extramortem | golden peacock

quick question
how do you treat a true demon
are you saying we should be trying to exorcise you?
throw beans?
spread salt?

Of course not!!
That...
Okay, I actually have no idea what something like that would do, but still...
Obviously, I should be treated with respect!

( ie. something absolutely no one treats him with )

[The grin that spreads on Aak's face when it's clear he doesn't know what he actually wants. A rookie demon? That's so funny!]

you don't even know what it'd do to you?
that's like step one dude!
wanna find out?

( i can't believe that aak figured makoto out so quickly (yes i can) )

I haven't exactly had a lot of freedom for... personal experimentation.
Especially not of ways that might or might not kill me?!
Gee, what do you think?

[Look, if Makoto wanted to hide how green he was he can't go talking about how he was studying Demon 101 and definitely is a demon, thanks.]

i mean plenty of stuff can kill people in large doses
how about starting with one grain of salt?
i can borrow a scale and measure out amounts
and if you get a rash or something i'll take care of it!

( even rookie demons can be very scary and definitely deserve respect from you petty, foolish mortals, obviously!!! )

I feel like there's a difference between something that can poison you and something that can exorcise you...
And, I mean, I'm pretty sure I've eaten things with salt in it since becoming a demon. What exactly are you planning on doing with it?

i dunno do you need to get salt blessed or something first?
there's probably a priest here
or a shaman

if there are no other demons to take care of you here you've got to know your own body right?
that means knowing it limitations too

if salt's a no go we can test other poisons

[when did this become about poisoning him]

If they are here, I'd rather not deal with either.

I know plenty of its limitations! There's just no one in Hell trying to exorcise anyone.
I could tell you what would happen if you poisoned me without having to test it.

( you know, assuming his body still works here the same way it'd worked in hell. which there's no guarantee that'd be the case? )

yea? what would happen?
✨✨✨✨✨

dont spare any gross details i'm experienced

( where some might be disturbed or turned away by aak's morbid fascination... who knows, maybe makoto senses something of a kindred spirit?

in a way. )

Well, demons can't die permanently from things like that.
So, depending on what poison it is and what dosage I'm given, I will probably get sick or die the same as any human would. But then, after some time, I'd come back.
...Probably.

( he's seen it happen a few times at the brothel. )

"come back" is so vague!
like would your dead body still be around?
don't tell me you despawn like FPS enemies

[he's imagining this very human-looking demon laying on the ground and then flickering out of existence; maybe with a coin sound effect in the background]

Gee, I'm so sorry I can't satisfy your curiosity!! I haven't exactly died a second time yet! I haven't seen it happen right in front in front of my eyes, you know. I only saw, or heard about, what would've certainly killed another demon only to see them walking through the halls a few days later!

It wouldn't "despawn."

( this answer took a little more time; he seems to parrot aak's game terminology with extreme derision. )

If it still existed, even in pieces, I'd just come back to life.
If it had been destroyed somehow... I don't know. But I know I'd come back, somehow.

Laaaaaaame.

[What an unscientific explanation! Makoto doesn't have the force of personality to convince Aak that it just works or that the answer should be outside the realm humans can understand. Like, he's a rookie demon. He's suggesting people can just become demons in some way, shape or form. If Aak were in that situation, well, he wouldn't be able to contain his curiosity!]

[... although, in most of his tests, he did know what the intended effect was. It's harder to confidently say you would kill someone "innocent" without knowing if they could return.]

[Then again, it's a demon, how innocent could it be?!]

so for devoting ALL your time before this to learning about demons you didn't get much did you

( since his death and subsequent transformation into a demonling, he had never once been given much opportunity to make any choice or decision for himself. it had been far more pressing and pertinent at the time to try to learn more about demons and their society, not plumb the limits of his newfound semi-immortality.

the only thing he'd learned was the strict rules of names and hierarchy, and they don't seem to even matter here, so what good was that, even! )

So, if you were in my position, what would you have done differently?
You know. To be less "lame."

( he feels like he's being picked on again. it's not pleasant. it's kind of exactly what he asked not for?? )

You can believe that, if you want.
Anyone can be a potential upstart threat to their rank, so demons are not generous teachers. Everything I learned, I had to learn the hard way.

( and, considering what he's gone through, he doesn't really like the insinuation that he'd been idle... )

[It's easy to say he'd do something differently. It's hard, in the moment, to decide if any given thing was worth the risk.]

with demons being so harsh i just figured you'd have seen someone that kills a normal guy up close and personal
or had it done to you

but hey! good for you only dying once

[He won't accuse Makoto of being a suck-up or demon's pet to have achieved that. If demons were anything like gangsters then you could be cooperating your life out there and still get your lights knocked out. If humans could become demons, then there had to be some demons out there stupid enough to kill a golden goose.]

( makoto is absolutely noticing that aak isn't even bothering to suppose what he might do differently. it's not a great look! kinda chickenshit tbh!!

anyways, to all of that: )

I've had my head ripped off of my body, like, three times at this point. What more do you want?

hey hey hey
lead with that next time!

[Admittedly, with the topic jumping from exorcism to poisoning to now it's lot like a story of sheer physical brutality fit in. Aak would argue that when he asked for gruesome details, though, that's totally an invitation to talk about being beheaded like three times. Aak would argue a lot of things. He's got high school "i'm just playing devil's advocate" written all over him.]

really put it on your profile it's a way better ice breaker

Okay, sure. I'll lead with that next time.

( this guy is aggravating... and, admittedly, he hadn't thought to bring up the beheading because they were talking about things that would kill him, and because of the weird way his body is, it's just not really in the same category. )

What? Where?
As a talent?

( he means this as a scathing sort of joke,, and yet,,, )

[Some of us are just working from the perspective of normal bodies, thanks! No matter what everyone else says about him being a furry. He's the normal one here.]

only if you were willing to show it off [in spirit, there would be a winky emoji here]

but it's not like everyone's gonna know what a demon is and what they're capable of
it'd answer another question right away!

I... would rather not.
I know I can do it, but it's really painful either way.

( that, and there's a small chance he will make a mistake when removing it, which would cause the nerves to sever in a way which would paralyze his body. and then he'd basically be completely helpless until someone else sewed him back together. ugh, that would be so embarrassing... )

Well... maybe I want them to think that I'm potentially capable of more than what I'm actually able to do?

[See, that's the sort of information Aak would be concerned with. Magical resurrection versus magical realism versus "wouldn't it be fucked up if?" It would definitely be embarrassing, though. Makoto would definitely end up getting random texts telling him to not lose his head.]

well
step one would be to not post that anywhere

[Like, now he's got reason to doubt anything Makoto's telling him. He's a rookie demon that wants people to overestimate his abilities. Not that Aak was building an atmosphere of trust anyways.]

"I'm a Demon I Could Do Anything"
although
that would probably get even more people in your messages
hehehe

That's kind of the ambiguity I was going for, before some annoying stranger started pestering me with questions.

( ...
...
...
hm )

You think it would?

[Well, he hopes Makoto's learned a valuable lesson. Not any lesson about how to avoid annoying strangers, of course. The lesson is that there will always be annoying strangers.]

yeah
at least way more than

[copy, paste]

"I don’t really see myself as having any particular talents."

( imagine dragging his hands down his face, etc. )

I didn't know what else to put at the time!! I just wanted to leave, and they were forcing me to finish it, and they were being really annoying about everything!

( and, truth be told, it's how he feels. the only thing he can remember being praised for as of late that had been under his own volition had been when he had summoned J; he'd acted like it'd been something impressive for such a young man, reading a ritual from a book he'd found, to do. )

But lying there isn't exactly going to be very useful for me. If someone asks me about it, it will just make that obvious.

you've just been dealing with a ton of annoying dudes huh?

[he's not denying being part of the problem]

yeah it'd be a real mess to keep up a big lie
little lie or a vague lie are easier
cos demons shouldn't be honest right?

You have no idea.

( were they in person he would give aak a positively venomous glare )

Not unless it's for a specific purpose.

( like endearing oneself to another for personal gain. or for unleashing a devastating blow to strike at one's composure. regardless, makoto for the most part knows this and would likely have to work on his profile a little bit later, but... )

You're being surprisingly helpful now.

i mean it's fun to think about when it's not my problem
like a logic puzzle or something

[For Makoto it's a real balancing act he's had to maintain in a life-or-death-or-death-or-death situation. For Aak it's a fun hypothetical. He can step back and log off at any point. He can say he'd solve it any way and he never has to put his money where his mouth is.]

i can go back to being not helpful if you want
:3

My life situation isn't some riddle for your entertainment.

( whether you decide to be more helpful or not, aak, makoto's already-scarce patience is dwindling down to nothing here...

i mean, you never even gave him a checkmark or an x, what tha hell )

got it got it

[look, if a system's going to allow prolonged messaging without choosing one or the other, that system's going to be exploited]

[from the point of view of the system, though, they must consider this successful. why talk so long with someone you wouldn't fuck?]

good luck finding your identity and all that junk!

Cute.

Very funny.

( makoto don't be shitty about this!! )

What's funny? I think you're cute.

( oh.

...sorry, kazuya, he's not well-adjusted to basically anything )

How often do you tell people things like that?

Not often. Or at least, not that often before here, but you're still only the second person I've said that too.

And I do mean it, by the way.

( considering the pause before his response, this seems to have given him enough to think about. )

Well, if that's the case... thank you.

Sorry. I don't really get told things like that very often.
Or... just, not without them having ulterior motives.

No ulterior motives here. I mean, unless you count playing by the rules.

That sucks, though. I think more people should tell you that.

( were they speaking in person, makoto would give a single, harsh-edged laugh. but not an ingenuine one. )

You're still too nice for a demon, you know.

( a brief pause before, a little more playfully: )

Why, Minegishi-san, exactly what rules are you playing by with me?

I'm fine with that.

And it's the kind of rules that lets me swipe cards from unsuspecting people. Or maybe suspecting. Who knows?

[He's not actually expecting anything, though! He can read the playful tone, at the very least.

If only because he doubts that Makoto would have called him by his name so respectfully otherwise.]

It might take me some time to get used to it.

( truth be told, makoto wrote his name like that in a sort of playful faux-formality. of course, he might pick up soon enough that that's probably not the best sort of thing to fall back on with someone like kazuya... it had worked well enough when he had worked for datenshou, but his clients had largely been puffed-up nobles who loved basking in others admiring their titles.

maybe makoto should have gone with "king of bel" instead? though, perhaps it's his own fault for still seeing the other young man so much as human (for the aforementioned reason). )

If you're swiping them, it doesn't seem very much like you're playing by the rules at all.

I promise I've only given out checkmarks so far! So that's still playing by the rules, you know.

Well, I guess I gave one X, but that was as a joke, since we've already slept together.

And that only makes you sound undiscerning...

( kazuya pls )

Really?
You move quickly. Did you even get a card for it?

( though, given how some of my test drive threads go, makoto might have already done the same? who can say? )

Really? I thought I was being nice.

I've got three cards so far, actually. If I get a 3 and a 4, I think I'll have a straight? If I'm understanding the rules right.

Maybe I am moving fast.

"Nice" to you might seem that way to others.

( ONLY IF YOU'RE A FREAK LIKE MAKOTO WHO DOESN'T EXPERIENCE NORMAL HUMAN EMOTION IN A NORMAL WAY don't listen to him )

Maybe. But if you're interested in playing the game, that's not a bad thing.

( there's a pause. makoto is well aware he's already mentioned he has a four, but... well, maybe he finds it dreadfully awkward to offer it. there's no need to ask for anything in return, as he'd get a card, and it was just as valuable as the one he offered kazuya (except perhaps less so, considering how close he is to a straight). that, and it's a little odd to extort someone who considers you a friend?

but also... maybe it's a little strange to preposition your friends for sex in such a gain-based way. his perception on this is very skewed, considering he'd already been fucked by fjord before he'd asked for permission for the other demon to be his friend, but even with that having been the case, he wouldn't exactly approach him for the same out of the blue...

it's just strange. it feels like it shouldn't be. working in a brothel for a few months has already done much to detach sex and emotion, but this is enough of a new, strange wrinkle in that that it gives him weird pause. ultimately, he just puts it out there: )

I've already told you I have a 4.

[Oh! That's right. Makoto is a 4, isn't he? Then that means theoretically, if they had sex, Kazuya himself would be one card closer to that straight.

The response to that comes at an incredible delay. Before he'd just been teasing, maybe slightly flirty, but now it's a little weirder.]

Honestly, I just want to get a better room, even if I'm bunking with someone else for the moment. Who knows what the future holds?

And I know you're a 4. I'm not sure if that's you making an offer, but I don't mind.

[Maybe it'd be a way for Kazuya to help Makoto, in a way? An odd way to look at it, considering, but this whole thing is weird, and this whole place is as well.]

Could I maybe take you out on a date first? It seems pretty... I'm not sure how to explain, but really transactional otherwise? And I don't want it to seem like I'm just after your card, or anything. I mean, I am, but not to the expense of our friendship?

( well, it's a natural assumption to make after having given makoto a checkmark and mentioning needing a four, right?? (not necessarily, but perhaps to makoto it is.)

his reply is also delayed, considering there's a lot to think his way through in kazuya's response. including the fact that he wants a better room, but isn't even staying in his current one? wow.

he feels like he has to say it. it will only become more strange, the longer he doesn't in any way. )

Kazuya, something like this being transactional isn't an issue for me.
Likewise, I don't think it would damage our friendship. Unless, for whatever reason, it did so for you.

But...
If you wanted to take me out first, that would be fine as well.

Maybe it's not an issue for you, and I definitely respect that, but it still feels wrong for me to not go through, or at least attempt the proper steps?

I guess I just have it stuck in my head that I should at least take someone out on a date before committing to something like that. But if it's awkwars for you to do that, then we can also just move past it as well?

Whatever you'd be most comfortable with.

( a brief pause. )

I suppose I'm just not very familiar with what would be considered "the proper steps."

But I don't have any problem with trying.

( sure, he'd played at "dates" with clients, fabricating a sort of faux relationship to suit whatever fantasy they wanted, but, well... this would be the first real one he'd ever been taken on. that does make him a little apprehensive, but isn't it crazy to be more worried about the date than the sex? )

Well... why don't we try a date first, then? And if it's not your thing, we can just stop it?

[ Either to move on to the next step or call it quits entirely. ]

Honestly, before coming here I wasn't even really concerned with sex as a whole.

But I guess my life just keeps getting weirder and weirder.

Sure. What kind of date would you propose, then?

I suppose all of the fighting with angels and demons wouldn't leave a lot of time for something like that.

( makoto's interactions with demons had gone in a very different direction... )

Dinner and a movie, maybe? Though I don't know if the kinds of movies here are going to be any good, honestly.

[ He has a feeling it's going to mostly be gratuitous porn. ]

( that's probably true, tbh... )

How traditional of you.

( he hasn't texted enough to know how tone doesn't always translate, but he does mean this in an amused way, for the most part. )

Okay, then. Would you want to find a more casual kind of restaurant, or a nicer one? And if there is a decent selection of movies, what would you want to watch?

I've been getting that a lot when I suggest a date before sex.

[ At least he has a good sense of humour about it. ]

Maybe something more casual? I don't know how I feel about getting all dressed up only to end up taking everything off after. Or worse, dropping food on my nice clothes.

( kind of infuriating that a king of demons can be so wholesome, tbh?

though................... god. kazuya... )

For some people, that's a part of it, you know.
The taking the clothes off part, that is. Not the spilling food on them part.

( all the demons in hell where he's from are weirdly victorian in their dress and mannerisms!! and, yes, while some just saw disrobing as a waste of time and preferred to bypass it as quickly as possible... there were others that did quite enjoy the process. foreplay comes in as many shapes and sizes as demons could, it seems?? )

Well, assuming we don't really want to go to the food court, there was that other restaurant, Red Cardinal? It didn't seem too fancy.

( unlike the other one, which absolutely did. makoto isn't even sure if his meagre funds would afford it. )

I guess that's true. Taking off clothes can be part of the fun, but it also feels a little bad if nice clothes end up on the floor instead of put away properly? And who's gonna take the time to do that in the middle of foreplay.

[It's him. He would.

And has.]

The Red Cardinal works for me. You got a time preference? Earlier or later on?

( oh my god kazuya the clothes would be FINE )

Whenever is fine. It's not like I have much of a schedule to keep in here.
So, perhaps we can meet there in a few hours?

( insert time here, which would be a decent enough time for a slightly early dinner. )

[Weiss would yell at him if he tossed one of her dresses to the floor :(]

Sure, an early dinner works for me. I'll see you there, then?

Yes, I'll see you there.

( and kazuya would, even if he was a bit early—makoto is punctual by nature, but a sudden wave of nerves that he couldn't even begin to classify, let alone define, had caused him to set out and end up in the area of red cardinal even earlier than he might have normally. he is loitering around outside the bar and restaurant, looking at something on his Watch's face. even with the freedom to dress himself (for perhaps the first time in his life?), he still defaults to basics that feel most "safe"—he wears simple, black slacks that, unbeknownst to him, the retailers had made sure would highlight his slender limbs, and a nice white shirt which at the very least avoids all of the lace and ruffles that J is so aggravatingly fond of.

he occasionally glances up when someone passes by, often going to enter the restaurant; upon the instance that he glances up to see kazuya, he stops what he's doing, lowering his arm to put the Watch away. )

Kazuya, hi.

Edited 2024-01-17 23:49 (UTC)

[Honestly, Kazuya has a bit of nerves too. Though it's likely far removed from the sort that Makoto feels, and more of a hope that he makes a good impression? Second impression? He's not wearing anything overly classy, but the pants and shirt he wears are far removed from the hot pink and black setup he'd normally go for. If anything, he's definitely a little above casual, black slacks and a nice fitting dark blue shirt.

And incredibly delighted to see that Makoto is there as he arrives.]

Hey...! [He's definitely smiling as Makoto calls out to him, and he's clearly enthused he even showed up at all.] You're looking nice.

( kazuya likely worries too much. there’s almost nothing that he could say or do that would unsettle makoto to the point of ruining the date (or their friendship, or whatever), except for, perhaps, realizing too much about the truth of him, sinking into deep and gut-churning revulsion, and then calling him a freak. you know, something along those very specific lines would probably be pretty psychically damaging. but anything other than that would likely end up seen as “not as bad as expected.”

he does think he looks nice. he at the very least can tell that he’s dressed differently than he usually prefers to, indicating he’s put in some thought and effort. that’s appreciated.

he smiles, though it’s a bit like a rabbit, nervous and quick to dart away. ) Thanks. You too.

( he glances to the front of the restaurant, gesturing. ) I got here a little early, so I went ahead and told them that we would like a table. The host said that they were going to get something ready. So, um… should we?

( oh god he suddenly hopes they didn’t go to any Special Lengths for them… he would die )

Lets.

[As far as he's concerned, they'd both agreed that if this wasn't their thing, then they'd just move on. It's what's keeping most of his nerves in check, the fact that this is the lowest stakes a date could possibly be, even if he does hope that Makoto enjoys himself. Still, if this isn't the kind of thing for him, than Kazuya isn't going to push it, and at the very least, they'll hopefully be able to look at it as just a dinner between two friends.

Also, he's very much hoping that there's nothing Special about this dinner date... That'd be awkward, but only insofar as he'd still very much like things to be more normal.

Kazuya offers his arm to Makoto like a gentleman, though judging by the way his lip quirks he's clearly teasing a little bit. If Makoto takes it, then he'll absolutely lead them to their table.]

( it’s not really the date he’s concerned with. he’s seen them through the lens of pop culture—especially with something as basic as dinner and a movie, he thinks it will be fine. if he had to identify his hesitation, it would likely be with whatever kazuya himself expected out of them. did it just put him at ease to do something like this before sex, to try to impress on someone that he valued them more than just physically? that might be the case, he supposes, even if he personally doesn’t think it’s necessary. he just hopes he isn’t looking for anything… particularly romantic out of it? makoto isn’t sure. he can’t help but think that, like his morbid proclivities when it came to sex, his internalized perspective on romance is strange. warped. obsessive and possessive, controlling and—verging on toxic. but all he knows is how he feels about J, and he isn’t even sure he would call how he feels about J lo—

he just doesn’t want to give it a term at all.

he tells himself that it would just be like they were getting a meal together as they might have otherwise, and it might have flown if not for kazuya offering him his arm. devoid of makoto’s personal context, this would have been charming. and it still is. but makoto has, at least a few times, been cavorted about banquet halls and ballrooms, hanging off the arm of whatever demon had paid for him to be his fascinator for the evening. in this, and only this… he would prefer not to. the connotation, for him, would be too close to “work,” and he doesn’t want that hanging over any of this.

so instead he drags a sly smile across his lips, eyes narrowing. ) I… don’t think this is that fancy of a place, ( he whispers in undertone.

but, as a compromise, he takes his hand instead, leading him inside.

fortunately for the both of them, red cardinal is a classy establishment; perhaps the staff had detected makoto’s apprehension when he requested a table, but the setting that they are led to is a small booth in a quiet corner of the bar, warm with the place’s amber lighting accented by red-shaded lamps overhead. in general the place isn’t crowded, offering a welcome reprieve from how much of a circus other parts of the resort feel sometimes.

makoto breathes a sigh of relief he didn’t even know he’d been holding. he glances to kazuya before moving to take one side of the booth. ) This looks nice. ( he hadn’t come inside after arriving to this place, but he had seen it from the outside—the smell wafting from the kitchen had been enough to make him think he should come by again, when it was less crowded. )

[He'll definitely let him take his hand, using his other to cover his mouth as he gives the smallest of chuckles. Yeah, that was kind of the point, that it was a fancy move at a decidedly non-fancy place.

Truthfully, he's surprised his hand was even grabbed at all, but it is a date, technically, so it's probably no too strange as he lets Makoto lead him along through the restaurant and to the back, passing a few giggling patrons along the way, and slides into the booth across from him.]

Yeah, it's not too bad in here. And it smells great too, honestly. I wouldn't say I'm starving, but I could definitely eat.

[He'll definitely have to come back here at another time, if the food really is as good as it seems from the smell alone here.]

Mm, yeah. It is still a little early, but…

( he scans through the menu that was given to him by the host before they departed. much of the menu of red cardinal, to his eye, looks like traditional chinese food, though there are a few things on there that catch his attention. one in particular is a staple of japanese comfort food which, upon seeing it there on the menu, gives him a very peculiar pang of homesickness. there’s very little about earth or japan that he really misses, but… for whatever reason, the style in hell—from fashion to architecture to mannerisms to cuisine to even the relative level of technological advancement—was kind of european, victorian. so while there’s no one on earth he misses or no place there he’d rather be, he does miss the food. the more european-style faire just doesn’t feel quite as satisfying, for whatever reason.

he looks at drinks as well, which brings to mind a question he might ask. )

Do you drink? ( he glances up from the menu. ) Well, probably not on Earth… ( he had avoided it in hell as well, even if no one there gave a fig about “drinking age.” he typically said that as a joke, in order to refuse, though truth be told he typically did because he wanted to keep his mind clear. ) But here, I mean.

I don't. Actually, a friend of mine whos a bar tender told me basically if I ever drank underage he'd kick my ass.

[And Gin is not someone he wants to test, even as the king of demons, so... Not that there was ever really any sort of time to such a thing anyway, between the lockdown and his becoming king and then the subsequent war with God.]

I mean, I never really had any urge to try any alcohol either back home. [A pause.] I guess I could probably try it here, if I really wanted to.

[So long as Gin never found out.]

What about you? You were in hell, so I can't imagine there being a shortage of drinks there to try.

( kazuya is frank and direct enough about that that makoto can’t help but laugh; whenever he does so, he tends to turn his head and hide his mouth with his hand—a learned behavior, as he’d started to feel as though such boyishness tended to undercut whatever personal gravity he may or may not have as a demon.

a high school-age kid having a friend who’s a bar tender, huh? what a variety. )

Maybe not. I’d hate for your friend to show up and have to kick your ass.

( makoto would lie for him, of course. but there’s no guarantee that would be enough.

his smile is a little thin as he replies. ) I… have. There were some—social situations where I was kind of pressured, ( as in: if a demon pays a lot of gold for your company and wants you to join them in a glass of wine, you don’t refuse, ) but… if given the choice, I’d usually prefer to keep my head clear.

( which is why he’s not going to order any tonight. maybe hot tea… )

…I have a few times here, though. ( he admits it like a secret vice, glancing up at kazuya over his menu. ) It’s been a lot to adjust to… so it was just to take the edge off. ( it’d mostly worked? he suspects the alcohol around here has additional properties… )

[Kazuya actually likes that, thinks it's cute when he turns his head to hide his mouth with his hand. It's so... Genuine, in a way.]

I don't blame you for wanting to keep a clear head. Especially in hell.

[Most demons are still untrustworthy at the best of times, so to be lacking that clarity of the mind would probably lend itself to more trouble than it's probably worth. He really doesn't envy Makoto of that much.

At least he still gets to choose.]

Any good drinks here? I know I'm not allowed to try any, but it might be good to know for the future.

( considering the type of work he was doing, the temptation to use alcohol as a crutch had certainly been a present one. but he had resisted it. it had seemed like a slippery slope to him. he needed to remain clear-headed and determined, even through the less-than-flattering or enjoyable parts. )

Hmm…

( he thinks back to the last few things he’s tried. )

The cocktails I’ve tried are pretty good… but they’re strong, so that’s a bit dangerous. I didn’t really enjoy the red wine that I was given, but sake was a bit easier to drink. Other than that… not really.

( he’s been told they’re acquired tastes, but he has to wonder, will he grow to “acquire” those tastes when he’s not even technically aging anymore? a few months into his life-after-death, a lot of those peculiarities haven’t really made themselves known to him yet. )

Any idea what you want to get?

They'd probably knock me on my ass then, since I've never drank.

[He at least has good humour about that. Maybe it wouldn't effect him so much now that he's a demon, but he's not exactly willing to dip his toes into drinking just yet.

Maybe some other time, when he's a little more comfortable, a little more confident.]

I'm not really sure what to get, honestly. It all looks pretty good. Do you think maybe I should try something I've never had before? Or stick with what I know?

( he smiles deviously, a thing that spreads across his lips, slick as vaseline, and seems to have far too many teeth. )

Yeah. You’d definitely be a mess after one. Maybe two.

( though, who knows… maybe being the king of demons gives you a stronger constitution than that, even if kazuya is basically as twinky as makoto is?

he isn’t sure how he feels about making that decision for kazuya. ) Depends on what you want right now. Do you feel like you want to try something new? ( sometimes you have to be in the right space for something like that. as for makoto, ) The food in the Hell that I’m from… the vast majority of it is really different from Japanese food. There’s been a lot of things I’ve been missing from home, so… personally I think I’m going to go with something like that.

( absolutely none of this conversation can be applied to subjects other than food, nope, absolutely not )

[He gives a contemplative hum as Makoto speaks, and considers what he says. It's... been awhile since he's had regular Japanese food, so the thought isn't terrible, and the taste of home is something he thinks he'd definitely care for, so...]

I think you're right. On both counts. One that I'd be an absolute mess, and you'd have to drag me back to my room, which would just be awkward for both of us, and two, that a taste of home would be kinda nice.

[He drums his fingers on the table a little, considering.]

Maybe something like yakitori? Or maybe okonomiyaki....

That would be pretty embarrassing, for a demon king to have to be drug around like that…

( especially by a “minor demon underling” like makoto was.

he hadn’t been planning on ordering either, but as he brings them up… yeah. he could really go for either. )

Only if you don’t mind sharing a little bit. ( he pauses for just a moment. scanning the menu, there’s still something that jumps out to him as what he wants after several months not being able to get anything much like it. even if he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to finish it… didn’t the proprietress of this place get really mad if you don’t finish the food? )

I really want gyudon… ( with the egg and everything… )

... Gyudon sounds really good too.

[The problem is that he EATS LIKE A BIRD. He doesn't have the endless stomach that the rest of the Atlus protagonists do...]

Wanna share, maybe? Then we can both have some of each?

[Kazuya, unfortunately, has no clue about the proprietress getting mad if you don't finish the food. He has no clue the New Hell that awaits him and his unfortunately poor eating habits...]

( kazuya?? what the hell? and you call yourself a smt protagonist??

he at least proposes a pretty good solution, though. makoto brightens up to it, nodding. ) Yeah, I think that would work. ( that would let them order a few things they wanted and try everything and hopefully finish all of the plates? he’d heard grumbling from some other folks who’d come here for the new year’s meal that they were forced to wash dishes for a while when they couldn’t eat all the food. he’d really rather avoid a fate like that…

the server stops by the table soon afterward, and makoto orders the gyudon as well as some hot tea—which kazuya is welcome to share, unless he wanted to order some other sort of drink. when the other teen’s made his choices from the menu, the server departs, and makoto is quiet for a few moments before he asks. )

Have you decided what movie you want to watch?

( makoto, of course, has no real opinion about what they watch. movies had never really been his thing. )

[He's definitely fine with tea, so sharing that isn't terrible, or anything. In fact, he's kind of surprised, considering they were just talking about cocktails, but in the end, he's relieved. Gin won't be kicking his ass today.]

Not really. I was trying to decide what would be the most appropriate kind of movie for a date. I mean, horror, sure, because you always see couples clinging to each other watching horror movies, but maybe an action movie would be more interesting?

[He can't decide....]

Are there any movie genres you prefer?

( he'd just been curious! it's not like he wants to get sloshed on their little "date." honestly, if he had gone that route, he believes kazuya would've been well within his rights to be offended; in makoto's mind, you only really cloud yourself with alcohol to take the edges off being with someone you'd rather not be.

he doesn't have any such issue spending time with kazuya.

he snickers. ) "Appropriate"...

( well... there's a huge swath of movies that would be "appropriate" for a date with basically any normal person.

and then there's makoto, who isn't normal at all. because he doesn't really want to hurt kazuya's feelings, he tries to modulate his response, though perhaps there's the tiniest bit of sourness to at least the latter offering. really, kazuya, an action movie? absolutely not. and anything even half-way rom-com-adjacent will probably cause his brain to start dripping, semi-liquified, out of his ears. )

We're a "couple" now, huh? ( he's teasing him in order to buy time. he takes in a breath, sighing through his nose. ) I wasn't much of a movie buff when I was still human... But maybe a horror movie or something like a crime thriller would be interesting? ( yes, these were the only types of things he actually did bother to watch, though maybe he should be careful. too much blood and gore and he might have to explain why he's getting a little antsy? (either that, or he'll end up really peeved at how fake it ended up looking??) sigh im sorry he's like this )

[ Kazuya goes a little red as he laughs. Not embarrassed, but a little endeared as Makoto calls him out on his phrasing. No, they're not a couple, so he probably could have chosen his words a little better.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, but good mannered all the same. The stalling definitely works. ]

It's alright. To not be a big movie buff. I mean, I went... not often, but often enough, I guess? Usually if there was a movie one of my friends wanted to see. One of them is way too into action movies, and the other is way more into rom-coms.

[ As for him, well... He's more in it for the company than the movie, in most, but not all situations. There's been a good few that have grabbed his attention and kept it. ]

I kinda don't have too much of a preference myself. So if those are your go-to genres, we can try and find a place showing them?

( makoto smiles a little too sweetly. ah, kazuya, you’re entirely too easy to tease… )

I see.

( what a good friend. maybe that’s why makoto had never managed to make or maintain them—he certainly wouldn’t have been able to subject himself to one or two action movies or rom-coms, let alone a semi-regular occurrence of going to see them.

(but, yeah, I mean, we know that’s not anywhere close to the actual reasons he had no friends. anyways.)

he can’t help but laugh. ) You’re the one that wanted to watch a movie! ( he’s not saying it harshly—as far as date activities go, there are surely worse to be found in the resort—but he thinks it’s a little ironic that kazuya’s own opinions on the matter are so watery. ) Yeah, we can see if there’s something like that around here.

( given the resort’s particular prerogative, he gets the sense they’re more interested in artificially creating a “netflix and chill” environment than actually letting people enjoy the artistry of film, though… )

I know! I know. [He laughs too, because yeah. He had wanted to watch a movie, but honestly he's never really the one who gets to pick, so making that kind of decision is hard! Especially when he doesn't know too much about Makoto or his interests yet.

He'll learn them, in time. Slowly, maybe, but he'll learn them all the same, since he's so eager to have this connection with someone who'd gone through the same thing he had, somewhat.]

Do you think it'll be more focused on sex, considering this place?

[Even if it's a horror or thriller movie... For some reason, he really just can't trust this place to be normal.]

( yes, and maybe it’s for the best if he doesn’t learn what makoto’s interests are? has he ever considered that learning that particular thing about makoto might be a little more than he bargained for?

the server arrives with the pot of hot tea and two cups, though blessedly they did so after the question kazuya asked. makoto smiles at them genially and thanks them before they leave; he considers the answer with a wry smile impressed on his face as he takes the initiative to go ahead and fill both cups, setting the pot down and taking his own afterward. )

It wouldn’t surprise me. ( he traces designs in the smooth porcelain with the pad of his forefinger. steam from the hot tea wafts up toward his face. ) Those… books and games and things they wanted us to play earlier? You should’ve seen some of the ones I looked through.

( that bizarre version of cluedo he’d played with stiles had been particularly striking… though also pretty funny, admittedly. )

[No, because Makoto at least hasn't murdered anyone. As far as he knows. But also, he's friends with someone who definitely has frequent murderer flier points.

Kazuya busies himself with his tea, though the hot drink nearly gets spat out as Makoto mentions the books and games from that whole thing they'd made people go to.

Oh yeah. How could he forget?

He swallows hard, has to pound his chest as the sensation of hot tea gets stuck in his throat painfully, but at least Makoto isn't wearing it.]

I'm... aware.

[He half coughs, half wheezes out.]

( no, he hasn’t murdered anyone. and, even now made inhuman and into an unholy demon, he doesn’t really want to. he thinks, perhaps, if he ever tries to learn the demon’s trade and contract with humans, he might—but that was different, right? any human who contracts with a demon knows that their soul will be forfeit at its completion. it feels distinctly different from taking a life that was desperate and unwilling.

regardless, kazuya might as well have lit up a blinking neon sign that there is a story to be told here with that reaction. he delicately sips his tea before setting his cup down on the table, leaning forward so he can rest an elbow on its surface, chin resting in his palm. )

Kazuya…

( his expression is almost angelic. which means kazuya should be very scared. )

Do you have something you want to share?

[ Well, there's no covering that up. He turns his head, beats his chest a little more to clear it, as if it'd help clear the awkward feeling too. ]

I got drugged. Again. Found out some interesting stuff about me too, that I had absolutely no clue about.

[ He doesn't sound entitely enthused, but he is going to take a proper drink of his tea this time before he continues.]

I've got a pair of wings, funnily enough. Or I guess I can make some appear. Same with having fangs and sharp teeth.

( … )

Why does this keep happening to you?

( yeah, yak, why

though the fiendish glee in his expression slowly curdles into something surprised, curious, somewhat envious, and then downright irritated as he continues. minegishi kazuya, are you daring to take a grousing tone with him when talking about how you’ve just recently discovered you have some demon characteristics you didn’t even know about beforehand?? it’s a good thing makoto’s not holding his tea cup right now because he might have shattered it in his hand. as it is, his knuckles are white as he grips the side of the table. )

Oh. You poor thing. ( his sarcasm is scathing; he sits back in his own seat, crossing his arms and tossing his head to one side, expression scrunched into something sour. ) How terrible that you have some demon qualities that you can make appear. How troublesome! And here I am, having been told I would be given nothing of the sort.

( yes, he’s being bitter and shitty and he’s aware of it. but, like, come on, man. )

Edited (wording) 2024-02-04 22:46 (UTC)

[because its funny and i like to see him suffer.

Kazuya watches his expression twist, not quite catching on until he speaks as to why. And through it all, Kazuya just sits there, bewildered at the fact that Makoto is upset that he can make his demonic qualities appear whenever he pleases (apparently), and that he gets nothing to his name to confirm what he is.

He places his hands on the table, and leans in like this is an incredibly serious matter, because it is. It's something that he finds obnoxious, but that Makoto seems to desperately want, to the point of scathing envy.]

... Do you want them?

[He's being incredibly serious, because between the two of them, surely they could figure something out. Makoto is a demon, and Kazuya knows that technically two demons can fuse together, but he wonders if maybe... Parts can be used instead. An idea that comes from the fact that Makoto's head is sewn onto his body.]

( his attention is tugged back to kazuya as he puts his hands on the table to lean in closer to him, whispering with such conspiratorial furtiveness that he at first believes that this is some sort of joke. but the moment overstays its welcome, and makoto slowly starts to piece together from his knowledge of kazuya up unto this point that he’s… being entirely serious. makoto’s eyes narrow. when he had asked J about this exact thing—about how he had thought that, if he were to be a demon, he might have horns or wings or a tail or something like that—the older demon had laughed scornfully at him before telling him that, no, he wouldn’t be given any. any he would have, he would have to obtain for himself.

he had never really explained how. makoto had taken it as a staunch refusal, not yet understanding exactly how his body works. he still doesn’t. )

What do you mean, ( he ventures, tone of voice still low and cutting, perhaps implying that if this were somehow a joke or was perhaps something kazuya was just offering half-heartedly, then that wouldn’t be well-received at all, ) Are you offering to tear them off and give them to me?

... I don't think I can tear them off. [As if in point, he kind of reaches behind him to.... Little effect. He's just not flexible enough to do something like that, but:]

Demons where I'm from can fuse with each other. And... I was kind of thinking about how your head is sewn on? I don't know if it's possible, but I'd be willing to try.

[Anything, anything to retain some semblance of having a normal body. There's nothing he wants more, and as closer as he can get to his perceived "normal", the better he'll feel about the entire thing.

Even if in his heart, he knows that even if Makoto ripped those wings off, he'd undoubtedly regenerate and heal from it.]

( he looks… disappointed at that. yeah, he looks disappointed that kazuya can’t just tear off his own wings for him. weirdo. )

I don’t know… I haven’t heard of any sort of, “fusion” like that where I’m from.

( except for, like, sex? vore?? but he’s pretty sure that’s not what kazuya is talking about. )

And if you can’t tear them off, it’s not like I’m going to be able to do it. Well, ( here he leans forward to put his elbows on the table, forearms crossed in front of him as he thinks it over, ) not unless I’m able to—steal a knife from a kitchen or something. I haven’t really seen anything like that available anywhere otherwise.

( yes. yes, he has been looking.

but he’s slowly emerging from a brief submersion into that possibility space. he refocuses his bright, sharp gaze on kazuya, analytical. appraising. )

…You think I’d just be able to sew them on? ( his voice is lightly incredulous, but… he’s never tried. he does by this point know his body heals quickly, so long as he’s able to sew up any wounds he sustains. and J had specifically said he would have to “get them himself,” even if he hadn’t gone into details.

there’s a longer pause, and then perhaps the more pertinent question: ) And you’d just be okay with me… doing that to you?

[Maybe if he spends more time in peacock he'll learn to be a little more flexible. Until then, someone else is going to have to do it.]

That's what I was thinking. A knife, or something sharp. There's some demons with weapons I could summon... Maybe a sword? An axe? Either way, I could probably get them to give you it.

[That's the plan, anyway. The plan that is rapidly forming in his head. It's not a good one. Haphazard at best, really, but he continues on anyway, though his voice is far from frantic it is a little... Eager?]

And... I thought so. Maybe? Or.. Maybe if you try hard enough, they could fuse to you? I'm not really sure how fusion in general works, since... I was only ever the one fusing demons together and not the one being fused.

[And to his question, Kazuya pulls back a little, seemingly finding himself again. Would... he be alright with letting Makoto do that to him? To mutilate his body on the off chance that maybe those wings would never appear again?

It's not that he likes being in pain, really. And something like that would probably be incredibly painful, which is enough to get him to slow his roll.]

I... think so? Maybe. I mean, I'm the one that suggested it, so at least part of me has to be alright with it.

Edited 2024-02-05 20:18 (UTC)

( right. makoto forgets that kazuya can just summon demons, or something like that. he’s certain he’s mentioned it before, though he’s never seen him do it. if it works, he supposes that would be one way to find a weapon in this place, though the whole concept is still… it’s weird, kazuya. it’s really weird, to propose summoning one of your little demons to give makoto a knife or a sword or an axe or whatever for the express purpose of mutilating you.

and you know it’s weird when makoto thinks it’s weird. )

I… I’ve never tried something like that before.

( he has, by force of necessity, learned how to suture the wound around his neck; he’s also gotten pretty good at applying what he’d learned there to other wounds as well. he knows from that experience that he could figure it out, he at least has the skill, but… would it actually do anything?

as for kazuya’s proposal about the “fusion”… makoto shrinks back a little bit in his seat, looking concerned. )

I don’t know… if I really want to try anything like that. ( how—does he even put something like this into words? i mean, it seems natural not to really want to fuse oneself with entities they don’t really understand, but, ) It seems different than just—putting something on me. That… Would something else then be mixed up into me? Would I, be… any less—myself? I…

( he turns his head, looking away. he catches his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before shaking his head.

it’s his halting answer to perhaps the most pertinent question here that drags makoto’s attention back to him, though it’s just his gaze; he looks at him sidelong out of the corner of his eyes, still uncomfortable-looking where he sits with his back against the backing of his chair, arms tightly crossed, face half-turned away. ) Part of you isn’t good enough. ( his tone is cutting, but in a way that’s very characteristic of makoto, it’s him… caring, in his own weird way. ) With what you’re asking me to do… I won’t accept anything less than full confidence that you’re okay with it, that this is what you want. ( something difficult to define softens in his expression, and he continues in a lower tone, ) It’s not like I need wings or anything. ( “especially not if it’s at potential great cost to either you or our friendship,” seems to be the unspoken undercurrent. )

[Actually, Makoto poses a good question. What would happen then, if they were to fuse by his own worlds rules? They'd become a new being, certainly, but what kind?

... It doesn't really matter. Makoto is right, in that in theory, or at least from his admittedly limited understanding of it. But... Would it be the same with part of him? It's not like his consciousness is in his wings, after all, and he frowns as he thinks about it, turns over the idea in his head.

At the same time, absorbing Beldr's power had changed him, however slightly. And that change had only grown with each of the Be's he'd consumed, though at the end of that all, he had still been him. He was still Kazuya Minegishi, despite Babel. Despite Naoya. Despite Remiel and Metatron.

He'd like to think that it'd be the same for Makoto too, since it'd be a piece of him, and not his very being.

The line of thinking is interrupted too, by Makoto speaking again, by him so vehemently telling him "No", that he wouldn't do it without it being something that he wants, and the notion of that kind of throws him a little, and he goes slack in his seat.

Is it something he wants? Or is it something that he wants to do to make Makoto... Maybe not happy, but at least to help him out a little? He's made choices in the past, always with other people in mind. It's the same situation here.

Naoya had called him his pawn, once. And honestly, he didn't mind. Doesn't mind being used by other people, so long as it's people he likes. How weird is that?]

I... don't know. [He shifts a little in his seat.] To both of the things you said. I don't feel like anything would be mixed into you, but I also don't really know, since my case is pretty unique to all demon-kind where I'm from. And then... I'm not sure if it's something I want to do, or something I want to do for you.

[There's a difference there, however slight. An incredibly messy situation.]

( most people fear death, or at the very least they fear the concept of cessation, of nothing, of some sort of divine judgment—even makoto, who had once been so disillusioned with his own life that he had summoned a demon knowing it would cost him his soul, had drug his heels at the end. it’s natural to fear something beyond knowing. but having had his death denied to him, having been instead given eternal life against his will… there are different things to fear. cessation can be relief, for some. now, chained to an immortal existence so long as his name is known, so long as it is spoken (and considering how many demons know it and can speak it, that’s probably a very, very long time), he has touched on more far-flung and altogether more terrifying fears.

fear of eternity, fear of abandonment. it had yawned wide, an open wound in his soul, when J had offhandedly offered to datenshou to dismember him and toss him aside in his storehouse, should he prove useless in his establishment. what horror would it be like, to sit immobile and powerless, gathering dust and unable to die until everyone who remembered you one day forgot?

fear of losing himself—

“himself” is all he has left. he fears becoming someone he doesn’t recognize. that, in and of itself, would be a “death,” and not even one that would offer relief.

it’s not an easy topic of conversation for either of them. it’s a path barely cut from the wild of the wood, overgrown with thorns and clouded by the unknown. it had been an offhanded offer, and it’s only characteristic of makoto to overthink it, to anguish over all the different angles and possibilities. looking at kazuya’s face as he replies, he realizes that, in doing so, he’d infected the other young man with the same.

there’s a long pause, but it’s one he breaks by turning back toward his friend, mustering a smile. perhaps it’s a little forced, at first, but it gets more and more genuine the more he speaks. ) Hey. It’s not something we have to get hung up on now. The fact that you offered, that you would do something like that for me… ( fellas, you ever blush a little bit because a guy offered to self-mutilate for your benefit? ) It’s not really what I expected to be offered on a first date, but—thank you.

( and it’s right about then that the food arrives—thankfully at a point where the sever didn’t overhear them talking about how they would potentially cut body parts off of kazuya! (or maybe they did overheard and just aren’t letting on.) )

[Maybe it's for the best that Makoto was the one to overthink it, because if it had just been Kazuya, he well and truly would have done it in a heartbeat. But then, he's always been the sort to do for other people, to care about himself after.

The food comes, and serves as a decent distraction, and Kazuya smiles a little in return, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepish. Embarrassed.

Somehow, he hadn't thought the topic would be so serious, despite it's very nature.

He waits for the server to leave, prods at his own meal before he speaks up.]

No, it's probably not really first date material, is it? Or maybe it is, considering what we are? I don't really, know.

( that’s just kazuya’s genki shounen protagonist spirit, willing to go full head empty and charge blindly into the unknown regardless of potential permanent consequences. it’s honestly a little endearing, even if there’s a decent portion of makoto that thinks it’s a foolish and bad habit.

the waiter is conscientious as they deliver the food, distributing utensils enough for the two to share the dishes that they had ordered. makoto is quick to claim one of the yakitori, though his coin-like eyes are intent on the steaming gyudon. it smells incredible; he hadn’t actually thought himself all that hungry before, but now that the food is in front of him, he’s far less daunted.

makoto strips one of the pieces of chicken from the skewer when kazuya continues. a small smile hooks in at the corner of his mouth as he chews. yes—that’s a good point, isn’t it? )

Well… Yes, from my experience with demons where I’m from, you’re not wrong.

( dismemberment had been immediately on the table when makoto had summoned J, but that hadn’t really been a “date”… )

Though that might be a little forward. Because that’s got to be, what, at least second or third base?

( he’s joking………… )

[To be fair... He's only a genki shonen protagonist for his friends!!! And friends of friends.

Otherwise he genuinely could not care less. He'll be polite, but he's definitely someone who needs a little encouragement from friends most of the time to do the right thing. Which may have gotten worse, recently. Oops.

Anyway, Makoto strips one of the skewers, and Kazuya is quick to reach out to grab one, lest he not get none considering the gusto in which he'd devoured it. Himself? He eats much slower, more polite. Chewing as he considers the words given to him thoughtfully, before he tilts his head, looking contemplative.]

Really? I wonder what fourth base is, then.

[Makoto is joking and... Kazuya is kind of enabling it by pretending to be serious about his words.]

I mean, I don't think I'd mind even just going to second or third, with you. I did offer, after all.

[.... this guy.]

( yeah, but how quickly you seem to make friends, that could be a lot of people?? but, of course, makoto’s only frame of reference on this is how quickly kazuya had (forcibly) befriended him…

when compared to makoto’s general misanthropy, listen. it’s still pretty genki.

makoto doesn’t reply, merely giving kazuya a heavy-lidded, sly look. is there ever question what a home run is in these circumstances? the only difference with demons would be… there’s probably more blood, pushing more violence and extremes than mortals would ever consider because they had to concern themselves with permanent consequences. demons, representing “concepts” more than singular individuals of flesh and blood, didn’t have to worry about that sort of thing. they would recover from anything so long as their name was known and spoken.

he laughs, shaking his head. ) Well, I should certainly hope so. ( when he says it, he’s thinking more about the more “human” standard, but—he remembers what they had talked about, earlier. how kazuya might have inklings for things beyond what most humans were comfortable or happy with. even so, ) There’s no rush. We can work up to it, if you wanted.

( his own patience and generosity surprise him. he’s not exactly known for either. but… even in makoto’s mind, it’s murky. his proclivities always lean towards the extreme—extreme in violence, in possession, in appetite. unless he’s satisfied like that in some way, he often ends up feeling… somewhat unfulfilled. but he’s already been surprised to have found others in this resort both willing and capable of surprising things. and kazuya… he does like him. as a person, as a friend. the things he wants will always be the things he wants, but his internal conflict becomes stronger when it’s someone he sorta cares about; it makes him even more strongly want to pull back from them.

for those curious: yes, it can be exhausting. but he’s just taking it one step at a time. typical teenage friendship is still pretty new to him, after all (there’s almost nothing typical but it, but sure). he takes a bite of gyudon, thinking. ) So… On dates like this, you typically try to get to know the other person better, right? ( yes. he’s never been on one before, what of it. ) Is… there anything you’d like to know?

Working up to it sounds more fun, I think.

[Kazuya, still slow with eating, hasn't even finished his own chicken skewer... It'll probably be the case that Makoto will likely eat most of it on his own. He does make a contemplative sound, leans his head into his hand as he watches the other demon passively as he eats.

He's also never actually been on a date before either. Despite his popularity at school, and the incredible amount of people who were into him, he'd never even so much as gave them a second glance. He just wasn't interested in them. How weird now, considering everything that's happened in this place. The fact that he's... more or less become comfortable with it's nature, in a way.

Then again, demons do tend towards hedonism, and that's something this place is only all too happy to encourage.

(Part of him wonders how much of that is his own wants and wills, and how much it's the other Bel's influence on him, how much his lack of humanity plays a part in things. It's a part of him he all too quickly stops thinking about.)]

I'm not really sure. I don't want to ask you anything you might not want to share, even if you're obviously welcome to not share it. [It'd be a bit of a mood ruiner, her thinks.] So... Maybe we can start small? What's your favourite colour? Animal? Things like that?

[Out of all the things he could ask, that's what he goes for. Maybe it's a bit silly, but he's not sure how much he wants to ruin the mood with a serious topic again.]

It can be.

( there’s something to be said about both. though, considering kazuya is a little more uncertain about the more extreme types of things, it’s probably for the best. makoto certainly hadn’t exercised such patience and pacing—his own blood hadn’t even been dry on the contract he’d signed with J before he’d torn the demon in half. sometimes he thinks maybe it would have been better if he did try to restrain himself. he didn’t remember all that much from that first day, or the first two. it had all been one fevered haze—a lurid smear of light and color, the actualization of a baseborn taboo desire he’d thought he’d die before he ever got to satisfy. but still… he wouldn’t change that he’d done it. only how he’d done it.

here and now, however, he eats methodically; his manners are sharp and clean, finely-practiced, but perhaps a little clipped at the edges. he also gets the sense he will probably eat the majority of the meal, but that’s fine. he leaves half the yakitori to kazuya, splitting the okonomiyaki down the middle with a deft slice of his chopsticks before claiming one half for himself. the gyudon remains on the table between them, perfectly easy to pick from.

perhaps makoto is lucky he has raised his cup of tea to drink from when kazuya presents his questions. it helps mask the half-wince of his expression. it… tended to be conversations like that which turned well-meaning kids away from him. it’s not as though he’d always been avoided in school. there had been some kids who had tried, who had extended an olive branch in friendship and at least done their due diligence. but it just never seemed to take very long in the “getting to know you” process for them to realize that something was… off about him. then they started to observe their distance, wholesome intentions stymied.

he would almost rather talk about larger, thornier, potentially mood-ruining topics. at least they were things he really felt he had an opinion on. but… he’ll try. )

Okay. We can do that. Um… Favorite color—probably red. ( probably for normal reasons. (: anyways. ) Favorite animal… how about you go first?

( as he takes another bite of gyudon, wondering if he needs to lie. )

[He only barely catches the fact that Makoto had made such an expression, even behind his tea, and only because he'd really been studying him first in general. Is he that uncomfortable by what Kazuya considers to be perfectly normal, perfectly harmless questions?

How strange.]

I know this may shock you to hear, but I really like cats. [There's humour in his voice, at least. To try and help smooth any sort of uncomfortable atmosphere he may have cultivated by asking such a question. He'll even continue on:]

I had a pair of headphones back home, they were given to me as a gift a couple of years ago, and they had a cat-ear outline. [He says, even lifting his hands to mimic the outline of them.] It was probably done as a joke, but the quality was great, and they were surprisingly sturdy. They even survived me getting my ass kicked by demons several times during the lockdown, even despite how old they are.

[The craftsmanship was kind of second to none, honestly. They'd even really only sustained mild scuffs by the end of it.

He snatches up some of the gyudon. Pauses, before putting it in his mouth.] My favourite colour is pink. Probably surprising, right? Though blue comes pretty close.

( he laughs lightly. ) You don’t say?

( it was obvious enough from his username, and he’s pretty sure they’ve even already discussed this, but he supposes it’s still worthwhile to hear more of kazuya’s reasoning. he raises an eyebrow as kazuya describes the headphones that he’d had prior to arriving here—his eyes trace the outline, attempting to visualize how they might have looked. really, with the description and the gesture… it’s most likely that what he’s imagining is nothing like what they actually look like. but it does seem like something that fits kazuya. it’s a shame that this place had stripped him of them, even though he’d survived a whole demon-infested lockdown with them.

learning that his favorite color is pink is surprising, but only at first. the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense to him. ) Hm… No, now that you say it, I can see that. ( it’s a bit characteristic of him, right? a little surprising in a way you don’t expect, but in a way that just reinforces who he is. or, at least, that’s how makoto sees it.

his elbows on the table, he rubs the back of his neck with his hand—something which always makes a bit of a rasping sound, given the sutures there. ) Um… I, ah, probably would say I don’t have a favorite animal. I don’t dislike them, or anything. But… I was just never very interested in them either.

( his indifference didn’t necessarily mean callousness, though. he hadn’t wanted to hurt animals any more than he’d wanted to hurt people. there was a time, however, when he had collected dead ones—road kill, things like that—and kept them in his room, but it wasn’t something he was proud of, something he definitely didn’t want to talk about. it had been an act of desperation. his dark thoughts had been multiplying out of control, and he had just been looking for any sort of outlet for them. they were already dead. he thought it was the best way, without hurting anything, but—it hadn’t been enough, either. )

I know it’s not a very good answer, ( one that sometimes people really didn’t like, even though it wasn’t even a fourth as bad as the worse, hidden truth, ) but, I didn’t really want to lie to you…

Really? No favourite animal?

[He's surprised, yes, but he doesn't seem anything more than intensely curious now, even as Makoto explains. He's never met someone who couldn't name at least one animal as their favourite, so this experience? Knowing now that Makoto doesn't have a favourite? It intrigues him more, and he kind of leans forward again, though it's barely.]

It's a really good answer! [He says, giving a small laugh.] And I appreciate it, that you don't want to lie to me. It's a weird answer, but that's not necessarily a bad thing, you know?

[Especially since Makoto didn't outright state that he hated animals, which actually would have given Kazuya a bit of pause.

He hums a little, thoughtfully as he gathers his words together, pokes at the food a bit.]

Honestly, if I had had to guess your favourite animal, I definitely would have gone with some kind of predator. You kind of give off that energy.

…Yeah.

( he shrinks back in his seat, as if already anticipating an odd reaction to match the odd answer. there isn’t really one forthcoming, though, to his surprise—though kazuya does seem rather interested, which might be just as bad. makoto doesn’t particularly like flashlights being shone into the darkened corners of his psyche that he prefers keep out of sight and out of mind for most people. rather than incising towards the reason for this peculiar response of his, though, kazuya extends to him a benefit of the doubt that he has rarely ever been given. makoto blinks at him with owlish surprise for a moment before easing back to how he had been sitting a moment before, complexion flushing slightly. he nods.

it is true that he doesn’t hate them. he would go so far as to say some of them are cool or interesting, but… well, he was perhaps more interested in the cool aspects of them rather than the animals themselves. he would be happy to pet a kitten or a puppy or something, but he would probably grow bored of it far quicker than other people his age. that sort of thing.

as kazuya continues, he startles a brief laugh out of makoto that is… oddly flattered, to be honest. that faint ruddiness from before deepens, and he hides a contented smile in the palm of his hand, elbow resting on the table. ) Really? …Well, thank you. I think if I were to have a favorite, it probably would be one. ( he lapses into a momentary silence. ) I’ll think about it some more. If I do decide on a favorite, I’ll let you know.

( he continues to pick at the food as he thinks, eventually posing a question of his own, ) How about… What was your favorite time of year, back home?

If you need to pick a favourite animal, I'll let you borrow mine.

[It's said with another laugh, because why wouldn't he? His words have brought about a positive reaction, and a good one at that. Kazuya leans into his own hand, smiling himself, and maybe preening a little that he'd gotten such a reaction.

It just feels good, to make Makoto smile, and that's a thought he's not going to give too much thought to, leave it at the base assumption that it's just because Makoto is a kindred spirit.]

Summer, personally. Even before becoming a demon, I was pretty heat tolerant... [A pause, and he turns away slightly, laughing into his hand.] Though I sunburn pretty bad. At least back then. Haven't really gotten a chance to see how good I am at not getting burnt since.

( makoto laughs, but he also rolls his eyes. )

I don’t know about that. I feel like I would be tempting the fates for you making more puns.

( he can’t take it, kazuya. if he hears too many of them, he cannot be held accountable for the violence he might attempt in retribution.

perhaps it doesn’t surprise him that kazuya answers that way—he seems like the kind of person who would take full advantage of the freedom that summer gives students their age. makoto looks thoughtful for a moment as he chews a bite of okonomiyaki. ) I think… if you can shrug off fire magic, you can probably avoid getting sunburned.

( he pauses once more. )

I don’t necessarily hate the heat, but… I think I prefer when it’s colder. So I would probably say autumn is my favorite. I like when things feel a little more… quiet, if that makes sense. ( … ) Do you think they even have seasons in this place? ( he knows there are portions of the resort that feign like being in the outdoors, but he gets the sense that those space are kind of… magically contrived, in a way. )

Fire magic actually is kind of revitalizing to be hit by?

[ It'd been a thing that started when he was human, but it ended up being a trait he'd kept. When it comes to the other elements though, he's definitely tolerant of them. Even more sturdy when it came to physical attacks too.

But that doesn't matter too much.]

Cooler weather is nice, but me and it historically haven't gotten along. I actually almost got frozen to death by a demon back home.

[ And it's notnan experience he's keen to repeat, even with his newfound tolerances. ]

I'm not sure though... pretty much everything here is indoors, yeah? I couldn't even tell you what season it is outside, if they have them at all.

( he snorts lightly. ) Of course it is.

( so… more-than-resistant to fire, but perhaps a little wary of cold? even if it’s not necessarily a weakness of his physically, a mental weakness can be just as crippling of a shortcoming. concern creases at the edges of his expression, and he finishes slowly chewing the bite of gyudon he’d taken for himself before he observes calmly, ) You have a lot of stories like that, you know.

( nearly getting frozen to death, nearly getting impaled to death. you know. stuff like that. in comparison, makoto has to think his own experiences with demons in the last few months (of a distinctly different variety than the ones kazuya had had) are preferable in comparison. )

I’ve heard there are places in the resort which kind of simulate temperature and weather, but… yeah, I don’t think any part of it is actually outside. ( he frowns. that’s almost more alienating than the other strange things about this place; not having a sense of day or night, of the season, of time passing at all. for someone like him who wouldn’t continue to age physically, it seems oddly dangerous.

he sets his chopsticks down. the meal at this point is probably winding down, with the food not being altogether gone quite yet but soon enough. makoto sits back in his chair, taking a sip of tea; he gives kazuya a feline grin over its lip before asking, ) So, what do you think? Is this as suitably romantic as you’d hoped?

( he’s teasing—it’s not as though he had expected such a thing, given how their friendship is established. but kazuya is fun to tease. )

I can tell you all about my messed up stories of almost dying. I've still got a couple more up my sleeve.

[His sleeve, which he rolls up, showing a gnarly looking scar that's pretty faded by now. A long, sharp row of puncture wounds, definitely from some kind of fucked up animal, if anyone had to guess. No normal animal should have that many teeth!

But also, it's mostly so he can make that joke of having more up his sleeve... He even grins a little. Get it? Get it???]

And I wouldn't say it's been romantic... Interesting? I definitely feel like I know you a little better now.

[And... Hopefully Makoto feels the same way about him. Though Kazuya is already pretty free with information regarding himself, there's still more, still things he's not really comfortable talking about to anyone except maybe Makoto, because there's a part of him that feels like the other demon would just understand it, that there wouldn't really be any need to explain.

Though he's also the only one who knows his actual name, and the connotations behind it. Weiss might know it, but she doesn't know the implications of it simply because she wasn't from his world, didn't have that same mythology to learn.]

( makoto makes a sound of feigned interest—though, to be honest, it’s a little more than just feigned. he is interested in all of the strange things kazuya had gotten caught up in in his last few months, especially since it tended to point out all the ways in which the demons they were both familiar with were so different from one another. as he rolls up his sleeve, though, makoto raises one eyebrow; he thought it was a gesture done as a joke, but, sure enough, the flesh is dimpled with the tell-tale scarring of what looks like… a bite from some large beast. the young demon’s attention fixates for a moment, and without thinking his right hand twitches forward to reach across the table and gently trace his fingertips across its surface. he seems to remember himself after only a moment, startling and then pulling his hand back. he replays the sensation in his mind: though faded, there’s a faint roughness to the skin—he wonders if sense of touch there is faintly dulled.

scars have some fascination to him. besides the one on his neck, he’s not entirely certain this body of his scars properly—whatever injuries he sustains, so long as he sews them up and gives them time, it will just make itself whole again. though, to hearken back to their previous conversation… if he sewed something else onto himself, would the scar and stitches of that graft be visible? hm…

perhaps a little eager to change the subject from all of that, he chuckles. yeah, that’s the answer he prefers to hear; honestly, if kazuya had been seeking something too in-line with romance from him, he would be a lot more uncomfortable. he’d just been poking fun, as… dinner and movie dates tended to be things people think are “romantic,” right?

no, he far prefers what they have, even if it’s honestly new territory for him. his friendship with fjord hadn’t been something like this; there were some few similarities with what he and the other young demon had gone through, but nothing would change that makoto had been human and fjord never had been. kazuya presents a facsimile of something makoto never received while he was alive: a normal friend from someone who might’ve been a classmate, one who didn’t turn away from his strangeness. it was just as bracing, just as exciting, as it was frightening. he always fears gaining more of something, of anything—it just meant it would hurt more if it was lost. there are still so many things that could cause him to lose it, most of them locked away inside of him as ravening secrets ready to betray him as soon as they were loosed.

still. he doesn’t want to stop or turn away. the promise is too tantalizing. ) Yeah. I feel the same way. ( he pauses, tapping lightly on the tabletop. ) If… you ever want to know something about me, you can ask. I, ah… I might not be the best at answering. There’s a lot of things I’m not very good at putting into words. But, I want to try to be as honest as I can for you.

( the earnestness of it makes him feel vulnerable, and that makes him feel a little anxious, but he pushes through it. by this point, with the meal finished and payment squared away… )

Should we go?

[Honestly, all he does is watch him as his hand reaches out, touches the bite marks that some demon left on him. The sensation isn't dulled, or at least, it doesn't feel that way. There's a faint tingle where it's touched, and he still doesn't know whether it's a pleasant or unpleasant sensation. It's just... strange.

But he doesn't have time to dwell on it, Makoto twitches back like he'd been burned, almost. Strange, considering he made no move to stop the exploration of his scar, and he also makes no move to grab his hand to stop him from recoiling. Instead, with the arm, he leans his head into his hand to watch him, intrigued and fascinated all at once.

More so when he says that, even. That if Kazuya wants to know something about him, he's free to ask, even if he might not be able to answer.

He drums a free hand on the table, considering, and then just shakes his head. He'll get to know Makoto a little better, before he poses that particular question. ]

If I learn anything about you, I want it to be because you want to share it with me on your own, not because I asked. I appreciate the offer, though. And I promise it's not because I'm not curious about you, or your life or anything like that.

[He wants it to come up organically, for Makoto to share with him things that maybe he's not shared with anyone else.]

Speaking of that though... Wanna skip the movie this time? I think I'm having more fun just talking to you than watching a movie could ever provide.

( it’s yet another example of makoto’s behavior being less something influenced and impacted by kazuya’s reaction—as he hadn’t had much of a reaction at all, besides quiet, restrained interest—but rather his own life. there is a specter that looms large in his mind, a malignant agglomeration of sixteen years or so of personal experiences that bares its teeth and sinks long, knife-like fingers into the soft matter of his psyche the instant he feels as though he might be doing anything that might have before gotten him looked at strange, whispered about, beaten up in schoolyards or after-school corridors, or harshly criticized by his parents. it is, unfortunately, a left-over vestige of self-defense, an innate instinct to self-edit the oddness that comes to him naturally so that others aren’t overly exposed to it.

such a foolish thing to keep around in his mind after he’s already died, right? and yet it remains. he simply hasn’t “lived” long enough as a demon, separate from those people and their responses to him, to shore up a defense against it.

he tilts his head slightly, confused, when kazuya shakes his own; as he continues, however, his expression hollows out with something hard to define—something perplexed and exhilarated, all at the same time. his throat constricts, feeling raw. he swallows with some difficulty, pausing for a moment before giving a nod.

kazuya might not understand that what he asks of makoto here is perhaps the hardest thing someone could ask of him. to take it upon himself to reveal that which he had gone through any extent to try to hide, something he still isn’t convinced wouldn’t open a rift in their friendship he wouldn’t be able to bridge. could he ever be that courageous, when keeping things to himself is so much safer? even if sometimes the denial of some of the most pure expressions of himself feels so suffocating he can’t stand it—

he doesn’t know. it’s a lot to ask of him in such a short time; he’s only been here, aware of these other possibilities open to him, for a few weeks.

he blinks owlishly, a little slow to sift through the suggestion. ) Oh. ( his death-pale complexion colors somewhat, and he hesitates before nodding again. ) Y - Yeah, of course. We can always watch one some other time.

( even if they are both supposedly the type that only really watch movies to do so with the person they’re with. )

So, um… Where should we go next, then? ( he does recall what this date was supposed to prelude, but, well. this place tended to offer a bevy of options for things like that, unless kazuya wanted to just hang out some more. )

Well... I need to pick up a few more shirts, if you wanna come with me for that. Then we can go back to your room, maybe? Since you're a higher rank, it might be a little easier to move around in yours than mine.

[Though how much remains to be seen. But he's glad that Makoto doesn't take that comment to mean that Kazuya wants to end their date short. Sure, maybe going to the movie would have been easy, but it's not like they can talk at each other through it, or make stupid commentary in a theatre about the movie they pick. Kazuya rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, still grinning as Makoto looks at him like that, like he's torn between two things.]

For some reason, I keep losing my shirt out on the casino floor. I mean, it's only happened twice now, but twice is a little too much for my liking, you know? And I'm not confident it'd be in the lost and found... Intact, if you catch my drift.

[You cant trust the weirdos here!!! Who knows what they'd do to discarded clothing that people would otherwise like to retrieve at some point...

No, he'd rather not take that chance. But also, it opens him up to a little more teasing, so he'll try and get the first shot in teasing-wise, before Makoto can make commentary about how a pattern is forming, if he's lost his shirt twice. He offering Makoto his hand.]

We can hold hands though, if you want. A couples clothing adventure, maybe?

( he wasn’t really expecting that suggestion? it startles a laugh from him, though that’s less because of what kazuya’s proposing they do and more because… it’s ironically apt. he nods, though he seems to be a little more hesitant when kazuya mentions going back to his room. it’s not as though he would typically protest against such a thing, and it’s certainly not that he has anything to hide there (he actually keeps it rather spartan). but… considering what kazuya had expressed interest in trying, combined with knowing himself as he knows himself… well, he’s purposefully avoided taking people back to his room to sleep with them. cleaning staff don’t go down there. he works very hard to keep his room clean, because he likes things being clean, and if the sheets (or god forbid the mattress) got blood soaked into them, there’s no way in hell he would be able to afford cleaning or replacements on a four’s limited stipend…!

but—he can figure that out. they can figure that out. )

I’m only a Four… I don’t think our rooms are that much bigger. ( if they’re bigger at all? threes are kept on the same halls as fours; he’s never looked inside to verify. he tends to keep the bed expanded to its “full” size, giving less room in the room but more room to sleep in. he prefers that, considering he mostly only sleeps in there anyway. )

You… You keep losing it? ( makoto is dubious to the point of disbelieving before something “clicks” in his head. okay, maybe he’s remembering their earlier conversation and how shit just keeps happening to kazuya. makoto doesn’t know how he’s managed to avoid a lot of the stranger effects of this place, in the food and otherwise, but it seems like kazuya has the opposite problem. he sighs. ) Okay. Yeah, I get it. ( he gives a small shake of his head, standing up from the table. ) We can swing by the Nest, sure. I, ah… I actually have also been meaning to pick up a few replacement shirts as well.

( shit. why did he say “replacement”?? he seems to bristle a little bit as he realizes this odd choice in diction; he doesn’t really want to say he’d had to throw a few out because he’d gotten irreparably soaked in blood. it hadn’t always been someone else’s. once, it had been his.

he glances down at the proffered hand and then looks back up to kazuya to shoot him a narrowed, “I see what you’re doing” sort of glare. but he takes it all the same, ) Alright, then. Let’s go, ( beginning to lead them out of Red Cardinal and through the resort toward where the Nest sprawls.

as he does so, he does venture: ) Do you think… going to your room instead might be possible?

[Another laugh! Well, if anything, at least Makoto finds him amusing, and he takes great pride in that even if he shouldn't. He'll definitely take that over him being mad or upset at him, that's the last thing he wants, actually. For someone like Makoto, who already knows so much about him, who knows what it was like, their shared experience of dying, even if it hadn't been in the same way, to be truly upset at him.

Kazuya gives his hand a squeeze, tugging playfully, but not demanding that Makoto keep up. In fact, Kazuya will keep pace with him instead, and swing their hands a few times. You know. Like lovers might.]

Yeah, I guess I kind of get a little overeager and end up taking it off when things are starting, and then just forget I've left it there.

[Brain empty. Full of repressed teenage hormones exacerbated by demonic urges. Surely Makoto knows how it is.

He does seem a little surprised as Makoto speaks, asks if going to Kazuya's room would be possible instead, and he nods, because why wouldn't it? Kazuya is, unfortunately, yet to understand just how much blood a human body actually has in it, though to be fair, his doesn't tend to leave messy stains.]

Sure. I don't mind at all. I just thought you might be more comfortable in your room, but if you'd rather mine, that works too.

( makoto finding you amusing isn’t always a good thing, kazuya… he could think that you’re just a weird little guy that he wants to study under a microscope.

fortunately for kazuya, though, makoto both thinks he’s kinda funny and a weird little guy that he wants to study under a microscope. so it’s a little less inherently demeaning? regardless, he’s happy that kazuya is happy to keep pace with him; it’s not necessarily that makoto is taking his time, but his legs are inherently much shorter than kazuya’s are, so he would’ve had to hustle if kazuya were any less considerate. he glances at him with a wordless, questioning gaze as he swings their arms. probably something along the lines of, are you having fun? (but in the more snappy way, not the genuine and nice way.) truth be told, makoto isn’t really the “holding hands” type—he’d done it to magnify what he felt was the base-level goofiness of a “date” like this, but then kazuya had seemed to enjoy it, so… here they are.

(i’m sorry, kazuya, he’s just not normal and doesn’t appreciate simple, normal things or process human emotion correctly.)

he snorts. it’s less that kazuya has been getting overeager and permanently losing his clothing and more the fact that, ) On the casino floor? ( the sharpness in makoto’s voice… isn’t criticism or judgment. considering his history, he would certainly be the pot calling the kettle black in that instance. but it’s more… disbelief? maybe just because he gets taken out of things so quickly when he feels too exposed… he so much prefers privacy that it’s basically a necessity for him. )

Yeah, um… ( it’s just really not a normal swerve in conversation to say that you don’t want to fuck in your room because you are already anticipating things might get a little bloody and you don’t want to have to clean it or replace anything? especially after he’d asked to do it in kazuya’s room instead?? isn’t that just really selfish?? (yes.) when he thinks of it like that, he feels guilty about it. )

Maybe there are other rooms we could use…? I—I was just thinking if we, ah… got overeager, it might… I mean, I just don’t think I can afford replacing the sheets, but it’s not like you should have to either…

( his hand gets progressively clammier as he speaks. )

[He just gives Makoto a wink when he gives him that look. Is he enjoying it? Yeah, he is. Is it because it's goofy, and takes the edge off the entire situation? Also yeah. It's nice to just do something he's technically missed out on, if only because he's never actually dated anyone. Not for lack of other people trying, though.]

You'd be surprised at how convincing some people can be. [And how convincing "Kiss Breast" can be on the sex dice. Or how convincing someone can be by way of you being incredibly drugged. Either or.

Makoto is right to believe things Just Keep Happening to Kazuya. Honestly, ever since the lockdown that's just don't stop happening to him, even here. Maybe one day he'll get a break.

(No he won't.)]

Overeager...?

[It takes him a moment to cotton on to the fact that Makoto does not mean with just sex, but also the likely outcome of them both being demons. And... what they'd discussed before.]

Oh! Uh, if it helps... My blood doesn't tend to make a mess? But yours probably does, doesn't it?

[He frowns, but it's more in contemplation than anything else. He doesn't want to have to risk Makoto fighting with housekeeping to get replacement sheets. Or even just buying some in general.]

It's alright. We can use my room. I don't mind cleaning up after everything.

[The cash to do so is not an issue, thanks to certain parties.]

Right…

( well, it’s sex, and considering how incentivized it is here, do they really need to be all that convincing? given how makoto had been living the last few months of his life prior to being brought here, he had rather enjoyed lapsing into the ease of not being expected to entertain multiple clients a day—well, you know, besides whatever wild escapades he might have gotten into since arriving in the resort, though they were relatively few and far between. they were also choices that makoto had made, individuals he had decided to take an interest in… given the fact that datenshou handles his schedule, it’s been the first time he’s had any choice in who he slept with since—J.

it’s why, despite the annoyances that come with living in this place, makoto still thinks he prefers his time here than to his time in hell. their desires and urges might be pushed and pulled, but the choices they make are ultimately their own. makoto likes that. having had so much taken away from him, he is both jealous and proud of everything he is and the choices he makes for himself.

if kazuya is embracing that as well… makoto would be happy for him. though, really, it sounds instead like he just keeps letting a truck back over him.

makoto starts to cringe away a little bit as kazuya works through what he means; the tips of his ears burn bright red, embarrassed. he’s about to take it back with a fumbling explanation before kazuya interrupts him with… more inexplicable bullshit. makoto turns sharply to face him, asking, ) What do you mean, “doesn’t make a mess?”

( yes, kazuya! his blood makes a mess, like normal blood does!!! what on earth is up with your weird demon king body this time!!

he ends up slumping, appreciative yet somewhat… defeated, in a weird way. ) … Thank you.

( they cross the resort to the portion of the complex where the stores are concentrated: the Nest. ignorant of kazuya’s sugar mommy situation (smh), he begins to wander in the direction of the more budget-conscious clothing boutiques—the clothes there were not as extravagant and not made of as fine of materials as others, but they’d seemed normal and suitable enough to makoto. )

Edited (it got rid of my cw wtf) 2024-02-20 04:48 (UTC)

[Hold on. Hold up. In his defense, all demons where he's from disappear into inky, smokey darkness when they die. Unless he consumes them first. But like, none of them leave messy red splats on the ground unless it's the ones they've made of humans!

For once, this problem isn't just specific to him!

Kazuya gives a lopsided smile as he trails after Makoto through the store while carefully looking over clothes himself as he does, though he doesn't ever stray too far away from the other demon.]

Yeah... My blood kind of just... Disappears? After a few seconds? It's kind of handy because it doesn't make a mess or stick to my clothes or anything like that.

[Honestly, he'd also only guessed that Makoto's blood is still very messy because of how he'd phrased it... Overeager, on both of their parts. And it's not like Kazuya isn't eager either? Even now, there's a slow roll of delight rolling in his stomach, putting him in maybe a little too chipper of a mood.]

( yeah, well, all of his weird demons aren’t here right now and this certainly hadn’t been the case for the ones in the hell makoto had come from, so in makoto’s eyes, it is a him-problem.

there are many reactions to what kazuya just said that one might expect—alarm mingling with something which looks concerningly similar to disappointment isn’t exactly one of them. but of course it’s in his nature to be disappointed by something like that! it might be convenient to kazuya, but as inconvenient as it was to deal with in the aftermath, blood is… something of a fixation, an enjoyment that makoto often specifically pursued (for those who would let him). the color of it, the heat of it, the taste of it, the way it felt on his fingers and against his skin… it just seems like it would make a lot of things rather underwhelming if that blood just evaporated after a few seconds. and his expression reflects this more than he might have preferred.

ultimately he doesn’t even say anything, heaving a sigh and turning toward the shelves to pick through the clothes. he is more closely examining a black, button-up shirt with a collar when he does reply in a grinding tone, ) Well, good for you. Mine doesn’t.

( and it just tends to get everywhere. it’s specifically the wound at his neck—it tends to draw attention, and for better or for worse, makoto has found he rather likes it when people mess with it, and it just tends to bleed a lot. it’s embarrassing. )

[Oh, he catches that look, the way he seems irritated at Kazuya revealing that bit of information, that his blood just ends up disappearing with a little bit of time. In fact, Makoto seems incredibly put out that it does, and Kazuya raises a hand to his mouth to muffle his laugh.]

What you want the mess? [It's clear he does, and he'll even nudge Makoto playfully, leaning into him a little more than necessary.] Sorry I'm a disappointment to your desires for it. Maybe you can at least enjoy the novelty of it if you make a big enough mess? It'll take a little longer to disappear, the more there is of it.

[He's teasing, but it's hardly at Makoto for wanting the mess. He very much can understand that urge himself, though his is much, much newer.]

( he emits a disgruntled sound. ) No, of course not…!

( he’s not terribly convincing, though in truth he’s only half-lying, given how much an obstacle cleaning it up afterward has proven to be. it would certainly help alleviate whatever clean-up might have to be done! it makes him wonder: does kazuya have any sort of control over that? it’s a question that’s partially answered just as soon as it springs to makoto’s mind. yes, his gaze is drawn back towards kazuya as if telling him that making a big enough mess would prolong how long it would stick around, as if this is an answer that gives him a little more hope (because it does). but he seems to regret it as soon as it registers in his expression, and he looks away, partially in a huff, partially embarrassed, and partially ashamed. because, you know… the subtext of what they’re talking about is probably wounding kazuya pretty bad? even though he’s the one that brought it up??

it’s probably a little weird that they’re joking about this sort of thing, considering, but makoto certainly isn’t normal enough to notice. he groans a little in the back of his throat as kazuya leans into him. he replies in a half-mumble, ) No, it’s fine… We’re supposed to be starting slow, right?

( don’t tempt makoto too much, kazuya… his self-control isn’t perfect, you know.

he picks something else from another shelf—this one long-sleeved and more sweater-like, a warm and soft material in a deep maroon. he glances to kazuya. ) This is probably as much as I can afford for now. ( two shirts… ) See anything you like?

Yeah, we're supposed to be.

[But he doesn't really sound sure of that. He's teasing because it also helps take the edge off the anticipation, the trepidation. It's not that he's worried Makoto could possibly hurt him past the point of no return, he doesn't have that, as far as he's aware anymore.

But also, Makoto seems... Excited for it? Excited for the mess, in a way that probably signifies he's into the blood aspect of it just as much as the inflicting of the wounds. It's a little hard to get a read on him, with how shifty and almost a little cagey he's being, and he opens his mouth to ask a question, though Makoto beats him to the punch first, and he nods slowly, taking his weight off Makoto so he can go through a few racks himself.]

Oh, yeah. There's a few shirts I think I'd like, though... Do you want me to get you something nice too? I've got the cash for it.

[Though he doubts the other demon is going to take him up on the offer. He's seems way to reluctant to take any sort of gift as it is.]

( makoto only responds to that dubious reply with a sharp look and a tsk rolling over his tongue. it isn’t a concern! his self-restraint might not be perfect, but he’s not a feral animal either. that, and he actually likes kazuya, so he’s especially not going to want to go too crazy and push him further than he’s either comfortable or capable of. that they’re both erstwhile humans now getting used to their new demonic states, that kazuya seems to be interested in some of the things that makoto has always been inclined towards… he doesn’t want to fuck anything up. and he especially doesn’t want to go a bridge too far and freak him out—which, regardless of how difficult that might be in reality, he would always be fearful of, emotional and illogical.

he is hard to get a read on about this sort of thing by design, as he has spent basically every waking moment since puberty making sure that he wouldn’t let too many people on about this very subject. he is just a little more loose with kazuya, given their similarities, but… whenever he feels like he’s going a little too far, he retracts in panicked half-instinct. it’s hard to break so many years of having learned to do just that.

he is terse in the silence that marks his initial reply. kazuya might not mind riding on other’s coattails, but… there’s something about it that doesn’t sit well with him, even when offered. it’s a fierce and prideful independence, underlined by wariness in how others might attempt to control him by debts owed.

at least in this, it’s not really that big of a deal to shake his head and refuse. ) Thank you, but no. It’s alright. This is enough to replace the ones I had to throw out.

( though… his brow knits. ) Have you really been making that much money…? ( damn, kazuya… )

... Yes?

[He's... getting laid, fairly frequently. And for some reason they pay you for that! Which is crazy, in his opinion, but also not that terrible when it seems like he's being dragged into it at almost every turn. Though maybe he could stand to be a little more wary of all the sweets he tends to consume, considering.

Well, it'll be something to think about the next time it becomes an issue, and he does look a little embarrassed by the fact that he does have a fairly large sum of cash.]

I play cards in the casino sometimes, and the payouts are pretty good there too, if you know what you're doing. [Which, he only barely does. He just kind of makes the hands that the other Bel demons who are way better at gambling tell him to make, and it works out extremely well in 99% of the hands he gets.

He's a filthy cheater, basically.]

I figured since I'm a pretty low rank, I'd have to give a little more to make sure that I get what I need, and it kind of works? More often than not, anyway.

( he’s basically indicated as much (see: comment about repeatedly getting backed over by a truck). but it’s one thing to entertain the notion and the other to notice the distinct rewards of it—not that it really does much to convince makoto to change how he’s been conducting himself since arriving in the resort. with how he had spent his last few months prior to being brought here, he was happily taking advantage of his regained personal freedom in being a lot more discerning about who he actually sleeps with. which just means he hasn’t slept with very many people at all, all things considered.

it’s something he’s personally fine with. makoto is the type to value his agency far higher than luxury and comforts; he’s flatly not materialistic. as long as he’s not struggling to feed or clothe himself (which he certainly isn’t, with a little careful budgeting), he’s fine.

that, and he’s supposedly been having a lot more luck with avoiding a lot of the aphrodisiacs that others have been complaining about? he would say maybe it’s some sort of demon immunity, but… clearly that’s not the case with kazuya.

he ends up shrugging. ) If you can get this place to work to your advantage, why not? It certainly seems like it makes things like this easier. ( it hadn’t even really been in his head that what he’d asked might come off as judgmental—it’d just occurred to him as a thought when faced with how different one’s funds actually ended up looking like. why the hell would he end up judging when he had been working explicitly towards learning how to use sex to manipulate other demons before being brought here?

given how uninterested he is in material goods, it comes as no surprise that makoto isn’t much of a shopper. he accompanies kazuya for whatever he wants to look at, but otherwise he’s ready to check out and go whenever. )

Edited 2024-02-25 00:01 (UTC)

[He nods along to Makoto's words. He's not wrong, if he can get into a groove where he's... Mostly taken care of, his rank doesn't really matter, does it? He's already not-quite-freeloading off of a certain someone, so it's not like he uses his room for more than a place to keep things.

And even then, he definitely has a set of spare clothes elsewhere. Which is the same elsewhere that the clothes he buys gets sent to as he pays for them, they disappear in a strange little fwip noise as he runs his hand over them. Just a few shirts, and another pair of pants, and then he turns to Makoto.]

Well... Shall we be off?

[Part of him wonders if maybe he shouldn't teleport both of them to his room, but he's also pretty unsure how Makoto would take it, that sort of power being used on him. Especially since he already seems to have a complex over his own lack thereof.]

( if one can make enough money by way of gambling or sex, really the only thing that their rank was doing for them was assigning them to their accommodations. and, well, since kazuya wasn’t even really using his… it really didn’t matter, did it?

unless he was hungry to climb the ranks and regain that of king. though—wouldn’t ace technically be higher?

as sedate as makoto might seem in his pace, he would certainly say that his ultimate endgoal is to try to win and see what sort of power and prestige he might be able to wrangle from that success. he would have to admit that he feels less pressured with regards to time and circumstance because this place was quite a bit more comfortable and accommodating than hell was. but he is a demon and therefore immortal, so… it’s not like he is in any rush?

makoto is staring with open shock at the space where the things that kazuya had just bought were just a second ago when he turns and asks his question. he slowly drags his attention up to his friend, generally understanding what he’d done, but… man. some guys just have all the luck. he has no idea that such a power could also apply to teleporting individuals (he’s assuming it’s more of a hammerspace situation?), so he huffs a sigh. )

We’ll have to swing by my room first, so I can drop this off. ( he gestures with the bag of clothing he’d bought. some of us don’t have powers to help with that sort of thing.

but since they’re both on the same floor, it’s not like it will be much of a detour anyway. he leads the way, taking them in the direction of the elevator. )

[ Well, Makoto doesn't seem anything more than mildly exasperated at worst, so clearly the exceptionally minor display of power wasn't too bad. Kazuya nods, jamming his hands into his pockets this time, only to pause for a second afterward.

... Normally when he goes shopping with people, hes the designated bag boy.

But Makoto is already walking away, and he gives a sort of lurching start to catch the few steps between them up. ]

Do you want me to carry your stuff?

[ Again, he feels like he knows the answer, that Makoto will once more deny any sort of help, and honestly it's not like the shirts he's carrying are probably that heavy anyway, but... It feels odd, to not at least offer. ]

I'd offer to send them to your room, but I've never been, and don't know the layout.

( “exceptionally minor display of power”… ok

makoto turns to face kazuya as if he’d sprouted a second head (or perhaps something even weirder than that, given that probably wouldn’t be too weird for demons) at the suggestion. he might be the designated bag boy with other people, but, like… the bag probably weighs less than a pound, and he can carry it himself? what the hell?

a more logical portion of his brain understands that, once again, kazuya is asking this against common sense just so he can be nice. which is still weird and bizarre to makoto, but at least now, a month or so into living in the resort, he is more familiar with how people are just nice for no reason around here. so he doesn’t try to bite kazuya’s head off about it (which he might have done a month or so ago), instead just shaking his head. ) As pathetic and weak as I know I may seem, ( he replies, affecting a tone both grandiose and sarcastic, ) I think I’ll manage on my own.

( his further explanation is of slightly more interest. )

Is that what you just did? ( he frowns. ) Well, it’s probably for the best you see where my room is, then. Though I can’t imagine the layout is too different from your own.

( something which is proven after they go down the elevator into the basement. after a short navigation of the long hallways which house the rooms for the threes and fours, makoto stops by one in particular, swiping his Watch over its handle. it gives a confirming beep!, clicks as it unlocks, and gives them entry. he pushes through the door, holding it open for kazuya. )

You can come in, if you like.

( though there’s not much to see. the majority of the small, rectangular space is taken up by a carefully-made full-size bed—it could be converted to a twin to offer more floor space, but as he only really came in here to sleep, makoto kept it like this. there’s a bedside table to the side of the bed, and a short distance away on the opposite wall, there is a built-in desk alongside the sliding door of a closet. it’s very clean inside, though also rather empty besides a few borrowed library books on the bedside table. there are other belongings of his in the room, but he keeps them hidden in compartments built into the walls near the bed.

makoto sidles over to the closet, opening it and setting the bag inside to deal with later. closing it again, he muses aloud, ) …If this means you’re just going to drop off random stuff in here, though. ( he gives kazuya a sharp look. ) Don’t. ( he doesn’t want to be non-consensually given gifts… to his twisted little brain, it would feel oddly patronizing. )

[The room itself isn't that much bigger than his own is the first thing he notices when he steps inside as Makoto allows him to. It looks... More or less the same. Maybe a tiny bit more space? But otherwise, identical.

Sheesh. Talk about rotten luck for the both of them. At least there's always the upward climb.]

No surprise gifts or you'll kick my ass, got it. [He says, a little cheekily.

They both know that Makoto can't actually do anything like that, though honestly... It wouldn't be that hard to imagine Kazuya just taking whatever he felt like dishing out.]

I'm actually surprised, I thought you might have something a little more different. The 6 rooms are definitely more like rooms than this. And the beds are way better too.

[Not like, by a long shot, but better is still better.]

( that the threes and fours have largely identical accommodations hadn’t really surprised him personally. he shrugs. )

We’re on the same floor—the same hall, even—and we all use the same communal bathroom. I feel as though things don’t really change much unless you climb the ranks enough to go up a floor.

( it makes more sense to just make a bunch of identical rooms on a given floor, right? honestly, these rooms aren’t so bad for makoto; the communal restroom was an annoyance, certainly, but given the stories he’s heard about the rooms on the sub-basement below them, he’s counting himself fortunate he hadn’t been brought into the resort as a two. )

It figures anything in the basement of the resort is going to be… less than preferable. They probably don’t want us to be comfortable down here. ( his lips press into a thin line. just another way the resort tries to encourage participation—odd, though, that some are given vast advantages over others for inscrutable reasons? he knows that J had been made a ten… )

But it should be temporary, at least.

( as long as he manages to play the game well enough to become a five, things would become much more comfortable for him.

there isn’t really much else to look at or do in here, so he goes to the door again and walks out into the hall. ) Okay. Which room is yours, then? ( you know, the one you never use )

[And yet, Kazuya had really assumed that they'd be a little more different. Maybe not like a five or a six, but still. Just something slightly more.

Well, at least Makoto is right on that. It's definitely preferable to the basement. Brr. Talk about getting the heebie jeebies... The haunted paintings were bad enough, but down there? It's definitely worse. Much worse.

So he'll take the change in conversation gladly, waving Makoto along as they step out into the hall. He's... Uh, well, he's only actually walked there once or twice, but he still thankfully remembers where the room is. He lets them in in much the same way Makoto had opened his own door.

And just like Makoto's, the room is fastidiously clean. And for the most part? Pretty sparse. There's a few things here and there, but mostly it's the bed (not pulled out, like Makoto's)and a bedside table. The little storage pockets have clothes neatly tucked away, and the bed is properly folded though!]

Well? This is it.

[Much like Makoto's it's not very impressive, and Kazuya will move further in to sit on the only available area: the bed.]

( for a second, makoto (very nearly correctly) worries that kazuya has entirely forgotten which room is his and that they will have to wander around, swiping his Watch past random doors, until they can find it. fortunately for the both of them, he does lead them both to the correct one. the room inside is near-identical to makoto’s, if not perhaps a few square feet smaller, though it’s hard to tell considering the bed isn’t folded out. it’s also clean—though, from the staleness of the air, he gets the sense that it’s that way from disuse and not from actually putting effort into keeping it that way.

not that it really matters right now. the room is ultimately inconsequential besides what precious little privacy it offers.

makoto follows behind kazuya, but he doesn’t join him on the bed—he does not decide to sit alongside him in the sort of bashful awkwardness of youth, fumbling through how to move forward. he’d missed out on having that sort of time in his life—at this point, he never would. instead he stands before his friend, close enough that their knees just barely touch. he looks down on him, expression complex enough that it’s difficult to read. he is finding that, though what they’d agreed upon coming here to do was nothing novel for him… there is a part of it that is, in a way that he hadn’t considered until here and now. now that he has, it tangles up in the tines of his ribs, crawling up his throat and causing it to ache painfully. )

I’ve… ( he murmurs, softly, thoughtfully, ) never done this with someone I considered a “friend” before.

( …he feels like it’s a somewhat damning thing to admit, but it’s true. he had only befriended fjord afterward, and he had certainly had no pleasant thoughts about the demon during. J—there are many, many words makoto would use to describe him, but “friend” wasn’t any of them. all the others had been clients, which was about as far away from the concept as he could imagine. and the people he’s slept with since arriving here… the nature of their relationships was definitely different than how he feels about kazuya.

apprehension—which he can’t really decide is either good (excitement) or bad (anxiety)—knots his stomach. ) …Nothing else has to change between us, right?

( he feels moderately certain that it wouldn’t have to on his end. he has gone a long way to compartmentalizing any sexual relationship he might have with another person—but he is always worried that it will drive others away from him, deviant that he is. )

[For him, this is... Well, it's awkward, sure. Because they had agreed upon it. There was at least a little planning that went into this, and while he's not quite anxious, there is a little bit of apprehension. Shockingly, it doesn't show on his face, which remains neutral with a slight quick of his lip to indicate a nervous little smile. More so, when Makoto speaks, when he says that he's never done this with someone he'd considered a friend before.

For some reason, that warms a part of him in his chest. Makes him want to reach out to grab the other demon, pull him into his lap and be gentle. To kiss him sweetly and all those other things that go along with that.

But that's not what they're here for, and he has a feeling Makoto might not like that at all, so he resists. Instead, he leans back on his hands, giving a nod.]

Nothing will change between us. No matter what happens, I'm the one who asked.

[Is what he says, in lieu of a promise that he remembers Makoto doesn't like. Instead, he'll keep his posture neutral, tilt his head up to watch him carefully and perhaps, a little more intently. Apprehension is there, yes, but also excitement. Kazuya tries not to let either show as he waits patiently for Makoto to make the first move.]

( prior to coming here, his whole life had boiled down to sections of his time carved away and sold to those that could afford it, all for the express purpose of sleeping with strangers. it had been a means to an end; makoto was neither proud nor victimized by it, as it had been his own choice to stay and work for datenshou. in that way, this doesn’t feel so awkward—he doesn’t personally find it strange that it’s something they had already decided upon, that the other steps of their time together this afternoon (while pleasant) had been made to precede this. he’s done all of that before. as he’d never really been in even a semblance of a “normal” relationship, it actually felt more “normal” to him than anything else might be. no, what is different for makoto both here and now and in the time they’ve spent together up until this point is that—he hadn’t had to pretend. he hadn’t had to try to pose as someone he wasn’t, already beginning to lay the foundations for a mask he would one day weld over his own self: the veneer of the demon known only as “M,” a dangerous creature who, despite formerly human, had grown so rapidly since his introduction into hell that in a paltry three years he had already gained his initial and cast down his former employer into ignominy.

he isn’t that person now, and at this rate he never would be. there are precious few people who see him as “makoto;” there are fewer still that acknowledge or accept him as such. his relationship with kazuya offers him something tantalizingly tempting in its simplicity: a shard of human friendship that he had never really had when he was still alive. it was different from how his friendship with fjord had been. makoto had known, even as they had grown closer, that you could never really trust a demon not to stab you in the back. he wants to believe he could trust kazuya with that.

some of the tension in his expression eases at the reply, replaced instead with resolve. he takes a half-step closer, one knee interjecting between kazuya’s own to give him room to stand between them; he leans forward, drawing their faces close together as his left hand lifts to his jaw. his eyes lid heavily, long eyelashes falling over the sharpness of bright-silver and red as deep as blood. he speaks again in low undertone, but this one is oddly placid and dispassionate—the utterly still surface of a black-water pond which might belie unfathomable depths. )

Let’s get one thing clear, though. ( he’s close enough now that the words are very nearly spoken against kazuya’s lips; the warmth of their breath mingles together. ) In this place, I only do this when I want to.

( he just didn’t want kazuya to have any illusions.

though it’s hard to have any in the way makoto kisses him. no, he is not particularly the type predisposed towards anything gentle and tender—that having been said, he isn’t harsh or brusque either. purposeful is perhaps the best word to describe how he presses his lips to kazuya’s to feel how they mold together, leaning forward enough that his right hand falls to the bed to help prop him up. his mouth moves, his head tilting somewhat, and he tries hard to focus on moderation—which is challenging to do when makoto’s emotions tend to burn hot and fast, consumptive and destructive. his lips part to allow his tongue to sweep across kazuya’s lips in a smooth, suggestive roll, hot and intent. )

[It's funny that those are the words that Makoto chooses to say to him before the kiss. Almost as if he's mocking Kazuya for letting his guard down so often, for falling victim to this place so often. Mocking, but not rude. Or at least, not the sneering kind of rude that'd look down on him for what happens.

Maybe Kazuya uses the food as an excuse. A way to explain away behaviour that he might not otherwise have exhibited before. Sure, he'd been physically affectionate with people before, but never to this extent. Never to strangers like he is here, and whether or not it can solely be blamed on the drugs or the resort or just his new nature in general... Well. He honestly has no care to find out. His left hand comes up, caressing Makoto's cheek in turn as their lips meet, thumb brushing over his cheek.

The aprehension that had sat in his gut is replaced now. A giddiness that he can't explain, an urge to pull and tug and, perhaps, just like Makoto himself, consume. Moderation is what's needed between them, perhaps, but it's not what's given. Where Makoto is slow, lets his tongue sweep against his lower lip in a way that sends chills down his spine, Kazuya is more intent. Like a damn being burst, his other hand finds it's way to Makoto's hip, pulling him with intent as he presses back against the kiss, parts his lips to let his tongue sweep over the other demons as his eyes turn from their placid blue to their hellish red.

More than anything, he wants Makoto. Wants him to know that, wants whatever sort of affection he'll give. Whether that's a tender touch of his tongue like he's done now, or a harsh bite that draws blood. Kazuya only pulls away briefly, once he's had a taste.]

Then I'm glad that right now you want to do this with me.

[It's not a lie, and not meant to be some smooth, suave comment. It's genuine, and he bumps his forehead against Makoto's like an overly affectionate cat before his lips are back on him again, hungry and searching for more, for anything he might be willing to offer, to give to him.]

( truth be told, it hadn’t been intended as a sleight—or, at least, not entirely. though he certainly wouldn’t be free with the information, the element of choice, of agency, had often been taken from him when it came to sex; even though working for datenshou was a decision he had made, it had still ultimately been a decision to cede away many of his personal freedoms to another. whispered into the scant space between them, makoto almost says the words as a mantra to guide him in this place. having been denied choice, he would now aggressively defend his regained ability to do so, perhaps even to his own detriment.

regardless, kazuya’s tendency towards being a pushover in intimate matters is only something to joke and tease him about when makoto isn’t personally benefiting from it.

the thing about the careful delineations of makoto’s self-restraint is that they have been structured and reinforced in a way where they only withstand the strength of his impulses and urges coming from within. he is incredibly weak to any pressures from outside. so when kazuya reaches out to grab at his hip, pulling him forcefully towards him so that their bodies go flush against one another, his brow knits, breath shaking and rattling as he draws a sharp inhale through his nose. it’s a spark struck haphazardly around dry kindling, and he tries to keep himself from reacting too much, too fiercely—because all it awakens in him is a bone-deep yearning for more, for more touch and more taste and more pressure and more friction and more everything he can get, everything he can take all for himself. kazuya’s lips part, their tongues meeting; makoto allows kazuya to break away, ruminating over the taste of a king of hell.

when he’s like this, there’s often a shuttering of some of makoto’s emotional reactivity as the part of him that he so often tries to bury when around others begins to assert itself to his forefront; with what kazuya tells him, though, that falls alway, revealing something fleeting and vulnerable—the look of a drowning man seeing the light of an approaching ship, a lifeline being thrown his way.

he doesn’t have anything to say back to it, merely accepting it with a momentary lump in his throat; his eyes lid closed as kazuya bumps his forehead to his, just for a moment. but then his lips are back on makoto’s, hot and investigatory in a way that almost poses a question, as if asking for what it is he brings to bear. fine, then. his spine straightens up somewhat, moving to cup kazuya’s face in both hands to kiss him back with matching fierceness and a hunting sort of hunger. makoto tends to wear his tendencies on his sleeve like this: sometimes his mouth opens just a little wide in the kiss, so that as their mouths move against one another, occasionally he just barely scrapes across his lips with the edges of his teeth. he kisses him deeply, rolling his tongue into kazuya’s mouth in almost rhythmic surges, alternatingly inviting him into his own so he can trap it and suck on it for just a moment, a small, faint hum in his throat.

the quick warmth of his blood slowly ratchets to a steady heat beneath the surface of his skin; it begins to tangle and knot complicatedly in his stomach. standing is quickly becoming burdensome. he presses even closer, lifting one knee to rest on the edge of the mattress, pushing against the interior of kazuya’s thigh—back up and give me some room. )

[It's funny, that as Makoto kisses him harder, as his teeth threaten to cut into his lip as their kiss continues, there's a taste that's all his own. Something indescribable, nothing like the demons he knows, but not something that's wholly human either. Part of him wonders then, if he carries that same taste? They're both demons, but they haven't been demons long. Not long enough to truly cultivate a taste or even scent all their own. In time, maybe, but right now, it's a mash of both worlds that the two of them carry, that mingle together on his tongue.

A pleased sound echoes in his throat. It all comes back to that. It all comes back to what they are, what they were, and how that alone is enough to excite him, to entice him more so than the push for him to back up. Not before he nips at Makoto's lower lip though, teeth sharper than they had been only moments prior. It's something he's come to find here. That there's usually subtle changes to accompany his moods or wants, and in this case, it's definitely, definitely wants.

But patience is needed. They'll get there. There's still time to explore between them. For Kazuya himself to better acquaint himself with the kinds of things Makoto might like, might enjoy. They're here for his exploration of concepts, but that doesn't necessarily mean he can't learn anything about the person so willing to take him up on his curiousity. Especially not with how hot his blood is pumping in his ears, his heartbeat kicking up a notch or three once he's scooted back an appropriate amount. It breaks their kiss, sure, but Kazuya's hand remains firmly on Makoto's cheek, still brushing it with his thumb gently despite the electric heat between them.]

Let me know if I do something you don't like, alright?

( makoto’s senses are not nearly so sharp, barely anything about his body at all different from how it had been when he was fully human. he supposes he can identify kazuya’s taste by what’s absent, remembered from other demons that he has kissed: no coppery taste of blood, no sharp stain of wine or half-moldered richness of a meal eaten recently, no acridity or odd burning almost akin to spice (the demons he’s accustomed to ranged wildly in shape and size, and others as human as even J had appeared were very rare). it’s as he thinks of this that he realizes just how different this experience feels to all the dozens (hundreds?) of others he had gotten to by this point—barring fjord, whose own experience far outstripped his young (even for a demon) age, and robin (who he’s pretty sure is a vampire and has no idea what his actual age is), makoto has never been with another teenager before. predisposed to dealing with size and height disparity, monstrous and inhuman frames, weight and bulk that his scrawny body in sharp contrast, he would have to say it feels—nice. simpler, easier. the simple pleasure of not feeling as though you would have to contort yourself mentally or physically to fit another’s desires.

in being former humans made into demons, there is both a fierce-burning brand of similarity between them—and an ocean which separates their actual, lived experiences. but it’s enough. it’s enough to enkindle a powerful magnetism in him, something deep and innate that draws him inexorably towards kazuya. the other young demon’s teeth sharpen as that nature swims closer to the surface; the sharp pinch and small lance of pain that shoots from his caught lip causes makoto to break their kiss for just a moment with a gasp. he had been honest when he said he preferred to be the one to do the biting—being bitten by another demon, even one who would likely have been ranked as a distant superior, causes something indignant to arch its back and bristle within him. for now, he muzzles it, eyes opening to fix kazuya in a fierce stare. he doesn’t blink as he slowly licks over the welt, like how a big cat might swipe blood from its lips; it hadn’t been enough to break the skin, but it had been close.

a shiver runs down his spine. he does his best to regulate his breathing so that it doesn’t run away from him.

his hands shift to kazuya’s shoulders as he steps up onto the bed once space enough is made for him; he ends up kneeling on the mattress in-between his legs, sitting back on his heels. at the question, he leans ever-so-slightly into the hand at his cheek. )

…I feel like I should be the one telling you that. Though, ( a brief pause, and he almost looks sheepish—as if ashamed?—here, ) you might need to… ( he lifts one hand from kazuya’s shoulder to gently thump down against it, once, twice, three times, ) …just to make sure I hear you.

( he is well aware that he can get carried away.

a little bit like right now. his fingers tighten on kazuya’s shoulders—he leans forward suddenly, up from where he had been resting back on his haunches, leveraging his (admittedly negligible) weight to press the other young man against the wall that was a short distance behind him. he closes the distance to capture his mouth in a shallow, yet sultry, kiss, seeming like he might break early from it before he catches kazuya’s lower lip in-between his teeth. it isn’t a nip; there’s full intention, a few long heartbeats where there is only the catch, possessive and without pressure, before he slowly begins to bite down. he doesn’t aim on breaking skin here—he doesn’t want to travel so quickly, not trusting himself as much once the taste of blood begins to cloud his mind. no, as much as his own desires would have him bite down fully, to rip and rend, to greedily swallow down whatever he could tear away—he focuses instead on this exploration, seeing how kazuya might react. )

[He appreciates it. Appreciates that once again, Makoto is looking out for him, concerned with his well-being in a way that's strange, but unique and wholly him. The thumping on his shoulder gets a small laugh, and all he can do is nod shallowly. He has no intent on calling it quits, no matter what it is that Makoto does. He can take it, he's sure. He's been bitten, stabbed, impaled and more or less disembowelled, and that was when he was human. Like this, he's confident. No matter what it is that Makoto does, he can take it.

He wants to see this through to it's conclusion. How else is he supposed to decide whether or not he likes it? To do anything else would feel like he didn't at least give it an honest attempt, and even then, he knows at the very least, he very, very much likes biting.

Being bitten in turn, too. His heartbeat kicks up again as Makoto's teeth catch and hold his lip, and there's a tense, exciting few seconds where nothing happens, nothing but the pressure and the implication that at any point, teeth could cut into his lip, draw blood. There's clear amusement in his eyes as he watches Makoto, studies him with slitted pupils. It's a silent acceptance, that Makoto can bite him as he pleases, that he doesn't need to hold back for his sake, and that if he's going to bite him, he needs to get on with it.

And should he do that, to bite harder, to pierce the thin skin of his lip, he'll find that Kazuya's blood isn't anything like a normal humans, just as he said it'd be. It's thick like oil, tastes like an almost too saccharine wine with a lingering hint of spice and smoke.

He'll also find that the wound made, if he chooses to make one, will heal fairly quickly so long as he doesn't keep agitating it.

Either way, Kazuya isn't content in just leaving it there, letting his free hand roam to Makoto's thigh. No need to brace himself if he's already against a wall, after all.]

( it’s not a consideration he extends often or to many other people. when tempted too much, makoto tends to charge blindly into the dark in wild pursuit of his own taboo pleasures, scarcely pausing to think about the other’s physical well-being until that wild surge of passion had left him and all was said and done. care is not something that comes readily to him, having fostered it so rarely before in his life, but he learns how to keep it and nurture it here—it’s a bit of an existential challenge, like being challenged to keep a furnace lit and keep ice from melting all in the same space, trying to find some sort of (potentially impossible) balance between his own destructive tendencies and his reluctance to really hurt someone he cares for. fortunately enough for him, however, he has sixteen years of experience of living in constant contradictory conflict.

given what kazuya has told him about his recent past, makoto knows that logically it would probably be next to impossible for him to actually seriously damage him. but even if he just sees that he cares about making sure that that’s the case… that’s enough for him.

he sees the amusement leaping in the crimson gleam of kazuya’s eyes—and he feels like he gets a sense of the mounting tension of impatience that grows between them as he applies careful pressure, this time less his own and more that of the other teen’s. for a half-second it’s annoying, but then it’s amusing as well; makoto can’t help but huff a sound half-way between a laugh and a snort in grim acknowledgment.

if that’s how you want to be. makoto had thought to be slow with him, given his uncertainty when they’d first talked about this, but… he’s certainly not going to back down from a challenge.

for many, biting is rising welts with ragged, bleeding edges—it is an extension of marking, wrapped in a violent urge, providing the odd, subversive satisfaction of flesh giving way between teeth. for makoto, it can be like this, but for so long biting to him had been done with the express purpose of tearing flesh away from bone, savage in how mechanically perfunctory it was. when he follows through to really bite kazuya’s lip, he specifically has to repress the instinct to cant his head in the motion to tear away; instead he feels the second he goes through the skin with a perverse thrill that dances along the surface of his skin, resonating at the base of his spine. blood begins to well in his mouth, but it’s not what he’s tasted before—even as a demon, J’s had tasted how makoto had always imagined, hot and metallic, thick and tacky as it cooled. kazuya’s is perhaps even more viscous, bizarrely heady, as if it were some sort of mulled wine. surprised, he pulls away, eyes narrowed in confusion as he watches that split lip slowly begin to knit itself together. something almost serpentine enters his coin-like eyes, coldly calculating; dark shapes like unseen leviathans move in the depths of that dark, bottomless pool. he’s half-way through an exhale before he gives way to an impulse, leaning forward again to press his lips to that spot, tongue stealing away all the blood that he can before the wound disappears entirely.

oh, no. he’s making too many dangerous revelations too quickly.

his left hand moves from kazuya’s shoulder, along the line of his neck to rake up into his hair—his fingers flex at first, scratching at his scalp, but he rewards this brief affection with force, grabbing a fistful of kazuya’s hair once he’s able and pulling just hard enough to force his head up, baring his throat. makoto moves in this save moment, mouthing away from his healing lip with a faint smear of blood, half-hearted nibbling along the line of his jaw before going onward, chasing the heat and racing pulse thudding through his carotid. he can feel the force of it pounding against his lips as he kisses that spot, humming; he considers biting him here, vividly ideating the flood that it would loose, how it would feel against his skin and running down his throat like thick honey mead. he doesn’t. he presses his teeth to the spot, playfully, as if a promise for later (either to be followed through on or not, who can say), before moving slightly to the side and driving his teeth into the flesh at the side of his neck.

he doesn’t hold back. once, when he had been alive and contracted to J, he would come home from school and fall into his arms; he would kiss the demon, then he would fall into him, tearing whatever mouthfuls he wanted from him in order to satisfy his pleasure. here, makoto bites kazuya just as hard—the only difference is that he once again holds himself back from tearing the flesh away and eating. even still, indulging himself enough to pierce through the skin and draw blood is enough to elicit a low, rough groan from him; so rarely given the opportunity to pursue his penchant for violence, blood, consumption in whatever ways he can take it, arousal begins to well up within him. he surges forward to press as much of his body against kazuya as he can, chasing whatever friction between them that he can. )

[Makoto isn't the only one who tastes blood, though it's his own, Kazuya finally gets a taste of it for the first time since he's become a demon. It's not the metalic tang he'd once tasted after being pierced through, the blood burbling up his throat form his insides, coating the back of his throat heavy in it's taste. This is different. Something pleasant, he finds as he licks the inside of his split lip reflexively when Makoto pulls away, and nearly, nearly he even manages to say something about it before Makoto's tongue caresses the rapidly closing wound he'd inflicted.

He manages a soft sound, something that almost sounds like a chuckle at how intense he is about it, about wanting a taste, about wanting more. There's real heat between them in that moment, intense and fierce and predatory in a way that he thought he might take issue with, but finds that no, in this context it's pleasant. Even as his hair is yanked, his throat forcefully bared, Makoto won't find any sort of resistance; only encouragement as Kazuya tilts his head more, offers more of himself to the teeth and tongue that graze and nip along his jaw. The mouthing of his throat though, so vulnerable and exposed, has him swallow reflexively, anticipation bubbling in his gut, roiling hotly in his blood.

If he bites there, there will be a mess regardless of how fast he can heal.

But he doesn't, and he's almost disappointed, fingers griping and fisting into the other demons clothes as a frown tugs on his lips.

Not that it lasts long, because he moves, sinks his teeth in deep into the side of his neck and Kazuya can't help the loud cry he makes as it happens. It stings, it burns, and somehow, he wasn't expecting, despite everything previous. The last thing he wants though is for Makoto to stop, to think that maybe this was too much too fast, because while it is, and it's jarring and painful, it's also pleasant in a way he doesn't yet have the words to explain, especially coupled with how Makoto forces himself against him, leaving little room to move, and a rapidly growing heat between them.

His left hand moves quickly, almost like he's afraid of Makoto pulling away as he presses it to the back of the other demons neck, holding him in place in encouragement to continue to bite and break skin, to sink his teeth deeper if he wants.

(If he knew, if he knew that Makoto wanted to tear chunks out of him to consume, he'd readily let him. Kazuya wants to learn, to experience everything it is that Makoto might offer him.) ]

( “intense” is certainly a word for it. it’s why intimacy without a certain layer of violence like this (and what he’s doing now, biting into flesh and tasting blood, is still rather the tamed and domesticated version of what he would rather be doing) often feels to makoto like something altogether different, something not necessarily divorced from sex but almost more… performative in nature. there is a certain level of pretending that he has to do in order to deny what he would say is such an innate part of who he is; there’s a mask that he has to wear for it. so when kazuya does what he is doing now, permitting makoto to pursue things more in-line with his own instincts and predilections, it does tend to awaken something focused and startlingly intense in a young man who might otherwise be best known for his tremulous uncertainty in so many things. because this is one of the very few things he is certain of. regardless of how he might feel about it, he has long since accepted that these appetites and urges of his are woven into the very fabric of his essence—so vital to his life that he would choose death than never satiate them.

he will always want a taste and want more. he will want so much that the problem rapidly becomes maintaining enough self-control that he doesn’t overstep and dramatically change the mood.

makoto actually expects more opposition. kazuya had been adamant in defending his title, the loftiness with which he had rather quickly gotten accustomed to being treated by other demons—it’s a perspective he had expected might be rankled by being forced to bare his throat, to present a vulnerability, particularly when makoto’s express intent with it is to exploit it. he can sense that tremble of nerves in him as he flirts with the idea, and it was almost too difficult to resist the urge to tear through his carotid and see just how much of the room he could paint in blood before it all started to disappear, as kazuya promised it would.

ah, if kazuya is disappointed, then makoto is doubly (if not triply?) so, but he more than makes up for it.a natural sadist, makoto tends to relish in the contortions of pain upon his partner’s face—something he finds beautiful and enticing by default, but which sinks to even more exciting depths for him when he knows he’s the one causing it. he’s well aware most people don’t enjoy pain. he’s typically cautious in applying it, despite how much he enjoys it. for a second, as the fierceness of his bite bruises sensitive flesh before teeth pierce skin and draw blood, as the lean muscles of kazuya’s body go taut with strain and the breathy silence of the room is broken by a sharp exclamation of pain, makoto also worries he went too far too quickly. he is, unfortunately, easily-goaded—far too quick to feel demeaned or irascible at another’s perceived challenge, he will fail to consider consequences before charging forward to meet it. his heart skips a beat, and he expects to be muscled away, reprimanded with the judgment that can live in one’s eyes and expression before one’s tongue and breath bring it to savage life. and yes, kazuya does move, but rather to force him away he instead holds him fast to where he is, soundless encouragement.

for a half-second, he is too confused to act. but then the meaning of the gesture sinks through to him, and after a slightly longer pause, he continues.

pressing his mouth to it, makoto sucks at the wound, not necessarily to draw blood (though it’s a perfectly amenable side-effect) but to continue to worry at it, exchanging the knife-sharp pain of teeth piercing skin for the lower, more subtle ache of bruised flesh. as he does this, his hand not currently engaged in tangling into kazuya’s hair, gently and encouragingly scratching at his scalp, moves to the hem of his shirt, slipping past it so he can press his open palm to the plane of his stomach hidden beneath. now, despite all of the experience makoto has, it’s at a juncture like this that most of it fails him—he has far more often been an object in the hands of those that sought to exploit their own pleasures from him than given any level of authority. so, in a word, he plays with it, exploratory both with the torn flesh beneath his mouth, tongue, and teeth and the body beneath his hand. he searches over kazuya’s stomach, grazing over his ribs to his chest, trying to take note of any place on him that reacts, sensitive and tender, to the touch. and as he does this, he tests the limits of kazuya’s regeneration. it’s, in a word, bizarre to feel flesh and skin attempting to reknit itself nearly as soon as he tears into it. sometimes he lets it, just enough so that he can bite again, but this time worse and more and tearing at the flesh just enough so that it has more damage to repair, seeing how it slows it.

perhaps unfortunately for kazuya, the unusual nature of his regeneration rather makes him an object in makoto’s hands to play with, but he wants to find a way to continue to build the heat between them, to find sources of pleasure that he can begin to weave into pain—makoto wouldn’t even necessarily call himself a masochist, but even he had found that it provided heights that were hard to beat. )

[He should be defending his title as king, acting like the overlord he is and not letting Makoto so easily, so readily bare his throat as he is. He shouldn't be letting him carve out crescent marked chunks from his flesh, shouldn't let him pull him this way and that as he pleases. What he should be doing, is taking control of the situation, switching their roles so that he's the one biting harsh marks into skin that well up and pool with blood. It's not unreasonable to find it strange he doesn't, especially with how he had acted on their first meeting, the snarling anger and superiority at meeting a lesser demon so determined to carve out his own misplaced hierarchy. But the other Bel demons are silent in his head, and Kazuya has a feeling he knows why:

Hedonism. This is what Kazuya wants. The blood, the pain. The intensity of it all, promised to him by Makoto. This is the core of what demons are, violent and wanton in their desires.

It's not something Makoto is taking on his own, something that would otherwise be met with something far more violent than the encouraging acceptance that Kazuya gives him now, even as he tears into flesh that rapidly knits itself back together. Or tries to, but with teeth and tongue in the way, encouraging the wound to stay open. Each bite renewed makes him hiss in satisfaction, curl his fingers lightly against the back of Makoto's neck as his breath comes faster, as Makoto's fingers graze over his ribs and chest, trail over scars gotten when he was very much human. It's that sensation particularly, that makes him shiver.

Kazuya huffs a sound for it, one half of pain one half of pleasure. This isn't like the jaws of the other demons he's experienced; Makoto's teeth are blunt, where there's had been sharp. Where he'd had to fight for his life against their snapping jaws, the relative safety of Makoto's is alluring still. Of course, that safety is only so much as that he believes that this particular demon would stop, if he asked. The safety of control of a situation that might otherwise have been deadly only a few months ago.

His right hand moves with his sound, then. He can't quite see, with his head pulled up as it is, but he trails it along Makoto's thigh, up his side in return. It's mostly to feel him, an attempt to keep encouraging him, a promise that he's not about to pull away no matter how he agitates the wound to make it bleed and sting. No matter how much he sinks his teeth into him.

And yet there's more Makoto can give to him. He knows this, he can feel it in the way that he's holding back... Something. There's a sort of tightness to his body, a way his teeth close around his skin that's slower than what he's experienced from other demons. Two of his fingers flex against the back of Makoto's neck, against the stitches there, exploratory in nature, and he tilts his head, just enough to press it a little bit against Makoto's. His voice is rough, a little hoarse as he speaks, breathing uneven.]

Don't hold back anything. I asked, so show me.

( the scars are a fascination to him—they are now as they had been when kazuya had borne the one on his arm to makoto at the dinner table, when he had reached out to briefly trace his fingertips across the raised ridges of scar tissue. he does the same now, honing in on the places where violence had written itself permanently into kazuya’s flesh just as much out of his own piqued interest as he did in response to picking up on the other teenager’s reaction. he maps them in touch, tracing the pads of his fingers around the place where the scarring knit once more back into soft, unbroken skin—it’s something like this, this literal and figurative border between safety and violence, that which is unmarked and that which is changed forever, that has always entranced makoto. there’s something inescapably fascinating in it. it’s something so rarely seen among demons where he’s from. demons tend to recover from whatever physical injury they might sustain because their bodies are representative of their concepts; the only way a demon might be scarred is if their self-perception, and that of others perceiving them, reflects that. makoto’s persists because, well… remember how strongly he had refused kazuya’s offer to heal him? this scar means something to him. the division of his head and his body, for whatever, means something to him.

what meanings do these marks have to kazuya? there’s certainly something in them, given how he responds to their touch. it causes makoto’s heart rate to slowly pick up, blood growing hotter from the excitement swimming through his veins; he bites once more at kazuya’s throat in his war of attrition against the other demon’s own regeneration. he can’t decide whether he enjoys it or hates it. on one hand, he likes to see the damage he can wreak upon a body—but on the other, how incredible it is to be able to do it, and again, without fear of permanent injury, exsanguination, or death?

though—perhaps he did want some of that permanence. perhaps he did want to write himself into kazuya’s skin, just as these other demons had in the scars he explores. it’s a greedy thought, hot and possessive, to want to forcefully make a part of kazuya his, forever and ever. though it’s also so perfectly characteristic of someone like makoto.

a low shudder starts at the base of his spine and slowly works its way through the rest of his body as kazuya’s hand runs along the line of his body, up along his thigh and across his hip to his side. if kazuya senses that makoto is holding back—he’s perceptive, because yes, that’s absolutely the case. he almost always is, in a situation like this. these physical signs of encouragement, the bald-faced goading of his words… for a moment he’s forced to stop entirely, letting the blood begin to flake away from his face as, unmolested, the wound on kazuya’s neck slowly starts to mend. makoto’s grip in kazuya’s hair goes somewhat slack, permitting him to look down a little more easily, if he wanted.

in the ruins of an exhilaration which had taken up residence on makoto’s face as a rosy warmth that bloomed on his cheeks and dripped, saccharine, down his throat is a very different expression: it’s something that looks almost… anguished. he’s rather good at holding himself back, but other people? his shoulders shake, his hand frozen where it has splayed across kazuya’s chest, right over his beating heart.

after a long moment’s silence where he desperately searches for the right words, he ends up asking in a hoarse whisper, ) Can you promise me again that I won’t kill you? ( kazuya’s fingers trace gently along the nape of his neck, across the row of sutures—his breath skips in a way that’s shamefully obvious, and an odd twinge goes through his body. he blinks, and he continues with a thick tongue, ) I-I just… I’ve never wanted to kill anyone—

( considering what he’s told kazuya about his life, it might be a little more illustrative of a plea than he’d prefer. )

[The scars he has are the reason why he'd dropped healing Makoto's at their first meeting. They're an important piece of someone, a map of who they'd been, a differentiation between the old and new. He still doesn't know why Makoto is possessive of his own scar, of the way his head is stitched on, but Kazuya knows when it comes to himself, it's because he'd gotten them when he was human. They were proof that he was, at one point, human. That even if he is as he is now, that humanity is kept permanently etched on his body, each struggle he'd gone through and come out of stronger for, until the end of it all. Of his humanity.

To him, getting rid of them is the same as getting rid of himself. Frequently, when Abel's memories surge and well up within him, he has to tell himself that although Abel is him, he's not Abel. But those scars? They prove that Kazuya Minegishi was alive and real, and still exists in him, is still him, even with the lack of soul, the lack of humanity. So long as his body is around as proof, he hasn't lost that.

Kazuya makes another noise at another sharp bite, though this one is far more quiet, more measured now that he knows what to expect. This is, in fact, what he asked for. What he encouraged. To rewrite the connotation of being bitten, of being... Well, prey isn't the right word, since he's still that, in this context, but to be far more seriously predated upon by things that could actually kill him at the time. Things he couldn't simply ask to stop, to be given a moment to collect himself because if he didn't fight he wouldn't survive, and isn't that just the reason for this mess in the first place?

He has ever been a survivor. Just more so in the lockdown than before. Yet he doesn't fight back against Makoto, lets the thrill of these blunt and human teeth sink into him again and again, let them sing against his blood as the adrenalin washes over him.

Maybe he's just a fucked up adrenalin junkie, and doesn't know it.

Maybe that's why he gives a small chuckle as Makoto asks him that. Asks him to promise that no matter what happens, Kazuya won't die. That he can't be killed. It's not a malicious sound, nor is it amused. It's appreciative. Again and again and again, Makoto proves to Kazuya that his trust in this demon isn't misplaced. That despite being a demon, Makoto is just as human as he is, in spirit, if nothing else.

He thumbs the back of his neck gentler, voice calm and even as he speaks.]

You won't kill me. Or, if by some miracle you managed it, I'd just come back in just a few minutes. Seconds? Hours? [This time he laughs with amusement, because he really isn't sure.] Point is, I'd be back to pester you with my being a shitty demon after too long.

( makoto’s relationship to the concept of humanity is different than kazuya’s. it’s not something he derives any pride or identity from—not something he wants to particularly preserve or defend. depending on whatever level of emotional intensity he might be at any given moment, his opinion on humanity at large ranges somewhere between “on the disgruntled side of impassive” and “actively misanthropic.” he had never seen an ounce of kindness or compassion extended to him during his years on earth that hadn’t turned to a pillar of salt the instant he looked more closely at it. and yet so much of the hurt that tends to radiate from his feelings on humans tends to come from a place of rejection, of betrayal; there is a secret part of him which yearns so much for understanding and acceptance, even still. even when he feels like he knows better. makoto might not flaunt his former humanity (he simply doesn’t care to), but he also doesn’t want to dismiss or hide it. it is, regardless of how he might feel about it, a part of who he is and who he was. and, in a way, he’d daydreamed about one day lording it over all the other demons of hell, when he’d finally climbed to their hierarchical apex. he would keep this small, weak, pathetic body with its ugly, disfiguring scar, and they would have to look at him and realize that it was a former human that had beaten them all at their own game. and they would fear him or love him for that.

but that was over a hundred years into his future—barely worth a thought here and now.

for a moment makoto lets his head hang, resting his forehead against the curve of kazuya’s neck; he can feel the flesh knitting together to make itself whole as he does so, as the gentle touch playing at the sutures along the nape of his neck makes him feel more and more restless, as kazuya laughs softly, giving him the promise he needed to have. makoto focuses on his breaths—in, and out—pulling the wool from his eyes and forcing himself, in contrast of opposites with what kazuya is doing with him right now, to see him as a demon and not as a human being. no matter how soft and vulnerable he looks—he’s agreed to let him do this. he wants him to. he can stop holding himself back.

another shudder passes through him, and then he moves, sitting up and leaning forward so he can press his lips to kazuya’s in a hungry kiss—a side-effect of his coming into hell and learning what he did from J and the other demons there was that, when he couldn’t really seem to find the right words to express appreciation or gratitude, he repays them like this. it only lasts a moment, in one surge of passion, and then he breaks away. something seems… a little different, a little off in his demeanor after that—having unwound himself from his inhibitions, it seems like the dark shapes of the monsters lurking in his depths have crowded to the surface. he doesn’t waste any more time. he mouths his way down to the other demon’s jawline and back to his throat, teeth scraping haphazardly against skin, before he once again fixates on the strength of the pulse thrumming beneath it surface. his eyes lid heavily, and he allows himself to let go—he snaps forward with sudden, unfettered violence.

many things happen at once. dull human teeth sink into flesh, into that delicate and vital weave of the throat, but this time is different because he tears with a sharp, almost-practiced cant of his head—the jugular torn, blood surges from the wound in a thick wave, the strength of kazuya’s beating heart sending arterial spray into the air. some of it splatters the walls, the vast majority seeping into the bedding beneath them; some runs down makoto’s throat, sweet as ambrosia, even more decorating his face and his neck and down the front of his shirt. he gives a sharp breath, half a gasp. energy buzzes through every part of his body, wild and aimless—it presses him further, farther, far too demanding to permit for even a second’s pause. makoto’s body closes around kazuya like a bear trap: one hand fisting tightly in his hair, the other that had been on his chest sweeps around his back, dull half-moons of his nails digging into the flesh as he half-claws, half-pulls him up closer to him, wanting to feel the tense heat of him against as much of himself as he possibly can. blood continues to flow, and makoto doesn’t want it to stop; with a soft moan catching in the back of his throat, he presses his mouth into the wreckage of kazuya’s throat, tearing with his teeth to make it wider—wide enough so that he can stick his tongue, hot and needy, into the tangle of torn flesh and muscle. he kisses him there almost as deeply here as he had moments ago—he remembers how J had similarly torn his throat open for him when he was still human, and the tangential closeness of the experience roars through him as adrenaline and arousal. already pressed up against kazuya’s body, he roughly rolls his hips against the other teen’s, eager for some sort of outlet, no matter how indistinct or indirect. in the moment, his head swims; he feels oddly high, as if short of breath—and he has to wonder, having lost so much blood, does kazuya feel the same? even though they are both at this knife’s-edge, on drastically different sides? )

[This time, Kazuya has an inkling of what to expect. Kisses him back as fiercely as Makoto kisses him for how brief it is, not wanting to waste a single bit of whatever affection he can get. It helps ease him into what comes next, the feel of teeth scraping against his throat, the way his nerves alight with anxious energy, and then searing, stinging pain. It's perhaps a little funny, that it feels the exact same as he's used to from other demons tearing at his flesh and consuming, though they'd never made it to his throat.

A sound bubbles forth, hot and wet and pained as his blood is sprayed.. Just about everywhere, coming in pulses with his heartbeat and soaking down his front, down Makoto's front, the bed sheets, and even the wall gets splattered as the pressure finds its way outward. Distantly, he thinks it's a little impressive. Kazuya remembers seeing messy, bloody smears on the ground from where demons had only half consumed their victims, remembers thinking that demons were particularly wasteful, messy creatures. At least he knows now how so much blood could have ended up so far from it's previous host. He's thankful that cleaning will be minimal. A funny thing to think, when someone has their teeth in your throat, tearing chunks from it.

Another sound that's breathy and just as wet as the last echoes from the torn remnants of his throat. Physically, it's not pleasant, to be torn into like he is, but the mental stimulation? The fact that Makoto moans against him, rocks and clings to him like a lifeline, acts without any sort of restraint or care, finally comfortable in being allowed to be, to give into that violent and destructive nature that Kazuya himself knows and harbours...? It's stronger than the displeasure of the sting and burn of torn flesh that tries to knit itself back together, even as it's agitated and torn more. Everything else though? The hand in his hair, the one digging and scratching with blunt nails into his chest to pull him closer? That is delightful, and it's what he focuses on, along side the knowledge that he's being used for Makoto's pleasure. That he's allowing the other demon to do this because it's what he wants, what he desires, and if Kazuya can give him such a thing, he wants to.

The blood, of course, doesn't stop emptying from his carotid, though the flow does significantly lessen after a minute or so. His bodies regenerative properties can keep up, to an extent, but the fact that his wound is forced to stay open gives it a fight on several fronts. It'd be incredibly interesting, if not for the fact that yes, it does make him a little dizzy, blurs and darkens the edges of his vision and yes, makes him a little delirious, if the way he sloppily grabs and grips onto Makoto again and again and again is any indication. As his hand slips from where he actively wants it to be: somewhere he can grip to keep pulling Makoto against him, encourage the rock of his hips and the delicious friction that follows.]

( something like this would kill a normal person. it’s a thought that, when reflected upon later, when the darkness of his nature hadn’t overcome him and the blood of a demon king wasn’t warm in his stomach, he would probably hate himself for—how much it heats his blood and draws him taut and wanting to just think about, supplemented by the profuse loss of blood and the wet, forced sounds of breaths being drawn through the harrowed span of kazuya’s throat. truthfully, makoto doesn’t want what would inevitably happen after to any other person. he doesn’t want to be left with a corpse, inert and cooling, little more than a testament to his own inextricable evils—even if he didn’t care about the person it had once been, it would seem like a waste. but here, writhing across the knife’s-edge line between what feels like life and death beneath his fingers and between his teeth, he feels more exhilarated and alive than he’s ever felt otherwise. even though in this scenario it’s a bit contrived, with kazuya being near-impossible to kill, it’s still more than enough; pushing another person to that vital edge hopelessly turns him on far more than he would like to admit.

he doesn’t hide it. he couldn’t, even if he wanted to, even if he attempted to try. the only thing he is still mindful of is focusing rather on the perversion of the violence in order to distract himself from the overwhelming desire to eat; he doesn’t indulge in that so plainly as he had with J, stripping flesh from his neck to greedily consume, here only swallowing whatever shreds he might incidentally. for makoto, blood isn’t usually enough to satisfy him, but kazuya’s—it still isn’t, but it’s different, so it’s more. it warms him, buzzing beneath his skin, making him feel bizarrely bold, strong. even if he isn’t in actuality, it’s a dizzying mental illusion. as his own control over kazuya solidifies, the other teen loses it over himself; makoto can feel him repeatedly grabbing at him, not necessarily to shake or stop him but just to hold onto him, to urge him further. well, he certainly doesn’t want him to pass out. that would just be inconvenient.

so it’s with some reluctance that he pulls away from his throat, wantonly licking the blood from his face before it can begin to fleck away and disappear. sitting up a little, something about makoto looks a little different. typically the pallor of his skin is concerning, almost like that of a corpse, but now there’s something like the warmth and glow of life suffusing him now. his odd silver irises seem to faintly glow against the bloody red of the sclera. he breathes out a soft sigh, tongue thick as he intones in a low voice, ) Stay with me, Kazuya, ( reorienting the hand that had been fisted in his hair to the side of his neck, staunching the flow of blood as much as he can as the wound sluggishly started to mend itself.

he’s not going to stop there, though. no, he’s just getting more comfortable, more settled in his own skin and what he wants. dull fingernails still pressing into his skin, he drags his other hand along kazuya’s torso, eventually skating over his hip to his legs, continuing along the long line of his thigh until he finds the bend of his knee. he grabs hold of him there, pulling and twisting his own body so he can try to swing kazuya’s out to his side, so he lies back on the bed rather than how he’d been with his back facing the wall. it’s a shame, really, that the blood is already beginning to disappear from the walls, from his clothing—the huge stain beneath them in the bedding and mattress was already beginning to shrink. it’s a shame because he wishes he could paint kazuya in it, wishes that he could inscribe his own desires into him as a scar of his own. it’s a sudden urge that twists, disappointed and stymied, in the pit of his stomach. it’s okay. he’s not so inflexible—he can trade some desires for others. he settles over kazuya, their hips carefully aligned; he thinks that he likes the feeling of kazuya’s thigh bracketing him there, and he encourages it with a few guiding strokes of his hand, a contented hum filling the hollow of his throat.

he leaves kazuya’s own to continue to heal, instead rucking up his shirt away from his stomach and his ribs so he can bend down to them to begin to mouth along, all teeth and tongue, exploratory over the fields and patches of scarring and other marks. something possessive begins to grow inside of him, enough so that even the small, usually-nondescript mark of a spade just under his right ear darkens—it carries him into the swell of a petty, possessive instinct, and he once again drives his teeth into unmarred flesh just over his ribs, breaking skin to glance across bone. he doesn’t bite him quite so savagely as he had at his throat, but it’s because he’s not content to stop just there—he moves to another spot even as the first bite was beginning to heal, biting into him again (each time just harder than the last, as if the impermanence of the marks he’s leaving is a growing annoyance to him), and each time he does it he drives his hips against kazuya’s, forcing him to ride out pleasure with each surge of pain. his hardening cock has been straining at layers of clothing for the last few moments, but he isn’t in any particular hurry to do something about it—in truth it’s instead almost ancillary to what else he’s doing, far too entranced in what kazuya is permitting to want to push anything preemptively towards its inevitable end. )

[The blood-loss, he finds, dulls the pain after a bit, making him far, far more comfortable with the way he's being torn into by someone who may as well be a savage animal at this point, with the way he tears and rips and pulls the flesh apart from his throat. And while the edges of his vision blur, and there's a sort of weakness in the way he grasps desperately for Makoto, it also doesn't get any worse either. Instead, in that deliriousness he finds a certain giddiness too. That Makoto is enjoying this, enjoying the taste of his blood thick on his tongue, enjoying making a mess out of him and his throat and the room and bed in general. That he is, in essence, enjoying Kazuya himself passionately in a rather intimate aspect, leaving traces of him even if only in blood on the walls and bed and their clothes. Yes, his blood is disappearing, evaporating into nothingness, but with how much there is, how soaked into the sheets it is below them, it stays longer, lingering for longer than just mere seconds.

Makoto's voice feels far away in the moment he speaks, presses his hand to staunch the mess of his throat and Kazuya hisses a wet sound as the connection stings. Nothing he can't handle, and there's a sound that's almost like a gurgling laugh that comes next. He's not going anywhere, he can't, not with the way he's trapped between a wall and Makoto's body, with the way he eagerly is pressing into every last bit of touch he can get like a desperate, needy animal himself. Does he like the pain? Again, no. But it's also not so bad now, not so terrible the more he grows accustomed to it, the more the other demon chases it with the pleasant touch of his hands as he's forced lower and lower against the bed until his back is against the wet sheets, flush.

By then, the mess of his throat has mostly healed. Just enough to allow him to speak though he still has to swallow several mouthfuls of his own blood before he can manage that. A small price to pay to be able allow his contentment, his amusement, his enjoyment to be known, and Kazuya gives a satisfactory sound once he's able to.]

I'm not going anywhere.

[Is the first and only thing he says once he's able. The rest he says less with words, more with actions. His leg curls around Makoto's hip, encouraging, letting his hands fist tightly in the other demon's hair as he bites down now that he has the energy for it. Teeth against his ribs make him give a rasping gasp as the pain mingles with the pleasure as their hips connect. There's a spot, though. Just under his sixth rib and slightly to the centre, that when Makoto bites down, Kazuya shouts. Shivers and bucks against him just as hard as that pain he finds isn't really as painful as the rest of the bites Makoto has torn into him. It's anything but, and he scrambles a little, jerking to try and keep Makoto in that spot, to encourage him to bite and tear as he pleases so he can get more and more of that feeling.

It's also the location of another scar. A fist sized one that looks both jagged and smooth, like it'd started healing the same way his body does currently, and then like something that'd be more human. Uneven in it's formation. A parting shot from Loki while he was between being human, and being the fully realized King of Bel.

It's a sensation that isn't like the rest of the scars, which tingle dully with touch. It's sensitive, tender, and almost a little too much all at once when it's bitten. He was hard before, but only just. Now it feels like he's caught in a tide, between pain and pleasure and both are just as overwhelming as the other, mingling and mixing into something all together new and unknown to him, and all he wants is more. ]

Edited (i fucked my own html up) 2024-03-06 04:41 (UTC)

( is it cruel that makoto wouldn’t want to allow him that degree of separation, that level of comfort? it could probably be said that he’s a difficult creature to love, either physically or emotionally—despite being at least moderately aware of it, he still demands much and more from a partner, and they tend to be towering demands at that. when he had signed a contract in his own blood with J, making the terms of the exchange for his soul in return for J’s flesh binding between them, he had imposed them upon the demon as well: can you make it so that you won’t die while I’m eating you? it is a facet of his innate sadism, yes. he wanted J to remain alive just as he would want kazuya to remain conscious and aware—he relishes in the grit of pain in another’s face, written into every taut muscle of their body, when he tears into them. but in addition to that, there’s something about forcing them into the position of being a more active participant, and it appeals to him on a completely different level. it makes him feel… seen, in a way, and if not accepted, at the very least tolerated. it’s not the same if the other individual passes out from blood loss or pain. it’s not the same if the other person dies.

so there are selfish layers to it, in addition to the more simplistic and ethical ones: the ones that still say that makoto doesn’t want to become a murderer, even if every one of the natural sexual proclivities he comes by tend to be street signs that unswervingly point down that road.

for a dizzying moment makoto thinks irrationally that kazuya had lied to him—that there was far too much blood coating himself and the room and soaking into the bed to survive from, and that he wouldn’t respond to him at all. but he does, in a spluttering sound he has to piece together after the fact as a laugh. makoto’s colorless eyes have flown wide to stare at him at this point, watching not only his pale face but also the crimson wreckage of his throat still attempting to work despite what had been done with it, even as it slowly starts to pull itself back together. it’s so strange and so fascinating, and it causes something to twist and writhe inside makoto, dense and hot; he’s going to keep it to himself, but of course he takes a moment to imagine the wound that J had torn open into his own neck and how the demon had encouraged makoto to fuck him there, so that he could come inside of him even after he’d long since devoured his lower half. no, he’s not going to do that here. but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about it.

he shudders at the affirmation, the pressure of his hands not necessarily bruising (he’s not that strong) but certainly firm wherever they rove over kazuya. and he welcomes him in it—his leg slots in comfortably at his waist, and his hands find whatever purchase they can in makoto’s short crop of hair as makoto sets his violent attention to kazuya’s chest and midsection. now, there’s not a pure soul’s chance in hell that makoto could manage to miss or misconstrue the other demon’s reaction as he bit into a scarred section just over his ribs. at first it startles him so badly that it scares him, being by and away the strongest reaction kazuya had had thus far—makoto half-sits up with alarm, eyes wide, but he isn’t really allowed to go very far with how kazuya is wrapping himself around him and making the physical demand for more. well, makoto doesn’t need to be told twice. the spot is low enough on kazuya’s body that makoto has to adjust his position accordingly; their hips don’t align anymore, but he’s not planning on that being of any issue. his breath comes in short, hot huffs, his eyes wide and wild. he studies the place where the scar is, not present of mind enough to know how it’s different from any of the others but certainly getting the sense that it is. but as he thinks about that, it pricks at him like a thorn buried deep under his skin; the tattoo of a spade just under his ear darkens further, beginning to surround itself with an encircling halo of embellishments etched into his skin as the suit sunk its claws deeper into his psyche. )

…Something else got you here, ( he says in a low voice, tongue thick, nearly a growl. ) Someone? ( it doesn’t really matter right now. possessiveness and envy twine with one another and crawl through his chest like parasitic vines, proliferated with thorns; beneath their influence, encouraged by kazuya, he can’t resist the urge to surge forward and inflict his teeth on that spot, hungry and merciless. before, he had been careful, thoughtful even, about how he had conducted himself. in this instant, however, he doesn’t have the mind to give a damn. it’s determination and unfettered bloodlust that allow him to tear through flesh and skin with dull, human teeth, spilling blood but also occasionally swallowing down whatever mouthfuls avail themselves to him. now, it’s been several months since makoto actually indulged in this, the kink that to him was most vital and sacrosanct to who and what he is. for that reason and many others, he’s not exactly subtle about how it affects him, how it incites a riot of arousal in him without even being touched. he moans openly into the wound, continuing to widen it and worsen it with his teeth, several things occupying his mind: chasing after his own perverse, taboo pleasure, trying to make kazuya react as strongly as he had earlier, and also erasing whatever mark had been there first so he could put his own there to replace it. (regardless of how impossible or irrational that might be, of course.)

holding himself up with one hand, makoto’s other roves down the plane of kazuya’s stomach to the waistline. were he in a different frame of mind, perhaps he might be a little more subtle about this, but he’s simply not—wanting to know just how much this affects kazuya, he roughly rolls the palm of his hand over the crotch of his pants, breath catching for the instant he registers how hard he is beneath. at first he keeps stroking over him through his clothes, but there’s something frustrating in that, so he instead sets to trying to fumble open the front of his pants, wanting to free his cock from the layers of stifling clothing so he could continue to press him further and higher. )

[There's a feeling of disappointment as Makoto shifts and shimmies, makes it so that their hips no longer align and Kazuya can't buck and grind out his satisfaction against him any longer. It doesn't last long, however. Not when Makoto tears into that same spot, moans into it licentiously and low enough that it quite literally reverberates through his gut and ends in another shiver. Another shout, another whimper and whine and it's only when he realize that Makoto is actually consuming him is there any sort of alarm in him. Just enough panic for his pupils to blow wide as he watches and jerks in surprise once, twice, before stopping. It's more reactionary than anything, like stubbing your toe and reflexively saying 'Ow' without there being any sort of pain.

There is pain here, to be certain. Pain in the way his flesh is stripped from his body like he's a still living sheep and Makoto the wolf, tearing into him with a ferocity unmatched by even the demons he knows. Even the demons who had previously attempted to make a meal out of him. It's a strange, perverse, fascinated horror he watches with, watches the enjoyment of Makoto's face, the noise of almost fervent relief and pleasure he makes in one. In it all, there's a hot, dark recognition. In watching the other demon feed on him, the urge to do so himself is put in his head. Why shouldn't he return the favour? Isn't this sort of thing he's watching now the same sort of thing he's been holding back from doing himself? From completely and utterly giving in to his own new urges, to hurt. To consume.

Kazuya wriggles underneath Makoto's touch, an awkward attempt to help him remove his pants, his boxers, the last vestiges of any sort of sensible modesty despite the fact they both gave that up when Kazuya had ever so politely allowed Makoto to tear his throat out with his teeth. All through this he nods, quick, punctuated with soft whimpers and gasps. Yes, someone had beaten Makoto to the punch. But that's hardly surprising is it? Given what he's gone through, how brazenly he shows just what he's survived. Of course someone else had gotten him. Someone else had gotten him in multiple locations from that very sensitive spot to the more ticklish one just above his hip that's a long, linear gash from his very first demon encounter.

Even more now, he wants to return the favour. To bite and consume Makoto in return, to take pieces of him and make him his own just as Makoto is doing to him now. Yes, his own spade mark darkens, but this is more than that; this is the darker nature Babel told him about. The darkness, the desire to make all things shudder before him. Makoto is satiating himself on him, and yes, there is a tautness to his muscles, but it's no longer just a reaction to pain and pleasure mingling, it's him, poised to strike and turn the tides and return the favour the moment Makoto wavers even slightly. For now though, he does a good job at distracting him, with his hand on his cock and his teeth carving out a small hollow in his skin.]

( is predation part of this? perhaps in a way that he doesn’t consciously grasp or understand it is. perhaps it is for other people—other demons, other monsters like him—who find themselves afflicted with this morbid, base-born urge. but in the limited occasions makoto has been able to indulge himself like this, the triumph of the hunter over the prey has not been a part of the dynamic; with J it had always been contractual, a deal made with specific outlined terms, something that he would take from the demon in the understanding that he would at some point relinquish something in return. with J, it had never been something he’d forced upon him. whether they had been bound by contract or some verbal agreement, makoto could justify his actions as consented upon by both parties, and he clings to that. perhaps he doesn’t want to view it through the lens of a predator because that would make him what he had feared the most when he was still human and alive: a killer hunting amidst the innocent. he’d never wanted to become that person. he’d essentially killed himself before he ever had the chance to.

so, no. the thought of being the wolf among sheep, of tearing through thin skin and into their vulnerable underbellies to glut himself upon offal still vivid and steaming with life, doesn’t really occur to him. in defining “predator” and “prey,” it creates a distinction between them. rather, for makoto, to satiate his deep and innate and inscrutable desire for the taboo, he wants to preserve their sameness. it’s natural for the wolf to devour the sheep, but for a man to feast upon another? it’s the thrill of that wrongness that lights up along his spine and dances along the surface of his skin just as much as the rending with teeth or the near-overwhelming satisfaction of raw flesh and blood filling his mouth and sliding luridly down his throat. perhaps that’s even stranger than those who would seek to devour another as a final act of conquest, but makoto instead seems to seek out someone who would willingly submit themself to it—and not just once, but what he would hope would be many, many times. he has always been one to desperately yearn for the act but shy mournfully from its dire, inevitable outcome.

even though he’s not always successful at it, makoto shields a lot of himself from others, hiding away in what he views as the relative safety of the benefit of the doubt. but as he is now, saturated so deeply and thoroughly in what he desires most of all, he’s made stark and unmistakable, completely unable to muster any sort of illusion over it—the desperate expression on his face might best be described as beatific, both overwhelmingly euphoric but also crushingly anguished, all at the same time. even relatively untouched, he’s achingly hard. all he wants is to sate himself. all he wants is to completely lose himself in it the same way he had when he’d first torn into J, losing so much time in such unrestrained, violent hedonism that he’d started to come to in the early hours of the following morning to find more evidence of what had happened in the meantime in the state of his room and J’s body than written into his actual memory. there’s an oblivion to it. but, buried in those vague recollections, there’s enough of a hook to begin to bring him back. no, he doesn’t want to lose himself like that here because the circumstances are not the same—kazuya is not contracted to him for his pleasure, and he wouldn’t want to treat someone he considered a friend like that. so he begins to pull back and return to himself, and it’s in that, in recognizing that he’s helped him squirm free of his pants and underwear and that he still watches with a look of dark hunger that he knows intimately, when everything hits him, but not all at once. first there’s the realization of what he’d done, and it conspicuously washes over him like a bucket of cold water, causing his expression to warp in abject horror—but then he pieces together kazuya’s response in real time. there’s nothing he could do to the other demon that he wouldn’t allow; he did so knowingly, and with that haunted look in his eye, one that makoto feels as though he understands more than anyone else might… he lifts himself up from the wound at kazuya’s side, his hand stilling to grip him tight at the base of his cock.

perhaps kazuya might have been tempted to lash out at him then, but perhaps he might be distracted once more by makoto easing once more into movement, sitting up fully and retrieving both hands so he can begin to undo the buttons up the front of his shirt. once removed, he tosses it away from the bed. but for the scar around his neck, his skin is smooth and unblemished, pale enough so that one could see the faint blue of veins beneath the skin. )

Kazuya.

( he intones his voice in a way that’s both hesitant and yet curls with understanding. he leans forward to slot their hips together once more (him still clothed here, though maybe they’d get to that eventually), shuddering with a brief stagger of breath at the contact and friction. his arms bracket him on either side, and as he looms over him his eyes gleam in a way that’s almost incandescent. he’s already growing tense, anticipating. ) If you want to bite me, do it. I’ll let you choose where. But I don’t heal like you do, so keep that in mind.

( makoto doesn’t particularly enjoy pain. but after what had happened between himself and rokurou, he wouldn’t be able to deny that there’s something alluring about biting mutually into one another’s flesh, drawing blood and sharing in pain. he’s inflicted enough on kazuya, and he hadn’t even asked to let him devour what he had—this feels more than owed. )

[The temptation to lash out is strong, and even as Makoto holds the base of his dick, he lurches forward suddenly once the stimulation has stopped as Makoto moves to take his own shirt off. It's only his voice, his own name being said that gets him to stop just as suddenly, as if frozen in a spell.

Makoto is speaking, and Kazuya huffs breathes as he does, his voice so far away in his head that it takes him a moment to actually realize what it is he's saying. He blinks once. Twice, as the words connect to their meanings. Makoto is allowing him to bite him in return. To potentially inflict the same wounds he had done on him, and there's a part of him that laughs, cruel and wicked, because Makoto has no way to stop him if that's what he wanted to do anyway, and that simply by saying it he's allowing the illusion of it being his own decision of whether or not Kazuya does.

It's the other part of him that startles back as it thinks that, because Makoto is his friend. There's trust between them, and that much is obvious with how he's allowed and encouraged Makoto's ferocious behaviour that he simply wouldn't allow from anyone else. Still, his teeth ache at the allowance, and he wants to bite him, to tear into him as ferociously and-

Kazuya's hands move, pulling Makoto against him as he presses their foreheads together once more. If Makoto's eyes are near incandescent, than Kazuya's are glowing themselves, a red hot ember that's waiting to spark into a violent, all consuming wildfire.

All it needs is the right breeze.]

Can I mark you?

[His voice is quiet and rough as he shares in the other demons breath. If Makoto doesn't want him to, he wont. If Makoto is content with bites and only bites, that's also fine, and whatever damage he inflicts, he'll heal. He might say he doesn't heal like Kazuya does, but Kazuya is the Overlord, and with it, he has a wellspring of magic at his fingertips. He could tear Makoto's throat out like he'd done to him, spray his blood and paint the room with it and then heal it back as if it had been nothing, and he'd be lying if he said the thought wasn't appealing.

These are the dark wants, the dark urges he keeps tamped down, hidden away behind an unassuming guise. The last thing he really wants to do is feed them lest they grown, but maybe... If he does it here, where there isn't as much risk, then they'll just be satiated for a bit.]

( makoto’s eyes widen in instinctual response to kazuya sitting up to lurch forward; he tenses, going still for just one moment, anticipating an attack that would result in an iron and restraining grasp, fierce teeth. it doesn’t come. now that he’s paying more attention to kazuya and less to satisfying himself, he’s beginning to see something unidentified and exciting lurking in his friend’s eyes, somewhere within the fierce red glare of his eyes. it’s not something he might have expected from him—he’s always gotten the sense that kazuya’s inherent desires as a human being were likely normal enough, so did this mean he was fanning the flames for whatever hungers he might have inherited from the demons he subsumed? the thought is a fascination to him, and he wants to see more, even if he knows it will likely put him in the position of bearing more pain than he typically appreciates.

it seems worthwhile to him in the moment, because… it will bring himself and kazuya closer together in his mind. and that isn’t necessarily intended in a wholesome, intimate way: the darker, more nasty parts of makoto also want it because it would mean that he would be dragging someone else, someone who might have been any of his classmates from when he was still human, down into the mud on his own level. kazuya’s soul is already tarnished and affected by the results of his own actions, but if makoto can have a hand in magnifying that… there’s deep gratification in that, to him.

it’s true that makoto couldn’t stop kazuya from what he really wanted from him either way, but he has to wonder—would he also find it almost meaning more, when it’s willingly given? the trust in that is so tantalizing that it’s almost dizzying. even if makoto had the strength to take what he wanted from people… he feels as though he would always prefer to sink his teeth into that feeling of intimacy when offered instead.

kazuya pulls him in closer once more; face to face, their foreheads pressed together, makoto looks unblinking into the fiery glare of the other demon’s eyes, trying to read from them what he wanted before he gave it voice. when he does, though, he pauses. even more than hearing it, he can feel the bone-deep want welling up from the request that echoes through everything makoto has felt and wanted in so many years of his life. a pulse of sympathy goes through him; a throb of mirrored desire. he wants to give it to him, he does, but— )

I… ( he hesitates. it’s not a refusal, but he has to ask, ) Tell me exactly what you want to do first.

( though if kazuya asked him if trying to feed the darkness within in bits and pieces, hoping that would be enough to satisfy it into vanishing, was a valid strategy… he would only have to brokenly laugh. in his experience, it has only made them worse—as if giving light to them made their shadows grow ever longer, impossible to ignore in the mind as they sunk grasping roots throughout the rest of the body. )

[He swallows thickly as Makoto asks him that, and his tongue is thick in his newly healed throat for a second. How is it he could explain? It's an odd request to begin with, because it goes far more, far deeper than just bruising bitemarks and lingering welts from nips and sucked marks into the skin. No, he's fairly certain to the fact that Makoto has cottoned onto that, that when he asks for clarification it's because he knows that Kazuya wants to leave a far more lasting mark than what would normally be implied from such a statement, or at least would between two people perfectly human.

He sits, quietly, arousal still buzzing heavily in his system as he thumbs the back of Makoto's neck, still shares in his heated breath as his body thrums in their shared heat.

Just as before, his voice is still quiet and rough, and there's an almost pleading, sighing way he explains.]

Bite you. It doesn't matter where, [Though his throat and neck are the most tempting spots, and he licks his teeth for it.] Then... Stop you from healing. Just long enough to scar. [Something permanent, something tangible and real, but Kazuya also inhales sharply, seemingly coming out of his haze, his trace, at least momentarily.] It doesn't have to be forever permanent. I can heal it for real after, if you don't want to keep it for long.

[Even just knowing it'd be on him a few hours would be enough to satisfy him, even if neither of them ended up leaving this room and just lounged around basking in the afterglow of whatever the hell this was. Is.]

( the reason that makoto asks has more to do with the strangeness that this new body of his can behave than anything. yes, he’s hesitant in agreeing to someone rather grievously wounding him as anyone else might be, but considering the number he’s already done to kazuya and how much he wants to see the shadow of darkness in his eyes and in the corners of his expression grow, he finds himself willing to agree. but there are peculiarities with how his body works that are strange even among the demons he consorted with back in hell. if kazuya had certain expectations, makoto would want to make sure they aren’t ruined just because of that. especially when it comes to something like marking, like scarring, because he’s fairly certain he won’t scar any more than kazuya will, regardless of how badly he’s hurt. none of the clients he’d entertained at datenshou’s had gotten so cavalier about violence, but he had come by the occasional injury from an overeager nip or misplaced claw, and he’d found out that any wound like that would seal up if sewed properly, and once the sutures were removed, the skin would look as though it’d never been split.

of course, he presently doesn’t even know that he would have increased healing ability from having drank kazuya’s blood and eaten his flesh—that would be a totally new thing he’d have to figure out.

the cyclical motion of kazuya’s thumb across the back of his neck tangles a confused feeling into all the rest that are swimming through makoto now, all arousal and excitement and pent up energy with nowhere to go. he listens, and his brow furrows as he does so—perhaps kazuya would interpret it as reluctance, but he’s just trying to figure out how kazuya’s desire would make sense with how he knows his body responds to injury.

he replies slowly but methodically. ) I’ve been bitten and scratched before… Besides the one on my neck, I don’t even think this body does scar. ( he pauses. ) I just don’t want to—disappoint you, if it doesn’t work out the way you want. But, the way I heal is a lot slower than you. …You’d have a lot more time to appreciate it than I do.

( a little bit of jealousy? maybe. kazuya’s probably already healed from the injuries makoto’s given him.

he pauses, then nods, resolved. ) As long as you’re okay with that… Okay. I’ll let you do it. ( his hands tighten on the bedspread below them. )

[It does seem like reluctance at first, the way his brow furrows and something inside of him wilts as he takes in the expression, only to harden his own gaze once more as Makoto speaks, explains that it's not reluctance to do it in general, it's reluctance to disappoint him. To somehow be the cause of Kazuya failing to mark him because of a unique quirk of his physiology. Well, Kazuya can't fault him for that, and his head lowers, just enough to kiss along his jawbone slowly, sensually.]

That's fine. If I can manage to leave one on you, I'll let you leave one on me too.

[Since it seems like that's something that Makoto wants, given the way he speaks about appreciating his work. The work which saw him leave messy gouges into Kazuya's flesh that only remain in darkened thick blood that's quickly diminishing with every second, but that Makoto had enjoyed so immensely leaving on him. If he likes it so, then what's one more scar? There are eternities left for him to live, and this could be a reminder that there is in fact someone else just like him out there when he eventually returns home.

Kazuya's kisses grow harder as he reaches the junction of his throat, somewhere just above the stitches and he presses his teeth against the spot, nips and sucks a mark into the area as he wars with himself on where exactly he wants to leave this mark of his. There's the option of somewhere bold, somewhere open and visible to everyone, like higher up on his throat, where nothing short of a turtleneck would cover. He has a feeling that Makoto might not like that though. The other demon is far too covert for that sort of thing, and so he moves his mouth lower on his neck, though he does stop to worry those stitches with his teeth first.]

( that methodical sort of sensuality isn’t something makoto is particularly used to—demons tend to be more brazen with their lusts and affections, firm under the best of circumstances and forceful under some of the worst. there is a shadow of violence often cast over sex and intimacy; it’s not something everyone enjoys or even wants to engage in, but it’s still there, just as pain and pleasure, love and hate, can often be far more inextricably linked than one would assume due to their diametrically opposing natures. as J had told him when he was still human: humans are the only creatures who struggle with contradiction. demons and the rest of the world is not quite so persnickety, free to pursue their natures and desires, no matter how conflicting they might be. as it is, he isn’t sure how he feels about it. does he like it? does he prefer this to being handled more roughly? he would suppose so, but there’s something that just makes him feel impatient and restless beneath such slow and considerate gentleness. it suddenly makes him understand kazuya’s previous impatience, his sudden demand to forgo with the foreplay and just tear into him already.

he opens himself up to it nonetheless, lifting his head so he could bare the long stretch of his throat, marred as it is already with the sewn scar spanning its circumference. something squirms in the pit of his stomach as kazuya mentions letting him leave a mark on him in return. could he do that? he hadn’t gotten the sense that anything he’d do to him would last, given how long he’d been healing, but… just thinking about being able to see a scar on his body that he’d left there… he again throbs with want.

it’s something that only heightens and intensifies as kazuya’s attentions drift steadily lower, kissing and nipping and sucking until he leaves a bruise in the soft, vulnerable delta of skin just beneath the delineation of his jaw. his breathing gets quicker and heavier, and he reaches out to grab at where kazuya’s shirt is rucked up just under his arms, pulling him not only closer but forward, encouraging a reversal in positions so that now makoto is lying back on the bed with kazuya over him. no, it’s not necessarily his preference, but he figures if kazuya wants to bite him bad enough to potentially scar him, it’s best if he’s lying down for it—that, and he can better grind up against him from this vantage, and that’s something that he absolutely does when the other demon mouths slightly lower to begin to tug at the stitches across his throat with his teeth. something tight in makoto grows taut enough to threaten to snap—warm breath leaves him in what is far closer to a wanting gasp than he would like to admit, and he moves one hand behind kazuya’s head and into his hair to encourage him in what he is doing, the other moving in the opposite direction to grab roughly at his ass and pull him into himself in the same moment that he lifts his hips, desperate for whatever friction he can manage for his straining cock.

honestly, kazuya doesn’t even need to bite him here ultimately—it’s kind of already firmly marked with a scar as-is—but it’s just not something he can force himself to ignore, not when the pleasure-pain that always needles him whenever anyone gives undue attention to the wound at his throat is as strong and enticing as it is. )

[Makoto moving, pulling him against him in a reversal of their positions makes him groan softly, teeth pressed firmly against his neck as he still decides, still hesitates on where he wants to bite because the other demon has to go and be distracting about it. A hand comes to Makoto's hip, thumb hooking into his pants as Kazuya rocks himself against him in turn, something slow but strong enough to ease the ache in his cock by grinding it against Makoto's still fully clothed one. Soon. Maybe? That is the inevitable end they're supposed to be working towards, but everything else here between them is just as desired.

The touching, the skin against skin against teeth, ripping and tearing and swallowing. It's intimate in a way that he's never really thought about, never experienced before now, and he's not sure how all the pieces of it fit together yet. He likes it, the closeness it brings, the way Makoto enjoys sinking his teeth into his skin, even if the pain is something he's not quite on board with. Though it's not as bad as it was when they started, when Makoto had torn the throat he'd bared to him out, and maybe the key to it is just a little distraction, something to ease the sharp sting of teeth.

The hand on his cock had been a fairly good start for him, Makoto rocking against him in turn had been good in general, so maybe he can offer that same beat, that pain intermingled with pleasure as he bites down finally, finally on the crux of his neck and shoulder, sinking sharp teeth into him deep as he rolls his hips against him hard and firm. This is where he's decided to leave this mark of his, and as Makoto's blood wells up in his mouth and sets alight other pleasant receptors in his brain, he forces a bead of magic into the wound as he cants his head, tears at him with that same fervour that Makoto had previously. It feels... Right. To consume him in turn, the same way the younger demon had torn chunks from his own body to whet his appetite.]

( there’s a part of him that still rebels against it. he might not have a peanut gallery of archdemons commenting on and attempting to influence his thoughts and actions, but he had his own irascible pride which ended up having a similar enough effect. but in the part of him that rankles a bit at kazuya pushing him down into the mattress, his teeth dimpling the delicate skin of his neck and threatening to rend and tear, there is also something that enjoys it and finds it thrilling—it’s the part of makoto find that finds anything subversive and taboo thrilling, either in doing it himself or enabling someone else to. so far their dynamic has relied more on give-and-take than he’s experienced before, either in his contract with J (which had been entirely taking, on his part) and the work that he’d done for datenshou in his brothel (which had been entirely taking, but from him instead). it’s just fascinating and new, to perhaps not be entirely into something but to permit and indulge someone in it, to see how it affects them—especially when it’s something new to them, and something so important to him, as this is.

it makes his heart race, causing his blood to thud through his veins and through his cock; a small, ragged sound catches in the back of his throat as kazuya takes hold of his hip to better angle them as they grind against one another. it’s only at around this point that makoto becomes completely fed up with the fact that he’s still partially clothed, but it’s not exactly something he’s in the best position to change right now. he relegates himself to wait, now feeling the burgeoning impatience that kazuya had shown several minutes earlier.

it’s a dreadful trepidation, waiting for kazuya to determine where exactly it is he wants to sink his teeth into him. makoto’s breathing comes quick and harsh, the sound of his pulse in his ears thinning out to a single, high note. his hands grasp and knead at him, dragging dull fingernails against his scalp and lower back—he doesn’t exactly anticipate the pain, and he’s certain he won’t relish it, but he wants to confront it head-on now rather than be left guessing when it would happen—

he doesn’t have to wait that much longer. sharp demon teeth pick out a spot at the smooth curve of flesh where the neck and shoulder meet, shearing through skin and meat just above the border of the clavicle. pain forms an immediate and overwhelming block in his mind; a wedge that drives itself into the grey matter of his brain, making it almost impossible to think about anything else. he gasps and then cries out, and the sound shatters in his throat, its anguished shards like broken glass. he isn’t like J; he has no ability to dull his sense of pain, and to allow someone to do this, to tear away from the body ragged pieces of flesh that were swallowed in mouthfuls of hot, metallic blood—he had always asked J if it was too much, badgering him if the pain was too great, but he’d never understood how much it really was. maybe it’s good for makoto to understand just what it is he expects others to weather for his own pleasure. tears well in the corners of his eyes, but—as seconds pass, he realizes that the pain isn’t the only thing here. what he first comes to realize past the boundary of his own consciousness is kazuya and his eagerness; how fully he throws himself into emulating what makoto had just done, not only devouring him but enjoying himself as he does it. yes, he does determinedly roll his hips against makoto’s as he does it, still hard, and regardless of whether it’s putting a mark onto his body or the heady rush of blood that wells up from the wound or the satisfaction of consuming flesh willingly given, kazuya is with makoto in this, gratifying specifically from this, and it’s all just—something that he never expected to share with another person, and especially not one who felt so similar to him and his own background as kazuya.

he doesn’t want him to stop, even if it hurts. if kazuya decides to react with any concern to makoto’s cry of pain or the reactive stiffness that’s shot through every muscle in his body, makoto will reject it by holding his head right to where it had been; it’s just something he will have to deal with. but there is pleasure embedded with that sheer wall, and he chases after it—he reaches out with a tremulous hand between them to fumble at the front of his trousers, managing to undo them after some trial and error, and free his own aching cock. he tries to take them both in hand as best as he can, streaking precum from where it beaded at the head down their length, rubbing them together and beating them off as best he can. his breathing picks up, no longer actively pained and instead shallow and airy with intensifying pleasure. sweat beads at his temple. this is certainly not the best he can in general, given the suboptimal angle and position and the horrible pain in his other shoulder, but for him, for what’s happening right now, it’s enough—it allows him a spark of pleasure to lock onto and focus on amidst the pain, and one that grows only stronger as he can feel kazuya getting off on this just as much as he is. )

[There's a part of him that swells in affection as his head is held in place as he rips and tears bits of flesh from Makoto's body, to know that despite the pain, despite the way he sounds, he wants him there. Wants him to continue what it is he's doing, consuming him as he was consumed despite the pain. It's what he did for Makoto, to let him know it was alright, that he didn't have to worry about him pulling away, and to have it done for him in turn, despite the anguished sounds he makes as he swallows down a mouthful of flesh and blood makes his skin prickle. Makes him want to hold him close and not let him go, to soothe the wound he'd made with magic and his tongue even if that wasn't the point of making it in the first place.

With the skin out of the way, Kazuya holds his mouth there, tongue digging into the mess of torn muscle and sinew as he slowly eases magic into Makoto's body. Something that might feel relieving, like a cold wash over the area as he makes it so that Makoto can't heal himself, something that's chased by something much warmer, more soothing as he works the spells in tandem to heal and halt and heal the wound given until it's messily knitted back together, dimpled and scarred in jagged lines of teeth. Like the ones that other demons had left on Kazuya himself, back before he'd been able to shrug off such things with ease. It doesn't take too long, half a minute or maybe slightly more if anything, but it feels like an eternity as he laps up the blood from the flesh that knits itself back together roughly.

It's a good thing it doesn't take so long, because the moment Makoto takes them both in his hand, gives pressure to his own aching cock, strokes both of them together, Kazuya inhales sharply, unable to stop the buck of his hips into the tight hold. It's almost too much, between the gratification of leaving a mark and the physical sensation of his cock being tended to. He ducks his head further against Makoto's neck, swears into the skin in a breathy, needy manner, and kisses him. Kisses the skin of his neck and shoulder so affectionately that one would never guess the grievous wound he'd inflicted and healed only moments prior. He didn't even realize how close he was, the feeling in his gut churning and tightening with so little contact.]

( in a strange way, it almost means more when the pain is not dulled and the wound isn’t immediately healed—that the pain and physical damage borne is a willing sacrifice made for the sake of satisfying another, to cross a line into a perverse type of intimacy that the vast majority of decent folk wouldn’t even consider. it causes makoto to tremble, even beyond the pain of fanged teeth tearing flesh away from his body, even beyond the pleasure of kazuya’s cock driving hard against his own as he did so. it’s an unidentifiable type of feeling that buoys up inside of his chest, making him feel whole and secure in a way that is not only bizarre but also completely at ends with the fact that, in this moment, he is technically neither. but it just wouldn’t be makoto if he wasn’t conflicted with some sort of critical contradiction, constantly stuck in the flux of dichotomy.

the feeling of kazuya’s tongue being forced into the wound forces a sharper, more higher-pitched whine out of makoto. at this point he really has trouble figuring out if it’s from pleasure or pain because he feels both so strongly; that, combined with how odd it is to physically feel someone’s tongue moving inside of you, forces it out of him beyond his attempt to contain. it precedes something that makoto only realizes after a belated moment of confusion must be magic. it washes over him like a sudden rain which stops just as suddenly as it had started, then again, and again, and it’s such an overwhelmingly confounding feeling that makoto can’t help but squirm underneath kazuya, made restless by the careful manipulation of magic coaxing something that would’ve otherwise been impossible upon this body: a scar, albeit a temporary one, placed with gratuitous devotion

by the end of it makoto is panting, likely just as desperate for release as kazuya is—but, just as easy as it would be to try to chase both of them to that end, there’s a part of makoto that’s just as greedy as it is foolish (and not to mention prideful), which doesn’t want to allow himself to come just yet because he wants the satisfaction of coming to doing exactly what kazuya had just done to him. so as kazuya reacts strongly to his touch, leaning forward to press his head to the curve of his neck and kiss the knotted scar that was the only testament to the wound that had been ravaged there moments before, makoto’s hand shifts to wrap fully around the other demon’s cock, for the moment neglecting his own to pump with shameless efficacy. he focuses on the sensation of lips and tongue moving both sensually and salaciously against the contrived scar, urging kazuya towards climax while selfishly thinking that he does so just past the threshold of the other demon devouring his own flesh, putting a possessive mark onto his own skin…

fuck, fuck, fuck—he wants to come so badly, but he just doesn’t want to yet, not before he’s left a similar mark of his own on him. )

[His end hits him like a tidal wave, all wrapped up into the contradictory little package that is Makoto. Kazuya doesn't feel the need to hold himself back; rather he readily chases it, bucks his hips into the other demon's hand with eager grunts, teeth dragging along that knotted and gnarled scar tissue not as a threat to bite or tear or consume, but because he's panting open mouthed against the skin.

His whole body shivers as he cums, shudders against Makoto and lets his hips jerk shakily into his hand, only to slow and relax a few seconds later.

Whatever this was, it was intense. Something that sent not just pleasant little waves though his body, but through his brain as well. The satisfaction he feels is whole, though he tries not to slacken too much. He's on top of Makoto, and though he's feather light, he still doesn't want to-

It's a belated realization. Makoto hasn't yet come himself. Hasn't yet let go to that same high Kazuya has, and his hand scrambles down between them, attempting to fist around the other Demon's cock so he can beat him off in turn.]

( it’s perhaps the first time makoto has allowed himself to become more passive for use in the pursuit of another’s pleasure and hasn’t on some level hated it. there’s no manipulation here, no cunning manner of stacking the deck to push him into a situation with someone he otherwise wouldn’t have consorted with—he’s here because he likes kazuya, because they share an inexplicable kinship and bond in who they are and what they are, because in the wide world of all the innumerable universes and the infinite people within them, he had finally found someone that might actually understand. pain raises like goosebumps along the ragged welt that was the edge of the contrived scar as kazuya’s teeth scrape along it, breath blooming hot and humid against his shoulder; makoto actually finds himself grateful for it as it gives him something to hold onto to keep himself from succumbing to his own mounting pleasure as kazuya fucks into his hand just as much as he is able to move it to beat him off.

and then he climaxes in a rush, all at once, cock hot and throbbing as he cums in his hand. makoto can’t manage to fully suppress a small gasp; he bites his lip, concentrating, even though what every fiber of his being screams out for him to do is to take himself in his own hand and finish himself off so they can come together—he’s so close he doesn’t think it would take much at all. not doing so, forcing himself to wait just a little longer… it elicits an ache inside of him that’s painful in an altogether different way.

he starts a little as kazuya, slumped against him, realizes this inequity as well. he squirms, stammering, ) W - Wai—aaaahh, ( the protest tearing away into an almost anguished moan as kazuya’s fingers wrap around his cock—he has to quickly reach down to grab the other demon’s wrist, hand shaking, arm shaking, every muscle in his body feeling like it’s strung taut in this precipitous moment. he looks up to kazuya through long eyelashes made heavy with dewy moisture, and his voice squeaks in a way he finds horribly embarrassing before he finally manages to explain, ) I - I want to, too—leave a mark. Can you make it so that I can? I, ( he breathes a ragged breath; somewhere deep inside of him there’s a part of him that’s desperate enough to beg, to say please, but his ironclad pride throttles it, smothering it in its crib, ) I don’t want to come until then…

( because, yes, before he had torn into kazuya’s flesh with nothing but teeth and desire and hunger, but whatever injury he might have left there was already gone—and the scar he had torn anew had been left by someone else. he wants one that he knows is his, and he wants it so badly that his cock throbs in kazuya’s hand at the mention of it, at the thought of it; his grip on kazuya’s wrist tightening, he has to once again bite his lip, this time hard enough to draw blood, to keep himself focused on that, because he knows he will come all that much harder if he’s scarred him in a way that’s all his own. )

[The moment Makoto's hand lands on his, Kazuya stops what he's doing. A little awkward, considering everything, considering how slow his brain feels in relation to everything else and how badly he wants Makoto to get off as well.

It takes him a second or two to process the words. He wants to leave a mark. Kazuya nods, slowly, pulling his hand away as his chest heaves with the exertion of everything that's just happened despite the fact he doesn't need to breathe anymore. It's reflex, mostly, and he pulls himself the rest of the way away, moving so that he's laying parallel to the other demon who's desires aren't so different from his own.

Kazuya licks his lips, a slow thrum of apprehension in his gut, though it's mostly outclassed by the intensity of the orgasm just experienced.]

Where did you want...?

[He has to know where it is to focus his magic, because there's no way he'd be able to manage something full body like that right now, and he's not sure he wants to, after the experience of having his throat torn out.

Not that it was entirely terrible. It had been more... enticing than he'd thought it might be.]

( listen, makoto’s starting to regret it almost immediately after he stops kazuya, but he’s already decided that this is how he wants it to be and how he wants to do it, and he is characteristically very stubborn about the decisions he makes. kazuya nods to agree, and something bright and almost desperate sparks within makoto’s silver eyes. he does what he can to allow for their positions to change, instead lying side-by-side and facing one another on the narrow bed, so close that space is barely allowed to them.

where… thought slowly churns through his mind, inhibited and distracted by near-overwhelming feeling of having stopped himself so close to the edge. it would certainly be a statement to mark kazuya somewhere visible, but it also seems something too forward to impress so early upon him. the young demon inches infinitesimally closer to him, neck bent so that his forehead rests just against the notch between his clavicles. his lips press to skin just beneath that spot with feather lightness, mouthing over to the side until he finds a place beneath the line of his clavicle but several inches above his heart. )

Here, ( he manages in a hoarse sound scarcely above a whisper; everything inside of him screams to bite into him now, but he forces himself to wait. it’s almost as painful as holding himself at the precipice of orgasm. he continues, gritting, ) …Let me know when.

( and he waits, though only just enough. the second kazuya gives him indication that he and his magic are ready, makoto lurches forward with a half-gasp of breath, blunt, human teeth driving into skin with violent, reckless abandon. the precision with which he tears away flesh from his body is a type that is practiced; he moans throatily into the wound as blood rushes up from it, around a mouthful that he savors with a fevered sort of ecstacy before swallowing. it’s at the same moment that he reaches out to kazuya’s hand to pull it back to his cock, all at once going from so little sensation to so much that it’s almost overwhelming in conjunction with the meat that slides down his throat. really, kazuya barely needs to pump his hand a few times before makoto hits his own climax shortly after swallowing, content in his internal perception of the shallow wound he’d left to scar on the other demon—he presses as close as he possibly can to kazuya in that moment, every line of muscle in his body drawn tense enough to snap, before the heat in his cock seems to focus into one final pulse, and he cums, hard, into the space between them. a harsh-sounding cry is torn out of him in the same moment before he collapses, half into the bed and half against kazuya.

though, in the eddying haze of his orgasm, feeling the occasional spasm and shudder of muscle beneath skin slick with sweat, blood, and semen, he forces his eyes open to watch that kazuya does as he’d said: that he manages to preserve the wound as a scar. something all of makoto’s own that he would keep forever. )

[The magic is still excruciatingly fresh as he focuses it on the area, and he's barely given a second to keep it steady before Makoto descends on his claim, marking him and tearing out his flesh in a way that's painful. No longer does he have the haze of arousal, though the endorphines running in his system from cumming probably do something to make him more pliant to the experience. Maybe not. It's hard to say.

So yes, Kazuya makes another noise as he's torn into, something that's a half grunt, half whimper as he strokes Makoto while trying to focus his magic and trying to not falter in either because it takes effort on both accounts. To stem the flow of the stasis of his body, to prevent smooth, even healing as it would like, to force a new normal on it.

One he hopes will stay. Maybe like he can make Makoto stay pressed against him, arm and unused hand coming up to grip and pull him against his body. Yes, there's a wound there, mangled and bitten flesh knitted together roughly. One that's still bleeding, even as it's forced to heal slower.]

( it’s unfortunate to kazuya that the pain is a little brighter and fresher, bereft of the veil of arousal, but it’s rather fortunate to makoto—the pained sound that grates out of his throat only drives the surge of his pleasure higher, simultaneously gratified in this evidence and also that which kazuya is careful to painstakingly write into his own flesh with the authoring of stutter-start healing. a ripple of once-torn flesh that, once makoto comes a little more strongly to his own senses again, that he can recognize is his and his alone on the other demon’s skin. he happily submerges into the flood of self-satisfied contentedness at this and the afterglow of his climax; he makes no argument or struggle against being pulled against kazuya, instead wrapping his arms around him in reciprocation. he licks the blood away from the rawer places on the still-healing wound in slower, more methodical strokes of his tongue—the type of an animal licking its wounds to clean them for better recovery.

after the flow of blood stops, he lies there against kazuya, his heart and breathing gradually slowing to a normal rate. heat ebbs and leaves his skin, leaving ripples of gooseflesh to dance across its surface as sweat cools to leave him feeling slightly chilly—but only slightly.

it’s always in the absence of the heat and rush and thrill of passion that sense begins to seep back into makoto. worry. concern. doubt and fear. thinking back on all that had happened, he feels as though he shouldn’t have any reason—everything that they’d done, kazuya had agreed to, participated in himself even—but still, anxiety hounds him. after a long moment of trying to decide how to ask whether or not his friend would find him disgusting for what he had done, he decides to instead ask in a small and questing tone of voice, ) So… was that what you had in mind, when you asked me about trying this sort of thing…?

Not even remotely.

[But it comes with a good natured, breathy and tired laugh and Kazuya pulling Makoto tighter against him with an accompanying soft sigh of contentment. No, never in his wildest dreams or imagination did he ever consider that maybe he might like not just being bitten, but readily consumed, and to consume in turn. It's a part of him he'll think about later, over how much of that is him, and how much it might be his new nature, but in this moment it doesn't really matter, satisfied as it was.

It's also relieving that he could indulge in something like that in the first place without any actual fear of real harm or judgment. After all, Makoto was a demon too, and one who had also indulged in swallowing down mouthfuls of Kazuya's own flesh. Something the other Bel's in him rage and rally against, but he feels too content to pay them any sort of mind. Being Makoto's glorified chew toy hadn't been a terrible experience, especially seeing how into it the other demon had been. How lost in the fervent heat of it all he'd become.]

I know I kind of encouraged it, but I really only thought you'd bite hard enough to draw blood and stop there. I'm glad you didn't.

( makoto would be predisposed to squirming uncomfortably, waiting for some sort of repudiation. but kazuya’s words are wrapped in a gauzy laugh, and his arms pull makoto infinitesimally closer rather than try to shove him away. it invites a strange sort of vertigo in him, despite being unmoving—the strange disparity of expecting something and receiving the exact opposite. it’s challenging for him to face directly, and even more difficult for him to talk openly about. he presses his face into kazuya’s neck as if to hide, silent for a long moment as he grapples with how to reply, but he just can’t find anything that feels “correct,” so he just goes with what naturally comes to mind (for better or for worse). )

I didn’t plan on doing more than that. ( he frowns, and he continues in a low grumble, ) You just—tasted so good… It just sort of happened.

( his blood heats under his face, but it’s only in embarrassment. he continues to insistently hide his face.

but his curiosity drives him more than the tattered remains of his human feeling of shame at the moment. ) Was… there any part of it that you enjoyed? And, I mean—not just getting off on it, ( since there’s at least a moderate amount of physical evidence to show that both of them had gotten off on it enough, ) but did you like it, personally?

( there’s a distinction to makoto. sure, he’d gotten off when he lost his virginity to fjord, but it’s not as though he’d ever want to replay the specifics as to how that happened—he’d hated everything about it. it’s just not something that he wants to make any erroneous assumptions about for kazuya. )

I tasted good...?

[That's something he hadn't expected to hear. That he'd apparently tasted good. He wonders what part of him constitutes tasting good. Is it his own lowered version of Magnetite? Or is it in turn the part of Weiss he's been feeding off of since their contract that makes him taste good in turn? They say you are what you eat, after all.

Though maybe it also might just be the taste of the other Bel's, in that case, though he can't particularly say any of them had been enjoyable to absorb, but maybe that's because he hadn't actually become a demon yet either. Plenty to ponder on, and no answers in sight, it seems. Which is fine, because Makoto asks him another question that seems... A bit silly. Did he enjoy it? What had happened? In his mind the answer is a very clear "Duh, obviously" considering that he had gotten off to it. He wouldn't have gotten off to it if he hadn't, right?

That doesn't seem to be the answer the younger demon is fishing for, however, so he takes a few silent seconds to ponder it.]

I enjoyed all of it. But I think my favourite part was seeing how much you enjoyed yourself? Knowing that you were getting so much out of what you were doing to me was... Really hot. Not that the biting wasn't, or even when I was biting you too, but it's more that watching your face and just how into it you were, how eager you were was what I liked most.

[Only this dumbass would admit that he liked being consumed.]

Yeah…

( there’s a dreaminess in the murmured admission; he can’t say why either, but that’s simply the case. typically flavor doesn’t have much influence on his kink—for the most part, in his experience, flesh and blood just taste like flesh and blood, though offal and other organs can be a bit different. he had admitted frankly to J that he had started to tire of the taste after having eaten around half of his body; he had resorted to things like soy sauce and ponzu to provide a little more interest in that arena. he isn’t sure if that would be the case with kazuya. could he tire of eating someone who had such bizarre sweetness to their blood?

makoto is tense, and the two are far too close for it to be something he can hide. he waits, and when kazuya answers, his breath catches in his throat. he moves a little bit so he can look up to kazuya rather than hide his face away, brows knitting together as he tries to grapple with the sort of reply to this he’d never even considered he might receive. )

Really? You—even though I… ( he stumbles over his words far more than kazuya did in his explanation, something like three or four or more years’ worth of steadily-accumulating fears and anxieties forming trip-wires in his throat. he blushes fiercely, the tips of his ears burning red-hot.

he tries to find a different way to phrase it that hopefully wouldn’t be received as obvious or annoying. ) I-I just always thought that others would be grossed out by it, though—I didn’t really expect you to want to do it as well. ( his arms tighten around kazuya’s waist. ) I thought I wouldn’t really like it if it were done to me, but… it was really thrilling, and I was really excited when I noticed that you seemed to like it too…

I mean, I definitely didn't think it'd be something I'd like.

[Since they'd agreed on "biting" and "Maybe blood", and not "Active Consumption of Each other". He's been chewed on by plenty of demons as of very recently, and while now he gets to add Makoto to the list, he can safely put him in the list that contains only him of people he'd enjoyed getting consumed by.

Funny, that.]

I think it's more the context of it that I like? Because I can trust you to not go too far, or stop if I asked. Even though you were really into it, you seemed like... You were careful about it.

[It's the only way he can describe it, honestly. That even Makoto, absolutely delirious with want and desire and a need to consume, was still careful to not take too much or go further than Kazuya thinks he might have been ready for.

Though it's not like he'd been ready to be eaten like he was to begin with either.]

And... It's weird, but it's I'm not grossed out by it. Weird in the way that it's kind of novel, I guess?

[It's so hard to describe how he feels about something that's only happened once, and has just happened at that. He hasn't had any time to ruminate on it! Or pick apart his feelings on the matter.

His hand idly moves, rubbing Makoto's back as he holds him close.]

I don't think I'd mind doing it again, with you.

( he emits a single, dry laugh. ) Tearing your throat out wasn’t “going too far?” ( but it’s evident enough that he means it as a sardonic joke. in a way, he’s touched that out of everything that happened, kazuya had felt—what, safe with him in that way? trusting that he wouldn’t push any further past the boundaries that he had already trespassed against? it’s makoto’s instinct that anyone trusting him with something like that is foolish, because he’s aware of how much he wants to take more than he’s offered. he knows exactly how hard it is to keep himself reined in and under control.

but, then again, it’s at least nice to see that effort recognized. he nods slowly, glancing away. ) Yeah, I… I was trying to be.

( perhaps he might not have been able to hold himself back if he hadn’t been so afraid of pushing too far and alienating himself from the first friend he’d made here. it’s not as though he had ever engaged in self-control when he was contracted to J, but he has done so in other arenas of his life. curtailing and attempting to contain his more violent impulses has become almost second-nature, regardless of the ones that still manage to bubble up to the surface.

he breathes in, then the breathes out—he doesn’t speak up to reply, as if doing so would shatter what he perceives as an incredibly fragile moment of potential understanding. he has to remind himself that this was a desire that kazuya was seemingly unaware of up until this moment. he’s not like how makoto had been, on one level or another craving to consume someone for years before he had actually managed to do so with J. he doesn’t want to push him. he should have time to think through it and come to his own understanding of it. he can only hope that, with that, comes some appreciation—some willingness…

it’s as he’s thinking this that kazuya admits that such a hope is not only unfounded but confirmed far sooner than makoto might have thought. his gaze flies back to his friend’s face, wide-eyed and a little wild, more dumbfounded than over-eager (though it’s not to say there’s no bright eagerness there…). ) Are you sure? ( he stumbles over the words, having to take a moment to reconstitute himself before continuing, ) I mean, you—you don’t have to decide something like that right now. You can think about it. But, um… ( the grasp of his hands tighten; the dull half-moons of his short fingernails dig plaintively into skin. ) If you wanted to do it again… I would. However you might want to try it.

[The best part of all of this? Is what's happening right now, if he's completely honest. Yes, they're sticky with cum, and a little sweaty, a little bloody, but they're close, and Kazuya can just hold him, keep the other demon pressed against him where he can run his hands along him in affectionate little movements.

There will come a point where they will need a shower, yes. But right now Kazuya gets to bask in an affectionate afterglow, which makes him all that much more ameanable to what it is that Makoto says.]

I don't need to think about it.

[And it's a little strange that Makoto would tell him to? As far as he's concerned, he enjoyed it. Maybe the pain wasn't the best part about it, but everything else? That he's alright with.

He noses against the top of Makoto's head like an overly affectionate animal.]

Maybe next time we can just have ground rules? After that, then I'm fine with just about everything.

[There are, naturally, certain places he does not care for Makoto to tear into, even with his incredible healing factor.]

( makoto wouldn’t necessarily agree that cuddling in the afterglow is the best part of what happened, but he’s willing to trade his peaks for kazuya’s in the interest of mutual appreciation and benefit. they will absolutely need to shower at some point—given their questionable state, maybe kazuya taking them directly to a (hopefully private?) shower would be an amenable use of his teleportaton ability?—but for now he’s content to rest slumped against the other demon, counting slow breaths and mentally processing all that had happened.

perhaps makoto expects kazuya to second-guess. it’s a foolish sort of thought because there’s no evidence for it, but he’s just not used to things… going well. his life has been such a steady and torturous progression of terrible experiences that he’s always in the position of waiting for the other shoe to drop. it would take a lot of time of others telling him that that’s not the case and slowly letting him realize the truth of it for himself.

for now, he huffs a small, slightly cynical laugh to himself, but says nothing. or, at least, not until he has to grouse, ) “Fine with just about everything” isn’t “ground rules.”

( those are two opposing concepts, kazuya!! though, if it’s something like “don’t bite my dick off,” that’s pretty valid. makoto wouldn’t want kazuya biting his off either, thank-you-very-much.

but, whatever. they have time (apparently infinite??) to figure all of that out. for now, he’s content to momentarily bask in the warm feeling of awe at the miracle of finding a friend who might actually accept him for all the parts of what he is—even those left largely unseen and unspoken of. )

Alright. We can talk about it later.

[ The talk of demons doesn't hold the kind of cautionary significance for him that it might had if he was born human. Or religious, for that matter. He's only heard of things in epithets and oaths — you're the Devil's Puppet, and go to hell. What resonates with him is his professed desire to learn and define himself. What difference does it make? They're taking similar roads, and he's keenly aware of how lonely it feels to walk it here. ]

What does it mean to be a true demon? In your terms. Not anyone else's.

( in his own terms?

that changes things. he knows what it had meant to J (and likely other demons) when he had been killed as a mortal and had his head brought into hell to become a demon. he had also been pointedly taught what it meant for a former human to lose their last remaining vestiges of humanity to another demon. but pinocchio reaches for a very different answer in wanting what it means for makoto specifically. his answer wouldn't match that of other demons'; he hadn't felt particularly different in that way after becoming a "true demon," instead finding the glimpse of how it felt later, in brief flashes and snatches.

it had felt like power. )

To me... it means that your name has power. That others would fear speaking it aloud. That the weight of your reputation alone would make others hesitate to cross you.

I, ah... obviously I'm not quite to that point, but I would hope that mortals would at least treat me with some respect.

[ your name has power.

It's like when he put his finger to the spine of a well-loved and worn book on a shelf in Hotel Krat, knowing that not a single citizen of Krat hadn't heard of the famous and beloved tale of the mischievous wooden puppet and his yearning to become a real boy, of the carpenter who loved his manufactured son so. Taking the name of that puppet had felt... like power.

It's like snatching a wish from a star. He'd never encountered someone who shared this experience before. For him, it's not fear, but recognition. But is that not also... power? ]

You want recognition.

( for makoto, it’s both figurative and literal. the rules of hell are intricate and iron-wrought: a demon’s name is their essence. so long as their name is remembered and spoken aloud, they, like a concept, would never die. names also enforced a strict hierarchy, as an inferior and less powerful demon could not speak the name of their superior—even if they knew it—without shattering down to their very soul. and as for where that power came from, well, it was also carried within their names. does one’s name and reputation strike fear into the hearts of others? does it breed uncertainty, the worry that one wouldn’t be able to contend with another that might out-maneuver them politically? if a demon could unsettle another, make them even for just a moment believe that they had all the control in a given situation, that belief became actuality—the implication of power became power itself.

makoto has never personally wanted recognition. there’s nothing innate within him that craves it; limelight is something that he actively avoids. but having learned the rules of hell himself, and having seen them work in action and in concert, has taught him that it’s necessary for what he really wants.

he pauses, searching for the words, then answers: ) I want the power to make decisions for myself again.

And I won’t be able to do that without recognition.

[ What Pinocchio wanted was to be real enough to name. To be seen by his creator not as the errant tool of his ambition but as another son. Life isn't like a fairytale. If you have a wish, no angel will descend from beyond the stars to grant it to you. If you want love, suffering a hundred, hundred deaths will not sway the heart of an indifferent father; if you want something, you have to go out and take it. Even a name off the pages of a well-worn book.

He knows little of the world and less of humanity. And he knows nothing of Hell. Perhaps he doesn't need to, if he just wants to understand, as another put it 'what makes him tick'. As far as his wish goes, that is. ]

You're a person. You can always make decisions for—

[ He realizes, his sentence dying midway through. He had said again. If he's understanding him right, then when he was no longer human and became a "true demon", he lost control over his own fate? With the unspoken admonishment that he shouldn't get too far ahead of himself, he asks: ]

As you are now, you can't? Do others get in your way?

( he had said “again,” certainly, but had that even been the case? had he ever truly made decisions for himself when he was alive? he lived in the home with a controlling mother with exacting expectations on his education, which had belonged to a cold father who so viewed his younger son’s strangeness as a threat to his position and reputation in academia that “distance” turned to “hate.” much of how he spent his time had been dictated by their demands. his interests and curiosities—which, admittedly, had been morbid in their nature—had been curtailed and controlled. if he had done anything for himself once in his entire life, it had been in summoning J, and he had summoned a demon largely to end it.

and even J hadn’t been able to grant him that wish. here he is, bound to immortal life, bound to the whims and sway of a man who commanded him with the power of his name. if pinocchio told him he wished to be given one so he could be given the care that came with it, makoto would tell him to stop, to run—there is freedom in anonymity, in a nameless obscurity where no one could shackle you to their expectations.

he pauses before answering. ) No. I can’t. ( and his voice is a little more harsh, the edges sharp and cutting, at how the voice had started to answer—it’s a good thing he changed tack, or makoto would be far angrier. ) They make me think I can, but I only make a choice in the decisions they give me. When I try to reject them outright… I get punished.

( “you’re in need of reminding just who it is you belong to now.” )

Even here… it’s not any different. Do you believe you’re free to make decisions for yourself in this place?

Edited (my cws........) 2024-01-10 06:25 (UTC)

[ A joyless, caged life is an empty one.

He recognizes the sharp bitterness in a very different voice, the one that told him they were humans, locked in a prison called puppetry. Pinocchio is interested in what it is that binds him. Maybe... he wants to see what he does about it. If he'll cut his strings, or if he'll submit to them in time. For now, however, he's asking exactly the right question. ]

You want my opinion? [ Mild surprise. ] I won't try to gentle you with a pretty lie.

[ Made a puppet, he knows when he's dancing on strings pulled by another. Until he sees the hands that play him and everyone else, all he can do is play and betray with care. ]

Not without consequence, Fausteen.

[ Most of the time, the names people use for this "app" aren't their given names, but he finds pretending he's misunderstood tends to encourage people to give them. ]

Say whatever you want. Whether or not I believe you is up to me.

( silver tongues are what hold power in hell, not strength of arms or magic. he learned quickly and he learned hard to be incredibly sparing with his trust, and that lesson persists here, even if he is surrounded by all manner of creature and not just demons. even if makoto were aware of what pinocchio was, about what limitations of puppets there supposedly were, he would still find it difficult to purely trust anything he said.

but he can sense that there’s a kernel of something buried in this conversation that resonates with him as well. perhaps not in the same way, on a different frequency altogether, but…

he answers, swift and resolute: ) No decision is made without consequence.

( he knows that. to the very marrow of his bones, he has learned it.

…though, after a pause and with a brief fluster of embarrassment: ) Th-though, now that you say it, that name seems far less clever than I originally hoped… If you would, please, call me Makoto instead.

[ Exactly. Perhaps the warmth in his voice is at odds with the gravity of their conversation, but it's there, and it's real, nevertheless. ]

I like your spirit, Makoto. Call me Pinocchio, if you please.

[ For a moment or two, he sits here basking in the unique experience of feeling like he's come to a mutual understanding. That, for a change, he can truly relate with someone in a meaningful way. He doesn't have to try to shave off his strange edges to fit in with someone else's expectations, to make himself more appealing and convenient.

They're different. Their lives could be so easy if they conformed to the shapes that slotted in effortlessly with the gaps around them. Makoto is uncompromising.

He likes that. ]

You need not decide right away, but I have a request to make of you.

[ He thinks of the message carved into the withered trunk of a tree, standing alone in a park clotted full of the decaying dead. ]

Would you like to try being... friends?

( in a place he doesn’t allow himself to recognize, there is likely a part of him that recognizes something strange and kindred in this stranger as well. he doesn’t say so, however, and he doesn’t even admit it to himself—he tosses it away into a dark and wretched corner of the cavern of his chest, hoping that neglect would lead it to one day die, as any other fault or vulnerability might.

“pinocchio”… he recognizes the name as any young man from earth might, as interwoven into the fabric of international folklore as it has become. but, beyond that vague familiarity, makoto doesn’t think much of it. names are important, yes; they can also be symbolic, thematic. but he won’t allow himself to jump to any conclusions based on a name and only a name. )

Of course.

( he could be content to leave it there, thinking it one of the more interesting interactions he’s had through this system, though, as the other continues—

they are perhaps some of the few in this strange place for whom such a question might hold an odd sense of gravity. makoto had never really had what he would call “friends” prior to his death. the first friend he had ever made had been fjord, a relationship bartered with leveraging his “good behavior” after he had lost the last scrap of humanity he had to the selfsame demon. but fjord had offered him heartfelt advice when other demons would be hard-pressed to find such magnanimity, and he had been happy to think of him as such. in a place like hell, where kindness is never a guarantee and almost always a trick (or at the very least, a mirage), a friend is perhaps one of the most valuable things one can be.

others treat it so easily, so casually, so thoughtlessly. kazuya had been eager to call him a “friend” after half a conversation, all upon assumption, not even thinking to ask.

pinocchio seems to understand better. that flickering sense of kinship grows stronger. )

“Try”? ( it’s the choice of that word that stands out to him. ) Yes. Perhaps we could try.

What exactly is a “friend” to you, Pinocchio?

A "friend" is... someone who can accept your heart.

[ It spreads, dark and viscous, crimson turned black under the pall of night, crawling slowly in the gaps between the cobbles at his feet. The blood dripping from his blade falls in fat drops on the paving stones, steam rising into the cold evening air from the Stalker that has finally breathed their last. All the weasel-masked girl had wanted was to sleep with a full belly, she had said.

If she had only asked instead of attacked, the puppet might have given her something. He doesn't tell himself this was a kindness. She was in his way, that's all.

She was in his way.

'Maybe it's time to take a break, yeah?' chirped his friend, his guide, his conscience, from the lamp glowing furtively from the belt around his hips. Gemini was the only one who was never afraid of his readiness to kill while never wanting to exploit it. ]

All of it. Even the parts that aren't... easy to like.

A "friend" shares your path, for a little while, or a long while. Sometimes, in its fruits.

[ "Hello, my only friend. What have you to show me today?"

A broken, malfunctioning puppet lying in a lonely cave on the outskirts of the polluted swamp that serves as a landfill for discarded homomachina. Singularly rare among his kind, he wants only to understand humans, praying for the day when he can be their "friend". Heart-breaking his gratitude, when shown a pantomime of emotion he may never fully understand by someone who straddles the boundary between man and machine.

"You may not be my only friend," his voice box crackled, "But you'll always be my first friend." ]

I'm interested in what yours looks like, Makoto. [ Whether he means his heart or his path, he does not elaborate. Perhaps he doesn't bother to distinguish one from the other, his self-awareness too new and too young to know how to live in any way that isn't terrifyingly authentic. ] What does it mean to you?

( that is what he had put down for his thoughts on his ideal partner, isn’t it? the only thing he could have thought of. “someone who accepts me and loves me for everything that I am.” he had filled out the profile to humor the staff (who had been basically forcing him to do so), and he had humored this section to fill it out—the thought of himself even having some sort of ideal romantic partner is insubstantial and ephemeral in his mind. even someone like J… those words, that term just doesn’t really fit everything that their relationship is. but he had answered this section truthfully, even if he wasn’t sure it was a possibility for himself. it was the same for a friend, and it’s why he had avoided them for so long. with demons, he didn’t worry so much—he had learned in all of a week and a half in hell that his proclivities and desires were very nearly “normal” when compared to the debauchery demons indulged themselves in without a care in the world. but anyone else, to whom concepts and concerns of morality might still apply…

sometimes he wishes he didn’t care as much. he could just bare his teeth and show the world who and what he is, and damn all the rest—his ears would be deaf to the disgust in their words, his eyes would be blind to the horror in their eyes, his skin would be stone to the intensity of their stares. but he’s not. he’s soft, and he’s vulnerable—such things only too sharply remind him of how he gave up hope at life on earth in the first place.

they have only shared a short conversation, but its track gives makoto the impression that pinocchio (perhaps similar to his namesake) is not so simple in his relationship to humanity as many others he’s met here. but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still worried. his answer is something so tantalizing in its essence to him that it almost aches to consider, but he’s afraid to reach out his hand, unsure if it might be snatched away.

there’s a long pause before makoto answers, his voice tremulous and apprehensive. he has a question of his own before he moves on to ask the one pinocchio has posed. ) …And what if you don’t like what you find? ( unseen, unheard, he gnaws on his lip. ) What if there’s—more that isn’t, “easy to like” than there is the rest of it?

( he scares himself sometimes, with the things he thinks. the things he says. since contracting with J and becoming a demon, the things he does. he wonders if his control is slipping. there is much about himself that makoto doesn’t like, going so far as to hate it sometimes, when he’s entrenched most deeply in thoughts that J would belittlingly call “human.” and yet, with as self-secured demons seem to be with their cruelty and their morbid wantonness, he’s likely right—such a thing likely is uniquely “human.” )

[ He hasn't even been alive long, and already hangs from the noose of his own longing to belong, he gasps for a whisper of acceptance. What a dreadful hunger it is to be seen for what he is, and accepted anyway, but the one he craved love from the most discarded him without a second thought. The unwanted, the unworthy, who absconded with a heart that was never meant to be his.

So he's learned to covet with long claws and sharper teeth. He has left a horrible, bloody trail behind, and there are still citizens alive in Krat who whisper with trembling lips about the puppet of Geppetto, the way they used to shudder to speak of the riddle-loving specter who would steal away the lives of their children. He did it because he wanted a father's love.

It was never for him.

What if you don't like what you find?
What if there's—more that isn't "easy to like" than there is the rest of it?

As easily as the fragile eggshell fractures, he feels his mechanical heart laboriously churn, gears creaking as they process the swell of recognition. It's loud only to him, but his metal hand fans out over his chest like he means to smother its muted chatter. Oh, his throat feels tight. It's only happened once before, when the thing that once drew breath lay cold in his arms.

He manages to clear it with a bitter sound: ha. ] They become disappointments to their fathers who wish for good sons.

...This conversation— [ He almost laughs, but it sounds like a gasp. ] —took a surprising direction, didn't it? What a strange week it's been.

( the words shock him like an electrical current had instead passed through the Watch on his wrist. his heart staggers, and sweat immediately begins to bead near his hairline. he struggles to swallow around a lump that has suddenly risen in his throat, and when he manages to squeak out even half of a reply, it only comes out as a stammer of breath, a hh-hh-hh into the receiver, that might have been construed as heaviness of breath or a sigh exhaled through a quaking chest.

for makoto, however, it had been a question he hadn’t been able to get himself to voice: how did you know?

having put up with J’s mind games as much as he has, his immediate paranoid instinct is to think somehow he did know. but—just a few seconds’ thought makes him realize that’s ridiculous, that he doubts even J had picked up on all of the broken shards of emotional glass that lie as a field between himself and his father. he hates thinking of him, and for a split second, he hates pinocchio for making him think of him, but he knows that it was ridiculous to blame him for such a thing. “they become disappointments to their fathers who wish for good sons.” the words echo in his ear, blotting out whatever pinocchio is saying further; instead he is once again seated uncomfortably in the family room, his hands clasped on his knees, the knuckles white through thin skin. his mother stands conspiratorially close to his father, who has just arrived home from work—he can’t hear what she says over the sibilant whispers, but he knows what she’s telling him, because she can only take away and scold him for the books and things he brings home to try to satisfy his morbid fascinations so many times before she makes good on her threats to tell his father.

terrified, he stares at his hands. but some sort of ill instinct causes him to look up, and in that instant he sees it—his father’s gaze cutting through the air between them, ice cold, nothing but black hate behind his eyes.

“he’s going to kill me.” it was the first time makoto had ever thought it, but it stuck with him. even as he thinks of it now, he feels certain that he was right. )

…Yes. ( he had fallen silent for a long moment, but he rejoins the conversation with this word, shaky and quiet—it’s hard to say whether or not it answered pinocchio’s reply or his comment about the timbre of this exchange between them.

he’s quiet for a moment longer. then he clears his throat, speaking up again with a little more strength behind his words. )

To answer your question… Someone who will accept you for everything you are, who will see you for everything you are. Someone—who will offer advice, even when they don’t need to, ( he thinks of fjord for a moment; that conversation between them in the cold of the balcony had been a lifeline he’d clung to for a long time, ) who will be honest with you, when you’re making a mistake. But not cruel. Someone who won’t just throw you aside, even if it might be the easiest thing to do.

I… think that’s what a friend is, to me.

( he’s not sure he’s ever had one like that. it would be expecting a lot from someone. even fjord. )

[ What a difference one floor can make!

Levy tugs on the collar of his shirt. He pauses, lifting the bottom of the shirt to take a small experimental sniff. Has he been washing? Yes. But there's a scent downstairs that he can't quite escape from. It probably is all in his imagination. And it is not as though he hasn't lived in such circumstances before.

Is he mad at the House for it? No. This wasn't a targeted attack on him to take anything from him. If it was, he would have figured a way to burn everything to the ground and let people fuck each other in a desolate forest surrounded by the charred remains of a resort.

No, this was random. It wasn't out of greed or spite. Wildcards didn't really seem to have a choice on what suit or number they were given. Because it is just the random misfortune of an establishment; there is no one to blame or target specifically. There isn't even any reason to get mad at the staff themselves.

The long-standing guests, however, are on a very short list. It's why he's working to become a higher suit and see what chaos he can bring.

But! All of that is for the future.

Right now, he is curious about a mirror that doesn't show anything. He skips (half-skips) down the hallway to Makoto's room. What could the mirror be showing? Some supernatural something or other? He wonders! Humming to himself, he buries his other thoughts deep in the back of his mind. What good is it to ruminate on them? That's what losers do, anyway.

He's going to win the game, and that's what is most important.

Knock-knock-knock.

And he leans against the doorframe so that he'll be in a cool pose when the door is open. ]

( levy hadn’t necessarily specified when he was going to come by, so makoto made sure to have a relatively early night. he had already eaten dinner at one of the golden peacock’s less expensive eateries, aimlessly wandered about its labyrinthine halls and offerings of game rooms and private quarters, and had eventually turned in to quietly spend time in his room. truth be told, this is what makoto would likely have done if perfectly left up to his own devices—he tended to be an introverted sort, exhausted from time spent around others (as it was often time he had to actively think about who was around him, where they might be from, and how he should modulate his behavior as to not draw too much undue attention). sure, it’s likely not what the House wanted of him (though they’d already gotten some of what they wanted out of him, so maybe they shouldn’t be so demanding!), but he’s the type to take things at his own methodical pace.

he isn’t content to stay here, though. he does want to play the game, not only for the comfort of more money and better rooms, and not even for the potential offer of a royal rank that might bend renown and influence about the place to his whims. no—what if he “won” the game, though? what would he do with a wish?

makoto is lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the answer to that very question, when footsteps sound outside in the hallway. this isn’t strange—the walls down here are basically cardboard, so he can hear everything up to two or three rooms away (to his severe chagrin). but the steps halt to herald a knock to his door, meaning that… it must be levy. he swings out of bed, padding over to the door to open it for him.

as soon as he sees the cool pose, he can’t entirely stifle a laugh. what is that supposed to be? ) You don’t need to try so hard, you know. I already think you’re cool. ( besides, do you really want to try that hard to impress a teenager? grinning, he opens the door for him and takes a step inside. )

Come in.

( the rooms for threes and fours are larger than those for twos, but only just barely. there’s room to walk around, but not much. the full bed (flawlessly made) takes up the lion’s share of the room. the space is generally clean (it hadn’t been when he arrived, but he’d tidied it up), but it’s kept spartan. he has a few outfits hanging in a compartment closet with a sliding door. there are a few books from the library on the bed-side table, face-down so it’s hard to tell what they’re about. makoto walks over to the bed and sits down on the edge of it, seeming a little awkward about having someone else in his room—but not necessarily uncomfortable. )

Sorry… I don’t really have room for a chair or anything. You can sit down wherever you like.

Thank you!

[ Levy replies bright, happy to be thought of as cool. He spins around as he enters the bedroom. Does a little twirl yet again - even if he's told not to try that hard, he still can't stop himself from acting like a peacock that is on full display. It just is engrained in his personality at this point, even if he would deny that it was ever there in the first place.

Since he's told to sit anywhere, he looks about before shuffling over to flop down on the bed instead. Flop is the optimal word. The flawlessly made bed now has some wrinkles as he sprawls out on it. His legs hanging off the side, as he stares up at the ceiling. ]

This will do. [ And he rolls: ] Where's the mirror?

( makoto does notice his proclivity towards antics even when advised they aren’t exactly necessary—a small, amused smile ends up setting itself upon his face despite himself as he settles down on the edge of the bed. he had, of course, told him that he didn’t need to do such things for makoto’s own benefit, but if it was for levy’s own personal one, who is he to try to deny him? though twirling with such extravagance in his shoebox of a bedroom is more humorous than anything else.

(if makoto’s bedroom as a four is a shoebox, what does that make the twos’ bedrooms? matchboxes?)

he’s almost thrown from his perch at the edge of the bed when the older man flops down onto it instead. he gives a single, dry laugh, resituating himself. the bed is not particularly comfortable, but it’s not bad. “serviceable” is certainly the word makoto would use. ))

Not much room to stretch out downstairs, I hear.

( as he asks about the mirror, makoto pauses; then he turns and briefly leans over levy, fingertips probing the wall on the other side of the bed before he finds the catch for the compartment. most of the storage in his room are these spaces in the walls—there, the tiny closet, bed-side table. it opens, and he reaches inside to draw something out. first, he pulls it into his own lap, the mirrored face turned down. the mirror itself is plain, unremarkable—except for the suit of spades emblazoned on the back. )

Okay. Um… So, to the best of your ability, just try to tell me what it is you see in it? Maybe that will help me figure out what exactly it’s… showing.

( then he carefully extends the mirror to levy, so he can take it and take a look for himself. )

( ooc: description of the mirror’s effect is: “the mirror does not actually reflect back the viewer as they currently appear, instead reflecting what is hidden beneath the surface: expressions on the face looking back at the viewer will show their true nature, true feelings, or true desires.” )

It's not good.

[ Which is his only response. Matchboxes sound right. He hears bugs scurrying sometimes. Ah, it reminds him of the hell that he was plunged into before he became a Sinner. Yet he doesn't laugh. Once was enough.

Ah, yes. He remembers laughing long and hard at his circumstances back then. But now, they're just unfortunate, random mishaps. He'll get out and live well. He'll reward those that help him and -- ah, he went over that before. No good, no good. His thoughts are getting into a loop.

Levy sits up and lightly smacks himself on the side of the head. Like hitting any machine to get it to work right. ]

Sure! I'm more than happy to help.

[ With the same hand that hit himself, he takes the mirror. His eyes widen as soon as he looks at the mirror. A twisted version of himself stares back; one that's smiling wide and eyes filled with hunger, with bloodlust, with excitement. His eyebrows lift as he chuckles to himself. ]

Wow, it's like a funhouse mirror. A really wiggy face it's giving me.

( he lapses into disquieted silence. he hasn’t been downstairs to the basement below this one yet, but he has certainly heard that it’s a terrible place to end up. the cramped quarters, the poor conditions, the uncomfortable temperatures, the strange sounds and things that go bump in the night… this place isn’t exactly the lap of luxury, given how paper-thin the walls are, but it’s at least his own space. it’s easy enough to keep clean. the only noises that he has to suffer are those of people being loud, obnoxious, or amorous (which is loud and obnoxious in its own way, when it came to how these rooms were arranged). )

If it’s ever too much to be down there… You could let me know. I could see what I can do.

( he doesn’t know how well levy would respond to such an offer—makoto knows that he doesn’t really like to offer anything without giving something else in return, despising either the feeling he owed someone or the sensation of charity. but it’s hard to think about extorting something from someone when you know full well that they aren’t in a position to have as much as you have, just based on their very ranks…

levy sits up, and makoto hands him the mirror. he watches him carefully, a little worriedly, searching his expression for clues.

he understand what levy means, he thinks. the person he sees in the mirror is… similar, in a way. twisted, but recognizable. ) Y-Yeah… Mine is, like—it looks like me, but I can tell it’s… not. ( he frowns; he looks troubled by it. ) It’s sort of like, someone else wearing my skin. Do you feel that way? I-I just… I was given this, so… I’m trying to figure out, why…

You're from Hell?

Like, actual Hell?

Yes.

Though, from conversations I've had with other demons here, it seems there are many different Hells out there.
The one I'm from was... conspicuously without the fire and brimstone one might expect.

There's more than one?!

I mean I guess the one we think about is supposed to be pretty bad. Full of really bad people. And you go there because you've done some awful things.

Do you think you deserve to be there?

Edited 2024-03-07 02:36 (UTC)

Yes... That's what I thought about it at first as well.
From my experience, though, that's not really the case.

"Deserve"?
I... don't really think something like that matters, in the grand scheme of things.
But I do think it's probably for the best that I was there and not on Earth.

In the scheme of things, huh?
But!
Why not on Earth?
I'm on Earth!
Well, who knows if we're there now but like, I could go visit you if you were on Earth. If we were both there at the same time! You know?

( ....... ): he's so cute....

but this is a sensitive topic for makoto, so it takes him a moment to compose his thoughts. )

I wasn't very happy when I was there.
But...
I think, if you were able to visit me when I'd been alive, that might've been different.

( at least for a little while. )

Then how about this?
Because we're both here now, we can make up that time!
Together! ✨

But I hope when you're really powerful here... you won't forget about me.

( robin's overpowering sunshine aura is even overcoming makoto's persistent gloominess... )

Alright, deal.

I think you're giving me a lot of credit... But even if something like that did come to pass, of course I wouldn't.
Why would I forget someone who has been so kind to me?
Though I feel like it's more likely you'll end up in a position of power before I do.
Would you let something like that go to your head?

( mister nine of hearts... )

[ spiritually vores his gloominess while also clapping his hands ]

A position of power?
Me??
That's craaaaazy!

[ unless . . . ]

I don't think so?
I don't know what power really is.
I just want to be happy. And make others happy.
Can power really do that?

( 😳 )

Is that so hard to imagine?

( he doesn't know robin very well, but he'd had a sort of natural influence over other people, just with the way he acted towards them. it's probably for the best that he's so good-hearted about it; a demon would use that ability to manipulate and use others, without a doubt. )

Where I come from, power is less strength and more influence. Like, using your reputation to either get people to do something you want or deter them from doing something you don't.
But that's just in my experience. But I still think that would be a good "power" to have in this place.
I think it's possible, though. That you could use that sort of power to make other people happy.
You could just help them have an easier time in here... and I'm sure there are other ways as well.

A little!

If my power is to make people happy, or that's how I can get power, then I think it'd be nice if everyone could do that. And should do that! Or they could make themselves happy. Then everyone could be powerful. When everyone's like that, doesn't that make power itself kind of... like... the new normal?

[ it makes sense to him. doesn't mean it's right. or, tbh, logical to anyone else. ]

Ehe. But in the real world, maybe I just want to make you happy.

Well... it's complicated.
It isn't guaranteed that what would make some people happy would make everyone happy. It might very well do the opposite. And while many might be content with their lot, there is always the possibility that others might have the ambition and drive to prove themselves as distinct from or even superior to others.
So I'm not really sure it would be that easy. Even though it would be nice if it was.

( robin's sentiment is bright and shining, but in that it just feels as though it throws makoto into harsher relief—it only makes him feel more dark and twisted in comparison. there's a pause before he responds. )

Is Earth the only place that applies as the "real world"?

Oh. Well, I guess when you put it that way? It's really complicated! You sure are smart, Makoto.

[ insert cuckoo clock noises. the sound of water dripping from a faucet. the gentle thumps of rabbits jumping around. that's his brain rn. ]

The real world is the one where I am at any time. So if that means going to wherever you are, then that'll be where I go.

Even if it's like. Um. You know. Hell.

( it's okay, robin. makoto can have weird, nebulous anxiety enough for the two of you. )

Well, thank you, though I really think it's just because I tend to think about that sort of thing a lot.

Oh. Okay.

( 😳 again )

It's probably not as bad as you're picturing. From what I saw, Hell itself isn't that different from Earth.
It's more the demons you have to be careful about...
But... if they tried to start any trouble, I'd protect you from them.

( he'd try (and probably fail?), but. it sounds cooler when he says he'd just do it? )

The demons?
I mean, if they're all like you... is it really that bad?
Or are there like. Real demons.

Not saying that you're not one!
But like.

I know you'd do a great job keeping me safe.

Ah...

( yes, makoto is a real, true demon now, but just because that's the case doesn't expunge him from sixteen years of life lived as a human. in that way, he's not very much like those other demons at all.

not yet, anyway. )

No, they're... They're not necessarily destructive, but it doesn't mean they're not cruel.
That's why you need to be careful around them.
It will feel like they're offering you everything you've ever wanted, and then you'll end up in an even worse situation than you started in.

( it's almost as though he speaks from experience. )

But I've spent a few months learning how to deal with them, so I... I think I could handle it.

Well, I don't know if they can offer me everything I ever wanted when I've already had it.

Maybe I'd make the demons afraid of me! Because I don't need anything they can give me!

[ it's a nice thought, right? ]

It's okay though. I bet if we work together, they won't be able to deal with us. Like... um... I have a sword! Somewhere!

( damn... some people just have lives like that, huh )

That might work...
If they had nothing to offer you, they wouldn't have any leverage over you.

Wait, what?
A sword? Like, a real one?

Yeah! I can just pull it out whenever.

I'm not great with it but I figure it comes with practice? I just haven't had to use it very often.

I guess if you're willing to protect me, you know how to fight too?

Ah...
No... I've never fought or anything like that before.

But something like that wouldn't really matter against demons where I'm from. Physical violence can't kill them, so they usually don't resort to it.
So I suppose it's more about outsmarting them?

But if you have something like that, you should probably try to practice with it when you can, I think.

I will.

I just don't think a lot of people would want to see me holding a sword while we're... like... you know.

Doing things. And stuff. Ehe.

Outsmarting isn't really my kind of thing? I don't think I'm that smart...

( oh )

Well, not then, but if you have any other time, of course...!

( though, you never know. some people might be into that (i'm looking at you, rokurou). )

I never really had the highest grades in any of my classes either, but...
I think it's less about being smart like that and more about being clever.
Like, learning how to read people, how to guess what they want and how they want to get it, making sure they can't manipulate you into an unfavorable position and maybe doing the same to them before they realize you're doing it...
It's not like I'm very good at any of that right now either, but... I did feel like it was something I could learn and get better at, before coming here.

Oh. Stuff like that.

[ frowns inwardly ]

I wouldn't know how to do it! I'm just happy doing my own thing. If people end up liking or disliking me, that's kind of enough for me? I wouldn't want to do anything that ends up compromising what I stand for, you know?

[ what's deception, can you eat it? also it's not like he doesn't do all of this already. it's all natural to him. does that make robin even more dangerous? ]

But maybe you don't have to do those things here! If you're just naturally as nice and kind as you seem, you don't need to be like... all sneaky and stuff.

( not compromising something you stand for... it's an ideal that makoto gravitates to strongly. he's similar, in a way—full of haphazard, strident personal standards, always wanting to draw a dramatic line in the sand when they're being imposed upon.

but J had taught him in a way he would never forget, not as long as his indefinite life as a demon stretched, that such things didn't matter if you didn't have the strength to back them up. and, where he's from, the only way to gain strength like that is the very deception that robin is presently eschewing. quite the conundrum. )

No, you're right. I probably don't.
But... I guess I still worry. Suppose I do decide to go back, or we're all put back home as suddenly as we were brought here.
What if I've forgotten all the things I was learning? That would put me in... a bit of a dangerous situation.
So I think sometimes I do still need to practice, just so I don't forget.

( and if he gets a little better at reading people and maybe figuring out how to manipulate them to his advantage... all the better )

But, um. Don't worry. I wouldn't do anything like that to you or anyone else who's actually kind to me.

Come on, you're way too smart to forget something like that!
I know you are!

And I'm glad to hear it.
You shouldn't lie to your friends.
Even if it hurts, you need to be as honest as you can be.
Demons aren't inherently evil, right?

[ just like vampires aren't. he doesn't know a single evil one (that's still alive)! ]

I don't know about that...

( 💦 )

Hm... That's not necessarily how I would think of them.
They don't even tend to consider morality like that. They only consider what they want and what they will do to get it. And there's typically not a lot that they won't do to get what they want... They're usually only limited by what's possible for them to do, not by whether it's right or wrong.
So it can depend. There were some demons I met who were friendly and good enough to me.

( though one can argue that it was in datenshou's best interest to take good care of makoto as an asset, to better provide value for his brothel in the future, just as one could argue that it was in fjord's best interest to be a good friend to him in order to remain in J's good graces. )

But they could definitely be very evil if what they want from you is something you don't want to give them.

Do you really think it's best to be honest, regardless of what it is you're being honest about?

Humans and demons are pretty much the same in that regard then, right?
So I guess I have nothing to be afraid of~

[ naive or even stupid as it sounds, robin is confident that he would be safe despite any and all odds. ]

I think it is best to be honest.
What if I said I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to?
Which I wouldn't want to anyway.
It's still impossible for me.

Haha, you know what, I've thought that same thing once or twice.
Though the biggest difference is that humans tend to have more things they aren't willing to do, at least as far as their morality might be concerned...

( so... maybe robin would be fine? or maybe he wouldn't. makoto would always say that hazarding caution is the best choice to make, especially when confronted with demons!! )

I guess I would say... it almost doesn't seem too surprising, in a way.
But, like you said, you wouldn't want to anyway.
Doesn't that just mean you don't have anything you would want to hide?
Something you'd be afraid for other people to know? Or... something that might be dangerous for them to know?

I don't think there's that much I have to hide.
I have no real secrets. Or dirt, if that's what you want to call it.
Pretty much every part of my life is out there, out in the public. That's what happens when you're on the stage all the time.
Especially for the church!
You can't hide anything from God.
Which I guess is kind of scary...

( gee, what's that like........ makoto feels as though his entire life has been him pretending to be someone he's not in order to keep his own terrible secrets from becoming known. and he hadn't even been all that good at it! )

Something like that sounds terrible to me...
I don't know how you did it.

( as for the last few comments robin sends... there's a noticeable pause in which makoto fumbles for any reply that isn't too acerbic or incriminating. this sort of thing, pertaining to religion and God, is kind of a sore subject for him... )

No, I don't suppose you can.

It was fun! That's how.
When you're trying to make the people around you happy, trying to make them forget their problems even for a second? It's really worth it in the end.

[ ... ]

Don't worry.
If it makes you feel better, I'd protect you.
Just like if you were family. Okay?

You're the kind of person who could do something incredible like that.
That's why you enjoyed it. You're good at it.

( if makoto were in the same situation, he would've been perfectly miserable. making people happy? he doesn't think he made a single person happy in his entire existence on earth.

there is a similarly brittle pause. family happens to be another sore subject for makoto, considering his had never been kind to him. as much as he can recognize it means something different for robin, something positive and supportive and protective... he still can't change how "family" means something altogether different for him. )

...Thank you.
Though I doubt there's much to be done at this point.
I've already become a demon. And it's not like I would've ever gotten into God's good graces before I did, anyways.

[ robin, casually smashing into every single one of makoto's sore spots. ]

You never know!

But anyway.
I'm happy that I know you here.
And it might not mean much but you make me feel really comfortable!
And calm!

( he's the cutest, pinkest bull in a china shop )

I guess that's true.

Thanks, Robin.
I'm happy I've gotten to know you here as well.

( and he mentally makes a note to surprise robin with something painfully sweet and confectionery the next time he sees him. )

How do I save photos? I like the ones where you're smiling. I want to keep them.

( a brief pause where he stares at his Watch and sweats furiously. )

Why do you need to save them to your own Watch? You could always just see them on my profile.

So I can see them all the time, and it would be faster.

( a long moment later, so easily defeated: )

I think if you press down on the picture and hold your finger there for a few seconds, it should give you the option to save it.

Got it!

The first one is my watch “background” now.

Wh

Your background?? Are you trying to embarrass me?

No, I'm trying to look at you. It's a great picture! You should smile all the time.

I smile when there's something to smile about. And there frequently isn't.

( i'm sorry you have to deal with such a gloomy twink rokurou... though it's fairly true that he's been smiling and laughing more here than he'd been in hell? imagine. )

It also took... so many takes to get that photo...
But thank you. I'm glad you enjoy it.

( it almost makes the mating season photography staff fussing over him and trying to help him stop forcing his smiles worth the indignity. )

Oh. Look who it is.

( ironic, that the location of their last conversation would end up being the place that they would get forcibly locked into yet another one, though this time with a particular twist: according to the whims of Clubs, they will be playing a game of truth or dare with nothing for their company but an almost ominous pair of dice lying lonely and inert on a long table.

makoto is reading the message and attached instructions sent to his Watch when esi approaches the table to, whether he likes it or not, become the second player in this little game. the young demon’s face is contorted into a mask of inconvenience and irritation. he actually hadn’t come here in order to reset the circuit breakers, as they’d been asked. after much thought and consideration, he’s deciding to take the lukewarm position of a fence-sitter, wanting to neither contribute much aid to either the House or Clubs in order to see just what happened in the process of either coming out on top. that would probably shape his future decisions more than just an uninformed gut instinct. no, he’d been coming here in the vague hope that it was at least in good enough shape that he could grab another book to read while all of this craziness was going on. foolish, yes, he knows that now in retrospect… )

Well, by now we both know that there’s not really any good way out of this except by going through with it.

( he doesn’t seem all that happy about it, especially considering the part of the rules stating that the game itself is going to be dictating the truths and dares. he’s already revealed quite a bit of his soul to esi (spilled his guts, as it were?), but still—there’s just something about relinquishing himself to the whims of whichever entity is pulling the strings that irks him. but there’s not really any use complaining, is there?

he sighs, biting in the inside of his lip before asking, ) Should you roll first, or should I?

Edited 2024-05-24 17:09 (UTC)

Oh, it's Makoto. It's been a while, hasn't it?

( Well, there are certainly worse people to get stuck in a room and forced to play a game with, right? Esikko eyes the dice for some time, though, before rubbing his wrist with his opposite hand. Hmm. )

I wonder...

( This isn't one he's had the chance to do, yet. He has no idea what's in store, but he's already discovered that the drinking one was less than ideal, and he very much doesn't want to deal with that again. Not to mention, the lobby and other areas are decaying, filling with Crawlers and who knows what else, and he is in no state to deal with any of that.

Honestly, he probably should stay holed up in a room like Kirma wanted. But he's dying to know what's happening out here, and so this is what he gets. )

Let me try, I suppose.

( Since he's sooooo nicies.

But he rolls the dice, and they land on three, and then one. A total of four. His Watch lights up immediately with FOUR. Truth. What is your greatest fear?

Esikko brings his free hand to his lips, thinking. )

It said a lie deducts points. How do you suppose it can tell?

It has! ( bright smile. ) I hope you’ve been doing well.

( better than this, at the very least. makoto has never hid his feelings of utter derision and loathing for these little games that the casino tends to press-gang them into, though it’s not just the golden peacock that’s having its fun with them, is it? with Diamond’s game, it had seemed a joint effort between the suit and the resort at large, but whatever’s been happening lately… it seems like Clubs and the House are more at odds this time. he isn’t sure what it means, but when it comes to the guests caught in the crossfire, does it really matter? they are here, as per usual, to jump through hoops when signaled.

he at least similarly thinks that esi isn’t the worst company to have in such a scenario, though perhaps that might change depending on what exactly these dice are going to ask them to say or do. given the game is truth or dare, it feels obvious enough to guess that it will try to pry dreadful secrets out of them while simultaneously trying to force them into intimate situations with one another. you know, the usual. kind of strange when things like this end up becoming rote and expected, right? )

Go right ahead. ( makoto leans up against the table, watching with interest as esi rolls the dice, taking note of the result: four. there’s a buzz and flash of light from his Watch, but makoto is more interested in watching his expression as he reads whatever it says.

he doesn’t really glean all that much. esi isn’t nearly so much of an open book as makoto himself still is.

his words are far more indicative. makoto’s eyebrow arches. ) That bad? ( he rolls his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. ) Probably with whatever magic brought us here and holds this place together and does all the other weird things that happen here. ( he breathes a sigh. ) I’m not sure if you’d be able to fool it.

( maybe even if you said a lie but believed it to be true. that would be an interesting experiment, at least… )

I'm only curious for future rolls, if this is the sort of thing focused on. Somehow, I was expected something a little more...

( He trails off, rolling his wrist in the air to indicate the sort of lewdness it's probably obvious he's referencing. Still, it is something of a pain to reveal these things, and Esikko sighs once more before crossing his arms. )

I fear living my life without accomplishing anything. You know, if my life were to be pointless in the end... That sort of thing.

( The Watch dings in approval, granting him the two points needed and switching to Makoto's turn. )

( makoto is realizing that there’s a bit of an oversight in the game in that he doesn’t exactly know what sort of truth esi is answering. yes, he’s able to suss out by way of context clues that he’s likely confessing his greatest fear, but… well, so long as it’s enough for the Watch to ding! in assent and give him his points, that’s all that really needs to happen? if the questions got any more complex, to the point that they weren’t as obvious from the way they were answered, it might be a little more confounding to play, however.

makoto huffs a sardonic laugh. expected something a little more intense than a heartfelt admission? still. the young demon himself isn’t necessarily upset at esi being forced to answer a little bit about his own perspective—he had lacked such persuading tools the last time they spoke… )

Yes… ( he replies with a light chuckle, one hand raising to scratch with an audible rasping sound at the stitches encircling his neck, ) That would be a terrible fate, wouldn’t it?

( as here stands makoto, whose only achievements in his mortal life had been surviving to high school age in a way that garnered very little bespoke praise and quite a lot of questioning criticism and eating half the body of a demon before having his head ripped free from his shoulders.

not that he really cares. he had been more concerned with not leaving a lasting reputation.

it’s his turn now, so he dutifully turns to the table and rolls the dice. which i went ahead and rolled irl, and… they’re a five and a six. his own Watch dings pleasantly with the dare now: wear the other player’s undergarments for five minutes. )

What?!

( he doesn’t look scandalized so much as he looks flabbergasted. okay, yeah, he’s starting to agree with esi? what kind of commands are these??

his silver irises slowly track up to esi, a frown forming on his face as his brow furrows. ) I’m… ( he says in a cautious tone, mentally working his way through the logistics of this one, ) going to need your underwear.

( There are any number of things that could have been requested from Makoto's side. Another serious truth, some sort of sex act, sure— but whatever it is that's making him request this has Esikko pausing, a little laugh the only thing that escapes for a good few seconds.

But then, he curls his hand in front of his face. Umm. )

My underwear? Why?

( It's not that he's fully against it, or anything, but... he's sustained a number of injuries that make it a little awkward to strip himself. Bruises, scratches, simple little things, but they add up, and the one on his arm is nasty enough that he doesn't want to be questioned, so... )

If it's a dare, I suppose I could... But are you going to stare at me the entire time I undress?

( the baleful way makoto glares at his Watch before glancing up to esi’s simultaneously amused and flabbergasted expression indicates that the demon isn’t any more thrilled about the request as he is. )

Because it wants me to wear them. For five minutes, at least.

( sure, he can see instances in which something like that might be a bit of a turn-on, but it kind of depends, doesn’t it? the request that the Watch makes of him is more bizarre than anything else; between it and the question esi had had to answer truthfully, he’s starting to feel a kernel of concern take root within him for what might lie ahead of them as they slowly struggle towards winning this game.

he is realizing that, if neither of them back down, esi will win by default because he went first… fuck. he should have realized that earlier…!

makoto blinks, canting his head slightly to one side. his silver eyes scrutinize esi’s face fruitlessly for any sort of indication of shyness. he didn’t really seem the type? but he can’t really find any evidence either way. after a moment, he shrugs. ) Not if you don’t want me to. Do you want me to—turn away, or something?

( they’re trapped in a sex casino, so he thought they were past that sort of thing, but it would seem callous to refuse? )

( Five minutes. Esikko hums, considering the shrug, the tone of Makoto's voice, his options. )

It's just a little sudden, is all. You don't have to turn away.

( In the end, perhaps it's because it's Makoto, because he was so easy to play around with the last time they met up, that he feels like it may not be such a big idea. Still, he wonders if Makoto will want to turn away, with the pointed way he slips his clothes off. Letting his jacket slip down from his shoulders before sliding it from his arms, only half turning as he works layer by layer.

There are some notable old injuries. The still-nasty bruise on his left arm, halfway between elbow and shoulder. It's purple, clearly something that had given him trouble. Along with that, there were gashes across his abdomen, partially healed but still rather deep. One towards the center looks particularly deep, with a suspiciously deeper sized portion about the size of a finger. Thanks Kirma.

Aside from that, there are just some scuffs here and there from crawlers, and it's incredibly clear that Esikko is not adjusting to the resort being overrun.

He clears his throat as he holds his underwear out for Makoto. It's silken, high quality... I don't think too deeply about his underwear, but it's Clearly not bought on his own dime. )

Here you are, then. You know, I wonder what would have happened if I refused? Is there a time limit? Do you simply lose the points?

( what would happen if he refused? even before esi asks it himself, makoto suddenly starts thinking it as soon as there is a long enough pause that he has to consider it as a possibility. would he still lose points if he wasn’t the one refusing to do what his Watch asked of him? was he expected to force him? coerce him? incentivize him? all of these thoughts are running rapidly through his mind prior to esi shrugging and acquiescing. makoto visibly relaxes at that. he gives the other young man a faint smile. )

This particular game seems to be all about things being “a little sudden…”

( even if the truths and dares it’s giving them so far are… well. interesting. )

Alright, then.

( even still, makoto doesn’t exactly want to act a lech and ogle him—this mostly comes from a place of understanding that he doesn’t always particularly enjoy it when it’s done to him, or at least not when he has full control of just who that person slathering their eyes over him is. he tries to be polite by way of being casual; truthfully, nudity itself is a rote issue for him after the last six months or so. that having been said, it’d be challenging not to notice the healing wounds on esi’s arm and torso. if he were to try to cross-examine makoto’s reaction, it’s… layered. his expression ends up a mask, hard to read one way or another, but his eyes are a little more telling—a bizarre mixture of bright attentiveness and… the faintest hint of concern?

in the end he accepts the proffered undergarment with a summary, ) Thank you, ( before beginning to undress in a matter-of-fact way himself. he strips off his trousers before taking off his underwear to replace it with the pair that esi had handed him… wait, is this silk? he hums. ) How fancy. ( regardless, what is there to say about this body of his? he has a slight mental detachment to it because it’s not his. his head may be sewn onto it, but this body had been ordered and given to him by his master, apparently created for him somewhere in hell. the skin is smooth, unblemished, and death pale, and as J had ordered it to his own specifications… well. he is well-equipped to be positively noteworthy, though not to the extent where it might seem disproportionate, given how short and slight he is.

he ruminates over the questions as he puts his trousers back on. ) I’m not sure… Seems like it would be an unsportsmanly way to stonewall your opponent, if it did take the points from you. ( and that isn’t really the spirit of the game, is it? he glances over to esi, expression questioning. it hadn’t been part of it, but, ) Do you— …Did you want to trade, or…

( or he could just go commando for a while?? makoto doesn’t think he minds much either way. his own underwear—a rather plain pair of black, cotton boxer briefs—are certainly far more basic than what he’s wearing right now. otherwise, he guesses he can just put them in his pocket or something. )

I guess that’s that. ( his points haven’t been subtracted, so… he should get those points in five minutes? ) Your turn.

So, we can agree that I was rather fair in allowing that one, right? For the future.

( Just in case. Esikko smiles, thin as it is, and moves to slip his clothing back on without the underwear. The question does make him pause, glancing over a bare shoulder to study Makoto for a moment before he continues. )

Thank you for the offer, but I'll be fine like this. You can keep those.

( It's not meant as a direct insult to Makoto, though it could certainly be taken as one. He pulls the cloth back over his shoulders, waiting until he's fully dressed to take the dice in his hands and roll them again. It's a one and a six, thanks to RNG!

Esikko sighs the moment his Watch alerts with the prompt. )

..."Dare. Insert an item from this room inside an orifice of the other player's choosing." Really?

( makoto snorts lightly. ) Yes, of course. You were perfectly “fair” in not trying to sabotage me.

( winning or losing is less on makoto’s mind than what the game will dictate that they either do or ask of one another. it had warned of a “penalty” for the loser… just how harrowing of a penalty would that be? it would certainly be an inconvenience… potentially a shame or embarrassment. no, makoto certainly doesn’t want to lose, and he will do his best not to, but he’s not necessarily anxious about it.

he simply shrugs, sticking his underwear into a back pocket of his trousers. yes… how can he be so worried about the punishment that the House might dish out to him when playing the game itself is embarrassment enough? he breathes out a short sigh.

the conversational timbre certainly changes with that dare, though. it startles makoto into, first, a brief state of shock, and then crackling disbelief. ) Seriously? ( what item? this is a library?! and makoto gets to choose where he puts it? all things considered, the young demon doesn’t seem quite as scandalized by this dare as one might expect—regardless of how this might play out, he’s already become accustomed with far worse.

so, with that in mind, he levels esi in a wary stare. ) What, exactly, do you plan on putting inside of me?

( maybe trying to test esi’s relative levels of scandalization… perhaps he is trying to win this game after all. )

Oh, don't sound so suspicious. Aren't I trustworthy?

( Not at all. And it seems Esikko is completely aware of that, with the slow smile that spreads across his face in clear amusement. He presses his hands together at the fingertips, considering the room around them with a soft little assortment of hums. )

I think it would depend on where you want me to put something.

( He tosses a look back to Makoto, eyes sparkling a little too much. )

Don't worry; I'll choose something that will fit just fine, so go ahead and pick a hole, won't you?

People who say things like that tend not to be.

( well, that, and he’s a demon from hell—he’d learned very quickly that one’s default should be cautiously mistrusting others, saving trust for sparing use or perhaps never at all. it hadn’t taken a single week for the trust he placed in J to be proven to be foolish. maybe there was some amount of trust he could instill in fjord, given how heartfelt the advice he had given him was (and how useful it had ended up being). but, then again, he had come at J’s beck and call to remove the last of makoto’s humanity, so maybe he’s insane for even considering him a “friend” in the first place.

at least esi seems in on the joke, even if his slyness only elicits a thin-lipped frown from makoto. he emits a sigh at the question, more as if he’s being put upon rather than made uncomfortable by the dare. )

Let’s just say I don’t feel particularly romanced to bare everything to you right now. ( that, and he’s just not particularly enthused to go sticking anything into his ass right now. he briefly considers it, his thoughts ironically go down a similar track as J’s did, when they were still contracted to one another. just sticking something into his mouth isn’t all that fascinating or exciting either—so what is it that he can do to make this more fun? more fascinating or exciting?

perhaps it’s his memory of those last few minutes of his mortal life that give him his answer. his lips curve into a feline smile. ) So I’ll give you two options. You can find something to stick into my mouth and we can move along, or, ( and here, in a motion so swift and understated one might feel as though they had misinterpreted watching it, he reaches up, curls his forefinger under the loop of one of the stitches on the front of his throat, and pulls. the stitch gives a soft pop as it breaks; makoto flinches at the sharp stab of pain, but it’s not so bad—not nearly as bad as losing one’s head, which he has weathered multiple times by this point.

a trickle of blood leaks from the widened seam in the skin, running down his throat and disappearing past the collar of his shirt. he even goes as far as to spread the torn flesh, expression both dark and lurid. ) You can find something to put here.

( one thing’s for certain: playing the part that J had for him all those months ago is giving him a perverse thrill, so he’s already having more fun. )

( Now that's a shift that catches Esikko off guard. Even if it's Makoto playing a role, even if he's trying so hard— there's an excitement in watching flesh pull apart, at blood running out and over skin. For his part, he tries not to react too strongly, but the brightness in his eyes is only sharper, almost manic, and he doesn't wait nearly as long as he thinks he does before he steps forward. )

Is this meant to be less intimate?

( That's the question he settles on as his hands find Makoto's shoulders, his grip tight enough to make clear that even if the other wants to change his mind at this point, he won't let him now. He's been offered something appealing, and it would be too cruel to leave it as a tease. Esikko has to duck down for their height difference, and he does so now, eyes flicking up to meet Makoto's from beneath his chin. )

Let's see what counts as an object, shall we?

( He starts a little too low, just above that shirt, tongue pressing down to lick up and along the trail of blood to his target. There, at the new opening that was so kindly created for him, he doesn't hesitate to slip his tongue inside. It's not a shy press, not some hint or bluff— he hooks in deep, curling his tongue upwards in an attempt to feel and taste all that he can reach, smoothing invasively over every bit of muscle, flesh and blood that he can. )

( almost as if in mirror-like reflection, there’s something bright, eager, and receptive to finally being able to see esi thrown off. even if it’s just for a moment, and even if he doesn’t let on all that much and recovers just as swiftly, he can see the imperfection in the veneer—a gap in the armor. it’s not really anything he’s considering exploiting, but it’s still a small yet valuable positive reinforcement to makoto, and one he will likely hold well into the future: perhaps it is true what demons say, that the secret to exerting influence and control over others is to keep them off-balance and guessing.

makoto’s smile notches wider. ) Mm, perhaps not. But it is more interesting.

( he’s rather comforted to know that esi seems to be the type of person to agree with him on something like that. why bother with all of the rote and predictable options when there are far more thrilling alternatives? there are very few things about being a demon that set makoto apart—he has no inhuman features, no magic or innate abilities, but there are some things he can offer far easily than others can. there’s a strange, slippery sort of satisfaction in that.

though it’s in makoto’s nature to be capricious and defiant, especially in the face of others using even a small manner of force with him, something between learned instinct and temporary playfulness has him go pliant in esi’s leading gasp. it doesn’t cross his mind once to back out—if anything, he similarly assures esi’s own compliance, reaching out to grab the front of the young man’s clothing. neither pushing away nor pulling closer, it’s more of an anchor than anything else. the eye contact that he maintains is unblinking and perhaps even daring; he lifts his chin, baring his throat.

his eyes do close, though, once esi leans forward to lick the trickle of blood clean from the column of his throat, one blazing hot stripe of sensation before his mouth finds the opening that makoto had torn open for him. as ever, it’s not without its own pain and faint discomfort; it’s the sharp, urgent stinging of torn and irritated flesh followed by the lower, more pervasive feeling of wrongness at the foreign intrusion which causes his breath to hiss through his teeth in the first second or two after esi stuck his tongue into his throat. but that’s just one layer of it. the full picture is far more complex, far more rigorously complicated; makoto’s grasp on the front of esi’s clothing tightens, tense arm and shoulders shaking ever-so-slightly, and his breath rattles a little more loudly and precariously as the press of esi’s tongue into the tight tangle of muscle, blood vessels, and viscera hidden beneath the thin skin of his neck. perhaps it shouldn’t be arousing, but it is. his expression flushes, teeth gritting against a tightening knot of heat which sinks through his body to his hips. he can’t help but think: is this what J had felt when he tore the skin open on his throat so he could fuck him there? there’s a part of makoto that’s still fixated on that moment, preserved in amber for the rest of his existence as the one that directly preceded his own mortal death.

as it is, it’s more than enough to force a small, raspy groan out of his mouth—only half-pained, it thrums his vocal chords, causing the flesh enveloping esi’s tongue to vibrate with that reverberation. )

( After a moment of this, his Watch rings out in the acceptance of his tongue as an object, but Esikko can't hear it over the pounding of his own heart in his ears. It's rare that he's able to indulge in something like this, even rarer that he's offered it rather than having to carve a space for himself, and the feeling of that groan around his tongue is enough to make him hungry for more.

His fingers dig deeper into his grip on Makoto's shoulder, and his other arm winds around him, braces a hand against the back of his neck so that he can lick deeper still. When he parts his lips to exhale hot against the splitting skin of his neck, he pushes his body forward along with it, forcing the both of them into a step as his teeth graze gently, a threatening tension against something so delicate.

It's in that moment that he remembers himself, that he withdraws his tongue to lick the blood from his own lips, pulling back in slow reluctance.

Well, he pulls back, but he doesn't quite want to move away. Even when he pulls one hand back to wipe at his face, eyes sliding to the side, the one on Makoto's shoulder remains, his grip loosening into a gentle touch. )

( well, it’s a good thing his tongue counted as an “object.” it would be pretty awkward if they had gone through all of this and makoto had gotten this bothered, just to have to find something else to stick inside of him.

truthfully, there’s a large part of makoto that hates the way that he melts into esi’s arms, as if submissive or subservient, as if he didn’t have the gall or the spine to support himself. but this is a largely reflective of a self-imposed distaste of being put in such situations without any consideration to his own input or preferences, as he had been back in hell—no, he has to remind himself logically that he had offered, and what he doesn’t need any reminder of is how much he knows he enjoys it, even if he has no idea why. it had certainly never been something that had crossed his mind before J had split the skin of his own throat for him, but now he can’t deny the obvious deviant twist that it elicits within him, heating up his blood with yearning, causing his breaths to come in quick, short gasps.

this accelerated tempo is interrupted when the deepening of this “kiss” progresses exactly as how makoto would likely have done so himself, stepping into his own space and opening his mouth wider to scrape the enamel of teeth just over the surface of soft, delicate skin and the foreign rasp of the stitches that keep it held together. this startles a sound out of him that’s hard to pin down, seemingly perfectly balanced between positive and negative anticipation. makoto has had his throat ripped out by another, and however he felt about it paled in comparison to the fact that it might very well endanger his life without the healing he’d been administered directly afterward. so his fist tightens in esi’s clothing and he begins to push back at him—fortunately, right around the time the other young man withdraws himself.

this leave them in the lurch of a moment that’s almost humorous with how awkward it is, with silence reigning around them but for the persistent faint ragged edge in makoto’s breaths. esi might not want to retreat just yet, but makoto does take a step back, back and shoulders curving a bit as if to hide in on himself both in an instinctual reaction to a faint feeling of shame he feels but also in response to the widened wound at his throat. he doesn’t necessarily do so to escape the hand on his shoulder, but he also doesn’t make the effort to maintain the contact either. he searches around in his pockets for a moment before retrieving a handkerchief, which he presses to his neck to help staunch the blood. bleeding tends to stop rather quickly for him, but it will need to, and he might need to do a quick, temporary stitch so he doesn’t run the risk of opening it up again— )

Just—give me a moment, ( he says in a reedy, rasping tone; his eyeline doesn’t budge from the surface of the table. )

...Of course.

( Though he could press more, though he could insist on doing more, Esikko decides to allow Makoto his space. He had nearly been lost in his actions himself, and so he takes the time to wipe his mouth clean some more, to fold his arms and focus on not thinking too hard on how it had felt, how much more he had wanted.

Still, his eyes keep drifting back to watch the other boy, his fingers curling into his elbows as he waits. So he can fix it, can he? Just like that. A little different from the clinic here, but similar in some ways— but then again, Makoto is a demon, or something, right? So it's like that.

He doesn't offer much in the way of anything, content to wait it out here, watching all the while. )

( oh, he certainly could, but—it’s a delicate sort of balance to meet, especially with someone like makoto. he’s suffered the brusque physical demands of others for far longer than he ever would have wanted, so doing the same was a cheap ticket to a quick route directly to his bad side. it’s not to say that he would even be against what might come to pass if they did continue to press their luck in that way (quite the contrary, actually), but to him, it needs to feel like something he’s permitting or agreeing to. that simple adjustment to the mental math made all the difference, even if the outcome is the same in the end.

he gets flustered to lose his self-control in front of others. it’s a rather frustrating trait to have, especially given what he had been doing in hell prior to being brought to golden peacock and what the House is trying to force them into here. that sort of embarrassed reactivity tends to be fun to both demons and people, he’s found. how annoying. he wishes he could force himself to just stop caring, but… it’s easier said than done!

he takes a moment to regain his composure; his expression is still embarrassingly rosy, but at least he feels as though his breathing is somewhat under control. the bleeding has also slowed, though it hasn’t stopped quite yet. he takes a moment to search in his pockets again, pulling out a needle and a loop of thick medical sutures. he has, at the very least, gotten more accustomed to doing this—it’s not so cumbersome and strange to do as he threads the needle and quickly stitches together the opening that he’d made, snapping the stitch free from the rest of the loop with his teeth. it’s not a clean stitch by any means, but he can fix it later when he’s in front of a mirror. )

Okay. ( still a little hoarse, but not as bad as before. ) It’s… my turn now, isn’t it? Or—have you won yet…

( there’s a faintly distracted quality to his voice. it’s a little hard to focus on the game itself when one’s still fighting to master their physical response to it… )

I'm afraid I'm now only freshly at fourteen points.

( Esikko doesn't hide the interest in the way he watches Makoto, a small little smile sliding back into place with ease. Running a finger of one hand idly along the wrist of his other, he hums like he's considering a few things. )

Unless, of course, you'd like to forfeit?

( Honestly, though he's a lot more put together than his companion here, Esikko is fairly distracted himself. He's not one to forget the unique taste of each person's blood, and while Makoto's wasn't as... spicy, let's say, as he was hoping to get from a demon, it still had a nice quality to it. Beneath the normie. )

You seem a little thrown off, after all that, so I'd hate to trouble you to push yourself further.

( he sighs, closing his eyes in acknowledgment. steeling himself in for the remaining rounds of the game—however they may shake out.

typically, it would have taken makoto a few more minutes to gradually return to his normal self after the sharp turn in the overall timbre of their interaction. he does tend to recover his composure easily from such things, almost as if he’s in a haste to leave them behind (though he’s not so lucky to do so mentally and emotionally, regardless of how he acts). it’s lucky, then, that esi stumbles across a miraculous panacea to his disconcertment—an insinuation that he quit. his spine goes ramrod straight before his body stills for a single moment, followed then only by a curt angling of his head to allow him to dig a dagger-sharp glare directly into esi’s smiling face. )

I’m not going to give up. ( he basically spits the words at the other young man’s feet, an indignant curl to his lips revealing the flash of pearl-white teeth. ) No matter how it looks, or what this stupid game will ask us to do next.

( even if, mathematically-speaking, esi would win regardless, if they continued to succeed at their challenges. this is simply the cornerstone of makoto’s personality—even backed into a corner, even in an impossible scenario, even against all odds, he bites and kicks and scratches and thrashes with everything that he is until the bitter end. it marks him as a fool, perhaps, but at least he wouldn’t be marked as a coward.

he grabs the dice and rolls them, going still once more as they land on (1d12=2) two ones: snake eyes. after a second, his Watch beeps, and he looks at it. his expression contorts in consternation which clears, somewhat, after a moment, though there’s still a residual tension.)

It says… it’s a wildcard. ( he glances up to esi. ) You get to select whether it’s a truth or dare. And what it is.

Are you still in the basement?

( what if makoto secretly became a king overnight… he doesn’t know. )

Unfortunately, yes.

( wow, sucks to suck. bye!

just kidding. though makoto's message is immediately read, it takes a long time for any follow-up to come through; puppy is chewing on his words. )

I've moved to the tenth floor.

( another distinct pause. )

There's a spare room.

( honestly, that's about the kind of response makoto had expected? if this is about the present flooding that he's been having to deal with (makoto's hasn't been as bad as other rooms down here, with about ankle-deep water, though it's also horribly damp and he's increasingly wary about trying to sleep down here...), why should it be kirma's problem? he'd much sooner expect a terse-yet-snide message of contempt than—

what ends up arriving, several minutes later. makoto blinks at it, confused. good for you? he's about to respond as much, thinking kirma is just rubbing it in, before the last message arrives.

his confusion compounds, then turns to vague suspicion. )

So, what?
You've never particularly given me the impression you'd like me as a roommate, even if it's temporary.

I wouldn't.

( there's not really any point in mincing words. they chafe on the best of days, and no amount of strange relations is likely to change that— at least, not anytime soon.

despite this, there is more than disdain in his heart for makoto. that's what keeps him replying, even if the acidity of makoto's response might have him hurling the watch across the room were it a more removable device. )

If you'd prefer drowning you're welcome to do so.
But I thought I would give you the chance to avoid it.
That's all.

( can he blame makoto for being wary? the young demon has issues trusting even those who haven't given him a reason to be cautious.

if makoto has learned anything, it's that he can trust in others to benefit themselves. deals, desires, debts—incentivization, motivation, obligation. this is one of the only lenses he understands others with. kirma... what on earth does he gain from this, especially since makoto has made it very clear in the past he wants an even karmic debt between them? he makes no sense through this lens, so he has no idea what to do with him.

his instinct is to needle for more information, try to figure out just what kirma seeks to gain from this, but... he knows from past experience how that will end up. so, after a long pause: )

What's your room number?

( in the end, aren't they both someone who has been treated like a commodity more than a person, a plaything for those in power above them? funny how they share the mistrust that breeds in a man, yet they've come to approach that in such vastly different ways.

this message is actually typed, courtesy of standing outside his door and alternating between squinting at the label of his room and picking out each number on the keyboard. it means there's an indicator that pops up for way too long, given the answer is only: )

10XX

( he'll even take the time to kick his laundry into a single pile, given the implication makoto might actually stop by. yay!! )

I think it's time I cashed in my cuddle voucher, Makoto.

( ah.

you know, at any other time, on any other week, kazuya reaching out to cash in on the deal they'd made might have run the risk of interrupting some other plan of his or being an inconvenience. now, though, with the basement levels of the resort flooding and the social landscape of the (temporary) place he had been offered to stay... a little more complex than makoto had been counting on—

he's actually far more eager to accept. rather than a typical terse, prickly, or snide makoto sort of response, he replies quickly: )

Thank goodness.

( ...though, wait, )

Hold on. Now? Have you seen the basement lately?

Yeah, it's absolutely flooded. My room was under half a meter of water.

Are you punking me? I'm not going back down there.

No one said you had to go back down there.

[He'll send Makoto the room number.... And nothing else. You know. For Dramatic effect.]

( well. he’s certainly intrigued.

he’s told makoto in the past that he doesn’t stay at his room very often—is he inviting him to the room of someone else who’s been putting him up? if that’s the case, he isn’t sure he’d be comfortable with that… it gives him a bizarre feeling of imposing, especially if it’s someone he doesn’t know (and possibly worse if it’s someone he does know?). but if there’s anyone in the golden peacock who has earned makoto’s benefit of the doubt, it’s kazuya. ultimately he doesn’t even reply; he gathers what meager things he was able to salvage from his room before it completely filled with water, and he goes up the stairs.

he doesn’t have to go up that many floors. kirma’s room is on the floor hosting the tens and nines, so he passes the floor for aces and jacks before arriving… at where the kings and queens stay. makoto’s expression grows more and more uncertain as he walks down the hallway, eventually arriving in front of the door with the number that kazuya had given him. it’s massive, extravagant—he’s vaguely reminded of the grandiosity of the architecture in datenshou’s brothel.

he reaches out to rap his knuckles against the door, weirdly nervous. he’s never been up here in the penthouses before. what if it isn’t even his room? what if he is punking him? he knows they’re baseless accusations that a wounded, mistrustful part of himself hurls out from the dark at the pit of his chest, but they still bob up to his consciousness regardless. he forcibly shoves them aside as he waits, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. )

[While the doors are extravagant to get into the room, once Kazuya opens the doors to let him in, the opulent visage is quickly melted away into one of fairly average normalcy. Maybe a little slightly higher end, sure, but the room? Well. As of right now it's just more or less a carbon copy of his home back in Japan.

Kazuya Minegishi, King of Bel and Demon Overlord, is a particularly sentimental type. Maybe later it might turn into something more extravagant as time goes by, but for now? It's pretty much the inside of the normal Japanese household.

He holds onto the handle of the door, opening it wide for Makoto to easily get through with his things. The temptation to offer to help him carry them is there, and he even makes a little half movement like he does mean to help, before he remembers Makoto's rather prideful nature.]

Do you wanna run your clothes through the wash? I can get housekeeping to do it, or we can just use the machine already here. Up to you.

[Still, his nature is to be helpful. Makoto can pester him about everything else later, but for now? For now Kazuya wants to try and offer his help in a way that doesn't step on Makoto's toes.]

( predictably, kazuya is the one to open the door.

to… a suite far less luxurious than makoto had expected. there is probably no other permutation that the interior could have taken that would shock the young demon more—as soon as his silver-and-crimson eyes flicker from his friend to survey his surroundings, he manages to go even more impossibly pale than normal, feeling… oddly nauseous. contrary to what images its name might elicit in the mind’s eye of others when they hear of hell, the one that makoto had been taken to had been bizarrely pastoral, some parts of it even picturesque. the architecture of many of the sprawling manors of high-ranking demons he had seen (as well as J’s own mansion) had always been Western to his eyes, and though datenshou’s brothel had been quite different, it had been so grand and opulent that it had still felt like an alien world. not that much unlike the golden peacock, albeit with different characteristic features.

there’s no way that kazuya could have known. but all of makoto’s associated memories to the average Japanese family home are poisonous ones indeed, full of seething and unspoken hatred, the cold and bitterness of familial disappointment, and all the dread anticipation of the moment before the guillotine blade falls. he has to blink himself out of his momentary reverie as several of those memories suddenly rush up to the surface, unbidden. makoto has suffered many indignities in his life, and he would suffer many more, but the one that truly breaks him in his near future is J forcing him to see his father again, to be the instrument for his own self-insured death.

there are some regrets makoto has in making his decision to become a demon. leaving earth, and everyone he’d ever known, behind was not one of them. he never wants to see that place again. he never wants to see their faces again. he doesn’t want to be reminded of the hell he’d lived in for those sixteen or so years—one of their own making.

still, he steps inside, trying to move past the unexpected shell shock and the ringing in his ears. as far as things are concerned, makoto doesn’t have much; there’s one bag slung over his shoulder full of his spare clothes and the few belongings he hadn’t wanted to risk to the rising water. even if he noticed kazuya’s half-gesture to reach out to help him (he doesn’t), he might not have even known how to interpret it—it’s not like there’s much to help him with.

his brain slowly starts to change gears as the question is posed to him. he blinks again, remembering his own voice. ) Oh, um… No, thank you, I don’t think that would be necessary. ( his expression creases somewhat at the mention of “housekeeping.” ) I already had that taken care of.

( considering the choice in decor, he feels like the question answers itself, but he still has to ask his friend with a furrowed-brow expression full of questions, ) Is this place—yours?

Ah, yeah. It's mine.

[But Makoto doesn't seem surprised in the way he had intended for him to be. More so apprehensive. Concerned. Maybe a little frightened? It's strange, but then again, maybe not. Kazuya has already come to realize the vast differences in their lived experiences, even for as much as they have in common.

Well. Whatever it was that had him in such a stupor, Kazuya intends to make it right. To give Makoto something more pleasant to deal with than whatever negative experiences had taken over his mind in that moment.]

I just recently ranked up, so... I thought maybe you'd be the first person I invited over? The cuddles were kind of just an excuse.

[He laughs a little, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.]

And... I kind of wanted to share my cooking with you, since I finally have a chance now to really go all out. Most of it's already been prepared, so I'm actually really glad that you said yes to come by. Even if it's because your room was mostly underwater. But hey! Zero chance of it being drugged if I'm the one doing the cooking, right?

( that revelation is at least enough to distract makoto from the unexpected and unpleasant splash of reminiscent domesticity from home. his eyes narrow, the gears in his head clearly turning as he does the calculations. )

Ranked up…? But you were—

( in the basement. yep. and makoto has kazuya’s (former) card, so he knows full well what rank he had previously been and how many he might have had to turn in to apply for such a promotion. he gives his friend a Look, but he doesn’t say anything. no, he doesn’t particularly want to hear him chirp for the third or fourth time about how much he’s getting laid in here. it’s not really makoto’s business. he shakes his head, moving on.

the emotional landscape visible in his expression shifts, however, as kazuya admits that he’s the first he’s invited over since the promotion. his eyebrows draw together, uncertain, though more that he’s just… well, it’s strange to feel distinguished in this way. he’s only ever been distinguished by others for things he didn’t really want to be. ) Because… why, because I was the first one you met here?

( so his brain tries to find more logical explanations than emotional ones.

interactions with makoto tend to be the gradual weakening and tearing down of various defensive barriers and levels of mistrust—unfortunately, it tends to have to happen even with one he considers himself close to. at least in this instance, it happens quickly. there are very few things makoto actually misses from earth, but food is actually one of them, and he’s aware that cooking for someone is an act done from the heart. his expression slowly pieces itself together from surprise into something tentative and fragile; he always feels strange and uncertain accepting the kindness of others, as if he fears breaking it. )

I… I would have come even if that wasn’t the case. ( hell, even if the food was dosed, probably even then? though that wouldn’t make too much sense, considering kazuya had seem far more intent on the PG-13 aspects of this 24 hours rather than the unrated ones. he offers a small, sheepish smile, glancing about. ) And I suppose I could eat. ( he feels his own gracelessness at accepting the offer, and his cheeks burn both with the feeling of heart-warming consideration and embarrassment at that. ) Do you want to show me what you’ve made?

Because you're my friend.

[Sure, that isn't to say that Makoto is his only friend here, but Makoto is someone who does, in fact, mean a lot to him. It's hard to say just why he wanted Makoto here first, though. Maybe it's because it just felt right, that the first person he invites over is first person he'd met, the first demon to have a situation so similar to his own. Maybe even it's because he still wants to make up somehow for how their initial encounter went, even if he'd apologized for it several times over by this point.

He'll leave it at that, though. The feelings he have seem too significant to be described by anything else, and he's always been quick to grow attached to people once they've gotten into his good graces. His smile is quick to grow, quick to widen as Makoto admits that he could eat, and that's good, because he'd certainly made a lot. Kazuya nods, waving Makoto to follow him to the kitchen and dining area. It's much more expansive than the relative normalcy of the house might otherwise imply, but honestly, that was one part he didn't want to skimp out on as he got settled. It's clear that the intent here was to always have guests, to always be able to cook for the people he cares about.

And speaking of care, a lot has seemingly gone into the meal. It's high quality, and well prepared and presented. From the sushi to the tonkatsu to the okonomiyaki and gyudon (He remembered the meal they had together on their date!), it's all fresh, and all ready to be picked through for eating, served in rather luxurious bowls that also don't quite fit the aesthetic Kazuya was going for.]

I had some help with some stuff from a demon, but since he's apparently the official chef of high ranking demons where I'm from, I don't think it'll be too bad. I'm definitely better at making sweets than actual meals, but practice makes perfect, right?

( well.

makoto’s gaze softens, and his mouth forms a thin, tight line. nagging questions spring to mind, of course—that he knows that kazuya has plenty of friends, so why is it that he jumped to mind when the new king of the casino considered who he might entertain in his new suite? but he is at the very least self-aware enough to know that these are insecurities taking up space within his mind, clamoring distractingly amidst more orderly thoughts. there might always be a small, vulnerable part of him that would ring the alarm to mistrust every extension of kindness, to doubt the sincerity of any help or consideration given to him, because it had been hurt and betrayed and damaged enough times to break along those lines. no, it’s more about… knowing when to listen to that voice and when to knowingly set it aside. if he has to fear all of with kazuya, then who else is there for him to learn to trust here?

fortunately for makoto, kazuya leads the way to the kitchen swiftly enough that he doesn’t run the risk of toppling helplessly into the abyss of sentimentality. there would likely be more time for that later.

what he might have expected was far less grandiose than what awaited him. he isn’t sure what he might have thought kazuya would prepare for him—the careful construction of all of the home-made elements of a bento, perhaps, or tonkatsu or grilled fish… well, he did make tonkatsu, but he also put together what looks like a full spread, something that wouldn’t be out-of-place even in red cardinal. makoto’s eyes are wide as he absorbs all of it; it takes all of the scraps of his remaining composure to keep his mouth from falling ajar. )

You— …wow. You didn’t have to make all of this, but, ( and he looks at his friend, already anticipating the bright expectation he would see there, so he continues, ) I’m glad you did. Thank you… even if it is a little much. You think just the two of us are going to be able to eat through all of this?

( u kno… just light teasing… it’s fine. he does his best to find an unobtrusive spot in the dining area to set his bag down, checking with kazuya for affirmation before moving to where the food is, excited to sample all of the dishes. )

You say a demon helped you with all of this?

There's no way we'll be able to eat it all. And that's fine, I don't expect both of us together to really make a dent in it.

[He'd gone a little overboard, yes. Combined with the enthusiasm from the Nisroc he'd summoned, they'd both really over done it. Kazuya just laughs, but honestly, he looks absolutely elated at the gentle teasing. Even more so when Makoto takes a seat, and Kazuya moves around to sit across from him eagerly.]

But yeah, a demon helped out. It's called a Nisroc, there's a few of them, but it doesn't really matter which one you'd call forth. Cooking is what they do, and what they take pride in.... And apparently even uses fruits from the tree of life in some of the dishes he cooks.

[Maybe one day he'll try one. There's plenty of time on his hands, after all.]

But do me a favour, save some room for dessert, okay? Those are what I really excel in making, and I'd like for you to try what I made. Especially since you're picky enough to give me your true feelings on it.

[He's teasing back... But honestly, he'd definitely like that feedback!]

( he seems relieved at that. less pressure, especially considering that he’s hungry, but he wouldn’t necessarily say starving…

he finishes preparing his plate as kazuya explains, thinking to himself that… he doesn’t feel that he entirely understands what he’s talking about. he’s mentioned being the king of all demons and being able to summon them and stuff like that before, but how is it that he can do that here? aren’t they cut off from the worlds they’ve come from? is it some sort of contract—are they stored inside of him in some way, and he’s just able to bring them out? makoto gets the sense that he might just get peeved at the answer, but ultimately his own curiosity gets the better of him.

he does pause a moment to give kazuya a strange look at the information on the fruit from the tree of life—as in, like, the story from the Bible? does that make the food taste different or have special properties? uh. anyways. not really the point right now. )

How is it that you’re able to summon them here? Does it have to do with a contract?

( he gives his friend a thin, wan smile at his request. yes, he’s teasing him… but he is right. there are certain people makoto would be more cautious around, but he’s not exactly concerned with preserving kazuya’s feelings. he knows he can weather his honesty, knowing that it’s good-intentioned (or, at least, not bad-intentioned). )

…Okay. I’ll do that. ( he pauses to eat a piece of sushi. afterward: ) Truthfully, I’ve never had much of a sweet tooth… but I’ll let you know if anything impresses me.

All the more reason to really hear your true thoughts on my deserts.

[They'd been enough to impress Naoya, but then again, he'd specifically learned to impress his cousin in the first place.

Kazuya puts a few pieces of food onto his own plate as he thinks on how best to answer Makoto's other question, though.]

All demons where I'm from have to obey my word. [Something Makoto knows, obviously.] Unless they have a contract, which supersedes my authority over them. As for how I summon them... It's mostly using my will to pull them here when I want them.

[And doing the same thing to dismiss them, obviously.]

There are only a handful of demons that I wouldn't have to summon from the demon realm here, and those would be the other Bel demons. Though letting them out here wouldn't really end well for anyone. The ones I usually stick with summoning here are Genma types, Nisroc is a Fallen type demon. But one usually that's too preoccupied with cooking to do any sort of harm to anyone.

Alright… Just try not to get too invested in what I might say.

( because… it’s just a lot of pressure! why do so many of the people he meets have to be the types to be so passionate about sweets? he’s just never really had much of a sweet tooth! it’s just a personal quality, and not some sort of lofty mountain that enticed the thrill-seeking or insane to crest its summit!

but kazuya is his friend. so he’s going to try to be good-natured about it.

the answer feels watery and ephemeral, but perhaps that’s just the nature of demons. truth be told, makoto still doesn’t understand the mechanics of a lot of what demons from his own version of hell do. he’s aware that J could open portals to earth, supposedly “called” whenever a human performed a summoning, but he isn’t sure how. he’s certainly never made one himself. he’d always thought, maybe one day, if he ever got the hang of this whole “demon” thing…

though, remembering his own contract with J—could he even do all that, from the demon’s side? the thought of it, as he is now, is intimidating to him.

he ponders for a moment over a few bites of food. )

So the ones you summon… you’re pulling them from the demon realm to here? ( this point stands out the most to him; for whatever reason, he’d thought he’d been summoning them from… he doesn’t know. within himself? or within some sort of item? ) I guess I’m surprised that you’re able to do that… though, I guess it’s different from trying to get yourself or someone else out of here.

( he knows that if J could make a portal back to hell, he surely would have done so already. )

That's the long and short of it.

[He says, to what Makoto questions. He is in fact pulling them from the demon realm to here, though he hasn't actually given it much thought as to why they're allowed to go back home, and he can't.

Weird.]

Maybe it's because we're specifically chosen by this place to be here? So we can't leave without it's say so.

[He reaches, pulling a few more pieces of sushi towards himself. They really aren't going to make too much of a dent in this platter, are they?]

Yeah. That’s probably it.

( they’re the object of the golden peacock’s machinations, after all, not any of kazuya’s demons. so that he can pull them from where they’re from without much issue isn’t all that strange. he ruminates on this as he continues to eat. no, they probably won’t be putting much of a dent in this at all, because it looks like kazuya (and his demon instructor) had prepared a spread for a party rather than just two young demons. but there’s still something exciting about the presentation of the thing, though. )

It’s pretty convenient that you can just summon help like that whenever you want.

( he does his best to keep his tone neutral, not betraying any itching sense of inequity or envy. fortunately, with kazuya, he has ample opportunity to practice. it’s not like makoto had any demon underlings to summon even if he had the ability to. technically, he’s the demon underling; he’s just lucky J isn’t exactly leveraging his power as his master over him here. )

It is.

[No denying that. He already knows Makoto envies him for the power he holds, and while he really wouldn't mind sharing it with him, the younger demon has already made it obvious that he doesn't want anything out of pity or that he doesn't think he's earned. It's a harsh way of looking at things, but considering what he's been through, Kazuya doesn't blame him for not wanting to be indebted to someone else that might pull rank at any time.

Even if he'd never do such a thing.]

I try not to summon them so much, though. Honestly, I don't really like demons, for the most part. I wouldn't care if the majority of them disappeared forever.

[But that's his own chip on his shoulder. It's hard not to feel negatively about creatures that have more or less ruined your and the lives of your friends. And with the Angels and God gone, there's not much more for him to care about, is there?]

( that he envies kazuya is something neither of them can control, but it’s not something that poisons the well of their relationship—makoto at the very least understands that kazuya went through a lot to end up as he is now (considering off-hand anecdotes about killing god, and all), so it’s not like he would ever try to insinuate that he didn’t earn the strength he has now. he can’t know how he might have done if their roles had been reversed, if he would have even been able to survive in such an intense situation. his own conflicts had always been tightly personal, never stretching beyond himself to even those closest related to him, let alone country-wide. globally? he’s gotten the sense that a lot of people in the golden peacock contend with such wide-spread threats, and it always makes him feel a bit like the resort plucked him out of hell on accident. at the end of the day, he’s just a nobody.

it’s what kazuya continues to next that makoto struggles more to contend with. they have chips on their shoulders that directly mirror one another’s—where kazuya lionizes humanity, makoto can’t help but feel wary of it, even preferring the company of demons despite their many cruelties and faults. it’s not as though demons haven’t committed their own trespasses against him. J has treated him as little more than a plaything, very nearly up to his breaking point. datenshou had honestly been far kinder of an employer than he expected in the confines of hell, and he knew it wasn’t for show; the incensate always kept in mind the capabilities and wellbeing of his employees. his opinions are far more muddied when it came to the general ranks of demons that had come to visit him, eager to purchase, time, attention, and intimacy; genteel and well-mannered monsters were still monsters. does he agree with kazuya? would he care if the majority of them, those which he had met in hell, disappeared forever?

hm… well, he certainly wouldn’t mourn them. but he’s not sure he would celebrate it either. makoto understands demons—in his eyes, they are almost admirably earnest in the way they pursue their most base and destructive desires. he would always prefer a demon being honest about their cruelty to a human pleading righteous piousness while doing the same; it’s the hypocrisy he sees in many people, tangled in their considerations of morals, that disgusts him so much more. )

But you’re their king, though… Are you just going to ignore them forever?

Maybe? I haven't decided.

[And how could he? He hasn't even been home yet. The scope of the problem that likely awaits him on arrival after everything is beyond his knowing. Atsuro had wanted to bring the demons to heel under the power of the COMP. To use and force them to obey all of humanities whims as little more than obedient tools.

It's not that he disagrees with him. Maybe he would have tried to pursue that path if it hadn't been for other factors. But then again, is that what was right? To entrust such dangerous tools to humanity to use as they see fit? It's something he struggles with thinking about even now.

To say nothing of how people might receive him back home either. There's the potential that they'll hate him. That they'll turn on him and his friends for what they did. Think he's a threat that needs to be taken care of. Or maybe they'd exalt him? There's just so much he doesn't know, and any plans he might have are contingent on other factors.]

I guess it depends on what it's like when I do get back home. If they don't want me around, then there's no point in me staying in the human realm, so I'll probably just leave.

[To say nothing of his contract with Weiss. That's also something to consider, how he'd promised himself over to her side to protect her until her dying breath, more or less.]

( he has that right, makoto supposes. those with the power to choose are given it.

makoto’s mental picture of the scenario which awaits kazuya in his own world is a sketchy one, but it had been tumultuous enough to involve angels and demons and the death of God, so one would assume that it would be a world that has undergone some potentially calamitous changes. kazuya doesn’t seem to be alone in leaving such precarious situations behind back home, or at least so makoto has gleaned from talking to others. it didn’t really apply to him. little happened in hell, and back home… well, he had left it in the same state it had always been in. he didn’t miss it. he didn’t want to go back. he wouldn’t say he wished ill upon it; it’s not like he yearned for some sort of vengeance against them. he just never wanted to see his family or any of those other people again.

but he knew that wasn’t the case for kazuya. he had people he cared about—both personally and in general. still, makoto wouldn’t need to be hazarded to understand his friend’s wariness at returning. it seems like he had lived a normal life, before; the kind of life makoto had always been on the outside looking in on, with all of his classmates. becoming a demon might very well other him just as makoto had been once. knowing how deeply it cut, the horrible and deep abyss of depression he had sunk into because of it… it causes his heart to ache in sympathy. he wouldn’t want his friend to ever have to face something like that.

for a moment, makoto sets his wrist down on the table, pausing in his meal. his sympathy is written plainly in his gaze and his knit brow. he pauses before replying. )

…I think they’d be crazy to not want you around. ( it’s a heartfelt thing to say, and therefore a vulnerable one. his gaze immediately flicks down because of it; he always feels self-conscious when speaking this way. he’s not accustomed to it. ) You’d do whatever you needed to to help them, so it would be stupid if people rejected that.

And if they do… ( his hand lifts to poke at his food, ) Well, good riddance. You’re king… maybe you could make something better out of Hell.

It's alright. People can't really help what they feel, especially since back home demons have caused all sorts of problems, and have killed thousands of people. It's only natural that they're then afraid of me, who is the newly crowned king of them.

[Not that he isn't grateful for Makoto's sympathy, or his honest words. His own voice is soft and gentle as he speaks, and even if he tries very hard to avoid thinking about his situation, every time it does come up, it gives him more to think about. A new way to consider his future roll in the grand scheme of things. ]

You know, when my friends back home asked me what I'd do when I was King, I tried to make lighthearted jokes. Tell them I'd take over the world. [They... Didn't entirely believe him, thankfully.] I didn't want them to worry about me, since everything was so tense at the time, and I wanted to lighten the mood.

[Mildly successfully, at that.]

It's not as if everyone would hate me back home. There's a handful of people I know who would support me no matter what. It's them I care about more than myself. I can't help but wonder how people would react to them supporting me. Would they get hurt just for me being around?

[It's hard to say. He doesn't know why he's saying all this anyway. This is supposed to just be a light-hearted meal for the two of them.]

Either way. It doesn't matter while I'm here. I won't know how things will turn out until I get home, right?

( makoto doen’t seem so easily convinced.

not by what kazuya says, necessarily. it’s logical. it’s perhaps too logical, considering what he knows about what kazuya’s world went through prior to his arrival here. but it’s just… he just doesn’t think he can understand how he can take such a measured look and approach to the situation. makoto had never done a single thing for his world—the only kindness he had ever truly given it was taking himself out of it before he ever actually hurt anyone. but even then, he had burned with an irascible wound at how he had felt rejected by it. ultimately, it didn’t really matter; no one from his own world had owed him anything of the sort. but to someone like kazuya, who had seemingly suffered just as much as the rest of them if not more, only to risk his own life and make what might be considered a great personal sacrifice to try to help it? he just doesn’t understand the level of magnanimity that he has. if makoto had done all of that only to be shunned and rejected yet again, well. he’d probably try to burn the whole place down.

but they are two very different people. kazuya might joke about taking over the world, but makoto would heavily consider it, less out of personal desire and more out of simple spite. )

It seems to me like you’re just forgiving people for giving into their prejudices. You may be a demon now, but you were a human, and it’s not like you’ve become some completely different person.

( he frowns. what an alien thought, having people who might fall under fire for continuing to support him. though makoto supposes it might not be too strange here… so many people have been accepting or at the very least indifferent of him and his morbid desires, but certainly not everyone would be, right? he understands the thought of wanting to retreat away from it all, if associating with him suddenly put those he cared about in trouble (or inconvenience). )

You could try to protect them from that. Though… I don’t know. That might not help.

( how to defend some humans from other humans, without the latter latching on to the idea that you’re some sort of threat? )

I guess. But this time might be useful to try to think about it and prepare as much as you can. I’m not saying all the time, but… it could be an advantage if you decided to use it that way.

( he’s certainly been treating his time here like that. if he can’t get a wish from finishing the game, he at least wants to have pieced himself together as a more intimidating demon. well, either that, or just making sure he doesn’t get too out of practice just in case he had to go back to work for datenshou… )

I wonder if I'm really forgiving them for those prejudices.

[It's Makoto, so maybe the younger demon might understand it. Maybe because he's a demon, maybe because his own situation was the same when he was human. He doesn't know, but he grabs a piece of the tuna sushi, putting it on his own plate to contemplate it for a moment.]

I say all these things, but... If it weren't for those friends of mine, I wonder where I'd be, as the newly crowned King of Bel. Truthfully? I think... I don't much care for people aside from my friends. I try to remain polite and respectful, but if it weren't for them? If they hadn't been there when the first group of them turned on me at the angel's behest to try and kill me for their own salvation? I don't think the outcome would have been nearly as pleasant, nor nearly as neat and tidy.

[Which is to say, he probably wouldn't have hesitated in fighting back. In removing those who would deem themselves threats, even if there was no way for them to truly hurt him, even at his weakest.]

Maybe they know that. The government is right to be afraid of me. So is the common person.

[He can be a threat, if he needs to be. The moment his friends get hurt, all bets are off. But his friends would be sad, and that may be the last lingering shred of humanity he has. The ability to pull back.

The piece of sushi gets prodded a little more, before he finally eats it.]

I think... It shouldn't really be too much longer before I completely subsume the other Bel demons. Who knows how much of myself I'll still have left at the end.

Edited 2024-08-22 06:02 (UTC)

( makoto isn’t sure he would understand—when it comes to topics like this, he rarely does, his own beliefs and experiences at extreme odds with the vast majority of people he speaks to. but as kazuya talks about the bond he has with his friends, one that creates an anchor for him to a humanity that he otherwise doesn’t feel too much inherent attachment or affinity for… he feels like he can maybe understand. and it makes him wonder. makoto had never been given the chance for something like that; there had likely been times he had tried to make friends, or when others had tried to make friends with him, and it had never worked out. he had just been too strange, and that pervasive strangeness had driven them away from him. he had learned to stop trying, keeping what felt like a “safe” distance between himself and others. what if he had managed to make some friends, though? some that would have tried to stand by him, even when they didn’t understand? would something like that have even been possible, knowing what kind of person he was—and still is?

he doesn’t know. he doesn’t think it would have changed much, ultimately. he might have just ended up too worried he might end up hurting them instead. that, and it would have made it even harder for him to leave earth behind if he actually cared about anyone there. it had been all too easy for makoto to agree to go to hell with J, believing full well in his heart that he didn’t care if he ever saw any of its people ever again.

he isn’t the right person to advocate for humanity—it feels uncomfortable, especially considering they had never even once advocated for him.

and yet… )

When people are afraid and desperate, they’ll make choices they wouldn’t have otherwise. Ones they might regret, later.

( he frowns, grappling with words for a moment before continuing: ) I don’t think you’re wrong. But maybe if you just give them time, they’ll calm down and be more open-minded.

( he says it more for kazuya’s sake than anything else. regardless of what he might say, he does get the sense that being rejected by humanity like that would hurt his friend. he doesn’t want something like that to happen.

his expression further folds with concern. ) I—I know it doesn’t work the same way for us, but… I was actually surprised, how much myself I still felt, after. ( he rests his arms on the table, leaning forward; his food is forgotten, though he’ll probably remember it at some point (probably?). ) You could fight it. You already beat them once, so why couldn’t you beat them again? And, even if you do change, I still think you’d be you at your core. Even with how you’ve already changed, I think I see that… I think your friends would, too.

( and then everyone else would follow?

a wave of timidity washes over him; he slouches a little in his chair, gaze down. ) I… don’t think I’m very good at being encouraging, but… I bet you’d be able to deal with something like that way better than me, or anyone else I know.

[He nods along to his friend's words, listening carefully. Makoto is right, that people lash out at people when they're angry. When they're afraid. When they're hurt or have been hurt. That maybe they need time, and maybe they'll calm down. It's what he hopes for more than anything in the end, but he's not so naive to think that's what will happen after what he's seen.]

You're a good person, you know.

[And he means it, and he laughs slightly.]

I don't think I'm close to being as good of a person as you are. What I do, I do strictly for selfish reasons. I don't really care about people other than my friends, and I mostly do what I do because I'm thinking about how it would make them feel. I don't want to upset them, but you? You're a good person. You don't want to upset or hurt anyone for your own reasons.

[If they wanted, he'd burn the entire world down for them. If someone tried to hurt them, only then would their happiness come second.]

My brother told me I was a good pawn. I guess I can't disagree. I do what the people I care about want me to do.

( makoto’s earnest reaction to that assertion is to recoil with obvious confusion, dubious, as though saying such a thing suddenly threw into question whether or not his friend was sane. he has the wild, errant impulse to laugh, because the ridiculousness of something so clearly wrong has got to be a joke, right? upon thinking about it more later, he might see how others could trick themselves into thinking he’s a good person. they only see what he does, hear what he says. but makoto knows he’s not a “good person” because he has full clarity on all the things he does not do, that he does not say, but sometimes really wishes he could. really, really wishes. there is locked within him a rabid beast which would inflict the cruelty of its desires wantonly upon anyone it could, but he actively keeps it in check. makoto is not delusional enough to think that that beast is separate from himself. it’s been “him” just as long as there has been a “him.” sometimes he wonders if that’s the truer version of himself, and he’s just some… relic of human society and morality, shackling him even though those rules barely even apply anymore.

he wants to correct kazuya. he wants to tell him that he doesn’t really care for anyone like that, because they’d never given him reason to—not his parents, not his brother, not any student he had been in school with or teacher or anyone else. but… that’s not necessarily true anymore, is it? and it’s not just fjord and datenshou; there were people here who have been kind to him, who have extended him far more compassion and understanding than he ever thought possible. no, he didn’t hate them. sometimes in his weaker moments, he mistrusted them, as if their kindness was simply a lie that would vanish as soon as they saw the full monstrousness of him. he would feel tempted to think the same with kazuya, if the other demon wasn’t already aware of much of makoto’s darker side.

or is he? does he even know that those desires had resided in makoto long before he’d become a demon? would he still think that, knowing how many months he had spent luridly painting the walls of his mind with increasingly vivid tableaus of imagined violence and vice?

he sits a little woodenly in his chair, food forgotten. his hands fall into his lap, shoulders tense, and he wrestles with how to respond. ) I… ( there is a far less diplomatic way he wants to respond; he wants to tear the words to pieces because he feels like they paint a picture that isn’t even really him. surely kazuya has to understand him better than that? or is it his fault, because he hasn’t explained himself well enough?

it’s hard. just as much as makoto wishes to be accepted and embraced for who he is, he’s terrified to reveal that truth to others, because the alternative is far too terrible to consider. )

I—just don’t want to become the kind of person they all assumed I would turn out to be. ( “that i am.” his throat burns, feeling raw. his expression looks faintly pained. ) It’s not the same.

( it’s simply not true to say he doesn’t want to hurt people, because he does. he does desperately. the intrusiveness of the thoughts stick their fingers into his mind often enough that it has become second nature at this point. he just doesn’t allow himself to act on them except in ways that feel “right” because… well, if he did, then what was the purpose of summoning a demon in the first place if he just ended up that same monster he feared he would become? )

That's what makes you a good person. You hold back on yourself because even if you want to hurt people, you don't want to hurt them at the same time. I've seen it in the way you hold yourself back from enjoying what you want. When you asked me if I was really sure you wouldn't kill me. You're not really a murderer, Makoto.

[And he smiles for that, resting his head in his hands as he watches the other young demon. Where then, had Kazuya lost his humanity completely? It had never been something he'd thought about, but maybe it'd somehow happened the first time he'd summoned a demon, the ferocity in which he'd fought, and almost lost his life with. All to protect his friends.

Truthfully, what he mostly remembers had been rage. Had been hate. A need to kill to protect what mattered most to him.

He also remembers deciding that Keisuke was important to save because Atsuro and him had been close friends, and he'd wanted to protect that smile more than any true inclination to protect another person.

How terrible.]

What keeps me from hurting people, even now, is knowing that my friends would be sad if I did that. Truthfully, I've actually almost killed someone here already. Thankfully he's pretty good at defending himself, and I wasn't really in my right mind.

( kazuya is in the unique position to know this—he’s the only person that makoto has really allowed himself to feed from since arriving here, too wary or hesitant to do much more than an aggressive bite to those humans (or more human-adjacent) that had picked up on the shape of his desires and had tried to offer themselves instead. in a way, kazuya had given him something he’d never quite had before; sure, he might have torn a demon in half once, but there is something far more viscerally appealing to tearing into someone’s throat with your teeth, in feeling the fight-or-flight struggle of muscles and nerves firing off in a near-involuntary state, in the slow and steady ebb of strength as blood fled the body through such a ragged and seemingly-mortal wound. it’s something he had only allowed himself because kazuya had promised, and because he’s aware of the other young man’s power given to him as being the king of demons. he would have denied himself it were anything less, too afraid of the outcome, both for his friend’s life and the fragile construction of his own principled morality.

the urge to reject what his friend said is still there, but it’s quieter. there’s too much pressure of evidence to prove contrary. in a way, it feels nice to be acknowledged, to have someone see and recognize how much effort he put into trying to be… not even “good,” but just not actively “bad.” in another, it felt wretched; one shouldn’t have to try so hard, right? isn’t this something that comes naturally to most people?

he’s quiet for a long minute, looking down at his half-eaten plate of food without really seeing it. then he speaks up in a subdued voice, ) …Thank you. For saying that.

( makoto glances up at kazuya as the other demon continues, the moroseness of his expression fading as confusion replaces it. ) Really? ( he hasn’t really viewed this place as very… conflict-heavy? sure, some people go to Talon or otherwise to spar and fight, but he hasn’t really seen people do so with intent to injure or kill since he’s arrived here. )

…Did he deserve it?

( the most important question, of course.

he’s quiet for a moment longer, considering, before he also adds, ) If it’s alright that I stop myself just because I don’t want to prove the people I grew up around correct, then… I don’t think it could be wrong that you do the same because you think your friends would be upset. ( a beat. ) Maybe the reason doesn’t matter. Not as much as what you do, or don’t do.

I thought he did, at the time.

[He laughs, but it doesn't necessarily lack humour. It's there, seeping in at the edges because it's-

Ridiculous.

Yeah. It's ridiculous that he'd have lost control over something like that. It'd been a perfect storm scenario. A lack of being properly fed magnetite or even bits of Weiss' Aura. The game that had compounded his inherent need for chaos. A call to make good on a centuries old grudge that isn't even his. And, of course, the inherent need for violence that all Bel's possess. God may have been killed, but that hasn't quelled them entirely. It probably never will.]

Maybe you're right, though. I hadn't even meant to attack him seriously. I only wanted to scare him a little.

[He worries his lip. They have all this food, but he'd gone and soured the mood anyway, hadn't he? Well, maybe he can convince Makoto to bring back leftovers that he might enjoy that won't go to spoil so fast.]

If I hurt him seriously... If I hadn't had my powers reigned in by the hotel, I would have made someone I care about really sad. Maybe she would even hate me. I don't want to do that. I want the people I care about to be happy, and I don't want Abel to influence me like that ever again, but... How would you even go about fighting against an inherent part of yourself? It's difficult. I know you know this. [Maybe not necessarily in the same way, of course. But they're similar still, aren't they?]

If you almost killed him, you probably succeeded at that.

( scaring him, that is.

though, in makoto’s experience, nearly getting killed once (or actually getting killed once?) kind of takes the sting out of that particular fright.

he doesn’t mind that their conversation had gotten rather dense and heavy over dinner—not the adjectives one would want to have over a meal, but makoto hadn’t necessarily been very hungry to begin with. he’s made a decent effort even despite their subject, sampling as many of the dishes as he could while they were freshly-made and warm (when applicable). there’s something about food that always awakens the only shred of nostalgia he has in his body; he doesn’t miss home, not in the slightest, but he does sometimes miss the food. finding places to order it within the resort, or friends that could cook, is very much worth it to him.

the young demon sits back in his chair, slumping slightly; he listens, and it’s around the time that kazuya acknowledges his own understanding on the topic that he smiles in a fragile, sad sort of way. yes, makoto has lived two lifetimes full of constant self-conflict, intent on caging the parts of himself before they could do too much harm. he probably understands what kazuya means more than anyone else. he’s just… newer at it, he thinks. )

it’s… hard. ( obviously. he rubs at one forearm as he speaks. ) I can tell you what doesn’t work. Trying to force it down, ignore it, starve it into disappearing… if it’s anything like what I’ve dealt with, that will only make it worse. You can’t punish yourself into making it go away.

( it’s sad that he’s so young and yet speaks with such authority on this, but he had spent years hating himself so deeply and fervently that he’s an expert at this point. he doesn’t as much—anymore. but there’s still a bit of that in him still. he is at least better at acknowledging that it’s all him now, the good and the bad. it’s just about controlling the impact that the latter has to others. )

…Do you think of Abel as something separate from yourself?

[Probably. At least a little. He can't remember if there had been the scent of fear or not, two wrapped up in his own need, his own mind. More like the lesser demons than any King. More like an animal than a person.

So it goes.

But he does listen to Makoto. Takes what he says and internalizes it, because the other younger demon knows more. Makoto might be younger, but he's still more knowledgeable than he is, even if their experiences and worlds don't line up 100%. He's an authority figure at best, and still someone to bounce around conjecture with at worst. Either way: Someone important, and who's experience he trusts.

He can't starve it into disappearing. He can't force it down and away, and even if he hadn't been doing that entirely, there'd still been a breaking point where it hadn't been enough and he'd snapped.]

Abel is me, but I'm not him. Those are my feelings on the matter. His soul was shattered and I just happened to be the one to pick up enough pieces to put it back together.

[And now, Abel's soul rests, at least in part, where his own had. He'd given up his to take control of Babel to save everyone, and the united pieces had firmly taken up residence in the hole left behind.

Maybe it hadn't been a bad thing. It's not his, but it is a soul, isn't it?]

( he doesn’t really know about knowing more than kazuya does. their experiences are just dramatically different, and it might seem like that just because makoto is a melancholic, inwardly-reflective, pensive sort of young man. his overactive mind can’t really stop itself from turning concepts and problems over and over in his head, worrying over them like a dog with a bone, even when he’d already generally figured out that there was no real “solution” to be found for them.

here, there experiences are once again dissimilar. for whatever reason, kazuya seems to embody another figure—one so Biblically ancient that he was one of the first two sons of man. makoto himself tends to think of that more metaphorically and allegorically than literally, but it’s still a part of him, and it had existed both before and outside of himself before he had been “kazuya.” or, at least, that’s his understanding of it. it casts a shadow across his friend’s psyche, perhaps coloring his thoughts and opinions sometimes, but it hadn’t stolen away the essence which made him “himself.”

this is very different from what makoto contended with—a division so strong and so stark between the dark, cruel nature of his innermost desires and his heart, which recognized how wrong they were to want, that almost made him feel like two people sometimes. he knows he isn’t. he can’t blame his desires on some external force or influence because he knows they’ve always been honest within himself. this is why he doesn’t allow himself to deny their existence as part of himself anymore; it had been harmful to ever try.

they are different scenarios, but he thinks they can hurt in the same way. that’s why he fumbles through the “advice” he attempts to give, trying to walk the narrow, shared road between them.

he pauses, hesitating for a moment before continuing, ) …The way I started to get better at handling it is, I don’t try to deny it outright. I set limitations… rules. So it goes from something like, “I can never have something like that” to “I could, given the right conditions, and I just have to be patient.” ( he bites his bottom lip, trying to fight down a faint feeling of self-loathing and revulsion as he admits that. it still feels wrong, even if it’s the best he can do. ) Changing it mentally from a ‘never’ to a ‘eventually’… It just makes me feel a little less—crazy.

I don’t know if something like that would help you with what’s between you and Abel because, well… it’s different. But maybe you could try to set some limits with him as well. It might make it easier.

[Another nod, as Makoto explains how he deals with things on his end. How he got better at handling things.To not deny himself, but to wait, to exercise a sort of patience, even for his hearts desire. It'd worked, honestly. Even if he told himself he could have something eventually, it had happened. He knows his friends penchant for wanting to consume, to tear and rip at flesh.

He'd waited, and he was rewarded. Proof of concept simple enough. Enough monkeys and enough typewriters, so to speak. And it could be the same for Kazuya and Abel too. They had an eternity on their side, after all. More than enough time to figure out the future and how to shape it. Or not.

Kazuya hums contemplatively.]

That might work. Though... I still don't want to be the kind of person who hurts others just because I can. Maybe just knowing there's a time and a place to get those kinds of urges out constructively would be nice.

( it certainly helps that makoto knows he might actually have other opportunities here. if kazuya were his only option, the only chance he might ever have, it might be more challenging to deny himself… but he’s actually been indulged in the worst and most macabre of his desires more here than he had been even in hell when he had been there, so he’s going to remain quietly appreciative of that and continue to try to stay his course. sometimes it daunts him to think he will have to live like this forever, constantly balancing the disparate, volatile parts of himself as if on a precarious tightrope walk. but the fact that he can sit and speak with kazuya like this, with the other fully aware of even the ugliest parts of him which hide in the shadowiest recesses of his heart… it feels like it makes it worth it, to be able to feel seen—and accepted enough to keep around.

for someone like makoto, something like that would never be taken for granted.

he nods, encouraging. ) And if others notice that you only apply your power sparingly, whenever you feel like it’s actually needed… I think they would grow to respect that as well.

( fear and contempt can build for the truly powerful who brandish their strength as a cudgel to bludgeon everyone around them with without reserve. but for someone who applies it instead as a precision weapon, with the wisdom to temper it? that was different, he thinks.

he pauses, glancing at the table, then up to his friend again. )

Um… I think that’s probably as much as I can eat, for now. ( and it wasn’t a lot, given he hadn’t really arrived with an appetite, but he’d at least sampled some of everything. he starts to stand up from the table. ) I can help you put it away… I’m going to be here all day, so we can definitely eat more of it later.

[ I wasn't kidding btw. ]

hiiiiiiiiiiiii why isn't your username demonloversucker or something
it'd be funny

( oh, boy........... )

Forgive me if I don't take username advice from a guy who decided everyone should know him as "cornhater420."

( really, obikawa? you want that to be your recognizable character trait? )

but it's funny so whatever
all these names like
apple
banana
guy
girl
they're sooooooo boriingggggggg

at least you know i HATE corn
idk what 420 is tho i just see it in games a lot

People choose usernames to represent themselves, not to specifically amuse you.
Which is probably for the best, because you have a fairly... unique sense of humor.

( hm. does makoto know what 420 is?

no, probably not. so, if obikawa is telling him the truth on that one, it's not like he can judge. )

boooooooooooooooo
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

hey how many dicks have you seen since you been here

( is it kinda cringe that obikawa acts in a way sometimes that makes even makoto feel a little embarrassed to be talking to him...

anyways. after their last conversation, he's less thrown by that particular question. he's adapting. )

Enough to avoid turning into a statue.
I'm afraid to ask why you're asking...

[ Do not let this man get philosophical and wise; gaslight-y and saying shit. ]

i'm just curious

[ hm ]

[ hmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMHMMHMHMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMfdfsjfkjs

ok! ]

[ Makoto is going to be sent an image of a soft, placid dick. A mirror selfie, even, but very much just zoomed in on a dick. ]

how do you look at these and not laugh

( you know what. sure. this might as well happen. )

( makoto genuinely doesn't know what's worse: the fact that this is the first dick pic he's been sent since arriving here, or the fact that he didn't even bother getting it up beforehand. what kind of low-effort sexting is this!!

(potentially not sexting at all, which is even more ???????????)

after a brief pause, he replies in exasperation: )

What, do you mean dicks in general?? Or yours??

[ Makoto doesn't deserve this. ]

both

[ He can change his dick whenever, so he doesn't even take offense that it's... laughable. ]

i don't know how i'm gonna look at another one and not laugh
that'd be a total mood killer though
help

( he's trying to judge obikawa's junk objectively. but the thing about working in a brothel in hell for half a year is that it really skews your frame of reference. all human dicks are pretty much the same to him...???? whatever slight variance in size there is doesn't really compare to how weird demon dicks can get, ok )

???
You're how old and this is a problem for you??

( if he's genuinely asking for help makoto doesn't think he has the tools for that. he's not sure anyone in the casino would. )

Maybe you just aren't into dicks...?

to be fair i've never had sex in my life
and managed to avoid seeing people naked

so i'm still trying to figure out what i'm into

How old are you again?? How have you managed that????

( this is partially about being a virgin, because makoto is shitty and a little judgmental, but it's more about not even seeing anyone naked??? not even in movies?? not even at an onsen or bathhouse or anything? a lot of the bathrooms in the resort are communal!!!!

after a significant pause: )

You're... trying to figure it out. Okay.
Um... Have you not ever had any fantasies or anything?

28
and i grew up in the sea
like wayyyyyyy out there, just me and a few others

[ Which isn’t necessarily a lie, but everything about never seeing someone nude before definitely is. ]

not really?
my life isn’t exactly normal
i kinda prioritized surviving over everything so the most i ever fantasized about is eating something good

Like
On a ship...? On an island??

I suppose if you were focused only on surviving, it might not have come up, but...
Hm. Well, basically everything in this place is geared toward sex, one way or another. Even when you don't really think it might be.
Has anything seemed even a little interesting to you?
Or... the opposite?

a ship!

[ yeah :) ]

and yeah i've realized lol
it's crazy because that's all anyone ever talked about but so far i've managed to go without having sex
it's probably just a me thing though

[ because he doesn't care... not because he's annoying and everyone is instinctively trying to get away from him. ]

hugging this one guy was pretty cool

( sure (: )

Okay...
I'm glad you had an enjoyable... hug.

Do you think you're going to have a problem if you need to go further than that?
Because I wasn't joking earlier, what I said about not turning to stone.

( makoto hadn't had this problem. he'd fucked someone on the first day he was here. whoops. )

i promise it was just a hug and i'm not like
stupid and don't know what sex is

i don't think so

[ hmm... makoto's a bit of a weirdo, so maybe he can be a little honest: ]

but i noticed that the one time i got jerked off it was after i did something that could be labeled as traumatizing and against the law

I apologize, I didn't mean to give that impression
I just thought it was kind of funny that you've been in place for however long and a hug is the most noteworthy thing to mention.
It's not bad or anything!
And maybe it was mean to think of it as funny, so
Um... forget I said anything, then.

( he's certainly a weirdo. a weirdo occasionally afflicted with overactive anxieties.

at that, he almost has to laugh. ah, it's something they share, in a way... a lot of makoto's first formative sexual experiences were also. either deeply illegal, immoral, or traumatizing (and he had been both the one enacting and the one being enacted upon, depending!). usually he wouldn't be so bold as to ask, but he finds himself morbidly curious... )

What did you do...?
If it's something you don't want to share
Maybe we can trade?
The first time I ever had sex with someone, it was after I'd done something many people would consider illegal as well...

why are you apologizing
it’s weird don’t do that
and you shouldn’t be sorry because it’s not like i’m being rejected or anything
i’m just experimenting on something

did you kill someone lol

[ The jump from one to the next is so abrupt, but that should be expected considering Obikawa is everything but predictable. ]

i killed her fiancé, kidnapped, and poisoned her
and before you ask she’s alive and well i gave her an antidote and then poisoned her again every couple of hours
and also she was the one that touched me

Alright, I take it back, then.
"Fuck you." Is that better?

( he's hot then he's cold, he's yes then he's no... )

( at least it's shared between them, then, that they can jump wildly between disparate topics and emotional timbres of conversation. even makoto is forced to pause before replying, slowly digesting the information given so freely.

wow... and he thought he was a freak and a degenerate. or, well, they both are, and in different ways and to different extents, but— )

And she wanted to beat you off, after all of that??

( given the way he's talked about it, he sincerely doubts obikawa forced her... )

If he were human, he definitely would have died, but...
He was a demon, and I asked him to make sure he stayed alive through the whole thing.
I kind of, um...
Tore him in half...? Among other things...

we can fuck some other time please!!! just be patient!!!

[ Obikawa will now hide the fact that he has ate a lot of people from Makoto specifically for at least six months. ]

yeah
have no clue why she wanted to do that but i wasn't really gonna stop her lmao

[ The truth: she was interested in retrieving any of her fiancé's cells. Please don't ask me why the author decided that beating Obikawa off while he's taking the form of his body made sense. ]

so you're into hurting people while you get off?
but to extreme, inhumane levels
i guess that's why you went looking for a demon
because you knew you couldn't find someone who could withstand your cruelty
i mean
you made a better choice than most people
but then again not a lot of people believe in demons and whatever

so did you like it?

I'll do my best to contain myself until then.

( the funniest thing is going to be how these two admit to some truly heinous shit but simultaneously decide to keep the whole vore part of the equation to themselves. )

I... suppose so
Though that is pretty messed up.
Not that I have much room to judge, though...

( he doesn't, for the most part? had they deserved it? anyways. )

The way I'd put it is, the things that get me most excited tend to be the things that would probably kill a person...
But I don't actually want to become a murderer for something like that
I didn't really believe in demons either, when I tried it... but when it actually worked, I did think it was the best way to do it, at the time.

( though, really, selling his soul to a demon had been done more with the intention of killing himself. being able to gore and devour said demon beforehand had simply been a perk (that he had taken full advantage of). )

Um
Well, yeah...

Did you like a girl you kidnapped and nearly killed jerking you off?

if you judged me i'd come annoy you like a rabid dog for the rest of your life

[ As if he's not doing that right now. ]

hm
mhm
mhmmmmmmmmmmm
i see
well it's a good thing that you met up with a demon and whatever so you at least know hell's real because i'm pretty sure you're not getting into heaven
but maybe that's a good thing?
are you happy with how you life is now?
are these desires strong enough that you don't feel like you could ever live normally again?

[ These are all very normal questions to ask -- at least for their conversation. Obikawa treats it normally and without any judgement, at least, considering that his form is love definitely lacks the other party being alive. ]

it was fine

[ He also was using the body of her fiancé. He wore rose-tinted glasses, recognizing that the more he remained in Minami's form the more he fell in love with her. ]

for me i think i just want to be as close to someone else as i can get
it's hard to describe it
but it's like i want them living inside me
so getting jerked off and all that was just fine but not GREAT yknow

( yeah... it's not much of a threat when it feels like it's already happening. )

If there is a heaven, I very much doubt I would have gotten in even if I'd never acted on what I wanted.
But that's fine. If it's the domain of a God who would hate and abandon me for something I didn't ask for, I wouldn't want to be there anyway.

Um...
Sometimes, things have been very hard, but in general I do think I feel happier. More hopeful?
And, well, yeah... By the end of my contract, I definitely got that feeling...

( it's essentially why he had decided to stop dragging his feet, prompting to finally tell J that he was "full." he'd gotten to do something to the demon he'd never do to another human without killing them, and it'd been the most incredible thing he'd ever done—how can he go back after something like that?

but, yeah. it's a very normal conversation! or at least it is to makoto, who is himself very abnormal. really, it's kind of a relief to talk so frankly with someone so strange himself that he doesn't really expect any judgment?

anyways. living inside of him? hm. makoto's more of a hard vore guy, so he's puzzling over that for a moment. )

Yeah, I think I understand.

( more than pretty much anyone might, tbh. )

Living inside of you, huh... Were you being more serious than I gave you credit for when we first met and you threatened to eat me?

( HE MEANS THIS MOSTLY JOKINGLY, BUT, LIKE... )

lol imagine if there was a god out there that was like yea it's fine that you summoned a demon and did weird freak shit with them
but you're right who cares

that's a good thing
even if it's fucked up
you found out a little bit about yourself
people tend to spend so much time out of their lives never getting to be who they really are or even acknowledging it
so at least you got to do that

do you think i'm a cannibal?????
makoto are you stupid

Maybe that's more likely in the gods you're familiar with, but the primary ones in my world are not nearly so open-minded, as far as I could tell.

( and he'd done a lot of research!

anyways. that was bizarrely insightful for obikawa. what the hell? )

I guess you're right.
I think it would have been very bad for myself or for other people if I kept living the way that I had been, so... it was for the best.

Well... I'm a demon now, not a human.
Is that still strictly-speaking cannibalism?

( semantics, or is he just being pedantic? probably both. )

[ Yeah! With him! Makoto will learn this information maybe in a years time. ]

then should i start calling you the demon fucking demon
you look really human though
whole head thing aside
and i guess your eyes
can you do anything else

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
if i said
makoto i want you inside me
how would you perceive it

( maybe one day. (: )

You're really not that good with names.
But, yes, I know.
It's not by choice. If it were in my power to look less human, I would.
And, um... not really?
I can remove my head from my body. That's about it.

Well
Probably like any other person and assume you wanted me to fuck you.

oh you're really into being as unhuman as possible huh?

then let's just keep assuming that

I don't know if I'd go that far, but...
Something like horns, wings, or a tail
Anything that would help me stand out as a demon. Most people just assume I'm human still.

( and he didn't go through what he went through for people to assume things like that. /:

speaking of assumptions: makoto frowns at the screen of his Watch. )

If you say so...
Like they say, two times is a coincidence, but three is a pattern.

( which means if obikawa has one more vore-related slip-up, then makoto is officially onto him!! )

i heard about researchers taking cells from all kinds of things and putting them in humans to get some of their traits
at least that’s what they did back home

[ Not exactly — they took his cells and gave them traits of a God. Powers they shouldn’t have, bodies they couldn’t control; ugly, disgusting mounds of flesh that he wanted back. ]

but it was ugly
like just like a pile of shit on rice
fucking disgusting lmao

also that could just be how i talk!!
i’m not a big spooky demon or anything in disguise

Oh, wow.
Like some sort of transplant? Though... no, with cells, it's almost more like a graft or a genetic modification.
Well, if it ended up in something like that... it's definitely not something I'd want to risk, I think.

( besides. with his complicated (read: negative) feelings on divinity, he wouldn't want traits of a God anyway. )

Hmmmm...
Just what a big spooky demon would want me to believe...

Are you in your room, right now?

( after a short pause: )

Yes...
Why?

One moment.

( Ominous, maybe, and not very clear. But he's not sure if Makoto is so insistent on hiding away that he'd refuse to answer, or would dart off with too much warning. That's why Esikko takes the chance to just go see him for himself, knocking on the door just a few short minutes later.

He's dressed as reserved as possible, for once, with a properly layered hanbok. It still isn't enough to hide the new TRANSGRESSOR brand on the right side of his neck, curved around to be visible even from the front, not can it hide the heart shaped rashes on his wrists leading up and under his sleeves, but he doesn't care right now.

Strangely, oddly, he just wants to see Makoto after all of that... nonsense with his painting. He'd just gotten busy before now. )

( perhaps he should have expected the knock, but he still jumps a little despite himself. he looks up from his Watch in the low light of his room, eyes wide, realizing how grave the mistake that he just made was. some people have already come by asking for him, knocking at his door or calling out to him, but he’d just hidden away and pretended that he wasn’t there. he… can’t exactly do that, having confirmed that he was in there in the first place. truth be told, it’s been several days since the last person who tried to stop by, so he had figured people had stopped bothering—

he does consider not answering regardless. it would make him a liar, but at least he wouldn’t have to have any challenging conversations he didn’t want to have right now.

but, no… that wouldn’t solve anything. he’s well aware by this point that he’s just hiding from problems that won’t disappear for his inaction. it scares him, but he’s going to have to face the people that other version of himself had spoken to in his stead eventually. and it seems like “eventually” has finally arrived, knocking on his door. he sighs, attempting to steel himself. he gets out of his bed, tidies up a few things (it’s messy but not too bad—mostly just the accumulating clutter of staying in one given space for too long), and goes to the door.

he opens it, though not all the way; he greets esi through a crack wide enough that he could have slipped through, though for now he remains where he is, on the inside of the room. ) Esi, hi… ( his nervous eyes dart around, and though he doesn’t take note of the rashes on his forearms just yet, he does notice the brand on his neck. his brows furrow, and he looks a little concerned as he looks back up to the other young man. )

Um… can I help you with something?

( I wanted to see you.

The words hang at the tip of his tongue for a good moment before he lets them fade into a little breath, almost a sigh, feet shifting a little in place. If he were in any better mood, he'd be shoving into the door right now, making himself at home, being a little rude just to tease him. But instead, he waits. )

I meant to stop by sooner, but issue after issue cropped up, and well... ( He lifts a hand to wave it a little vaguely in the air, eyes sliding away before moving back to Makoto. Too soft, too gentle, all of his behaviors and mannerisms are a little off, but the same Esikko is still there. In his eyes, in the way he looks at Makoto like he's trying to see right through him. )

I think we could both use some company, though we're the types to refuse as much.

Oh. That’s—that’s fine…

( honestly, if he had stopped by any sooner, makoto likely wouldn’t have responded to his message at all. the moroseness of his dour mood after being released from the paintings hasn’t fully lifted, but he does realize on a conscious level that he can’t spend the rest of his eternal, immortal life hiding from what happened. he would need to face it, wouldn’t he? (no. he doesn’t want to.) yet there’s another part of him that thinks perhaps it’s for the best if he merely inters himself in the quiet dark, never seeing anyone ever again; at least then, he probably wouldn’t become that creature, would he? a monster, like out of his worst nightmares of what he could be capable of? thinking about it makes his mouth feel dry.

even off his game as he is, makoto can clearly see the change in esi’s own mannerisms. he expected the sort of amiable, over-familiar brusqueness that would have him inviting himself into his room, setting himself up in the comfiest spot in the small quarters and perhaps even helping himself to whatever snacks or drinks might have been left out and available. he seems reserved, which is odd. curiosity and concern loosen his wariness. he opens the door a little bit wider. )

I… ( it’s just… a very apt and very accurate way of putting it, even if makoto didn’t want to actively admit it. his mouth closes for a moment, and then he nods. ) Y-Yeah… You’re probably right.

( he pushes the door open the rest of the way, stepping aside to invite his friend in. the room of a six, it’s not any more decorated than his previous quarters had been—makoto still seems to eschew most personal touches, preferring functional ones—though it is far better equipped. )

I can make… Um, how about some tea? ( a small electric kettle is one of the few luxuries he’s allowed himself since his promotion. )

Tea would be fine.

( If it would give him an outlet for some of his anxiousness, then Esikko won't refuse the offer for tea. He steps into the room, moving to find himself a seat where it seems most appropriate. It feels odd, somehow, that fidgeting doesn't aid his racing thoughts like it normally does. He can't feel the press of his own thumb against his heart-covered wrist, can't pay attention to the pressure or the temperature or anything, and so he rests his hands uselessly in his lap, instead, eyes following Makoto. )

The paintings troubled everyone, you know. Ourselves, each other... I believe the whole point was to make us doubt our own identities in some way. ( He pauses, trying to find the words he wants to use. ) I'm relieved they're gone.

Okay. ( he takes the kettle and moves to begin filling it with water. ) I hope black tea is fine… it’s all I have, for now.

( it does help, by way of offering an outlet for his anxious restlessness. that, and he feels a little less awkward suddenly entertaining company in a room that he had generally been cooped up in for the better part of a week and some change. once the kettle is set to heat the water, makoto gestures for esi to join him at the very small table situated in the nebulous “living area” space situated between the bed and where the restroom and storage was located, near the entrance. functional, yet limited—spacious enough not to be cramped, but not spacious enough to feel any less like a hotel room… he’s grateful for this room as a significant improvement to the one he’d stayed in in the basement for so long, but there was stark mediocrity to its overall comforts.

makoto himself sits on the edge of his own chair, ready to have to get up again to continue preparing the tea. so esi did want to talk about what happened with the paintings… the topic immediately puts makoto on edge, and he’s not good enough at shielding his own reactions to hide it. after a tense moment, he nods, frowning. )

Yeah… Me, too.

( the thing about makoto is, he doesn’t really know what his doppelganger had done. he has mostly created an image of the worst possible outcome in his mind, built upon a framework of his worst possible fears for what he himself could turn out to become. what had he said to other people? what had he done to them? considering how handily he’d dealt with makoto, does he have any reason not to assume the worst? )

Did he… ( he pauses, readjusting the approach of his words. ) Did mine—did he trouble you? I… I don’t really know much about what happened, I, ( though the words die here in his throat; shame makes it hard for him to admit how easily he’d been bested and how long he had languished in that portrait, almost wishing he’d never find his way out to see the aftermath. )

…I’m sorry, if he did.

( It's interesting, to watch how Makoto responds to all of this. There's only an affirmative hum that the black tea is just fine, and then Esikko waits and watches. The younger man looks incredibly anxious, which he's already gathered, but for the focus of his words to be on the way his doppelganger troubled others? It feels like a bit of a surprise. He hesitates for a moment, rolling a few different changes in his phrasing around in his head before he decides on one. )

He worked together with mine, and they shoved me into a frame. Not to worry, though— I was helped out later.

( Simple and to the point, honest and not sugar coated. Esikko's eyes look softer than they normally do in his studying, and after one more trace of Makoto's face, he continues. )

He's not something you should apologize for. My own painting was something of a past version of myself— but even that was twisted into something flatter, simpler, crueler. Those paintings may have been a part of ourselves in technicality, but that man wasn't you.

( Reassuring? Why is he reassuring him? The foreign feeling of the words on his tongue don't go unnoticed, and there's a tension in his chest he can't explain. It feels unnatural, but it doesn't feel wrong to be saying these things. He can't tell if the tense knot there is getting worse or better, though, and that's awfully strange. )

I'm not here to force you to speak on something you don't want to, for the record. I just... ( Here, he struggles, swallows his words and reconsiders, eyes flicking anywhere else. ) You know, looking at him and then at my other self, it felt familiar, in a way.

( makoto frowns in response to that, even going so far as to wince, brow furrowing and the area around his eyes growing tight. well, at least esi could say that it had taken two of them to get him trapped. for makoto, it had only taken his own doppelganger, and it hadn’t even seemed hard. he’d just been so horrified by what he’d seen, so overwhelmed at the thought of the potential pointlessness of his struggles against his own nature, that he’d been all too easy to topple into a frame and leave trapped there. by that point, he’d almost wanted to disappear into one. it was these interactions, having to come to terms with what M had done to others, that had frightened him. that’s why he acts so anxious now, even if esi himself hasn’t projected anything pointed or damning—it was fine, because makoto could direct all of those types of thoughts inward at himself. )

I’m glad you were able to escape. But, still—sorry. Again.

( “not something you should apologize for.” clearly, makoto disagrees. it’s a shame, though, that he’d never caught sight of esikko’s doppelganger, because it might puzzle him that the man was from his “past” despite appearing older than him. that, or just someone who had… been through more. his words are… assuaging. a small piece of makoto questions why he’s doing this just as much as esi does, but a larger, hungrier, more desperate part of him wants to latch onto them. to use them as candles lit against a deep and harrowing dark, to keep at bay the monsters of despair and doubt that still harrowed him all these days later.

he can’t yet. not entirely. but the condensed knot of worry and anguish inside of him slowly, slowly begins to loosen.

he emits a sound that’s technically a chuckle, though as brittle and joyless as it is, it expresses as far different emotion. ) That’s kinda funny, that you thought that. ( “funny.” ) Since yours was from your past and mine was from my future…

( it at least, what? suggests that esi is on a better path than him?

the feeble smile that’d accompanied the broken-glass laugh fades. he breathes out a short sigh. )

You’re wrong, though.

He was me. The things he said, what I can only assume that he did… they’re all things I think about sometimes. Things I try to bury. I’ve done a lot to avoid becoming that person. ( both his expression and his tone of voice droop as the water in the electric kettle begins to gurgle with heat. ) I guess—it isn’t enough.

He was you. But he wasn't you.

( A strange emotional sort of tension wells in Esikko's voice, a far cry from his usual light and therefore distant tone. There's no teasing lilt, just the weight of an exhaustion that carries across even in the way he sits, body leaning to one side, propped as best as he can, hands only fidgeting in small shifts in his own lap. It's difficult for him to maintain any sort of eye contact, like this, when he's speaking things he's never once bothered before, but he does keep stealing glances. )

Time— and identity, really— are not so linear. There's a dimension to it that can't be comprehended fully, and your mere presence in a place like this, a meeting place of various realms and various pathways, tied together by frayed strings retied and knotted every which way, tangling with one another— that alone should be proof of that.

( Proof, logic, reasoning— he thinks things like that might be the easiest way to struggle with the pain of your own existence. At the very least, it's thoughts like that that kept himself calm in the aftermath of his own doppelganger. Thoughts that plagued him, wondering if he had changed for the better, for the worse, were softened by the idea that even if things might be different back home, the him that here was different. )

I... It's difficult for me to explain my feelings on the matter, but would you hold the actions of the painting of another against their original? Whether past or future, those parts of ourselves can't change. That was a future glimpse of a certain you, sure.

But after all of my lifetimes, I've at last realized that if you'd like something to change, you should try an alternate method. Perhaps trying to avoid it is bringing you closer. ( His fingers curl into his own palms. ) Have you tried to face it head on?

( it’s the somewhat uncharacteristic frankness (‘uncharacteristic’ at least from makoto’s perspective, given his interactions with esi in the past) that cuts him to the quick, stifling any further circuitous worries and causing them to wilt and die on his tongue before they can find voice. makoto has an ear for pointless assuagement. he’s heard it enough to know the emptiness that rings in it, those sort of casual, polite platitudes that others produce to meet the social need but don’t really feel them in depth. things like, “it can’t be as bad as you think,” or “everything will be alright”—they always infuriated him to hear, because they not only showed how little others understood of what he dealt with but also underlined the privilege of their own safe, average, normal position. he doesn’t get any of that from esi, though. he speaks with the weary certainty of someone drawing from a well of personal experience. their interactions have always been a bit of a game of give-and-take, so that and that aforementioned frankness startle him into a state of acute attention.

it’s funny that esi himself arrived to a similar conclusion that M had, though makoto himself is still struggling to add up to it. though who they are at their baseline, encoded into their thought patterns and the very essence of who they were, certainly influenced things, it was both the path they were on and the steady forge of time that made them into who they would one day become. as questionable of a place as it could be, the Golden Peacock wasn’t as inhospitable to him as his version of earth had been. it’s not as cruel and callous as hell. there’s no inevitability, not when they themselves—both their own selves but especially all the people they surround themselves with—could surround them with kinder climes and circumstances.

esikko’s hypothetical causes makoto’s mouth to press into a thin line, his brow furrowing. of course he wouldn’t. he understands that it’s hypocritical to assert as he had, but—it always seems different when it’s you, doesn’t it? you always have the perspective on the worst parts of yourself, those that you are sure not to voice let alone act upon. it’s somewhat paradoxical, that others can view you better than you view yourself because of your own self-restraint—and yet you don’t give yourself credit for that restraint.

in everything that esi says, of course, makoto does catch onto it. his expression crumples into something quizzical. )

“Lifetimes?”

( there are certainly plenty of people in the resort less equipped to understand it. makoto kind of does. being taken into hell had felt like his second, and, honestly, his time here feels like his third. is that what esi means? has he been to all sorts of different realms like this, or is it something else?

either way, it’s not entirely relevant. he thinks about it, really thinks about what esi asks him. it takes him a moment to really identify what it is he’s avoiding and how it would even be possible to try to address it. naturally, his mind shies from it. of course it does. he’s been running and hiding from this deep, dark, monstrous truth of himself his whole life. in the eventuality that he ever truly came to accept it without complaint… isn’t that when he would become who it was he hated?

funnily enough… isn’t this what their doppelgangers had really wanted? to be looked at, seen, understood, and accepted? who knows how M might have reacted if he’d been able to do that. perhaps he had been emboldened, knowing that he wasn’t yet in a state where he could do that yet. )

Wouldn’t that just end up doing the same thing, though? I’ve… ( esi has been so honest with him, he owes him the same, doesn’t he? ) I’ve always wanted to do some really terrible things to people. More than anything, I’ve wanted it. But—it’s wrong to want that, isn’t it? And, facing something like that head on… well, it just doesn’t seem right to just accept it.

I don’t want to become someone who can just thoughtlessly hurt another person. Not—not like how he did.

( The more Esikko watches and listens to Makoto, the more the tension builds in his chest, the more it aches, the more he feels like he has to say something, to do something to be able to relieve it even a bit. It's overly powerful, something that might have nagged at him normally is now so overwhelmingly distracting that it almost feels difficult to breathe. His fingers scratch idly at the heart rashes scattered over his wrist, beneath his sleeve, and his gaze dips down as he considers how to approach this.

Because he feels like he wants to help, for some god awful reason he can't explain. It's not that he ever disliked Makoto, of course— he found him amusing, cute, fun. But care is something different, and he's not sure when that had started. Something that had been so impossible for him to grasp in prior years and lives was now flooding his every sense, causing his heart to beat loud in his own ears.

It feels familiar just enough. That Makoto struggles with some aspect of himself, that he wants to avoid it but feels like he can't, and that he can't think of the one thing that comes so clearly to Esikko right now— )

Facing it head on doesn't mean embracing the actions. Rather, I mean... Instead of avoiding it and hiding from it, perhaps you should talk about it to those who care about you.

( He forces his hands to still from their fidgeting, a tense grip replacing the movement. )

This isn't my first life. Not my second or third or anything close. I've been using my magic to start from the beginning time and time again. So, I suppose I'm trying to say... that this is something I've only recently learned.

golden peacock | inbox

Details

text; @a

usn: fausteen / text

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

✔

usn: fausteen / text

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw: underage prostitution mention

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

text ▶ action

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject