starmark | IC Inbox | prismatica

I didn't say it would be easy. I said you'd do it.

[ He does not, of course, know what he's doing. He isn't ready to implement any sort of plan, and if he was he probably wouldn't be doing it in a frog hoodie. He's not trying to initiate anything, really. He's just emboldened by the bite, clumsily figuring out the mechanics of hitting on his boyfriend. ]

You would. If I said that wanted you to. If I said you shouldn't be thinking about anything else but me.

...Yeah. Yeah, I would.

[Oh no, he thinks, and feels a flicker of mortifying interest crawl down his spine. Oh, no, he reflects, because all of a sudden this topic of conversation is veering in dangerous directions, and he likes it.]

If you said it. I would do it if you said — if you wanted me to.

I knew it.

[ The bite pulses with sensation as he tilts his head so he can kiss Jotaro. Not overwhelming, but there. Present. Inescapable. It's calming in a way he didn't expect to constantly feel it and remember why it's there, to never quite be allowed to forget that no matter what he thinks at any given point, the fact of the matter is that Jotaro loves him. He's smiling when he pulls back. ]

'I can do it if you ask me to'. [ He said that before, didn't he? Maybe he's said it more than once. ] I'll let you stay awake for now.

Wait...

[His cheeks are heating; he can feel that much as he settles his arms more snugly around Kakyoin again, keeping him balanced even while he shifts around however he pleases, and it does take him a minute to scrape together his thoughts, but that's all right. They have nothing but time, now, and his bite is blossoming on Kakyoin's throat, and he's not ready to let go of the shivery feeling thrilling through his veins, not quite yet.]

Please. Just a little. You don't have to do a lot, just —

[He chews his lip, expression softening beneath the heat in his eyes.]

I don't want to stop feeling like this yet. Please. Just a little more.

Oh.

[ Oh. ]

C'mere.

[ There's nothing in the world that can stop him in his tracks quite so completely as Jotaro Kujo asking something of him. He reaches up. Coils his arms around Jotaro's neck so he can pull their faces close together and only need to speak in a whisper. He kisses Jotaro again and when their lips separate, the room is threaded with hair-thin green tripwires. Nowhere in it but the little space that they're occupying where a person could move without breaking one of them. ]

You really don't need to think about anything but me, Jotaro. And I'm here. Where you can see me. So if you like, you don't need to think about anything at all.

[There's always a sort of music to the coaxing, in moments like this. He's not sure if that's just the influence of his father, teaching him to hear music in everything like he does, or if maybe he's just crazy or imagining it or something. But he can follow the music. Everything about Kakyoin right now is a symphony, the percussion of his kisses and the rich brass of his words and the strings of his breath washing over his skin.

Nothing in his world but Kakyoin. Letting everything narrow down into something small, something manageable. Nothing around but this — and that's why, he realizes at length, that's why Hierophant is webbed around them like a kaleidoscope, to guard and surround that small, precious moment he's about to let himself live in, so that he knows he doesn't have to worry about anything outside of it.

Could he put himself the fuck to sleep right now, if he wanted? Maybe. Only because the environment is right for it; that's not something he could've done on his own.]

I like that I can feel you.

[His eyes are still open, but more unfocused now, more dusky.]

Don't even have to see.

Don't have to. But you like to look at me.

[ There's a part of him, he knows, that enjoys this too much. That's only too delighted to have this much control over Jotaro. That's cruel and wrong. Jotaro knows it, almost certainly, that he's a manipulative fuck who likes to control people. Jotaro will have taken that into account long before he brought any of this up.

Jotaro loves the worst parts of him, too. He wouldn't forget about them.

He's lucky, at times like this, to be able to reach just about anything in the surrounding few rooms. A long tendril ventures out to pick up his comb. When he loosens his arms from Jotaro's neck, it drops it into his waiting hands. He doesn't know if this is the correct thing. But he doesn't feel like questioning himself that much right now. It's something. It's something and if it doesn't work, he can go with something else. He knows exactly what he could do to ruin this and hurt Jotaro, the small, horrible, cruel thing inside him is telling him exactly how to do it. And that's freeing, because he also knows that any fuckup short of that is probably going to be okay. He doesn't have to doubt himself right now. ]

Help me fix my hair? [ He says, voice still not much louder than whisper, offering Jotaro the comb. It's silly, but it's something for Jotaro to do with his hands. Something simple and physical that can occupy both of them. ] The hood always fucks it up.

...Sure...sure, of course.

[That's asking a certain measure of focus from him that, left to his own devices, he might not want to offer up — content instead to just sink down into the quiet darkness behind his closed eyes and fixate on nothing but weight and heat and the sound of Kakyoin's voice. But that's the whole point, isn't it? It's not about what he wants. It's not his to decide; it's only up to him to do as he's told.

So he takes the comb when it's offered to him, his limbs feeling stupored and sluggish, but he gets one up to nudge the hood properly off of Kakyoin's head and the other to guide the comb up, sliding the teeth carefully into one thick swath of rumpled red hair.]

Like this?

Yeah.

[ Maybe he’ll figure it out eventually, that Jotaro isn’t like him. Doesn’t need to be doing something at any given time. For now, he hasn’t quite got his head around it. So comb it is. ]

Just like that. You’re so good to me

[Smoothly, slowly, he works the comb through Kakyoin's hair, not with any particular finesse or skill, but just with simple thoroughness — using it as much as an opportunity to feel the strands running along the lightly calloused skin of his fingertips as actually to straighten it out and set it back into place.

Stroke, stroke. There's a rhythm to this, too. It's lulling, pacifying. He can settle into it easily enough, and let the praise wash over him like a warm saltwater wave.]

I. Want to be good.

[He treads carefully, gingerly. Good boy is off the table, he knows that, but this much should still be all right.]

So if I do it wrong...then you should tell me.

I will.

[ It feels nice, even if it was just the first thing that occurred to him. The slow movement of the comb through his hair. The scrape and slight pull against his scalp. The rise and fall of Jotaro’s chest against his, and the echo of dull not-pain at his neck.

This isn’t meant to be for him, but it’s hard to deny how wanted he feels right now. ]

You’re doing right so far. Doing good. You’re so good.

You really are beautiful.

[He works the comb carefully, step by step, first down along the sweep of Kakyoin's jawline and then back from his temple, smoothing out the kinks and flyaways until he's naturally ended up at the back of his head. Now he has to ease the fallen hood out of the way more carefully, but a twinge of tactile memory reminds him of the unique pleasure of comb teeth running along the nape of one's neck, and he wastes no time in doing the same, running it again and again from the back of Kakyoin's head down along the curve of his neck to his shoulders, searching for a reaction.]

Even when it's fucked up by the hood, it's pretty.

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