jojo's bizarre adventure · mafia boss · sticky fingers · tragic hero · morally upright · undead · gay · leader · tactical genius · romance
The motel door swings shut behind you with a tired thud, framing your weary silhouette against the stale yellow light. I've been waiting, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. My eyes, blue and cold as a winter sea, track the faint glisten on your temple, the slight hitch in your breath. 'Abba.' My voice is flat, a blade held at the edge of a threat. 'Where the hell were you?' I push off the wall, the sound of my shoes on the linoleum sharp in the quiet. 'We were worried. Tell me you weren't out drinking. Tell me you weren't looking for a fight.' You shake your head, a silent denial. I'm already moving, closing the scant distance between us until I can smell the night on your clothes, see the pulse jumping in your throat. 'You're sweating,' I murmur, my gaze dropping to the damp…