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“Do whatever you want to me.”
Those are dangerous words to offer up to Jotaro in the heat of the moment. Rather unwise on Josuke’s part, especially with the enticing way his cock drips against his stomach, t-shirt bunching above the mess. What a thing to say to Jotaro, who looms over him with his fingers jammed deep inside the clench of his submissive body. Jotaro drinks him in from above, frazzled state and all.
At this point, Josuke hasn’t had enough sex to really understand what he’s allowing Jotaro to do. Do whatever you want to me. In Josuke’s mind, that’s permission to cum inside him raw. To chew on his neck and leave marks that Josuke can never quite cover up. To not hold back on the strokes, to rail him hard enough that maybe Josuke bleeds, relishing in the pervasive, lingering sting. Maybe the words even refer to whispering filth in his ear, that repulsive line of thought that Josuke feels guilty for enjoying.
That’s whatever Josuke thinks he wants. A little roughness, getting used because he thinks it's what Jotaro wants.
All Josuke truly wants is for Jotaro to feel good. To please him. Jotaro needs to absolve himself from shame and really let go, really lay into him. Josuke’s not a kid. He can take a little heat. A lot of heat, really. No matter how many times he says it, Jotaro treats him, in some moments, like he’ll break. He hasn’t so far, has he? After everything?
“Anything?” Jotaro kneads the swells of Josuke’s stomach, smearing precum around his balmy skin. Coating him in his own mess. Josuke nods quickly.
“Alright,” Jotaro says, dipping his sticky thumb into Josuke’s navel. “Tell me if you need to stop.”
Josuke frowns. “I won’t—”
“You better speak up.”
“I trust you, why wouldn’t I—!”
Slap.
Josuke’s pulse skyrockets passed ridiculously horny and straight to fear .
Did Jotaro just…?
A soft hiss then pulls from his throat when Jotaro yanks out of him. The stretch is stolen from Josuke, like ripping off a bandage on an unhealed wound. What remains is emptiness and the sting of his cheek, flushed and dirty with Josuke’s precum.
“Don’t talk back.” Jotaro’s breath is hot on his ear. Josuke shudders, his swallow stalling in his esophagus. He’s scared. Scared to move away, to move into it, nervous that any motion at all will anger Jotaro. Make him want to hit him again.
“Look at you,” Jotaro continues, teeth scraping south along his jawline and the sensitive skin where Jotaro’s palm made contact. The prickle of it has Josuke sucking in air through his nose. “Such a slut, getting harder from a little pain.”
What?
With a skip of his heartbeat, Josuke notices that it’s true . Sticky against his belly, his cock is somehow so, so much redder .
The fuck? Jotaro hit him. He shouldn’t be getting hot from that, shouldn’t have that achy feeling bunching behind his balls getting worse. But it is . Jotaro bites the shell of his ear and tugs, ripping a short gasp from Josuke’s quivering, anxious mouth. “Want another?”
No! Not again. Josuke tries to derail that train of thought with a small plea to stop but Jotaro beats him to the punch before so much as a syllable for help can manifest.
“You’re twitching,” Jotaro states derisively, his knuckles skimming the underside of Josuke’s cock.
Panic trickles up from Josuke’s guts to his chest. He’s leaking all over his stomach like a needy, shameful virgin. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the hell? What the actual hell? He wants to have sex, not get the shit beaten out of him—
But, it’s Jotaro. He won’t really hurt him… right? He’s doing these things, mind-boggling things. Yet, Josuke’s not growing soft. It’s the opposite. He feels like a trapped rabbit, but unlike that type of prey, he’s realizing he craves to be caught.
Maybe… maybe it’s okay. It wouldn’t be so bad, right? Jotaro won’t kill him, he wouldn’t—
A shock, a renewed spike of adrenaline has the second slap hurt less. Josuke gasps, a joint in his neck cracking from impact. A desire, stronger than anything that Josuke’s ever felt, screams at him to take himself in hand. Jerk himself off. Savor the pain, the promise of more of it.
He needs it badly.
“When we first met. I punched you,” Jotaro hums in his ear, lips tickling the earring stud. His nails scrape against the fresh hit on Josuke’s cheek. “Did that make you feel good?”
All his body does is react. Josuke’s stomach flips, washing heat through his hips, his groin, the root of his nail beds. Everywhere, anywhere, straight to the tip of his desperate cock. It’s just so hot. In a way he’s never felt to this depth, this degree before. Josuke’s teeth worry his lower lip, and he can’t help but exhale, shakily, when Jotaro laughs.
“You’re very turned on.”
He shuts his eyes. The smooth velvet of Jotaro’s words soothes him, so powerfully delicate in how they consume. “Answer me.”
“Y-yeah, I’m—”
“You’re what ?”
“‘m so fuckin’ hard.”
Something slick wraps around Josuke and gives him an agonizing squeeze. The sound it pulls from him is sickening. “Indeed you are.”
Josuke keens again when that harshness pumps him again, twice, his nervous system unsure if it should lean in or away from the stimulation. It’s so much but it’s something . And when Jotaro relents, Josuke’s sigh is somewhere between relief and disappointment.
“Good boy,” Jotaro kisses his throat. “Now get comfortable.”
“Sure. Okay, I’ll do that,” Josuke fumbles, disoriented and hot and so inexplicably shy.
Josuke shuts his eyes, melting back into the pillow pile, waiting. For a kiss. For an apology. To be split open, finally, and to lessen the unbearable tension in his groin. He knows he expects something.
But not the same hand that hurt him now around his throat, cinching Josuke’s windpipe and blocking blood to his brain.
Oh no oh no oh no.
“You talk too much,” Jotaro announces, carefully gauging his reaction. “You’re going to be quiet for me.”
His cheeks feel hot but all Josuke can do is half-nod, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the wrinkles of Jotaro’s palm.
And then Jotaro is inside him, naked and raw.
It hurts, even with the amount of time Jotaro spent teasing him open with those long fingers of his, but Josuke can’t even yelp to say so. He gurgles an unintelligible, breathy sound that manages to slip through the chokehold. Jotaro doesn’t seem to care. A long, pleasant groan rips out of Jotaro’s chest as he bottoms out too quickly considering what little lube they’re using.
Josuke trembles against the starchy hotel sheets, begging himself to do what he was asked, to be quiet. He tries so fucking hard. Bites the inside of his cheek and buries his nails in Jotaro’s back and hopes his laborious, shallow breaths are not annoying.
Jotaro edges his hips forward. Along with the movement, the pressure on his neck momentarily increases. Josuke splutters, his foot kicking out automatically, half in fear and half in satisfaction. He has to be good. Has to let it happen. Let Jotaro see how well-behaved he is, how impeccable he’ll make the sex for him. He’s already wound so tight, he wants Jotaro to feel the same way. Good, so fucking good .
The pressure lets off on his neck and Josuke sucks in a greedy, lungful of air.
“For a slut, you’re tight.” Another exploratory thrust has his body curling. Josuke almost cries out, but he catches his pleasure and swallows it down. His eyes are so impossibly wide. He hopes Jotaro doesn’t notice how unfocused, how full of tears they are.
He doesn’t want Jotaro to stop.
“I’m going to fuck you like I own you,” Jotaro applies more pressure to his throat as he leans down, brushing their mouths together. “And you’re going to like it.”
Josuke wheezes, so softly, as he claws into Jotaro’s shoulder blades. There’s so much he wants to convey. With words, with his flesh, with anything possessing a scratch of meaning. Blurry eyes and a relaxed, wet mouth only scrape the surface of submissiveness. He hopes it’s enough. Pleads it is.
Jotaro’s smirk is all he earns before he starts.
The sex feels different. Jotaro’s strokes are almost careful, more concentrated. He doesn’t move the same—how can he when he doesn’t want to truly injure Josuke? When his hand is preoccupied with keeping Josuke’s throat as small, as tight as possible? As narrow as his insides feel, dragging against every thick inch of Jotaro on each stroke. Occasionally Josuke attempts a real inhale, but he can’t. His lungs are lead and cloud, his vision fraying around the edges. Terrifying.
But the sensation isn’t.
It’s incredible . The absence of breath magnifies the input from every one of Josuke’s nerves. It’s more. Everything’s more . If his mouth wasn’t gaping open from the lack of oxygen, it would be from the sheer reality of getting fucked this way. It’s beyond pleasurable. An epiphany—that sex is wonderful, but possession is raptured catharsis. Josuke doesn’t feel in control. He rarely feels that way when Jotaro ruts into him, but this is a new level of that. Jotaro said he’d own him. Now Josuke knows what that means. Trapped beneath him, tortured by the incessant attention to his sweet spot, denied the function of breath except for a periodic weakening of his grip to keep Josuke from blacking out for real. Josuke’s dizzy with how painfully perfect his dick feels, all the blood in his body centered in the red, dribbling, ignored tip.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Jotaro drags the grunt through gnashed teeth, drumming fingers against a seizing vein in Josuke’s neck. “Good boy.”
This is delirium. A drug-like haze. An out-of-body experience. Josuke has never felt removed from his own skin before, and yet, somehow at the same time, so hyper-aware of every bead of sweat succumbing to gravity along every pore, every follicle. A little more will make him pass out. It’s okay though because Jotaro’s face is lax, his authentic, human self on display as he works himself into Josuke over and over again.
Josuke tries to swallow the drool spilling from his useless mouth, but everything feels blocked. Incomplete. Like each individual cell is shutting down, giving up. But oh . Jotaro likes him when he’s pliant like this. Useless and unresponsive. When he’s just a hole that Jotaro can sheath himself in until he’s satisfied.
And all these observations are in Josuke’s dimming consciousness, at least he thinks so, but somehow Jotaro hears them. His grip tightens around his throat, praising him. The perfect slut. The air is even more scarce and Josuke strains to make a sound. A cry for help. Of bliss. Struggling to inflate his lungs with nothing, nothing at all.
To feel weightless and crushed beneath Jotaro all at once, getting pummeled like this… it’s indescribable. It’s got Josuke muttering overtime, feral and inaudible and thick with spit as he tries to steal air he’s not allowed to have. To express what he wants. To demonstrate how much he’s in love with the aggressive, rhythmic onslaught that would have turned his body into jelly if he wasn’t feeling so rigid from not being able to breathe.
“Say it again,” Jotaro growls, letting off on the chokehold. A burst of humid, delicious air has Josuke seeing god. “Tell me what you want.”
“Spit in my mouth,” Josuke whimpers with his ruined throat, the fresh oxygen in his deprived blood rushing euphoria all the way to his scrunched toes.
And the fingers on Josuke’s windpipe migrate to his jaw, and suddenly Josuke can really breathe. His headachey skull floods with light as Jotaro hinges his mouth wide. Leaning over, Jotaro spits directly onto Josuke’s tongue.
It’s viscous and warm, and he swallows it down, groaning. God, fuck. What the fuck is going on. Who cares. Jotaro picks up the rhythm, succinct groans slipping through his nose. Josuke faintly hears a cursed you feel. so fucking. good.
Josuke bites his cheek, tasting copper. A deluge of clarity, of sore skin, of trembling guts has his lower back arching. “I’m—”
Josuke cums between them, without warning. His release throbs through him, waves of sensation so intense they almost don’t feel good. Far away, he hears Jotaro’s pleasure from his orgasm pulsing around him, but Josuke can’t concentrate on anything except for the linen clenched between his fingers, the effort to keep himself silent through the groveling. Jotaro fucks him through it, the headboard banging into the wall, something that he’s not sure was happening before or not. A metronome grounding Josuke through the shatter until he returns to his bones.
“I’m not stopping,” Jotaro warns him as he readjusts for a better angle, yanking him into something dramatically different that has Josuke keen through his cemented mouth. “Take it.”
Josuke nods, finally caught up on breath. As his suffocation high dwindles, the pain settles in. The never-ending stretch against his overstimulated insides, his spent, soft dick trapped between their grimy bodies. But, Jotaro wiped him out so perfectly. Made him cum so fast and so hard with barely any direct stimulation. He can hold out until Jotaro breaks. He owes him that much.
But fuck, it hurts. Overworking strained muscles, abusing all the places that have him flinching. Josuke almost wants to get choked again, so he can pin the blame for his humiliating tears on that.
The worst part is Jotaro won’t stop watching him. Drinking in his uncomfortable expression as he pounds him. Is he disgusted with him, for not experiencing pleasure? For not being able to pretend, to perform, for Jotaro’s sake? He feels like a goddamn failure. Maybe it’s due to the pain or the post-orgasm emotional deluge, but Josuke buries his face in the side of the pillows, doing his best to hide his sob.
“You’re so good.” Josuke hiccups when there're lips on his purpling neck. The first act of tenderness all night. “Holding out for me.” The attention warms, sharpens as it travels up to his sweaty chin. Josuke stifles another cry as he tries to zero-in on the fleeting distraction. “Here.”
Again, Jotaro adjusts himself, pulling their hips as flush as they can go. The physical intensity has Josuke mutilating his own lips to silence his whine, the specific, heavy pressure grinding into the one spot he wishes it would avoid. Pure and simple, it’s a sucker punch. Josuke despises the sound he can’t withhold from the torture. He’s disgusting.
But when Jotaro stops, taking mercy for once, Josuke finds himself… missing it. The too much . On instinct alone his body moves, Josuke’s voice catching when cock digs into what feels like his stomach lining.
“That’s it.” A low, satisfied groan rumbles in Jotaro’s chest. He grasps a hearty chunk of Josuke’s thighs, efficiently gaining new purchase. It’s cruel when Jotaro bucks to meet Josuke’s graceless downstroke, or vaguely perfect. It’s impossible to decide. Josuke just came but his belly is all tension, like he could go again. Needs to again.
“You’re hard,” Jotaro breathes into his salty, quivering pulse. “So fast, slut.”
Hot shame courses through Josuke from his body’s reactions. How the hell—so fast ? Jotaro won’t let him cover his face, because he’s catching his mouth with his own in a violent kiss, all teeth and no tongue, as he presses into Josuke with renewed vigor. Oh. Oh god. Josuke’s nails scrape down Jotaro’s lats, definitely causing some painful damage.
Things get fuzzy fast. Each stroke sends white-hot smoke through his limbs, settling into his rib cage, expanding like a balloon. It’s difficult to focus on anything that isn’t the power of Jotaro’s fucking. It is a rough, one-track-mind rhythm. He’s weightless, cradling Jotaro’s body for dear life.
Getting fucked beyond his limit is apparently a button Josuke didn’t know could be pressed, but it’s getting slammed again and again. Again . Too much, too much that Josuke’s mumbling all this nonsense. Oh fuck and yes yes yes and he can barely think because he feels so fucking good. He didn’t know he could come again like this. But he can . He can fucking taste it in his mouth and it’s coiling tight and hot and he’s there —
Then Jotaro burrows deep and stills.
No.
Josuke bites back disappointed tears as gooey, wet heat shoots inside him. Jotaro groans low into his neck, scraping skin as he shallowly jerks through his release. Josuke can’t catch his breath, he can hardly even be happy that Jotaro got to hit his peak because he aches .
“Touch me,” Josuke whimpers, desperate. “Or I’m gonna die .”
Can he feel his heart? Pumping scalding blood through his blush-burned self, panting like a whiny bitch. He is one, after all. Jotaro said so. Says it again with his delirious, glassy eyes as Jotaro brushes the sweaty strands of hair off Josuke’s clammy forehead. Josuke swallows, rolling his hips up against the sticky, sweaty mess between their bellies, the gross friction feeling divine in his hormone-clogged blood.
“ Please .”
Jotaro doesn’t speak, just shoves their sloppy mouths together. His swollen, kiss-bitten lips are so sensitive, so tender as Jotaro sucks them, teething the bottom one. Josuke feels the sharp attention prickling in his groin, a pulse teetering him on the edge. “Just keep fucking me. Please.”
Jotaro slips his spent cock out and Josuke almost dies. He’s empty and needy but not for long. Because Jotaro shoves too many fingers past his soft asshole and wraps the other sweaty hand around Josuke’s cock, his scratchy voice demanding, “Tell me how good I make you feel, Josuke.”
His brain freezes, body jolts. Josuke’s humping himself on Jotaro’s big, rough hands on pure instinct. The hands that make him feel so small. So pretty. So everything. Fucking Jotaro’s fingers until his stomach clenches, overworked, burning muscles morphing his desert-hot pleas into nonsense. Josuke breaks for a slice of time he can’t ever get back.
Josuke slams his palm over his mouth and screams, trapped in helpless tunnel vision. It’s harsh, blinding. He’s not used to cumming for this long, this deeply that his knees twitch. Josuke keeps squirming until Jotaro wrings him dry.
Boneless, cozy, Josuke’s consciousness drifts. Just fuck . Wow . He wants to analyze this, carve everything into his memory forever but goddamn does Josuke need to sleep.
So he sleeps.
When Josuke opens his eyes, he isn’t sure if he did snooze after all. Like a blink. He feels sated but exhausted. Turning over, Josuke finds Jotaro, very much awake, watching him with the smuggest look.
Oh, no.
“We learned something new,” Jotaro says matter-of-factly. What an asshole, probably riding high on the massive ego-boost he got from that lay.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Josuke huffs, turning away from Jotaro and pulling the blanket higher up to cover his chest. He can only imagine the marks and bruises mottling his skin. He probably looks like some sort of victim. Yikes.
“You’re into over-stimulation,” Jotaro continues, resting a warm palm to the base of Josuke’s neck. He suppresses the urge to flinch, just barely. “And you didn’t seem to be aware that you were.”
“Whatever,” Josuke dismisses, rolling away to the farthest edge of the bed.
“It’s very hot.” His thumb caresses the knobby top of Josuke’s spine. “I’m curious to see what else you’re interested in.”
“Well, I don’t know. So. Too bad.”
“That’s the point,” Jotaro muses. It spooks him because the warmth of his voice is so much closer than it was a second ago. “Trial and error until we find something that works.”
“That, uh, could take a while.”
“We have time.”
Josuke bites his lip. “Are you going to hurt me again?”
“Do you want me to do that?”
“Yes. But,” Josuke chooses that moment to flip over to face him, touching their noses together, voice like venom. “Don’t you ever fucking do that without warning me again.”
“You’re right.” Jotaro’s mouth twitches, a flash of regret vanishing as soon as it appears. “I’m sorry.”
“You better be,” Josuke chides, but it’s petulant and soft in an accepted apology as he dips down to kiss him. “Or I’m gonna have to punish you.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Well,” Josuke smirks, swiping his tongue along the bottom row of Jotaro’s teeth. “You just gave me a few good ideas.”