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Why were they on route to the coast?
It all started in the morning. Perhaps, it started much earlier, but Giorno knew that the journey was motivated by his inability to get out of bed. His mind knew he had to, that he needed to put one foot on the floor and then the other, that he had to fulfill his obligations, but his body did not respond. He, ever the early riser, looked to his left and right, finding both spaces empty. Only the silhouettes of those who should have been at his sides remained marked on the bed.
“Giorno! You're awake at last!”
“Mista? Why didn't you wake me up?”
“You know Fugo is very spoiled and he said it was best to let you rest, you were so sleepy. Are you feeling well?”
No, he wasn't feeling well. It was hard to sit up in bed. His body was heavy. His head, mainly. It hurt to feel that he wasn't able to do what his mind was so clear he should do. But still he nodded, not wanting to worry Mista any more than he should, though seeing him sit down next to him he knew he didn't achieve his goal.
“Giorno, you look very exhausted.”
“I'm fine, Mista, just a little sleepy.”
“I wouldn't say you're just sleepy.”
Fugo's voice burst into the large room. From one moment to the next, Giorno also had Fugo at his side, giving him a look so serious it was funny. Though Giorno, of late, found few things funny, and whenever they did, they were always graces laden with a touch of irony and negative conformism.
“I put a lot of today's work on hold and the rest can be done tomorrow. You need to have a day off.”
“I agree with Fugo, Giorno. Let's do something you enjoy, whatever you want. Besides, with that face you don't inspire respect, only pity.”
Pity, huh? Giorno sighed heavily. He tried to refuse. Rather, he refused, about three times, but Fugo and Mista's insistence defeated him. The problem was that he wasn't even sure what he wanted to do. He wanted to be together with Mista and Fugo, but to answer so simply would be vague. Then, the word "beach" came from his lips and both Mista and Fugo understood what he wanted, without the need for him to talk more than necessary.
Giorno abstained from any preparations for the trip. He simply climbed into the back seat of the luxurious vehicle driven by Fugo with Mista as co-pilot. His gaze was focused on the scenery and then he took the opportunity to sleep a little longer, until the vehicle stopped on a hill overlooking the sea, but far from the beach.
They bought flowers. Funeral wreaths, three each, chosen according to each one's taste. In silence, they walked to the area where the three graves they were looking for were located. Bruno Bucciarati, Leone Abbacchio and Narancia Ghirga. All three died too soon, too young. Three deaths necessary to cement Giorno's path in favor of a dream that he was not sure was worth such deaths. Yes, complaining now was hypocritical, he was aware that after six years as Don it made no sense to mourn the passing of his peers, but guilt... Guilt was a separate issue. Guilt had kept him from getting out of bed that morning. The guilt grew over time, suffocating him, permeating even the activities and details he used to appreciate. It was an inexplicable weight, as if Bucciarati, Abbacchio and Narancia were pulling his body to submerge him underground.
“We haven't been here for a long time,” commented Mista, after the flowers had been placed on the graves of his companions.
“About five months, if I remember correctly. Luckily they are well maintained,” said Fugo, noticing the fresh flowers on the graves.
“I'm sure it was Trish. You know, she's on tour, but every chance she gets she comes by to leave flowers.”
“That's true. Her singing career hasn't stopped her from remembering those who saved her.”
“I've always thought that we should bring food to Narancia's grave. Can you imagine his reaction if he saw that we gave him flowers? He would surely eat them, spit them out and say that next time we'd better give him something to eat.”
“It is the most probable thing. Bucciarati would thank and treasure them, and Abbacchio would surely receive them without encouragement, but he would take care of them anyway.”
“I think the same! What do you think, Giorno?”
The Don continued in his rigid posture, observing the tombs. Even the flowers and the privileged location overlooking the sea did not detract from the coolness of the tombstones. Fighting for a just cause and ending up with your name carved in stone was like a black humor joke.
“I think the three of them would rather eat than receive flowers.”
The weight of silence fell on the three of them.
* * * * * *
“How about lunch on the beach?”
Fugo's proposal took Giorno by surprise. His last meals away from home had all been in fancy restaurants and, for the same reason, the idea of eating on the beach, in full view of anyone, was tempting and liberating. As if for one day he was allowed to stop being a Don.
“What do you say, Giorno?”
He weighed the proposal, visualized more cons than pros, but the pros had more strength, because he ended up accepting, longing for a moment of peace with the two most beloved people in his life.
Fugo took care of the necessary shopping at the local supermarket and when everything was ready, it didn't take them long to park in front of the beach. Giorno finally paid attention to everything they had loaded into the trunk and, for the first time that day, laughed at the sight of a blue and white striped umbrella, white towels with blue polka dots and a tablecloth of white and light blue squares. In his momentary distraction, he didn't even ponder the idea that Mista and Fugo had it all figured out, that they knew he would agree to spend that afternoon eating on the beach.
With a renewed smile, the Don helped the other two to arrange everything in an area that would allow them to appreciate the sea in its splendor, but where the water would not reach them. Mista prepared various sandwiches with what he had on hand and Fugo uncorked a bottle of red wine which, by its quality, it was clear he had brought from home. Seeing chocolates and pudding impressed Giorno, because it made him realize how much they had planned everything if even his favorite foods were included in the menu.
“I'm sorry. I know I've been being unbearable today.”
“It's okay, it's okay,” said Mista, denying with one hand, a glass of wine in the other, sitting next to Giorno. “Fugo is always unbearable and never apologizes.”
“What's with the gratuitous attack? You're a hell of a lot more insufferable than I am, Mista.”
Giorno's laughter stopped what seemed to be the beginning of a childish fight between the two of them. The Don took a sip of the wine after bringing a chocolate to his lips. He savored slowly, feeling that everything tasted better for being in a different environment, with Mista on one side and Fugo on the other.
“Giorno,” Fugo called, softly. “You have to stop blaming yourself. It's been six years.”
“I know, Fugo. I know it's been six years and my regrets won't bring them back, but I am where I am because of their sacrifices. How can I evade my responsibility for their deaths?”
“But you are being unfair to you and to them as well,” Mista said, frowning. “Think about it, we all chose to follow you freely. If you blame yourself for what happened, it's like you're invalidating the decisions they made.”
“I agree with Mista. I regret it too, Giorno. I regret leaving them when they needed me most and I seek to atone for my guilt by being by your side, but there is no point in letting guilt eat away at you.”
Giorno set the empty wineglass down on the tablecloth in front of him. With his right hand he took Fugo's left hand and with his left hand he took Mista's right. He pressed both hands together, affectionately. Mista's hands were rougher, but incredibly warm, while Fugo's always maintained a lower temperature, but at the same time were smoother.
“I know. I know you are right. My regrets won't bring them back. I can only honor them.”
Giorno brought both hands up to his lips and kissed three times each, wondering what would become of him without such wonderful boyfriends by his side.
* * * * * *
It was guilt that dragged Giorno to Mista and Fugo's beds. Well, not only guilt, but also desire, affection and fear. Fear of losing them, as if having sex with both of them would tie them to his side and give them one more reason to stay alive.
Mista was always by their side. The attraction between the two of them was palpable since they tightened their bonds traveling as part of Bucciarati's gang. But on that journey there was no room for intimacy, because everything was focused on surviving to reach a greater goal. Giorno was only able to give free rein to his feelings for Mista after becoming Don, when the gunman became his right-hand man, like an extra shadow that watched over his safety at every step. It was enough that one night they drank too much to end up entangled between the sheets, too naturally for them to reflect on what had happened.
Fugo was the prodigal son. He returned to them full of remorse, but Giorno was only happy to have him back. The void left by Fugo was notorious and, in the face of his return, there was no other way but happiness. The blind loyalty that Fugo offered him since then became a beverage that Giorno wanted to drink more and more. He drank the blood that flowed from Fugo's wound, because it was a shared wound, the one so deep that leaves a great guilt. With Fugo there was no need for the night, only a trip alone, a meeting ended prematurely and a talk about regrets in the hotel, more precisely in the room, where they comforted each other through carnal pleasure.
Giorno never hid the fact that he slept with both of them. Not to those involved, at least. But neither did he have an extensive talk about it, only mentioning it, almost in passing, to both of them at the same time. Fugo and Mista didn't object, but it didn't take long for Giorno to notice that relations between the two became strained. They seemed to compete for his attention, by means of actions, without ever verbalizing such a tedious rivalry. Giorno, as if it were a deserved punishment, endured the tension between the two and sought his own means not to leave one or the other aside. It was a stressful situation. He had to deal not only with his duties in the mafia, but also with a couple of lovers who sought his approval from morning till night. Everything had become an exasperating competition, from who would pick him up from his room in the morning to who was in charge of accompanying him on his daily duties. While they ate, there was no shortage of snide remarks and thinly disguised questions about who he enjoyed more in bed. Did Giorno have the right to complain? No, because, again, it was his responsibility to get them to that point. But what could he do?
He desired them both.
Mista was more shy in bed. Or, rather, he was more prejudiced about sleeping with another man, at least in the beginning, because in time he did not hesitate to give himself freely to the pleasures offered by Giorno. Having sex with Mista was fun. The gunman could be passionate, but also very romantic. He liked to try new positions and games, just as he liked to share more intimate embraces and caresses in the midst of passion. Mista was more given to giving up control and even during sex he would say nonsense that made Giorno laugh out loud.
Fugo was much more dominant. He wasn't much given to talking in the middle of sex, he liked to be in control and would only give it up if the pleasure Giorno was giving him clouded his mind enough. Giorno had to admit that he didn't mind ceding control to Fugo, because despite his dominant attitude he was a patient and thorough lover who, without words, only by caresses, was able to discover the Don's weakest points. Giorno liked not to have the need to think when he shared with Fugo, because it was enough for him to let himself be carried away by his skills to melt with pleasure.
He loved them both.
He loved Mista, with his animated chatter, his wide grin and his little sense of the ridiculous. He loved his ability to make him smile and the inordinate loyalty he showed him. He loved his authenticity, his simple attitude and even his paranoia. He loved his ability to enjoy life with positivity and without looking back, as if the past was nothing more than a learning experience for the future.
He loved Fugo, with his wise comments, his intelligent talks and his short patience. He loved his ability to advise him in the most appropriate way and the effort he showed to compensate for his mistakes. He loved his down-to-earth and straightforward attitude, and selfishly also loved that they shared similarities in their injuries.
So how could he be such a cad to want to be with both of them when it was obvious that neither Mista nor Fugo wanted to be a threesome? Giorno added a new guilt to his endless list of faults. He didn't want to hurt them. He wanted to be with them both, he needed them and he needed to know that they would be all right and not end up as cold tombstones on which to lay flowers. But it was necessary to free them if he wanted them to be happy.
Giorno decided to talk to both of them, to make it clear that he was not playing with them, that this was far from his true objective. But he fell ill before he could do so. Sudden fever and exhaustion kept him anchored to bed for a couple of days. The doctor gave a quick verdict: stress. Too much work, too many responsibilities and emotional burdens. He advised absolute rest, which, if it weren't for Mista and Fugo, he would have omitted.
However, the sudden malaise had its positive side, because when he awoke from a long, but not so restful sleep, he found Mista and Fugo sitting on the bed, one on each side of his body. They filled him with questions about his health, forced him to drink water and stay in bed, but Giorno sensed that they were not there just to take care of his health. Fugo was the one who broke the tension and anticipated Giorno's questions.
“We need to talk about what's going on between the three of us.”
“I know. I wanted to talk to you, but this happened,” said Giorno, heavily. “I'm sorry if I made you feel bad.”
“It's not your fault, man. We knew you were with both of them and instead of talking like adults we ran away from the subject,” said Mista, clearly ashamed of himself.
“Mista is right. This has been complicated for the three of us, because we haven't talked about it the way we should,” Fugo said, before pausing for a long moment. “Do you love us both, Giorno?”
“I love you both.”
The Don's firm answer made Mista and Fugo look at each other without knowing whether or not they were taken by surprise. Because they didn't doubt Giorno's feelings, but they didn't expect his answer to be so direct either.
“Really? You don't have a preference for one of us?”
“No, Mista. I love both of you equally. In different ways, because you are different people, but with the same intensity.”
“We knew it.”
This time, it was Giorno who looked at both of them strangely. What was the reason for Fugo's resolution and Mista's complicit look?
“What do you mean?”
“We knew you were in love with both of us on the same level,” Fugo answered, smiling slightly. “At first we thought you would prefer one of the two, but as the days went by it became easier for us to believe that you couldn't choose, even if we asked you to.”
“With Fugo we tried to see if you made any difference, but found none. You even spent the same amount of time with us,” Mista added, scratching the back of his neck, a typical sign when he was embarrassed. “It must have sucked for you to have to split up and put up with so much tension around you.”
“I apologize, too. Instead of talking to you, I decided to find a way to blame you for messing with us. I wanted to blame you and, at the same time, I didn't want you to leave me, I wanted to be something like your favorite... It was very childish of me, I'm very sorry.”
Giorno couldn't help but be surprised. All that time, while he had been trying hard to be fair to both of them and not have them think he was fooling around with them, he had been being tested. Judged. All for not having the courage to talk things out in front of them. But that didn't matter anymore. Giorno was incapable of judging negatively the actions of his lovers, because he understood them and knew that the three of them were to blame for so much tension dragging on longer than necessary.
“I also apologize. I should have been clear with you from the beginning. I knew you were suffering with the situation and I wasn't able to speak up, because I didn't want to lose you. I was very selfish and cowardly.”
Before Mista and Fugo spoke, Giorno took a hand from each of them and pressed them affectionately.
“Mista, Fugo. I want to be with both of you. I love you both.”
Mista and Fugo looked at each other as if they were waiting for that moment. Giorno understood just by looking at them that they had both chatted about it before and that they had an answer ready in case the current situation arose.
“We have some conditions, Giorno," Fugo announced, surprising Giorno.
“First of all, you can't fall in love with someone else. If there are four of us, a disaster will happen!” warned Mista, with his characteristic effusiveness when talking about the misfortunes brought by the number four.
“I have no problem meeting that requirement,” agreed Giorno, smiling warmly, certain that it would be impossible for him to love a third person as he loved Mista and Fugo.
“The time you share with us must continue to be as equal as it has been so far,” said Fugo, who did not hesitate to continue when he saw Giorno nodding his head. “And if any dispute should arise between the three of us, we have to talk about it among the three of us, no matter if only two of us are involved. That will prevent unnecessary tensions from arising or our spaces with you from being undermined.”
“I agree. I accept those conditions,” said Giorno, without hesitation, reflecting on how much Fugo and Mista seemed to have discussed the matter. “Do you have any other conditions?”
“Just one more,” replied Fugo. “There can be no hierarchy. Both Mista and I must be considered on the same level in all that concerns this relationship.”
“I didn't think it would be otherwise,” Giorno agreed firmly. “Anything else?”
“No,” answered Mista, thoughtfully. “What about you? Do you have any conditions, Giorno?”
“Yes, I have one. I know that in our case the work and the personal are closely related, but I would like you to be clear that my decisions as Don are and will be strictly professional. The time I spend with you on the work side is not related to the time I spend with you on the personal side.”
“I understand that,” Fugo agreed, “I know that when it comes to work, you have to give us tasks that match our skills.”
“I think the same as Fugo,” said Mista, before looking at Giorno curiously. “If one of us three decides not to continue, what will happen?”
“This is over,” answered Giorno, so quickly that he surprised his lovers. “This can only work if there are the three of us. I already said it, I love you both, none of you can replace the other.”
“Then everything is fine with me,” said Fugo.
“Me too,” said Mista.
“If so, I need an answer,” said Giorno, smiling warmly. “Do you want to be my boyfriends?”
The word "boyfriends" seemed to inhibit both Mista and Fugo, who looked at each other with a mixture of excitement and embarrassment before accepting, with a firm decision, determined to be the boyfriends of such a special and peculiar Don.
* * * * * *
Five years of relationship. While holding hands with his boyfriends on the beach, Giorno realized that he had been in a relationship with both of them for five years. He decided to kiss them, as a silent thank you for all those years. Two kisses, superficial and affectionate on the lips. First to Mista, who reciprocated with tenderness and a little shyness. And then to Fugo, who sighed at the end, as he did every time he wanted to go further and had to restrain himself.
“Thank you for being by my side. I love you.”
“There's no need to thank,” said Mista, his cheeks slightly flushed. “That's what boyfriends do, isn't it? Support each other and be together and stuff?”
“Mista is right,” said Fugo, with a certain pedagogical tone very characteristic of him. “If we stand by your side and don't look after your welfare, what kind of boyfriends would we be?”
Giorno smiled as he listened to them and saw that they were also holding hands. Many things had changed since the day he formalized that polyamorous relationship, but one of the most significant was that the affection and attraction between Mista and Fugo ended up developing in a way that made everything simpler. They liked each other and, many times, accepted to have sexual relations between the three of them. They did not love each other as they loved Giorno nor did they desire each other as they desired Giorno, so if they were alone they did not share physical intimacy, but together with Giorno they allowed each other some displays of affection if the situation warranted it. This allowed Giorno not only to enjoy more time with both of them, but to do it in a better way, with more freedom.
“You brought the chocolates I like. You had everything planned, didn't you?”
“With Fugo we noticed that you had been very scattered for several days and we talked about having a picnic somewhere of your choice. We didn't expect you to end up getting sick, but at least it gave us a chance to do what we planned.”
“Of course I would have preferred a picnic in the fields, because on the beach... We're struggling to keep the food from getting sand in it.”
“You're very picky, Fugo, no sand has gotten into the food, only the tablecloth has a little sand on it.”
“I'm picky? Do I remind you who was the one who started counting the chocolates so that we wouldn't bring a quantity that could be divided by four?”
“That's different! If we brought four of whatever it was, only misfortune would await us. Besides, there are three of us, it's better to bring quantities divisible by three.”
Giorno laughed, heartily, as if his soul needed to laugh. Perhaps, the most important things in his life were not the big moments, the sacrifices and the crucial instants, but those small everyday scenes that made up the most intimate aspect of his existence and had become the main reason for him to decide to get up again and again.
“Mista, Fugo.”
His lovers, who left the discussion to smile at Giorno's laughter, did not hesitate to pay attention when called. Giorno took two chocolates, bit the tip of one and leaned toward Fugo, with the gracefulness of the great lion he had become. Fugo received the chocolate on his lips and the lick his Don gave him at the end made his skin bristle.
Yes, Giorno was no longer the young boy they had both known. Over time, he had grown into a burly man, looking as handsome as he was intimidating. His blond hair, wavy and luxuriant, reached to his waist, accentuating his lionized and wild appearance. Both the Joestar's and Dio's blood had a positive impact on the appearance of the man who was now much taller and stouter than Fugo and Mista, even though they also looked taller and stouter than before. Fugo was the shortest of the three, but possessed a slender and elegant body, and liked to tie his hair in a low ponytail. Mista, a couple of centimeters taller than Fugo, had been allowing the hair on his face to grow into a short, bushy beard, which gave him a much more mature and attractive appearance.
Before Mista could complain, Giorno leaned over to him, held the chocolate between his fingers and let the gunman eat it. The blond outlined his lover's lower lip with his thumb, slowly, delighting in noticing Mista engrossed in the caress. At that moment, when his boyfriends noticed themselves hanging on him and only him, as if he were the sunshine of their lives, Giorno poured himself more wine and drank with marked coquetry, deceiving the expectations of those who seemed disappointed.
“What's the matter? I'm hungry.”
Hungry. Giorno uttered the word slowly, deliciously, before taking a sandwich and biting into it with genuine pleasure. Yes, he was hungry. He wanted to devour Mista and Fugo, especially noticing them so docile and frustrated.
“You're playing with fire, Giorno,” Mista accused him, who also opted to take a sandwich.
“I agree with Mista,” Fugo sighed, before drinking more wine.
“Why? I said I wanted to spend the day at the beach, but I never talked about what I wanted to do during the night.”
Mista and Fugo fell. They fell as they always did when it came to Giorno. And Giorno, pleased to notice their gazes at his mercy, laughed heartily again. He wasn't cheating on them, but neither could he lie and pretend he didn't love having them both in his power. Perhaps, he was the most controlling and dominant of the three. Maybe, his boyfriends knew it. Maybe, they loved that aspect of him.
Giorno could only assert that the expectations about the evening seemed to lighten the mood even more. The three of them ate and drank eagerly. Giorno praised the choices of chocolates and pudding, because they were his favorites, and he also praised the tasty sandwich combinations, as well as the wine chosen. Fugo and Mista were pleased and attentive, and Giorno was pleased to see the lively way they ate and chatted.
When was the last time he had been able to share so freely with his two loves? Since he was Don, he always had bodyguards. The security provided by Golden Experience was not enough. His meals were usually at home or in luxurious places, previously reserved. Being able to eat on the beach, with so much freedom, was like a dream and made him realize how much he missed those kinds of outings and intimacy. Of course, there was the possibility that Fugo and Mista had prepared everything so far in advance that there was a group of undercover bodyguards watching them, but if so, Giorno didn't want to know. He wanted to think that the other people on the beach (very few, only a couple and two families) were unaware of his identity, so longed for and so difficult for his enemies to obtain.
“Let's go to the sea.”
Giorno left the laughter next to his shoes. Rather, he only left the shoes, because his laughter continued when he saw himself pulling the hands of his reluctant boyfriends.
“Wait, Giorno, my shoes! I haven't taken them off!”
“In the sea? Now? Are you drunk, Giorno?”
No, Mista was wrong, he wasn't drunk. At least, not because of the wine. He was drunk with the energy to live. To live, not to survive, not to pass the days. To live. Maybe that's why he dragged his lovers to the sea and forced them to dive with him, without worrying about Fugo's shoes or Mista's misconceptions. Nor about his own expensive suit, which in a few minutes was completely wet because of the salty sea water.
Amid uncontainable laughter, Giorno threw water on his lovers, as if he had become a child. Fugo and Mista complained at first, but ended up giving in to the improvised game, laughing loudly, and in that instant Giorno understood that he was not the only one who felt liberated in those moments. Mista and Fugo had also been under pressure for a long time. They lived in a constant circle around him, not precisely because they were his lovers, but because they were his trusted men in the mafia. They both looked after his welfare and that of the mafia in general. Giorno was not the only one to have a great weight on his shoulders and understanding such an important point made him feel guilty, yes, but also grateful and, in a way, relieved to have by his side two people who understood him more than he himself imagined.
If he thought about it carefully, sadness due to guilt did not surface in his first years as a Don, because during the first years Giorno was charged with adrenaline. He lived on the edge, aware that any mistake, no matter how small, could bury him in the depths of hell. Because, when he became a tombstone, he was certain that he would go to hell. However, during those early years he could not even think clearly about what death meant. He could only act. Those were years full of different plans, meetings and purges within the mafia. Cleaning up and rebuilding the organization's rungs that did not meet its objectives kept him too busy to reason about his faults. His only outlet during those years were the moments he shared with Fugo and Mista.
Sadness set in after those early years. When the organization began to run the way he wanted it to and the adrenaline waned because of the routine, his mind began to wander. Did he deserve to be the Don? Did he deserve to have Mista and Fugo by his side? Did he deserve to live? Although the word "deserve" was perhaps pretentious. Perhaps, what troubled him most was the word "want." Did he want to be a Don? Did he want to have Mista and Fugo by his side? Did he want to live? Mista and Fugo he wanted by his side. That was his only certainty. For both being a Don, and living, began to seem to him duties heavier and heavier to carry. As much as his mind knew that he must go on, at the same time it clouded at such ideas. Anxiety soon set in. A feeling of suffocation and constant dizziness, of feeling that he was stepping on flames that burned him, even though he had already walked over them hundreds of times. Irritability and tedium united. Because sadness was not crying. Giorno rarely cried. Sadness was a constant tightness in his chest, accompanied by questioning that only accentuated the tightness.
But there were Mista and Fugo. His boyfriends, able to soften the oppression with a kind word and a caress. And now, in the sea, playing at throwing water at each other as if they were children, Giorno stopped feeling the oppression. He was aware that the sadness would return another day, another time, but at that very moment what he felt was relief and happiness. It was love. He felt a pleasing selfishness telling him that it was right to live, even if others had sacrificed for it. He earned his right to live, a right he was willing to validate with his daily efforts.
“I want to live and be happy. If only for today, I want to live and be happy with you.”
Giorno's sentence forced Mista and Fugo to stop their games. His lovers looked at him, surprised and graciously soaked from head to toe. They looked at him with gentleness and a sense of victory that Giorno understood, because he too felt victorious as he noticed the bliss in their gazes.
“Live and be happy every day,” asked Mista, gently. “If one day you feel you can't live or be happy or both, we'll be there, forcing you to do it.”
“You have a responsibility to us, Giorno,” said Fugo, with loving severity. “Since you asked us to be your boyfriends, you are obliged to live and to be happy.”
“You are right. I'm obliged to live and be happy, not only for me, but also for you.”
Giorno kissed them both. In turns, passionately, letting himself be caressed by the hands of his lovers and by the waves that hit his body. He wanted to stop time and lose himself in that moment, to immerse himself in the kisses and caresses of Mista and Fugo to satiety, but a wave higher than the others indicated to the three of them that it was time to leave the sea. Although that didn't mean that Giorno was willing to give up his lovers that day.
“What would you like to do, Giorno?” Fugo asked. “It's still early.”
As they left the sea, the three of them began to tidy up the implements used in the picnic. They drank until the wine ran out, ate some more while tidying up and practically undressed, to allow the towels to help them dry their bodies. The Don felt sand on every area of his skin, but even that sensation felt pleasant to him, as if it implied being in touch with the simplicity he so longed for in his day to day life.
“I want to go home, to enjoy myself with you. I want to spend the rest of the day enjoying myself with you.”
Giorno's response was as firm as it was affectionate and flirtatious. He wanted nothing more. Sharing with his two loved ones between the sheets would be the perfect closure to such a lovely day. Fugo and Mista spoke no words, but the smiles on their faces were all the affirmation Giorno needed.
* * * * * *
Upon awakening, Giorno felt his muscles relax and his head clear. He was exhausted, but in a pleasant way. His boyfriends were still sleeping, naked, one on each side. The Don gazed at them in silence. He outlined Mista's nose with his forefinger and held back a chuckle as he watched him make a funny pout in his sleep. He arranged the hair that covered Fugo's forehead and smiled in amusement as he noticed him sinking his face deeper into the pillow. They were both too handsome and Giorno appreciated his boyfriends beauty.
Trying to make as little noise as possible, Giorno left the warmth of the bodies at his sides. It was still early, but he was aware that he could not sleep anymore, so he decided to get ready for the new day. The shower was more pleasant than usual, because he entertained himself by observing the marks on his body that betrayed the passion of the previous night, and as he dressed in the bedroom he pretended not to notice the glances on him, delighting in the fact of being observed in silence by his two lovers.
“You didn't wake us up,” said Fugo, breaking the silence.
“You looked cute when you slept,” explained Giorno, simply.
“It's early. You're too early,” commented Mista, in a sleepy voice.
Giorno, dressed in a refined suit, worthy of his position as Don, approached them both. He kissed the forehead of Fugo, who was sitting on the bed, and that of Mista, who was still huddled between the blankets.
“We have a long day ahead of us. Our departure yesterday means an extra burden for today,” said Giorno, softly. “That should be my reason for getting up early, but I'd be lying. I got up earlier because I want to be awake. I want to be able to be with you.”
Fugo looked at him with surprise and Mista even ended up sitting up in bed. Giorno looked gleaming. He seemed to glow. He was a golden creature that dazzled them with his fierce gaze and the velvety smile on his fleshy lips. That's why Mista and Fugo decided to pull him by the arms, until they forced him to fall on the bed. They pulled him down because they needed to feel that this creature was flesh and blood, that he was as human as they were.
“Wait!” Giorno stammered in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“Giorno, it's still early, I think we managed to repeat a bit of last night,” explained Mista, with a mischievous smile.
“But I've already had a bath and I'm dressed!”
“It doesn't matter, we'll bathe together later and we'll help you with the clothes,” said Fugo.
Giorno laughed heartily and gave in to the caresses, surrendered to his boyfriends sudden whim. He gave in just as, little by little, he was giving in to living without guilt, making his way to happiness, hand in hand with the two loves of his life.