sleepytimejunction | electric tapestry

[The harder motion makes him groan, arching his back, as if inviting him to keep doing that. The friction isn't too much, but he's definitely going to ache for awhile yet.

Numbly, he makes a confused sound when the other man takes his hand, then feels where it's being guided. Oh. oh, holy shit, that's so much. Abbacchio shudders, idly tracing over the way he's fitted around his dick, how stretched he is. God, he knew it'd be a lot, had this in his throat not that long ago, but feeling it like this is another thing altogether.]

Shit....

[He leans his forehead against the wall. Yeah, okay, tracing his fingers over where they're connected -- that's pretty fucking hot.]

S'prised you fit, gonna be honest.

Something to remember.

[There, yeah, that's better. That's much better, it's satisfying the way the other man just kind of sags and lets the wall hold him up, especially after all the venom he'd had just a handful of minutes ago. But that's what he likes, isn't it? Having someone make him behave?

Shit, it's hot to look down and watch his cock disappearing inside him, pushing in further and further before it draws back out again to the tip for another go.

He thinks about warning him. Gonna fuck you now, or even just something simpler, a fleeting hang on. But if this guy hasn't already guessed what's about to happen, well, that's really his problem, isn't it.

So Jotaro bites down on his lip instead, bending his knees a little to get the leverage he wants going, and fucks steadily into him in a smooth, even rhythm.]

[As he feels the cock drag out, Abbacchio moves his hand back against the wall. He's trying not to brace himself, just let it go, let it happen, because they've been building up to this and he does know what's going to come (ha).

Finally, he softens up, not quite tamed but close to it. He opens his mouth, hissing out in satisfaction as the other man starts to properly fuck him. The slide has an ache to it, but not enough to be unpleasant. It's just an addition to the experience, melding with the pleasure that's starting to build.

His leg kicks a little and he breathes in sharp, more as a reflex than anything else. Fuck, that's nice. When was the last time he'd had something this good?

Reaching down, he starts to stroke himself, panting against the wall.]

'Bout time. [His voice isn't as sharp as he'd like it to sound, more rough and haggard from pleasure than from annoyance.]

Haah. Worth the wait?

[It is for him. The heat of this guy's mouth had been good, satisfying in and of itself, but this? This is something else. If this weren't just a random quickie in a work closet, he might be a little more generous and actually knock the guy's hand away to stroke him himself. But it is just a random quickie, so let the guy do it himself. He'll focus on his own part and his own pleasure, and they'll both get what they want.

He starts out slow, but as the rhythm builds his reservations start to melt away, until soon he's putting his weight into each thrust. It lets him get nice and deep, with plenty of contact on every slide, and before long he's pulling the guy back into each roll of his hips while he's at it, determined to really give it to him.

It's been a while. His stamina is good, but he's still not going to last forever, especially not from a ride like this. He can feel his climax building gradually, spurring him on, and focuses on holding it at bay until it starts to look like his partner is close, too.]

Mmm--

[God, it's good. It doesn't take much for it to build, that delightful tension; he really can't help but adore how he's dragged back down at every thrust, his ass meeting noisily against the other man's hips. He strokes himself almost furiously, palming himself at the tip before he's just pumping his own dick just to finish as soon as he can.]

Like that-- hha--

[He rubs his cheek against the wall, unable to help but let out a whine. Close, just so close to losing himself to free bliss.]

[There better not be someone wandering around this warehouse right now, or they're really about to get an earful. But that's a problem for another Jotaro and a later time, and right now this one really just wants to get off.

(Just a little, just a little, he regrets the condom. All the whining is setting off something hot and possessive inside of him, and it'd feel so satisfying to come inside this guy, mark him up, make him deal with the mess until he could find a way to go change his clothes — but that'll have to just stay a fantasy.)

There's not a lot of room to move around, but there's room enough for this; this time, instead of just pulling the guy back into his thrust, he snakes a strong arm around his waist and actually lifts him off his feet, holding him up an inch or two off the ground to let gravity do half the work for him while he drives in deep.

And maybe that's what does it, just the thought of it, just the moving him around like a ragdoll, but two thrusts later he's biting the inside of his cheek as he comes, grunting low in his throat and spilling into the condom while he's buried as deep as he can go inside.]

Holy--

[Of all things, he doesn't expect to be lifted off of his feet like that, held up and just fucked into. He'd have no problem coming otherwise, but this is what sets off Abbacchio too, and he bites down on his knuckles hard enough to bruise them. It barely does enough to stifle the cry ripping out from his throat, as he finally comes a second time.

Well. Hopefully no one is going too concerned about the stain on the wall. He slowly pants, his arms shaking against the wall. He feels so good and numb for the moment.

It'll suck a bit later, but it's worth it, he thinks.]

[Hmm. Well, that's going to leave a stain. He probably shouldn't feel as darkly triumphant about that as he actually does, but there's something deeply satisfying about it anyway. Yeah, he came that hard. Yeah, he made this guy do that.

He's careful as he lowers the guy back down to his feet, focusing himself on keeping his legs steady so he doesn't do something stupid like drop both of them. He can feel it, though, the way his knees are starting to get a little rubbery — hah, he's not as young as he used to be, either — and so he focuses on the little necessary bits of cleanup while he's still got the attention span to do it, sliding out of his partner and tying off the condom, and finding something to lean up against while he catches his breath.

...Fuck.]

Hm.

[Shit. Hell, that was a lot.]

...Well?

[For a moment, Abbacchio doesn't say anything, just his legs shaking as he leans against the wall, trying to support himself but reluctantly finding himself needing the other man to help too. He's still breathing hard, the burning ache slowly starting to set in. The tub he has back at his place is small and cramped, but it'll have to do while he takes a hot bath later.

Well? Well what, a part of him wants to snap, but he feels a bit softer after all of that.]

Not bad.

[He lets out a breath, sighing.]

Stronger than I thought you'd be. [Which was-- really fucking something.]

Mm. You're a hell of a fuck.

[He watches him a minute, lost in thought. He still doesn't even know this man's name; he could find out, his looks are easily unique enough. But does he want to? Or does he just let this end at the threshold of the door, and as soon as they both step through it, they're strangers once again?

Something to think about. He'll have to figure that out soon, but maybe not quite yet.

There's black lipstick smudged all over the guy's mouth; he really looks like he's been through hell. Unable to resist, Jotaro reaches over and runs his thumb along the curve of the corner of the other man's mouth, cleaning a bit of it away.]

Whole world's gonna know it, too, unless you get cleaned up.

Guess you'll be the one remembering this, huh.

[Not to say he won't. This is one of the better experiences he's had all around, despite it being a quick mess inside of a closet.

The way his fingers wipe at his skin, wiping away black. It's-- weird and oddly tender, and he feels mixed about it. He finds himself jerking back a little, trying to figure this out.]

That's my problem. [It hurts, but he's squirming to pull up his pants. He'll tidy himself up a bit in the closest bathroom and head to his cramped apartment.] We're done, aren't we?

...Yeah. We're done.

[He could do something. Call a cab for him. Make some kind of arrangement. Not just leave him to whatever he'll do next, his own mess to clean up.

But that's his own hangups talking again. His compulsion to fix problems, to remedy things where he can. This guy doesn't need him to do any of that. Hell, he probably doesn't want him to. Sure, he's softened and quiet now, but Jotaro hasn't easily forgotten what a spitfire he is when he's in full possession of his senses.

He can't even give him cab fare. Too much like paying him for this, it's insulting.

So he does nothing. Just gets himself back into his pants and pulls them up, trying to make himself look halfway presentable lest he run into someone on his way out of this closet.]

Probably shouldn't leave at the same time.

Whatever.

[Honestly he doesn't even see what the fuss is, but if this guy is up his own ass about it, fine. He shrugs and shoves himself out the door, not waiting to even be nice enough to let him go first. Why would he? After this, they'll be perfect strangers again. It won't matter. Nothing ever lasts.

Abbacchio is headed for the closest restroom, just a short walk from the closet. So consumed with the innate instinct to just get away from something that startled him, he ignores everything else.

Then, suddenly, he finds himself with an arrow through his neck.]

Th' fuck--? [He wheezes out, stumbling against the wall, his fingers just barely touching the golden arrow sticking out from his throat. There's probably someone talking, but he can't understand what the fuck they're saying, he's too busy thinking to himself sure thought it'd be liver poisoning or a bullet instead of a randomass arrow.]

[He's idling in the closet, counting down from ninety after the guy leaves before he'll crack the door and make his own move to leave, when Star Platinum alerts to the presence of another Stand user like a swarm of bees angrily defending a hive. And all of a sudden, he doesn't care about surreptitiousness or keeping a low profile anymore; old anxiety goes off like a whipcrack, and he's already hurtling out through the door of the closet, back into the gloom of the warehouse with fists clenched and, thankfully, his pants actually on and fastened.

And there, lying on the ground, is the guy he'd just fucked and someone else standing over him, hand wrapped around the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his victim's throat.

He doesn't think; he just launches himself at the bastard, summoning Star Platinum even as he lunges, determined to attack and neutralize the threat first and above all else.]

[Whatever the kid with the arrow was thinking, he evidently did not expect what comes next. Abbacchio can barely tell what's happening, choking as he feels the arrow slide out from his throat. There's ringing in his ears, and he's sliding down onto his hands and knees as he stares, watching a big hulking purple man launch himself at arrow man.

He coughs, touching his throat as it finally feels like the ringing comes to a pitch and pops.

And now there's a second, much more slender purple man standing over him.

Oh my god was that guy's dick covered in drugs, is the stupidest thing Abbacchio can think of right now but he has no other explanation as he watches Big Purple beat the shit out of the arrow man.]

[Star Platinum has always been a fast Stand; faster, evidently, than whatever the arrow man might've brought with him. It's only belatedly that he starts to realize that the assailant is young — younger than he might've expected, wearing a school uniform, even. How did he get in here? A question for later.

Right now, there's an infinitely more pressing concern, and it's the fact that he can't turn his attention to the downed man with the hole in his neck until he's sure that the arrow man is handled, and oh, fuck, hold on, guy whose name he doesn't even know (shit!), don't die, don't die, don't die.

A good fifty punches later, there's a new dent in the warehouse wall and a collapsed heap of schoolkid beneath it, and Jotaro drops to his knees to try to assess the damage, bringing Star with him as he checks for a pulse and a heartbeat.]

Don't let him die, Star...

[Keep his heart beating even if he has to do it manually. Keep his lungs working even if that has to be done for him, too. Don't let him die, don't die, don't die.

It's only afterward, hazy and disoriented in the aftermath of his adrenaline rush (or is it a panic attack? he can't even tell) that he looks up at the slender purple Stand hovering nearby, and squints at it uncertainly.]

Are you his?

[The Stand's form shifts, its appearance taking on Jotaro's, save for a clear timer on his brow. He repeats one word out of the sentence: --his?

Abbacchio stares up at both the man he'd just walked away from and whatever the other thing is. Did he just call it Star? What the fuck is going on?]

Wha...

[The more slender looking figure's appearance shifts through static and sound before it's back to what it looked like before, crouching over Abbacchio and petting his hair slowly, as if fretting.]

[...The fuck...]

You imitated me.

[That's going to be something to wonder about at a later date, though. Right now, there's a much more pressing concern and it's the bleeding form of his fuckbuddy, now with a hole in his throat.

He crouches down, getting a hand behind the man's shoulders and another under his knees, and lifts him carefully, trying to leave room for Star to continue monitoring him while he gets him balanced.]

Hey. Hang in there. I'm going to get you to a hospital.

[And get somebody in here to apprehend the schoolkid and secure whatever weapon he used — there's a lot to get done and it all needs to be done fast.]

[Curiously, the wound on Abbacchio's throat seems to be healing on its own, though by what means he couldn't say. He's coughing, breathing almost desperately, his hand finding the front of the other man's jacket.

He's clutching at his neck, confused, jerking away when he feels the slender purple thing try to touch him.]

What the fuck is going on?

[He debates trying to wrench out of the arms holding him and eventually decides that maybe it's better like this because nothing makes sense right now.]

Just hold on.

[The guy shouldn't be able to talk through that wound. It shouldn't be healing the way it is, either, so rapidly. It reminds him of how the purple Stand had touched his hair, hovering over him so protectively. Maybe it has some sort of healing ability...?

Or — no, he saw its ability, didn't he? It mimicked him. So what, then, is going on?

It's got to be something to do with that arrow. Okay. So first things first, get this guy to a medic, and then go get that fucking arrow and secure it so that maybe they can all get to the bottom of this mess.

He sends Star back for it on an afterthought, carrying his white-haired fling as briskly as he can to the nearest guard station on the perimeter of the warehouse, and starts barking orders. They snap to attention almost immediately; he cuts a well-known figure around the Foundation, assuming he's interacting with the employees and not the contractors.]

Find a medic, and get security down here to surround this building. Right now.

[He glances down at the guy in his arms, at the way his fingers are curled in the lapel of his white coat.]

I'll come back. But I need you to let go right now. ...I'll come back.

[As they move, the slim purple thing seems to disappear in a fizzle of static, blipping out of view like it was a television channel. Abbacchio can't help but stare over where it was, baffled. So much happened in the last ten fucking minutes that he can't piece it together. He just finished messing around with this guy and then some kid attacked him with a bow and arrow and now this happened.

But they're moving, and of course the other man is carrying him like he weighs nothing; he already knows how strong he is and it's so damned weird to be the one lifted anyway, like he's some damsel. The more confusing, pressing issue is how everyone seems to be scrambling to take orders from this guy without question.

...Okay. Okay, just who did Abbacchio fuck again?

He blinks absently when he's being spoken to, then realizes he's been holding onto his coat this entire time. Abbacchio pulls his hand back sharply like he's been burned, then closes his eyes and nods.]

Yeah. All right.

[The cleanup from engagement with a Stand user is always a messy process, as far as the Speedwagon Foundation is concerned. Oh, sure, the Joestars themselves get to blaze a trail of havoc and madness across whatever countryside they see fit, but the part they don't often encounter themselves is the everything that comes after it portion. The part where threats have to be contained and interviews conducted, photographs taken, evidence bagged.

Checks written, sometimes, for the property damage. Ho-hum.

It's an even bigger problem that this took place inside a Foundation warehouse, which raises all sorts of new questions about the user's possible motives, the contents of the warehouse, the connections he might have had to his targets, and all of that is going to have to be Jotaro's problem right now, so off he goes. What a fucking pain. There goes all of his stress relief, completely botched.

Meanwhile, a medical team soon arrives on the scene and rounds on Abbacchio, briskly taking stock of his healing throat injury and the other minor scrapes he might've incurred from taking a concrete floor to the back of his head when he fell.

I'd like to get your statement, please, one of them says tactfully, after he's been fussed over a while. If you think you're up to it. Can you recount for me what happened?]

[It's annoying but tolerable, albeit it does make him wonder exactly what kind of mess this is. The Speedwagon Foundation, for all of its clean money, still harbors some secrets that he doesn't know about -- not that he cares to know either, admittedly. It has nothing to do with him, and he'd rather just go through the motions of the work he's supposed to do and end his day with a bottle.

Then there's this shit, whatever it is. He doesn't say anything as he's tended to, but it's still weird the wound in his throat is just gone. He really thought that was going to be it for him, but somehow it healed.

He's absently touching his neck when he hears the question. Recount what happened...

It appears again, the slim purple being. It sounds like a dial-up modem and a ringing signal. There's a timer on its brow, and the numbers are rolling until it's changing shape like it did before.

The face it chooses makes him scramble back, pointing, having no idea that the medical staff won't be able to see it.]

What the fuck is that thing?!

[Abbacchio, stai attento! It rewinds with that face, playing the same clip, the same face, the same voice.]

[Sir, please! the woman exclaims, having literally no idea what he's pointing at or reacting to, but startling herself at the abruptness of his outburst. She looks, brow furrowing as he points at thin air, trying to take stock of the thing that has apparently agitated him so, and coming up with no answers.

So she goes after him, grasping him by the arm, and tries to keep him from rattling around any further.

Please, you've got to stay still! she insists. What are you seeing? There's nothing there!]

Stop wearing his face!

[It sounds hysterical, and he knows he does, but he's desperate to make whatever it is stop, stop looking like him, and it makes his heart ache.]

It's right there--

[They can't see it, he realizes belatedly. For whatever reason, they can't see it, but the man he was with could.]

The other guy that was here. In the white coat, he could see it. Where is he?

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