downed the rest of his wine. Had he been caught? Caught doing what? Is he not allowed to look in that general direction anymore? Since when did Giorno own the cardinal directions? He’s so full of himself it’s disgusting.

“In the past 16 minutes, you’ve looked at me 9 times. On average that’s 1.78 times a-”

“What do you want?” Because Leone doesn’t like looking desperate. He doesn’t want Giorno because he’s a dominant… actually, he doesn’t want Giorno at all. And, even if he did, it’s because internally his submissive wants to be choked and spanked. He, Leone Abbacchio, wants nothing to do with this man. Nothing at all.

“To talk.” And why would he agree to that? Rolling his eyes, Leone spins around and heads to the other side of the room. Not entirely sure where he wants to go, but knowing he needs to be away from Giorno at all costs. It’s not good to be around him. He fears he’ll lose his grip on himself. Everything he had wanted to keep under wraps for so long was spilling through the seams, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. In his 27 years of life, he’s felt powerless before but it was never like this. When the stakes are arguably so low in the grand scheme of things, but feel like it’s the end of the world for the older man. If Giorno thinks he’s an easy sub who’ll drop onto his knees and present for him he has another thing coming.

“Stop right there,” the dom commands and Leone’s body freezes solid. It’s not that he wants to… it’s just that he physically cannot move. As though his body had been rewritten by those three syllables alone. As though he had peered into Medusa’s eyes and was feeling the consequences; body rock solid and unmoving. Is this what a command feels like? He’s never felt like this before. Usually, his suppressants erase every inch of submission within him. This felt different. It didn’t feel like a choice but like a deep need. An itch that was scratched. An itch he had never known how to scratch until now. It loomed over him, but never alleviated until this very moment and everything became clear. This is what he wants. This is what he needs… this is what he cannot have.

It feels too good. It’s not that he couldn’t stop it… he just doesn’t think he wanted to. Deep down, Leone didn’t want to continue walking. He liked being ordered and it felt right to stop. His body obeyed before his mind did, but his mind didn’t mind all too much. Letting the blond close the gap between them, pressing his soft lips against the shell of Leone’s ear.

“I have your number saved via the work group chat. Save mine when you have the chance,” Giorno whispered, breath sending shivers across his skin. “You can go now.” And Leone scurries away. Legs taking him into the bathroom as he tumbles into the stall and locks the door behind him. Heart beating out of his chest and reverberating in his ears as he slides down. Broad back and slender waist against the stall door as his ass hits the tiled floors. His face was hot enough to melt plastic and his fingers trembling as he covered his mouth. Breathing felt like a chore and he couldn’t help the stirring deep in his stomach as he took in air.

What the fuck was that?

Chapter Text

Being near Giorno was too dangerous. That was the first time he'd ever felt the effects of a command. Of course, he knew how they worked. A dominant would command their submissive and their submissive would do what the dominant asked of them as long as it was physically possible. Submissives can also decide not to obey their commands, though it would hurt them psychologically if they ignored enough commands. Not all commands are equal, with some being so strong that it’s considered immoral to ever ask a submissive to perform them.

Being told to stop isn’t a strong command at all.

It’s one of the easiest commands a dominant can give, simply because it’s not an action. It’s inaction. Telling a submissive to stop moving in a completely safe setting is like riding a bike with the training wheels on. It’s nowhere near the real power of a scene. It shouldn’t have affected him that much, let alone at all. If he were a stronger submissive, he could’ve easily ignored him and pushed on. But he couldn’t. He wanted to stop. Wanted to hear what Giorno had to say, and feel his lips on his ear. And how disgusting is that? That, even when he has told himself that he can’t want this, he aches for it anyway.

Now his presence makes him itchy. After the party, Leone was tasked with overseeing the progress of the new team members a month after their hire. Trish was on track. Despite her constant slacking, her numbers were decent and she produced good work. At times, Leone wonders how much of an asset she would be if she put her all into it. Giorno, on the other hand, was doing exceptionally well. It made Leone seethe . He’s so good at his job and Leone can’t even muster up a solid reason as to why he hates that. It’s like he doesn’t try. Doesn’t put any effort in, and is just gifted with these abilities. Leone would have to tirelessly slave away behind a screen for months to reach his level of productivity, and he’d be impressed if he wasn’t so irate. Just what is he trying to prove? A pay rise so soon into his career is unheard of, and Leone simply doesn’t understand why he’d try so hard if he has nothing to gain.

It’s nearing the end of the work day now and the team are packing up for the evening. After finalising a deal with a client, Bruno is letting them clock out earlier these past couple of days. At times, it feels like a family. When the ever-looming stress of corporate failure doesn’t hang over their heads, he’s able to sit down and talk with his team members like they were his younger brothers. Leone was an only child, but if Narancia is the closest thing he’ll ever have to a younger sibling he considers himself a very lucky man.

With a sandwich in hand, Mista sits himself on Giorno’s desk. Biting into the soft white bread and dropping crumbs onto his suit pants, swinging his feet ever so slightly. Giorno finished typing and turned to the tanned older man, face gentle and eyes warm. The two of them had gotten quite close to each other, and Leone couldn’t say he was stunned. Mista is exceptional at making friends and has a way of connecting even the loosest of conversational threads. The way Giorno looks at Mista is the way he wants Bruno to look at him: so filled with love and affection.

“So, like, what’s it like being a dom?” Mista asks, chewing around carbs and lettuce. Giorno’s head tilts before he looks off to the side in thought. It’s not a secret that Giorno is a dominant. For the safety of others, dynamics in the workplace are known to avoid cases of power imbalance. Hiding that you’re a dominant and taking advantage of submissives is frowned upon, and not all workplaces are protected against that. Normals, despite what they think they know, don’t understand when a command is used unless it’s televised to them. Dominants can slide them between sentences and barrage unsuspecting subs with literal mental torture.

“What’s it like having tanned skin?” Giorno rebuts and Mista snickers. It’s a great way to put it. Being a submissive is a part of Leone he cannot cut out. Even if he were to drown it with suppressants and ignoring it , his very physiology would still be submissive. Just like Mista can’t just bleach his skin without repercussions, Leone can’t swallow pills and hope for the best. Eventually, the consequences of his actions will catch up to him.

“Fair point,” the older man smirks, wiping the corners of his mouth with his thumb and sucking the mayonnaise off of his digit. “I’m just curious, is all. How do you give a command? Is it on autopilot when you see a sub or-”

“No. It’s a lot more intentional than that,” Giorno interrupts, brow twitching. It’s a common misconception that doms couldn’t help but command every sub they see. This misconception allows certain doms to abuse their power under the nose of normals who view it as a deep urge that dominants couldn’t help but to fulfil at every opportunity. “For me, I need to be in a certain headspace. Envisioning the flow of power and hoping that the submissive relinquish their power to me. Commands are very mutual, and submissives can refuse them.”

“Does it hurt when they refuse a command?” Mista asks, setting aside his sandwich and leaning on his lap. Chin in the palm of his hand as his face was centimetres away from Giorno’s. At times, Leone was convinced that Mista had never heard of personal space. It seemed like he had never been acquainted with the concept; crushing people into hugs without a second thought. He doesn’t mind it, not that he’d ever admit that.

“It depends on the command. If it’s a simple command, then it feels like a subtle poke. If it’s a complex command, then it can feel like surviving a car crash.” Resisting commands also had similar affects on the submissive. Sometimes, if a submissive were desperate enough, denying a simple command like stop would send them into psychosis. Depriving your body of what it needs until it breaks is something his doctor has been trying to protect him from, and he’s upset that he might have to give into that soon.

“Woah that’s insane,” Mista exclaims. Brows raised and mouth agape as he ponders his next question. “So what’s the difference between a simple and a complex command?” Giorno hums, tapping his finger against the desk as he ponders for a moment. Commands were intricate, layered, and not necessarily easy to categorise. A simple command for some may be a complex command for others. Ultimately, it depended on the dom and sub, their relationship, and their prior scenes to get the full context. Some commands were universally simple, however, and didn’t require any background information at all.

“Simple commands are commands that don’t require much skill contextually. Commands such as stand are easy if your sub has two working legs. You don’t need much trust or a relationship t-,” Giorno rambles before stopping to peer up and at Leone. Face slack and lips parted as his green eyes flit around the room.

When had he stood up? 

Legs tingling as electricity coursed through them. What was wrong with him? Had he been listening so intently that he obeyed an example of a command? A command directed at nobody in particular. Was Giorno that strong of a dominant? Or was Leone that weak of a submissive? His eyes peered down and took in the spilt cup of coffee and mocha-stained paperwork that littered his desk in his haste to obey. Lower gut swirled as his face began to heat. Felt sweat prick through his skin like needles in cloth. 

“WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!?” Leone screams, his face red as he rushes to the bathroom. What the fuck? Oh god, what the fuck? How deeply shameful. He clamours and claws at any attention from a dominant. He craves so deeply that he’ll eavesdrop from across the room just for a glimpse of domination. Snatching paper towels and wiping the documents before they had a chance to dry. These documents were important. For their major clients with enough influence to buy out Italy if they chose it… and Leone spilled coffee all over them. What was going through his mind? Was there even a thought behind his eyes when he did it?

With a thud, the submissive sat back in his seat. Electing to ignore Giorno and Mista and focus on his work. Why was he even listening in the first place? Giorno isn’t at fault for speaking, as Leone shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. Commands don’t work if you don’t hear them. Nor do they work if they’re unintentional. Leone’s submissive was desperate and jumped at the opportunity to show its obedience when it could. He’s not like that. He needs to keep his head down. Besides, Bruno is the only man for him — whether he can appease this monster inside Leone or not.

Bruno is so kind. Scolding Giorno for issuing a command. Though, as nice as it is to see Giorno finally get his comeuppance, it’s completely undeserved. He didn’t intend to command Leone. Obeying every command his ears could catch a glimpse of in the attempt to feed this beast inside. His heart hammers in his chest, so loud he can feel it in his ears. Ear drums pulsating and face red hot as the screen in front of him becomes gibberish. He thought it would feel good for Giorno to be reprimanded, but he’s not sure that it does. This doesn’t make him feel any better, and a part of him feels as though it’s his fault for this entire situation. If only he weren’t so desperate, he thought to himself, painted lips pursing.

After finishing his sandwich, Mista bids farewell and leaves the office. Narancia and Trish had long gone, on an outing to a new roller rink that Trish had been meaning to try out. With Pannacotta bidding his farewell and going off to his book club. Despite the rapidly increasing departures, Giorno stayed in his seat — stealing glances at Leone with furrowed brows and glistening eyes. Looking as though he were a kicked puppy on the sidewalk, nothing but pathetic. Maybe Leone will continue to ignore him, just to feel that sorrowful gaze on him a little longer. It feels nice, and he has to bite back a smirk.

“Can you help me with this equation, Leone?” Giorno asks, tearing through the silence with his gorgeously smooth voice. Not that Leone particularly likes his voice… no. Not at all. It’s just an astute observation to make, after all. Mentally or otherwise, Leone refuses to give the man more compliments than he deserves.

With a huff and a sigh; Leone tuts his teeth, rolls his eyes, and drags his feet to sit next to the dominant. It’s not like the blond even needs his help. He’s perfect. A perfect worker who can do no wrong. Slinking in his office chair, he grabs the mouse and scrolls through Giorno’s spreadsheets. Feeling those emerald green irises explore the arch of his back as he leans against the desk. Giorno smells good. When doesn’t he? So sweet, yet so masculine. With his perfectly coifed hair and his skin so clear it practically shined.

“It wasn’t my intention to command you. I’ll hand my notice in and we can never speak of it again,” Giorno apologises, eyes glassy as his fingers tremble. It’s so cute that he’s shaking. Leone doesn’t think he’s met a dominant who’s cared so much about a sub’s wellbeing… in actuality, Leone hasn’t met many doms. Usually, he goes out of his way to avoid them. Can’t accidentally obey commands if you’re nowhere near them. It had worked so far. Worked until now.

“You still need help with that report? Or are you just wasting my time?” Leone scoffs, rolling his eyes. A part of him aches. A deep, disgusting, buried part of his psyche that wished that Giorno would just force more commands onto him. Force him until Leone couldn’t say no, and would have no choice but to bask in his utter domination. To break his spirit and tame him until he couldn’t deny him any more. Close off all his escape routes and pressure him to conform to Giorno’s every whim. But he isn’t like that. Averting his gaze and avoiding Giorno’s face before he parts his lips once more. “Besides… I didn’t mind it.”

It’s for Bruno. Bruno’s team works so well, and he’d be distraught if Giorno were to quit. Despite everything, he still thinks of Bruno and what’s best for him. It’s a completely selfless act of subservience to his superior. This has nothing to do with his whims, and everything to do with appeasing Bruno. It’s in his nature, after all… he’s just a submissive. He’s doing this for Bruno, and not for himself. Repeating that mantra over and over again until he almost believes it.

Giorno looks at him like he’d landed on the moon. Emerald eyes fill with glee as he barely contains a smile. Leone spares him a glance before his face reddens and he flits his gaze away. Just like that, he aches. Desire so deep it chafes and bleeds. He wants more. Wants more commands. Wants to be told what to do. What to think. Wants to be overwritten by his dominant and have his mind wiped off thoughts he shouldn’t have. Be rid of those stupid thoughts that his dominant views as unfit.

It feels like he’s cheating on Bruno. Even though they’re not together, and Bruno has no intention of pairing up with him. Leone has his fair share of issues that a normal man like his superior is better off not dealing with. Just the fact that he checks up on his health is proof that Bruno genuinely cares for him, but it’s not a trait that’s unique to their relationship. Bruno checks on everyone. Calling everyone up to see how they’re doing, how the workload is, and what he (as a manager) can do to alleviate their stress. Bruno is a caretaker. If anyone else on the team were a submissive, he’d act that way with them.

Leaving with the man as he bombards him with questions. ‘ How are you feeling? ’, ‘ Are you alright? ’, he would ask — almost pestering the submissive with his concerns. He was certain that Giorno’s commands would harm him somehow. As though he was unwilling to obey them, and it was going to psychologically damage him. Perhaps it would be better if it did. Instead, he has to come to terms with the fact that maybe it feels good to be obedient and that he might like being bossed around.

Clinging to his kindness and giving it deeper meaning. Tonight, Bruno was stopping by and cooking him a meal. Well making a meal, salad doesn’t need to be cooked. Since he visited the doctor those months ago, he hasn’t been able to stomach much. Constant pangs of hunger would plague him, but everything he ate tasted disgusting. It all tasted like bile. Pushing food around the plate hoping his appetite would magically reappear. He never ate much to begin with, but abusing suppressants for years was slowly affecting his body and he could barely keep down foods without feeling ill. All these years, he’s been running away from the reality of his constitution; actively ignoring the fact that he will always be a submissive. Suppressing, repressing, and burying every part of himself he deemed vile until he couldn’t. And he can’t. Can’t ignore his doctor’s advice. Can’t ignore Bruno’s advice… he needs a dom.

Bruno looked as though he belonged in Leone’s home. Opening and closing cupboards with comfort as he rifled through utensils. The first time he’d visited Leone’s apartment was embarrassing. The ex-cop was sick, skin almost green as he vomited endlessly into the toilet bowl. Getting stronger suppressants was only simple in speech, the havoc it wreaked on your body was nothing to scoff at. Suppressing his desire for submission was like suppressing his desire to sleep. At some point, his body was going to react and increasing his dosage was always a horrible time for him. Of course, he warned his superior. But it had never been that bad. When he wouldn’t answer calls, Bruno came to his doorstep with margarita pizza and white whine… his favourites. Since then, Bruno has checked in on him. He encourages the older man to book appointments with his physician and advises him to find a dominant… not that he would, but it’s nice that he cares enough to say it.

With white wine to taste, Bruno sets their plates down. Leone’s portion was much smaller, in only a starter plate while Bruno had a full portion. Even with the smaller size, Leone doesn’t think he could finish it. After a full work day, he wasn’t entirely sure he could stomach it. His body was acting out; revolting at the thought of food until it got what it really craved. And Leone was adamant on not giving it what it wanted.

“How are you feeling?” Bruno asks, slipping the fork in his mouth and crunching on vinegar-drowned lettuce. This was the fourth time he’d asked, and Leone had been artfully dodging it for as long as he could. Pushing the onions around his plate, Leone pouts his lip. Satin lipstick seeping into the creases of his lips as his foundation cracks. It’s gross how flaky his skin is getting. It never used to be this bad, but one of his many side effects was dry skin and he never could find creams to alleviate it. His stomach had it the worst, with permanent gooseflesh that felt like sandpaper to the touch.

“Tired,” he huffs, forcing the salad into his mouth. Cranky was probably the better word, but he didn’t want to raise too many alarms. Tired was an appropriate response to have after a long day of work, and Bruno would have a hard time contesting that. Being tired was normal. Being tired was expected.

“Have you thought about having a-”

“I don’t need a dom.” Because it’s what he tells himself. He’ll find a way around it. Find a way to live without one. Never will he debase himself in front of another man, it’s not within him. He’s far too prideful. Holding himself to such a high degree that he will deny himself everything he’d ever needed to feel better about himself. He is a strong man and he doesn’t need to rely on someone else

“You do,” Bruno snaps. Leone frowns. “You're too stubborn for your own good.”

“You’re more than enough, Bruno,” Leone sighs. Maybe if he keeps saying it, it will come true. That Bruno will magically fulfill that role for him and they can frolic off into the sunset. But he can’t. Reality is not that fair and Leone wants to laugh at the irony of it all. The man he wants most cannot satisfy him in any way… the man he wants least makes his stomach tighten in ways it should not.

“No, I’m not. At the end of the day, Leone, you need a dominant. Even though we’ve tried, we both know my commands do not work on you,” Bruno sighs, lips downturned. That much was true. When Bruno saw how nauseating it was at times to be on suppressants, he had read all sorts of books and blogs on how to care for a sick submissive. Of course, he’d tried commands. Of course, at the time, Leone didn’t think they were that different from a dom’s commands… he’d never felt a dom’s commands. Bruno would tell him to stand and he wouldn’t feel that pull to obey from deep within. Giorno’s commands felt like they rewrote him… Bruno’s commands felt like a suggestion.

Stubbornness was going to kill him. If he had kept his inner submissive happy, he’d be able to be with Bruno. Dynamics and normals can be together; he’d seen countless articles and personal musings online about it. Subs can be with vanillas and still receive their need for submission elsewhere; be it friends, acquaintances or even family members. With light and simple commands, a sub can return to their normal partner and live a normal life. They can manage their urges. Leone doesn’t want to manage his urges… he just doesn’t want them at all. And ignoring them for so long has made him a volatile mess. Now, even if he wanted to be with a vanilla man, he could not. Inadvertently, he’s wired his body into needing a dominant to an extreme that even his physician is in horror.

People are far too accepting of this. Far too laissez-faire. If he had a euro for each dynamic horror story he’d seen online, he’d have a pretty penny in the bank. Dominants could end their submissive’s lives with a command. Dominants could force a desperate submissive to eat food they’re deathly allergic to, dominants could force submissives to jump in front of traffic, dominants could force a sub to die . Kill yourself wasn’t a command that could work, but if a submissive was broken enough it would. Leone is broken enough to where it would be child’s play to take advantage of him. He’s beyond saving. Looking for a dominant that he could trust was already an impossible task, but taking his dire situation into account the chances are nowhere near improving.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” he states, pushing his half-eaten plate away. All this talk of finding a dominant makes his stomach turn. Being that vulnerable is a state he never wants to see himself in. Thinking of all the horrible things someone could do to him made him feel nauseous. He’s put himself in an uncomfortable position, and he’s not sure how to get out of it. Well, to get out of it in a way that would satisfy his pride.

“You’re not living in reality. As much as I want to be the only man you can rely on, I can’t be,” Bruno sighs. How dare he weaponise his feelings for the man? More than anything, he wants to be taken care of and pampered by Bruno… but he can’t. “For the love of God, Leone, find yourself a dominant. For me,” Bruno begs. “You make it difficult to let you go.”

Leone doesn’t look up from his lettuce when Bruno speaks. Nor does he look up when the man bids his farewell. They’ve had this conversation numerous times and it twists in his chest each time they revisit it. A pain so unique he wouldn’t even be able to begin to describe it. They want each other… but they can’t have each other. Because Leone is stubborn. Leone is a coward. Leone has ostracised himself from his nature to the point where Bruno can’t help him even if he wants to try. Now, he needs someone to fill that void that he should have filled for him… for Bruno, he’ll swallow his pride. He doesn’t want to have this conversation again. Or, worse yet, not be able to have the conversation at all.

When the door closes, Leone contemplates adding Giorno’s contact to his phone. The blond had asked, after issuing the most basic command known to man and reducing Leone to a pile of putty. He hadn’t commanded him to add him, he had requested it. He was giving him a choice, and Bruno was pushing him to do the unthinkable. It didn’t have to be Giorno, but it was convenient. Giorno was easy to access and Bruno liked him so he’s safe. Never mind the fact that Leone’s eyes seem to wander near him whenever he’s around. Never mind the fact that Leone’s gaze fixates on him in a crowd. His ears focus on his voice and his heart wants nothing more than to extend his stay. How would those lips taste? Would he grab Leone and force him into a kiss? Well, that would be the only way he’d get one. Leone is not keen on kissing him. Not keen on feeling his lips against his own. Or feeling his touch. Not in the slightest.

Leone

Are you happy now?

Giorno

Incredibly so :)

Fucking prick.

Chapter Text

Finding submissives in Italy that he could trust was difficult. Finding submissives online in Italy that he could trust was even more difficult. Since his late teens, Leone had tasked himself with building up a group of submissives he could confide in. Yet, despite how great it sounds in theory, he can’t seem to find a single person who doesn’t piss him off to no end. Whether it be their neediness or how often they spoke about dominants and how empty they felt without one. Or whether it be their willingness to overshare, to share every detail about their sexual escapades in a way to feel superior to Leone. At times, he’d meet someone so repressed it made him feel better about himself. Leone may deny his nature, but he’s still aware that he’s a submissive. It’s not necessarily something he’s proud of, the same way he’s not proud of his height or his eye colour, but they’re aspects of him he accepts as parts of himself. Being a submissive is one thing. Wanting to wholly submit is another.

He vividly remembers one submissive he had briefly spoken to online by the name of Secco. For years, he had been living as a glorified pet for his dominant. Barely contributing anything to society, just lounging around all day and waiting for his dominant to come back and drown him in praise. Their scenes were violent and various police reports had been made — detailing noise complaints and concerns for the submissive. It was all consensual, but Leone couldn’t wrap his head around it. Secco loved Cioccolata to the point where he would throw away his entire life to be his dog… how utterly disgusting was that? A week later, he blocked the man.

Another submissive he had met by the name of Carne was equally as deranged. Constantly lamenting how no dominant could allow him to reach the true submission of death. Yearning for the sweet release of it, and scoffing at the dominants who were scared to indulge him. At times, he would admit to purposefully walking into dangerous situations hoping to earn a bullet wound or two. How can a man like that even exist? How can he consider himself a regular submissive? Belittling others for not wanting to effectively commit suicide with extra steps because they were not truly dedicated to the art of submission. If he wanted to die so badly, why not take his own life? Instead of roping some innocent dominant into it.

Ultimately, he decided to cut ties when the man admitted to forcing a dominant to harm him. Despite everything, dominants still had boundaries, and Carne did not care to respect them. Some had trauma that they wouldn’t like to relive, and wouldn’t engage in certain plays if they could help it — yet the twisted pervert made sure to select the weak and fragile so he could bend them to his whims. After just one conversation with the man, he blocked him too.

Though, Leone is glad to have endured the depravity of the internet — as he wouldn’t have met his most trusted online friend, Jean Pierre. After being discharged from the army, his disabilities ensured he would not be able to step foot on the battleground again. Though, his physical ailments were the least of his worries. Jean had lost his dominant in combat. Neither of them spoke in depth about it, but it was clear that he still mourned for him years after the fact. Upon retiring, he moved to the Italian countryside to live off the land.

Glancing up, Leone eyes the display board above him. Yellow text and black background that showcased each route possible from the central station. A cool breeze seemed to lick at his skin, slipping through the loose yarn weave of his scarf and biting at his neck. Cushioned soles planted firmly in the tiled flooring of the platform as he waits for Jean’s train. Nose red as he sniffed away liquid that threatened to drip down. His throat was starting to feel sore these days. A scratch that wouldn’t go away no matter how much water he drank and he would like to think it was the cold weather and not another side effect of denying his sub nature.

Naples Centrale was made of over 20 platforms. For a man who had lived in the countryside for so long, Leone is certain that Jean would feel overwhelmed. Probably being used to the small town cosiness, the hustle and bustle of the city could disorient him. Besides, showing off his city unlocks a strange sense of nationalism he never thought he’d have. Jean is a Frenchman. His previous dominant was an Egyptian man and both had agreed to move somewhere in Europe after their term together. Of course, they couldn’t, but Jean still obeyed his dominant’s final order.

Out of all the submissives he’d spoken to, Jean was the most normal. Submission was a part of him, sure, but it wasn’t all there was to him. Well-travelled, mature, and with a seemingly never-ending amount of stories to tell — speaking to him felt like speaking to a mentor. Sometimes, they would video call and the older man would show Leone his animals; from his dogs to his chickens. Lamenting about how nice it was to be away from the city life, away from the military, and take things slow in his little village. He seemed close with his neighbours too, allowing them to take care of his home while he was away visiting various friends in Naples. Community like that just isn’t possible in the city.

With a sudden gust of wind, the train screeched into the platform. The doors slid open as a scurry of passengers spilled out of the carriages. Thankfully, the train had reached its final destination, and thus he wouldn’t have to worry about the man missing his stop. Eyes scanning the platform for the scarred man in question. There he stood… or didn’t stand. Seated in his wheelchair, metal calf and eyepatch as he rolled towards the other submissive.

“I’m here for the tour,” Jean jokes and Leone rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. Leaving the station, Leone opened up his phone to scroll through various travel blogs and glanced at their reviews of his town. 

Of course, they went to art galleries and museums. Spending far too long reading each placard and asking questions to the guides. Naples, as a city, had an incredibly interesting history. From various Greek settlements to taking part in the Neapolitan war, there was a variety of content for Jean to sink his teeth into. To be quite honest, Leone knew all of this before. Despite how he portrays himself, he has a strong memory (especially when it comes to things he’s fond of). It was nice to share it with the Frenchman. Being prone to migraines Leone tends to gravitate towards places with less people. Places like libraries and museums where being loud was considered rude. It allowed his mind to rest, and the pounding of his brain to subside (even if for a moment).

After their brief tour, the pair stop by a cafe. It was a simple building, a hole in the wall that wouldn’t appear in any travel blog. This place is Leone’s safe haven. Unknown to many and forgotten by most. With delectable food and delicious coffee, Leone is quite happy to gatekeep the existence of this place from the rest of the world. Rustic interior and cosy coffee scent that clung to the spuce woods. The interior consisted of deep earthy tones and large terracotta pots, filled to the brim with greenery. Jean pulls into a table and the pair get ready to order.

“How are your symptoms? You were feeling ill last time we spoke, no?” Jean enquires, glancing over the menu items. Leone hates talking about it. People seem to force their ideals onto him of what a submissive should be but he doesn’t want to be that. Living like Secco is disgusting. Living like Carne is disgusting. It seems as though submissives only ever talk about submitting, and Leone is not a pervert. Submission is a part of him, but he’s scared that (once he indulges) he’ll become consumed by it. Cling to the sensation and become insane like he’s witnessed so many times in forums.

“Still sick, unfortunately,” Leone laughs, mostly to himself. His situation is laughable in an ironic sense. “I know I should get a dom but it feels gross to me.” Gross was an understatement.

“If you’re not ready, you’re not ready,” Jean replies, setting the menu down. He’s patient where others aren’t. It’s one of his best qualities. “People are advising you with what they believe is right, so don’t lose your patience with them either. But do what’s best for you.” Which is the most grace he’s ever received. Most of the time, people would get angry at him for not wanting a dominant. Even Bruno, as caring as he is, loses his temper at times too. Of course, it’s in his nature to want a dominant, but he doesn’t want to be with anyone right now. Why isn’t he allowed that?

“How do I… I mean, I don’t want a dominant, but eventually I’ll need one. I’d rather be alone than to deal with another,” Leone sighs. Relationships are a hassle and he’s quite happy to have never been in one.

“Ah, I can’t relate. When I was your age, I was quite the womaniser,” the older man brags and Leone rolls his eyes. If being rejected by every woman he’d ever set his eyes on was being a womaniser, then the term had lost all meaning. “If you don’t mind me asking, Leone, why don’t you want to submit?”

That’s a loaded question. A question he’s not sure he can answer succinctly, if at all. How does he put it into words? That it’s gross? That it’s weird? Is he 12? What kind of response is that? Admitting that he’s put his health at risk just because submitting feels icky is insanely embarrassing but, truly, is that not what he’s doing? No one has ever asked him why he doesn’t want to. Instead, they force their ideologies down his throat without ever stopping to consider why he believes what he does. Even Bruno didn’t want his excuses, electing to scold Leone every time he refused to engage with a dominant. They don’t understand, nor do they try to. At least Jean is trying to understand.

“Doesn’t it feel unfair to you? Submissives have to let go of everything while dominants can maintain all their dignity,” Leone finally answers. It encompasses everything. All his conflicting emotions in a neat package for Jean to digest, chew, and swallow. Being a submissive, by it’s very nature, is demeaning. Having to prostrate yourself for satisfaction is gross and craving for something like that is icky.

“ Dignity? Do you view me as lacking dignity?” Jean prods and Leone swallows a lump in his throat. It’s difficult to say. In Leone’s mind, he compartmentalises those aspects of Jean, electing to focus on just his military service or just his farm life. Though, isn’t that unfair of him? Isn’t his submission an equal part of his identity too? Despite everything, Jean is proud to be a submissive, and Leone just wishes he had that confidence. “I’m proud to submit because it takes more courage than anything else I’ve ever done,” Jean continues. Letting someone see all parts of you, even at your worst, is mortifying. It terrifies him. To know that there’s someone out there that’s seen everything there is to see about him. “Have I told you about my dominant?”

He’s spoken about the man briefly. Spoke about his sun-soaked skin; a deep mocha tan that paired best with reds and golds. Spoke about his crooked scars and his larger-than-life personality. How he would joke around with Jean when others wouldn’t. Everything he said about the late dominant was about his personality, or how cherished he made the submissive feel. It was never about their dynamic. Nor was it anything deeply personal. Simple things a loving partner would say about their late spouse.

“My dominant was my best friend. I trusted him with everything. That much you know. What you don’t know is that he struggled with scenes much more than I did. Struggled with his urges and his morality. He was so loyal to me that harming me, even if I had asked, would greatly upset him,” Jean says. “He viewed us as equals, and so he hated giving me commands. He felt like he was undermining my autonomy. And, just like you, he would fall ill because of it.”

Leone had heard stories upon stories of repressed submissives. Endless tales of subs who hated themselves and would rather die than to submit to anyone. Yet, this was the first time he had heard of a dominant hating their constitution. Hating his nature and putting himself in harm’s way. Denying what he wants for what he believes is right. It’s noble, and almost romantic in a sense. That Polnareff’s partner was so dedicated to their relationship that he viewed their dynamics as a curse and a hindrance. Something that got in the way of how he thought their relationship should be… an equal partnership between two men.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t die of illness. He died on a landmine! Left nothing but those arms of his,” Jean snickered and Leone felt it was deeply inappropriate to laugh. From what the veteran says, it’s been over a decade since the man’s death. He’s over it. At least, that’s what he insists. Grief affect everyone differently, and Leone can tell his method of coping is cracking jokes and smiling when he probably shouldn't. There was a seriousness to him that he daren’t let eke out, a somberness that Jean embodied when the pair made eye contact. The man hasn’t dated since. Hasn’t looked at another man since. Devoted to his late-husband and declining any and all advances like his life depended on it.

“How did he overcome it?” Leone asks, more curious than ever. Whatever bond these two shared, Leone envied. A part of him wanted that for himself, and another part was terrified at the thought of it. The devotion it took to forsake every human being for your lover. The adoration they must’ve shared. Years of memories, years of touches and lingering gazes. How Jean copes at all, he can’t begin to fathom it.

“Exposure therapy. I just pestered him until he gave in,” Jean smirked, eyes soft as he twiddled the menu in his fingers. Standing up, Leone grabs both of their orders from the counter; a black coffee for himself and a concoction that was more sugar and cream than actual coffee beans for Jean. Setting the drinks down and returning to his seat. Watching as the other man drinks down his liquified sugar with a side of coffee.

“How do you cope with no longer having him?” Leone asked, bringing the bitter cup of java to his lips. Is that too much to ask? Is it insensitive? Jean is an open-book so he’s certain that he wouldn’t mind, but Leone feels as though he’s overstepping. Even if by a little.

“I have a lot of recordings. Years before he passed, I asked him to record some commands for me when we would get stationed apart from each other. Surprisingly, they work quite well,” Jean Pierre hums, swallowing down his drink. Recordings? Would that even work? Leone always thought a dominant had to be present to even issue a command, but it appears he’d been wrong the entire time. What about the flow of power that Giorno talked about? “I have one for when I have trouble sleeping, another for showering, and my favourite which is too explicit to say in public,” the older man divulged, with a glint in his eye and a smirk.

Maybe that doesn’t sound too bad? Hearing some basic commands over a speaker feels less intimidating than whatever the fuck Giorno did to him. If he could find something online, he wouldn’t mind submitting. Possibly . He didn’t know this was an option. He’d never heard of something like this. Everyone he spoke to insisted he needed to find a real life dominant to boss him around, and that sounded terrifying. Being taken advantage of is his worst nightmare and, being as vulnerable as he is, he wasn’t eager to jump into anything with anyone. 

After their brief chat, Polnareff takes off to meet some other friends of his. Being as travelled as he was, his short two-day stay was jam-packed with various visits. Leone was lucky to slot in when he could, and he’s filled with determination as the man wheels himself into the bus. Jean gave him an alternative. Something to rely on to ready his heart and mind to the thought of a dominant. Leone drives back to his apartment, with his phone in hand and ear buds twisted in on themselves like a pretzel.

What does he even need to search for it to come up? Dominant orders you to sleep? How will he know it’s a real dominant and not just some fake? What if, while he dozes off, they common something completely nonsensical? He can’t ask Jean, as he doubts the man was willing to share his late-dom’s audios with him — so he takes to sleuthing online. Going through various forums, wikis, and webpages to find the perfect dominant for him to listen to. Someone with a soothing voice, preferably deep, and a calming presence. Leone doesn’t want to be forced into submission right now, just coaxed into it. As aggressive as he can be, sometimes he wants a softer touch.

This dominant was perfect. A man from Northern Italy, with no criminal record (Leone checked) and a small family. An older gentleman who made his living creating audios for submissives, with nothing but raving reviews on all his platforms. His audios were gentle, coaxing, and fully PG-13. Relaxing into his desk chair as he opens the audio file. Slipping his earbuds into his ear.

First time submitting

God how fucking embarrassing. He’s almost in his 30s and he’s never submitted fully to someone… thank god for the internet. Now, he can embarrass himself to a stranger in the comfort of his own home, instead of a stranger out in the real world.

There’s no need to worry yourself. You’re quite stressed out, aren’t you?

Leone gulps, nodding softly before he can stop himself. It’s not like the man can even see him so there’s no point. None whatsoever. Fingers drumming against his thigh restlessly.

It’s quite daunting, isn’t it? You have every right to feel overwhelmed.

Who does he think he is? Talking like he knows Leone… he’s not wrong, but Leone doesn’t like that he isn’t. Yes, he’s overwhelmed. To a juvenile degree, really. Leone is too old to feel this way, and half the reason he hasn’t sought help is because it’s shameful. Shameful to admit that he might have been wrong. At least Jean doesn’t judge him, but he knows others will be more than disappointed.

I’m going to give you a command. A simple one. All I ask is that you tap your wrist, is that alright?

Such a simple command. Leone can do that. And giving him time to brace himself is nice. He likes this man more than he should. Nustling into the cushions of his seat as he readies himself for the impact.

Tap your wrist

It doesn’t have the same gravitational pull as Giorno’s commands, nor does it feel like a complete suggestion like Bruno’s commands — it’s entirely different. Sure, he feels strongly compelled to do it, with the tips of his fingers twitching, but he also feels at liberty to decline. It’s low stakes, and Leone decides he’s willing to take the gamble. Tapping along the ventral side of his arm until he’s satisfied.

You did incredibly well. Thank you for trusting me. You should be quite proud of yourself .

Which is stupid. All he did was tap his wrist… but he can’t help but feel pride bloom in his chest. He earned that praise. Earned praise from a dominant. He’s well-behaved, and made such an impression on the man that he needed to voice it. Nevermind the fact that it’s pre-recorded, or that Leone had to drop a couple of euro to earn the praise…

There were more commands. Simple ones that told him to tap various parts of his body. Allowing him to slip into a state of mind that clouded his judgment. His head felt airy; as though nothing was in his skull. Could feel the stillness of the room and the lack of sound soothed him to the core. Even his body lay still, not moving unless ordered. Why had he ran away from this? When it feels so good to be so good? At least he feels safe, with no one watching him.

This was what he was scared of? Something as innocent and easy as this had him abusing prescription pills for years. It’s shameful. And, when the audio recording ends, Leone feels a weight lift from his shoulders. This was easy. He can do this. He doesn’t need to swallow down various pills to avoid feeling this, this wasn’t scary. Not in the slightest.

Chapter Text

Despite how much he’d hate to admit it, commands worked. Simple commands that didn’t overwhelm him seemed to work the best. If they were actions he could complete, they built his confidence up. Tonight, he bought an audio file from his favourite online dom again. Something simple to help him sleep. ‘For beginners’ it said in brackets and Leone couldn’t help but to feel a bit ashamed as he went through the comments. Nothing but teenagers who could barely wrap their heads around dynamics, let alone their own. And here he was, almost 30, perusing the same places as them. Adults require adult solutions, and his doctor had practically been forcing him to perform scenes with others. It’s what adult submissives do, so why won’t Leone do it? He’s a rare case, and not many people know how to treat someone like him. Juvenile people required juvenile solutions, and Leone seemed to be just that.

With his earphones, he let the dom’s voice pour into his ears. He noticed, within all his audios, that he asks for explicit consent before commanding. It’s nice. To receive a fair warning before his body is made to do something. Though, when he thinks about Giorno, he doesn’t mind being ‘forced’ either… not that he would admit that to him, of course. There was a certain rush that he couldn’t replicate with this random online dominant. This dominant was calming, soothing, and all-around protective. Giorno felt like he could push and push until Leone had nowhere else to hide… and he thinks he prefers that. Maybe Jean was right? Exposure therapy seemed like the correct choice for him.

You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?

That much is false. Leone spent the whole day in bed. It seemed as though his body was sapped of all its life force as soon as he woke up — deflating like a popped balloon and sinking into his mattress. His head stopped spinning and he closed his eyes. It felt nice to be able to sleep again. Especially after all those simple commands. With the man’s calming voice pouring into his ear canal once more.

You deserve a rest. A mental rest. So you can stop thinking about everything and allow yourself to be.

I’m going to give you a command now. A simple command to help you decompress.

Relax your shoulders.

Leone’s shoulders sank into the comforter. All the tension released. Jean was right, this absolutely rocks. Relying on a dominant doesn’t have to be degrading. Nor does he have to force himself into relationships he doesn’t want. He was right to seek out submissives, and he feels awfully vindicated that he did. Body relaxed like it had never been, as sleep nestled itself into his bones.

When Leone awakes, he feels much more rested than he usually does. His morning routine feels like less of a chore too, with the air feeling lighter and his head feeling clearer. It was like a fog had been lifted. That dark cloud that obscured his senses had finally cleared and all he could experience was the gorgeous weather underneath it all. Why hadn’t he done this sooner?

Pulling up into the office, Leone parks his car and strolls into the building. 15 minutes early, like always. He had made it a habit to be earlier than everyone else, to avoid the hustle and bustle. Before, things seemed to blur into a cacophony of noise, and he just couldn’t handle it. Like it overstimulated him, but dulled everything at the same time. Little things would piss him off, but important information would glaze over him. Now it’s different. It’s like his senses are sharpened. Voices are clearer and objects look less obscured. He didn’t realise just how bad it had gotten. It’s kind of embarrassing that his issue could be so easily fixed if he had just swallowed his pride. If it’s this good now, then how much better will he feel when he gets a dominant… he sees why people get addicted to this kind of stuff.

Hanging his coat up, he sets himself up for the work day ahead; opening all his important documents and planning out his shift. Wordlessly sorting his desk out as the others began to filter themselves in. Bruno tended to be 10 minutes early and would check in on everyone as they entered. He’s learned to leave Leone alone, as the man doesn’t like to be bothered so early in the morning. Pannacotta tends to be next, either a couple of minutes early or just in time. Mista is on time but tends to be a couple of minutes late. Narnacia is inconsistent and tends to just show up within 30 minutes of the actual start time of the shift, blaming public transport for his tardiness. Surprisingly, however, the younger man is on time, seemingly entering with Mista. Leone assumes he carpooled with him, and resumes his work wordlessly.

“Leone… did you, like, get a partner? You’re not screaming like you normally do,” Narancia probes and Leone shuts his eyes, brow twitching and lip downturned. He swears he can feel a vein pop in his forehead. So much for a good morning.

“What’s there to scream about?” Leone asks, cracking his knuckles as he waits for his computer to load up a database. He’d been working on this specific case for a while now, and this newfound mental clarity was helping him connect dots he didn’t realise he’d missed until now.

“I mean, you hate when I hang my coat too close to yours. You hate when Mista leaves his sandwich crust inches from the trash can from missing his shot-”

“I DON’T MISS ANY OF MY SHOTS, NARANCIA, STOP LYING!” Mista yells from across the room, with far too much energy for the morning. Rushing over with a large grin on his face, Mista clears the room in under 40 seconds before he’s at Narancia’s side. The two men squabble childishly, with Mista wrapping his arm around the shorter man and messing up his hair. Normally, he would be irritated. That’s a lie, he is irritated. Yet, it doesn’t feel as pressing as it normally would. That’s how they are. How they’ve always been. Rolling his eyes, he clicks through his files and resumes. 

“Oh man… you’re totally right. Leone is different.” Mista and Narancia have stopped playfighting, instead with the taller man’s arm hanging loosely around his subordinate’s shoulders. With a look of concern, Mista tilts his head. “It’s uncanny… he’s being so calm right now. Are we sure it’s even Leone?” Mista mutters, loud enough that the whole room can hear him. How could he even consider that whispering if Leone could hear him loud and clear?

“He could be a skinwalker. Maybe someone remade him in a lab and sent him into the office as a prank,” Narancia whispers, just as loudly. The men snicker, hiding their lips behind their hands as though that would cover up their obvious and obnoxious whisperings.

“Do you really think he got a dom? Someone like him? I mean seriousl-” Mista whispers before getting interrupted.

“WILL YOU GET TO WORK!?” Leone screams and the two men giggle like a group of school girls.

“Phew! Thought we lost him,” Mista sighs, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Leone rolls his eyes and the men walk off to their desks. 

It’s telling. That his poor mental condition was so instrumental to his identity that people thought he was no longer him when he felt better. Of course, they were joking around, but it made Leone stop to ponder it. Was he really that miserable all the time? How the fuck did he live like that? Maybe they’re glad he’s not a lunatic and are expressing it in their own way. 

It’s Pannacotta’s birthday. Well, it will be during the weekend. The younger man said he would spend it with his friends at this new book club he’d joined, but Bruno insisted that the team have a day with him too. Bruno tries his hardest to create a family atmosphere, and usually, that would be a red flag if the man wasn’t so earnest. Jobs tend to say they’re a family, but end up being the most abusive family Leone has ever had the displeasure of being in. Crazy expectations and guilt-tripping the ex-cop into overtime because that’s just what family does . He’s glad that the work-life balance here is reasonable.

Despite everything, Leone finds himself stuck with Giorno. Honestly, he tried his hardest to avoid the man, but it seems like when he doesn’t want something to happen it inevitably does . Just when he thought his day was going well, he had to be around the one person he’d rather avoid. It’s not his fault… not really. Not this time at least.

Quitting his suppressants cold turkey seemed like a wonderful idea. Seemed . There were a lot of sensations he wasn’t used to feeling because his medication just erased it. It’s like his bones itch. When Giorno is around him, his insides twist and morph and he can feel his hormones spike. He’s hyper-aware of him. To the point where it nauseates him to be around the blond. Are they pheromones? Is that what the scientists call them? Giorno smells like dark chocolate, sweet with a hint of tartness, and no one else can smell it. Just him. Just he alone is cursed with the knowledge that Giorno’s scent is the nicest thing his nose has ever had the pleasure of smelling. It’s wholly unfair.

And he can feel his intent. It’s difficult for him to put into words just how much it affects him. It’s even worse knowing others can’t feel what he feels. Whenever he’s around the blond, he feels like prey. Like his every move is being perceived, logged into some archive in his mind, and stored away for later use. Giorno has a habit of reading others silently, that much is certain, but it’s different for Leone somehow and he couldn’t feel it before (but he certainly can now). It’s like his body is being wrapped up in this psychological pressure and he just wants to give in . To let Giorno do whatever he wants. Is he doing it on purpose? Or is Leone simply that desperate for a touch…

It can’t be the latter. Not when he’s felt commands and soothed himself with them. Not when his mind feels clearer and much more empty from all the noise he didn’t realise was there. It’s like an attraction he can’t place his finger on, and Leone would like to ignore whatever Giorno was hellbent on making him feel. Blaming his inner submissive instead of realising what it was at its core.

“Is it true that you have a dominant?” Giorno asks, green eyes peering up at him. The blond had asked for help, but Leone knew he didn’t need it. He never does. Not when he’s so efficient at his job, and seemingly knows more than everyone else in the room. Giorno likes calling the man over just to ogle at him. To stare at his body as he clicks away. Green eyes taking in the curl of his painted lips and the fly-away hairs that his hairbrush couldn’t tame. It’s a cat-and-mouse game, and Leone certainly isn’t the cat.

It’s not like he can admit to the audio recordings. That is quite embarrassing. But he doesn’t want to concoct some grand lie either. Lying to the blond is just too much effort. Lying requires a mental aptitude he still doesn’t have yet. Despite how clear things are, and how much better he feels, there are certain things he’s not sure he’ll be able to do just yet. Multitasking is still hard for him, and he can only put his focus on one thing at a time before he’s overwhelmed and agitated. 

The team know to leave him alone when he begins the work day, and he’s glad that they haven’t swung around his part of the office today… All except Giorno. Who, despite everything, doesn’t seem to annoy him when he approaches. If it were Narancia, it would be so different. He’d yell at him to stop wasting time. To focus. To leave him alone and just quit his job if he can’t do a basic task. Even Pannacotta would be whisked away, with a hand wave and an ‘ask Bruno’ . Nobody bothers Leone, and he’s very glad that they don’t. Yet, Leone can’t help but to aid the blond when he asks for help. Even though he knows damn well the man doesn’t need it.

“What’s it matter to you?” Leone huffs, rolling his eyes and clicking around Giorno’s documents. Arm outstretched as he gripped the table. Dress shirt pulled up and showcasing his slender arms. No, he’s not showing off his arms to the blond. It just so happens to be hot. His face feels warm, and it has nothing to do with Giorno. It’s just hot in the office today despite it being late January. “No dom is good enough for me anyway.”

“You say that with such confidence,” Giorno replies, leaning back in his seat. He’s not even trying to look like he cares about what Leone is doing. Not putting an ounce of effort into taking in any information. He doesn’t need to. Doesn’t need Leone to go over the basics again when he knows them all so perfectly.

“I’m yet to be proven wrong,” Leone scoffs, keeping up this useless facade. What’s he even doing? Showing Giorno how to perform basic actions as if he hasn’t seen this all before.

“That’s good to hear,” Giorno replies. Leone wishes he could slap that smug look off his face. Just who does he think he is? That’s good to hear. He’d rip his ears off the sides of his head if he could… fucking prick. “Sit next to me when we head to the cafe?”

“Is that an order?”

“Only if you want it to be.” 

Like an idiot, Leone finds himself seated next to the blond. It’s a small cafe, with barely enough seats to hold the team together. Bruno had booked some tables for the group after their shift, with strawberry red velvet cake for the birthday boy. All out of his pocket. It’s absurd how kind he can be and, usually, Leone would focus on that.

Yet he can’t focus on anything at all. There’s not enough space in this booth. He’s too close to Mista. Too close to Giorno. Feels both men press against his sides as the team chatter away about who knows what. None of it matters. None of it matters when he can feel the press of Giorno’s shoulder on his bicep. None of it matters when he can feel his thigh against his own, warm and firm. Can smell his sweet scent, that dark chocolate that pairs so nicely with his heavenly musk. It’s all too much. And Leone can’t even register a word when he’s so near. Everyone is so loud, but he can’t hear anything at all. Irritation is bubbling beneath his skin, twisting his gut and tainting his experience. He thought he was better. He thought those measly commands last night were enough… how stupid of him.

Leone excuses himself to the bathroom. Using the excuse that he needs to touch up his lipstick (he doesn’t). He just needs a moment. A moment to recollect himself. There’s an intense throbbing pain behind his eyes. Like, at any moment, they’ll burst out the sockets and roll around the floor. It’s like someone’s banging from within his skull, begging to come out. He needs to sit down. But he can’t go back out there. He needs the lights to be turned off. He needs to be in his room again… he needs to hear that dom’s voice and-

Why is Giorno here?

With a sharp turn of his head, Leone’s eyes snap to the blond. Long legs and trim waist as he makes his way towards the other man. Leone shivers. Gripping the sink with dear life as though he were to fall at any moment. All he can do is gawk as the blond closes in on him, face mere inches away from Leone’s.

“You don’t have a dom, do you?” Giorno verifies, and his head spins. That scent. It feels oppressive. Clings to every surface of the sticky walls and fills in each pore of his skin. It makes the hairs of his skin stand, pimpling the surface as the room spins. What’s it to him if he doesn’t? Why won’t Giorno leave him alone? Why won’t he tell him to go away? Even as his breath ghosts over Leone’s face, misting over layers of foundation and concealer, he can’t muster up the energy to push him away. Averting his gaze and staring into the stained metal sink once more.

“You came here to laugh at me, didn’t you?” Leone goads. Why would he be here? Leone can’t fathom that at all. Giorno has no reason to cling to him so much, especially when Leone constantly pushes him away. That fae-like face of his doesn’t change, and Leone is angry that he can’t gauge his reactions at all. Knuckles white as he clings to the counter.

“Does it look like I’m laughing to you?” Giorno asks and Leone feels his body go cold. Just his tone sends shivers down his spine. Squeezing his eyes shut and hoping his ears would get the memo. He wants to shut this out. Shut Giorno out. Pretend it was all a dream and he’ll wake up in his bed again, sated by some random man’s voice. Alabaster locks curtaining to hide his face as he tucks his chin into his collarbone.

He knows what comes next. Knows what Giorno is going to do, and his stomach twists at the thought. Whatever he’ll say, Leone will do it, and he’s scared of that. Scared of that vulnerability. Leone wants it so bad but he can’t. Not here. Not now. Not when the team is just outside, chattering away and celebrating. Not when anyone could come in and see them. It’s too much, and his knees give in. Palms covering his ears as he squeezes his eyes even tighter together.

“Does it?” Giorno asks, once more, and Leone tries his hardest to block him out. To not think about it. To stop his syllables from reaching his ears before it’s too late. Giorno is just so alluring, and he can’t fight how much his body wants him. “Does it look like I find this funny?”

“STOP IT!” Leone screeches. His heart was beating so fast it could break out of his chest at any moment. Skin prickling and face red hot. He felt conscious of his body. Conscious of how his clothing hung on his body and how the air hit his face. Giorno kneeled down beside him, resting his hand on Leone’s back. “Don’t say anything. I don’t want to hear it. Stop it. ” It’s petulant. It’s juvenile. Throwing a bitch fit because he doesn’t want to listen to what Giorno has to say… is he 12? But he’s desperate. So desperate to stop Giorno from embarrassing him any further. It’s always in public… but Leone doesn’t want to be in private with the dom either. The thought of no one else being able to stop Giorno is as mortifying as it is erotic, and he has to do everything in his power to stop that from happening. “What are you doing to me?”

“I’m not doing anything to you,” Giorno responds. Fucking smart ass . He knows damn well what he’s doing. Knows how to make his scent so appetising and how to get under Leone’s skin. To locate every nerve and get on them like they were a flight to England. Giorno knows what he’s doing. It’s the only way this can be explained. “We’re just talking.” That’s not true. Giorno isn’t just talking and he knows it. It’s more. Leone can’t name it, can’t list what he’s doing, but he knows there’s more. “You need a command from me, don’t you?”

“I don’t need shit from you, Giorno,” Leone seethes, head shaking and body twitching.

“Should we establish a safeword?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“How does Passione sound?”

“LISTEN TO ME WHEN I’M TALKING!” Leone screeches, rocking back and forth. Giorno is driving him insane. He’s not listening. He’s just doing whatever he wants. Leone doesn’t need that safeword because he’ll never use it… he won’t give Giorno the opportunity.

“Put your hands down ,” the blond commands and Leone’s arms fill with lead. He can’t fight it. Can’t resist it. A part of him thinks that he doesn’t want to. It’s nothing like the dominant online. Giorno’s words go into each strand of his DNA and alter him somehow. His hands fall to his lap, palms open as he cracks open his eyes and stares at the tiling. He’s so easy. Giorno doesn’t have to do much before he obeys him thoughtlessly. It’s not like this with other dominants, and Leone doesn’t want to think about why that is. “You’re incredibly obedient, do you know that?”

Praise from a dominant feels otherworldly. Flows into you so easily, and it just feels so right. When Giorno praises him, it feels correct. And he wants more. Wants to earn more of those praises. To hear them until they overstimulate. But he can’t. He’s in public. The team are outside. He cannot want this.

“Shut up,” he mutters, tears welling in his eyes. Giorno won. Like always, he won. Leone is far too weak to stop him from winning against his nature. Because it’s Leone’s nature that wants it… not him.

“Don’t cry, Leone,” Giorno hushes, wiping the skin beneath his eyes as the sub blinks back saline. Even his fingers were soft, gliding gently across his layers of concealer and powder. “I don’t feel I’ve earned that yet.” Who does he think he is? No one can make him cry. He never cries. There’s just dust in his eyes, that’s all. A lash fell into his cornea. It’s all there is to it. Giorno could never have that power over him… never in a million years. “Did you bring your lipstick?”

Silence .

“ Tell me where it is. ”

“In my back pocket.”

“ Get it for me ,” Giorno commands. He keeps commanding. Keeps asking questions and Leone is just letting him. There’s not even internal dialogue telling him he needs to stop… he just does . Utterly at the mercy of this man. He reaches behind him and pulls out the tube, tossing it to the blond and turning his head away. “ Look at me .” He doesn’t want to. But there’s an invisible force pressuring him to look. As though Giorno’s face had magnets in them. He had to look. It wasn’t an option… he needed to look. Violet eyes staring holes into his face as his scowl deepened. “Your lipstick is perfect, you don’t need to reapply at all, do you?”

Leone doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a response; electing to glare at him while a small smile stretches the blond’s lips.

“Should I reapply it for you?”

“No.”

“ Come closer .” Giorno orders and Leone inches towards him. Body leaning as though he were in a trance. “ Closer .” Their faces are so close. Too close . It’s too much. Giorno’s face blankets his vision. His lips are almost touching his. The blond twists his head, so their noses can slot together and Leone can’t handle it. It’s too much. This isn’t how he wants his first kiss to be. In some random cafe, in a public bathroom, on the floor. Their lips are so close and Leone’s heart drops. He can’t. Not like this.

“Passione,” he rushes, pushing Giorno away and turning his head to the side. Chest heaving as he scrambles up on his feet and rushes out the door. 

This is bad… this is so bad.

Chapter Text

last year.

Turning 26 wasn’t a special age. At least, it usually wasn’t. Leone didn’t have any plans for his 26th, nothing that would shock or amaze him. Ultimately, he planned to spend the day receiving calls from his old police academy pals; drinking wine and binge-watching true crime documentaries. It’s how his birthdays were. Leone loathed busy areas, it exacerbated his tender head. Migraines seemed to always find him, and it was much easier to stay at home in his dark room than to step outside and be overwhelmed by noise. Overwhelmed by all the light, the hustle and bustle, and the sensation of people near him.

He’d begun taking a new form of medication. Much stronger than his last. He’d been on his last course of meds for around 3 years, but his condition had rapidly worsened and he needed to up his dosage. Well, it was either that or finding a dominant (and he had no desire to do the latter). Changing medication was always the worst time for him, and he truly hadn’t planned on doing anything while he did it. Usually, it took a couple of months for it to settle in his system and he could go about his business normally. It had been some weeks, and he’d been feeling a lot better. However, Leone chalked it up to quarantining himself in his room when work was over.

Work was new. It was different. At first, he found his superior intense . Passionate, strong-willed, and determined — Bruno had lamented on how the team was a family and how everyone was to be treated equally. It was gross. No one wants to hear about how much of a family their colleagues are going to be, especially Leone. He had heard those kinds of words as his previous supervisor on the force would add more piles of paper onto his desk: 2 hours after the end of his shift. Leone doesn’t care for family, he just wanted to get his work done and go home. 

For half a year, he’d worked at Passione, and he was glad that he wasn’t being worked to the bone like he was in the force. Surprisingly, Bruno was patient, and understanding; he would go out of his way to understand Leone’s unique challenges. Everyone on the team were normals so it’s not like they empathised but they certainly went out of their way to accommodate him. It’s nothing like his old job. They used to make snide comments and ask inappropriate questions under the guise of curiosity . Working in the force made him prickly and rude, but he had to be. It was easy for people to take advantage of you if you weren’t.

Bruno went out of his way to do things for people. Remembering everyone’s favourite foods and gifting them at random. Making cups of coffee for the team when he was in the break room. Checking in on everyone when he was on break. Even celebrated everyone’s birthdays whenever he could. It was excessive. Truly, it was too much: rubbing Leone the wrong way. He was just so… nice . And he wasn’t used to it.

But he gave in. Let the man shower him with affection and just accept everything he gave. Let the man know about his physiology, explaining commands and scenes and all sorts of weird BDSM stuff that he wouldn’t get. Bruno was intrigued by him and wanted to know how to best support him. He’s not sure how it started, but the constant efforts from him endeared him to the man. He tried so hard for him and Leone was weak to it. Months of constant ‘advances’ made him fond of the man. Maybe he was wrong about him. Maybe he truly wanted to create a family with his team. Leone couldn’t help but feel something towards the man, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.

A canal date. Bruno had invited him out on a canal date. The other man didn’t call it a date, but with just the two of them on a swan boat; what else could it be? The weather was nicer than it should be in March, the waters were calm, and the air was stagnant. It was the perfect day. Sea salt scent intermingled with fried fish that wafted from the various stalls adorning the canalside. Bruno’s skin was fed by the rays; positively glowing in the sunlight. Leone donned his sun hat, his sunglasses, and drowned his skin in sun cream to avoid the wrath of that pesky star in the sky. He’s not built for this weather and the sizzle of his skin is proof.

Bruno’s voice is deep. Manly. With a caring and consistent tone that makes a man want to listen. It makes him forget about his stressful days. Makes him forget about his medications and his secondary gender. It’s just them, in this dinky swan boat, paddling down the canal. Feeling the sway of the stream as their arms press together. It’s nice. And he’s glad that he took him out of his room, even if only for a bit. No one else cared this much about him, and he was beginning to fall deeper in awe with the man.

It’s hard to focus on Bruno. So hard. His eyes focus on his lips but the words that come out of them are lost on him. Instead, all he can hear is the humdrum of the street. Can hear the footsteps, the jeers, the eating… all of it. Hears every conversation intermingling into one large noise, indistinguishable from everything else. Hears the buskers playing their instruments in the streets and it’s shrill. It’s grating. A dull, throbbing pain he tries to ignore as Bruno’s face inches closer to his.

“Is it just me, or is it quite loud?” Leone verifies, head pounding. It’s like there was a separate heartbeat in his brain and Bruno pulls back. Cocking his head, his shoulder-length bob following.

“Are you alright?” Bruno asks and Leone can’t even begin to describe his current state.

“I’m prone to migraines. We can keep going,” Leone reassured the man, peddling away to alleviate the discomfort in his mind. Bruno talks, and Leone tries to reply. Tries to engage in conversation but it’s hard. There’s something he’s forgetting. A sensation that creeps up and taints the experience. A paranoia that won’t leave his mind. His ears are filled with cotton and his skin crawls; like bugs sauntering all over his body. He’s had migraines but he’s not sure what this is. When had his lungs gotten so small? They’re not taking in enough air at all and he keeps panting like he’s just ran a marathon. Knuckles blanched white as he grips the side of the swan for dear life.

What’s going on with him?

Migraines, he’s used to, but not this. No. He’s not alright. Not at all. Eyes staring blankly as the canal seems to stretch infinitely. He can’t breathe. His heart is going too fast and he can’t keep up. He can’t breathe. Trying his hardest to catch his breath but he can’t. He can’t breathe. He’s dying . Sweat pours down his back and he can’t tell whether Bruno is to his left or to his right. Everything was so disorienting and he felt bile rise up his throat — liquid hot and bitter to the taste.

“Look at me,” Bruno commands but it falls flat. It’s useless. It could never work. He’s not a dominant. It’s useless. He’s useless. He’ll be stuck like this forever and nobody can fix it. 

“Shut up. Stop talking. Stop.” Leone groans, gripping his skull. It’s splitting apart. He can feel his mind splintering. Throat filled with sour saliva as he feels the remnants of yesterday’s meal come up. Before he knows it, there are chunks of congealed rice into the canal. Gripping the edge of the swan boat as his stomach turned inside out.

Suffice it to say, their date was ruined. Ruined by Leone and his terrible health. The submissive barely remembers getting home, nor does he remember giving his manager his address. When he comes to, he’s in his underwear, throwing up nothing but bile into the toilet bowl as Bruno holds his hair back for him. Rubbing circles on his back as he hacks up the linings of his intestines. It’s sad. So sad that he can’t have one day out with a potential partner without vomiting from the nausea. Any chance he had with Bruno is ruined, and he only has himself to blame.

current day.

Since the incident with Giorno yesterday, he’s felt much better than he’d like to ever admit. Lying awake in his bed, hours before his alarm, yet feeling so rested and refreshed. He’d fallen asleep quickly. Listening to that dominant relaxed him and, before he knew it, his eyes were glued shut until morning time. It’s the most uninterrupted sleep he’d ever gotten in a while. Thanking every cosmic power that Jean wandered his way into his life.

Checking his phone, he sees a text from Giorno. Of course… why wouldn’t Giorno text him? It’s like the blond knows how to maximise his annoying nature. Capitalising on it and making Leone suffer all the more.

Giorno

Your birthday is in March. Do you have any plans?

Leone

None that involve you

All their birthdays are easily attainable from the office calendar. Giorno must’ve checked. Scouring each month looking for a mention of Leone’s name. It was only January. Nowhere near his birthday and yet Giorno seemed so excited to celebrate it with the man. He could read into it, but he would rather not.

Giorno

We could go to a nice restaurant.

What’s your favourite food?

Leone

I’m not going on a date with you

Giorno

Nobody said it would be a date :)

God, he’s an idiot. Giorno lays out his traps so obviously, and Leone falls for them every time. Even that smiley face is proof that Giorno got what he wanted, and Leone is infuriated that he let the younger man win (again).

Leone

Why are you up so early?

Giorno

I could ask the same for you

Leone

Smart ass

Rolling his eyes, with a hint of a smirk on his face. There’s a back-and-forth with the blond that he doesn’t have with the others. Giorno doesn’t take his aggression seriously, and it’s refreshing. To be able to be rude and annoying and have him somehow understand that he doesn’t mean it. Maybe he can feel it. Feel how little Leone means it when he spouts out insults and pushes him away without actually wanting him to leave. It’s unspoken, but the tension lingers all the same. Leone pushes and pushes and Giorno is immovable in his pursuit of him. He feels chased down. Targeted and preyed upon, and he wouldn’t like to admit that it feels much more arousing than it should.

Giorno

I usually struggle to sleep.

But since yesterday I haven’t had any trouble at all.

God, he’s infuriating. Poking fun at Leone from the comfort of his own home. Besides, what’s that supposed to mean? Someone like Giorno struggling to sleep? Why couldn’t he sleep? It’s not like he cares, of course, but he’s intrigued. How long has it been an issue for him? Is it to do with his dynamic, or something completely unrelated to that? He’s certainly implying that they’re linked, but Leone won’t take the bait. Electing to redirect the conversation so he doesn’t look like he cares about Giorno’s health… because he doesn’t.

Knowing that Giorno gets the same benefits he does from this whole thing is nice. He hates to admit it but it’s true… it’s a lot more mutually beneficial than he’d like to admit. Giorno gets something out of this. Giorno gets fulfilment, gets clarity, gets peace of mind. Giorno gets everything that Leone gets… the question is why would he want to get those things with Leone of all people.

Leone

When is your birthday?

Giorno

April 16th.

Maybe we’ll go on that date you’re looking forward to :)

He’s doing it on purpose. Typing out that stupid fucking face to piss Leone off. To rub it in his face. To tease him. Why him? Leone is 6 years his senior, cranky, rude, and unpleasant to be around. Leone has never been nice to him a second they’ve been near each other, and yet he adamantly pursues him as though he were the most seductive person to have ever lived.

Setting his phone down, Leone gets ready for the day ahead. Brushing his hair, his teeth, and picking out his outfit for the shift. There’s a stillness in time. An utter silence he revels in. He’s so used to that low hum; like TV static that would wind him up and leave him on the edge. This is good. He likes this. Mind at peace as he sets the radio on and drives to the office like always. The beeps of the cars don't phase him; nor do the traffic in the early morning and the pedestrians walking by. Rain pitters gently on his windshield and the sound of the wipers don’t piss him off. It’s good. It’s nice. And, as he pulls in his favourite parking space, he rides the elevator up to the office and nestles himself comfortably in his desk. Making quick work of his tasks, typing away on his computer.

“Giorno, come to my office please,” Bruno orders and the blond quickly complies. Leone can’t help but to gawk. Is he in trouble? That wouldn’t make any kind of sense. Giorno has barely interacted with anyone, keeping to himself like he always does. It makes Leone think… has he ever seen the blond speak to the others? Aside from Mista (who makes it a habit to speak to everyone), Giorno has kept his head down for the most part. He’d never noticed it. Never thought deeply about it. Usually hyper fixated on Giorno’s existence, but not his actions. Giorno sits pretty at his desk and types away. It’s why he’s so efficient. He spends his entire shift at his desk and calls Leone over when he wants some eye candy. Leone is the only person he calls over, and it makes his head spin once he realises that.

When Giorno returns, he looks apologetic. Eyes downturned as he furiously types away. Backspacing and typing again. Clicking various tabs and backspacing once more. Takes a brief break, retypes, backspaces, and clicks aimlessly. God… This is what he’s waited for . It dawns on Leone that Giorno doesn’t know what he’s doing. He has no clue and refuses to call someone for help. Electing to just figure it out in the hopes that he doesn’t irritate the submissive. Leone was a wolf who had been called on far too many times, and Giorno was certain that Leone wouldn’t take his enquiry seriously.

“You’re stuck aren’t you?” Leone asks, peeking over the cubicle. Giorno averts his eyes. “Let me see.” Leone sighs, getting out of his seat and pulling his chair beside the blond. “Never thought I’d see the day where you’d actually need my help.”

Why is he helping Giorno? He’s never been the type to care. Not really. When others were stuck, he’d leave them to it. That family shit was for Bruno, he would stick to himself unless ordered otherwise. But something about Giorno’s frustration is endearing. Seeing a side of him he’d never seen before. Being able to have the upper hand on the dominant feels nice, and it verifies that he is , in fact, better than him.

Leone takes a cursory glance and realises that Giorno has bitten off way more than he can chew. It’s complex. It required more context than Giorno could ever have in his months working here. Why would Bruno give him something like this so soon? Was the manager testing him? Even Leone would struggle with something like this… he almost feels bad for the kid. Almost .

“I could help but I’m not confident it would be useful. Maybe try asking Pannacotta. He’s quite knowledgable,” Leone says, rubbing his chin as he scrolled through the file. Pannacotta was smart. He was able to understand something like this if he put his mind to it. Both the men could solve this in a reasonable amount of time if given the chance. “If he’s no help come back and I can try to explain it.”

“Thank you,” the blond replies, looking up at him with such awe. It’s gross. He shouldn’t look at him like that. Leone rolls his eyes at the stupid expression.

“Shut up. Go fix it.” The blond hurries off to the other man, awkward as he rubs the back of his neck and asks for his superior’s advice. Pannacotta steals a shocked glance at Leone, shocked at the fact he was willing to help the blond at all considering how outwardly hostile he was towards him; and heads over to Giorno’s desk.

It’s been a couple of hours since the start of his shift, and Leone has decided it’s time for a break. Heading over to the break room. Opening the door and glancing at Trish, who doesn’t move from her spot on the couch. Trish keeps herself out of trouble, and uses every minute of break she’s allowed: sometimes more if she can get away with it. It’s obvious she’s not passionate about working, but Leone can’t really blame her. Putting his tomato & basil soup in the microwave, Leone scrolls through his feed and waits for the telltale beep. He’d been cutting meat out for a while now. Something about the toughness and the texture upset his stomach: he chalks it up to medication because that’s what it always is with him. He can’t remember the last time he ate a steak, and the thought of it isn’t too appetising either. 

Anybody who says they like steak is categorically wrong . It’s tough. Chewy. Hard to swallow and far too gamey. Chewing on a hunk of steak made him feel like an idiot — swinging his jaw around like a bat. It’s arduous. It’s annoying. And Italian cuisine is better off without meat in it. He doesn’t mind fish all too much, it’s much lighter on the stomach and pairs well with most things. Nor does he mind chicken, but only if it’s lightly seasoned. Anything too strong, and he risks throwing up.

With a couple of beeps, he opens the contraption and sits on the couch, a healthy distance away from the new hire. Blowing on his soup as the steam wafted through the air. 

“You don’t eat meat, right?” Trish asks, typing away furiously on her screen. Acrylic nails tapping on the screen with satisfying little clicks. How she gets any work done with those talons, Leone will never know, but they suit her quite well. A gorgeous and simple French tip, elegant like the rest of her. “Tryna lose weight?”

“I don’t need the help. Naturally skinny,” Leone answers, slipping the spoon into his mouth. It’s half a truth, and he ponders the statement a bit more as soon as it leaves his lips. Was he always this slender?

“Everyone here has such good bodies… I’m jealous,” Trish whines, hanging her head on the back of the sofa. Setting her phone down to whinge some more. “Mista doesn’t even work out, he’s just naturally buff. Just how unfair can life be!?” Leone snickers, swallowing down spoonfuls of soup. “He has the nicest arms. And you can tell he’s got a nice body underneath those clothes, you know? His thighs are to die for.”

“If it makes you feel better, mine isn’t on purpose. My medications make it hard for me to eat,” Leone hums. He’s never thought too deeply about his appearance. It’s not something he’s cared about. Whether or not people find him attractive is up to them.

“Depressing. Buzzkill,” Trish states, matter-of-factly. Picking her phone back up and typing away. “Your meds. Why?”

“Suppressants. I had been overtaking them for years. I recently quit, so I think I’ll gain some weight back,” Leone answers, scraping up the remains of his soup.

“Nice! Love that for you,” Trish hums, nails clicking on her screen. How she can multitask fluidly, Leone will never be able to understand. Her words seem sarcastic, and her lack of active listening could be considered rude to most… but Leone doesn’t mind it. Not really. It’s endearing. “I’ve had my gym membership for months. Haven’t gone. Come with.”

God he doesn’t want to pass out in the gym. Nor does he want to throw up. Neither of those realities sounds fun. Leone is an out-of-shape mess who can barely stomach a burger, what makes her think he’ll run on a treadmill for hours? She’s out of her mind. But he also can’t say no to her. For whatever reason, it feels nice to be invited. That people are making an effort to be around him. Even if he stands around and does a couple light stretches, it’ll be more than he’s doing now.

“Sure,” he sighs, getting up to rinse his bowl out.

“It’s a date! I’ll let you know when I can be bothered goin’... ‘kay?” Trish replies.

Leone sits back down, electing to spend his break checking his social media feeds. Jean had hatched some new chicks recently, and it’s all his posts had been about for the last couple of days. Logging every slight sign of progress as though he were the National Geographic. Taking pictures of each feather that would end up in strange places; from the wheels of his chair to the microscopic gaps in his prosthetic leg. When his break was over, he noticed that Trish was gone and he had the room to himself. Setting his phone back in his pocket and exiting the room; he noticed that Trish (as always) was anywhere but her desk. Standing next to the water cooler and chatting away to Mista: stood far too closely than reasonable. Sure, the older man was bad with personal space, but Trish was fussy and tended to complain if she was upset. It makes him think she’s alright with him standing so close. Alright with Mista resting his hand on her lower back and gazing into her eyes so intently. All those comments on his body started to make sense.

Chapter Text

The thought of being put under a spell is terrifying. Your body is not your own. Reduced to nothing but a vessel, your sole purpose is to enact whatever action the spellcaster wishes to be performed. A mere puppet. A mere spectator. Without a doubt, it’s witchcraft. Giorno has put a spell on him. It’s the only way he can explain this. The only way he can fathom why the bridge of his nose and the curve of his brow entrances him. Wary of his every move. Giorno speaks at a different frequency, and Leone thinks he’s the only receiver capable enough to capture it.

Whether it be in the break room, the bathroom, or even over his cubicle divider, Leone is conscious of Giorno in an unnatural way. It’s an amalgamation of things. A mixture of his dominant pheromones that only Leone could sense, and feeling the sheer strength of him when he entered the room. It pressed against his skin and squeezed the reason out of him. Giorno’s cologne smelled unique to everything else in the room; a deep musk with a hint of sweetness that complemented his natural scent. His lips were always so moisturised, with his skin glossy, and his hair bouncy. With a deep baritone that soothed the ex-cop to the core. Hypnotic. Entrancing. He can’t help but glance at him when he walks by, or perk his ears at the sound of his voice.

Leone is conscious of him even in the enclosed space of the break room. From the moment the door creaked open, to the second the shorter man stepped inside, his eyes couldn’t help but follow him. Those long legs and his trim waist are accentuated by his button-up shirt that fit far too well. Soft green tie that barely rested on the pastel pink of his slacks. Who could wear complementary colours in such a graceful way if not for Giorno? Ripping his eyes away from him to focus on the coffee pot. Was the room steamy from the boiling? Was his shirt sticking to his back more than it was before? Or was he conscious of it because Giorno was near him? 

The man had to slip by him. To reach the couch, he said, but Leone knew he didn’t have to stand that close. Didn’t have to place his palm against Leone’s waist, gently positioned and not pushing. So Leone could feel the heat emanating from him. Could feel his body as it slid against his back. And see the veins in his arms as he gripped the marbled countertops, sleeve pulled back and muscles defined. It took everything in him not to shiver . Biting his lip and smearing satin lipstick on his teeth.

“Excuse me,” the blond whispered, already on the other side of Leone. There was more than enough space. Countless times, people had passed by him to get to the couch and none had to press their entire bodies against him like that. Despite all of that, he can’t say that he minds it. Not one bit.

“That w-... You’r-... P-PERSONAL SPACE, GIORNO!” Leone spluttered, face completely red as the coffee pot shook in his right hand.

“Be careful,” Giorno directed, placing his hand over Leone’s to steady the submissive. “You could burn yourself.” And Leone’s entire head feels hot. From the top of his scalp, the back of his neck everywhere felt like a skillet on fire. Pushing the blond away, he slams the coffee pot onto the counter. Spilling some on his skin and hissing as the liquid sizzled on his skin. “I told you to be careful,” the blond continues, with a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He can’t believe it. Getting teased by a man 6 years his junior… how shameful.

“Fuck off, Giorno, seriously,” the older man huffed, grabbing his mug and pouring creamer into the liquid java. A command would be more effective. Would’ve forced Leone to obey in the way that Giorno likes. If he had commanded Leone to put the coffee pot down, he wouldn’t have a choice but to do it. If he commanded Leone to pour warm water on all of his burns. Commanded him to peel the burned skin off of his arm, letting it bleed all over and have the heightened sensation make him woozy. Command Leone to kneel for him and-

“Did you know you have strong pheromones?” Giorno coaxed. What ? Is Leone leaking pheromones? What are they portraying to Giorno? Is it so important that Giorno felt the need to address it while the two of them were alone? Clearly, Giorno is privy to something he shouldn’t be. Privy to a side of Leone that other people couldn’t sniff out. Giorno knows his deepest desires, and is constantly aware of them. Being near a dominant is scary, especially a dominant like Giorno. A dominant who has no qualms with using their charms against Leone… and Leone is so weak. Cupping the right side of his neck in an attempt to stop his pheromones from leaking out.

Giorno seats himself onto the couch, slipping his phone out of his back pocket and playing a series of puzzle games. Being none-the-wiser as Leone spirals, head feeling like mush as he tries to think of something to say. What was he going to do? Deny the pheromones that he himself had been giving out this entire time? Not just now, but even back then too. Back when Giorno had unintentionally gave him that command, and his inner submissive clawed at him. Back when he cornered him in the bathroom of that cafe? No. It’s not him. This isn’t him. Giorno is reacting to something that isn’t him and so he shouldn’t take it seriously. Leone grabs his overly-creamed coffee, with far too many sugars, and rushes off to his desk. Slamming the break room door shut.

“Leone, are you alright? You look really red,” Mista asked, perking up from his desk. The last person he wants to see right now . Scratch that, anybody would be the last person he’d want to see. Why is he asking how Leone is? Doesn’t he know to leave him alone when he’s embarrassed? “Is Giorno picking on you?”

“He’s not picking on me!” Leone seethes and Mista snickers, glancing over to Trish who can barely keep her expression in check. She definitely put him up to that. It’s obvious by the way she turns her head and covers her glossed lip when the older man stares her down. Trish is increasingly spending more time with the man, under the guise of asking for help, she’ll spend hours chatting with the man as they ‘work’ on the project.

“Come on, guys, that’s inappropriate. Get back to work,” Bruno orders, boisterous and loud as he projects his voice from the other side of the room. His superior steps out, flask in hand as he leaves the office. It’s not uncommon to see him leave the office. At times, he’s going off to different departments to fetch folders and dossiers of important work. Bruno trusts the group to keep themselves occupied when he leaves, treating everyone as though they were extensions of himself in a way.

It had been a couple of days since that incident in the cafe and Leone can’t help but to be angry at himself for it. Why wouldn’t he leave? Why did he just stay there and let Giorno do what he pleased? Letting him set a safeword as though this was some kind of agreement between the two of them. Not only that, but validating the safeword when he felt overwhelmed. Giorno isn’t his dom. He never will be, actually, and he’s irritated that his body is just letting the blond do whatever he pleased.

Commands work and it pisses him off. If he’s much better after some commands, what would a scene do to him? Would he be blissed out by a scene? Would he never have to submit again? God, he wishes. How Polnareff can survive on just audio is baffling, but the veteran never let his condition get as bad as Leone’s is. Leone is a special case that requires more attention than others do, and that is a fact that will constantly irritate him. 

A part of him needs Giorno, despite how much he’d want to ignore it. Popping pills was a desperate attempt to scurry away from the reality of his situation. Leone is needy. Years of ignoring what his body required to function made him buckle at the attention he’d so desperately ran away from. Ignoring it hoping that it would go away. Now that Giorno is giving him what his body has craved, he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Didn’t want to admit that everyone in his life was right. Stubborn to a fault, Leone would rather bark at others than to admit he was wrong. His doctor was equal parts mortified and intrigued at his condition, which isn’t what you want to hear from your healthcare professional.

Though, if anything, he’s thankful for the blond. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone, fuck no , but Giorno has helped. Forcing him to accept those commands has made it so much easier to work on the current project. A merger between companies. Some pretty boring shit, if Leone were to be completely honest, but isn’t his whole career dull? It’s been months in the making, and Leone just can’t wait for it to all be over. At least he has the luxury of a clear mind. Which, in all honesty, many wouldn’t even consider a luxury until it’s taken away from them. How long had he lived in a constant state of frustration?

Merging companies had involved a fuck ton of paperwork, calculations, and cross-checking documents. It’s tedious work. Work that the whole team has been working on, sure, but work that Leone is confident in. Menial, tedious work that doesn’t require that much thought is what suits him the most. He doesn’t have to think too hard, just run shit through his mental algorithm and chip away at the mountain of tasks given to him. 

“Leone, Giorno, could you come to my office?” Bruno projects. With his office door slightly ajar, his bob swishes as he leans into the main workspace. Leone stops typing, whipping his head around to gawk at Bruno and Giorno. Why the both of them? Why would he need to speak to them both? Is it to do with their relationship? A relationship they don’t have, might he add. Leone and Giorno are strictly colleagues and that’s all there is to it. Besides, Trish and Mista’s relationship was certainly not professional, so it wouldn’t be fair at all to single them out.

With a huff, Leone pushes himself out of his office chair and walks into Bruno’s office — the younger blond a couple of paces behind. Standing in front of his manager’s desk as the man sat behind it, rifling through papers as the blond shuts the door.

“As this merger is coming to a close, I want to ask the two of you a favour,” Bruno enquires and Leone is inclined to say yes. Before even knowing what the man could be asking of him. Whatever Bruno says is for the best, and he knows it’s in his best interest. Why wouldn’t he trust what he has to say? Besides, if he can do anything to be helpful to the man, he’ll do it. He’d do it in a heartbeat.

“An associate of that company has expressed interest in ours. They want our best representatives,” Bruno surmises and Leone wants to feel proud. He is the best representative for the company… isn’t that something to brag about? Bruno assessed all of his team and selected Leone to be the most suitable for this moment… isn’t that great? But he can’t feel any of that when this seething hatred simmers in his gut. If he is one of the best, then why is Giorno there too? It simply doesn’t make sense. Giorno is not the best: even if he’s the most productive, or if he’s the quickest learner, or even if he’s the most dedicated. Giorno is not the best because Leone won’t allow it to be true.

“Why Giorno?” Leone whinges, lips twisted and black satin lippie sinking into each crevice. Bruno sighs, a soft smile on his face. As though Leone was just the cutest thing ever. As though his aggression meant nothing. Both Giorno and Bruno wave his anger away like you would a chihuahua’s, harmless and cute.

“Giorno had suggested that we partnered with this company in the past. It would only make sense for him to see it through and gain experience.”

“Why not Pannacotta?” Leone asks. Pannacotta is intelligent. Sure, there are the anger issues but he’s truly gotten them under control… mostly. The younger man had taken all sorts of classes and training to ensure that he could manage it better and, honestly, they were working. Even when he’s working with Narancia, it’s taking more and more time for him before he cracks and yells at him. Buccellati has had to replace less mice, because the kid hasn’t been cracking them with the force of his grip as much as he used to. In a professional setting (without the idiocy of certain folks), Pannacotta could do quite well.

“I trust you to be more knowledgable about our company than he is. Both you and Mista have the most experience,” Bruno answers. It’s true. Not only are they both the oldest, but both of them have stuck around for the longest too. Originally, the team comprised of a completely different set of people — all of which had been transferred or simply moved on to greener pastures. Leone and Mista had stuck through that odd transitional time, and witnessed the growth of the team into what it was today. Though, if anything, it raises more questions than answers. If both of them were eligible, then why can’t it be the two of them?

“Why not Mista?” Leone further questions.

“You know Mista isn’t interested in these kinds of things, Leone,” Bruno sighs. It’s true. Mista doesn’t like going on business trips if he can help it. Despite how intelligent the man is, he prefers to keep his life and his career pretty simple. Mista has never tried to advance in his career whatsoever, barely asking for payrises unless the rest of the team does so. The man is simply content with his life and wants no stress to be added with it.

“Why can’t you come?” Leone almost whines . He doesn’t want to be stuck with Giorno for an extended period of time. Scratch that . He doesn’t want to be stuck with Giorno for any period of time. The thought of being alone with him is mortifying, and if he pulls the cafe bathroom stunt again he’d fall victim to cardiac arrest at the tender age of 27. Things would be so much easier to stomach if it were just him and Bruno.

“The supervisor you may be in contact with is… troublesome ,” Bruno grimaces, a frown digging into his features. “He’s been reported various times for abusing commands on submissives. I’m not equipped to stop him if it were the two of us. No one else in the team is.” No one but Giorno . 

Now, more than ever, he needs Giorno. It boils his blood to think that he needs the blond. Why? Why does it need to be him? Giorno says some words to Bruno but he’s drowned them all out… he will have to co-operate with the man he likes the least. Will have to put his pride aside and help Giorno… it makes him sick thinking about it.

They both leave the office, and Giorno seems to have a pep in his step. It’s imperceptible, but Leone can feel how the air changes. Nobody else can notice how Giorno’s pheromones switch and it drives Leone up the wall. Only he is cursed with the knowledge that this business trip to another city is pleasing to the blond, and how small and preyed on his very presence makes him feel. Giorno fills up the room with his scent, and Leone wants nothing more than to scamper away like a rat. Hide in corners and obscure his face until the beating in his heart subsides.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, brat,” Leone scoffs, crossing his arms. Giorno’s lips quirk, seemingly at Leone’s desk. Even as the submissive sits himself down and clutches his mouse, the blond doesn’t get the hint and persists.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, tesoruccio ,” Giorno teases and Leone scowls. Glaring at the blond who was so sensually leaning against his desk. Sleeves rolled up and showing off his toned arms, veiny and muscular. His nails beds were glossy, clearly well cared for and manicured, with not a hint of debris beneath them. Shirt uncreased; most likely pressed, ironed, and steamed to perfection. Even the pleats of his suit pants were perfect, aligned in such a way to elongate and entice. Leone continues to scowl at the man, with the back of his neck heating up.

How dare he call me his little treasure Leone thinks, but keeps his mouth shut. He’s not sure what his voice will sound like if he spoke. Not sure whether his half-hearted protests would be met with anything but an adoring smile and a borderline erotic touch. Giorno’s touch could light his skin on fire, and Leone wants to avoid that more than anything. For god knows why, Leone feels very flammable today.

“I’m in charge of the accommodation.” Because there’s no way in hell he’s letting Giorno do that. Sharing a hotel room, even if it were 2 single beds, is not in the equation. Not at all.

“Of course, mi tesoruccio .”

Chapter Text

Trish

Gym after work?

Ah, how could he forget the promise he made to the girl? Was it too late to back out? Picking his phone up, he swipes the notification and texts his response. Despite her luxury lifestyle, Trish didn’t have her license. It must be nice having someone drive you around wherever you wanted to go. The only reason she was working at all was because her dad pressured her into getting a job — fearing that he had spoiled her rotten. Threatening to cut her allowance all together if she doesn’t contribute to society like the rest of them. Trish speaks about her father with disdain, lamenting how the least he can do is give her money every month. He’s not touching that topic with a ten-foot pole if he could help it.

Leone

Sure.

We’re stopping by my apartment. I need a change of clothes.

Setting his phone down, Leone returned to his work. Correcting equations in excel and calculating values. Boring. Average. Another dull day crunching numbers. Truly he was shocked how boring the day had been. Mista and Narancia had been quite well-behaved today — barely harassing Leone with their childish taunts. Narancia had the mental age of a toddler, and Mista (who was usually the more mature of the two) would indulge it more than he should. 

By the end of the day, most of the team had left, leaving just Leone and Trish in the office. Packing up his items, he re-arranged his desk while the girl put her arms through her cardigan sleeves. A simple, oversized cotton garment. Chic, simple, and gorgeous on her figure. Trish always looked so put together, but Leone chalked that up to having the money to invest in her image. With the pair of them leaving the building, wind crashes into the two as they walk towards the parking lot. Trish crosses her arms and shudders. The sun is still up and her little piece of fabric wasn’t enough to shield her from the winds.

Unlocking his car, the pair slide into the seats and drive through the streets of Naples. It’s a short drive from his apartment; with it being half an hour on a busy day. It’s the only real journey he took in his car, and it showed with the way it still handled almost a decade after buying it. Low mileage and general decent care made the car feel much younger than it was. He remembers scraping all his paychecks together and buying it. A present to himself once he turned 19, he’d wanted nothing more than to become a true adult and get his freedom. His mother was the typical smothering type; the type to insist that Leone can spend the rest of his life at home if it makes him comfortable. The type to coddle and dote on her children. Especially Leone. Leone was different from his siblings, and she would do everything in her power to make sure he took care of himself. It was embarrassing . And he felt like less of an adult at times.

Once at his apartment, Leone wiped most of his makeup off. Rifling through his wardrobe in hopes to find clothes fit for the gym. Are leggings too much? Probably. He usually wore leggings underneath something, but wearing them by themselves is awkward (in his mind). What do men even wear to the gym? Joggers? He should have a pair, right? Grabbing a pair of loose joggers he’s definitely never jogged in, and looking for a fitting t shirt to wear. Deciding on a simple black tee and stuffing a drawstring bag that he’s never used (but kept in his room just in case he would).

Heading back down to where he had parked his car, to see Trish removing her false lashes and wiping the minimal makeup she had on. Using the dropdown mirror in Leone’s car to tie her hair up and moisturise her lips.

“Do you need to head back home for anything?” Leone asks, sitting himself in the driver’s seat.

“Ugh. Absolutely not. Father is in a foul mood today, but when isn’t he,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. Leone winces, grimacing at the mention of her dad. The head of Passione, Trish’s father was a man who kept out of the public eye like it were a sport. There were barely any images of him, but the stories of him were endless. “Don’t worry, I’ve got all my stuff.” Leone purses his lips. Driving briefly to the gym that Trish frequented, and pulling into the parking lot with practiced ease. Entering the gym and preparing themselves for their impending doom workout.

Was it too early to say he hates exercise? He knew he was out of shape, but this was simply embarrassing. Trish kept up a steady pace on the treadmill, her hair swishing elegantly and her headphones bopping along as she hummed whatever pop song she was listening to. Trish looked like she’d came right out of those stupid advertisements about tampons; the ones where the women look fit enough to conquer the world. Leone looks like the shocking reality of a period. Sweaty, irritated, and clinging to life as he trudges along. How long were they going to keep at this? No wonder Trish was so in shape. He’s considering going back on the suppressants if they can keep his figure the way it’s always been.

“Take a break. You look like you need it,” Trish chuckles, not even glancing at the man as she continues her work out. Normally, he’d retort saying he wasn’t tired , but he can’t even draw a breath to say it. Focusing more on not falling off the treadmill as he turns the god-forsaken contraption off . Sitting himself on the bench nearest to Trish and gulping down ever drop of water he had in his bottle. His throat feels raw, but in a good way. Not the usual incurable illness way that is typical with him, and the increased heartrate is sending a lot of nice endorphins into his brain. Chest heaving as he leans his back into the wall behind him.

After a couple of minutes, Trish steps off the treadmill, sipping her drink with a cock in her hip. Taking her headphones off with a smirk.

“You know that was just the warm up, right?” she snickers and Leone groans. Pale hands clutching his head. Just what has he gotten himself into? This girl was going to kill him. He was going to die. This was the end for him… it truly was. 

“But lifting weights is easy. You won’t contract asthma from that.” And usually he’d have 5 quips locked and loaded, ready to fire at any sign of an insult. But is she even wrong? Maybe he did get asthma. He didn’t know his lungs were so weak… not exercising for years took a toll.

Trish was right. Weighlifting didn’t tire him out like cardio did, and he felt so much better when he picked up the dumbbells. Neither of them could lift anything heavy, going for the 7kg weights at the highest. Trish said something about not wanting man arms but Leone had no excuse… he simply couldn’t lift that much. Arms burning as his muscles strained with the activity. It seared in a nice way. A pleasant buzz of heat that spread through his body and sated him. It was nice that he could do something with someone. Instead of going straight home after a shift, and watching all sorts of shows on his laptop — waiting for the clock to strike 10pm before getting ready for bed. 

“What are your plans after this?” Leone asks, setting his dumbbell down. It was his final set. Trish tried to convince him to do one more, but he simply had enough. Next time, he promised, when they do legs he’ll do as she says… though he may come to regret promising that.

“Quick rinse and then nails. I’m thinking something shorter. Typing with these is too hard,” she replies, holding the back of her hand out to inspect her french tips. “Something simple. Maybe a flat colour? I should ask Mista what he thinks.” She takes her phone out, tapping away at the screen with a speed and efficiency only seen in spy flicks.

“Men tend to say blue,” Leone says and Trish snorts. Brows rising as her phone dings in response.

“You’re totally right… he said blue,” she snickers, setting her phone down. “You down to get yours done too? Even just a coat of clear gel would look nice.”

Just like that, he’s whisked away by her. Trish showers in the women’s changing room, coming out with a completely different set of clothing. A simple cropped tee and cargos, with just a hint of stomach peeking out when she’d stretch. How she could fit that all in her bag, Leone has no idea, and he’s in awe that she could even manage it.

“Where did you hide that?” Leone jokes. He’d changed back into his workwear — basic slacks and a button-up. If he knew they were taking part in a fashion show, he would’ve packed his sunday best. Snickering to himself as he imagines shoving outfits upon outfits in his small work bag. Unlocking his car with a beep and a flash.

“I ran away from home when I was, like, 15. And 16. 19 too, actually,” Trish answers, slipping into the passenger side and slamming the door shut. “Or was it at 18? I can’t remember,” she continues, buckling her seatbelt. “So I learned how to roll my clothes up real tight.” Leone’s lips thin at that. Was living at home so unbearable that she had to flee? Trish’s enthusiasm to share the absolute worst moments of her life makes him feel sad. He can’t relate to hating his family the way she clearly hates hers, and he’s not sure how to comfort her. Perhaps she doesn’t need his comfort. Just wanting someone to listen to her endless tales of domestic disruption.

“Must be great for holidays,” Leone muses, stepping on the pedal and driving off to the salon. Eyeing the map on his car’s screen as he takes the next right. Anything to get his mind off of the slowly building discomfort. The man he works for is a piece of shit, but what does that change? Leone is sure his previous boss wasn’t a saint either.

“When I get my passport, it would be,” Trish sighs, sinking into the seat. Slipping her eyes closed and crossing her arms. Neither of them speak; electing to listen to the sound of the tires crackle on the tar. Feel the wind slip through the slight gap in the window and hear the soft buzz of the radio. Would it be awkward to turn it up higher? To escape this odd atmosphere. The boss sounded like a nightmare to be around, and Leone is certain that living with him would drive even the most patient man insane. 

What kind of father won’t let his daughter get a passport? Has she never left Italy? Even Leone, who didn’t grow up with that much to his name, could afford one holiday. Well, afford isn’t the right term for it. He earned it. A school trip to Greece, he’d earned a place after winning an essay writing competition. It was history, his favourite subject, and he got to meet all kinds of people with similar interests. To indulge in the food and reassure his mother every night that no, he hadn’t been kidnapped. It’s important for a parent to let go of their child. Relinquish their control and allow them to be adults. Trish seemingly never had the option to be her own person.

“Sounds like a prick,” Leone huffs. Pulling into a parking lot only a few blocks away from the nail salon. Both of them exit the car, with the elder male locking it before they walk towards the building.

“Tell me about it,” Trish scoffs. Arms crossed around her torso and her shoulders almost up to her ears. Shivering from the sudden gusts of wind that would brush past her bare arms. “If nonna was still alive, she would’ve taught him a lesson. You know she had him in prison? It’s probably why he’s so evil. Negative vibes of the jail cell.” Leone snorts at that.

“Certainly gives off evil vibes,” Leone muses, taking his suit jacket off and covering the girl’s shoulders with the fabric. It drowned her. There was more fabric than woman, and he couldn’t help but to smile at how cute she looked. Big eyes and painted lips as she pouted, cushioned soles padding against the concrete.

“For sure. But mamma never stopped talking about him. How much he loved him and how she’d wait for him to come back. She died without seeing him again. And everyone just… expects me to forget that,” Trish rambles, grasping the lapels of Leone’s coat and cozying up to it.

“No cardigan?”

“Wouldn’t go with the outfit,” Trish replies and Leone exhales, biting back a laugh.

“And my double-breasted jacket does?” Leone quips, grasping the handle of the glass door. Opening the door and allowing the shorter woman into the salon. A sudden gust of warm air hitting his face as they both enter the building.

“I’ll forgive the fashion faux pas,” she snickers and Leone smiles. Following her to the seat and watching her graceful motions. The way she placed her hands on the table, gentle and with intention. Getting her nails sanded, filed, and buffed as the lovely Vietnamese lady chattered on in her adorable accent. Nasally, but not grating, asking Trish about her day and complimenting her new boyfriend . Leone could only laugh at that. If she knew he didn’t swing that way in any capacity, he’s sure the comments would stop. But Trish seems excited to talk about her new job, so he lets her chatter away, checking his phone and sending Jean-Pierre texts.

Jean

You need to come to the countryside someday, Leone!

I’ll show you pictures of my dom

Leone smiles at that. Perhaps he’ll schedule some time off in the future. Tapping his response as Trish and the nail tech gossip and chatter away like old friends. Leone had only ever seen pictures of the other sub’s farm, but he’d love to see it in person one day. All the roughage and greens grown, the trees, the dappled sunlight, even the little chickens; Leone wants to see it all. A nice quiet place to lie his head and listen to stories of Jean’s travels.

Leone

When work is less busy

And he means it. A lot is happening in his career now and he can’t afford to take any time off. Once the merger is over and that meeting with the other company is over with, he’ll have all the time in the world for his online pal.

Leone

What colour should I get my nails?

Jean

White?

Leone

I would never

Jean

You’re right, black is more your style

“You wanted your nails done, right?” Trish asks, admiring her baby blue tips. Leone whips his head up from his screen to admire her newest set. She’d gone for a natural tone, with accents of blue that didn’t overpower. It was a simple design, with swirls and lines, and it paired beautifully with her outfit. “I’ll pay. Get something crazy. Like acrylics with gems, stones, and charms.”

“Absolutely not.” Leone snips and Trish giggles. Swapping their seats, Leone put his hands on the table in front of him and asks for something simple. Mostly clear, with a basic black design. Outside of work, he wears dark colours. Black pairs well with everything, and he certainly doesn’t want all the gems that Trish was so enthusiastic to put on his fingers. The lady gets to work, holding his hands with such care and professionalism. Asking him about his career, how he met Trish, and when they started dating. Trish snickers at the slowly escalating lies he’d had to concoct, offering no kind of support as Leone talked about how attractive he found Trish and all their dates that they never went on.

“Wanna meet up with Mista?” Trish ponders, phone in hand as she tucks stray hairs behind her ear.

“Sure,” Leone replies, taking his hand out of the blue lights and admiring the work. Black marbling on his cleaned and prepped nails, glossy from the sheen of his top coat. He’ll have to send Jean a picture when he gets in. 

Both of them exit the store, tipping the friendly nail tech and walking towards the shopping centre Mista and co. were perusing. Skin cold and hairs on edge as he could feel every Newton of force in the air. Blowing his hair in his face and sticking to his moisturised lips. Soon they arrive at their destination, with Mista, Narancia, and…

Giorno .

“Oh Mista! You didn’t tell me Giorno was with you guys,” Trish snickers, covering her lips with her knuckles. What a bitch. Scowl etched into his face as he glares at the blond. Just look at him. Stood in his dark wash jeans, light tee and distressed jean jacket. He makes double denim look so right. Long blond hair braided, coiffed, and perfect as though he hadn’t worked for 8 hours straight prior to this.

“My bad,” Mista replies, a soft smirk on his lips as he pulls Trish in for a hug. “You get your nails done?” he asks, eyes flitting down to her hands. Trish outstretches them, wiggling her fingers as Mista grasps her hands. Gentle, with his large palms almost engulfing her much smaller ones. Contrasting his rough palms with her dainty ones, as he brings her nails to his face and gives them a good inspection. Narancia pokes his head over Mista’s shoulder, eyeing the design up too.

“They’re cute. I wanna get my nails done too!” Narancia exclaims, grabbing Mista’s shoulder as he peered over the broad expanse of back. Despite the scene, Giorno never takes his eyes off of Leone… even though the older man is trying his hardest not to give him any attention. Forcing his gaze on Trish, Mista, and Narancia. Though, despite his efforts, his peripheral vision couldn’t shake the blond.

Honestly. He’s so fucking creepy. Just gawking at him without saying a word. Inspecting him. Reading him. Eyes raking up and down slowly like he were a slab of meat at a deli; Leone shivers at the thought. The wind could only do so much to shield Leone from his scent, and his nose can’t help but to perk up at it. Giorno is hungry . Ravenous and starved as he drinks in every detail.

“What about you? Did you get your nails done too?” Giorno enquires and it’s an innocent question. He just wants to see his nails. That’s all there is to it. But it feels like yet another one of his mind games. A ploy to see how Leone would act, and he’s not going to fall for it. Not going to give in; so he purses his lips, rolls his eyes, and turns away from the dominant. It’s simply none of his business whether he got his nails done or not. Giorno just isn’t that important to know.

Besides why the fuck would he care? It won’t impact anything at all. Giorno is, like always, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Asking Leone all these questions just to spite him. To piss him off. And Leone won’t fall for it. It has nothing to do with the fact that, during the work day, Giorno didn’t talk to him at all. Nothing to do with the fact that Giorno seemed to go out with Mista and Narancia; without Leone even knowing of their plans. Even if it’s unfair of him to be peeved… not that he is, of course. It’s not like he cares that Giorno has never invited him out anywhere..

“ Come here, I want to see your nails,” Giorno commands and it takes every power in Leone’s body to not immediately comply. To not scurry back to him like a desperate bitch… because taking calm measured steps towards him was less humiliating. Stood in front of the blond with a scowl etched into his features. His gut feels tight and his loins feel hot. Skin crawling with heat as not even the wind could lick the flame. Pricks and tickles raking down his body as he stood in front of the blond. 

“ Show me your nails .”

For fucks sake. Turning his head in spite of the fact that, yes, his hands are rising up like they were on puppet strings. Measured, slow, and deliberate. Not wanting to go too fast because he’ll look desperate . Even though it sates a deep, nasty part of him when Giorno forces him to do these things. Makes him pay attention to the blond even though he doesn’t want to (because he doesn’t!). Makes him act like a monkey in the circus; performing all sorts of tricks for his amusement. Giorno has him wrapped around his slender finger and Leone cannot say he minds it. Stomach flipping as the blond takes his hands and inspects the design.

Does he like it? Is it good? Will he praise him? Leone wants praise. For obeying those commands. For doing as he says. For getting his nails done and looking pretty for him. And he can tell that Giorno can feel his desires, by the way his nostrils flare and his pupils dilate.

“Very beautiful, mi tesoruccio ,” Giorno praises and Leone feels a trill in his ribcage. A flutter. Arrhythmia from his heart skipping one too many beats. Ripping his hands away from the blond as Trish side eyes the pair. God he hopes they didn’t hear that. Trish can’t have this on him…

“Whatever.” Leone mutters, marching off to the other half of the group. Playing it off as though Giorno hadn’t been caressing his hands with care. As though Giorno palms weren’t the warmest most comforting sensation he’d felt in his life. None of the others can see this side of him, despite how badly Giorno wants to drag it out of him. Not even Leone has seen that side of himself, and he’s not enthusiastic to uncover it.

“Can we go in Leone’s fancy car this time? Mista’s car coughs like an old man.” Narancia whines, clinging to the man in question.

“My car does not cough ,” Mista retorts, his whole palm in Narancia’s face as he pushes the younger man away from him. It’s a lie. Mista’s car is so old and beat up that it remembers the Great War. Mista’s car still calls the First World War, the Great War as it’s the only real event the thing could remember. Riddled with dementia like an ailing pensioner. Old enough to be a senior citizen playing bingo, with a membership card to every grocery store in the country.

“Well it could use an upgrade,” Giorno adds, with a small smile. Slowly, they both filter into the main group. It comforts Leone to know that no one else is bringing the incident up. Though, it also pisses him off that it’s seen as normal for 

“An upgrade? It needs a visit to the scrapyard, GioGio,” Trish cackles. The group laugh as Mista reddens.

Chapter Text

“Am I undateable, Leone?” Narancia whines, cheek squished as it presses against his palm. The kid was sat at his desk, with no survival instincts as he swung his feet. Ever since Giorno’s escapades, people have felt more free coming up to Leone while he worked. If the new hire could do it, then so could they, and the older man can’t say he’s too pissed. With his migraines lessening, it was nice to be lucid and content for a whole week. Engaging with people in a way he never thought he’d be able to as his side effects lessened.

“ I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole,” Leone replies, not even glancing at the kid as he scrolls through hotel websites. Comparing prices and room sizes as he bookmarked each one. “So yes. You’re undateable.” 

“Ugh. It’s just that everyone in the office has a date for valentines and I don’t,” Narancia whines, pouting his lips even further. Disregarding Leone’s disparaging comment as he continues to vent about the least important thing ever.

“It can’t be everyone.” Simply because he hasn’t got a date for valentines, so it couldn’t be the entire office. Leone has no one to spend the day with. He’s decided to spend the day like he used to — alone. After their canal date, Bruno had asked Leone on a date. Something casual where they went to a restaurant near the office, a small place with nice food and a moody ambiance. Ordering food and talking about their days. Bruno spoke about his younger siblings too (when alcohol loosened his tongue enough). The atmosphere wasn’t explicitly romantic, but the fact they were dining alone together at a restaurant on a day for lovers left a lot to be said. Even if they didn’t dress the best, fresh from the office and tired from a shift, Bruno went out of his way to invite him out. Though, Leone doubts he’ll do the same for him this year.

“Is so,” Narancia huffs. “Obviously, Mista and Trish are going out. Or Mista’s gonna plan to ask her out. Which I’m, like, happy for him, but I also want him to fail and cry about it too.”

“How supportive of you,” Leone quips sarcastically. This side of Narancia is adorable. The side that envies all the nice things other people have that he doesn’t. Leone finds that quality of his to be endearing, even if it’s negative. Remembering when Mista would brag about getting a car from his old man, only for it to be a hunk of scrap on wheels. Leone will never forget how hard he laughed, completely inconsolable as even Bruno couldn’t fight back the giggles.

“Pannacotta won’t tell me what he’s doing, but I feel like he has a date so he has one,” Narancia deducts. Leone rolls his eyes. How many braincells did it take to conjure up that theory? Leone’s doubt that there were any thoughts in his mind when those words left his lips.“There’s this girl at that book club he’s in. I feel like he has a thing for her.” Leone scoffs at that. Pannacotta’s book club is 70% women… he’d have no choice but to speak about a girl from there.

“And then Bruno is going on a date with this lady he matched with,” Narancia rambles on, pouting his lips and squishing his cheek further. Leone’s fingers stop typing. Violet eyes fixated on the screen as colour seems to drain from his face.

“Bruno is going on a date?” Leone questions, keeping his voice measured and steady. They were never together, so it doesn’t matter what the man does. Truly, he’s in the wrong if he gets upset about it. But it stings, doesn’t it? He’s allowed to be hurt right? All this time, Bruno has never spoken about his love life with anyone. Electing to keep work as professional as possible, only indulging outside of his 9-5 hours. It can only be read one way, and Leone would rather close his eyes and ignore the page.

“I’m as shocked as you are! Did you guys break up? We all thought he’d spend Valentines with you,” Narancia added which just twists the knife in further.

“We were never together,” Leone answers, lips tight. Is that true? Was Bruno leaving him behind and dating again? It’s not fair of him to care at all, considering the fact that he and Giorno… no. Giorno is pursuing him, but that doesn’t mean Leone is interested. It’s completely one-sided and delusional on the blond’s part. “When did Bruno join a dating app?”

“Like, last month,” Narancia answers and Leone’s eyes widen. Bruno didn’t say a single thing about this. Was he hiding it from him? Though, Leone wouldn’t have been happy if he knew; maybe it was for the best. “I asked him what his plans were, he said nothing, so we sat and signed up for a couple… the ladies love our manager!” Ugh . Way to rub it in, Narancia. Hey! The man you’ve had a crush on for years is moving on from you and dating again… just what he needs to hear.

“Right.” Leone snips, brow twitching. He no longer wants to talk now. “And Giorno?”

“Well he’s taking you out, obviously,” Narancia answers, like it’s the most natural thing ever. As though it makes perfect sense for the two of them to go on dates, on valentines day, together. It’s nothing like that. Their relationship is nothing like that in the slightest.

“Has he talked about it?” Leone prods, suddenly intrigued in the conversation again.

“Uhh… I guess? Giorno kind of talks in riddles sometimes so I’unno,” Narancia hums. That sounds like the Giorno he knows. The type of person who’d be purposefully vague to gauge your reaction. Leaving words open-ended and analysing how you interpret them.

“What I do know is that he wants to plan something sweet for his date.” Narancia continues.

“Something like?”

“I can’t spoil it! He’ll kill me!” Narancia squeaks.

It’s not like he’ll say yes to the date. Leone is perfectly fine on spending Valentines alone. He’s done it countless times before. Living life as a single, untouched man; drinking away his non-existent sorrows and watching rom-coms. Who’d even want a partner anyway? They’re so much hassle. So much to care for. Leone is doing perfect all by himself.

But wouldn’t it be nice? To get dolled up and go somewhere nice. Having the knowledge that someone wanted his company on that day, of all days. When will he have the opportunity again? There’s no guarantee Giorno will stick around for his shenanigans long enough to ask him again… he’s doing him a favour. Granting the blond’s wish so that, when he eventually gets bored of him, he’ll have some good memories to look back on. Yes, it’s for Giorno. That’s why he won’t reject his advances… because he’s looking out for him in the future. In no way does he want to go on a date with the blond. Not in a million years.

All the talk of dates is making sense. That text conversation contextualises a lot of things for the submissive… Giorno was priming him. Normalising the concept of them going on dates together. Allowing Leone to fantasise about the two of them going on dates so that when he does ask, it’s completely okay for him to do it. Yes. This entire time, Giorno has been secretly plotting to… ask him out . 

Leone can’t let him have this. Won’t let him have it. So when Narancia rambles on, he cements in his mind that he’s going to tell the man no. It’s not like he wants to go on a date with his anyway. Giorno is a pushy brat who can’t take no for an answer. Leone shouldn’t be rewarding that kind of behaviour: especially when he doesn’t even want the attention. He never asked for the man to pursue him. Nor does he want it. Not at all! So he needs to nip this in the bud before things get out of hand.

Narancia goes back to his desk once he realises Leone has completely drowned him out. Huffing petulantly as he scans the office for his next unconsenting vent victim. When the younger man leaves, Leone sighs to himself. 

Being in the office with Giorno is not safe. The blond can command him at any time and he’ll fold. It’s not like he ever has done it in front of everyone (not on purpose anyway), but it’s a possibility. Even though Giorno seems to value his consent, but Leone is going to pretend he doesn’t. When Leone said that safeword, Giorno didn’t force him to come back. Fuck , even the act of giving the man an out showed he viewed his input as important. But he feels as though being in the same room as him is suffocating. All the energy in the room is somehow drawn to the blond and Leone is just drawn to him in an almost supernatural way.

Just like now. The shift is coming to an end and most of his colleagues were geting ready to leave (himself included). Leone was about to shut his computer down when the blond saunters his way over to his desk. Leaning against the surface in a way that wasn’t quite sitting on it, but cupped under his ass enough to accentuate it. The way that fabric clung to his behind was sinful and Leone had to rip his eyes away before he was caught gawking.

“What?!” Leone huffs. Opening up folders and sliding documents into plastic sleeves. Keeping his desk colour-coded and co-ordinated was important to maintaining his efficiency. How Mista could work with his files all over the place, Leone will never understand.

“Are you available on the 14th this month, Leone?” Giorno asks, as though it were just another ordinary day. As though it wasn’t the day reserved for lovers. Leone purses his lips. He can lie to him. Say yes i’m very busy and effectively shut him down. Perhaps he could even fabricate a story. Tell the blond he’s on a trip to the Swiss Isles and he’ll be on annual leave. Yet, he can’t bring himself to fib. Can’t conjure up any lies or tales to feed the blond to appease him. A part of him is convinced he never wanted to in the first place.

“What’s it to you?” Leone quips. Shutting his black binder and slotting it into his work bag. 

“My late-father has a vineyard. I was thinking we could go wine-tasting together,” Giorno asks and Leone pauses. He forgets that Giorno is rich as fuck . Owning a whole vineyard? Wine tasting? It’s as opulent as it gets.

“What made you confident that I’d say yes?” Leone scoffs, rolling his eyes to cover the shock. Truly, Leone cannot understand why he would do so much. And he can’t even begin to fathom why he even wants to work at all if he were so rich.

“ Are you saying no?” Giorno enquires and Leone presses his lips together tightly. This is an out. A way to blow this whole thing off and pretend it didn’t even happen. It’s so tempting. But there's a twist in his stomach.

“No.”

“Then it’s a date.”

As Leone scrolls through lodging sites, he replays the conversation over and over again in his mind. Fuck Giorno . How could he say no to him? How could he say no when he put so much effort into it? It’s unfair of him to bring that up. Yes , Giorno could absolutely cancel his reservation but that’d just be so much effort. Leone is feeling uncharacteristically kind and is allowing this to happen.

“I’ll pick you up at 1pm,” Giorno hums and Leone rolls his eyes.

He’s sure Giorno is pleased with himself; barely containing a smirk as he tilts his head to the side and observes Leone. Both of them know he doesn’t want to say more, and yet he stands there and watches him regardless. To get under his skin. To make Leone squirm in his seat and increase his heartbeat tenfold. Maybe it’s to soak in every detail of Leone before he’s glared at? Leone shoots him a quick glance and the blond is back to his seat before he knows it. 

Why does Giorno stare so much? Is it to read people? Was he trying to read Leone? See if he truly meant what he said? Was it to just look at him? Leone isn’t insecure, but he’s also not delusional. He’s really not that much to look at. Was his makeup weird? This morning, he was running out of his moisturiser and his skin has been feeling a lot drier than usual. Eczema does run in his family, after all, and he goes to great lengths to combat that.

Packing his things away, Leone makes a mental note of the moisturiser. He’ll need to top up on a couple more things in the home. Depressively spiralling into a hole and being a functioning member of society for Leone is such a thin line to walk he feels like a circus performer at times. Constantly walking the tightrope felt precarious and he was really trying his best not to fall and sink into a deep pit. Work keeps him occupied. Work pays his bills. Honestly, he doesn’t want his routine to change because he can barely cope with it as it stands… not with how he’s been for so long.

Leone is always the first to enter and the last to leave. He takes the same route every day and gets home at the same time. Sometimes he’ll change things up, perusing stores to buy items for himself before going home to his empty, cold apartment. Maybe he’ll buy himself some beer tonight? Leone doesn’t even question it as he detours from his drive and parks outside a random liquor store; buying the cheapest booze and hopping back into his car. It’s the weekend, he tells himself. It’s a little treat.

Going on a date should make people happy, right? Especially after so long. It’s been so long since he’s actively looked for a partner. Most people would be ecstatic. Could Giorno sense that there was something wrong with him? Is that why he kept staring? He could probably feel the inexperience ooze off of him in droves.

With a gulp, Leone parks his car and carries his 6-pack of beer up the stairs. Beer doesn’t suit him at all, he’s more of a wine person, but he felt ashamed to slip into old habits. Drinking is a vice he can’t seem to shake. It’s not alcoholism because it never interfered with his life; he still worked like everyone else, and could pass a breathalyzer when he needed to. But Leone would be lying if he said he was sober most days of the week, sometimes needing a shot to leave the house at his worst. The world was so much and alcohol soothed him. Is it bad that he wants that comfort?

Locking his door behind him, Leone peels his work clothes off and readies himself for a shower. Eyeing the cans of beer and holding himself back as he switches the water on and waits for the water to warm up; hopping into the enclosed glass. Letting the water pitter patter on his skin and relaxing the tension in his shoulders. He should be happy. No. He is happy. He’s ecstatic. Shutting his eyelids and letting the droplets fall, Leone lathers soap onto his face and lets the pigment bleed into a puddle of beige and black. Washing head-to-toe and rubbing his skin raw. Whatever this feeling was, he needed to erase every trace of it from his skin. This itchy feeling. This discomfort. This deep ache.

Turning the shower off, he towels himself dry and lotions his body. Slathering creams upon creams to make his skin soft, supple, and moisturised. Applying extra around his problem areas and wrapping a warm bathrobe around his body as he saunters back into the living room. He deserves this drink. He deserves it. No. Actually. He wants this drink and he’s an adult so who’s going to stop him? With not a second thought, he grabs a can. Cracking it open and relishing in the hiss of carbonation. Gulping down the fermented liquid and scowling at the taste. It tastes like piss but what did he expect for the price he got it for?

He spends the next couple of hours watching whatever was recommended to him on streaming sites and pacing himself on the beer. It’s so juvenile how much he loves romance in shows. Everything from their on-screen connection and even to the miscommunication every couple seems to have, he loves it all. It’s refreshing and he can live vicariously through it. Though, to say he cared would be a lie. He doesn’t care at all. Even though he binges every romcom this stupid site recommends to him, he doesn’t even want to watch it at all. Three episodes deep into a series he didn’t care about, his phone flashed.

Jean-Pierre

Can I call you? You’re not busy, right?

Without a second thought, he calls his friend. Pausing the series and setting his mobile on speaker — resting the device on his couch as he lounges on the loveseat.

“Ah! I didn’t expect you to call so soon! Leone, my love, how are you?” Polnareff muses, but it sounds strained. As though he were forcing his usual jovial demeanour.

“How are you? You don’t sound good,” Leone redirects, artfully deciding he didn’t want to focus on himself for the time being. It’s Jean, they’ll eventually end up talking about Leone too at some point — that’s just how the guy’s always been.

“Ah…” he sighs. “This time of year is so difficult for me, mon amour. Seeing all these happy couples on dates. I’m too old to be envious.” Leone smirks at that. Is it wrong that he loves seeing the worst sides of people? Seeing their truest emotions that they hide from the world and reveal only to him. Because if they’re sharing it with him, they trust him. Trust that he won’t judge them and won’t alienate them for their bad thoughts. Jean’s feelings are valid. Losing a lost one and having to see other happy with theirs is mentally harrowing, even if the older sub decided not to date again it’s difficult. It’s a choice he constantly makes and comes to regret at times.

“Yeah. Like if I’m not happy, neither should you,” Leone snickers, taking a swig of beer. Leaning against the chair of the couch and resting his head on his palm, the younger sub exhales deeply. “Every year, I’d binge romcoms and fall asleep with a bottle of wine in my hand. It almost doesn’t feel real that people experience that.”

“Well it is dramatised,” Jean replies and the younger sub laughs in response, rolling his eyes. “But I understand what you mean, mon amour. Making the decision to not date is so difficult when it feels like everything is telling you to do it.”

“I just don’t want to rely on someone. I’m a grown man. An adult. I don’t need to be coddled, I don’t want to be spoiled. I want to be my own person with my own dreams and not someone’s property ,” Leone rambles. “It’s like everything’s just decided for you and you just choose when you do it. I don’t need to date. I’m not going to. I don’t want to,” he continues, eyes welling up.

“Leone, are you drunk?”

“I’ve only had a couple of beers,” he mumbles, eyeing the empty cans that lay on the table in front of him.

“What’s upsetting you?”

“It’s not even important. I’m just being a brat. And insensitive. There are people coping with worse and I’m… I’m like this over a date. Because a younger man finds me attractive, even though I’m nearing my 30s, he’s just graduated and he still wants me. Why would he even want to date someone like me? He’s a fucking idiot,” Leone rambles, lip curling in disdain. “He’s built good, he’s so attractive, he smells like heaven, he’s competent at his job and so confident and he could have anyone he wants. But he chases behind me like I’m a prize or something, it’s fucking gross.”

Once the words start leaving his mouth, they don’t stop. Polnareff is someone he can trust, and he doesn’t think twice about opening his heart out to him. Like a dam being broken, once the seal weakened, Leone couldn’t stop the flow of thoughts. Couldn’t stop the sentences. Couldn’t stop the self-doubt. That self-hatred that seemed to steer every decision in his life. Not dating, even though he should, was a choice made by pure stubbornness. Leone doesn’t want a dominant because admitting he’s wrong now would be proving everyone right. Even if it’s to his own detriment, he needs to be right. It can’t all be for nothing.

“At least with Bruno, I knew it could never happen. I could crush on him and yearn until I died and I’d be alright with that because it’s safe. Bruno will never see me at my worst and he won’t think I’m desperate,” Leone sniffles. “But Giorno sees right through me. Pursues me endlessly until I can’t say no but I don’t even know if I want to. I can’t let him know.”

“Does it scare you?” Jean asks and Leone scowls. Nothing scares him. Why would he be scared? He’s got nothing to be scared about. Going on a date? What’s the worst that can happen?

“I’M NOT SCARED!” Leone yells, slamming his drink down and splashing the liquid on his coffee table. Even though he’s most likely weaker than Giorno, he’s got the height advantage. Being in the force for years, he knows how to defend himself. Plus, he can drive and (if he’s unable to do that) he could always pay for a cab. Leone doesn’t put himself in positions that would mortally endanger him. He’s not scared at all.

“Maybe Giorno is anxious too? He’s pursuing you and he hopes that it’s reciprocated.” When Jean puts it like that, he’s keen on listening. Because he’s older and much more mature. Being a third party gives him the luxury of being impartial. Yet, Leone can’t fathom Giorno being nervous ever in his life. He’s always so certain. Always so confident. Giorno acts as though it’s fate for them to be together, and he’s just acting on it.

If Leone were to say he doesn’t think about the blond, he’d be lying. Even now, as he sat alone in his dimly lit living room, all he can think about is him. His hands. The veins in his forearms. His deep, commanding voice. That little smirk he does when Leone denies him again and again, but they both know he doesn’t mean it. Giorno treats him like a puzzle needing to be solved, and Leone loves the chase more than he’ll ever admit. 

“If he sees who I truly am, he’d think I’m weak. I need him to tell me I’m pretty. I need him to reassure me. I need to rely on him. But is it because I need him or because I want him?” Leone rambles. Despite how attractive Giorno might be to him, there’s still an overgrown elephant in the room. Does he only feel this way towards him because he’s a dominant? If he wasn’t born the way he was, would Giorno even be in his field of vision? In an ideal world, he wouldn’t need to think about this at all — he’d be so confident that his attraction is of his own making. But he needs Giorno and that doesn’t feel good at all.

“When Muhammad was alive, he felt like this too. He felt as though I only loved him because I needed him to survive and that was partly true,” Jean remisces. “But I also loved him because he was supportive, he was strong, charismatic, he had a great smile and he was so caring. There was so much that I loved about him but he was blind to it all because he thought biology controlled my feelings for him.” Jean explains and Leone lays his head on the sofa’s arm. Listening in to each syllable as his eyes slip close. It’s nice for someone to not force him. He knows that most reasonable people would be yelling at him to just go on the date , offering no words of affirmation.

“When you have a lot of chemistry with someone, you want to justify why it shouldn’t work. It feels too good to be true. Trust me, once you have an experience with a dominant you don’t want, these worries will melt away.” Jean hums.

Thinking about another dominant giving him commands is… not pleasant. It’s why he took so many suppressants. Leone still remembers his first command with Giorno and it felt as though there were magnets in his body. A part of him is thankful that it was Giorno, because if it were anyone else he’d probably be a lot less fortunate than he was. Giorno, while being forceful, is still incredibly patient. He’s willing to wait around for Leone to give in , which is the best (and worst) thing about the blond. Just thinking about the younger man’s lips on his makes his loins burn.

“Thank you,” Leone whispers. “I’ll go on that date.”

Chapter Text

Waking up with a hangover isn’t a sensation that’s new to Leone. Feeling like his head was squeezed into his skull for most of the morning as he sluggishly prepared himself some coffee. Soup tended to ease the pain. Maybe some ibuprofen, but he’s certain he’ll be able to wait out the ache in his head. He didn’t drink that much, just getting a bit tipsy and falling asleep, but the crying certainly didn’t help his headache at all. He’s glad that Jean helped him get all of that out of his system.

Later today, he has a date with Giorno. Yet, before that, he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He should go shopping for clothes, right? Buy himself a cute outfit? Or would it be a waste? It’s not like his clothes size has changed and he has some nice clothes already. 

Setting his coffee cup aside, Leone sits in front of his wardrobe and goes through each and every piece of fabric in the wooden box. Other than office wear, he has a couple of blouses and a long, pleated dress he bought but never wore. It’s too daring. It looked great on the model but he’s never worn a dress before. Will it even look right on him? Will it even fit?

Getting up, Leone takes his pyjamas off, setting them aside and slipping into the dress. It was a simple black dress with a V-neckline, puffy see-through sleeves, and a flowy skirt portion. His shoulders are quite broad and he read online that this neckline was good for balancing it out. With his long hair and his fondness for makeup, dresses are the next logical step but… it’s a lot more intimidating than he thought. What shoes would he wear with it? He has some heels but would they look good? Maybe some flats?

Shimmying the dress over his head, Leone pokes his arms through. It sat just right on his body. Made his waist look microscopic and his ass look plump. Turning around in the mirror to look at his shape, looking at how the pleats flow in the air. God he’s got a great ass. Roaming his hands over each inch of fabric, dipping into every curve. Maybe he’ll wear this? The vertical white lines over the black fabric made him look almost statuesque, and they followed the curvature of his body. Honestly, he’d fuck himself if he could.

Though, he’s not sure what to do with his makeup. They’re going wine tasting, so he shouldn’t do anything crazy (not that he knows how to). Usually, he’ll wear a light coverage foundation and black lipstick to work, and that makes him look acceptable . Without concealer, Leone’s eyebags could legally be considered a fucking distraction. Not to say he’s insecure about his natural face, but he definitely looks better with makeup than without. And something about seeing Giorno later on in the day made him want to put in a lot more effort.

Giorno

I’ll come and pick you up at 1pm. It’s out in the countryside so it will be an hour drive. I look forward to seeing you then.

Leone rolls his eyes at the message. Of course, he knows when Giorno will pick him up. They spoke about it before. Though, he should probably get a start on his appearance. After his morning shower, Leone tried his hardest to relax and not think about seeing Giorno later in the day. Yet, his thoughts tended to wander back to him. What would he be wearing? How would he do his hair? How would he smell? Would he be driving a nice car? Would they finally kiss? Just thinking about Giorno pinning him down and pressing kisses onto his lips made his stomach tie in knots.

Leone

K.

With a smirk, Leone sends the text. Turning some music on, he sets his makeup out on his vanity. He’s not one for sparkles or shine. Nor is he the type for excess detail. Maybe a simple shimmer and a sheer eye tint? Wearing a full eyeshadow look just screams I tried too hard and he can’t let Giorno suspect he really cares that much (because he doesn’t). Something sheer and understated, yet slightly gothic, was on-brand. With his brushes in hand, Leone got to work blending to look as though it were effortless. Smoking out dark shadows and blending with dull taupes. Slathering gloss over his lids before spot-treating every perceived blemish on his face. While applying foundation on his neck, Leone’s phone buzzes again.

Giorno

Are you allergic to anything?

Leone

I guess we’ll find out tomorrow

I am vegetarian, though.

Giorno

That’s good to know.

Do you eat seafood? Or are you strictly no meat?

Leone

As long as it’s not tough to chew or too strong in flavour

It’s easier to say I’m vegetarian than to explain that I don’t like certain textures

Giorno

Give me every detail without me prying. I ask because I care.

Is it just him or does the room suddenly feel stuffy? His chest squeezes and he rubs his knees together. Fuck . Why is he fighting his lips? Trying his hardest not to crack even a smirk in his own apartment in case someone could see. Giorno cares . Giorno wants to understand everything about him and make sure he accommodates to the sub. Fuck . Why does his stomach feel like that?

Giorno’s a distraction. Leone can’t spend any more time texting the blond or he’ll never get his makeup done… or his hair . Foundation, concealer, and contour are relatively simple steps and he breezes through them without much of a thought. Spritzing his face with setting spray, Leone turns his curling iron on and waits for it to heat up. Patting pressed foundation onto his face, swiping bronzer and blush on his cheek, and lining his lips with black lip liner. Should he wear a lipgloss? His lids are mildly glossy, so his lips should be too, right? But, god, would it transfer. Leone can imagine the black lipstains on Giorno’s lips if they ever decide to kiss. Would he wipe them away? Or would he keep them on his face as proof?

Should he go for a simple updo? Curl his bangs so they could frame his face? He usually straightens his hair in the morning for work (when he wants to wear it down). Most of the time, he’ll tie it up in a loose bun so it wouldn’t get in his way. But an unknown part of him wants to look good today. When the curling iron reaches temperature, Leone curls his hair in some loose, beachy waves. Half way through curling, he hears the bell to his door go off. 

It can’t be 1pm yet, can it?

His heart drops deep into the pits of his stomach. Face paling as the grip on his curling iron tightens. God . He didn’t spend that long, did he? Dropping everything and scampering away to his receiver.

“Giorno?” he asks, voice measured. Should he have set an alarm? How could he have overlooked the possibility of him taking too long? In regular circumstances, Leone is done with his makeup quite quickly…

“I know I’m half an hour early, but I just couldn’t wait to see you,” the blond replies, voice full of feedback and mic-squeaks. Leone breathes a sigh of relief before letting the blond up to his apartment. Crossing his arms and waiting for the younger man to let himself in. Giorno is just making him feel all kinds of emotions. Makes him feel seen and yet anxious. Giorno pisses him off with his attitude, and makes his chest squeeze with his borderline arrogance.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Unlocking the door, Leone opens it to see the younger man standing with an excessive bouquet of flowers. White lilies, yellow pansies, hyacinthes, honeysuckles, and red carnations. A bunch of flowers so large it almost obscures the man’s face. Leone clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, those same eyes taking in his dominant. He’s dressed down today. A loose-fitting button up shirt that’s a soft blue pastel, with cream coloured chinos and loafers. 

“You didn’t have to get me all… this ,” Leone splutters as the back of his neck begins to itch. Stupid kid . It’s almost like he’s trying to show Leone up, make him look like he isn’t trying at all. Not that that’s important to him, of course. In fact, he doesn’t even care about this date. Nor does he want to look his best, or feel his best, or anything of the sort.

“I wanted to,” Giorno clarifies, handing the bouquet to the sub. “You look gorgeous.”

Fuck Giorno . Fuck his suave self and his attention to detail. Fuck him and his gorgeous body. The way he rolled his sleeves to reveal those toned arms was on purpose and Leone fucking knows it. 

“Sit on the couch. I wasn’t expecting a guest,” Leone huffs, almost petulantly as he refuses to let Giorno win. Though, if you were to ask the sub what the man could possibly win, he’d be unable to answer. Giorno obeys his command, making himself comfortable on the couch as Leone slips back into his room. 

Laying the bouquet on his vanity, Leone picks up the curling iron. Curling the rest of his hair was simple and didn’t take too long. Pulling most of it up and letting a piece of his fringe hang to frame his face, Leone spritzed his hairdo with hairspray. Spraying perfumes over his body and rubbing oils on every inch of visible skin — Leone was adamant on looking, smelling, and feeling good. 

Glancing over at the lone pair of black flats he owned, Leone slips them onto his feet before heading back out into the living room. Skirt swishing as he saunters over to the couch. To say Giorno’s gaze was hungry would be the understatement of the century. Peering into those eyes felt like swirling into an abyss of pure, unadulterated starvation. It made his skin crawl and his pores prick with sweat. A silent pressure that wouldn’t alleviate. With a gulp, Leone averts his eyes. Scooping the pleats beneath his ass, Leone goes to sit a healthy distance away from the dominant.

“ Stand up , I wasn’t done looking at you,” Giorno hums as if that’s a normal thing to say. First of all, how dare he order Leone around like that. In his own house, no less! Telling him he can’t sit down on his couch that he paid for with his own money. Bossing him about like it’s normal : without a care in the world for what Leone has to think. 

Yet, Leone does exactly what was asked of him. Almost on autopilot. Without a second thought, he’s up on his feet and staring holes into Giorno’s face. Putting on a defiant act while being the most obedient sub Giorno’s probably ever witnessed. It’s paradoxical, really. Seeing those eyes drink in every single detail, from the top of his head to the tips of his feet. Knowing he’s pleased his dominant makes his chest trill and his gut churn . Giving into those submissive urges disgusts Leone, his painted lips snarling as he peers into those green eyes that haunt his wet dreams. Giorno likes this, doesn’t he? Is Leone any better?

“Would you like a drink?” Leone mutters, face hot and palms clammy. Trying to de-escalate the strangeness of this encounter. A sub and a dom alone in an apartment together with this level of tension can only go one way and Leone isn’t willing to take it there yet…

“No thank you… I’m very satisfied,” Giorno smirks and Leone doesn’t think he’s talking about liquids at all… Far from it. “Should we get going?”

Sleek, modern, and barely a scratch on its perfect exterior — Leone could not believe he afforded this on their same salary. Perhaps his old man had a lot more in the will than Leone had initially thought? Like a true gentleman, Giorno made sure Leone barely lifted a finger. Opening car doors for him, grabbing whatever Leone requested without a second thought, it made him feel surprisingly equal. Just because he was a dom didn't mean he viewed performing tasks for Leone as emasculating. It didn't challenge his identity to do all these things for Leone. His confidence in himself as a dominant was never wavered by his displays of submission. As though, even when he was acting submissive, they both knew who was really in charge.

One thing that confuses and excites Leone is how confident Giorno is. It's like he can't imagine a scenario in which Leone would reject him… maybe there isn't one? Not when Giorno is looking at him like that. Desire thinly veiled behind a seemingly passive expression. Those lingering eyes that ventured a little lower than they should've. Was he this comfortable because it was reciprocated? God. Leone's been staring, hasn't he?

‘This vineyard is beautiful ’ Leone tells himself as he rips his eyes away from the blond dominant. Swirling the wine glass in his hand as he analyses the grapes on each vine. Even then, he can still feel Giorno’s piercing gaze. Unflinching. Unbothered by Leone’s anxieties. Why should he be? Leone is here, in the countryside, with Giorno despite all his ‘protests’. Despite everything Leone tells himself, he’s allowing Giorno to wrap the sub around his fingers. He’s allowing Giorno’s palm to rest on the small of his back. Allowing his flirtations and stares and advances without a second thought. Leone readjusts himself in his seat. Feeling every ounce of sweat down his back as the February breeze bit into his skin.

“You don’t take no for an answer, do you?” Leone scoffs, sipping on Wine #76 as he taps his fingers on the table. This one had a tartness to it that he likes. Slightly acidic, with a smooth and fruity aftertaste. He might have to ask for the bottle. His eyes glance over at the blond sat across from him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Giorno asks, head cocked. Less concerned, and more intrigued than anything. Leone knows that if Giorno thought he didn’t want something, he’d be mortified. Their cat and mouse game is fun, but there are still implicit rules that they both follow. Consent is important to Giorno, even if Leone will never explicitly give that to him. Every advancement has been met with feigned, theatrical disgust on Leone’s part… but they both know how he truly feels.

“It’s like you get excited when I tell you to fuck off,” Leone answers. The blond laughs, hearty and full of light. Like he’d said the funniest thing ever. Though implicitly they both knew their dynamic is odd , neither really questioned it. It works, right? But just because it works doesn’t mean it’s ideal. If Leone were upfront with his desires, they would’ve gotten here a lot quicker than they did… and yet here they are.

“Do you know that dominants can obey commands too?” Giorno asks and things click in Leone’s mind. Is he pushing Leone to tell him to stop? To order him about and cause genuine distress. Well, Leone doesn’t swing that way. He doesn’t enjoy being a submissive, sure, but he definitely doesn’t want to be a dominant either.

“So you’re a pervert?” Leone scowls, lips curled in genuine disgust. Whatever disgust he was pretending to have before doesn’t even compare to this feeling . That feeling of bile in his throat and a chill down his spine as thought race in his mind. Has he attracted the attention of an absolute lunatic ? The thought of being a dominant is not one that’s ever crossed his mind. Neither option is good when the choice to opt out is there.

“Not necessarily,” Giorno laughs, covering his lips with the tips of his fingers. “When I was younger, before I had even met my biological father, I had lived with my mother and her boyfriend. Mother was vanilla so she didn’t know that her partner would bombard me with commands until I gave in,” Giorno continues and Leone’s face twists in repulsion. He’d never heard of something like that. Dominants giving dominants commands? Especially to a child… god he could only imagine the turmoil it could cause. Besides that, the thought that Giorno was forced to obey them was disgusting. Does that mean he could issue a command? It’s completely unlike him to want to do such a thing, and even the thought of it makes shivers sprint down his spine. Going against your very nature like that is nauseating.

“They worked?”

“Eventually. Only simple commands, but commands nonetheless,” Giorno muses. “Of course, I returned the favour… I should’ve done it sooner. I’d never felt such a sensation like that in my life.”

Giorno is a pervert. Loud and clear for all to see. And hearing how much joy Giorno derived from putting someone in their place is doing things to Leone’s loins that he’d rather not think about. Seeing that thinly veiled smirk as the dominant goes for another sip of wine. The way his brows twitched in delight as he thought about it. Hearing how his dominant frames his trauma, hearing him overcome and utterly dominate… it does things to the sub. A lot of things. Makes his heart race and his thighs quiver just ever so slightly . Giorno wants to dominate indiscriminately . He wants to have dominion over someone’s thoughts, opinions, and feelings. Giorno wants to force someone into obedience… and Leone doesn’t mind the sound of that.

“You sound like a predator,” Leone scoffs, trying to quell the deep stirring below the belt. It’s the alcohol… the alcohol is making him feel this way.

“That would make you my prey,” Giorno replies, matter-of-factly. Eyes half-lidded and observing, as always. If Giorno were a lion, then Leone is more than happy to prance around the prairie like the gazelle he is. Perhaps this pairing was destined to be? Two sick freaks who get off on not being straight forward with each other. Leone can’t help but to feel seen . This dynamic works for them. It doesn’t have to be right, nor does it have to make sense… it’s theirs.

Maybe that’s all he’s ever needed. Maybe Giorno is all he needs. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking: making Giorno’s lips look so plump and wet . Leone can’t help himself. And he certainly wouldn’t want to. Leaning over the table and pressing a chaste kiss on the dom’s cheek. Soft. Pillowy. Leaving a mark on his face as the sub whips his head back to the vineyard, his neck a bright red. He’s not ready to be so aggressive and take the dominant’s lips just yet. It’s too much of an admission.

“ Come here . You know that wasn’t enough, don’t you,” Giorno orders and Leone’s heart hammers in his chest. God . That’s exactly what he needs. Giorno to tell him off and force him. Grabbing his chair, Leone scoots around until he’s right next to Giorno. Hands clammy and lips parted as he gulps down the cool air.

Make me kiss you. Make me do it. Give me no other option but to kiss you . 

Ignoring the command would do neither of them any favours. Giorno grins as Leone scoots his chair closer to the man. Grabbing the back of the taller man’s head and forcing him closer. Closer. Close until their lips are barely ghosted over each other’s. So close he can almost taste the wine on Giorno’s lips. So close he can see every pore, every follicle, every minute wrinkle of his skin.

“ Beg. ”

Fuck. He can’t do that . He can’t. God. This isn’t him. It’s not in his character. He can’t beg . Feeling that stern, observant gaze. Analysing every movement. Every twitch. Will Giorno know he’s never kissed someone before? Will he be able to tell? God he can’t do it. Even though his lips are twitching, forming words before his brain can catch up. Heat spreads throughout his body, bursting through his pores and making every hair on his body stand on edge. He can’t believe this. This isn’t like him at all .

“ Please… Giorno. Please kiss me ,” he begs. Tears welling in his eyes as an impish smile spreads itself across Giorno’s lips. Pressing them against Leone’s painted ones; pecking and pressing gently before deepening. Giorno’s lips are so soft. So delicate. Akin to soft cotton and freshly pressed sheets, Leone can’t help but to indulge in their velvet comfort. It’s like all the humiliation is forgotten as soon as their lips touch. All his worries melt away as his dominant pulls him in: deeper and deeper until he sinks. Eyes slipping closed and allowing Giorno to lick Leone’s painted lips; smearing black on the both of them. It’s like he can’t breathe. All the air was sucked out of the atmosphere as he gasps between pecks. Giorno is unmoving, persistent in his pursuit of Leone’s lips and he can barely keep up.

“Am I a good kisser?” Leone whispers, lips barely apart from Giorno’s.

“You’re getting there,” Giorno drawls. “ Sit on my lap .”

God there’s something wrong with him. This was his biggest fear. Being alone with Giorno and falling victim to his endless charm. It’s not even a thought for him to obey the blond, as he pretty much scurries into his lap. Legs pressed together and body twisted towards the younger man, Leone wraps his arms around the blond. He could feel his heart beating in his skull. Could feel each pump of blood through his veins as his eyes locked onto Giorno’s spit-slicked lips. Giorno’s hands rest on the back of his head and his hip, locking him in place as his green eyes lock onto Leone’s apprehensive ones.

“ Follow my lead ,” Giorno orders and presses his lips against Leone’s. Setting a sensual, languid pace; Giorno’s tongue and hands are gentle yet persistent. He’s never kissed before. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it right. Yet, Giorno’s simple command forces his mind to think about nothing but copying his actions. Slotting their tongues together and swapping spit, pulling each other closer and closer until their bodies could merge. Fuck it’s getting hot. Softly, Leone grinds his hips and squeezes his thighs, groaning into his dominant’s mouth. Did kissing always feel so good? Or is he just sensitive? Giorno’s tongue licked every nook, cranny, and crevice of his mouth and he relishes in every bump of the fleshy organ. He tastes like wine; the expensive kind that pairs well with meat. And Leone whines as Giorno pulls off with a wet smack .

“ Such a quick learner .” Peck.

It’s the alcohol, Leone tells himself. Softly, he presses kisses into his skin, alternating between licks and nibbles. Fuck . This is something else entirely. Leone can barely contain his moans as Giorno suckles and bites. It’s hard to describe the sheer heat and electricity that courses through his body. Losing all kinds of reason whenever Giorno’s teeth meets his lips, not biting hard enough to break skin. Whining and groaning as Giorno’s hands venture to his ass.

“ Fuck ,” Giorno mutters, breath warm and tickly against Leone’s sensitive skin. “Let me get you home.”