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How to Catch a Rabbit

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Red had always suited Mista in just the most perfect of ways. It always shone against his skin, bringing out the natural brightness out for all to see, always complimented his eyes so brilliantly. Made those dark hues shine brighter than all around, at least in Giorno’s opinion. Perhaps it was simply those nostalgic memories of their first meetings, that bright outfit that Mista wore with no shame for all around to gaze upon.

Perhaps, it was the way that the red ropes formed themselves around all of Mista’s muscles, as if the gunslinger’s body was simply made to be used in such a way. The way the red dug in so nicely into the muscles, into the flesh, the marks that those ropes would leave behind with hints of a natural redness forming underneath them.

Perhaps that was the reason why red suited Mista so damn well.

Even the gunslinger’s face was peppered oh so delicately with small hints of red, his cheeks radiating the most brilliant of shades, the warmth almost reaching Giorno’s own body. The way the eyebrows would scrunch up, a mix of delight and shame, it just seemed to bring out that sinful colour so much more.

Though, the red certainly was exaggerated by another brilliant little feature. How could it not but scream louder when it was woven in between the white little details, the round little tail, those ears that threatened to slip off Mista’s head were he to lean his head down for just a bit too long?

Giorno had long forgotten whose idea it originally was, mind simply too entranced in the moment to care for such details. Why waste time on such useless memories, when he could be paying attention to the sight that hung before him, to the piece of art that lay there, begging to be studied and observed?

How could Giorno’s eyes not help but wonder along the paths of those red ropes, following their journey as they wrapped around the body, snaking around and keeping Mista right in place? They followed along each of the knots, watching, admiring the tension created with each breath, with each little movement of the body, the way they dug into the skin, the way they refused to sink into the flesh for the resistance of the well-toned muscles.

It was a beautiful creation, a true admiration of the human body before him, of all the mobility that such a body could provide.

Giorno could hardly decide which part of this whole view was his particular favourite.

Perhaps it was the way the head was bent up, desperate to keep those ears up atop, the neck stretched out to show off that adam’s apple in all its glory, the way it bobbed with each breath the gunslinger took, feeling Giorno’s eyes upon him. Dark brown eyes searching desperately to meet the other’s, but being denied such a pleasure for this moment.

Perhaps it was the way those arms lay folded behind the gunslinger’s back, muscles tense and on show, threatening to break free from the red bindings. The way the rope continued on to pass over Mista’s chest, squeezing him in so brilliantly. Giorno could not help but muse, wondering if perhaps he should have faced the other up, as to allow himself to see that chest, to see the way it pushed against the ropes, the way those nipples stood so brightly and starkly against the rest of the skin.

Perhaps, though, it was the way the back arched in such a glamorous way. That toned muscles curving in an almost cat like pose, stretching out, so bare and on display. So vulnerable. The way the curve trailed off in the most tantalizing of ways and followed onto the rest of Mista, the way his ass curved upwards, the size of it only emphasised by the position Mista found himself in.

The red of the rope, that stark white of the bunny tail poking through, only doing a further job in emphasising such a beautiful sight. It truly did take some of Giorno’s will power from reaching across, to feel Mista’s body in his own hands, to feel the way that ass fit so perfectly within his hold, to tug at the little tail to hear more of the glorious sighs and muted out groans.

Though, it was none of those three options that captivated Giorno the most.

Rather, it was that face. That beautiful face leaning up to keep an eye at Giorno, eyes following his every step, his every breath and thought. The way that Mista had simply no choice but to look up, to face up to his boss, to his superior. He could only stare upwards and admire the one that stood above him.

The usual heigh difference that followed around this duo was gone for that moment, replaced by something else entirely. That sense of authority, that total demand for obedience. It was different from the normal aura of authority that Giorno bore in day-to-day life.

This was more intense. More final. Even with Mista’s mouth free, available to spew out any form of whines and complains, something in the air just spoke that this wasn’t an option. When Giorno got in moods like these, Mista was more than happy to comply, more than happy to play along, to indulge Giorno in his needs of control and dominance.

It was amusing to think of all the whispers and rumours spreading along the underworld, of the underboss screwing the boss in their most private of moments. If only they knew that the positions were just slightly different from the expected.

A hand reached out, interlocking itself among the curls. It gripped with power, though with no deliberate desire for hurt. He revelled in watching Mista’s face, the way it scrunched up at the ache, the way it bore that red on the cheeks even brighter than before, the mix of shame and arousal at the sensation.

“You’re being awfully quiet today, Mista.”

It was a remark aimed to rouse up a response, any sort of response. They both knew what would happen were Mista to dare mutter some phrase out of turn. Giorno simply couldn’t help but tease this man along just a little, though, letting him fester in his mind, confused over what Giorno wanted, wondering if he wished for the silence or for the words. It was almost adorable the way those brows would furrow, the small look of confusion that would wash over the face, those eyes never leaving the sight of Giorno’s own.

They never needed many words in moments like these, however. Mista’s face said all, spoke all the words that he could ever wish to. They knew each other as if they were each other, every little movement of the face, every twitch of the lip, a blink out of place and they knew all. It was a comforting feeling, that sense of pure trust that simply got amplified. It overpowered all, even lust itself.

Giorno waited in silence, waited for any form of a response from Mista, observing the small gulp that travelled down his throat in thought. He waited, and waited some more. He had quickly learned that just the pure anticipation, the silence that would feel almost suffocating in its unknown expectation of things to come, almost torturous for Mista.

All he could concentrate on was the weight of his body sinking in further into the position he was in, his weight providing the perfect balance to dig those ropes in further, to push against his skin, to frame his body even better. Blood flowing to all the right places, yet still so controlled, so careful and planned out that it felt as if Giorno controlled all there was to him. Even his mere existence.

In that moment of silent waiting, all Mista could concentrate on was the now, and all that was to come. All the possibilities, so many that he was certain he would never be able to fully predict. No matter over how many years Mista had observed all there was to know about Giorno, there was one bit of knowledge that overrode the rest: You could never truly know all there was about Giorno.

It may have been only a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, neither of the pair could completely tell. Neither had been paying attention to such useless ideals. Though, it seemed that whatever time had passed had been enough for the blonde-haired don.

Instead of speaking further words, the hand left the curly mess of Mista’s hair, reaching over to grip at the red ropes that hung the gunslinger in such a perfect balance.

There was another aspect of a position such as this that certainly was a contender for Giorno’s favourite. The total control. Giorno was in charge of all. In charge of how Mista moved, of how heavily he could breathe, how he could hold his head up, even how he could look. All of that was left up to Giorno, and words could not describe his delight at such an outcome.

The hand moved, a gentle, slow motion as it begun to twist the ropes, the body of Mista providing no resistance as it begun to change position in the air. It was certainly a sight to remember, watching those dark eyes desperately clinging onto Giorno’s own, desperate to keep the eye contact for as long as possible before it inevitably got lost.

There truly was something addicting about the sheer power that one could have in a position such as this.

Giorno continued on idly with his motions, watching as that beautiful little tail came towards him, admiring his own handy-work. The position certainly ensured it was pushed deep into him, with every squirm of the body, every little movement, Mista was certain to feel it inside of him, pressing up against all of the right places.

How could Giorno resist reaching out, resist brushing his fingers through those white curls, for the noises that Mista made? The attempts to mute his own little groans through the bitten lip, the way that his eyes would crinkle just a little each time a noise was made, face again getting flushed with colour to compliment the beautiful red shade of the ropes.

Giorno did not even have to see Mista’s face at that moment, to know just all of those perfect little reactions.

“You’re the most amusing little bunny out there, Guido.” Teasing remarks came naturally at instances such as these.

The fingers continued on with their teasing, continued on with the slow touches of that tail, feeling the heat radiating off Mista’s body with each little touch, watching the way that rib cage would open up wider, deeper breaths required to keep his head sane. It was truly incredible how such small simple actions could result in such outcomes. It only served to boost up Giorno’s own powerful ego.

The touches soon moved from the white ball of fluff, instead, slipping down onto that round shaped ass, so perfectly framed and accentuated by the red of the ropes. They were such gentle, slow movements and touches, Giorno’s fingers barely even making contact with the darker skin beneath, though Mista swore he almost felt on fire just then. Every little touch, out of sight, complete with no warning of what was to come. He had to resist all the urge of his bodily instincts to flinch away from such sudden touches, to simply allow his mind to settle, to give into this anticipation, to this gentleness.

Once again, it seemed Giorno was perfectly content with taking his time. He traced all sorts of little shapes and little circles into the skin, following the natural curves of Mista’s body admiring the beauty that God had created before him. Truly, Giorno could never get bored of such a sight, of the gentle little squirms of the body, of the heavy breaths that were only amplified by the silence around them as Mista attempted to control his desire.

The movements continued on ever so torturously slow, so painfully slow that Mista was unable to hold back one of his whines through teeth bitten lips. His head almost dropped down, almost allowed those ears to slip off from atop him out of the sheer lustful frustration. He wanted to move his body, wanted to see more of Giorno, wanted to do something other than just hanging there-

“Impatient?”

“A-ah. Why do you ask if you already know, Gio?”

Even through this lust-filled haze, and the Giorno’s sheer dominance that suffocated the duo, Mista’s naturally witty charm would not be beaten down. Some may have preferred an entirely obedient little underling, a quiet toy to simply paly around with, but Giorno always found those little remarks the most charming.

It was akin to a mask, the last bit of pride and ego to hide behind the pure embarrassment at the desire-filled mind, at the mere need for more. It was adorable, really, even if Mista would always deny such claims.

Instead of speaking further, instead of allowing Mista more contemplation, Giorno’s hands moved up again, landing on that pretty little tail. Who needed ropes to twist a body back around to face him, when one had handles such as these?

The groan that slipped from Mista’s mouth was oh so deliciously sinful, the way that face came back into view again, so perfectly scrunched up in that mix of desire and shame, face so bright and warm that even Giorno could feel it through his own clothes.

Once again, Giorno took things so wonderfully slow, in no rush to see that picture of lust gone from his sight any time soon. He waited right until the very end, right until that face was facing him so head before letting go of that white tail.

Though, the hands did not rest for long. Soon, they came upon the curls of Mista’s head, quickly tangling themselves amongst them and tilting the head to face up even higher than the gunslinger’s tired muscles could do by themselves.

Eyes met. Eyes met with such a haze of craving fervour.

Out of all that Giorno had mused about, all the favourite sights of such a position, just being able to look down upon someone like that, to have someone staring back up with such a raw and vulnerable need – this was Giorno’s favourite.

“Here. Let’s put that mouth to a better use, shall we, Guido?”

Giorno’s aloof exterior almost allowed a small smile to shine through at the sight of that little nod of Mista’s head, the way those bunny ears threatened to slip down from his head at that moment just through his sheer excitement and enthusiasm. It truly was a pleasant sight. Adorable, even.

But moments over adoration of cuteness did not last for long.

Giorno’s hands slipped from Mista’s head, making their way to Giorno’s own clothing, letting his length spring free right in front of Mista’s eager face.

They had done this so many previous times, it should have gotten monotonous by now, surely. There was no element of surprise to it, at least, that is what an outsider looking in might assume to be the case.

But, even so. No matter how many times Mista would find himself in such a position, with his eyes battling to pick between keeping the eye contact or staring at the beauty that sprung before him, it was always feel like that very first time. Filled with anticipation, with excitement over the things yet to come, adrenaline pumping through his body at such a rapid pace that one could almost imagine it pressing up against the ropes that bound him.

Mista would never get tired of this. Of what was to come.

In comparison to Giorno’s more slow and methodical movements, Mista did not wish to waste any time. Not after all of this build up, all of this previous torture. Even with his body held back by the ropes, he still made an attempt. His body still tried its best to pull forwards, to slip that red tip into his mouth, to taste all of Giorno, to feel him within him, to truly show the love and appreciation of that moment through such actions.

He was certain that Giorno would think of this as yet another “adorable” little moment from him.

Mista could almost feel the little smile threatening to break through Giorno’s exterior, could feel that adoration seeping from him, from even the simple way he looked down at Mista. Looking down upon him not with pity, nor with any feeling of superiority, but looking down with the utmost of care.

“Here. Let me help this eager bunny out a bit.”

Even the teasing words that would more often than not rile Mista up did not have their usual effect. Not when the only thing to fill Mista’s view was the sight of his boss, standing tall and proud, right in his face. How could he concentrate on such idle little remarks?

All he could concentrate on was that hand that wove itself into Mista’s hair again, another coming up to grip onto one of the bunny ears atop of the head. Giorno used them as grips, pulling Mista’s whole body forwards, relishing in that little hiss to slip from the gunslinger at the mix of lust and ache that came from such an action.

Mista offered no resistance, his mouth opening up just wide enough that he knew Giorno could fill him up nice and good, so that Mista’s tongue could press against him in the most perfect of spots, tracing the lines of the prominent veins that adorned Giorno. All the while, those dark eyes continued to stare up, continued to watch over Giorno’s face. This time he was the one to truly study and adore the other’s reaction.

Mista adored the way Giorno’s face would break through its solid and stoic façade at the exact moment his tip would push through his lips, the moment that Mista’s tongue would rub against it, slow, circular motions that riled the boss up in the most perfect of ways. The way Giorno’s eyes threatened to close, to relish in this euphoric feeling, but still managing to cling onto the sight of Mista.

It always started out in a slow manner, Giorno taking his sweet time to push himself into Mista’s mouth, to gently guide Mista onto all of him. No matter how many times Mista assured the blonde that it was okay to be a little rougher, Giorno simply couldn’t help it. No matter the dominance, the need for that strong aura, Giorno never wished to take Mista entirely by surprise and cause more harm than good.

And so, he always started gently, tugging lightly on the hair while moving his hips in towards Mista’s face, slowly allowing Mista to take more and more of him in. The tongue continued on with its motions as Giorno touched the back of the throat, almost guiding the entirety of his length inside.

Giorno waited once more, his grip on the hair strengthening as he kept Mista’s head in place as he moved the entirety of the length into his mouth, letting him rest there. He watched as Mista kept that natural gag reflex at bay, the way his nostrils flared in an attempt to keep breathing through the nose, not wanting to make a mess of himself quite already.

This was always the hardest part, the part that had taken Mista quite a long time to get used and comfortable with, being able to keep Giorno so deep in his throat, being able to keep his eyes open and breath steady even like this. But he could do it now, he could do it so confidently that Giorno could not help but be proud of this.

But even then, no matter how much one practices, eventually one would need to come up for air again. One would feel the need to pull away even if one did not want to.

Giorno watched, observed the way the eyes began to crinkle, the way that the breath began to get messier, sloppier. He watched for that moment, that hint that it was at Mista’s limit, before abruptly pulling away.

It was always a messy sight, saliva dripping down from Mista’s mouth, a long line of drool connecting those slightly chapped lips to the tip of Giorno. A truly lewd sight that neither of the pair could ever get enough of. The contrast of something so messy, something so uncontrollable against the neat and well-thought-out pattern of red that kept Mista’s body afloat. It was so sinfully addicting. Making a mess of each other, but still allowing that tight control to show through, it was always the favourite part.

Giorno’s grip was a firm one. It did not allow for any movement of Mista’s head, refusing to let this view out of his sight just yet. He held Mista’s head there, his eyes wondering over all the beautiful little details of the face, the wet eyes, the sweat collecting at the brow, those lips that seemed to be almost made for such actions.

It was only with a small wriggle that Mista managed to bring Giorno back to reality, back to the moment. That little white tail moving just so cutely, pushing against the red ropes that held it in place, a groan leaving Mista automatically, mouth opening up further, tongue almost sticking out, lost in that small hint of euphoria.

It was the perfect opportunity to cease.

The grip, still as strong as ever, quickly guided Mista’s head onto his dick again, in one swift movement completely allowing Mista’s mouth to envelop him.

There was something so trusting, something so heart-warming in allowing oneself to be used in such a way, to completely give up control, all autonomy and allow Giorno to use himself akin to a simple toy, guiding Mista’s head up and down, hips thrusting in and out at a delectable pace. It allowed for easy breathing, though certainly allowed for those few occurrences of gagging, spit coating Giorno’s length even further, running down the gunslinger’s chin, threatening to spill onto the floor below.

Even those noises, those chocked out groans of Mista, with each pull of the body how he felt that tail push in just deeper in him, the sensations making his toes curl up so nicely. Even Giorno’s noises, how he would always try his absolute best to keep up that silent exterior but those few groans and moans would always leave his lips.

They were always so much more controlled than Mista’s, when they were like this. Always so controlled, so tight and tense compared to the free-flowing moans of Mista, so sloppy and lewd that it was always a surprise Giorno hadn’t come earlier.

The movements always were just as controlled, at first. With each thrust of Giorno’s hips, timed so perfectly with the pulling of Mista’s head closer, both would slip closer to that sense of delight they so desperately craved. Mista’s tongue never let up on its patterns, licking at, sucking at all parts of Giorno, almost desperate to cling onto him when he was inside of his mouth, a whine always slipping out when Giorno would move his hips out.

Mista could not help but tighten his muscles, to push against those ropes binding him oh so tightly, could not help but control his body to the best of his abilities, some way to relieve the adrenaline that was pumping through him, that made his mind so crazed and lost in this sensation.

There was no patience, no teasing this time around. Both were growing impatient, both on such edge that Mista instantly tasted that familiar precome coating his tongue.

Those so carefully planned out moves and thrusts soon began to get just that bit more sloppy, the timings with the pulling of Mista’s body no longer matching up perfectly. Giorno’s grip in Mista’s hair got just as sloppy, fingers slipping from those curls every once in a while, only to quickly catch onto a new part of the hair, desperate to keep Mista as close to him as possible, to feel all of that warmth and all of that love on him.

Even the hand that had been holding onto those bunny ears atop Mista’s head soon began to slip, the headband falling to the floor with a loud clatter, though failing to shatter through their unified haze of paradise.

Neither could care less right now, not about those rope marks that would surely litter Mista’s body, not on the mess that coated Mista’s face and Giorno’s clothing, not on those damned cute ears that lay on the floor. Nothing around them mattered, all that mattered was this unification of souls, in such a moment of lust that both forgot how to think.

Even that chocked out groan, louder than the rest, coinciding so perfectly with Giorno’s movements and grips, did nothing to break out either from their dream. Not even the heavy taste of salt that quickly coated Mista’s tongue, his throat, threatening to spill out from his lips due to the sheer lack of preparation for this – nothing could break out the pair.

Nothing, but the sound of silence, the sound of nothing only accentuated by soft breaths, hot air passing with each movement of the chest, with the sensations of the sweat dripping down the ends of the hair, the golden curls that had loosened and fallen out of their usual tight presentation.

The hands that had held on so desperately onto those brunet curls soon loosened their grip. They guided Mista’s face off, gently guided his body back too the natural position of the assembly of ropes and knots.

Only a few messy coughs, some deep breaths and sighs could be heard through the room. Only calm. Such a stark contrast to the mess of hormones and adrenaline that had been there mere moments earlier.

Once again, neither took care to notice just how much time had passed by. It could have been years, for all they cared, for it did not matter. But, eventually, with such gentle touches that spoke nothing like those harsh grips from before, Giorno’s hands moved to the face of his underling, of his one and only gunslinger.

They cradled his face, wiping off the mess that had gathered up upon the chin, wiping away those few stray tears that had gathered at the eyes, wiping off the sweat that stuck onto the forehead.

Such a sight like this, Mista’s face all tired, all exhausted and sweaty, so objectively dirty and lewd, but so subjectively beautiful and amazing, was Giorno’s most adored. Those cheeks, so red and bright that they competed with those red ropes again, were truly the centre of attention.

“Didn’t go easy today, Gio, huh?”

And that voice, so hoarse and so wet still, Giorno could already feel his blood flowing to all the right places.

“Come on. Let’s get you down and sort you out. And your frustrations this time.”

Such sheer trust in one another, in allowing one to be used in such ways, to give up all control and all autonomy to another, that was the most addicting of their interactions.