starmark | IC Inbox | prismatica

[ In a week or so, he'll bring Jotaro a selection of swatches of fabric and demand that he pick one out, refusing to give him any context at all outside of this moment. Try to find a balance between what feels best against oversensitive skin and what is aesthetically pleasing, as if Jotaro's going to even look at what he's wearing in these moments. His first instinct is some sort of nightclothes, perhaps one of the long shirts that Adrian wears to bed, but that would rather ruin the illusion of ignoring Jotaro in favour of his work. Even for sexy pretend purposes, he can't quite get his head around the thought of doing work in his pajamas.

For now, he just kisses him again. Because he wants to. Because it's a good way to avoid having to answer while his brain catches up with that Jotaro just said. ]

Is that important? [ He asks eventually, and it's a genuine question. He doesn't know. He doesn't know if that's supposed to be a part of this, and he doesn't really know if it's that important to him. It would be nice, certainly. It's going to have to happen at some point before he's ever going to be capable of thinking clearly again. But he might have to let go. He'd certainly have to shuffle clothes around. It sounds nice. It just doesn't seem worth letting go. ]

I don't like it when I'm the only one.

[There's something in his inflection this time, when he says don't like it, that makes the intent behind the phrase noticeably different than it's been at other times. This isn't a pressing, urgent need for Jotaro's comfort. This isn't a hard limit or a preference on need of immediate correction. This isn't — part of the game, even, but rather just a more general remark, a little huffy and a little vulnerable both.

Because it'd felt good, hadn't it, to wrap his mouth around something even as he'd had pleasure overwhelming him more and more with every passing moment? And he'd wanted, instinctively, to share. To please. To give back, somehow, in whatever little way he could.

Maybe that's not how it is for everyone who fucks around like this. Maybe it's just him. But that's okay, isn't it? It's okay to know what he likes, so long as everyone involved is okay with it too.]

Can I? I want to.

[He thinks about it a minute, reflective.]

I know I don't have, uh, the dragon voice or anything right now, but...maybe I can still talk you up into it anyway?

I'll have to let go. Just for a moment. To- you know.

[ It's not like he isn't going to have to wash these clothes anyway. But there's a difference. A material difference, at least to him, between them needing to be washed as a result of this, as a whole, and as a result of him. They all have their limits in places that look strange from the outside looking in, don't they? ]

Is that okay? I want to, but- it can wait, until that's okay, if you need.

Um.

[Is it okay? It feels as though it might be. But maybe there's no way to be sure until it happens, and by then it'll be too late, so...

Hm.]

Have — tie me up with Hierophant. Just while you're gone. It'll be like being in the machine again, just...not as intense. But it'll feel familiar, so I'll stay calm.

[He hesitates. Like the collar, Kakyoin has certain opinions about tying him up with Hierophant, he knows.]

I just need him on the outside. So I can see him. Okay? I'll be fine then. And you can do whatever you need to. I'll drink more water, even. Please?

Okay. But you have to have another glass of water. And eat something, in a little while.

[ He's finding he enjoys this. The negotiation. If you'd asked him a little while ago, he'd have thought of the concept as more antagonistic than he'd like. Thought of it as something that one had to win, where the aim was to wring out from the other person something they had no desire to give.

This isn't that. This is each of them having a thing they want, and finding a way to cooperate to achieve both. One of them getting everything and giving nothing wouldn't be winning for anyone. If anything, it would be the only possible way to fail. ]

It doesn't have to be a full meal. Just- I don't know. Something.

[ He doesn't need to let go of Jotaro's hand and trail a finger over his wrist, guiding Hierophant though his body and out through the pulse point to coil around it. Except that he does. It's not necessary to tell Hierophant what to do, but it's necessary nonetheless. Hierophant snakes up Jotaro's arm, up to his shoulder. Loops itself carefully around the collar when it finds it, slipping under and around it instead of passing through the place where something should be connected. ]

Like this?

Fruit.

[Another thing he's able to supply relatively easily, slotting in experience to color the lines and shapes that Kakyoin sketches out with his words. He likes that part, too — bites of fruit, bits of bread, offered up to him by nimble fingers in-between sips of water. It's so hard sometimes to accept attention and doting any other way, but like this it's for his own good, and easier to embrace.]

Do my legs too.

[That bit, he whispers. It's not demanding, it's not aroused. It's a plea, faint and breathless.]

Just — that. More of that. Like that, but all over.

Yeah, okay.

[ Slowly, the tendrils loop around the hole of his body. Losely, at first, ribbons draped over him the way that they wrap around Adrian's shoulders to rest on him while he paints. It's careful, the way they draw tighter and tighter as it continues to move. For the most part the tendrils are just crawling up his limbs like ivy rather than immobilising them. It's just a few loops binding his legs together. Another few binding his wrists behind his back. Probably breakable without more than discomfort, if Jotaro really chose to, even without Star's aid. But enough to be struggled against and to resist.

His fingers are still against Jotaro's wrist. His hand on his face. ]

I'm not going to let go until you say it's enough.

[It shouldn't be reassuring. Being tied up shouldn't be something that's reassuring, and yet Hierophant's tendrils are a sensation all their own, slick and pliable where they glide over his skin in a way that nothing else could ever be. And for all that he's tired and recuperating, there's still the lingering remnants of something in Jotaro that respond when his limbs are drawn together and held in a certain way, not against his will but against his instinct.

He visibly relaxes. His eyelids droop; a full-chest sigh escapes his lips and makes him sag with it. He could escape these bonds, but he isn't going to. He could struggle against them, but he doesn't need to. He's safe, and snug, and tethered. It would be utterly impossible for him to even begin to entertain the notion that he's been left alone, like this.

He sighs again, breathy and blissful.]

It's good.

[Kakyoin hasn't let go of him. Kakyoin won't let him go until he's sure he's all right, and that thought warms him from the inside out, makes his heart skip a beat.]

Good. Whatever you need to do. I'll be okay like this.

[ The machine didn't turn off immediately, and he doesn't fully understand why but he's starting to get it. A sudden loss of contact is bad. Even if it's contact that's about to become painful, losing it all at once is worse than the more gradual alternative. And so he doesn't break contact immediately. It's a slow process, careful, because he doesn't know how to do it and he trusts Star to materialise and shove him into Jotaro if he happens to fuck up but he'd rather not fuck up in the first place.

His fingers trail over Jotaro's wrist, down his palm, along his fingers until they reach the very tips of them. And then they linger. For a few seconds, they stay there before he pulls them away and breaks contact. The other hand moves then. Up from Jotaro's cheek. Over the side of his face, into his hair and then through it and away. Hierophant strokes a tendril over his back.

He refills the water glass first, bringing it back along with a bowl of the only fruit that really counts, and undresses himself carefully. It's habit rather than teasing that leads to him folding his trousers after he's removed them. It's a lot more comfortable without them. Without his shirt and jacket.

He still feels exposed like this. Vulnerable. Even now. But it's worth it. If it makes it easier for Jotaro to let him hold him. Maybe getting off will seem more urgent than a very distant second once it ceases to be theoretical and starts to become a certainty.

He sits down before he returns to Jotaro proper, resting his hand on his leg and sliding it inward, carefully, fingers pressing into his inner thigh. ]

Is this okay? Here?

[Kakyoin touches him like he's exquisite. Priceless. And the nice thing about being wrapped up like this is that on some level, he's already in the mindset of being put on display, so self-consciousness never really becomes a factor despite still being as bare as the day he was born. As each of Kakyoin's touches fades, Jotaro finds he seems to feel them all the more acutely, the echoes of contact lingering well afterward, like a pleasant memory to hold on to and enjoy.]

You're perfect.

[It's funny. He's the one tied up, but it's Kakyoin who needs the reassurance of praise right now, moreso than he does himself.

When the contact finally fully breaks, he does feel it like a pang in his chest. But he's not alone and he's not abandoned; Hierophant is exerting just the right amount of pressure around him, never so tight that he's pinned or abraded, but secure enough that if he needs the reassurance of feeling him, all he has to do is writhe and the comfortable resistance will be there.

And it's nice. Nice to just relax and feel good. Nice to think about Kakyoin coming back, and anticipate what will unfold when he gets there. There's nothing wrong with a little anticipation, so long as he's secure in the absence. It's fine to take a little breather and just linger in silence while he waits, knowing Hierophant is right there.

But he does open his eyes halfway to watch when Kakyoin comes back and starts undressing, and he rouses from his pleasant stupor long enough to lick his lips and pucker them into a wolf whistle once Kakyoin has rid himself of his clothes. And then, blessedly, deliciously, fingers glide over his skin again and run to the inside of his thigh, and when he shivers there's no mistaking that it's from pleasure and pleasure alone.]

Hi. Wasn't enough just to look at me, huh...

[That's not a yes, so he makes sure to nod a little once he's done, faintly encouraging.]

[ He splutters with indignation when Jotaro wolf whistles, and Hierophant swats him lightly. Rude.

Rude but easily forgiven. So easily forgiven when Jotaro looks like this, all the hard edges gone, just soft and loving and loved and aware of how loved he is. Hierophant tightens around Jotaro's legs, making his thighgs tighten around his hand, and he slides it up and down between them. Lets the sweat and the leftover of whatever Adrian used to prepare him for the machine deal with the worst of the friction, so his hand can glide over the skin without being too much. It was an offhand consideration, before. Something he'd seen in some magazine or another. The muscle of Jotaro's legs is harder than the girl's thighs in the magazine had looked. That makes him apprehensive.

But the way Jotaro shivers when he touches him is mesmerising. He's not sure. At the very least he should keep doing this, the touching part. ]

Did you want me to just look?

[ He doesn't bring his hand up as high as he could, still being careful, but he does squeeze Jotaro's thigh as he asks that. ]

I can just look, if you want me to.

[He laughs, delighted with Kakyoin's indignation; it turns into a gasp when Hierophant exacts his punishment for the transgression, and he can't help but rub his cheek against the blanket beneath him, so content with his circumstances even if Kakyoin's hands aren't actively on him at the moment.

And then, suddenly, they are. It's between his legs, rubbing, and the smooth slide is so suggestive of what he's thinking that Jotaro winds up biting his lip, already preoccupied with thinking about it. What a thought it is, generous in the consideration it has for how sore he is already, and just a little bit kinky in the necessities of the execution.

He swallows.]

No. Don't just look.

[Hierophant's already doing most of the work for him, but he tenses his thighs a little, adding a little squeeze to Kakyoin's hand where it's fitted snugly between them.]

Do that thing. Where you — you talk about me. You think out loud what you want to do. It turns you on, right? To talk about it?

You don't have to make it sound like I'm into the sound of my own voice.

[ He grumbles, but it sounds warm. Everything sounds warm. Jotaro isn't the only one whose sharp edges have become lost for the moment. He's still a little nervous about the- everything. But he wants this. He wants this and if he makes a mistake, someone will stop him before it gets out of hand.

Cautiously, he brings his hand upward. A little softer, there. Not tremendously so, but less uncomfortably solid muscle. It might work. It seems worth- very worth, trying. ]

I want to- It'll be easier, right? If you don't have to- do. Anything. [ He swallows. It's always difficult, at first, to do this. Jotaro's right. He'll life it eventually. But it takes some working up to. It's always going to take some work. A deep breath, then attempt two. ]

You don't have to do anything. You've already done so much. You can just- you can just be here, and let me use you. [ His face scrunches up at that phrasing. He doesn't like it. He should think of something different, next time. But he tried it, and that's what matters. ] For a little while. I'll- I'll get off. Because of you. But you won't need to do a thing. Just be here.

I'm into the sound of your voice. You're into being a bastard.

[He's so good at making bastard sound like a pet name. An endearment. People have said darling with less affection than Jotaro Kujo purrs the word bastard in that moment.

But he understands Kakyoin's distaste with the phrase use you; even the way he says it betrays his disapproval, and Jotaro can tell. Kakyoin doesn't like him when he's different, and Jotaro likes it better when he's pleasing his partner. That kind of objectification, maybe, doesn't work well for either of them.]

Mm. Hey, try — try this.

[They have time. They have all the time in the world, to try whatever they need to, until they get it right.]

It'd be different if I were asleep, right? It'd be more...like a game. Trying to get away with it. Without waking me up, right? Not using me. Just...trying not to wake me up.

[ It sounded better in the magazine. When the person saying it wasn't him. When the person listening wasn't Jotaro. And he knows what he's aiming for. He's aiming for reassurance. A statement that Jotaro can't fail. That the reason he can't fail isn't irrelevance but the opposite. That no matter what happens, he's going to feel good and Jotaro is going to be the reason for it

Jotaro's version doesn't capture it all perfectly, either, but it's a better attempt ]

Yeah. That's better. You don't have to do anything, if you don't want. You can be asleep.

[ He withdraws his hand and shuffles onto his side. The positioning combined with their heights means that once he's in around the right place he's about eye to eye with Jotaro's nipples. But he's capable of looking up. Jotaro's capable of looking down. It's fine.

Slowly, cautiously, he pushes his hips forward. Starts to push against - against rather than into, just for the moment, just to be safe - the space between Jotaro's thighs. ]

A-and. [ Oh. Okay, yes, that's. Even that is something. A little more something than he was expecting, perhaps. He rests his forehead against Jotaro's chest for a second before looking up again. He wants to keep talking. Jotaro said he wants him to talk, so he wants to keep talking, even if every word makes him feel uselessly self-concious. It's okay. If he gets the words wrong, Jotaro will try to give him better ones. ] If you're awake, you can be here with me. But if you're asleep then- you can wake up later. And you'll know that- that you made me feel good. It was still you who did it.

...Yeah. I can't tell you I like it if I'm asleep...

[And oh, fuck, it's not perfect by any means but it still feels good, Kakyoin curled close and his body hot and the slick rhythm between his legs tantalizing without being overwhelming. That part, they've gotten right. That part is good.

They're workshopping the rest, but that's okay, too. They'll get there. They will.]

Did it...

[He sucks in a breath. Closes his eyes. Focuses on Kakyoin's rhythm, less perfect than the machine's, and so much better for it because it's human.]

Did it make you jealous? When you were watching me. Did you wish it was you...and not the machine...? I wished it was you —

A little. But-

[ Hierophant tightens in some places. Loosens in others. Moderates the pressure. He could tell Jotaro to press his thighs together, but even if he hasn't quite managed to find the right words for it yet there's something intoxicating to doing it for him. Arranging him nicely. Perfectly.

He sighs out a long breath as he pushes his hips forward. The next breath comes in shallow and leaves shorter and louder, about as close to a moan as a closed mouth can manage. ]

-fuck. [ Keep talking. He should keep talking. ] But it was- if it was me, I wouldn't have been able to see you in- in the same way. It'd be harder to commit it to- to remember how you look when you're like that, every detail of you. I wouldn't know.

[ He can't reach to kiss Jotaro's mouth. He kisses his chest instead. ]

I'll know now. When it is me. I'll know what it looks like from every angle.

[Kakyoin isn't the same height as him. He knows that, rationally. It's a fact, he's always known it. But he's never really thought about it, or its implications, until he's been trussed up and held still while Kakyoin moves against his body, kissing at his chest, and he's wanted so bad to tilt his face forward and kiss him and realized that he can't.

Adrian is the same height as him; he's been spoiled, he's gotten used to it. Kakyoin is shorter, and somehow he's never really considered how erotic a thing it could be, to be prevented from stealing kisses just by virtue of a difference in physical stature. It's denial in a completely unintended way, one that comes with lips on his pecs and shuddering breath in his throat, and it leaves him biting his lips because it's the only pressure on them he's going to be able to get until Kakyoin is done.

How strange that it's an experience not altogether different from being in the machine. At the mercy of someone else. Not his decision. What he gets, doesn't get, feels, doesn't feel — it's all Kakyoin's, and not his own. That much is still the same, and he moans as suddenly, suddenly, something clicks.]

Me. Me, talk about me. Not just — not just what you could say to anyone. It was good because — because it was you and me.

Okay. [ And then again, more firmly. ] Okay, yeah. I-

[ Slowly, he starts to move. Very slowly, because he needs to think. Just for a few more seconds. Just until he gathers momentum. ]

I wasn’t jealous. Not really. Because you welcomed me home. Because you had a cock inside you driving you crazy, and you still welcomed me home. And- fuck- how important must I be, for that? I bet you couldn’t even remember your own name, the way you sounded when you said it, but you knew who I was. I wouldn’t give that up to trade places with the machine. I wouldn’t give it up for anything.

[ He pulls his lips over Jotaro’s chest. Searches to mace sure that he isn’t going to catch a nipple before lightly dragging his teeth over the flesh of it. ]

You think I’m ever going to forget it? The way it sounds when you’re being fucked out of your mind but you still look at me and welcome me home like I’m the only thing that matters. You think I’m not going to be hearing it in my head every time I open the door, that I won’t have to drop everything and deal with it before I can focus on anything at all?

[Oh, fuck. This is it, isn't it? This is what was missing. This is what all the canned generic objectively sexy dirty talk couldn't even come close to replicating: the part that it's him. It's him that turns Kakyoin on. It's Kakyoin that he wants doing this to him. Who gives a damn about all the filth in the world when the most offhand word from Kakyoin has the power to get him going in an instant?]

L-Like that — oh, fuck, fuck...

[He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard, wishing for a kiss that he knows he won't get and letting his body heat up with arousal beneath Kakyoin's attentions. If it were more than this, if it were more physical, maybe he wouldn't be able to take it. But Kakyoin's voice plays purely to his mind, and right now that's arousal he can bear, losing himself easily in the lilt of his voice.]

I knew you. I was good for you, wasn't I? Good because you wanted me to. Just like you wanted...

Everything I wanted.

[ 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.

[It doesn't even matter that it's only a mask that comes in front of his mouth. It could be anything, really; what matters is that it's there, it's not just empty space, and he leans into it with almost desperate gratitude, parting his lips and moving them over Hierophant's mask like a lover lost in a particularly messy round of kisses. He laves his tongue against the bone and it doesn't matter; his lips come together and part again and it's fine if he doesn't have lips to kiss back. All that matters is that he's able to do something, he can show how much he wants this, there's an outlet for the passion and relief and pleasure and he can pour it all back out again as much as he wants.

And fuck, it's not stopping anytime soon. Not with Kakyoin's tight, pondering voice putting suggestions into his head, images of Hierophant working him over even more thoroughly than the machine because Hierophant can multitask, can be in twenty places at once and track down to the slightest sensation whether it's too much or not. This is what Hierophant was made for, albeit in a sensual sense never contemplated before now. To control, to manipulate, to direct.

Adrian could come home and see him like that. Adrian and Kakyoin, leaving him for each other like a gift — what a breath-stealing thought.]

Would he like it?

[What priorities he has. But there's some ambiguity there, still, and he realizes only belatedly that he needs to clarify it.]

Hierophant. Would Hierophant like it?

As long as he felt safe.

[ He's not sure if it's strange or not, that it always comes down to that. To feeling safe. For all of them, in different ways. ]

It would have to be here. Somewhere he knows. Somewhere where he's already spent a lot of time out in the open and nothing- nothing bad's happened. He might- might need Star around, I won't know without trying.

[ The topic of whether he would also want to tie Star up requires further consideration. Maybe he'd have reached an answer, if his movements hadn't lined up with Jotaro's in such a way as to completely clear any trace of thought from his head for a few seconds. A long moan escapes him, the sort that pulls out so much air that he needs to reconstitute himself with small, gasping breaths for a moment. the shape his too-wide mouth makes when he bites his lip gives the noises of it all an almost-musical whistling quality. It takes him a moment, both to start moving again and to start talking.

Carefully, even more carefully than Kakyoin did, Hierophant takes Jotaro's face in his hands. Like he's trying to hold the head of a dandelion without losing a single seed. He says nothing, because he doesn't like to, but the low mechanical humming he emits has the same constant, calm quality as a cat's purr. ]

He'd like it. He likes you. And he likes touching you. And he likes measuring things and detail work and- that's all it is. Loving you and touching you and measuring and altering the details.

Hi, Hierophant.

[I love this, he wants to say. All of it, yes, but this in particular. There's something profoundly intoxicating about the juxtaposition of all the filthy things happening to his body and the unparalleled tenderness of hands cupping his face. He wants to say I'd do anything for you, but it's not as though Kakyoin and Hierophant both don't already know that. He wants to say I can do it because you know I can, but he can't seem to string those words together.]

You like it inside me, don't you. Feels like home? Haah — so, so, okaeri, Hierophant. You can come home whenever you want.

[ He stops. He has to stop. He can't process that. Not while half of him is still rubbing slowly against Jotaro, building himself up to something that he wants, now, desperately, but-

-but not half as much as he's wanted to hear someone say that.

He curls his legs around Jotaro's. His arms around his waist. Buries his face somewhere in his abdomen. Above him, Hierophant's face doesn't shift being the patterns within his skin flicker like a cuttlefish trying to use its skin as a means of expression.

The words alone would be- would be enough. To bring his mind to a complete stop. Hierophant has a place where he's welcome. Where he's wanted. Where he's supposed to be. But more than that, it's the nature of the call and response. It's something you say to someone when you're seeing them for the hundredth time. The thousandth. When they're a constant. When they've always been there.

To Jotaro, Hierophant has always been there. And here he is, expressing it in the subtlest, most natural way. Like it's just the way things are. Like it's not something he should have ever needed to even try to achieve. ]

What the fuck.

[ It's muffled. He's talking into Jotaro's midsection, but it's a little more choked even than that should cause. Hierophant just keeps staring, unblinking, shades of green flickering madly over his skin but his hands perfectly steady. The noise he makes against Jotaro's abdomen is either a laugh or a sob. ]

You can't make me cry if you want me to get off. What the fuck.

IC Inbox | prismatica

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