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extramortem) wrote2023-12-31 12:44 pm
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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
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. )
no subject
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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He sits, quietly, arousal still buzzing heavily in his system as he thumbs the back of Makoto's neck, still shares in his heated breath as his body thrums in their shared heat.
Just as before, his voice is still quiet and rough, and there's an almost pleading, sighing way he explains.]
Bite you. It doesn't matter where, [Though his throat and neck are the most tempting spots, and he licks his teeth for it.] Then... Stop you from healing. Just long enough to scar. [Something permanent, something tangible and real, but Kazuya also inhales sharply, seemingly coming out of his haze, his trace, at least momentarily.] It doesn't have to be forever permanent. I can heal it for real after, if you don't want to keep it for long.
[Even just knowing it'd be on him a few hours would be enough to satisfy him, even if neither of them ended up leaving this room and just lounged around basking in the afterglow of whatever the hell this was. Is.]
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of course, he presently doesn’t even know that he would have increased healing ability from having drank kazuya’s blood and eaten his flesh—that would be a totally new thing he’d have to figure out.
the cyclical motion of kazuya’s thumb across the back of his neck tangles a confused feeling into all the rest that are swimming through makoto now, all arousal and excitement and pent up energy with nowhere to go. he listens, and his brow furrows as he does so—perhaps kazuya would interpret it as reluctance, but he’s just trying to figure out how kazuya’s desire would make sense with how he knows his body responds to injury.
he replies slowly but methodically. ) I’ve been bitten and scratched before… Besides the one on my neck, I don’t even think this body does scar. ( he pauses. ) I just don’t want to—disappoint you, if it doesn’t work out the way you want. But, the way I heal is a lot slower than you. …You’d have a lot more time to appreciate it than I do.
( a little bit of jealousy? maybe. kazuya’s probably already healed from the injuries makoto’s given him.
he pauses, then nods, resolved. ) As long as you’re okay with that… Okay. I’ll let you do it. ( his hands tighten on the bedspread below them. )
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That's fine. If I can manage to leave one on you, I'll let you leave one on me too.
[Since it seems like that's something that Makoto wants, given the way he speaks about appreciating his work. The work which saw him leave messy gouges into Kazuya's flesh that only remain in darkened thick blood that's quickly diminishing with every second, but that Makoto had enjoyed so immensely leaving on him. If he likes it so, then what's one more scar? There are eternities left for him to live, and this could be a reminder that there is in fact someone else just like him out there when he eventually returns home.
Kazuya's kisses grow harder as he reaches the junction of his throat, somewhere just above the stitches and he presses his teeth against the spot, nips and sucks a mark into the area as he wars with himself on where exactly he wants to leave this mark of his. There's the option of somewhere bold, somewhere open and visible to everyone, like higher up on his throat, where nothing short of a turtleneck would cover. He has a feeling that Makoto might not like that though. The other demon is far too covert for that sort of thing, and so he moves his mouth lower on his neck, though he does stop to worry those stitches with his teeth first.]
🔞
he opens himself up to it nonetheless, lifting his head so he could bare the long stretch of his throat, marred as it is already with the sewn scar spanning its circumference. something squirms in the pit of his stomach as kazuya mentions letting him leave a mark on him in return. could he do that? he hadn’t gotten the sense that anything he’d do to him would last, given how long he’d been healing, but… just thinking about being able to see a scar on his body that he’d left there… he again throbs with want.
it’s something that only heightens and intensifies as kazuya’s attentions drift steadily lower, kissing and nipping and sucking until he leaves a bruise in the soft, vulnerable delta of skin just beneath the delineation of his jaw. his breathing gets quicker and heavier, and he reaches out to grab at where kazuya’s shirt is rucked up just under his arms, pulling him not only closer but forward, encouraging a reversal in positions so that now makoto is lying back on the bed with kazuya over him. no, it’s not necessarily his preference, but he figures if kazuya wants to bite him bad enough to potentially scar him, it’s best if he’s lying down for it—that, and he can better grind up against him from this vantage, and that’s something that he absolutely does when the other demon mouths slightly lower to begin to tug at the stitches across his throat with his teeth. something tight in makoto grows taut enough to threaten to snap—warm breath leaves him in what is far closer to a wanting gasp than he would like to admit, and he moves one hand behind kazuya’s head and into his hair to encourage him in what he is doing, the other moving in the opposite direction to grab roughly at his ass and pull him into himself in the same moment that he lifts his hips, desperate for whatever friction he can manage for his straining cock.
honestly, kazuya doesn’t even need to bite him here ultimately—it’s kind of already firmly marked with a scar as-is—but it’s just not something he can force himself to ignore, not when the pleasure-pain that always needles him whenever anyone gives undue attention to the wound at his throat is as strong and enticing as it is. )
🔞
The touching, the skin against skin against teeth, ripping and tearing and swallowing. It's intimate in a way that he's never really thought about, never experienced before now, and he's not sure how all the pieces of it fit together yet. He likes it, the closeness it brings, the way Makoto enjoys sinking his teeth into his skin, even if the pain is something he's not quite on board with. Though it's not as bad as it was when they started, when Makoto had torn the throat he'd bared to him out, and maybe the key to it is just a little distraction, something to ease the sharp sting of teeth.
The hand on his cock had been a fairly good start for him, Makoto rocking against him in turn had been good in general, so maybe he can offer that same beat, that pain intermingled with pleasure as he bites down finally, finally on the crux of his neck and shoulder, sinking sharp teeth into him deep as he rolls his hips against him hard and firm. This is where he's decided to leave this mark of his, and as Makoto's blood wells up in his mouth and sets alight other pleasant receptors in his brain, he forces a bead of magic into the wound as he cants his head, tears at him with that same fervour that Makoto had previously. It feels... Right. To consume him in turn, the same way the younger demon had torn chunks from his own body to whet his appetite.]
🔞 vore, cannibalism, blood
it makes his heart race, causing his blood to thud through his veins and through his cock; a small, ragged sound catches in the back of his throat as kazuya takes hold of his hip to better angle them as they grind against one another. it’s only at around this point that makoto becomes completely fed up with the fact that he’s still partially clothed, but it’s not exactly something he’s in the best position to change right now. he relegates himself to wait, now feeling the burgeoning impatience that kazuya had shown several minutes earlier.
it’s a dreadful trepidation, waiting for kazuya to determine where exactly it is he wants to sink his teeth into him. makoto’s breathing comes quick and harsh, the sound of his pulse in his ears thinning out to a single, high note. his hands grasp and knead at him, dragging dull fingernails against his scalp and lower back—he doesn’t exactly anticipate the pain, and he’s certain he won’t relish it, but he wants to confront it head-on now rather than be left guessing when it would happen—
he doesn’t have to wait that much longer. sharp demon teeth pick out a spot at the smooth curve of flesh where the neck and shoulder meet, shearing through skin and meat just above the border of the clavicle. pain forms an immediate and overwhelming block in his mind; a wedge that drives itself into the grey matter of his brain, making it almost impossible to think about anything else. he gasps and then cries out, and the sound shatters in his throat, its anguished shards like broken glass. he isn’t like J; he has no ability to dull his sense of pain, and to allow someone to do this, to tear away from the body ragged pieces of flesh that were swallowed in mouthfuls of hot, metallic blood—he had always asked J if it was too much, badgering him if the pain was too great, but he’d never understood how much it really was. maybe it’s good for makoto to understand just what it is he expects others to weather for his own pleasure. tears well in the corners of his eyes, but—as seconds pass, he realizes that the pain isn’t the only thing here. what he first comes to realize past the boundary of his own consciousness is kazuya and his eagerness; how fully he throws himself into emulating what makoto had just done, not only devouring him but enjoying himself as he does it. yes, he does determinedly roll his hips against makoto’s as he does it, still hard, and regardless of whether it’s putting a mark onto his body or the heady rush of blood that wells up from the wound or the satisfaction of consuming flesh willingly given, kazuya is with makoto in this, gratifying specifically from this, and it’s all just—something that he never expected to share with another person, and especially not one who felt so similar to him and his own background as kazuya.
he doesn’t want him to stop, even if it hurts. if kazuya decides to react with any concern to makoto’s cry of pain or the reactive stiffness that’s shot through every muscle in his body, makoto will reject it by holding his head right to where it had been; it’s just something he will have to deal with. but there is pleasure embedded with that sheer wall, and he chases after it—he reaches out with a tremulous hand between them to fumble at the front of his trousers, managing to undo them after some trial and error, and free his own aching cock. he tries to take them both in hand as best as he can, streaking precum from where it beaded at the head down their length, rubbing them together and beating them off as best he can. his breathing picks up, no longer actively pained and instead shallow and airy with intensifying pleasure. sweat beads at his temple. this is certainly not the best he can in general, given the suboptimal angle and position and the horrible pain in his other shoulder, but for him, for what’s happening right now, it’s enough—it allows him a spark of pleasure to lock onto and focus on amidst the pain, and one that grows only stronger as he can feel kazuya getting off on this just as much as he is. )
🔞 vore, cannibalism, blood
With the skin out of the way, Kazuya holds his mouth there, tongue digging into the mess of torn muscle and sinew as he slowly eases magic into Makoto's body. Something that might feel relieving, like a cold wash over the area as he makes it so that Makoto can't heal himself, something that's chased by something much warmer, more soothing as he works the spells in tandem to heal and halt and heal the wound given until it's messily knitted back together, dimpled and scarred in jagged lines of teeth. Like the ones that other demons had left on Kazuya himself, back before he'd been able to shrug off such things with ease. It doesn't take too long, half a minute or maybe slightly more if anything, but it feels like an eternity as he laps up the blood from the flesh that knits itself back together roughly.
It's a good thing it doesn't take so long, because the moment Makoto takes them both in his hand, gives pressure to his own aching cock, strokes both of them together, Kazuya inhales sharply, unable to stop the buck of his hips into the tight hold. It's almost too much, between the gratification of leaving a mark and the physical sensation of his cock being tended to. He ducks his head further against Makoto's neck, swears into the skin in a breathy, needy manner, and kisses him. Kisses the skin of his neck and shoulder so affectionately that one would never guess the grievous wound he'd inflicted and healed only moments prior. He didn't even realize how close he was, the feeling in his gut churning and tightening with so little contact.]
🔞 vore, cannibalism, blood
the feeling of kazuya’s tongue being forced into the wound forces a sharper, more higher-pitched whine out of makoto. at this point he really has trouble figuring out if it’s from pleasure or pain because he feels both so strongly; that, combined with how odd it is to physically feel someone’s tongue moving inside of you, forces it out of him beyond his attempt to contain. it precedes something that makoto only realizes after a belated moment of confusion must be magic. it washes over him like a sudden rain which stops just as suddenly as it had started, then again, and again, and it’s such an overwhelmingly confounding feeling that makoto can’t help but squirm underneath kazuya, made restless by the careful manipulation of magic coaxing something that would’ve otherwise been impossible upon this body: a scar, albeit a temporary one, placed with gratuitous devotion
by the end of it makoto is panting, likely just as desperate for release as kazuya is—but, just as easy as it would be to try to chase both of them to that end, there’s a part of makoto that’s just as greedy as it is foolish (and not to mention prideful), which doesn’t want to allow himself to come just yet because he wants the satisfaction of coming to doing exactly what kazuya had just done to him. so as kazuya reacts strongly to his touch, leaning forward to press his head to the curve of his neck and kiss the knotted scar that was the only testament to the wound that had been ravaged there moments before, makoto’s hand shifts to wrap fully around the other demon’s cock, for the moment neglecting his own to pump with shameless efficacy. he focuses on the sensation of lips and tongue moving both sensually and salaciously against the contrived scar, urging kazuya towards climax while selfishly thinking that he does so just past the threshold of the other demon devouring his own flesh, putting a possessive mark onto his own skin…
fuck, fuck, fuck—he wants to come so badly, but he just doesn’t want to yet, not before he’s left a similar mark of his own on him. )
🔞 vore, cannibalism, blood
His whole body shivers as he cums, shudders against Makoto and lets his hips jerk shakily into his hand, only to slow and relax a few seconds later.
Whatever this was, it was intense. Something that sent not just pleasant little waves though his body, but through his brain as well. The satisfaction he feels is whole, though he tries not to slacken too much. He's on top of Makoto, and though he's feather light, he still doesn't want to-
It's a belated realization. Makoto hasn't yet come himself. Hasn't yet let go to that same high Kazuya has, and his hand scrambles down between them, attempting to fist around the other Demon's cock so he can beat him off in turn.]
🔞 cannibalism mention
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🔞 cannibalism/vore again...
vore, vore never changes
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