( “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. )
cw blood and slight gore?
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. )