[ He's in unfamiliar territory, now, having broken away from the language of the magazine he took this whole situation from. Having to use his own words, instead of ones he's memorised and taken from someone else. He feels clumsy. Graceless. Vulnerable in a way that he still struggles to be. Even now. Even with Jotaro. And from the inside it feels ugly. A little pathetic. But-
-but the difference in Jotaro is instantaneous. Dramatic. Like the ugly, pathetic thing somehow feels a thousand times better for him than the perfect, polished thing ever could. And he doesn't understand it. Maybe he'll never understand it. But he can feel it. He can feel it in an incredibly literal sense, as Jotaro's thighs tense and twitch in ways that they hadn't before and it knocks most of the air out of his lungs. ]
Fuck-
[ Jotaro's arms don't really need to be bound anymore, do they? He doesn't need something that he can pull against to remember that he hasn't been left alone. Maybe it would even be nice, if he could touch him. Mostly, though, freeing up a little of Hierophant would help to resolve the kissing problem.
Help, not resolve entirely, because Hierophant's face is smooth, cold, hard bone-plastic-chitin where it ought to be lips. But he can unloop himself from Jotaro's arms and form enough of himself to push his mask into Jotaro's face. ]
I could use him, you know. [ He says when he thinks he can manage words again. Fucking Jotaro's closed thighs with any kind of intensity would be- not too much, but defying the point. It feels so much better to just roll his hips slowly, let each little aroused movement of Jotaro's legs compound like rising water and slowly, inevitably, drag him under. ] I'm not jealous, but maybe he is. I could- I could use him like the machine. To hold you and fuck you and keep you just on the edge. He could be inside you, reading over every last nerve signal so he knows to the millisecond how long he can go before he needs to slow down.
no subject
[ He's in unfamiliar territory, now, having broken away from the language of the magazine he took this whole situation from. Having to use his own words, instead of ones he's memorised and taken from someone else. He feels clumsy. Graceless. Vulnerable in a way that he still struggles to be. Even now. Even with Jotaro. And from the inside it feels ugly. A little pathetic. But-
-but the difference in Jotaro is instantaneous. Dramatic. Like the ugly, pathetic thing somehow feels a thousand times better for him than the perfect, polished thing ever could. And he doesn't understand it. Maybe he'll never understand it. But he can feel it. He can feel it in an incredibly literal sense, as Jotaro's thighs tense and twitch in ways that they hadn't before and it knocks most of the air out of his lungs. ]
Fuck-
[ Jotaro's arms don't really need to be bound anymore, do they? He doesn't need something that he can pull against to remember that he hasn't been left alone. Maybe it would even be nice, if he could touch him. Mostly, though, freeing up a little of Hierophant would help to resolve the kissing problem.
Help, not resolve entirely, because Hierophant's face is smooth, cold, hard bone-plastic-chitin where it ought to be lips. But he can unloop himself from Jotaro's arms and form enough of himself to push his mask into Jotaro's face. ]
I could use him, you know. [ He says when he thinks he can manage words again. Fucking Jotaro's closed thighs with any kind of intensity would be- not too much, but defying the point. It feels so much better to just roll his hips slowly, let each little aroused movement of Jotaro's legs compound like rising water and slowly, inevitably, drag him under. ] I'm not jealous, but maybe he is. I could- I could use him like the machine. To hold you and fuck you and keep you just on the edge. He could be inside you, reading over every last nerve signal so he knows to the millisecond how long he can go before he needs to slow down.
You could welcome Adrian home, like that.