Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6542389.
  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:
      Dio_Brando/Enrico_Pucci
  Character:
      Dio_Brando, Enrico_Pucci
  Additional Tags:
      mortification_of_the_flesh
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-13 Words: 4747
****** Live According to the Flesh ******
by conceptofzero
Summary
     Dio always gives the strangest gifts. Pucci hardly understands why he
     sometimes picks the items he does. Some are more obvious than others,
     while some tokens are mysteries that he has yet to unravel.
     The latest gift is a chain of some kind, made of large gold loops
     that twist in and out of one another. This could be the kind of thing
     to wear around your neck. But this chain could hardly be something
     meant to be worn. The backside of it is covered in exposed wire and
     spikes meant to stab into the skin, to prick and tear at it.
     Dio looks so proud of himself, contented as a cat who's gorged
     themselves on cream. Pucci looks at it, and then forces himself to
     admit his own ignorance, asking Dio, "What is it?"
Dio always gives the strangest gifts. Pucci hardly understands why he sometimes
picks the items he does. Some are more obvious than others - rare books meant
to challenge Pucci, clothes that are meant to appeal to Dio's styles and
desires. Other tokens are mysteries that he has yet to unravel - the finger
bone given as an apology, the model lifeboat that Pucci keeps in his room at
home, a locket stolen from a grave with two stranger's pictures inside of it.
And others...
Pucci doesn't know what exactly he's been given now. It's in a jewelry box and
it looks like a chain. The box is black and the fabric it rests on is stark
white, and the chain itself is made of large gold loops that twist in and out
of one another. This could be the kind of thing to wear around your neck,
though it's a little large for a men's chain. Not that Dio cares much about
those sorts of things. He wears where he likes, regardless of who it may be
meant for.
But this chain could hardly be something meant to be worn. The backside of it
is covered in exposed wire and spikes meant to stab into the skin, to prick and
tear at it. It looks as painful as it is elegant, something meant perhaps more
for Vanilla Ice's tastes.
Dio looks so proud of himself, contented as a cat who's gorged themselves on
cream. Pucci looks at it, and then forces himself to admit his own ignorance,
asking Dio, "What is it?"
"A cilice. Hand-fashioned by Italian nuns. Custom ordered and measured to fit
you exactly." Dio purrs, leaning into Pucci's space as if it were his own. A
cilice? He knows the word, but there's still a disconnect between what this
gift is, and what exactly he's meant to do with it.
Pucci still doesn't fully grasp it, not until Dio's hand rests on Pucci's right
thigh, stroking his hand over his pant leg. Oh... Oh dear. Now he grasps it.
"Ah. Thank you Dio." He says and gently closes the lid. "That was very
thoughtful of you. But-"
"But?" There it is, the flash of anger that darts by almost too quickly to be
seen. Pucci tries hard not to sigh. "You're not pleased with it."
"I'm not displeased. But I don't practice mortification of the flesh. At least,
I don't practice mutilation of my body." Pucci attempts to explain, unsure if
Dio has misunderstood Pucci's own feelings on repentance, or if perhaps he is
confused about Roman Catholic practices. The man is brilliant and his vision
unparalleled, but Dio is still very human on some matters, particularly
religion.
The Church of England certainly gave their followers some terribly strange
ideas, particularly in the century Dio had been born in. Pucci supposed he
should be grateful Dio didn't believe that Catholics were Virgin-worshiping
blood drinkers.
Dio is frowning and he takes the box back, flicking the lid open. His hands
remove the cilice, turning it in his hands. "I thought you'd be pleased."
"I'm pleased that you had it made for me. I'll certainly treasure it, as I
treasure all your gifts. That you chose it for me is what matters." He smiles,
pauses, but Dio looks at him still, waiting for more. Pucci does let himself
sigh this time. "The practice is not one I care for. That kind of suffering has
always struck me as... Well. Indulgent."
"Indulgent," Dio rolls the word on his tongue, saying with filthy intent. Pucci
can feel his cheeks heat up, even though that's certainly what he meant. He
simply didn't spell it out. "I had read that the practice was meant to bring
you closer to God."
"For some, I imagine it does. It's not that I'm entirely opposed to
mortification. I occasionally practice some myself. Not what you're thinking."
He's quick to correct Dio before the vampire can follow that path down strange
and winding ways. "Fasting is mortification. Sleeping without a pillow or bed
can be mortification. It's simply the denial of some comfort. It doesn't need
to be as... tawdry as whipping or wearing S&M gear-"
"Are you suggesting Italian nuns would knowingly make S&M gear?" Dio teases,
those dark eyes of his looking so intently at Pucci.
"Even nunneries have bills to pay." He responds. There's a conversation to be
had there about the struggle many monks and nuns feel now that their
populations are aging out and the funds that once allowed their institutions to
survive have become more and more megar with each passing year. But, that
conversation is not one he thinks Dio would care much for, or at the very
least, that conversation is one that will quickly return down the path this
conversation is currently on. "What I am saying is that when I feel as if I
should atone or repent, my first instinct is to take away a creature comfort,
not to flog myself until I bleed. I feel that mortification that depends on
that kind of base suffering is not for God's sake, but for your own."
"I see..." Dio turns the box in his hand. He sets it aside and moves so quickly
that Pucci only barely keeps track of him as he shifts from his seat to
kneeling in front of him. His hands are on Pucci's trousers and he rolls the
leg up, his pale fingers sliding over the dark skin beneath. Those eyes are
fixed on Pucci, burning with desire as he slowly slides the pant leg up to
Pucci's thigh. Dio's hand grasps the flesh there, stroking his fingers along
it. "And if I ask you to wear it for my sake?"
Pucci shivers. He doesn't much like pain. On those rare occasions when prayer
will not do and confession cannot help, he has occasionally turned to other
means. He once set an alarm and knelt for three hours, holding himself in that
position for as long as he could, until his muscles twitched and ached from
holding himself still, until he could think of nothing but the way his body
cried out for time to pass, for this to end. When it rang, he collapsed on the
floor and felt all of his limbs cry out with sweet relief, and in that moment,
he forgot entirely the guilt and shame that had eaten at him. It had been a
wonderful release... perhaps too much of one, for he had decided against it
again. It had felt too much like a reward meant for himself rather than an
apology to God. Fasting and sleeping without a pillow were preferable, as those
inconveniences were mild and he felt as if they were a way to deny himself that
did not come with a reward at the end of it.
"I would wear it." He struggles to speak the words as if they were normal. They
come out in a half whisper instead. "For your satisfaction."
Dio smiles then and he is the sun coming through the clouds, warming every bit
of Pucci. He takes the cilice from the box and wraps it around Pucci's thigh.
It's very well made. Pucci hopes Dio paid a great deal for it, and that the
nuns who received the money put it to good use. Dio pulls it tight, the sharp
bits prodding at Pucci's skin. The fastener locks tight with a small snap, the
gold links shimmering as they catch the light.
"Every day, you honor me." Dio bows his head, all of his golden hair falling
around his face like a veil. His mouth presses over the cilice, the metal
digging in deeper to Pucci's skin. It doesn't break the surface but Pucci
hisses in pain all the same. It only makes Dio spread his mouth wider, his
tongue passing over the metal and the flesh, leaving behind a wet stripe on
Pucci's skin that makes him certain there is no part of this that lightens the
sins on his soul. But, so long as neither of them pretend this is meant to be
true mortification, he supposes this can be tolerated... for Dio's sake.
As quickly as he knelt, Dio stands. He looks so very pleased with himself. Dio
snaps the jewelry case shut and sets it in Pucci's hand. "Leave it there until
I remove it. I have business to attend to, but I'll visit you again before the
dawn."
"Of course." Pucci nods, bowing his head momentarily. By the time he raises it,
Dio is gone. And Pucci is alone, with the cilice on his thigh. It's very
uncomfortable. But, Dio was pleased, so he can bear this. Pucci stands and
works his pant leg down, taking a very practice steps. The more he moves, the
more the metal digs in. He suspects it may draw blood if he moves too
vigorously. If he stains his pants-
If he stains his pains with blood, he will wash them. If the stain is too
great, he will purchase a new pair. The pants are just a possession. It doesn't
matter what happens to them. That, more than the pain he feels, will be his act
of mortification. He will put aside the thought of how dear they are to him and
he will treat them as they are - an item he clothes himself in, nothing more.
With that decided, Pucci makes his way towards the chapel to pray and study his
bible. The cilice is ridiculous, though he is at least grateful that it hardly
shows beneath his pant leg. It is far more tolerable than some of Dio's other
choices when it comes to items to wear. The man may be a messiah, but his
fashion choices leave a lot to be desired.
==
The night passes slowly. Each time Pucci moves, he feels the stabbing pain. It
comes from everything - when he walks, when he sits, when he shifts while
sitting. The only comfortable position he can find it when he lies on his side,
the thigh with the cilice around it elevated. Even then, the pressure from his
legs pressing on one another is enough to cause the barbs to dig in.
There's only so long he can stand to stay still, and so he takes to walking.
Each step scrapes the wire along his thigh. He keeps his breathing steady and
even, and he tries not to think too deeply on it. Yes, it hurts, but many
things hurt. Yes, it's irritating, but so are many things. The less he focuses
on it, the less discomfort he will feel.
At least, that's what he tells himself. Pucci doubts it's actually true because
it certainly doesn't become magically less irritating as the day goes on.
Though, he does get somewhat used to the pain, and used to knowing that it will
be there, constantly wearing at him.
Conversation helps somewhat. Telence is always good to chat with, so long as
Pucci makes sure to avoid the topic of games and gambling. That's easily done,
as Pucci has never had much time or interest in video games. Unlike some of the
others who skulk around the mansion, Telence at least seems to have a sense of
humor and his devotion to Dio hasn't overwhelmed his ability to make small
talk. They chat a little about the weather and good cafes in walking distance,
and indulge in the age old habit of talking poorly about others who serve Dio.
It's always a comfort to hear someone else agree that Vanilla Ice unsettles
them as well. While Pucci is grateful Dio has such a dangerous man on his side,
the intensity with which Vanilla Ice protects him is a bit much. He knows Dio
will bring about Heaven, and he's still able to tease Dio now and then.
When they exhaust topics, Pucci talks a walk in the courtyard and watches Pet
Shop for a bit. He's not a terribly friendly creature, but the bird has a sort
of noble grace to him that makes it a pleasure to see him in action. God's
creations are always a source of inspiration for Pucci and birds may be one of
His greatest. They're so well made, their bodies sleek and feathered, their
wingspans wide and grand to behold. Pet Shop is fiercer than most, his eyes so
sharp and attentive as he guards the courtyard. It’s late though, and even
birds sleep now and then. Once Pet Shop falls asleep, there’s not much left to
look at, and Pucci finds himself walking about the mansion’s grounds, past
still pools of water and green grass, somehow kept alive despite Egypt’s
oppressive climate. Pucci is used to exhausting temperatures but Egypt is
something else and he’s grateful that he keeps to nights when he’s here,
sleeping through the heat of the day. By the side of one of the ornamental
pools, Pucci seats himself and kills time running his fingers through the cold
waters. His thigh aches and he wonders if he submerged it, would that numb the
flesh and make this more tolerable? In the end, he lets it only be a thought
and lets the cilice bite into his flesh with nothing to dull the pain.
Hours have passed and still Dio has not sought him out. So Pucci goes about
with the rest of his regular routine. He takes a little money with him and goes
to out to eat. Even in the wee hours of the morning, there are food vendors
here and there, serving Cairo's night life. He gets a small dish of koshary to
eat and though it's not the best he's had, it's still very good and serves as a
temporary distraction from the pain. As with all good pasta, he's full by the
end and feeling much warmer than he was before he ate it.
Halfway through his walk back, he becomes aware of something wet running down
his thigh. He glances down but it's hard to see how badly he's bleeding.
Pucci's pants are black and under Cairo's streetlights, he can't see anything
but the dark fabric. It hurts as much as before, but when he walks, he can feel
the cilice seem to catch on something. It must be snagged on his flesh where a
barb's sunk in deep. It's not a pleasant mental image and he does his best to
clear his mind of it, counting primes with every step he takes. The metal only
worries more at him, and when it becomes too much to ignore, he lets the
streets guide him back towards the mansion.
He's nearly hobbling when the familiar courtyard comes into view, and he makes
it back to his room without drawing any attention from the others. Pucci's
tired and his thigh aches where it's caught and torn all night long. He wants
badly for Dio to hurry up and remove it. Of course, Pucci could remove it
himself. The clasp isn't a lock that can only be opened by Dio's hands. It
would be easy to take it off, and to just place it back on shortly before the
dawn, if Dio plans on leaving Pucci to suffer until the last moment.
But he doesn't. Dio asked him to leave it there. It was a request and one that
Pucci is reluctant to reject. This may be painful to him, but he knows Dio must
be thrilled by it. Even now, as he speaks with his newest followers, as he uses
the arrow to bring power to others, it must weigh on Dio's mind. It likely
excites him, knowing that Pucci is willing to suffer pain and mild humiliation
for him. Pucci takes strength from thinking of Dio's pleasure, and he finds it
in him to leave the cilice in place.
He's right: Dio returns to him only as the dawn comes and Pucci is nearly
asleep. He's gone to bed still dressed, not wanting to look and see the damage
done by the wires digging into his flesh. Pucci's on the edge of sleep when his
door opens. He raises his head and holds back a yawn as he sees Dio's familiar
shape block out the corridor's dim light. "You've cut it close."
"Things took longer than I expected." Dio shuts the door firmly behind him. The
only light comes from the bedside lamp. The sky outside is light, but there's
no way of Enrico knowing that, not when there are no windows in his bedroom.
It's just darkness here, lingering and long. Pucci sits up and his lips tighten
as he feels a swelling pain. Another barb must have caught on him. Dio's at his
side in an instance, looming over Pucci. "Let me see it."
Pucci reaches to his pant leg to pull it up, but as soon as he bends his leg,
he feels that awful spike of pain again, and he swears he can feel his skin
tearing. It won't work. So he slides his hands into his pants and pushes them
down, baring himself for Dio. It's easier this way, and quicker to push the
clothes down rather than up, even as he's forced to tear a little bit of cloth
out of one of the wounds. The sound of pain he makes only seems to make Dio's
eyes go wider and darker.
Finally, he gets his pants to his knees. Dio helps him with the rest, sweeping
them off and throwing them to the floor. Those pale hands grasp Enrico's leg on
either side of the cilice.
It's a mess. He can see four places where the barbs have sunk into his flesh
and torn at it. One is a wider hole than the rest, the blood from is both fresh
and dried from the night spent wearing it. Another has been torn, probably when
he was pulling his pants off. The rest of them have still managed to do their
work, and the skin beneath is scratched deep. Dio presses his mouth to the
cilice and licks at it, and Pucci can't hide the pained sounds he makes at the
pressure and the sudden intrusion. "Dio!"
"You've done well, Pucci. You've served me faithfully, and I am satisfied." Dio
finally slides his fingers to the clasp, undoing it easily. He draws the cilice
off, link by link, inch by inch, gently pulling the barbs out of the wounds.
It's blissful relief to feel it leaving and Pucci groans softly when the last
link leaves his skin. For the first time all day, it doesn't hurt to merely
exist.
The relief is so seductive. No wonder so many others turn to this as their form
of repentance. But this isn't repentance. This isn't for God. This feeling of
relief, of satisfaction, is meant for Pucci and Dio alone.
He's hardly gotten used to the sensation when Dio presses his mouth to Pucci's
thigh again. His tongue is cold and wet and it lingers as he makes his way over
the marks. It hurts but not nearly as much as before, so it's tolerable. It
might even be a little soothing, like a cold compress. Dio encourages Pucci to
lift his leg up, to allow Dio access to all of it. His mouth orbits Pucci's
leg, touching every last inch of the wounds. The sight is beyond lewd as Dio
laps at the blood there, probing the deeper marks to produce more for him to
feed on. Pucci's eyes are fixed on Dio, committing all of this to memory.
Dio pulls back, blood on his tongue and lips, shooting Pucci a sly smile. "Did
you feel closer to God?"
"No." A truthful answer. Pucci felt no more pious wearing that than he did
wearing a t-shirt. But... "I felt closer to you."
That's what Dio wishes to hear. The smile turns pleased, then lusty, and then
he comes in close again. But his mouth doesn't press against Pucci's wounds. He
presses his mouth against Pucci's underwear, his lips finding the start of an
erection just beneath the plain white cloth. Pucci couldn't stop the moan that
escapes him even if he wanted to. His hips buck up and Dio just lavishes
attention on Pucci’s cock, a reward after a night of suffering in Dio’s name.
Dio is impatient and ruthless. He yanks down the front of Pucci's underwear,
stripping him naked from the waist down. There’s hardly a moment to adjust
before Dio’s face is pressed against Pucci’s crotch and then his cock is slid
inside Dio’s mouth. It's a shock, going from nothing to the wetness of Dio's
mouth and the demanding way he sucks on Pucci. His cheeks are deep red and his
body pants as he's dragged along behind Dio, the pleasure he feels ramping up
almost too quickly to endure. It's like he's in pain again, but it's more than
that. It's overwhelming. "Dio! Dio, please, not so fast!"
Though he can see that Dio doesn't want to, he does as Pucci begs and slows his
pace, allowing Pucci time to at least enjoy the sight of his cock in that
perfect mouth. Pucci does his best to arrange himself, ending up with his legs
thrown over Dio’s shoulders, his heels and calves resting on the vast and
unseen expanse of back. Dio is a wonder between Pucci’s thighs, both glorious
to behold and the harbinger of ecstasy as his head bobs up and down the shaft
of Pucci’s cock. He’s the first person to ever touch him like this and Pucci
still sometimes finds himself wondering if he’ll ever feel as he does when he’s
with Dio.
Even though he knows this isn't a sin (so long as it is what Dio wants, it will
never be a sin), there's a part of him that always struggles with how he should
feel. He’s learned to drown it out, to let the rest of him feel the rapture and
contentment that comes from passions of the flesh. He has suffered for Dio, and
now he is rewarded, and that is good. Pucci reaches out a hand to set on Dio’s
head, his palm partly covering his forehead while Pucci’s fingers sink into
Dio's hair. He has no desire to pull or boss, but just simply to hold and feel
how Dio eagerly pushes forward again and again. His mouth is so clever and his
tongue talented, licking stripes along the underside of Pucci's cock and over
the ever so sensitive head.
There's no gag reflex and nothing to stop Dio from taking Pucci right to the
root of him. No matter how often he does it, Pucci never quite adjusts to the
experience or to the sight of it. Pucci’s thighs squeeze around Dio’s head, and
his breath comes hard and desperate, each exhale shaking another moan loose. He
prays his room is soundproof, but in his heart, he knows it doesn't matter.
There's only one reason Dio goes to anyone's rooms in this place, and even if
he can't be heard crying out like a whore, they know he must be doing it all
the same. “Dio,” he says then, and he brushes his thumb across Dio’s forehead,
gently coaxing him to look away from his cock and to look at him instead. “Dio,
you honor me. All through the day, I-I felt it tear at me, I felt it cut me,
and I thought of you. I thought of how pleased you would be if I wore it. I
thought- I thought, I could suffer a lifetime, if it brought you satisfaction.
You make me stronger than I am alone. You make me better.”
Dio tightens a hand around the wounds on Pucci's thigh, his eyes black and
hungry. The sudden spike of pain mixes with the pleasure of Dio's mouth as he
sucks even harder. Pucci wants to beg him to ease up, but he can't do anything
except make another desperate moan. His hand slips up and tightens in Dio's
hair and his hips buck forward, trying to somehow sink in deeper, or maybe to
escape the painful grip on his thigh. All it does is get a soft chuckle from
Dio and then another of those long, deep sucks that leave Pucci writhing on the
bed sheets, his back arched up and his thighs pulling on Dio’s vast shoulders.
Pucci comes then, all of him snapping tight so quickly that he feels he might
give himself whiplash. His cock is buried in Dio's face and Dio swallows up
every last bit of his mess, holding Pucci deep in his throat until the
overwhelming sense of pleasure finally gives way to the overwhelming sense of
pain. "Dio, Dio, Dio!" His voice cries out his savior’s name, everything from
the waist down feeling as if it's been turned to glowing gold, all his thoughts
melted down to pure satisfaction.
Dio lets him go then, his mouth sliding free as he drops Pucci to the bed. He
bites his lips, breaking the skin and spilling blood over them, before he
returns to Pucci's wounds. Dio kisses them deeply, mouth parting wide and
smearing his blood over Pucci's skin. Where he kisses, they are healed, the
scratches smoothing out and the ragged tears sealing up before his eyes. When
there's nothing left but untouched skin, Dio stands and straddles Pucci,
pulling his cock out to stroke it.
"You are always so faithful, Pucci, so dedicated. The man you're becoming will
be strong and powerful and worthy of sitting at my right hand when I bring
about Heaven." His free hand rests on the back of Pucci's neck, coaxing him up
into a kiss. Pucci can taste himself in Dio's mouth, the salty taste of cum on
his tongue. His hands are trembling as he presses over Dio's to help stroke
him. He ends up rubbing his palm along the head of Dio's cock, smearing precum
over his hand while Dio's fist works fast and furious along this shaft.
It doesn't take long, only a dozen long kisses, only enough rubbing to bring
Dio to the edge. He comes against Pucci's palm, his cum as cold as his body is.
Dio calls no names when he orgasms, but he makes the softest of sounds, a
desperate cry that only Dio ever seems to make. Pucci smiles and kisses him
through it, even as Dio's mouth goes lax and he makes no noise at all. He
tastes like salt and copper, like old blood. The taste is more familiar than it
should be but Pucci has grown accustomed to it.
When he's spent, when Dio's done, Pucci raises his palm to his mouth. He tastes
Dio, tongue licking along the valley between his thumb and fingers. It's not
pleasant of course - the taste of blood and seed never are. But it brings Dio
satisfaction, and it's worth it just to see the smile that sparks at the
corners of his mouth.
It's past dawn now. Dio's body is growing listless. He can see the life
draining from him minute by minute. It's probably too late for him to get to
his coffin before he falls asleep. Pucci kisses him and shifts the pair of them
so Dio is lying in Pucci's bed. "Sleep with me today." He tells him. "You're as
safe here as anywhere."
Dio gives him a distrustful look for a moment, before it gives way to something
else - confusion? disbelief? - and then gives way again to another small smile.
There's nothing smug about this, but nothing satisfied either. His smile is
tiny and somewhat ill-fitting, like he's unused to using it. "Only you could
say such a thing and mean it. If you insist then."
Pucci nods. He does insist. Dio doesn't take much longer to fall into a torpor,
the life leaving him. What's left behind is a beautiful corpse, the most
beautiful body that Pucci has ever seen. He strokes a hand over Dio's hair and
kisses his forehead then. "Sleep well."
He'll join Dio soon... but not until he cleans himself and sets his pants in
cold water to soak. Just because he's willing to accept their sacrifice doesn't
mean he has to encourage it. A little cold water, and a little detergent to
loosen the stain, and then he'll finally sleep.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!