Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13324728.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      ジョジョの奇妙な冒険_|_JoJo_no_Kimyou_na_Bouken_|_JoJo's_Bizarre_Adventure
  Relationship:
      Kakyoin_Noriaki/Kujo_Jotaro, Hierophant_Green/Kakyoin_Noriaki/Kujo_Jotaro
  Character:
      Kakyoin_Noriaki, Kujo_Jotaro, Hierophant_Green
  Additional Tags:
      Established_Relationship, Dom/sub_Undertones, Consensual_Possession, No
      Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Standcest_(JoJo), Forced
      Masturbation, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex, Multiple_Orgasms, Voyeurism
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-02-07 Words: 7435
****** Filigree ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Jotaro hadn’t expected to be able to feel it so clearly." Jotaro has
     a request for Kakyoin, and for Hierophant Green, and they both
     indulge him.
It was Jotaro’s idea in the first place.
Kakyoin had balked, at first. Jotaro could see the dip of the other’s lashes,
the clear indication of uncertainty as Kakyoin retreated back into the calm
composure he so often offers to others and so rarely to Jotaro; but “I want
to,” Jotaro told him, the words simple and the stronger for their honesty, and
Kakyoin’s breath had caught, Kakyoin’s fingers had curled in at his sides like
he was turning the idea over in his mind. His gaze flickered down, violet eyes
mapping out the lines of Jotaro’s body like he was seeing the framework of it
in his mind; and then his cheeks had flushed to pink, he had swallowed with
force, and Jotaro had known he was going to agree even before: “Okay,” Kakyoin
told him, lifting his head into haughty assurance. “Take your clothes off and
lie on the bed.”
That’s where Jotaro is now, where he has been for what feels like hours and has
likely been no longer than ten minutes. His heart is pounding in his chest, his
fingers feel like they’re thrumming with adrenaline against the bed beneath
him. He’s entirely hard, as he has been since Kakyoin’s first motion towards
agreement, but it’s not embarrassment that has his heart fluttering on such
speed in his chest, not when Kakyoin is stripped as bare as he is and kneeling
at the foot of the bed between Jotaro’s angled-open knees. The cause for that
pounding rhythm is entirely the winding tendrils of green spilling from
Kakyoin’s fingers, and sliding up between Jotaro’s thighs, and working their
way up into the heat of his body with steady-slow intent.
Jotaro hadn’t expected to be able to feel it so clearly. He’s thought about
this before, thought about what it would feel like to have Kakyoin’s Hierophant
Green inside him, to have the pressure of the other’s presence marked out in a
web of emerald light winding through the whole of his body; but it’s more
immediate than he expected, more of a physical presence than he thought it
might be. The first drag of friction felt like fingers, like it was the reach
of Kakyoin’s ever-elegant touch sliding up into Jotaro to work him open for the
greater heat of the other’s cock, for the simple satisfaction of their bodies
fitting together as close as they can; but it had kept going, sliding up and
out into Jotaro’s body like water spilling into a cup, like heat trickling out
into every vein in his body, like Kakyoin’s touch wandering out to encompass
the impossible task of catching the whole of Jotaro’s body between his palms.
Jotaro can feel it in his stomach, can feel strange pressure against his chest
like a gentle weight, as if Kakyoin’s palm is pressing flush against the rhythm
of his breathing to brace him still; he can feel it at the back of his throat,
like the lingering heat of alcohol or the steam from a sip of tea granted
physical presence at his tongue. His heart is pounding, his cock is aching, he
thinks his hands are starting to tremble where they’re lying slack against the
sheets; and still he can feel the brilliance of the force inside him with
absolute clarity, can feel Kakyoin’s influence fitting itself in against the
shadows of his body with more intimacy than Jotaro has ever before experienced.
Kakyoin shifts at the end of the bed. The mattress moves, Jotaro can hear the
other take a breath; he blinks up at the ceiling, trying to return his focus to
himself instead of mapping out the trajectory of Hierophant Green’s influence
within him.
“Jotaro.” Kakyoin’s voice is very steady and very gentle; Jotaro has never
before heard him sound so calm, has never heard the other’s voice so soft with
deliberate care. It’s a comfort just to hear him, reassuring just to have the
sound of someone else’s voice be so stable, like bedrock sturdy enough to brace
any weight that might be pressed against it. “Are you okay?”
Jotaro ducks his head into a nod before he swallows and makes an attempt at
speech. “Yeah.” His voice sounds strange to his own ears; he wonders if it’s
the drag of the air struggling past the effect of Kakyoin’s Stand in his throat
that’s making the change or if it’s just the ringing of heat in his own ears.
Maybe it’s the arousal coursing through him like electricity that is dropping
that word into such a weird, husky range. He curls his fingers into fists on
the sheets underneath him, tightening his grip with deliberate intent before he
lets his hold go back to the relaxation Kakyoin asked of him. “Keep going.”
“Are you sure?” Kakyoin asks. It’s not uncertainty under the words; just a
question, a request for a confirmation of Jotaro’s intentions. “It’s going to
feel a little weird.”
Jotaro nods again. “I’m sure,” he grates out. “Keep going, Kakyoin.”
Kakyoin takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly; Jotaro can hear the focus
on the sound. “Okay,” he says. His hand comes up, his palm presses to Jotaro’s
thigh; his fingers feel like they’re electrified, like he’s carrying a static
shock against his palm that’s humming at Jotaro’s skin rather than grounding
out. “Tell me if you need me to stop.” There’s a pressure against Jotaro’s
chest, a tension enough to make him flinch, to tighten his forehead on
something very nearly pain; and then the sensation within him shifts, and
expands, and the breath in his lungs rushes out of him as he feels the tendrils
of Kakyoin’s Hierophant Green spread out to wind themselves into his veins.
It’s an uncanny sensation. Jotaro’s skin is prickling with goosebumps, all the
hair on his arms rising as if with a chill at the feeling spreading down his
arms and up into the line of his throat before breaking out to spiderweb across
his scalp. In his chest there’s friction, pressure, a feeling as if of
featherlight contact winding itself in and around his ribs; for a moment Jotaro
can feel the thud of his heart with absolute clarity, as if each beat is
pressing close against the lattice of contact Hierophant Green is layering
through him. The inside of his thigh tickles as if Kakyoin has ghosted a touch
against it, the arch of one foot twitches with reflexive reaction; and Jotaro
is breathing harder, almost panting, now, as the sensation within his body
spreads out to infiltrate the details of his veins, the muscles of his arms and
the curl of his toes and the ringing of adrenaline pounding against his ears.
He’s trembling where he lies, the sensation too much and too foreign for him to
fight back the involuntary reaction; and he’s so hard he thinks he could come
from the press of Kakyoin’s fingers to him, thinks he might be pushed over the
edge by the huff of a breath. His cock is aching with heat, as if all that
electricity of Hierophant Green sliding through his veins is condensing itself
down into desperate, heart-thudding want; and then there’s a shift against his
balls, the strain of that contact reaching up and towards the line of his cock,
and Jotaro shuts his eyes and groans over an exhale as Kakyoin slides his
influence with impossible delicacy up and into the heat of Jotaro’s straining
erection. Jotaro’s spine is prickling with tension, his entire body is shaking
like he’s holding the full force of an electrical charge vibrating within the
heat of his veins; and then Kakyoin’s fingers tighten, and Kakyoin takes a
straining breath, and Jotaro’s opening his eyes in immediate, reflexive
response to the sound of the other’s voice. It’s hard to turn his head -
- there’s a strange resistance, like he’s pushing against the force of a hand
at his forehead or of fingers at the back of his neck -- but he has to, and he
does, and then he’s looking up to force himself back into focus on Kakyoin
kneeling between his legs.
Kakyoin’s eyes are half-lidded, his gaze is cast down over Jotaro before him.
There’s something dark in his gaze, a half-feral shadow that Jotaro remembers
well, that Kakyoin hardly ever lets anyone glimpse within him; it tenses
Jotaro’s throat as if fingers are pressing to his neck, as if it’s Kakyoin’s
hand directly weighting at his airway instead of the impossibly thin veins of
Hierophant Green winding through his body. Jotaro works through a swallow,
feels the movement of it telegraphed through the whole of his body as if he’s
brushing against a web of invisible mesh hanging in the air around him; when he
speaks his voice is rough and lower than he could ever drag it of his own
volition, gathering a resonance from the burn of arousal in him that he can’t
strip away now even if he wanted to.
“Kakyoin.” Kakyoin’s gaze jumps up, his eyes come into sudden focus on Jotaro’s
face; Jotaro’s heart skips, his breath catches just at the look in the other’s
eyes. It takes a conscious effort to find words from his mind; it’s hard to
even remember to breathe, when Kakyoin looks at him like that. “What are you
looking at?”
Kakyoin’s lashes dip, Kakyoin’s lips part. “You,” he says, and that one word
overturns itself to heat in his throat, like it’s drawing itself through the
sticky-sweet of melting honey on its way to his lips. Kakyoin lifts his free
hand to Jotaro’s other thigh and weights his palm against the trembling muscle
there; when he presses Jotaro can feel the weight of the other’s touch like a
brace. “Look, Jotaro.”
Jotaro looks. It’s hard to tip his head farther down -- there’s still a weight
at the back of his neck, as if he’s being held down to the sheets under him, as
if Hierophant Green is trying to lock him into place where he lies -- but he
can cast his gaze down at the steep angle he needs to see his body, to consider
the span of bare skin on display. Jotaro’s gaze skips to the other for a
moment, his attention catching unavoidably at the strain of Kakyoin’s untouched
cock, at this reassuring proof of the other’s appreciation of this experiment
as well; but then there’s a shift of green, a flicker of something like motion,
and his attention falls farther still to track and trace the sight of his own
body.
It’s remarkable. Jotaro doesn’t think particularly about his own appearance, as
a rule; enough that it leaves Kakyoin breathless, enough that it obeys his
demands for strength or gentleness or dexterity as circumstances require. But
he’s lying across the bed, now, sprawled over the sheets by Kakyoin’s orders
and with his knees cast open into an invitation for the other’s presence. His
cock is dripping onto his stomach, the slick wet of precome shining in the
light overhead; but it’s not the proof of his aching arousal Jotaro is looking
at any more than it is his position that holds his attention. He’s looking at
his body, at the tremor in his thighs and the strain at his stomach, and he’s
looking at the tracery of green glowing just under the surface of his skin.
It’s flickering across him, glowing like light dappling through water to spread
and ripple out across his skin, brighter at the tension over his hipbone and
the angle of his wrist and fading out to a barely-visible pattern laying across
his stomach, over his chest, along the inside of his thighs. Everywhere he
looks Jotaro can see proof of it, can see the outline of Kakyoin’s Stand like
visible fingerprints pressing up from inside him; and he can feel his heart
pounding harder in his chest, can feel his blood flaring into open,
unquestioning heat at the awareness of Kakyoin’s effect so entirely inside him.
“Fuck,” he says, the only thing he can think to say. Between his knees Kakyoin
huffs a breath, the sound soft but still clearly carrying the weight of almost-
a-laugh on it.
“My thoughts exactly,” he says. His touch against the inside of Jotaro’s thigh
slides up, his fingers skim in and over the other’s skin; Jotaro can see the
suggestion of green in his veins glow the brighter under Kakyoin’s touch, can
feel the pull of it rising in him as if to urge his body up to press nearer to
the other. He groans in the back of his throat and lets his head drop back to
the bed, staring up at the ceiling again while arousal ripples through him in
waves carried on the press of Kakyoin’s fingers and the shift of Kakyoin’s
Stand lacing through his body with painless pressure.
“Jotaro,” Kakyoin says. His voice is tense, edging towards strain in the back
of his throat in spite of his best attempts to calm it; but his touch is still
gentle, the slide of his fingers over Jotaro’s body as delicate as if he’s
touching fine glass, as if he’s ghosting his fingertips along a spiderweb he
doesn’t wish to disturb. “We can stop here.” A breath of hesitation, a moment
for the weight of the offer to sink in; Kakyoin’s hand slides up higher,
skimming over Jotaro’s hip and cresting up towards his navel. “I’ll let
Hierophant go if you want me to.”
Jotaro shuts his eyes, and takes a breath; and shakes his head, forcing himself
through the minimal motion he can achieve with Kakyoin’s hold on him bracing
him still against the bed. “No,” he says. His voice is almost a croak, it’s so
low and so strained. He doesn’t try to retrieve it. “I don’t want you to stop.”
Kakyoin lets a breath go, very deliberately. His fingertips slide, his palm
presses down; for a moment his hand is weighting close against Jotaro’s waist,
the press of his palm throwing the pattern of Hierophant Green within Jotaro
into electric relief. Jotaro’s thighs twitch, his cock jerks, and over him
Kakyoin’s hand tightens, the other’s touch pressing down against him for a
moment. It feels like comfort, like reassurance and gratitude at once; and then
Kakyoin draws back, his touch slides up and away from Jotaro’s skin, and he
settles in over his knees at the end of the bed. Jotaro can feel the motion of
it, can feel Kakyoin adjusting to comfort where he’s kneeling between Jotaro’s
calves; and then there’s a tug against his fingers, pressure working at his
muscles, and he turns his head as his hand moves at the bed, as his fingers
shift to curl towards a fist with motion made clumsy by inexperience.
It’s a strange feeling. Jotaro isn’t doing anything, isn’t consciously moving
any part of his body at all; and yet his fingers are moving, his hand is
shifting as if drawn on wires, urged into action by the effect of Kakyoin’s
Stand winding through his veins. Jotaro tips his head down as far as he can,
casts his gaze at his hand to watch it; he can see his hand moving as if it’s
someone else’s, can watch his fingers curl and release according to someone
else’s intent. The sight is uncanny, the awareness of it intoxicating; and then
Kakyoin takes a breath at the end of the bed, and Jotaro’s arm flexes to the
demands of Hierophant Green to lift off the bed next to him and reach towards
his hips.
Jotaro looks up at Kakyoin. The other is kneeling at the end of the bed, his
weight rocked back over his heels and his arms crossed close over his chest;
there’s no tension in his position, no strain at his forehead or in his fingers
as he compels Jotaro’s movement with the assistance of his Stand inside the
other’s body. He looks calm, collected, with only the color at his cheeks and
the stiff length of his cock jutting up from his hips to speak to the intensity
of his arousal; Jotaro wonders how much of his own reaction Kakyoin can sense,
as they are. Can he feel the rhythm of Jotaro’s heart pounding in his chest,
can he sense the flutter of the other’s lungs with every dragging inhale he
takes? Maybe he can feel the strain trembling in Jotaro’s thighs, the tension
of anticipation tight in him as his Hierophant-controlled hand comes across to
reach for his cock. Maybe he can even feel the heat flushing Jotaro so thick
with desire, maybe he can borrow secondhand some measure of the other’s
arousal; and then Jotaro’s fingers press against himself, his palm bumps clumsy
against his own heat-swollen cock, and Jotaro jerks with the contact, his
thoughts disintegrating as his hand is guided in and around himself. His
fingers curl, his hand closes on a fist around the ache of his wanting cock;
and then his arm flexes, his muscles reacting to the tug of those green lines
under his skin, and his hold slides up to stroke over the strain of his own
arousal under his fingers.
The friction is electric. Jotaro thinks the least touch would be enough to drag
loose the hiss of heat that spills up his throat; as it is, with Kakyoin’s
intent moving him more than his own, Jotaro feels the pressure with as much
startling novelty as if it were Kakyoin himself reaching out to lay his hands
against Jotaro’s body. He can feel himself clearly, can feel the familiarity of
his hand, of his fingers, of the calluses across his palm; but the motion is
strange, a little clumsy and gentler than he would normally aim for, slow as if
each stroke is an experience to be appreciated in itself. Jotaro’s arm is
moving of its own accord, of Kakyoin’s accord, in answer to those paths of
green wandering under his skin, his fingertips glowing as his cock aches with
surges of sensation like waves rushing in over a beach; for a long moment all
he can do is lie where he is, panting for air while his hand strokes over
himself under Kakyoin’s guidance, while his body follows the instructions of
Kakyoin’s Stand and his blood heats in answer all on its own. Jotaro’s thighs
tense, his free hand trembles against the bed; but the same force that’s
holding his fingers tight around himself and flexing his arm into a steady-slow
rhythm is pinning him to the sheets as well, holding him down as thoroughly as
shackles. It makes Jotaro feel vulnerable, makes him feel helpless and laid
bare for Kakyoin’s use; it makes his balls ache with desire, makes his cock
strain hard against the weight of his hand.
Jotaro tips his head to look down over himself. He can see his hand moving, can
watch the texture of Hierophant Green shifting across his stomach and running
lines of green up his arm and into the tips of his dragging fingers; he could
watch the eerie illumination all on its own, could fix his gaze on the dark-
flushed heat of his cock in his grip, on the barely-there outline of Kakyoin’s
influence winding up his length like the print of Kakyoin’s own touch fitting
under Jotaro’s. But he can see Kakyoin too, kneeling between Jotaro’s shaking
legs so he can look down at the movement of the other’s actions before him; and
Jotaro’s attention slides up to Kakyoin’s face, his focus narrowing in on the
reflection of himself in Kakyoin’s eyes instead of the immediacy of his own
perspective.
Kakyoin has his arms crossed over his chest, has his elbows caught tight in the
brace of either hand. His eyes are dark, the color of them blown out almost
entirely to black by the effect of his attention; at his mouth his teeth are
catching at his lip, the edge of them pressing hard against the give as if he’s
trying to hold himself together by the pressure. His cheeks are flushed, color
staining over his cheekbones and spreading out down his bare shoulders; Jotaro
can track the heat in Kakyoin’s veins by the tremor at his stomach, and the
color glowing pink over his thighs and against the line of his neck, and the
straining curve of his cock. He isn’t moving to touch himself, isn’t making any
kind of motion to seek out his own satisfaction; he’s just staring, gazing at
the rhythm of Jotaro’s hand working over himself with as much intensity as if
he intends to memorize every detail, as if it’s only his entire attention that
keeps the other in motion. It makes Jotaro’s face heat, makes his heart skip;
underneath Kakyoin’s gaze his hips jerk, his body straining up to press itself
against the restraint of Hierophant Green pinning him to stillness. Jotaro
can’t gain more than an inch of height before the tension in his body holds him
down to lock him out of action; but it’s still enough to be visible, enough to
dip Kakyoin’s lashes into shadow over his eyes as his lips part on a huff of
breath.
“God,” Jotaro groans. The sound thrums in the back of his throat and weights at
the strain across his chest. “Kakyoin.”
Kakyoin’s gaze jumps up to meet Jotaro’s for a moment. His eyes are endless,
the color of them all but swallowed up by that shadow of appreciation; it makes
Jotaro’s throat work on some soundless heat, makes his hips buck as if to draw
Kakyoin’s gaze back down to him. Kakyoin’s shoulders flex, his hands tighten on
his arms; when he lifts his chin Jotaro can see his throat shift over a swallow
before he speaks.
“Jotaro,” he says, and his voice is shadow, dark and winding itself into
Jotaro’s thoughts as surely as his Stand has wound itself into Jotaro’s veins.
“Do you want to stop?”
Jotaro jerks his head to the side. He can gain hardly any movement at all, now,
as Hierophant tightens its grip on him, but the intention carries through.
“No.”
“Good,” Kakyoin says. “I don’t either.” And his gaze drops again, his lashes
dipping to pull his attention back to the motion of Jotaro’s hand working over
himself, and Jotaro is left to quiver and pant helplessly for air while his
body thrums with held-down heat under Kakyoin’s gaze. He can’t resist the ache
of desire rising in him, can’t hold it back or reach out to strain for it; he
can’t even move his hand faster to stroke himself to greater fullness, can’t
urge himself towards orgasm with any of his own intent. He’s trapped like this,
tied down by the threads Kakyoin has wound through him, helpless to do anything
but gasp for air while Kakyoin jerks him off with Jotaro’s own hand; and Jotaro
can feel the heat of that rising up him in some vast, immeasurable wave, the
whole of it collecting and cresting in his mind until he’s panting with the
promise of it, until he’s trembling through the whole of his body from the
tension of anticipation rising in him.
“Kakyoin,” Jotaro manages, the name spilling from his lips more by need than
intent, more instinct than conscious thought. His cock is throbbing with heat,
he can feel each pulse of desire radiating through the whole of him like it’s
being carried on those tendrils of green running under his skin; he can’t catch
his breath, he can’t remember how to think. “Kakyoin.”
“Yes,” Kakyoin says. Jotaro can hear his own breathing rasping in his chest,
can feel the force of his heartbeat quaking through his limbs. His hand around
himself hasn’t loosened, his rhythm hasn’t eased; he feels dizzy with the
thought of it, like he’s coming apart around the force of that predictability.
“Like that.”
“God,” Jotaro gasps, the word tearing open in his chest, flickering white
behind his eyes. “Kakyoin” and his cock tightens, his fingers stroke, and his
orgasm rushes up and over him, spilling up his spine and rushing illumination
to blind him for a moment of time. He can feel his whole body tense, can feel
the strain of his muscles tightening and easing with the reflexive response to
the pleasure pouring through him; and everywhere, at his thighs and in his
shoulders and against the curl of his toes, there’s that pressure, that webbing
of green holding him still and pinning back the helpless convulsions of heat
that are rushing through him. There’s no resistance, nothing Jotaro can do to
brace himself against it; the sensation just hits him, spilling through him
like it’s following the lines of Kakyoin’s Stand within him, like it’s lighting
up every inch of his body from the inside out with sensation. His mouth is
open, his eyes are wide, his legs are shaking; and in his grip his cock is
jerking, spilling stripe after stripe of heat over the pattern of Hierophant
Green weaving under his skin. Jotaro shudders through the force of it, held
helpless by Kakyoin’s influence for his orgasm to have its way with him, and
for a long, long time, all he can do is tremble in Kakyoin’s hold.
It’s his heartbeat he notices first. It’s speeding in his chest, his pulse
racing as if with panic as much as pleasure against the effect of that foreign
touch inside him; noticing the pace of it draws his attention to the pant of
his breathing, and the part of his lips, and then everything comes back to him
at once, vision and hearing and the sensation of aftershocks still shimmering
through his body. Jotaro blinks, feeling dizzy and distant from himself; and
then there’s the sound of an exhale from the end of the bed, and he shifts to
lift his head enough to look at Kakyoin again.
Kakyoin is still staring at him. His arms are still folded over his chest, his
skin is still flushed to a shade barely lighter than his hair; but he’s let his
lip go, at least, and some of that tipped-in tension at his shoulders has
eased. His eyes are still dark, still shadowed with some unfathomable desire;
but he manages a smile as Jotaro looks at him, manages a tip of his head as he
holds the other’s gaze. “Okay?”
Jotaro presses his lips together and swallows hard. He can feel Hierophant
Green working in his throat with the motion. “Yeah.”
Kakyoin doesn’t look away. “Would you like more?”
Jotaro can feel anticipation shudder down the whole of his spine like it’s
running from the top of his head all the way down to the tips of his toes. He
has to struggle for air to answer, this time; but the hesitation doesn’t stop
him from ducking his head into an immediate nod. “Yeah.”
Kakyoin sighs a breath. “Okay,” he says; and he lets his hold on his arms go
and reaches out to brace himself at the edge of the bed so he can slide back
and off the mattress. “I’ll be right back.”
Jotaro is left to lie still across the bed, his heart still racing and his body
still glowing with heat and restraint in equal parts. Kakyoin let his hand
relax at some point in that endless wall of pleasure; Jotaro’s lying with both
hands at his sides, now, palms turned in towards the display being made of the
rest of his body. His cock is still half-hard, still holding to the remnants of
his arousal as his come starts to dry sticky against his stomach; if Jotaro
tips his head down he can see the pearly liquid puddling across skin backlit by
the emerald glow of Hierophant Green. He lets his head fall back to the bed,
lets his eyes shut against the flush of renewed arousal that sweeps through him
at the sight; and then:
“Jotaro,” Kakyoin’s voice comes clear, and there’s a touch at Jotaro’s knee,
the weight of warm fingers against flushed skin as if to steady the other where
he lies. Jotaro takes a breath without opening his eyes; in the dark of his
shut lids Kakyoin’s voice seems softer, velvet-gentle and dark as night in his
ears. The bed shifts, the mattress eases as Kakyoin kneels atop it again, but
his touch at Jotaro’s skin doesn’t shift. “Ready?”
Jotaro wants to lift a hand to his face. The urge to shadow the warmth across
his cheek is strong, as strong as the impulse to duck forward, to hide behind
the brim of his hat or the angle of his wrist, to buy himself a moment to draw
himself back into calm before he tries to give voice to an answer. But his
hands are held down at his sides, and his face is turned up to the light; and
so Kakyoin can see the heat that rushes over his cheeks, and the way his lips
part on an inhale of anticipation. Jotaro feels stripped bare, like he’s more
exposed now than he has been at any point thus far; but there’s still the curl
of that friction in him, still that glow of light just under his skin, and with
Kakyoin’s hand at his knee he can take a breath, and let it go, and let himself
go slack under the tangle of Hierophant Green’s influence. “Yeah.”
Kakyoin doesn’t ask again. The bed shifts, the sheets catching between them as
he slides in closer, as he fits himself between Jotaro’s thighs; Jotaro can
feel his skin prickle with heat, with self-consciousness, with desire all three
tangled together inextricably. Kakyoin’s hand slides up Jotaro’s thigh, his
touch drawing gentle across the other’s skin; and Jotaro’s legs flex, his body
moves to shift his knees wider without any intent from him at all. He huffs an
exhale, feeling the compulsory motion in him stir the beginnings of heat into
his spent cock; but Kakyoin is reaching out, and Kakyoin’s fingers are sliding
over him, and Jotaro has bigger things to occupy him than the hum of arousal
renewing itself in his veins.
Kakyoin is thorough about preparing him. Jotaro always likes this, enough that
he’s sure Kakyoin knows even if Jotaro himself has never spoken the admission
of it: that the touch of Kakyoin’s fingers sliding slick across his skin is
enough to steal his breath all on their own, that he can feel the ache of
expectation within him like a near-hurt begging for the pressure of Kakyoin’s
touch before the other has even worked up and into him. Jotaro likes the weight
of Kakyoin’s hand at the inside of his thigh, and the certainty in the other’s
fingers, and the deliberate slide of wet over his skin as Kakyoin lines his
touch up; and then Kakyoin is pushing up, and forward, and Jotaro’s chest is
tightening on helpless satisfaction as Kakyoin thrusts up and into him. His
thighs shudder, his fingers try to curl; but he’s still being held down, still
being locked still by Kakyoin’s Stand, and in the end all he can manage is a
twitch at his fingers and a low, breathless groan at the back of his throat.
Kakyoin shudders over an exhale, his breathing rushing fast in his throat; and
his hand comes up, his palm curling around to grip at Jotaro’s hip as he draws
his finger back to work in for another stroke.
“Jotaro,” he says, and his voice is low, soft, humming with heat as if he’s
borrowing it from the summertime flush Jotaro can feel suffusing the whole of
his body, can feel radiating out from him as if he’s burning from the inside
out. “You feel--” and he breaks off into a huff of a laugh, soft and
disbelieving as his touch slides deep into Jotaro, as Jotaro feels himself
tighten reflexively around Kakyoin’s touch in answer to the friction. The
pressure works against Hierophant Green, pulls taut against the lattice of
control winding through him, and Kakyoin breathes a sigh and pulls back and
away to take another thrust into Jotaro.
“I can feel you shaking,” Kakyoin confesses. “With Hierophant like this, I can
feel every reaction you have.” His finger slides back, his touch works back in
with slow intent; Jotaro can feel himself easing, can feel his body opening in
answer to Kakyoin’s touch as obediently as if to a command. “I could feel you
coming, before.” A huff of a breath, the beginnings of a laugh. “I wasn’t sure
I wasn’t going to lose it just from watching you.”
Jotaro can see it behind his closed eyes with perfect clarity: Kakyoin kneeling
at the end of the bed, his whole body straining on the effort of holding
himself back while Jotaro shuddered into orgasm before him, while the resonance
of Jotaro’s pleasure fed itself back into Kakyoin’s awareness to flush his
cheeks, to part his lips, to -- and he groans low and hot in the back of his
throat and opens his eyes at once to fix his gaze on the ceiling again. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Kakyoin says. He draws his finger back and free of Jotaro’s body; when
he presses back in it’s with two together, with the strain of their breadth
pulling hard at the other’s entrance. “It was incredible.” Jotaro’s throat
works on strain, his breathing whimpers out of him, and Kakyoin’s fingers slide
up to work into the heat of his body; at the end of the bed Kakyoin’s knees
shift, his weight rocks forward. “I think it was the hottest thing I’ve ever
seen.”
Kakyoin’s fingers slide forward, penetrating as far into Jotaro as the other
can reach. Jotaro jerks with the strain of it, feels his body quivering against
the restraint of the Stand in him; he can’t help the moan that breaks free from
his lips. “Kakyoin.”
“Yeah,” Kakyoin says. He’s moving faster with his hand, now, falling into
smooth, graceful strokes that pull at the whole strength of his arm; when
Jotaro tips his chin down Kakyoin is watching his face, his eyes still that
endless dark and his lips curling up onto the beginning of a smile. “You want
more, right?” Jotaro jerks his head down, forcing free of Hierophant’s control
enough to muster a nod, and Kakyoin’s smile breaks free entirely to glow across
his face.
“I know,” he says, and he pushes up hard with both fingers, hard enough to jolt
Jotaro’s head back and clench his jaw tight around the heat that wants to break
free of his throat. It’s hardly a secret -- he’s sure Kakyoin can feel the
tremor that’s running through his body -- but he can’t help the reflex of
restraint. Kakyoin’s laugh is warm and throaty. “Me too,” he says; and then
he’s pulling his fingers back, drawing free of Jotaro’s body in a slick rush of
friction, and Jotaro is left to huff air through his nose while he waits for
Kakyoin to stroke himself to slick and come in to fit between his thighs. His
body is aching, he can still feel the strain of his first orgasm thrumming in
his thighs and pulling like a bruise in the weight of his balls; but he feels
empty with the loss of Kakyoin’s fingers, and his cock is stiff at his hips
again, coaxed back to fullness by the graceful draw of Kakyoin’s touch inside
him. Jotaro can’t reach for Kakyoin’s hips, can’t even spread his legs the
wider to make an invitation of himself; but Kakyoin’s doing it for him,
steering Jotaro’s knees apart with the effect of his Stand inside the other
even as he’s ducking his head to watch the stroke of his hand over his cock.
Jotaro’s thighs angle open, his breath catches in his chest; and then Kakyoin
is tipping forward, and pulling at Jotaro’s hip to steady himself, and Jotaro
is left to gaze up at Kakyoin’s face as the other looks down to guide them
together. There’s a crease of attention at Kakyoin’s forehead, the edge of
white teeth working focus into his lip again, tension at his shoulder as he
braces himself in place; and then friction, the press of his cockhead dragging
slick over Jotaro’s entrance, and Jotaro hisses an inhale just as Kakyoin looks
up to meet his gaze.
“Jotaro,” Kakyoin breathes, his lashes dipping soft over his eyes; and then his
hips come forward, and his cock slides up and into Jotaro, and Jotaro’s head
tips back on the first rush of friction as Kakyoin sheathes himself in the
other’s body. Jotaro’s heart is pounding, his legs are shaking; but he can’t
move, can’t shift his knees or turn his head or even so much as lift his hands
from their slack weight at the bed. All he can do is stay still, locked in
place by the grip of Kakyoin’s Stand in him while Kakyoin himself presses
forward in one long, endless slide of heat; and then they’re together, and
Jotaro lets his breath go in a huff as Kakyoin reaches out to brace himself
over Jotaro’s shoulder. His cheeks are scarlet, now, his mouth red and swollen
from heat and the drag of his teeth; and his eyes are dark, fixed fully on
Jotaro’s face like he’s trying to read a novel from the other’s expression.
“Okay?” Kakyoin asks; and when Jotaro ducks his head in a nod Kakyoin’s lips
curve on a smile, the glow of it spreading over the whole of his face. “Good,”
he says; and then he ducks in to press himself close against Jotaro’s chest,
and to catch his fingers in to steady at the other’s hair, and he starts to
move just as his lips press close against Jotaro’s own.
It’s too much. Jotaro can’t focus, can’t fix his attention on any one detail;
it’s all coming over him at once, all the disparate pieces of this experience
tangling in around him to trap him as thoroughly as he volunteered himself to
be trapped by Hierophant Green’s tendrils. The familiarity of Kakyoin against
him, the soft of the other’s mouth and the hard of his cock and the strength of
his fingers holding Jotaro steady, bracing the other down to the bed as Kakyoin
moves up and into him; and the uncanny stillness of it, as Jotaro’s hands lie
at his sides as if tied there, as his heart pounds against his green-patterned
chest as if to break itself free of the restraints he offered himself for. He
can’t lift his arms, can’t reach to catch at Kakyoin’s shoulders and pull the
other in against him, can’t wind his fingers into that crimson hair and brace
Kakyoin still for the bruising force of a desperate kiss; all he can do is lie
still, fixed in place by Kakyoin’s will, pinned down to exactly the other’s
specifications by his own surrender. Jotaro wants to move, wants to reach up
and out, wants to arch in and against Kakyoin over him; but all he can do is
gasp, is feel his heart pounding in his chest and his arousal straining between
the two of them and Kakyoin stroking into him, the heat of his cock slotting
into Jotaro’s body while the touch of his Stand laces its effect through all
Jotaro’s veins.
“God,” Kakyoin groans against Jotaro’s mouth; his fingers curl into dark hair,
his touch drags ticklish sensation across the other’s scalp. “Jotaro.”
“Kakyoin,” Jotaro attempts; but he can’t tell if the sound is coherent, can
barely hear the details of it in his own ears. Every motion of Kakyoin over him
feels like the tide coming in, like some unstoppable force sweeping out and
over and through him; even held to stillness his hands are shaking, his toes
are flexing in a half-formed attempt to curl. Jotaro gasps a breath, feels the
strain of it in his chest, gives voice to the only thing he has left to himself
to offer. “Kakyoin.”
“I can feel you breathing,” Kakyoin gasps. His composure is melting, his
restraint giving way with every forward stroke of his hips. “Your heart is
beating so fast, Jotaro, you’re so--” as his hips come forward, as his words
fracture on a groan. “Fuck.”
“Kakyoin,” Jotaro says again, not even sure what he’s saying anymore, not sure
what he’s asking for, only sure that he’s coming apart, that the tremors
rushing through him are going to shatter the hold Kakyoin has on him, are going
to break through those whisper-thin veins lacing through him; but he holds
steady, held still by filaments as strong as the spiderwebs they seem, and
against his mouth Kakyoin is panting for breath, his own inhales coming as raw
on heat as Jotaro’s own.
“God,” Kakyoin whimpers, his voice cracking up and into the desperate range
Jotaro knows with vivid clarity, that Jotaro’s imagination has laid claim to
for use in his own fantasies, that even Jotaro’s clearest recollection never
does justice to. “Jotaro, I’m…”
Jotaro’s heart is racing, his hands are trembling, his cock is aching. He can’t
tell if he’s turned on or just catching Kakyoin’s desire, can’t distinguish
between anticipation and arousal, can’t tell the difference between expectation
and inevitability; all he knows is that he’s shaking, that he feels like a
thread pulled taut to the breaking point, and that inside him, thrumming
through every inch of him, Hierophant Green is vibrating in resonance, is
feeding back the pressure in him until he feels sure he’s going to break apart
with it. Something’s going to give way, something has to -- and Kakyoin rocks
forward, his cock drives deep into Jotaro’s body, and that something in Jotaro
breaks all at once. Jotaro’s shoulders tense, his mouth opens, his whole body
strains sharp against the restraint in him; and a sound spills up from his
stomach, a groan of such heat he can taste the weight of it on the back of his
tongue, and his entire body jerks with the force of pleasure that radiates
through him. Over him there’s a whimper, a sound of Kakyoin’s coherency giving
way; and then something inside Jotaro pulses, like a ripple curving through all
the liquid in his body at the same time as Hierophant Green echoes back the
force of Kakyoin’s orgasm breaking over him. Jotaro jerks at the bed, electric
pleasure unravelling his control as fast as it does Kakyoin’s, until they’re
both left quivering with the force of reflexive heat echoing back from one of
them to the other. Jotaro is gasping, Kakyoin is shuddering over him, Kakyoin’s
fingers are fisting in Jotaro’s hair and Jotaro’s thighs are flexing against
Kakyoin’s hips, and for the whole long span of pleasure Jotaro can’t draw the
line between his own release and the force of Kakyoin’s.
Jotaro comes back to himself slowly, carefully retrieving the details of his
physical presence from the haze that has settled over him. He’s still lying on
the bed, sprawled slack over the mattress with the absolute exhaustion of
pleasure weighting down on his limbs; Kakyoin is leaning atop him, his head
pressing close against Jotaro’s shoulder and his fingers still clutching at the
other’s hair. The tangle of his own hair is curling at Jotaro’s cheek; Jotaro
tips his head to lean against the top of the other’s head, just to steady
himself against Kakyoin against him. “Kakyoin?”
“Mm.” Kakyoin shifts; not to pull away, just to settle himself in against
Jotaro’s chest. Jotaro can feel the huff of the other’s breathing at his
shoulder. “This was a good idea, Jotaro.”
Jotaro breathes out an exhale that tugs at the corners of his mouth, that urges
him towards the edge of a smile. “Yeah,” he says; and then he shifts to lift
his hand from the bed, to raise his arms up and around Kakyoin over him.
There’s a flicker of resistance, a moment of tension as he pulls against the
force of Hierophant Green’s control; and then it eases, and Jotaro’s arms come
in to close around Kakyoin’s shoulders, his hand slides up to weight at the
other’s hair. He catches Kakyoin’s head against his palm, and turns his face
sideways; and when he breathes a sigh of satisfaction into the other’s hair, he
doesn’t look to see if there’s a tracery of green winding over the back of his
hand.
It doesn’t matter which of them is in control when they both want the same
thing.
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