Work Text:
Dio taps a rhythm onto his thigh as he waits for his next client of the night. He’s already made a decent amount from this particular business venture, but at some point, it had stopped being about the money. There is something thrilling about this illicit pastime of his, a certain enjoyment when sitting through dull business meetings or uninspiring formal events in the day, knowing his nights would be spent enaging in activities that would horrify his associates. That is to presume they themselves do not seek out his services, which would not be completely preposterous considering the clientele he's grown used to.
He perks up at the sound of a door opening followed by heavy footsteps that come to stop just on the other side of the wall. Then, curiously, silence follows, filled only by loud, laboured breathing. Dio is unsurprised. The type who can usually afford his services, for he is far from cheap, are typically older men with money to waste on such frivolities, and who have spent so much time on their work that they never have the time for a relationship, thus are pathetically overeager. As soon as Dio gets his hands on them, they finish in mere moments. He prefers these types. He doesn’t have to work so hard.
In the persistent silence, Dio clears his throat. “Are you there?”
There is a muffled gasp from the other side of the wall. “Ah! Um, good evening!”
The overly formal voice gives Dio pause. They sound nervous, too young to be part of Dio’s usual clientele of rich older men, but there’s something else, too, a certain degree of familiarity he cannot quite place. It would not be the first time he has recognised a patron by voice alone. When forced to accompany Jonathan on formal outings to meet and greet potential business partners, he has been almost certain that some of the men he was shaking hands with had at one point had their cocks in his mouth. The thought amuses him, some dark secret only he is partial to.
“I presume this is your first time?” Dio asks.
“Yes.” The response is tense, awkward. “Uh… how are you?”
Dio struggles to suppress a snort. This overt, unnecessary politeness reminds him of someone else he knows. “You didn’t come here to chat, did you? There’s no need for pleasantries when you’ll be fucking my face in a few moments.”
His words elicit a small gasp, but there is still no movement. The man speaks up, “I must confess, I have not done anything like this before, ever. I just… it feels incredibly rude, jumping straight into things without even checking in.”
Dio might laugh, if he were not currently in such a state of shock that he is rendered speechless. He definitely recognises that voice, knows with certainty that the one person who would come to a glory hole and fuss over pleasantries is in fact the one person he would have never expected to see in such a place in a million lifetimes.
“I’m sorry, perhaps I should go,” says Jonathan Joestar on the other side of the wall.
“Wait!” Dio says without thinking, then quickly catches himself. He clears his throat again, tries to lower the pitch of his voice into something hopefully less distinguishable. “I mean, there is no need to fret. There’s no judgement here.” There is, a little. Dio loves to judge. “How about you get over here so I can see what I’m working with?”
He hears a tiny, resigned sigh, and then footsteps as Jonathan approaches the wall. Dio takes a moment to process his surprise at this absurd situation. He burns with questions, to know what drove Jonathan here, to spend money on something like this. A part of him wonders if he should make some excuse and turn the man away. But he’s curious- somehow, he cannot seem to admit that this is not something he wants, and besides, it would be yet another thing for him to hold over Jonathan’s head. He would watch Jonathan squirm with this secret, believing himself safe in anonymity, but, oh, Dio would know of the darkness lingering in the depths of his heart. He had always known that virtuous exterior was a mask. He is finally getting to see what lies beneath.
He smirks. “Come on, don’t be shy. You paid good money for me, after all. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Wh-what do I do?”
It is difficult to not tease him. If it wouldn’t give him away, Dio would mock him for being so stupid. But instead he says in a low voice, “If you want me to suck you off, take your cock out.”
Jonathan makes a strange, strangled sound, and Dio knows he is blushing, can practically picture the stupid expression on his face. Mercifully, Jonathan heeds his words and Dio begins to shuffle impatiently on the spot at the sound of fabric rustling.
The cock that pokes through the hole is already fully hard, dark and flushed, weighed down by its own heaviness. In their youth, Dio had caught glimpses of the other, usually in the changing rooms after their rugby matches, but this is entirely different. He has never had the chance to appreciate how beautiful Jonathan’s cock is. Dio licks his lips.
The more he talks, the more he is at risk of being recognised, and he is seldom one for speaking during such a process. Yet he has an overwhelmingly strong desire to pry, to know more. He would not get a chance like this again. “You seem quite pent up. It’s not often you take care of yourself, is it?”
“Ah, no, I… I don’t really have time for that, what with work- ah!”
Jonathan cuts off with a surprised moan as Dio drags the tip of his forefinger up the impressive length. Dio could not help but grin. “Sensitive, too. My, what a waste, I’m sure you could make someone very pleased with this thing.”
Jonathan’s voice wavers. “I d-don’t do this kind of thing, ever, I told you, I’m so busy, and I just don’t think about such-” He cuts himself off again with a low groan as Dio licks the tip of his cock. It is unsurprising that Jonathan is so obsessed with work that he does not even see to his own desires. Dio has always thought him an uptight prude, and it is terribly satisfying to find himself proven right.
“Then you have me curious,” Dio says, sitting back and licking his lips, relishing the salty taste of Jonathan on his tongue. He wraps a hand around the thick base, smirking when Jonathan shudders in his hold. “How did you end up in a place as this?”
“I…” Jonathan seems to be struggling to speak as Dio begins to pump him, slowly so as not to drive him so quickly to the edge- normally Dio would want to rush things so he could move on to the next client, but he’s enjoying having Jonathan at his mercy, freely opening up.
“I’m just so frustrated!” Jonathan expels in a breathy rush.
Dio grins. How amusing to imagine the upstanding, righteous Jonathan struggle with his own lust, warring with shame and arousal, forced to seek out the services of someone like Dio simply to alleviate it. Does Jonathan sit in business meetings, he wonders, thighs clenched beneath the table to fight off an unwanted erection? Were those times he lost his train of thought during presentations a result of those desires springing up from the depths of his depraved mind? Dio knows how repression only brings forth more illicit feelings. Does the mere sight of an exposed ankle at one of the many balls they are made to attend drive him mad with need? Does dear, sweet Jonathan lay awake at night, fighting to ignore the arousal tenting his bedsheets? Dio wants to laugh as he thinks of Jonathan driving himself wild, forced to seek relief at none other than Dio’s hands, albeit unknowingly.
“Then allow me to service you,” he says, low and sultry, before leaning forward and taking Jonathan into his mouth.
The loud moan he hears is music to his ears- he knows he is Jonathan’s first, loves that this is something he can take without the other even being aware- but then he hears a breathy murmur of his own name, “Dio…”, and he freezes.
It takes him a moment to realise that Jonathan has not in fact recognised who he is, that instead Dio’s name was the one to instinctively roll of his tongue. And once he comes to that conclusion, Dio’s mind is reeling.
His heart is thudding as he slowly pulls off. He’s not supposed to ask, but he cannot stop himself. “Thinking of anyone in particular?”
“Nnn, yes, I’m sorry, I know that’s terribly rude of me-”
“No,” Dio breathes, resenting how pathetically desperate he sounds all of a sudden, his grasp of control rapidly diminishing, “It’s okay. Want to tell me about them?”
“I-is that normal?”
It is not. “Yes. It might help, makes it more natural to- to think of someone.” He hates himself.
“Oka-ay…” There’s a deep breath, as if Jonathan is trying to steady himself. “It’s… well, I’m not sure how to describe him really. He’s not my friend, exactly, but- but…”
He trails off when Dio licks up the underside of his cock, so Dio gives an encouraging hum, prompting him to continue.
“We’ve known each other a long time, he would probably kill me if he ever found out about this- ah, he’s- he’s not even the nicest person, you know? He has this way of looking at you that makes you feel completely foolish, although maybe he’s reserved that for me-”
Dio frowns, not too pleased with the direction Jonathan’s rambling had taken, so he decides to shut him up by taking him deep into his mouth. He’s rewarded with a loud, shaky moan.
“Ahh, fuck,” Jonathan whimpers, and Dio feels something hot stir in his gut. He has never heard Jonathan swear before, and finds it oddly intoxicating.
Jonathan continues through breathy moans, “I-I’m certain his mouth would feel divine, though, it’s all I can think about when he’s telling me off. His lips, I can’t help but stare at them…” He hisses as Dio pulls back to suck at his sensitive tip, fingernails dragging lightly up the base. “They’re so pretty…”
Dio is rather flushed. His cheeks are warm, and he can feel his own arousal building, snakes his free hand down to press at his groin. He rarely takes physical pleasure from these sessions, treating them as nothing more than transactional services, but hearing how Jonathan fantasises about him is making his brain slightly hazy.
He bites his lip, eyeing Jonathan’s cock as it twitches, and presses a kiss to the glistening slit, lips smearing with precome. He teases him for a moment with the tip of his tongue just to hear him whimper, and then he descends again on his cock, taking him deep into his mouth. Jonathan is warm and heavy against his tongue, and Dio craves more, wants to feel him in his throat.
He notices Jonathan’s hips stuttering, thrusting erratically like he keeps forgetting not to. Like he can’t help himself. His own thighs clench, and he pulls back to speak, voice hoarse and embarrassingly desperate. “You don’t have to hold back, you know.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“Come on. Be rough, use me, I can take it.”
Hesitation. “That’s…”
Please. “Pretend I’m him. How would you treat him?” Dio presses his lips to Jonathan’s cockhead, his words spoken against heated skin. He’s trying not to shake. “How would you fuck him?”
Without warning, Jonathan’s hips snap forward, and Dio must splay his hands against the wall to steady himself as his mouth is filled with Jonathan's hot, salty length. His focuses on relaxing, breathing through his nose as Jonathan fucks into his throat, his movements no longer reserved but earnest, desperate.
Between panted moans, he speaks, “This is terrible, I’m terrible.” He sounds less guilty than before. “I think about this, fuck, it’s so wrong to fantasise about him like this, but all I can think of is how much I want to- to fuck him, fuck that cute, little mouth-”
Dio moans around his cock, blinking away tears as Jonathan pounds into his throat with all the desperation of someone deeply frustrated and repressed, and he slips one hand down to palm at himself. He had not expected Jonathan’s suppressed lust to manifest in this rough, desperate way, and he finds that he loves it, loves when Jonathan takes.
Jonathan keeps talking. He always likes to blabber on, and this is the first time he has Dio hanging on to each word. “Always looking down on me, God, I’d love to see him on his knees, I’d take him just like this- or in the meeting room, when he scolds me in front of everyone, all I can think of is fucking him then and there- bent over the table for all of them to see-” He’s close, Dio can tell, panting with each thrust- “-or I’d tease him until he squirms, he’s so arrogant, I want to see him begging for a change, put him in his place, fuck, Dio-”
Dio’s whine is stifled by the hot length in his mouth, and he shivers, roughly grinding against his own hand as he imagines it, imagines revealing himself to Jonathan now. He would invite him in, present himself, use me, JoJo, take out all your frustration on me. And Jonathan would fuck him with years worth of pent up desire, hold Dio by his hair, fuck him until he saw stars.
Jonathan gives him no warning before he comes, perhaps not even expecting it himself, and Dio struggles to take it, hot thick loads spurting down his throat. He swallows what he can and pulls off to catch the last of it on his face, some selfish desire to be marked by Jonathan, come painting his cheek, his lips. That, combined with the breathy gasp of “Oh, Dio…” is what sends him over the edge.
He comes in his own pants with a shaky gasp, too overwhelmed to feel ashamed, head falling forward against the wall with a thump, and in his lust-addled mind, he cannot help but murmur, “JoJo…”
There is quiet for a few moments, save for the sound of their panting, before Dio realises his mistake. Then, from the other side of the wall-
“Dio!?”