Work Text:
Polnareff stared at the rearview mirror, focusing on Jotaro’s indistinct shape in the driving rain, waiting for the signal. A hand raised - go! He slammed on the gas and listened to the car’s wheels futily spin in the mud of the unpaved mountain road, as Jotaro and Star Platinum teamed up to try to push it forwards. No luck, they were barely moving an inch and more mud spilled down the mountainside with every second. He could smell hot oil, and took his foot off the pedal lest the entire car overheat.
It jerked back, the rear bumper hitting Jotaro squarely in the thigh. “Merde,” Polnareff hissed, setting the emergency brake and jumping out into the storm. They were in Greece, following a vague rumor about a stone arrow, and had so far been completely unsuccessful. And, on top of their failure, Polnareff had to admit that Jotaro was driving him absolutely fucking insane. He’d been fine when it was four or five of them traveling together, when his quiet stoicism and refusal to just answer a simple damned question was quirky, a little eccentric. With just the two of them, it was downright annoying.
And now here he was, with his stony face and slight frown, Star Platinum smoldering with fury behind him. It was obvious that he was upset, why didn’t he just say so? “Why did you stop?” he said, loud enough to be heard over the rain, but not shouting as he was well within his rights to do.
“The car was about to overheat,” Polnareff shouted back, “We’re not going to get out of here as long as it keeps raining.” The mudhole where the vehicle was stuck was more of a tiny pond at this point, and the downpour showed no signs of stopping.
Jotaro nodded, rubbing his leg where the car had hit. “There’s a house up the hill, we should see if we can stay for the night.” Star Platinum hovered behind him, face twisted in rage, as he lumbered up the road without even acknowledging Polnareff, who grumbled under his breath and followed along.
It was obvious when they reached the small building, more of a shack than a house, that no one had been there for years. A rusty padlock barely held the door closed; Silver Chariot’s rapier snapped it off easily and they were at least out of the rain. Jotaro flicked his lighter and was able to find an old lantern with some kerosene left, which illuminated the dust covered interior, the calendar from five years and three months prior, a tiny stove and a shabby twin bed. Whoever had lived there had had a very Spartan existence, as befitting of the setting. One cupboard, containing a few unlabeled cans and a stoneware jug that was half full of olive oil. A ratty throw rug. A suspicious looking bucket. A single room with nothing that could be called “comfortable.”
Jotaro fiddled with the stove, which turned out to also run on kerosene, and managed to produce a small amount of warmth. He unselfconsciously stripped off his soaking wet shirt and pants, wrung out his hat, and hung them all to dry on some nails that jutted out from the bare wall. Polnareff watched him out of the corner of his eye as he squoze about a gallon of water from his own sodden clothing, his normal updo plastered around the sides of his head and dripping onto his shoulders.
It just wasn’t fair how good Jotaro still looked. When he wasn’t out working for the Speedwagon Foundation, he spent up to fourteen hours a day at the university, and Polnareff had personally seen him eat a bowl of ice cream washed down with three beers for dinner, and yet he still had a body that looked as if it were chiseled out of marble, like they should be selling reproductions of it in one of the chintzy souvenir shops further down the mountain. Meanwhile, if Polnareff skipped a day of training, his muscles softened, his midsection started collecting fat.
And there he was, lying down on the rug in front of the stove, stretching and blinking like a cat, the hair on his head damp and slightly curling, the hair on his body gathering under his navel and leading down to his shorts where it was pretty obvious that he was… proportionate to his height and build, packing a python between his thighs. An angry purple bruise from where the car had hit him was spreading across his thigh, and the cuts and contusions from their fight against a Stand user yesterday…? Or maybe earlier today? Time was running together- stood out against his otherwise unblemished skin.
The Stand user had been a particularly nasty one, a man who could turn anything inside out with a touch. He had blasted the contents of an office building at them and would have murdered Polnareff if not for the blessing of his missing pinky finger, a relic of his time in Egypt. Now, he had the shards of a bionic digit hanging off his hand, and Jotaro had gotten the glory, stopping time and pummeling the user into oblivion with a casual “yare yare daze”, as always. And then he had driven most of the fourteen hours since the battle while Polnareff napped on and off in the backseat, unspeaking and serious.
“You should take the bed,” Polnareff offered. Jotaro had, in fact, done most of the work, and was, beyond his impassive exterior, looking a little dazed and exhausted.
“I’m fine.” Now he was playing the noble martyr, covering his eyes with one muscular forearm and settling himself on the rug to sleep.
“Goddamnit,” snapped Polnareff, “you need it more than me, get in the fucking bed.”
“Every time you don’t sleep in an actual bed, you whine about it all day,” said Jotaro, with the most words he’d uttered at one time in basically the entire trip. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Polnareff had fucking had it. He lunged at Jotaro, shoving his shoulder into him and fireman carrying him onto the bed. Jotaro blinked and sat up, and tried to move back to the rug but Polnareff tackled him again, straddling him and pinning his squirming body against the mattress. “Stay,” he gasped, laughing with exhaustion and frustration, “On. The. Bed.”
“No,” grumbled Jotaro, twisting under him but unable to get leverage under Polnareff’s knees pressing into his sides, Polnareff’s hands pushing him down wherever he tried to rise up.
“I said,” Polnareff continued, “stay on - whoa!” He jerked his hands up, pushed off of Jotaro’s body so he was kneeling above him but not touching him. At some point in their tussle, Jotaro had gotten rock hard, his erection now curving up between them like the proverbial elephant in the room. For the first time Polnareff could remember, he actually looked slightly embarrassed.
“It’s not you,” he mumbled, avoiding Polnareff’s gaze, “it’s… what you’re doing.” He focused on a spot on the wall, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed with arousal.
“What, like, holding you down?” This was a strange but interesting development, the invincible Jotaro Kujo suddenly vulnerable underneath him. He tentatively reached down, pushing on one broad shoulder. Jotaro half swallowed a groan. “Damn, you never told me you were into this kind of thing.”
“Why the hell would I?” snapped the other man, “I haven’t been trying to fuck you.” Fair point. And now that Polnareff thought about it, he’d never seen Jotaro trying to fuck anyone; he rejected the advances of women and men both, and there had been quite a few of each on this trip alone. Despite Jotaro’s obvious allure, Polnareff had subconsciously placed him in an “asexual” category, a look-but-don’t-touch sort of person. This situation was unexpected, to say the least.
He couldn’t keep himself from experimenting. “Is it just restraint, or does pain do it, too?” Carefully and deliberately, he pushed his thumb into the bruise left by the bumper. Hard. Jotaro hissed a “nggh” and bucked his hips up, his dick brushing against Polnareff’s ass, surprisingly causing Polnareff’s own slumbering cock to wake up a little.
“Don’t do that if you’re not going to follow through,” growled Jotaro, pushing his hips up again.
“What do you mean?” A stupid question, Polnareff was pretty sure he knew what Jotaro was implying. Though he considered himself a classic ladies’ man, he’d thought about men at times in a “what if” sort of way, and despite the wrench this would throw into their friendship and working relationship, he had to admit he was kind of intrigued.
“Fuck me or get off me.” Another upward thrust, a slight note of desperation in his voice. “You’re really getting me worked up.” Polnareff found that he himself was at half mast and increasingly interested in the idea. However:
“Man, I don’t care how much you like getting hurt, I’m not going in dry.” The last thing either of them needed was some kind of embarrassing internal injury while they were stuck out in the middle of fucking nowhere.
“There’s the olive oil,” Jotaro suggested, displaying the amazing problem solving skills that made him such a valuable asset to the Speedwagon Foundation. It seemed increasingly likely that this was going to happen. Polnareff felt slightly confused, but more overwhelmingly excited as he retrieved the jug from the cupboard and knelt on the bed next to Jotaro’s giant frame.
“Uh… how do we want to do this?”
“...Be rough,” Jotaro requested, embarrassed again.
Not quite what he’d meant, but he could work with this. “Get me ready, then,” he ordered, pulling down on the waistband of his shorts to reveal his half-hard cock. Jotaro sat up and leaned forwards, full lips parted, and Polnareff grabbed him by the hair and forced his head down.
He was good. He was really good. It was pretty obvious he’d done this before, and Polnareff mentally moved him from the “probably asexual” list to “knows his way around a dick” as he felt himself quickly growing harder in Jotaro’s mouth. He was almost too good, though; Polnareff didn’t want to finish before they’d even started. He reluctantly yanked Jotaro’s head back and directed him onto his hands and knees, shorts down, his firm ass enticingly on display.
And stopped there. “What’s the holdup?”
“Sorry, it’s just… I’ve never done this before.”
Jotaro sighed. “Put the olive oil on your-”
“No, I’ve done that. Not with a guy, but you know, same setup.” He’d had one particularly adventurous girlfriend who’d let him do it one solitary but extremely memorable time. “Just, the S&M stuff, I’ve never really thought about it before.”
“Be creative,” suggested Jotaro, unhelpfully. And then, in a softer tone of voice, “I trust you.”
They did trust each other after all, and that if anything had made them successful on their previous investigations of rogue stand users and the stone arrows. However much they got on each other’s nerves, with Jotaro’s reticence and Polnareff’s needy extroversion, they’d definitely formed a close bond unlike any other relationships in their lives. Feeling encouraged, Polnareff slathered oil on his fingers and went to work.
One finger went in easily, as did a second. He idly wondered how much experience Jotaro had in this area and slid in a third, only to be surprised as Jotaro clenched down hard around him.
“Ow!” he shouted, unthinkingly slapping him on the ass with his free hand. “You wanna break the rest of my fingers?” Jotaro’s breath caught, the skin where Polnareff’s palm had landed flushing bright red in the lantern light. He relaxed and pushed back gently but urgently against the digits inside him. Satisfied that he was ready, Polnareff withdrew his hand, oiled up his cock, and pushed in.
“Aaahhh, putain, Jojo,” he sighed. Jotaro was warm and tight inside and pleasantly responsive, arching his back and breathing hard with anticipation. The girlfriend he had done this with before had been more into the idea in theory than in practice, but there was mutual satisfaction in this encounter, as evidenced by the other man’s excitement and his throbbing, engorged cock frantically pushing out against the empty air.
Polnareff shook himself out of his erotic haze, remembering that he was supposed to be the dominant one in this encounter. He got a good grip on Jotaro’s thighs, fingertips digging in to the bruise, and used the leverage to pull out halfway and then slam himself back in. A noise somewhere between joy and pain escaped his partner’s throat, so he did it again, enjoying the pressure on his dick and the way Jotaro was writhing underneath him, thighs flexing with each thrust, fingers curled on the shabby blanket that covered the bed.
Emboldened, he leaned across Jotaro’s muscular back and bit him on his stupid birthmark, hard. He tried to nip a mouthful of skin at the nape of his neck but the other man was too tense, breathing very heavily now, furtively reaching down to palm his own neglected cock.
“Not yet,” breathed Polnareff, grabbing the offending arm and twisting it behind Jotaro’s back. Jotaro gamely held them both up with the other one but was shaky under the onslaught of continued thrusts, and finally Polnareff just forced his head and shoulders down, pushing his face against the bed and slamming himself in even harder. His pace was frenzied, all the exhaustion of the previous day lost to his sudden need for stimulation. Jotaro was trembling and sweaty underneath him and still responding wholeheartedly to every tiny movement, shockingly vocal and frantic.
Polnareff gave one more sharp thrust and came with a wordless yell, yanking on the arm he held as he did so. Breathlessly, he collapsed forwards, pulling himself out of Jotaro’s amazing ass and leaving a slick of oil and semen in his wake. Jotaro was a mess underneath him, still shaking and squirming, futilely trying to raise his head under Polnareff’s hand. Finally, he whispered “please” and rolled his hips forward, trying to get friction from anywhere. Polnareff obliged, needing to do nothing more than wrap his hand around the solid shaft; Jotaro excitedly thrust himself into his fist and came almost immediately.
They fell down together in a pile of limbs, sweaty and sticky. That was weird, Polnareff thought. Good, but weird. He’d just had the most intense sexual experience of his life with a man he’d half considered kicking down the mountain an hour earlier. And strangely, he felt a lot better now, less tense, exhausted but ready to move on again once the rain let up.
Jotaro fumbled around and found one of Polnareff’s hands, curled his own around it. Okay, it’s still weird. He listened to Jotaro’s breathing slow down and deepen as he finally surrendered to the sleep he desperately needed. Weird, but… nice. And hell, at least he’d finally gotten him to stay in the damned bed.