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If you were to ask Guido Mista about his life, he would say his life was great. He had a stable job, an amazing boyfriend, and nice clothes. If you were to ask any other person what they thought of Guido Mista’s life, they would probably think his life was decidedly not so great as his job was that of a mafia bodyguard and he could be killed at any moment, if said mafia ever found out that he even had a boyfriend he would be killed, and his clothes were the worst fucking thing that was a ever a disgrace to the word ‘fashion’.
But Mista wasn’t concerned what others thought of him. For the most part. He would say he had a healthy amount of social consciousness. But Mista wasn’t thinking about things such as those as he walked into the room he shared with his boss and boyfriend to find said boyfriend packing Mista’s - very amazing, thank you very much - clothes into a suitcase.
“Mista,” Giorno questioned, quirking a brow as he held up a pair of Mista’s pants. “Do you own anything more… formal?”
“Bright orange tiger print pants are perfect for every occasion.” Mista replied automatically before the situation caught up to him and he paused.. “Wait, why are you packing up my stuff?”
“My father,” Giorno sighed, folding the pants and putting them in the suitcase. Mista liked how Giorno’s and his clothes looked nestled against each other, resting together in the bag. “Has requested to meet you. I apologize for the short notice but my father is quite demanding. To put it nicely.”
Mista furrowed his brow, thinking of the picture in Giorno’s wallet. He had thought the picture to be an old boyfriend of Giorno and had been jealous until he learned the picture was actually of Giorno’s father. Then he had mostly just been confused. He had decided to take the bodyguard route in the situation and not question his boss on the half naked picture of his father.
“Like, he wants to meet the man who is his son’s bodyguard?” Mista ventured hopefully. He’d had experiences meeting the families of ex-girlfriends and they had never gone well. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to be introduced to Giorno’s father as a boyfriend. He also hoped Giorno’s father would be wearing a shirt when he met him.
“No.” Giorno sighed. “I don’t know how, but he found out I have a boyfriend and he is insisting on meeting you. I’m so sorry.”
“And, he’s not mad about that?” Mista asked. “That you’re dating a guy I mean.”
“No,” Giorno replied, zipping up the suitcase and turning to face Mista. “No, that is not what he is angry about.”
“Oh.” Mista said. “But he’s… he’s still angry with me?”
Giorno didn’t respond.
“Giorno? Please don’t tell me your extremely muscular and bad-tempered father is angry with me?”
“I’m so sorry.” Giorno said, turning around and laying his hand on Mista’s chest. “Now hurry, the plane to Egypt leaves in an hour.”
“Oh.” Said Mista again as he dumbly followed Giorno out the house and into the waiting taxi.
Suddenly Mista didn’t feel that his life was so great after all.
---
The Egyptian sun was low in the horizon, still burning hot and dry in the evening sky as the taxi Mista sat in pulled to a stop. He dumbly handed the taxi driver a couple of notes, attention fixed on the mansion - might as well be called a palace, Mista thought to himself - sitting in front of him. Mista could vaguely discern that Giorno talking to him as he got his bags out of the car, but all he could hear was the pounding of his blood in his eardrum. Mista felt that the gate standing in front of the mansion might as well have been the entrance to a graveyard. He could see his funeral flashing before his eyes as he walked towards the house. Giorno would be crying, dressed in black, as Mista’s coffin was laid in the ground. Giorno’s father would be there, shirtless, in the background.
Mista was drawn abruptly out of this vision by the door to the mansion opening suddenly, swinging forward with menacing atmosphere. At this Mista absolutely did not shriek, jump a foot in the air, and cling onto Giorno. Instead, he made a quiet, manly noise of surprise, stepped back calmly to assess any danger, and covered Giorno as was his duty as a bodyguard. Giorno patted him comfortingly on the back before walking forward to peer into the house.
Just as he did so, a man stepped out into the fading evening light, laying one hand across his chest and bowing. Mista momentarily forgot his fear for a profound sense of confusion at the actions of the strange man. He had been expecting to open the door to a murderous father, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved he got to keep his head, even if it was for just a little bit longer.
“Welcome,” the man said, standing up straight. “My name is Terence T. D’Arby - the butler. Master Dio has been expecting you, he is waiting in the worship room.”
Worship room? What the hell does that mean? Now Mista was both confused and scared.
“I am not going to meet with my father in his worship room. Tell him I’ll be waiting in the study.” Giorno breezed past the butler, walking into the house and Mista was never more relieved to have Giorno than at that moment, especially as they ventured through the darkened mansion, lit entirely by candles. Mista stuck close to Giorno, sure that if he strayed something too far away something would pull him into the shadows and leave his drink his blood. But that's ridiculous, Mista told himself. There's no such thing as vampires.
Entering the study, Giorno sat down on a plush chair with a sigh. Again, the only light in the extravagant study came from flickering candles that cast long shadows from the many bookshelves. Mista couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.
“I really am sorry about this.” Giorno says, taking one of Mista’s hand to clasp in his delicate fingers, bringing Mista’s attention from the looming shadows to the radiant light of the blonde-haired boy. “When this is all over I’ll make it up to you.” Giorno’s fingers dancing across Mista’s palm coupled with blue eyes shadowed by thick lashes promised future plans that would definitely not be father-sanctioned.
Normally Mista would be slightly aroused by the events foreshadowed by Giorno’s tempting smile, but, as it was, Mista was mostly afraid of being castrated by Giorno’s father, so the best he could manage was a strangled, nervous laugh. His voice was about an octave higher than normal and he cleared his throat in a desperate move to regain composure, once more glancing around the room for any signs of (immediate) danger. Giorno’s thumb rubbed comforting circles into the skin on Mista’s hand.
At that moment the door banged open with a thunderous crash and Mista jumped a foot into the air, quickly pulling his hand away from his boyfriend to face the door.
Mista immediately had to tilt his head up because the man who strode into the was giant, towering far above Mista. His height - and general build because oh Jesus he looked like he could snap Mista’s neck with no effort at all - was the first thing Mista noticed. The second was the clothes the man was wearing. Sunshine yellow - a color so out of place in the shadowy realm that was the mansion - flashed obnoxiously all over the man’s muscular frame, offset by the green (heart shaped?) accessories, including headband that held back the blonde hair that shone the same shade Giorno’s. The third thing Mista noticed was the way the pants were cut, specifically the way they framed the man’s very generous package. Mista suddenly felt very inadequate.
“Giorno!” The man threw his arms wide, striding forward. His features were lit menacingly by the flickering light cast by the candles, smile flashing sharp white teeth that shone like the blade of a guillotine.
“Father.” Giorno responded. He didn’t stand. For a second Dio stands unmoving in front of the chair Giorno is sitting in, face frozen in predatory smile. It is only a split second, but even in that moment Mista can almost feel the air crackle with electric tension, and when Dio finally moves in the next second Mista feels like a battle has already been fought in the dynamic between father and son. Giorno remains seated.
Dio immediately turns his head to switch his gaze to Mista who stands frozen in spot. Cornered by Dio’s hungry smile, Mista thinks he knows what it feels like to be a rabbit staring into the face of a wolf.
Dio’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“And you must be… my son’s partner.” Dio said the word partner as though it were something distasteful, though his smile didn’t lose it’s dangerous shine.
“Guido Mista.” Mista says robotically, eyes trapped in the swirling red darkness of Dio’s gaze. As a reflex, one he has done many times before, Mista offers up his hand for a handshake. He immediately regrets the action as Dio moves to look at Mista’s proffered hand in distaste. Mista is suddenly but distinctly worried he won’t get his hand back.
Still, Dio takes the proffered hand and shakes it measuredly and the skin against Mista’s hand feels as cold as a crypt. Sharp, painted nails scrape into the soft skin of Mista’s wrist and Mista feels as though all the breath has been sucked out of his chest, leaving only a freezing emptiness in it’s wake. Dio’s smile is still painted on his face. It was the type of smile that says “I would kill you if only my son wouldn’t hate me for it.”
Dio leans towards the shorter man, moving to whisper his painted lips in Mista’s ear. Mista would cry if only he weren’t so afraid that showing any sign of weakness would get him swallowed up.
“I would kill you if only my son wouldn’t hate me for it.”
Mista numbly wonders if he has a secret power that allows him to read minds.
“Father,” Giorno’s voice breaks through the icy grip fear has on Mista’s neck, standing up to rest a pale hand against his father’s shoulder. Dio straightens up, leaning blessedly away from Mista to flash his smile at Giorno who stands calm and calloected. Mista would hug Giorno if Dio weren’t standing in between the two. “Mista and I have had a very long journey and we’re both very tired. I think we would both like to be able to go to bed now.”
“But of course!” Dio says, clasping his hand on Giorno’s back. Giorno’s smile is strained as he looks up to his father in a drawn mask of politeness. “We can, of course, continue this tomorrow.” Dio turns his gaze towards Mista who freezes. Mista felt as though there were too many sets of eyes looking at him. “For tonight, I’ll have Vanilla Ice show you to your rooms.”
Vanilla Ice? Mista almost asks. I thought the butler’s name was D’Arby?
Mista again feels the chilling sensation of someone’s gaze on his back. Slowly, and against his better judgement, he turned around. From behind a table shrouded in shadows slowly rose a man with long pale hair that was just a shade off white. Mista found himself unable to look away as the strange man rose further, slowly, but with constant pace, to finally stand quietly just apart from the group. His outfit was just as strange as Dio’s, especially as Mista is pretty sure that the man isn’t wearing pants. Mista had always been on the fence about considering leggings to be pants, but he certainly didn’t think a leotard qualified.
“Yes, Lord Dio.” The man said, bowing. Mista assumes the man to be Vanilla Ice - and what sort of name was Vanilla Ice? - and vaguely wonders what’s up with the waitstaff of Dio’s mansion.
As Mista followed Giorno and Vanilla Ice out of the study, leaving behind Dio in the flickering shadows, he whispered to Giorno, “Does your dad really need two butlers.”
Obviously he had whispered slightly too loudly as Vanilla Ice turns to look over his shoulder at the pair.
“I am not a butler. I am here to assist Lord Dio in whatever manner he may need.”
“Oh.” Mista says, slightly uncomfortable. “Tha-”
“Whatever. Way. He. Needs.” Vanilla Ice said darkly.
“Oh.” Mista says. He decided not to speak again until him and Giorno were alone.
---
“I’m surprised your dad let us stay in the same room together.” Mista said, shrugging into a loose T-shirt. Usually he slept shirtless, in nothing but his boxers, but Dio’s mansion was unnaturally chilly.
Giorno makes a soft noise of assent from where he is curled up on the bed, brushing his long golden hair. The simple image of his beautiful, perfect, boyfriend is enough to remind Mista why he is going through hell to meet Giorno’s maniacal father. If losing 10 years of his life due to stress is what Mista had to do in order to keep Giorno, he’d do it as many times as he had years to give.
Though he’d never even consider having sex with Giorno while in his father’s house - the possibility of Dio barging in and subsequently murdering Mista was far too high - Mista did lean down to press a chaste kiss to Giorno’s forehead where his normally styled bangs sat silky and loose. Still holding onto his hairbrush and slightly oversized pajamas hanging off his slight frame, Giorno tilted his head up to return a soft kiss to Mista.
Feeling truly peaceful and content for the first time since he had arrived at the mansion, Mista moved to open the thick curtain covering the window. He had had enough of the oppressive stone walls that crowded the corridors of Dio’s palace, and he needed to see the sky, even if they only light in the night sky would be that of the moon and stars.
Pulling back the curtain revealed Vanilla Ice sitting on the ledge of the windowsill. Mista quickly pulled the curtain shut again, backtracking to sit on the bed. His eyes were wide and unblinking but he did not see anything.
“Giorno… Why is your father’s servant sitting outside our window?”
Giorno sighed and set down his hairbrush, tossing his loosely curled hair over his shoulder. “He probably sent him here to make sure you’re not ‘stealing my innocence’ or something like that.”
Mista watched dumbly as Giorno stood up from the bed to stalk over to the door and angrily pull it open.
“It’s okay dad!” Giorno called out loudly into the empty hallway. “You don’t have to worry about Mista stealing my innocence! Because you know what? He already took it!”
Mista froze. From the distant depths of the mansion he could hear an angry, screeching wryyyyyyyyyy echoing in the haunting corridors of the mansion. Giorno slammed the door to the room shut but the screech remained, echoing in Mista’s ears.
Mista did not sleep the entire night, even as Giorno snuggled close to his chest. He spent the long hours staring at the door as he asked God for forgiveness in the hopes that he would go to heaven when Dio came to kill him.
