Chapter Text
Diavolo allowed the bubbling feelings of bliss to rise to the surface. Banter, friendship, and those kind brown eyes. Ever since being trapped in this personal hell, he has not experienced such calmness. It has been five days and four nights since he awoke in the infirmary. Unfortunately, he was still bedbound but he has been healing up rather nicely. Erina, the upbeat blonde he met that day had made sure of it. She was a night nurse in the city so she was more than qualified. Admittedly, it was difficult for Diavolo to look Erina in the eyes. The innocence that lay in them with a twinge of deviousness.
Trish.
Yet another reminder of his moral failings in life, or the pathetic scraps of time and space he dared to call a life. Sometimes, during these deep introspective moods, he felt himself lashing out and yet she was patient with him. No matter how much he acted out, she made homecooked meals and kept him company until she had to depart to work in the late afternoon. At sunrise, she came in to change his bandages and clean his wounds, and during the tedious process, she would talk extensively about her life.
This is how he comes to learn of the two men he met that night. His assailant was the elusive Dio Brando, a law clerk and one hundred percent a vampire (probably). Whenever Diavolo attempted to question Erina as to exactly why he was savagely attacked by Brando, she shrugged her shoulders and artlessly changed the subject, so he stopped asking but he made up his mind. The blonde was seldom outdoors, Erina informed him that he was dedicated to his profession and spent his days in the library only to depart to London every once in a while to assist the court. It was an odd setup, but Diavolo has been exposed to much stranger things, so the prospect of living with a vampire was not as shocking as it was interesting. Rather, he was more concerned with the older brother, Jonathan Joestar. He is an archaeologist who’s currently staying at home after recently completing a rather large excavation somewhere in Greece. Diavolo clung to every innocuous story that Erina divulged about their youthful escapades. He found himself grinning when his suspicions were confirmed.
Jonathan Joestar is an angel on Earth. Well, the eyes rarely lie, Diavolo thought to himself. Doppio told him that once.
After Erina departed, Diavolo often thought about Jonathan.
At first, it was an active decision to ward off thoughts of his past but along the way, they became involuntary. He would smile to himself as he thought of Erina’s stories about Jonathan’s simple boyhood. During the many hours he spent alone, Diavolo imagined vivid scenes. A smiling young boy playing in the river, a devious adolescent playing harmless pranks on his loved ones, and a mournful young man placing a lone rose on his father’s coffin before embarking on his first expedition. In each reconstructed memory, no matter the mood, Jonathan’s eyes retained that inherent kindness. He wanted to see them, a thought that grew more intense with each passing day. Thoughts of death were replaced by intense yearning. The kind of yearning that left a pit in his stomach. Erina was quick to let him know that Jonathan would never allow a guest to languish in an infirmary alone but he has been caught up in the laborious affair that is getting his estate in order. Jonathan’s father’s death was sudden, and so there was much to be dealt with away from the countryside. It was clear that she felt bad about leaving Diavolo alone for long stretches of time so he went out of his way to assure her that he was fine. He was far from fine, he wanted to bask in the warmth he did briefly that fateful night. He knows that he’s being selfish. He’s already the recipient of Jonathan’s endless kindness, he’s healing in his fucking infirmary for fuck’s sake but he still can’t fight the desire. During his short time at the Joestar mansion, he has learned to want.
During the hours of the fifth night, he allowed himself to embrace this shameless want. Diavolo envisioned the brunette behind his eyelids. Rather than the imagined scenes, he allowed himself to insert himself by Jonathan’s side. Skin on skin, he imagined their fingertips pressing against one another一 a connection solely cultivated through touch. He felt nauseous, the desire making his skin prickly and hot. He dared himself to push his imagination further. Fingers intertwining, heads coming closer, lips tou-
His thoughts were interrupted by a knocking sound, Diavolo’s heart was racing for having such immoral thoughts but the organ nearly stopped when he heard a clear deep voice belonging to none other than Jonathan fucking Joestar.
“Ah, I know you’re not expecting me but I’ve been meaning to drop by; can I come in?”