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The prestige of the Joestar name comes with certain obligations, and since Jonathan and Dio have arrived at marriageable age the volume of invitations to social balls and gatherings has increased. It’s not a hassle, generally: Jonathan is outgoing and good-humored, although he struggles with the finer points of etiquette; and Dio is, of course, an expert in feigning charm and courtesy. It’s not an awful way to spend an evening, so they both usually manage to power through it. Tonight’s different, though.
“Dio, you’re drunk,” Jonathan says, politely and softly enough so as not to be overheard.
Dio raises his eyebrows as he drains his glass. “What makes you say that?”
They’re separate from the rest of the party, fortunately; it’s late enough into the evening that the side room stocked with refreshments is mostly deserted, save for a few lingering wait staff who are politely avoiding eye contact. Dio has not lost his composure, at least on the surface, but Jonathan knows him well enough to read the subtleties of his movement. He’s not slurring his speech, but his voice has lost the tense edge of civility that it usually has when he’s forced to mingle with the upper classes. Jonathan worries he may be dangerously close to speaking from the heart. Dio would never say so, but Jonathan knows these sort of events take a toll on him.
“Do you want to leave?” he asks. He’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.
“Yes,” Dio groans, exasperated.
The night is young, Jonathan notes as he glances at his watch, but they’ve been there long enough that it would not be too much of a faux-pas if they departed already. “Wait here for a minute,” he says as he pats Dio on the shoulder. With a practiced pace, Jonathan returns to the ballroom and seeks out the hosts to excuse himself. Terribly sorry, and he hates to leave because he’s really having a wonderful time, but Dio is growing feverish and he worries that he’s falling ill, and he’d love to stay but it really is an emergency. The lady of the house is understanding and arranges for a carriage, and she lets them part with earnest wishes for Dio’s health. By the time Jonathan returns to the side room to retrieve Dio, his glass has been filled and emptied again.
Fortunately for both of them, the carriage is not terribly spacious, but it is private. No sooner has he drawn the curtains shut than Dio slumps against him, exhausted. Jonathan laughs out loud. “Come on, now, it wasn’t that bad.” He kisses the crown of Dio’s head, like a mother soothing her child.
The motion is chaste, but Dio turns it on him. He tilts his head up and meets Jonathan’s lips with his own, and before Jonathan realizes what’s happening Dio’s hands are at the back of his head, fingers balled tight in his hair. He’s crushing their mouths together without finesse and Jonathan can taste the lingering sweetness of wine on his lips. Jonathan lets it happen, raising his hands between Dio’s arms to cup them around his jaw. They stay that way for nearly a minute before Dio has to pull away to breathe, lips red and parted.
Jonathan laughs. “Is this what that was all about?”
He can see the tip of Dio’s pink tongue as he wets his lips. “I can’t stand it,” Dio says; “those girls and their mothers all hovering over you. I can’t stand it.”
Jonathan can’t stop himself from smiling and he hums a little as he kisses Dio again, by his own rules this time. Softer, slower, pursing his lips gently against Dio’s. Dio melts into him and Jonathan says, “I’m not nearly as popular with the ladies as you are.”
Jonathan feels Dio’s hands in his hair tense, feels the pressure of fingers on his scalp. “You know exactly how I feel about that.”
And he does. Dio is incredibly skilled at masking his contempt for the monied classes when he dances and flirts with their daughters. He’s good enough at it that Jonathan has had women approach him with conspiratorial whispers, to ask if Dio’s really a bachelor, if he’s not some sort of degenerate playboy. And of course Jonathan always assuages their worries, because he knows Dio makes them swoon for sport. He’s fixated on Jonathan with an intensity that would be frightening if Jonathan didn’t know him so well.
“Are you saying you don’t know how I feel?” Jonathan asks, a little hurt.
Dio huffs obstinately. “I like to be reminded,” he says.
He’s like a child, Jonathan thinks.
“I’ll remind you, then.” Jonathan kisses Dio with an open mouth, and Dio reciprocates, greedy tongue writhing clumsily against Jonathan’s lips and teeth. The ghost of wine is sweet in his mouth and sharp in his breath and Jonathan drinks it in as though Dio himself is a goblet. Dio’s body pushes into him until Jonathan is backed against the walls of the carriage. Jonathan’s long legs are bent awkwardly in the limited space, but Dio is sprawled over him, one knee between Jonathan’s thighs. Jonathan retains control, like he’s disciplining an over-eager dog. He gently pushes down on Dio’s shoulders to get him to relax, and eventually Dio concedes, settling down. Jonathan rewards his obedience by cupping his hands around Dio’s ass and pulling him into his lap. Dio gasps into his mouth and squirms and Jonathan can feel the distinct pressure of a clothed erection against his lower stomach.
“Is this why you’re so on edge?” Jonathan asks, squeezing for emphasis. Dio rolls his hips and mumbles unintelligibly against the corner of Jonathan’s mouth. “Have you been like this all night, or just since we got in the cab?”
Dio tries to grind against Jonathan but he’s held back, hands around his hips keeping him firmly in place. “This is all your fault,” Dio hisses, but there’s no real venom in it. Jonathan knows exactly what he’s doing, but he takes the bait anyway.
“My fault?” Jonathan humors him with affected indignance. “I’ve been nothing but perfectly proper all evening. You’re the one who can’t control himself. If you’ll be so kind, why don’t you tell me what I did that got you so worked up? Or,” he says, and with Dio on his lap they’re on eye level. He relishes in the way Dio swallows with anticipation. “Are you so desperate that kissing you is all it takes to get you hard?”
Dio has never heard Jonathan talk this way before, and Jonathan’s a little surprised at the sound of his own voice himself. But it’s not an unpleasant change, apparently. Dio’s nostrils flare and his hips cant, just a little, struggling against Jonathan’s hands. “Jojo,” he breathes, voice barely there. Jonathan’s not sure what he’s asking for, but he thinks it’s encouraging.
“You know I can’t take you out like this,” Jonathan continues, stern in tone. “How can you expect to ever become a respectable member of society if you’re so excitable?”
“I won’t,” Dio says petulantly.
“You will,” Jonathan says, “even if I have to fuck you to exhaustion every time we leave the house.”
Dio certainly wasn’t expecting that (and neither was Jonathan, really; the words bubbled unbidden from his mouth like he was possessed) and his legs squeeze around Jonathan’s thighs. Jonathan feels an unfamiliar rush of excitement down to the pit of his stomach. He’s never had Dio in the palm of his hand like this before. Somewhere in his mind his conscience protests at the audacity of being so improper in the back of a moving carriage, but it’s drowned out many times over by the satisfaction of seeing Dio compliant and submissive. Power corrupts, and Jonathan pushes forth.
“Is this what it takes for you to be good to me?” he asks, relaxing his grip on Dio’s hips so he can explore with his hands. He spreads his fingers across Dio’s ass, pulling the fabric of his pants taut over the soft flesh beneath. Dio shivers and arches his back in encouragement. Jonathan feels the bulge between Dio’s legs pressing insistently against his thigh. “Patience,” he chastises; “we’re almost home, we can’t let the driver see you in this condition.”
“Then stop teasing me,” Dio says through gritted teeth.
Jonathan kisses Dio to keep him quiet. Dio doesn’t protest. He sighs contentedly into Jonathan’s mouth and Jonathan rewards him by pressing his thigh between Dio’s legs. The pressure on his groin and Jonathan’s tongue in his mouth makes him moan, and Jonathan worries that the driver will overhear even through the walls of the carriage and the clamor of hooves.
He pulls away breathlessly. Dio doesn’t close his mouth and his tongue hangs shamelessly in the open, lips swollen and wet, chest heaving. “Jojo—” he starts, and before Jonathan realizes what he’s doing he’s stuffed two fingers in Dio’s mouth. Dio doesn’t even question it. He purses his lips and sucks enthusiastically. His practiced tongue lathes over Jonathan’s fingertips with a finesse that Jonathan feels between his legs.
“I didn’t tell you to suck,” Jonathan says, softly, enjoying the sound of Dio slurping obscenely.
Dio looks him in the eyes and then, defiantly, takes Jonathan’s fingers in his mouth to the knuckle. Jonathan’s fingertips are at the base of his tongue, grazing the back of his throat, but Dio shows no sign of stopping.
“Is this what you want?” Jonathan asks. “To have me in your mouth?”
Dio hums, nods. He’s outright grinding into Jonathan’s thigh now.
“Do you want it more than you want me to fuck you properly?"
Dio nearly chokes.
Jonathan laughs pleasantly. “Hit the nail on the head, then.”
With one hand in Dio’s mouth and the other possessively squeezing his ass, Jonathan has Dio completely at his mercy. Dio’s hands are still at the back of Jonathan’s head and his fingers curl, pulling at fistfuls of hair so hard it feels like it might tear out. He rocks his hips back and forth, desperately seeking relief for the clothed erection rubbing over Jonathan’s thigh. His eyes are closed, brows drawn together in concentration. Jonathan wonders if their surroundings even register in his mind or if he’s so lost in the fog of arousal and liquor that nothing exists besides the two of them.
“When we get home, I’ll give you everything you want,” Jonathan says. “I’ll take you up to my room and I’ll ravish every inch of you. I’ll make you absolutely filthy.” Dio keens through the fingers in his mouth. Jonathan wonders if he’s losing himself, too. The more he talks the softer his voice gets until it’s little more than a conspiratorial whisper that still somehow thunders in his own ears. “My love, my pet—” he chants, knowing he’s spoiling Dio rotten but not caring. “I want to have you. God. I want to have all of you.”
They’re so wrapped up in themselves that Jonathan doesn’t even notice the passage of time and nearly jumps when he feels the carriage lurch to a stop. He swears under his breath and pulls his fingers out of Dio’s mouth. Dio whines a little in protest and Jonathan hushes him, wiping his hand dry on his overcoat.
Being jolted suddenly back into reality makes him realize how utterly debauched Dio looks. His hair’s a mess, his face red and lips wet, overcoat slung half-off around his elbows, blazer undone with his shirt mussed and wrinkled beneath. Not to mention the obvious erection tenting the front of his pants. Jonathan worries he’s probably in a similar state himself.
He ushers Dio to the opposite seat. “Clean yourself up a bit,” he says, smoothing down his own hair and adjusting his overcoat to conceal himself. Dio grumbles but does the same.
As soon as they look passable (or at least Jonathan hopes they do) they exit the carriage. Dio’s still swaying a little (from the wine, Jonathan tells himself, although it’s more likely that he’s still lightheaded with excitement) and Jonathan helps him dismount. He makes sure Dio’s steady and upright before he bids the driver good evening (and leaves him with a generous tip). Dio hurries ahead to the entrance and Jonathan catches up to him easily.
In what is almost certainly a turn of supernaturally good fortune, the staff of the Joestar mansion have all long returned to their own quarters and the front hall, as far as Jonathan can see, is blissfully empty. Still, though, he feels it’s probably in poor taste to ravish his lover in the middle of the foyer. Without even removing his overcoat he takes Dio by the wrist and hurries up the stairs, hoping that his impatient footsteps are not too loud.
A few steps up, though, Jonathan feels Dio tugging, trying to pull his arm free. He doesn’t notice at first, but then it gets insistent. He stops and turns around. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, but genuine concern shows on his face.
Dio’s brows are furrowed and, like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum, he keeps pulling his arm away. Jonathan doesn’t let go.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Let go,” Dio mumbles.
Jonathan does exactly the opposite. He takes a step down to get close enough to clasp both of Dio’s shoulders reassuringly. “Did you change your mind?” It would be surprising, and certainly frustrating, but Jonathan taking such an aggressive lead is new for the both of them and he’s more than willing to let Dio go if he wants out.
“No,” Dio says, sounding more than a little exasperated. It’s obvious from the edge of his voice that the buzz of wine has started to wear off. “No, I’m not going to let you get out of doing everything you said you would.”
Jonathan is relieved, but confused. “What is it, then?”
Dio wriggles in Jonathan’s grip a little. Jonathan leans in close, bumping their noses together. He speaks softly. “Tell me what’s wrong, Dio.”
“Jojo.”
“Please, if you don’t tell me, I can’t fix it.”
“Jojo.”
“I want to help you, Dio. Tell me.”
“Jonathan,” Dio hisses, and it’s been so long since he’s called Jonathan by his full name that it throws him off. So he doesn’t respond, and lets the silence hang in the air.
Dio says through gritted teeth, “I. Can’t.”
He doesn’t say anything else. His face is deathly serious, lips drawn into a thin white line. Jonathan, perpetually simple, takes a few moments of anxious confusion before he puts two and two together.
Then he laughs. He laughs so hard his whole body trembles with mirth. Dio goes uncharacteristically red to the tips of his ears.
“I’m not surprised!” Jonathan manages through gasps of laughter. “With how much you had to drink, I can’t believe you held out this long! God, you were so serious, I’d have thought you were dying!”
While Jonathan tries to collect his composure, Dio seems almost to shrink in on himself in shame. Jonathan’s still holding onto him, though, using Dio’s frame for support while he’s bent over in giggles. Dio wriggles stubbornly, trying to maintain what’s left of his dignity. “So let me go, then,” he grunts.
Jonathan takes one deep breath and weighs his options. He does actually feel a bit bad for laughing, because he does share the blame for getting Dio so worked up in the first place, but Dio is always so cool and composed that excusing himself from foreplay to use the washroom is outright comical. And Jonathan realizes he sort of likes the way Dio looks when he’s all red with embarrassment and that maybe it wouldn’t be totally out of the tone of the parlance they set up in the cab for him to torment Dio a little.
So Jonathan says, “no,” and Dio barks, “what.”
Jonathan picks Dio up and slings him over his shoulder as easily as if he were lifting a child. Dio squawks gracelessly. Jonathan can feel Dio’s cock through his pants pushing against him, still hard, and so he doesn’t feel too bad about what he’s doing.
“Put me—” Dio tries to thrash and kick his way out of Jojo’s grasp, but the movement pushes Jonathan’s shoulder into his abdomen, and the pressure sends an unpleasant jolt through his body. He gasps and curls in closer, seeking stability as he tries to control himself. “Put me down, you oaf,” he finishes. His voice is wavering.
Jonathan laughs and continues up the stairs, into his room. Keeping Dio over his shoulder with one hand, he locks the door behind them (just in case). The moon through the broad open window is more than enough for Jonathan to see as he tosses Dio (gently) onto his bed and lights the oil lamp at his bedside. Then he gets on the bed himself.
He traps Dio between his legs, a bent knee at each side. He shimmies himself out of his overcoat, blazer, and waistcoat (Jonathan makes a silent note to himself—in the future, spontaneous debauchery is to be done before social outings, and not after; the arduous process of undressing almost isn’t worth it) and does the same for Dio beneath him. He’s slow when he undresses Dio, though; he fills Dio’s mouth with his tongue and spreads his fingers over his chest, feeling Dio’s nipples stiff and standing out against the fabric of his shirt. He’s keeping Dio pinned down with his back to the mattress, making it impossible to undress him properly, so eventually Dio’s arms are stuck at his sides by layers of half-open coats slung around his elbows. With Jonathan above him and a makeshift restraint around his arms, Dio is essentially helpless.
Which isn’t to say he’s entirely in distress. When Jonathan kisses him he moans eagerly into his mouth, sucks on his tongue, laps pleadingly at his lips. He’s still hard. Jonathan gives a firm squeeze to the bulge of his groin and Dio’s thighs tense as he thrusts his hips upward.
“Aren’t you glad you have me to help you out?” Jonathan says. He’s teasing, but his voice is gentle, like he means it. Dio wails.
Jonathan wishes he had more hands. Dio’s cock throbs demandingly against his palm through the fabric of his pants while his other hand is fumbling, trying to undo Dio’s shirt buttons one by one. He could just rip it open, he supposes, but it’s a nice shirt. He’s trying to retain some degree of civility even while he has Dio writhing beneath him. So to save time he finishes undressing Dio with both of his hands. Dio makes a wordless, impudent noise when Jonathan’s hands leave his crotch.
“Settle down, you brat,” Jonathan chides softly and without malice. He sinks his teeth into the plump flesh of Dio’s lip in consolation, and it seems to placate him for the time being. It occupies Dio long enough that Jonathan can finish removing his shirt and pushing the discarded clothes onto the floor.
He means to relieve Dio of his pants next. He really does. But what happens is, as he’s running his broad hands up and down the expanse of Dio’s torso, tweaking his nipples and teasing the sensitive spots on the contours of his ribs and the dip of his navel, Jonathan’s hands stop at Dio’s lower abdomen and he feels the shape of it. It’s distended, just a little, just enough that Jonathan can feel it swollen with how painfully full Dio is.
“You weren’t kidding, huh?” he says. Before Dio can ask what he’s talking about, Jonathan presses his thumbs into the dip of Dio’s hips and right over his bladder.
Dio jerks up, nearly doubles over (as much as he can with Jonathan hovering over him). A strangled gargle bubbles out of his throat, voice tense with pain at the unexpected pressure. “What,” he gasps, breathless with shock, “what are you—”
Before he can finish his sentence Jonathan squeezes him around the middle again, this time with the ridge of his palms. Dio’s thighs jerk together in a desperate attempt to stop himself from losing control.
“What are you doing?” Dio asks. He’s putting so much effort into keeping control of his bladder that his voice warbles. Jonathan finds the sound riveting and decides he wants to ear more of it.
“I thought this was what you wanted?” Jonathan asks. “Me with my hands all over you.” He lets up the pressure. Dio takes in a deep breath, ready to start berating him, and then before he can make a sound Jonathan presses down again, dead center, right above the waistline of his pants, and this time Dio almost shrieks.
“Someone’s going to hear, if you’re too loud,” Jonathan scolds. (He’s half-serious. This would be hard to explain their way out of.)
“I can’t believe,” Dio says through clenched teeth, “you, of all people—” His words are harsh but his voice is trembling. His hands grip tight around Jonathan’s forearms, so tight his knuckles go white and his nails are biting crescents into the skin. It hurts, a little, but Jonathan thinks it’s worth it. He lets up and Dio catches his breath.
“How long can you hold out, you think?” Jonathan asks, stroking the length of Dio’s abdomen with open palms, like he’s soothing an upset stomach.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” Dio snaps.
Jonathan disciplines him by squeezing his belly. Dio bites into his lip so hard it nearly bleeds and makes a thin, high noise through his nose.
“You can’t,” Dio sobs, finally conceding to beg. “I’m serious—I’m serious, Jojo, if you keep doing that I’m really going to—”
“So do it,” Jonathan interrupts.
Dio stares agape at him. His eyes are wet; the pressure in his bladder is enough to drive him nearly to cry. He’s too proud to shed tears in front of Jojo, but he almost can’t help it. “Jojo, I’m serious,” he says.
“So am I.” Jonathan is resolute.
Dio furrows his brows in disgust. “I’m—I’m not going to do it here,” he says, “that’s revolting.”
“I want to see it, though—” Jonathan almost can’t believe what he’s saying. “I want to see you lose yourself completely—you can do that for me, can’t you? You can lose control of yourself, just for me.” He rubs gentle, firm circles into Dio’s middle in a way that would feel pleasant if Dio wasn’t about to burst.
Dio’s head thrashes against the pillows, eyes wrenched shut.
Jonathan kisses his sweaty forehead, gentle and chaste. “Go on,” he says, softly.
“Jojo, I can’t hold it,” Dio wails. “I can’t—”
Before he can finish his sentence Jonathan spreads his fingers wide and pushes down on Dio’s abdomen, mercilessly, and Dio chokes and sobs and he can’t stop himself. He lets go, and Jonathan can feel Dio’s swollen belly shrinking under his hand as a dark, wet spot spreads across the front of his pants. Dio’s chest heaves and shudders and he just keeps going, going, going. Jonathan watches, mesmerized. Dio’s trousers are soaked with urine and the wet fabric clings close to the curves of his groin and thighs.
Dio’s fingers are still wrapped around Jonathan’s forearms, but their grip is loose now, weak with relief. Jonathan takes them both in his own hands and laces their fingers together intimately.
“You did good,” he praises, kissing Dio on his forehead and on the planes of his cheekbones, over his eyelids. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You did such a good job for me, Dio. You did just what I asked.”
Shamefully, Dio turns to face Jojo and kisses him on the mouth. Jonathan feels Dio’s lips trembling a little bit, teeth chattering, and so he kisses slowly, gentle and tender. He doesn’t think Dio’s really overwhelmed by what they’ve just done (or at least he hopes not)—Dio’s made more arduous and bizarre demands of him in the bedroom before—but his pride is probably in tatters.
“Hey,” Jonathan says quietly as he pulls back. “You all right?”
Dio breathes in deep as he tries to compose himself. He’s not crying, but his eyes are red and his complexion is blotchy. He looks up at Jojo, managing somehow to look condescending.
“These pants are ruined,” he says, completely seriously. “And your sheets are, too. I hope you’re happy.”
Jonathan laughs out loud for the third time that evening. “I am,” he says; “I’m very happy.”
Dio sits up and winces as he feels wet fabric shifting against his thighs. “Ugh—” he grunts and goes to unfasten his trousers with the very tips of his fingers, like he’s handling something dangerous. “This is your fault,” he says accusingly.
“Don’t worry,” Jonathan reassures him; “I’ll draw a bath. Come on.” He takes Dio by the hand and helps him up off the bed. He stops short of sweeping Dio up into his arms and carrying him bridal-style into the bathroom, fearing that Dio’s ego might not be able to take it.
“You owe me a new pair of trousers,” Dio snaps.
“I know, I know.” Jonathan squeezes him around the shoulders and kisses his temple. “I’ll buy you as many as you need. And we can ruin all of them, too.”
Dio jabs his elbow into Jonathan’s ribs.
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