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George Joestar undeniably loved his sons, but he loved one more clearly than the other. Jonathan, the picture of his late wife, was spoiled, naïve, having been coddled since the tragedy that had ruthlessly taken his beloved from him side all those years ago. It was George’s greatest worry that he would leave Jonathan behind without a single soul to take care of him, and Dio Brando knew this.
It was with this knowledge he pressed the barrel of a fountain pen into George’s ailing hands, adoption papers prepared underneath, ready to bleed with George’s ink. Dio looked at his guardian with doctored concern, tailored made for the old fool, who was taken in years ago by his own father’s lies years ago.
“Please, before you pass, grant me the rights of a son, to protect Jonathan.” Dio begged, fingers trembling with hidden anticipation and slick delight.
George hesitated, his skin pale and clammy in Dio’s grip. He eyed the adoption papers, trying to read over their blurring lines through his fading vision. He let out a ragged breath, blood and mucus rattling around his chest with every strained breath.
Dio pressed, reaching for the man who had taken care of him for ten years. He carefully grabbed his thin wrist, feeling the weak thready pulse jump at his touch. He forced tears to his eyes, thickening the voice in throat as he spoke his next plea.
“I would be honored if I truly became your son. To show how much your care has meant to me in my youth.”
George’s eyes softened at Dio’s words, his stiff fingers moving to more firmly grasp the pen. “Your father, though I met him only once, I knew he was a scoundrel. His hands had been on my rings before he thought our bodies cold, but, if he had not been there, I fear what could have become of myself and my son. To raise his son, to see you become a gentleman like my dearest Jonathan, I rest easy knowing this debt to him is paid. I could never claim to be your father, nor replace him, but for Jojo, I can grant you this title.” George magnanimously declared.
Dio’s heart leapt in his chest with George’s pen strokes. His mouth twitched into a smile as the last loop on the cursive signature closed, sealing Jonathan’s fate.
For George, born an alpha, who loved his son, doted on his every whim and want, born with the same beta status as his mother, had never bothered with inheritance laws, always secure in his knowledge his son would be treated well. He never imagined marrying again after Jonathan’s mother, the thought of another son, one of alpha or God forbid, omega nature appearing had never crossed George’s mind, and thus, he never bothered to check in the dusty corners of law books for things that would have prevented his beta son from inheriting. For perhaps if he did, he would have seen through Dio’s words in an instant and recognised the thin ploy that it was and known no beta, no omega, could inherit before an alpha sibling.
Dio took back the adoption papers, staring at the signature in rapture. The ink glistened wetly under the low candlelight. Beading with pearls, Dio blew weakly on the ink to dry it, afraid to smear it with an errant touch. It was crisp, it was perfect.
“Thank you father.” Dio said, his expression for once genuine at George’s bedside.
George smiled at his new son, crinkling his aged eyes, “Of course,” He said with a smile, “You are my son after all.”
The next week, George Joestar was dead.
At his funeral, Dio dabbed fake tears as he stifled a grin. He watched Jonathan hang off his father’s coffin like a grieving widow, eyes catching on lack of redness in Dio’s eyes. His face was sullen, his arms barely stretching over the dark lacquered wood of the coffin as his tears slid off its surface. Behind him, the priest droned, reading the last rites, granting their father a place in heaven beside the lord. The stain glass window of the church cast its shadow of the cross on Jonathan, the pale yellow hitting his own head like a halo, luminous and bright. Jonathan’s glassy blue eyes framed by tear clumped lashes, looked at him with a dark fire that burned behind his iris’, a hatred so deep it felt bottomless. An excited shiver ran down Dio’s spine as those eyes burrowed into him, spurning him.
He wanted to own that look.
They each bore a pole, standing shoulder to shoulder as they hoisted the casket. From Dio’s head to Jonathan’s, there was little more than a centimeter’s difference between them. Jonathan had inherited his alpha father's physique and his beta mother’s gentle features. If Dio were to glance over, he’d see the softened slope of his cheekbones that parallelled his hard angles. Jonathan’s wet cheeks felt every slice of the wind against his face as he lowered his father’s casket into the ground. Standing shoulder to his killer. Dio would have seen all of this and had felt the strange tightness he always did when looking at Jonathan’s features.
The call beyond instinct to dominate and humiliate him. To take everything he could until Jonathan was nothing without him. To become almost one, such was his desires and hatred. To own Jonathan, Dio thought, that would be its own sort of heaven.
The sky softly wept when George’s casket touched the cold English earth. The rain misted everything, turning the loose grave soil into mud beneath their feet. Jonathan collapsed when the last mound of dirt was shovelled over the grave. Dio grasped his arm, gently hauling him up for the viewing of the smattering of distant relatives and family friends that came to pay respects.
George Joestar was a well loved and respected man.
Dio continued his performance, whispering to Jonathan, “C’mon, father wouldn’t want to see you like this.” He murmured intimately.
Jonathan flinched away from his voice, barely restraining the arm that wanted so desperately to push Dio away. He swung his fiery gaze towards Dio instead, the fire igniting in the coals of his soul. “Don’t call him that. You were never his son, never my family.”
“Jojo, please. Get a hold of yourself, brother.” Dio said, pumping hurt into his voice, edging it loud enough for the crowd around them to pay attention.
“You aren’t his son,” Jonathan said louder, his voice sharp and clear through the soft patter of rain, “As long as I draw breath, I will never acknowledge you as my brother, our father’s agreement be damned. You are pestilence on this house, a scoundrel of the highest order.” Jonathan stated.
All eyes were firmly locked on them. Dio played to them, turning to look at the crowd with a worried, apologetic look. The years he spent playing the good son, had now become worth it. All of them looked at him with pity for having to deal with Jonathan’s spoiled tantrum. In his grasp, he could feel Jonathan stiffen, the rage pulling his muscles and face tight.
“Please, let’s not fight in front of father. Not today.” Dio tried to comfort, picking the words that would stoke the fire in Jonathan’s eyes.
Jonathan was practically ablaze, pulled tight into Dio’s embrace, forced into loving proximity to roleplay brothers with a man he was most certain was the cause of this very day. Everyday, Dio visited their father, and everyday he grew weaker. There was no other answer, it was Dio. But there was not a hide, nor hair Jonathan could find to prove it. Only the pattern he’d observed and his own wounds to prove Dio’s malice.
He shook in anger, the rain and tears mixing to stick the white collar of his dress shirt to his skin. The skin around his eyes was red, molting down his cheeks in ugly splotches, the cold rain hitting to leave behind pale white marks to highlight the places where they’d touched. He felt like he’d shake apart at a moments notice, crumble to nothing. “Don’t you dare invoke his memory,” Jonathan snarled.
“Jojo,” Dio said, turning the grip on Jonathan’s arm painful. He watched the angry muscles in Jonathan’s face jump, his jaw just holding back a guttural scream as he pushed against Dio with all his might.
Dio released his grip, letting his body hit the mud. He felt the cold earth sink and stain his clothes, the suit no doubt ruined beyond repair. He stayed posed, knocked down by Jonathan with a tender hurt expression.
A chorus of admonishments came from the crowd. Jojo flinched away from the sound, looking at the familiar faces with shocked and confused eyes.
Dio raised a hand, silencing the onlookers. He pushed himself up from the mud, making a great show with his deliberate slowness.
“No, it’s alright. Jojo is grieving. I can’t expect him to be composed in this instance. I apologize, but I think it’s best we take our leave.” Dio said magnanimously to the gathered group of mourners.
He turned back to Jonathan; his coat laced with mud as it dragged across the back of his dress shoes. He offered out a hand to Jojo, his eyes moving to pleased crescents as Jojo noticed the trap a second too late. “Come Jojo, before you make more of a fool of yourself.”
Heat sunk into Dio’s skin as the muscles in Jonathan’s jaw clicked it shut. The rough skin of his hands, hardened by the years on the football pitch grasped his, singing the skin on Dio’s palm. He sucked in a shallow breath as Jonathan squeezed the bones, hard enough to hurt. He watched the tips of his fingers turn red, his libido taking interest in the strength of Jonathan’s hand. How would those hands feel, desperately clawing at him?
The walk to the carriage was brief, but the heat from their clasped hands never went away, nor the heated stare that pinned itself between Dio’s shoulder’s blades.
His coat hit the carriage floor with a wet smack. He’d barely gotten the chance to sit down when Jonathan spoke, his voice raspy and harsh.
“I know you killed my father.” He stated.
Dio paused, his hands reaching up to fix his sleaves. His mouth tugged into a smile, the mask slipping away for a private second. “Now, why would you say that, Jojo? You wound me greatly.”
“Don’t think you can fool me easily; I know father’s death was your doing. And one day, I’ll prove it.”
“Then I’ll wait for that day Jojo and show you my full remorse. Until then, I’ll obey father’s dying wish and take care of you.”
Jonathan sneered, the ugly expression foreign on his usually banal features. Dio smiled, finding the expression adorable. Like a kitten hissing at him, too small to truly do anything but box the air and hope it turned the predator before him away.
Dio wanted to devour him. “Let’s try and get along, Jojo,” Dio said again, “For father’s sake.”
The wake was a somber affair. The catering had been done exceptionally well. Jonathan directed them how to handle the spread of cold sandwiches and memorial perfectly. They stood by the entrance, taking condolences. Their wet and muddy clothes hung in the rear entrance, reminders that their father had barely had even a day of rest.
Jonathan stood properly, his back straight, hands clasped over his front as the smell of rain and salt wafted off him. The typical cologne had been wicked off with his grief, leaving behind only the clean scent of his flesh. Dio took subtle sniffs of his neutral beta fragrance, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to taste it more clearly.
Alkaline water and something vaguely sweet, like the exotic chocolates Jojo adored. The cocoa nibs mixed with sugar and milk, a sweet yet bitter taste. It perfectly described Jonathan.
Dio on the other hand smelled strongly of roses, grapevines and wine, red, rich and powerful. His smell was of luxury, overbearing to most omegas to the point of coming off sometimes more like cheap perfume. It only became heady when he stood next to Jonathan’s subtle scent, complimented by his softer under tones.
It was something Dio had noticed when they were schoolboys. Omegas often approached him more when Jonathan was by his side. He’d flirt with them, much to Jonathan’s disappointment, but later, when he’d meet them alone to make good on his salacious remarks, they’d hold their noses and gag. His smell had shifted to something too strong and repugnant. Dio had been flabbergasted when the rejections kept happening. Jonathan had laughed at him and said it was his karma for trying to lead omegas astray. Dio had only sneered, leaving their dormitory in a huff. It wasn’t until Dio wore one of Jonathan’s shirts by accident did Dio realise the neutralizing effect Jonathan had.
It was absolutely bizarre. Perhaps that was what ancient scholars had been commenting on when they wrote about the natures. The purpose of the beta to level out the fair and brutal sexes. Dio had ruminated on this as he read Descartes, coming to no firm conclusion of his own besides Jonathan was his. The thought had Dio laughing. All his scheming, his plans to take everything Jonathan had was just an extension of his instinct. Proof of his absolute ownership of the Joestar heir.
If Jonathan ever learned of these thoughts, no doubt he’d be disgusted. The idea of dating the same gender, never mind that of the same nature, was something to be avoided and scorned. Unions were for the purposes of producing children. What use was there for a male alpha to bed a barren male omega, or beta? It was unthinkable. The boys and girls that came into Dio’s bed would disagree, all with dark hair and blue eyes that smelled as gentle as Jonathan as Dio ravaged them.
His mind was brought back to the present when a woman dressed in black brocade stepped forward, putting her arms around Dio in a forward fashion. Dio hesitated before returning the embrace politely.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said.
Dio smiled, looking at her unfamiliar face, stumbling for some hint of who she would be.
Jonathan smoothly swooped in, gently separating the two, taking the woman’s hand and guiding her to the table holding the memorial pamphlets. “Thank you Aunt Carol, my father was a great man. There are refreshments and sandwiches inside. Service will start in about an hour.”
The woman snapped out of her daze, collecting herself enough to put on an embarrassed smile as she grabbed at the printed good. “Yes, of course, and sorry for your loss once again.” she said, bundling up her skirts to leave the foyer of the Joestar estate.
“Thank you-“
“-Try to remember you’re grieving,” Jonathan said, cutting off Dio’s pleasant words, “You are starting to look bored.”
Dio let out a derisive snort, “Of course.”
He plastered back on his mourner’s cloak, silently thinking once again about what the end would look like, a vision of Jonathan on his knees.
The next week, the brother’s made their way to Lawyer’s office, Jonathan clutching his father’s will with white knuckles. He kept shooting Dio nervous glances, his eyes holding suspicion as Dio reclined in his carriage seat. He took the time to look out at the English countryside, watching the rolling green hills fade to the grey cobblestone of London, his own papers snuggly in his coat pocket.
The lawyer was an old family friend; a man Jonathan had only met in peripheries. He was an old, withered man with a hunch and small gold rimmed glasses that sat that the end of a red bulbous nose. He sniffled and sighed when he spoke, his voice gravelly from years of smoking fine cigars. He read over the will with professionalism, his voice only skipping when Dio presented his adoption papers.
Jonathan openly gaped at his father’s signature, shaking in rage when Dio slid over the law book he’d prepared with the highlighted, dog eared, notated, passage he’d found and cross referenced extensively.
“It is as written, until I pass, all assets are mine as is rightfully declared by the law,” Dio said, allowing the lawyer to read over the book's passage in full. “The will, is null and void.”
Jonathan’s voice caught in his throat, only a choked curse of Dio’s name squeezing out.
The lawyer adjusted their glasses, looking at the law again and swallowed thickly. “Y-yes, it is as you say Master Brando, but most siblings differ to the will. This is the modern age, inheritance rights defined by natures being enforced is a bit… it’s a modern time is all.”
“I understand your concern, but it is what father wanted. He told me to take care of Jojo, and this is how he wanted me to do it.” Dio declared.
The lawyer peaked over the edge of the law book and gave Jonathan a pitying look. He put the heavy tome down, sliding it aside. “If that is what George would have wanted; I’m sorry Jojo, it is law.”
Dio smiled in victory, Jonathan swallowing down the bitter tears that threatened to rise and spill over. He savoured the way Jonathan’s blunt teeth bit into his bottom lip until it was close to bleeding, his pride hanging on by a thread.
“I understand,” Jonathan said through gritted teeth, “Please, finish the reading regardless.”
The lawyer cleared his throat and began from where he left off. Dio ignored him, focusing solely on the hunched figure of Jonathan as he dug his clawed hands into the fabric of his trousers. Dio had never felt such satisfaction in his life then he had in that moment, watching Jonathan silently restrain himself in that law office. It reminded him so much of that brawl in their youth.
The first time someone had drawn Dio’s blood; the first time Dio had failed to win a fight. That draw had been a humiliation; one he’d never forget. That was the exact moment Dio cemented his goal of destroying the Joestar’s.
And now, he had just gotten over his first major obstacle.
Soon, he’d have Jojo too.
The euphoria was strong enough to ignore the petulant way Jonathan slammed his shoulder into Dio’s. The man took a few stumbling steps on the stairs before Jonathan grabbed a hold of his collar and hauled him to face him properly. Eye to eye, crimson to sapphire blue. Dio had a perfect map to the depths of Jonathan’s soul.
“I don’t know what tricks you pulled to get father to sign that paper, but understand me Dio, we are not brothers, never have we been, and if God is good, you will get what you deserve.”
Dio smiled, the snap of surprise melting away to delight like freshly fallen snow in spring light. He laughed, grasping Jojo’s sleave, pulling him even closer, close enough to whisper in his ear.
“Then I look forward to it.” Dio said, placing a chaste kiss on Jonathan’s cheek. If God was good, he’d give Dio Jonathan’s total surrender and disgrace.
Jonathan pushed away Dio in disgust when he felt his lips against his skin. He swiped an offended hand over the mark, rubbing until the flesh turned pink and raw.
Dio’s gaze sharpened, his chest flaring with anger, “Do not think I won’t make you a beggar Jojo.” Dio warned, “Understand, your residence is now conditional. When we return to the manor, I expect you to clear out your father’s things from the master suite and turn it over to me, and then, we will have dinner where we’ll discuss if I’ll continue to pay for your silly degree in archeology.”
Dio turned away, walking down the steps to their waiting carriage. Behind him, he could pick up Jonathan’s clumsy steps behind him, scrambling to meet his gait at the carriage door. Jonathan met him on the step in, his hands reaching around to the carriage door, slamming it closed before Dio could get it open beyond a mere crack.
“Dio, you can’t be serious, I’ve only completed my undergraduate. I have an expedition they’re petitioning for my inclusion in.”
Dio glared at Jonathan’s hand, turning stiffly to look at the lumbering oaf behind him, “I’m entirely serious, and you can forget about that expedition. I’m not paying for you to gallivant in the French countryside.”
The carriage shifted sideways as they stepped inside. Dio signalled the driver to start before Jonathan had fully settled into the seat across from his. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and anger. Dio took note of the spotting the reached around the collar of his shirt and slipped down the pale column of his neck.
“An expedition is not a holiday; I’d be performing real scientific work. The field is just developing, and I’d be remiss if I wasn’t there to witness the first great discoveries. In Cairo alone, they’ve already recovered some of the earliest examples of tool making Dio. Just last week, Nature published an article on an arrowhead-“
“-Enough Jojo,” Dio cut off, “We’ll discuss this after dinner. You can raise your petition then.”
Jonathan’s jaw hung open, his words dying in his throat. He fixed Dio a stern look, settling back in his seat, turning his head to look out the carriage window, “I only say as much for your understanding.”
“Perhaps try saying less. I hear the ladies appreciate a stoic gentleman.”
“And what would you appreciate of me?” Jonathan asked, a hard edge lining his voice.
Dio ducked his head, smiling into the collar of his coat. His pale fingers fiddled over the edge of a golden button on his sleave, readjusting it before he looked at Jonathan again.
Jonathan’s eyes lit up in the pale sunlight. Twin jewels that haunted Dio since the moment they’d met. He’d been so envious of such a rich and enchanting gaze. Now, it looked at him imploringly, attempting to pick him apart. The sole attention of Jonathan Joestar’s mind.
“Your total submission.” Dio finally said, his voice a gavel in carriage.
“You will not have it.”
“Then you will suffer, until you give it.” Dio would train him like a dog if he had to.
“You truly are your father’s son,” Jonathan scorned.
“Careful Jojo, we’re brothers now.”
Jonathan looked away again. His chin sat propped on his hand, refusing to give Dio even a glance for the rest of the trip back to the manor.
The servants lined up to greet them at the door. Jonathan stepped out the carriage and greeted them personally, inclining his head and sparing them a few words before he approached the manor’s doors.
Dio watched the display with annoyance, stalking up to the head butler, a tall man who had been there since Jonathan’s birth, “Is this all the staff on the grounds today?” Dio asked.
The man nodded, glancing at Jonathan who had stopped at the doors, waiting with morbid curiosity for Dio. “Yes, all the staff have gathered, as you requested this morning, Master Brando.”
Dio smiled, “Good. I’ll need several to clear out the master suite. Take out everything that belonged to the late George Joestar and burn it. Jonathan will help you sort through the items. Anything of value, you can take as severance pay.” Dio dismissed.
The head butler looked at Dio confused. “I beg your pardon?” He said, looking to Jonathan for clarification.
Jonathan bit his lip and looked away, his grip tightening on the manor door.
“You heard what I said. Clear out George Joestar’s room, and when you’re done, you can pack your bags. I’m firing you.” Dio said, the smug satisfaction dripping from his voice.
The butler stuttered, looking to Jonathan.
The young Joestar had to turn to the staff and sadly face them, “I’m sorry, please do as he says. Dio Brando is-“ his throat thickened, straining his words, “the soul inheritor of my father’s will by right of nature. He’s in charge of the estate’s affair now. I apologize.”
A shocked rippled through the house staff. Many had been under the long-term employment of the Joestar’s becoming almost like a second family for Jonathan to rely on. To hear of a sudden termination, it confused more than a few staff members.
The nearest servants turned to Jonathan, looking to him for answers, but found none.
“But- Mister Joestar wouldn’t-“ One of the maids stammered out, only stopped by a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said, “He unfortunately speaks the truth. Father adopted Dio formally, and Dio used his nature to void my father's will. He is the master of this house now.”
The young maid gasped, collapsing into Jonathan’s arms. A hand covered her trembling mouth, her skin a paper white. Jonathan looked at her with pity, handing her gently to one of the other servants.
Dio watched Jonathan’s hands ball in the fabric of his trousers helpless and felt satisfaction. He marched past them, pointedly stopping before crossing the boundary into the estate. He gave Jonathan a look from head to toe, quirking his lips into a half smile as he caught the dishevelled appearance of Jonathan’s dress shirt, half tucked into the waist band of his pants. He huffed once and slammed the door in their faces.
That afternoon, he stood on his room’s balcony and watched the pyre on the lawn grow, a glass of chardonnay casually swirling in his relaxed grip. He took sips as he observed the sad procession of servants leave the manner, different items of value clutched to their chests in way of a final pay stub, the last out the door being the chefs, having cooked the manor’s final meal. Jonanthan stood like a forlorn door guard, taking his role from the wake again, and sent each one off with a somber face.
They touched his arms, hands, some bold enough to exchange a quick embrace before they hurried down the manicured walkway and out the manor’s gates.
Dio drank his chardonnay, feeling the warmth from the fire and liquor settle into his stomach. When his glass was emptied, he filled it again, tasting the wine and feeling it stain the surface of his teeth. The entire time, Dio hoped just once, Jonathan would look up and see him and that hate filled stare would fuel the burn in his stomach. He stayed on his balcony until the fire died and Jonathan had long since returned inside. He gave the smoldering pile a backwards glance, and then drew the curtains closed. Dio spent not a second more thinking of the black patch on their once perfect lawn.
Tomorrow, he’d call some landscapers and cut down that tree Jojo had carved into, then he’d have to find new staff. Dio sighed, frustrated he hadn’t thought to keep at least a few before he had found replacements. He took a moment to absorb the quiet of the mansion. The gentle creaks and groans of its pipes, the settling of its foundations from his place in his old room. The one he’d been gifted right next to Jonathan’s and slept in for the last ten years of his life. Dio dragged his hand across the silk sheets, the hard wood of his bed posts remembering how even these luxuries were still less compared to what George Joestar had allotted Jonathan.
He got as far as the second landing of the stairs before he ran into Jonathan. He hadn't meant to find Jonathan, but still somehow, he found him. They were practically chest to chest, their physiques swallowing the limited space on the stairs. He had meant to look at Jonathan with cold detachment, but the subtle amazement at having him so close must have read on Dio’s face.
The sad puppyish look that had taken over Jonathan’s features vanished as fast as a new moon on a cloudy night. “Are you satisfied now?”
Dio blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question.
“I told you what would. Are you giving yourself to me Jojo?” Dio asked, tilting his head slightly in reproach.
Jonathan’s gaze turned withering. “You stole my inheritance, burnt my father’s things, fired all the staff, and now you invite me to lay in your bed? You’re despicable. Never have I met a creature so remorselessly evil or depraved as you. How many more times will you have to hurt me until your satisfied?”
“How many slices of bread will you have to eat in this life to feel full?”
The smile on his face was simply Dio’s nature at this point. Make Jonathan mad, grin like a hatter, be struck, fight, subdue, restart. Until the young Joestar stopped resisting, until the game was over and Dio was the victor. This was truly the pull of his alpha nature; there was no other explanation for the lunacy that overtook Dio Brando when it came to Jonathan Joestar.
The kiss was an unexpected thing that came with teeth. Dio pushed against Jonathan, grabbing at his shirt when he tried to back away, ripping the half tuck out of his pants. They toppled against the banister, threatening to take the same tumble from their youths. The wood creaked as the kiss turned into a fight. Dio tasted Jonathan’s blood and the smell of cheap wine and roses flooded the landing.
Pain sparked from dull points on Dio’s arms, Jonathan’s short nail digging into his flesh.
Dio retaliated by grabbing the back of Jonathan’s neck, squeezing what would have been the mating site if he’d been born an omega.
Jonathan let out a strained groan of protest as the uncomfortable press at the base of his skull.
Dio growled low in his throat, his blood rushing in equal measure between his two heads. A press of his hips, and Jonathan tensed beneath him. The hard heavy outline of his manhood unmistakable as it nestled itself against the soft flesh of Jonathan’s thigh.
The banister creaked underneath them again.
Jonathan managed to pry Dio’s mouth away, twisting so strongly, the shirt in Dio’s hand ripped. Buttons pulled away, rolling to their feet as their fast breaths caught in the air. Jonathan stared at Dio, stunned.
Dio gasped a few more times through his mouth before he swallowed and forced his chest to stop heaving. He sucked in breath after breath through his nose, smelling that subtle beta scent mix with his own.
“Dio, what are you doing? We’re brothers for Christ’s sake!” Jonathan yelled.
Dio threw back his head and laughed, “Now we’re brothers? What did you say to me not days ago about never acknowledging our bond? What? Is brother some convenient status you can retract and grant at will? Fine! We’re brother’s Jojo, and we’ll commit the sin of incest together!”
Jonathan shook his head, pushing Dio away, “You’ve gone mad.”
“Sodomy! Murder! Perversions of everything you hold dear, I'll do them all as your brother!” Dio shouted, ripping Jonathan’s shirt further open, the white fabric turning to shreds in his furious hands. “All of them! You can forget about dreams Jojo! Everything you are, is mine. Everything! I’ve won!”
“Dio, stop this,” Jonathan pleaded, “Stop this madness right now.”
“And yes, I did kill your father! I will admit it! I killed him and there’s nothing you can do about it! I hope that it haunts you that you had to beg for charity from his killer for the rest of your miserable life!”
His crazed ramblings ceased with a crisp slap. The hit left Dio’s lead ringing, the noise shrill in ears. His once triumphant smile flipped to a small frown. Dio rubbed over the newly formed mark, feeling the heat radiating off his bruised skin in mild surprise. The inside of his mouth tasted of the salty tang of copper, a drop escaping the corner of his lips.
This was the second time Jonathan had made Dio bleed in his life.
“Come to your senses Dio. What exactly have you won? An empty house? Loneliness? The only thing you’ve managed to do is destroy everything. We could have been brothers, lived together, supported each other as equals, but you threw that away for some petty grudge you had against my family that did nothing but try and help you. You’re a fool, and I feel sorry I ever held any measure of respect for you.”
Jonathan’s cheeks were a ruddy colour, the earlier kiss pulling the colour to his cheeks. His mouth was still slick with Dio’s spit, his bottom lip shining and swelled from the bite Dio gave it. his messy hair, ran through by Dio’s fingers, fell to frame his eyes in a soft curtain of bangs.
Dio was struck dumb by the sight.
“I’m leaving. Keep the manor, your wealth, and I hope you finally fill that void in your heart.” Jonathan said.
Dio grasped at the shreds of Jonathan’s shirt as he shed it like a second skin. It fluttered like a white flag, lazy as Jonathan ascended the stairs, pushing past Dio and into his own childhood bedroom.
Frantically Dio followed behind him. His fingers found the room’s doorknob, twisting and turning against its deadbolt. He jiggled the mechanism, attempting to slide It out of place. His palms slicked the longer the door stayed behind them. “Jojo? What do you mean by this? You can’t leave.” Dio called from the other side.
Jonathan didn’t reply, only the sounds of objects moving came through to Dio’s ears.
Dio kicked the oak door in frustration, trying the handle again. He eventually dropped to his knees to peer through the peephole at Jonathan’s broad back. He watched him pile clothes and other essentials into two large pieces of luggage, his face a grim mask of determination.
“Think rationally Jojo, where would you go? You have no money.”
Jonathan’s movements paused for a moment; a dress shirt half balled in his grasp.
Dio felt hope rise in his chest, the smug tone returning to his voice, “How’s this, I’ll let you attend university Jojo, but in exchange, you’ll dorm with me, and you’ll give up on your expedition.”
Jonathan sighed, shooting at glare at the door behind him.
Dio’s breath hitched as those sapphire eyes found his in the peephole. “It’s not a bad deal Jojo.”
Dio felt his heart flutter as Jonathan approached the doorknob. He sucked in a breath, opening his mouth to say more when Jonathan dropped the shirt over the doorknob, blocking his view.
“Jojo!” Dio shouted indignantly.
He rattled the door in its frame. His mouth twisted into a nasty sneer, all dignity and composer lost in the face of Jonathan’s indifference. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to grovel; be thankful for the few shreds Dio gave him. He wasn’t supposed to leave. Jonathan’s place was at Dio’s side; it was fate intertwined.
But wishful thinking did not stop reality from rearing its ugly head. Dressed in his warmest outerwear, Jonathan stood before Dio with suitcases under each arm.
Dio fell backwards, stopping himself before he could grab onto Jonathan’s pant legs and cling to him like a child.
“Wait, wait,” Dio called, scrambling to his feet when Jonathan passed him, his face ashen. “Jojo!” he called from the landing, always a few steps behind his retreating figure.
Jonathan spared him only a single glance, shaking his head once in disappointment. His eyes, the same eyes that drove Dio wild were filled with nothing but a sad kind of pity that sucked the last of the air out of Dio’s lungs.
“Goodbye Dio, may we never meet again.” Jonathan said, and like a casket lid closing, the manor doors blocked his frame from Dio’s view.