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Stunning.
It seems he doesn’t have that much make up on, yet he’s the most stunning man Mista has ever seen.
As beautiful as the sunset. Young and fresh as a rose blooming in spring, covered with dew. Thin, small, pinkish lips, like a strawberry, with a perfect heart shape. His cheekbones glimmering with the sunlight and under those raybans, the model with the higher status imagines his eyes must be just as bright and captivating as everything the blond is.
Yes, Requiem ... No, Giorno Giovanna is undoubtedly, a true work of art.
The raven-haired doesn’t know how to react when the blond removes his shades, setting these down on the table with such grace, placing both hands on his knees. Mista opens his mouth as to say something, but Giorno decides to cut him by speaking earlier.
"Good evening..." He greets, offering Mista a seat with a welcoming smile.
Fuck, he is so attractive. Mista needs some water, because somehow, he feels certainly thirsty and out of breath.
How did this happen? Oh, oh yes, now he remembers…
“You look like trash,” Narancia says, a cheeky smile on his lips as he crosses his legs and stares at Mista, who is getting all pampered and primped by his assistants, “Why are you so popular? I don’t understand.”
“Narancia, instead of chitchatting, why don’t you go and try to beautify yourself? You totally need it,” Fugo throws a wet towel at the shorter guy, which falls on his head, making him yelp in incredulity, “You left that on the bathroom floor, again.”
“Fugo! It’s wet!” Narancia whines. He looks like he’s about to throw a tantrum as children do, but he only happens to pout and frown, standing up and stomping off from Mista’s dressing room.
“Dude, that was kinda mean.” Finally, when the assistants are done with his face and hair, Mista decides to speak up his mind, moving his neck back and forth, relieved from the pain and endurance he was suffering.
Having to sit there for what seems and feels like an eternity isn’t fun at all, but that’s his job, and oh, he loves his job.
Fugo rolls his eyes, “I’ll follow him,” He says and follows the path of the angry child Narancia is. Five minutes pass and Fugo comes back, announcing something, “Buccellati has something to tell you, so stay here and wait for him, okay?”
Being the center of attention is good, and having all those editorials contacting him to be on their magazines’ covers is even better, because Buccellati, as his manager, has the right to turn down any company that Mista desires. ─ But, yeah, sometimes Buccellati is no fun and he has to do what he’s being told to.
All of the damn time, actually. But it’s okay, it really is. He has fun, it just that sometimes he wants to be petty, and a little tad arrogant too!
Because, it’s kind of fun being like that! Mista has experienced it. How they’re capable of throwing themselves into a pit of fire just to get Mista, winner of ‘Hottest Male Model of the Year’ award, on their cover page, and he has to play the part, being polite and declining the offer as if it’s the worst thing he has to do.
But nah, he’s having fun.
However, even if Mista enjoys it so damn much, he knows Bruno wouldn’t allow him to decline an offer of great magnitude no matter how capricious and petty he wants to be, especially if this one is beneficial to his career, oh, and of course, to his agency, Passione. They are well-known already, but, why settle for enough when you can have even more?
“Mista?” Someone calls for him, a voice he’s too familiarized with. Mista turns on his chair, grinning at the raven-haired man. Right as Buccellati enters his dressing room, Mista stands up and bows his head.
Not only Mista respects Buccellati for being his manager —The best manager anyone can ever wish to have—, but because Buccellati is the closest thing to a father figure for him.
“Ah, you’ve been expecting me.”
“Fugo said there’s something you want to talk about? What is it?” Mista asks, raising an eyebrow when Buccellati sets down a couple of magazines and papers on the boudoir, “Another contract you want me to sign?”
“Kind of.” Buccellati mutters, his eyes focused on the magazines. His hands gracefully pass the pages, checking each one of them carefully, his pursed lips and a slight frown showing that he is, in fact, concentrated and concerned.
Mista wants to take a quick peek, but his manager quickly closes the magazine, putting on top of it the papers he brought along with it. Mista frowns.
“What is it?”
“It’s… A deal.”
“A deal?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of deal, Buccellati?” The younger male arches an eyebrow, cocking his head with a haughty look on his face as he waits for an answer.
“Well. There’s no contract, you see,” Buccellati begins, clasping both hands together as he stares at Mista dead in the eye, “Since he’s not that well-known yet.”
Mista quickly jumps to a hasty conclusion, squinting his eyes at the older man. A model who’s not as well-known as him, right? Well, well, he’s beginning to understand everything! This will be charity work, right? Of course! This model doesn’t have enough public relationships, so, what’s better than doing a photoshoot with him, the ‘Hottest Male Model of the Year’?
Yep, he’ll never get tired of that tittle.
Putting two and two together in his head, this can only mean one thing, and that is Buccellati has agreed to help a poor fool whose modeling career hasn’t been going too well.
Right?
“So, what are you expecting from me, boss?”
“I expect you to cooperate.” Buccellati grabs one of the magazines and hands it to Mista, waiting for him to at least read his new co-worker’s name.
He does read the name but doesn’t look too much past it.
"Requiem?"
"Have you heard of him?" Buccellati questions as he points at the model’s photo, but can’t do anything else for Mista is already returning the magazine to him.
Indeed, Mista has heard of him, but could not care less. Surely, he’s one of those young boys who pursue the dream of becoming famous and allow their managers and their agency to control their lives from the inside out. Not to mention that he’ll end up being selfish and capricious, spoiled even.
Well, yes, Mista is a bit arrogant, but quite polite and responsible when it comes to professional work. Buccellati knows this, however, he’s quite scared of how things will develop between the raven-haired and the blond.
Buccellati knows Requiem. He is, unquestionably, one of the most handsome men he’s ever seen. Even though he’s young, he is polite and owns a wide skilled vocabulary, capable of holding himself in a professional conversation with such grace and manners, without needing his father or uncle to intervene. ─ Even so, they were behind Requiem all the time, listening to every word Buccellati had to say.
Buccellati must admit it, the entire family is an exhibition of art.
A man as handsome as Requiem will be of great benefit to the agency, and of course, there’ll be too many benefits for him after this.
He’ll get to be well-known all over the world.
All Requiem has to do is this one photoshoot.
“Look. You have to do this photoshoot.”
“Ah. I have to.”
“Yes, Mista, you have to.” And then, he quickly adds, “I wouldn’t ask you to do it if it wasn’t good for you.”
“And for the agency.”
“And for the agency.” Buccellati repeats in a monotone voice.
“Buccellati,” Mista sighs, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t seem too pleased, “I, well ─ You know, I’m used to knowing all of the models I’ve ever work with.”
“And you’ve said most of them are jerks.”
“Yes ─ Wait! No, that’s not the point! Jeez…” He needs to choose his words very carefully, otherwise Bruno might turn them into something else and confuse him again. Not that Bruno enjoys doing that, but Mista tends to get confused easily and he needs to clarify his points before accepting the request Buccellati is making.
“What’s the point then?”
“The point is, I know how to deal with them, because I know things about them. This, uh, Requiem, is a total stranger, and you know I don’t deal that well with strangers. Especially if I know they want something from me.” As Mista says this, Buccellati is already on the phone making a call. His right hand is raised, this being a gesture that means it would be better if Mista shuts up.
Mista can’t help but groan, flopping on the chair whilst his own weight pulls him down, “Okay, mom.”
“Would that suit him?” When Mista stops sulking and whining, he can actually listen to Buccellati’s conversation and he seems to be arranging something, “Yes, I understand. Okay, fine, I’ll be expecting your call.”
“What was ─”
“Good Lord, that kid’s father is an absolute jerk!”
Suddenly, the younger black-haired laughs, shaking his head as if what he just listened to was the funniest thing ever. It isn’t a surprise when Buccellati raises an eyebrow and calls him out, clapping his hands stridently when the model is almost on the floor from laughing.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mista says in between laughter as he stands up, wiping away some tears of joy, “Your face was priceless.”
Buccellati just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. This is Mista he’s referring to after all, and he knows his sometimes arrogant, airheaded ‘son’.
“Well, if he’s acting like an asshole at the photoshoot, I can say something like `Well, at least my ‘father’ isn’t a jerk’ to shut him up.” Mista jokes, grinning cheekily as he grabs one sweetmeat from his personal plate, licking the icing and biting it.
“So you’ll do the photoshoot then.”
“Let’s see what his daddy says about, whatever you were arranging with him, first.”
Bruno sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You know,” Mista started anew, “I’m curious, where and how did you meet him?”
“Oh, that… Well…”
“I know you’re worried,” A young blond says, taking a sip of his coffee as he watches a taller and older blond walking from corner to corner, “But walking here and there won’t solve anything, you know.” Another sip, and this time, he doesn’t speak anymore.
“Diego, you are not helping.”
“Not that I wanted to, you know, not my son, not my problem.”
“Thanks, uncle Diego, for your support,” A young blond enters the room where both men are discussing, frowning slightly at the comment made by his relative. His hair is firmly tied up in a braid which is moving along with the rhythm of his steps. The braid falls on his shoulder but is quickly tossed aside with elegance, “But, don’t I have voice in this decision?”
“Giorno!”
He turns to face his father, cocking his head up with that solemn and somehow straight-faced facial expression, pressing his lips together for a moment before speaking up, “May I remind you, Dio, that you are not my manager, nor is uncle Diego?”
“Giorno.”
“Father.”
“Diego.”
Yes. Diego has said his own name in order to help the heavy atmosphere to ease a little.
Some laughs can be heard coming from the personnel who’re diligently working on Giorno’s dressing room, setting some expensive makeup and brushes on the vanity set, positioning his clothes with their respective brands, size, and color, and if that isn’t enough for the young model, they’re also bringing in some sweets for him to enjoy, especially puddings and chocolates, because he likes them the most.
“You are, and I cannot stress this enough, an idiot.”
“At least I’m doing something else besides of being a ─”
“How can it be that every time we are discussing about something serious, ─ And that is not about you two, ─ you have to make it about you two?!” Giorno’s expression shifts completely, this time looking a little bit more exhausted, one can even say he’s irritated.
“Giorno, I don’t trust that agency.”
“Dad.”
“And I don’t trust that man either!”
“Dad.”
“You almost died for him, Giorno! Why would you risk your life for a stranger?!” It seems he won’t stop talking, huh.
“Dad.”
“Dio, let the kid speak for a minute! Seriously, how do you even do parenting?” Diego huffs, disapprovingly clicking his tongue, glancing away from his brother.
Dio seems enraged by this.
Giorno is enraged by everything.
“Dad, he was about to be smashed by a truck.” Giorno says, kneading his temples, because, oh! Surprise! He is distressed.
“And?”
Oh, yeah, he’s forgotten he’s talking with sir Dio ‘I prefer money and power over lives and that includes my own life’ Brando. Giorno needs to speak his language in order to stop this madness, or else this discussion will continue for years.
“Father, think about it the way I do,” And before Dio can even open his mouth as to say something, Giorno raises his hand and chides him. His son hates to be interrupted and having to repeat himself, “Buccellati is the manager of one of the most well-known modeling agencies in the world, Passione, and by saving his life, I gained a… Free pass, yes, a free pass to their world, and, consequently, to the money and power they have.”
By the surprised, yet satisfied look on his father’s face, Giorno knows he’s one step ahead of him already and can’t help but grin victoriously, his blue gaze swinging from Dio to Diego, finding out both have the same astonished expression.
Perhaps, Giorno has won his father’s vote in this argument.
“God dammit, Dio, let him do the fucking photoshoot.” Diego expresses himself in the most eloquent way possible.
“You know I’d do anything to fulfill my dream.” There’s no trace of doubt nor lie in his voice.
And yet, he is lying.
“Of course you would. After all, you are my son.” Dio says, sharing a proud-father-like smile with his family.
He won. Giorno won.
“Then you agree I must meet Buccellati and Sex Pistols, right?”
“Well, I─”
“Your manager and whole agency agrees, Giorno.”
“He needs MY permission!” Dio’s mostly referring to Diego now, and judging by the way he’s biting his lower lip repeatedly, it probably means a new argument will be happening between both siblings.
Giorno can’t care less, so he turns and bids both men adieu, although he knows they’re probably not listening to him anymore.
Having won the argument and exhausted of listening to his father and uncle arguing, he retreats to his room, flooping on his chair, letting his own weight pull him down as breathes serenely. Dealing with his relatives is like dealing with children, oh, but please, let's not forget he is supposed to be the 'child' here.
He grunts, running a hand through his hair, untangling his braid, only to braid it again. This is a thing he does when he’s feeling anxious about something.
Or someone.
His gaze goes upon the folder Buccellati gave him the day Giorno saved his life and instinctively raises a hand, slightly touching the folder, doubting if he should open it or not. It's not like he hasn't seen it before, no, he has done it a thousand times, if he’s allowed to exaggerate.
His personnel and relatives may think he is analyzing the competition to know what to do and what not to do, and what to do better, but that's a lie. He isn't analyzing the competition at all. He isn't even looking at them, except for one individual.
This one raven-haired, blue eyed individual who has won the "Hottest Male Model of the Year" award, and Giorno gives him credit for that, because, God, he is stunning, no doubts on that. He owns that tanned skin Giorno always dreamt to have and when the sun hits upon it, somehow it shines and it’s quite the show. The wonderful show.
“Hah.” The blond laughs bitterly, his fingers charmingly braiding his long hair as he stares at the picture of the man he’s been thinking of lately, since the day he saved Bruno. It’s quite a pity and it feels almost like a joke, that when he begins harboring feelings for someone, it has to be this man Giorno can’t help but think is an arrogant jerk.
However, Giorno is eager to do the photoshoot with Mista and even deal with him.
Giorno runs his index finger through the entire cover page where Mista is, biting his lower lip in the process, trying his best to stop his mind from going wild with illicit thoughts.
God, this is so wrong. Having these dirty and improper thoughts for someone he doesn’t even know yet.
Not yet. But maybe at Ellie Saab Fall Photoshoot, where their managers organized the meeting…
Maybe he is, indeed, a Brando after all.
Fuck.
Holy fuck.
Mista was mistaken, so bloody mistaken, to have undervalued Giorno’s photograph which he used to had at its disposal, because now he’s being taken aback by the blond’s beauty, and he knows his mouth is hanging open, and he knows his eyes are following the image of the young model as he walks and poses, and he looks so fucking fantastic while doing it that Buccellati has no other option than to nudge him on the sides to call his attention.
“Stop ravishing the poor boy with your eyes.” Bruno whispers and his frown would make anyone think he is angry about Mista’s poor discretion, however, the tone he’s using helps Mista understand that, in fact, Bruno’s just mocking him.
“I’m not ─! This is your fault!”
“Mine? Why is it my fault you cant’s stop drooling ─”
“I’m not… Drooling!” Mista says this, and yet he runs a hand over his mouth, just to be absolutely sure he isn’t drooling. Buccellati can’t help but laugh at the raven-haired.
“C’mon, aren’t you the luckiest, hottest male model of this generation?”
Mista doesn’t answer, there’s no need to do so, for he knows he’ll probably stutter and make a fool of himself again. Being quiet is so much better, of course, and being quiet while looking at the blond is pretty much the best decision he’s taken so far.
Mista didn’t look at his photos when he had the time, but now that this Adonis is right in front of him, posing for the camera as if he was born for doing this, Mista won’t miss the opportunity to see as much as he is able to.
“I would suggest,” And there goes Bruno again, destroying his world of fantasies, “To prepare yourself mentally for what comes next.”
“And what comes next.”
“You think this was the meeting?” Mista doesn’t speak anew and Bucellati has to take a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, “No. Mista. I arranged this meeting, but you’ll have an exclusive meeting to know Requiem.”
Oh.
“You kiddin’ me.” When Buccellati remains silent, Mista sees himself in the mission of speaking again, suddenly sweating bullets, “You gotta be kiddin’ me, Bucellati.”
“Isn’t that what you asked for? The whole ‘I know the models I do photoshoots with.’ And the ‘I don’t know this Requiem.’ Well, now you’ll know him.”
Oh God.
“You ─ You could have ─ Oh God! ─ You could have told me!”
“Don’t worry, there isn’t any sign of a four today, so you’ll do just fine.”
“Buccellati! That’s not ─!”
“Ah, look, the photoshoot has ended,” Bruno, who is wearing a smug smile on his lips, stands up and claps at the excellent work Giorno’s done. Mista is sitting, unable to do anything else than looking at his agent with an open mouth and a racing heart, “Go get ready, Hottest Male Alive.”
He is starting to hate that fucking name, honestly.
Even so, Mista knows what to do, so he rises from his seat, clapping along and avoiding eyes contact as much as possible. The full set is applauding, congratulating the boy for being so fantastic and natural before the camera as always. This is what they say, and Mista cannot do anything but agree with them, because although this is the first time he’s seen Giorno unfold in front of the camera, Mista can see how well he does it, and can also see that the young blond isn’t a novice at all.
Not at all.
“I’ll talk to his manager about the photoshoot, I guess you should go and get ready, remember to be nice.” Buccellati instructs him. The younger one huffs but nods, assuring Bruno he’ll do what he’s been told.
And how not to do it? Honestly....
Who would have guessed this would happen? To Mista, this is a joke.
An absurd joke in which he hopes, he’ll get something in exchange.
Ah, yes, that’s how he got to this point where he is sitting in front of the blond, watching as he speaks to a waiter and asks for a glass of water, and now he’s looking at Mista and ─ Wait, wait, he is talking to him! Fuck!
“Excuse me? I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening…” Mista apologizes, his cheeks getting hot, and even hotter when Giorno shakes his head, smiling tenderly at him whilst moving his mouth again and ─ Oh shit, he’s talking again!
“Would you like something to drink?” Giorno asks with that sweet, yet strong voice he owns. Mista could listen him talking for days.
Of course, if he doesn’t get lost on the features of his face like he’s doing right now.
Seriously Mista, focus!
“So, you saved Buccellati’s life, right?”
“I only did what anyone would have done.” He says and his lips curve into a genuine smile, cocking his head. Is he doing this whole thing on purpose? Because Mista can’t tell if he is enjoying it or not.
“So you didn’t know who he was before you saved him?” When Giorno arches an eyebrow and his gentle smile turns into a smirk, Mista kinda thinks he has fucked up.
“Are you accusing me of something, Mista…?” Yes. Of everything.
“Not really, I’m just curious about you.”
The blond crosses his legs, resting his elbows on the table and supporting his chin on his hands, as he stares right at Mista’s eyes, somehow intimidating, somehow arousing.
“So, what do you want to know?”
“Oh I don’t know, I’m not the type to make questions,” But damn it, he wants to make a thousand of questions right now. That’s why he adds, “Surprise me, won’t you?”
“Ah, I see,” Giorno closes his eyes for a couple of seconds, opening them again when he’s ready to speak, “I’m Giorno Brando, but everyone knows me as Giorno Giovanna, and I expect you to know me as that as well.”
“I’m taking notes then, Giorno Giovanna.” They both share a confident smile.
This feels like flirting.
Wait, are they flirting?
Giorno keeps talking about his dream, about what he wants and what are his expectations from this photoshoot and how he anticipates only the best from their newly made friendship. Mista allows him to keep chatting as much as he wants, because he really looks like a work of art that has come to life.
And Mista truly wonders, will this encounter end well for both? It’s a notion he has, and he is kinda worried about it.
It ended well.
Well, it is somehow going there.
Mista doesn’t even remember how it all started, only the moment he pushed Giorno against a wall and how he grabbed Mista by the collar of his shirt, and then they were suddenly fervently kissing on an alleyway. Yes, on a fucking, dirty, full of meowing cats, alleyway. This could only get worse. And by worse he means how he can’t control his eager hands from wandering all over Giorno's body, touching from his naked arms to his long and fit legs, as he grabs them and instantly pulls Giorno up, his legs wrapping around Mista's waist, and then, he finds himself kissing and biting the blond model’s neck.
And the way Giorno moans only makes him harder.
“Fuck.” Mista sighs when Giorno pulls his hair, this turning him on even more.
Mista has noticed some things as they’re kissing and touching, and sucking onto each other’s lips as if they were some kind of fountain of life. Giorno smells like sweets. Like chocolate, or maybe pudding, as if he bathed on them and came to Mista smelling like that, only to drive him crazier than he already is with this whole situation.
“I want to ─”
Ring! Ring!
It’s what they both hear, suddenly destroying the spell of heat and lust they’ve created and breaking apart their closeness, both men breathing harshly, sweating and even trembling a little, with their faces looking as crimson as a blooming rose, and swollen lips looking like cherries. And one of them, the blond one to be precise, has a small yet noticeable bruise on his neck.
And Mista thinks how fucked up he’ll be when they find out Giorno’s got a hickey before their photoshoot.
When he was with Mista.
And Mista is now remembering when Giorno told him his father ─ and the entire family, ─ were such a big deal.
Fuck, honestly.
“I’m sorry, I ─”
“Please, check it, it must be important.” Giorno mutters, a hand pressed on his neck where Mista bit him.
“It’s Buccellati,” Mista says, voice hoarse due to his arousal, his eyes reading the following message aloud: “Tomorrow. The photoshoot is for tomorrow. So you two better come back already.”
“Tomorrow.” Giorno repeats, nodding.
“Tomorrow.” Mista does the same.
Tomorrow, they’ll meet again. Tomorrow, for the photoshoot, were they’ll have to be as closer as ever, with the notion that they’ll have to be posing and touching each other, and looking right into the other’s eyes. But fuck! They were as close as never today. Tomorrow will be a rollercoaster of sexual tension that even the photographers and managers will feel it.
“I guess,” The blonde starts, but stops only a few seconds to clear his throat, trying to get back to his usual tone, not too deep, not too sharp, “I guess we will have to postpone our… Chat, for another day.” Giorno says with a smirk that quickly turns into a wide grin, while he brings both hands to his hair, fixing it because it had stirred a bit in the process.
Did he really say that?
God, Mista seriously needs a glass of water right now.
“Sure. I would love to keep chatting with you.” Mista mutters, and then offers a hand to Giorno, who takes it with no complains nor doubts, “Shall we return?” It’s this mellow tone he uses that makes Giorno giggle, unable to speak, therefore he only nods and follows Mista’s lead.
Man, now he feels like two idiots flirting. Terrible. Horrible. Confusing.
And yet, he is enjoying this.
And it’s weird, even crazy, how they both feel that someway, the photoshoot won’t be the last time they’ll be meeting.