starmark | IC Inbox | prismatica

I'm here.

[ That's always the most important thing, isn't it? Always. That Jotaro has proof that they're there. That he has proof that they know that he's there.

Even if he could weave his way around the machine to rest against Jotaro's chest right now without being spectacularly uncomfortable, it would- maybe be a little much. He's rationing touch carefully. It seems correct, even if he can't quite out his finger on why. His own weight on Jotaro would be too much. But it's not the weight that's the proof. It's the heartbeat. The movement of his chest as he breathes in and out. And Hierophant can bear that into Jotaro easily enough. ]

He's going to move now. Just a little. If it's too much, he'll stop.

[ For a moment he pauses, and then he pulls his hand back. Rationing again. Trying not to do too much at once, because he only has the vaguest idea how this works and it's important. Important that he doesn't ruin this. These things that Jotaro and Adrian do are a house that isn't his, and he has to take his shoes off and be a proper guest if he's going to enter.

Hierophant pulses softly beneath Jotaro's skin. Swells and contracts. Swells and contracts, trying to match his own heartbeat. Applies and releases pressure over Jotaro's chest, the way his breathing would. His heartbeat. His breath. Just without his weight. ]

See? I'm here.

Nnnnn. S'not too much.

[With the way his words are slurring together, it might be easy to misinterpret him; he realizes that belatedly, and tries to make himself clear, but it's hard. Edging is hard when he's brought so close to the brink and then yanked back and made to settle down again. It takes a physical toll on him alongside the mental one, and he loves it, loves how good it feels to be so tired and yet not hurt.

He's exhausted, and still faintly trembling, but the pace of the machine is slower now and he won't come from it; it'll just keep him where he is in his sensations, hold him steady in pleasure and not let him escape. He feels strange, bratty and stubborn and proud, despite it all. He can take more. He's good. He can do it for Kakyoin, he's more than this.

(Deep down, he knows this is a dangerous feeling. Knows this is why Adrian is still listening to him with his oversensitive hearing from elsewhere in the vicinity, like Kakyoin checking his vitals with Hierophant. He'll push himself too far when he's like this, if he's allowed to. But Adrian will tell him when it's time to stop, when he's had enough. Maybe Kakyoin will, too.)

Hierophant is in his chest, he realizes at length. That's a good place for him; the thought leaves him feeling warm, and his head thick like he's trying to think through a haze of fog and cotton. Hierophant is where he belongs, he thinks, wrapped around his heart. Pulsing —

Unable to help himself, he moans.]

Please...please...

[ He wants to do nothing. Keep Jotaro's little whines going for as long as he can. Keep him begging, voice soft and heavy and warm with arousal. He wants to never refuse Jotaro a single thing again for as long as he lives. He wants to bring all of this to an end so he can pull Jotaro into his arms. He wants to drag it out until Adrian intervenes, leave Jotaro here on the lowest setting that the machine can manage and genuinely just get on with his schoolwork. Wants to rest his notebook against Jotaro's stomach while he works like he's an exceptionally well-fucked writing surface. He just wants.

Whatever he does, he's probably ruining Adrian's plans for the afternoon. But that's Adrian's problem. He knew what he was getting into setting all of this up where he could interfere. He knew what he was getting into letting Noriaki Kakyoin into his life.

He slides his hand into Jotaro's. The other goes back to the touch panel. Hierophant keeps pulsing his heartbeat between the threads of Jotaro's muscles, massaging it into them. ]

It's going to be a lot. But I'll be here.

[ That's it. That's what he can say, where good boy will always be something he can't manage. I'm here. He touches the panel. The speed of the machine barely changes at all, only the amount of time it spends inside Jotaro before withdrawing. Just a split second longer, and a slight corresponding decrease in the pause between its thrusts. Just a warning that he's going to change something soon. ]

You're ready, aren't you?

[He knows what happens, he thinks dazedly, at the end of this. He remembers what happens, sort of. It's the part he likes, which isn't to say that he hasn't liked the rest of it, but it's that part, the part of this where —

He knows what happens. It starts with him getting lost, and it's all right. He gets lost and stays lost and it's all right. It's dark. It's quiet.

And then slowly, slowly, he comes back up again, like floating back to the surface from the bottom of the ocean. And when he gets there, someone will be touching him. Petting his hair. Aftercare is the word he's heard said before, and it sounds so reassuring. It's the part where someone takes care of him after. It's the part where he feels ripped open and too much like a burst overripe fruit, and someone loves him so gently and so patiently that eventually he remembers he's Jotaro Kujo again.

It's the part that makes him crave this whole thing. He's gotten so good at burying his feelings deep that sometimes they get stuck and he can't get them back out again. There's no holding back his feelings when Adrian helps him do this, however. They all come out, and he has no say in it whatsoever. He doesn't have to decide. They all purge out, good and bad and in-between, and he gets to rest in the aftermath.

He likes this part. He's so, so glad Kakyoin is going to be with him this time.

He wishes Kakyoin's hand was near his mouth so he could lick at his fingers, gratefully, but then at length remembers how to squeeze his hand where Kakyoin's holding it, and that's almost as good by comparison.]

I know.

[He does. He's known all along. It's going to be so much, but he can do it. Kakyoin is here, so he must be safe, and it's such a damned luxury to remember what safe even feels like to begin with.]

I am.

He'll be observing. He'll know when it's too much.

[ That's what Hierophant does best, after all. Measures. Measures heartbeats and nerve signals and muscle tension. Measures every possible signal that something might be wrong that he's capable of, because measuring makes him feel safe. Tells him that everyone around him is safe.

He can trust Hierophant with Jotaro. He doesn't quite trust himself, but he can trust Hierophant. He can trust Hierophant and Star and Adrian with Jotaro. With someone too precious to entrust to anyone else.

He drums his fingers over the panel. The effect isn't immediate (a timer of a few seconds between switching to a higher setting and the machine taking effect. He remembers that from the plans. A grace period, because Adrian is too careful with them not to put in every failsafe that comes to mind), and in the short gap of time he has he brings his hand up to Jotaro, starts to stroke it over his side, from the base of his ribs to his thigh. His other hand is still in Jotaro's. He'll be here. ]

I know you can do this.

[ It's a whisper, which means that the second half of it is probably lost when the grace period ends and the machine's pace becomes brutal. ]

[The hardest part of it all, really, is the fact that when the machine is turned up like this, it makes it impossible to ignore the reality that he is, in fact, naked and strapped down and collared and getting fucked.

There is no ignoring it. There is no drifting away on darkness and silence. There's a cock pistoning into him at a pace that perhaps Adrian could match — but wouldn't — and that otherwise no human would be able to maintain, at least not for long. It sinks deep and drags along his flesh and it never falters, it never tires, it never ceases in its perfect relentless machinations, and he can't not feel every inch of it, every time, with abandon.

It's horrible. It's pleasurable. It's inevitable, which is really what fucks him up so bad about it, the machine doesn't laugh or care or toy or tease, the machine has one job and that job is to fuck him senseless until someone else decides to make it stop.

And it keeps him in the moment, pinning him there with every thrust. It forces him to think about the sweat on his brow and the wet on his lips and the air on his bared spine, the ache in his legs and the bite of the collar and Kakyoin's eyes burning holes into him, watching this intimate, obscene thing happen to him when he has no escape from being aware of the observation.

He's babbling, he realizes belatedly. Words are pouring from his mouth, wailing and begging in every language he knows, Kakyoin's name, Adrian, consonants and vowels and nonsensical sounds, choking breaths, messy sobs.

His heart is pounding. He can barely get a breath in before the machine fucks it right back out of him. And it's so hard and so hot and such intensely blinding pleasure that his other emotions start to drag lose with it, shame and humiliation and stress and upset and he's shaking his head, he's rattling his collar from it, he must look so stupid and so embarrassing and it won't even let him feel it because his body has no space for anything but the sheer physical arousal of having his body manipulated so.

His mind is in one place. His body feels separate, somehow. His body is the source of all of his choking keening pleasure and he's going out of his mind.

Up and up and up it takes him, heart pounding, eyes wet, and he's so hard it hurts and he's coiled so tight he's going to snap, and Hierophant must know it because Hierophant is inside him still, writhing inside him, Kakyoin inside him, inside him and with a bone-shattering cry he's —

There's no coming back from this one. He never even got close to the edge; he careened over it in a leap from twenty feet away.

His climax takes him hard, as hard as the machine's relentless pace, and the world behind his eyes goes red and red and supernova white as his whole body quakes with it, and he drops hard into an abyss of tempestuous sensation, wrung out and falling head over heels with nothing at all left to catch him.]

[ Star wouldn't let him hurt him. He said that, didn't he? And Star isn't here to stop him. He checks for Star, when Jotaro shakes his head. When the words he's babbling out are in languages he doesn't speak (Italian? It sounds italian. And something from further into Europe. Probably Romanian. It would make sense, if it were Romanian.). He checks when the wetness returns to his eyes, fat dewdrops on his eyelashes.

Star never stops him, and so he keeps going, for as far as 'going' describes his part in this. He keeps stroking Jotaro's side. Keeps holding his hand. Keeps watching, as every last thread of him pulls taut. Tries to stretch. Unravels. Hierophant sends him the signal. He lifts his hand from Jotaro's side to turn off the machine. It doesn't stop immediately, nothing so jarring. It slows instead. Its thrusts grow weak. Shallow, until it finally pulls away entirely. His hand returns to Jotaro's side. Careful. Delicate. Hierophant remains curled in Jotaro's chest, but a tendril of him reaches out from his mouth. Pushes past his teeth, so that it can undo the restraints, then wanders off to the kitchen like a long green helpful tongue. There's the distant sound of glasses moving in the cupboard, then water from the tap. ]

I take it back. [ He says as Hierophant brings the glass of water back to him and wanders off to find a blanket, less to make conversation and more to make noises with his mouth. To put his voice there for Jotaro to follow. ] I like this thing after all.

[His face is wet, but it wouldn't be altogether accurate to say that he's crying, because he's not. It's not so much that there's an emotion driving the tears as it is just that it's all of his emotions finding every possible means to get out of him that they can, and that just happened to be one avenue.

He doesn't actually notice the machine turning off, until well after it's already come to a halt. He's shaking, but he doesn't really notice that, either. It's involuntary, it's just his body so overwhelmed that his nerves haven't quite recovered yet, keeping him trembling while the adrenaline works its way out of his system.

At least the cushion beneath him is soft. He barely recognizes the way Hierophant nudges his mouth open just enough to creep out; he barely registers the way his limbs slump and go all directions from gravity when the restraints aren't in place to hold him. Breathing feels so soothing; the rise and fall of his chest is all the external stimuli he really needs right now, and just that is enough to make him content.

He's going to be so sore. Oh, fuck, he's going to ache all over.

But that's later. Later he'll feel things. Right now he's too tired to feel anything, too grateful to just rest and float and be trembling numb. Kakyoin's voice is there, vaguely; he knows there are words said, and knows what they mean, but he can't hold onto them long enough to work out what to do about it. It's like his words have been stolen from him altogether; he knows he knew how to talk, once, but right now he can't quite connect between his mind and the rest of his body that way.

For a while, he just floats. Everything is silent, and the noises that are there seem to be foggy faded things on the far periphery of his comprehension. That's nice, for a while, until slowly the warmth in his body starts to fade, and the adrenaline leaves him behind, and a bad feeling starts to come over him, a deep and treacherous melancholy that starts to hang in the air like a looming shadow.

He's deep, deep in his own head. He needs to come back up.

Hierophant is still inside him, he thinks hazily, and tries to say his name, tries to ask for his help, tries to beg him to wrap around him like a tether and draw him back in the right direction.

In the real world, he makes the faintest, thinnest sound.]

[ It makes absolutely no sense that Hierophant should be able to reach out from inside Jotaro and coil around his limbs and lift him. He does. It's a slow, winding process. Kakyoin stops stroking his hip and starts to carefully ease each limb from its restraint, and Hierophant carefully coils around them until Jotaro is in his arms and not the machine's.

He speaks a few more times as he lays the blanket down on the couch, lets Hierophant lie Jotaro on top of it. Nothing important. Just voice noises. Little breadcrumb words for Jotaro to follow home. Hierophant uncoils from Jotaro and drops something next to Kakyoin before it crawls back home.

Jotaro makes a noise at him. He smiles. Sits on the floor next to the couch, so they're about at eye level. Strokes over Jotaro's face, fingertips pausing at his lips. ]

Can you manage some water? He can help you take the painkillers, but you'll have to drink the water yourself.

[ He's perhaps not as good at this as Adrian is. All practical concerns before emotional ones. Water. Blanket. The packet of painkillers Hierophant just dropped next to him. All of them are things that need to be dealt with first, gotten out of the way before he can fuss too much rather than things to be eased toward. ]

[It's somewhere in here, probably, that Adrian appears in the doorway for a moment, summoned by that slightest of sounds from Jotaro's throat and all but compelled by his nature and his adoration to come and check on him. It's enough for him, though, to see that Kakyoin has their mutual boyfriend well-tended, and so he lingers there only a moment before slipping away again, back to resume his own devices while keeping a careful ear in the main room's direction like before.

The couch is soft. Softer than the cushions had been, or maybe just soft in a different way. Kakyoin's voice helps ground him a little; the touch helps ground him a great deal more. Fingers trace around his face and find their way to his lips, and he can just barely gather the strength and presence of mind to close his lips slightly around them, a faint sucking motion that might be just as much muscle memory as it is a conscious thought.

Words slowly start to take shape again. Water makes him think of how dry his throat feels, or maybe it's just rough from all the noise he'd been making before. Pills mean swallowing. Both of those things mean he has to get up from where he's been placed, and just the thought of trying to move right now seems all but insurmountable.

Maybe he could open his eyes. It wouldn't be dark behind his eyes. There'd be things to see and perceive and think about.

Maybe he can just take the slightest look.

His eyelashes tremble, long and wet, as his brow furrows just a fraction and he tries to make his eyes slide open. They're about a quarter of the way when he catches a glimpse of red and thinks oh, Kakyoin.

Jotaro. That's right. He's Jotaro. And there's Kakyoin, and Hierophant, and Star —

Remembering Star is all that it takes for his Stand to fade into being at the side of the couch, looking fussy and doting and ready to serve his exhausted master's every need, and after a moment he seems to act on that very desire — reaching for Kakyoin's hand, moving it from Jotaro's mouth to the top of his head and shaking it slightly, guiding him to ruffle Jotaro's damp, sweat-sticking curls.]

[ It's cute. Charming. A little bratty (he thinks, as if he isn't actively keeping his own stand shoved inside Jotaro), the way Star picks up his hand and relocates it. It's in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing, and so Star just resolves the problem. Puts it in the write place. Makes it do the right thing. It's so simple.

Also, wrong. Because no amount of stroking Jotaro's hair will result in him consuming adequate hydration.

He combs through Jotaro's hair anyway, though. Pulls his fingers through clumps of damp hair, separating strands from each other. They cling to each other with the sweat, and the slight resistance makes them feel thicker. Denser. He keeps it up for a moment, then wriggles his hand free of Star's. ]

Water first. [ And then again, looking up toward Star, only a little sternly. ] Water first.

[It's good, the hand in his hair. It's what he craves, affection and attention and contact in a careful, moderated fashion. He's still so sensitive that he can't handle much yet without risking getting overwhelmed, but by the same token he thinks he'll die a little if Kakyoin doesn't touch him and stay touching him.

Good boy, Star. Star is helping. Star knows how to take care of him, too.

It makes him sigh — his first semi-verbalization yet. Kakyoin wants him to drink water, he thinks vaguely, and feels the fog around his mind clear a little more as he's roused into just one more sliver of awareness. His throat hurts. Water would be cool and fresh, and would clear the thickness from it.

His eyelashes flutter. He draws in a breath and sighs again, more deliberate this time, trying to shape it into an affirmative sound and only just barely succeeding.]

I knew you could do it.

[ His eyes remain on Star as he rakes his fingernails lightly over Jotaro’s scalp. See? He’ll be nice. He’ll take care of Jotaro. Of both of them. Water is just also important. It’s as much a promise as anything else when the pads of his fingers replace nails, pressing into skin just slightly.

His other hand picks up the pills that Hierophant brought for him. He pushes two out of their film. Hierophant reaches out from Jotaro’s mouth again and he drops the two pills into its waiting arm. Lets it curl around them and carry itself back inside Jotaro, carrying the painkillers with it. The water comes next, cool and clear as he raises the glassto Jotaro’s lips. ]

[It's such a surreal feeling, having one of Hierophant's tentacles literally just...ferry a couple of painkillers straight down his throat and into his stomach, without any necessity of swallowing of his own volition. It's likewise surreal that it keeps crawling out of his mouth like that, like he's the host to some kind of weird noodle alien, which on second thought is exactly what he is, but that doesn't make it any less weird.

Drinking, while lying down, isn't easy. Doing it without wanting to move his head is even harder, when he's also trying not to spill it all over the couch. Star frowns at them, then zips off to parts unknown; when he returns, it's with a bendy straw in tow.

Fuck, he's so tired. His whole body hurts. It's strange bliss to just hold perfectly still in a comfortable position and not move, lest something twinge and another ache spring up again.

Meanwhile, Star offers the straw to Kakyoin, watching intently through big eyes and dilated pupils.]

[ He keeps his hand in Jotaro's hair while he tries to drink. Not moving, not while it could distract him from the monumental task of it, but there. present. He's here. He's here.

He almost removes it to take the straw from Star. Almost, but Being under Star's gaze reminds him why it's there in the first place, and he puts down the glass instead. Takes Star's hand in his now-free one, brings it up to his lips before taking the straw. ]

Thank you.

[ He pauses for a moment as he puts the straw into the water, then looks up again, patting the floor next to him before he picks up the glass again and sets to work bringing it to Jotaro's lips. Hierophant is observing. There's no reason why Star can't, too. ]

Do you want to stay here? So you can tell me how to do it right.

[ Which is an uncomfortable admission of the fact that he might do something wrong, but it means that Star can have a defined task. An easy one. Just watch. Just watch and if he needs to be touching or not touching or anything else, just move his hands to where they ought to be. ]

[Exhausted and pliant and suggestible as he is, it feels good to try to reach for a drink, even if he originally isn't altogether that successful at it. It will be good for him, yes, but it's also what Kakyoin wants him to do. It's best when those two things align, at a time like this. It means he doesn't have to think about which reason holds more control over him; either way, the outcome is the same.

He gets his lips wet, mostly, and a little makes its way into his mouth, but it isn't until Kakyoin guides the straw up to his lips that he really gets a proper drink, and moans softly around the thin plastic from how good it feels to have the cool liquid rinsing his mouth and running down the back of his throat.

Obediently, he sips and sips, while Star settles in next to Kakyoin and watches them both intently. Jotaro still isn't sure he could make words even if he tried to, but Star didn't need words to divine his needs, and he'll make sure Kakyoin understands them if they appear, so it's all right.

It feels strange, not being fucked after so long of that just being a given status that he'd almost started taking for granted. Every so often his hips twitch back, just a fraction, like they're still trained to rock back into a stimulus that's no longer there.

Ora, Star pronounces solemnly, and pets against his side, his ribs, his shoulder, his hair. Star has the benefit of knowing exactly how Jotaro wants to be touched, even when he doesn't precisely know what he wants himself.

It feels good, and he sips his water, and slowly, at great length, he opens his still-glassy eyes.]

I knew you could. I knew.

[ The non-negotiable parts, the parts that have to come first no matter how Star insists that the rest is also important, are dealt with. A few painkillers to hopefully numb the ache of it all into something that can be lived with, make it scoot to the side and make itself smaller so there's room for everything else. Water to hopefully drive off the worst of the headache that's on the way.

Everything else, everything else is just the rest. Just whatever Star indicates for him to do. Whatever feels correct, as bad as he is at the 'feeling' part compared to the 'thinking and measuring and concluding' part. He follows Star's lead, bringing his hand back to Jotaro's side and resuming the same path he was stroking along before, through the last intense moments of his time in the machine. Draws his fingers over each rib, hopping between them like a stone skipping on the surface of a pond, then slides them backward so it's his palm that slides over Jotaro's hip, his fingers curling further back to graze over the flesh of his ass. As far as a little way down his thigh, where he slides his hand back further so his fingers curl around the back of it into the inner part before he sqeezes and withdraws his hand, bringing it up to his ribs to start again. Slow. Steady. A softer sort of rhythm than the one of the machine, but a return to rhythm nonetheless. Hierophant starts beating his heartbeat again as he waits for Jotaro to finish draining the glass. ]

Thank you. [ He says, eventually. ] For being so good for me.

[He blinks once, slowly — still not ready for words yet, but roused enough to follow along with what Kakyoin says and coherent enough to at least try to gather up a reply. He's been good; his cheeks flush from that. His eyelashes flutter every time Kakyoin's hand dips down against the inside of his thigh; he sighs around his straw when fingers pet up to count his ribs. There's a rhythm in his reactions, too, though he's not trying to place it there. It just feels natural, and he's not thinking about it altogether too much.

Sip after sip, he drinks his water, until the glass is empty and he's making faint slurping noises trying to get the last of it without moving. When it becomes apparent that the glass is empty, he slumps a little more contentedly against the couch cushions and nurses on the straw itself, glad just to have something in his mouth to focus on.

This is an interesting state of mind to find himself in, he thinks idly. His thoughts are slow and measured, but not disoriented or confused. He's not resisting talking or reluctant to do it; he just genuinely isn't ready to try to speak.

He feels calm, and the right kind of empty. He's all here, most of him, and sleepy-content, but he's not weighted down with the stress of ten thousand worries and his usually racing thoughts are, for once, blessedly silent.]

[ He thought that he'd withdraw the glass once the water was done, but Jotaro's lips stay pressed around the straw and for a little while it's confusing but- he thinks he understands. He thinks he kind of understands. While the straw is there, he doesn't need to have a reason to not be speaking right now. He just isn't. Can't. Words won't be coming out of him, because there's a straw, and that doesn't have to mean anything.

Maybe he's projecting, a little. Overthinking. Trying to understand Jotaro's behaviour by trying to figure out what the fuck he'd be thinking, if he were doing the same thing.

It'd be nice to be able to touch him with both hands, even if the straw, and thus the glass, and thus the hand holding the glass, is serving an important purpose. And so he takes the glass and its straw away and just tries to be quick to replace it. To press his thumb against Jotaro's lips again and push the tip of it inward. Forcing them to part just slightly. His other hand comes back up to Jotaro's hair, finger-combing it back into some sort of loose order. ]

[Oh. Oh. Kakyoin seems to understand, he thinks with a rush of warmth that floods his cheeks and turns them a grateful pink. He takes the empty cup away but then his thumb is at his lips, and it feels so right to just open his mouth and draw it in and suck lightly at the skin. It makes him feel connected, in just one more way that he wants to be connected to the person he loves so, so much. He feels like he'll burst from it, a little, and it contents him to have a way of showing it.

His gaze tracks up Kakyoin's arm, over his shoulder, past his chin. Finds his eyes. Looks at him with love and gratitude and heat, and tries to pour all of his thoughts into that look because he doesn't have the words to sound them instead.

He thinks a minute, slowly, and then a touch of something like mischief curls at the corners of his mouth, and in the next moment he wraps his tongue around Kakyoin's thumb, deliberately obscene in the way he fucks it like Hierophant's tentacles fucked his own tongue earlier, and tries to reassure him that he really is doing all right, he's just — quiet.]

[ Jotaro's eyes meet his. Slowly. Carefully. Like he needs to work his way up to it, the same way that he needs to work his way through careful, delicate touches until he can manage anything more. They find him. Eventually, they find him. And now he can't talk, either.

Jotaro's eyes look like eyes. He could be poetic about it, but there'd be no point. It's not as if anything he could compare them to would be something he preferred looking at. They look like the way most of the rest of him feels to Hierophant. Like threads, like a hundred thousand tiny threads of connective tissue, each a slightly different shade of blue-green determined for them by Miss Jolly's eyes and Mr. Joestar's eyes. Maybe the eyes of his Erina's Jonathan before they were red-brown and cruel. And they're dark. Heavy. Warm, despite the coolness of their colour.

For a while he just holds Jotaro's gaze. Stokes his hair. And then Jotaro smirks and tries to curl his tongue around his thumb and he can't do anything about that but laugh-sigh, withdrawing his thumb and wiping the end of it on Jotaro's nose. ]

What the fuck.

[ It's fond. Impossibly. Just heart would burst if it were any fonder. ]

[Kakyoin's reaction gets the first non-whimper noise out of him that he's made since he'd hit his brink in the machine — a faint rumbling thing that's almost a purr by mistake, from how he's trying to laugh and can't quite muster the effort it'd take to get the mirth out of his lungs. His expression is almost beatific; it's a shame he can't see himself, for how relaxed and open and gentle he looks. The usual worries and tension that add sharp angles to his features have been temporarily washed away, replaced by a healthy, sleepy glow that somehow manages to only bring out more of the classical beauty of his features.

He could be a statue if he wanted, nude and curly-haired and smiling like he's got a secret all to himself as he rests in contentment on his couch. He could be a statue, but he's not, and that's really sort of the whole point to begin with, isn't it.]

Nori.

[It's a whisper, but it's there. A sigh of a name, happy and pleased amid his comfortable aches and pains.]

Mmmback early...?

[NEVER LET IT BE SAID THAT JOTARO KUJO DOESN'T GET RIGHT DOWN TO THE OBSERVATIONS THAT MATTER least]

Was I not meant to be?

[ If he has any regrets at all about crashing Jotaro and Adrian's robot sex adventures, he's doing a really bad job of showing it. He's just laughing, still. All of this is ridiculous. His boyfriends are ridiculous. Beautiful, both of them, by every possible way of measuring, but ridiculous. The fact that he'd come home to find one of them like this.

He leans forward. Smushes Jotaro's stupid, beautiful face between his hands. Kisses him. ]

Yeah. Back early.

I didn't...know.

[Not that he sounds like he minds, but. Well, that contextualizes the startle reaction he'd had when the door had rattled open while he was still wrapped up in the machine, anyway. No one else could've gotten in to begin with, and Adrian would never have let anyone get that close if it hadn't been Kakyoin coming home. He didn't need to ask permission; it just made for a rather erotic surprise for the both of them.

He reflects on that a minute.]

...Sorry.

[Affectionate, needy, happy, he pushes his face against Kakyoin's palm.]

You don't...like it. Sorry.

[There is so much evidence here to the contrary it's astonishing. But he is still wearing Adrian's collar, hefty leather thing that it is. And there are some parts of their games that he knows don't sit well with Kakyoin, either.]

I don't.

[ He says it simply enough. Doesn't really argue against Jotaro's statement. There are things he'll still shut up and deal with if it's for Jotaro's sake, but the number of them is growing smaller by the day. Not because Jotaro isn't worth it, but because he wouldn't want anyone to shut up and deal with anything for his sake. And letting him decide that? That's worth it, too.

But he hasn't said anything he didn't want to say. He hasn't had anything he didn't want said to him said. The closest he's come to touching the collar was to slip Hierophant under it to test that it wasn't too tight. None of this is the sort of thing that needles its way under his skin and makes him apprehensive. ]

It's okay. As long as I can avoid the parts I don't like. Only do the parts I want to. That's good. I like the parts I did.

IC Inbox | prismatica

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject