[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.]
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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.]