[ As the crescent shape of Makoto's blunt nails rake over a small inch of spine, flicking over nerves huddled in bunches that alight under his grip upon fragile white plumes, J's bottom lip catches itself under the bite of curved teeth. Hardly his first experience under someone's hands, those that stray over the meager barrier of flimsy cloth encasing his back are unlike any other. None have been so kindred, in ways Hell-born demons or mortal men have never measured up. Makoto, a halfling of both worlds, who reflects slivers of both and a side of something J has tried to bury alive in the depths of a still-beating heart. A child full of so much yearning, and capable of indescribable harm. He reflects everything J has been, and all he could hope to lay him down into the arms of oblivion, as no other had dared before.
Both twining thoughts spur a thrum of exhilaration through his veins, and leave his gaze to sink into a half-shuttered state as J daydreams about what precisely his ward could do with not just his hands upon his skin, but the fangs bared in unmistakable warning. So full of promise to inflict more than a showy display, given the chance.
And then, without expecting the turn towards sentimental, Makoto draws the warmth of an arm above broad shoulders. His weight solid where his ward clings like an offshoot, as if their bodies have grown so close they intertwine together, in ways impossible to separate.
As his ward studies the shape J's lips that weave an opening to an interrogation long-awaited, the demon pinned beneath such intense scrutiny returns the favor in full. J traces the infinitesimal flux of every shift in his ward's expression, pullingeach thought that reads clear as day across Makoto's face into his possession. Even when met with pale irises of gleaming moonlight, cast to float within the morass of dark sclera, that frightful gaze fails to detract from the candidness in those eyes. A sense of vulnerability that eases oft-creased features to leave them open and soft, inexplicably earnest when worn on a creature that's been taught to cleave away his own human nature like bits of gristle scraped off good meat.
It shatters with the shift in a voice running through the mood like a hidden knife. Swift and accurate, Makoto's demands land like a killing blow. Only, their severity is met with a spike in adrenaline that has nothing to do with fear. The threat that builds like a violent, surging storm sets a gleam in J's eyes that echos Makoto's earlier desires. Impassioned as opposed to frightened, J's mouth splits wide with a pull of lips; mirroring his protégé's reveal with his own set of gleaming teeth. ] And where do you think you'll find this answer?
Will you search for it under my flesh, in the wet-hot viscera of my insides, or squeeze it from this beating heart of mine? [ Where knuckles have traced the planes of Makoto's face, fingers replace them to slide beyond his jawline and into the depths of dark hair. Gathering a handful within a closed fist that pulls with a sudden force that's meant to haul him back against the pillows amassed upon his bed. There's an abruptness in the way things take a sudden turn. The old, familiar slant J harbors towards violence rears its head as Makoto is rearranged to J's specifications. ]
Show me exactly what you can do- Mako, my dear. [ When J sinks further down into the bed atop his ward, he can feel the warmth radiating off more than the limbs still cast around him. The heat and every mouth-watering shiver that thrums into him, built up either from a tumultuous mood or Makoto's stint baking under the nest of covers comprising his sick bed, only amplifies when J presses in closer. They're not quite arranged hip to exquisitely inviting hip, but close as the difference in their statures will permit. ]
I want to see just how you plan to rip this secret out of me.
[ Fingers work a clenched jaw he pries open to fill in the next shaky, over-eager breath. Hot as the tight space it enters, his tongue pushes past lips and into an awaiting mouth claimed in full. Once inside, he lavishes attention in lapping over the ridges of a stolen tongue, the crease run through it's middle and across the canines which loom over in a constant threat. J tastes of mint and liquor, his cleansed palate spoiled by the flavor of a stiff drink that speaks of concerns he may never fully express. And then, in the span it takes to press one more delicious tremble of Makoto's frame into his own, absorbing those tremors like a beast with something shaken by death rattles or ecstasy in his grip, there comes a wash of rust. A tongue savaged by the teeth it greedily strokes over drips blood into the cocktail of flavors poured into Makoto's mouth. ]
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Both twining thoughts spur a thrum of exhilaration through his veins, and leave his gaze to sink into a half-shuttered state as J daydreams about what precisely his ward could do with not just his hands upon his skin, but the fangs bared in unmistakable warning. So full of promise to inflict more than a showy display, given the chance.
And then, without expecting the turn towards sentimental, Makoto draws the warmth of an arm above broad shoulders. His weight solid where his ward clings like an offshoot, as if their bodies have grown so close they intertwine together, in ways impossible to separate.
As his ward studies the shape J's lips that weave an opening to an interrogation long-awaited, the demon pinned beneath such intense scrutiny returns the favor in full. J traces the infinitesimal flux of every shift in his ward's expression, pullingeach thought that reads clear as day across Makoto's face into his possession. Even when met with pale irises of gleaming moonlight, cast to float within the morass of dark sclera, that frightful gaze fails to detract from the candidness in those eyes. A sense of vulnerability that eases oft-creased features to leave them open and soft, inexplicably earnest when worn on a creature that's been taught to cleave away his own human nature like bits of gristle scraped off good meat.
It shatters with the shift in a voice running through the mood like a hidden knife. Swift and accurate, Makoto's demands land like a killing blow. Only, their severity is met with a spike in adrenaline that has nothing to do with fear. The threat that builds like a violent, surging storm sets a gleam in J's eyes that echos Makoto's earlier desires. Impassioned as opposed to frightened, J's mouth splits wide with a pull of lips; mirroring his protégé's reveal with his own set of gleaming teeth. ] And where do you think you'll find this answer?
Will you search for it under my flesh, in the wet-hot viscera of my insides, or squeeze it from this beating heart of mine? [ Where knuckles have traced the planes of Makoto's face, fingers replace them to slide beyond his jawline and into the depths of dark hair. Gathering a handful within a closed fist that pulls with a sudden force that's meant to haul him back against the pillows amassed upon his bed. There's an abruptness in the way things take a sudden turn. The old, familiar slant J harbors towards violence rears its head as Makoto is rearranged to J's specifications. ]
Show me exactly what you can do- Mako, my dear. [ When J sinks further down into the bed atop his ward, he can feel the warmth radiating off more than the limbs still cast around him. The heat and every mouth-watering shiver that thrums into him, built up either from a tumultuous mood or Makoto's stint baking under the nest of covers comprising his sick bed, only amplifies when J presses in closer. They're not quite arranged hip to exquisitely inviting hip, but close as the difference in their statures will permit. ]
I want to see just how you plan to rip this secret out of me.
[ Fingers work a clenched jaw he pries open to fill in the next shaky, over-eager breath. Hot as the tight space it enters, his tongue pushes past lips and into an awaiting mouth claimed in full. Once inside, he lavishes attention in lapping over the ridges of a stolen tongue, the crease run through it's middle and across the canines which loom over in a constant threat. J tastes of mint and liquor, his cleansed palate spoiled by the flavor of a stiff drink that speaks of concerns he may never fully express. And then, in the span it takes to press one more delicious tremble of Makoto's frame into his own, absorbing those tremors like a beast with something shaken by death rattles or ecstasy in his grip, there comes a wash of rust. A tongue savaged by the teeth it greedily strokes over drips blood into the cocktail of flavors poured into Makoto's mouth. ]