[He always has this problem when it comes to the men he fucks.
It's not like Jotaro likes admitting he has a type, but when it gets right down to it, there certainly is a common denominator among the people he winds up in bed — or in this case, in a cramped closet — with. They're always beautiful, always leggy, and they always have the most spiteful, standoffish demeanor imaginable.
(If he's being completely honest with himself, it's not even just the men. His ex-wife fit that description, too, albeit to a lesser degree. He'd liked her for it, her spirit and her edge. He'd liked the way she wasn't afraid to tell him off. He still does, even now that they've separated for reasons that have nothing to do with a loss of love.)
He just — he's drawn to it, somehow. Maybe it's because fighting is and has always been the thing he understands best, since that November afternoon when Jiji and Avdol had first explained what the thing he'd wrongly identified as an evil spirit really was. Fighting is easy, now, like breathing. Tenderness and attachment make him rigid, give him terrible sweating nightmares from the panic at letting himself be so vulnerable. There's no vulnerability in this, not when he has to fight for every inch and put up with a smart mouth along the way.
(Rohan always puts up a fight, too. Rohan likes his strength, likes seeing him use it. He doesn't know what this one likes, not yet, but he's starting to figure it out pretty quickly.)
He's leaned up against the chipped plaster wall, hips jutted forward, one hand twisted in the guy's long hair but letting him set the pace as he sucks him off. He doesn't precisely remember what his name is; he's absolutely positive he hasn't offered up his own.
It doesn't matter, really. It doesn't seem like that's what either of them are here for, and honestly, that's fine. It was either this or go have a smoke, and frankly, the orgasm is probably a lot better for his lungs.]
I like you better with my dick in your mouth. You're quieter.
[Still, the stroking feels good, so he isn't too rough with him. Just twists his grip a little, lets him feel the pull in his hair.]
no subject
It's not like Jotaro likes admitting he has a type, but when it gets right down to it, there certainly is a common denominator among the people he winds up in bed — or in this case, in a cramped closet — with. They're always beautiful, always leggy, and they always have the most spiteful, standoffish demeanor imaginable.
(If he's being completely honest with himself, it's not even just the men. His ex-wife fit that description, too, albeit to a lesser degree. He'd liked her for it, her spirit and her edge. He'd liked the way she wasn't afraid to tell him off. He still does, even now that they've separated for reasons that have nothing to do with a loss of love.)
He just — he's drawn to it, somehow. Maybe it's because fighting is and has always been the thing he understands best, since that November afternoon when Jiji and Avdol had first explained what the thing he'd wrongly identified as an evil spirit really was. Fighting is easy, now, like breathing. Tenderness and attachment make him rigid, give him terrible sweating nightmares from the panic at letting himself be so vulnerable. There's no vulnerability in this, not when he has to fight for every inch and put up with a smart mouth along the way.
(Rohan always puts up a fight, too. Rohan likes his strength, likes seeing him use it. He doesn't know what this one likes, not yet, but he's starting to figure it out pretty quickly.)
He's leaned up against the chipped plaster wall, hips jutted forward, one hand twisted in the guy's long hair but letting him set the pace as he sucks him off. He doesn't precisely remember what his name is; he's absolutely positive he hasn't offered up his own.
It doesn't matter, really. It doesn't seem like that's what either of them are here for, and honestly, that's fine. It was either this or go have a smoke, and frankly, the orgasm is probably a lot better for his lungs.]
I like you better with my dick in your mouth. You're quieter.
[Still, the stroking feels good, so he isn't too rough with him. Just twists his grip a little, lets him feel the pull in his hair.]
Why? What more will you let me do?