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Gangsta's Paradise

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Mista woke up to cold hands rubbing his navel and hips under the covers and even colder lips trailing around the back of his neck. Giorno had such little body heat it was like sleeping with a reptilian shape-shifter or a vampire. For someone so closely tied to the sun it was an interesting quirk.

"G'morn'm," Mista muttered into the pillow.

"Good morning, Mista."

The barest shafts of light were peeking in through the window. Of course the blond would be awake, but he still had-a bleary eye opened to the ancient alarm clock on his dresser- twenty-three minutes.

"Why are all your clocks wrong?"

His alarm clock was wrong too?

Fumbling for his phone and slurring some choice swears at the light Mista's alarm clock was indeed wrong. It was really close to ten AM.

"Huh... uh, for the surprise I guess?"

Why did he even have clocks at this point.

Giorno just chuckled against his back, continuing his light petting and seemingly content to keep lying around. Mista couldn't even gauge if the blond was working up to something more or if he was just groping for the hell of it. He couldn't say he minded, though it was making him sleepy again.

As the gunman's eyelids began drooping, a hesitant "will your friends like me?" came from behind him.

Huh, "more'n likely. You've met Buccelati before, and Narancia and Abbachio-"

"I don't think he was too fond of me."

"It's not you, he's just an asshole."

Mista turned to face the blond, "what's got you all worried?"

Giorno wasn't looking at him, instead poking at a tiny mole on the gunmans side, "I don't have many friends that aren't family related."

Mista's eyebrows went to his hairline, "you're fuckin' with me! I don't believe that for an instant."

Pouting, "it's true."

"I still don't believe it, but they will definitely like you. You are kinda hard not to like."

The blond gave a few breathy chuckles, "if you say so."

The next few hours were spent lazily making out in bed, groping in the shower, and then being fire hazards in the kitchen as they reheated leftovers. Eventually the two got around to actually eating lunch, barely denting the supply of food from the Joestar family dinner.

"Jotaro makes some weird ass food but damn is it good."

They were sprawled on the couch, watching The Grinch steal probably tens of thousands of Who bucks worth of Christmas.

"He learned a lot of interesting things on his travels. He has this neat trick he can do with five cigarettes... he showed me how to do it once with pocky. I nearly choked to death."

"Huh. I can't wrap my head around the idea of him doing party tricks. Or uh, having fun in general I guess."

Add kidnapping charges to the list, The Grinch was on a crime spree.

Abruptly Mista blurted, "does Whoville got a civil justice department?"

Uh.

Giorno was staring at him, face blank.

It was an awkward few moments before he finally replied, "they have a mayor. I haven't seen a court system or any sort of police force."

"What if there's a shoot out?"

That got the blond laughing, "I don't believe Who's are particularly violent in nature. Although I do wonder about what might happen if there were a fire."

"Yeah... There isn't exactly a fire department. Probably don't got any of those flammable material regulations either."

The blond hummed in agreement, attention returning to the wholesome Christmas classic.

It wasn't twenty minutes before Mista asked another off-handed question, "you think Who's got dicks? Or vaginas, I'm not sexist."

The blond had a heart-meltingly fond smile on his face as he gazed contentedly at the gunman. The Grinch ended and they still had around six hours before the gang festivities, so they watched A Christmas Story too. Die Hard came on next and the two spent a solid thirty minutes bickering over the logistics of whether it actually counted as a Christmas movie. Eventually they conceded to agree to disagree, but did both admit that they were kind of bored sitting around when they would be sitting around later.

They now had two and a half hours left before the main event, Giorno seemingly unfazed, but Mista could see the slight nervousness in his posture, speech slipping into formalities, and that just wouldn't do. Grabbing a pale wrist in the midst of the blond's puttering about, Mista pulled Giorno close, almost against his chest.

Having all the blond's attention, he broke into a lazy smile, "hey cutie."

One of the blond's signature ghost smiles and airy chuckles, purring "Guido."

"You wanna go out with me?"

"Oh? Where will you take me?"

"Dinner, on me. Put on your best casual," with a wink.

Giorno did not know the true meaning of the word casual, hardly owned anything that would be considered casual. Even his pajamas were fancy and came in a set. Everything he wore had a specific reason for being; running suits for running, swimsuits for swimming, yoga pants (that Mista hadn't caught him in yet) with a stretchy probably yoga related top for... yoga-ing- clothes for work, business, clubs, funerals. Nothing particularly for just... existing.

But the boy tried, and one soft blue polo under an even softer sweater covered in embroidered cats and they were ready to go. Mista had just his motorcycle, but the blond drove, already fishing for his keys. Grabbing his hand instead, Mista led Giorno across a street, leading him around a slushy puddle.

"You have a place close by in mind?" The blond asked, tucking his blue and cream houndstooth scarf tighter around his windblown cheeks.

"I do," Mista, "we'll have pizza tonight, but I figured we could indulge a little beforehand, you know?"

Leather gloves squeezed Mista's finger-less knit, "I am rather hungry. Although, all I've done recently is eat."

"I think you're allowed to pig out on holidays."

That got the blond chuckling, "I suppose so. Where are we heading? I'm rather unfamiliar with this area..."

"The best pizza place in town. We'll nab a few slices before we have to fight Narancia off for a bite."

The blond gave a pleased hum, following the gangster to a brightly lit pizzeria under some red and white striped awnings. It was a Passione owned place, because of course it was, but Tiziano and Squalo were pretty good at managing it- and Carne.

But nobody talked about Carne.

It was kind of run-down looking, but in a homely way and less of a food poisoning and/or murder kind of way. Leading Giorno to his usual booth and then dutifully helping him out of his coat... and scarf... and jacket, and sweater, the two took their seats on the worn pleather.

Squalo looked out of the swinging kitchen door, "holy shit, people actually came in on-oh, it's just Mista."

"Yo, Squalo, one on my usual margherita, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, comin' up."

The door swung back and there was a faint "Carne, stop eating the straws, you celery looking bastard."

Giorno chuckled under his breath, tucking a booted foot around the gangster's booted leg, "so lively. You come here frequently then?"

Wrapping a pale hand in his tan fingers, Mista smiled, "yeah these guys are shitheads, but they make a great pizza."

"I look forward to trying it then. I am rather fond of a good margherita."

"You'll love it, I promise," a brief squeeze and the gunman raised Giorno's hand to his lips, lightly kissing smooth knuckles.

It was far from a romantic dinner, in a sketchy and mostly abandoned pizzeria at 6:22 Christmas Day with a bunch of mafioso as waiters and cooks. Honestly though, who needed a tablecloth and lit candle and a suited server for that kind of experience. Looking at Giorno, with his hair kind of loose around his face, illuminated in soft neon blues and reds from the signs and streetlights outside, with that soft almost smile- screw all of that fancy shit.

This was the real deal.

Playful blue eyes crinkled to match his lips, head cocking slightly to the side, "you have such a faraway look in your eyes, Mista. What are you thinking of?"

"You, mostly," the gunman replied immediately.

It was the truth after all, and he was an honest man through and through. The light blush he got in response was well worth it.

"Guido," Giorno smiled, leaning in, the gunman following suit.

Their lips were a scant few centimeters apart, blue eyes flickering down and then back to meet dark almost black. Giorno's head was tilted invitingly to the side, mouth open slightly. Mista could just... close that distance, a movement forward, a tiny tilt, slide his lips across those plump, pink, parted-

"Here ya go, one margherita, god you two are disgusting together," Squalo's impeccable timing splitting the two apart as he set down the hot pizza.

"Ugh, thanks, asshole," Mista said in the least petulant tone he could manage as he started on the food.

It was still pretty petulant.

Giorno chuckled before daintily grabbing a slice of his own, Squalo walking back to the kitchen making exaggerated gagging noises. Rolling his eyes, Mista returned to the task at hand- said task being mauling this hapless pizza. Giorno seemed to share his sentiments as the duo demolished the dish in front of them.

"My family has many good cooks, but I am rather glad to eat something other than leftovers," Giorno started, leaning back against the distressed pleather seating.

Mista nodded sagely, "Christmas pizza is pretty great."

"You were right, they are rather good at what they do."

Mista pulled his wallet out of a boot, "glad you liked it, they got some real interesting flavors we can try out sometime."

Tossing a few bills on the vinyl table before getting up to help Giorno bundle himself back up. The brief flashing image of that kid from A Christmas Story in so many layers he couldn't move with Giorno's head had the gunman biting his tongue to keep from laughing. Composing himself coolly, Mista gave a lazy wave to Squalo and Tiziano, who were bickering over the incredibly ancient jukebox in the corner. Giorno's gloved hand made it into his, lockstep with the gunman as he turned a few corners and made his way to his gang's base of operations.

Giorno knew exactly- well not exactly, but he knew Mista was in a dangerous mafia and probably did unspeakable, questionable things. And yet here he was amicably following after him, neatly sidestepping all the little slush puddles, humming a little tune along the way. It was super cute, although he was a little tone deaf.

"Ah, did we need to bring anything?"

They were right outside the building, it would be too late regardless.

"Nah, dropped off all my presents a few days ago. I brought a cake in your name too."

He'd thought ahead this year and dropped everything off beforehand, stashing the gifts to keep them away from a certain orange headband wearing menace. The cake was just a bonus from a nearby bakery, since he did not trust Giorno's culinary skills. He was beautiful and smart but the awful things he'd make in the kitchen...

"That's very thoughtful, thank you," Giorno squeezed his hand lightly.

"Of course," Mista replied, trudging up the stairs.

Giorno was putting up a good front as the gunman knocked on the door three times, having to stop himself from just inviting himself in. The blonds mannerisms were rubbing off.

The door clicked open, Bruno greeting the gunman with a very serious, "Merry Christmas, Mista and Giorno."

Well, as serious as one could be while wearing a glittery Santa hat and the most atrocious Christmas sweater on the planet. Looking around the room, Buccelati was the only festive one again, for the sixth year in a row. Then again it was Bruno Buccelati; the man who was only capable of whole-assing whatever was in front of him... He probably shouldn't share that assessment, no matter how accurate.

They were about fifteen minutes early, but everyone was already here; Abbachio nursing a bottle of wine, Narancia setting up the TV for some Hallmark channel goodness, and Fugo microwaving another bowl of popcorn. There was just one thing missing from it all...

"Oh hey, where's Trish?"

"Right here, you're blocking the doorway," came a voice from behind him.

Mista startled (only a little, really) as he scrambled out of the way. Trish was carrying multiple fancy looking bags and a few not so fancy bags of tortilla chips.

She was just standing there staring as Buccellati helped take some of her cargo before she exclaimed, "OH!"

Giorno and Mista were mirrored with raised eyebrows, "oh?"

"This is!" Trish snapped from surprised to confident and charismatic in a heartbeat, extending a manicured hand, "Trish Una, you must be Giorno Giovanna."

It was the smoothest transition Mista had ever seen, "nice to meet you."

Two painfully similar personalities meeting like this, "likewise."

There were going to be such good friends.

Mista might cry.

Buccelati took the opportunity to then introduce Giorno more formally to the rest of the group before stoically announcing that the pizza would arrive in approximately thirty minutes, and they should exchange gifts before they started. Narancia and Fugo enthusiastically agreeing, and Mista had to catch himself from joining in, Abbachio had no opinion since he never really cared, and Trish and Giorno were involved in some secretive murmured conversation that gave the gunman some uncomfortable vibes.

Concerned, Mista offered to help Buccelati gather up and distribute all the gifts like some a demented Santa in tiger stripes. By the time he was done and returned to his spot, both Trish and Giorno were giving him smug and knowing looks.

What had happened.

(Un)fortunately, he didn't have a chance to find out as it was time to attempt to open presents in an 'orderly fashion' that would no doubt dissolve in to chaos ten minutes in. Bruno tried, but his children were nuts. The first one to usually break and just open everything was Narancia, but it seemed this year would be a tie with Fugo. Abbachio usually napped during present time since all he ever got were bottles of alcohol and the occasional gift card.

So far Mista received a vintage Tony the Tiger shirt (it was grrreat!) from Fugo and yet another box of condoms (thanks Narancia, I'll put it next to the OTHER BOX). Giorno had gotten a few little things as well, a bag of chocolates from Fugo, a craft store gift card from Bruno, a sneer from Abbachio...

Watching Narancia wad up a ball of tacky wrapping paper to throw at Fugo's head, while Giorno and Trish decimated the bag of chocolates, Buccelati humming a Christmas jingle while showing off a pair of socks covered in seagulls swearing to an Abbachio who had a ghost of a smile... It was a Merry Christmas indeed.

He had to be the luckiest guy on Earth.

Gifts all thoroughly exchanged, shown off, and messed with, Narancia stood up and exclaimed in his brand new Snoop Dogg shirt "it's time for some motherfucking Hallmark shit!"

Squishing himself between Giorno and Fugo, Trish and Narancia flopped on both sides, the channel was changed just in time to catch a very touching if cheesy line between mother and son over the true meaning of Christmas.

Abbachio was already sniffling.

About a quarter of the way through The Nine Lives of Christmas, the pizza arrived and by the time a cliche mistletoe scene came on, it was gone. By the end Abbachio was sniffling a bit harder, Bruno had set into the cake before actually offering anyone any, and Giorno was looking up cats for adoption from the local shelter. During the obscenely long commercial break, Mista went and procured his own slice of cake, and after a brief deliberation grabbed another.

He returned just in time for another Hallmark masterpiece, A Very Merry Mix-up, which "wait we saw this last year."

"Uh yeah, they got a budget for like one new movie a year, and they got an entire month to fill," Trish piped up, typing something lightning fast into her phone.

"That just seems lazy," Mista groused, settling back onto the full sofa.

Giorno's attention was immediately pulled to the plate, pouting when he saw there was only one fork. They'd have to pass the utensil back and forth since silverware was a hot commodity in this flat. Even with the handicap he was glad he thought to get two slices since Giorno was a black hole for sweets.

A Very Merry Mix-up ended half after one, and Buccelati and Abbachio were both passed out in their respective armchairs, leaving everyone else to watch the credits roll sleepily.

It was Narancia who groggily got up, whisper-shouting "let's play Mario Kart!"

Mista groaned as Fugo agreed, "you guys suck to play against."

"Look just because you are too good at it doesn't mean-"

"I've never played it before," Giorno piped up.

That woke the gunman up a little, "wait, really?"

"Mm, I never had anyone to play video games with really."

"Uh, what about your step-" Giorno was making such a disgusted face that Mista couldn't finish the sentence, "yeah okay, let's do it."

Narancia perched on the back of the couch behind Fugo, who broke out his personal controller, Trish and Mista flanked the blond to give advice and encouragement. The first few rounds were strictly for practice, the blond getting a grasp of the game controls and mechanics, seeming to favor Rosalina because 'she's rather pretty and ethereal' but also eyeing Yoshi and Bowser a bit. He was getting good surprisingly fast for someone who didn't own a single video game, often ranking in the top five. It was impressive and he was startlingly competitive, although the accuracy of his shells was a bit lackluster.

"Okay, let's do this for real, Mista, you too!"

Grunting a bit Mista grabbed a spare controller and picking a random vehicle and character, which ended up being Peach but Narancia started before he could change. Whatever, the character didn't matter much to Mista, all that mattered was getting shells and stuff to throw. His insane accuracy carried over even into Mario Kart, and was the main reason nobody liked playing against or with him.

However, this would now pose a new type of challenge.

He was playing with Giorno.

Giorno, who would want him to give it his all no matter what and would easily notice if he wasn't targeted as often. Giorno who'd do the voice at him until he did his best, even though it may crush him. The side-effect boner would also not be not ideal. Mista would have to just... play normally. Against his beautiful future fiance. That he decided on in that moment. Holy shit-

"Good luck, Mista," with a blinding smile.

Fugo gave him a conciliatory pat on the back as the timer counted down. Well, better to just... bite the bullet. At the first row of items Mista nabbed a set of mushrooms, not ideal, but it was fine enough. Narancia had sped his way in to first, Fugo on his tail fending off an NPC. Giorno was in fourth and Mista in fifth because he refused to be in fourth unless he could easily get to third.

That was the second reason he didn't often play video games.

However the next item block gave him a green shell- perfect! Lining himself up at the start of the next straight shot, Mista sent the green shell flying forwards and straight into the NPC that had gotten a little ahead of Fugo. The boy inevitably crashed into the NPC, swearing lowly as Mista and Giorno swept by.

Mista was now sitting pretty at third and that was cool and all but if he dropped down to fourth he was probably gonna lose it. The next item box gave him a banana peel which... well that was kind of doable since there was a toss mechanic now. He just had to get close enough, and then he could sit in second, defending his hold for the next lap or so. Trying to take first in Mario Kart against Narancia was a lost cause. The guy was just too damn fast.

Mista just prayed Giorno would forgive him for this.

Getting close to the blonds character the gunman gave a truly heartfelt, "sorry babe" before launching the banana peel in front of poor unsuspecting Rosalina.

He was expecting a slip, but instead Giorno seemed to expertly dodge. Mista was stunned slightly, ignoring the laughter from Trish and the swearing from Fugo who was not as nimble.

The blond looked frustratingly smug "what for, Mista?"

Fate was not on his side since the next item box gave him a red shell, and as misfortune would have it, a blue shell came speeding by, leaving Narancia gaping and no longer in first.

The finish line was nearing and Mista apologized again, "I'm really sorry, love you, Giorno," before sending the red shell flying into Rosalina's fancy bike.

It was the eulogy to mourn the possible end of his relationship, and Mista could cry as Peach crossed the finish line. Giorno was stunned, eyes wide before quietly dropping a few words in a foreign language.

They sounded bad yet familiar?

"Whoa Giorno! I didn't know you could speak Naruto," Narancia whisper-shouted.