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lagunaseca2013 · 7 days ago

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pecco/luca #14

prompt from here! dearest anon thank u for prompting me. u are the only person who did so that actually means a lot LMAO. struggled profoundly with this which is why it took me over a month and it's 3k long and it's also inexplicably a soulmate au. i hope u enjoy ur library sex!

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QUANTUM ENTANGLEMENT — pecco/luca, 3k

Maybe elbow-deep in the gnarliest of the rat cages hadn’t been the best time to bring up Marc, but, well. Pecco had also been more sleep-deprived than usual after the several all-nighters he’d pulled, trying to finish the new section of his dissertation that Valentino had proposed before he ran out of steam. Neither of them were exactly their best selves. And it wasn’t even their lab.

Pecco was getting paid two hundred euros to clean the cages every three days, while Dr. Stoner and all his—hah— lab rats attended yet another conference. But he wasn’t sure what Valentino’s excuse was, considering he complained pretty regularly about Dr. Stoner getting preferential funding because of STEM privilege. Pecco wasn’t exactly sure how helping out in his lab fit into that equation, and he wasn’t about to ask.

All Pecco had wanted to know, really, was if Vale could still feel him at all times. If the throbbing in Pecco’s skull was ever going to go away, if notoriously pain-averse Valentino had somehow learned to live with the ache.

“Well you see,” Vale had grumbled, scolding #93 when it tried to nip at his fingertips through the gloves as it settled into its new bedding, “I do not think the bonds, they are—” he gestured vaguely, nearly knocking over the stack of ungraded reports piled on Dr. Stoner’s desk, “not so rigid, right? I think they are a bit, allora. . . .” he trailed off, staring somewhere in the middle distance. “I think they are often deceiving.” He’d said, finally, punctuating it with a spritz of the expensive unscented cleaner that Dr. Stoner insisted was the only one that didn’t aggravate his migraines.

“Ah.” Pecco had responded, lamely, staring down at #10 as it slept quietly in its little holding tupperware. “I think I understand.”

The thing is, Pecco doesn't even really know when he figured it out. Maybe he always knew what the deep thrumming in the back of his skull was, what the tight aching feeling in the pit of his stomach meant. Why he was always sort of looking for Luca, regardless of time or place or reality. He doesn’t know why he thought asking Valentino about it would bring any clarity, but well. Luca was still his brother, technically. Even if he had gone down a path Valentino didn’t exactly approve of.

“It’s just a good opportunity,” Franky tells him, when he brings it up again over lunch. He’s hunched miserably over his protein bowl, texting with one hand under the table. For some reason, he thinks they don’t all know it’s Álex Marquez on the other end, when he hides his screen from them and grins all dopily at his messages. Pecco isn’t an idiot, but he isn’t cruel, either, so he says nothing, picking at his own cold chicken.

“Of course, Maro knows that Vale would fund his research until the end of time,” Franky continues, placing his phone facedown on the table. “But Dr. Hernandez already has the grants and the equipment. He’d be stupid not to take Marc’s spot! Plus, they publish all the time, and you know he’s been wanting to get more exposure.”

“Yeah,” Pecco hums, downing the rest of his now-cold espresso and grimacing when the grounds stick to the back of his teeth. “A very good opportunity.”

Pecco is still stewing about it when he shoves their apartment door open with a grunt, three books falling out of his bag in the process. Bez and Cele make no move to help him from where they’re sequestered on the couch, the entire living room littered with pages of Cele’s senior thesis, marked up in what looks like sparkly purple gel pen.

“ Ciao , Pecco,” Cele sighs dejectedly, against Bez’s shoulder.

“ Ciao , my roommate who lives here and pays rent,” Pecco groans, leaving the books in the doorway and making a beeline for the mokapot. He briefly considers suicide, when he finds it unwashed in the sink, then grabs the scrubber brush with a sigh. Bez comes up behind him, a moment later, draping his long arms around Pecco’s waist until he reluctantly leans back into his embrace, closing his eyes so none of the tears he’s been holding in all day leak out.

“What’s the matter with our Pecchino, huh?” Bez asks, pressing a kiss to Pecco’s cheek and then releasing him, leaning back against the counter with a tilt of his head that makes him look just like the puppy he’s been trying to ply Pecco with pictures of, lately. “Did one of Dr. Stoner’s evil rats try to bite you again? You could totally sue him for that, you know, let’s call up Mig and—”

Pecco waves a hand at him with a sigh. “Leave Migno alone, you know he’s been too stressed studying for the Bar. And I’m not going to sue Dr. Stoner, the rats were fine. Allora, one of them did try to bite Vale but he—”

“ Vale? What the hell was Vale doing there?” Bez interrupts him. Behind them, Cele pokes a curious head in the doorway. He’s wearing Bez’s boxers, Pecco notices belatedly. That probably explains the state of the living room, he realizes, resigned.

Pecco shrugs, giving the moka a final rinse. There’s a stubborn burnt patch at the bottom which probably means that Cele was the last person to use it, but it’s the least of his problems right now. Everything feels like burnt espresso to him these days, it’s nothing special in the grand scheme of things. “I don’t know if they’re back together, honestly. They’re probably just fucking again.”

Bez shakes his head with an exaggerated grimace. “I don’t know how Vale manages to bone so many of his colleagues,” he says, pulling Cele in with an arm around his pale neck. “Don’t the faculty meetings get awkward? Surely he could find someone he doesn’t work with to take on a date!”

Against his will, Pecco thinks of the lab coat Valentino had been wearing when Pecco had walked in, the little Australian flag embroidered on the cuff of his sleeve, nearly invisible unless you were looking for it. These days, Dr. Stoner walks around in lab coats with the flag embroidered proudly next to his last name, impossible to miss. Vale must have been wearing an old one. Where he’d found it, Pecco didn’t really want to know.

“I don’t think they’re doing much dating,” he sighs, dumping the espresso powder in and snapping the lid shut with a loud metallic clang.

Cradled in Bez’s arms, Cele bursts into laughter.

Pecco doesn’t know why he was the last to know that Luca was leaving them. The weeks leading up to Luca’s departure had been—euphoric, almost. If he ignored the sense of impending doom, which he had become very good at. They had been spending a truly unreasonable amount of time together that semester because Luca had still been living in the apartment, sharing his car, sleeping, working, eating together.

Pecco had woken up from an involuntary library nap, one day last March, to find one of Luca’s jackets draped over him. He’d moved into the carrel next to Pecco while he was asleep, apparently. Valentino found them slumped over each other, napping on the couch in his office so often that semester, that he’d started calling them i dormiglioni , like they were little kids.

It was easy to ignore, at first, because Pecco had been ignoring it for what was probably years, at that point. Since at least their second year of Laurea , when they’d been assigned partners for a semester-long project in Professor Nieto’s Modern Philosophy class. Pecco had known who he was, of course. Not even the different last names could hide that Luca was Dr. Rossi’s younger brother, quietly accepted into the Physics and Philosophy department an entire year earlier than they usually let undergrads declare.

Luca wasn’t particularly popular, really. Whatever magnetic charm that Valentino, known mostly around campus as il Dottore , walked around with must have come from Graziano, because Luca didn’t attract the same kind of attention everywhere he went, and he’d kept to himself, mostly, their first year. Pecco couldn’t help but notice him. He was much quieter than Valentino, of course, but he was still every bit as beautiful. Pecco had never dreamed that Luca would ever pay him any attention, even after they were assigned partners.

It turned out he was wrong, about Luca, anyway. He was just like Valentino, in all the ways that mattered. It was kind of impressive that people who studied their field so closely could be so blind about it.

Or maybe, Pecco had thought, watching Luca leave, inevitably, after everything—that was the caveat.

Pecco had spent so long ignoring it, that he didn’t understand what he was feeling, the first time Luca intentionally tugged on the bond. He was on the fourth floor of the stacks section of the library in late May, enjoying the sunlight peaking through the skylights while he combed through the shelves. Choking on dust and trying not to make noises every time he encounters a dead spider, on some fruitless mission from Valentino to find the original copy of Bell’s Inequality he swore was hiding around there. Pecco was beginning to suspect he was just trying to get him out of his office for an hour so he could hook up with—whoever it was who’d been leaving ribbed condom wrappers in the Philosophy Lounge trash all year.

Then, all at once, he felt the little ember he’d kept tucked away, all this time, a little shard of glass pressed up against his heart. It was like all of his muscles and tendons, bones and sinew, every part of his body could feel it. Feel him. Luca, reaching through.

In a lot of cultures, soul bonds were likened to strings, in mythology. When Pecco let himself wonder what theirs might feel like, he always pictured something like a ribbon or a cord, their connection loose and free-flowing. When Luca touches their bond for the first time, it feels nothing like that. It doesn’t really feel like anything else, or anything he could describe with words, though his whole job, his whole life, he’s been trying to describe what this moment might feel like. It’s not accurate, but he pictures himself getting struck by lightning through the library skylights, instantly engulfed in flames.

Luca finds him like that, rounding the corner of the H-K shelves, his eyes bright. A strange, manic energy to him that Pecco has never seen before. It’s hot, watching Luca stalk towards him like a predator, every nerve ending in his body lighting up, the closer he gets. Suddenly, Luca is right in front of him, breathing a little heavy, caging Pecco in, against the hard metal of the shelves. If soul ties were visual things, Pecco thinks theirs would probably be a neon red cloud, hazily encompassing them. As it stands, the only proof Pecco has that this is real, that Luca is going to stop pretending he doesn’t know and finally fucking do something about it is the tension he feels flowing through his body. It’s their bond, it’s Luca , wrapped around his chest like a vice.

Pecco’s always imagined their first kiss being a little awkward. Maybe a peck in the back corner of the campus cafe that Cele works at, or tiredly making out on the floor of Luca’s bedroom, where they both prefer to study at home. Something slow, intentional. The weight of the bond unburdened.

There’s nothing slow or soft or sweet about the way Luca kisses him for the first time, almost bruising. His tongue is hot and slick in Pecco’s mouth, brushing against the back of his teeth. Pecco whines into it, helpless, a hand finds purchase on his waist, the other tangling in his hair. He can barely tell if he’s kissing back, so lost in the sensation. He only realizes when Luca pulls away, ducking his head to suck marks onto Pecco’s flushed neck, that he’s been holding his breath.

“ Fuck, Luca ,” he gasps, his hips twitching up involuntarily when Luca finds a pressure point. He’s half hard just from kissing, but Luca’s no better. Pecco can feel the heat of his length straining against his thigh from where Luca had wedged a leg between them. “I need—” he cuts himself off with a hiss when Luca grinds them together.

“Shh, Franci,” Luca whispers, a little meanly. “You don’t want anyone to hear us, right?” Reaching down between them, he pops the button of Pecco’s corduroys with deft fingers. Pecco jolts forward, muffling his moan with the soft collar of Luca’s shirt between his teeth when Luca wraps a calloused palm around his weeping cock and gives it a dry tug. It’s equal parts pleasure and pain, and Pecco can’t help but sigh in relief when Luca pulls back just far enough to spit directly on the leaking tip. His breath catches at the sensation of it, Luca dragging his hand up and down until he’s wet everywhere, saliva and precum dripping down his balls.

“Luca we can’t —” Pecco gasps, when he brushes a blunt, dry fingertip against his hole. His whole body shudders as Luca does it again, circling and stroking until Pecco is clenching down on nothing; he can feel himself soaked everywhere .

Luca drags his fingers down through the stickiness between his thighs, chuckling. “So wet, Franci, like a girl.”

Before Pecco can even react to that, Luca flips them around pressing him against the cold metal of the shelves with a firm grip. His pulse is hammering in his throat and he wonders, absurdly, if Luca can feel it, every erratic beat.

Luca is everywhere on him, all at once. His breath is hot against Pecco’s ear, his fingers digging into his hips, both grounding and overwhelming. The bond thrums between them, heavy, tightening around Pecco’s rib cage. It feels like a separate animal, alive and red and wild . “Tell me now, if you want me to stop,” he murmurs against the back of Pecco’s neck, his lips brushing against his skin, teasing.

Pecco whimpers again, pushing his ass back up against where Luca is hard. “Please.”

Luca pulls away, this time to fumble with his belt. The clink of the metal buckle as he undoes it rings louder than a gunshot in the stillness of the library. Pecco keeps forgetting they’re in public , that any moment someone could walk in and see him bent over the periodicals, squirming as Luca feeds his cock between his slippery thighs. Whimpering as Luca drags achingly slow up against the sensitive skin of his balls. It’s filthy , the wet heat of it, the lewd slide of skin on skin. Luca fucks between his thighs like he doesn’t care if Pecco gets off, like he’s just a means to an end.

His hips stutter, his grip turning bruising on Pecco’s waist, like he’s afraid to let go. With a grunt, muffled against the damp curls at the nape of Pecco’s neck, he spills onto the shelf beneath them. He doesn’t even glance down, uncaring of the carnage. He just flips Pecco around, still panting, eyes blown, looking like he wants to run or maybe sink his teeth into Pecco’s throat.

Instead of softening, instead of giving either of them a breath, Luca crushes their mouths together. The bond between them is electric, fraying, tightening—too much. Pecco feels like he’s being squeezed from the inside out, like something is about to snap in his chest. For a brief moment, he thinks, hysterically, maybe he wants it to.

Luca is still hard against his thigh, still wanting, still taking . His hand snakes into Pecco’s hair, pulling, tugging, keeping him exactly where he wants him.

“Luca, this—” Pecco gasps against his mouth, fingers twitching at Luca’s wrist, nails biting into his skin. “This isn’t—I don’t want. . . .”

He bites down on Pecco’s bottom lip, just enough to make him flinch. “ Tesoro .” His voice is low, almost coaxing. “We don’t have to.”

As if they haven’t already. As if Pecco can’t look down between them and find Bell’s Inequality , covered in the evidence of their desperation.

But the thing is, Pecco still wants . He wants Luca to get him off in here, the AC blowing dust around and the motion sensor lights flickering off every ten minutes. He wants to see Luca’s face when he finishes, this time. He wants Luca to kiss him, gentle, and be there in the morning when he wakes up. It doesn’t feel anything like Pecco imagined, holding Luca in his arms. It feels like the end of something, instead of the beginning.

The bond isn’t soft, like threads of fate weaving them together—it feels like a chokehold, also, like a noose. Luca presses him back against the cold metal shelves like he wants to imprint him there, leave fingerprints on his soul as much as his skin. Pecco wants to do anything in his power to keep Luca here, in this moment, for as long as he possibly can.

“Say it,” Luca murmurs, dragging his lips down Pecco’s jaw. His hand tightens in Pecco’s hair, yanking his head back so their eyes meet. There’s something frantic in his gaze, something uncertain and desperate.

Pecco swallows, pulse jumping under his skin. Heat and hunger and fear tangled together. “I can feel it,” He whispers into Luca’s open mouth.

Really, Pecco had thought, as Luca had sunk to his knees on the faded carpet, pulling Pecco’s pants all the way down with something like reverence , that zing at the base of his spine practically singing when he’d taken Pecco into his mouth. He’d known then, that it was a feeling you could only get when you were physically, mentally, emotionally connected to your soulmate.

It kind of just felt like Luca was running away.

#vale getting put on grunt work duty every time he makes his ex turned situationship a little mad #pecco and vale staring at each other like what were YOU doing at the devils sacrament (casey stoner stem hell rat lab)#all grad school/research endeavors talked about as vaguely as humanly possible due to my pathological fear of grad school #sorry this took over a month anon i was. experiencing revelations and horrors. let's go with that yeah #pecco/luca #fic talk #motogp fic #my first time putting something on ao3 in five years please be nice to me #also my fist time writing smut in even longer so sorry if it doesn't make any sense lmaoooo #quantum entanglement #anon mail #my writing

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the-narwhals-awaken · 2 months ago

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Bloody Hearts Bingo Day 22

Prompt: Sweet Pea, General | "Hey, babe" and multiple people respond

The Urahara Shoten was always an unusual place to visit, no matter your reason for going there. Kurosaki Isshin knew that fact well- he'd only been a handful of times in the two and a half decades he'd made Karakura Town his home, but each time had reinforced that lesson. When he was visiting for candy (despite the quiet air around the shop, there were a handful of types that came straight from Seireitei that he'd grown attached to, along with a few other small brands that his darling daughters were fond of) it was almost always dead, quiet in the way that discouraged making any unneccesary noise. When he visited for other purposes, it felt even eerier- like a thin layer of skin stretched over some abomination of flesh and metal and things beyond mortal ken.

Isshin hated going there. His Masaki had liked visiting, purchasing little treats with some regularity and chatting with Urahara about all the little things that were going on, and he was fairly certain that she and Ryuuken had used the shop as an in-between so they could stay in contact without either needing to lower their pride to directly apologize, but it had always reminded him of the one time he'd been in the Twelfth's labs- somehow both sterile and filthy, with the looming threat only not killing him or worse because he was worth more to them alive and intact.

What was worse was that the Urahara Shouten was home to one Urahara Kisuke, a wanted criminal and a mad scientist far worse than even Kurostuchi Mayuri. He'd been exiled about a century ago for perverting the souls of eight of his fellow ranking officers, fleeing with the remnants and avoiding all attempts to capture or kill them. He'd emerged out of nowhere to save Masaki after that weird Hollow had attacked her, and he'd been quite helpful- but still, Isshin was wary. Urahara had been unsettling even when he'd been a captain- he'd been friends with Kaien for a bit, and Isshin had met him, and of course seen him at various meetings, and every time he'd walked away with a case of the heebie-jeebies. It had only gotten worse without the evident need to play the naive captain, and now every time he met with Urahara, he felt like he was seconds away from ending up in little pieces.

Still, Isshin had to meet with him every so often- the Final Getsuga Tenshou was the only option to overpower Aizen, no matter what Kisuke thought about his backup plans and other schemes, and it would take some time to explain both how to get Ichigo to pull it off and prepare the tools to teach him. Thus- a distraction for Tsukabishi-san in the form of his amazing, wonderful daughters who were demonstrating their fierce bargaining skills while Isshin slipped back to Urahara's office to discuss things.

He refused to step foot in the lab- he wasn't stupid, he wouldn't descend into Urahara's domain. No, instead he ducked into the half-hidden door to find Urahara sitting at his desk, scribbling away at some mad plan or another. Really, it was a wonder Yoruichi didn't keep a better hold of him- the room was a mess, and considering the number of plans that had gone awry, it was clear that she needed to take a firmer hand on her pet. Useful he might be, but it was the kind that could go amok quickly.

Now, Isshin knew that he hadn't been the best of captains. He'd been meant to hold the position until his dear Kaien-kun could take over, after gaining experience in the Thirteenth, after which Isshin had been planning to either transfer to the Fourth and use the healing skills he actually liked using or retire and take over the Clan Head role, not to be a career officer- it wasn't the life he'd been taught for. He was, however, good enough at planning- especially when this was mostly just ensuring the layout of a single structure, with more details to come as the war shaped itself- to keep half an ear on the world outside his work, even when Urahara had stuck him with paper to write out the equations for the tools to hold back the Cleaner.

And Urahara calling out, "Ratling!" was definitley worth listening to- especially when four responses were heard, from four different places. A glance out the other open door- leading to the rest of the Shouten, a space he'd been in exactly four times- revealed four rather familiar heads poking out of various rooms. It was his Ichigo and his friends.

Being a good father, of course, Isshin waved and called to them, and soon enough there were four teenagers standing just outside the office (which was, of course, too small to fit six people). The explanation made sense- the helpful rats, fetching and carrying and running errands and helping man the shopfront sometimes. It meant that Ichigo had an actual job now, which of course would have him out of the house more- and it would be a good thing to stick with once he'd lost his powers, one more semblance of normality to ensure that he'd live a perfectly normal happy human life, just like Isshin.

He even invited his son's friends over- it would be worth getting to know them better, to see if they'd be ties to normalcy or anchors to the spiritual life that he was going to excise from his eldest. It would work well- apparently, Ichigo was dating one of them (which one, he wasn't quite sure, but he'd figure it out eventually), and he was going to make sure that his son and his partner did well for themselves- after all, love had made him settle down, and surely it would do that for Ichigo once Isshin made sure that the monster that had slipped into his son was long gone. Things were working out exactly as he wanted, and Isshin was very pleased with himself.

#kurosaki isshin #bloody hearts bingo #four little lab rats #bleach #urahara kisuke #isshin is a liar #to himself and to others #and he has lived so long with his delusions and intentional blindness that he has forgotten the real world #mugetsu is not going to happen because kisuke will not break a perfectly good subject like that #isshin wants to strip all the spiritual power out of ichigo #and have ichigo live the same kind of happy human life he did #ignoring the fact that ichigo doesn't want to live that life #and then afterwards become a shinigami the normal way #and take up his duties to the gotei and the shiba clan #like life is a story #except isshin is not in the story he thinks he is #and his plans are going to crumble to pieces #also karin and yuzu were absolutely causing problems while unsupervised #they're just quieter about it than ichigo #tessai loves his little white-collar-crime-indulging gremlins

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