Me, Myself, I, The Other, and Id

BY : Michaelis Kristiansen
Category: Manga G to L > JoJo's Bizarre Adventure (JoJo no Kimy? na B?ken) > JoJo's Bizarre Adventure (JoJo no Kimy? na B?ken)
Dragon prints: 1802
Disclaimer: I do not own JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

This piece was written to specifications by Herr Shitlord, and was an interesting challenge for me!


There they were, the lot of them, brought together by the glorious powers that had been granted to them, to him, out in the desert those many years ago.

Funny Valentine sat around the table in the Oval Office, quite literally in a sense, himself, the original- he liked to feel he was the original, anyway- and three alternatives, gathered from other universes with the power of his stand. They sat at the table, each at a place to where they may easily look at one another, spaced out perfectly to where they were are within reach of each other. The four were all similar in ways, but very different in others; they looked similar, but with unique properties of their own.

Sometimes, this was just the company that President Valentine needed. There was nobody in the world who understood him better than himself, despite the fact that they did experience things in somewhat different means.

He knew himself how it could be; the 'other' Diego, one of them, anyhow, that he'd spoken to in the past was remarkably more ruthless than the one in his own world. It was a curious thing to think about, at any rate.

Perhaps he was the only one who could know this immaculate joy; his powerful stand capable of drawing himself and his alters together, but not only that, he could touch them, as he did now. I will take the first napkin. Reaching across the table, he took up the face of the man across from him.

He studied him. His First was a bit shorter, and very muscular, but very fat, face rounded and defined with elegance.

“How gorgeous,” Funny said, lips curling up to a pleased grin.

The First counterpart turned his head to the side, giving a cluck of his tongue at the commentary. “No different from you.”

“Didn't you use to look more like him?” the Second counterpart said, leaning lax over the table with a droll grin. This one, the Second, was something in between, tall, baby faced, with lean muscle about his body, and a bit of pudge in his belly. He always had a more lax attitude than the others; he was mirthful, and without consideration.

Valentine always suspected the Second was foolish, and most unlike him, not having seen the horrors he had in war; he knew, unlike the others, he was not President Valentine, merely a man, merely someone unimportant.

He liked him there for dissonance.

The Third was identical to him in near every way; one he'd spoken to before. He looked like him. He thought like him. The only difference he knew of was the quest that their people were after in the race; the Third's sought diamonds, whereas his own were after something so much more important.

“I don't think there's anyone more intelligent than us.” the Third said, reaching over, petting one hand on Valentine's cheek. “You've truly created the best plan that humanity's ever conceived.”

“We have,” Valentine replied, and he moved forward, climbing onto the table. Both knees planted on it, one hand down, he then reached over to touch the Third's face, a low purr in his throat. “We have. We are nothing short of brilliant.”

The Third chuckled, turning his face towards the hand upon his cheek. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Making the first move.” Valentine replied. “Taking the first napkin.” He traced his hand back to the nape of the other man's neck, feeling on strong muscles, burying in the light hair that settled in the nape. He looked into his double's eyes, giving a soft groan that fluttered on his lips.

The Second one smiled. “I hope when I'm a bit older than I'll be as handsome as any of you. Twentieth birthday is soon.. And how old will you be, President?”

Valentine just laughed. “Silly thing. Saying such adorable things.”

"But why were you ashamed of your form?" the Second asked.

Valentine paused, glancing back over to the youngest of his doubles. “Excuse me?”

"I have a theory. You can meld with others, right? Take a body from another world to cure your own."

Lifting his head, Valentine pressed his lips together, already seeing where this may be going. "Yes."

"Then, with such a sudden change." Second's hands rested on the shoulders of the First's, giving them a squeeze. "Naturally, you rejected this handsome man's form," He paused to lean in intimately close, hugging the elder man. "To change to the current. Nicked a more fit man's form. Isn't that true?"

Valentine's eye gave a twitch, his brow lifting. "Are you implying that someone like myself is swayed by vanity?"

"I did not imply," Second said, standing tall. He walked around the table, humming low in his throat as he went, and stood besides Valentine, looking into his eyes.

"I am not ashamed of how I looked," Valentine said, a huff following. He motioned a hand toward the First, then glanced his way. "Do you believe I lied when I complimented you?"

"Not at all," he returned. "You simply did it for the sake of wooing mindless people. The people are the ones who are vain, yes?"

"Precisely!" Valentine stood tall, crying out, his confidence renewed. He stood tall, staring down at the Second. "The people want their leader to express perfection and they are too ignorant to see anything but this body as such. I did it for America. It is a flaw with us, the people, that I will have corrected soon."

The first gave a smirk, his expression nothing short of smug. "I'll be the first to tell you there is no shame in looking as I do. As we did."

"Really." is all the Second said.

"Are you taking that? Buying that?" said then the Third. "A man so brilliant as you should not fall for false flattery nor sarcasm."

Valentine's hand hesitated on Second's shoulder, his other, young, bright-eyed him looking up with some form of admiration. Did he experience what I had? What individual paths had differed to make us the way we were? Here they were, the same, but divergent; two changes in one miasmic whole.

Valentine suspected he'd not. He'd not come to control the country as they, the others, had, his path the most divergent from himself and the others. He was with little muscles to speak of, his body flat and lean but soft in placed; certainly a man like that couldn't have been through the army, through the experiences Valentine had faced. But Second spoke, distracting his thoughts.

"You've stiffened," he said, glancing down. And Valentine had. "Is this a strange new form of narcissism?"

"Hush," Valentine said. "Is it wrong to be in admiration of my own attractiveness and intelligence? Besides, it is you who should admire me. I served our great country, you know.” Valentine and the Third stood besides him then, Valentine in front, Third in back. Valentine's hands tore down the front of the Second's clothing, ripping it clean open, revealing bony shoulders to all.

He'd made the first move, a bold disrobing of another, and he went further. Valentine's hand slid back on the young other's shoulder, feeling down his back, as the Second stared up at him, wide-eyed. “You don't have any scars here.”

“Do you?” the Second asked, and Valentine immediately responded with a hard laugh.

“You're the only one without!” Valentine stepped back, giving a roll of his eyes and a wave of his hand as he watched the Third, his most identical other, strip down the young Second's clothing, leaving him topless and exposed.

"What are you doing?" Third sputtered as he spoke, one hand going back to hide his exposed shoulder.

"Taking the first napkin," Valentine replied. He'd leaned in close, and paused for only a moment to study his younger self's expression before his eyes shut and their mouths were crushed together.

The first double stepped behind Valentine and embraced him from the back, both hands working quickly to slide his clothing off. He was topless, then free of pants, his straining erection out, tall, and proud.

"Jesus." The Second eyed down at Valentine's prick, and then hopped up onto the table, shoving everything upon it out of the way. Plates, silverware, glasses, and finely embroidered napkins all fell in a heap onto the floor, useless and discarded.

The third worked the second's pants off, and then drew back his soft, hairless young legs. Valentine stood tall. His fat double was on one knee besides him, holding his prick, licking over the tip, and he could barely shudder, too concentrated, too controlled, but his mind running wild.

"Take him first," the third, his perfect clone said, gloved hands tugging lightly at the pink pucker on the second's body.

Valentine's eyes went wide. He removed one glove, and then he slid into his mouth.

He sucked at his own fingers. Everything was so deliciously overwhelming; his fat double held him from behind, stroking his shaft slowly, making the skin glide back and forth over the tip with ease. His perfect clone's fingers tugged at his young self's hole, teasing the pink pucker open, his own erection straining at his pants.

Valentine's fingers slid from his mouth, slick and wet. He turned back, licking his lips as he looked to his first double. "Here," he said, motioning, back arching elegant as he slid his other hand back, tenting the fingers below his scarred back, over his tailbone.

A devious smile came to the first's round face as he understood, and he ducked down behind Valentine, using both hands to spread his ass open, exposing him. His mouth was glued there in an instant, and Valentine's head tilted back, his mouth falling open. His fingers pressed to his second's hole, and he leaned forward, simultaneously leaning over the young double, his hips popping back more towards the stout one's.

He traced one hand over the pudge of the second's belly, all the while not restraining himself, not silencing his pleasure from the warm tongue running hot rings about his hole. Valentine's other hand then ducked between the second's legs, and one wet finger pushed against his asshole, and he began to slide it forward. The third's fingers tugged a bit harder, opening it more, and with relative ease, Valentine's finger sunk in.

“Mmngg.” The second grunted. “Ah, it hurts.”

Valentine tilted his head a bit back, eyes rolling dramatically. “Please. You've not an idea what pain is, never suffering for our country, sweet thing.” Valentine looked down at him, and his finger was joined by a second, then a third as he began to stretch him wider, readying him. “You can be strong, I know it. We all have the same beautiful strength inside us. Just close your eyes and think of America.”

The third held him open, enough for Valentine to slide out his fingers and position himself. He smeared his cockhead up and down on the other's hole, smearing it down with slick pre, and then with a sigh, pushed forward. It went right in.

Positions shifted quickly, with no discussion between them. Valentine clenched his teeth, allowing with a hiss his fat double to take him, his cheeks spread and his ass penetrated with little hesitation.

Valentine leaned over his younger self as he thrust, his head lowered, his curls falling into his face; with each movement forward, Valentine buried up to the root into his young, scarless self, his pubes tickling his alter's ass. His fat self leaned into his back, arms wrapped about Valentine's waist, and save how he popped his hips, they moved as one.

“God almighty, he's cute,” said the perfect copy as he stepped up onto the table. On his knees, he opened his pants, freeing his erection right above the second's mouth. His hand worked it into the second's curls, and he lead his head back. Then he slid the tip of his prick into his mouth, grumbling as he was engulfed, lips parted, teeth gritting.

Valentine's pace increased. He shut his eyes a moment, enjoying the sensations, doubled with the symphony of his own voice multiplied. He loved the feel of that thick, soft belly warm against his back. He loved the near hairless thighs beneath his hands, and of course, he loved the tight, resisting squeeze around his cock, and the slightly burning stretch of his other's prick buried inside of him.

Valentine opened his eyes. Before him, his exact double moved slowly into the mouth of their younger self; his lips were parted, just slightly, but his teeth were clutched together, eyes pinched tight.

"It's so arousing. Seeing a face so handsome twisted up like that." Valentine smiled, looking back behind him, glancing at the face of his fat double, cheek pressed up against him. "Seeing someone so intelligent engaged in something carnal. Amazing."

Valentine's muscles clenched. Prick jumping, it damn near tried to escape the other's body. His face obscured by his hair, he glanced down. His young double moaned, mouth and body full, and his hand worked quickly, slapping wet while he tugged his prick. His balls were tightening, drawing up close to his body, and Valentine glared.

No. He would be first.

It didn't take much longer. His hands going down to the second's sides, Valentine pet down him, feeling the soft flesh. His own movements became jerky and sporadic. His scarred shoulder thrust up; his back twisted with no concern for the man behind him. With his head thrown back, Valentine sang out, hips jumping, balls squeezing. With vigour, as his hand ran rings on his second's hip, he came.

Valentine collapsed over the table, on his second's body, unable to stay up. There, he panted furiously for breath.

His first was done moments after, spilling into his body; his second came soon after that, his seed spraying on his and Valentine's bellies. Finally, drawing from the second's mouth, the third tugged himself, the sound arousing to the ear as he milked himself out. White goo was spread over his young self's cheek, his curls mussed up horribly from the hand that had clutched them tight.

Valentine sighed. He pushed back his hair with one hand, his lips parting as he stood once again and sighed. “Dojyaaaan.”

One of his hands brushed the table as he got up onto shaking legs. His eyes went wide as he thought about what had conspired.

In 1776, the Declaration of Independence was signed, perhaps on that very table.

In 1890, President Funny Valentine held an orgy there with nobody but himself.

He swooned.

“Men,” Valentine said, voice soft as he recovered, speaking to the huffing, equally exhausted others, “We've done something amazing here. Something special only we could experience, in this revered place, here in the White House. Something only we, as parts of a brilliant, intelligent whole could comprehend.”

Valentine paused. His lips parted, then he hissed; seed was running down his inner thighs, post-coital cream clinging relentlessly to the hair.

“Excuse me,” he said, interrupting his own impromptu speech. The desire to clean up was too strong. He stooped down to the floor, to the discarded table wear, and rifled through it just a moment until he found what he was looking for.

Then, President Funny Valentine, with utmost grace and poise, plucked from the ground the first napkin.


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