Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/12575408. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Category: M/M Fandom: ジョジョの奇妙な冒険_|_JoJo_no_Kimyou_na_Bouken_|_JoJo's_Bizarre_Adventure Relationship: Leone_Abbacchio/Giorno_Giovanna Character: Giorno_Giovanna, Leone_Abbacchio Additional Tags: Vampires, Blood_Drinking, Blood_Kink, Anal_Sex Stats: Published: 2017-10-31 Words: 1689 ****** Dependence ****** by BluKrown Summary Giorno needs blood. Abbacchio provides it, not knowing he would get things he never knew he wanted in return. Notes Halloween Fanfiction Week 2017 Day 7 - Vampire See the end of the work for more notes Giorno needed blood. It was like as if, along with the need for food and water, blood was just another thing Giorno needed to survive everyday life. Although he did not need it so often as the other two. One would have thought anyone in Buccellati squad apart from Abbacchio would be the one to find and care for the youngest member. As Abbacchio never showed any such compassion to the boy. And yet, Abbacchio was the one to find him in his sorry state. Pale and nearly dying from an inhuman want for blood. Giorno had begged him for help, well, as much as one could when he was laying on the floor of a hotel bathroom. Begged him for blood. Although Abbacchio had no want to help Giorno out of the goodness of his heart, he knew that the other members would be unhappy if they were to see one of the strongest members dying from some unknown disease. And although he wanted to ask why and how he did not. Perhaps out of the only teaspoon sized amount of respect he had for the teen. In any case, Abbacchio had sat down on the tiles beside the blonde. Then tugging at the sleeve of his left arm up to his elbow. “I’m not letting you drink from my neck like in the movies.” Abbacchio had said, his eyes daggers as he glared at the boy who was slowly scooting towards him. “I don’t want to be any closer to you than I have to be.” Giorno gave what seemed to be a grateful nod, taking a long and deep breath to calm himself. With that, the blonde took Abbacchio’s wrist in his hand, lifting it up to his lips were for a moment, his chapped lips kissed the pale skin of the older man’s wrist. Abbacchio had an urge to pull away at that moment, feeling partly disgusted by the gesture but he soon came to realise that it was a sort of apology to him before Giorno would sink his teeth into his skin, piercing the artery. It was a blur what happened next. But he knew that he would always wake up in bed, with a sleeping Giorno beside him. Both naked no less. At first, he was disgusted by the notion he had slept with Giorno. Giorno was the thing in his life that hated most, and sometimes it would be understandable to think that his existence would be so much enjoyable if the blonde were not in it. But soon, it became a norm. That and donating his wrist occasionally. Giorno always did it. The tender kiss on his wrist before his unnaturally sharp teeth bit into his flesh. It was a small comfort now, not something he looked forward to, but it always left a warm feeling behind. Even as he felt his mind lose focus as blood slid into Giorno’s mouth. And it was not always the case that he would wake up with the remains of a sexual encounter with the blonde even. But he always knew he would wake up with the blonde at his side, either sleeping with him on the floor of a bathroom, or leaning on his shoulder on a hotel balcony, or dozing in bed. In any case, Giorno did show remorse for his actions. Clearly knowing Abbacchio would rather not give him any help at all. Soon, those aforementioned sexual encounters became more than just occasional, and only coming after a blood donation. Giorno had come to sneaking into the older man’s room before he went to bed. And although Abbacchio would try to turn the boy away, telling him they were leaving early or he needed to heal from the previous battle. But he never succeeded. Giorno always had a way with words. Words that curled off the tip of his tongue as he spoke them. Words that sometimes caused shivers to go down the man’s spine. Words that would bring Abbacchio to join him. Another thing Abbacchio hated. God, his voice was honey. Sweet and covered everything with a glazed coating. His own name even, Abbacchio, became a sort of different thing. Abbacchio. When he heard that name form Buccellati he heard the respect and appreciation he felt for being his right-hand man. Abbacchio. From Trish, Mista, Fugo and Narancia it had respect but also caution, knowing he did not give kindly to them on occasion. But, when Giorno said his name, sometimes in full, it was a completely different name. It was a name that meant erotic things. Explicit things. Things that any person would blush at if Abbacchio could explain it in actual words. Soon, the name did name would only need to be called once, before he was completely won over. Just a knock on the door, and the whisper of, “Abbacchio.” Coming through the cracks of the door to have him readying himself for the mental torment he would give himself afterwards. Soon, if Giorno if only ask, Abbacchio would give his wrist or neck for him. Amid a sexual encounter or otherwise. He was twined around that young man’s finger. He is who he is, that would never change. But Giorno most certainly had him contradicting the things he would think he would never do. It became a weakness. He was no longer the one giving mercy. Giorno was now. But he did not show spite, or bemusement from Abbacchio caving in so easily under him. If anything, he was happy. Happier and happier by the day. As Abbacchio’s walls became useless, and Giorno could walk through them with no thought at all. There was always the part of him, after Giorno had won him over, had done what he had set out to do, that feared it. That Giorno could leave him, leave him empty and alone. But he did not do anything to stop it. No, how could he? How could he resist the motions and the things the blonde would do to him? With such ease and grace no less. How he smiled at him. How his lips curled to reveal the sharp teeth he used to pierce Abbachio’s flesh. How his eyes would crinkle at the corners as his smile reached his ears. And Abbacchio could never truly tell if it was forced or natural. How his small hands would come to caress his cheeks, his thumbs tracing the lines of his cheekbones. How his face would lean towards his, so close Abbacchio could feel the small tingle of the boy’s breath on his skin. His lips would kiss him, at first tenderly, cherishing it as if it were his last. But Giorno would not stay sentimental for long. Along with his lips pressing harder and scaping Abbacchio’s own faster, he would feel the blonde’s hands caress his chest, taking in the shapes under his particularly tight clothing. Abbacchio would feel his own hands come of hold Giorno closer, tugging him by his chin. Which always came with a small moan from Giorno’s throat, as if always satisfied Abbacchio would join with him. Their bodies snaking around the others, pressing chest to chest, lips to lips, crotch to crotch. So many places Giorno would press himself against him, so many sensations overflowing him at once. It would not be long before Giorno had him lying on his back, straddling his hips as lips danced along Abbacchio’s mouth, smearing the black lipstick all over his own mouth. The strategic grinding of Giorno’s hips to give friction to both aching cocks as they were still not even done with foreplay. Clothes tugging off, buttons undone, zippers unzipped. It seemed to be a second nature to either, they could do it now with their eyes clothes and their lips busy. Perhaps Giorno liked the position, it giving him more pleasure doing another, or it could be so he could watch Abbacchio continue to melt under him, or even still to watch Abbacchio fall deeper under his control. But soon, with Abbacchio lined up, Giorno would slide Abbachio’s length within him. And although they may do the same acts very often, Giorno always seemed to keep tight although easier to enter after the first few goes. Giorno, soon after settling. Would occasionally take one of Abbacchio’s hands, bringing the hand to his lips where he would kiss from fingertips to his wrists. A warning for when his teeth would bite his wrist. Abbacchio could never come to understand, but watching his red blood drip into Giorno’s mouth, staining his lips red like lipstick and dripping down his chin would near him so close to completion that it was a struggle to hold himself. Then there were the times when Giorno was nearing, his hands falling to press the palms to Abbacchio’s middle for balance. His eyes would half close, his mouth half open uttering Abbacchio’s name and encouragement as he neared. Abbacchio knew for sure Giorno’s climaxes were genuine. As a person would not tighten around him, call his name with longing and look right into his eyes with his own, if he were mocking the endeavour. How could he resist any of those things? Any and all were so much better than being alone and sleeping in a cold bed. Not when he could wake up to the beautiful sleeping Giorno, dosing away. He would never admit the fact though. He would never admit that when the sun shined through the crack in the curtains or door, lighting through Giorno’s hair and doll-like features that he thought the blonde was beautiful. He would never forgive himself and Giorno would never leave him alone. For good or for worse. The wanting of the two changed throughout time. Giorno being weak and needing Abbacchio for an essential need. Giorno wanting more, more than just blood and more than just kisses. Abbacchio wanting more, more Giorno, more belonging. Both were desperate, both needy. And perhaps they would never truly understand the other, out of ignorance or bliss. But at least they would accept and help each other’s needs. End Notes I wanted to portray that both of them have a sort of dependence on each other. Giorno for blood and Abbacchio for slowly folding to obey Giorno. Cos I actually looked at the definition and my imagination exploded. 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