Work Text:
Don Giovanna and his bodyguard, Guido Mista, were not common sights around Napoli - their positions were a little too delicate and exalted for them to be as free to stroll as they had when they were low-level gangsters under the protection of Bruno Bucciarati - but when they did make appearances, they turned a lot of heads and broke up a lot of conversations. Giorno refused to live in hiding and in the shadows - It was bad for his complexion, he’d quipped once, a quote that got picked up and tossed around the magazines and newspapers for a while. Scandalous! Outrageous! And yet, somehow, the Boy King of Naples remained utterly untouched by the misfortunes that seemed to land on other gang members - he was never arrested, he was never harrassed, the law simply slid off him. (He was an extremely generous contributor to a number of police funds and associations.)
He was never treated as anything but a low-key prince. Being excessively beautiful and extremely powerful had its privileges.
And if if wasn’t Giorno causing people to stammer, it was Mista in his skin-tight tiger stripes showing off his rounded ass, strong back, and sculpted thighs. They moved in trails of perfume and majesty, attracting photographers, admirers and far less savory types.
It happened that one afternoon he and Mista went for a walk, and they weren’t even trying to be gorgeous that time - Giorno had tuned down to a comfortable, low-key black sweater, jeans and scarf; Mista never changed his outfit (something about luck Giorno didn’t feel worth arguing about) so Giorno just had a dozen pairs of everything made exactly as he liked them, and Mista was in brown shades that time. Giorno was feeling impish that afternoon, so when they came upon a certain street with a guard at a crossing section, Giorno broke away from Mista, slipped a discreet amount of folded Euros into the crossing guard’s hand, and whispered in his ear.
The guard took the money, and Giorno laughed and pulled Mista along with him into the intersection as the light changed from green to red. The guard went with them, and Giorno stopped dead in the middle of the street, grinning like a fiend and pulling Mista close to him.
“What?” was all Mista managed to get out.
Giorno just grinned. “Shh, I’m abusing my power,” he laughed in answer, and grabbed hold of Mista by the face, and tugged him close for a long, breathless kiss, right there in the middle of traffic, while the guard kept blocking the way between them and the cars starting to stack up in the lane.
The light turned green. There were some angry honks beginning to come from the trapped cars, but he didn’t care. Giorno just kept on kissing Mista, right in the middle of the street, until he was satisfied.
Mista was still a little dazed when Giorno laughed, pulled back and grabbed him by the wrist to pull him the rest of the way, yelling “Thanks, sir!” to the crossing guard. Once they were safely on the other side traffic could resume again, and there were some people who apparently didn’t know who they were yelling at howling rude words at them from the street, but Giorno laughed and held onto Mista’s waist, and was happy.