Chapter Text
When Vanilla Ice became an agent of Dio, it was never with the intention of climbing the ranks as quickly as he did and becoming the right-hand man of the most powerful Stand user on the continent. He worked hard to get where he did. But on top of everything else, what brought him from zero to hero was his extreme and immediate loyalty to his Lord.
It was fate that drew Enya’s Stand arrow to him, the threat of death that forced him to join, but once he laid eyes on the beautiful Dio, all doubt left him. His aura of sheer power. The quirk in his lips, giving a glimpse of his sharp teeth. He would serve him until the end of time.
Of course, he had to restrain himself and his base desires. Dio’s voice and mannerisms always seemed seductive, and to Vanilla, that meant it was unintentional. The sway of his hips was just how he walked. It was a personal problem that Vanilla couldn’t control himself as well as he wanted.
When Dio would leave the room, sauntering out, Vanilla’s facade would drop—smile disappearing, breath hastening. Sometimes he’d whimper once Dio was out of earshot. Other times he’d bite his hand to bring a physical sensation to his body other than the heat between his legs.
The last time that happened was in the kitchen, at the bar, sitting next to a marginally less-smitten Mariah.
“How can you stand being around someone like that all the time?” she asked, voice breathy.
“Don’t insult him.”
“I’m not. You and I are looking at him the same way—he’s not quite old enough to fit my type, but that body is insanely sexy. They say absence makes the heart grow stronger, but when I was home, I only thought about business.” They had just eaten after Mariah’s second meeting with Dio, which Vanilla Ice attended as his right hand. “I couldn’t imagine living with him.”
“I’m not looking at him the way you think I am,” he stuttered out.
She glanced down at the way he rotated away from her, hiding his crotch, his legs crossed femininely. “Sure.” She took a drag of her cigarette. “Call me when you finally admit it. I like seeing men get it on together.”
“Dio’s not a man.” His gender was simply: Dio.
“Guys. Dudes. Maybe blokes, since he’s British. Whatever you are and whatever he is. I’d like to sit by the sidelines and watch.” She licked her lips.
He blushed, covering his face.
“I’m bi, so it’s not weird.”
“I can’t ask him that! And you better not ask him for me!” In all likelihood, Dio would go for Mariah over him. He was also bisexual, everyone knew, but Mariah was objectively gorgeous—aesthetically pleasing to Vanilla’s homosexual eyes. More importantly, she was an agent. Not a full-time employee or a housemate. Dio’s sexual affairs, occurring one or more times a night, were always with partners he didn’t know, mostly women he’d take home from bars then drain of blood and life.
“I’d consider myself a decent matchmaker, you know.”
“Well, what if it doesn’t work? He’d kill you! He’d kill me!”
Mariah was unamused. For someone who got aroused every time Dio talked to him, he clearly didn’t want to put any effort in satisfying his desires. She uncrossed her legs, slid off the barstool, and left with a wave of her gloved hand. “Good luck, I guess.”
When she was gone, Vanilla licked the dried blood from his lips and began to tremble, running through his feelings in his head. He wasn’t cowardly enough to believe Dio found him ugly. He knew his worth. It must have been that they lived together. As far as he knew, Dio hadn’t yet slept with anyone living in the mansion full-time. His house servants were ugly—especially Nukesaku—not to mention weak. Enya was too old for him. D’Arby liked to present himself as respectable and he’d always judge Vanilla for his reactions to Dio’s presence, meaning he might not have even been interested. Vanilla had thought himself different, more desirable than them, but undesirable he remained.
Come to think of it, had Dio fucked any of his agents? Not openly.
So he closed himself off to people he wanted to follow him for his power, and that was that. Sex would add the wrong kind of intimacy to their relationship; bring them too close to keep them as Lord and follower. In the two weeks he’d been Dio’s underling, they’d had a few personal conversations, but nothing much. He knew more about his Lord than the reverse. As his bodyguard, someone who would inevitably sacrifice himself in battle (which he was more than willing to do for Dio), that direction was the right way for sympathetic information to go.
At least the embarrassing conversation with Mariah and his humbling realizations got his erection to go down, meaning he could walk to his room and take care of himself alone, and no one would suspect a thing.
~~~
Week three in Dio’s mansion, and Vanilla Ice had been receiving more and more wet dreams about his Lord. His first one was the night he’d met Dio, but recently they’d gotten detailed enough to slip into his mind at the most inconvenient times. A motion similar to one his traitorous mind had conjured while asleep and he’d need to dig his nails into his arms in order for the scene to end, to ground himself again.
He kept zoning out of the meeting Dio held in his study, acting as if he were the lawyer he said he’d gone to school for instead of a vampire. As he leaned against the closed doorframe, Enya and Steely Dan—the new recruit—chatted with Dio about what fate seemed to have in store for them. In the case of the Joestars trying to come to Egypt, Enya explained, he’d be stationed in southern Pakistan, as she foretold.
Steely Dan had a truly useless Stand, one that required him to get injured in order to affect another person. And yet Dio leaned towards him on his hand, eyes half-lidded, and whenever his lips quirked at something Dan said, he’d smile nervously and wring his hands in his lap.
God, he was jealous.
Maybe Dio flirted with his agents after all.
But he couldn’t dwell on the differences between Steely Dan and himself because just last night, in his dream, Dio looked at him like that. Vanilla’s dreams were often illogical, and so Dio had made some kind of absurd deal with him in exchange for sex in a room he’d never seen before, but he could never forget those eyes he gave him and the way he licked his lips. If only he wanted him like that in reality.
No. He snapped back into real life. He was exposed. If he got a boner, seemingly out of nowhere, the other Stand users would never let him live it down. The old woman Enya lived with them. Steely Dan, he was told the previous day, would need to frequent meetings in the mansions like many of the other Stand users. He was already poorly-liked amongst them; he had no idea why. But most importantly, Dio would see. What if he questioned him? He didn’t tolerate liars.
“Vanilla Ice?” Dio asked. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
He grit his teeth. He should have paid attention, and it was his own fault he got distracted. “Of course, my lord.”
“You see, Steely Dan? He agrees that I am rather… close with my underlings.”
He would have given the same answer regardless, but he disagreed. Dio should have been closer with him. How nice it would be…
Dio stood and shook Steely Dan’s hand, lingering as he pulled away. His eyes met Vanilla’s as Enya led Dan out of the study. Enya gave them each a once-over as her hand lingered on the doorknob.
Before Vanilla could leave, Dio reached a hand out to him. “Wait.” His voice was low, calm.
“Yes, my lord?”
Leaving the door ajar, Enya departed. Vanilla stared at the Persian rug beneath his boots, unwilling to meet Dio’s hungry-looking gaze. Something akin to concern flitted across his face. “Are you unwell? You seemed… out of it.”
“No, but thank you.”
“You know you can leave whenever you wish. I’m not in any immediate danger. I pay you enough for you to have your own home on the weekends, do I not?”
“I’m perfectly fine staying here.” It wasn’t really a job to him, per se, and even if he had to work hard, he had everything he needed in the mansion. Plenty of food, the second-largest bedroom in the house, entertainment galore, and the most luxurious bathrooms he’d ever seen. It was like staying in a hotel for a business trip.
He pressed his palms against the surface of the desk, arching his back in a way that made Vanilla gulp. “I’m glad you enjoy it so much. But please, if there’s anything you want, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“You?”
“Of course. You’re my right-hand man. Why would you need to go through D’Arby? A butler’s duty is to arrange the staff, and you don’t quite fit that definition.”
“I’m honored, my lord.”
He grinned, standing back up, walking towards Vanilla. “Allow me to show you something.” As he opened the door, his other hand laid on his shoulder. Vanilla tensed.
That tension in his movements increased as Dio led him around, taking the lead down the stairs and slipping his hand from his shoulder to his lower back, pinky laying atop his belt. It remained as they walked across the hallway into the parlor.
It was a room Vanilla had been in many, many times, and somehow that terrified him. Dio didn’t have it out for him, did he? Was his daydreaming during that meeting an unforgivable sin? It couldn’t be. He’d touched him more than he had in three weeks—he loved leaning in just close enough to feel the threat of his weight, then turning and snatching that feeling away.
Dio sat on one of the wooden loveseats, leaning an elbow on its arm and crossing his legs. The furniture in this room was crafted by a local artisan, coming with the mansion itself rather than needing to be moved in later. Vanilla had missed that process, thankfully.
“What do you want to show me, my lord?”
“Sit.” He patted the plush seat next to him.
With a nod, he joined his Lord on the loveseat, freezing when he laid an arm across the top. The only reason it didn’t feel “wrapped around his shoulders” was because he sat up too tensely for his back to be anywhere near the wood.
“Doesn’t it feel much more comfortable? D’Arby had them refurbished today. We’re so lucky their maker is still alive. I hope his children are willing listeners, because I can’t imagine such a wonderful craft lost.” Though he was leaning, he still looked down to meet the stiff-postured Vanilla’s face. The quirked corners of his lips seemed more sincere than in the meeting as if furniture craft was one of his interests. But that couldn’t have been it. Not when those eyes were still half-lidded like they were when he talked to Steely Dan in that smooth baritone, choosing carefully when to pause and when to draw out words as if trying to turn everything he said into an innuendo. While it wasn’t quite his default manner of speech—that one was significantly more menacing—he used it on just about anyone.
It was impossible to tell what Dio meant by anything he did.
“If you’re not feeling well, it’s perfectly alright to tell me, Vanilla,” he said.
In figuring out the most reassuring tone for Dio to hear, he landed on stoic. “I’m fine. Definitely not sick, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Illness is not always the opposite of wellness.” He placed his far hand in his lap and turned his body to face Vanilla, heart-shaped kneepad pressing into his bare lower thigh. “You can always be open with me. I want you to know that.”
He was so damn sincere it made Vanilla blush. He couldn’t tell him his feelings now, not in such a vulnerable situation. “I appreciate your concern, but I really am fine.”
“Am I not encouraging you enough to be open with me?”
No response.
“You know so much about me, but not the other way around. I suppose if we haven’t gotten past the basics I can’t split you open further.”
That phrasing made his face redder, and he was sure Dio had noticed. “It’s alright, really.”
“Where are you from? Somewhere around here, I assume.”
“Oh. Um, Aswan.”
“Interesting. You seem to know Cairo rather well.”
“My family moved here before I entered junior high.”
“Tell me more about them.” His hand moved from behind Vanilla to his chin, though he leaned in much closer.
“I’m an only child, and my parents are both alive. I don’t talk to them, though. They wouldn’t like knowing I’m gay.”
“You don’t have much going on outside of my mansion, then?”
“I leave during the day sometimes, but you’re asleep, so I don’t blame you for not knowing. There’s a really nice coffee shop a few blocks away, and I went to high school with the owner. Most of my other high school friends are in university now, so I don’t talk to them, except one who graduated early. I meet her there sometimes.”
“How quaint. I’m very glad, Vanilla.”
“You sound a little disappointed.”
“Why would I be? My favorite underling is happy and thriving. I have nothing to promise you to keep you by my side and yet you’re still here.”
The blush, which had disappeared during his recounting, came back in full swing. “You know how dedicated I am to you, my lord.”
Dio had no more to say. That sincere smile remained on his face, and his golden eyes glimmered. He simply observed Vanilla Ice, and that flustered him further.
“May I be excused, Lord Dio?”
“You may.”
Slowing down his steps to obscure his urgency, he made for the parlor doors, shutting them behind him, refusing to look at Dio. He began to pant once alone. His arousal, dulled by the pleasantries, came back hot in his chest. His heart beat so loudly he put a useless hand over his chest in case Dio could hear.
In order to hide his potential erection from the rest of the house, he folded himself into his Stand and voided to his room on the top floor.
He barely made it inside and closed the door before his invasive, erotic thoughts overtook him. Sighing, he leaned, already too deep in the memory of his wet dream to make it to his bed. It was so clear in his mind, clearer now that Dio had matched it. More fuel to the fire, he supposed.
He took his cock from out of his leotard and began to stroke it as he lost himself in his imagination.
“You’re such a good servant,” he said, towering over Vanilla as he sat in one of the leather office chairs in his study and cupping his chin. “I wonder if you do what I ask because I pay you, or if there’s… something more.” He licked his lips.
“I do what you ask because I’m yours, my lord. No one else’s.”
“How far does that dedication go, I wonder?”
“To the ends of the Earth and back,” he declared.
“Hm.” He brushed a thumb over his bottom lip. “I shall have to test you out.”
“Yes,” he moaned. “I’ll do whatever you want. Anything to prove myself worthy of you. Worthy of your body, my lord. I need you.”
Dio smirked, revealing his pointed canines. His thumb slipped into Vanilla’s mouth, and he tongued it without command. He didn’t need one.
Vanilla Ice bit down on the side of his index finger to… what? To muffle himself? He was already whimpering. Precum dripped from his cock and he used every drop to lubricate the hand against his skin.
With his other hand, Dio caressed his chest, his stomach, before arriving at Vanilla’s hard cock. He fingered the sides, exposed as his engorged dick stretched the thin leotard and thong, before pulling it out and stroking it.
Just as Vanilla did. He needed this to be done with—he didn’t care how “satisfied” he would be when it was over—so he matched his imagination to the speed of his hand.
Dio went quickly, as if this was just a test. Why would it have been more? Vanilla was proving his loyalty by taking whatever Dio gave him, and if that was a hard, fast handjob, so be it.
All the while he teased him with his words. “You want more, don’t you? Something in your mouth bigger than my thumb? A slut like you would have no problem taking my cock. I bet you’d let me take you in front of everyone, every other Stand user, just to prove to me that you’re mine. My pretty little whore.”
He would. Anything if it meant Dio fucking him—and the idea of him getting claimed in front of the other assassins, everyone else Dio flirted with, was music to his ears. He’d be the first one Dio fucked out of all of them, and that would feel so damn good.
Vanilla couldn’t restrain his moans anymore. Everything in his head was implausible but undeniably erotic. He stroked himself so quickly his wrist began to ache, and he rocked into the rhythm of his hand as his orgasm grew closer.
He couldn’t hold out any longer. As Dio removed his thumb from his mouth, he came into his hand with a long cry of his name, gripping the arms of the chair hard enough for his fingernails to indent them. His breaths were ragged as that high wore off.
Dio licked his palm and fingers clean with soft moans of delight.
Vanilla stared at his seed-covered hand. Still half-fantasizing, he took a step from the door towards his bed.
Footsteps on wood sounded behind him, getting quieter.
“Oh fuck,” he whispered. The doors weren’t that thick, and by the feeling still on his lips, he definitely moaned Dio’s name out loud.
As he wiped his hand clean with the tissues from his bedside, his breath remained quick. What was he to do? Would he need to keep a secret, deny everything, or worst of all, face his Lord in person and confess how he truly felt?
It couldn’t have been Dio. It shouldn’t have been Dio. He had no business listening in through his door.
And yet there was no one else it could have been.
~~~
Against all odds, Vanilla Ice maintained his composure before Dio for another week. The prior incident went unmentioned, and Dio treated him no different. None of the mansion’s residents did.
The silence was the most terrifying thing of all. If Dio had said anything, given him a sly glance or a cruel once-over, at least some of his worries would end. Instead he had to know he was caught in the act without a resolution. He continued his usual habit of closeness, and drawing out his speech, and those suggestive smiles.
It remained that way until Friday evening, when Dio found him sitting alone in the conservatory. The sun had just set, and there was no better place to watch it than in the jungle of houseplants. Kenny G, the house-servant who took care of most of the repairs in the mansion, was the one who maintained these plants. Vanilla could never; he’d kill a succulent within a matter of days.
“Ran out of activities?” He leaned over Vanilla, gripping the top of the concrete bench. His eyes were calm, not quite making the seductive expression he liked.
“I’m fine,” he stuttered out. His hand flew up to cover his mouth. If he acted even a little strange, Dio would clock it and ask what’s wrong—and he’d have to lie by omission again.
“Do you know how to play billiards, Vanilla?”
He craned his neck backwards to look at him. “I’ve… seen people play it on TV. I don’t know the rules.”
“Would you be willing to learn?”
“Of course, my lord.”
His head lowered, closing the distance between Vanilla’s face and his own, as he crossed his arms. Those bedroom eyes appeared. “Good. Meet me in the basement in an hour. I haven’t used the mansion’s billiards table and I’d love to break it in.”
He turned quickly, leaving Vanilla half-trembling, alone in the conservatory.
Dio must have known something. He must have wanted something.
It couldn’t have been a trap. Dio tended to set them with intimidation, and this was much too suave. Deliberate. And why would a person with such a carnal appetite and tendency towards seduction mind his efforts paying off?
Vanilla resolved to keep doing the same—going with the flow, letting his Lord take the reins, as any good servant would do.