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They crashed into the hotel room. Giorno sat down heavily on the edge of the bed; his hands shaking from the effort it took to keep them to himself.
The effect of the stand was becoming harder and harder to resist, he realised just how wise of them it was to rush back to the room because Giorno knew that any longer out there and he would have started tearing his own clothes off in the street. The last thing he heard was a cry of ‘Tainted Love’ before his blood started boiling in his veins. His mission companion was the same.
Even from across the room he could smell Mista, the natural musk he seemed to be emitting at ten times the strength it normally was. Masculine, heady, Giorno was sure he could smell the blood pulsing beneath Mista's skin. Every one of his senses were heightened, even the lights above him seemed blinding, but the only thing he could focus on, the only thing he could really see was Mista, stood over by the door like he was trying to hold himself back.
The very last thing Giorno wanted right now was for him to hold back.
“Mista.” Giorno spoke finally, and the gunman’s eyes squeezed shut.
“Please. Don’t say anything. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.”
“I don’t want you to hold out.”
“We can’t do this.”
“You know what I want.”
“Giorno, please.” Mista was begging him, his hands in fists behind his back, but Giorno ignored that, and approached the shaking man like a predator stalking a scared rabbit.
“I need it. You need it.” Giorno gasped, breathing in Mista's scent now that he was close enough to drink it from the source. His neck was exposed, a thick vein thumping, pulsing waves of masculine musk out towards Giorno like it was trying to draw him in closer. “Look how hard you are, Mista. Look how hard I am.”
“I don’t wanna hurt you.” His voice was thin, and he was finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes off of Giorno. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to hold back.”
“Don’t hold back.” Giorno leaned forward and kissed his neck, dragging his tongue and teeth along the alluring vein, and sinking them in deep. A switch flicked inside Mista as soon as they made contact, the fire he’d tried to resist took hold and he turned, slamming Giorno’s back against the door and claiming his mouth finally. He kissed aggressively, furiously, taking what was his, and Giorno was more than happy to give it to him. Their teeth clacked from the sloppiness of their kissing, it was messy desperation given form, and Giorno pulled Mista’s hips hard against him, grinding his own up against the solid bulge within his jeans.
Mista hissed into his mouth, rutting back against him, and it was all Giorno could do to break free from his mouth to gasp two needy words.
“Fuck me.”
His bodyguard didn’t need to be told twice. Giorno left the floor behind as Mista pulled him up into his arms, hooking both legs around his waist and carrying him over to the bed. He threw Giorno down onto the firm mattress, where he bounced once before Mista’s body covered him, his large hands roaming as his mouth once again captured Giorno's.
With a firm grip Mista flipped him over onto his front, and with a brutal strength crushed his still clothed cock against Giorno's ass, humping him desperately into the bed. Giorno tried to gain purchase on the carpet with his feet but it was useless, Mista was too forceful, every time he got a grip he was shoved forward and he lost it, so he stopped bothering. He simply lay there and allowed himself to be used until his patience ran out.
“I need you inside me.” He gasped against the sheets. “Now. Please.”
They were the magic words, Mista pulled up suddenly and behind him Giorno heard the rattle of a belt buckle, the eager slide of fabric, and his hands were back on Giorno. He took two fistfuls of Giorno's pants and yanked them down roughly, exposing his ass.
His hands grabbed Giorno's cheeks firmly and spread them, displaying his asshole, and Giorno could have sworn he heard Mista growl at the sight.
“The body oil in my bag.” Giorno breathed, amazed that he had the insight to even consider it, but he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t. Mista returned in a flash, hand back on Giorno's ass, and without a scrap of warning he pressed the tube against his hole and squeezed.
Giorno's head flew up and he gasped at the feeling of being filled with the cold liquid, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it because Mista was pressed to his entrance, hands spreading his legs wide, and all at once Giorno was full to the brim with Mista's cock.
They both cried out at the brief satisfaction of connection, but it didn’t last, they needed more, much more, and Mista wasted no time. He dragged Giorno's hips upwards to meet him and began to move, fucking him with harsh strikes that sent shivers up Giorno's back. The stretch was painful; it stung like a burn that didn’t relent, and the unforgiving thrusts didn’t give him a moment to adjust, but Giorno found himself loving it. The pain was delicious, mixing with the deep pleasure Mista was giving him and resulting in the most mind blowing sensation Giorno had ever experienced. His heightened senses made every tiny motion heaven. Mista nails digging into his hips, the sudden pop of his cock head dragging against his hole as Mista pulled out and slammed back inside him, all of it consumed Giorno. Time no longer mattered when Guido Mista was fucking him.
There was something building inside him, a deep delicious pressure, he could feel it in the way his balls tightened, the thick, heavy pulse of his heartbeat in his asshole that stretched around Mista's hard cock. Giorno knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.
“Mista I'm gonna cum…” He forced out, amazed that he still remembered how to speak, and without a word Mista's hand came around to his front and grabbed Giorno's cock, pulling him off at a ruthless speed. Giorno could have cried, he was filled with so much sensation and it was mounting more and more within him with every hard thrust.
“Oh… Oh God…” Giorno sobbed, feeling tears stinging the backs of his eyes, the pressure building within him until he was consumed, pleasure running through every nerve ending in his body. It was like he’d been electrocuted, nothing had ever felt so good in his life, and he came, shaking, shooting thick ropes right onto the bedsheets that absorbed it greedily.
Mista had grabbed Giorno's wrist, twisting it up behind his back as he pulled his boss’s body up to meet his chest, slamming into him two more times as he came deep within Giorno's asshole. A low, throaty groan left him, and it rumbled against the back of Giorno's neck, sending a thrill through him as Mista used his hole to unload in.
They both gasped, trying desperately to catch a breath, and finally Mista slipped out of him, cum running down his leg as his asshole was no longer plugged. Giorno's face was wet with tears that ran down to his chin, and Mista took his jaw in one hand, leaning around to kiss his cheek and tasting the salty tears that hadn’t yet dried.
He let go of Giorno, allowing him to collapse against the bed, knees weak and trembling. The blonde’s sobs of pain and pleasure slowly subsided, through the haze he could barely believe that he’d been brought to tears by what had happened, but at the same time he couldn’t see it happening any other way. That had been the single most intense experience of Giorno's life, and letting out some built up emotion felt right.
“Mista, I-” Giorno couldn’t finish that sentence because he was caught off guard by Mista's cock, entering him once again, lubricated by his own cum. He slammed inside, forcing some cum to squirt out of Giorno as it was displaced by his erection, rock hard again and pumping in and out of his boss.
“I’m sorry.” Mista gasped. “I’m sorry, I… can’t help it…” He thrust furiously, pausing only to turn Giorno onto his side, holding one leg up against his chest, which he kissed, needing to show some affection through the fog of arousal. Giorno looked down, seeing that his own cock was hard again too, and his brain caught up all too slowly to realise that he wasn’t satisfied either. He grabbed himself, jerking off in time with the deep pumps of Mista's hips, it was hard to believe he was still so horny, it was like he hadn’t reached orgasm at all, they continued like there had been no break.
Vaguely in the outskirts of his consciousness Giorno could hear a voice crying out, moaning, high and depraved, and it wasn’t until he caught a glimpse in the mirror that he realised it was him. In the reflection he saw himself impaled on a thick cock, residual cum smeared between his legs, his face flushed and red. Even his hair had fallen mostly free from its braid and hung limp and sweaty around his shoulders. On his bare chest were fresh white splatters, dripping from the head of his cock. Had he cum again? Judging by the amount there, he had to, but when had it happened? Giorno was so lost. He had no idea how long they’d been fucking, but somehow he was now lying on his back with no memory of it happening.
Mista's hat had long gone, curls pushed back from his forehead as he worked his hips aggressively, he picked up the pace, pushing Giorno's legs open even wider and pulling his ass up to meet him as once again he stilled, dick twitching within Giorno as he came for the second time? Third time? He had no idea. But as soon as the latest wave of orgasm had subsided, Mista started moving again, not even pausing to pull out this time, he just kept fucking.
Giorno’s back was hurting from being folded nearly in two, with Mista forcing himself inside over and over, and in his moment of lucidity he took control, flipping them both over so that Mista’s back hit the mattress, and Giorno sank back down onto him, riding him through the pain of his burning thighs.
Mista stared up at him, eyes fuzzy as he was consumed by the feeling of Giorno sinking down again and again.
“God, you take my cock so well…” He groaned, stroking Giorno with quick, short pumps. “Look how greedy your hole is.”
“Please… I need your cum… Fill me up.” Giorno's voice was hoarse from crying out, dropping his full weight down heavily on the fat cock inside him, stretching himself out, and he squeezed his muscles tightly. Mista gasped at the feeling of being gripped by Giorno's ass and it only took a few more strikes for him to empty himself inside him once again.
“Fuck yes.” Mista hissed, pushing his hips up into the air, almost lifting Giorno off the bed, but Giorno wasn’t finished with him yet, he continued to ride Mista, using him completely until he reached his climax for another countless time, his cum splashing across Mista's chest, shining in his chest hair.
Giorno sighed, reaching out to smear it around through the hair, and he leaned down to kiss Mista, for the first time the haze seemed to subside, he could tell that it would return, but for a moment they were lucid. He pulled Mista out of his sticky hole, unable to comprehend the amount of cum that spilled from it, dripping thickly onto Mista and the bed. They were both covered, and all Giorno could think was how thirsty he was, his mouth painfully dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, and with the shaky legs of a newborn giraffe he stumbled over to the bathroom. He didn’t even bother with a glass, dunking his head straight under the faucet and drinking deeply. The water was like heaven refreshing him, he felt almost human again.
While he drank, Mista appeared in the doorway, supporting himself against the doorframe and staring down at Giorno. Their eyes met in the mirror as Giorno drank, and he could see Mista's cock begin to stir again at the sight of him bent over the sink. He found that he liked having Mista salivating over him, unable to remove his eyes from the sight of his own cum drooling out of his friend’s gaping asshole.
Teasingly, he wiggled his butt at him and that was all it took. Mista staggered forward, and with a single swift movement he was buried to the hilt inside Giorno once again, a deep sigh of satisfaction leaving them both.
“You’re still so tight. You feel incredible.”
His lips found Giorno's neck, laying wet, loving kisses on him as he moved his hips, slower this time, knees bent as he was driving up into him with smooth and precise motion. This didn’t last as the miasma of lust overtook both of them again and he ended up pounding Giorno against the sink, stroking his sore cock rapidly, trying to milk any remaining cum from the younger man. Giorno held on tightly to the porcelain, knuckles white as Mista struck his bruised prostate again and again. One of Mista's hands came up to pinch his erect nipple, circling it and squeezing it viciously, which sent a new wave of sensation shooting down to Giorno's cock, he could barely believe he was going to cum again, but Mista was relentless, wringing it out of him until he was spilling into the sink, sobbing as his head met the glass of the mirror.
Mista continued, fucking him through two more of his own orgasms until Giorno couldn’t stand any longer, his knees gave out at the sink but Mista caught him before he could fall. Carefully, he picked his boss up across both arms and carried him out to the bed, but Giorno could feel him, still hard against his back, and he didn’t know how many more times he could take.
Giorno's asshole was raw from the sheer amount of times Mista had entered him, but the pain was completely overwritten by the burning need deep within his guts. Never satisfied, never complete, nothing was ever enough to scratch the itch. He needed more, more, more.
“Giorno I want to fuck you again.” Mista said in a gruff, clipped voice, he had sat himself on the far edge of the bed, fists gripping the sheets as his cock stood erect and red. “I need you again. But you can’t take any more. I don’t want to hurt you.”
It seemed like a lifetime ago that Giorno had last heard those words from Mista, and with a glance out of the window he realised that it was dark, late into the night. They’d been having sex all afternoon, all evening, hours and hours of it, and although it was true that Giorno couldn’t handle any more of that, he knew there was more that he could do for Mista. Weakly, he gestured for him to come closer, and with Mista straddling his chest Giorno took the head of his dick into his mouth and sucked.
His gunman sighed out shakily, hips beginning to move against Giorno's lips, fucking his mouth, and Giorno let him. He wanted Mista to use him, his ass, his mouth, his hands, all of his body belonged to Mista, it was no longer his own. He sucked an obscene amount of cum out of his cock, letting it spill over his lips and run down his chin, and still he kept going, taking Mista deep into his throat, loving the stretch of his lips around him, the feel of him hot and heavy on his tongue, his cum salty and thick as it ran down his pharynx.
Giorno could tell now from the familiar stilted way Mista was moving his hips that yet another orgasm was upon him and he pulled back, gasping as Mista shot his load over his face. Each pulse of his cock spitting more cum onto his nose, his lips, his cheek, and Giorno drank it all in.
“Jesus Christ, you look so good like that.” Mista breathed, staring down at Giorno, cum glistening on his face, and immediately he was hard again. “I’m sorry, I…” He took hold of himself, and he only needed to pump his cock for a few seconds before more cum was spilling out of him, painting Giorno’s face with more thick white stripes. He felt like he was drowning in it, running down his face in thick rivulets.
Desire flared within Giorno again, his cock burning with lust, and instinct took over him as he looked up at Mista. “I want your ass. Now.” He choked out, swiping cum from his face with one hand and lubing up his painfully hard dick with it. Mista didn’t even spare a moment to consider it, he just aimed himself over Giorno and sat down, crying out as he was pierced open but riding his boss like a veteran.
“O-Oh!” He moaned. “Oh God, Giorno…”
Giorno clamped his hands on Mista's hips and allowed himself to give in to the compulsion consuming him.
“Shit… Your ass is so good.” He hissed out through gritted teeth. Fire, desire, need, it ran through Giorno's blood, setting him alight. Mista existed only to service him, and Giorno didn’t care how rough he was being. His own sore asshole spoke volumes for how little Mista had regarded him while lost in the passion eating them alive, and he was so ready to pay it all back to him.
He thrust up desperately into the hot body above him, unable to fight the urge to fuck, and Mista seemed to be loving it, moaning loudly with every slam of Giorno's hips.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” Mista hissed, the flame of desire burning deeper within him than before. This was a new kind of satisfaction, raw and primal, he didn’t know how many more times his body could stand to cum but it was doing a good job of convincing him it wasn’t ready to stop any time soon.
Giorno was acting on impulse, following whatever his base senses were telling him to do, and an animal instinct inside him was commanding him to flip Mista over and drive him into the mattress. Who was he to say no? With strength that surprised Mista he turned them both over, shoving his gunman’s face roughly into the pillow as he pushed back inside.
“God- Giorno!” The change in angle was driving Mista wild, Giorno now achieving precise hits to his prostate that made him almost feel sick with lust. It was so good. So good. Only a little more and-
A full body orgasm forced its way through Mista's body, pulled his muscles tight as pleasure rushed between them and made him sob with relief. Giorno wasn’t far behind, spilling into Mista’s convulsing body and collapsing on his back.
The compulsion was momentarily gone.
Giorno felt… his head felt clear again, he could think, and as he pulled out of Mista the only thought running through his mind was-
“I need a shower.” He said throatily, sitting back on the bed.
“I think we both need a shower. I’ve never felt so unclean in my life, and that’s counting the week we spent on the road.” Mista laughed humorlessly and Giorno wondered how he had the energy to do such a thing.
They both stumbled, fragile, into the shower, and the soothing heat of the water on Giorno's aching muscles was like heaven. In the private cocoon of the bathroom Mista pressed Giorno's thighs together and pushed his cock between them, needing him just one last time but not cruel enough to force his way inside again. Slow, languid, it was entirely different to the way it had been before.
The fire of compulsion had died down to a low burning ember in the pit of their stomachs, and Giorno figured that the stand power was beginning to wear off. He didn’t know whether or not to be grateful for that. On one hand, he was sore, bruised, he’d never felt so tired in his life, and on the other…
He’d never felt closer to another person. Mista's soft kisses along the back of his neck were making his knees weak, and it wasn’t from the exhaustion, he reached up behind him to run his fingers through Mista's wet curls and pulled him even closer. What would happen now? What had transpired between them was impossible to take back, stand or no stand, this had changed them. There wasn’t just base urges controlling them, there was real feeling in the way Mista held him, the way he pushed lazily between his thighs, the gentle touch of his hand on his cock.
Giorno felt tears pricking the backs of his eyes and blinked them away furiously, angry that an enemy stand user could force him to confront a part of himself he’d successfully kept locked away. Mista was a closely held secret in his heart, and that secret had been ripped away from him, he wanted to deal with this on his own terms when the time was right. When he was ready. But despite the low blaze of fury within him, Giorno couldn’t stop himself from loving every minute of this.
Mista's thrusts between his legs had picked up speed a little, one arm hooked tightly around Giorno's tummy. The other squeezed his cock, trying to coax one last orgasm out of Giorno's wrecked body, and when it came the quiet rush of pleasure that flooded him was enough to force three words from Giorno's lips.
“I love you.”
He felt Mista's cum spill between his legs to be quickly washed away by the spray of the shower, and hot shame, worse than any he had felt tonight already, clouded his vision. Mista hadn’t spoken yet, he stood behind Giorno, gradually catching his breath, the hand that wasn’t already around his middle came up to hold him.
“For real, or just right now?”
“For real.” Giorno murmured, nerves alight.
Mista sighed out against the back of his neck and squeezed him tight.
“Me too. For real.” He breathed.
