"Let's run away. Right now. We'll think about where we're going as we head there."
There's no levity in his voice(when is there ever?); he's serious, Mista knows it. It's irresponsible, it's devil-may-care— it's everything Gio isn't
but everything Mista is.
He says yes.
He starts the engine with Gio looking out the window the entire time.
Gio knows Mista wants to ask about the sudden interest in elopement. It doesn't take long once their banter starts for him to ask.
He asks 'why?' Gio replies 'why not?'
Silence comes, the engine doing the talking for both of them. Gio's hand touches at Mista's inner thigh and
he sweats, getting the message loud and clear.
Neon signs light up Gio's face in interesting ways; he's beautiful, Mista knows this and has always known this. Perhaps he's wanted this…? Who's he kidding- of course he has.
But this was sudden. What caused Gio to precipitate…this?
If Mista is right about what this meant.
Gio is quiet as ever. Speaking only when required and using the bare minimum amount of words.
His hands tell a far more elaborate story, especially when they come into contact with any part of Mista.
They share a motel room- a bed, too.
He wakes up to Gio's watchful gaze and thinks
Morning wood please don't fuck this up for me.
He's doing his hair, the intricate holes take time to do and Gold Experience helps.
Mista is watching him in the mirror, transfixed. He returns the stare, eyes never leaving the other boy.
As soon as he stops, Mista comes over, and asks
"Need a hand…?"
He's clumsy, fucks it up completely and spends extra time fixing it. Gio knows though,
it's on purpose.
Gio leans into his touches, reminding Mista of a cat. He knows, if he moves too sudden…
nails might sink into him.
Gio moves in close to Mista, merely possessing lips is considered an invitation now.
If there was a God, Gio thinks
God wouldn't be able to save Misa from him.
Mista's asleep, neck mottled with red.
He apologizes to him for being too rough with coffee and donuts.
With bruised lips, Mista jokes about his hair resembling the food.
Gio shuts him up, and they leave later than anticipated.
He wonders how many missed calls he's received, how many text messages…
and how many marks he's left on Mista.
"Can we touch too?!" Sex Pistols tug at Mista's sleeves. He yells at them until Gio's fingers silence him intrusively.
"Where do you want to touch me?" He asks and Mista hiccups when he answers.
They drive back, and Gio stares outside the window the entire time.
They stop for food, and Gio's kissing him, again.
His boss never says a word during these times, and Mista thinks something in Gio is dying to escape. Gio doesn't allow it to; in spite, it leaves
red red red all over Mista.
He's driving, with Gio's lips in his neck, a hand wandering lower- it stops and Gio resumes looking out the window.
Gio makes him pull over.
In the backseat, he's pulled onto Gio, arms wrapping tightly around him and he retreats into the pale neck – lips already knowing what to do. Muscle memory, he thinks.
They kiss. It's all they
seem to do anymore.
"Do you want to go all the way?"
"All the way where?" Mista plays dumb. Defuse this, defuse the situation, defuse—
"You know what I mean, Mista."
Mista stutters when he answers.
Gio doesn't seem disappointed. They kiss until neither of them can keep their eyes open.
Gio invites him into the shower.
Hiding doesn't work, nor does pretending not to have heard the invitation.
He declines, and Sex Pistols complain for a full two hours.
There's a god awful smirk decorating Gio's face as he asks "Why did you say no? Clearly, you wanted to—"
Mista says they're out of water and runs out the door.
He's driving, with Gio's hand perpetually resting at his inner thigh.
They arrive in the early hours of the morning, and he sees Gio inside, and to bed.
His hand is grabbed, Gio's eyes inviting him to spend the night.
It's too dangerous; he leaves quickly.
The next morning, Mista asked Gio what that was all about but his Boss only replied with
"Hormones."