Chapter Text
The silence permeated into every pore of Guido Mista’s body, interrupted by the occasional haggard and desperate intake of breath-- loud enough for him to hear from the other side of the locked door.
“Please... Giorno, open the door.” he breathed in almost a whisper.
He had been trying to get the door to the bathroom open for the last ten or so minutes. Knocking had turned into shouting and banging, which had devolved into him trying to kick the door down. Despite all his attempts, the door would not budge. He assumed Giorno must have blocked the entrance with something, hell, knowing him, he might have grown a tree in front of the door.
For the last three years, Giorno Giovanna had successfully staked his claim on all of Italy, expanding Passione far past its initial reach. The golden mafia boss had gained quite the reputation-- fair to those in his favor, and ruthless to those who fell out of it. He was a hero of the people, stopping the drug trade and getting Fugo to re-join the gang in one swift motion. That, however, did not mean that he was universally liked. Quite the opposite in fact, as it seems just as his reputation grew, so did his enemies.
Giorno never allowed himself to be bothered by this however. For in his own words, he had the best bodyguard in all of Italy. Mista, on the other hand, was not so convinced of his own worth as said bodyguard. Giorno had one of the most powerful stands he had ever had the privilege of witnessing, and he was sure that there was no enemy who would not fall to Gold Experience Requiem. Sometimes the gunman felt redundant, his job was basically to protect the unkillable, who was he kidding? Anyone could do that, he was useless!
And here he was, stopped by a goddamn door!
His hands clenched against the wood, as he sank to the floor. He had no idea what had just happened. One minute they had been doing just fine, going over the itinerary for the next week, and the next Giorno freaked out on him before making a break for the bathroom-- locking himself inside without a word.
Did he cross a line? Was this his fault?
He pressed his head against the door and thought through the events of a few minutes ago.
Giorno wanted to read the document with him, to insure everything looked appropriate, despite Mista’s protest that he had never been good at that sort of thing. He had moved to stand behind his boss, prepared to be confused by language he was convinced was purposefully dense and uninterpretable.
He almost immediately noticed something was wrong, once he was within range of his boss, the blonde abruptly went rigid.
“You okay boss?” He asked, suddenly filled with concern. Was Giorno injured? No, of course not, he would just be able to heal himself, maybe he was sick?
The blonde clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, there was a few seconds before he was able to speak through his teeth. “Mista… you… you’re bleeding.” he finally forced out.
Mista frowned, not understanding what that had to do with anything. Just before coming in he had accidentally cut his finger while slicing some salami for the pistols. The wound was deep and hurt like hell, but he didn’t have time to clean it out properly before the meet up with the other.
He didn’t even bother to wonder how Giorno was able to tell, despite not even looking directly at him.
“Yeah, but don’t worry about it, it’s not that bad--” he began, ready to explain to his boss that it wasn't a big deal, and honestly, it was his own fault for being so clumsy.
“You, should leave.”
The statement came cold and curt, sudden enough to make Mista jump slightly. There was something strange resounding in his tone. The blonde was an expert at shutting people down with words, projecting the strength he wielded with just a few sentences. However, there was something off about his response. His words were not as cool and collected as they normally were, instead they lashed and quivered, like a cornered animal, starving, desperate to strike.
“What, but--” Mista did not have a chance to finish, before his superior abruptly stood up, almost shoving the chair directly into him.
Giorno did not even look at him before trying to leave the room.
Mista did not know what got into him in that moment. Perhaps he was worried… no, scratch that, he was definitely worried. What was going on? Why was Giorno acting so weird? Before he could even stop himself, his hand reached out to grab the blonde’s, holding him in place.
He clinged onto the other, as if his life were on the line, despite how his cut throbbed in protest. He could feel his wound open up again, slowly dripping between their fingers and onto the floor.
Somehow this stopped the mafia don in his tracks-- and Mista could have swore that he heard something akin to a moan escape from the other’s lips. Concern exponentially increasing, he quickly circled in front of Giorno.
“Boss, what’s wrong? Are you sick?” He looked down at the other man, and realized that his face was still turned away from him, curled bangs hiding his expression.
Giorno tried to pull away, but Mista held him firmly in place. “Nothing is wrong, I.. I.. Just realized that I have other duties to attend to, perhaps we should reschedule.”
Mista frowned, Giorno was not usually this bad of a liar, in fact he was usually very good at playing it cool. Something must be really wrong, if he couldn't even bother to come up with a better excuse. “Let me take you to your room, so you can rest.”
“I can go myself.” Giorno spat out, a little too quickly.
The bodyguard shook his head. “No, I’m supposed to protect you. So goddammit, let me help!”
The blonde’s body began to shake, his composure seemed to break in half as he raised his voice to a level that was unprecedented, “I said, I can go on my own! Do. Not. Make. Me. Repeat myself again. Now move!”
The gunman’s grip softened a bit, Giorno had never spoke to him that way before, like he was an enemy. And yet, this ended up having the opposite of its intended effect on Mista, strengthening his resolve. He was not going to abandon his friend now, whatever was going on, he needed to prove to Giorno that he would be there for him, no matter the obstacles. So instead of moving, he stood firm and still, blocking the door to the hallway.
He prepared himself for his boss to be angry with him. Stern words, shouting, maybe even a shove away. However what happened next was not what he was expecting at all.
His head hit the back of the door in a movement so fast that he almost could not process it. Both of his arms were pinned to the wall, reflexively he tried to struggle, realizing that he was being held against the alabaster. An instinctual fear spread in the pit of his gut, he did not know why, but his body was screaming for him to fight, to run, to hide, with a ferocity that it never had before. Mista was used to being extremely calm in the face of danger, ever since the very first time he picked up and shot a gun. Even throughout the whirlwind, that was rebelling against, and defeating the old boss, he very rarely felt dread. However here, in the face of whatever had him against the wall, horror bubbled up inside of him. The feeling of a rabbit caught in the gaze of a wolf.
Whatever had him pinned was deadly-- a pure force of carnage, wild and untamed.
Blinking away the confusion, he continued to fight, using all of his strength to push against this force. However, despite his attempts, the force held him in an unbreakable vice grip.
A soft hiss from the figure broke him out of his stupor, as he remembered where he was, and who had him pinned. Giorno was before him, pressing against him with strength he had never displayed before. He felt the blonde nuzzle into the juncture of his throat. His boss did not speak, except for a couple quiet wryys that escaped his mouth.
“B..boss?” he breathed out.
And in an instant it seemed as if the spell that was cast over the both of them broke, as Giorno pulled away from him and took a few shaky steps back, hands held against his mouth in horror.
Before Mista could even ask what happened, Giorno turned and ran, to the only other door in the room, to the bathroom.
And now here Mista was, ten minutes later, on his knees in front of the bathroom door, begging for his boss to open up.
“I’m sorry if I fucked up, I.. I just want to know if you are okay. Please, just say something.”
The haggard breath on the other side of the door hitched. Silence fell once more, before a soft voice drifted from the other side and shattered it like glass.
“Mista~”
Giorno’s voice fluttered out like a siren’s call. Despite the tense situation, the gunman could not help but relax at that sound. It was seductive, like a soft breeze on an unbearably hot day. All of a sudden he wanted nothing more than to just melt into the voice, allow its owner to do whatever he wanted to him. Lay down before him, bleed for him…..
Mista shook off those thoughts. What the fuck was he thinking about? His boss was in danger and his mind was wandering to who knows where.
Before he could further berate himself he heard a click, as the door to he bathroom was unlocked.
Steeling himself, the bodyguard opened up the door to find the blonde hunched over the sink, head bowed, and fingers clenched against the marble. Or well, more accurately, fingers clenched in the marble. It looked like Giorno’s fingers sank into the counter, leaving drag marks along the material, as if it were made of butter.
But that was not what was holding his full attention, no, because in that moment, Giorno turned to look at him. His usual ocean blue eyes were instead pulsating yellow, the same glorious hue as his hair, loosely falling along his shoulders. Soft purr-like sounds escaped from his parted lips, giving way to the sharp glint of fangs.
Mista assumed that he had let out a gasp, as Giorno flinched slightly at his reaction. The mafia don steadied himself by digging his fingers more firmly into the marble, before making an attempt to steady his voice. “I’m sorry for worrying you Mista, I didn’t mean to lose control like that. But please, I think it would be best if you left me right now.”
It did not take a genius to figure out what as going on. Mista was reminded of the times, years ago, when he, Narancia, and Fugo would stay up way too late binging old horror movies. The eyes, the fangs, the strength. He suddenly realized, why Giorno was so caught off guard by his bleeding finger. He never would have assumed that they were real, but hell, it would not be the most bizzare thing that had ever happened to him… Vampiro, eh? He could work with that. Giorno was still breathing heavily, doing his best to hide his pained expression, Mista only needed to look over his boss once before he made his decision. Giorno was suffering, he looked starved, and Mista knew exactly what he was craving.
He looked down at his finger, the wound had once again closed up, but it did not take much pressure, on his end, to open it up again. He did not fail to notice how the motion immediately drew the blonde’s attention.
Slowly he walked towards his boss, finger outstretched. It looked for a moment that Giorno was going to struggle against him, and try to get away, but the blood seemed to entice him in a way he could not resist. Once the gunman was only a step away from his target, he lowered himself to the floor in a kneel, and held up the finger. An offering, the same way he knelt before Giorno three years ago and kissed his hand, swearing his loyalty to him for the rest of his life.
Giorno could not do anything but whine in protest, Msta just smiled. “It’s my job to protect you. I know that I’m not exactly the most useful bodyguard. But nevertheless I gave you my oath, to do anything in my power to assist you, whatever you may need. And it looks like you are currently in need of something I’m willing to give.”
There was a pause before the vampire also fell to his knees, hands coming up to cup the wounded finger. Somehow able to find his words again, he spoke, “I can’t, what if I--”
“What if you injure me? Well then you'll fix me up, same as you always have. If I can take bullets on the regular, I can take this.” The gunman’s black eyes met the blonde’s yellow, “Besides there is nothing you could do to hurt me, I’m yours, always have been.”
And here they were, both kneeling on the floor of a bathroom, when Giorno hesitantly brought the bloody finger up to his lips.
The effect was immediate-- with all caution thrown to the wind, Giorno let out a whimper, his tongue curled around the finger. His eyes blazed with a glory only matched by a wildfire, flaring to life and burning away everything in its wake. His breath was hot, a heat that did not contain itself to just Mista’s finger. There was something borderline erotic about the way that the blonde came apart with just a few drops of blood.
Growls filled the air and before the gunman even knew it, Giorno had made his way into his lap, still mewling at the bloody finger.
“Mista~” the blonde whispered, putting every fiber of the bodyguard’s being on edge. It was exactly how he had heard Giorno speak his name through the door earlier, the same tone of voice that made him want to give up everything to this beautiful bloodthirsty creature in his lap. However now there was nothing separating them, and Mista found it impossible to resist. The dread he had felt when Giorno had first pushed him up against the wall had completely melted away. He wanted to please him, to give the vampire everything-- his blood, his body, his mind, his very soul.
Cold hand snaked under his sweater, sharp nails pressed in just enough to leave a bloody trail as they scratched downwards. The scent of more blood filled the air, Giorno threw his head back in a long moan. Blood coated his lips, a soft pink tongue darted out to catch every stray drop. His eyes dilated further as he gazed down at his offering.
“Do you? Ahhh,” Mista was not able to complete his question before the vampire pushed him onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, hovering over him like an angel. Mista could not help but feel a blush spread across his face, he had always considered the other a beauty, but even then he had never seen Giorno look so ethereal. He looked too good to be true, like and old sculpture, come to life. His boss was always so put together, so stoic and untouchable, but here he was a dangerous and erotic mess above him, self control evaporated like water on a hot day. And as embarrassing as it was to admit to himself, he did quite enjoy that it was his blood that was causing the blonde to lose his composure. The words caught in his throat finally spilled free, “Do you... want me to take my shirt off?”
Giorno was far past the point of being able to form words, instead letting out an enthusiastic moan as he lowered his head to the bloody scratch marks he left along the exposed stomach of the gunman. While his boss sucked on the bloodied flesh, Mista took the time to peel his sweater off. As soon as he did, the vampire moved to be only inches from his face, still straddling him by the waist, he examined his conquest, flushed by his attention. Mista looked perfect, laying down on the cold tile, blood rushing to his cheeks, he could see the vein in his neck pumping so irresistibly. If Giorno had more self control, he would have loved to watch his prey come undone slowly beneath him. Make him want it so bad that he would be begging for his fangs, but as it was, he didn’t think he would be able to resist him for that long. Deciding to forgo foreplay, the vampire, in one quick motion, pressed himself fully against Mista’s chest and lower his face in the exposed column of his neck.
Mista let out a small yelp as Giorno’s body pressed down onto his. He could feel, what he assumed was the other’s tongue, lick a stripe into his neck. The gunman could not stop his hands from coming up to tangle themselves in his bosses hair. He needed this, those fangs in his neck, he could feel them, ever so sharply teasing at his sensitive skin.
“GioGio…. Please…” he cried out, doing his best to pull the other closer to him.
Giorno responded with a growl, deep and dangerous. Mista knew that he was playing with fire, that he should feel scared for his safety. But at this point, he was too turned on to care. And lucky for him, Giorno answered his plea.
It stung for a second, pain tore through his body as the fangs pressed deep inside of him. However as quickly as the pain arrived, it began to morph into something else, something arousing. His body once more spiraled out of his control-- his back arched and hips bucked up. Waves of pleasure pulsated through him, the room filled up with moans and cries, of which, Mista was only vaguely aware were originating from him.
Giorno took all of those reactions in stride, grinding down against his complacent guard, delighting in extracting all of those wonderful sounds from him. Yes, this was what he needed, prey. A victim to subjugate to his will, to bathe in his blood and drink him dry. His body called out for more, as he drank deeper and deeper, just barely aware of the other’s grip around him loosening.
It was only when the hands fell away from his hair completely, that his mind snapped back to his current situation. This was not prey, this was Mista! His guard, his underboss, his best friend. But... the blood in his veins was so sweet, Mista cared for him greatly, surely he would be willing to give his life… yes… give him the rest of his blood, so he could be satisfied.
“NO!” Giorno managed to struggle out, as he pushed himself away from the other-- throwing himself across the room. His head hit the back of the bathroom wall with a resounded crack as the tile behind him shattered. And yet, he had barely felt a thing. He looked down at the body of his friend, neck still bleeding profusely, he found quickly that staring was not helping with his self control. Shutting his eyes, he pressed his head back against the dent of the tile, and tried to get a hold of himself. Self hatred began to cloud his mind, what was he doing? How could he allow himself to hurt someone he cared for so deeply. He vowed to himself that he would never be like that, like his step father, hurting those he knew could not fight back, and here he was doing just that. What was wrong with him?
He was not sure how many minutes passed, but he dared not to open his eyes, lest the realization of what he had done come crashing down on him.
“....Giorno?” Spoke a weak voice from the other side of the room.
Directing his gaze over to the sound, he found himself looking into the inky black eyes of his bodyguard, who had seemed to push himself back up into a sitting position, hand clenched tightly around his neck, stopping the blood flow.
He was about to apologize, beg the other for forgiveness, to see if there was anything he could ever do to--.
“Boss are you feeling better now? Do you need more?” Mista cut in, looking upon him, not with fear, but with genuine concern.
Giorno could not help but let his mouth fall open in shock. He had basically attacked his raven haired friend, almost bled him dry, and here he was asking if he was okay? He looked over at Mista and saw how white he looked, his eyes were half glazed over, and it looked as if he were barely holding onto consciousness. Quickly Giorno got to his feet, grabbed the nearest hand towel and pressed it to his friend’s wound. Calling forth Gold Experience, he transmuted new flesh for Mista.
Mista winced slightly, as normal as it was for Giorno to heal him, he never really got used to the pain that came with it. As soon as the blonde finished, Mista looked up at his boss. A small smile decorating his features, he raised his hand, still coated with blood, up to Giorno. He could see his boss’ eyes flash yellow once more, as he smelled the blood so close to his face.
“Go ahead, it would be a waste to just wash it off.”
Giorno shook his head slightly, both of his hands coming up to hold the outstretched hand.
“No… you have already done more than enough for me. And I’m not sure I trust myself to stop at your hand, if I get another taste of your blood.”
Mista was going to protest, insist that he could handle himself, that honestly, he would not mind if Giorno had another drink, that it actually felt really good. But before he could, the other caught him off guard with an embrace.
Momentarily flabbergasted, he brought his arms up to return the hug.
“I’m so sorry Guido, I almost lost you.” mumbled Giorno, words small and muffled.
Mista could not prevent a chuckle from escaping his lips. “Nah, you are going to have to try much harder if you want to get rid of me, unless you forgot, I get shot like every other day.”
Giorno joined in with his laughter, as he pulled away to face him once more, his eyes fading back to their usual blue. The blue that Mista loved so much, the blue that he found himself dreaming of on the regular.
“You know what? Fuck it.” the gunman called out.
And maybe it was because his mind was still clouded over by the pleasure of being fed on, or that being so close to the blonde made it so easy, but Mista did what he had been wanting to do for some time now-- he brought his lips to meet the blonde’s in one fluid motion.
He fully expected to be pushed away, to be let down tactfully. What he did not expect, was Giorno to kiss him back with the same ferocity. Mista tried not to let the realization of this cause him to have a heart attack and instead savored the moment, leaning into the flutters it brought to his stomach.
After a few seconds he pulled away and pressed his forehead against Giorno’s.
“So, you’re a vampire now?”
“Apparently so?”
“When did that happen?”
“Honestly, I am not sure.”