( 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. )
no subject
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. )