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Giorno yawned as he stripped out of his suit and set it aside, briefly naked before pulling his favorite silk sleeping shirt over his head and padding across the thick carpet to sit at his vanity and carefully pick apart his hair. He was tired, and his thoughts were blurry and out of focus; it'd been a very long day, a lot of bargaining and handshake deals and one particularly frustratingly thick necked negotiator he'd damn near had to promise to sleep with in order to resolve their dispute. He looked forward to sleep.
A warm evening breeze wafted in through the open balcony doors of his second-floor bedroom, and carried to him a sweet scent of the flowers in the garden beyond. He heard crickets see-sawing distantly. Peace and stillness washed over him. He was vaguely aware, in the way that Gold Experience Requiem was always vaguely aware of life within its range, of small creatures in motion and of his loyal friends in their places in the villa, outside the bedroom, in one of the lounges on the ground floor below him.
In a moment he felt fingers in his hair, the movement of a brush against his scalp. Someone was brushing his hair, and he blinked at the gleaming golden shape that had materialized behind him, visible above his shoulder in his reflection within the vanity's broad mirror. Gold Experience had emerged, picked up the hairbrush for him, and was gently combing its fingers through Giorno's blond braid. It loosened his curls and seperated his hair with the lightest touches, then took to brushing. Giorno smiled tiredly, his eyes sliding closed. Normally, he kept harsh control over all aspects of himself, including his Stand, but as the Stand fussed over him, it was soothing, and he wanted to be soothed. So Giorno let himself ease. He was safe.
The gentle strokes of the brush through his hair lulled him deeper into a warm, dozy haze. After a time the Stand placed the brush down on the vanity and leaned in to apply its cool, pliant lips to the side of his throat. It touched its fingertips to the base of his jaw, delicately urging him to tilt his head back and to the right to gain better access. He didn't resist. The Stand was acting on its own, showing an autonomous whim, but at the end of the day Gold Experience was still his own reflection, his own desires made manifest. There was a certain ambiguity to their mutual existence as host and hosted, and sometimes he wondered about the blurring lines between his will and his Stand's - but he felt no danger in the moment.
Giorno's lips parted, a low sigh escaping. He gazed hazily, through half-closed eyes, at their mutual reflections in the vanity, their bodies shimmering in their own sweet golden light, the Stand's thumb at the side of his mouth, two fingers across his lower jaw, the rest curled gently under his tilted chin.
Gold Experience nuzzled its mouth harder into the crook of his slender neck, into the sensitive hollow where his neck joined to his shoulder, and teased there, licking and softly nibbling in a way that made Giorno's body start to throb and made him dig his toes into the carpet under the vanity. A favorite spot for attention. Gold Experience knew him so well. He let out a small, heavy groan, shocking himself with the sudden sound of it, and the Stand shifted its thumb slightly and touched - not covered, just touched - the center of his lips and gave them the very lightest press. He felt energy tickle at the surface of his mouth and within his throat for an instant - his own power licking inside his neck - the sound negated before he even made it, his moan annihilated, made a nonevent.
It was almost as if the Stand were teasing him, drawing out a cry and then making it not happen.
His face grew warmer, and he licked at his lips. He let his head roll back until he felt it connecting against Gold Experience's shoulder. The Stand stroked him so gently, ghostly flutters of movement with both hands, down his throat and chest, and his palms tingled with the echoed sensation of touching flesh in his fingertips even though his hands were still in his lap. There was a slight offset between his reaction in his body and the echoes he felt rippling from Gold Experience's movements.
His hand moved - wasn't sure if it was him or Gold Experience doing it - to wrap a fold of the bottom of his silk shirt around his cock. Giorno loved the soft slide of expensive silk on flesh, the way it glided and pooled on his skin, and he or the Stand or both of them used the tailing end of his shirt and rubbed it gently, under a coyly circling thumb, into and against his growing erection. Teasing himself, drawing more and more blood to his cock until the decadent sensation made him heavy and hard against his own (Gold Experience's?) hand. He felt his weight in his palm. He glanced down and saw his own hand on his own skin, but the outline of Gold Experience's hand sat directly over his flesh, a millimeter visible from him, moving when he moved (or was he moving when it moved him?)
Everything was blurring together. He didn't feel in control of anything. He found he didn't care.
And then there was a light, painless tingle and a low murmur of his own soft laughter against his own ear. He wasn't erect at all. He was soft again. The teasing continued. Gold Experience's glimmering, cool hand over silk drew him back to stiffness again, as slow and coy as before. And because it was his own power being used on him, Giorno retained every moment of awareness. The rushing, molten pleasure of getting hard and then the sudden, almost shocking light and airy emptiness of reversion, only for the whole thing to start again. He was awash in echoes and refractions, while his body grew more and more tender and aching.
He was puppeteered through another slow burn to erection. Another reversal. Another erection. His thighs were shaking against the chair after the third of these, and his skin was hot and pink, face and chest burning. By the fourth he wanted to beg for mercy, to be let forward, to be allowed to progress somehow. His mouth hung open and the slight, impossible weight of Gold Experience's thumb laid between his lips, light on his tongue, keeping power in his throat. He spread his legs wide and pushed harder against the fingers carressing his cock. He felt his arm bending as he stroked himself, but he also felt the Stand's signal delay and hollow echo. He reverberated in time and place, and came unmoored.
He would have whimpered, even pleaded, shamelessly, but his cries were negated before he could even make them, undone by his own gift, and Gold Experience's impossible feedback loop made him exquisitely aware of his captured state. He sat in his beautiful, expensive chair, imprisoned by his own ability, and threw his knees apart hard and vibrated in the hand of his Stand or himself or both of them, while his reflections bombarded him from within and without. He saw himself falling apart in his mirror. Panting, frantic, straining, blond hair unraveling into his eyes; those eyes not hazy now but wide and bright aqua and somehow alien to him, as if the person looking at him from within himself was not himself.
Gold Experience nuzzled his cheek and stared back at him through the mirror, their gazes locking together through their reflections. He swore his Stand looked smug. It kissed his cheek.
Building, building, suddenly nothing, building, building, suddenly nothing; a teasing rhythm different to sex but not entirely dissimilar, and more extreme and erotic than penetration or simple friction, and yet not any substantially different. Just reaching erection was as close as the Stand was letting him come to pleasure.
Yield?
Giorno, breathing wet over his Stand's fingers, was not allowed to reply. His Stand knew his answer already anyway.
He went soft again. A momentary blip. He was pulled up (or got up) out of the chair, easy, no muscle tension, body relaxed. Nothing had happened, after all, except in his head, where his memories stayed linear, where his anticipation was all that moved. The Stand kept its hands on his shoulders, maneuvering him. It guided him to his mattress, and placed him down.
A brief touch from the Stand next to his head transformed the sheets and blankets into a thick mat of soft grass and blossoming flowers. The blades of grass tickled Giorno's blonde hair and grew up verdant all around him, flourishing green, sweet-smelling. Honeysuckle and ivy twined itself around his throat and wrists, white flowers popping open against his cheeks to brush like kisses, and continued to grow between his thighs to put out long shoots that coiled around his knees. The vines were strong and he felt his wrists throb against them.
The Stand took hold of his thigh and pulled it wider, lifting his hips slightly. He gasped as Gold Experience placed a single finger within him, taking its time but still pushing into him, depositing something small, cool, metallic inside him; maybe a spare shell of Mista's snubnose ammunition, he wasn't sure, it had probably palmed it off the dresser. The Stand nudged the object within him, and then withdrew, with the familiar sparkling squeal that sounded as his ability came into use. He felt the small object within him shudder and then shimmy. The vibrations were not painful, but arousing and surprising. His eyes went very wide.
HIs mouth dropped open, a helpless oh. He made no sound, but he felt a slow burn stretching as the growing thing within him expanded and stiffened. All the blood raced out of his head at once as he felt it grow to a nub that pressed at his prostate. And it kept growing, stretching him, filling him up firm, just short of the point of agony. Rather than the burning pain of a harsh and unexpected fucking forcing him from outside, it was more like a slow, inevitable, heavy, menacing fullness that molded perfectly to his body, sealing him up. He dizzily wondered where in the world his subconscious mind got the idea to do that to himself. He couldn't help but feel again that his Stand was teasing him, consciously having fun with him. His inner walls throbbed around the thing that had been grown within him, though, stimulated by its rough, bumpy surface and solid weight. Each time his body contracted against it, it bounced his pressure back at him in equal force through his damage refraction. The Stand had it finely tuned, the effect was very much like wearing a vibrator set to a low, deep pulse setting; his body tensed, the object in him received the compression and shot a hard throb back through him, a muted shock-wave that rippled inside his spine and lower back, again and again.
His erection came back hard on its own with no help from either his bound hands or the Stand's touch; his forehead began to glimmer with sweat. His head rolled backward, into the sweet grass, as the Stand lowered fingertips toward his erection, and stroked him so lightly and delicately. It touched him with tenderness, with a kind of reassurance, worshiping his structure, teasing around the base of him and tapping at the long vein that ran underneath and flicking a thumb slowly over his slit with just enough pressure. Lips and tongue soon joined with fingers, the Stand's tapping and head-swoop-licking making Giorno twist and push his hips with increasing desperation. He bucked, and more vines grew around him, pulling him back down. He struggled, straining his throat without sound, but he felt the Stand's hand pressing at the center of his chest and a blue white shimmer passed through him and down into the soft grass and strong vines that ensnared him.
A huge white honeysuckle flower grew up from behind his right ear, and it was heavy, bobbing with an unnatural amount of sweet nectar. It bowed down across his straining mouth, petals brushing his lips like a kiss, leaving a sweet, delicious set of clear beads that dripped across Giorno's lips and rolled into his tongue. He tasted, swallowed. The taste ruined him, and he desired more, so more was provided for him, the flower shivering and shimmering as its petals swelled with additional drops. He craned his neck (this was allowed) and tilted his mouth up to probe into the huge white flower, greedy as a hummingbird. His tongue slid between silken petals and found sweet drops, and he eagerly lapped, suckled down what he found. His lips were coated in sweet, shiny fluid. His sight began to slide out of focus.
After a bit, the flower crumpled and died, its purpose fulfilled. Giorno sank back, vision swimming. He felt positively drugged: boneless, pliant, very relaxed; he saw Gold Experience turn him a small, coy smile. He couldn't muster a coherent thought to save his life, and he was definitely no longer in control of the Stand - or anything else - but he was glowing inside and out and it was a beautiful, pleasing sensation. The object grown within him continued to rebound and throb, and his Stand went back to stroking and mouthing at him.
At some point, with all the stimulation, he felt himself come very, very hard, into the Stand's soft and yielding mouth. He swam out of awareness for a while, not quite asleep but drifting right on the edge of it. His Stand was doing... something, but he couldn't focus on any singular sensation long enough to get a grip. Hands, tongue, breath - real, solid breath - drawling on his skin and throat and chest. Everything Gold Experience was doing felt very, very good, and he drifted on that pleasure, mindless, empty and content.
He should have locked the door, really.
Because at some point, he barely, just barely, heard a low shocked breath from across the room on his right, and suddenly Mista's face appeared in his blurred vision, swimming into his view like Mista had thrust his head down toward Giorno through clear water.
"Hi," Giorno said, dizzily, and heard himself sounding dizzy, and felt himself smile in a dizzy, goofy way. Seeing Mista made him feel happy.
"Gio, what the fuck," Mista said, the concern in his voice adding a green tint to Giorno's hazy vision.
"What?" It was hard to focus, but he tried, for Mista's sake. Mista didn't say things in that tone of voice unless they were important.
"You've turned the bed into a terrarium and tied yourself up with bunch of plants," Mista said, wide-eyed, "And you're covered in some kind of oil or something?"
Giorno felt like smiling again, so he did. "Gold Experience did it," he explained, placidly. As if that were a perfectly satisfying answer. He would have reached for Mista, but he found himself unable to move, and frowned for about a half beat before the thought fell out of his head entirely. He felt like going back to sleep. His body was still thrumming contentedly with the sensation of infinite life moving in and out of him. He could even feel Mista a bit, feel the pulseof his existence close by. Warm, strong, living Mista. It was comforting.
"Gold E... d- why?" Mista was rendered incoherent, and Giorno couldn't keep his focus long enough to track the conversation anyway. He made a small frustrated noise that came out like a mewl as he felt Mista moving away from the bed. He may have actually whined, "No." He tried to reach for Mista again and was still unable to move his hand and couldn't remember why. He let out a puzzled sound then, a verbal question mark in his throat. He struggled in a very vague, uncoordinated and dim manner.
Mista, at least, had the presence of mind to get up and lock the door first. He returned to the bed and Giorno felt fingers pulling gently at his eyelids, the quavery light he was swimming through growing brighter for a few seconds. "Did someone slip you something?" He felt Mista's strong, rougher fingers swipe at his sticky lips, and he sort-of saw Mista sniff at his fingers and - ah, too late, Giorno thought much too late that maybe he should have said - taste at the clear, sweet syrup.
Giorno felt the familiar glittering of Gold Experience extending from within him, bouncing back out of his skin, rising like mid day heat from his pores. He had no control over it, not even a little, so when it appeared behind Mista and wrapped its slender golden arms around his bare midriff, and started to tease at Mista's neck Giorno blinked over from the bed. Something bounced back to him from the Stand, which made perfect sense in his addled state of mind, a sensation of reassurance, so he said only "oh, okay", and fell back down into warm, pleasant nothingness, while the taste of Mista's skin ghosted back from the Stand into his mouth.
-
Mista was entirely not prepared to come to bed and find _that_ sprawled out in front of him. Giorno looking like a painting, pink-faced and shining, lying naked amidst a patch of verdant green plants (the greenest that Mista had ever seen, and the whole room was fragranced with the dry sweet smell of the long grass) that, a few hours ago, had been their bed. Giorno was also bound hand and foot by thick and mean looking green vines with big white flowers, and his body was gleaming wetly from forehead to ankles, smelling like sugar, and yet looking so tranquil and serene that Mista had a momentary terror that somehow Giorno had actually died and this all had unfurled from him like a monument, the life energy in him overflowing and spilling out around the wreckage.
He had a moment of panic and then a moment of a different kind of panic, as he tried to speak to Giorno and found him dazed and stupefied, unable to respond coherently. He checked Giorno's eyes - they were dilated and empty, a glassy and unfocused stare replacing Giorno's usual cool canniness and self-containment, which suggested he'd been possibly given a drug or poisoned somehow. Out of nervous instinct Mista got up and raced to the door and locked it, and then returned to see Giorno very, very weakly struggling against the plants enveloping him. Thank God, at least he was alive.
Mista's cock certainly thought it was fine, pulsing behind his zipper as Giorno's weak fluttery movements drew his eye; his brain was the part that went into a screeching panic. He swiped at the glossy stuff he found on Giorno's cheek and lips - not his gloss, his lipstick was colored and he'd taken to wearing a gold mica shimmer lately - and tasted it without really thinking about it.
It was good, light, and fresh - and somehow his brain said it was Giorno and he didn't really understand that thought except that it felt correct. Like, if Giorno were squeezed and compressed into a liquid this would be what he would taste like, sweet and green and clear and delicious. Mista stared in total confusion, and Giorno's kittenish mewling shot straight down his spine. He leaned in closer to the bed, not sure what he wanted to do but really, really wanting to get closer to Giorno just then...
And then Gold Experience jumped him - or jumped through him, rising out of Giorno's body and sliding through his chest like a ghost, leaving Mista shivering where he stood. His shivers intensified as the Stand wrapped itself around him, and it was solid in a way that Mista had never before known Gold Experience to be solid; he could smell its breath as it went for his neck, hear it murmuring something against his jugular vein.
It smelled exactly like Giorno, which was so baffling that Mista found himself leaning backward and into the embrace before his brain caught up.
Then the Stand seemed to laugh. It was Giorno's laughter, absolutely Giorno's laughter, the mellow kind he got after a couple of glasses of wine at night, when his eyes twinkled and he let the stern and severe mask he needed to rule Passione by day drop away to just reveal himself as himself again, in peace while among his friends and protectors. "I made this for you," the Stand said, and its voice was not the haughty and icy indifference of its normal timbre, which Mista had been (unlucky?) enough to hear once or twice. It sounded exactly, bone achingly exactly, like Giorno was standing there pressed against him, and not his Stand. "Do you like it?"
Mista stammered. The longer he looked, the longer that the Stand (was it still the Stand? Or was it Giorno somehow, using his Stand in some bizarre new way?) worked its mouth into his neck, the hotter he started to feel and the more misty and dream-like the whole scene became. He felt the Stand touch his mouth with its fingertips, and there was more of that sweet whatever on its hand. He drew the fingers between his lips and tasted it, so sweet, and felt his face growing warmer and warmer. He lost his sense of the Pistols; their background chatter just got softer and softer, the volume turning down and ghosting away from his awareness until his mind was completely silent, still as new cut glass.
"He's fine," the Stand told Mista, while it snuggled against his back. He watched as the Stand extended its right hand from him, held its hand out toward the bed. The snaking vines around Giorno's ankles fritzed and unraveled, and the greenery wrapped around his thighs and knees shifted, pulling his body up from the grass into a different angle. Like the Stand was offering up Giorno's body to him. Mista blinked hard, and nothing about the moment changed, and the thought roared through his head (and his cock) that right now, yes, he really, really, really wanted to be there with Giorno, sliding between his cream-colored thighs, slipping his hands down those sweetly sculpted hips...
By then his eyes were fixed on the tableau, the plants, and Giorno's knees moving wider, and the deep flush on his gorgeous boss's impeccable cheekbones. He barely noticed the Stand was carefully picking at his clothing, plucking at it and pinching it with two fingers. Gold Experience turned everything he wore, with a flicker of golden light, into ropes of heartleaf philodendron that just slid off his skin and scattered in a wide and wild mess all over the floor where he stood.
"He's waiting for you," the Stand purred, with Giorno's sweetest and most alluring whisper, in Mista's left ear. It sidestepped to Mista's right with its hand resting at the small of his bare back, like they were about to start dancing, and its light fingered touch urged him forward. He climbed into the bed without thinking, because there was suddenly really nothing to think but Giorno.
Gold Experience kept its hand on Mista, sliding its palm from his back toward his shoulder as he climbed into the bed and between Giorno's legs, breathless and flushed with his own inner heat and a growing tension between his cock and his spine. He felt almost like the Stand was puppeteering him, steering him, but he somehow didn't really care. It was all Giorno; he was surrounded entirely by Giorno's power, Giorno's vital golden energy, Giorno's sphere of influence.
As he moved into the bed and got between Giorno's legs Gold Experience followed him, still on his right. The Stand put its hand on Giorno's left knee, aura glimmering soft yellow, perhaps withdrawing a fraction of its influence or stirring Giorno back to awareness. Mista saw the blond's eyes open slightly, aim a dizzy green gaze down his body from between gold-dusted eyelashes. "Hi," Giorno murmured for the second time, sleepy and so beautiful, and his mouth formed the cutest little dumb smile that Mista had ever seen.
Mista smiled the same dumb little smile right back at him, "Hi." He felt overflowing with both love of Giorno and a really, really intense ache to be inside him immediately, his balls pulling tight, a need that was almost crushing and painful. Gold Experience reached its other hand down and swiped its fingers down into some of the soft white flowers half-crushed between Mista and Giorno's thighs, came up with glistening tips and took hold of Mista to stroke his erection, leaving him hyper-hard and dripping wet against the Stand's cool, armored metal fingers. He gasped hard, his senses swirling at the mingled smell of floral sugar and heated musk.
Gold Experience moved behind him, resting its soothingly cool body against him and tugging Giorno down the bed by the ankles, into the best position for Mista to claim him. Giorno made a soft, compliant murmur, hands still bound, and folded his legs upward around Mista's waist as Gold Experience's hands guided and arranged him, further blurring the already confusing line between the Stand's actions and his own.
Mista's head swam from the sight of Giorno's quiet submission, laid out before him ready to be enjoyed, flushed and sweet as a ripe pear. The gunner panted, needful, face burning, and used his left hand to position himself to finally (finally!) slide into his dreamy boss.
Ah, god, that felt so good. Giorno was already relaxed and the flowery stuff made an excellent lube, letting Mista glide smooth and deepdeepDEEP into Giorno, stuffing him full and feeling his inner walls go taut against his thrusts. Giorno let out a quiet, breathtaken 'ah' and kept a hazy focus on Mista's face, murmuring his bodyguard's name in a dreamy flutter. Mista groaned, "Gio". He felt almost dizzy and his senses went blurred, but he felt Gold Experience's hands on his ass, sliding down under him and lifting, and he was practically pushed up against Giorno's pelvis.
"Heh, Gio, y'r Stand's gettin' impatient," Mista said, his own eyes half-closed, head downturned, voice a thick slurry syrup from the pleasure he was feeling. He needed little encouragement from anyone to start grinding into the blond, his movements a little sloppy due to the bubbly state of his consciousness. Since both of them were equally dopey it didn't seem to matter, and Giorno pushed back with unsteady but clearly greedy movements of his own, breathing heavily through his nose. His cock was thick and red, erection trembling, not yet touched; Mista saw this and tried to place a hand on him, but Gold Experience caught his wrist and steered it away, sent a vine curling around the base of Giorno that drew a ragged whine from the blond.
It was Gold Experience that answered for Giorno, coy and sweet, "You have no idea." The Stand already had its palms rubbing Mista's muscular ass; it slid its right hand free and swiped a little more of the flower nectar, then pressed its back close to Mista's chest, leaning it's slight cool weight into him. It slipped a wet finger into the gunner, one and then another, which made Mista gasp over Giorno and flush much hotter and stutter in his thrusting for a moment until he acclimated. "How much I want this." Gold Experience - or was it just Giorno after all? - lathered kisses onto Mista's neck before biting gently into his shoulder with its smooth teeth, not trying to break the skin, more like it was trying to muffle itself there. It added its third finger into Mista and began to push in and out of him with cool, impeccable rhythm, the rhythm normally used by Giorno himself and so familiar to Mista that he just broke off for a moment from his own movements, hips stuttering, to groan Giorno's name.
"I didn't say you could stop," the Stand reprimanded, and Mista felt its tone chill straight through his spine. He tried to gather his wits and resume his rhythm within Giorno, while Gold Experience stroked its other hand down Mista's chest and kept drilling him with its increasingly warm fingers. Giorno, stretched beneath them, receiving everything the Stand sensed in echo, shivered with pleasure but was too sedated and too well bound to be able to do much more than stretch himself up against Mista, like a plant straining toward light, trying to follow the sun. He whimpered a little, as Mista's erratic movements within him, distracted by the Stand fucking him with its hand, were so delicious but so frustrating. He unsteadily pressed the inside of his knee against Mista's ribcage, tried to slide his foot against Mista's back.
Gold Experience removed its hand from Mista, prompting a gasp from the gunner, and the Stand rearranged their bodies again to its satisfaction, manuevering the two drugged men like posable dolls, playing with its toys in the luscious green grass. Mista was pressed down over Giorno, whose long thin legs were lifted up and folded over the gunner's tan shoulders, and commanded to start over. He obeyed Giorno's voice, regardless of where it was coming from, and slid back inside Giorno, fucking him while Gold Experience pressed on his back again and held Giorno's ankles tight.
Just as Mista started to climax, his blood throbbing hard in his cock, buried within Giorno's sweet, heated grip; just as he started to slide off the edge into orgasm, the Stand leaned into his shoulder and said, "I hope you're prepared, Mista. I don't want this to end any time soon."
Then Mista's orgasm completely evaporated, negated by the Requiem's desire, and neither he nor Giorno were allowed to scream.