[He should be defending his title as king, acting like the overlord he is and not letting Makoto so easily, so readily bare his throat as he is. He shouldn't be letting him carve out crescent marked chunks from his flesh, shouldn't let him pull him this way and that as he pleases. What he should be doing, is taking control of the situation, switching their roles so that he's the one biting harsh marks into skin that well up and pool with blood. It's not unreasonable to find it strange he doesn't, especially with how he had acted on their first meeting, the snarling anger and superiority at meeting a lesser demon so determined to carve out his own misplaced hierarchy. But the other Bel demons are silent in his head, and Kazuya has a feeling he knows why:
Hedonism. This is what Kazuya wants. The blood, the pain. The intensity of it all, promised to him by Makoto. This is the core of what demons are, violent and wanton in their desires.
It's not something Makoto is taking on his own, something that would otherwise be met with something far more violent than the encouraging acceptance that Kazuya gives him now, even as he tears into flesh that rapidly knits itself back together. Or tries to, but with teeth and tongue in the way, encouraging the wound to stay open. Each bite renewed makes him hiss in satisfaction, curl his fingers lightly against the back of Makoto's neck as his breath comes faster, as Makoto's fingers graze over his ribs and chest, trail over scars gotten when he was very much human. It's that sensation particularly, that makes him shiver.
Kazuya huffs a sound for it, one half of pain one half of pleasure. This isn't like the jaws of the other demons he's experienced; Makoto's teeth are blunt, where there's had been sharp. Where he'd had to fight for his life against their snapping jaws, the relative safety of Makoto's is alluring still. Of course, that safety is only so much as that he believes that this particular demon would stop, if he asked. The safety of control of a situation that might otherwise have been deadly only a few months ago.
His right hand moves with his sound, then. He can't quite see, with his head pulled up as it is, but he trails it along Makoto's thigh, up his side in return. It's mostly to feel him, an attempt to keep encouraging him, a promise that he's not about to pull away no matter how he agitates the wound to make it bleed and sting. No matter how much he sinks his teeth into him.
And yet there's more Makoto can give to him. He knows this, he can feel it in the way that he's holding back... Something. There's a sort of tightness to his body, a way his teeth close around his skin that's slower than what he's experienced from other demons. Two of his fingers flex against the back of Makoto's neck, against the stitches there, exploratory in nature, and he tilts his head, just enough to press it a little bit against Makoto's. His voice is rough, a little hoarse as he speaks, breathing uneven.]
mildest gore, mildest blood.... cw: mentioned predation??? sort of
Hedonism. This is what Kazuya wants. The blood, the pain. The intensity of it all, promised to him by Makoto. This is the core of what demons are, violent and wanton in their desires.
It's not something Makoto is taking on his own, something that would otherwise be met with something far more violent than the encouraging acceptance that Kazuya gives him now, even as he tears into flesh that rapidly knits itself back together. Or tries to, but with teeth and tongue in the way, encouraging the wound to stay open. Each bite renewed makes him hiss in satisfaction, curl his fingers lightly against the back of Makoto's neck as his breath comes faster, as Makoto's fingers graze over his ribs and chest, trail over scars gotten when he was very much human. It's that sensation particularly, that makes him shiver.
Kazuya huffs a sound for it, one half of pain one half of pleasure. This isn't like the jaws of the other demons he's experienced; Makoto's teeth are blunt, where there's had been sharp. Where he'd had to fight for his life against their snapping jaws, the relative safety of Makoto's is alluring still. Of course, that safety is only so much as that he believes that this particular demon would stop, if he asked. The safety of control of a situation that might otherwise have been deadly only a few months ago.
His right hand moves with his sound, then. He can't quite see, with his head pulled up as it is, but he trails it along Makoto's thigh, up his side in return. It's mostly to feel him, an attempt to keep encouraging him, a promise that he's not about to pull away no matter how he agitates the wound to make it bleed and sting. No matter how much he sinks his teeth into him.
And yet there's more Makoto can give to him. He knows this, he can feel it in the way that he's holding back... Something. There's a sort of tightness to his body, a way his teeth close around his skin that's slower than what he's experienced from other demons. Two of his fingers flex against the back of Makoto's neck, against the stitches there, exploratory in nature, and he tilts his head, just enough to press it a little bit against Makoto's. His voice is rough, a little hoarse as he speaks, breathing uneven.]
Don't hold back anything. I asked, so show me.