( 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. )
🔞 vore, cannibalism, blood
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. )