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On average, a person is able to live without water for up to three to four days. Lack of fluid in the body leads to heat and dryness in the mucous membrane of the mouth, roughness and damage to the skin of the lips, makes saliva thick and sticky. Just as a person feels the need to take water and food, Giorno Giovanna feels the lust for a black-haired gunslinger in an extremely short time.
The sheets are tangled, crumpled, thrown somewhere on the edge of the bed. Bare feet slide up the lower leg, palms travel along the curves of the back, trying to press the other body as close as possible. The hot skin has become unbearably sensitive: the muscles shudder from the slightest touch, and wet kisses pleasantly flow with some kind of phantom electricity.
He presses his lips to the cleft between the breasts - so soft, so gentle - rubs his cheek against the sweated skin, starting to leave short kisses a little higher. Mista sighs quietly under him, runs a hand along the shoulder blades and neck, why the encouraged blond sucks the skin on the collarbone.
Giorno lifts himself up a little to change his position and can feel Mista moan short and surprised, grabbing his ribs harder. Giorno smirks, creeps the tip of his nose soothingly along his neck, humbly arched for convenience, kisses his Adam's apple, runs his tongue and lips to his chin and down again, to the sensitive meeting point of the neck and shoulder. It seems that the gunslinger is temporarily speechless, he just howls syllables like "gio" and "ah", turning it into an incoherent stream.
He draws a wet line to his ear, brushing against the lobe, and almost feels goosebumps running down Mista's body. He sighs languidly, burning his shoulder with hot air. Giorno grins painfully, feeling the pressure of the teeth on the star-shaped birthmark, in response, lightly bites the cartilage, kisses his jaw, cheek, touches his temple and nose bridge with his lips. Mista's mouth, growling and greedy, covers his own, sucks and bites.
At the moment, Giorno is feeling so much that he's not sure how he still hasn't gone crazy from an overabundance of emotions. He had never felt anything like this before, not a single person gave him such pleasure with just one presence. None of Giorno's former acquaintances had bothered to cross the barrier of his tenacity and impartiality.
He tilts his head back to his neck. Mista, no longer able and not particularly trying to somehow restrain himself, fills the room with loud sobs. Giorno grips a large area of skin with his teeth, squeezes until he hears a muffled squeak underneath, and lets go. He does this several more times, pulling louder blissful cries out of the gunman's throat over and over again.
His lips, swollen and shiny with saliva, pull away for a moment - he immediately feels his calloused fingers grab his hair, squeeze him imperiously and roughly pull him back.
"Love you, love you, love you..." Was echoing on the top of his head. And he is ready to revel in every spoken letter, like the first sip of water after exhausting wanderings in dead sand dunes.