( is it cruel that makoto wouldn’t want to allow him that degree of separation, that level of comfort? it could probably be said that he’s a difficult creature to love, either physically or emotionally—despite being at least moderately aware of it, he still demands much and more from a partner, and they tend to be towering demands at that. when he had signed a contract in his own blood with J, making the terms of the exchange for his soul in return for J’s flesh binding between them, he had imposed them upon the demon as well: can you make it so that you won’t die while I’m eating you? it is a facet of his innate sadism, yes. he wanted J to remain alive just as he would want kazuya to remain conscious and aware—he relishes in the grit of pain in another’s face, written into every taut muscle of their body, when he tears into them. but in addition to that, there’s something about forcing them into the position of being a more active participant, and it appeals to him on a completely different level. it makes him feel… seen, in a way, and if not accepted, at the very least tolerated. it’s not the same if the other individual passes out from blood loss or pain. it’s not the same if the other person dies.
so there are selfish layers to it, in addition to the more simplistic and ethical ones: the ones that still say that makoto doesn’t want to become a murderer, even if every one of the natural sexual proclivities he comes by tend to be street signs that unswervingly point down that road.
for a dizzying moment makoto thinks irrationally that kazuya had lied to him—that there was far too much blood coating himself and the room and soaking into the bed to survive from, and that he wouldn’t respond to him at all. but he does, in a spluttering sound he has to piece together after the fact as a laugh. makoto’s colorless eyes have flown wide to stare at him at this point, watching not only his pale face but also the crimson wreckage of his throat still attempting to work despite what had been done with it, even as it slowly starts to pull itself back together. it’s so strange and so fascinating, and it causes something to twist and writhe inside makoto, dense and hot; he’s going to keep it to himself, but of course he takes a moment to imagine the wound that J had torn open into his own neck and how the demon had encouraged makoto to fuck him there, so that he could come inside of him even after he’d long since devoured his lower half. no, he’s not going to do that here. but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about it.
he shudders at the affirmation, the pressure of his hands not necessarily bruising (he’s not that strong) but certainly firm wherever they rove over kazuya. and he welcomes him in it—his leg slots in comfortably at his waist, and his hands find whatever purchase they can in makoto’s short crop of hair as makoto sets his violent attention to kazuya’s chest and midsection. now, there’s not a pure soul’s chance in hell that makoto could manage to miss or misconstrue the other demon’s reaction as he bit into a scarred section just over his ribs. at first it startles him so badly that it scares him, being by and away the strongest reaction kazuya had had thus far—makoto half-sits up with alarm, eyes wide, but he isn’t really allowed to go very far with how kazuya is wrapping himself around him and making the physical demand for more. well, makoto doesn’t need to be told twice. the spot is low enough on kazuya’s body that makoto has to adjust his position accordingly; their hips don’t align anymore, but he’s not planning on that being of any issue. his breath comes in short, hot huffs, his eyes wide and wild. he studies the place where the scar is, not present of mind enough to know how it’s different from any of the others but certainly getting the sense that it is. but as he thinks about that, it pricks at him like a thorn buried deep under his skin; the tattoo of a spade just under his ear darkens further, beginning to surround itself with an encircling halo of embellishments etched into his skin as the suit sunk its claws deeper into his psyche. )
…Something else got you here, ( he says in a low voice, tongue thick, nearly a growl. ) Someone?( it doesn’t really matter right now. possessiveness and envy twine with one another and crawl through his chest like parasitic vines, proliferated with thorns; beneath their influence, encouraged by kazuya, he can’t resist the urge to surge forward and inflict his teeth on that spot, hungry and merciless. before, he had been careful, thoughtful even, about how he had conducted himself. in this instant, however, he doesn’t have the mind to give a damn. it’s determination and unfettered bloodlust that allow him to tear through flesh and skin with dull, human teeth, spilling blood but also occasionally swallowing down whatever mouthfuls avail themselves to him. now, it’s been several months since makoto actually indulged in this, the kink that to him was most vital and sacrosanct to who and what he is. for that reason and many others, he’s not exactly subtle about how it affects him, how it incites a riot of arousal in him without even being touched. he moans openly into the wound, continuing to widen it and worsen it with his teeth, several things occupying his mind: chasing after his own perverse, taboo pleasure, trying to make kazuya react as strongly as he had earlier, and also erasing whatever mark had been there first so he could put his own there to replace it. (regardless of how impossible or irrational that might be, of course.)
holding himself up with one hand, makoto’s other roves down the plane of kazuya’s stomach to the waistline. were he in a different frame of mind, perhaps he might be a little more subtle about this, but he’s simply not—wanting to know just how much this affects kazuya, he roughly rolls the palm of his hand over the crotch of his pants, breath catching for the instant he registers how hard he is beneath. at first he keeps stroking over him through his clothes, but there’s something frustrating in that, so he instead sets to trying to fumble open the front of his pants, wanting to free his cock from the layers of stifling clothing so he could continue to press him further and higher. )
🔞 cw: blood, gore, light vore, cannibalism mention...
so there are selfish layers to it, in addition to the more simplistic and ethical ones: the ones that still say that makoto doesn’t want to become a murderer, even if every one of the natural sexual proclivities he comes by tend to be street signs that unswervingly point down that road.
for a dizzying moment makoto thinks irrationally that kazuya had lied to him—that there was far too much blood coating himself and the room and soaking into the bed to survive from, and that he wouldn’t respond to him at all. but he does, in a spluttering sound he has to piece together after the fact as a laugh. makoto’s colorless eyes have flown wide to stare at him at this point, watching not only his pale face but also the crimson wreckage of his throat still attempting to work despite what had been done with it, even as it slowly starts to pull itself back together. it’s so strange and so fascinating, and it causes something to twist and writhe inside makoto, dense and hot; he’s going to keep it to himself, but of course he takes a moment to imagine the wound that J had torn open into his own neck and how the demon had encouraged makoto to fuck him there, so that he could come inside of him even after he’d long since devoured his lower half. no, he’s not going to do that here. but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about it.
he shudders at the affirmation, the pressure of his hands not necessarily bruising (he’s not that strong) but certainly firm wherever they rove over kazuya. and he welcomes him in it—his leg slots in comfortably at his waist, and his hands find whatever purchase they can in makoto’s short crop of hair as makoto sets his violent attention to kazuya’s chest and midsection. now, there’s not a pure soul’s chance in hell that makoto could manage to miss or misconstrue the other demon’s reaction as he bit into a scarred section just over his ribs. at first it startles him so badly that it scares him, being by and away the strongest reaction kazuya had had thus far—makoto half-sits up with alarm, eyes wide, but he isn’t really allowed to go very far with how kazuya is wrapping himself around him and making the physical demand for more. well, makoto doesn’t need to be told twice. the spot is low enough on kazuya’s body that makoto has to adjust his position accordingly; their hips don’t align anymore, but he’s not planning on that being of any issue. his breath comes in short, hot huffs, his eyes wide and wild. he studies the place where the scar is, not present of mind enough to know how it’s different from any of the others but certainly getting the sense that it is. but as he thinks about that, it pricks at him like a thorn buried deep under his skin; the tattoo of a spade just under his ear darkens further, beginning to surround itself with an encircling halo of embellishments etched into his skin as the suit sunk its claws deeper into his psyche. )
…Something else got you here, ( he says in a low voice, tongue thick, nearly a growl. ) Someone? ( it doesn’t really matter right now. possessiveness and envy twine with one another and crawl through his chest like parasitic vines, proliferated with thorns; beneath their influence, encouraged by kazuya, he can’t resist the urge to surge forward and inflict his teeth on that spot, hungry and merciless. before, he had been careful, thoughtful even, about how he had conducted himself. in this instant, however, he doesn’t have the mind to give a damn. it’s determination and unfettered bloodlust that allow him to tear through flesh and skin with dull, human teeth, spilling blood but also occasionally swallowing down whatever mouthfuls avail themselves to him. now, it’s been several months since makoto actually indulged in this, the kink that to him was most vital and sacrosanct to who and what he is. for that reason and many others, he’s not exactly subtle about how it affects him, how it incites a riot of arousal in him without even being touched. he moans openly into the wound, continuing to widen it and worsen it with his teeth, several things occupying his mind: chasing after his own perverse, taboo pleasure, trying to make kazuya react as strongly as he had earlier, and also erasing whatever mark had been there first so he could put his own there to replace it. (regardless of how impossible or irrational that might be, of course.)
holding himself up with one hand, makoto’s other roves down the plane of kazuya’s stomach to the waistline. were he in a different frame of mind, perhaps he might be a little more subtle about this, but he’s simply not—wanting to know just how much this affects kazuya, he roughly rolls the palm of his hand over the crotch of his pants, breath catching for the instant he registers how hard he is beneath. at first he keeps stroking over him through his clothes, but there’s something frustrating in that, so he instead sets to trying to fumble open the front of his pants, wanting to free his cock from the layers of stifling clothing so he could continue to press him further and higher. )