( 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. )
cw: cannibalism mention
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. )