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Jonathan knows what’s going on as soon as Dio asks him if he’d like to study together.
Sometime before noon Dio barges into his room, the clatter of the door jerking Jonathan suddenly awake. “I was going to invite you to study with me down in the library,” he says, “but I see now you’re terribly preoccupied sleeping your Saturday away like a slob.”
Jonathan takes several moments to respond, shaking the sleep out of his head and rousing his slow morning brain into articulating a response. But he does not miss the way Dio’s eyes dart quickly down the loose, open front of his nightshirt.
“Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll come. Just let me get presentable.”
Dio’s lips quirk up in a satisfied smirk. “Good,” he says, and then leaves.
By the time Jonathan is dressed and heading downstairs, there’s a nervous excitement buzzing at the base of his spine. A study date is not even in the vicinity of Dio’s wheelhouse. As a matter of fact, Jonathan knows from experience, Dio prefers to study by himself—he complains that Jonathan breathes too loud or fidgets too much and keeps him from getting any meaningful work done. So something is up.
He arrives very cautiously in the library and rounds the corner to the open area, where the table is laid with books and papers and Dio is already seated across from him. He’s got an intimidatingly thick tome opened up before him that Jonathan can only assume is a law textbook—although from the density of the very small type he’s sure he doesn’t want to know either way—and a notebook that’s already filled with lines of Dio’s neat, careful handwriting. Beside him is a small stack of the (markedly thinner) journals and surveys Jonathan has been putting off reading.
Both chairs are at the same side of the table, which is rather suspicious.
Dio looks up. “There you are. Took you long enough.”
“Already hard at work, I see,” Jonathan says brightly, stalwartly refusing to acknowledge the remark.
“Yes, well.” Dio taps his pen in his notebook for emphasis. “If I did my work at the speed you do yours, I’d be dead before I finished the curriculum.”
“If it’s too much work, you could always study something else.”
“I’d rather die than turn into the kind of idiot hobbyist who blows his inheritance without contributing anything of worth to society.” Dio looks up when Jonathan sits down next to him and begins sorting through the books laid out for him. “I think that’s everything on your syllabus, but I’m not sure which ones you’ve already read,” he says.
Jonathan is immediately distracted, taken aback by the uncharacteristically thoughtful—dare he say considerate—thing that Dio has done to set up this little session.
“You know my syllabus,” he says, impressed.
“I may have looked at it.”
Jonathan smiles. “Thank you,” he says, sincerely.
Dio keeps scrawling in his notebook without looking at him. Jonathan opens up the book that looks the thinnest, expecting perhaps for the contents to be vandalized somehow (admittedly a very petty and lowbrow form of warfare, not of the kind Dio’s ever been inclined to do—but Jonathan is waiting for the other shoe to drop). But it’s not, it’s just a fresh text on some recent Mesoamerican survey, the spine cracking pleasantly from being opened for the first time. So Jonathan starts reading.
Several minutes pass, and Jonathan makes good headway into the text. It could almost pass for an earnest attempt at a real study session all the way up until Jonathan feels the feather-light touch of a hand against his thigh.
Ah. Okay.
Dio still appears to be engaged with his reading, scribbling notes on the formidable text with his right hand while the left moves stealthily beneath the table. Which is fine. Jonathan can play that game. Unwilling to flinch first, he goes back to his book, hoping that Dio didn’t catch him looking.
Dio’s hand stroking his leg isn’t enough to distract Jonathan from his reading. It’s soothing, even. So Dio escalates, his hand migrating towards Jonathan’s inner thigh—which sends a warm, excited tingle all the way up Jonathan’s spine, but it’s nothing he can’t handle, so he bites the inside of his cheek and recenters himself—and then upwards, perilously close to his groin. Jonathan’s breath hitches and he swallows. Dio probably knows he has him, now, but Jonathan’s not willing to admit defeat yet.
Christ, but Dio knows how to tempt him. His fingers are nimble and zealous, tracing along the outline of Jonathan’s quickly-hardening cock through the fabric of his trousers. It’s teasing, barely anything at all, but it’s enough to get Jonathan feeling hot and dizzy. Dio’s touch hovers just outside of where he needs it to be and it makes his dick throb impatiently. Jonathan tries desperately to find his focus, doubling down on the text in front of him, and Dio, as if he can read Jonathan’s mind, squeezes the shape of Jonathan’s erection through his pants. He swallows his breathing in an effort to stop himself from making a noise he’s going to regret.
It’s too much. Jonathan realizes very suddenly that he’s read the same sentence three times. His head is empty, all his consciousness thrumming underneath Dio’s palm between his legs, barely able to string a coherent thought together. He has to do something. Slowly, carefully—trying to look as casual and unaffected as possible—Jonathan shifts back and spreads his knees apart.
“Eager,” Dio says lightly, chastising, not looking up from his notes.
“I’m not the one with his hand between somebody’s legs.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Are you?”
It’s quick, a movement at the corner of Jonathan’s eye, but he thinks for a moment it almost looks like Dio’s smiling.
The mood has changed. Dio kneads Jonathan’s still-clothed dick, very nearly stroking him off through his clothes. Jonathan is torn halfway between the hot, almost-but-not-quite tease of Dio petting him over his pants; and the urge to get on with it already, pull his cock out and let Dio touch him for real. He’s almost painfully stiff and he needs more, soon, but he’s not quite shameless enough to whip his unmentionables out in the middle of the library, no matter how isolated and private it may be.
“Come on,” he says, quietly. “Dio, please.”
“Are you telling me to stop?”
“No, god,” Jonathan hisses, unable to stop from grinding his hips up into the slow, deliberate motions of Dio’s hand. “Don’t stop. I need more. Please.”
“You want me to touch you?”
Jonathan bites his lip and whines pathetically. Dio always does this—teases him, pulls him right to the brink, leaves him stranded and makes him plead and beg for it. The tribute to Dio’s unstoppable ego is a small price to pay for the things Dio knows how to do to his body. He’s almost come to enjoy it, the humiliation becoming a part of the act, making him throb with excitement.
“Say it,” Dio commands, sounding as impartial and distant as ever. “Tell me what you want.”
“T-touch me, come on,” Jonathan manages, quiet and conspiratorial, voice shaking. “Stop teasing me. You’re going to kill me.”
He hears Dio inhale sharply, the only tell before Dio catches himself and goes back to playing like he’s not getting off on how desperate Jonathan is becoming. “Go on, then,” he says. “Get your cock out for me. I’m not going to do everything myself.”
Jonathan sighs and swears softly, quickly ducking his hands under the table to undo his pants. His fingers fumble nervously with the buttons. He finally fishes his erection out of his pants, swollen and aching and already wet at the tip, while Dio’s hand rests casually on his thigh.
“Please,” he hisses under his breath. “Dio—”
“How are you boys doing?” comes a woman’s bright, cheery voice from around the corner.
Jonathan jumps in his seat. Dio’s stray hand returns swiftly to its place on top of the table. Jonathan scrambles to do his pants back up and hide his shame before the maid rounds the corner, wheeling a tea cart in front of her. He quickly jerks his hands up over his book, scooting forward in his chair and hunching over, knees raised, doing anything to try and hide his naked dick out in the open beneath the tabletop.
“Ah. We’re just fine, Helena, thanks. Even better now that you’re here,” Dio says, impossibly casually, like he hadn’t just been feeling Jonathan up under the table.
Helena giggles. “Oh, don’t flatter me, I’m just doing my job,” she says, pouring tea into a pair of dainty chinaware cups.
“And I don’t know how we’d get on without you. You spoil me.” Dio smiles and takes his teacup. Jonathan doesn’t say anything, hoping he’s not still tomato-red in the face, furiously willing his erection away.
“Oh, stop, you little flirt.” She sets a tray of scones and a small dish of clotted cream in the center of the table. “Are you sure you boys don’t need anything more substantial? A proper lunch? Just say the word and I can whip you something up.”
“Oh, no, this will hold us over just fine, I think.” Dio smiles genially towards Jonathan. “What do you say, Jojo? Need anything?”
Jonathan’s mouth is dry. “I,” he stammers, “I, uh, n—no, no thank you, it’s fine. This is just—fine, thanks.” He nods quickly and hopes poor Helena doesn’t see him fidgeting and inching close to the table in an effort to conceal himself. She’s a sweet, lovely woman and doesn’t deserve to be dragged into this awful scene Dio has engineered, certainly not to be exposed to Jonathan’s humiliating indecency.
“Oh, come on now, Jojo, don’t be shy,” Dio says, a devilish lilt under his pleasant and affable tone, like a dogwhistle only Jonathan can hear. Beneath the table his foot brushes up Jonathan’s ankle and all the work Jonathan had put into willing his erection away is undone as his dick jumps with interest at the contact.
“No!” he squeaks. Dio raises his eyebrows. Jonathan clears his throat and tries again. “No, no thank you, I’m not hungry.” He glares at Dio with all the venom he can muster without arousing suspicion.
Dio grins like he can’t stand how pleased he is with himself.
“All right,” Helena says. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Anything else you need before I leave?”
Dio looks at Jonathan like he’s weighing the choice to prolong his torture. It’s only a second, but it feels like it’s forever before he finally says “Would you mind closing the library doors when you leave? There’s a terrible draft coming in from the hall.”
“No trouble at all,” she says, and Jonathan feels like he’s going to collapse with relief when she finally turns to leave. “You boys keep up the good work, all right?”
“Of course. You’re a darling,” Dio calls after her, and she brushes off his compliment with a wave of her hand.
Dio spreads cream on a scone and Jonathan sits in mortified silence until he hears the heavy, reassuring thud of the library’s oak doors closing.
“What the hell,” Jonathan spits.
“I just let Helena know this morning we’d be working in the library all afternoon,” Dio says airily, not making eye contact. “It’s not her fault you’re a boor with no sense of decenc—”
Jonathan wrenches his hand in Dio’s hair and jerks his head back. Whatever he was saying is cut off with a sharp intake of breath, and Jonathan lunges, his mouth on Dio’s while its hanging open and defenseless, his knee wedging between Dio’s thighs. Dio drops his scone and spreader knife to the floor with a clatter and grabs Jonathan’s chest like he’s holding on for dear life. Jonathan’s tongue is already in Dio’s mouth, and Dio laps back at it, trying to maintain some semblance of control—but it’s too much, too fast, and Jonathan grinds his knee vindictively into Dio’s groin until he wails and curls his fingers in Jonathan’s shirt.
Jonathan pulls away to breathe. Dio’s all red in the face, lips hanging open, wet around his mouth. Almost too quickly for Jonathan to realize what he’s doing, both his hands slide down Jonathan’s chest and over his thighs, and he sinks off his chair and down to his knees.
“Be good,” Jonathan warns, hand still twisted threateningly in Dio’s hair. Dio licks his lips and bobs his head obediently. Jonathan spreads his knees apart, making room for Dio to sit between.
Dio wraps his fingers around Jonathan’s straining erection and the relief of finally being touched makes it jump in his hand. Jonathan sighs and loosens his grip, rolling his knuckles soothingly along Dio’s scalp. Dio makes a soft little pleased noise in the back of his throat and gives Jonathan’s cock a long, steady stroke from base to tip. He follows his hand with a trail of messy, open-mouthed kisses, and Jonathan bites his lip, trying not to look desperate and overeager and melt under Dio’s attention. Hard as he tries to stay stone-faced, his dick betrays him, throbbing and spilling a fat bead of precum that rolls over Dio’s knuckles. His voice wells up in his chest and he swallows it, letting out a ragged, breathy grunt instead when Dio opens his mouth wide and rubs the dripping head along the flat of his tongue.
“Dio, god,” he sighs, voice wavering. Dio fits his hand around the base of Jonathan’s cock and closes his lips around the head and Jonathan makes a noise that is not a moan so much as an embarrassing whimper. Reflexively, he balls his fingers tight in Dio’s hair and Dio groans, the vibrations running back and forth along Jonathan’s dick, all up his spine and down to his toes.
Dio swallows Jonathan’s cock, pumping around the base with one hand until he manages to fit the whole length in his throat. It’s agonizingly tight, all wet and hot and driving Jonathan slowly out of his mind with Dio’s tongue writhing against the underside. His lips slurp wetly around the thick flesh in his mouth when he draws back and it’s the most amazingly, horribly lewd sound Jonathan thinks he’s ever heard. Dio pulls himself all the way off and starts rolling Jonathan’s cockhead in his palm; he buries his nose in the junction of Jonathan’s hips, kissing messily all around the base of his dick. He opens his eyes and looks up at Jonathan from between his thighs, pink up to his ears and with Jonathan’s engorged cock lying across his face, and the sight of it is almost too much to bear. Jonathan feels like his stomach is doing flips.
“Nngh—more, come on, don’t stop,” he says, in what he hopes is an order but sounds more like needy begging.
Dio’s eyes flutter shut and he licks a long stripe all the way up from the base of Jonathan’s prick to the tip, lapping up the precum dripping from the head before swallowing him whole all over again. His hands slink away from Jonathan’s thighs, down, between his own legs. Jonathan knows what he’s doing down there and the thought makes his cock twitch in Dio’s throat.
Dio slides back again, lips still wrapped around the head, tongue working over the slit. It makes Jonathan whine and his hips jerk suddenly up into Dio’s mouth. Dio takes it, moaning with his mouth full, and Jonathan tests the waters again—thrusting up and feeling Dio’s throat open up pliantly for him. Dio’s brows are knit together and he’s leaning into Jonathan with his shoulder rolling as he pets himself down where Jonathan can’t see.
Jonathan breathes in deep and gets a good, domineering grip on Dio’s hair again, and then he thrusts back up into Dio’s mouth, harder this time. Dio makes a noise around his cock that sounds eager and almost desperate and it sends a hot rush all up Jonathan’s body.
And then before he quite knows what he’s doing—like his hands and his hips are moving divorced of his empty, pleasure-dumb mind—he finds himself pulling Dio’s head back and forth over his dick, steering with his hand gripping Dio’s hair tight right at the back of his skull. What’s left of his genteel conscious at the back of his mind thinks that’s got to hurt, but the way Dio is huffing out soft, excited little whines and rolling his tongue along the underside of Jonathan’s dick makes him not care. His head feels thick and heavy and he wants to close his eyes but the sight of Dio sucking him off is too much to look away from.
Jonathan puts his free hand on the back of the chair behind him and then pumps his hips up purposefully, holding Dio’s head in place, filling up Dio’s whole mouth and his throat until Dio’s lips are pressed against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. And then he does it again—his chair budges backward with the force of it and the legs scrape obnoxiously along the hardwood floor—and Dio mewls through his nose when Jonathan’s dick hits the back of his throat, and Jonathan bites his lip to stifle a shuddering moan. And then he’s fucking Dio’s face in earnest, hard, his thighs burning with the exertion of it.
Dio sucks at his cock as best he can manage while Jonathan fucks his mouth, and Jonathan can feel himself beginning to wind up tight. Dio’s lips are all swollen, wet with spit and precum that’s spilling onto his cheeks and down his chin, and his eyes are clenched shut and he looks like he might nearly be in tears and God, what a fucking sight he makes. The gorgeously tight, wet heat of his mouth and throat is driving Jonathan towards the edge but the visual might be enough to get him there itself. Outside the edge of Jonathan’s awareness he’s making noises he might otherwise be embarrassed about, a pathetic string of “a-ah, ah, god, oh” that’s almost paradoxical beside the death-grip he has on Dio’s skull. He’s close, close, agonizingly close, and then he fucks all the way up into Dio’s throat and pulls him crushingly up against his hips and stays buried there as he comes hot and hard and Dio’s throat clenches around his sensitive, twitching cock as he swallows every drop.
Jonathan’s head rolls back and he’s moaning long and low through his ragged breathing. His knuckles are all white against Dio’s head and the back of the chair, and his legs are shaking just a little, and as the last of his orgasm disappears down Dio’s throat his knees start to get weak. He pulls Dio back off his softening dick and lets go, collapsing with an exhausted thump on his chair. He’s leaning all the way back and taking shaky gulps of air to try and hasten the reassembly of his conscious—but he can still hear the quick, rhythmic rustle of fabric from Dio in front of him, and he wants to watch.
Dio is hunched forward, rubbing himself off on his knees on the floor, breathing quick and heavy with his mouth open—his face still flushed and wet and messy—and he leans in against Jonathan’s knee, nosing his thigh like a needy puppy.
“Again,” he says. His voice is rough and hoarse from how thoroughly his throat’s been fucked, and it’s shaking from how close he is to the edge. “Jojo, pull my hair again,” he says louder, more commanding.
Jonathan’s still weak, all his strength sapped out with his orgasm, but he reaches down and threads his hand through Dio’s hair. He twists his hand at the top of Dio’s head, gets a good grip, and tugs. Dio keens a little and Jonathan can see his arm moving quicker, hand buried down the front of his pants. Jonathan pulls harder, raising Dio’s face up and getting a good look as his mouth drops open and he starts gasping sharply, voicelessly. His eyelids are fluttering like he’s trying to keep his eyes open but can’t quite manage. His whole body lurches, shoulders jerking, and his hand goes still.
The sight of it sends an excited jolt straight to Jonathan’s groin, but he’s still completely spent and too exhausted to get worked up over it. He lets his grip go loose, combing his fingers through Dio’s hair, petting him and watching him come down from his high.
It takes a minute. Dio lays bonelessly against Jonathan’s leg and catches his breath. It’s all very quiet, save the slow, heavy breathing and Jonathan’s own blood rushing in his ears. Something about the stillness and the warmth of Dio’s body against Jonathan’s leg makes his chest seize up.
Before he can think too hard about it, Dio stands. He does his pants back up and smoothes his hands down the front of his shirt, gets a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the mess clean from his mouth. He sits back in his chair, properly, straight up with his knees under the table; takes a long drink from his tea. Jonathan sits there quietly and watches him put himself back together.
“Dio,” he says softly.
“Hmm?”
Jonathan motions silently towards Dio’s head, where his hair is still mussed up and pushed back. “Your hair.”
“Oh.”
Dio quickly gets his hair back in order and makes himself presentable. Other than his still-rosy complexion it’s entirely undetectable that he’d just been mouth-fucked into a drooling mess.
He looks pointedly at Jonathan’s lap and says, “Your dick is out.”
Jonathan jumps in his seat and rushes to put himself away while Dio goes back to his textbook.
Jonathan tries to do the same, but it takes him a while to find where he’d left off in his reading, and by the time he finds it he realizes he didn’t retain anything he read after Dio started feeling him up, so he just gives up and makes himself a scone. Now that he’s not horny or humiliated he realizes he’s actually very hungry but there’s no way in hell he’s going to bother poor Helena after what she was nearly exposed to so he resolves to power through until supper.
“You know,” he says, and Dio doesn’t acknowledge him. “It doesn’t always have to be like this.”
“What’s that supposed to mean,” Dio says flatly.
“You don’t have to set up a scene to try and sneak up on me. If you want to…” Jonathan trails off, feeling a bit embarrassed to say it. “If you want to do things with me you can just ask. I won’t say no.”
The quiet, steady scratching of Dio’s pen stops, but he doesn’t say anything. Jonathan looks shyly over at him, and he’s still staring down at his book, but he’s not reading anything.
“Duly noted,” he says. And he resumes his writing.
Jonathan smiles a little bit and goes back to his book, starting the reading over again from the beginning.