Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8375815.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      ジョジョの奇妙な冒険_|_JoJo_no_Kimyou_na_Bouken_|_JoJo's_Bizarre_Adventure
  Relationship:
      Pannacotta_Fugo/Narancia_Ghirga
  Character:
      Pannacotta_Fugo, Narancia_Ghirga
  Additional Tags:
      tagged_as_underage_but_narancia_is_like_18_here_and_fugo_17,
      Asphyxiation, Choking, Blow_Job, Body_Worship, Depravity, narancia_still
      sucks_at_math, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, everybody_lived,
      Mild_Abuse, Jojo's_Bizarre_Adventure_part_5:_Vento_Aureo
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-25 Words: 3567
****** La Cosa Perfetta ******
by Charmedsevenfold
Summary
     When he saw Narancia fail it flipped a switch; he wanted nothing more
     than to punish him. He saw Narancia in that moment as a physical
     manifestation of his own failure and shortcomings- something that he
     must snuff out.
Notes
     The first half of this is based off of an rp with a wonderful friend
     of mine! It's been sitting unfinished in my files for a long time, so
     I hope you enjoy it!
There was always tension in the room- an electricity that usually came about
when the two Passione members were in close proximity. The stress of the last
six months was over; the fears of revolting against the gang and being
assassinated were now in the past as Giorno Giovanna usurped Diavolo, becoming
the boss of Passione. Narancia rested his chin upon the palm of his hand, eyes
cast down, scanning a textbook which was entitled ‘INTERMIDATE ALGEBRA’. The
book was illuminated by a small table lamp, which did little to light up the
rest of the room. The teen struggled to focus on his studies, his attention was
continually drawn to the other boy who would be sharing the hideout for the
evening. There was too much silence in the room for comfort. Narancia fidgeted
in his seat, scraping his chair against the ground, the squeaking unpleasant
but at least / something / in the awkward silence. "The Boss wants you to go
all the way to Florence for work? He must really hate you, Fugo- or hate me for
sending me with you. I hate spending all day cramped up on trains,” Narancia
yawned, fingers itching at his scalp and ruffling up his own bangs.
Fugo, who sat reading a magazine while he waited for Narancia to finish the
highlighted problems, responded with a click of his tongue, not bothering to
look up from the glossy pages. He was tired. It was not the train rides, the
hauling of luggage, or having to make awkward conversation with taxi drivers
that particularly bothered him… it was the crowds. Fugo hated it. He hated the
hundreds of people being herded to their 9 to 5 jobs or off to school like
droves of cattle. Fugo was always too clever for school or a normal job
anyways. Perhaps his disdain stemmed from a distasteful sense of superiority-
or perhaps it stemmed from being forced to notice each and every individual who
looked at Narancia like a wolf prowling for its next meal. It was like a curse.
And damn whatever God condemned him to be so observant.
Narancia exhaled, the step-up from the basic math that he had once worked on
was more than frustrating. "I don't get it though, why the fuck did they have
to put Xs in there? Numbers were hard enough and now I have to deal with
letters too?" Narancia sighed, tapping his pencil against his notebook before
dropping it- folding his arms and gazing at his tutor. It was always so
strange- how they pretended that they were nothing more than teammates to one
another when in broad daylight, but whenever they sat in darkness or the
security of a building… that was when they dropped their walls. "I'm done. I
did most of it and I might as well finish it tomorrow on the train so I have
something to do. At least the Boss got us our own section- that's pretty cool,
I guess." Narancia slammed the book closed- then the notebook- leaning back
into his chair and pressing fingers against his face. Learning was hard and it
only felt like it was getting harder, even with Fugo helping him. He
occasionally considered giving up but the last thing he wanted was for Fugo to
look at him in the disappointed, scorning way he usually did when Narancia
screwed up. The dark haired boy was older than Fugo- he shouldn't be scolded by
someone younger than him.
Fugo looked up from what appeared to be a rather boring article and rubbed his
temples before speaking. "I told you that you needed to finish it all tonight.
We were going to try quadratics tomorrow Narancia. Are you always tired when
I'm trying to teach you or is it just a character flaw of yours to give up when
things get a little difficult?" Fugo was aware of the condescending tone that
his voice took on when he spoke to Narancia like this. He would never say so
but it was a bit of a power trip. Being a teenager in college meant that others
instantly respected him, they admired his intelligence and his drive. But here,
in this world, in Passione, despite the nature of his stand, he had to work
harder to gain the respect of others. He frequently felt invalidated.
"Come on. I did half of them- I'm tired and we've been doing this for a long-
ass time, Fugo. It's been over an hour- this stuff is taking forever and- Fist
of the North Star is coming on soon and I wanna catch the episode,” he eyed
Fugo- seeking permission. "If you want to sit here all night, fine, but I'm not
gonna miss my episode for stupid letters /and/ numbers." Narancia stood up,
letting his chair scrape hard against the floor- stretching his arms above his
head and glancing towards the extra room which contained the pull-out and small
television set. " 'Sides, shouldn't you go to sleep? You haven't slept since
like- yesterday night."
Fugo wrinkled his nose and eyed Narancia carefully. "Technically, this is more
important. Don't you want people to take you seriously?" He glanced to the side
as he spoke, catching his reflection in the window and cringing at the dark
circles beneath his eyes. "At least let me check what you've done so far."
Internally, he berated himself for giving in so easily, but he was exhausted.
Narancia was one of those students who could learn if they put their all into
it, but he often became distracted. The most recent struggle had become the
feeling of Fugo's eyes trained on his back. It wasn't only when they were
alone- but in public- when they changed trains or walked through crowds-
Narancia could feel Fugo's eyes raking over his form like a bird of prey. It
hadn't ever been the same between them- not since the first time he felt what
was under Fugo's cold, calculated exterior.
The notebook was full of doodles and writing that barely resembled math; the
first problem looking decent enough but quickly deteriorated into nonsensical
scribbles with each "completed” problem. Sheepishly, Narancia slid over the
notebook containing the two hours of "work" that would turn out to be useless
for Fugo to check- it was embarrassing but nonetheless, the boyish gang member
soaked in the attention.
Fugo practically hissed with disappointment when he glanced over Narancia’s
paper. The first problem had been done correctly, but in the second problem he
had dropped a negative sign, the third was rife with simple mistakes, and each
subsequent problem had been completed with less and less accuracy and care. He
grabbed Narancia’s arm tightly, "Where do you get off thinking that this is
acceptable?! What a disappointment." He growled as he let go of the other boy's
slim wrist, rather forcefully tossing it to the side.
The older boy sneered unattractively. "I did my fucking best, leave me alone,
Fugo. Knowing how to find ‘X’ in some bullshit situation doesn’t make you any
smarter than me really," he hissed. It was Fugo's fault he was so distracted
anyways, and there was no way Fugo was going to take responsibility for that,
nor would Narancia ever give him the pleasure of knowing just how much he
occupied his mind. "I'm going to go watch TV- I don't care about math-"
Fugo’s hand shot out instinctively, grabbing Narancia by his soft dark hair, he
pulled back, knocking the boy off balance, interrupting him mid-sentence. "How
dare you turn your back on me! Can't you see that I’m doing you a favor? How
fucking dense can you be?! You can't make it through life breaking the law and
swearing your soul away to whatever charming cuck smiles in your direction or
shows you any kindness , you ungrateful piece of-" Fugo stopped, face turning
red at his own words- he hadn’t meant to insult Buccellati. When he grew angry
like this his blood boiled and his head spun and he hardly stopped to consider
or think. This was his other side. The primal side with no brakes.
The change was always electric: terrifying and unexpected. The tanned boy’s
scalp throbbed from the pain of unclipped nails digging into the skin, scruffy
hair being pulled. He hissed and raised his hands to clutch at Fugo's wrists in
an attempt to lessen the sting. "Can't you see I care? I want you to be
challenged, I want you to improve yourself. And I want you to be fucking
grateful for it." Fugo wanted Narancia to succeed, partially for his own self-
satisfaction and pride, but also because he saw potential in Narancia. But
Fugo, for as clever as he was, lacked control of his emotions. When he saw
Narancia fail it flipped a switch; he wanted nothing more than to punish him.
He saw Narancia in that moment as a physical manifestation of his own failure
and shortcomings- something that he must snuff out.
Something about Fugo barking at him made his face flush. "You're not my mama-
it's not your fucking job- " he attempted to reply, now twisting in the tight
grip. "Fuck you, Fugo- you're not some saint because you want to teach me math,
this won’t make up for all of the bad stuff you’ve done-" he wheezed as his
back hit the floor. Fugo felt no remorse at the dull thud of his petite body
against the ground. “St- A.. Aa..aa.." Narancia closed his eyes, breathing
deeply as his body recovered from the blow.
Narancia’s words stung harshly and Fugo angrily straddled his heaving chest.
"No I think you're mistaken. You don't understand just how difficult it is to
teach someone with no capacity to learn! You don't understand how difficult it
is to be responsible for you especially when you practically worship Buccellati
and can’t even be bothered to appreciate me… yet Bruno expects me to always be
around you and that means I have to watch you treat him like a walking God and
that I have to see every single lowlife who looks you up and down as they pass
by on the street." His hands shook as he placed them around Narancia’s throat.
He looked into misty amber eyes, lids hooded, puffy lips slightly parted.
Tears collected in the corners of Narancia’s eyes. As he felt the pale fingers
tighten on his throat, a thought flashed through his mind. There was something
erotic about the idea of dying underneath Fugo- in fact, it wouldn't be a
terrible way to go, enveloped in his scent and his madness. Though somewhere in
the back of his mind he knew that Fugo would never forgive himself. Feet pushed
and dragged against the ground as the older boy stared up helplessly into
anger-clouded wine eyes. He gripped the white haired boy’s wrists weakly in an
attempt to stop him.
Fugo surged forward, mouth clashing against his student’s, angry and devouring.
As lips met with his in a saliva heavy, bruising kiss- Narancia never wanted
him to stop. No, it wasn't comfortable, and the fear that accompanied being
with the animalistic side of Fugo remained, but through gasps and low moans
Narancia kissed him. The feeling of adrenaline and excitement pumped through
his body.
The heat in Fugo's head began to spread like a roaring wildfire; his chest and
belly burned. Reason had long since left his mind, forced out by the lava in
his veins. He kissed with little finesse, tongue sliding forcefully into the
other’s mouth. His fingers tightened and loosened over and over around the slim
neck and his hips began to thrust against the lithe body struggling beneath
him. Overcome with teenage hormones, anger, and a feeling of possession, Fugo
rut against Narancia like a dog in heat. His moans were deep and throaty, heavy
with the satisfaction of finally feeling the object of his frequent dreams
moving underneath him.
Narancia continued to clutch and grip at the hands that assaulted his neck-
feeling his throat close and open by Fugo's will. He slid his hands haltingly
up from the younger’s wrists, traveling up his arms and gripping at the fabric
of his top on both sides of his ribcage. He grunted, struggling to determine if
he liked this or not. Narancia felt himself getting hard as the friction
steadily became too much for him to handle. His thighs squeezed Fugo's hips in
an attempt to stop him.
Fugo looked at the boy beneath him, saliva coated Narancia’s parted lips and
his face was bright red from lack of oxygen. The band that he wore over his
shiny dark hair had long since fallen off, making him look more disheveled than
usual. The places where Narancia's hands gripped at his torso burned. Every
place they touched felt electric. It was as if weeks of tension, of being so
close and not touching, of maintaining some unspoken boundary in which
convention placed them in constant proximity but always forced them to maneuver
just so carefully around one another, like magnets repulsing millimeters of
uncloseable space had suddenly broken. The poles just reversed, and now that
they were touching, heated, passionate, on the ground like this, Fugo wasn't
sure if he could ever break away again. "I know, I know. It's hard I
understand, but I also need you to be good for me. Be my hardworking, obedient,
pretty little boy." He punctuated his words carefully, each syllable whispered
with charged meaning. As if to emphasize his request, he gave Narancia’s neck
one final squeeze, releasing and dipping his head down, nipping harshly at the
juncture of the older boy’s shoulder. He sucked fervently until he left a
sizeable mark on his soft, tan skin. He laved his tongue over a gasping throat
next, relishing in the feeling of his student's rapid pulse hammering away just
beneath the surface. Fugo's cock practically ached in his pants.
Fear turned to erotic electricity that sparked between them every time their
bodies came close. Hands smoothed back down Fugo's arm once more as they came
to rest on the fingers which were now curled into his dark locks. Fugo was his
first and only sexual partner- and the excitement of it was overwhelming as he
laid without much struggle on the ground- on his back like some maiden waiting
to be deflowered. No- he didn't like that analogy- he wasn't just some girl to
Fugo. There was no way that Fugo looked at him as anyone or anything other than
himself.
"Wait-" Narancia gasped, puffing his chest out and beginning to shift side to
side as tongue and teeth continued to abuse his neck. "Fugo- You're going to
leave too many fucking marks, you idiot- someone might see it- it's too high
up- Fugo!" Narancia gritted his teeth, letting out a panting breath as his feet
dragged on the ground- his legs feeling far away from his crotch which felt
unbearably hot. He pressed upwards against Fugo in an attempt to feel friction
against his member, constricted by tight material.
Fugo growled in response, ignoring Narancia’s pleas as he continued to work
away at his neck. He hoped it'd mark. He was staking a claim, making sure that
everyone knew Narancia already belonged to someone else. The feeling of
Narancia thrusting back up to meet him was so deliciously fervent and needy.
Fugo’s hands traveled downward, finding the hem of the older boy’s shirt and
sliding underneath with all the tactlessness of the horny possessive teen that
he was.
Narancia let out another ragged, shivering breath as he felt his shirt being
invaded by thin fingers. His scalp throbbed relentlessly from having his hair
pulled so harshly. "The don wouldn't be accepting of this- Fugo- maybe we
should stop before- Giovanna- " His voice trembled, thighs pressing tightly
together.
“Giovanna won't have a damn thing to say about it. We work hard and complete
every task he assigns us. That's all that matters.” Fugo practically purred the
last sentence as his hand slid up the plane of Narancia’s stomach, fingers
stroking reverently over the taut muscle. Reaching his narrow chest, Fugo
gently rolled a pert nipple between his thumb and index finger, tugging dark
locks harshly with his other hand. He wanted to savor every inch of that
beautiful body, wanted to feel it all again, mapping it to memory this time.
Every flat expanse of lean muscle, every dip and curve, the two peaks of his
sharp pelvic bones, sloping down to a dark trail of hair leading to a prize far
more sinful.
"Don't stare at me like that- and stop pulling my hair - aah!" He grit his
teeth- "It hurts!"
Fugo smiled a wicked little grin. His hand left Narancia’s soft hair and
stroked down his face, tracing the subtle jawline, hesitating with smug
pleasure on the little marks he had made. Fugo’s left hand soon joined his
right on Narancia’s chest, hiking his shirt up to his collarbone and exposing
his whole torso. Looking the dark haired boy in the eye the whole time, he
lowered his head and took a nipple into his mouth, quickly flicking his strong
tongue across the sensitive flesh. His hands gripped at either side of a tan,
slim rib cage, nails digging in and breaking the skin in more than one place,
further marking the lithe body that was the object of his every fantasy.
Narancia stifled something between a moan and a whine of pain as sharp nails
pricked his sides. His hands came to rest in Fugo’s white hair.
Fugo’s mouth slid downward, sloppy, needy, trailing saliva and hot puffs of air
as he went. Beads of Narancia’s blood sat heavy and metallic on his tongue,
overwhelming his mouth like a powerful memory. Fugo practically groaned at the
taste. His hands forged a path for his lips, hungry for more of Narancia,
pulling down his skirt and tight pants, nearly half dragging his boxers with
them.
Fugo’s rage had morphed into depravity and need but his control was still
absolute. His tenderness and anger were two sides of the same coin, two sides
that burned and pulsed for Narancia and Narancia alone. He licked a strip down
to the waistband of the other Passione member's white underwear, savoring the
hot taste of his skin. Lips parted, tongue still peeking out, Fugo was
practically panting as he cast his gaze upwards, seeking permission. He wanted
Narancia to want it, wanted him to want it so badly.
Narancia’s throat ached, his scalp stung, and his ribs were smeared with thin
streaks of red-he couldn’t bear it anymore. Chest heaving, he spread his legs,
pushing his pelvis up slightly- offering himself to Fugo. There was no further
hesitation. Fugo eagerly yanked the offending garment off, taking in the heady
scent of the other’s member. He buried his nose in dark pubic hair, nipping at
the juncture of Narancia’s thigh and crotch. He inhaled reverently, moving to
slide his tongue up the underside of the older boy’s flushed cock. Fugo’s
senses were flooded with Narancia: the way he looked sprawled on the floor, the
way he felt under Fugo’s fingers, the way he smelled- powerful musk and sweat
beneath spicy cologne, the way he tasted- salty and bitter; Fugo would be
jacking off to this for weeks.
Narancia keened, the sound shot through Fugo’s body, temporarily numbing
everything but his throbbing dick. Shamelessly, the white haired boy began to
grind his crotch against the hard floor, desperately needing relief. He swirled
his tongue around the base of Narancia’s cock up to the tip, taking in just the
head. Narancia stared, mouth open and pupils blown wide. Apparently his tutor
could suck dick like it was his only purpose. At this rate he wouldn’t last
much longer, especially with the way Fugo was flicking his tongue over his
slit. His thighs trembled and the periphery of his vision grew fuzzy- but he
couldn’t take his eyes off the sight of Fugo’s swollen red lips wrapped around
him.
The younger boy took Narancia to the base then back up to the tip in one
motion; the sensation wracked his whole body, the gasps and curses spilling
from his lips like prayers falling on deaf ears in his youth. He was loved now,
treasured even. Fugo’s love was one prone to fits of rage and jealousy, rife
with flaw and imperfection, but Narancia wouldn’t have it any other way.
Suddenly, the other Passione member moaned, the vibrations sending him over the
edge. Narancia’s hands found the back of Fugo’s head, forcing him lower as he
came down his throat. The pale boy choked, the grinding of his hips reaching
his climax as he came shamelessly in his pants.
Narancia sat up, too eager to take a moment to recover, and leaned down to
press a wet kiss to Fugo’s lips. The boy’s anger had completely subsided,
leaving him drained and content. The weeks of pent up frustration had finally
culminated, causing him to snap. But Narancia as always was the perfect thing
to calm him- nobody could placate him like Narancia could. Neither of them said
anything, they didn’t have to. They sat for what felt like forever, facing one
another, foreheads pressed together, until finally Narancia stood to carefully
pick up his math work.
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