[Fuck if it isn't beautiful, the way that Kakyoin will always rise to the occasion, whether it's from spite or competitiveness or anything else. It's gorgeous, the way he's momentarily at a loss and then rallies to hide it, puts on a show of force with fingers in his hair and a stubborn set in his shoulders, and lets such absolute filth come falling out of his pretty upstanding mouth.

Fuck, it's hot to pressure Kakyoin into giving up and talking dirty. Now that's the real gift, without question.]

Oh. Are you keeping the dress on?

[Not even the supreme self-control of Jotaro Kujo can hide his desire or his anticipatory hunger at the thought. Forget unwrapping this particular present; it's unexpectedly hot, the thought of leaving all that on — reveling both in Kakyoin's inherent beauty, and in the prospect of leaving him a sated mess.]

I'm glad you said something. 'Cause I thought maybe you'd want to ride Star.

[He shuffles a little closer on his knees, close enough to lean in and mouth at Kakyoin's thigh, just below the hip where the slit in the dress splits to show bare skin.]

Or be in me while he's in you. Or lie down on top of me like you always do, while he takes you.

[He lets out a soft sigh, hot breath washing over flushed skin.]

So it's good that you said something. Or we might've fucked you any of those other ways, and not the way you want.