Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Aha—Caught you!” Trish jeered, pulling you out of your trance.

“What?” You replied, bewildered, “you caught me what?”

“You were daydreaming again.” Trish teased, nudging Mista with her elbow. “See? She was daydreaming. I bet it was about someone.”

“No…” you muttered, deflecting her statement. You weren’t daydreaming. You were just wondering how Bruno was doing—he missed Friday lunch with the gang at The Libeccio. You finished your final bite of strawberry cheesecake and decided to ignore her.

Trish turned back to Mista and began cackling over his attempts to feed the Sex Pistols. You chuckled as the Sex Pistols whined and fought over Mista’s leftovers. Mista was situated between Trish and Fugo, who was calmly tutoring Narancia in elementary Algebra. You were surprised Fugo hadn’t lost his cool yet—although you knew he wouldn’t be calm for long because Narancia just wasn’t grasping the concept of algebraic variables.

“What the fuck do you mean letters are numbers now? How the fuck am I supposed to count them? One, two, three, four, five… Where does the letter ‘A‘ go?” Narancia assertively questioned, leading Fugo to smack his palm against his head and groan. Fugo was seconds away from a breakdown.

To your left, Abbacchio had his eyes closed, losing himself to whatever was playing on his headphones. It was just loud enough that you could make out some type of contemporary jazz. Abbacchio’s eyes cracked open slightly, enough to notice you looking over at him, and he grunted in greeting.

Across from you, Don Giovanna was pouring over his paperwork. The new Boss of Passione seemed frustrated. As smart as he was, he still wasn’t entirely sure how to fill out paperwork. No one could blame him; he was only fifteen years old. Usually, Bucciarati would be assisting Giorno with his more administrative duties, but today, Bucciarati wasn’t here (which you were well aware of). He stayed behind at the gang’s shared house to catch up on some work of his own.

Knowing the busy capo was finally alone, you decided you would head back to the house to discuss an important matter with him. You had seen signs of a new stand user hanging around Naples, and confirmed that they weren’t a member of Passione. This troubled you—could there be another stand arrow floating around Naples? It would seem natural to bring this matter up to Giorno. However, Giorno was the boss now. A concern like this was beneath his rank. Instead, Bruno handled the more local matters. He was the capo of the Naples branch after all.

As you stood up from your seat, Giorno broke his concentration on his work to focus on you.

“Already heading out?” Giorno questioned. You nodded your head in response, and he handed you a to-go bag.

“Here, give this to Bucciarati. I thought I’d order him something since he couldn’t join us,” Giorno stated. You peeked inside the bag and saw a plastic box inside. It was squid pasta, Bruno’s favorite.

“Will do, Boss,” you replied with a light smile and pushed your chair in.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me, you know,” Giorno smirked as he returned to his work. You lightly blushed in embarrassment.

As you exited the restaurant, you heard Fugo yelling at Narancia, calling him “fucking stupid.” Narancia shouted back, and you chuckled as Giorno reprimanded the two.

It was a gorgeous summer day in Naples. Walking home, you gazed up at the sky and watched as the clouds lazily floated by. Your shoes clicked against the pavement and you noticed a pleasant floral scent hanging in the air. The town was alive with locals and tourists alike enjoying the elegant city. You pitied Bruno for missing such a pleasant day, but you supposed it couldn’t be helped. As a capo, his work responsibilities came before anything else. At least he’d still get to enjoy some squid pasta.

The team’s townhouse wasn’t very far from The Libeccio—in fact, that’s part of the reason why the gang decided to move into it. Mista and Narancia successfully argued to Giorno and Bruno that your Friday lunch gatherings were much too important to be missed. To be fair, it didn’t take much convincing. Your leisurely walk home ended as you unlocked the door to the house. Being careful to shut the door quietly (Giorno couldn’t stand when others would slam the door, and even though he wasn’t around, it was a habit) you walked in and hung your purse up on the wall.

The house was a gorgeous three-story townhouse, with all the communal gathering rooms on the first floor, offices and study rooms on the second, and bedrooms on the third—every bedroom except the Don’s, that is. Since the house was in his name, he took the luxurious master bedroom on the second floor. You set your house keys down and headed upstairs towards Bruno’s study, to-go bag in hand.

Noticing the Capo’s door was open just a crack, you figured that it was okay to walk in. That was the house rule after all—if a door was open and someone was inside, you were welcome to visit.

Bruno’s desk was positioned adjacent to the door so he could easily look up from his work and greet whoever had stopped by. It was more for ease of work, since his boss lived in the same house with him. It was easier to situate his desk to face whoever he was meeting with, allowing him to write notes and keep up in conversation with ease. Of course, if he was discussing a more private business matter, he’d invite them inside and close the door.

You quietly swung the door open and peaked your head inside. Glancing around, you noticed the capo sitting back in his chair, pushed away from his desk. On his sleek mahogany desk sat his work, open and unfinished, with his zipper-patterned designer pen cast aside. Bruno was leaning back in his chair, wearing his usual gorgeous white suit coat. It really was a perfect suit coat, specially tailored to fit his flawless body. His eyes were shut and he was taking slow, deep, husky breaths.

Is he… meditating? You wondered for a split second, until you glanced down and saw it. Oh shit. Your jaw dropped in shock as you noticed his expensive white trousers were folded up on the floor next to him. You looked back at where they should have been and were instead greeted by the sight of his fully erect cock in his hand, lingerie pushed to the side.

Panicking, you quickly ducked behind the frame of the door, covering your mouth in shock. You felt your cheeks flush with warmth as you realized what you had just seen. You just caught Bruno in the midst of a very private moment.

What the fuck!? Your inner thoughts raced as you began to panic. You tried to ground yourself by taking deep breaths, but your concentration was broken by a soft moan. No fucking way. No fucking way this is real. Your eyes had to be deceiving you, you decided, so you resolved to sneakily steal another glance.

Carefully, you peeked through the door to glance at Bruno. Scared to look down, you first glanced at Bruno’s face, which was now dusted with a light blush. His soft lips were parted and he was breathing heavily. You were relieved when you saw that his eyes were still closed and his head was now resting against the back of his chair. Holding your breath, you hesitantly glanced down and noticed how tenderly he was caressing his cock. A soft moan escaped his lips as his thumb gently teased his tip. The afternoon sun cast a soft glow over Bruno’s olive-toned skin, causing him to appear more like a god than human. For a second, you couldn’t look away. He was beautiful.

Finally breaking free of your trance, you dashed back to your hiding spot behind the door frame. Biting your lip, heart pounding in your chest, you silently cursed Bruno for leaving himself so vulnerable. You knew that everyone needed to pleasure themselves every now and again, but his apparent carelessness left you appalled. It was extremely unlike the capo to be so lackadaisical. If this had been Mista or Narancia, it would be just another day in the office, or house rather. Truthfully, you had caught each of them a handful of times before—but Bruno?

You wondered why he left his door open—anyone could have just strolled in. Is he really that stupid? It then dawned on you—Oh fuck. Bruno doesn’t know that you came home. You were so caught off-guard by what you’d just seen that you had forgotten that you were the only one home. He probably had his door open to listen for the gang’s return. You were one of the only few members on his team who didn’t slam the door. He didn’t hear you come home.

Mortified, and ashamedly turned on by the sight of your boss caressing himself, you decided to give him his privacy. You blushed profusely before stealthily backing away from the door. As soon as you were barely five feet from your starting position, you silently congratulated yourself on your progress. Making a hasty retreat from Bruno’s open door wasn’t easy. Reminding yourself that every step you took was another step closer to salvation, you slowly approached the stairwell, ready to dash back downstairs.

That was, until you heard him call out your name.

FUCK! You wailed internally. Your mind started spiraling as your inner voice jumped to the worst possible conclusion. You wearily marched back towards his door, burying your face. You were about to cry out in apology when you heard your name again. This time, however, you were able to pick up on the husky undertones in his voice. Your brain had been so preoccupied with escape that it missed that important detail the first time.

The gears turned in your head and your jaw dropped for a second time when you realized why he was actually calling your name. Holy fuck. That was a moan. Bruno Bucciarati was moaning your name.

After catching Bruno in the act, you didn’t think you could blush any harder, but your response to Bruno’s moan proved you wrong. You could now feel your heartbeat in your face and neck. Sweat began to bead on your face. Secretly, you always had a crush on Bruno. Ever since the day you had met, you were captivated by his kindness when he recruited you to his team. Like your fellow gang members, you too had been in a rough spot before joining. Bruno was like a shining light in the midst of a damp, dark cave. He came to you in your darkest hour and warmly welcomed you into his Famiglia. It didn’t help that you found him to be the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen—his soft masculinity was a constant turn-on to you, and even if you hated to admit it, he’d shown up in a few of your filthiest dreams.

Biting your lip, you pondered your next move. Carefully walking back to his study door, you decided to steal another glance. You once again peered into the provocative scene and were taken aback by how much messier he looked in such a short amount of time. His perfectly-styled braid was starting to come undone as he began to pump a bit faster. Sounding a little more desperate, needy moans escaped his perfect lips and his face glistened with sweat. You could see the precum glistening on his tip while his face twitched in pleasure. His breath hitched and he once again returned to his tip, diligently using his thumb to rub gentle circles around it. Each pump was intentional—he knew exactly how to pleasure himself. He couldn’t help himself as he bit his lip and began to lightly thrust his hips. A sharp gasp leaked from his mouth and he moaned your name once again. You relished in the sweet sounds coming out of his mouth. You craved more. Fuck, this is hot.

Every thrust Bruno made caused your clit to throb a little more desperately. After several seconds of watching him, your neediness became too much to ignore. What am I doing? He’s my boss. How will I be able to look him in the eye after what I’ve seen? Despite the doubts in your head, every beautiful noise he made further ignited your lust for your capo. The taboo of this situation made you relish in desire. The idea of seeing your boss, your superior, your leader—the person who garnered your utmost respect and admiration—falling apart at his own touch…

“Bruno—” you moaned softly enough so he couldn’t hear you. Panting from the tension, you realized you could no longer ignore your own neediness. Quietly sitting down the pasta you realized you were still carrying, you nervously unzipped your own pants hoping he couldn’t hear. Your hand swiftly found its way to your clit and you took a mental note of how wet you already were. You made tight circles around the sensitive bud, keeping pace with Bruno’s own circles around his flushed head. Your stomach clenched as Bruno let out a particularly loud groan. Bruno had once again adjusted his pace and was desperately pumping himself. You knew he was getting close.

You could feel yourself getting close too. It was much harder to keep quiet at this point—your heavy panting graduated to soft mewls of pleasure. It was a wonder Bruno hadn’t discovered you, but he was much too caught up in his own private pleasure. The muscles in your legs tightened as you approached climax. You couldn’t hold your voice back anymore as your brain became even fuzzier—

“Bruno!” You audibly gasped, causing him to freeze. Oh shit. He darted his head towards the direction of your voice. Before he could see you, you rapidly ducked behind the door and pulled your hand out of your pants, forgetting to zip them up in the process. Trying to make yourself as small and unnoticeable as possible, you crouched low to the floor. Bruno swiftly tucked himself back into his bodysuit and put on his trousers. Still tinged red, his face contorted into anger over the embarrassment of being caught. He stood up and quickly finger-brushed his hair while marching over to the door.

Instead of running and hiding, you buried your face in shame. You were too frozen in place to do anything except sit in dumbfounded shock and listen as his footsteps grow closer and closer. You cursed yourself and wished you had a stand ability like Sticky Fingers. You desperately desired to unzip the wall and climb into it. Instead, your consolation prize was a confrontation with Bucciarati. It was over; you were trapped like cornered prey.

The door suddenly swung open and you were met with Bucciarati’s flawless figure. He looked like a model posing for vogue. His left hand was locked stylishly onto his hip and his left leg was pointed toward you. You were impressed by his ability to remain poised despite the anger and embarrassment that was portrayed by his beet-red face. Breathing heavily from his past arousal and current rage, he peered down at where you were crouched with his trademark scowl. You flinched. Intimidating. Is this how one of his enemies feels before they’re beaten to a bloody pulp?

“What are you doing here?” He sternly asked.

“I—“ you stuttered.

“Stand up, I’m your boss. Tell me again—what are you doing here? Playing some kind of practical joke?” he hissed.

You hesitated and finally stood up, refusing to look at his face.

“Instead of handling this in a mature way, you decide to sit outside my door and mock me? I never expected this kind of behavior from you,” he growled.

Unable to make eye contact, you stared at his feet. They were covered in his gorgeous Italian leather dress shoes. You watched the light reflect off of the gold zipper charms they were adorned with. His shoes must have cost a few thousand dollars; they were so well-cared for that the leather radiated with a slight shine. Slowly gazing upwards, you admired his well-pressed trousers. Never had you seen a wrinkle in them—did he iron them himself? You paused as soon as your eyes met the pitched tent at his crotch—it seems like he didn’t bother hiding his erection before confronting you. Continuing to glance upwards, you were mesmerized by your favorite part of his outfit: the window in his suit coat displaying his perfect chest for the whole world to see.

Once you had distracted yourself enough with his chest window, you made it to his face. You still couldn’t bear to look him in his eyes. Bucciarati’s visage was contorted with anger, and even so, you still thought it was beautiful. Studying each part of his face, you could see the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead. Your eyes darted to his lips, noting that they were flushed the color of strawberry sorbet. If you weren’t so terrified, you’d be left in awe gaping at his beauty.

“Answer me—now,” Bruno assertively commanded, breaking you out of your trance. Paralyzed, you were still unable to reply. His eyes filled with fury and he looked you up and down. They paused between your legs and he noticed your unbuttoned pants. His expression morphed from anger to confusion, and eventually, to bewilderment.

After staring you down for what felt like a lifetime, Bruno finally broke his pose and spoke. Pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes shut, he sighed: “How long have you been home? Are the others here?”

“N-no, it’s just me. Everyone else is still at lunch,” you shakily replied. You felt like your heart was going to jump out of your chest with how fast it was beating. After a moment, Bruno opened his eyes and rested his hand on his chin, pondering over what to do with you. Finally, he let out a long exhale and ushered you into his study. You reluctantly stumbled in, afraid your wobbly knees would fail you. What would happen next? You had no idea.

Bruno offered you a seat and pulled up his chair to face you. Your chair was stiff, causing you to uncomfortably shift in place. You would have been wriggling under his gaze alone, but this just made it worse. Bruno quietly lowered himself into his office chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and balling his hands in front of his face. He took his eyes off you for what felt like the first time in ages and gazed at the ground, eyes darting back and forth. Trying to occupy your mind with anything but your current reality, you intensely focused on a spot on his rich rug and waited for Bruno to say something. The tension was so thick that not even his stand could punch through it. You could barely breathe.

“I suppose I should ask you what you were really doing outside of my office door—but I think that answer is pretty apparent,” he started, still staring down at the floor. You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. He waited for your response but when it was clear you had none, he continued: “It isn’t appropriate for a subordinate to be lusting after their boss.”

Blood rushed into your face and tried to hide yourself in shame. Shit. Now he’d caught you. Tears welled in your eyes. You’d blown it. In every line of work, it was strictly forbidden for employees and their bosses to be sexually involved. The only logical conclusion was that your time with Bruno’s gang was up. He’d have you transferred to a new city and you’d have to start over again—his line of work was much too important for you to be interfering with it.

The thought was devastating—you felt like moving to Naples was the best decision you ever made. Being here finally launched you to a point in your life where you were happy and satisfied. You loved your career in Passione and you had a team of good friends who stuck by you through thick and thin. Oh god, your teammates! They would wonder why you so suddenly disappeared.

You cursed yourself for getting into this situation. You could have walked away from the door as soon as you saw what he was doing. Truthfully, if you really were that needy, you could have just silently watched, saving your mental image for later. You fucked up, and it was all thanks to your fucking sex drive.

Bruno exhaled and continued: “You’ve crossed a prohibited boundary and I’m not sure what kind of action I should take.” The two of you sat in silence, refusing to look at each other. Your vision was obscured by your own tears and you could no longer make out the spot on his rug you had been heavily fixating on. You blinked to clear your line of sight and one hot teardrop was shed from your eyes. It slowly began traveling down your cheek.

Tilting his head up and closing his eyes, Bruno let out a long sigh. You could still see his eyes darting behind his eyelids; he appeared as if he was having an intense internal debate. Slowly shaking his head, he calmly stood up and walked over to the door. His hand paused over the knob, mouth slightly ajar as if choosing his next words carefully. His voice rang out in a lower pitch.

“Well, the line’s been crossed, but not just by you. I guess what I’m trying to say is that you should know that I’m not so innocent either.” He finally turned the doorknob and quietly closed the door.

Still looking down at the ground, he turned back to you and continued: “you may have already come to that conclusion yourself. Truthfully, I don’t know how long you were outside my door.”

You dabbed your eyes with your shirt and glanced back up at him. Expecting him to be disappointed, you were surprised when you were met with the sight of a very flustered Bruno. He continued to avoid eye contact with you as he fiddled with the zipper charm on his lower left arm. Bruno’s waiver in confidence left you flustered and confused. This was jarringly out-of-character for someone so composed and self-assured. Bruno always radiated poise and determination—but not right now. You noticed his erection was still stretching his trousers and peeking through the flaps of his coat.

Bruno shook his head again and stopped fiddling with his zipper. Appearing to have come to some sort of decision, he regained his control of himself and calmly stated: “I’m not angry with you—I’m going to keep you on my team. It would be a bad move to assign you somewhere else.” He suddenly bit his lip and muttered: “I don’t know why I’m trying to stay so professional, it was clear I made my resolve when I invited you in here.”

Hearing that you wouldn’t be transferred lifted a giant weight from your shoulders. You looked toward the ceiling and sighed with relief, unable to control the word vomit that poured out of your mouth: “thank you so much Bucciarati, I’m so sorry, this won’t happen again, I—“

When you didn’t hear a response, you finally glanced over at him. Bucciarati was loosening the buttons on his coat and began slowly sliding it off of his shoulders. The sight left you frozen in shock: Was this really happening?

“If you aren’t comfortable with this, tell me,” Bruno uttered, his jacket falling off his broad shoulders. “I’ll put my jacket back on, you’ll leave my office, and we’ll never speak of this again.” He finished shedding his suit coat and placed it on his desk, exposing his ripped physique. His skin was illuminated by the glow of the afternoon sun. The contours were accentuated by the gorgeous black lace covering his torso. Holding your breath, you stood up from your seat and walked towards him. Your heartbeat roared in your ears and you felt dizzy as you approached him.

Barely one foot away, you stopped. You gazed up at him and saw that his cheeks were dusted with blush and his lips were slightly parted. He let out another exhale—his warm breath left goosebumps on your skin. You placed your hand on his chest and felt his heart racing underneath his warm skin. He looked down at you with a much softer expression than before, his breath shuddering.

Mesmerized, you trailed your hand down his body and let your fingers explore every inch. His defined muscles could be felt through the thin, lacy fabric separating your fingers from his skin. This action elicited a breathy moan from Bruno as your hand made its way to his designer belt. You paused right above it and glanced up at him.

Cara mia, please, continue,” he softly encouraged, and you slid your hand to the front of his trousers. You let your fingers rest there for a second, enjoying the warmth of his erection.

He placed his pointer finger and thumb right above the cloth of your top and began unzipping it with his stand ability, allowing you to keep your hand on his neediness. You both kicked off your shoes and he helped you remove the rest of your garments. You were left fully naked.

Gazing into your eyes with a soft, lustful expression, Bruno began guiding your other hand towards his trousers. He’d never looked at you in this way before and the attention made your stomach perform a backflip. Hands shaking, you became dizzy as your fingers worked to free his needy cock.

You finally unbuckled his belt, which took extra time no thanks to your nerves. Your breath hitched as his trousers dropped to the floor, revealing the outline of his cock trapped beneath his lace bodysuit. He began gently sliding his lacy garment off of his shoulders. Your heart felt like it was going to give out the way it raced as his bodysuit fell to the floor.

There was now nothing left between both of your bodies. Bruno reached a hand up to your face and stroked your cheek with the back of his finger, sending tingles down your neck. He then cupped your face and tilted your chin upwards towards him. His half-lidded deep cerulean eyes stared deeply into yours, savoring the moment.

Without breaking his gaze, he breathily spoke: “I’ve dreamed of this moment, cara mia. Hold your face there for a second—I want to remember this.” He began to study you, mouth slightly agape as his dilated eyes darted between your facial features then down towards the rest of your body. “Tesora mia,” he breathed, “you’re beautiful.”

Bruno leaned into you and paused, his lips barely touching yours. Your skin prickled; it was dizzying having him this close to you. You both stood there breathing in each other’s air until he eventually pressed his soft lips into you. The scent of Bruno’s cologne, the sound of his breath increasing in depth, and the rushing of warm blood circulating through your body was an intoxicating combination. Your heartbeat roared in your ears as Bruno’s tongue slipped between your parted lips. The both of you stood there, relishing in the tender moment.

As if he changed personalities, Bruno suddenly pushed you against the wall and pressed his body into yours. A deep primal emotion had overtaken him. You threw your head against the wall as one hand made its way to your chest and caressed you. He became more desperate, causing your sex to throb. What once began as a slow, sensual kiss morphed into a desperate, animalistic makeout session.

One of his hands trailed down your body and reached down between your thighs. You let out a soft moan as his fingers grazed your lips, sending electric sparks throughout your body. You were already sopping wet. You felt him bite on your bottom lip as he broke the kiss and gazed into your eyes. His soft, kind, and adoring expression had been replaced with a burning hunger. The atmosphere around him had changed; he became sexually menacing.

Warm blood rushed between your legs as the pads of his fingers pressed into you. Two fingers worked to spread you open, allowing one of his fingers to touch you directly. “Found you~,” he teased as he slightly increased the pressure. Your body trembled at the sensation, eliciting a small cry from your throat. Your knees weakened as sparks shot through your legs and lower stomach.

“All I did was touch you… Are you really that desperate for me?” He teased in a melodic voice. His azure eyes ravenously burned into yours. He repeated his inquiry, warm breath spreading across your neck: “Are you really that desperate for your capo?”

Bruno’s half-lidded eyes searched yours; you felt as if he was peering into your soul. You couldn’t speak—his touch froze you in place. He glanced down at your trembling mouth and a wicked smile spread across his face. “That’s all I needed to know~” he breathed as his middle finger began to tantalizingly stroke your clit.

“Bruno—“ you exclaimed in between your gasps for air. He abruptly halted his movements and dawned a more serious expression. “What makes you think we’re on a first name basis? Who gave you permission to call me Bruno?” he chided while dragging a finger along your slit. “I’m your capo; you will refer to me as Bucciarati. Let’s try this again, who am I?” Voice trembling, you responded: “Y-you’re Bucciarati. My capo,”

“That’s better,” he purred. Your fists clenched, knuckles whitening as he resumed massaging your lips. Each movement flowed into the next; continuous waves of pleasure radiated through your body. Bruno—no, Bucciarati became the only thing you could focus on. The tips of your fingers felt tingly as if they had fallen asleep.

“So…” Bucciarati breathed as he leaned into you. His warm breath kissed your neck, spreading goosebumps down your shoulders and back. Soft lips brushed against your ear, eliciting a meek whimper from your throat. He continued in a volume just above a whisper, his voice low and husky: “when exactly did you begin lusting over me?”

“I’ve… uh—” you stammered. The way Bucciarati’s fingers melted around your folds made it hard to think.

“Don’t lie to me,” he tormented, “you know I can taste a liar.”

“T-taste?” you gasped. Was he insinuating—?

“Answer my question,” he ordered, not wanting to beat around the bush.

“I— well, I— uh“ you choked. Blood rushed to your head. If your cheeks weren’t already red, he would notice that you were profusely blushing. Truthfully, you had lusted for him from the moment you first set your eyes on him. How couldn’t you? You were too embarrassed to tell him.

Bucciarati had no intention of quitting his questioning. “Come on,” he egged, voice as smooth as butter, “when did you start?”

“Well, it started pretty soon after I first met you…” you deflected, trying to evade the question. It wasn’t lying if you didn’t give specific details… Right?

Bucciarati noticed your hesitancy. “Are you telling the truth, cara mia?” He chuckled. “I better check…“ He began kissing your neck. His soft, plump lips trailed downwards with each kiss. You expected him to stop at your collarbone—but he didn’t. Warmth spread through your body as his lips met your breasts—then your stomach—then—

You squealed as he paused right on your hip and thigh met. “Bruno, what are you—“ Bucciarati halted in place and shot you a stern glare, cutting you off.

“I’m Bucciarati,” he scolded, “remember, you’re my subordinate.”

“Bucciarati, yes, I’m sorry, my capo…” you moaned, “Please continue, I need you—“

“This better not happen again,” Bucciarati reprimanded. Not breaking his stern gaze, he finally planted another tantalizing kiss. His lips were so close to your lips, just a little lower…

You closed your eyes in anticipation, focusing solely on your sense of touch. You could feel yourself panting at a quick, irregular pace. If you weren’t so turned on, you would have thought you were hyperventilating. You noticed the tingling in your fingers had spread all the way up to your arms.

His lips pressed against the beginning of your slit. His warm breath emanated from his mouth, settling against your lips. It was so fucking teasing. Eyes still closed, you heard him ask in a low voice: “were you lying about when you started lusting for me?”

You felt his flattened tongue part your lips. You gasped as he slowly dragged your clit against his tongue, making sure he could thoroughly taste you. Your body jerked forward as a wave of warmth spread throughout you.

“You’re lying,” he announced, tracing the spot he had licked with the pad of his pointer finger. “I bet it was the moment we met, wasn’t it? Is that why you didn’t want to tell me?” You opened your eyes and peered down at him. He stared back at you with a concentrated glare. “What am I going to do with you now?” he wondered aloud.

You squealed as his tongue parted your lips and began to slowly circle your clit. Holy shit, he’s good at this, you thought. What did you expect from someone who used his tongue to discern liars?

Bucciarati traced your slit with his tongue once again and pulled away. His eyes darted up to you with a smoldering glare, hands clenching your thighs. “I know there’s an easier way to do this,” he muttered as his head turned towards his desk. Upon returning his gaze to you, you noticed that his expression seemed… softer. “Cara mia, can you wait one moment?” You shakily nodded your head.

“Good, I’ll be right back,” he hummed as he stood up. He walked over to his desk, calm and poised. You glanced down at your shaky, numb hands and back at him. He smoothly began to stack his paperwork on the floor by the far side of his desk. Only someone like Bucciarati could stay composed at a moment like this. He’s practically trained to stay calm in overwhelming situations.

Bruno finished his task and strolled back over to you. His soft, unwavering hands took yours. “Come, this way, amoruccio mia,” he purred. Your wobbly legs quivered with each step as you made your way towards his desk. His eyes gazed into yours with the same soft expression. Thoughts raced in your head. This man was a completely different person from the one he was just seconds ago.

Sturdy hands grabbed at your sides, lifting you onto his desk. A gentle hand pressed on your chest, pushing you against its surface. You were surprised to feel the back of your head sink into something soft and plush: Bruno had placed a pillow on his desk for you.

“Are you ready?” he teased.

“Y-yes, Bruno,” you responded, your voice shaking with excitement. His eyes suddenly flashed with menace and his face stretched into a mischievous grin.

“Bruno, huh?” He interrogated while dragging a finger across your stomach, “who told you to call me Bruno?” This elicited a sharp squeal from your throat and you covered your mouth with your hands.

“I was going to eat you out,” he muttered, “but now…” Suddenly, he grabbed onto your thighs and yanked you towards him. Your head slid off the pillow and hit the cold, hard surface of the desk. He leaned forward, face inches from yours. He spoke in a low voice: “if you can’t call me by my proper name, then I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth,”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Bucciara—“ you were cut off as he shoved a hand against your mouth.

“I’m going to make sure you won’t be able to speak again,” he muttered, smirking. You felt his warm fingertips rest on the corner of your mouth. “Sticky Fingers,” he murmured. He began to drag his fingers across your lips, leaving behind a cold trail of metal. A pull tab suddenly dangled from the other corner of your mouth, resting on your cheek. You tried to open your lips to speak, but you couldn’t. Your mouth was zipped shut.

Bucciarati leaned down further, getting close to your ear. “I may be in control, but I’m not cruel… are you okay with this?” he asked. You nodded your head in response, anticipating whatever was next to come. “Good,” he breathed, “Of course, if this gets to be too much for you, shake your head like you’re saying ‘no.” I’ll stop.” Bucciarati pushed himself up and stood above you; a menacing smile stretching across his face. “Calling me Bruno… lying to me… I explicitly ordered you to do neither of those things. You’re really in for it now…”

Hands grabbed at your sides; he shifted you to the side of his desk and quickly rolled you over. The cold, hard surface of the desk pressed into your stomach, causing you to shiver. He yanked you towards him so that your body was perfectly bent over the desk.

“Sticky Fingers,” Bucciarati murmured again. You felt the tips of his fingers slowly run down your sides where your body met the table. His touch was followed by a trail of cold metal; the soft growl of something slowly being zipped up tickled your ears. You tried to move, but you couldn’t budge from the desk. All you could do was turn your head. Bucciarati walked around to the other side of the desk to face you. He placed a hand below your chin, raising it upwards. Once again, he glided his fingers against your skin; this time horizontally across your chest. This was accompanied by the familiar sensation of cold metal being pressed against your skin. You were stuck in place.

“There we go, that’s better~” he hummed as he left your field of vision and shuffled behind you. You tried to turn your head back to glance at Bucciarati but could only get a fuzzy picture of him in your peripheral vision. Your hands traced the zippers attached to your sides.

“Oh, I almost forgot—“ he remembered. Two hands grabbed your wrists; you felt a light pull on your shoulders as he gathered your arms behind you. He began to trace your wrists with his fingertips. You heard a soft zrrzzrrzzrr. You attempted to separate your wrists to no avail; they were stuck together.

“I can’t have you unzip yourself,” he continued. His eyes gazed upon your helpless form bent over his desk. Your lips were throbbing.

An electric spark shot through your body as you felt a warm finger trace your slit towards your hole. You gasped as Bucciarati slid his finger into your wet heat. He smirked: “Look at you, you’re already soaking wet. Do you enjoy being zipped up?”

You tried to reply, but the only response you could manage was a muffled “Mmmmrrph.”

“Speaking is futile,” he commented, “you lost the right to talk when you called me Bruno.” He added another finger and began to slowly fingerfuck you. This caused your stomach to flip as you let out a short, muffled moan. He let you enjoy this sensation for a moment, intently listening to the whimpers that squeaked out of your throat. Without warning, he pulled his fingers out and began stroking himself.

“Ready?” he asked in a low, husky voice. The tip of his cock pressed into your lips; he began to tease your hole with slow circles. “Whether or not you are…” he trailed off, tip pressed against your entrance. His breath hitched as he slowly slid in, reveling in the sensation.

“Accidenti, è stretto,” he huffed as his cock stretched against your walls. Suddenly, you didn’t care about how uncomfortable this desk was and how your pelvis was pressing into the edge of it. (Thank god it was rounded). The only thing you could focus on was Bucciarati.

His breath quickened as he fully slid inside of you. He muttered something unintelligible. You felt him twitch against your walls as he tried to regain composure. His breath steadied as he began to thrust. You could feel his cock stroking against your inner lips at your entrance.

Your eyes glazed over as you melted into him. Each thrust made you feel warm and fuzzy. Your moan reverberated against your lips. “You’re taking me so well,” he purred, hands holding onto your hips. “What would you do if I increased the pace?”

You jolted as his thrusts quickened for a few seconds. He returned to his previous speed and continued speaking: “Not yet, I’m going to savor you for a while.” His thrusts came in smooth, continuous waves, washing pleasure across your entire body. You heard Bucciarati choke on his breath. A sinful moan escaped his lips, igniting a burning lust within the pit of your stomach.

Suddenly, your breath hitched. “Oh?” Bucciarati questioned as you uncontrollably arched your back. He knew he was hitting the right spot. He began to increase his pace; each rhythmical thrust flooded your body with white heat. A long moan escaped from your throat, hitting your zipped-shut lips.

“Your sweet noises are music to my ears,” he huffed. “I think I’d like to hear them a little better.” He reached around and grasped the pull tab hanging from your mouth. In one swift motion, he unzipped your lips. The zipper that had once covered it faded away.

“Sing for me, cara mia,” he purred. With that, he began thrusting faster. Your insides became liquid as he repeatedly struck your g-spot. White heat screamed all over your body as your needy, uncontrollable whimpers turned into desperate moans. You clenched your teeth and your toes curled; you were so close.

Bucciarati tightly grasped your hips, fingernails clawing into your skin. You noticed that his pace was becoming increasingly irregular. Fire pooled low within your abdomen as he choked out the words: “Cara mia—I’m getting so—“

SLAM!

A muffled “I told you not to slam the door!” could be heard from downstairs.

“Cazzo,” Bucciarati hissed as he froze mid-thrust.

You let out a groan, feeling as though you had been edged. Couldn’t they have arrived home just a few minutes later?

“Cazzo, I was so close. This isn’t over yet—we’re going to finish this,” Bucciarati said, eyes deep in thought. “Ah—I’ve got it.” He pulled out of you and started unzipping you from the desk. He finished with your hands and you pushed yourself off of the surface. You rolled your wrists around. So much more comfortable.

“Grab your clothes, we’re heading to my bedroom,” he instructed. You picked up the wrinkled pile on the floor along with your shoes. With his suit folded over his arm, Bucciarati walked over to the wall and muttered, “Sticky Fingers,” opening a dark space within the wall. He turned back to look at you, holding out his hand. “Follow me, tesora.”

You took his hand and stepped in, the wall zipping up behind you. Huh, weird. You had never been zipped up inside an object before. It was an odd sensation; somehow you could stand, despite not seeing a floor beneath you. The dark void swirled around you as you both lurked within the walls. You could hear faint, muffled voices from the newly-arrived-home gang around you, unsure of what direction they were coming from. Somehow, Bucciarati knew what path to take.

Bright light suddenly flooded your vision as you heard the familiar noise of a zipper unzipping. You stepped out and looked around: you were in his bedroom. You had caught glimpses of it as you passed his doorway but had never been inside. His queen-sized bed was adorned with a comforter that was covered in the same print as his suit. Everything was perfectly in its place.

Bucciarati walked over to the side table next to his bed and grabbed a journal. He ripped out a page and scribbled:

I’m resting.
— Bruno

He sauntered over to the door and slid the note under it.

“This place is a little safer than the study. It puts vertical space between us and everyone else—unless someone comes upstairs for something.” He paused. “I also wanted to come here so we could use my bed.”

You rolled back his sheets and felt them. His sheets were so luxurious. Bucciarati’s presence was made known when he lightly pressed against your back, mouth close to your ear. “Now, where were we~” he teased in a low voice, the warm air tickling you. You turned around to greet him, noticing a smirk on his face. “We’re going to have to be quiet,” he whispered. “This should help.”

You once again felt cold metal on your lips as he dragged his fingers across your mouth. “There,” Bucciarati whispered.

All of a sudden, you heard someone yell “HE’S RESTING” from right outside his door. This was followed by a muffled “then why are you yelling? Stay away from his door and let him rest!” from a floor or two down. Bucciarati softly groaned.

“Cazzo, I never get any privacy… ” he muttered.

Sounds like the gang had already spread out around the house. Was anywhere safe? Gears turned Bucciarati’s head as he brainstormed how not to get caught. “If we’re on the bed, it’s going to creak,” he noted, pausing after. “I suppose I could unzip the wall for us… No, I know how to fix this.”

One hand reached down and touched the skin right above your belly button. The other began rotating your body in a circle. You heard that familiar growl.

“Bucciarati, what are you doing?“ You tried to speak, but the words came out muffled and unintelligible. It didn't matter anyways, he was done spinning you. His eyes darted down to your lower stomach to admire his work: he had placed a zipper around your whole waist. The smirk he had worn seconds ago transformed into a mischievous smile. Hands hugged your ribs and supported you as the zipper unzipped itself, separating your body into two halves. You looked down and watched your bottom half slowly sway below as if you were a skyscraper.

“Are you prepared?” Bucciarati purred into your ear. “I am.” With that, he lifted the upper half of you off of your legs and laid you to rest on his bed. Your head sank into a soft, fluffy pillow while your waist and legs still stood in the same place. Voids swirled in the spots where your halves connected. This sensation was very odd; you still felt like a whole person, but one half of you was lying down and the other half remained standing up.

Your legs trembled and gave way: trying to balance yourself while your body was bent in half was too hard. Before they could fall to the floor, Bucciarati caught them. You felt a light squeeze on your ass. He then stood up and laid your lower half onto his bed.

“This might take a little getting used to, but I know you can handle this,” he murmured as two hands grabbed your knees, shoving your legs open. “You can feel everything, can’t you?” He slowly started lowering a finger between your legs. Burning eyes stared into you; he couldn’t wait to see your reaction.

You felt his finger lightly press onto your clit. In response, you jolted and let out a gasp. Your exposed bud was at the mercy of his touch.

“That’s the beauty of my stand ability…” he purred. His finger twitched, eliciting another sharp inhale from you. He deviously smiled as he began stroking your clit in slow, tantalizing circles.

“Pieces of your body may no longer be connected,” he continued, savoring the pitiful whimpers that came from your throat, “but somehow… your sense of touch persists as if you were a whole person.” His other hand brushed against your thigh. You heard a shrill zziiiiiiip as cold metal wrapped around the circumference of it. The next thing you knew, your leg was lying beside you on his bed, no longer attached to your hips.

“I’m not done yet,” Bucciarati teased, finger still on your clit. Every movement shot a wave of heat into your core. Right now, it didn’t matter if you were missing a leg. All you could focus on was how good his touch felt. A hand crept up to your inner thigh and soon after, both of your legs were gone. If you weren’t a stand user, this would be terrifying.

“How does it feel,” he asked in a low voice dripping with honey, “to be completely unraveled in front of me?” Your body laid strewn in pieces across his bed. He shot you the dirtiest look, obviously relishing in the fact that he had total control over you.

The feeling of being zipped into four pieces made it impossible to move. Bucciarati stood up and gazed upon his bed, once again admiring his own work. Suddenly, he picked up your hips with both hands, resting them against his lower stomach. Your sex faced him.

“Can you guess what’s coming next?” he teased.

Your head rushed with possibilities. Oh my god, is he really going to—

He slowly lowered your hips so that your entrance rested against the tip of his cock. He let himself twitch against you. Blood roared in your ears.

Oh my god! He’s actually gonna—!

You sharply inhaled as he sank into you. Your body melted around him in warm, fuzzy pools.

Damn, he’s really gonna fuck me like this, you thought. The worst part? You were really into it.

“You can finally watch me fuck you,” Bucciarati smirked. Confidence and poise radiated from his figure. You reveled in the way his lean muscles flexed as they supported your hips. His skin shimmered from a light layer of sweat, accentuating his already-glowing olive-toned skin. He was definitely into skincare. Hot.

You felt his warm hands grasp onto your hips a little tighter. He began to thrust, using you as if you were a toy. You stared at him in a light-headed daze as his hips swiveled into you. It was hypnotizing; you couldn’t look away. You began to shake as warmth slowly started building deep inside you.

You dug your fingernails into his sheets when he started rotating your hips around his cock. Bucciarati bit back a moan, entranced by the way your hips slammed into him. His face was now a shade of bright coral pink and his perfect hair was disheveled and messy. (His braid had undone itself long ago). You had never seen Bucciarati like this; the confident, composed capo was beginning to unravel right in front of your eyes.

“Gesù Cristo cazzo,” he huffed, sweat pooling on his forehead. “Remaining quiet is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” He closed his eyes and furrowed his brows as he uncontrollably panted.

The sight of Bucciarati crumbling made your insides burn with adrenaline. You were breathing so fast that you began to feel lightheaded. Hands going numb, you decided to unzip your mouth, testing out on how just far you could make him unravel.

Bucciarati didn’t notice that your mouth was unzipped until you let out a soft, little moan. He swallowed hard as he turned his head to face you. His desperate, lustful eyes glazed over as you whimpered again.

More lustful noises escaped your mouth and his pace quickened in response. Your moans were just loud enough for him to hear. You felt his nails dig into you in a desperate attempt to cling to reality. He began to lose his rhythm as he let out a somewhat loud groan. Your body was hit with another wall of carnal adrenaline. Wow, he let a groan like that slip out? Damn—hopefully no one heard it. Bruno Bucciarati, the man who was always in control, was losing control of himself.

Suddenly, Bucciarati inhaled sharply and pulled himself out of you. “Cazzo, I’m close,” he stuttered, breathing as though he ran a marathon. He scrunched his eyes in concentration and worked on bringing himself back into focus. He was an expert in staying calm. Steadying himself, he began rubbing his slick, warm cock against your folds. This wasn’t over yet.

Warmth flooded your insides as he effortlessly slid back into you, causing both of you to let out a gentle moan. “Sticky Fingers,” you heard him utter, and the zipper on your lips zipped itself back together. Bucciarati stared at you. He was still a little dazed and out of breath.

“I’ve won whatever little game you were playing,” he huffed. There was still a bit of mischief behind his eyes. “You can moan all you want now. I’ve got another trick up my sleeve.” Suddenly, his stand’s hand manifested right above your lower stomach. Trembling, you swallowed hard. Bucciarati watched with hungry eyes, anticipating your reaction.

“W-what are you doing with your sta—“ You were cut off by your own sharp gasp as dexterous fingers began to rub your clit. That was his stand. Your head jerked into his bed as you desperately clutched his sheets, knuckles whitening. Bucciarati flashed you a smirk. He still had control over you.

You went limp as his stand changed its pressure on your clit, hyper-aware of every sensation that flooded into your body. You loved the way his cock stretched your lips and struck you in the right spot—the zipper on your mouth caught your sharp moan.

“I’ve got such a good view~” Bucciarati purred as he melted into you with each thrust. That mischievous look from a few seconds ago was completely hidden behind a glassy-eyed stare. He was feverishly panting. Sweat dripped down his skin as his half-lidded eyes blazed into yours, glowing with lust. His other stand’s hand manifested in front of his forehead and swiftly wiped the sweat away.

The mounting flames inside your core made your muscles to clench. It was as if molten metal was being poured directly into your veins. Your grip on the world around you vanished as your vision and hearing began fading into thin air. Lungs gasping for air; you began drowning in liquid pleasure as your body approached orgasm.

“Cazzo, I’m so fucking close—” You were able to focus your vision on Bucciarati for long enough to see him desperately jerking your hips into him. His eyes widened; he looked like he was losing balance. Suddenly, a zipper appeared over his own mouth in an attempt to keep quiet.

The rope that tethered you to reality now hung by a single thread. All it took was one more of Bucciarati’s animalistic moans to sever the connection and send you flailing over the edge. Bolts of fiery pleasure crackled through your skin as your body smashed into a wall of pure ecstasy. Your mind shattered like glass and exploded into a billion tiny pieces. Vision fading to black, you shook violently as each surge of pleasure electrocuted your nervous system.

Your intense contractions were enough to send Bucciarati tumbling over the edge. He twitched, muscles tightening as your walls clenched around him. A loud moan escaped his throat as he spilled into you, filling you with his warmth. Thankfully, the zipper over his mouth caught most of the noise.

Bucciarati kept pumping until he released one final moan and crumpled to his knees, still inside of you. His hands trembled against your hips as you were hit with your final wave of pleasure. Your body lurched forward one last time and you collapsed onto the bed, gasping. You finally let go of his sheets when you put a hand to your forehead and pushed your hair back. Eyes darting across his ceiling, you tried to form a sentence. “Holy shit—“ you tried to choke out, forgetting that a zipper was still across your mouth.

His stand unzipped both of your mouths as Bucciarati sat panting on the floor. “Gesù Cristo cazzo,” he blurted in between pants, still stuck in a trance. He closed his eyes and threw his back against the cold floor, attempting to gather himself. You both laid there for a moment, reveling in bliss.

Having regained enough composure, he shakily stood up and pieced your body back together. You heard a low zzziiiip and suddenly became whole again. Bucciarati collapsed beside you onto the bed, chest facing up. He stared at you, face still bright red. You noticed that your hands were still numb.

“Gesù Cristo cazzo,” he repeated, letting out a deep exhale as his eyes dashed around, still trying to process what happened.

“Yeah, Gesù Cristo cazzo,” you replied. Your sex felt swollen and warm; elation radiated from your skin. Bucciarati put a hand on your shoulder and you turned to face him. His skin was still glistening with sweat. “Bucciarati, that was amazing,” you breathed. A smile stretched across his lips and he let out a warm laugh.

“You don’t have to call me Bucciarati anymore, don’t you think we’ve reached first-name status by now?” he chuckled. “I’m joking, you’ve always been welcome to call me Bruno.” He then lowered his voice a bit. “What happened earlier was… well, let’s just say that I was really enjoying myself.”

Bruno then ushered you towards him. “Come closer, cara mia,” he softly spoke. You cuddled up to him as he stretched his arm around you and sighed. “I’ve been so stressed lately—I really needed that. From the looks of it, you did too.” He paused and looked at you with a slight smirk. “This doesn’t have to be a one-time occurrence…”

“I-I’d love to do this again,” you shakily replied. A smile stretched across Bruno’s face.

“Well then… I look forward to all of our upcoming rendezvous,” he murmured, voice dripping with honey. “You never know, maybe I’ll come visit your room tonight… don’t jump when the wall starts to unzip itself.”

The scent of his cologne (how was it still on him?) tickled your nose as you leaned into him. You gazed up toward the ceiling in bliss and disbelief, watching as a little house spider crawled along the edge. It was so relieving knowing that you no longer needed to keep your feelings a secret. Bruno Bucciarati was finally yours.

—Epilogue—

Giorno and the gang stepped inside the house, having just arrived home from lunch.
Giorno’s head was swirling; he was dizzy from all the paperwork. He glanced down at the large pile of papers tucked in his arm and sighed. He felt pretty confident in the work he accomplished today, but as a young boss, there were a few things he still didn’t understand. He needed Bucciarati’s help.

SLAM—

The loud noise broke Giorno’s thoughts. He glanced up and saw Mista nonchalantly walking away from the door.

“I told you not to slam the door!” Giorno groaned.

“Sorry,” Mista shrugged. Giorno sighed again, what was the point of even saying anything if no one respected what he said?

Whatever. He walked alone to the kitchen, set his papers on the table, and poured himself a small glass of Moscato. Being the boss was pretty stressful, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Giorno sat down and began calmly sipping his wine. A few minutes passed as he basked in the quiet around him—except for the chattering coming from the gang in the next room—and channeled his swimming thoughts. He finished his glass and sighed: time to get back to work.

Gathering his papers in his hands, he walked up the stairs towards Bucciarati’s study door. He couldn’t wait to be done with this.

“Bucciarati?” Giorno called from outside the door, tapping on it with his knuckle. He waited in expectation of a response. Nothing came. He looked down and saw the take-out bag he had given you sitting on the floor. Huh, weird.

“Bucciarati?” Giorno repeated, tapping his knuckle a little louder. He waited a few more seconds—still nothing. Huh, Bucciarati wasn't there. He couldn’t complete his paperwork without Bucciarati’s help. Looking down at the pile of papers in his hand, he sighed in relief, thankful to have an excuse to take a break. I guess I’ll just leave these papers on his desk—we’ll go over this later.

The first thing Giorno noticed after stepping inside were the stacks and stacks of paper piled beside Bucciarati’s desk. He walked over and placed his pile of paper onto the very clean desktop. “I guess this’ll be the first thing he sees,” he remarked, unaware of anything out of the norm. After all, nothing looked suspicious aside from the take-out bag.

That was, until he laid his eyes on the pair of panties crumpled up on the floor.

“What the he—“ his forehead smacked into his palm and he let out a groan. “Gesù Cristo Bucciarati, you said you were staying back to work. Is this why you skipped out on lunch?” he hissed to an empty room. Giorno was more than a bit annoyed with Bucciarati for not mentioning that someone was coming over. Mista always gave Giorno a heads-up, and Bucciarati always respected household courtesies—why wouldn’t he say anything?

“Something’s odd, he’d definitely tell me if he had something planned… right?” Giorno muttered. “Unless… someone didn’t come over.” It didn’t take long for him to figure out exactly what happened after he suddenly realized that you went home early.

“Gesù Cristo, they fu—” he trailed off without finishing his words. Giorno’s brain froze as he wondered how the fuck he was going to handle this situation. He let out a frustrated groan. He really, really didn’t want to be involved in this. He didn’t even want to think about how Bucciarati and one of his teammates just—ugh.

He paced around for a second, pondering over what he should do. He was interrupted as a voice called out from downstairs. “Where’s Bucciarati?”

“HE’S RESTING,” Narancia yelled from the next floor up. Resting. Yeah, sure. Giorno knew what was going on. The fact that he hadn’t seen either of you since arriving home confirmed it. He knew he couldn’t say anything to anyone about this.

Giorno poked his head out of the doorway and shouted back to Narancia. “Then why are you yelling? Stay away from his door and let him rest!” He suddenly realized he was yelling too, but it obviously didn’t matter at this point, because Bucciarati wasn’t actually resting. Bucciarati just needed everyone to stay the fuck away from his door. How was Giorno supposed to handle this? He dreaded the upcoming conversation he was going to have with you two.

He closed his eyes again and sighed, deep in thought. After sitting on it for a few minutes, Giorno changed his mind: he was going to let this slide. Bucciarati had been very stressed out lately. Not only was he helping Giorno finish his work—he also had his own huge list of work to worry about. Did Bucciarati really need another thing on his already-full plate?

Giorno turned back to your underwear and let out another deep sigh. It would be really bad if someone else walked in here and saw your panties—the house would erupt into chaos. Great… This was his issue to deal with now. Thinking quickly, he came to the conclusion that the easiest way to dispose of your undergarments was to use his stand. He reached a hand down and let it hover right above your panties.

“Gold Experience,” he muttered, grimacing as his stand’s hand manifested and touched your underwear. Your panties rapidly transformed into a little house spider. This form was much better.

Giorno picked up the newly-transformed spider and placed it on the wall. “Go, find your owner,” he stammered, blushing a little. “Gesù Cristo Cazzo,” This was too much—he was done with this. Finally free, Giorno began walking over to Bucciarati’s door very briskly. He stepped out and quickly shut the door behind him. He was thankful no one else was around to see the flustered, bewildered expression on his face. He wondered if there were any stand users nearby that could erase this memory…

…

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Bruno explained to you. “We’re going to travel through the walls to your bedroom where I’ll drop you off to freshen up. I’ll head back to my study to finish up my work while you’ll head downstairs, making your presence known. I won’t leave my study for another hour-and-a-half or so.”

“Got it,” you replied. It was smart to stagger out the times at which you and Bruno would go downstairs. “Oh, by the way, there’s a take-out bag outside your door. It’s squid pasta. I bet you’re hungry.”

“I am, especially after that workout.” He smiled and hugged you a little closer. “But my food can wait. We don’t have to go quite yet… I want you for a few more minutes,” Bruno purred as he kissed your neck. You nuzzled into him and he warmly smiled.

“Oh, hang on,” he commented, looking at your shoulder. “There’s a spider on you, I’ll take care of it.”

Before he could move, the spider on your shoulder rapidly transformed into your underwear. Holy shit. You and Bruno stared at the pair of panties now draped across your shoulder, eyes wide in shock and horror. Giorno had caught you.