Tag: this is really nice

moku-suneku:

diopucci + things you said with too many miles between us for jojocujoh

Dio has always seemed so far away and not just when he’s halfway across the globe, even stretched out on the bed beside him Dio feels so impossibly far away.

Enrico Pucci is used to distance, accustomed to adoring the untouchable, a devout believer, but Dio is God in all the ways God is not.

Dio, who lays beside him in his bed, a man who’s ambitions have surpassed those of humanity, a man who is climbing the staircase to heaven, reaching for the gates of paradise and in wickedly painted lips and skintight clothes and Pucci is completely mesmerized.

The room is quiet, Pucci attempts to focus on his reading, but finds himself starting the same passage over and over again without absorbing anything.

“Do you know what I find admirable about the human race?” Dio says suddenly.

Pucci shakes his head, “No, pray tell.”

Dio finds very little about humanity admirable, but finds a great many odd things endearing.

“Trust, Enrico. Humans trust, somehow despite what they are shown time and time again they still find it in themselves to trust. Even the most cautious individual will be shown to trust someone.” He says, his voice like layers of fine silk to Pucci’s ears. “It is both their greatest strength and weakness, to trust.”

And Pucci nods in agreement because Dio speaks true. He isn’t exactly sure where the vampire is trying to go with this string of thought.

“Enrico, do you trust me?” He asks-no purrs, eyes alight with the same burning intensity that seems to steal Pucci’s breath every time.

“Of course, now more than than ever.” Pucci manages to answer, pushing himself up on the bed to get a better angle of his companion. Sharing part of his plan to ascend to Heaven was, if not shocking, incredibly meaningful for someone who spoke in riddles and unanswered questions like Dio.

“Naturally, I feel the same way.” Dio hums softly. “I’m grateful to have met you, Enrico. If God gave you to me then I, Dio, would like to thank him.”

“For that, I have often thanked The Lord.” Pucci admits.

He gets a chuckle in response. It sounds dark, like Dio’s bed chamber in Cairo, like the deep red wine he seems to favour, like the dark crimson of his pointed nails and the blood he drinks.

When Pucci looks at him he is dazzling. If he were to extend his arm he could touch him, grasp onto Dio’s slightly chilly flesh, not unlike that of a corpse, and hold on forever.

“I for one, would also thank gravity.” Dio says laughingly, something almost affectionate about his tone.

Gravity. The force of attraction.

Dio is red eyes that match red lips and red nails and red blood. He is, more than primes, more than gravity, stunningly beautiful. He is the man who forsook his humanity, who lives to attain Heaven, who captures gazes wherever he goes. He is a a usurper, a throne stealer, a monster, a philosopher.

And lying on Pucci’s bed he feels far, far away. The inches between them feel like miles. He may be close, but Pucci doubts he will ever be able to reach him, not in this lifetime, but that’s fine he’s content to watch as Dio claims the world under his pointed shoes.

Thank God for Dio.