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A long, long day of riding behind him and a night with an uncomfortable, bed-bug-ridden, hard mattress to look forward to, Diego had Silver Bullet halt before the only stable of the small town he decided to treat himself at for the day.
He dismounted and quickly bound Bullet to the least rotten-looking post. He walked through the gate, looking around for other riders that could give him trouble and a stable boy he could hand a few bills and then order not to touch his horse under any circumstance.
The kid he found brushing down a workhorse in the back was way too young for work like this - but when had the world ever been kind to those without coin to spare? The kid assured him he'd leave Bullet's care solely to his owner and after another bill to keep the other stable boys away from the racehorse. He even pointed Diego in the direction of the good feed instead of just hay.
He led the Arabian into the largest box he could find, untacked him, and started brushing down his flanks. The horse's neck and back were dark with sweat, his head low and eyes tired despite the foreign place, calm and patient under Diego's hands.
He may have spurred the horse a bit too much to reach the town before sundown.
To win this damned race he'd push himself and his horse as hard as possible, even harder still, but he knew better than anyone when to let himself and the animal rest. Which he was planning they do tonight. They deserved it.
The moon was clouded dark and both horse and monstrosity inside of him could smell the oncoming rain. He was simply not going to risk their health and therefore their chances of an overall win for a better position in this stage. He wouldn't risk the possibility of them having to drop out for an end lead just slightly farther ahead.
He grabbed one of Bullet's legs, bent down, and started picking small stones and dirt from his hooves while ignoring the tail flicked in his face.
After having taken care of Bullet he was going to cross the dirt road and get himself a room at the motel. But most importantly, he was going to get himself a warm meal that wasn't raw deer served by a dinosaur or a rabbit he himself burnt to charcoal. A meal he didn't have to prepare.
How he'd enjoy a full stomach and a steaming cup of coffee in his hands!
He let Bullet put down the last hoof and gave his neck a clap, orienting himself to get his companion something to fill his own belly. He poured him a bowl of mix and carried in some hay for the night, filled the water, and grabbed more straw to fill the box.
Undoubtedly, Bullet was the most pampered horse in this race. And he was going to make sure to keep it that way.
When finally he was finished taking care of his companion, Diego left Bullet's box and veered toward his luggage. He reached for the saddlebags but stopped mid-motion when he heard the stable boy’s voice.
Whoever he was talking to, they were surely trying to stable their own horse here as well.
Diego wasn't so naive as to hope for them to not be another racer. The town wasn't too far off course - a good investment of time - and anyone with a map and some sense would be an idiot not to follow his example.
What he did hope for, was them not being a certain duo he was on bad terms with. Even if he'd enjoy ripping Johnny's throat out for coming anywhere near him or his horse.
Instead, he had trouble identifying the voice at first. It wasn't Johnny's hilarious drawl or that aggravating accent of Gyro's and anyone else hadn't caught his ire enough for him to remember their voice of all things.
They turned around the corner he'd hidden his luggage behind, leading a brownish gray Mustang - beautiful animal, really - and stared at him with wide eyes.
It was Hot Pants.
That guy with the weird hat, funny leggings, and absolutely garish color scheme. And the nice thighs, he remembered.
He shook his head.
Diego forced his eyes to stay on the other man's face instead of moving lower. That was not a can he should risk opening with a stranger in a cross-country race, despite what some unwanted thoughts he'd had around the campfire would urge him toward.
No, what he did, was the rational thing to do.
Ready himself for a fight.
Scary Monsters was already prickling just beneath his skin, ready to spring forward in a second. He could feel the crack in the corner of his mouth widen and his nails grow into claws, his eyes sharpening and noticing every nervous twitch on Hot Pants' face.
"This need not be a fight, Brando," the rider's voice was assertive, yet Diego couldn't ignore the slight wobble in tone, barely noticeable to a normal person but the people reader he was, combined with the heightened senses of his Stand made sure to have him take note. "You go your way, I'll keep out of it and that's it. Deal?"
A low growl left his throat.
He didn't trust them. Not that trusting a stranger or really anyone but himself was his usual business, but Diego knew his reputation put a target on his back. Even if just for sabotage, the taller man's intent could very well be to lure him in and then cut his saddle's girth or slip something into Silver Bullet's feed.
"Leave!," he hissed, "While I haven't ripped you to shreds yet!"
Scary Monsters was only waiting for his command, barely even that. It was urging him to take a step forward. Then another. And another. Then lunge at the racer, push him to the ground, and clench his jaws around the other's throat. Taste the iron on his tongue, feel the desperate squirms of someone moments from losing consciousness.
He could feel his blood pumping through his veins. Faster and faster. Like a spring ready to jump at the slightest impact.
"You don't know what you'd be getting into. Save yourself the trouble I'd recommend." Hot Pants casually turned away and led his horse into the next box.
As if he knew Diego wouldn't jump him the moment he'd look away.
Which he was right about. As long as there was a horse involved at least.
"I just want Gets Up to have a roof over his head during the storm we both know is coming," he untacked the Mustang and pat his snout, "And I won't be trying anything. I'm not about all that poisoning horses or stealing gear stuff you jockeys get up to."
He left his gear with the horse and then the box, nonchalantly closing the door and turning back to Diego: "Now, go get yourself a room in that place over the street and you won't see me again until the finish line because I'll be gone before sunrise. I still have places to be."
"You really think I'd trust that?"
"Not really," the man's shoulders jumped. Hot Pants turned again, presumably on his way to do as he'd advised Diego.
The blond watched him take a few steps until Scary Monsters moved his limbs for him, faster than he had any chance to react to. Not a second later his hands lunged forward, grabbing broad shoulders and roughly shoving them against an empty stall.
"Then you know the only way you get out of this in one piece is to haul your ass back on the road and get as far away from me as possible!"
He could smell the adrenaline, the sweat on his skin, could see the spark of panic in Hot Pants' eyes, the shiver going through his body when his claws dug through cloth and into flesh.
"I told you, you didn't know what you'd be getting into."
Before Diego could do anything, before Scary Monsters could react and transform, Hot Pants kicked his knee up into the smaller man's groin. He spun Diego around, lifting his weight with ease while he was crumbling to the ground, and pressed a can of something onto his Adam's apple: "See?"
"Motherfucker," he gasped, pushing back against the taller one.
Hot Pants simply rolled his eyes and used the can to spray something onto Diego's face.
He expected his eyes to go up in flames, for them to go dark, or for his face to melt right off his skull. He expected his stand to burst forward and reduce the other man to a messy red pulp.
Instead, his breath was taken away. He tried opening his mouth, tried filling his lungs with air but was punished with emptiness. There was no hand on his throat, nothing pushing him into the wall anymore.
He slumped to his knees, clawing at the skin stretching over the lower half of his face. But it didn't come off. Like it just grew from him and ripping it from him would tear off his jaw.
Panic rose in him.
His body tried gasping for air, more desperately with every passing second. The world in front of him was beginning to blur and Scary Monsters inside of him was nowhere to be found. Scared and hiding somewhere he couldn't reach with the hazy cloud forming in his head.
Hot Pants was staring down at him, a smug smirk on his lips and a satisfied shimmer in his eyes. He was enjoying this, enjoyed seeing him writhe and suffer.
And Diego could do nothing about it.
Hot Pants pulled the can into his limited field of vision and made the foreign skin disappear, the satisfied smile on his face growing wider.
"Hope I didn't disappoint, oh mighty Diego Brando," his laugh echoed in the blond man's foggy brain and his face came closer. He kneeled down, unbothered by the possibility of Diego taking revenge. Clearly, he was capable of defending himself with quite unfair methods.
He glanced down, breaking eye contact, and let his teeth bleed into the grin: "But judging from your body's reaction that's actually something you're into."
He stood back up again and reached out a hand for Diego to grab onto, his face back to the dominant scowl from before: "Now be nice and behave."
The fog hadn't lifted yet and all Diego could register was the throbbing in his pants, the comfortable haze spreading through his limbs. Hot Pants was standing above him, legs steady and strong arms stretched out to pull him toward him.
"I'll behave. Anything you want," he couldn't stop the low whine from spilling over his lips and suddenly his head felt very clear.
He was rock hard, his hands sweaty and the monster inside was begging him to do something about it.
Hot Pants raised an eyebrow. He made no effort to hide his staring.
"Oh. So that's what gets you going?"
Diego cleared his throat and pushed himself up, patting down his pants in a desperate attempt to make himself at least a bit more presentable: "And you won't speak a word of it!"
"What if I do this?," Hot Pants crowded him again, his face way too close to Diego's and his hands came back to push him, this time on the center of his chest and less abruptly.
He could feel his heartbeat quicken again.
"And this?" The taller man moved his hand up and let it ghost along his throat, grabbing at his chin in the end and whispering: "Didn't think it'd be this easy to reduce you to nothing but a writhing whore."
Diego's ears turned red. The throbbing got worse, spreading into his legs and making his knees weak. He couldn't control it, and some part of him didn't want to control it.
It had been too long and he always had a weakness for partners who knew what they wanted, how to put someone like him in their place.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? For me to fuck you into the stone floor? You'd probably even get off on the chance someone caught you with that kind of sodomy." Hot Pants put his pink lips to Diego's, giving him a quick peck, and then pulled away.
"Too bad I'm not into that. I admit the idea of taking you right here is enticing, but I still have a reputation to uphold. I'll get myself a room and if your brain is capable of that, you can join me for a bit of fun."
With that, the man more dominant than Diego had dreamt him to be, left the stable.
It took a few minutes for him to shake off the jelly in his legs and for something else to calm down enough to be hidden again.
This was such a bad idea but everything inside him screamed for a good fuck. He didn't want Hot Pants to fuck him, he needed him to make him bruise like nothing else!
The race hadn't exactly been a good place to find someone for a shag. Too few women and too many men he hadn't gotten a chance to get a read on. The last time he'd had any action was back in San Diego, a few days before the start of the race. And it hadn't even been good.
It had been too long for his taste. He was used to getting his dick wet a couple of times a week when racing, so this felt like a lifetime of a dry spell.
Without another look spared toward Silver Bullet and with his saddlebags slung over his shoulders, Diego hurried after the other man.
If this was going to be an ambush, he'd be faster to call Scary Monsters this time. But he was going to get laid, come what may.
"How can I help you?," the woman behind the counter asked him, eyeing his dirty boots suspiciously. "We've got a few rooms left, breakfast's included, for drinks you gotta give next door a visit."
"Guy in a pink outfit. What's his room?," he tried letting the authoritarian facade he usually carried speak for himself. Thankfully the way his brain could only think about one thing, one person, wasn't noticed or ignored to take a few bills out of his pockets.
She refused to tell him until he bought a room of his own - which admittedly he respected her for, even if he'd have demanded another bribe in her place.
He grabbed the key and left his own room be for now, following the corridor in favor of knocking on the door the woman had explained to him to be Hot Pants'.
It wasn't like an evening like this was anything new to him. He remembered his early days racing and the many boys and men lining up to simply be in proximity to a rising star. And among them just as many as the women with their more open flirtation, intent on having a piece of him. And who was he to deny the world his grace - and him the satisfaction of his lowly desires?
But he somehow felt a little nervous this time around. If for the fact that Hot Pants was someone he'd have to see again at the finish line, if he didn't die on the way there, or him knowing about this kink of his - no shame in that but a very bad time to have someone find out - he couldn't say.
The opening of the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
Hot Pants was standing in front of him, not yet having dressed down for the night, but the riding cap was missing. Instead, he could finally see the pink bob. How did he even get it that way? It couldn't be natural like that, could it?
"Get in here or we'll be front page news by tomorrow," Hot Pants pulled him inside and closed the door behind him, locking it and turning to watch Diego awkwardly stand in the center of the small room, not knowing if he should sit down on the bed, undress at the earlier invitation or wait for instructions.
Hot Pants let him cook and continued what he'd been interrupted by. At the shabby table in the corner of the room, he opened his small bible back up and made a show of intently reading instead of giving Diego the attention he came here for.
"You're one of those religious types?," Diego could not not say anything. His distaste for religion was no secret. Some unfriendly remarks about the institutions, practices, and followers had made pretty big news back home and did cost him a sponsor or two.
"Very much so. But I won't take offense if you aren't. I didn't expect you'd want to be preached to." Naturally.
"Do I have to prepare for some religious guilt after we're done then?"
He closed the good book and looked back at the other. "I have already sinned in mind and that's no better than sinning in flesh."
"So much for this not being a sermon. Want me to fall to my knees and pray a few Hail Mary's 'till you're finished?," the blond-haired rolled his eyes and finally sat down at the end of the bed.
He was slowly growing impatient.
"I'd imagine that's not the thing you usually do when down there," Hot Pants let out a quick laugh, "But anyway. It's good finding a fellow queer in this race. Comforting, I'd say."
"And you're better settled with me than that fucking Joestar and his repressed ass." And what a glorious repressed rear it was.
He shook his head.
"The guy's so far up that Italian's ass he couldn't see his own pining if it bit him."
"Good thing indeed," the taller man stood up and once again took the other's chin between his fingers, tilting his face up, "Good thing I, unlike him, know myself quite well."
Diego just nodded.
"What I meant to say with that is not just that I want you. I do, but I need you to want me as well for this to work."
"I do," he was pretty sure Hot Pants could tell.
"Let me finish, okay?"
Hot Pants took a step back and with a slightly guilty look on his face admitted: "I'm not exactly what you probably envisioned. I'm not a guy. I've got a chest and usually no dick."
That was the least of Diego's worries. He'd welcomed both men and women in countless numbers to his bed and if one or two of them didn't have the equipment expected for the way they felt, then that was just more reason for him to be pissed at Hot Pants' imaginary friend in the clouds.
"Doesn't automatically make you a woman just for not having a… Wait a second. Usually? What does 'I usually don't have a cock' even mean?," Diego's confusion bled into his expression, clearly.
Hot Pants seemed incredibly amused by that.
"I'll explain when we get to the good part. I'm not a woman either, to clarify. I'm just a person. I just go around as a man because it's safer around a bunch of other men."
That Diego could understand. He didn't want to know what some of his fellow racers would do to someone they only saw as a pair of walking tits.
"The other nuns didn't understand but they respected it. And I expect the same of you, now that you know."
"As you should. I'm an asshole, I'll readily admit that, but I'm an asshole to 'just a person' just as I am to anyone else."
For now, he ignored the part about them being or having been a nun. Even if suddenly he could understand the appeal a nun's attire could hold.
Satisfied with that, Hot Pants pulled off their over-shirt and revealed a less loosely cut one under that, and with it the small curve of their chest: "An inclusive asshole. I can work with that."
"Are you comfortable taking off those bandages or do they stay on?," Diego had closed the distance between them and grabbed the hem of their undershirt before lifting it. "I had this boy who kept them on at all times so I wanted to make sure you're…"
"Brando, I'm just about to think you're a gentleman. But I'll take them off. My chest is no cause of concern to me." They let Diego continue and lay their chest bare. Or as naked as it was possible to be with cloth bandages binding down one's breasts.
"Don't play coy now, take them off. I know you want to have a good look."
"Just checking you're really okay and not just going with it to get me to fuck you."
He wasn't even laying it on this time. He actually cared for them to be comfortable. Wouldn't be fun that way for one. But on the other hand, he found their banter to be refreshing and didn't care for souring that mood in the future.
No matter what was in their pants, he found them incredibly attractive. That strong jaw, the muscled calves and arms, those juicy thighs, and calloused hands. The unforgiving look that had made him nearly keel over before.
A thought of those boots pressing down into his lap came to mind, leaving just as quickly when Hot Pants loosened the bandages and let their chest breathe in the dusty air of the cold room.
Their nipples perked up in the cold as if to greet the one unapologetically staring at them. Pale with sweet pink at the center, a few freckles strewn across, just like their shoulders.
Without thinking he lifted one hand and decided to get a feel. They fit into his hand just right, so soft and pretty he could spend the entire evening just with them. His thumb brushed over the pink nub and played a little with it, fascinated by the contrast of the softness in his hands to the hard muscle he'd dreamt of.
As with the rest of them, Diego liked what he saw.
His second hand joined in and all he could do was dream of burying his face in their chest, how they'd jump with Hot Pants bouncing his lap, how they'd taste on his tongue, and the sweet noises he could coax out of…
"Diego?," Hot Pants interrupted his thoughts and pulled his face up, looking for something in his eyes. "Sorry, you looked… gone for a moment. That's a you getting into it thing and not a you not wanting to be here thing, right?"
Diego had to look up at them.
The height difference between them hadn't been something he'd put much thought into before, sitting on a horse making the assessment of height rather difficult and all, but the sudden realization of them being quite a bit taller felt like a punch to the gut.
"Diego?"
"I fucking need you. Now. Please. Anything. Anything you'll give me!"
A smile spread across Hot Pants' face and their hand on his cheek lingered for a moment longer until moving to put their thumb to his lower lip: "Then get out of those clothes and on the bed. We've got an interesting night ahead of us."
Diego obeyed and stripped, carelessly throwing everything on his person to the ground, and sat back down at his previous place. Naked as the day he was born, he tried respectfully looking away, avoiding staring at the one before him, but he just couldn't.
Hot Pants folded their clothing instead, patience in all their movements. They stepped out of their underpants, the same simple ones he himself had discarded. Nothing sexy about them, nothing sensual about their undressing. No show.
He still loved every second of it. Simply watching was weirdly calming to him. Knowing what'd come, knowing they were so much more than his fantasies… Them being.
"The way you're staring you could get the impression you've never seen anyone naked." They pushed him onto his back. "But I assume famed playboy Diego Brando would know how to treat someone."
Hot Pants pointed him to move toward the headboard and kneeled down between his knees: "Especially someone who knows how to treat him right."
Well, this was a position he could get behind.
One of their hands lay on his thigh, motionless yet teasing in positioning alone. Their eyes were focused on his face, never straying farther down. At least for now.
"Anything you're not up to?"
"Why? You wanna go wild on me? Got some real weird fetishes?"
"Just the usual stuff for now," Hot Pants moved up his body, their hands just below his head and hair falling into both their faces. Their breath was hot on Diego's skin: "Spanking, choking, degradation. I'm sure that's something you're into. Maybe I'll tie you up and have some fun with that?"
"Whatever you want."
"Diego! I'm serious about this," one hand grabbed his chin. They really seemed to like handling him like this.
He let his mouth fall open, inviting those fingers inside instead of answering.
"Tell me and I'll give you what you want. You have to be good to get something nice, no one ever teach you that?"
"No spanking. Want you to fuck my mouth with your fingers 'til my jaw's sore and then eat you out 'til you come. Want you to sit on me, suffocate me. Don't let go 'til you got what you came for," his words nearly toppled over themselves. He wanted everything. If Hot Pants wanted to have him until sunrise he'd let them use him through unconsciousness and beyond at this point.
Having their flesh under him was all that mattered. Having their softness in his fingers, their taste on his tongue. All that mattered was them pushing him.
"Good start," they slipped two fingers over his tongue, "That what you wanted?"
They pushed down, trapping his tongue and stealing the words from his lips.
His eyes went wide.
In the back of his mind, Scary Monsters was scratching at the wall of his brain.
It wanted more. Wanted to take.
A third finger followed: "Suck. Like you'd suck a cock. Bet you're good at that."
He was.
And he'd gladly show them.
He followed the order and closed his lips around the digits no longer pressing down on him. He let his tongue swirl around their fingers at first. Tentative, getting a first taste for them, just barely satiating the thing within.
Hot Pants' eyes went dark.
They sat down on his lap, unmoving and waiting for his next move.
He hollowed his cheeks. He followed their fingers when they tried removing them and greeted them with only more enthusiasm when they pushed back. A steady back and forth, comforting and safe in a sense.
He was already hard again, painfully throbbing with Hot Pants letting him use their fingers, letting them use him.
For a moment he wished them to be longer. He wanted to choke, to feel them in his throat and not let go.
Hot Pants pulled their fingers out. And he felt empty. Like he was taking a deep breath but there was nothing to fill his lungs, a vacuum suffocating him into darkness.
Their hands returned to his face. One on his cheek, the other pushing some of his locks out of his eyes: "You should see yourself now. So needy. Been waiting for this haven't you?"
Diego nodded, a pathetic hum catching in his throat.
His shaking hands closed around Hot Pants' ankles: "Please tell me I can do this. Please!" His arms looped around their thighs and pulled them closer, until their core was so close he'd barely have to move to get a taste, their weight pressing down on his chest.
"Do it. Be a good little pup and prove you want this," they leaned back, their arms supporting them on his thighs. They spread their legs before him, offering themselves to him like a cup of water to a thirsting man.
Another moment, a second to take a deep breath, to let either of them back out.
He let his tongue swipe across their already wet cunt. Once. Twice. Tentative. A first move as to not scare them.
Above him, a surprised moan rang out. Unfiltered, shameless.
Diego latched onto their clit, no hesitation after getting their approval. He sucked. He licked. His tongue dove right into their core. Pushing in and out, their walls tightening around him. They ground themselves into him. Desperate to keep him where he was even if he'd happily die then and there if it meant bathing in their warmth for just a second longer.
He'd have to pull up soon, take a breath, anything. But he didn't. His fingers dug into their thighs. He didn't think about it, just did. He pulled them even closer, himself into them. Clinging to that suffocating heat, the comforting fog.
Them on his tongue and in his ears and underneath his hands. He didn't need anything else. His nose buried in their hair, chin soaked in their lust.
Their hand on his scalp. They pulled and he groaned into them. He needed more of that sweet pain.
"Diego!" His eyes shot up. He hadn't even noticed himself closing them.
"Hey!," their hand pulled again and the heat moved from his scalp to his dick. "You're doing really good. Talented little slut you are. Just slow down a little."
He would. Everything they'd ask for.
He returned his attention to the swollen bundle of nerves. His tongue turned in slow circles, his hands digging deeper into their skin. He gently licked at them, slow and torturous for him more so than the person above him.
They seemed to enjoy this slow pace just as much. The way his nails bruised them more and more the longer they wished for him to hold back.
Suddenly a sharp hiss from above made him stop.
"Did I do something?"
"'Did I do something?' Uhm, yes you did!," Hot Pants' pried his hands from their legs, "How'd I not notice these before?"
They weren't angry, just perplexed. Obviously, they hadn't expected Diego's hands to turn into enormous claws.
How had Diego himself not noticed them sooner?
Had he really been so far gone he hadn't felt Scary Monsters slowly transforming parts of him? Sparing it just a thought it didn't surprise him as much as it probably should. He needed this and his Stand seemed to crave a strong partner even more.
"That… Uhm… You know what a Stand is?"
"Sure do," Hot Pants chuckled and removed themselves from Diego's chest, sitting down next to him, "Cream Starter is mine. Honestly not surprised by you having one."
"That weird meat spray?"
"That 'meat spray' that got you hard in front of a stranger, mind you. And that exact 'meat spray' that gives me the 'sometimes I have a dick'."
"This conversation is so fucking weird." Diego couldn't suppress his laughter. Johnny had his nail bullets, Gyro his steel balls. It was weird enough he'd basically stolen his own stand from a guy and that it transformed himself and others into those dinosaur things, but now one of these powers was meat spray?
"But I guess yours is easier to control than a damn Dinosaur."
"Those aren't real, are they?"
"The thing I can turn into and that kind of whispers in my ear all the time says otherwise," he sat up and faced Hot Pants eye to eye.
Hot Pants glanced at Diego's hands: "So that's what those claws are. Can you control them?"
"Mostly? Sometimes when I get agitated it makes me shift without noticing." He willed them to form back into his own hands.
"Then getting those fingers inside of me is out of question. Cream Starter can heal but that's not something we're gonna risk, okay?"
"Absolutely."
He was just a little dejected at not being able to show off another of his skills but tearing them open from the inside was better left as an impulsive thought than a real possibility.
"That Cream Starter of yours," Diego moved onto his knees and tried not to stare at their crotch while also unashamedly letting his eyes roam other parts of their body, "It can give you a real cock?"
"Any shape or size. Though I haven't experimented with it much. Haven't had it that long."
"And if I asked you to… to fuck me with it…"
Hot Pants moved closer, their hands back to his hair: "Then I'd gladly make you lose your mind."
"Please."
"Such a good boy you are. Already begging at just the possibility of getting railed," they leaned over at the nightstand and grabbed Cream Starter from the wooden counter, "All I have to do is parade a pretty cock in front of you and your brain shuts off. Pathetic for someone of your reputation and talent."
Diego pushed his hands under his legs. He could barely control them itching to relieve himself. Just one stroke, Monsters begged him. Just a tiny bit, just enough to promise it he wasn't depriving them of this ecstasy.
He watched Hot Pants with hooded eyes as they spread their legs, took another deep breath, and then sculpted themselves their own length. Transfixed, he didn't notice himself inching closer and closer. Close enough to touch if his limbs decided to.
And Hot Pants let him.
They let him watch them form and change until they were satisfied with themselves and the reaction the sight pulled from the shorter one.
Where before he wanted nothing more than to plunge into them, wanted to pleasure them as long as they'd have him… Wanted to give… Now, all he could think about was them above him. Heavy panting, filling him and mercilessly chasing themselves. Them using him and him taking. Taking all of it.
They looked so good like this.
Magenta eyes dark and focused on him. Hot and hard for him. Their pretty cock standing proudly before him, a pair of heavy balls underneath. The wet tip nearly begging for him to get his mouth on it, relax with the weight of it.
He felt his mouth water at the thought of them splitting him in two.
"Back in position, slut. I see you aching for me and I can't have you waiting any longer, can I?," Hot Pants returned to him, crawling over him, and only stopping when their breath mingled with another. "You want me to fuck you so bad, don't you, little whore? You want to feel every inch of me when you wake up tomorrow. You want whoever is on the other side of this wall to hear you scream. You want them to know who's responsible for you losing your mind."
"Please! Please, I want them to know!"
"Then open yourself up. If you can give me a good show maybe you'll be rewarded. Be a good boy and see what happens," Hot Pants whispered into his face. They gave him a small kiss, the smallest of rewards as a tease, and leaned back.
He let his head rest on the single pillow, swallowing down his rapidly beating heart, and spread his legs, baring himself to let Hot Pants watch.
Diego quickly spit into his hands and moved his fingers between his legs. He didn't tease himself, didn't play with ghosting touches around the rim. He pushed inside, added another finger, and immediately started scissoring.
He could have pushed more, could have looked for that sweet spot he knew lay a bit deeper. He could have given the show Hot Pants had asked for. But the moment there was something, anything, pushing inside, he couldn't think straight. He needed to open himself, to be filled as quickly as possible.
Scary Monsters began purring inside. It felt the same. It didn't think about pleasing its partner. There was only its own pleasure, its own ecstasy. It still felt empty. And that emptiness was becoming painful.
Diego quickened his pace. Three fingers in and pushing back on his fingers, he pathetically tried to suppress his own moans.
He wanted Hot Pants to know how much them watching him turned him on. How it set his blood ablaze and made it nearly impossible not to deliberately push into that bundle of nerves he knew would make him see stars. How their gaze alone would be enough to make him want to follow their orders.
But he also didn't want to wait. He needed them inside of him. Now. Five minutes ago. It didn't matter because they weren't right now and it made him even more desperate.
There were no moans, no groans leaving him. He was whimpering. For himself. For Hot Pants. For anyone walking down the hallway.
He really didn't care anymore.
Maybe if he cried out enough, maybe then Hot Pants would show mercy and give what he could not bring himself to take without order.
Diego didn't have to wait long.
Hot Pants cold hands pried his fingers away, depriving him of the small pleasure he allowed himself.
"No, please! Just fuck me already!"
"Impatient little brat," they moved closer and let their own hands rest on him again. "You were doing so good. You looked downright sinful and no god could keep me away from this. You'll get your reward, no worries."
"Promise?"
"Promised." One of their hands closed around his shaft. The other hand moved lower and resumed the place his own fingers had occupied just a minute ago.
Diego threw his head back, biting down on his tongue not to scream his relief into the night. He wanted them to know. But he couldn't. Not this fast.
Their hands moved on him, quickly changing the pace. Fast, slow, they let him wait just a moment too long, didn't let him breathe a moment later. Squeezed on the upturn, waiting, and then torturously slowly moving back to the base. His legs began shaking. He could feel them pushing inside of him, moving and searching for what he avoided to poke.
And then they pressed down. Dragged their fingers over it, pushed against it, abused it.
His back arched off the sheets, mouth wide open in a silent plea, surprised, overwhelmed, shocked.
There was no time to scream, only a blinding explosion through his entire body.
It took him a moment to take another breath.
"Diego?," Hot Pants’ face appeared above him. "Too much?" Their hand was in his hair again. Gently stroking, their nails scraping at his skull. Relaxing and hypnotic.
"Not enough," he choked.
He'd been so far gone he hadn't felt the coil inside him pull tight. He could barely remember it letting go. The only thing proving he'd come at all was the warmth only slowly fading from his limbs and the streaks across his belly.
“Not enough? You want more?”
He nodded, pressing closer to the other. He craved their heat, craved being close to them, and despite having gotten what Monsters wanted, both he and his Stand weren’t yet satisfied.
Hot Pants sat up, moving their hand away from Diego. He already missed their gentle touch.
They sat back on their heels and slid their hands under his thighs, pushing his knees up: “You're a greedy slut, you know? But you've earned it."
They let themselves slot between his legs, lazily grinding against him. "Even if you didn't scream as promised, you looked divine!"
He let them rut into him for a moment, still not yet ready to move his limbs again.
He let himself enjoy their quiet groans, tried imprinting the look of bliss on their face into his mind. Their hair was falling into their face in sweaty strands and their eyes were nearly closed in concentration, restraining themselves. He could feel their trembling thighs against his back.
But they didn't push inside. Maybe they tried being considerate of him, maybe this was yet another chance for them to torture him. He liked it. He loved it. He would have craved it if he hadn't already set his mind on something else. With a saint's patience, the one atop him pushed against him in languid strokes.
The fog around his head lifting just enough for more coherent thoughts to form, he could see the want in their eyes. Their gaze moved from his chest, down to their cocks and back up to his lips, longing for every part of him.
He felt himself stiffen again.
He was still way too sensitive, his skin burning everywhere they touched.
Despite that, he flipped Hot Pants on their back and finally leaned down to claim their lips.
There was no sensual first touch, no loving peck or question. Diego crashed into them like a tidal wave, desperate and forceful. He licked into their mouth, let their teeth collide, didn't let them breathe.
He felt the roof of their mouth on his tongue, let them push back, and was nearly ready to accept them taking the lead once again, when he ground back into them and remembered why he was in this position in the first place.
"No more teasing," his voice strained and hoarse against their lips, he leaned back, one hand lining up Hot Pants with himself.
Before they could say anything he sank down on them and had the air punched out of his lungs.
Rationally he knew the size they'd given themselves, knew he wouldn't tear with how much they'd prepared.
It still felt like they were splitting him in half. He hadn't done anything to make the push less painful, not even tried being patient for his own sake.
He didn't give himself a second to adjust. The moment he had all of them, he lifted himself up again. He ignored his wobbly legs and set a punishing pace for both of them.
Hot Pants' hands flew to his hips, their nails digging into him, trying to ground themselves. Their groans from before turned into a strained moan.
He leaned further back, changing their position inside of him just enough to hit that spot they'd already abused before.
"Fuck that's it!," finally he felt like he could let himself scream how he wanted, "On shit! Fuck me right there! Don't you fucking dare and stop!"
His face raised toward the ceiling, he didn't see Hot Pants fixating on his bobbing dick with every move he made.
He didn't feel them twitch inside of him, didn't register their grip tightening on his hips. And above his own impatient pants, he didn't hear them let out a fucked out moan, his name on their lips.
He didn't care.
He felt them fill him up, felt their heat spread through him, their cock softening little by little. But he couldn't stop. Not now. He hadn't gotten what he wanted yet and Diego Brando always got what he wanted.
He ground into them, wanted them as deep as possible even if not as hard as he wanted. He pulled at his cock with a desperation he hadn't known before. Hard, unforgiving, and angry.
"Please! I fucking need to come!"
"Then come, you slut! You're already full of me so get off on that, whore!," Hot Pants' hand closed around Diego's and with a few even harder pulls he was painting them as they had his insides. They continued long after he was twitching no longer from a comfortable glow but from the piercing pins of overstimulation.
"Shit," he fell back, Hot Pants' limp dick leaving an empty space he couldn't describe. "I fucking needed that." He sighed and let his tired limbs stretch out on the covers.
Hot Pants instead took a rag to clean both of them up - where they found that Diego didn't know. All he could focus on was getting his chest to calm down and his thoughts to clear up.
Their hands were gentle on his stomach and even went over his chin, still left with some of themselves. He could feel their spend leak onto the bed.
Diego tried giving Hot Pants his thanks for indulging him but the words died on his tongue.
That'd be weird to thank someone for sleeping with him. That'd cast a very ugly light of sad desperation on him.
He should just let himself get his bearings again and…
"That was damn good," Hot Pants slumped down onto Diego, letting their head rest on his shoulder, their weight like a heavy blanket on him.
Their heart was still beating fast, their breath hot on Diego's ears: "Your reputation didn't do you justice." Their hand returned to Diego's head. The other intertwined their fingers. He didn’t stop them.
"I aim to please."
"That looked more like you fucking yourself on my dick like a horny rabbit, but okay," they chuckled and slowly he could feel their hearts slowing to their normal beat.
After a few minutes, Diego propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at Hot Pants. "I'm going to sleep in my own room," he thought out loud, moved off the bed, and collected his clothes.
"Oh, okay." Hot Pants' eyes followed him putting on his pants. The disappointment in their voice was painfully obvious.
Diego kept quiet for a second and then sighed: "That was an invitation. The bed in my room is still clean."
_____________
It was still dark when both Diego and Hot Pants left the motel. The sun wouldn't show itself on the horizon for a bit and both racers wanted to get an early start.
The storm the night before thankfully hadn't caused too much damage, just a very muddy main road and probably a few slow hours of travel for them.
For a while, they just rode next to each other. Diego tried getting a good look at them, same as he felt their gaze on him. Hot Pants pulled out some jerky from their bags and offered Diego half of it.
"So…," he had Bullet halt, Gets Up automatically stopping beside them, "We're just riding together now?"
He hoped they didn't notice his nerves.
Hot Pants' fingers played with the reins, betraying the false calmness in their voice: "It's safer this way. Both on the road and off it."
He could agree with that. Especially knowing the next confrontation with Johnny and Gyro was only a matter of time. He'd rather have another pair of eyes to look out for them. And another body to keep him warm at night.
Scary Monsters purred at the thought of waking up next to them again.
"I think I'd be okay with that."