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Panacotta Fugo was confident in a lot of things about himself. He knew he was smart, he knew he was skilled. Buccirati often praised him for his diligence. He knew he was good looking, since he was often subjected to the longing stares from girls who’d only look away once he took notice. Occasionally he’d get attention from the odd man but he ignored those to the best of his ability.
Anyone older was out of the question, he’d gone home with more than his fair share of shredded knuckles if they didn’t take the hint right off the bat. If he was lucky, Mista would step in before that. A gun to the face was more than enough of a deterrent for most people.
But whenever he looked in the mirror, all he could think that he was unlovable at best and straight up loathsome at worst. Rotten to the core and just as toxic as his Stand. It was the reason the bathroom mirror was cracked and he’d thrown out the one that had been attached to his dresser. The less he was reminded of his actual nature, the better.
This was something that was immensely difficult to do when he got saddled with helping Narancia do his homework. Buccirati was too busy, Mista wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and Abbacchio straight up couldn’t be bothered, which left Fugo with the vexing task of trying to drill long division into Narancia’s especially thick skull.
Buccirati had effectively grounded him for failing his last test, and Fugo was utterly humiliated because it felt like all his effort had been in vain. He didn’t bother to hide his contempt during that evening’s tutoring session, despite Buccirati’s instruction to ‘play nice’.
“No, one-hundred and six divided by thirty four is not ninety three!” Fugo shouted as he threw the notebook back in Narancia’s face.
He barely managed to catch it before the impact and scowled back, “Look, I’m trying okay? Cut me some slack.”
“I’ll ‘cut you some slack’ when you actually do it right,” Fugo said hotly, jabbing his finger towards the paper, “It’s not rocket science.”
“It’s still hard.”
“It wouldn’t be hard if you actually put effort into it!” Fugo’s hands itched but there was a woeful lack of improvised weapons for him to use, otherwise he would have stabbed Narancia by now.
“Division sucks, Fugo! Can’t we take a break?” Narancia whined.
“It’s barely been half an hour,” Fugo said stiffly, this time stabbing his finger directly into the paper, “Do. It. Again.”
“Can I get something to drink?”
“No.”
“Oh c’mon! Now you’re just being a bully!”
“Finish the problem first.”
Narancia glared at him and threw the notebook down on the table with a slap. Fugo watched as he rewrote the problem on the lines below and then just stared at it, gripping his head with his free hand while his pencil was poised in the air over the page. He stayed like that for a rather long time and Fugo was coming dangerously close to yelling again.
Narancia started writing numbers in in the side margin, trying to divide them one at a time. Not how Fugo would have done it but at least he was trying.
“Fugo, is this one of those weird ones with decimals?” he asked, Fugo decided to humor him.
“Yes, if that helps.”
Narancia nodded and went back to the problem, seemingly now focused completely on it. Fugo picked up the textbook, occasionally glancing up to check on his ‘student’. Save for the occasional hum or pencil tapping, he was mercifully quiet. Fugo further amused himself by imagining he could smell the smoke emitting from Narancia’s head as he forced the gears in his brain to work.
After a little while, he became aware that Narancia had become suspiciously quiet. Usually he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, especially when they were squabbling about homework. That and Narancia had never been one to follow instructions-.
He very nearly dropped the textbook at the sound of a door being flung open with considerable force. Fugo wasn’t sure when or how Narancia had managed to slip away, but he knew he’d bolted through the kitchen and was most likely now sprinting down the alleyway on the side of the building.
Fugo hurled the book onto the floor with an astonishingly loud crack and took off in a full run to the front door.
“Narancia!” he roared once he was out on the street, startling several clueless passerbys who quickly went back to minding their own business after Fugo glowered at them. A flash of red out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he immediately took off towards it.
He vowed he was going to drag Narancia back by the hair and force him to do those problems until daybreak. There was no way in hell he was getting in trouble with Buccirati for the stupid shit Narancia did. Tragically, he was responsible for the dumbass and was screwed either way.
At the very least, Narancia would share the blame. That he would make sure of.
“Narancia! Get the hell back here or I’m going to melt your skin off!” he howled, not caring that people probably thought he was utterly insane.
He hoped he’d get some sort of taunting response, but Narancia wasn’t stupid enough to give away his location like that. Times like this he wished he had a Stand like Buccirati’s where he could just run straight through solid surfaces. Sure Purple Haze could easily punch through them too but Fugo wouldn’t be able to stop it once it started.
For now, he’d just have to rely on visuals and sound, if he got lucky. Again, Narancia wasn’t stupid, but he didn’t really understand the term subtly either.
A loud crash and a familiar yelp and Fugo was on it faster than a hound tracking a fox. He rounded a corner in time to spot a familiar orange blur stumbling away from some garbage cans he’d just knocked over. Fugo saved his breath and kept running.
Narancia’s small frame gave him a significant advantage when it came to speed and agility, so Fugo lost sight of him more than once, but the crippling fact he was a huge klutz significantly lowered his chances of completely escaping. He eagerly awaited the sight of Narancia tripping over his own feet and falling on his face.
Or Fugo would have, had he not crashed into a group of young men hanging out on a street corner. Fugo had accidentally knocked one of them over, but thankfully managed to keep his own balance.
“Yo, what the fuck?!” the man yelled.
“Sorry, excuse me.” Fugo said hastily, still very much fixated on going after Narancia, “I have to go-.”
Someone grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him back with enough force he almost fell on his ass.
“Oh no, you ain’t goin’ anywhere, blondie,” one of the men hissed, refusing to let go even when Fugo tried to twist away.
“You think you’re getting away with that?” the man on the ground asked as he got to his feet and dusted his pants off, “Fuckin’ brats these days, don’t have any respect for their elders.”
“I said I was sorry, jackass,” Fugo growled.
“See? No respect!” one of the other men added, the others all grumbled in agreement.
“I’m in a hurry, can you not-?”
“Oh, what, you don’t think we’re not?” the man asked. Fugo curled his lip in a snarl, but all that did was make the man smile.
“Tell you what kiddo. I bet you have some cash on ya, right? Give me your wallet so I can dry clean my suit before it gets ruined, since it’s, you know, your fault.”
Fugo didn’t reply to that.
“We’ll let you go with that as your apology, sound good?”
“Fuck off,” Fugo sneered, “I don’t think cash can fix those hurt feelings of yours.”
A fist connected with his face so hard he saw stars and he heard an audible crunch from his nose breaking. The man holding his shirt hurled him onto the ground and immediately kicked him in the stomach.
Fugo tasted a combination of blood and stomach bile, which he spat out onto the sidewalk, getting some on the shoes of one of the nearby thugs.
“Oh, fucking gross!” the man yelled, “You piece of shit!”
Fugo but back the urge to shout when someone kicked him in the ribcage. The pain stole the breath from his lungs, and even more when another kicked him in the tailbone.
His mind screamed at him to summon Purple Haze, to terrorize these bastards before they were turned into unrecognizable sludge. It was a horrendous idea, Fugo knew that, but he was at a severe disadvantage right now and would end up with more than broken bones and ruptured organs if he didn’t do something. He struggled to get up but got another kick to his gut for the trouble.
“C’mon! Just take his goddamn money!” one of the other men yelled, making a grab for Fugo’s hips near where his pockets were.
Abruptly, he wasn’t feeling pain anymore. What he was feeling was panic and terror, and he was suddenly a vulnerable, frightened child back in school. Desperate to please and completely at the mercy of adults who only wanted to exploit that.
He threw his elbow back and successfully hit his attacker in the face. Fugo scrambled away as soon as he was free, but he was frantic now, a panicked animal, and ultimately, he was torn now between fighting and running.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to do either, because the initial instigator was very suddenly tackled to the ground, face smashing onto the pavement.
An orange blur pounced on the nearest thug, again sending him sprawling before Narancia rolled to the side and sprang to his feet, switchblade in hand.
“Back the fuck off, assholes!” he snapped, swinging the blade wide, making all the men take a hasty step away, abandoning their fallen comrades.
“Man! Fuck you!” the guy on the ground (again) snarled.
“C’mon! Gettin’ shanked ain’t worth it!” another shouted before he and several others bolted down the street. At least two of them lagged behind, cursing them for being cowards the whole way.
“Hmph! Buncha chickens,” Narancia said smugly as he twirled the knife around before concealing the blade in the handle with a click and sticking it back in his pocket. He turned and looked at Fugo and all of his smugness was gone in a second and replaced with a sort of awkward guilt.
He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, “Um...I uh…”
“You’re going to explain this to Buccirati,” Fugo said before he took a hold of his nose and put in back in place with an agonizing crunch, more blood oozing over his split lip and chin.
Narancia whined quietly and flinched when Fugo glared at him sharply before limping away with Narancia in tow. He made sure to keep him in the peripheral of his good eye the entire walk back.
Buccirati was, in fact, waiting for them when they returned, or rather was looking around the general area of their usual restaurant holding the textbook Fugo had thrown on the floor.
He was both relieved and alarmed when he saw them, and probably was about to chastise them for fighting, but it was obvious based on Narancia’s lack of injury that whatever had happened, at the very least, didn’t involve him.
After ushering the two of them inside to a table in the back, Narancia quietly picked up his notebook and sat with his head down.
“Now then,” Buccirati said in that stern tone Mista joking referred to as his ‘mom voice’, “I want an explanation as to what happened. A full one. I did warn you two to behave.”
He dropped the textbook on the table then placed a tin of medical supplies on top of it.
Fugo clenched his jaw, teeth aching from the pressure. He went to answer but a spasm of pain interrupted his attempt, accompanied by a mouthful of bile.
“I-it was my fault, Buccirati, don’t be mad at Fugo,” Narancia said quietly, and Fugo was relatively certain he hadn’t heard him sound that thoroughly guilty in a long time, “I...um...ran away…”
“Yes?” Buccirati said, crossing his arms, “I’m going to assume that played some part in why Fugo looks like he got hit by a car?”
“It was a bunch of street thugs,” Fugo explained as he stiffly undid the buttons on his jacket, “With shitty tempers.”
Not that I have any place to talk, Fugo thought with a grimace as he examined the honestly spectacular purpling bruise that was covering a significant portion of his right side. A quick, gentle examination told him at least two of his ribs were cracked, but not broken.
Still hurt like hell though.
Buccirati sighed heavily and shook his head, “I have an extremely hard time believing Narancia wasn’t involved somehow but I’ll take Fugo’s word for it.”
Narancia was picking guiltily at a stray thread on the tablecloth, but didn’t say anything.
“In that regard, I want you to go home for tonight,” Buccirati said icily to Narancia.
“What about Fugo?” he asked.
“He’ll stay here, he and I need to have a talk.”
Fugo winced. He wasn’t going to argue, especially not given his current physical state. After a very long minute, Narancia gave him an apologetic look, collected his things, and hastily made his exit.
He braced himself to get chewed out but instead Buccirati pulled one of the chairs closer and opened the first aid tin.
“Are you alright?” he asked, pulling out a roll of heavy gauze.
“Y-yeah, still pretty pissed but…” he swallowed, pain throbbing in his side, “Look, about what happened…”
“I’m more than willing to accept that Narancia was at fault, but did you really need to pick a fight with some random thugs?”
“They started it.”
Buccirati regarded him with an expression that was simultaneously amused and skeptic, “Fugo, I know you. Something happened to rile them up.”
“Okay, I might have accidentally run into one of them. I apologized and tried to leave but they wouldn’t let me.”
“Then what?”
Fugo occasionally resented how perceptive Buccirati could be.
“I might have asked if I hurt his feelings.”
Buccirati sighed before pressing a square of cloth covered in some anti-bacteria against the cut next to his puffy, bruised eye.
“Sorry.”
“Oh, don’t apologize to me. I promise you didn’t hurt my feelings.”
Fugo had to chuckle, which quickly turned into a pain whine from more pain in his chest.
“Don’t tell me you actually want to go find those guys and apologize?”
“Of course not. It would probably just result in a fight worse than the last one.”
And Purple Haze, no doubt, Fugo thought.
“You’re right.”
Buccirati smiled, “Would you lift your arm up for me? As far as you can without hurting yourself.”
Fugo did as instructed and let him wrap the thick strips of cause swiftly around his torso to keep his cracked ribs in place. Well, he knew he wouldn’t be wearing his usual garb for a while. He still had his vanity and didn’t feel like showing off his bruises. It wasn’t like he considered them trophies of a triumphant battle, after all.
His mind flashed back suddenly to the one he’d elbowed in the face when he’d attempted to manhandle him. His stomach clenched and he felt nauseous again.
“There was...a-actually there was…” he bit his lip.
Buccirati raised an eyebrow and waited. The fact he didn’t say anything got the better of Fugo’s nerves.
“N-nevermind, forget it. It was just part of the scuffle. I’m overthinking things.”
He could tell Buccirati didn’t buy his story completely, but didn’t seem inclined to press the issue. Perhaps because it was so late and Fugo both felt and looked like shit.
“You should go home too and get some rest,” Buccirati instructed, “I don’t need you making those injuries worse, understood?”
Hopefully that means I’ll be rid of Narancia for a few days, Fugo mused.
He nodded. There was no point in arguing and he knew better than to disobey his leader’s instructions.
“That and…” Buccirati sighed again, pressing his fingertips against his forehead, “I’m going to assume that Narancia didn’t actually get his homework done before this whole thing happened?”
“You’d assume correctly.”
“Wonderful. Simply wonderful.”
Fugo spent the next week or so in the relative safety of his apartment, content with what groceries he had and to be able to sleep through most of the day, allowing his body proper time to heal.
Mista stopped by with a ‘get-well-soon’ pizza, which Fugo was thankful for until he and the Pistols started fighting over the last slice (Fugo swiped it out from under their noses while they were arguing, much to their dismay). He got the odd call from Buccirati but other than that, he was able to unwind and tend to his small collection of bright and highly poisonous flowers adorning his window sil.
One evening, he’d been in the middle of reading a particularly drab article in a junk gossip magazine when he heard a knock at the door. He didn’t answer, nor did he intend to until he heard a familiar voice call his name.
“Fugo? Are you awake?”
It took a tremendous amount of effort for him not to scream. Instead, he hurled the magazine on the table, got up and stormed over to the door. He was not gentle when he opened it.
“Don’t you have homework you should be doing?”
Narancia grimaced and held his notebook and textbook closer to his chest, “Y-yeah…”
“Didn’t Buccirati tell you to leave me alone?”
“Not really,” he admitted, “I mean, sorta, but I figured you’d want to be left alone anyway...b-but I need help. Seriously.”
Fugo just continued to glare at him, so Narancia got desperate.
“Look, I asked Mista and he has a worse attention span than I do! Abbacchio just told me to get lost! Please! You’re my only hope at this point!”
His eyes lit up and he pointed to his notebook, “Look! I got the problem from yesterday right!”
He presented the notebook proudly for Fugo to examine and he was honestly surprised to see he’d gotten six of the ten problems right, his mess of scratchwork filling the margins.
“Good to see you can actually do something when you apply yourself,” he said dryly.
“Fugo, c’mon…” Narancia groaned.
“What do you need help with, exactly?”
“I just need to finish the other problems and get them right. I’ll be out of your hair then, I promise!”
“What did Buccirati threaten you with?”
“N-nothing! Er...well…” Narancia pressed his index fingers together, fidgeting in an almost innocent fashion, “My school’s having a fair, and I really wanna go, but if I fail my next test, I’ll be pushing papers instead.”
Fugo exhaled heavily, “That’s it? Pass the test and you’re good?”
He nodded enthusiastically, “I promise I’ll behave! I-I’ll follow your instructions to the letter...or well, number I guess.”
Fugo closed his eyes, counted to ten and gave in.
“Fine, but you’d better behave,” he said as he handed the notebook back.
Narancia beamed and bounded into Fugo’s apartment. Fugo just made a vaguely disgruntled noise before shutting and locking the door.
Before he could protest, Narancia settled on the couch, spreading his things out on the worn coffee table. Fugo decided he needed some kind of disciplinary tool and went over to one of the drawers in his tiny kitchen area. A fork was tempting, but he didn’t feel like ruining his only good silverware. A metal ruler caught his eye, it was weighty, the kind you’d use in construction. Perfectly ironic and strangely appropriate. Narancia didn’t notice when Fugo joined him on the sofa.
“Okay! So I think I came real close with this one…” he said confidently, pointing to one of the incorrect problems. Fugo listened as he laid out his methodology and only stopped him when he hit a point he knew was incorrect. Fugo was pleased he’d gotten relatively far, and expressed as much to keep Narancia from pitching a fit. Thankfully he listened intently to Fugo’s instructions and managed to correctly solve the rest of the problem.
Only three more to go…
It became obvious, however, the longer they lingered on a problem, the more argumentative Narancia became, even after Fugo agreed they take breaks.
“Look, see?! This doesn’t round up right!”
“That’s because you’re not supposed to round up, idiot!”
Narancia scowled and pointed his pencil to the paper, “I can’t add this without changing the number!”
“You- that’s not-!” Fugo groaned, “No. No, you are doing it completely wrong.”
Naranica made a grab for the textbook Fugo was holding, “It says so in there-!”
“No, it does not!”
Narancia lunged at him and bodily slammed him into the arm of the couch, reaching for the book and forcing Fugo to stretch his arm further away.
“Quit being a brat!” Fugo snarled, attempting to knee his would-be attacker in the stomach.
“I told you-!” Narancia ignored Fugo’s efforts, “I know what I’m doing! Give me my textbook!”
“I thought you said you were going to behave?!”
“Well, you’re the one who started this!”
That was it.
Fugo dropped the book and shoved himself forward, catching Narancia off guard. It was easy enough to grab a fistful of his hopelessly messy black hair and slam him into the floor in a kneeling position bent over the coffee table.
“H-hey! What the fuck-?!” he squawked, trying to pull away until Fugo crushed his elbow into his back right under his neck.
“If you’re going to act like a brat, you’re going to get punished like one,” Fugo growled, grabbing the heretofore forgotten ruler from the sofa, which had been carefully hidden under his thigh.
Narancia was visibly confused until he saw the ruler and began to thrash about harder, which only frustrated Fugo more.
Reflexively he swung the ruler down, snapping it across Narancia’s lower back. Not where he was aiming, but Narancia’s squirming made that difficult. He yelped in pain and surprise and tried his best to push off the table, but Fugo instead opted to use most of his upper body weight to pin him down. Narancia’s small frame was working against him here.
“F-Fugo I-I’m s-” he squeaked out before it turned into another yelp as Fugo finally landed a solid blow to his buttocks. Then another, and another, across his upper thighs too. It wouldn’t bruise but it would certainly leave welts and make it uncomfortable to sit for a while.
Narancia at this point had been reduced to whimpers and small noises that sounded vaguely like Fugo’s name. He was winded when he stopped, hands trembling from anger. The ruler hit the floor with a clatter as Fugo lifted his weight off Narancia’s back.
He expected immediate retaliation, but Narancia didn’t move. He was quivering, and Fugo easily could have believed he was crying had he not noticed the tips of his ears were bright red, his knuckles white from clutching the table and his thighs pressed tightly together.
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.” Fugo groaned, but he also couldn’t deny how flushed he felt and that his hands were still shaking.
“I-I can’t help it,” Naranica said quietly, “I-it’s your fault again.”
Fugo want to grab Narancia by the back of his shirt, outraged by the comment, but was startled when instead Narancia recovered and tackled him to the floor, just barely catching himself on the edge of the sofa.
It took him way too long to process what exactly was going on. For starters, he was way too hot, and he was positive he could feel the pressure of an erection pressing into his thigh.
Fugo inhaled sharply, distracted by Narancia’s pink face, and how vividly blue his eyes were up close.
I started this.
He grabbed Narancia by the shirt and dragged him forward to roughly kiss him. Narancia was clearly surprised, Fugo felt him tense up as such, but he didn’t fight back.
He was so hot, he wanted to slam Narancia into the floor, part of him wanted to punish him even more, maybe tie him up? Hit him again? It was so tempting-.
Fugo managed somehow to shove the table out of the way and roll over to pin Narancia under him. He became more forceful, biting at his lip, hands grabbing at his hips.
This is normal. Teenagers do this all the time, right? Normal, normal, normal, norm-.
Something clicked in Fugo’s brain in that instant, any arousal or enjoyment gone in an instant.
No! No! No! I shouldn’t want to hurt him! It’s not normal! Not like this!
“Uh, Fugo?”
He jerked and looked down at a visibly confused Narancia, his hands knotted in Fugo’s shirt. He didn’t seem...disturbed? He wasn’t fighting back. He should have been.
After Fugo forced himself on him.
Just like that monster back in school…
“G-get away from me…” Fugo hissed, scrambling off Narancia like he’d just been spat in the face. He kept backing away, even though all Narancia had done was sit up.
“Fugo? What…?” he was more confused now, “What happened? What’s wrong?”
Why isn’t he offended?! Why doesn’t he hate me?! Fugo screamed in his head, I attacked him! I should have stopped! I took advantage of him!
“I said get away from me,” he repeated, drawing himself into a ball now that he’d all but backed himself into the wall halfway across the room. He tightened his muscles to hide the fact he’d started shaking and tried to focus on the ache from his still healing injuries.
“Fugo, I-I’m sorry,” Narancia begged, “I’m sorry, what...I don’t understand what I did?”
“What part of ‘get away from me’ are you having a hard time understanding?” Fugo snarled, watching Narancia warily since he’d gotten up on his knees, “We’re done. Take your homework and get out.”
“Fugo, seriously! I’m really, really sorry!” he was flummoxed, now and fumbled to grab his discarded notebook, “You’re right! I-I was wrong a-and I’m s-sorry-!”
“Stop being sorry!” Fugo all but screamed, making Narancia flinch, “Stop talking, just get out!”
“Fugo what the fuck-?”
“Get the fuck out of my apartment!”
The addition of a new noise brought his rage to a screeching halt. A familiar noise, awful, strangled, wet gurgling and the slosh of some viscous fluid oozing onto the floor with a dull splat.
Fugo slowly turned around despite knowing full well what that sound was. Purple Haze had manifested in the doorway to his bedroom, twitching, drooling, letting out those wheezing moans as its toxic miasma began to fill the room.
“What the f-!” Narnacia had gone white as a sheet and frantically scrambled to his feet.
“No wait-!” Fugo started, but it was too late. Narancia had clearly advertised himself as the cause of Fugo’s distress. Or, at least, that’s how Fugo knew his Stand was going to react regardless of whether Narancia was friend or foe.
Narancia bolted to the door, nearly tripping over the displaced coffee table in the process. Purple Haze shambled after him in that weird, creepy, twitchy way, even more fog filling the room. Fugo would be fine but Narancia…
No, even his Stand would melt in this air. He didn’t stand a chance.
Purple Haze wasn’t going to listen to him, it never did, not once its rampage began. It crashed straight through the couch, fabric and springs reduced to melted good accompanied by an awful burning chemical smell. Good thing Fugo didn’t pay full price for that…
Narancia was just barely at the door, all but clawing the lock open and yanking it open towards him, but it caught on the chain.
Fugo finally managed to get his legs working again in time to lunge forward and shove the coffee table into Purple Haze’s path. His Stand tripped over it, a turn of evens that might have been considered comedic were it not actively trying to kill one of his friends.
Pain laced hot up his front courtesy of the extremely ungraceful landing on its face.
Thankfully, by then Narancia had undone the deadbolt and fled, slamming the door behind him.
Purple Haze was wheezing angrily as it got up before letting out an ear piercing shriek and grabbing the cracked coffee table, smashing it on the floor into pieces.
Fugo couldn’t even bring himself to be angry as it turned its attention on any piece of furniture within reach. He took this chance to crawl away from the impeding tantrum, especially when his Stand tore into his dining room table and chairs.
For his own safety, he opted instead to drag a sheet and pillow off the bed and hide under it while his Stand continued to trash the living area of his apartment.
He was still trembling, anxious, and feeling utterly disgusted with himself. What was wrong with him? And why didn’t Narancia attack him for it? He did every other time they fought…
Fugo bundled himself tightly in the sheet, listening to his Stand crashing about. It would wear itself out eventually.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he scrubbed them away. He’d taken advantage of his friend, he’d hurt him, and worse he’d liked it. He felt humiliated.
Buccirati was going to kill him once he found out, and he inevitably would. Narancia wasn’t one to keep something as serious as Fugo’s Stand attacking him a secret.
He laid there under the bed trying to make himself as small as possible. Thankfully after a few minutes, the crashing ceased, the miasma dissipated and the wheezing quieted and a heavy fatigue set into his bones. Hopefully no one was going to call the cops, he had zero idea how he was going to explain the sheer amount of destruction Purple Haze had caused.
He forced himself to think about that as he drifted off into an extremely uneasy sleep.
Fugo stayed in bed for the next two days, save for the few times he got up to try and clean the mess his Stand had left behind. Sometimes he slept, sometimes he didn’t. Primarily he was just being miserable...and trying to come up with a reasonable excuse as to why it was trashed.
He blamed himself mostly, that he’d lost his temper (which, considering the nature of Stands, wasn’t entirely untrue) and would get around to cleaning it up and would absolutely pay for any damages. It would, at the very least, get everyone off his back for the time being.
On the morning of the third day and after a particularly restless night, he heard a series of knocks on the door. He ignored them, but the individual was persistent and kept knocking in intervals about four times before it stopped. Fugo was sure whoever it was had given up until he heard a familiar series of noises followed by the very loud sound of an unreasonably large zipper being opened.
Fugo made a point to let out an embarrassingly loud and irritated groan before rolling over and shoving his face into the pillow.
“I know you’re awake, Fugo. Get out here, please.”
The request was almost unnervingly polite and it made Fugo’s stomach flip.
Yep, I’m gonna die.
Not especially caring he wasn’t exactly socially presentable, he climbed out of bed and shuffled over to the door, trying to comb his fingers through his matted and unwashed hair.
Buccirati was standing in the empty void that had been his living room, looking at what Fugo had yet to clean and the trash bags from what he had.
“What on earth happened?”
“Narancia didn’t tell you?” Fugo asked, leaning against his now empty window sil since Purple Haze had destroyed his flower collection.
“He said you got upset,” Buccirati replied, turning to look at Fugo finally with a raised eyebrow, “Very upset.”
Fugo dug his nails into his arm and focused on the floor, “B-Buccirati, I...look…”
“Fugo,” Buccirati interrupted gently, “I’m not here because I’m angry.”
“Why not?” Fugo blurted out, “Narancia told you what happened? He did, right? Everything?”
“He shouldn’t have come over here,” Buccirati shook his head, “I am sorry for that, I was hoping he’d have the sense to give you some space.”
“B-but…” Fugo bit his lip, “But I-.”
“I will say that, ah,” Buccirati cleared his throat, “”Perhaps swatting him with a ruler wasn’t quite the most tactful approach.”
Fugo flushed and buried his face in his hands, “Oh my god…”
Just kill me please. End my suffering.
“What else did Narancia tell you?” he asked weakly, voice muffled into his palms.
“I had to weasel it out of him because I knew he wasn’t telling me the whole truth. His story about you becoming so angry your Stand manifested didn’t add up with the details he gave me.”
Fugo whimpered, “B-Buccirati…”
“What happened, Fugo? Tell me.”
There was a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder as Buccirati joined him by the window. His face had reddened considerably and he was struggling to look him in the eye.
He knows. He thinks I’m a monster, he just wants me to hang myself.
“I-I don’t know...I lost my temper and…” he dug his fingers into his temple, “I don’t know.”
He chewed on his lip. Buccirati didn’t say anything, just gave Fugo’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and waited patiently for him to pull himself together.
“What did Narancia say?” he asked nervously, “B-because I didn’t mean- I didn’t want-.”
“Fugo, I’m asking you what happened.”
Building shame made Fugo feel sick, especially since he was in front of his leader and the man who could easily ax his position in the right circumstances...or the wrong ones, in this case. He was trembling again and had broken out in a cold sweat.
“Fugo?”
“I-I forced myself on him,” his voice cracked as he grabbed his head and sank his nails into his scalp, “There, I said it! I’m a freak, okay?! Just dismember me now so I don’t have to think about it anymore!”
“Really? Narancia said he was the one who tried to start it.”
Fugo’s head shot up so fast he almost made himself dizzy, “He said what?!”
Buccirati was obviously concerned by Fugo’s reaction, “Did you really think he was going to say that you attacked him?”
“Yes! That he’d tell you I tried to ra-,” Fugo cut himself off with a choked noise, “J-just tell him I said I’m sorry, okay?”
“He wasn’t...he didn’t say anything about that. He was mostly puzzled about why you reacted in such an extreme manner.”
Fugo was still extremely confused, “B-but…”
Buccirati sighed and gave Fugo a gentle pat on the back, “Things...happen in the heat of the moment, Fugo. Not all of them are bad. Like I said, Narancia was worried, not angry.”
Fugo started chewing on his lip and then started biting at his nails, a nervous habit from his youth.
“I just...I don’t want him to think...I’m not…”
“I know what you’re thinking, but I want you to understand, Fugo that you’re not the man who assaulted you in your old school,” Buccirati said firmly, but kindly, “You never have been.”
Fugo bit down so hard he drew blood.
“But I liked the idea of hurting him...I guess.”
Buccirati shrugged, “Lots of people enjoy getting slapped or spanked during sex, it’s nothing abnormal.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Not me personally, I just think Abbacchio needs a good beating once in a while when he gets especially pouty.”
Fugo choked, Buccirati laughed.
“So...he really wasn’t upset about that?”
“Not at all, although he was a bit flustered when I pressed the matter.”
“I’m uh…” he licked the blood off his now throbbing finger, “Yeah, I guess I...you know, freaked out...cause’ it felt like...that.”
“And Narancia doesn’t know?”
Fugo shook his head vehemently. The last thing he needed was pity or egg-shell walking from his friends about something that happened in the past. Buccirati knew, of course, and Abbacchio only knew because he walked in on their conversation by accident. They’d respected his wishes to keep it amongst themselves, now however it was an unavoidable subject.
“I can’t force you to do anything, but I do think you should at least partly explain your reasons. As I said, he was quite worried.”
Fugo nodded slowly, “Y-yeah, you’re right.”
He let out a breath to try and relax, but he was still on the fence about whether he’d overreacted or not.
Well...okay, Purple Haze appearing definitely marked it as an overreaction. And, of course, virtually all of his living room furniture (his television had been spared somehow) had been destroyed in the process. Guess he’d been sitting on egg crates for a while…
Buccirati smiled and stood up, pausing to place a plastic bag on the counter that Fugo hadn’t noticed before.
“What’s that?” he asked curiously.
“Something I hope makes you feel better,” Buccirati replied, and Fugo could have sworn he winked but maybe he was imagining things, “Don’t make Narancia wait too much longer. You’ll just make him more anxious.”
He unlocked the door instead of just going straight through it like last time, “And do try to figure out what to do about this mess. It’s rather depressing seeing it so empty.”
He shut the door with a soft click and Fugo listened to his footsteps fade down the hall before getting up to examine the contents of the bag.
Initially he wasn’t sure what it was; a box and a glass bottle, which he pulled out first. As soon as he saw the label, his face went red and he very nearly dropped it as he fumbled to pull out the accompanying box.
“D-damn you, Buccirati!”
Fugo wanted to bolt. For starters, it was pouring and his rain poncho was already drenched, and two he was so nervous he wanted to vomit.
Sure Buccirati’s words had been gentle and reassuring but to Fugo, that still didn’t change what happened.
After a series of heavy sighs, and a thought to throw the bag of ‘supplies’ in the dumpster, he finally summoned the nerve to go into the building and press the buzzer to Narancia’s apartment.
When he didn’t get a response right away, he tried again and heard the click of it being answered.
“Whatever you’re sellin’, I don’t want it.”
“It’s Fugo, can I come in.”
“Oh. O-oh shit! Sorry! Yeah, hang on.”
Another buzz, louder this time, and another click followed allowing Fugo to enter the grungy main hall. He immediately went upstairs to flat 3C, all the way at the end of the hall tucked into a corner. He didn’t have to knock, the door opened as soon as he was on the landing.
Narancia didn’t look any different, just that he was wearing a loose faded t-shirt and shorts instead of his usual get-up. It made Fugo feel overdressed.
His eyes widened, “Holy shit, you didn’t walk here did you?”
Fugo shrugged, “Bus drove off without me, I didn’t want to wait.”
“Geeze, and Buccirati says I have no patience. Come on, let me get you a towel so you don’t ruin my rug.”
Fugo smiled wryly at the comment and entered Narancia’s very small, very modest apartment.
Most of his furniture was junk he’d salvaged from the trash but he was most proud of the oriental rug he’d saved from a dumpster. It was probably fake but he’d spent three days cleaning it and it was arguably the only thing of actual color in the living room, barring some posters for music artists he’d pulled out of magazines on the walls.
Fugo peeled himself out of the rain poncho and hung it on one of the hooks by the door before pulling off his soaked shoes.
“Here,” Narancia tossed a threadbare towel at him with some cheesy floral embroidery on the hem. Fugo opted not to comment as he patted his hair dry.
“Um...sooooo…” Narancia started as he flopped down on a beanbag near his radio, “I guess...Buccirati talked to you?”
“Yeah, the other day,” Fugo said, draping the towel around his neck, “I’m...sorry about Purple Haze.”
“You gonna tell me what that was about?” Narancia asked, “Granted I don’t think I deserved to get spanked but I definitely don’t think I deserved, you know…” he gestured vaguely, “That.”
Fugo counted to ten backwards and let out an annoyed sigh, “It’s complicated.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t sound like an asshole.”
“Look, I just want to understand why you flipped out. Like, is it because I’m a dude, is that it?”
Fugo jolted like he’d been shocked, “E-excuse me?”
“Like, I don’t have an issue with that...but you seemed pretty into it too, so-.”
“That’s not it, dumbass!” Fugo snapped, very nearly dropping the bag he had forgotten he was carrying.
Rather than being angry at Fugo’s response, Narancia just seemed rather taken aback.
“Oh. I just thought...sorry, I thought that was it.”
Fugo went to chew on his fingers again but he’d covered what damage he’d done already with bandages. So much for that coping mechanism.
“I told you, it’s complicated,” Fugo said, trying to keep his voice even as he sat down in the folding chair adjacent to where Narancia was.
“Okay? Can you like, uncomplicate it?”
Fugo wanted to smack him, “It’s not that easy, and I don’t...I don’t like to talk about it. With anyone okay?”
Narancia scowled, “I thought you were going to be honest with me.”
“I am, I’m telling you it’s not-.”
“Just answer my question then, why did you freak out like that? You looked like I was gonna threaten to shank you or something.”
Fugo swallowed, chest tightening at the memory. This was a bad idea, it didn’t matter what Buccirati said. He couldn’t tell Narancia. He couldn’t. He couldn’t...he-.
“Fugo?” Narancia’s voice gave him a start. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed him inching closer on the edge of the beanbag. Or best he could anyway.
“If it’s not because I’m a dude then...what? Do you just...not like sex?” he paused, “Or...well, kissing I guess.”
“It’s…” Fugo trailed off with a sigh, knowing Narancia would get annoyed if he said ‘complicated’ again.
“That’s not really...it, exactly,” he struggled to put together an explanation that wasn’t completely dodging the point.
“You told Buccirati you didn’t feel like I was...being a creep, right?”
“The spanking was a bit...much, but like...I made the move on you as payback, kinda. And you know…” Narancia gave him a semi-awkward, half-shrug, cheeks turning pink, “You are...I do think you’re kinda cute.”
“Cute? Seriously?”
“What, would you prefer I say you’re ugly?”
Fugo had to laugh, “No, you’re right. Sorry.”
“But that wasn’t what freaked you out, was it?”
Fugo knotted his fingers together, “No, it was...after that.”
“When you tried to take the wheel?”
“Yes.”
“But why though?”
Fugo bit his lip, “Because...I thought you’d think I was taking advantage of the situation.”
Narancia blinked, “Dude. If I thought that, I would’ve given you a black eye worse than the one you got from those assholes last week.”
“I...well…”
“Look, I was...okay, this is gonna sound weird but I was super into it. Like, it felt good. Like, really good. And you know, I thought…”
Fugo put his head in his hands.
“I don’t think you did anything wrong-.”
“That’s not the point!” Fugo burst out suddenly, “I told you! I felt like I was a freak! A pr-pred…”
A predator.
Fugo swallowed back tears of embarrassment and bit his knuckles. Narancia sat there dumbly, mouth hanging open the tiniest bit. Fugo wished both that he’d say something and that he would keep his mouth shut.
“Fugo what...why?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Narancia opened his mouth but seemed to think better of what he was about to say, so he shook his head.
“Fugo I don’t think that at all...and I really don’t think you should either,” he said gently, “Like I said...I was having fun.”
He was blushing again and sheepishly scratching the back of his head.
“I-I hadn’t been with anyone before and was kinda excited. Or...okay, I came close with a girl in school but I chickened out at the last minute,” Narancia laughed, “Man did she give me shit afterwards.”
Fugo, despite his current mood, had to laugh too.
“Let me guess, she swore she wasn’t going to talk to you again?”
“Eh, sorta. I didn’t see her until the day after cause’ she was under the bleachers when I left, but she slapped me when she saw me and said basically that,” Narancia grinned, “Mista told me she probably wasn’t worth it.”
“He’s probably right,” Fugo felt a bit more relaxed now. It felt weird that Narancia was being so open but he was glad for it.
Narancia was trying to put him at ease about it...and that was okay. It was okay.
“Ooh, and don’t tell anyone cause’ this is probably just a rumor, buuut…” he leaned forward, “I heard one of the students was hooking up with a teacher, crazy huh?”
Fugo went stiff and he physically felt all the color drain from his face. This change must have been noticeable because Narancia seemed puzzled now.
“Fugo? You okay?” Narancia asked, “It’s...just a rumor, I never saw-.”
“No one ever does,” he blurted out harshly.
Narancia’s eyes widened. Initially Fugo thought it was because of his tone of voice, but he realized too late he’d said too much.
“Oh. Oh, Fugo…”
Shit. He hadn’t meant to bring it up, he hadn’t meant that at all, Narancia didn’t need to know-.
There were arms suddenly wrapped around him and it brought him back to earth with a bump.
“I’m sorry, Fugo. I didn’t mean...why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Buccirati knows, and my parents know of course, but they don’t care. It’s my issue, I don’t like to advertise it.”
“Don’t you trust me? Or Mista?”
“Of course I do, but I didn’t exactly want to talk casually about it,” Fugo replied, annoyed.
“I...okay, that makes sense. But you aren’t, you know-.”
“A pederast? A rapist?” Fugo answered curtly, Narancia grimaced.
“No! Besides, you’re a year younger than me,” Narancia stopped, “Doesn’t that make me the creep?”
“Oh my god, shut up,” Fugo cuffed him on the side of the head.
“Sorry,” Narancia gave him a small smile, “You aren’t any of those things, Fugo. You’re just...you. The guy that stabs me in the face with a fork when we’re doing my homework.”
“I really don’t think those two correlate.”
“You know…” Narancia gestured vaguely again, “You aren’t doing it to get off, you know.”
“That’s...true, I guess.”
Fugo tried to forget about the ruler incident.
“So, quit thinking I hate you,” Narancia poked him in the chest, “Save that for the homework.”
Fugo looked up and smiled, “Okay, fair.”
Narancia bit his lip and fidgeted with the collar of Fugo’s jacket, “Is it okay if I kiss you again?”
“Sure.”
Narancia immediately lit up and practically lunged forward until Fugo caught him by the arms.
“Gently.”
Narancia flushed, “Sorry.”
He settled on Fugo’s lap before he could protest and pulled him into a light, awkward and surprisingly shy kiss. Fugo pressed back, trying not to seem too forceful again. Narancia tasted sweet, sugary, what had he been eating earlier?
“Sorry, I taste like what?”
Fugo realized he’d accidentally said that out loud during a lull in the kiss. His face reddened.
“Sugar.”
“Oh,” Narancia pressed his fingers against his lips, “I had a pastry earlier?”
“I-I didn’t say it wasn’t a bad thing.”
“Okay weirdo,” Narancia kissed him again, “By the way, what’s in the bag?”
Fugo’s brain short circuited and his mouth fell open. For whatever reason, Narancia seemed to take that as an okay for him to grab said bag to examine the contents himself.
His eyes widened, “O-oh...I didn’t expect-.”
“Buccirati gave it to me.”
Narancia snorted then burst out laughing.
“I-I swear I didn’t ask.”
“I believe you, that sounds like him though.”
He pulled out the bottle of lube and examined it, “Sooo...did you bring these as gifts cause you didn’t want them or…?”
“J-just in case, pretty sure that’s why he gave them to me,” Fugo swallowed thickly, “Unless you don’t want too…”
Narancia blinked in surprise, “Fugo…”
“I want to finish what you- what we started...minus the ruler.”
The response was an enthusiastic nod before he slid off Fugo’s lap and took his hand, “Y-yeah! Totally! I-I mean...we don’t have to go super fast, if you don’t want too.”
Fugo nodded shyly and got to his feet, letting Narancia guide him into his very modest bedroom before shutting off the overhead light in the living area.
There wasn’t really a bed, just a messy mattress on the floor and a small electric lamp next to it. Narancia flopped down on the bed and pulled Fugo down after him.
“Please tell me you didn’t pull this out of a dumpster too.”
“Of course not, I’m not that gross,” Narancia pouted, “I just haven’t found a bedframe yet.”
“You could ask Buccirati, you know.”
“Nah, this is cool with me, so long as I’m not sleeping on the floor.”
Fugo sighed in exasperation, “Fine, fine.”
“So, um...hey, if I do something uncool you’ll let me know?” Narancia asked, voice seriously, “I don’t want Purple Haze wrecking my apartment too.”
“Yeah, I promise.”
“You mean it?”
“I said I promise, idiot.”
“Awesome,” he grinned and put both his hands on Fugo’s thighs so he could lean up and kiss him with a bit more enthusiasm. Fugo could feel his fingers through the holes in his odd clothing against his chilled skin. He hesitated before touching Narancia’s arm, sliding his hand up his bicep so it was slightly under the baggy sleeve of his shirt.
When Narancia pulled away, Fugo thought for a panicked minute he’d done something wrong, but Narancia gave him a reassuring smile and instead pulled his shirt off instead. Fugo was taken aback by how readily he’d done it.
“You can touch me, Fugo. It’s okay,” he smiled. Fugo undid his tie and pulled his jacket off so they were even, for now.
Fugo moved before Narancia did, gently stroking his palm down one of his sides, feeling ribs and warm skin and a few old white scars from past scuffles.
Narancia twitched and Fugo almost flinched away until he grabbed his wrist.
“It’s okay, it just tickles.”
“Oh? Is that so?” Fugo grinned wickedly.
Narancia briefly looked puzzled, then he became flustered, “No, don’t you d-.”
Fugo pounced on him, digging his fingers into the soft skin of his sides as they tumbled onto the mattress together. Narancia laughed, struggling to half-hardheadedly push Fugo off. He accidentally kneed Fugo in the hip when he tried to squirm away. Fugo moved his hands to the dip in his hips, making Narancia choke.
“O-oh my god, you’re the worst!” he wheezed with laughter. Fugo smiled and lightly brushed his lips over the skin of his stomach, making Narancia gasp.
Fugo enjoyed the reaction and continued to lightly mouth his way up to his sternum, feeling the pressure of his ribcage and beating heart. Narancia gently pushed his fingers through Fugo’s still damp hair, then slid his hands down Fugo’s neck to rest on his shoulders. He wasn’t pushing him away and Fugo enjoyed his touch, he enjoyed the feeling of skin on skin, old scars and all.
“F-Fugo, s-stop tickling me!” he panted, giving his shoulders a gentle push, “I can’t breathe.”
Fugo pushed himself up and was taken aback by how Narancia looked; flushed, hair mussed, and then there was the fact he had somehow ended up between his legs.
Too fast? No...no, they’d just ended up like this, that was okay.
“Hey Fugo?” Narancia sat up on his elbows, “Would it be okay if I touch you too?”
Fugo sighed and sat back on his heels, closing his eyes to try and center himself.
“Fugo? If you don’t want me to-.”
“No, it’s okay. I just...I haven’t let anyone touch me like this before.”
“Oooh, so it’s your first time?”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Chill,” Narancia re-positioned himself so he was kneeling in front of Fugo before reaching out and lighting brushing his fingertips over a pert nipple. Fugo jolted in surprise and sucked in a breath.
Narancia waited, fingers on Fugo’s chest. Fugo gave him a nod to continue.
He crawled forward, kissing Fugo again as his hands moved curiously over his collarbone, more of his chest, ribs, stomach, hips, fingers lightly slipping under his waistband. Fugo didn’t stop him. In fact, he scrambled to undo his belt to give him more room.
Narancia’s cheeks went pink as his fingers traced lightly along the curve of his pelvis.
“Geeze, and Mista gives me shit for being skinny.”
“You are skinny, and please don’t talk about Mista while your hand is down my pants.”
Narancia grinned and his hand slid over, gently brushing against the outline of his cock. Fugo bit his lip hard to stifle a moan and rocked his hips forward.
“Hey, at least we know you’re having fun.”
Fugo huffed and shoved him back so he could rid himself of his pants and thong before Narancia could even comment. He, unsurprisingly, followed suite, kicking off his shorts and...of course he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Why wasn’t Fugo surprised?
The first thing he did, however, was look away in mild embarrassment until he felt Narancia tug gently at his hand again.
“So, um, how do you want to do this?” he asked meekly.
“You didn’t think of anything beforehand?”
“Look, I didn’t plan this, and I’ve never had sex with a guy before,” Narancia protested, face red, “I just...I don’t want it to hurt.”
“T-then uh...that thing where…” Fugo couldn’t help but pinch his nose, “They rub their genitals together?”
“Isn’t that called frottage?”
“How do you know that?”
“I dunno, people talk,” Narancia shrugged, Fugo decided not to press the issue.
“That’s...that’s fine,” Fugo crawled forward, hesitating again.
“Hey, uh, I think we can like, do it on our sides? If you don’t feel comfortable being on top,” Narancia offered as he removed the lid on the bottle.
“People talk, huh? Which porno did you see it in?”
“I can’t remember the fucking title.”
Fugo sighed again and settled on his side facing Narancia as he poured lube on his hand. He shifted his legs, shyly pressing his thighs together, even though Narancia’s attention was obviously elsewhere right now.
“Hey,” Narancia said as he settled down next to Fugo, “You still good?”
Fugo nodded, forcing himself to relax so he could gently tangle his legs with Narancia’s, bringing them closer.
“Just nervous.”
Narancia pulled Fugo into a kiss and reached his hand to wrap around-.
“Jesus fucking christ! You didn’t warm it up first?!” Fugo yelped as soon as he felt the chilly lube on his erection.
Narancia looked at him dumbly, “Was I supposed to put it in the microwave?”
“No- ugh, just, give me the bottle,” Fugo snatched it away and dumped some on his palm before rubbing his hands together.
“Oh you meant like that.”
Fugo grabbed Narancia’s hip, pulling him even closer as he tried his best to wrap his hand around both of their cocks. The immediate friction made Fugo reflexively roll his hips, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Y-yeah, t-that’s a lot, b-better,” Narancia said, sounding utterly dazed.
“Idiot,” Fugo muttered under his breath before kissing Narancia once more, moving his slick palm up and down to spread the lubricant as he thrust his hips. Narancia finally caught up and shakily tried to match Fugo’s movements. Fugo stopped moving to give him a moment to get some satisfaction. He moaned against Fugo’s lips, grabbing onto his arms as he rejoined.
Fugo tried to ignore the weird wet sound as they rocked their hips together and Narancia buried his fingers in Fugo’s hair. He didn’t pull or scratch, just gently massaged his scalp.
“Good...good...good, God Fugo you’re so good…” Narancia gasped, clinging to his shoulders almost like he was fearful Fugo would vanish if he did.
Fugo wrapped his free arm around Narancia, splaying his hand over his lower back. They were almost unreasonably close now and it was honestly surprising they could still move at all right now.
Narancia was so warm, and his mewls and moans were the best sounds Fugo could ask for. Occasionally his own voice broke, but he kept it down so he could hear his partner. In all honesty, he never imagined being like this, ever. In a safe place, with someone who trusted him and he trusted back, both of them pleasurable messes.
Fugo slid his hand down to Narancia’s thigh, squeezing, scraping his nails over the skin. He’d probably leave bruises but they wouldn’t be in a place that was readily visible. He kissed Narancia roughly and used his weight to roll over on top of him, making Narancia squeak in surprise.
There was no resistance, just like last time, no comments or protests, just eager gasping and moans as Narancia reached down to place his hand over Fugo’s, still cool from his earlier attempts with the lube.
“Y-you good?” he panted, grabbing onto one of the pillows. Narancia licked his puffy lips and nodded, he probably couldn’t say anything coherent at this point.
His eyes were glossed over, skin pink, hair a complete mess. Dammit, why did Fugo find that so attractive? Maybe because it was Narancia? Just Narancia.
More kissing, clumsy, especially as Fugo’s hips stuttered. No...no he wanted Narancia to come first, and has much as it pained him to do so, he climbed off but left his hand on the other’s erection.
Narancia initially seemed alarmed, but relaxed back into bliss as Fugo continued his minstrations. He watched him arch off the bed, the way his hips pushed up into his touch.
“F-Fugo...wh-why’d you stop?”
“I didn’t.”
“N-no, I mean you,” Narancia whimpered, “I-is something w-wrong?”
Fugo shook his head, stroking a bit faster this time.
“I wanna watch,” Fugo breathed, “Just let me...I want to see you.”
Realization seemed to dawn on Narancia that Fugo wasn’t pushing him away. He wanted to experience seeing his partner like this, under his hand, all pleasure and no pain.
Not that Narancia was long for this world anyway, he’d all but lost control of his stuttering hips and was pawing desperately at Fugo’s chest. Fugo kissed him right before he climaxed, because there was no way he needed the neighbors asking about some suspicious screaming coming from the apartment. Fugo gently stroked him through his orgasm, sliding his hand down Narancia’s heaving chest.
“H-hey, don’t forget about you,” Narancia said breathlessly as he struggled to sit up. A shaky hand found its way to Fugo’s still aching erection, trying to remain steady as he moved. It was awkward, but not necessarily bad. Narancia was positioned at a weird angle and Fugo was too pent up at this point to complain.
Fugo lasted even shorter as he came all over Narancia’s hand and wrist. His stomach cramped slightly, but he brushed that off as to how he was sitting.
They both sat there...laid there, in Narancia’s case since he was back to being sprawled out on the bed.
“You know,” Fugo commented as he shifted his legs so he was sitting cross-legged, “If we’d used those condoms, this wouldn’t have made such a mess.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Narancia rolled his eyes, “Make a note of it for next time then, it’s a bit late now.”
Fugo smiled and climbed over, leaning down to kiss Narancia lightly and for what felt like the millionth time that night. The rain and sounds of traffic were the only noise in the background beyond their breathing, Fugo counted the droplets as they hit the windowsil.
“Hey, why don’t we uh, take a bath before my bedding gets even grosser?”
Fugo snorted, “Gladly, so long as you didn’t pull that out of the trash too.”
Narnacia kicked him in the side, “Let that go, would’ya? Not everything I own is-.”
“You pulled the shower curtain out of the garbage, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah but-.”
“I rest my case then.”