( dextera's overall lack of judgment in the moment is appreciated — he realizes in this moment that in the last few years, all moments in which arousal might have been a factor were typically incited or controlled by the demons he's been surrounded by, either within or just outside of his own control. but the context had been different, and so of course it would have been an element and a factor; dextera had invited him here for seemingly completely different reasons, so... to makoto, he feels as though he offers clemency in the form of unquestioning understanding, and he appreciates that. even though it still embarrasses him to all ends, even as it had a few years ago whenever J had managed to get some perverse thrill out of him that he hadn't expected. that does just seem to be his par for the course.
makoto is quiet as he watches dextera clean up what little remains, a faint yet sheepish smile just barely visible on his features. for some reason, even in the afterglow of what they had done to the remains of a man dextera had killed, the evidence of it still scattered around them... he looks younger now than he usually does, perhaps simply because he lets down several of the barrier layers he typically mirrors around himself.
is it so strange that it's been so long? he likely could have indulged — J made it apparent that all he had to do was ask and be sure to seem worthy in the moment — but he had purposefully denied himself. he had kept himself hungry (metaphorically, but also literally) in order to keep himself sharp, the desperation of want driving him past his normal limits. but less of that mattered now. he had never thought he could share something like this with another, and so before he really can consciously track what he's doing, he finds that he's in motion; he shifts soundlessly to a place alongside dextera, one hand pressed into the soft earth as balance as the other finds the other young man's jawline to carefully (and seemingly with much practice) guide his face towards his own. it all happens very quickly, in a way that is so casual and understated that it might be made all the more shocking for it, and it's remarkably chaste — makoto's lips, still faintly tacky with half-dried blood, form to the shape of dextera's own just long enough for the warm of flesh and breath to register, and then he separates from him. he is still close by, though his hand drops; his eyes are half-lidded as he observes him, and he explains the gesture in one simple phrase that fans out in gentle breath, )
Thank you.
( even before he had worked in datenshou's brothel, he had both traded and been traded affection as chit for what was either owed or granted due to a feeling of deserving. in the present moment, he doesn't think it's so odd, because of that, though... there's something sharply human that begins to fight its way into the look in his eyes, a reprise of sudden concern that this might yet be a step too far, especially considering the circumstances and how affected he had been a moment before — )
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makoto is quiet as he watches dextera clean up what little remains, a faint yet sheepish smile just barely visible on his features. for some reason, even in the afterglow of what they had done to the remains of a man dextera had killed, the evidence of it still scattered around them... he looks younger now than he usually does, perhaps simply because he lets down several of the barrier layers he typically mirrors around himself.
is it so strange that it's been so long? he likely could have indulged — J made it apparent that all he had to do was ask and be sure to seem worthy in the moment — but he had purposefully denied himself. he had kept himself hungry (metaphorically, but also literally) in order to keep himself sharp, the desperation of want driving him past his normal limits. but less of that mattered now. he had never thought he could share something like this with another, and so before he really can consciously track what he's doing, he finds that he's in motion; he shifts soundlessly to a place alongside dextera, one hand pressed into the soft earth as balance as the other finds the other young man's jawline to carefully (and seemingly with much practice) guide his face towards his own. it all happens very quickly, in a way that is so casual and understated that it might be made all the more shocking for it, and it's remarkably chaste — makoto's lips, still faintly tacky with half-dried blood, form to the shape of dextera's own just long enough for the warm of flesh and breath to register, and then he separates from him. he is still close by, though his hand drops; his eyes are half-lidded as he observes him, and he explains the gesture in one simple phrase that fans out in gentle breath, )
Thank you.
( even before he had worked in datenshou's brothel, he had both traded and been traded affection as chit for what was either owed or granted due to a feeling of deserving. in the present moment, he doesn't think it's so odd, because of that, though... there's something sharply human that begins to fight its way into the look in his eyes, a reprise of sudden concern that this might yet be a step too far, especially considering the circumstances and how affected he had been a moment before — )