Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Stepping into the room, Mista bites his lip. Usually when Giorno lets his hair down, he's either had a long day, or he's very much expecting Mista. Both of which require only one proper response. He can already feel his blood rushing south attentive to his boyfriend's habits.

Closing the door gently behind himself, he steps forward a few paces before pausing behind Giorno's official chair. He wisely sets the chair facing away from the door to conceal his identity. Though, the more he thinks of it, it is odd to be able to see the top of Giorno's head from this angle.

It's not often that Mista approaches like a visitor. Giorno must really want to make a point that his hair is down. A shiver runs down Mista's back in anticipation. Oh yes, they're in for a passionate night indeed. In fact, Mista can use it as perfect bait.

Ah, Giorno. I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Mista teases, not in the slightest bit remorseful, but appeasing his boyfriend nonetheless. If I can make it up to you, I found a perfect spot in the garden. Nice and sheltered from prying eyes, and I figured it would add a little excitement than just doing it in the room again. Spice it up a bit, ya know? Doesn't it sound romantic? Under the stars, all bare to ourselves-

Giorno stands from his chair rather abruptly, standing taller than Mista expected. Did Giorno go through a sudden growth spurt? Why was he so... big? The sight before him almost excited him if he wasn't instantly paralyzed with fear. As the man glances over his shoulder, it hits Mista with his overwhelming voice. It's just as charming as Giorno's but distinctly deeper, richer, slyer, deadlier.

Guido Mista, the man purrs in such a dangerous way, not facing Mista but looking over his bare shoulder with darkness in his eyes. With a wall of muscle for a shoulder itself, Mista doesn't even question how the man knows his name.

I'm glad we have finally met. I take it you are the one keen on my son? Unfortunate...

Mista blinks, and then Giorno is standing defensively between Mista and the other man. Golden Experience Requiem steps forward threateningly as Giorno crosses his arms. Did something just happen? Was it Golden Experience's Requiem power? Wait, did this man just call Giorno his son?!

Padre, Giorno sighs, disappointed. He relaxes his thankfully thinner and humanly proportionate shoulders before stepping back next to Mista. He snakes his arms around Mista's left arm affectionately and definitely protectively as he formally introduces them.

Padre, this is Guido Mista, my number one. Mista, this is... my father. Kind of, Giorno sighs again.

Your father? But, I thought...what? Mista's mind backfires, trying to make sense of the situation.

The man, apparently Giorno's father, stands tall, no longer threatened by Giorno's Stand. The sneer on his face reveals a concerning gleam of sharp teeth. Glowing red eyes pierce his soul. Mista's stomach sinks. This man cannot be human.

It's a long story, Giorno waves off, stepping away from Mista to fetch whatever he was working on before. Tea?

Grazie, Mista mutters, because now it is all that he can say in front of Giorno's father.

Oh no. What had he said? All of this in front of Giorno's father- no, to Giorno's father, considering he had mistaken the man for his boyfriend. How could he have done that? How could he say that? So long for a good first impression. Mista will consider himself lucky if he even survives facing Giorno's father face to face.

When they take their seats, Mista keeps to himself as much as he can. It's easy enough given that the blonde-haired mountain of a man sprawls across the couch at his leisure. It means that Mista has to take the single arm chair, where he can sit chaste with his legs and arms crossed. If he observed himself from the outside, he'd consider himself quite pathetic right now, cowering before this man and not even attempting to take a stand.

But it makes perfect logical sense in his mind. Giorno has an uncanny charm about him that sways even the most stubborn of gangsters, and has coaxed Mista to his will. If this is Giorno's father, it's obvious where he gets his overwhelming charisma. However, Mista respects Giorno's gentle charm over his father's intimidating manipulation.

Giorno brings over the tray with tea, setting it on the short table between the chair and the couch. Again, Mista's heart stutters. His father was much more clever than himself when he dominated the couch; now Giorno is forced to sit with his father and isolate the offender - Mista.

He swallows, steeling his will. It'll be okay. It's just a protective father. He's practiced this with many women's fathers that didn't care for his wooing. He's faced enemies ten times worse than this. Hell, they took down Diavolo, surely they can take on this man?

Comparing the two side-by-side makes the similarities a lot clearer, but also the differences so much more glaring. First off, either Giorno hasn't completely grown into his body yet, or he's a lot slimmer than his father's wide frame. Even without the bulging muscles, no doubt this man could take down a truck with his sheer size. But another striking difference is how they hold themselves. Both are pale, blond-hair beauties, more gorgeous than handsome, like Renaissance sculptures.

However, where Giorno has poise, his father has arrogance. Giorno sits on his half of the couch - as far away from his father as possible - tall and straight, legs crossed elegantly and hands folded neatly on his knee. He would sit on a throne and seem like your friend. His father, on the other hand, lounges back like he owns the place. His half-lidded glare always asserts a level of pretentiousness like a cat who expects you to feed it before it claws your furniture.

That being said, the man's nails are nearly claws themselves, resting his fingers on his knee just to show them off. His opposite arm spans across the back of the couch, claws reaching for Giorno's hair and playing with the end of his braid. His legs are also crossed, ankle on his knee, as if to further occupy the space as much as possible. The fact that he's so casual in such an unfamiliar place sends a shiver down Mista's back. It's the attitude of a man who knows he cannot be beaten.

Except by whatever Giorno's Requiem Stand can do.

That little trick you pulled, Giorno, his father purrs again, completely ignoring how sweaty Mista has gotten, playing with Giorno's braid. He pulls at the end until it starts to fall loose. I don't believe I've seen quite a powerful Stand. You sure have taken well after me to take me off guard.

Giorno quickly snatches his hair away from his father. It's too late, as the movement and his father's claws pulled the rest of the braid out. Now they match even closer. Giorno's narrowed eyes turn sharp, golden hair flared down his back, matching his father's spiked hair tailing down his back in a mullet - if Mista could even dare insinuate such a style for such an daunting man.

Don't expect me to tell you anything just because you are technically my father.

There. Mista sees just how deadly Giorno can become. When he sharpens himself to the inhuman characteristics of his father, Mista can barely recognize the soft loving Giorno beneath. So this is how he gained authority so quick. Their heated glares meet each other, Giorno's father smirking as if he has already won.

Before either can move, the man's hand ruffles the perfect curls from Giorno's hair. Giorno scowls, turning even darker like when he faced Diavolo. Mista subconsciously presses himself further into the chair.

As my son - technically - I wouldn't expect you to. In fact, I am glad you haven't. It means you aren't weak like the rest of them.

Mista can't ignore the glance in his direction. But said glance reassured him that yes, he is very weak compared to this man. He swallows hard.

Giorno stands abruptly, perhaps even surprising his father a little, but his reaction is nonexistent.

My friends aren't weak. Nor is my capo. Nor is my team, or my gang, he insists a little too defensively. Mista almost couldn't make it out for how smooth Giorno can cover his emotions. If he wasn't so close to Giorno, he wouldn't have even questioned Giorno's calm.

Is that so?

Without further prompting, Giorno glides over to Mista's side. He feels marginally relieved until suddenly Giorno's weight is falling into his lap. No, Giorno is sitting in Mista's lap now, forcing himself between his arms. Mista freezes, so Giorno grabs his hands to wrap his arms around his middle. In any other situation, he would feel honored and blessed to have his angel sitting in his lap, demanding affection.

Right now, Mista is tempted to throw Giorno off to protect himself from the honing glare of his father. He jumps under Giorno as his father stands tall.

I, DIO, will not tolerate this from my son!

I, Giorno Giovanna, will not take blatant disrespect in my house.

Their personalities, so identical, reflect off of each other and simply magnify the tension in the room. Mista shrinks, pulling his hat down. He can feel something about to go down, he can feel it.

Za Warldo! a bellowing summon.

Golden Experience! a rolling cry.

Shots ring out, six bullet holes scattered about the room and Mista still doesn't bother to look to see if his interruption saved anything.

DIO, as the man is called, gruesomely picks a bullet out of his arm and flicks it away with disgust, the wound healing itself instantly. Mista is sure that somehow he deflected all of them before they reached him, but perhaps one of the Pistols aimed it just right. Regardless of how, the bullet clinks to the floor as Dio turns to leave.

Maybe you have redeemed yourself this time, DIO growls, again glaring at Mista over his shoulder. But don't expect that same mercy if I hear you talk about Giorno that way again.

Yes sir, Mista miraculously stutters out, gun still smoking in his hand. As soon as the door closes behind the man, Giorno leaps back into Mista's lap and engulfs him in a powerful kiss.

Don't let my father get to you too much, Giorno soothes, running a finger down Mista's neck.

Not if he makes you that uncomfortable, Mista frowns. He runs his own fingers through Giorno's thoroughly undone hair. Giorno's hand catches his and pulls it away.

He just wishes I could be more like him, is all. I think he's just jealous that he's not really my father.

Yeah, what do you mean by that? Technically your father? Mista sits up. He repositions them so they can sit on the armchair more comfortably. More comfortably being Giorno more snuggly in Mista's lap.

Well, he's the one who got my mother pregnant, for what that's worth. But I never considered him much of a father figure.

Mista frowns, but nods. He can understand that. Bucciarati is more of a parental figure than any of them ever had. Mista ducks his head thoughtfully, but Giorno's slim fingers tilt his chin up to look him in the eye.

Besides, I don't have to listen to him. If I want you to be mine, then you're mine. Giorno's sweet but definitely not innocent grin causes Mista's heart to skip in a good way. In the best way. Damn it, he hates how he can use his charm against him, but damn him if he doesn't love what it does to him. Mista meets Giorno's grin with a sly quirk of his lip, leaning up for another kiss.

If I'm your's, that's all I need.