Work Text:
Polnareff collapsed into bed with a groan, burying his face in the pillow. His bruised ribs protested a bit at the action, but it felt so damn good to be in a real bed.
He didn’t even bother to shower or change into pajamas, just kicked off his day clothes and curled up under the sheets.
The plan was to go to sleep right away, but his mind wandered before he could stop it.
After the car crash, he hadn’t had much time to think about what had transpired with Hol Horse - he had been in too much pain to think of much else - but now that he was alone and in bed and comfortable enough from the pain meds Mr. Joestar had given him, the thoughts came racing back at full force.
The feeling of Emperor’s barrel against him was still vivid in his mind. He could almost feel it if he closed his eyes: the cold, unyielding steel biting into his skin.
He could feel his body warming already, and he was grateful they had found a hotel with enough empty rooms for them to all bunk alone that night.
What he was about to do was utterly shameful, something he’d definitely take to his grave. It wasn’t his fault though, he hadn’t been able to get off in ages. No one could blame him for getting a bit excited, not with how pent up he had gotten. Even if it had been because of goddamn Hol Horse of all people.
No, he thought fiercely. It wasn’t Hol Horse, it was the gun. Not like that was much better, but at least it wasn’t Hol Horse.
Something about the fear, the thrill of knowing it could go off at any time. He definitely didn’t mind being manhandled, either. It wasn’t something he had expected to enjoy, but getting roughed up a bit with a gun pressed to his head, well-
Polnareff bit his lip, hand going down to his boxers. Maybe if he rubbed one out real quick he’d be able to get his head back on straight.
If he concentrated enough he could almost feel the metal of it, unyielding pressure against his skull. He tried to remember his thoughts from before…gun under his chin, forcing his head back. He swallowed thickly, grinding against the palm of his hand as he tried to conjure up a pretty face to go with his imagination.
It was hard to think with his head so clouded with arousal, but he managed to create the image of a petite brunette, her soft hands at his throat as she kissed him. Maybe she'd use her nails, leaving little marks on his skin.
Something about the picture was a bit off, a pretty little thing toting around a pistol and roughing up a six foot man made him laugh, killing the mood a bit. Maybe if he pictured someone taller, with bigger hands…
He grunted, hips bucking as he pictured himself being shoved against the wall, this time by a taller girl with wild blonde hair. Lips smashed against his, her hands groping him roughly. Then she was moving down, kissing his neck and chest.
Usually he'd had more stamina than this, but it had been weeks now since he'd had any time to himself, and he was growing embarrassingly close to finishing already and he hadn't done anything more than rut against his hand.
He kicked his boxers away, grabbing himself with one hand and covering his mouth with the other. He was far too loud for a hotel with such thin walls, and Mr. Joestar was in the room next to his. Avdol would have the grace not to say anything, but Mr. Joestar not so much.
As soon as he felt the touch of his own hand without clothes in the way he gasped into his palm, a jagged spike of pleasure shooting up his spine at the sensation. He went back to his fantasy, the blonde now on her knees in front of him, one hand resting on his thigh while the other hand that damn gun again, resting threateningly against his hip. She glared up at him with dark eyes, her expression defiant and smug. He panted, sweat beading his forehead as he grew closer, his grip on his cock tightening until it was near painful.
“You better not cum on my face,” she said, her deep, gravely voice not quite matching her face, but the sound of it made something in his stomach burn.
“Fuck,” he groaned into his hand.
Then the girl was standing again, grinning at him as she held her gun up to his forehead, rough hands jerking him off.
“Cum for me, Polnareff,” she said, her breath hot on his cheek, and then she was kissing him, her teeth biting into his lip as she twisted her wrist in just the right way. He cried out, barely managing to bite down on his hand in time to muffle the sound.
Losing his focus as he neared his high, the image warped, the hands on him growing rougher, the mouth on him becoming more forceful. He could hear her panting in his ear, though it was heavier now, the moan she let out deeper - like a man's would be. He let himself dwell on that for just a moment, and heat burst through him, warming his bare skin. Huh. Interesting.
The feeling of their soft cheek against his changed, now rough with stubble, and the silhouette against him seemed to grow taller, now at eye level with him. He shuddered, overwhelmed by this new direction his fantasies had taken.
The now-man chuckled, running a calloused thumb over his cheekbone. “Do you like that, little Pol Pol?” He asked, grinning darkly at him.
All Polnareff could do was whimper as he bucked into his fist, eyes shut tight as he reached his high. The imaginary man kept leering at him, gun cocked right against his temple.
“You did so good, Pol Pol,” the man rasped into his ear. And for a second, Polnareff thought his voice sounded familiar. Maybe it was the post-orgasm haze, but he could have sworn that he had been fantasizing about a certain infuriating cowboy.