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Josuke isn’t sure why he says yes. Curiosity, maybe. What Jotaro might term “poor risk assessment.” His mother would just go with “dumb fuckery”.
Rohan is streaked with perspiration, his hair tousled, lipstick kissed away to nothing. He says, “There won’t be any negative effects. I won’t make you do anything illegal.” A muscle slides in his jaw. “And I’ll owe you.”
Curiosity, dumb-fuckery. Whatever. Josuke assesses a risk poorly and says, “Okay.”
--
The first time he comes back to himself is on the front steps of Rohan’s house, and he doesn’t feel any particular way at all. He would have said no time had passed, because this is exactly where the blank spot in his memories begins, but the sun has dipped below the rooftops. Plus his shirt is now on backwards.
So they had sex? That’s fine, but not anything new. Nothing Rohan would need to use Heaven’s Door to make Josuke forget.
“Maybe he wants you to do something totally gross,” says Okuyasu on the phone later that night. “Like...lick his butthole, or something.”
“I’m pretty sure that Rohan would just ask for that.” He doesn’t have much in the way of shame. Though he would hit the roof if he knew Josuke was discussing this with his friends. He hadn’t meant to, but he had been seriously freaking out. It wasn’t so much the gay thing as the ‘I sucked face with an arrogant douchebag and I liked it’ thing. He may be a third year now, but that doesn’t mean he’s any better equipped to deal with this stuff.
--
The second time, Josuke’s awareness returns when he is picking up his school bag in the front hall. He holds his breath and hears the hiss of the shower from upstairs. He checks himself over. No marks, and it doesn’t taste like he’s been licking anyone’s butthole. So far Rohan has kept to his word--there are no lingering effects, nothing bad. Just every few times they hang out, he loses a swathe of time.
He waits around for a couple minutes, but the shower doesn’t stop. It’s almost six--his mom is going to start getting suspicious soon.
Whatever Rohan is writing into him, Josuke is beginning to suspect that it’s time-sensitive. As in, he’s phrased it so he won’t remember a specific block of time. Two hours, maybe. He keeps forgetting to check before they start. Rohan never wants to talk about it when they’re together--sometimes he pretends he can’t even hear him. But he resolves to use this info to his advantage.
He must come through for himself, because the next time he resurfaces he is still in Rohan’s bedroom, with his shirt off and pants still half buttoned. The bed is a demolished landscape, sheets half torn off. The whole place reeks of sex.
Rohan is on the floor, one hand wrapped around the bedpost. It looks like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His hair sticks to his forehead in stringy clumps, his lipstick smeared--no, that isn’t lipstick. Red is far too plebian a color for Rohan. Blood seeps out of the corner of his mouth, and a palette of purpling bruises is splashed across his left cheek. One of his eyes is swollen shut.
“Hey--!”
Rohan’s one good eye widens in plaintive shock. He curls in on himself, and Josuke can see the welts across his back, his thighs. He’s been beaten.
“Rohan, what the fuck, who--.”
Rohan swears, long and inventive. “I timed it badly,” he says. He forces his bangs out of his eyes. “Hold still, I’ll fix it, I’ll--Heaven’s Door!” He begins the ridiculous flourish that accompanies the release of his stand. He chokes halfway through, doubling over in pain.
“Hey--!” Crazy Diamond catches him before he can hit the floor. He cradles him against his chest, Josuke’s concern manifesting in the gentle, possessive touch.
“What happened?” Crazy Diamond lays Rohan on the bed, then goes to work because there’s a lot of healing to do. “Did an enemy stand-user do this?” It’s been months since there’s been any sort of attack. After Kira, people got the picture that no matter how soft and scenic Morioh might look, it’s protected. You do not fuck with Josuke Higashikata’s town. You do not fuck with his friends. And you do not fuck with his kind-of-maybe-sort-of-boyfriend-but-not-in-a-serious-way-just-in-a-casual-way. Josuke feels a blaze of violence up his spine, hatred for whoever had done this.
Rohan’s eyes are slightly unfocused, but he tries again. “Heaven’s Door!”
“What the--Rohan!” Crazy Diamond punches Heaven’s Door in the face. “Aw, crap!” A reflex. “Sorry!”
Rohan hits the mattress with a gurgle. He coughs into the bedspread, then pushes himself up, arms trembling. From the look on his face, Josuke can tell he’s going to try to use his stand again.
“Okay, what the hell? Crazy Diamond!” His stand pins Rohan’s arms behind his back. Does he not recognize him? “Do whoever did this knock you silly? Sillier?”
Rohan spits blood onto the bed. Ew. They’re his sheets but still...ew. Crazy Diamond touches his cheek and he flinches. His cut lips closes, the bruise turns green, then yellow, then vanishes completely. The puffy skin around his eye recedes. Now that he’s less mangled, he looks pissed.
“You weren’t supposed to find out,” he says through bloody teeth. “We made a deal, I can make you forget--.” Josuke has never seen him like this. Well, angry, sure. All the time, it’s pretty much his default. But not afraid. Not ashamed.
“Rohan, what the…” The facts slot into place, and Josuke feels slow, he feels stupid. “Oh my god. I did this. I’m the one who did this to you.” Rohan doesn’t confirm or deny, but he doesn’t have to.
Crazy Diamond reacts with similar shock. He lets go of Rohan and frowns. He looks like he wants to curl into a little ball. That’s how Josuke feels, too. He wants to scream, he wants to hit things. Inanimate things.
“You agreed to it,” Rohan says, fierceness coming into his eyes. “You agreed every time.”
Josuke sucks in a few breaths. He’s lightheaded. “You used Heaven’s Door to make me do it?”
“No, of course not. I just used Heaven’s Door to make you forget about it. You’re too immature to handle it.”
“Immature?” Josuke grabs Rohan by the shoulders. “You--I, I beat you up!”
“I asked you to!”
“Why?”
“Because I like it!” Rohan’s voice is loud enough to echo from the high ceilings. He wraps his arms across his chest. Crazy Diamond has recovered enough to start healing him again, and the welts on his stomach and thighs are disappearing. “I like it, okay? And there’s no lasting harm, you always heal me afterward.”
“I can’t believe it.” Josuke wants to throw up. And that’s exactly why Rohan had used Heaven’s Door to make him forget, isn’t it? Because he’d been afraid he’d react exactly the way he is right now.
“Hey--.” Josuke doesn’t know what to say. Especially not to Rohan Kishibe, whose pride will never allow him to accept any sort of comfort at all. Crazy Diamond’s job is done, and now that the pain is gone, Rohan’s body language is shifting from vulnerable to irritated. Guiltily, Josuke is relieved. That’s the Rohan he knows how to deal with.
“Grow up,” Rohan snaps. “It’s not like you’ve ever had any qualms about hitting me before.”
Josuke feels another prickling roll of nausea. “That was--you were an enemy then! You deserved it!”
“So it’s fine to beat me when I don’t want it, but if I ask you to do it it’s immoral and terrible? Fucking typical. I’m going to take a shower.” His eyes harden. “I would appreciate it if you were gone when I got out.”
Josuke doesn’t go. He stays planted right where he is, not moving except to button his pants and put the bed back together, Crazy Diamond repairing the tears in the sheets and the bloodstains. When Rohan emerges twenty minutes later in a billow of fragrant stream he says, “I’m not leaving.” His mom is out of town and Koichi has a date tonight. There’s no one to miss him. “You owe me, remember?”
Rohan just snorts and crosses to his vanity. He looks strange without his makeup, unfinished--an elegant, well-formed piece of pottery that has yet to be glazed. It makes him seem more naked than the fact that he’s naked.
“You want to cash in your favor to get me to let you spend the night?” He stands in front of the mirror, spritzing his hair with detangler. “How romantic.”
Josuke flushes. “Shut it.”
Rohan’s reflection smirks at him. He seems to have regained most of his equilibrium in the shower. “I’m not going to apologize. You agreed to it. It’s not my fault if you can’t handle it.”
“I can’t remember agreeing to it.”
“Yes, but you can remember agreeing to not being able to remember. Haven’t you read John Locke?” At Josuke’s blank look he laughs. “What am I thinking. Of course you haven’t.” He sets his comb down and rolls his shoulders. He is a collection of lithe lines, long-boned and smooth, with elegant hands and knobbly wrists. His smile is a flash in the mirror before he turns and accosts Josuke with the real thing. “Shall I demonstrate?”
“What do you--.” Josuke finds himself backed up against the bed, pushed down as Rohan clambers into his lap. Before this he didn’t know it was possible to feel vaguely sick and turned on at the same time. Then Rohan unbuttons his jeans, rolls his hips and there’s nothing vague about it. Fuck this guy. He’s such a prick and Josuke can’t resist him.
Rohan starts talking, whispers panted breathless against Josuke’s mouth. “I know you must be thinking it was hard to convince you, but it wasn’t. You wanted to do it.” He pulls Josuke’s dick out of his pants, strokes as light and quick as his words.
“I don’t--.” Josuke’s hips buck. “You’re just screwing with me.” The slow grind is driving him nuts. He moves his hands down Rohan’s back, thumbs digging into either side of his spine, and Rohan arches into his touch like a cat. He has a ton of negative qualities, but the way he moves his body is not one of them.
“--You were screwing me, and I told you to slap me and you did. Twice.” His voice is rhythmic, tremulous. An incantation. “Then you held me down and put your hand around my neck and squeezed until I couldn’t breathe.” He bites at Josuke’s bottom lip. “You loved it.”
“Rohan--.”
Rohan grabs his chin and kisses him, slick and open-mouthed. “You liked having me at your mercy--.”
But clearly not as much as Rohan liked being at his mercy, if his dilated pupils and quivering voice are anything to go on.
“You’re an asshole,” Josuke grunts. Rohan’s laugh is high and unhinged. Josuke grabs him by the hair, forcing his head back. He can see the ghosts of the bruises Crazy Diamond hadn’t quite healed all the way. His stomach squirms and his cock twitches. God, maybe he is a little fucked up.
Rohan starts to speak again, and Josuke claps a big hand over his mouth. His eyes flash, darkening with arousal.
“Shut up,” Josuke growls. “I’m in charge, okay?”
Rohan hesitates. Probably considering the implications of relinquishing the upper hand in a circumstance that he isn’t just going to pull out of Josuke’s brain when they’re done.
But of course, he still could. Now, later, years down the road. As long as Rohan’s alive, he’s dangerous. But Josuke supposes that’s true of anyone with a stand. It’s true for him.
Slowly, Rohan nods. Josuke’s in charge.
-
A while later (okay 20 minutes, but honestly, who’s counting) Josuke lets Rohan go, bouncing down next to him. He has a western-style bed instead of a futon, and it always feels like sleeping on a giant marshmallow. He’s said that out loud before, and Rohan just looked at him like he was smoking something.
They are both out of breath and Rohan is trembling slightly, hands shaking as he adjusts his pillow. A bead of sweat rolls down between his collarbones. He has a few fresh hickies on his neck, but apart from that, Josuke hadn’t left any marks.
The room quiets as their breathing evens, the house settling around them in grumbling creaks. They’re looking at each other. Rohan’s gaze is much less hostile than usual, none of the typical calculating shrewdness. Josuke wonders if he always looks like this after sex; he never really sticks around long enough to find out.
“That’s all you wanted to do?” he asks with a small frown.
Josuke shrugs. “You said you’d do what I wanted. I didn’t want to beat you up.” He nudges Rohan with an elbow, unable to suppress a grin. He feels really, really good. Full of endorphins, or whatever. “You seemed to like it okay. And I did pull your hair.”
Color hits Rohan hard in the cheeks, spreading down to his neck. He snorts. “Barely.”
They keep watching each other; the atmosphere hovers just above awkward without ever quite reaching it. Rohan’s body is a long, elegant line against the sheets, lips swollen and pink. He is probably the prettiest person Josuke has ever seen. Definitely the prettiest dude.
“What?” Rohan asks, the usual bitchy edge creeping back in.
Josuke shrugs. “Not really anything. Just--.” He reaches out hesitantly, before letting a hand rest on Rohan’s hip. His eyes drop to it, but he doesn’t shake him off. “--It sort of pisses me off that you think you have to, like, erase my memory to keep me from looking down on you, or whatever.”
Rohan sniffs. “Like I give a shit what you think.”
“But you do, yeah? Otherwise you wouldn’t have used your stand on me.” He slides his hand further up Rohan’s body, feeling the fluttering of his breath under his ribs, how his stomach trembles slightly at the ticklish touch. He worms a little closer.
“What. What are you saying?”
They’re both nerving themselves up; this is a game of intimacy chicken. They’ve never really done this before. Fucking, yes, sure, but this lying around afterward and talking. It’s. Different.
“You can trust me, you know?” Josuke says. His heart is beating hard in his throat. Why does this feel almost like a confession? “We’re on the same side. I’m--I’m your friend.” Okay the point might have been better made if he hadn’t stammered through it, but who cares. “If you want me to beat you up or -.” God, this is so weird. “I’ll do it. But like. Not every time, okay?”
Rohan’s frown has deepened--not mad, more thoughtful than anything. After a couple second though he gives his customary snort and flips his bangs out of his eyes. “Don’t do me any favors, Higashikata.”
“Why would I, Kishibe?” He nudges him with an elbow, grinning.
Rohan smacks him away. “If you’re staying, keep it down. I have to get up to make a deadline tomorrow.”
“Okay, sensei.”
“If you steal the blankets you’re sleeping on the couch.”
“You won’t even know I’m here.”