Work With Me -Bruno Buccellati x Reader-

25- Dancing

Giorno smiled to himself.

"Do you have it?" He glances sideways at Mista in the driver's seat.

There's shuffling from inside Mista's jean pocket, when finally a yellow figure emerges carrying a key. Five more appear from Mista's pockets, his shirt, one even crawls out from under his hat.

"We did it!" They laugh, scrambling up onto the dashboard where they spin around and cheer. Giorno picks up number 5, who's crying softly to himself. Giorno strokes his head with a gentle fingertip and number 5 smiles,

"Very good." He says, "And they don't know?"

"Nope, we were in and out in a minute, though they will notice at some point, right?" Mista turns a corner and the sex pistols go tumbling across the dashboard in a confused, clumsy pile.

"They will, but this is for the best."

Mista nods, but doesn't say anything. The sex pistols crawl back into their places, and Giorno relaxes back into his seat. This is the right thing to do, he thinks, house key in hand.

~~~~~~~~

Bruno gives up looking by nightfall. He sighs and slumps into his chair at the dining table. You place a glass of water in front of him and he sips at it, frustrated.

"Giorno won't be happy."

"Maybe it's for the best," You say, "Things could be worse, surely?"

Bruno nods, and you sit opposite him. In the kitchen, the radio is playing a soft, sweet, summer love song. It's slightly crackly and the words aren't always discernible, but the melody is comforting, the notes light and wistful, like breezes at sea. You hum along, and Bruno smiles.

"I never took you for the lovesong type." He says

"Me neither," You laugh, and get up from your seat. You go around to where Bruno is sat and pull him to his feet.

"Dance with me, Bruno Buccellati."

"I don't dance." He snatches his hands out of your tender grip,

"Neither do I" You take his hands firmer and start moving to the song. It's slow, and clumsy, and sort of wrong. But Bruno smiles at your effort and moves his feet with yours until your stepping and spinning around. His hands rest around your waist, and you lock your own around his neck, guiding his face closer to yours.

The song has ended now, but neither of you hear it, you're too lost in your dancing. You can hear the sea and the call of seagulls, the chirruping of finches and the hush of cars on tarmac. Bruno tightens his hold, and you move closer to him, until your head rests on his chest. The lace tickles your cheek, and his heartbeat is slow and peaceful. You move your arms to hug him, and you breathe in his scent like oxygen.

Now, you're more rocking than dancing, but you don't pull away- when you speak, your words are muffled by his body.

"Do you really forgive me?" You ask,

"I- Of course I do," Bruno says, "Don't ask silly questions."

"I don't forgive me," You reply.

He doesn't respond, only holds you closer. You can feel his fingers clenching around your flesh, the subtle movements as they explore more of you, reaching up your back and around your hips. You smile, and you wonder if he can feel the stretch of your cheeks on his chest. Your nose brushes bare skin, warm and soft and alive. Bruno was right. You're alive, and so was he. As long as you had that, you didn't need anything else.

The house is quiet for the night. The curtains are drawn, lights turned off and the candles are extinguished. It's peaceful, you think, as you retire to bed. It feels right, your heart is stilled by the thought of being with Bruno again. Though nothing was official yet, it felt like things were how they should be. You closed your bedroom door behind you and sat on the bed, letting the world slow down, let night pass by as you simply breathed for a moment. Your stomach was in the most beautiful knots, twisting and turning as you thought about it all, everything that had happened.

Bruno. Bruno, wonderful Bruno. You smiled to yourself, he was yours again.