Chapter Text
Noriaki drums his fingers against the ledge of the rooftop as he stares off into the distant skyline, all the edges frayed with corrugated upward cuts of buildings. The midday sun casts through the thin veil of clouds that renders the sky into a weak grey, as fitting as Jotaro's tendril of cigarette smoke that stretches high to join their gaseous counterpart.
Despite the glowing testimonies and the fact that it has been mentioned that two out of three girls miss him, Noriaki is still understandably tense as he waits for Haru. His stomach grinds in want of food, but he has no appetite for the bento that Holly painstakingly prepared for him. After three bites of rice that passes through his mouth with far more resistance than necessary, he sets aside the pair of chopsticks and bento and sighs to calm his fluttering heart.
"She's on the first floor, walking toward the stairwell," Noriaki says, eyes still absently glazed over the expansive track fields that stretch below.
"You going to be okay?"
Inside his pocket, her little note has been folded and unfolded more times than necessary, decorated with deep creases all along its edges. It burns into Noriaki's thigh as it sits in his pocket with an imagined pyre. Jotaro leans over and holds his forearm affectionately, hesitating before ultimately deciding to press a kiss onto his cheek.
"I'll be okay," Noriaki answers, though his voice lacks the confidence that he wishes to convey.
Jotaro's reply comes softly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?”
Noriaki pauses, unsure, but he's aware that a decision will need to be made soon. Each echoing footstep couples with the onward tick of time as she ascends the building. He exhales again, painfully, a resolution of bravery thumping in his chest as he smiles weakly without facing Jotaro.
“I’ll be okay. Thanks.”
A hand cups his lower jaw, prying his eyes away from the sparsely populated field below. Noriaki has no choice but to turn to face Jotaro. Their faces inch toward each other, soft lips pressing together in reassurance. By now, it’s second nature for him to open his mouth to deepen their kiss, just as easy as it would be to lose himself to touch again, but he pulls back prematurely.
“She’s on the second floor, now.”
Jotaro smiles before pulling Noriaki into his chest to kiss him on his temple. “I’ll be nearby if you need me,” he says, before he throws himself over the ledge of the building. With one hand clasping Star Platinum’s forearm, he’s safely guided to an annexing structure out of view.
Left alone, Noriaki sighs again. He doesn’t need to wait long before the footsteps reach just beyond the other side of the heavy door. It swings open to reveal Haru with a smile, hands wrapped around two bento boxes stacked neatly on top of the other.
Oh.
“Nori!” Haru greets, before crossing the expanse of the rooftop to where he is seated.
"Haru," he answers with a grin.
And...
Just like that, Noriaki remembers how much he misses the companionship of the other three girls during his crisis, all the kindness and acceptance experienced when Noriaki would have otherwise struggled to cope on his own. It pains him to realize that he began his lunch period expecting hostility and accusations -- instead, he’s met with a peace offering of a homemade meal, reminiscent of all the times he would forget to bring lunch and would be mothered communially by the trio of friends.
“Oh!” Haru laughs. Her eyes dart to the other bento sitting barely touched on the ledge. “What a surprise! You actually brought your own lunch today?"
Noriaki flushes. “Um. Actually, Jotaro brought this for me.”
“Well, I see that things never change, then!”
Noriaki chuckles, surprised with the friendliness of their conversation, almost as if the events of Fumiko’s rejection and their separation had never taken place. He accepts the offered bento box regardless, taking an obligatory bite out of the neatly portioned slice of egg omelette.
“Oh, wow. This is really good,” he admires. “Did you make this yourself?”
“Yeah! I’m getting better at cooking!”
Haru is as endearing as always. With the tension in his stomach slowly unknotting, Noriaki finds his appetite returning. Ravenous, he begins to enjoy the bento with his renewed hunger. The ease of her good nature brings an unexpected warmth to his heart, even if the situation between both parties still remains nebulous.
“So,” Haru says between bites, “how have you been? I’m sorry we haven’t really spoken lately. The girls and I have really missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too,” he answers earnestly. “But otherwise, I’ve… I’ve been good.”
She snickers. “Reunited with JoJo-san, I see.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad, Nori! I’m really, really glad you guys are no longer fighting.”
“... Me too.”
Haru takes a bite of her own lunch, groaning with an exaggerated pride at her own cooking. Noriaki hums in agreement, but he worries his lower lip as insecurities bubble beneath the surface in quiet anticipation. He's unsure if it’s within his jurisdiction to inquire, but he's compelled to ask the question burning on his tongue anyway:
“... So. How is Fumiko-san?”
Haru’s mouth curls into a smile despite the underlying harrowing in her eyes. “Oh, Nori. She’s… she’ll be okay. She’s not thrilled with how things turned out between you two, but Fumi is a strong person. She’ll move on and be back to her wonderful self soon.”
“I see,” he replies, tight-lipped and unsure what to offer. "I'm… I'm aware that apologies won't fix how things are right now, but I am truly sorry and miss seeing you all together. But I understand that Fumiko needs you and Satsuki's friendship more than I do right now."
Haru shakes her head. "She’s not upset with you, you know? To be honest, she’s more embarrassed than anything else, for not trusting her gut or ignoring the signs of your lack of interest in her. Things like that.”
The guilt still thrums in his chest, even if Haru's words are perfectly curated to soften the blow. "Yeah, but I definitely could have tried to be more obvious about my lack of interest. I just..." He swallows as shame smolders inside, and his voice shakes quietly with admission. "I didn't mean to lead her on, but I never went out of my way to be direct. My actions were selfish. I just didn't want to lose you guys as friends."
Haru fans her hand dismissively. "Whatever. It's not your fault, okay? Or her fault really. Neither of you are to blame.'
"... I guess so. Thanks, Haru."
And then her voice dips a little lower, mischievous even, in the way she cradles her body closer to Noriaki as if indulging in a secret between friends.
“You can't help it if the heart wants what the heart wants, right?
“I--”
Noriaki inhales a globule of sticky rice, lodging into his throat in a way that nearly makes him choke. Delighted, Haru claps a palm onto his back and rubs gentle circles as Noriaki works on clearing his throat. He takes his time to free his airway, gasping as redness brims at his lower lashline.
“Gosh, be careful! Don’t eat and talk at the same time!”
Noriaki rubs his palms against his eyes, wiping away tears as he finds himself laughing nervously, flustered and inordinately clumsy. “You’re not my mother,” he ribs back with no malice. “I’m at least two months older than you.”
“Maturity has no bearing on age,” she replies with a flip of her hair, grinning wickedly. “You’re my adopted child, as far as I’m concerned!”
“No, thank you. I would rather stay at the orphanage, if that's the case.”
"So rude!”
The laughter reaches a gentle lull, of stillness marked by distantly chirping birds and the voices of students spending their lunchtime session on the track field below. The clouds overhead begin to soften in the noontime sun into a diffuse, dusty glow. The hair on Noriaki’s neck begins to prickle, ice crystallizing in his veins as the other question burning on his tongue begs to be brought to the surface. He grinds his teeth, as the inevitable mystery to their rooftop date chokes him alive.
“Haru, why did you want to meet up today?”
Haru turns to Noriaki with her brows drawn high, confusion registering on her face.
“What do you mean? The week after you turned down Fumi, you looked… so sickly. We were all so worried about you. It looked like you got into a fight, or fell down a set of stairs, or something. Your jaw was so swollen. But we didn’t -- I didn’t know how to approach you about it, given what happened.”
“I did get into a fight,” Noriaki admits.
“With JoJo?”
“Yeah.”
"Gosh -- Um. You're not being abused, are you?"
"No," he answers quickly, horrified by her conclusion. "God, not at all. We just like to spar in our free time. To keep in shape."
"Oh, good, good."
Then, Haru presses her lips together, mischief registering in the upward quirk of her brow, eyes luminescent with interest.
“... Are you two dating?”
Fuck.
He's mentally prepared himself for this outcome as much as possible, but it still does not deaden the shock of hearing it spoken so plainly. Apparently the star-struck horror on his face is telling enough, even without verbalizing his answer.
"I-- uh...!"
An influx of fight or flight percolates into his bloodstream, equal parts cold and burning as Hierophant gathers as an aggravated monster beneath his skin, acting out with his nausea creeping to a crescendo in his throat. He tamps down the monster, the shame, rehearsing the chorale of self-acceptance, of his belief that even if the world doesn’t feel right, he can at least do his part by being true to himself.
"Hmm? What was that?"
He can be true to himself, can’t he? If he doesn’t owe it to the trio of friends he has taken advantage of, then at the very least, he owes it to himself.
"Fuck,” he spits, exasperation drenching his voice. "Alright! Yes, we are."
And just like that, the unexpected tenseness in his shoulders lifts despite the pounding of his heart. Not entirely, no, but imagined or otherwise, Noriaki suddenly feels himself falling into an abstract mindscape -- unlocking the door that has been barred off from his psyche for so long, the fear of his person being poorly perceived just incrementally less foreboding with his admission. Hell, to say that his truth being revealed to others doesn’t affect him is a lie, but his truth begins to pull with less gravity.
“... Are you gay?”
He scans Haru’s voice, unsure if it’s judgement which causes her voice to shake against her throat. His heart pounds in his chest, desperate to run away. But he has already admitted this much -- what’s the harm in admitting more?
“Yes.”
And then Haru breaks into a smile. “I knew it! Gosh, I totally knew it!”
Noriaki blinks. Haru begins to giggle.
“.... Phew! Oh, Nori, your confirmation is so validating! I suspected it all along because -- come on, Nori, a great-looking guy like you, yet no interest in girls? No interest in Fumi, of all people.”
“Uh--”
“But I'm so happy that I totally called it! I even told Fumiko as much but she didn’t believe me. But it’s so obvious!”
“Am -- am I just some archetype to you?” he rasps.
Haru presses her palms to her cheeks, barely able to contain her giddiness. “Oh no, non no! Not at all! You don't seem like an okama or anything -- though I suppose you may give off a bit of a feminine vibe with the cherry earrings. But no, you seem pretty normal to me, at least on the outside."
"... Great?"
Noriaki smothers his discomfort with the implications of her words. He's unsure if he should be relieved that he looks 'normal' from a superficial standpoint, or if he should be upset that it means other gay men must be 'weird' or undesirable as a result. But he tamps down the frustration to accept this as a minor win, at least.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” she pipes. “But… oh, you and JoJo -- so cute! Oh, you two are so cute and adorable together!”
He chokes. “Oh god --”
“Fighters by day, lovers by night -- oh, you two are perfect.”
“Please stop.”
An otherworldly squeal pierces into the air as she claps her palms together, delighted in the way that Noriaki, cheeks scarlet with embarrassment, squirms visibly in his seat. "You two are just so adorable together! So cute! The love of opposites attracting! So--"
“Haru,” he interjects, without any other solution to quiet the over-eager classmate, “why did you take time off from school?”
Haru immediately stops. Her cheeks begin to mirror Noriaki in the saturation of red pooling beneath the surface.
“Oh gosh,” she replies, voice softening as she avoids his piercing stare. “Um… I’m not sure, to be honest. The last thing I remember was coming up to this rooftop to look for you, and then all of a sudden, I find myself several blocks away. I don’t know what happened in between. I asked the other girls, and they said I bumped into them and told them I was unwell, but then I ran off. I don’t recall any of this.”
“... That sounds unpleasant,” Noriaki sympathizes. “Were you hurt?”
“No,” Haru admits. “Just… really confused and disoriented, to be honest. And a bit scared, if anything, knowing that I have no recollection of what happened. But that’s it.” She pauses, fidgeting with her fingers in rumination. "...The doctors told me it might be stress. O-or it was a mental break of some sort, but I don't feel particularly stressed about anything? But anyway, I guess they just told me to monitor things because there's no other symptom of amnesia. I feel completely fine, now."
“I’m glad,” Noriaki replies in earnest, relieved that his possession has left no permanent negative effects on her being.
She giggles. “But -- to be honest, I think during that period where my memories were missing? I think I had a dream, you know. Of you and Jotaro, of all people, kissing and, um.” She blushes profusely, biting down on her lower lip with a cheeky grin. “You know. Doing ‘couple stuff’.”
Noriaki swallows dryly. “A dream, huh.”
“Yeah! It was a strange dream,” she laughs nervously, “but that’s what really solidified the idea of you two being together for me. Like all the signs I had suspected, of your queerness and your close friendship with Jotaro, of your rejection of Fumi -- all of it kept rolling around in my brain and I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I had to meet up with you to confirm.”
“Right,” Noriaki exhales.
A pause.
“... But, gosh. I know it must have been a dream because who would have sex at school, like that? That’s so indecent!”
Noriaki nearly pisses himself laughing, choking on the backward thrust of spit that hits his throat at the wrong angle. “Right! No way, you don’t shit where you eat. That’s gross, Haru. You’ve obviously been reading way too much BL!”
"Shut up!"
The rooftop explodes with laughter carried on the wind as the tension in his chest and stomach unwind yet again. Soon, an amicable silence settles between the two students again. Noriaki is beyond relieved at Haru’s acceptance of his relationship, and though he wishes to express his gratitude toward their friendship, he’s stopped when Haru begins to lead the conversation again.
“... You know,” she starts, voice growing uncharacteristically demure for the normally bubbly girl, “I’m… sort of relieved, in a way. By the fact that you and JoJo are together.”
It’s Noriaki’s turn to smile, teasing as he prods her infantile past. “I thought you had a crush on JoJo.”
“Well, of course I do! In the same way that every girl has one too -- he’s so hot, Nori. Oh, he's so gorgeous! But personality? So cold! So unapproachable! I don’t know how you do it, but I would rather save my love for someone who appreciates me fully.”
“Well. He’s not like that with me, I guess.”
Haru nudges her elbow into his side. “No, of course not! You’re probably the only person he cares about -- god, have you ever seen the way he looks at you?"
Noriaki flushes, immediately intrigued. "No? What do you mean?"
"... You poor, oblivious boy. Oh... you're the only one he ever looks at with a soft expression. Like everyone and everything just pissed him off nonstop, but when he looks at you, or talks to you… it's like you're the only one that exists. I swear, he only ever smiles with you."
Haru sighs wistfully with her hands clutching together at her chest. "... And that's so beautiful, Nori-kun. That’s what I want someday.”
Noriaki playfully nudges her back. “Hey, I don't doubt that will happen to you soon.”
"Heh, yeah. Maybe sooner than I think."
"... Oh? You've found someone?"
“I think so." She exhales through her nose as the corners of her lips curl into a hopeful smile. “Or… at least I’m slowly finding the courage to make my move, thanks to you.”
“I’m really happy for you,” Noriaki whispers.
Finally, Haru swings her legs over the ledge of the building to sit next to Noriaki. They silently watch students from afar, as the structures of the city fades into amorphous shapes and colours along the horizon. Noriaki exhales, feeling weightless in his shoes as his feet dangle over nothingness, a veritable promise of a concrete death to those that do not exercise caution.
At a distance, he sees Jotaro with his arms crossed, leaning against the rooftop entrance of the annexing building. A single arm is poised in a wave as if to ask if assistance is needed. Noriaki responds with a wave in return, allowing his hand to fall back onto his lap with the completed arch.
Haru then presses her hands together into the shape of a heart which she sends down to Jotaro. Scowling, Jotaro shakes his head. He takes a puff from his cigarette before turning to face the other way.
“See?” she teases. “He hates everyone but you. You two are perfect for each other!”
“Please stop.”
By the end of the week, any memory of favourable weather is replaced with dreariness. In the last period of his day, the sky opens and water begins to cascade from above, drenching the sun-baked concrete with the scent of petrichor. The fields dance with the upward splash of rain, just as it draws meandering rivulets down the wide windows of his classroom.
The end of class chimes and Noriaki isn’t eager to be pushed out into the rain, but thoughts of being able to spend the rest of the evening and weekend with Jotaro stands as the incentive for him to pack away his books as quickly as possible. His feet fly beneath his body, carrying him to the wide alcove outside the main entrance. As he sits to the side, waiting for Jotaro’s monolithic form to come into view, the rest of his school spills outward in a bobbing sea of heads that transform into a patchwork mosaic of floating umbrellas. The pitter-patter of rain is drowned out by the drum of footsteps in puddles and chatter.
He checks his watch, frowning at Jotaro’s tardiness. From what he’s able to determine based on Hierophant’s data network, Jotaro hasn’t moved from the classroom of his final period. Talking to a teacher, maybe? He wouldn’t put it past the other male to be in trouble -- it unfortunately follows him at times. He taps his heel against the pavement impatiently, equally chagrined at forgetting to bring an umbrella despite the warnings from the weather forecast. With other students beginning to crowd beneath the alcove, Noriaki finds his uniform getting wet as he is pushed out into the rain.
Ugh...
A familiar voice calls his name.
“Nori!”
He turns just in time for all 50 kilograms of unrestrained energy to crash into his body, all spindly limbs crushing Noriaki in a hug as arms wrap around his neck.
“Haru--” he wheezes.
“Have a good weekend!” She peeps before finally releasing his neck.
She darts off to meet up with the sisters, heads turned back to watch the interaction with amusement. Dazed, Noriaki sees Haru rush to Fumiko to clasp her hand, pressing a friendly kiss against the other girl’s cheek as they huddle under a shared umbrella. Fumiko turns to Noriaki with a shy smile, embarrassment colouring her expression at having their public affection noticed. Noriaki smiles back with a wave, which Fumiko returns courteously before she’s dragged off by an overeager Haru under the cover of their pink umbrella.
Holding hands.
And then a key clicks into place.
Wow , he thinks.
For a second, Noriaki is suffused with envy at their ability to show affection so brazenly, out in the open. There are times where he wonders how life would play out differently if he were able to live with the same expectations as other females, where hand-holding between friends could be seen as the norm. Far easier than the struggles that he and Jotaro have to face, unfortunately as men that are closeted and queer.
And yet…
“Nori.”
He follows the deep, familiar timbre. Caught off guard, Jotaro is dazzling beneath his umbrella, a beacon of light in the face of grey skies and stormy days. His body radiates with a warmth that leaves Noriaki nearly vibrating. It's hard not to notice the way his eyes light up after Haru mentioned it the first time -- now all he sees is the full breadth of adoration every time their eyes meet, in the same way his voice becomes softer when their bodies are close together, a breath apart.
"JoJo," he answers.
"Where's your umbrella?"
Noriaki barely hears his question. Suddenly, getting drenched is the least of his worries.
An infusion of bravery begins to surge through his veins, electric as it wells up beneath his skin; a macrocosm in its own right, of feelings and emotions and love and other things he can’t name. Maybe it's simply the lovely ache in his heart, inspired by Haru's love life in the same way she is inspired by his own -- or maybe it's just being next to Jotaro, callous and cold on the outside with the softest and warmest centre, which compels him to do so. But he suddenly finds himself with an inexorable impulse which he accepts in stride, crushed under its intensity.
"Nori…?"
Under the umbrella, Noriaki grabs the chain of Jotaro's collar and pulls him in for a kiss. Confusion turns to compliance as lips meet; a cute, strangled peep from Jotaro's throat that transforms into a quiet moan as their mouths move in practiced tandem. It's short and sweet; they break apart before anyone takes notice beyond the tinted veil of their umbrella.
But Noriaki's heart is pounding in his chest like he’s about to die in the best way possible. They're still in public, but for once he just doesn't care.
"Let's go home," Nori urges with a smile.
"Uh-- um, okay."
Starstruck and red-faced, Jotaro follows with the umbrella diligently held above their heads.
He’s never wanted Jotaro as badly as he wants him now.
The need to claim, to possess, to carve out a patch of his own flesh just to embed Jotaro’s essence into his body. To meld skin with skin until neither bodies are discernible from their original state: a pastiche two broken, individual pieces until they become a whole.
The walk back to the Kujo estate is torturous. Noriaki has just enough decency to keep his arousal in check as he enters their household, greeting Holly in passing as they rush to Jotaro’s bedroom. Before his door manages to slide shut, Hierophant is already unravelling from beneath his uniform, tendrils bursting from his sleeves as they loop under Jotaro’s collar and the buckle of his belts.
“Eager, much?”
Noriaki laughs as he pushes Jotaro onto the bed, climbing in after to devour the other boy with kisses and tongue, body pulsing with need as they rut their hips together. The sweetness of tobacco and smoke on his tongue, the taste driving him wild as he nips his lower lip.
They break apart just enough for Noriaki to admire the disbelief on his face as Jotaro looks up at him with his back pressed into the mattress. It’s a decadent sight, all that raw muscle under exposed skin with flushed pecs that Noriaki finds impossible to not grab. Jotaro laughs back, in that throaty, earthy way. He tenses and relaxes under Noriaki’s curious fingers, welcoming the eager exploration of his body.
“God, you’re fucking gorgeous,” Noriaki exhales, rolling down black trousers from muscled thigh as Jotaro lifts his hips off the mattress. Legs spread, taut body splayed out against the backdrop of white sheet, Noriaki licks his lips as he admires the quintessence of a warrior before him. Completely naked, Jotaro is a variegated canvas of fading scars. Interlaced with scintillating green tendrils that gently wrap along each limb without restraining him, tracing his body like branching rivers flowing between the valleys of his flesh. He wants to taste all of it, this mouthwatering platter of flesh, so Noriaki licks a stripe up the column of Jotaro’s neck before sucking hard into the skin -- hard enough to burst the delicate capillaries below, relishing in the tremors across his body as Jotaro arches his spine off the bed.
Mine. All mine.
" N-nori, fuck--"
Noriaki is nearly salivating at their touch, heart thundering at their proximity. To know that, for their time together, there’s no one else in the world that will ever see Jotaro so vulnerable. And it’s cute, in a way, how Jotaro is the one who introduced Noriaki to physical intimacy, but here he is, so flustered under Noriaki’s appraisal. So unphased when being admired from afar, but is almost demure when admired up close. How being this exposed to someone so dear to his heart, panting with need, can be so embarrassing.
He's adorable, really.
Jotaro tenses as Noriaki latches his lips to his hardened nipples and swirls his tongue, eager to capture every flavor on his body. Hierophant dutifully attends to the other side, rolling the flesh until he draws a moan from Jotaro, overstimulated, cock pulsing against Noriaki’s clothed hips. He pushes Noriaki away.
“C’mon, I can’t be the only one naked right now.”
“Fine, fine.”
Noriaki leans back but he doesn’t need to do much -- Star has already been summoned, eager to coax Noriaki out of his uniform. Deft fingers, gentle despite their cosmic stature, undoing each inconvenient golden hindrance. They pull his leather belt free from its loops with a hiss; his trousers and dress shirt soon join the pile of forgotten clothes on the floor to reveal his own patchwork of scars.
It’s a sight for sore eyes. But it’s an ever-present reminder that there’s no one else in this world he will ever feel this comfortable with.
“You’re fucking gorgeous, too,” Jotaro echoes with a grin. “What’s up with you, today?”
“Nothing,” he laughs back. “Nothing’s up with me. Shut up.”
Jotaro’s voice dissolves into needy moans as Noriaki curls his tongue into his mouth again.
He should really smile more, Nori muses with closed eyes, committing the image of his cheeks dimpling into his memory. Maybe he rarely smiles because those dimples are far too embarrassing for the delinquent to advertise - the last thing he wants is to attract more attention or seem endearing, for god’s sake.
Though, maybe it’s for the best that his expression usually defaults to a scowl , because those dimples are for Noriaki’s eyes only.
And then it blurts from his mouth, unable to stifle the words: “On your knees.”
It’s usually Jotaro taking the lead, but the way the tips of his ears dye red with the reception of the command means Noriaki has hit something salient. A compliant Jotaro, it turns out, is incredibly sexy: palms and knees to the mattress, ass held high in the air, the ambrosial power diffusing straight to his head makes him weak. Noriaki has contested with the idea for a while now, but seeing how indescribably good it feels to be the recipient, he wants nothing more than to see Jotaro fall apart in the same way.
“I’m going to try this back on you,” he says, accepting the quiet nod of his head before diving face-first into Jotaro’s entrance.
It takes very little to do a lot, he learns. Just a swirl of his tongue along the puckered rim and the other boy is arching his back again, thighs quaking as he presses his body back into the sensation. Fuck. Every bit of Jotaro is intoxicating: his heat, his masculinity, his throaty groans, and the way his rock-hard cock leaks onto the bed below with each throb, rhythmic like droplets of rain. They’ve fooled around enough at this point for Noriaki to be able to find the lube without looking. Hierophant delivers the bottle into Noriaki’s hand before he even consciously makes the request. He pumps a generous pool into his palm and slicks both hands without ever detaching his mouth from Jotaro’s hole.
“ Fuck--” Jotaro keens, pressing his face into the softness of his bed. Noriaki wraps a silky hand around Jotaro’s leaking cock and begins to stroke, dragging the delicate foreskin over the soft head. The girth is delicious, firm and satisfying as it throbs back into his hand with each pump like a heart coaxed to life. His other hand wraps around his own length to tug in tandem as he drinks in each honeyed moan like he's parched.
“Fuck,” Jotaro groans again, legs quaking violently. “I’m -- I’m gonna -- stop!”
Finally Noriaki pulls back, surprised at the abrupt cessation to their intimacy. He’s even more surprised at the first inklings of hurt pressing into his chest.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“S’not that…” Jotaro mutters abashedly, with his spit-slicked ass still pressing high into the air. “I was just… hoping you would put it in me, this time.”
“Oh-- ” Noriaki nearly chokes, eyes widening with an enthusiastic twitch of his cock. “You mean..?”
“Good grief. Just -- either stretch me out or fuck off, already.”
“So charming.”
Biting back his teasing, Hierophant reapplies more lube to Noriaki’s hand. He watches with rapt attention as Jotaro’s entrance swallows his first finger easily, drawing him in like he's starving.
It’s wet and warm, and so inviting as Jotaro prostrates himself on the mattress again, greedily accepting every inch that fills him. Noriaki dutifully aims for that pliant structure again -- the one that draws out the loudest groans despite how hard Jotaro tries to muffle his voice. The same one that has him squirming against Hierophant, all micro-tremors of packed muscle as he tries to keep his hips in the sky, all while his cock salivates with a steady stream of translucence.
It's beautiful watching his fingers disappear into his warm body. Noriaki throws his shoulder into it, dedicating himself to the intoxicating sounds of wetness from where their skin connects. Pistoning his fingers with a recklessness that only spurs the other male to push back. Again and again, faster and faster with quaking thighs, escalating moans until the steady translucence changes to milky white.
“Nori --hhn--”
Jotaro cums, voice fracturing; an electric stutter of his hips as he loses control and Noriaki’s hand slips out from his body, while jets of white coat his belly and bedsheets. Sweat, lube, and cum -- it's a salacious mix of fluids that decorate his skin as his sex-exhausted body collapses onto the bed, utterly spent and boneless.
The room grows quiet to all but heavy breaths and raindrops on the rooftop.
“Wow, JoJo… I didn’t even have to touch you,” Noriaki chuckles, more amazed than anything.
Jotaro grunts into his pillow, too weak to generate any snark. “Dammit, Nori… you didn’t even put it in yet.”
He blinks, surprised at Jotaro’s persistence.
“You -- you still want me to?”
“... Yeah.”
“Are you sure--”
“Yes,” comes the reply, with aggravation beginning to tint how voice at needing to repeat himself.
And with his arousal still seeking attention, he finds the request to be more than favourable.
There’s no fight in him as Noriaki climbs over Jotaro. He's inordinately submissive with the post-orgasmic haze, just groaning weakly as Noriaki begins to push the just tip of his cockhead past the tight entrance. He's never done this before -- they've never done this before, so it seems reasonable to be nervous. But Noriaki hopes to do his best regardless.
Noriaki licks the shell of his ear from behind, gently pulling his studded lobe with his lips. He's still feverish with arousal as Jotaro’s body continues to twitch with the last dregs of his orgasm, but there's a tenderness sneaking up from behind. Noriaki wraps an arm around his waist and presses a kiss against the celestial birthmark on his shoulder; he smiles as Hierophant picks up on the tiny shiver that coasts across the skin of his neck.
As much as Noriaki wants to lose himself to Jotaro’s body, he can’t help but worry about overstimulation or inadvertently inflicting pain. They're so close together that he barely needs to raise his voice above a whisper.
“... Isn’t this too much? Are you sure you want me to…?”
The irritation from before warps to neediness, soft and desperate. “Just… slowly. Please.”
So he complies.
Taking his time, Noriaki pushes more into the other boy, slowing down whenever Jotaro clenches too tightly along his length. The squeeze is immaculate, wet and warm, heady and intoxicating as Jotaro's body swallows him fully. In a way, it’s a true test of patience and trust: trusting himself to not hurt him. To not cave to his own arousal and fuck him into the mattress, to use him like the sloppy sleeve of his fist. And at the same time, it’s easy to be slow. Even when his arousal almost begins to diminish when there’s just not enough stimulation to keep him hard. It’s easy to be careful, to put Jotaro’s comfort before his own.
Because there’s no one else that could ever mean as much to him. No one that ever will amount to the same degree of reverence.
"It's good," Nori whispers, "you're so good," and all Jotaro can do is let out a soft whine in response.
The cataclysmic chemistry from before warps to something slow and smoldering. Gentle rolls out his hip as Noriaki presses his body on top of Jotaro's, slowly leaning all of his weight into the other boy as Hierophant wraps around both bodies as a single entity. Soft "I love you"'s whispered between each thrust like a prayer, like a venerate scripture that will never crumble beneath the sands of time. A quiet push and pull, slow waves of love and desire, swelling and receding like the approaching tide, incremental but ever rising to a peak. Until Noriaki spills over with a sigh, shivering as he buries himself deep into the other boy.
They stay like that for a while, sticky and satiated. Time passes quietly. Noriaki softens inside until his release begins to leak past the entrance, but they continue to stay connected. Jotaro's voice is still muffled into the plushness of his pillow when he speaks again:
"You really love me, huh..."
"Of course I do," Noriaki says softly, as the beginnings of worry start to tighten his throat. Finally, they disconnect from each other and roll onto their backs, disregarding the mess adhering to both of their bodies.
"... You doubt me?"
"No."
A pause; hesitation orbiting something unsaid.
"... Maybe. Sometimes. But not right now."
Noriaki rolls to his side to take a closer look, pained to see Jotaro with lips pursed in a thin line. His eyes are dark, trained steadfastly onto the ceiling to avoid his gaze. “Jotaro…”
Noriaki draws the other boy closer again, a hand gently cupping his jaw, coaxing him to turn his head and meet his eyes. Jotaro assents without resistance, turning to expose his eyes glistening with fluid, his lower lashline a shiny pink. Midnight lashes fan close as Noriaki moves close to press soft kisses to his cheek, his nose, his eyelids, his mouth.
“I can’t promise that I can always be strong like you,” Noriaki confesses quietly as he breaks away.
“I’m not strong.”
“You are, Jotaro. So strong. But I’ll try my best for you. I’ll try not to be scared because you make me feel strong. And one day, I won’t be scared anymore.”
It morphs into more slow kisses, still wrapped together as they enjoy the present moment. Noriaki puts as much heart and care into each kiss, hoping to convey the true depth of his sincerity. The skies continue to darken outside with the onset of evening, with the wind racing against their home in upward swells. The gentle hiatus of a storm only returns with a vengeance, as the sparse drops of rain outside turn to dozens of little hammers, cracking against the rooftop in discordant notes.
But inside the bedroom, chest-to-chest with limbs weaved together, pulses intermingling, warmth shared beneath their skin... the outside world simply ceases to exist.
"... Is that okay?"
The dimpled smile returns. “I can settle for that.”
“We’re going to be fine,” Noriaki says into the intimate space between them.
And deep in his heart, he knows it to be true.