( is predation part of this? perhaps in a way that he doesn’t consciously grasp or understand it is. perhaps it is for other people—other demons, other monsters like him—who find themselves afflicted with this morbid, base-born urge. but in the limited occasions makoto has been able to indulge himself like this, the triumph of the hunter over the prey has not been a part of the dynamic; with J it had always been contractual, a deal made with specific outlined terms, something that he would take from the demon in the understanding that he would at some point relinquish something in return. with J, it had never been something he’d forced upon him. whether they had been bound by contract or some verbal agreement, makoto could justify his actions as consented upon by both parties, and he clings to that. perhaps he doesn’t want to view it through the lens of a predator because that would make him what he had feared the most when he was still human and alive: a killer hunting amidst the innocent. he’d never wanted to become that person. he’d essentially killed himself before he ever had the chance to.

so, no. the thought of being the wolf among sheep, of tearing through thin skin and into their vulnerable underbellies to glut himself upon offal still vivid and steaming with life, doesn’t really occur to him. in defining “predator” and “prey,” it creates a distinction between them. rather, for makoto, to satiate his deep and innate and inscrutable desire for the taboo, he wants to preserve their sameness. it’s natural for the wolf to devour the sheep, but for a man to feast upon another? it’s the thrill of that wrongness that lights up along his spine and dances along the surface of his skin just as much as the rending with teeth or the near-overwhelming satisfaction of raw flesh and blood filling his mouth and sliding luridly down his throat. perhaps that’s even stranger than those who would seek to devour another as a final act of conquest, but makoto instead seems to seek out someone who would willingly submit themself to it—and not just once, but what he would hope would be many, many times. he has always been one to desperately yearn for the act but shy mournfully from its dire, inevitable outcome.

even though he’s not always successful at it, makoto shields a lot of himself from others, hiding away in what he views as the relative safety of the benefit of the doubt. but as he is now, saturated so deeply and thoroughly in what he desires most of all, he’s made stark and unmistakable, completely unable to muster any sort of illusion over it—the desperate expression on his face might best be described as beatific, both overwhelmingly euphoric but also crushingly anguished, all at the same time. even relatively untouched, he’s achingly hard. all he wants is to sate himself. all he wants is to completely lose himself in it the same way he had when he’d first torn into J, losing so much time in such unrestrained, violent hedonism that he’d started to come to in the early hours of the following morning to find more evidence of what had happened in the meantime in the state of his room and J’s body than written into his actual memory. there’s an oblivion to it. but, buried in those vague recollections, there’s enough of a hook to begin to bring him back. no, he doesn’t want to lose himself like that here because the circumstances are not the same—kazuya is not contracted to him for his pleasure, and he wouldn’t want to treat someone he considered a friend like that. so he begins to pull back and return to himself, and it’s in that, in recognizing that he’s helped him squirm free of his pants and underwear and that he still watches with a look of dark hunger that he knows intimately, when everything hits him, but not all at once. first there’s the realization of what he’d done, and it conspicuously washes over him like a bucket of cold water, causing his expression to warp in abject horror—but then he pieces together kazuya’s response in real time. there’s nothing he could do to the other demon that he wouldn’t allow; he did so knowingly, and with that haunted look in his eye, one that makoto feels as though he understands more than anyone else might… he lifts himself up from the wound at kazuya’s side, his hand stilling to grip him tight at the base of his cock.

perhaps kazuya might have been tempted to lash out at him then, but perhaps he might be distracted once more by makoto easing once more into movement, sitting up fully and retrieving both hands so he can begin to undo the buttons up the front of his shirt. once removed, he tosses it away from the bed. but for the scar around his neck, his skin is smooth and unblemished, pale enough so that one could see the faint blue of veins beneath the skin. )

Kazuya.

( he intones his voice in a way that’s both hesitant and yet curls with understanding. he leans forward to slot their hips together once more (him still clothed here, though maybe they’d get to that eventually), shuddering with a brief stagger of breath at the contact and friction. his arms bracket him on either side, and as he looms over him his eyes gleam in a way that’s almost incandescent. he’s already growing tense, anticipating. ) If you want to bite me, do it. I’ll let you choose where. But I don’t heal like you do, so keep that in mind.

( makoto doesn’t particularly enjoy pain. but after what had happened between himself and rokurou, he wouldn’t be able to deny that there’s something alluring about biting mutually into one another’s flesh, drawing blood and sharing in pain. he’s inflicted enough on kazuya, and he hadn’t even asked to let him devour what he had—this feels more than owed. )