Jotaro fell to the ground as his body became riddled in the knives. He coughed, a wet red spray shooting from his mouth, splattering on Dio’s face as the blood began to pool under newly broken ribs and the vampire stood high over him. Jotaro’s stand had vanished already, his wounded body barely able to sustain itself as he crashed backwards, collapsing on his back into the street. It was a conscious effort to keep breathing, a force of will as his shattered ribs worked against his lungs. The knives impaled in his body didn’t do much to help.
His lungs ached and he grew lightheaded as he tried to suck in a breath, but it was near impossible. Head still held up, mimicking a man who wasn’t losing, Jotaro glared daggers Dio’s way as he the effort of keeping his head up made his whole body tremble.
In turn, Dio slid daggers from his belt- or kitchen knives, anyway. It was hard for Jotaro not to be seething. His other leg trembled, finding it difficult to stay up, but he kept staring Dio in the eyes. “You can take that smug grin off your face.” he said simply, grunting as his head rest back against the ground. A dull thud followed as his beloved hat tumbled down after his head, lying dead on the ground mere centimetres from his skull. A wet patch grew on the back of his skull, and a certain dizzy swirling rattled in his head; one arm began to reach up to inspect the wound.
“Oh, no.” Dio’s foot stamped down before Jotaro could get too far, landing squarely on his wrist. As Dio ground his foot into his heel, Jotaro’s teeth clenched as he held in his cry, a low grumbling growl managing to escape through pursed lips. He tried to ignore the sensation but it became more and more difficult as the sound of crunching bones sounded through bruising flesh.
Swinging his hips just slightly, Dio’s other foot then took place on Jotaro’s other wrist, getting to work on it as well simply to add insult to literal injury. Jotaro glared at him through blurring vision, spite panting ragged through his nostrils. Dio’s hips swayed as he alternated grinding one wrist then the other. The way he moved, holding his head up high, swirling knife-filled hands with more showmanship than the average street performer, he appeared to be doing some sort of sick dance.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you, Dio?” Jotaro asked, struggling the words out even though blood pooled around his lips.
Dio lifted a brow. “Do I think I’m funny?” he asked, repeating it himself. “Well, I know when I am deserving of a good laugh, if that’s what you’re asking.” One foot lifting, he kicked at one of the knives embedded in Jotaro’s leg, lips parting into a toothy grin as it ripped from the skin, skittering blood across the street; the noise of pleasure Dio made was near inaudible under Jotaro’s grumbling reply. He moved forward, stamping all his weight against Jotaro’s forearms, eyes widening as they squished under his shoes. They were still clothed but it was almost as if he could see the bruising and ripping anyhow.
Moving back, nudging Jotaro’s legs apart with one foot, Dio stooped down in the crevice he’d made between his thighs. The top part of his body was useless; now it was time to ruin the bottom as well.
His hand wrapped around one of the knives that hung lazily half impaled in Jotaro’s inner leg, and with a smooth flick of the wrist, and an utterly aloof expression, he drew it down. It cut a clean line through the skin and cloth, revealing a section of muscular leg, coated with a layer of hair, though the blood flooding out made quick work to obscure it. Dio traced the claws of his free hand after the blade, sliding them through the cut as his breathing quickened.
The knife cleaved clean through the supple flesh of Jotaro’s thigh and even Dio was surprised at how soft and buttery it was. “So this is the flesh of man this young and this strong?” he asked, idly musing on things he long ago knew. One red-sopped finger drew a line down the scarring on his own neck before sliding his digits mirthful into his mouth. They popped out clean. “Then again, your great grandfather was about your age.”
It was exciting how well Jotaro persevered. Many humans would have died by now. Dio was sure, deep inside, that this was simply a triumph of that pesky Joestar stubbornness. Fingers delving back into the cut, he fidgeted around, using the tips of his claws to seek through the meat, delighting in how every movement got Jotaro to emit a noise now when before he’d managed utter silence. Sliding his body down, Dio took a lazy position in the road, unafraid of Jotaro fighting back, realistically sure he couldn’t; struggling to breathe, his concentration skipping like a needle on a chipped record, he didn’t worry for Jotaro’s stand. Jotaro may have been unwilling to give up, but it didn’t matter, ultimately, because will and effort couldn’t equate to reality. Dio let himself rest on his stomach, face nearby the gaping wound in Jotaro’s thigh.
He tugged. It didn’t take much effort to pull back the ropey, sinuous strands of muscle back from the bone. Slicked up in blood, they twitched visibly, and the bare tip of Dio’s pink tongue caressed over them as he lapped up a mouthful of warm liquid from the exposed meat. Then they pulsed wildly, shuddering through his pale fingers. Tugging them once again, harder, he lifted Jotaro’s leg from the street, catching drips of blood against his mouth. Some missed, splattering onto his face, streaking through his golden hair, but Dio didn’t seem to care, using the fingers of his free hand to direct and smear the errant drops towards his lips.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you.” Jotaro’s voice grated out, wheezing from his broken chest, but he refused to back down. His spirit wouldn’t ever die.
Dio chuckled, swirling the strands of muscle around his fingers like ribbons; Jotaro gave a grunt. The pain blurred once again in his eyes and all he saw was a vicious streak of colour. His body seemed to lock up, yet it twitched easily against its will, quivering, beating on the ground, an oxymoron of itself.
The blood was getting everywhere, and Dio’s fingers let Jotaro’s leg slip right off of them, snapping it down to the pavement below.
Descending down, Dio’s mouth encircled the wound and he sucked hard at it. Greedy mouthfuls of rich, heady blood were drawn out, squelching down his throat at a wet, uncomfortable volume with every ravening gulp.
Taking deep, jilting breaths, Jotaro lifted one arm, his broken wrist searing in objection as he moved. His hand dangled limp off of it and with as much force as he could muster, he shoved the vampire’s shoulders with the base of his broken appendage.
He’d never give up, no matter how useless it seemed.
“What’s that?” Pulling away from his leg to speak, Dio frowned, eyes shifting to glance towards the inoffensive, nonthreatening mass of ruined flesh making its way over his shoulder. Dio’s long claws penetrated through the soft flesh on Jotaro’s side, sliding easily under the broken ribs, to dip into the pools of blood puddled underneath. He wriggled his fingers slightly, sloshing them around inside of the younger man. Jotaro couldn’t repress a pained sound that fell easily from his wide opened mouth; Dio’s fingers felt like animated hot pokers. Shifting, Dio slid up Jotaro’s body, his tongue drawing a line over Jotaro’s stomach as he went for the easy mark of the juices already spilled. He tongued around one of the knives, drawing it up and casting it aside as his tongue delved into the makeshift orifice its blade had made.
Meanwhile, the blood leaving Jotaro’s side made a near inaudible slurping as it drew up from his body. He shuddered, full body quavering, stomach rolling at the vile sensation. He watched, unable to not stare, as his own blood flowed up into Dio’s form, sliding clean through his arm in a visible liquid lump that dissipated into his muscular body. Removing the knives as he went to make a comfortable surface on Jotaro’s body, Dio then collapsed on top of him, his face gravitating by his neck.
Dio’s mouth fell open as well to allow a pant, a groan, a chuckling moan. Oh, how good it felt. His tongue danced wet lines over the sweet spot where Jotaro’s jaw and neck met; his teeth nipped against it. The fangs penetrated in with ease, slipping right through the skin as if it were nothing. His fingers stroked up Jotaro’s body, prodding into random spots, going straight through the clothing. He was making the youth’s body outworn, popping holes into it with his claws wherever it felt right to.
Sometimes it wasn’t the best thing to be so observant; he could see the birthmark down Dio’s ear, almost forgetting to breathe. He could smell the same cologne Vanilla had been wearing earlier against Dio’s neck, not mistaking the scent at all even though he’d seen the other man only briefly. He could see the edging where someone’s nails had gripped the older man’s shoulders. He watched as the muscles tensed in Dio’s body as he lapped up the blood, and Jotaro grimaced as he got dizzier, unsure if it was from the blood loss, or his mind trying to defend itself. He wouldn’t allow himself to panic, making a dry mouthed swallow as he refocused his mind to resisting.
Jotaro slaved against him, refusing to complacently accept this, but it was still quite difficult to even keep his thoughts straight. With the state of his chest, he literally had to focus on breathing, unable to pull away from it for too long. He had to choke the air down and choke all other thoughts away.
Through the head trauma mixed to a smooth blend with the blinding pain, he couldn’t summon Star Platinum. Through his bloody, broken body, physically resisting was nil to impossible.
Dio’s body shifted, hips pushing closer to his, and Jotaro’s eyes widen as he felt it, breathing stopped; his heart nearly ceased beating. A firm, thick thing was grinding against his groin. Struggling to lift his head, pain wheezing through his battered chest, Jotaro glanced down enough to catch a glimpse of the masculine curve of Dio’s ass over his shoulder.
All it did was give him the sickening confirmation that it wasn’t a knife’s hilt he was feeling. It leapt then against his skin, and that weld in his stomach grew even bigger as his suspicion was confirmed. The usually cold Jotaro couldn’t suppress a groan, then a choke, as bile boiled in the back of his throat.
“Ah,” Reaching down one bloody hand, Dio adjusted his pants. “Looks like this body can’t tell its own flesh and blood as well as I thought.” Eyes glancing aside, he deliberated a moment before looking Jotaro back directly in his. “Or perhaps it can and you vile Joestars are even more wretched than I imagined.”
Dio’s lips barely moved, and everything slowed. Time stopped, literally, as Dio sat up, and Jotaro stared, mind scrambling with a solution to this. He didn’t want to imagine this was going the direction it was, but he couldn’t come to any other conclusion as in the mire of stopped time, Dio’s slicked up hands began to tug down his pants. The trick of moving in Dio’s world didn’t work now, concentration too far gone, and he was more useless than normal as Dio cast his clothing aside.
Time moved again, and Jotaro didn’t have to glance down to know what had happened. He could feel the cool pavement below his legs, and he shivered, kicking them as much as he could manage while Dio took his position between them again. He clenched his jaw, growling. Dio’s wet hands drew red paths up his legs, pushing them back; Jotaro’s jaw hung open, eyes widening as Dio bent him in half. Nude from the waist down, Jotaro finally began to panic as it became overly obvious what was going to happen. His was spread open in this position, fully exposed. Dio’s tongue darted over his lips as a wicked expression gleamed in his eyes.
“No,” he said, managing to shake his head. “No.”
“No, what?” Dio asked; pinning down Jotaro’s legs with his shoulder and arm, his free arm slid down into his pants. His cock came out.
Dio stood up upon his knees, holding one of Jotaro’s legs back to more easily expose his hole; he let the other leg snap back down to the ground in favour of touching himself. Dio stroked the shaft in long, slow tugs, letting the blood slick up it; the foreskin slowly engulfed the head on each pull and he drew back more quickly than he did forward, letting the dark purple-red crown expose itself as it grew wet with his readying. His balls rest outside his pants, and he let his hand drop down a moment to palpitate them before moving between Jotaro’s legs.
“F…fuck you,” Jotaro sputtered, managing to prop up enough on his broken arms to watch as Dio’s fingers stroked between his legs, underneath his flaccid piece; he groaned out in a much different pain as the fingers penetrated into him. The claws scraped into his insides, and he panted out when Dio’s fingers stretched away from each other, parting the hole in the most uncomfortable way imaginable.
“How apt,” Dio said, musing as he positioned himself there. His eyes met with Jotaro’s, nothing but ire on his face as he moved forward, beginning to edge the tip into the tight, puckered hole. “Stop resisting, Jotaro. It’s useless.”
After what seemed like an eternity, Jotaro’s mind caught up with what had happened. Dio was inside of him. The shooting pain of his precious hole being filled so severely, so quickly with the entirety of Dio’s length overtook every bit of him. Lubricated but nothing but traces of his own blood, tears came to Jotaro’s eyes.
Dio merely chuckled as he began to move.
He laid over Jotaro’s body, nibbling and sucking at Jotaro’s neck as he thrust in slow, even motions. He nearly drew out to the tip each time, and Jotaro’s breathing stopped more than once as he was overly aware of what happened. The wet, oozing tip scraped against the inside of his ass. The foreskin rolled within him on every thrust, and he could feel every vein and ridge down the thick shaft. He choked as it jumped inside of him. The pain was near unbearable as he felt the sensitive hole threatening to tear under the penetration.
It was somehow much worse than everything else. The arms, his lungs, every bit of damage Dio had done to him now was meaningless as this humiliation was barely born. Dio lifted Jotaro’s hips off the ground, his long fingers digging into his thighs as he pushed him up for a deeper thrust. His heavy balls thudded against Jotaro’s ass, slapping flesh against flesh as he sped up, not even caring if he came sooner than later. This wasn’t about Jotaro’s pleasure. This was barely even about Dio’s. It was about hate.
“I’ll kill you,” Jotaro yelled out, face turning red as breathing grew harder. “I’ll fucking kill you!” All sense had left him, replaced with rage, and he moved back and forth on the ground, resisting all he could with his weakened body. Broken wrists slapped against Dio’s back and sides, and he moved his bleeding legs as much as the ripped up muscles would allow, trying to kick the other man off of him. A ripped up, crushed human, though, was useless against a still-able vampire, and Dio didn’t even waver.
“You keep saying that.” Dio said, a mere whisper into Jotaro’s ear. He groaned, nearing the edge of ecstasy. “But I doubt you can.”
“I will, if it’s the last thing I do. I’ll-” Jotaro’s hoarse voice froze and he fell back on the ground, motionless.
As quickly as it’d happened, it ended. A hot stickyness filled his bowels and he froze, knowing instantly what it was; Dio stayed close to him, giving a few last tiny thrusts. Dio’s balls tightened, and he gave a grumbling grunt from the bottom of his diaphragm as he spilled into Jotaro, letting one, then two, then three lines of hot semen shoot their way into him, coating up his insides. Drawing out of Jotaro’s violated, bleeding hole, Dio stroked himself to milk out the last bits; a line of semen tied himself to Jotaro’s ass. His cock began to shrink down in his hand, pleasantly spent.
“Are you still alive?” Dio asked, staring at the man before him as he tucked himself away into his pants. Standing up, he looked over Jotaro’s body, giving him a nudge with his foot as he stared wide-eyed, emotionless towards the night sky. “You aren’t breathing.” he said, observing as he stared down.
With all the blood and all the trauma, Dio wasn’t surprised; his eyes shut and he chuckled, satisfied in more ways than one. That wretched thing of a man was gone, and he’d be hindered no more. “You had perseverance, I’ll give you that,” he said, brushing one hand through his hair. “But it was futile. Useless.”
Then his world rattled.
Surprised, thrown across the street, Dio wasn’t even sure what had happened for a moment; he laid across the ground, eyes wide open now, as it took his mind a moment to catch up with what had happened after the blow to the side of his head.
Sitting up, blood oozing from the side of his skull, he stared towards where the body of Kujo Jotaro lie, and his face contorted as he couldn’t even begin to form the words to express his rage. “…What?”
Barely propped up on his elbows, visibly paled as the life still drained from him, Jotaro forced a smile, his chest heaving visibly as he sucked for breath. He sat prideful despite his condition and state of half-nudity. Star Platinum stood formed fully besides him, a miracle of what even a moment’s concentration could leave a determined man.
Jotaro hadn’t given up yet, and he wouldn’t until the very last breath left his body.