chronicgambler | IC INBOX for Prisma

[Dice is grinning so hard his face hurts because that was shot for shot, that was Gentaro slinging back when he knows the man had to have been surprised he did it in the first place.

He's so wound up from the fact that Gentaro responded in kind that he sounds a little hoarse when he responds. This is the sound of a man about to face the longest ten minutes of his life.]

Your place or mine?

[He does not even question the mic thing.]

Yours. I don’t want Cat to hear this.

( but does it matter? they flit between apartments so often. even so, he’s a man of his word and he’s mindful to make it nine minutes and change before he shows up at dice’s door. holding a bag of fruit.

he really was shopping. )

Yeah. Good call.

[And that's that. He sits on the couch, hard as a damn rock, untransformed mic in hand, for the time it takes Gentaro to get there. He flips it over and over, tossing it carelessly into the air a short distance, watching it fall end over end, catching it again... He hasn't used it much since he arrived, and he's never used it the way he's about to.

But somehow, god, somehow it seems like the actual best idea anyone has ever had.

At nine minutes, he heads for the door, still fidgeting with the mic. And when he hears Gentaro approach, he pulls the door open.

Yep, that's fruit.

He pockets the mic smoothly in his usual green jacket and moves back to let Gentaro in.

Who's making the first move?]

( gentaro isn’t foolish enough to wander outside the apartment complex without his mic. this place has burned him enough to know better. this time it’s a blessing because he doesn’t need to waste those extra moments going back to his own place across the hall and grabbing his.

even so, the fruit is annoying as hell. he steps inside and sets it down on dice’s counter, because it’s good fruit and maybe he’ll try and make a god damn pie out of it later he doesn’t know he’s trying to learn to cook because the more time spent inside the more time with dice and —

fuck he has it so bad.

he’s calm as he steps away from the counter. so calm for a man that just raced from a market because of a terribly reckless idea for sex.

he pivots to dice finally and drags a thin finger under his chin to tip his gaze just enough to meet his. )

Don’t hold back... ousama.

[That pie will be great but it will be later because this is the most insane fucking idea Gentaro has ever had and Dice can't honestly say he hasn't thought of it too. Recently. Because of an unrelated incident, to be honest. And now he's so utterly dedicated to the idea that all it takes is that finger under his chin for him to reach down into his pocket...

Ousama. It echoes in his mind, reverberates, settles down into his bones and he knows again but more intensely than ever that that song was written for him. And he knows Gentaro knows something he's never told him. None of it matters, except for the way it makes Dice feel.

Raw. Exposed. Fearless.

He grabs Gentaro's collar and jerks him over to the couch as he retrieves the mic from a deep pocket, flips it one last time... It transforms upon landing in his hand, and he raises it to his lips. This isn't a vehicle for a diss or some bullshit. This is him laying down how much he adores the man in front of him, how much he desires him, would fucking die for him if it came to it, because before they're even these idiots going at it, they're best friends and comrades. He's the only person Dice has ever needed to stay. He'll stay. Dice knows he will.

There's no music but the beat of his heart, but neither of them need anything more than their pulses right now.

It's the most sincerely he's ever rapped, low and sensual and dark, like the way he practices Stella, the way Gentaro explained it to him weeks ago. Gentaro is the star guiding him, the point of navigation, a beacon leading him home. And if it takes a mic to drive this into him, he'll gladly use it.]

( bitches love apple pie. anyway.

gentaro is barely able to catch his breath before he’s (softly) manhandled to the couch. honestly, he doesn’t even mind if this backfires and he ends up with new bruises and a bloody nose. gentaro hasn’t exactly told dice he often really likes when dice gets rough, when he feels it sting and makes him so damn grounded in the here and now that he couldn’t possibly think of anything else.

the words that come through the mic, loud and clear, have a different effect on him.

he isn’t on the painful end of a flow. no, it’s — it’s different. it’s engulfing and consuming and smothering, yes, as raps are when used with this power, but he doesn’t feel his bones and muscles aching or things threatening to crack. instead, he feels his skin heat, his throat dry, a wave of heat physically washing over him. the words are like hands, wandering along his skin, playful but never satisfying, bringing him to desperation. needless to say, this horrible idea is working.

and while it has a bit of heaviness that some may not like (that control, that sort of feeling of losing control to someone else and being weighed down and pulled down and held down), gentaro adores it. it makes him dizzy.

he lifts a shaking hand up and fists it loosely in the front of dice’s shirt. he reaches for his own mic with his free hand to activate it and then spills his soul in the only way he knows how: prose. and if it’s the wayward thief falling for his fallen king, utterly at the king’s mercy, so be it. )

[Dice is bitches. Definitely.

He hears the feedback of the mic coming on and watches it transform in Gentaro's hand as the base falls to the side and the author lifts the mouthpiece. And then it's like life stops. It slows down to a crawl that's barely movement at all, and he feels rather than hears every single word. It's the way Gentaro first rapped at length, flowing prose, words to a beat no one needs to hear but them, and it makes Dice feel cornered.

But it's so good. It doesn't hurt, but rather sinks into him until his body aches with heat, choking him in the most erotic way. Gentaro's voice already has an effect on him on a normal day with no assistance, but amplified by the mic's powers, he's done for.

He braces a hand to one side of the prone author, letting the words hit him, cover him, coax him until he's so painfully wanting that he doesn't give a damn if Gentaro is done or not. He pushes the hand holding the mic out of the way with his own mic, still gripping it, ready to use it again. It's much more important to feel contact with something other than Gentaro's words, which may be his soul and his creativity and everything Dice first admired about him, but which probably won't get him off entirely unless--

Unless.

He kisses Gentaro soundly, teeth and tongue and vicious affection, like a man who has never had a concept of control. Then he pulls back just far enough and starts another verse, this one full of images, painting Gentaro as his symbol of victory, and darker, more dangerous things about Gentaro's body, the way he sounds, the way he moves.]

( it may be the same exact moment that the idea occurs to gentaro, too. would it be physically possible to get someone off with words alone? this time, he doesn’t have the moons to blame for his shamelessly indulgent desires. then again, he stopped needing excuses roughly four days ago when he decided to stop running and start living.

dice’s verse engulfs him. like a storm, it comes in fast and hard, bartering him and if he had any walls left, they’d be gone, like a tornado destroying edifices in its wake. instead, it shines a deep warmth into every crevice of self doubt and uncertainty. dice is here and wants him and that’ll always be enough for gentaro.

apart from that emotional intimacy, the rap has his body turning to molten lava. he wants to be closer, so he moves, hooks a leg over dice and situates himself in the man’s lap. his face is a dark red, bangs already sweaty, cock hard even through all those layers.

and then he raps, something far too explicit and vulgar for any of his books or performances. this one is as raunchy as they come and completely devoid of flowery prose. dice has finally ripped free the part of him that doesn’t care what an audience thinks. he only cares what dice feels.

did you think you had escaped the fruit at last? guess again. orange. )

[If he hadn't stopped running, Dice may not have ever caught up. He might've slid back into shadows of his own making, wrapped up as just as much of an enigma as the secretive author. He'd have waited forever.

He never fucking has to wait again.

That's not what he's thinking about, though. This is a contest now, a gamble, and he's betting on a goddamn win. If he tells Gentaro how he sees him, what the guy is to him, then maybe he'll understand. The rap drives words in to the bone, slams down barrier Gentaro has up, and Dice doesn't give two fucks if that's what he came for; it's what he's getting.

He hooks an arm around Gentaro's hips, puling their bodies flush even with layers of fabric in between. Two-toned eyes are locked on Gentaro, a wild look on Dice's face, a grin of a man who wants to die like this, to live like this, to feel every single thing in creation all at once. And Gentaro does that to him. God, it's filth, it's perfect, it's what he needs, and he grunts low as he simply presses against Gentaro. No friction, no satisfaction from anything but words, but god does he want to feel it when this guy goes off anyway. The tension low in Dice's body is almost unbearable already, and his mind is fuzzy from the lyrics and flow. It's hot, hotter than the fucking sun.

A second, a beat, and his mic is back at his lips, a low, sensual sound, somehow the opposite of Gentaro's words, metaphor the author probably didn't think this guy could build. He wants to caress him, bring him around slowly, then devastate him. So he does. He builds up the intensity for a moment with beauty and heat, then flips a fucking switch and throws down just as dirty, just as raw, what he wants to do to him, things he'd never admit outside of rap or this, this, this.

His body tenses and twitches slightly as he tries to catch his breath, sweat forming on his brow, too. He's gonna come with another round of this, he's absolutely sure.

Orange you glad I didn't say banana.]

( it’s terrifying to think that in his entire time here, dice had continually been the only person he wanted. while others were convenient, dice had been the one that gentaro saw himself finally opening up to; someone that had showed how protective he could be and how little fucks he gave about the past. if dice hadn’t wanted him, there wouldn’t have been anyone else. just dice, always dice.

sentimental thoughts aren’t great when you’re rapping and sitting on your boyfriend’s lap, achingly hard and mind drenched in need. thinking that dice is his muse, is the perfect complement to him, is the thing he wants to see each and every night and morning isn’t paired well with sweaty hair and palms and bruising lips.

but he indulges in it, allowing dice’s words to flood him. they cause him to arch, bending like a bow, body pressing hard against dice’s, down against dice, into dice. it’s intoxicatingly consuming and he trembles at the suggestions in dice’s rhyme.

he barely has the power to raise his own mic, which he knows will be the last time because the words cause him to spill over the edge. his rap is a direct response to dice, the sort of moan that always follows dice’s heavy touch. there’s no metaphor in this one, either, just honest want, desire, lo—

he finds himself coming undone with his last words, body having ground down on dice’s lap perfectly to tip him over the edge and into an orgasm. apparently it’s possible.

for the record, those last words include:

there is nothing better,
steal me away forever )

[Leave it to Gentaro to make this as beautiful as it is depraved, to draw Dice in at the last possible second and seize his heart along with his mind. He needs this. He needs the shelter, the assurance of a future, the place to return to. He can't reach that thought process now, but after, later, he'll recall this warmth and know that he's found a home.

Forever starts today.

His body curls forward, then he arches back slightly to get the barest touch of friction against Gentaro. That's all it takes for him to follow, coming as hard as this damn guy always makes him do. It reverberates through him, like his whole body just lit up. Good.

He pulls Gentaro close with a hand at the back of his neck, fingers trailing up into his hair, and he says it, just up and fucking says it to Gentaro. That he needs him. Wants him. Will keep him and fight for him and protect him. It's a low rap, shaky and stupid and sans microphone because he's too busy coasting down to care. And Gentaro came already, right? It's just fine.]

( it’s more than fine.

if gentaro wasn’t already falling cataclysmically in love with dice the shaky, low rumbles would have pierced any remaining boundary. it would have shattered any wall and left the aloof man cracking at the seams, realizing love really is something you settle in and feel, that it can’t quite be described and it hits hard but it grows over time and isn’t like some blunt switch.

the hands in his hair feel stupidly nice and gentaro leans into them as he the waves of his orgasm fade. they’re going to be an absolute, disgusting mess but he can’t quite care, no, not with dice’s words filling years of holes in his heart. )

Dice. ( he kisses him sweetly, warmly, slowly, unable to parrot back such honest truths at this second but pouring the sentiment into the kiss. )

[The kiss is... overwhelming. It's a blissful union of their thoughts without all the words they just leveled at each other, a seal to the declaration Dice has just made. It makes him ache, the sweetness, the care and warmth. He hasn't known tenderness in... so long. He never actually expected it from Gentaro, either, not with the way they keep at it.

He won't scoff at it or look down on it at all. His admiration and adoration are equal and fierce, and he kisses back with a sweet, slow hesitation that belies his inexperience. Every time Gentaro says his name, it feels like he's going to jet into the atmosphere.

When did he start needing this? When the kiss subsides, he rests his forehead against Gentaro's. They're... disgusting and a mess, yeah, and they can go take a shower in a moment. But he wants to treasure this as he comes down off the high of their raps and subsequent results.]

You okay?

( he’s made a note to kiss dice more. while making out is not at all uncommon when they oh so frequently go at it against walls, couches, bedposts and other objects in between, the random, slow, deep kisses are still on the less frequent side. that’s not to say gentaro minds then at all, they’re just ... well, pure affection and vulnerability for the sake of it.

it’s basically saying that a kiss has now become something he wants to do with no promise of sex behind it.

dice’s question tethers him back to reality. slowly, his eyes open and he takes in the sight of his sweating boyfriend. good. he’s so gorgeous and right there and his jawline slays. his chest does a weird flip again and he curls his hands tighter in dice’s hair. )

Never better. ( it’s an exhausted, breathless lilt but dice should be keen on the fact that “that’s a lie” doesn’t follow. instead, he tips his head a bit to brush soft, barely there kisses along dice’s cheekbone back to his ear. )

[There's a still foreign tenderness between them when they're like this. Dice doesn't know what to do with it other than chase it, to tip his head a little and give Gentaro ample room to explore.

The mic drops to the couch. Dice's heart leaps into his throat. He chokes on the sentiment, grinning, eyes closed.]

Good. We gotta do that again sometime. 'S hot as hell.

Certainly.

( absolutely, unequivocally yes. his kisses do reach dice’s ear and they brush along the shell of it before he whispers, softly: )

You meant all of that. ( it’s a mic, he can’t lie, if the rules are the same in this world. he feels his face grow absently red. any other time he’d ignore it but right now, just for once, he doesn’t feel exposed chasing the truth and acknowledging something new and terrifying but so damn warm. )

Sure as hell did.

[He can't lie. And he wouldn't. He'll keep Gentaro close and safe and watch out for him like a friend would, a best friend, an ally, a knight. A lover, now. He turns his head just enough to put his lips by Gentaro's ear again, and his voice drops to something husky and gray, but still so very Dice.]

Every. Fuckin'. Word.

( that voice does so many things for him, even after he’s spent and it’s not through a mic. his body nearly trembles and he circles his arms tighter around his boyfriend’s neck.

don’t mind the breathless grin that appears, a touch mischievous. )

I like you a great deal, Arisugawa.

I like you an awful lot, too.

[He grins as he says it, burying his face in sandy brown hair.]

I know we got a long way to go, but I'm gonna be here.

A long way? The shower isn’t that far.

( what a jerk. either way, he remains comfortably on dice’s lap, not budging yet. the words make him smile and he doesn’t even try to hide it. not this time. )

Carry me. I’ve been deprived of seeing you unclothed and I deserve remuneration.

[He tips his head back to raise his voice.]

You're being demanding just like that?? C'mon! At least offer to do the laundry after!

[Unapologetic, he puts his hands on Gentaro's ass, then lifts him as he stands. Bless his odd strength.]

Hm? Should I wear an apron, too? How do you feel about maid outfits, Daisu?

( his arms stay woven around his boyfriend, ducking his head against his collarbone. he’s so comfortable, he feels safe — he genuinely thinks he could get used to this. )

Maid outfits? Hah.

[You have no idea what he thinks about maids, Gentaro.]

I'll take you like you. I don't care what you're wearing!

( what the hell....

gentaro looks surprised, caught off guard, and then ducks his head even more, his face on fire. )

I... see. ( he should know by now that this is an embarrassed stammer. )

I'm not sayin' no to anything, but I like your regular style, too. It's old school, but it makes you stand out.

[God does he know how to be anything but annoyingly straightforward?]

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