Work Text:
"This view is really something. I could retire here, you know?"
Polnareff sucked in a deep lungful of warm seaside air, gripping the wrought iron railing of the balcony. Italy was beautiful. He'd passed through, been here and there, but never anywhere so fantastical. Looking down at the beach, and sighing in time with the gentle roll of the waves over golden sand, he almost felt at peace.
"It almost feels like a vacation," He said, turning to Jotaro who was sitting on a well-cushioned wicker seat, mug of coffee in hand.
"Almost." Jotaro shrugged, but Polnareff could see the hint of amusement in his eyes that meant he agreed.
Of course, they were still digging their noses into the dirt looking for leads on the stone arrows, but where was the rush? Weeks of non-stop travel, stress, fighting, and still coming up empty… It took its toll. Polnareff and Jotaro deserved a little R-and-R. A lazy morning here or there wouldn't threaten where the Earth hung in the sky, now would it?
"Well, I'm sure enjoying being somewhere that isn't a sleazy, dirty little motel," Polnareff complained, as if SPW didn't go more than out of their way to fund plenty of nice hotels for them. Sure, they took what was available– and in some places that happened to be a "sleazy, dirty little motel", and some places that happened to be their rental car, or even an airport bench in a pinch– but Polnareff was no stranger to five-star accommodation.
No hotel could be quite as luxurious as a Joestar vacation home, though.
"And that kitchen? Ugh, Jotaro when was the last time I cooked us a meal?" He mused, taking the freshly french-pressed cup of black coffee out of Jotaro's hand and stealing a sip. And then almost gagging. " Jesus , how much sugar did you put in there?"
"A little." Jotaro took the mug back, taking a long sip to hide his smirk. Black coffee, with probably three tablespoons of sugar. He liked to look like a hard-ass, but hated the bitterness, so rather than adding a little milk or cream like a normal person he covered it up like a freak animal.
"No wonder you can't sleep if you have it after two pm, merde , it's not the caffeine keeping you up." Polnareff rolled his tongue in his mouth. Yuck. "You sure have interesting tastes."
"I keep you around, don't I?" Jotaro's mouth was getting smarter and faster these days. (No more punching a guy out and the telling Polnareff "say something cool")
Polnareff’s cheeks puffed out in a pout, before cracking apart to his usual goofy grin. He couldn’t argue with that. He tossed himself in the other chair, wicker squeaking under him, and put his feet on the table. He thought to say something else, but this was the first morning in a while Jotaro actually seemed relaxed, there was no need to push to fill the empty silences.
"You said something about dinner?" Jotaro eventually said, setting his now empty mug on the table.
Polnareff smiled. "If you want to take a little stroll to the market I'm dying for something home-cooked. It'll be no authentic Italiano but I'm not half bad, am I?"
Jotaro knew from experience that Polnareff's cooking was better than "not half bad". Polnareff’s cooking was better than his own mother's. Than probably anyone's mother. It was the kind of thing that settled him down and made him feel at home. Just the thought of doing something normal like that together calmed him down.
"That sounds nice " He hummed, and his eyes lingered too long and too soft on Polnareff’s face, who looked away almost shyly. Almost. There was not a shy bone in that body, but he could be cute when he wanted to be.
***
"I can't believe how good Star Platinum is at peeling shrimp," Polnareff praised, rinsing them and picking loose pieces of shell out of the sink, "Remind me never to cook without him present again."
Star Platinum beamed with delight, soaking up the praise and affection more transparently than Jotaro would have. Polnareff gave him an encouraging scratch behind the ear before Jotaro (jealously?) waved him away to nothing.
"I helped," He pouted, something that anyone else would categorize as "uncharacteristic", but nobody knew him quite like Polnareff did.
"And do you want a pat, too?" Polnareff laughed, shaking the strainer.
Jotaro's nose turned up at one corner, the way it did when he couldn’t keep a straight face over a sensory injustice. "Shrimp hands."
"Suit yourself." Polnareff shook the water from his hands and toweled them off, then dumped the shrimp into the huge cast iron skillet, a sizzling cloud of steam billowing up from the pan.
Jotaro hoisted himself up onto the shiny marble counter, watching idly as Polnareff pushed the shrimps around the pan, stirred his boiling pasta, and pinched palmfuls of seasonings into the pan with an expert maneuverability. It was clear he was comfortable, moving with the same precision and timing as he did when fighting. It was like a dance, and Jotaro felt himself space out just watching him.
He pulled the pasta out of the water with his tongs, laying it gently into the shrimp pan, which now was thick with some sauce that Jotaro could neither recall the name of, nor describe the steps to make even though he had just watched it in front of him. “Any chance you could talk your grandfather into leaving this house to me? I’m in love with the griddle-top on this stove,” Polnareff thought aloud, yanking Jotaro back to earth. “I’d say sell it to me, but even with the Speedwagon salary I’m not sure I could afford it. Or if it comes to you, maybe you’ll cut me a deal, eh?”
“I’ll talk to him about it,” Jotaro said thoughtfully.
“Seriously?” Polnareff looked over his shoulder, hands not stopping for a moment.
“I mean, I’m sure he’d just give it to you if you asked for it. Or the keys, anyway. I’ve heard him bitch plenty about how confusing it is to pay property taxes in multiple countries, that’s a hassle you don’t want to deal with.” Jotaro shrugged like it was the most casual thing in the world, “He and Grandma Suzie don’t come out here a lot anymore.”
Polnareff pulled the skillet off the stove, setting it on a trivet on the counter. “Jotaro, I can’t just ask your grandfather for a house.”
“Why not? He offered to buy you a new house anyway after he saw that little shack you call home.” Jotaro’s smug look returned to his face, and Polnareff put his hands on his hips.
“My house–”
“Hovel.”
“My house is perfectly fine! So it needed a little remodeling, it’s like a hundred years old!” Polnareff snapped, “Just a new roof and it was fine.”
“The foundation is shifting, the whole house tilts south.” Jotaro leveled, and Polnareff huffed.
“It gives it character! It’s my childhood home!”
“Alright then, I guess you don’t want this one.” Jotaro shrugged, and hopped down off the counter, crowding behind Polnareff to get a better look at his dinner. “Is this ready? I’m hungry.”
Polnareff sputtered for a moment, before chuckling and nudging an elbow backwards into Jotaro’s gut, “Yes it’s ready, get some dishes, would you? I’ve got a nice bottle of wine for us to pop open, too.”
***
The wine was nice. So nice that it was a shame that the bottle ended up not even half-drank. It sat on the dining room table, with two almost-empty glasses and two almost burned-out candles for company. The rest of the dishes had been cleared away, and washed and dried. Streetlights reached in through the open windows to dimly light the kitchen as plates and pans were placed back into their cupboards. The plucky sound of an acoustic guitar floated in from somewhere outside, seeming to be one with the warm breeze that it tangled with.
"Imagine every night like this," Polnareff sighed dreamily, closing the cupboard. He leaned against the counter, trying to look out the window and find the source of the music.
Jotaro just hummed while clinking silverware back into its tray.
"Oh, the music, the breeze, the dinner, the wine," Polnareff turned back to look at him, eyes far off in paradise, "The company ."
"If we indulge all the time it isn't indulgence anymore, is it?" Jotaro faced him with a raised brow, leaning with one hand on the counter, and the other on his hip.
"I get to see you all the time and I'm not sick of you yet." Polnareff raised a hand like he wanted to touch him, but didn't.
"No? How about when you throw pillows across the room at me in the middle of the night because I snore? When I get water all over the floor after a shower because I never put a towel down? Or when I snap at you when I’m trying to study and you won’t leave me alone?” Jotaro teased, inching forward, “Or when I put too much sugar in my coffee?"
"Oh, I get annoyed at you all the time. Frustrated, even, but never sick of you." Polnareff's hand finally came to rest on the dip of Jotaro's hip so gently it was barely considered a touch.
"I guess I have to try harder, then," Jotaro murmured, charged with something that made Polnareff swallow hard.
The fake shy look came back onto Polnareff’s face, but the hand on his hip became more confident. "It'd be really annoying if you danced with me."
Jotaro sighed, beautiful and soft like the breaking of a wave, through the smile on his face. He placed a hand on Polnareff’s shoulder, and took his other hand on his own. "Your lead, Jean."
It wasn’t the first time they'd danced together.
That was at Kakyoin's 19th birthday party, both of them drunk and doing impossibly poor footwork while someone sang some oldie over karaoke. Somewhere there was a half-blurry polaroid of Jotaro clinging off the front of Polnareff with the biggest smile anyone had ever seen, let alone gotten on camera.
They had also danced at some stupid rich people party that Joseph had brought them along to, when he still used to go to things like that. Scuffing each other’s polished shoes and moving stiffly in their rental tuxedos. It was more of a bright idea to get women to stop asking Jotaro for a dance than a treasured memory, but it worked.
There were bars and clubs and parties and things. Dancing next to each other, or with arms linked, or swinging around each other with clasped hands. But this would be the first time they had danced alone in a dim kitchen, swaying from foot to foot lazily along to a song neither of them had ever heard, and would probably never hear again.
"I wasn’t kidding around earlier," Jotaro broke their comfortable silence, and Polnareff could feel the soft hushed breaths on his face.
"About what? Trying to get rid of me?" Polnareff snickered.
"About giving you the house."
Polnareff stumbled over his feet, looking for a response and coming up empty.
"He could use someone to maintain the property," Jotaro stated, "and you're already in his will–"
"I'm what?" Polnareff stopped, and Jotaro stumbled this time.
"What? Are you surprised? You're family aren't you?" Jotaro's grip fluttered almost imperceptibly around Polnareff’s hand.
Hearing those words– words that he knew were true without ever having to hear them– made Polnareff dizzy. It made him feel cared for. It made him feel stupid. It made him lean the couple inches up and forward it took to press his lips firmly against Jotaro's.
After only a moment Polnareff reluctantly pulled away, and Jotaro blinked the dazzled look out of his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Polnareff quickly said, once his senses came back to him. He pulled away, placing his palms on the counter and hanging his head. “I’m sorry, You keep saying– That was inappropriate.”
It’s not that Polnareff had ever insinuated something romantic about the two of them specifically, but whenever conversations veered towards relationship territory Jotaro always had the same answer: I’ll worry about that when I’ve got my degree . A valid response, if not typical, and Polnareff knew better than anyone how much downtime Jotaro absolutely did not have. Between running around the world chasing hints and rumors, and the schoolwork that kept him tied up for every other moment he had to breathe, it was no wonder he didn’t want to bother.
It’s just that, well he’d thought, or been thinking… It wouldn’t take any extra time at all if the person Jotaro was with were him. There were already together all the time. They already loved each other so much.
“I’m sorry,” Polnareff whispered again. The guitar outside had at some point pittered off, and the silence in the room was heavy like the air before a rain.
“Jean,” Jotaro’s voice rumbled closer behind him than he had expected, and he fought down a shiver. A heavy hand touched the small of his back, and that shiver crawled up his spine anyway. Joatro tilted his head down to try and look in Polnareff’s eyes, but he turned away. “Jean, look at me.”
Polnareff did not obey.
“Jean,” He said again, and it was almost strange for him to hear Jotaro say his name so many times. Calling him by his last name was impersonal, he would say, but calling him by his first name was too intimate. So normally he wouldn’t really address him by anything more than “Hey”.
“Jean-Pierre, I’m not mad at you,” He reached out and laid a hand on Polnareff’s jaw, gently guiding his head to look at him. Polnareff’s wet eyes were greeted with the same soft look that Jotaro always looked at him with when he was about to cry.
Polnareff opened his mouth to apologize again, but never got the chance.
The hand on his cheek slid around to the back of his head, fingers threading through the loose hairs at the nape of his neck. The hand on his back rubbed its thumb into the dip of his spine. The lips against his this time weren’t slack with shock, but pursed with gentle intention.
Jotaro kissed him.
And he kissed back, sighing out his nose and clinging to him like he'd die if they separated. So many unspoken words were passed between them through this one simple action. Things they never knew they needed to say, or how to say them even if they did. Things they would have to say eventually, but for right now all they needed was this.
When they parted, both of them red-faced and trembling, it was like looking at each other through an open window. No more curtains obscuring thoughts and feelings, not even clear glass. Like they could finally reach out and touch each other for real for the first time. Neither of them could help the smiles or breathless laughs.
Neither of them could resist another kiss.