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Enrico Pucci knew three things.
Firstly, Dio could smell blood. He was like a shark, the way he could do it. Pucci had seen the effect it would have on him, too. Pupils narrowed to slits, drool dripping down his chin. The smell of blood turned him into a beast; the taste of it, back into a man.
Secondly, Dio hadn't eaten in three days. He very well could have sent someone out to provide him with a meal. Even Pucci might have been willing to lure someone back, if Dio had ever asked. Yet, he hadn't. For what reason, Pucci didn't know, but the physical effects were starting to take place. He was colder at night. He was weaker.
Thirdly, Enrico Pucci had just picked up a throwing knife from the wrong end.
It clattered to the floor, a deafening breach of silence in the otherwise quiet room. Dio glanced over, eyes shining yellow in the darkness.
"What was that?"
"Um-"
Pucci pressed his hand to his cassock, praying that it hadn't gone deep. His eyes darted around the room before they met Dio's once more.
"I think... I may have cut my hand,"
As if Pucci wasn't worried enough, the look Dio gave him was enough to make his heart sink.
"Enrico, tell me you're joking."
"I'm-"
Dio suddenly doubled over, clutching himself as if he were about to vomit. Pucci ran to his side.
"Oh, God- Pucci, I beg of you, leave the room."
Could he? Not with Dio like this, no. His mouth was beginning to froth over with saliva; he looked so pained.
"Dio, I can-"
Dio's eyes were blown wide open, staring directly into his soul. Pucci's words died on his tongue. God, why did he look like that? The only man in the world he truly cared about, and he was suffering.
"You can have a little bit of me, right?"
Dio groaned and shook his head, but he was salivating so hard that the steady drip of it on the floor was the loudest sound next to Dio's breathing.
"Pucci, I don't- I don't know what I'll do, please-"
Trembling, Pucci held out his hand. God, he was a fool.
"I trust you, Dio."
Dio let out a long, heady whine. Tried to turn away, as if Pucci would simply disappear once out of sight. Still, the beast inside of him kept tilting his head back, back towards that good smell and that warm body-
He leaned forward, brain so fogged over that he couldn't think of anything but Pucci and how he wasn't supposed to drink from him, but he could, he could! Pucci was allowing him! He was right there!
But then, if he drank, he might lose himself so much that when he came to, there would be nothing of Pucci left.
Dio gazed back up at Pucci, who was still holding out his hand with unbreaking resolve. I could break him so easily, Dio thought, then squeezed his eyes shut.
No. That wasn't right. He couldn't sell him short. Pucci was stronger than that- certainly stronger than Dio felt right now, and offering his body to him and-
"If I... go too far," Dio gasped, and weakly motioned to his forehead. "Take the..."
"I know."
One last glance at Pucci. Unwavering, determined. He knew what he was doing.
Dio let his chin drop into his palm, and he tasted.
Something was so overwhelmingly unique about being drank from.
It tickled a little, the way Dio's tongue ran across the wound over and over again. Sometimes, his tongue went up- too far up, to Pucci's wrist, and he had to nudge Dio's head down again for fear that he'd bite.
Mostly, it felt strange to see him like this. Dio's eyes were glazed over like a zombie.
"I read," Pucci swallowed. "That the saliva of insects like mosquitos is made to keep blood flowing from their prey. Perhaps you're like that?"
Pucci laughed a little, but Dio gave no acknowledgement that he had even heard. Pucci swallowed again. Dio looked so mindless now, the weakest Pucci had ever seen him.
If the time did come, and he did have to pull the discs from Dio's head, would he even be able to? Would he be able to muster up the courage to hurt his friend like that?
Dio's teeth nipped at the skin.
"No-"
They sunk in, suddenly, and Pucci cried out in pain, falling to the floor. He needed to stop him. He should have stopped him already. And yet, as soon as Dio had more blood, he was gently lapping away again, and that didn't feel so scary.
He couldn't bring himself to take that away.
Pucci sat there on the floor, listening to the gentle sounds of Dio's mouth working on his skin. He didn't even realize that he was getting woozy until he jolted himself awake.
He had to stop it.
Pucci's fingers came to rest on Dio's temple, and he saw the discs peek out in response to his touch. But Dio, mindless as he was, gave him a look so soft and gentle, and Pucci couldn't possibly think straight, couldn't possibly do it-
He had to pull the discs out. Why couldn't he bring himself to?
He could die right here.
He could die.
Enrico Pucci knew four things.
First, Dio could smell blood. His senses were finer tuned than any great beast in the sea, and they worked much faster in taking over, but it wasn't just that. He was clever about how he got what he wanted and, in this way, he was not like a shark.
"So? Did you... do it?" Dio asked, licking his lips and placing a hand on his gut as if to savor the memory of Pucci's taste.
"No, I didn't have to,"
Second, Dio needed blood to survive. Humans can go weeks without food, and Dio could go weeks without blood, but to feast on blood kept him warm. It kept more than alive- it kept him physical, and real, and in this way, he was not alike a man.
"Oh? Did I stop on my own?"
Third, Dio would take as much blood as he could get. He would drink and drink and he needed no incentive to do so. His own good will was not a hinderance. Being full was not a hinderance. And in this way, he was not alike an insect.
"No, I just kind of... pushed you away and you didn't fight back. Jerk. I don't even think you needed as much as you took; I almost passed out."
Dio laughed, and held him. "I'm sorry. I'll keep you well-fed in the coming days. To make up for it."
And the fourth thing, which was the scariest thing of all to Enrico Pucci, was that Dio was not at all like a shark, or a mosquito, or a man. Dio was Dio, with motivations completely unknown and unpredictable.
He was well-composed normally, and he was always beautiful, but somehow even when instinct overtook him, he was charismatic enough to kill. He always knew how to get exactly what he wanted, even when he didn't know he was doing it.
Dio was Dio, and that was the most terrifying thing of all.
And Pucci was the only one that knew.