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Christmas and Christmas Eve has to be a couple of Narancia’s favorite days of the year. Besides his birthday, obviously. Despite the fact that they were in the mafia, Bruno insisted on having the most normal Christmas celebrations possible. The safehouse they were staying in had been decorated with a Christmas tree as well as a nativity scene. While none of them were particularly religious, the nativity scene was traditional. So, Bruno set it up every year without fail.
The Christmas market in Naples always seemed to be crowded, but Bruno always made sure they took multiple trips to it to find and buy gifts for everyone in his team, as well as a few Passione higher-ups If Bruno wanted to stay in their good graces. The Capo Polpo always got the best gifts. Bruno, being his favorite, always ended up getting the best of the gifts Polpo gave out to the men who answered to him.
Narancia watched from the couch as Bruno moved about the house on Christmas Eve to make sure everything was in order. Abbacchio was following him around and helping him out while Mista slept sideways in a recliner, his hat over his face. After complaining about the rule about fasting on Christmas Eve, despite none of them being religious, he ultimately decided to just ignore his hunger and go to sleep.
Narancia’s own stomach growled and he groaned, pulling his knees up to rest his head on them.
“This is the worst part of Christmas.” He whined to Fugo. “I hope Babbo Natale brings me a lot of oranges. I don’t know how I’m gonna be able to go all night without eating and then sit through church.”
“Babbo Natale? How old are you?” Fugo asked with a laugh. “He’s not going to come because he’s not real.”
“Shut the hell up, Fugo, what do you know?” Narancia shot back.
“I know you’re an idiot,” Fugo replied.
Narancia grabbed a throw pillow beside him and used it to hit Fugo in the face. When Fugo grabbed a pillow of his own to retaliate, Narancia shrieked at the top of his lungs to stun him as he scrambled away.
“Buccellati! Fugo’s trying to kill me or something!” He called.
“I am not, you greasy little rat!” Fugo snapped back.
“Fugo,” Bruno said, walking out from the kitchen in a plain white apron over his clothes. “Leave Narancia alone for a little while. Come help me make the panettone.”
“Fucking baby,” Fugo grumbled as he got up, pushing his pillow into Narancia’s face as he walked away to help Bruno obediently.
Narancia stuck his tongue out at Fugo as the boy left the room and sighed, resting back on the couch again. Fugo was the stupid one. Obviously, Babbo Natale was real. Every parent told their kids about him, and it would take a whole different grade of asshole to lie to a child. So, it was just common sense that he had to be real. Fugo was a bad and mean guy, so Babbo Natale wouldn’t be leaving him anything good. He’d probably get brussels sprouts at best. Sour, old brussels sprouts that smelled like hot piss on an August afternoon.
He smiled at the thought and laid across the couch to take a page from Mista's book and chase away his hunger by sleeping.
He spent a majority of the day like that until Bruno told him to get up and get dressed for mass. He yawned but did as he was told, putting on the suit Bruno had bought for him.
The trip to the cathedral was more for the sake of tradition and networking with other members of Passione than it was for celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ. Bruno seemed to know almost everyone in each of the packed pews by name. It was both impressive and a little bit intimidating.
After mass, they returned home to eat a dinner of seafood that Fugo had cooked, as well as the panettone and hot chocolate. With that, Bruno sent Narancia, Mista, and Fugo off to bed for the night.
“Are you sure you don’t want help cleaning up, Buccellati?” Fugo asked.
“That’s what Abbacchio’s for. You three go to sleep, it’s been a long day.” Bruno replied.
Narancia didn’t need to be told twice. The sooner he went to bed, the sooner Babbo Natale could come to their house. He changed into his pajamas at record speeds and dove into his bed, laying with his eyes open and an excited smile on his face.
He had no idea how much time had passed as he laid there. After a while, just when he’d finally started to drift off, he heard the sound of Buccellati’s laughter travel through the house, followed by a pair of voices talking. What was Buccellati doing up so late? And who’d made him laugh? It wasn’t exactly something he did that often.
Narancia quietly sat up and slipped out of his bed. He straightened his pajama shirt and fixed his pants before tiptoeing to the door. Even if it was nothing, if Bruno heard or saw him out of his bed, he’d get mad. So, it was better to be safe than sorry.
Narancia slowly opened the door. The house was old, so when the door started to creak in protest, he stopped and held completely still. The voices downstairs hadn’t stopped talking, so he probably hadn’t been heard. The door was just open enough for him to be able to slide through, so he did and continued to sneak to the stairs to follow the sound of the voices. He hid behind the wall that separated the foyer from the living room and peeked inside.
Over by the Christmas tree, facing away from him, Bruno was sitting on the floor next to a larger man in a familiar red suit. Bruno was smiling and laughing, one hand on the other man’s knee.
A bright smile spread across Narancia’s face. He knew he’d been right. Babbo Natale was real. He was in their house. And somehow, like seemingly everyone else in Naples, he was friends with Bruno Buccellati. This proved two things to him. The first was that he had been right and that Fugo was the dumb one. The second was that Bruno was clearly the best team leader in the world. The man could make friends and allies with everyone, including Babbo Natale.
“I can’t believe that suit actually fits you. It’s so perfect.” Bruno laughed, rubbing Babbo Natale’s knee.
“What, are you calling me big or something?” Babbo Natale replied, speaking with a voice that sounded weirdly like Abbacchio’s. Though, Abbacchio’s voice was a relatively generic low voice. It could belong to any man. This time, it seemed to belong to Babbo Natale, Bruno’s mythic friend.
“No, no, of course not.” Bruno laughed, grinning at him as he slid his hand up and squeezed his thigh fondly.
Bruno seemed to be rather physical with Babbo Natale. Narancia wondered how long they’d been friends for. It had probably been a while. It took some time to get so touchy-feely with your friends.
Bruno sighed softly and turned his head to look at the Christmas tree, that was all lit up and decorated beautifully. “We decorated everything so well this year. Maybe we should have put up some mistletoe, too,” he said after a moment.
“We don’t need any of that bullshit.” Babbo Natale said.
Bruno turned back to look at him. He leaned in closer and dragged his tongue up the shell of Babbo Natale’s ear. “No, we don’t.” he agreed, rather breathily.
Then, Bruno Buccellati did the unthinkable.
Narancia watched as the man got up to his knees and climbed onto Babbo Natale’s lap. His arms wrapped around the man’s neck and in an instant, he was kissing him.
It wasn’t some small, sweet kiss like he’d seen in romance movies. This one was a lot… more. Babbo Natale’s arms had snaked around Bruno’s waist and were holding him tight. The pair were kissing with such ferocity and passion that Narancia wasn’t entirely sure they weren’t trying to eat each other’s faces clean off.
Babbo Natale moved from Bruno’s mouth to start kissing his neck, and Bruno kept his eyes shut as he threw his head back and smiled in a sort of light-headed bliss.
“Ah, Babbo.” He sighed. Narancia didn’t want to admit to himself that he’d just heard his fearless leader moan.
Narancia quickly slipped back behind the wall to look away from the pair. He sat against the wall, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
Meanwhile, Babbo Natale had done something that made Bruno yelp softly before giggling. “Don’t call me that.” he huffed.
“Should I call you Daddy instead?” Bruno purred.
Narancia did his best to block out the following sounds of wet kissing and Bruno’s little sighs and moans. He practically scrambled up the stairs as fast as he could, his whole face feeling like it had started to burn.
It was only when he got back to his bedroom that he started to process what he’d seen and heard.
Bruno Buccellati wasn’t just friends with Babbo Natale. They were almost certainly boyfriends and lovers. How did Bruno even know Babbo Natale that well? When had they started dating? Was their relationship one of those long-distance ones he’d heard about? He supposed it had to be.
Was Bruno sad that he could only ever see his love once a year? It seemed like something rather sad, or bittersweet at the very least.
Why hadn’t Bruno mentioned that he was dating Babbo Natale when Fugo had called him an idiot earlier that day? He could have backed him up in that fight.
Narancia paced his room quietly as he tried to make sense of everything. Should he go over to wake Fugo up and tell him what he’d seen? How badly did he want to win that little fight from hours and hours earlier?
He sighed and just moved to crawl back into his bed. No, that sort of thing wouldn’t be right. If Bruno wanted to tell them he had a boyfriend, he would tell them in his own time. That was something only Bruno Buccellati could do. Until then, he’d keep what he’d seen and heard to himself and try to go to sleep.