Demolition of a Delicate Kind

Warning(s): Adult Content

   Giorno Giovanna lay sprawled across the dark satin sheets. A rosy blush tinted his alabaster skin; his long golden hair was undone, gentle curls fanning loosely around his head like a halo. He must be an angel. The thought occurred to Mista fully-formed before he could stop it, and he dismissed it immediately, realizing it was stupid even as it came to him. The bodyguard rolled his hips rhythmically, his boss' pale legs wrapped tightly around his waist, his calloused hand stroking the younger man's dick in time with his thrusts, his gun casually and openly discarded on the night stand. This was decidedly neither the time nor place to become religious.

  Giorno took Mista's free hand and guided it to his neck, motioning for Mista to choke him. He hesitated. "B-boss?" Mista asked, trepidatious. His question was met only with an impatient glare. This was an order. So Passione's most loyal member obeyed, eliciting an approving hum from his superior. Encouraged, Mista leaned over his boss and forced his tongue between the blond's delicately parted lips. If Don Giovanna were an angel, he mused, perhaps I'm being tested. The gunman smirked. He'd followed Giorno into Hell before; he'd gladly do it again.


The title is a reference to the song State of Seduction, by Digital Daggers.

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