Warnings: Stand sex.
A/N: It was really hard writing the smut because I kept literally thinking about the world, as in planet Earth, and everything. Then my brain would stray towards Captain Planet and I'd need to take a break.
Chop Shop
Dio stands in front of the mirror, shirtless, fingers tracing the scars that go around his neck. These are Jonathan's fingers, he thinks, holding his—Jonathan's—hands up in front of him. He flexes the fingers, bends and straightens them one at a time. He makes a fist, extends his arm slowly.
Hands coming down to rest as his sides, he lets his eyes take in the expanse of exposed skin—the broad chest, the muscled arms, the taut abdomen. Dio notes the slight difference in skin color, how his skin is a shade lighter than Jonathan's.
He turns around, back to the mirror, and looks over his shoulder. In the dim light, the star-shaped birthmark almost blends in with the rest of Jonathan's skin. Dio runs the tip of a finger over it, follows the shape of its outline. This is the mark of a Joestar.
Dio follows the curve of Jonathan's spine with his eyes up to the small of Jonathan's back; the rest is covered. As Dio moves to face the mirror again, he moves Jonathan's hands, slowly unzips and unbuttons his pants. This is Jonathan's body.
When he wakes up, the first thing he sees isn't the lid of his coffin, but the ceiling of his room. He stares up at it for almost an entire minute, confused, before he remembers what's happened. He sits up, runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, and presses a palm against his forehead.
Though it's supposed to be impossible for him to get sick, Dio's been feeling feverish ever since he's arrived in Egypt. He scowls as he stands up, placing a hand against the wall to steady himself. The world swims in and out of focus. He doesn't feel it when he hits the floor.
When he regains consciousness, it's much darker outside, and the stars have appeared in the sky. Dio blinks, once, twice, turns his head to one side, and freezes. There's someone lying on the floor beside him. He closes his eyes until they're only open a fraction of an inch, pretends he's still unconscious.
The stranger doesn't move, his face pointed towards the ceiling. Dio takes in his odd appearance, notices that he doesn't seem to be breathing. His heightened senses can't pick up a heartbeat.
He's not sure how much time passes as he simply looks at the figure beside him. Dio prepares himself for battle—he's sure he can best the stranger in a fight if needed—and moves into a crouch.
The stranger moves as well, ending up in the same position, facing away from Dio.
When Dio stands up warily, the stranger does too. Dio takes in the large body—much larger than his, taller and broader—moves to stand in front of him. He takes in the blank gaze, the dull color, the shape of the stranger's head, and wonders if someone wearing a costume stumbled into his apartment.
Dio reaches out to plunge fingers into the stranger's neck and drink his blood (it's the most convenient way to get rid of him) and takes a step back when his hand encounters thin air. The stranger's gone.
Every day he practices using the phantom and his body, gets used to the feel of both.
He can control the phantom better now. He can make it appear and disappear at will. He can make it move without having to move himself, has mastered the brute strength it needs to punch through a wall. Fine motor control is still beyond him; the last time he tried to get the phantom to write, he ended up breaking the pen.
Dio's slowly getting used to Jonathan's body. He doesn't stumble at odd moments, and he doesn't get tired so easily anymore. He still feels resistance, though, at a basic level, feels Jonathan's body rejecting him even now. He tries not to think about it.
He concentrates, instead, on making the phantom press its index finger against his arm without wounding him. He's sitting on the side of the bed, eyes on his extended arm. The phantom's finger moves up towards his elbow, barely making contact with his skin—the whisper of a touch.
From his elbow, it moves down to his wrist. Dio focuses on keeping the touch light; if he doesn't, the phantom might end up hurting him. Usually he would not be afraid of injury, but he doesn't know what will happen if he loses control of the phantom's strength. Doesn't know because he's never encountered anything like it before, and he wonders again, briefly if there are other people out there who have the same power.
He's brought out of his musings when there's a painful grip on his wrist. Dio glares at the phantom though he knows it's not its fault and, with a thought, makes it disappear.
The woman in front of him introduces herself as N'yah. She seems beautiful, her curves hidden beneath her cloak, but Dio can feel the years around her, knows that she's not as young as she looks.
While stalking the streets of Egypt, Dio had felt the pull of a familiar energy, had followed it into a side-street, curious whether he was about to meet another person with a phantom. He had walked in on N'yah killing a man and stealing his money.
She extends her hand, a pack of cards in her palm, and asks him to draw one. He does so, handing his card over to her, noting that both her hands are right hands.
N'yah holds up his card, shows him what he pulled out of the deck, tells him that he owns the World.
Today, Jonathan's body is being especially uncooperative.
Dio falls to the floor, narrowly missing hitting his head on the nearby table, shoulder slamming against the concrete. He scowls as he tries to stand up, his limbs sluggish and jerky. He moves like a drunken marionette, and when he loses his balance again, he automatically summons the World.
The World catches him before he can hit the floor again and tosses him onto the bed, pins him down. He stares up at the blank face as it holds down his struggling body, wishes that Jonathan would stop fighting, and blinks when the World rips off his clothes.
It doesn't hurt that much when the World enters him—it feels like it's happening to someone else and his limbs thrash harder, trying to break the World's hold. Dio can hear his wrists snap, and kicking at his Stand only hurts his feet, but he still can't control himself, can't make his body relax.
This was Jonathan's body. Now it's mine.