requested by @Momo on AO3
word count: 1454
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Knock knock.
"Yes?" The blonde received no answer. "Come i-"
"Mr. Giovanna~," a sculpted man sang, suddenly behind Giorno.
"Mista. For the last fucking time. I can and will put a bullet between your eyes if you don't stop doing that every time you feel the need to talk to me."
The brunette mocked him. "No you won't. I'm the only one that runs your errands without mistakes."
Giorno sighed, rubbing his thumb and index finger just above his brow, moving them apart, extending his hand before rubbing it over his forehead and loosely tied up hair. "What do you even want?"
"I feel like you could use a break," the older began massaging his counterpart's shoulders.
The blonde scoffed, taking a long sip of his hot, dark beverage. "A break? I run the mafia, Guido. If I take a break, this whole thing crumbles. Besides, I can't go anywhere without my body guard, and I don't want to overwork anyone."
Mista tilted his head, a puzzled look spreading across his face and shining out of his eyes. "Giorno. I am a 24/7 body guard. I live with you as your full time body guard."
"... You live with me because we're engaged, you absolute deadshit."
Mista giggled, running his hand through Giorno's hair. He strolled over, thick wooden soles clicking on the pristine marble floor and sat down on the younger man's desk.
"Come onnn," the older whined. "You need a break... Please? Just for like three days."
Giorno stayed silent, thinking about the problems that would arise from him leaving for just a few hours, not to mention days.
"Fine," he answered defeatedly after a full five minutes of sitting silently, ignoring Mista's eyes.
Giorno's golden blonde hair whipped behind him as he basked in the sunlight and cool breeze generated by the speed of Mista's stolen convertible. Taking a deep breath, he surveyed his surroundings. The beach seemed to go on for miles, salty waves kissing the sand, driftwood and seaweed docked just above the tide as decoration. Directly across the highway stood a rickety, wooden, top-heavy dock house, a weather-beaten, mini cabin of pure, disintegrating mid-eighteenth century raised up on bowed, waterlogged, rotting supports for the purpose of enabling elderly ladies in tea dresses and floppy hats with ribbons to sit out on good afternoons to watch the sailboats tutting along the horizon at their work - a setting rendered completely imagined and unreal by the thick, suffocating saline air surrounding the coast. Waves repetitively crashed over the warm, sunbaked sand, spreading it's webbed foam like the edge of a nightgown. The costal wind blew in bitter gusts, temporarily sending chills down the blonde's neck. The salty, fishy air lay heavily on his tongue and aggressively filled his nostrils. A golden comforter outlining the shimmering, tropical teal sea, creating a picture perfect image. The large, blazing sun was perched high in the sky, shining like Elijah's fiery chariot to heaven. The sun beat down on the calm ocean as another, chilly gust of wind forced itself past Giorno. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the faint taste of salt on the breeze that was complimented by the godly, ambrosial aroma of the flowers growing around the rolling dunes of sand.
The seaside cottage has mortar walls like cold set oatmeal, painted canary yellow with window frames of birch and shutters of grey. Inside is the gentle whirr of the overhead ceiling fan, chairs relaxed in the sunlight outside. The old windows are mullioned, overlooking the garden of flowers and towering palm trees. The rickety little building hunkered low on the coastal moor like a child in a heated round of hide-and-seek trying to keep from being caught. The cottage looked as if it was straight out of a fairytale with a happy ending or a picture book for little kids. It was rusty, old, and quite dusty from the outside, but rather welcoming inside. The whole house was made of birch and mortar. A tiny stove, two small wooden chairs, a circular table, a full sized bed, and that was it. Quaint and calming. Succulents, tropical flowers, and so much more flora. A wrought iron gate with paint chipping and flaking off was the door to the property, leading onto a narrow sandy path with small shells and pebbles. There was a tiny tide pool with barnacles, starfish, urchins, sand crabs, tropical fish, anemone, algae, seagrass, and a few seagulls. The dune grass was green and yellow, scorched and toasted by the sun in the balmy Italian summers.
"See? Are you happy you took this break now?" Mista opened the door to the cottage, breathing in a briny mix of cypress, blood lily, hibiscus, and African violet. He dropped their luggage on the creaky birch floor, sending a cloud of sand into the air.
"Not yet. It's pretty, but I kind of have a really important job to do."
"Awww, Gio-Gio, come on," Mista whined, pulling the other man into his chest. "You know you like it here~"
The blonde's face began to heat up, but he tried to keep a poker face. Mista connected their lips softly, smirking as he ran his hands down Giorno's sides. Giorno shuttered, leaning into Mista's chest. What was this feeling? He felt as though he needed to throw up, but instead of stomach acid, he wanted to throw up his entire heart. Heat pooled in his abdomen.
He was all logic, feigned, cool detachment until Mista touched his skin. Then, something primitive, something carnal not only stirred in him, but completely took over his thinking. The rest of the dull, drab world became an unimportant blur that was quickly banished into the far, compartmentalized recesses of his subconscious mind. The only thing that mattered to him was being touched even more by Mista, kissing his slightly chapped lips, surrounded by scratchy stubble, feeling his large, warm hands on his stomach, trailing to his legs. Mista tried to be gentle with Giorno's clothing, not having the slightest desire to replace a $10,000 suit, but it was so hard. Giorno tried to keep his breathing steady, but soon began panting, not quite sure if out of nervousness or arousal. With the front door closed and locked, every former falsification falls. The façade the mob boss and his guard show the world instantaneously melts away and all Mista wants is to fuck every drop of life out of Giorno. Every kiss he gives has a raw intensity as he glides his tongue down the blonde's body - Giorno's breathing fast, but his heart rate's much faster. Before they know how it happened, the two are naked, skin moving softly and desperately together, like the finest of Mulberry silk. Giorno groans as he feels Mista's hand enter from below, one finger moving against his most sensitive parts, their tongues entwined in an aggressively passionate kiss. Then Mista has three fingers inside, changing Giorno's heavy, desperate breathing with every thrust, taking pleasure in hearing his moans, which were so perfectly timed to his body. All at once, he stops and kisses from Giorno's neck to his stomach, his greedy hands light; then, he's licking and using his fingers all at once, watching the blonde's reaction, feeling and laughing at how his spindly legs move, watching his body writhe with eat brush against the deepest parts of him.
"I'm gonna make you beg for this, you know that?"
Giorno whined in response, unable to form anything intelligible.
In seconds, he's on Giorno again, fucking him hard, just long enough to intoxicate his mind before stopping completely.
"Please- Please- Guido, I-"
"You what?" Mista smirked at the blonde, tugging on his hair as he pushes just his head in. Giorno cried out in misery, needing to feel his fiancé inside him. "Hmm?"
"I need you! I need you to- to fuck me sen-senseless! Please," he wailed, never before having this feeling.
That was all it took for Mista to give in, holding nothing back as he slammed into the blonde. Mista's hands pinned Giorno to the bed, hair coming undone and toes curled. He left every part of the younger man untouched and as quick as the two started screaming for one another, it was over. Giorno arched his back, almost drooling out of pure pleasure, and Mista pounded into him, biting his neck and squeezing the headboard with one hand. The blonde screamed out, digging his short, manicured nails into the older man's tan back. Mista's thrusts slowed and he gently kissed Giorno's soft lips.
"Oh- Oh my god..."
"Was that a good first time?"
"I- Honestly, I think it's the best," Giorno giggled, panting and still shaking from pleasure.
"Happy you took the vacation now?"
"Oh, definitely."
