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extramortem) wrote2023-12-31 12:44 pm
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▶ AUDIO
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17 / male / interested in: men / 6♠
Details
Prior to arriving here, I was a new demon applying myself to learn everything I could about Hell and its rules as well as demons and the games that they play among one another. Prior to that, I was human—a student in school.
Anything else you want to know about me, you will have to ask me yourself.
Regardless of whether I’m here or in Hell, my goal is the same: I want to learn everything I can about this place and its people, and then I want to utilize the rules and rewards of the Game to best benefit myself. I want to discover what it means to become “powerful” in this place, and I plan on collecting cards and climbing ranks in order to do so—and on my own terms.
Determination and adaptability.
I’m interested in anything thrilling, frightening, or mysterious. Beyond that, I’m willing to try any number of new things, though I typically tend to focus on whatever is capturing my interest at the time. As for food, I would say that my sweet tooth is comparatively underdeveloped—I tend to prefer savory food, though I would be happy to share sweets with another.
What’s most important to me is that it’s someone who accepts me and loves me for everything that I am.
…Though, if he’s attractive, that would certainly be a bonus.
Wine
.02 CLOWNS OR MIMES
…Neither
.03 SHOWER OR BATH
Bath
.04 PIRATES OR NINJAS
Seriously? Neither. This is kind of childish…
.05 TITS OR ASS
Depends
.06 COFFEE OR TEA
Either
.07 SPICY OR SWEET
Spicy
.08 SUMMER OR WINTER
Winter
.09 LEATHER OR LACE
Lace
10. ROUGH SEX OR GENTLE SEX
Both have their place, I think…
INTJ-T
no subject
We’re on the same floor—the same hall, even—and we all use the same communal bathroom. I feel as though things don’t really change much unless you climb the ranks enough to go up a floor.
( it makes more sense to just make a bunch of identical rooms on a given floor, right? honestly, these rooms aren’t so bad for makoto; the communal restroom was an annoyance, certainly, but given the stories he’s heard about the rooms on the sub-basement below them, he’s counting himself fortunate he hadn’t been brought into the resort as a two. )
It figures anything in the basement of the resort is going to be… less than preferable. They probably don’t want us to be comfortable down here. ( his lips press into a thin line. just another way the resort tries to encourage participation—odd, though, that some are given vast advantages over others for inscrutable reasons? he knows that J had been made a ten… )
But it should be temporary, at least.
( as long as he manages to play the game well enough to become a five, things would become much more comfortable for him.
there isn’t really much else to look at or do in here, so he goes to the door again and walks out into the hall. ) Okay. Which room is yours, then? ( you know, the one you never use )
no subject
Well, at least Makoto is right on that. It's definitely preferable to the basement. Brr. Talk about getting the heebie jeebies... The haunted paintings were bad enough, but down there? It's definitely worse. Much worse.
So he'll take the change in conversation gladly, waving Makoto along as they step out into the hall. He's... Uh, well, he's only actually walked there once or twice, but he still thankfully remembers where the room is. He lets them in in much the same way Makoto had opened his own door.
And just like Makoto's, the room is fastidiously clean. And for the most part? Pretty sparse. There's a few things here and there, but mostly it's the bed (not pulled out, like Makoto's)and a bedside table. The little storage pockets have clothes neatly tucked away, and the bed is properly folded though!]
Well? This is it.
[Much like Makoto's it's not very impressive, and Kazuya will move further in to sit on the only available area: the bed.]
no subject
not that it really matters right now. the room is ultimately inconsequential besides what precious little privacy it offers.
makoto follows behind kazuya, but he doesn’t join him on the bed—he does not decide to sit alongside him in the sort of bashful awkwardness of youth, fumbling through how to move forward. he’d missed out on having that sort of time in his life—at this point, he never would. instead he stands before his friend, close enough that their knees just barely touch. he looks down on him, expression complex enough that it’s difficult to read. he is finding that, though what they’d agreed upon coming here to do was nothing novel for him… there is a part of it that is, in a way that he hadn’t considered until here and now. now that he has, it tangles up in the tines of his ribs, crawling up his throat and causing it to ache painfully. )
I’ve… ( he murmurs, softly, thoughtfully, ) never done this with someone I considered a “friend” before.
( …he feels like it’s a somewhat damning thing to admit, but it’s true. he had only befriended fjord afterward, and he had certainly had no pleasant thoughts about the demon during. J—there are many, many words makoto would use to describe him, but “friend” wasn’t any of them. all the others had been clients, which was about as far away from the concept as he could imagine. and the people he’s slept with since arriving here… the nature of their relationships was definitely different than how he feels about kazuya.
apprehension—which he can’t really decide is either good (excitement) or bad (anxiety)—knots his stomach. ) …Nothing else has to change between us, right?
( he feels moderately certain that it wouldn’t have to on his end. he has gone a long way to compartmentalizing any sexual relationship he might have with another person—but he is always worried that it will drive others away from him, deviant that he is. )
no subject
For some reason, that warms a part of him in his chest. Makes him want to reach out to grab the other demon, pull him into his lap and be gentle. To kiss him sweetly and all those other things that go along with that.
But that's not what they're here for, and he has a feeling Makoto might not like that at all, so he resists. Instead, he leans back on his hands, giving a nod.]
Nothing will change between us. No matter what happens, I'm the one who asked.
[Is what he says, in lieu of a promise that he remembers Makoto doesn't like. Instead, he'll keep his posture neutral, tilt his head up to watch him carefully and perhaps, a little more intently. Apprehension is there, yes, but also excitement. Kazuya tries not to let either show as he waits patiently for Makoto to make the first move.]
cw: underage prostitution mention
he isn’t that person now, and at this rate he never would be. there are precious few people who see him as “makoto;” there are fewer still that acknowledge or accept him as such. his relationship with kazuya offers him something tantalizingly tempting in its simplicity: a shard of human friendship that he had never really had when he was still alive. it was different from how his friendship with fjord had been. makoto had known, even as they had grown closer, that you could never really trust a demon not to stab you in the back. he wants to believe he could trust kazuya with that.
some of the tension in his expression eases at the reply, replaced instead with resolve. he takes a half-step closer, one knee interjecting between kazuya’s own to give him room to stand between them; he leans forward, drawing their faces close together as his left hand lifts to his jaw. his eyes lid heavily, long eyelashes falling over the sharpness of bright-silver and red as deep as blood. he speaks again in low undertone, but this one is oddly placid and dispassionate—the utterly still surface of a black-water pond which might belie unfathomable depths. )
Let’s get one thing clear, though. ( he’s close enough now that the words are very nearly spoken against kazuya’s lips; the warmth of their breath mingles together. ) In this place, I only do this when I want to.
( he just didn’t want kazuya to have any illusions.
though it’s hard to have any in the way makoto kisses him. no, he is not particularly the type predisposed towards anything gentle and tender—that having been said, he isn’t harsh or brusque either. purposeful is perhaps the best word to describe how he presses his lips to kazuya’s to feel how they mold together, leaning forward enough that his right hand falls to the bed to help prop him up. his mouth moves, his head tilting somewhat, and he tries hard to focus on moderation—which is challenging to do when makoto’s emotions tend to burn hot and fast, consumptive and destructive. his lips part to allow his tongue to sweep across kazuya’s lips in a smooth, suggestive roll, hot and intent. )
no subject
Maybe Kazuya uses the food as an excuse. A way to explain away behaviour that he might not otherwise have exhibited before. Sure, he'd been physically affectionate with people before, but never to this extent. Never to strangers like he is here, and whether or not it can solely be blamed on the drugs or the resort or just his new nature in general... Well. He honestly has no care to find out. His left hand comes up, caressing Makoto's cheek in turn as their lips meet, thumb brushing over his cheek.
The aprehension that had sat in his gut is replaced now. A giddiness that he can't explain, an urge to pull and tug and, perhaps, just like Makoto himself, consume. Moderation is what's needed between them, perhaps, but it's not what's given. Where Makoto is slow, lets his tongue sweep against his lower lip in a way that sends chills down his spine, Kazuya is more intent. Like a damn being burst, his other hand finds it's way to Makoto's hip, pulling him with intent as he presses back against the kiss, parts his lips to let his tongue sweep over the other demons as his eyes turn from their placid blue to their hellish red.
More than anything, he wants Makoto. Wants him to know that, wants whatever sort of affection he'll give. Whether that's a tender touch of his tongue like he's done now, or a harsh bite that draws blood. Kazuya only pulls away briefly, once he's had a taste.]
Then I'm glad that right now you want to do this with me.
[It's not a lie, and not meant to be some smooth, suave comment. It's genuine, and he bumps his forehead against Makoto's like an overly affectionate cat before his lips are back on him again, hungry and searching for more, for anything he might be willing to offer, to give to him.]
no subject
regardless, kazuya’s tendency towards being a pushover in intimate matters is only something to joke and tease him about when makoto isn’t personally benefiting from it.
the thing about the careful delineations of makoto’s self-restraint is that they have been structured and reinforced in a way where they only withstand the strength of his impulses and urges coming from within. he is incredibly weak to any pressures from outside. so when kazuya reaches out to grab at his hip, pulling him forcefully towards him so that their bodies go flush against one another, his brow knits, breath shaking and rattling as he draws a sharp inhale through his nose. it’s a spark struck haphazardly around dry kindling, and he tries to keep himself from reacting too much, too fiercely—because all it awakens in him is a bone-deep yearning for more, for more touch and more taste and more pressure and more friction and more everything he can get, everything he can take all for himself. kazuya’s lips part, their tongues meeting; makoto allows kazuya to break away, ruminating over the taste of a king of hell.
when he’s like this, there’s often a shuttering of some of makoto’s emotional reactivity as the part of him that he so often tries to bury when around others begins to assert itself to his forefront; with what kazuya tells him, though, that falls alway, revealing something fleeting and vulnerable—the look of a drowning man seeing the light of an approaching ship, a lifeline being thrown his way.
he doesn’t have anything to say back to it, merely accepting it with a momentary lump in his throat; his eyes lid closed as kazuya bumps his forehead to his, just for a moment. but then his lips are back on makoto’s, hot and investigatory in a way that almost poses a question, as if asking for what it is he brings to bear. fine, then. his spine straightens up somewhat, moving to cup kazuya’s face in both hands to kiss him back with matching fierceness and a hunting sort of hunger. makoto tends to wear his tendencies on his sleeve like this: sometimes his mouth opens just a little wide in the kiss, so that as their mouths move against one another, occasionally he just barely scrapes across his lips with the edges of his teeth. he kisses him deeply, rolling his tongue into kazuya’s mouth in almost rhythmic surges, alternatingly inviting him into his own so he can trap it and suck on it for just a moment, a small, faint hum in his throat.
the quick warmth of his blood slowly ratchets to a steady heat beneath the surface of his skin; it begins to tangle and knot complicatedly in his stomach. standing is quickly becoming burdensome. he presses even closer, lifting one knee to rest on the edge of the mattress, pushing against the interior of kazuya’s thigh—back up and give me some room. )
no subject
A pleased sound echoes in his throat. It all comes back to that. It all comes back to what they are, what they were, and how that alone is enough to excite him, to entice him more so than the push for him to back up. Not before he nips at Makoto's lower lip though, teeth sharper than they had been only moments prior. It's something he's come to find here. That there's usually subtle changes to accompany his moods or wants, and in this case, it's definitely, definitely wants.
But patience is needed. They'll get there. There's still time to explore between them. For Kazuya himself to better acquaint himself with the kinds of things Makoto might like, might enjoy. They're here for his exploration of concepts, but that doesn't necessarily mean he can't learn anything about the person so willing to take him up on his curiousity. Especially not with how hot his blood is pumping in his ears, his heartbeat kicking up a notch or three once he's scooted back an appropriate amount. It breaks their kiss, sure, but Kazuya's hand remains firmly on Makoto's cheek, still brushing it with his thumb gently despite the electric heat between them.]
Let me know if I do something you don't like, alright?
no subject
in being former humans made into demons, there is both a fierce-burning brand of similarity between them—and an ocean which separates their actual, lived experiences. but it’s enough. it’s enough to enkindle a powerful magnetism in him, something deep and innate that draws him inexorably towards kazuya. the other young demon’s teeth sharpen as that nature swims closer to the surface; the sharp pinch and small lance of pain that shoots from his caught lip causes makoto to break their kiss for just a moment with a gasp. he had been honest when he said he preferred to be the one to do the biting—being bitten by another demon, even one who would likely have been ranked as a distant superior, causes something indignant to arch its back and bristle within him. for now, he muzzles it, eyes opening to fix kazuya in a fierce stare. he doesn’t blink as he slowly licks over the welt, like how a big cat might swipe blood from its lips; it hadn’t been enough to break the skin, but it had been close.
a shiver runs down his spine. he does his best to regulate his breathing so that it doesn’t run away from him.
his hands shift to kazuya’s shoulders as he steps up onto the bed once space enough is made for him; he ends up kneeling on the mattress in-between his legs, sitting back on his heels. at the question, he leans ever-so-slightly into the hand at his cheek. )
…I feel like I should be the one telling you that. Though, ( a brief pause, and he almost looks sheepish—as if ashamed?—here, ) you might need to… ( he lifts one hand from kazuya’s shoulder to gently thump down against it, once, twice, three times, ) …just to make sure I hear you.
( he is well aware that he can get carried away.
a little bit like right now. his fingers tighten on kazuya’s shoulders—he leans forward suddenly, up from where he had been resting back on his haunches, leveraging his (admittedly negligible) weight to press the other young man against the wall that was a short distance behind him. he closes the distance to capture his mouth in a shallow, yet sultry, kiss, seeming like he might break early from it before he catches kazuya’s lower lip in-between his teeth. it isn’t a nip; there’s full intention, a few long heartbeats where there is only the catch, possessive and without pressure, before he slowly begins to bite down. he doesn’t aim on breaking skin here—he doesn’t want to travel so quickly, not trusting himself as much once the taste of blood begins to cloud his mind. no, as much as his own desires would have him bite down fully, to rip and rend, to greedily swallow down whatever he could tear away—he focuses instead on this exploration, seeing how kazuya might react. )
no subject
He wants to see this through to it's conclusion. How else is he supposed to decide whether or not he likes it? To do anything else would feel like he didn't at least give it an honest attempt, and even then, he knows at the very least, he very, very much likes biting.
Being bitten in turn, too. His heartbeat kicks up again as Makoto's teeth catch and hold his lip, and there's a tense, exciting few seconds where nothing happens, nothing but the pressure and the implication that at any point, teeth could cut into his lip, draw blood. There's clear amusement in his eyes as he watches Makoto, studies him with slitted pupils. It's a silent acceptance, that Makoto can bite him as he pleases, that he doesn't need to hold back for his sake, and that if he's going to bite him, he needs to get on with it.
And should he do that, to bite harder, to pierce the thin skin of his lip, he'll find that Kazuya's blood isn't anything like a normal humans, just as he said it'd be. It's thick like oil, tastes like an almost too saccharine wine with a lingering hint of spice and smoke.
He'll also find that the wound made, if he chooses to make one, will heal fairly quickly so long as he doesn't keep agitating it.
Either way, Kazuya isn't content in just leaving it there, letting his free hand roam to Makoto's thigh. No need to brace himself if he's already against a wall, after all.]
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. )
no subject
He manages a soft sound, something that almost sounds like a chuckle at how intense he is about it, about wanting a taste, about wanting more. There's real heat between them in that moment, intense and fierce and predatory in a way that he thought he might take issue with, but finds that no, in this context it's pleasant. Even as his hair is yanked, his throat forcefully bared, Makoto won't find any sort of resistance; only encouragement as Kazuya tilts his head more, offers more of himself to the teeth and tongue that graze and nip along his jaw. The mouthing of his throat though, so vulnerable and exposed, has him swallow reflexively, anticipation bubbling in his gut, roiling hotly in his blood.
If he bites there, there will be a mess regardless of how fast he can heal.
But he doesn't, and he's almost disappointed, fingers griping and fisting into the other demons clothes as a frown tugs on his lips.
Not that it lasts long, because he moves, sinks his teeth in deep into the side of his neck and Kazuya can't help the loud cry he makes as it happens. It stings, it burns, and somehow, he wasn't expecting, despite everything previous. The last thing he wants though is for Makoto to stop, to think that maybe this was too much too fast, because while it is, and it's jarring and painful, it's also pleasant in a way he doesn't yet have the words to explain, especially coupled with how Makoto forces himself against him, leaving little room to move, and a rapidly growing heat between them.
His left hand moves quickly, almost like he's afraid of Makoto pulling away as he presses it to the back of the other demons neck, holding him in place in encouragement to continue to bite and break skin, to sink his teeth deeper if he wants.
(If he knew, if he knew that Makoto wanted to tear chunks out of him to consume, he'd readily let him. Kazuya wants to learn, to experience everything it is that Makoto might offer him.) ]
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. )
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.
no subject
what meanings do these marks have to kazuya? there’s certainly something in them, given how he responds to their touch. it causes makoto’s heart rate to slowly pick up, blood growing hotter from the excitement swimming through his veins; he bites once more at kazuya’s throat in his war of attrition against the other demon’s own regeneration. he can’t decide whether he enjoys it or hates it. on one hand, he likes to see the damage he can wreak upon a body—but on the other, how incredible it is to be able to do it, and again, without fear of permanent injury, exsanguination, or death?
though—perhaps he did want some of that permanence. perhaps he did want to write himself into kazuya’s skin, just as these other demons had in the scars he explores. it’s a greedy thought, hot and possessive, to want to forcefully make a part of kazuya his, forever and ever. though it’s also so perfectly characteristic of someone like makoto.
a low shudder starts at the base of his spine and slowly works its way through the rest of his body as kazuya’s hand runs along the line of his body, up along his thigh and across his hip to his side. if kazuya senses that makoto is holding back—he’s perceptive, because yes, that’s absolutely the case. he almost always is, in a situation like this. these physical signs of encouragement, the bald-faced goading of his words… for a moment he’s forced to stop entirely, letting the blood begin to flake away from his face as, unmolested, the wound on kazuya’s neck slowly starts to mend. makoto’s grip in kazuya’s hair goes somewhat slack, permitting him to look down a little more easily, if he wanted.
in the ruins of an exhilaration which had taken up residence on makoto’s face as a rosy warmth that bloomed on his cheeks and dripped, saccharine, down his throat is a very different expression: it’s something that looks almost… anguished. he’s rather good at holding himself back, but other people? his shoulders shake, his hand frozen where it has splayed across kazuya’s chest, right over his beating heart.
after a long moment’s silence where he desperately searches for the right words, he ends up asking in a hoarse whisper, ) Can you promise me again that I won’t kill you? ( kazuya’s fingers trace gently along the nape of his neck, across the row of sutures—his breath skips in a way that’s shamefully obvious, and an odd twinge goes through his body. he blinks, and he continues with a thick tongue, ) I-I just… I’ve never wanted to kill anyone—
( considering what he’s told kazuya about his life, it might be a little more illustrative of a plea than he’d prefer. )
no subject
To him, getting rid of them is the same as getting rid of himself. Frequently, when Abel's memories surge and well up within him, he has to tell himself that although Abel is him, he's not Abel. But those scars? They prove that Kazuya Minegishi was alive and real, and still exists in him, is still him, even with the lack of soul, the lack of humanity. So long as his body is around as proof, he hasn't lost that.
Kazuya makes another noise at another sharp bite, though this one is far more quiet, more measured now that he knows what to expect. This is, in fact, what he asked for. What he encouraged. To rewrite the connotation of being bitten, of being... Well, prey isn't the right word, since he's still that, in this context, but to be far more seriously predated upon by things that could actually kill him at the time. Things he couldn't simply ask to stop, to be given a moment to collect himself because if he didn't fight he wouldn't survive, and isn't that just the reason for this mess in the first place?
He has ever been a survivor. Just more so in the lockdown than before. Yet he doesn't fight back against Makoto, lets the thrill of these blunt and human teeth sink into him again and again, let them sing against his blood as the adrenalin washes over him.
Maybe he's just a fucked up adrenalin junkie, and doesn't know it.
Maybe that's why he gives a small chuckle as Makoto asks him that. Asks him to promise that no matter what happens, Kazuya won't die. That he can't be killed. It's not a malicious sound, nor is it amused. It's appreciative. Again and again and again, Makoto proves to Kazuya that his trust in this demon isn't misplaced. That despite being a demon, Makoto is just as human as he is, in spirit, if nothing else.
He thumbs the back of his neck gentler, voice calm and even as he speaks.]
You won't kill me. Or, if by some miracle you managed it, I'd just come back in just a few minutes. Seconds? Hours? [This time he laughs with amusement, because he really isn't sure.] Point is, I'd be back to pester you with my being a shitty demon after too long.
cw: blood, gore, violence, slight cannibalism...
but that was over a hundred years into his future—barely worth a thought here and now.
for a moment makoto lets his head hang, resting his forehead against the curve of kazuya’s neck; he can feel the flesh knitting together to make itself whole as he does so, as the gentle touch playing at the sutures along the nape of his neck makes him feel more and more restless, as kazuya laughs softly, giving him the promise he needed to have. makoto focuses on his breaths—in, and out—pulling the wool from his eyes and forcing himself, in contrast of opposites with what kazuya is doing with him right now, to see him as a demon and not as a human being. no matter how soft and vulnerable he looks—he’s agreed to let him do this. he wants him to. he can stop holding himself back.
another shudder passes through him, and then he moves, sitting up and leaning forward so he can press his lips to kazuya’s in a hungry kiss—a side-effect of his coming into hell and learning what he did from J and the other demons there was that, when he couldn’t really seem to find the right words to express appreciation or gratitude, he repays them like this. it only lasts a moment, in one surge of passion, and then he breaks away. something seems… a little different, a little off in his demeanor after that—having unwound himself from his inhibitions, it seems like the dark shapes of the monsters lurking in his depths have crowded to the surface. he doesn’t waste any more time. he mouths his way down to the other demon’s jawline and back to his throat, teeth scraping haphazardly against skin, before he once again fixates on the strength of the pulse thrumming beneath it surface. his eyes lid heavily, and he allows himself to let go—he snaps forward with sudden, unfettered violence.
many things happen at once. dull human teeth sink into flesh, into that delicate and vital weave of the throat, but this time is different because he tears with a sharp, almost-practiced cant of his head—the jugular torn, blood surges from the wound in a thick wave, the strength of kazuya’s beating heart sending arterial spray into the air. some of it splatters the walls, the vast majority seeping into the bedding beneath them; some runs down makoto’s throat, sweet as ambrosia, even more decorating his face and his neck and down the front of his shirt. he gives a sharp breath, half a gasp. energy buzzes through every part of his body, wild and aimless—it presses him further, farther, far too demanding to permit for even a second’s pause. makoto’s body closes around kazuya like a bear trap: one hand fisting tightly in his hair, the other that had been on his chest sweeps around his back, dull half-moons of his nails digging into the flesh as he half-claws, half-pulls him up closer to him, wanting to feel the tense heat of him against as much of himself as he possibly can. blood continues to flow, and makoto doesn’t want it to stop; with a soft moan catching in the back of his throat, he presses his mouth into the wreckage of kazuya’s throat, tearing with his teeth to make it wider—wide enough so that he can stick his tongue, hot and needy, into the tangle of torn flesh and muscle. he kisses him there almost as deeply here as he had moments ago—he remembers how J had similarly torn his throat open for him when he was still human, and the tangential closeness of the experience roars through him as adrenaline and arousal. already pressed up against kazuya’s body, he roughly rolls his hips against the other teen’s, eager for some sort of outlet, no matter how indistinct or indirect. in the moment, his head swims; he feels oddly high, as if short of breath—and he has to wonder, having lost so much blood, does kazuya feel the same? even though they are both at this knife’s-edge, on drastically different sides? )
no subject
A sound bubbles forth, hot and wet and pained as his blood is sprayed.. Just about everywhere, coming in pulses with his heartbeat and soaking down his front, down Makoto's front, the bed sheets, and even the wall gets splattered as the pressure finds its way outward. Distantly, he thinks it's a little impressive. Kazuya remembers seeing messy, bloody smears on the ground from where demons had only half consumed their victims, remembers thinking that demons were particularly wasteful, messy creatures. At least he knows now how so much blood could have ended up so far from it's previous host. He's thankful that cleaning will be minimal. A funny thing to think, when someone has their teeth in your throat, tearing chunks from it.
Another sound that's breathy and just as wet as the last echoes from the torn remnants of his throat. Physically, it's not pleasant, to be torn into like he is, but the mental stimulation? The fact that Makoto moans against him, rocks and clings to him like a lifeline, acts without any sort of restraint or care, finally comfortable in being allowed to be, to give into that violent and destructive nature that Kazuya himself knows and harbours...? It's stronger than the displeasure of the sting and burn of torn flesh that tries to knit itself back together, even as it's agitated and torn more. Everything else though? The hand in his hair, the one digging and scratching with blunt nails into his chest to pull him closer? That is delightful, and it's what he focuses on, along side the knowledge that he's being used for Makoto's pleasure. That he's allowing the other demon to do this because it's what he wants, what he desires, and if Kazuya can give him such a thing, he wants to.
The blood, of course, doesn't stop emptying from his carotid, though the flow does significantly lessen after a minute or so. His bodies regenerative properties can keep up, to an extent, but the fact that his wound is forced to stay open gives it a fight on several fronts. It'd be incredibly interesting, if not for the fact that yes, it does make him a little dizzy, blurs and darkens the edges of his vision and yes, makes him a little delirious, if the way he sloppily grabs and grips onto Makoto again and again and again is any indication. As his hand slips from where he actively wants it to be: somewhere he can grip to keep pulling Makoto against him, encourage the rock of his hips and the delicious friction that follows.]
🔞 cw: blood, violence
he doesn’t hide it. he couldn’t, even if he wanted to, even if he attempted to try. the only thing he is still mindful of is focusing rather on the perversion of the violence in order to distract himself from the overwhelming desire to eat; he doesn’t indulge in that so plainly as he had with J, stripping flesh from his neck to greedily consume, here only swallowing whatever shreds he might incidentally. for makoto, blood isn’t usually enough to satisfy him, but kazuya’s—it still isn’t, but it’s different, so it’s more. it warms him, buzzing beneath his skin, making him feel bizarrely bold, strong. even if he isn’t in actuality, it’s a dizzying mental illusion. as his own control over kazuya solidifies, the other teen loses it over himself; makoto can feel him repeatedly grabbing at him, not necessarily to shake or stop him but just to hold onto him, to urge him further. well, he certainly doesn’t want him to pass out. that would just be inconvenient.
so it’s with some reluctance that he pulls away from his throat, wantonly licking the blood from his face before it can begin to fleck away and disappear. sitting up a little, something about makoto looks a little different. typically the pallor of his skin is concerning, almost like that of a corpse, but now there’s something like the warmth and glow of life suffusing him now. his odd silver irises seem to faintly glow against the bloody red of the sclera. he breathes out a soft sigh, tongue thick as he intones in a low voice, ) Stay with me, Kazuya, ( reorienting the hand that had been fisted in his hair to the side of his neck, staunching the flow of blood as much as he can as the wound sluggishly started to mend itself.
he’s not going to stop there, though. no, he’s just getting more comfortable, more settled in his own skin and what he wants. dull fingernails still pressing into his skin, he drags his other hand along kazuya’s torso, eventually skating over his hip to his legs, continuing along the long line of his thigh until he finds the bend of his knee. he grabs hold of him there, pulling and twisting his own body so he can try to swing kazuya’s out to his side, so he lies back on the bed rather than how he’d been with his back facing the wall. it’s a shame, really, that the blood is already beginning to disappear from the walls, from his clothing—the huge stain beneath them in the bedding and mattress was already beginning to shrink. it’s a shame because he wishes he could paint kazuya in it, wishes that he could inscribe his own desires into him as a scar of his own. it’s a sudden urge that twists, disappointed and stymied, in the pit of his stomach. it’s okay. he’s not so inflexible—he can trade some desires for others. he settles over kazuya, their hips carefully aligned; he thinks that he likes the feeling of kazuya’s thigh bracketing him there, and he encourages it with a few guiding strokes of his hand, a contented hum filling the hollow of his throat.
he leaves kazuya’s own to continue to heal, instead rucking up his shirt away from his stomach and his ribs so he can bend down to them to begin to mouth along, all teeth and tongue, exploratory over the fields and patches of scarring and other marks. something possessive begins to grow inside of him, enough so that even the small, usually-nondescript mark of a spade just under his right ear darkens—it carries him into the swell of a petty, possessive instinct, and he once again drives his teeth into unmarred flesh just over his ribs, breaking skin to glance across bone. he doesn’t bite him quite so savagely as he had at his throat, but it’s because he’s not content to stop just there—he moves to another spot even as the first bite was beginning to heal, biting into him again (each time just harder than the last, as if the impermanence of the marks he’s leaving is a growing annoyance to him), and each time he does it he drives his hips against kazuya’s, forcing him to ride out pleasure with each surge of pain. his hardening cock has been straining at layers of clothing for the last few moments, but he isn’t in any particular hurry to do something about it—in truth it’s instead almost ancillary to what else he’s doing, far too entranced in what kazuya is permitting to want to push anything preemptively towards its inevitable end. )
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Makoto's voice feels far away in the moment he speaks, presses his hand to staunch the mess of his throat and Kazuya hisses a wet sound as the connection stings. Nothing he can't handle, and there's a sound that's almost like a gurgling laugh that comes next. He's not going anywhere, he can't, not with the way he's trapped between a wall and Makoto's body, with the way he eagerly is pressing into every last bit of touch he can get like a desperate, needy animal himself. Does he like the pain? Again, no. But it's also not so bad now, not so terrible the more he grows accustomed to it, the more the other demon chases it with the pleasant touch of his hands as he's forced lower and lower against the bed until his back is against the wet sheets, flush.
By then, the mess of his throat has mostly healed. Just enough to allow him to speak though he still has to swallow several mouthfuls of his own blood before he can manage that. A small price to pay to be able allow his contentment, his amusement, his enjoyment to be known, and Kazuya gives a satisfactory sound once he's able to.]
I'm not going anywhere.
[Is the first and only thing he says once he's able. The rest he says less with words, more with actions. His leg curls around Makoto's hip, encouraging, letting his hands fist tightly in the other demon's hair as he bites down now that he has the energy for it. Teeth against his ribs make him give a rasping gasp as the pain mingles with the pleasure as their hips connect. There's a spot, though. Just under his sixth rib and slightly to the centre, that when Makoto bites down, Kazuya shouts. Shivers and bucks against him just as hard as that pain he finds isn't really as painful as the rest of the bites Makoto has torn into him. It's anything but, and he scrambles a little, jerking to try and keep Makoto in that spot, to encourage him to bite and tear as he pleases so he can get more and more of that feeling.
It's also the location of another scar. A fist sized one that looks both jagged and smooth, like it'd started healing the same way his body does currently, and then like something that'd be more human. Uneven in it's formation. A parting shot from Loki while he was between being human, and being the fully realized King of Bel.
It's a sensation that isn't like the rest of the scars, which tingle dully with touch. It's sensitive, tender, and almost a little too much all at once when it's bitten. He was hard before, but only just. Now it feels like he's caught in a tide, between pain and pleasure and both are just as overwhelming as the other, mingling and mixing into something all together new and unknown to him, and all he wants is more. ]
🔞 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. )
cw: blood, gore, light vore, cannibalism mention + predation mentions...
There is pain here, to be certain. Pain in the way his flesh is stripped from his body like he's a still living sheep and Makoto the wolf, tearing into him with a ferocity unmatched by even the demons he knows. Even the demons who had previously attempted to make a meal out of him. It's a strange, perverse, fascinated horror he watches with, watches the enjoyment of Makoto's face, the noise of almost fervent relief and pleasure he makes in one. In it all, there's a hot, dark recognition. In watching the other demon feed on him, the urge to do so himself is put in his head. Why shouldn't he return the favour? Isn't this sort of thing he's watching now the same sort of thing he's been holding back from doing himself? From completely and utterly giving in to his own new urges, to hurt. To consume.
Kazuya wriggles underneath Makoto's touch, an awkward attempt to help him remove his pants, his boxers, the last vestiges of any sort of sensible modesty despite the fact they both gave that up when Kazuya had ever so politely allowed Makoto to tear his throat out with his teeth. All through this he nods, quick, punctuated with soft whimpers and gasps. Yes, someone had beaten Makoto to the punch. But that's hardly surprising is it? Given what he's gone through, how brazenly he shows just what he's survived. Of course someone else had gotten him. Someone else had gotten him in multiple locations from that very sensitive spot to the more ticklish one just above his hip that's a long, linear gash from his very first demon encounter.
Even more now, he wants to return the favour. To bite and consume Makoto in return, to take pieces of him and make him his own just as Makoto is doing to him now. Yes, his own spade mark darkens, but this is more than that; this is the darker nature Babel told him about. The darkness, the desire to make all things shudder before him. Makoto is satiating himself on him, and yes, there is a tautness to his muscles, but it's no longer just a reaction to pain and pleasure mingling, it's him, poised to strike and turn the tides and return the favour the moment Makoto wavers even slightly. For now though, he does a good job at distracting him, with his hand on his cock and his teeth carving out a small hollow in his skin.]
🔞 cw: predation & suicide mention, gore, vore
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. )
🔞 cw: fucked up demons, honestly.
Makoto is speaking, and Kazuya huffs breathes as he does, his voice so far away in his head that it takes him a moment to actually realize what it is he's saying. He blinks once. Twice, as the words connect to their meanings. Makoto is allowing him to bite him in return. To potentially inflict the same wounds he had done on him, and there's a part of him that laughs, cruel and wicked, because Makoto has no way to stop him if that's what he wanted to do anyway, and that simply by saying it he's allowing the illusion of it being his own decision of whether or not Kazuya does.
It's the other part of him that startles back as it thinks that, because Makoto is his friend. There's trust between them, and that much is obvious with how he's allowed and encouraged Makoto's ferocious behaviour that he simply wouldn't allow from anyone else. Still, his teeth ache at the allowance, and he wants to bite him, to tear into him as ferociously and-
Kazuya's hands move, pulling Makoto against him as he presses their foreheads together once more. If Makoto's eyes are near incandescent, than Kazuya's are glowing themselves, a red hot ember that's waiting to spark into a violent, all consuming wildfire.
All it needs is the right breeze.]
Can I mark you?
[His voice is quiet and rough as he shares in the other demons breath. If Makoto doesn't want him to, he wont. If Makoto is content with bites and only bites, that's also fine, and whatever damage he inflicts, he'll heal. He might say he doesn't heal like Kazuya does, but Kazuya is the Overlord, and with it, he has a wellspring of magic at his fingertips. He could tear Makoto's throat out like he'd done to him, spray his blood and paint the room with it and then heal it back as if it had been nothing, and he'd be lying if he said the thought wasn't appealing.
These are the dark wants, the dark urges he keeps tamped down, hidden away behind an unassuming guise. The last thing he really wants to do is feed them lest they grown, but maybe... If he does it here, where there isn't as much risk, then they'll just be satiated for a bit.]
🔞
it seems worthwhile to him in the moment, because… it will bring himself and kazuya closer together in his mind. and that isn’t necessarily intended in a wholesome, intimate way: the darker, more nasty parts of makoto also want it because it would mean that he would be dragging someone else, someone who might have been any of his classmates from when he was still human, down into the mud on his own level. kazuya’s soul is already tarnished and affected by the results of his own actions, but if makoto can have a hand in magnifying that… there’s deep gratification in that, to him.
it’s true that makoto couldn’t stop kazuya from what he really wanted from him either way, but he has to wonder—would he also find it almost meaning more, when it’s willingly given? the trust in that is so tantalizing that it’s almost dizzying. even if makoto had the strength to take what he wanted from people… he feels as though he would always prefer to sink his teeth into that feeling of intimacy when offered instead.
kazuya pulls him in closer once more; face to face, their foreheads pressed together, makoto looks unblinking into the fiery glare of the other demon’s eyes, trying to read from them what he wanted before he gave it voice. when he does, though, he pauses. even more than hearing it, he can feel the bone-deep want welling up from the request that echoes through everything makoto has felt and wanted in so many years of his life. a pulse of sympathy goes through him; a throb of mirrored desire. he wants to give it to him, he does, but— )
I… ( he hesitates. it’s not a refusal, but he has to ask, ) Tell me exactly what you want to do first.
( though if kazuya asked him if trying to feed the darkness within in bits and pieces, hoping that would be enough to satisfy it into vanishing, was a valid strategy… he would only have to brokenly laugh. in his experience, it has only made them worse—as if giving light to them made their shadows grow ever longer, impossible to ignore in the mind as they sunk grasping roots throughout the rest of the body. )
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🔞
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🔞 vore, cannibalism, blood
🔞 vore, cannibalism, blood
🔞 vore, cannibalism, blood
🔞 vore, cannibalism, blood
🔞 cannibalism mention
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🔞 cannibalism/vore again...
vore, vore never changes
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