sleepytimejunction | electric tapestry

electric tapestry

It's been a couple of years since he'd left Italy. Primarily, his skills in speaking English help him get along, especially with his various contract jobs. Of all of them, the Speedwagon Foundation pays the nicest, and the money is usually clean -- that's not exactly typical of most places, but it's kind of refreshing for a change of pace.

Not that Abbacchio probably deserves clean money.

Anyway, he's technically off shift, not that he'd care if he was still on the clock, as it were. He's seen this guy around a few times and hasn't really cared to know who he is, just kind of assumes he's probably upper management somewhere. He isn't bad to look at, but Abbacchio doesn't exactly play nice either. He'd said something along the lines of stop staring or fucking do something about it to the man.

That's about what led him to being on his knees in a closet sucking the guy's dick. Not that he has a problem with it; if he hadn't wanted to, he'd have put up a fight but he genuinely didn't expect him to be this big. To Abbacchio's credit, he doesn't choke, though.

He slides off with a lewd, wet pop and strokes him.

"This all you wanted? Fucking up my lipstick? That shit isn't cheap, stronzo."

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[He glances again toward Abbacchio's Stand, at the face of the man looking back at him. It makes him glad that Star isn't like his. He'd feel the same way that Abbacchio looks, probably, if every time he looked over his shoulder, he saw the worst night of his life.

He already sees it every time he closes his eyes. Seeing it while they're open would be even worse.]

I don't get to give up. I don't get to be...too slow. Too weak. Not enough. I don't get to not be there when I need to be. I don't get to fail.

[He thinks idly about rubbing his mouth again. Even raises a hand to do it — but stops halfway there, and puts his hand down again.]

Do you still want to make a difference?

[Something about that hits him in the heart, the way Jotaro says that he doesn't get to do any of that. How shitty would that be, having to be the person everyone depends on to keep yourself together all the time no matter what happens?

Abbacchio. It's his Stand, but it sounds just like Florentino. C'è qualcosa di cui dovremmo parlare.

Those were the last words before they were called in to take care of the robbery. Abbacchio squeezes his eyes shut, drinks from the whiskey bottle, and finally the Stand goes away in a blip.]

All the damned time.

I can't suffer working under people who don't give a shit. Not again. But you and the rest of the Foundation... you actually do.

Abbacchio.

[It's the first time he's actually said the man's name since meeting him, and it's an echo of his Stand saying it in what must be his old partner's voice. That's cruel, he knows. So is the world they both live in.]

Help me figure out what that kid was doing, and why. Where he got that arrow. What he was looking for.

[He shakes his head.]

Forget whatever shit job they've had you doing around here until now. Come and help me. I'm reliable enough for the both of us. Come make a difference.

[For a moment, he's quiet, contemplating. This is the kind of man he could follow. Strong in all respects, especially where it counted most.

Slowly, he puts the bottle back down onto the desk.]

You're gonna make me use this Stand aren't you. Asshole.

[He sighs.] Fine. You got a deal.

I think you mean, "a real hardass, but never unfair."

[Huh, he thinks idly as he takes the bottle and replaces the cap. That's three times I've told him to come today.

Well. Twisted sense of humor aside —]

I'm going to get you home. Tonight, just practice calling it out and putting it away. You don't have to try to use it or even look at it. Just get used to summoning it when you want it.

Tomorrow, you sign the paperwork and we name it. Then we start digging.

Fucking hilarious.

[He snorts, but he shrugs in response, shoving his hands into his pockets. He has a pleasant buzz, enough that he can ignore his aches anyway.]

You don't need to come with me.

[Abbacchio brushes his hair back over his shoulder.] ...But I guess I won't say no.

Honestly, I was just going to grab somebody and tell them to get a car and drive you.

[He tilts his head slightly, cocking it to regard him thoughtfully.]

But no, I think I will do it myself. C'mon.

Fine. Like I care.

[narrator voice: he definitely cared

Abbacchio lifts a shoulder, indicating for Jotaro to take lead.]

After you, boss.

You sure you can still walk in a straight line?

[He replaces the whiskey in his desk, locking the drawer and switching off the lights before leading Abbacchio back onto the main office floor and pulling the door shut behind him. It latches and locks with a soft click of its own, and he's used to that; he leads the way confidently, navigating them both back toward the entrance through which they came in.]

You're gonna have to tell me how to get there.

Not like I'm that fucked up yet.

[But it's a close thing. He feels warm, even more relaxed than usual. Sad, sure, but that's always been there, and talking about Florentino is never easy to do. Worse was hearing his voice again, like he'd never died.

The rest of the night will be harder to say. He'll do his task as told, but he expects to have a hangover to match in the morning with the wine waiting for him.]

I can give directions. It's not that far anyway.

You were slugging my whiskey straight out of the bottle. You have no idea how much you actually drank.

[The temptation flickers briefly to fall into step next to Abbacchio and rest a hand at the small of his back, just for the sake of guiding him with greater ease. Sort of funny, maybe, to have reservations about someone he fucked in a closet today, but — no, nah, better not.]

C'mon, the elevator's over here. We can go down to basement one, there's a garage there.

Sure I do. The answer's "not enough".

[It's said with a sneer. He manages to keep up for the most part, but he is starting to feel a bit lightheaded. Yeah, okay, that whiskey wasn't fucking around, but he's felt worse before. He can manage. He always does.

By the time he makes it to the garage, he needs to lean against the wall of it and close his eyes, otherwise things do start to spin a bit.]

Yeah. Okay. [He mumbles the words, mostly paying attention.]

That's what you get for drinking whiskey like it's a merlot.

[He's just leading the way, though he does mercifully slow his long stride a bit to make sure that Abbacchio can keep up the further they go, until it's clear that he's growing more and more off-balance with every step and he's probably not actually going to make it to the car.]

C'mon, then. Lean on me.

[He moves over to sidle up next to him, automatically reaching to support him with an arm around his waist.]

Unless you want to be carried there, princess.

[An annoyed grumble escapes Abbacchio, his eyes managing to open as he peers up at Jotaro. He puts a hand on the other man's wrist, but doesn't actively try to shove him off.]

Fuck you.

[The words are mumbled. He pauses, then snorts.]

Heh. Already did. [Wait, more importantly:] Don't have to be carried.

I could go another round.

[He says it dryly, vaguely amused despite the urge to roll his eyes, and starts half-guiding, half-dragging the other man toward the car they'll be taking.]

But I doubt you'd remember it. So no, maybe next time.

Th' fuck you could.

[He huffs and then lets out a dry laugh as he stumbles after Jotaro.]

Could make the Stand replay it, you think? Ha. Maybe it's useful after all.

...Replay it.

[...Did...did drunken savant Leone Abbacchio just figure out what the fuck his Stand actually does, while drunk, with zero fanfare whatsoever? His ass had to go get locked into a knock-down drag-out death battle with a century-old vampire before he even came up with an idea of what his Stand could actually do, and this asshole just knocks back some Gentleman Jack and here he is?

Unbelievable. He shouldn't laugh, but he almost can't help it.]

...Do that. Bring him out, make him replay me. Let's see if you're right.

[It doesn't even occur to Abbacchio that he's done anything clever. Just the thought that if it played back segments of what Florentino's said, why not? Why wouldn't it replay something Jotaro's done?

He grins to himself, turning his head to laugh against Jotaro's chest.]

Yeah. Okay.

[The Stand appears again, static crackling and ringing like a phone. Almost immediately, its form shifts into Jotaro. The setting is immediately familiar: Stand!Jotaro has his pants open, dick erect and sheathed by a condom, and his arms are arranged like he's holding someone, fucking up into them. Distantly, Abbacchio can even hear himself moaning, coming off of it.

Abbacchio in the present lets out a laugh, knowing exactly what he picked but is just delighted that it worked.] Oh my god. That's so fucking crazy.

[WELL. That's...that's uncomfortable, and thankfully Stands won't be picked up on security cameras (save by another Stand user who looks at them, and there currently aren't any who might be observing), so his dignity is probably safe, for the moment.

But it really is something, to look at himself played back like this — not just for the filthy porn of it, but because it's a way of seeing himself from an outsider's point of view. Something that never comes easily to him, with how deep in his own head he tends to get.

It's even playing back the noises Abbacchio was making while he got fucked. Holy shit.]

Okay, okay, cut that out.

[He's not blushing! He's not flustered. He's just surprised, that's all it is. Surprised.]

I meant, like. ...Something other than that.

Wait, wait. I wanna test something...

[Licking his lips, he tries to think about it. That maybe he can... loop it? Play it on repeat.

And holy shit, it absolutely does. It loops. This is the best. Abbacchio is practically cackling to himself but remembers to at least dismiss the playback so that the Stand is back to its usual form.]

Okay. Okay, what... uh. Should I play back? [Because unfortunately, drunk as he is, his mind is certainly more filthy than usual. So it'll probably just jump to their little tryst in the closet.]

Hmph.

[Oh my god it's like a shitty VCR except real and tangible. This is the best thing to happen to porn since...whatever...good things have ever happened to porn, he doesn't know.

But the little viewing party that Abbacchio's Stand has just put on leaves him bristling and petty, and so before he can think better of it he grasps Abbacchio's chin in his hand and kisses him hard, pushing his tongue past his lips and sweeping it along the backs of his teeth, the inside of his cheek.

Then, after a breathless minute flavored of lipstick and whiskey, he pulls away and narrows his eyes slightly, looking smug.]

That. Play that back.

[Fuck. Honestly, he kind of wishes Jotaro was going to keep kissing him, and it takes a moment for his mind to catch up to the order. Right, okay, play that back.

His Stand approaches, static rushing over its form before it takes on Jotaro's appearance. Almost everything is right, except for the timer that's clearly on its brow, showing the exact time it'd just happened. A few seconds back, like he needs to know at least about how far back he's clocking it. The fucking in the closet was just the first choice he'd made.

Just like before, his chin is taken. It's weird; the pressure is exactly the same, and it even tastes like Jotaro did just a few seconds ago. The tongue is warm, swiping the inside of his mouth, and it's like an exact copy.]

Fuck.

...It's an exact copy.

[And that's fascinating, even just seeing it up close like this is incredible. He can call up things from an hour ago or a second ago, and the Stand will reenact it right before his eyes.

It's incredible. The ultimate investigative Stand. No wonder it belongs to a former cop who's a hell of a lot smarter than he likes to let on.]

Hah. Felt good, huh?

Tasted like you too.

[He mumbles it, not caring how it sounds. He probably won't even remember saying it.]

Good, yeah. Felt like a person. You. Only difference is the timer. So-- yeah. Exact copy. That'd be right.

Yeah? What do I taste like?

[He runs his hand lightly over Abbacchio's back, then hauls him the last bit of the way to the nearest waiting car — one which, he observes with a wince, appears to be an embarrassing convertible "midlife crisis" mobile.

Well, that's all right. At least he won't have to worry about Abbacchio hitting his head on the roof as he gets in the door.]

Booze, I bet. Right?

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