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“I’m certain you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here today.”
They all certainly were! Meetings of the inner circle were usually fairly informal events; sitting down in the private room in Libeccio, sitting in Giorno’s spacious living room, sitting down anywhere with food. Only things of utmost import were discussed in the Don’s office. (Or when Giorno was particularly pissed off, but that was another thing.) So the five men of the Don’s personal group stood around his desk in a nervous anticipation.
There was a silence as they waited for the Don to continue. From below his desk, he produced an aluminum briefcase. The sketchiest kind of briefcase. The kind that one would bust out for a weapons deal, full of fat stacks of hundreds or of stolen jewels. Giorno set it flat on the desk and turned it around to face them.
“As you know, we are all trans.”
Narancia crossed his arms and nodded his head sagely, “Extremely.”
“Extremely,” Giorno nodded in turn.
And with that, he snapped open the briefcase. There were no secret jewels. No fat stacks.
Lined up perfectly along the black velvet was an array of dicks. Not silicone dongs, no. Fat veiny fleshy things of varying shapes and sizes, like an upturned jar of pickles, ranging from what could only be called a “peen” to what would best be described as a “chode”.
Immediately there was a flesh sword in Narancia’s hand and just as immediately it had been smacked into Fugo’s face.
An uproar in the room. Fugo and Narancia wrestling, a wiggly whomper wresting ‘twixt one another. The shout of Abbacchio’s, “what the fuck Giovanna, that’s disgusting!” Mista’s raucous laughter from his middle school sense of fuckboy humor that lent to weinerly genitalia being the pinnacle of comedy. And Buccellati’s stern silence, so powerful that the aurific waves wafting off him filled the room as well: the sound of silence, if one would.
The Don patiently waited for the clamor to subside, the kind of awkward lull where everything grows quiet all at once and everyone is slightly uncomfortable-- the kind which Mista’s fuckboy humor would have him lean over and whisper, “a gay baby was just born,” and then Narancia would proceed to high five him because they were also gay babies. But at the moment of gay-baby silence, Giorno saw his opportunity to speak, and raised his hand to keep that silence.
“I came to the realization that, with the abilities of Gold Experience Requiem...,” Giorno Giovanna spoke, standing from his seat, taking a peen in hand, holding it over his heart, “I can custom-fit all of us penises.” In a grand gesture, he pointed the skin flute at his subordinates, which would have been more dramatically impressive if it weren’t flaccid. (There was a secret Giorno kept here, however: he didn’t need his Requiem stand to create the weens, he simply never thought of it, and he didn’t want anyone pointing it out.)
Everything was quiet, as Il vento d’oro faded out in the BGM.
“I want this one,” Narancia broke that silence before it could become awkward, holding up the one that he had been wrestling with Fugo over.
“That was just a sample one!” Giorno said, suddenly defensive but trying to play it cool because that dick kind of wasn’t his best, “and you really beat it up smacking Fugo with it--”
Narancia smirked, “I mean, it’s still gonna be smacking Fu--”
Fugo, beet red, smacked his own hand over Narancia’s mouth, “You’re getting a different one. This one...doesn’t even match your skin tone.” Narancia licked his hand and Fugo screamed just a tiny little bit. But with a wipe of his hand on Narancia’s shirt, he continued speaking nevertheless. “I’d prefer to...design my...genitals...in private, GioGio,” and more sternly, glowering, “And I’m certain Narancia would, too” Mista wolf whistled, eyes darting between the three of them, brows waggling. Fugo’s eyelid twitched.
“Well, I ain’t so shy. Let’s get to it,” Mista said, and began unbuttoning his pants. He withdrew his revolver… his trusty revolver, that fit so perfectly into his fly, that nuzzled against his crotch like it was a part of him as well… and he spiraled into an existential crisis. If he were packing a different kind of Sex Pistol, his revolver wouldn’t fit into his pants. How was he supposed to shoot people if he couldn’t get his gun out of his crotch? Was he supposed to wear a holster? That was fucking lame!
And then came the other, more obvious realization of the dangers of directing a pistol at one’s penis. He’d shoot his dick off.
Mista opened his eyes, and he was on the ground, sitting on his knees, staring into his hands. When he had ended up in this position, he did not know. To the others, however, Mista had stared into space before crumbling to the ground and yelling. While this would be concerning behavior from anyone else, this was also how he reacted at breakfast that morning to there being four eggs left in the carton.
“Mista,” Buccellati said in a calm voice, “you don’t need to get a penis.”
“It’s valid,” Narancia added, nodding.
“Yeah,” Mista sniffed, “I don’t wanna shoot my dick off.”
“Oh.” whispered everyone, because they knew that Mista absolutely would end up shooting his dick off. Sure, Giorno could make him another. But that was a trauma no man wanted to know.
Buccellati cleared his throat, “Well, I suppose I’ll make my request, then.” He tapped his chin in thought, “I think, for me, something...average would be best.”
“Average?!” spat out Abbacchio, voicing the thought shared by everyone in the room, as there was no shortage of thirst for the man that was Bruno Buccellati.
“Average,” Buccellati repeated with a nod. “Extremely good looking, of course, but average.”
“Buccellati is right,” Giorno stated, nodding as well. “For a man as beautiful as him, being hung would distract from the rest of him.” Everyone knew in their hearts and deep into their very souls that he was correct, and even Abbacchio nodded in agreement. Giorno reached into a drawer of his desk and withdrew a dildo.
“Wait, you’re using a dildo as a base?” Abbacchio scoffed, “Isn’t that cheating?”
“Stands in general are cheating, aren’t they?” Giorno shrugged, Gold Experience Requiem appearing behind him and draping over his body in an extremely homoerotic manner, “It just works.” Requiem reached out and touched the silicone schlong in Giorno’s hand, and like a flower it blossomed into a beautiful penis, and subsequently wilted because it was no longer a boner.
Giorno handed the dick to Buccellati.
Buccellati zipped the penis onto his crotch. It just works.
(To digress, the casual swiftness of the exchange left no time for the men in the room to salivate over the magnificence that was Bruno Buccellati’s sparkly brand new penis.)
“Now then,” Buccellati spoke up. He turned around and sat upon Giorno’s desk, then crossed his legs. Somehow, in the entire ten seconds with a penis attached to his person, he had already mastered the skill of surreptitiously adjusting one’s dick to a comfortable sitting position. (As we know, this is a skill that very few cis men possess, so Buccellati was a man to be revered.) “We have one remaining penis to weigh in on.”
Abbacchio pointed at himself questioningly.
Buccellati nodded, smirking.
“He’s gotta be hung,” Mista piped up.
Buccellati’s smirk grew.
“Yeah, he’s gotta be hung!” Narancia nodded. And everyone else nodded, and muttered words of agreement.
Buccellati had a wicked grin by this point.
Abbacchio backed against the wall, “What’s happening.”
“Giorno,” Buccellati tossed the words over his shoulder, staring down Abbacchio, “bring out your biggest dong.”
Giorno unleashed the tremendous wang from his drawers, plopping its suction cup to his desk beside Buccellati. It wobbled menacingly in its absolute mass. The size of it threatened, like a battering ram carried to a siege gate. It cast a shadow upon the desk like shadows on a cave wall.
“Hm,” Buccellati looked it over, wrapping his hand around it and stroking it in a lewd manner that will not be described, “this will have to do, but can you make it bigger, Giorno?”
“Absolutely.”
“Wait, you can’t be serious-- that’s huge,” Abbacchio stuttered out.
“Dude, you’re huge,” Mista pointed out.
Buccellati jumped off the desk and kabedon’d Abbacchio, “Proportionality is key, Leone.” He then slid down the wall, down to his knees in front of Abbacchio. “Giorno, bring the dildo here.”
Abbacchio, struggling with gay thoughts, stuttered out, “I mean, you’re right, but--”
“Pants, Leone.”
Abbacchio was then out of his pants and this story increased a maturity rating level.
“We’ll modify it while on his person, Giorno; that’s the best way to judge if it’s perfect.”
“Very well,” Giorno said, and he turned that massive dong into an almost-as-massive flaccid dick. It seemed Abbacchio would be a shower, not a grower.
Buccellati zipped it onto Abbacchio.
“Okay,” Abbacchio sighed out, looking down at himself, “that does look good on me.” And it did! He looked splendid, and the sight of his dick calmed something deep in his mind. That something was his gender dysphoria, and given that this is Leone Abbacchio, there was likely a lot of introspection going on in there, and that would take a lot of time to delve into. Here there wasn’t much time, because the gang was already causing a ruckus with wolf-whistling and Buccellati’s thoughtful humming.
“Longer, Giorno.”
“Yes.”
“Hm. A bit thicker.”
“Alright.”
“No, a
lot
thicker.”
“Longer,” someone called from the other side of the room.
“A little to the left,” someone else yelled.
Giorno nodded and made all specified adjustments, nodding along with Buccellati in appraising Abbacchio’s penis.
“I’m going to pass out when I pop a boner,” Abbacchio grumbled in complaint and then saw Buccellati’s grin and snapped his mouth shut. While Bruno Buccellati had a beautiful smile, his grin was something that could make someone piss their pants, something he would use in interrogations. This was that grin. And Abbacchio knew at that point that this was approaching a kink thing.
“I think… there is perfect,” Buccellati hummed and stood. He took a couple of steps back and looked Abbacchio up and down.
Abbacchio looked at his completed cock. “I look like a porn star.”
“Good.” said everyone in unison.
“I like it,” Abbacchio closed his eyes and nodded, a rare smile on his lips. He then pulled up his pants, before stopping halfway up his thighs, stumped as what to do with his python. It could be described as a third leg. Leather pants would not be forgiving. Buccellati stepped forward once and held his dick to the side so he could get it into his pants leg. He waddled away from the wall.
“Okay, I’m outie,” Mista said as he stretched, “Got to see two dicks, I’m good.”
“Bro,” Narancia crinkled his nose, “you can’t be that thirsty.”
“But I am,” Mista shrugged and waved behind him as he moseyed out the door.
Narancia sped after him. Fugo sped after him .
“Oh...Well. Our turn,” Buccellati threw a smirk at Abbacchio, pointedly staring at his bulge, and walked out the door with an enticing sway to his hips.
This left Abbacchio and Giorno in the office alone. Giorno began to stand from his desk, “Well, I’ll be seeing where Fugo left to, then.” And Narancia, and Mista.
“Horny little shits,” Abbacchio mumbled.
Giorno gave him a smug look as he walked to the door.
“...Hey,” Abbacchio managed to choke out.
“Hm?”
“...” Abbacchio glanced to the side, crossing his arms over himself. “Thanks. For the penis.”
Giorno gave him a painfully soft smile and held the door open for them both to leave for their respective escapades.
The end.