Could I Bribe You Into Writing More Elippo With Telling You It'd Make My Quarantined Ass Happy While

could i bribe you into writing more elippo with telling you it'd make my quarantined ass happy while reading it ?

Bribe me with comments and reblogs ;) that’s all it takes.

*

Wiping the sheen of sweat off his brow, Elia sighed, watching the hem of the curtains moving in the feeble breeze coming from the fan in the corner.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, blinking at the ceiling, lit up only by the sun outside. The lights were off, the living room bathed in shadows but it was still ridiculously warm even as he lay on the hard wood floor. “I would give anything for some air conditioning.”

“Repair guy said he was coming,” Filippo said from beside Elia, eyes closed, hand on his stomach, as though he was actually enjoying this.

“Before next century?” Elia didn’t know how long it had been since Filippo had pulled him down on the floor, saying it would be cooler somehow. Elia wasn’t sure why he’d believed that.

“You know what sounds good right now?” Filippo said, ignoring Elia’s sarcasm. Elia sighed in response, shoving his hair off his sticky forehead. The fan in the corner wasn’t nearly strong enough to blow away the hot, thick air swirling around them.

“Cold air.”

“Gelato,” Filippo said with a soft hum. “Ice cold, dripping through your fingers, sticky and wet and delicious.”

Elia blinked slowly at the ceiling. He wasn’t thinking about gelato as Filippo spoke, his mind wandering to other things wet and sticky. Fuck, though, it was way too hot to be thinking of that shit. Elia was pretty sure if he tried to move, he’d be stuck to the floor.

He wasn’t sure where Eleonora had run off to--probably somewhere that wasn’t ridiculously hot. Elia wasn’t sure why they couldn’t do that, why they were stuck waiting for the repair man.

“You’re sticky,” Filippo said, breaking Elia out of his thoughts, hazy and tired, as though the heat was weighing him down. He barely glanced over at Filippo’s finger tracing up his arm.

“It’s hot,” Elia said, as if Filippo didn’t know. As if the apples of his cheeks weren’t pink, a flush crawling up his neck.

“You can go if you want,” Filippo said after a minute, rolling his head back and closing his eyes. “Call Marti and see if his A/C is working.”

A part of Elia wanted to. He wanted so badly to not be sweating anymore, aching for some kind of relief that the pitiful fan was not providing. He could just leave, leave Filippo waiting for some guy who may or may not show up for hours. If he wanted to, he could have done it hours ago when Filippo had rolled him out of bed and announced the A/C was out.

But he was still here, his shirt discarded a long time ago, down to his boxers as he rolled onto his side, propped himself up on his elbow to gaze down at Filippo.

Filippo didn’t open his eyes, almost appearing asleep as Elia let his eyes graze over his shoulders, down his chest, the fox tattooed on his ribcage, the trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of his underwear.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said finally, brushing Filippo’s hair behind his ears. He’d been letting it grow out lately, starting to curl again, the bleach at the tips fading back to brown. Elia found he liked it this way, but then, he liked pretty much everything about Filippo.

Filippo’s eyes opened slowly, a smile curving his lips after a second. “Who knew you were so whipped.”

“Whipped?” Elia repeated, skeptical, but he didn’t pull away from Filippo, instead letting his fingers trail down his neck, leaving tracks in the sheen of sweat there. “I’m not staying for you.”

“Oh?” Filippo asked, curious eyebrows rising, like it he knew it was all bullshit.

“You know this is the first time we’ve had the apartment to ourselves in weeks. Since Edo left for the US?”

Filippo smiled knowingly. “Yeah,” he agreed, taking a deep breath as Elia’s fingers slid over his collar bone. Leaning into Elia, close enough that their noses bumped together, he tilted his head to the side, just enough that it would be so easy for Elia to kiss him. “Thought you were hot?”

He was. He was so fucking hot. But he was also very aware that Eleonora was gone and Filippo was wearing only a pair of boxers shorts, and well, they’d never fucked in the living room before and Elia wasn’t one to waste an opportunity.

“Maybe I want to be hotter,” he murmured as he closed what little distance there was between them, kissing Filippo easily, opening his mouth to Filippo’s, tongue sliding past his teeth as he rolled into him.

It was sticky skin, hot and flushed before they’d even begun, Elia’s hands anchoring in Filippo’s hair as they kissed, slow and languid, something aching in his chest when Filippo’s hands landed on his hips. 

Elia was going to make this good. He was going to make himself forget about the heat and how much he just wanted an ice cold shower. He was going to get his hand in between them, wrapped around Filippo, make him come with just his tongue.

Filippo’s soft exhale in his ear made Elia groan, biting at his jaw, hand gliding down Filippo’s stomach.

A knock on the door made Elia curse, almost disappointed when Filippo pulled away from his mouth. 

“That must be the repair guy,” Filippo said, patting Elia’s cheek with a slight smirk. “Keep that thought, okay?”

Elia certainly would, he thought as Filippo pushed himself up from the floor and pulled his shirt back on. Instead of getting up, Elia let out a breath and sunk back on the floor as Filippo let the guy in. He’d get something he wanted, one way or another.