( to many, it would seem like the obvious answer. he pauses for a long moment, searching for an optimal way to explain himself that simply doesn't come to him. )
In a way...
( but it doesn't sound all that convincing when he says it.
to makoto, though... there's nuance to it. to him, there has never been a sort of survival component to this. whether he was on earth or in hell, his needs were met regardless. he could draw a relatively simple distinction between the baseline desires "to eat" and "to fuck" and feel that they were two entirely different things, but this... this fetish of his was the gray area in the middle, tearing away elements of both and piecing them together into something very nearly impossible to explain. in a way, yes, it is a sort of hunger — just as one might hunger for one's attention, for their touch, for the taste of their mouth, he felt the same, it just... progressed further. it mutated, it grew teeth and nails, it took on elements of control and possession; to hurt or to maim or to kill has never really been the driving force of his fixation, but he couldn't deny that seeing the pain that it caused only heightened his excitement. he thinks back to the month he spent contracted with J, and he can't really recall ever going to the man as if expecting a meal (not in any way besides colloquially or coquettishly, he supposes). it had always been to satisfy a morbid desire, to achieve a type of sexual satisfaction he couldn't find anywhere else.
in a way, this situation is altogether different. the organs, removed from the corporal context of the body they'd been taken from, cleaned and sanitized as they are now... this might even be an altogether different sort of thing than what he's used to just based on those factors alone. starting to sense that difference makes this even more difficult for him to parse, and therefore makes it next to impossible to explain, even as dextera looks on at him imploringly.
he's never had to explain this to anyone but J, and he had safely side-stepped the worst of that by simply forcing the man into a contract before he knew what he was agreeing to. the weight of dextera's attention brings about a very uncharacteristic flush to makoto's complexion. embarrassed. he can't believe he's fucking embarrassed, but he is. ) It's - more complicated than that, though. ( unspecific and not useful. )
no subject
In a way...
( but it doesn't sound all that convincing when he says it.
to makoto, though... there's nuance to it. to him, there has never been a sort of survival component to this. whether he was on earth or in hell, his needs were met regardless. he could draw a relatively simple distinction between the baseline desires "to eat" and "to fuck" and feel that they were two entirely different things, but this... this fetish of his was the gray area in the middle, tearing away elements of both and piecing them together into something very nearly impossible to explain. in a way, yes, it is a sort of hunger — just as one might hunger for one's attention, for their touch, for the taste of their mouth, he felt the same, it just... progressed further. it mutated, it grew teeth and nails, it took on elements of control and possession; to hurt or to maim or to kill has never really been the driving force of his fixation, but he couldn't deny that seeing the pain that it caused only heightened his excitement. he thinks back to the month he spent contracted with J, and he can't really recall ever going to the man as if expecting a meal (not in any way besides colloquially or coquettishly, he supposes). it had always been to satisfy a morbid desire, to achieve a type of sexual satisfaction he couldn't find anywhere else.
in a way, this situation is altogether different. the organs, removed from the corporal context of the body they'd been taken from, cleaned and sanitized as they are now... this might even be an altogether different sort of thing than what he's used to just based on those factors alone. starting to sense that difference makes this even more difficult for him to parse, and therefore makes it next to impossible to explain, even as dextera looks on at him imploringly.
he's never had to explain this to anyone but J, and he had safely side-stepped the worst of that by simply forcing the man into a contract before he knew what he was agreeing to. the weight of dextera's attention brings about a very uncharacteristic flush to makoto's complexion. embarrassed. he can't believe he's fucking embarrassed, but he is. ) It's - more complicated than that, though. ( unspecific and not useful. )