Chapter Text
“You take my cock so well,” Abbacchio praises as he ruts into you.
His pace is brutal and your movements don’t match up at times, but it’s easily forgettable. It’s not like he’s focusing on that anyway, too busy holding your waist with bruising strength and shoving his cock as deep as it can go in your cunt.
It’s not as hot as the real thing but it’s just as tight, the excess lube he used perfectly mimicking your wetness. He should have done this a long time ago, as filthy as it was. There’s an odd pressure somewhere around his groin and his lower belly, a feat that was a little harder to ignore than the phantom touch at his thighs in the exact same place he held you.
If he closes his eyes, it can add to the experience, but he’d much rather watch your face that Moody Blues replicated so perfectly.
“Gonna dump my load in this pretty little hole,” he grunts, and it’s a well-placed comment because your resounding moan seems like a response to his words.
“Yeah, I know how much you love that, how much you love being filled up,” his thrusts become erratic, his grasp on your body tightening, and he wonders if he'll have matching bruises from how hard he's gripping. “Almost there, bambina, almost there...”
He’s lost in the moment, hypnotized by the way your tits bounce and your face is twisted, letting out small pants and sounds of pleasure.
God, there were so many things he wanted to do; he was going to ruin you.
“Leone…”
“That’s it,” he practically growls, “Say my name.”
“Leone, how fucking could you?”
His pace falters, momentarily disoriented as he’s ripped out of his fantasy. It takes a second for him to realize that it was you who had spoken, the real you, standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom.
Abbacchio’s heart stutters at the sight; your face is not unlike that of a pissed-off house cat.
Shit.
He was quick to pause, but it didn’t help with the fact that he was caught with his pants down, buried inside what you undoubtedly thought was another woman. With Moody Blues on their hands and knees, their face smooshed into the pillow and turned away from the door, it was easy to make that mistake.
But that’s just what it was, a mistake, and Abbacchio rushes out the first words that come to mind to try and remedy this.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
You scoff in disbelief and turn on your heels.
Abbacchio is quick to pull on some pants and dash after you.
“Wait, I didn’t mean it—”
“It certainly looked like you did.”
He groans in frustration at the cliché lines he keeps unwittingly throwing. He tries again to explain himself as you pick up your bag and your jacket from where you‘d dumped them on the living room couch when you got home from work.
“You don’t understand. We were sexting, I was horny and you were taking too long—”
“So this is my fault?” You whirl around to give him a look of disbelief, stunned. “Real fucking classy.”
That makes him clamp his mouth shut. Never had Abbacchio ever thought he would end up in a position like this, although he supposes he wouldn’t know what to say either way even if he had.
He grabs your wrist before you get too far away and pulls you into a tight embrace, effectively trapping you against his chest.
“Listen to me, bambina.”
“Get the fuck off me. And don’t call me that, you’ve lost the privilege.”
It’s obvious by the sound of your voice that you’re hurt and it breaks his heart that he’s the cause of it. You put your arms over his where they’re crossed over your sternum and he takes it as a sign that you’ve calmed down enough to hear him out, but when he feels a sharp prickling sensation, he knows that’s not the case.
He bears the pain, speaking through clenched teeth.
“I understand you’re upset — rightfully so — and I’m sorry.” He stops himself from saying ‘but’, knowing it would render his previous words void. “What you witnessed in there… There’s no way to say this without sounding like a complete freak: that was Moody Blues, disguised as you.”
A moment of silence passes as you take the time to register the information.
“What?”
Valid response. Abbacchio tries again, speaking slower this time.
“I had Moody Blues take on your form, so I could essentially fuck you.”
Your Stand lets up on its attack, and Abbacchio exhales a short breath of relief. It had really begun to hurt and he was unwilling to find out if you'd go as far as to char his skin.
Abbacchio releases his hold on you, allowing you to turn and face him. You seem passive, but he still speaks cautiously.
“I can… show you, if you want.”
He’s gauging your reaction with the astute eye of a police detective, looking for signs of anger or discomfort, but your expression morphs into one of amusement instead.
You fight back a smile in vain and begin laughing.
“That’s too ridiculous to not be true. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Abbacchio finds himself blushing and avoiding eye contact.
“I asked myself the same thing…” He mumbles and crosses his arms over his chest.
There were red burn marks on his forearms shaped like your hands, which you now felt slightly bad about. Although, if he had actually cheated on you, he deserved far worse.
“Such an egregious form of masturbation,” you say between giggles, and Abbacchio huffs out a laugh.
“Yeah, yeah…”
He was certainly embarrassed by your comments, but it was nice to see you smiling after the scare he gave both you and himself; he didn't know what he’d do without you.
You put down your bag and coat again, “You know what? I actually do need to see this.”
His smile turns into a grimace as he follows your quick steps back into the bedroom.
Moody Blues is still obediently stuck in the same position he’d left them in, face down and ass up. Abbacchio bites his lip at the sight and his eyes drift to you. Now that you were here, he could have you instead.
It was uncanny as well as embarrassing to see yourself from a third-person point of view, but the longer you looked, the more you understood Abbacchio’s motivations.
“Yeah, I’d tap that too,” you say under your breath, but Abbacchio picks up on it. He chuckles, shaking his head.
Moving to the other side of the bed to inspect the immobile Stand’s face, you find out that yes, it was indeed you.
If it had been someone else’s face, you would have questioned your entire relationship, even if it was just Moody Blues in disguise.
Abbacchio is just about to suggest getting past this when you say something that surprises him.
“Press play.”