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surprise, surprise

Chapter Text

Pucci has never known the doors of the mansion to ever be locked and that’s because there’s no need, not with the relentlessly ferocious gatekeeping guard bird that still unnerves Pucci every time he’s in its territorial line of sight.

Pet Shop silently tracks Pucci’s every movement and stride, from the open gates, up the long stretch of path, and right to the unlocked doors but Pucci is determined he won’t flinch or be deterred, not after travelling for so long and from so far.

Like clockwork, Vanilla Ice is making his routine sweep of the ground floor when Pucci lets himself into the mansion under Pet Shop’s razor sharp eye. Pucci is mildly concerned for Vanilla Ice’s neck at the speed his head whips around at the unexpected presence and if possible the severe look on his face turns even severer.

“Pucci.” It’s definitely more of an accusation than a greeting, but Pucci is long since used to it and the mansion wouldn’t bizarrely feel like home without this amusing little unwelcoming welcome.

“Vanilla Ice.” Pucci says cheerfully, making sure to sound as extra friendly as possible and smiling that wide smile he knows makes Vanilla Ice want to gouge both their eyes out.

Much to Pucci’s satisfaction, Vanilla Ice predictably doesn’t disappoint, he never does. Pucci watches as Vanilla Ice’s eye twitches minutely and Pucci can literally see the exact moment the eye-gouging thought flickers through his mind and the accompanying if brief flash of manic delight that follows. It’s one of the only few times Vanilla Ice ever truly looks happy and at peace, fantasising about Pucci-related harm and being down on his knees at Dio’s feet.

With visible effort, Vanilla Ice reluctantly rejoins him back in reality and glances Pucci up and down with a cold, narrow-eyed suspicious glare. “Lord Dio isn’t expecting you.” Again it’s another accusation, and Pucci doesn’t resist rolling his eyes this time.

“It’s called a surprise.” Pucci informs him helpfully, sidestepping Vanilla Ice to climb the stairs with his suitcase in tow. “You should think about trying it someday.”

As the sun sets beyond the thick walls of the mansion, Dio’s eyes slowly crack open and so do the grand wooden doors to his lavish room.

Dio sharply turns his head, rightly about to bite the head off the person suicidal enough to think they can just waltz in and disturb him but there stands Pucci in the doorway, a trembling grin on his face and a suitcase in his hand as he quietly shuts the door behind himself.

Dio is immediately in front of him, or as immediately as he can after just waking up, and Pucci is already in his arms before Pucci actually sees him move.

Pucci’s greeting is abruptly cut off by the force of Dio’s embrace. That, and the solid muscular chest Pucci’s face is snugly pressed between.

“Are you really here or is this just a cruel dream?” Dio asks lowly, cradling the back of Pucci’s head and practically crushing Pucci to his chest.

“I could pinch you if you like.” Pucci teases, hands tentatively touching Dio’s bare waist, but he’s so wonderfully warm and real and alive in Dio’s arms that no dream could ever hope to compare.

Dio grins fiercely, and finds for the first time in a century that words are beyond him. With a carefully tight hand curled around Pucci’s throat to feel for himself the intimately familiar rush of Pucci’s blood, Dio kisses him. And again and again until Pucci has to turn his head to the side and gasp, laughing brightly and breathlessly like he’s never been more happier in his entire life than at this exact moment.

“Some of us actually need to breathe, Dio.” Pucci pants, even as his hands slide up into the golden mess of Dio’s hair and tightly grabs two handfuls to keep Dio exactly where Pucci wants him.

Dio’s grin only widens as he lets him, lets Pucci tilt his head this way and that as Pucci kisses him with something like desperation, or maybe it’s relief, this feeling thrumming between them. Here, reunited and together like this, Dio knows that rare feeling all too well.

“Breathing is utterly overrated, Enrico.” Dio says against Pucci’s parted mouth and just can’t resist only half-jokingly adding. “If you were a vampire you wouldn’t need to breathe.”

Pucci sighs, somehow even managing to make it sound fond, and warningly tugs Dio’s hair. “I’m not having this argument again, Dio.”

“It’s not an argument,” Dio smugly points out, not for the first or last time and knowing exactly how much it exasperates Pucci. “It’s a discussion.”

“I’m not having that argument either.” Pucci says firmly, trying and failing to fight a grin.

Dio smirks in triumph and abruptly ends the discussion-not-argument argument by scooping Pucci up into his arms and spinning them across the room just to greedily hear Pucci’s laughter again.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Dio presses their foreheads together as he pushes Pucci’s jacket off his shoulders. “What are you even doing here in the first place? I wasn’t even supposed to be here myself.”

And it’s true, he should be half a world away from Cairo and further still from Pucci if not for this maddeningly frustrating uncooperative body of his.

Even now, a century dead at Dio’s own hands (or eyes) Jojo was still causing him grief and ruining his meticulous plans by uselessly trying to resist and reject him. The shattered furniture and shredded books littering the room around them were the signs of his earlier blinding indignation at being trapped by his own stolen body. With little option and the sun soon rising, Dio had been forced to abandon his plans and postpone his trip, and the destructive rampage that followed had only marginally eased his fury.

Pucci smiles, fingertips at Dio’s jaw, and it instantly distracts Dio from his momentary brooding. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You’re one of the precious few who can, Enrico.” Dio murmurs honestly, because Pucci truly never ceases to amaze him time and time again in numerous different ways, and Dio finds it an unexpected but much welcome and refreshing change from the increasingly mundane banal usual. Dio commands and expects complete and instant obedience, obviously, but some originality and spontaneity certainly goes a long way in his less than humble opinion.

But it’s what makes Pucci so special, what makes him deservedly stand tall above the rest because Dio knows down to whatever is left of his soul that Pucci doesn’t do it for the power, or favour, or riches.

It’s love, and Pucci’s unconditional love continues to take Dio by surprise.

With that sure thought burning in his mind and heart, Dio takes his time kissing Pucci thoroughly, stroking his hands up Pucci’s legs and thighs and back in time with the boiling rush of Pucci’s blood in his veins. With each eagerly shed piece of clothing, Dio eases the tips of his fingers into Pucci’s skin and sips from him here and there. Nothing lethal at all but enough for Pucci to feel it and feel it Pucci does.

In no time at all Pucci is writhing and panting in his lap, hazy with blood loss and heady with lust and almost completely incoherent with desperation.

“The seminary think I’m here for a trip with my parents.” Pucci manages to tell him between deep kisses. “My parents think I’m here for a trip with the seminary.”

“How very devious of you, Enrico.” Dio purrs with pleasure so obvious Pucci flushes red with the praise. “Whatever shall you do if you’re caught out?”

“I won’t be caught,” Pucci grins dazedly, crawling backwards into bed and taking Dio with him. “But if I am, I’m told I’m an excellent manipulator.”

“Yes,” Dio laughs as he lays Pucci flat in the rumpled sheets of his bed and presses him into the mattress hard enough to hurt in the best way possible. “You are.”

Chapter Text

“I just knew I’d find you in here somewhere.” Mariah smirks at Pucci, leaning against the wall of the hall and lowering her sunglasses. “Vanilla Ice only ever has that specific scowl on his face for one priest-shaped reason.”

“Priest in training.” Pucci corrects with a smile, pausing at the kitchen door. “It’s good to see you too, Mariah.”

“Missed having you around here, altar boy.” Mariah follows in after him as Pucci holds the door open for her, hopping up to sit on the dusty countertop. “Too bad you weren’t here last week though.”

Pucci glances at her warily. “Do I really want to know what happened last week?”

Mariah smirks again, practically cackling. “Lord Dio pretended he couldn’t remember Vanilla Ice’s name and I swear Vanilla Ice didn’t eat anything for an entire week. He fucking fasted Pucci, because, and I quote, his name wasn’t worthy of Lord Dio’s memory.” Mariah scoffs. “Like the freak hasn’t got the most memorable name in all of Egypt. And I had no one to laugh with except Hol.”

“Hol isn’t that bad.” Pucci defends amicably. “He’s acquired taste.”

“Yeah, a taste I will continue to not acquire and turn down with my dying breaths.” Mariah shudders, and when Pucci accidentally touches the electrical socket beside the toaster, Mariah yanks Pucci towards her by his wristwatch. “Did you not hear the fasting thing?”

“I did, but Mariah please don’t make me pity Vanilla Ice anymore than I already do.” Pucci says grimly, opening one of the cupboards when Bastet wears off and finding it empty except for cobwebs. Pucci gestures at it with an unimpressed look and Mariah shrugs, not her problem.

“See, for me that’s impossible.” Mariah helpfully points at the cupboard beside the oven. “I couldn’t pity the fucker anymore even if I tried. He is firmly at rock bottom of my pity trench because how a fanatical six foot twenty ex-stripper manages to look so fucking forlorn is beyond me, Pucci.”

Pucci snorts, and only feels less than slightly bad about it. “If you ever find out, I don’t want to know.”

Mariah snorts too and crosses one slender leg over the other. “So, did you come all the way out here to surprise Lord Dio or just to ruin Vanilla Ice’s entire life?”

“Will you tell Dio if I admit to the latter?” Pucci asks innocently.

“Little old me? Of course not.” Mariah lies just as innocently, a stark contrast to her sharp grin. “Even it was the actual reason you came here you know Lord Dio wouldn’t even be mad. He’d probably like you even more for tormenting Vanilla Ice just with your presence and you’re already his favourite anyway. In Lord Dio’s eyes you can’t do wrong, altar boy.”

Pucci laughs and briefly turns away, cheeks burning even though he knows down to his soul it’s the truth. It’s one thing knowing for himself but a different thing entirely when it’s an outsider who knows too, when an outsider can see for themselves the undeniable gravity between himself and Dio. “I’m certain I could do wrong if I actually tried.”

Mariah perks up at that, her grin widening. “Oh now that would be fun to watch. Might even make myself a few extra bucks with D’Arby senior.”

“I was joking.” Pucci says wryly as he peers inside the empty refrigerator. “Mariah, who was supposed to be on shopping duty this week? Seriously?”

Mariah ignores him. “Don’t you ever get jealous though?” She asks Pucci curiously, like it’s genuinely been on her mind for awhile. “You’ve seen the guests he has, myself included. You’re his favourite but you’re still not enough for him.”

Pucci shakes his head. “It’s not like that with us.”

“Pucci.” Mariah says flatly, pointedly lowering her glasses again and glancing down at the dark Dio’s-mouth-shaped bruise on his throat and probably knowing it’s not the only one marring his body.

“You know what I mean,” Pucci huffs, tugging his collar higher. “I’m not jealous. I don’t think of it like that. Dio belongs to no one except himself, his love and his time aren’t just mine to keep. That isn’t him and I wouldn’t want it to be. What we have is special, yes, but we have a gravity that -- ”

“Oh Jesus, you and your fucking gravity.” Mariah rolls her eyes and Pucci knows it definitely isn’t the first time she’s heard it or the last. “I thought your backwater little church didn’t even believe in gravity?”

Pucci smiles patiently and closes the refrigerator door. “Goodnight, Mariah.”

“Aw come on, don’t go!” Mariah manages to say through her laughter as Pucci walks past her. “I haven’t seen you for months! I need to tease you some more and finally convince you to take me up on that threeway offer!”

“Maybe if you ask me just one more time before I leave again.” Pucci suggests in way that definitely means Mariah hasn‘t got a hope in hell or heaven.

“You’re no fun!” Mariah crosses her arms over her chest. “Did Lord Dio suck out your sense of humour when he sucked your di -- ”

Pucci loudly slams the kitchen door shut on her.

And pushes open the heavy wooden doors of Dio’s room with a flush and an exasperated snort. “It only took Mariah five minutes to mention the threesome. I think that might be a new record.”

“Yes, I heard.” Dio grins at him, half lost in his vast wardrobe and more than half naked from the quick glance Pucci takes from the corner of his eye before quickly looking away again.

“And speaking of hearing,” Pucci says as he sits in the middle of the bed and crosses his legs, daring to openly watch Dio in all his bare, beautiful glory. “It’s unusually quiet around here. Where is everyone?”

“Off doing my evil bidding obviously.” Dio distractedly jokes as he compares two identical looking black leotards. With a considering hum, Dio holds them both up to himself and asks. “Which one?”

Pucci glances between them with raised eyebrows. They really are identical. “The uh...the left one?”

“Perfect.” Dio smiles in satisfaction and in next instant he’s fully dressed and stood right in front of Pucci and still just as glorious and beautiful. Dio leans down to rewardingly brush their mouths together and Pucci’s heart flutters at the tenderness, practically soaring in his chest at the serene look on Dio’s face barely inches from his own. “Get your coat, Enrico. We’re going out.”

“Nothing too strenuous I hope.” Pucci says wryly, grinning into Dio’s sweet kiss. If helping to choose which clothes Dio wore (when he actually wore them) meant more kisses like that then Pucci would happily and eagerly become Dio’s part-time personal shopper and stylish. “I’m still a little jet-lagged. And sore.”

“No, nothing too strenuous.” Dio smiles sharply, words still dripping with promise, and Pucci’s stomach twists into knots of nerves and excitement. “Not tonight anyway, and not for you. Unless you change your mind.”

“Actually, I think it’s already changed.” Pucci murmurs as he cups Dio’s strong jaw and pulls him back down again, eyes drifting shut. Well, Pucci tries to, because suddenly it’s like Dio is made of stone and completely unmovable as he faintly grins down at Pucci.

“We’re going out, Enrico.” Dio reminds him insistently, devilment gleaming in his bright eyes as he hungrily kisses Pucci again and when Pucci blinks, Dio is on the other side of the room crouched over Pucci’s open suitcase.

With a playful smirk, Dio launches Pucci’s coat at his face and with a winding mouthful of coat, Pucci gets the reminder loud and clear.

They cross paths with Hol on their journey to the door through the vast shadowed mansion, catching the gunslinger just at the top of the first storey stairs.

Hol is literally sneaking across the landing on his tiptoes with his arms full of the last of the meagre snacks from the kitchen and he freezes like he’s met the devil himself when he looks up and sees Dio towering over him.

Dio raises a patient, mostly uninterested brow. Hol laughs nervously and offers Dio a sheepish howdy Mister Dio and quickly glances at Pucci instead, and his salvation is palpable.

“Howdy there, Pucci! Didn’t hear you mosey on in.” Hol grins and then notices they’re dressed up and whistles lowly. “Well ain’t y’all lookin’ mighty fine! Where’re you two headed this equally fine evenin’?”

Dio slides his arm around Pucci’s shoulders, drawing him close and inching his clawed hand into Pucci’s open shirt, and purrs. “I’m taking Enrico out. The night calls, Hol Horse.”

“Well ain’t that nice.” Hol smiles warmly, managing to flick his hat back without dropping anything in his arms. Cowboy logic, Pucci thinks. “Just two fellas havin’ a cosy lil night out together. What are best buds for, huh?”

Pucci stares at him. And then stares at Dio, blinking in bewilderment like Hol is a newly discovered species. It was always surreal to meet someone so oblivious, and through the church Pucci had unfortunately met a lot of oblivious people.

“Yes.” Dio drawls wryly, mouth quirking, like Hol is the newly discovered species pinned and futilely thrashing in his claws as he watches with amusement. “The best of friends.”

Tilting his head and dragging his painted lip through his sharp teeth, Dio slowly reaches out and adjusts Hol’s hat, brushing Hol’s parted mouth with his thumb when he’s satisfied. “Perhaps you’d like to join us one night, Hol Horse? We could all get a...” Dio licks his sharp teeth, and even in the dark they gleam. “Bite to eat.”

Hol smiles again, oblivious again, and ducks away with a friendly chuckle. “Thank you kindly, Mister Dio, but I wouldn’t wanna intrude on your time with Pucci here! Y’all have a good night now, I’ll just be on my way.”

And on his way Hol goes, walking right around them both and Dio watches him go over his shoulder with a sour look on his face.

Pucci blinks. Dio purses his lips unhappily.

“Wow.” Pucci says diplomatically.

“He’s an acquired taste.” Dio mutters, like he’s determined to acquire that taste even with Hol’s dying breaths.