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╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
That day was really a pretty special day.
All official drug trade in Italy had finally (somehow) been eradicated. The gang intended to hold a pretty big party to celebrate, which was much to a certain Don’s dismay, so they instead simply drank some wine and watched a movie.
Afterwards, when the “kids” went to sleep (or not, we don’t judge Narancia for staying up all night on his DS playing Crafting Mama), Bruno and Leone went out for an extra drink, and BOTH of them drank much more than they should have. Anything over five pints was too much. A certain someone (not to be disclosed) was now on his seventh.
Abbacchio had visibly had way too much to drink; his face was bright red, and he looked at Bruno with what could only be described as The Side-Eye Of Extreme Gay™. The already-drunk goth gulped down another swig of his drink, not really caring about how much alcohol he had ingested at this point
“Hey baby boy… are you like... single?” Bruno asked in a mutter while looking at the red-faced goth. One could argue that Bruno was the most intoxicated out of the two, as he shamelessly laid his head right on the wooden bar.
Abbacchio, looking down at his pitiful superior, snickered and responded, “Oh, I don’t know, sweetheart. It depends on which lingerie my hot sexy smokin very hot sexy bf is wearing tonight.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Bruno said, but behind his eyes was the look of a hungry animal. “You know, I do happen to have some lingerie on myself tonight (a really sexy set, believe me), so I think you should pick me instead of your ‘boyfriend.’”
He made air quotes with his fingers (which was difficult considering he was too drunk for cohesive dexterity) as he lingered on the word “boyfriend”. Both completely ignored the fact that the man’s lingerie was already completely visible through the giant hole in the front of his shirt.
“Your man? He’s probably full of shit and ugly while I’m over here looking all sexy, and I’m a successful mother of 5 kids, so that makes me a MILF. And MILFs are kind of a rare delicacy around here, y’know?”
Going dark pink, Bruno glared daggers through Abbacchio with the magic of horny. Oh my God, someone get this man some malk.
Leone didn’t mention that they were already very much together, and that his boyfriend was sitting at the bar right in front of him, but oh well. It is how it is.
However, the tiny little mouse running circles in his brain was sure of one thing: he was not about to be outdone in terms of outrageous statements here, especially by the great motherfucking Bruno “MILF” Bucciarati.
“Okay, then… Heyy, MILF… are you an orphanage?” asked the man, looking deep into the other guy’s eyes.
Bucciarati wasn’t quite catching on. “What? I dunno,” he muttered. “Why?”
“You mentioned you have kids? Wouldn’t you like me to… put even more in you? An orphanage would want that...” Leone responded with a smirk.
You could hear the gears turn in Bruno’s mind before they finally came together with one single thought: Ohhh, mama is going to get laid tonight.
He smirked back. “So what? Maybe I am.”
“ARE YOU AN ORPHANAGE? BECAUSE I WANT TO GIVE YOU MORE KIDS. I’m being serious here, MILF,” Abbacchio slurred, louder this time.
“Oh my God,” Bruno facepalmed. “You’ve already used that one. Try again, dingus. Try and be a talented pickup liner like me.”
“Well, my talents are really more suited for something else, if ya know what I mean.” Abbacchio said and winked with both eyes at Bruno, he was to drunk to do it with only one.
The bartender turned away from the drunk not-couple. Just another day, another extremely homosexual couple in the Lemon-Lime Bar.
She held back a sigh. Last week, it was a platinum-blonde and his orange-haired boyfriend. They insisted on occupying the same square foot of space the entire night. It was excruciating.
Full of doubt, she continued giving the homos more to drink. Jesus Christ, she really deserved that raise. She’d probably have to clean up their vomit too, judging by how the night was already going.
Great.
With despair in her heart, she cringed at their horrible pickup lines, preemptively grabbing a mop as she stared up at the clock. Thirty more minutes until her shift ended… It was starting to feel like hours; her attempts to ignore the homoerotic vibes really weighing on her psyche.
“Can I play with your joystick, dear~?”
Bucciarati took a massive swig of his drink. “You can push all of my buttons,” he replied.
The people sitting directly next to them glanced at each other with the general tone of, ‘Don't look, Honey. The Gays™ are at it again.'
“Jeezus Christ, I’m quitting my job,” The bartender groaned under her breath. How much more of these drunk weirdos did she have to take?
Alcohol fuzzed their minds, a fog covering their rational thoughts as they continued to flirt. Some of the other customers tried and failed to ignore the very, very Gay™ bois.
“Hey, have you heard of that one uh… pony jar? I’m that,” Bruno stated.
“I had no idea, since when?” Leone asked, looking intrigued.
“Since I wanted you to fill me up~” Bruno chuckled, looking hungrily at his not-boyfriend.
“Oh, then you must be also a toe,” Abbacchio clapped back, taking another sip of his drink. He didn’t even let Bruno ask for the reason behind the comparison before adding, “Since i can’t help but want to bang you on every piece of furniture I have.”
Bruno laughed a little at his really dry pun.
“You want to bang your toe on things? Masochist.”
“You know, your hair is amazing” the white-haired man continued. “Don’t you think it’d look even better if it matched your suit? You know… I’ve heard that white dots on black are in fashion right now…”
He ran a shaky hand through Bruno’s hair. The other laughed again and continued their flirting, sweetening every word as much as he could.
The bartender cringed in excruciating pain. Not this absolute weird-ass, one-star-on-Yelp circus act again. That… that was just horrible. Could she sue for the damage done to her poor, innocent ears?
She glanced back at the clock. 25 entire more minutes of MILF and goth flirting. This bartender, who we’re now revealing is named Jolyne, decided she was about one more second of this hell from just calling her dad up and asking him to pick her up from this eternal void of suffering.
“Yo, Bart. Can you take my fucking shift?”
She was honestly about to cry.
The other bart-ender was totally not down for this shit either.
“I covered for you when the blonde and his orange-haired boyfriend came over. Your turn,” Bart retorted.
“Oh, fuck no. No thanks. C'mon, I’ll buy you something if you do. Please end my suffering,” Jolyne pleaded.
“Nah. If I’m not getting out of this, you aren’t either. We’re suffering together.” Bart let out a sleazy grin.
“Yare Yare Dawa™️”
Coming back to our lovebirds, Bruno now sat comfortably on Abbacchio’s lap and snuggled close to him. This action was probably preceded by another cheesy pick-up like "Your butt is nice, but it would be nicer if it was on my lap." or something.
“Heyy~ are you an antiquer? Cuz i have some junk that hasn’t been touched in years and I think you might like it~” he said, hugging the other man and slowly moving his hands down the other’s back, dangerously close to the butt.
Abbacchio purred and moved his hips
“Yes, I think I might be interested~” he replied, putting his hand on Bruno’s exposed chest.
Bart shivered, the cringe overtaking him. “We aren’t getting out of this one…”
Jolyne was the same. The cringe was getting worse and worse, she was definitely losing brain cells. Goddamn it, she had already lost most of them in The Incident. How much more could she take before there was no brain left? How long before Jolyne Kujo returns to monke?
“Sweetie, would you like to eat something?” Bruno asked, breaking the drunken hug. “It just happens that I might have a sausage and two eggs in my pants.”
He slapped his own inner thigh. Hard.
"If you were a burger at McDonald’s, you know what you’d be? MC GORGEOUS! That’s what you’d be!" Leone exclaimed loudly in a sudden fit of revelation.
Bruno almost screeched as well to reply, “And you’d be the source of the white sauce inside me!”
The two burst out laughing. The rest of the bar was filled with an agonizing silence.
Bart groaned. “Remind me why I took this job again…?”
Jolyne was mentally and almost physically melting. The wood of the mop handle was suspiciously weak under her grip. “Couldn’t tell you.”
“Wait, I have an amazing poem for you.”
Leone clumsily got off the chair (making Bruno sit in it normally instead of on his thighs) and knelt down before it. He cleared his throat and began speaking, sounding as poetic as any drunk goth could. "Roses are red, I have tons of class. Therefore, catch me eating that ass."
Bruno clapped his hands like a child amazed by a clown. Tears pricked the edges of his eyes.
“Amazing! Look, I have tears in my eyes!” he exclaimed, and it really wasn’t a lie. Abbacchio bowed. “But come back here. My ass is cold.”
Bruno stood up for a second to give Abbacchio an opportunity to return to his seat. Once he was sufficiently seated, the man plopped right back down in his lap, winding his arms around the goth’s neck
Bruno let out a sigh. “Ah… thicc thighs save lives.”
In turn, Abbacchio chuckled a little and moved his hips slightly to tease the man on his lap.
Meanwhile, Bart tried counting from a hundred to one once again to calm down. 15 more minutes of homosexual action and then he’s safe. Only 15 minutes…
"That outfit is really cool, you know, emo boy.”
Bruno drew circles around the other man's massive honkers. “It would certainly look better in a crumpled heap on my bedroom floor tomorrow morning…" he giggled. The amount of the alcohol he’d drunk so far that night was, in short, very large, and it was showing.
“Oh really? Does that mean you would want to do something with me that would make us criminals in 72 countries?” Abbacchio said, taking another sip of alcohol.
“Absolutely!” the other responded, sounding excited. “Though I don’t see how joining the mafia in 71 more countries is going to help us at all…”
Suddenly, the door slowly opened, a disheveled Mista grunting as he made his way inside the bar. About to drink away his insecurities, just like we all probably would do at some point in our lives, ya know? Absolute mood. Bags under his eyes and everything, he came equipped with this whole sob story of how his fake parents tried to put him to bed right at 10 pm to top it off.
God, Christ, how could today get any worse?
Well, sucks to be you, Mista, but you’ve got a big storm coming
Oh Christ. Oh Jeezus. What the ever-loving fuck is this.
Mista’s vibe was totally fucked. Goddammit. He just had to witness the drunks -- his adopted mafia parents -- flirting in such an uncomfortably homoerotic way (not that it would have been any less uncomfortable if they were straight, that is. Either is bad).
Oh God oh Christ why did he decide to come here? He could’ve just been a good little boy and gone to sleep, but NO. He decided to be an adult and come here. And apparently there are consequences for that. He should’ve joined Narancia in his video game quest to beat everyone in disc competitions. But here he was instead, suffering.
Suddenly feeling the same pain as the bartenders, he instantly shielded his eyes. From behind the counter across from the drunks, Bart and Jolyne let out pained smiles, mouthing out in his direction,
“Welcome to the club.”
“Nope nopity nope no thanks. I’m clearly interrupting something.” As quickly as humanly possible, he ordered an entire bottle of alcohol and sat down at the complete opposite end of the bar as the two. Thankfully, Leone and Bruno didn’t notice, far too engrossed in drunkenly flirting with each other .
“Hey, did you know? You have an… ass?”
It was phrased as a question. Bruno nodded. “I am aware.”
“You know… it’d look better without all this unnecessary clothing…”
Mista was positively horrified. His day ruined, his virgin eyes soiled. Nothing could overcome this absolute horror he felt at that exact moment.
He wanted to jump out of the window and run away, leave this life behind and find a new family (and a really good therapist) but instead he sank into alcohol. He decided he wanted to stay here for as little time as possible. He didn’t want to think what would happen if he stayed much longer.
Who knows what would happen if he were to fall in the same hole as his previously respected parental figures. God rest their souls.
Bart leaned over, close enough to talk to the embarrassed drunkard without the Gays overhearing. “Sorry, bud. You know them, yeah? You mind pickin’ up these guys in the morning?”
“I don’t know if I can even pick myself up in the morning anymore…”
“Need a therapist? I’ll find one for ya, but we need these guys out of here by… 10 in the morning. You don’t even need to take them home, just out of here in a safe spot.” As if to help make his mind, Bart pulled out some earplugs. “Might help.”
Mista turned to Bart with a dead look in his eyes. “No spot is safe with those two around.”
“My shift is over in… 5 minutes. I’m getting the 10:AM shift, so if you get these two out by then, next time you come in, one drink on me. Consider removing them as a gift to the staff.” Jolyne nodded behind Bart, cleaning some glasses.
Now, back to what the Gays™ did while the traumatized kids talked.
“Let’s face it, you sexy MILF,” the goth began, bringing the MILF concept back for a truly divine renaissance. “I’m hot, you’re hot, and we both know you have a crush on me.”
He downed another shot and let out a heavy breath after setting the glass down. “Plus, I don’t like my surname, so maybe you could lend me yours?”
This statement was accompanied by an eyebrow movement that the likes of Abbacchio’s forehead had not seen in years.
“Sure, goth, but only for one day. I have kids and a boyfriend at home,” Bruno said and attacked the other one’s lips. They tasted bitter from all the alcohol he’d drank that night, but it didn’t make a difference to Bucciarati.
This led to an intense make-out session, smearing Leone’s lipstick all over everywhere. Every time their lips teared apart you could hear a loud ‘pop’ sound. It was… very messy.
Someone at the other side of the bar swore they heard a crunch somewhere in there and speedran all five stages of grief over it.
“Hat Man, ya sure you don’t want the earplugs?” Jolyne said, offering them to Mista once more.
It was quite late already, so Bart turned the bar’s hippity hoppity Shawn Mendes music off and switched it to some ominous elevator music, which was met with whines full of dissatisfaction from the various patrons.
The Gays™ began to fall asleep on each other, a blessing that meant they finally shut up.
“Honey-booo~” the shorter man whined, dragging the last letter out as long as possible. “Sing something for me…”
Those few words brought Leone right back to fully awake again.
“You want me to sing for you?” he asked, full of a sudden energy as if he wasn’t falling asleep just a few seconds earlier. Bart, Jolyne and Mista sighed in unison. “I WILL SING.”
Abbacchio got up from the chair suddenly, completely disregarding the MILF in his lap and almost sending both men tumbling to the floor. While Bruno was fast enough to make a quick recovery, Leone was not, and he ended up sitting pitifully on the tile.
He looked up at Bruno and asked,
"Do you have a band aid? Because I just kinda scraped my knees falling for you.”
When will this suffering come to an end?
Abbacchio stood, not even bothering to brush himself off.
“WHAT WILL I SING? TELL ME!” he yelled to his unwilling audience.
“SING TOXIC YOU YOU FUCKING TWINK,” some random guy from the corner of the bar yelled, which Bruno approved by clapping his hand in excitement.
“THANK YOU, SIR, FOR GREAT IDEA, AND ALSO FUCK YOU,” Leone shouted back.
He turned and looked at Bart. “Do you have a karaoke machine here?” he asked, this time more politely.
“We do have one,” Jolyne confirmed instinctually, already regretting saying the truth halfway through the sentence.
“Great! Bring it here!” Abbacchio demanded. Jolyne simply sighed and went to get the machine.
“Two more minutes, Jolyne, then we can book it out of here and leave these losers to the next shift,” Bart mumbled.
Jolyne finally came back and set the karaoke machine on the floor. She quickly plugged it into the socket and turned away. “Alright, my shift’s over. Seeya tomorrow.”
And just like that, Jolyne was gone, having used her family’s secret technique to its fullest potential. Bart nodded, grinning wildly as the next shift walked in. These guys were not ready for all the shit that was about to go down.
Abbacchio, intoxicated as he was, single-handedly put in all the settings on the karaoke machine and chose a song.
“THIS ONE IS FOR MY MILF AND THE FUCKER WHO CALLED ME A TWINK,” he yelled, and then started singing.
“Baby can't you see, I'm calling?” he began slowly. “A guy like you should wear a warning. It's dangerous, I'm falling.”
During the little musical interlude, he attempted to wink at Bucciarati, but it became more of a lopsided blink.
“There's no escape, I can't wait. I need a hit, baby, give me it. You're dangerous, I'm loving it.”
People around the bar began to join in through the pre-chorus. Abbacchio, throughout all of this, sounded like a dying cat, but no one really seemed to care.
“With a taste of your lips, I'm on a ride. You're toxic, I'm slippin' under. With a taste of a poison paradise. I'm addicted to you; don't you know that you're toxic?”
Abbacchio, in all of his musical splendor, did not notice Mista pull out his phone and enter the camera app.
“It's getting late to give you up. I took a sip from my devil's cup. Slowly, it's taking over me.”
He was starting to look tired again; missing a few words here and there. Nevertheless, the spirit of Britney Spears prevailed, and he continued on with the song.
“With a taste of your lips, I'm on a ride. You're toxic, I'm slippin' under. With a taste of a… whatever paradise. I'm addicted to you; don't you… know that you're toxic?”
Somehow, with the help of the audience’s participation, Abbacchio mumbled his way through the rest of the song. Throughout it all, Bruno simply watched him, entranced by the dazzling performance.
He finished and received a round of applause from the other drunk people. The whole ordeal was objectively terrible but people surprisingly seemed to like it. They started ordering even more and singing with him. The chanting of everyone in the bar was so loud that there was no way anyone on the block was getting sleep that night.
Abbacchio bowed, but before giving the mic to the next person, he quickly added, “BEFORE WE CONTINUE, I HAVE FEW POEMS I WOULD WANT TO DEDICATE TO MY LOVE, THIS WEIRD MIILF.”
This was accompanied by a point to Bruno, who waited intently for the poem to begin.
“FIRST: Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, I can make you scream.
“SECOND: Roses are red, violets are blue, my bed has room for two.
“AND LAST, THIRD: Twinkle twinkle little star, we can do it in a car. THAT’S IT, THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK." He gave the mic to the next person in line and left the circle that formed around the karaoke station, the applause resounding.
A few minutes ago, before Bart followed Jolyne out the door, he passed a few dollars to Mista. “Here. There’s a motel literally next door. Save my coworkers from them, aight?”
The other just nodded. He didn’t have the nerves to argue or the strength to run away. After he took the money, he could see the two crazy bitches taking off their socks out of the corner of his eye, so he just sighed once again.
“What did I do to deserve this?” he whined to himself in dismay.
"I can sing my ABC's to you. I'll give you an A because you're awesome. A B because you're beautiful. A C because you're confident. And I'll give you this D because you deserve it." he heard one of the drunken mafiozos say complimanted by the others laugh and hands clapping.
Mista just banged his head on the counter.
Both Bucciarati and Abbacchio woke up with a horrible splitting headache.
There was lipstick smeared all over each’s face like clown makeup, illuminated by the very obvious light of midday out of the window of a room neither recognized, in which they slept in the same bed. They both felt sick, bile in their throats.
How long did they sleep for? For too long that's for sure.
Vomit was very visible both on the floor and on their clothes. Their socks were somehow the one outfit piece spared from the vomit, however each and every sock had been cut to shreds in patterns that were suspiciously reminiscent of Trish’s craft scissors.
Abbacchio awkwardly got out of the bed. They both felt tense. God, it was a little embarrassing to be there, even if they were in a romantic relationship. Not knowing where they were or why their socks had been torn to shreds really didn’t make conversation easy. They both pulled on sweaters (that were probably left there by Mista) - Sweater weather playing in the background.
Abbacchio’s phone, placed precariously on the edge of the nightstand, buzzed, a text from Mista popping up on the screen.
[[Next time, maybe don’t get drunk with buccerati cause you trobled the staff]]
[[*troubled]]
It suddenly dawned on them what they’d done, making them both go flush to the color of ripe tomatoes. Neither talked to each other again out of confusion and shame.
As they both slowly walked back to their safe house, they passed by the Lemon-Lime Bar, two employees laughing about “bad poetry” in a direction far too close to their own to be a coincidence.
They walked faster.
They decided not to speak of this day ever again, or at least until they found out that all this time their cursed deeds were recorded by a certain nosy teenager.
Mista instantly sent the video to Narancia and Fugo on their group chat.
And that day, that very special day, went down in history.
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝