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It’s been a little while since this… arrangement started.

Abbacchio doesn’t think that’s quite the right word for it, but he doesn’t know what else to call it. Agreement, maybe? Relationship?

No, not quite.

He sighs as he adjusts his coat, huddling in it to protect himself from the rainy weather as he makes his way to a predetermined location, sneaking glances to make sure nobody is following him. Moody Blues, quietly on the lookout as eyes on his back, makes a clicking dial-up sound every so often, but nothing to indicate he should be on-guard. Just the same old hustle and bustle from people going to their own destination as quickly as possible, and the occasional beggar calling out for money, but he ignores them.

He’s got more important things to do.

After sliding into a dark alley, the sounds of the main street slowly get quieter. It smells like shit in here, and no reasonable person would spend more time than needed in this place, but that’s exactly what makes it so useful for this purpose. The only people who come here are people with no future. Drunkards, druggies, gamblers with no money, no purpose.

(He neglects to think about how he, once, was one of those drunkards too.)

After a few minutes of walking, he stops in front of a run-down, inconspicuous looking building. From the windows, he can see all the curtains are drawn, keeping out what meager sunlight could have made its way inside.

That, however, is exactly what the current resident needs.

With another sigh, Abbacchio raises his fist, and knocks in a pattern known only to two people, one of which is himself, and then waits.

A few minutes pass, as to be expected, before the lock clicks and the door opens a sliver, revealing a wide, purple eye that’s framed in gold staring him down. To any onlooker, it would seem the door opened by itself, be it through rot, the wind, or something else, but as a stand user himself, Abbacchio is aware of Gold Experience Requiem behind the door.

The stand sizes him up quietly, before nodding. “Come in.” It whispers, before vanishing from sight, leaving the door cracked open.

Once more glancing around himself, making sure nobody has followed him here, Abbacchio opens the door wide enough to slip inside, shutting it and making sure it’s locked once more afterwards. Gold Experience is nowhere to be seen anymore, but it doesn’t need to be. It, as well as its master, know well enough that Abbacchio knows where they are, and what his role in this scenario is.

Abbacchio shrugs off his coat, choosing to hang it on an old, dusty coat hanger in the entrance hallway, before he moves onward. He travels the wooden stairs in front of him that lead up to the first floor silently. Once more, he spots Gold Experience, this time waiting in front of one of the rooms.

“You’re late, Abbacchio.” The stand says, neutral face betraying no emotion, but Abbacchio can hear frustration in its voice. “My master has been waiting.”

“I had to get Narancia off my back,” Abbacchio offers the truth as his excuse, “brat wanted to know where I was going, and where Giorno was.”

Gold Experience doesn’t even blink. “You should know, my master is losing his grip right now. I’m acting independently of him, even if he doesn’t like it.”

Abbacchio curses. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” Gold Experience tilts its head, “Dangerous, even.” It floats forward, cupping Abbacchio’s chin. “I am him, I can feel his needs, Abbacchio. If I were not this self-aware, if I did not realize my master’s true desires, I would have attacked you on sight.”

Abbacchio huffs, and uses Moody Blues to push away Gold Experience’s hands. “You’re not gonna help me, are you?”

Gold Experience doesn’t reply.

“Thought so.” Abbacchio passes the stand, and puts his hand on the doorknob. “I can handle myself anyway, Gold Experience. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Gold Experience once more doesn’t reply, just staring at Abbacchio with those bulging, wide eyes, before it vanishes, presumably returning to its master.

Abbacchio sighs, before he steels himself. Gold Experience said this might be dangerous, but he meant what he said. He can handle himself, even if Giorno is losing it right now. A low ‘wryyyyy…’ can be heard from behind the door, causing Abbacchio’s neck hair to stand on edge, but it’s just a bodily reaction. He’s not scared of Giorno. He’s not.

Before he can think too much about it, he opens the door.

The room is dark and cold, much more so than should be normal, and a musty smell permeates from it. Furniture is scattered about, claw marks decorate the walls, and in the middle of it all sits a pile of blankets covering… something.

Or rather, someone.

Abbacchio releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Giorno,” he says, “it’s me. Abbacchio.”

“Close the door.” Giorno hisses, voice unnaturally hoarse and chilling. “Close the door.”

Any normal man would recoil at that voice. Some would perhaps even scream and run away, but not Abbacchio, who is much too used to Giorno using such a voice nowadays.

He’s the only one who gets to hear Giorno like this, after all.

It had been an unfortunate incident, really. Everyone had noticed Giorno becoming quite sickly after his 18th birthday, growing paler and more distracted by the day. Then, he started avoiding sunlight, complaining that it hurt his eyes. When he stopped eating, Buccellati forced Giorno on bedrest, commanding the rest of his former squad to keep watch over him until he got better.

One by one, each of them had kept an eye on Giorno, and one by one, they could only lament on how much worse Giorno got by the time the next shift was up. Doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong, medicine didn’t seem to work. Everyone was stumped.

So of course, it had to happen during Abbacchio’s shift.

Abbacchio was half asleep when it happened, struggling to keep his eyes open when Giorno suddenly sat up, breathing heavily. Concerned, Abbacchio had reached out to him, asking what was wrong when-

Well, simply said, Giorno jumped him.

Giorno almost killed him.

Creature of the night. Bringer of torment. Bloodsucker.

Vampire.

Abbacchio still wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told the rest of team Buccellati. Maybe it was the way Giorno had begged him not to, so uncharacteristically, or maybe it was the relief of watching him become better in an instant. Maybe it was the happy smiles from everyone when they found out Giorno was feeling better, that he could go out again, that he was okay.

All that doesn’t matter anymore. The past is the past, and this is between them now. Once every 2 months, that is all.

“Close the door!” Giorno hisses once again, voice unsteady in a way that screams danger, and Abbacchio is snapped out of his brief trip down memory lane. Right, he was here for a reason other than reminiscing.

“Giorno,” he says coolly, neutrally, as he obeys his command, “stay calm.”

Giorno lets out a rough hiss as answer, not moving until the door falls closed. The moment it does, though, his head snaps up, glowing red eyes meeting Abbacchio’s own purple ones. Giorno shifts, muscles coiling, and despite the dark, Abbacchio is certain he just saw Giorno’s tongue wet his lips.

“Abbacchio,” Giorno growls, “I’m thirsty.”

Abbacchio consciously has to keep Moody Blues down, fighting his own instincts. “I’m here now.” Is all he gets to say, before the lump of tension that is Giorno springs forward with wild, feral eyes, and knocks Abbacchio on his ass, slamming his wrists down on the floor so harshly Abbacchio feels them snap. They’re broken without a doubt, and Abbacchio has to suppress a scream when Giorno leans on them, causing pain to sear through his arms.

“You smell like fear.” Giorno breathes. “I can hear your blood pumping through your veins.” He licks a stripe up Abbacchio’s trembling neck, stopping when he reaches his pulse. “I want to drink you.” He says, and starts nibbling on Abbacchio’s neck.

Abbacchio swallows, and braces himself, exposing his neck submissively.

Better to get this over with as soon as possible.

Giorno lets out pleased ‘wryyyy…’, nuzzling Abbacchio’s neck almost lovingly.

And then he bites down.

More pain shoots through Abbacchio’s body, and this time, he does cry out. Giorno’s teeth pierce his flesh, sliding into his vein as easily as a knife would cut melted butter, and Abbacchio has to stop himself from fighting back. His heart is beating in his throat, instinctual panic is starting to take over-

Only for him to relax completely as Giorno releases his poison into him.

Suddenly, the pain is gone, and every ounce of fear Abbacchio was feeling only moments prior escapes him, leaving him with a pleasantly float-y feeling. He’s completely content, his mind slow and blissfully unaware that anything in this world could be bad. Giorno sucking on his neck feels good, and Abbacchio can’t help but arch into it, releasing a whine. Even his wrists don’t really hurt anymore, and Giorno has released them in favor of cradling his head. The younger is moaning above him as he drinks, and he might as well be a professional singer with how much Abbacchio loves the sound of them.

“G-io-oo-orno-ooo…” he brokenly cries when Giorno pulls away from him, leaving his neck feeling cold and lonely. He whines and squirms, pushing himself more into Giorno, baring his neck, and normally this kind of behavior would leave him mortified at himself, but he can’t really find it in himself to care. All he knows is that he felt good and warm, but now that feeling is gone and Giorno was the one who brought it to him, so all he can do is try and tempt Giorno to return to his previous spot.

In his delirium, he doesn’t notice how Giorno’s eyes have lost their red shine, back to the deep green they normally are. He doesn’t notice Giorno’s guilt when he uses Gold Experience to repair his wrists, or his whispered apologies. No, to Abbacchio, Giorno might as well be pissing sunshine and rainbows with everything he does right now, ignorant of the horrific, bloody scene that would present itself should an outsider come in.

“Plee-eeas-e-ee-“ Abbacchio whimpers, “moo-o-oo-r-ee-“

“Shh…” Giorno whispers to him, continuing to use Gold Experience to patch him up. “I’m almost done. I’m so sorry, Abbacchio.”

Abbacchio’s hard beneath Giorno, subconsciously rutting into him. With his newly healed wrists, he paws at Giorno, slurring unidentifiable words as he tries to get the boy to touch him properly. He feels so lonely, he wants Giorno to come closer again, to press his body into his. He wants Giorno to do that wonderful thing to his neck again, the one that felt so good, and-

He warbles out a string of broken moans when he feels Giorno’s hand on his cock, his pants falling away in a million leaves as Giorno briefly uses his powers. Not that cares about that, because suddenly all he cares about is pressing himself clumsily into Giorno’s hand, sluggish mind trying to focus on getting closer. He’s crying and drooling, making a mess of his make-up, and all he can think about is Giorno. Beautiful, wonderful, amazing Giorno, with his golden touch and lovely face and soft lips.

He can’t hear Giorno’s gentle shushing and delicate words of encouragement as he pumps Abbacchio, can’t see the way Giorno’s own eyes are scrunched with trying to keep his own tears at bay. He can’t possibly know how sick Giorno feels for doing this while he’s this far away, but knowing from experience that it takes longer to wear off when he doesn’t. All he knows is the feeling of Giorno’s silky soft hand on his hard cock, touching him until he can’t take it anymore, pleasure overtaking his entire body in an intense, reality breaking orgasm that leaves him dizzy with love, love, love-

Dreamily, he tries to pull Giorno down to the ground with him, aftermath of his orgasm leaving him warm and fuzzy. Giorno lets him, reluctantly, and tells Gold Experience to fix Abbacchio’s pants silently.

Later, when Abbacchio has regained his senses, he’ll push Giorno off with a scowl. They won’t talk, but Abbacchio will silently offer him a cigarette, which Giorno will decline. Afterwards, Abbacchio will leave the building, feeling sore from Gold Experience healing his wounds, and Giorno will follow him a few hours later, now sun-resistant again thanks to having had his fill of fresh blood. They will go back to the house they share with the rest of team Buccellati, and pretend like nothing happened.

Until in two months, they’ll do it all over again, when Giorno’s vampiristic nature starts to take over and their friends grow concerned. Then, they’ll come back to this house, this room.

And the cycle will repeat itself.