middaeg | [Closed] Can't think, need drink, wrong kind of thirst

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[Closed] Can't think, need drink, wrong kind of thirst

Who: Shinjiro and Makoto
When: FORWARD-DATED to around the full-moon!
Where: SEES House
What: life is hard when you can't manage to use a straight-razor right and your housemate is a vampire
Warnings: Vampires, blood, etc.

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Even without a calendar, it's easy to tell a full moon is coming. There's a sort of agitation in the air, a buzzing, restless sort of energy that Shinjiro had felt as soon as he'd woken up, like so many overworked circuits directly under his skin. There's the sense of needing to do something, anything-- though it does feel much, much tempered down than it had last month, now that he's found a bond and has a regular supply of a witch's magic to siphon.

The exaggerated changes are interesting, sure, but not too much of a surprise-- especially with the 'preview' of his monster form during the dream the previous week. So when he scrubs a hand through his hair and finds those nubs of horns right at his temples, or stands and hears a sharp clacking on the wood, as opposed to the sound of his own feet, he's not too bothered. Just like Makoto had pointed out in the past: Hooves and horns, likely going to be some kind of faun. He's just hoping he doesn't end up as one of the four-legged ones. He's sure his eyes are all fucked up again, too, but doesn't bother to check before wandering out to half-heartedly make himself at least somewhat presentable.

Even now, a month and a half in, it's really hard to actualize the fact that he's going to be alive for longer than a short while. As much as he lets himself survive here, the idea of living still feels completely anathema.

But at least he's making small steps in regards to his appearance, futilely fighting the steady increase in hair (fur?) growth when he can. But that jittery, anxious energy makes it hard. Hard to focus, hard to keep fingers still, hard to keep his heart not from pounding furiously with the need to get out and do. Go leap across roofs with Fie or fight someone or fuck or something.

A brief close of his eyes to try and tamp it down (And yes, his eyes are even weirder than last time, the gray irises expanded to cover the whites of his eyes, pupils long and rectangular--) and that's all it takes, with the shaky hands, to slip and fuck up yet again. He's no stranger to accidentally slicing under his jaw while trying to shave-- he's still not used to the stupid, old-timey razors this place has, how long and thin and deadly-sharp they are, as opposed to the cheap disposables he's used to. He's also still not used to having to actually maintain this, never having had a propensity for facial hair before.

And so he drops it all with a curse, flinching back from the mirror. It takes a moment for the blood to well up from the cut, clean as it is. It's not deep or long, thankfully, just a slice where the angle had been wrong, the blade moved too far in instead of just against. It's not a problem, just aggravating that he has to deal with it now, shoving the heel of his hand against the bottom of his jaw to place some pressure, and taking a frustrated break from his attempts.

Not the best start to the day. Especially since the sight and scent of his own blood has that stupid, instinctual, prey-terror part of his mind kick in, making his mouth dry and heartrate spike for a moment at the idea of danger! Watch for predators! He manages to tamp down on it, leaving back against the door with an another irritated curse, but it's impossible to keep entirely from feeling it.

Of course he'd end up as some fur-covered beast that flinched at the idea of predation and danger. His whole life, he'd had shit luck.

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The dull footfalls don't get his attention as quickly as Makoto's voice- casual, calm, quiet, but now with a sort of worn-out tone to them, as though giving voice was actively causing effort. And that just makes him curse again because not only is the leader of SEES actively dying again, but he was a vampire on the full moon walking up right as Shinjiro had shaved a chunk out of his skin.

The meat of his palm still crammed up against the burning flare of pain, He shifts enough to knock the door open with a huffed sigh. There's only the one bathroom, after all, and the last thing he needs is the other guy giving up and pissing in the sink or the garden or something.

"....You're up early." It's kind of grouchily spoken, sure, but not maliciously, even as he steps back to allow Makoto space. (Or maybe to allow himself space from those bright red eyes that signal danger, to the death-pale flesh and the lack of many of the scents associated with life.) He wants to keep this neutral and civil, even though he's sure that, again, all the monsters that live here will be wired up and energized-- and he knows Makoto will want the same.

There's just a doubt eating at the pit of his stomach as to how the flash of blood droplets will swing things.

"-I can finish up later." He supplies easily, head turning to look out to the hallway and away from Makoto, hopefully providing a sense of space between them.

Early? Is he up early? Ugh, whatever. He's going to have to deal with the stupid sun whether it's breakfast time or lunch time. Makoto grunts in response, and when he hears the heavy weight removed from the door, he tries the knob again. Open it swings.

And he can smell it immediately. Blood. There's the sound of his heart beating too - slightly faster than usual - and the smell of his exhaled breath, both signs of a source of blood. But the smell. It oppressively fills his nostrils and sends a shiver up his spine.

"What..." he murmurs, distracted. What did he just say? Blinking, Makoto looks up and meets his eyes. In the space between Shinjiro's jaw line and his hand, a thin crimson line was collecting. Instead of dripping down, it clung to the gap, attracted to itself like water.

He's already bleeding. You wouldn't even have to cause him any pain.

"...uh," he tries again, looking away. "Uh, are you alright?"

Again, there's that cornered feeling. Of knowing the only exit is currently occupied by a predator. One that sees him, and the awkward sort of standoff that happens afterwards, as each decides how best to navigate this. Shinjiro knows he should make distance-- he's cut, and even if it's minor, it's sure to be tempting to Makoto. But at the same time, the other teen is right before him, and every instinct in his growing-faun-mind is telling him to avoid sudden movements.

"...Yeah." It's an awkward admission, and he rubs at the cut again, only managing to slightly aggravate it, rather than downplay it.

"The razors here are shit. Cut myself like every fucking time. Don't worry about it." The attempts at nonchalance are painfully forced, and his eyes slide from Makoto to the doorway for only a moment, before returning to where the vampire is standing in the door, clearly distracted by the scent of blood. And so he huffs a short breath.

"So-- I'll give you some space to take a piss, yeah?" ANd maybe just crawl right out of his window to work out the thrumming sense of danger he gets from the way those red eyes glance down at his injury, at his throat.

You wouldn't have to bite him or cut him. You wouldn't be hurting a friend.

The vampire part of his brain won't shut up. It's sounding very convincing. Makoto locks eyes with Shinjiro and stares as he debates himself, and without even realizing it, he begins exerting that special power that's only come to him on full moons, that he had yet to use on purpose. The same power he'd accidentally used on Fuuka last month.

"Okay," he says, still staring into Shinjiro's eyes. He takes a step into the bathroom, around him to let him leave. But before breaking eye contact, he says in a low voice, "Just wait outside. It won't take long."

He watches Shinjiro step out and shuts the door.

He'll wait. He'll wait there for you and he'll come back, and then you'll have blood.

A few minutes later, after the flush of the toilet and the sound of the sink running for a while, the bathroom door swings open. Makoto is already looking up, at the space he fully expects his hypnotized victim to be waiting for him.

He keeps that eye contact as Makoto speaks, registering the words- but his eyes don't glaze over, nothing about him slacks in easy submission. He nods in careful agreement, sure, but there's a wariness to it. Especially with how he pauses long enough to set his things on the sink aside, very clearly snapping the razor shut, before setting the soap to the edge of the sink.

"Sure. Take your time." He doesn't even try to hide the fact that the razor is still tucked in his palm. Not a threat, not open or even at the ready, but still on his person as he carefully steps out of the room, hooves clacking on the old wooden flooring in a deliberate pace.

But he doesn't wait right outside the door, the unconscious mental resilience of that he's becoming keeping him from wholly complying and giving in. He lingers a little farther down the hall, arms folded as he rests against the wall and thinks about how to try and deal with this. Because he wants to finish fucking shaving. Maybe Makoto will go back to sleep? It's not really early in the day, but the sun is still out, so with any luck they'll just have one more awkward interaction and then they can get back to tentatively tip-toeing around each other.

At the sound of the door opening, he lifts his head and glances over to Makoto.

"You going back to bed?"

When his expecting gaze lands on nothing but empty air, something shifts back into place in his head. For a while, he stands there in the door frame, staring at the wall of the hallway, as if waking up from a daze. He plays the events in his head backwards, as if trying to remember where he left an important item that he can't find. Shinjiro isn't standing here like he thought; why isn't he; what was the reason he was supposed to be there anyway...

Then, he realizes what had just happened. He did it again. It's obvious in hindsight, but at the same time, it was completely and uncontrollably subconscious. He wasn't think about hypnotizing him at all - he hadn't even remembered that he could do that. What he'd been thinking about was Shinjiro's cut and how easy it would be to feed on him, how painless...

After Shinji's question, there's a silence that goes on for far too long, and when Makoto finally answers, his voice is soft and quiet. "Yeah," he says, before stepping out into the hallway and approaching his senpai - only to walk past him, hang his head, avert his eyes, and disappear into back into his room.

He leans back against the shut door and stares at the floor. It's still not safe for him to be here. What he should do is leave and find a voluntary source of blood as soon as possible, before he hurts anyone. But he'd promised Fuuka that he wouldn't disappear again in a situation like this without telling her what was going on - and he won't risk repeating what happened last time with her. What the hell is he going to do?

Even after the initial tensions between them had died down, the air is still something electric and dangerous-- or maybe that's just his own muddled mind interpreting the situation. And so he nods and lets Makoto pass, exhaling slowly when the door shuts behind the other man.

This can't be easy for either of them.

He does return to finish what he'd started (Of only because he doesn't want to look like a complete idiot with half a wispy beard, the texture something between coarse and furry, like his body can't figure out what the fuck it's supposed to be doing--) and thankfully it doesn't take too long. The encounter had bled a lot of the tension for him, making it easier for him to still and also slip into thoughts as he works.

This has to be even harder for Makoto. And he'd known that the addition of visible, scentable blood would make it even worse, likely surging up the gnawing ache that Shinjiro imagines he has as a vampire. Knowing that as he changes, he needs real food less and less, craves the sustenance of blood more. And it's a physical need for him, not something that can be fought off with willpower.

And so, after finishing, he returns to Makoto's door with a sigh, the razor still snapped shut and in his pocket. He won't make Makoto bite him. Won't force him to do any of that himself. Though their leader is quiet and quirky and composed, he absolutely cares for the wellbeing of his-- friends? Does he consider them that?

And so he knocks. The full moon must he harder than even normal days, and he's sure Makoto will just lock himself away as though it would make the urges pass-- which, as they know, will only make the chance of going feral worse.

"Yo, Leader. Open up."

By the time Shinjiro knocks, Makoto is dressed and putting on his boots. He'd formulated a slapdash plan: get dressed, get out of here, get some blood somewhere, come back, and hop back into bed, all before Fuuka woke up. It's a miracle he woke up before her today, so if he could take advantage of that fact, he might be able to deal with himself before any drama happens.

The knock itself makes him wince and look up at the door. The tense moment earlier had passed without fanfare; he knows that neither of them will make a fuss about it after their agreed-upon truce from last month. So what could he want? Perhaps it's something completely harmless, or maybe he needs help with something - some of his own changes. Makoto hasn't had a chance to ask if he's doing alright yet.

When the door opens, Makoto looks up at him with his usual practiced neutral expression. Silently, he's relieved that Shinjiro finished cleaning himself up and he isn't bleeding anymore.

"What's up?"

If he were anyone else, he probably would ease into the conversation. Ask if he could come in, ask how Makoto was holding up, actually start a conversation with him first. But all that seems like a waste of time to him. It would just be fake, they'd still just dance around one another. So instead, after Makoto opens the door to answer, he rolls a shoulder.

"...Wanted to check in." That's as easy of a start as he'll manage, before diving right in. "Figured the full moon would be pretty rough on you, so I was wondering if you needed to eat before it gets outta control."

He folds his arms over his chest loosely, if only for lack of knowing what else to do with his hands, not currently having any pockets to shove them into in his loose pants. A beat, as though he realizes that the unsaid offer there may have been too subtle, and so he adds on:

"If you need blood, you could just take some from me."

Makoto blinks, his neutral expression shifting to muffled surprise. He takes a step back and looks away, thoughtfully, but not fearfully. Simply feeding off his friends has always been the simplest, obvious solution to his cravings, but Makoto never dared to bring it up - the idea of literally sucking the life out of his comrades to survive is about as antithetical to him and his beliefs as it could get.

He'd hardly expected one of them to just offer themselves like this. This proposal is as close to an ideal solution as he's going to could get at the moment. But is it really okay? Is the idea of it any less awful just because Shinji is volunteering, or is that the vampire part of his mind bargaining with the human part again?

"Are you sure?" he finally says, speaking softly. "It's probably going to hurt. You'll have to push me off you to get me to stop. I can't tell you exactly what might happen."

Feeding on a live victim gave him an erection the last time he did it. He doesn't have the gall to mention that.

He doesn't bat an eye at Makoto's warnings. Really, he'd expected some sort of resistance to the idea. After all, he'd feel the same way: troubled and disgusted at himself to have to harm others to survive. But if Makoto resists it, then the urges and his own control will be worse.

"You talk like any've that'd stop me." There's a wry sort of amusement in his tone, something half-challenging. But after a moment, he falls back into seriousness, glancing away for a moment.

"Look. The way I see it, is you either choose when you're gonna take some and have some kinda control over it, or you end up losing it and attacking the first person you see. It sucks, but that's where you're at." A faint pause, and Shinjiro sighs. "I... shoulda offered sooner, really."

Because if anyone can empathize with being in that sort of painful position, having to thread a line between what will hurt people the least, Shinjiro likes to think he's a decent candidate.

"Anyway, it's your call. I can even slice myself, if you don't wanna bite."

Makoto is almost obligated to say yes at this point. It's too perfect of a solution to the serious problem he's faced with at the moment. He sighs and brings a hand to his face, his thumb and dominant two fingers rubbing his tired eyes for a moment. After the silence as passed, he looks up at Shinjiro, nods, and gestures for him to step inside his room.

He can only hope that this works without any complications.

Once the door is shut, he turns back towards his senpai. He's trying to maintain his neutral expression, but he still looks vaguely worried.

"Alright. Uh... you want to take a seat over there by my desk, or..."

There's the bed, but that might be too much.

The other guy doesn't exactly look thrilled, but really: why would he? Solution or not, it's still a situation he's stuck in with no perfect options. In an ideal situation, none of them would have to deal with anything like this. Makoto wouldn't be constantly sickly and needing to feed on others. Fuuka wouldn't grow a tail any time she tried to shower.

But Makoto's allowed him into the room, so he'll take that as an agreement.

He follows the other guy's gaze over to the desk, before shrugging. "Yeah, wherever. What's easier for you?" He won't lie-- he's not entirely sure how this all goes down. All the shitty movies had vampires bite people in the neck, but he's really not sure how comfortable or realistic that is. And he doesn't want to be awkwardly hunched over, or for Makoto to have to find someplace to stand to get at... wherever he needed to get blood from.

He goes ahead and sets the razor down on the desk, moving to take his shirt off, if only to prevent it from getting stained anywhere. And with that motion, it's evident how much the changes have been affecting him as well, with lines of fur trailing down from the nape of his neck, or branching up towards his navel, far more than were ever present beforehand.

"You tell me what's the most comfortable for you. And what part you're gonna eat off. Something I can keep covered up'd be best, just so no one gets the wrong idea."

...Yikes. That's a lot of hair. It's not just growing on his face. This makes perfect sense with what he'd read about faun over the past two weeks at the book store - the fact that Shinjiro has so much hair already, he didn't know.

The book had said something else, though. That faun are a bit - promiscuous. Makoto takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and tries not to think about the trail of hair leading up to his belly button from the elastic of his pajamas.

"Okay," he says slowly. He takes a step towards him, and then another, thinking as he goes. "I'm guessing you don't want to cut your wrist. That would be the easiest, but it'd be pretty visible."

And would probably be a cause for alarm for anyone who saw it. So, that's out. Makoto looks him over, his face blank. "I guess... your shoulder, maybe? Or I should say, between your neck and your shoulder. You could cover that up with clothing pretty easily."

That spot always smells so good, too.

Look Makoto, he can't help that he's halfway to being a bear now. It's just part of the whole 'turning into a goat-man' thing, and he's just as aggravated at the itching and warmth as anyone else.

He glances at his arm as Makoto thinks it through, shrugging. Higher up on the forearm, maybe-- but even then, he tends to roll up his sleeves when he's working in the kitchen or rummaging around clearing out the plot of garden-to-be outside. So that was out. The last thing he needs is people worrying that he's been thinking about offing himself again here in Aefenglom.

"Up here?" He tilts his head slightly, throat bared, and gestures to the slope from his neck to his shoulder, right were the trapezius and levator begin their descent. Low enough to be below the neckline, but central enough for them both to find it easy. He doesn't even pause long enough to give either of them a chance to over think it and back out, instead just nodding and reaching over for the straight razor again.

If the possible sensuality of the situation has occurred to him, he hasn't let it show: Working hard to keep up that firm confidence, to make sure there's be no argument against it. Because this is the simplest solution, right? Makoto gets to feed, and then it's easier to stay sane as the moon fully waxes. And with that, maybe he won't disappear for several days, won't edge closer to possible self-loathing. A little sting of pain, a little wooziness-- that's nothing, when it comes to dealing with their changes.

"Alright. Lemme know if it ain't deep or long enough." And with that, he snaps open the blade, bringing it up above the clavicle, and pausing for just a half-second with the edge resting against skin, before giving it a short tug, slicing into the flesh and letting the blood begin to well up.

Makoto nods to confirm the agreed-upon spot, and before he can think of something next to say or do, he's watching Shinjiro grab the blade, snap it open, and cut his skin. He's not sure he's okay with how easy it seemed to be for Shinjiro to cut himself, but that's a conversation that they can have later. The blood is quickly welling up into a thick red line. If it weren't for his collarbone, it would be dripping down his chest - and in a few more seconds, it's going to spill over anyway.

He closes the distance to Shinjiro with a few quick steps, and somewhat awkwardly, he grabs the armrest of his desk chair so he can lean down and presses his mouth to Shinjiro's shoulder. As he's come to expect, the metallic flavor sends a burst of gratification through his body. It soothes his haggard nerves to the point that he feels light-headed.

Now that he's stopped the risk of causing a huge bloody mess, he settles his weight on his hands, still gripping the arm rest, and closes his eyes. The flow of blood is slow, much slower than what Makoto could cause with his teeth. Without removing his lips from around the cut, he presses his tongue into it, trying to agitate it in the hope that it will bleed more... but not too more.

He'd expected the faint pain of it- After all, after fighting Shadows for as long as he had, he'd grown familiar with the myriad of ways that can feel (Always pretty bad, to be honest.) But what he hadn't expected is the intimate proximity, which was a really stupid calculation on his part.

Of course Makoto was going to hover over him and put his lips to his skin. How the hell else was he going to eat? But in all the other thoughts swimming around, the working out why this was the best, most efficient solution at this point in time, he hadn't stopped to think too much about the actual mechanics of it. Of feeling the other teen's breath, hot through his nostrils, right against the flesh of his neck. The arms on either side of him, gripping the arms of the desk chair, caging him on either side. Lips forming a seal around his quick cut to make sure no blood escapes.

His next exhale is shakier than he'd like to admit, a combination of flaring and waning adrenaline. And maybe he would have been able to just settle down and be still for Makoto if he hadn't started tonguing the open wound.

It should absolutely be hurting. The broken skin and muscles being pressed and agitated to increase the blood flow, break open more capillaries, get more blood spilling in. That sort of thing is painful. But whether it's something in the vampire's skillset or his own fucked up brain, it definitely-- doesn't hurt. There's pain, sure, but it's almost secondary to something warmer, more precise. There's a faint shiver at it, as Makoto dips his tongue into the bleeding cut again, and he curls his fingers into the fabric of his pants, if only for something to do with them.

Should he be talking now? Seems dumb, since Makoto can't respond. But maybe he needs to give some kind of direction? Another huff of air, and he finally lifts his voice. "...Like I said, lemme know if it ain't bleeding enough. This is all fine."

Makoto continues to softly suck at the wound, his tongue pressing into it gently, after Shinjiro speaks up. It seems at first like he hadn't even heard him - Makoto make a hum of acknowledgement or move his hands or anything. But he did hear him - his mind is just occupied with thoughts of what to say, how much to drink, where this is going, what to do next.

So far, his body isn't having the same reaction to drinking blood as it did last month. Back then, his erection was unplanned and uncontrolled. This time, he feels a bit more in control of himself, a bit more accustomed to what drinking blood feels like and what his limits are. Through the misty haze of happy gratitude that's settled in his head, Makoto can look inward and recognize these things.

So... why did he get the chills when Shinjiro's pulse quickened in response to his tongue? And then again, when his breathing grew just a little shaky?

Suddenly, Makoto pulls away, straightening up slightly but not giving his senpai any extra personal space. He stares at him with those blood red eyes and pants softly, their faces only a few inches apart.

"If you're okay with it," he begins in a low voice, "I could just use my teeth." And then Makoto bends down again, pressing his lips to the cut before it drips but listening for his answer.

When he wasn't so sure about hurting a friend to do this, it felt natural for Shinjiro to make the cut himself. But now, just a few minutes later, the idea of biting him doesn't make him feel guilty at all anymore.

The pause in the middle of Makoto's feeding almost feels more personal and intimate than the feeding itself. The lack of space between them, breath intermingling, that direct, bright blood-toned eye contact pinning him down in place more so than the arm on either side of him, of the gently bleeding wound at the crook of his neck. Carefully, he nods. Fully in control of his decision, fully clear, but at the same time completely uncertain with how quickly this began feeling like negotiating sex, instead of helping a teammate's hunger.

"...Yeah. It's cool. What they're made for, right?" And it would probably be less neat and clean of a slice, which meant more freely flowing blood. Shinjiro still has those enchanted healing salves in his desk from elliot and fie, he could just use those to speed up the healing process, no matter how much of a mess Makoto may make of his neck.

(Besides, he's never cared too much about scars or appearances.)

A pause, and he swallows, adams apple gently moving with it, and the muscles moving coaxing out another soft trail of blood from the wound.

"Are you... okay standing like that?" Not... that there's many other options. At least, not options that aren't even more ridiculously close, like shifting to sit on the bed, or straddling the chair or whatever the fuck else. But it still feels worth offering.

The movement of his shoulder breaks the seal between Makoto's lips and his skin, pulling his attention back to Shinjiro's words. The more trickles of blood he laps up, the more he wants to stop talking and just eat, but it's still not enough to overcome his increased self-control. With a huff of air, he stands up again and leans his weight off the chair's armrests, and his eyes move from the wound to Shinjiro's face.

He looks... hm. Handsome. All the extra hair makes him look older, tougher, more weathered. A different handsome from Akihiko. This is the first time he's seen his senpai without a shirt on, too. He expected the axe-user to be strong, but he wonders if his especially thick torso is a monster change.

The cut is bleeding. Makoto looks to it again and watches a drop begin to form at he edge.

"Are you?" he asks gently. The drop starts to slowly trickle down his chest. This would be easier if Makoto could just - just...

"Should I sit in your lap?"

The blood starting to bead and roll down tickles, more than anything, and before it can get too far, Shinjiro brings up a hand to catch it with the pad of a finger. But through this, he doesn't pull his eyes away from Makoto, swallowing again, and then nodding.

"--Sure." They're already here, they're already at this point, what's the point in putting down any stupid, arbitrary barrier? The guy is drinking his blood directly from him. Saying he can't further contact would just be stupid, right? And so he leans back and moves his hands from where they'd been gripping the fabric of his pants, just... giving Makoto space. And hoping that he's not quite as hard as he feels like he is. Though, he... probably is. A very unintended side effect of this all.

Maybe he can blame it on the full moon, too.

And really, if anyone, he doesn't mind it being Makoto. Even if they butt heads occasionally, he trusts the teams leader in a number of things. Enough so to be comfortable enough to let him feed off of him, and definitely enough to know the guy won't judge him too much for happening to get a hard-on by someone suckling at his neck.

"Whatever's comfortable, just go for it."

Whatever's comfortable, he said. With the wound in such an awkward place, there aren't that many options. With Shinjiro sitting in a chair, there are even fewer comfortable ones. And with his handsome, muscular senpai very noticeably pitching a tent right now, there's only one Makoto is interested in anymore.

Staring directly into Shinjiro's eyes, foreclosing any attempt by him to play off or ignore what is going on between them right now, Makoto steps up to the chair and sets one knee down on one side, and then the other. He's not so much sitting in his lap as he is straddling his lap.

After placing his hands on Shinjiro's shoulders, he settles into his lap. Makoto wasn't hard a moment ago, but he is now. Perhaps Shinjiro will turn him down, as is his right to do. But maybe he won't.

Makoto smiles at him expectantly, searching his face for hints of a reaction, a thought, a regret, anything. And, hoping he might help him feel a little less awkward, he says in a low voice, "This sort of thing happened last time I did this, too."

He's glad that at least one of them is going for it-- even if it's been Makoto this whole time. Sure, Shinjiro had been the one to originally bring up the suggestion of letting him feed off him, had made that initial incision-- but in a way, Makoto had been leading since then, right? And honestly... that makes it easier, in a way, helps him know he's not completely imagining this tension between them.

He sighs out a breath as Makoto goes ahead and straddles him, and naturally his hands move to settle at the other man's waist, giving him that bit of support as he settles his weight. There's no flinching back, no appearance of regret, just a pink flush across his cheekbones.

"And here I thought I was special," It's a dry joke, and one corner of his lips tugs up for a moment, as though for a moment of normalcy as he settles back, head tilting slightly to display the injured shoulder. "Figured we really had something goin' between us."

An invisible thrill goes up Makoto's spine when Shinjiro sets his warm - so warm compared to Makoto - hands at the concave dips of his waist. He imagines Shinji picking him up, throwing him onto his bed on his back, and leaning down to lick his ear or nibble a nipple, all while keeping those strong warm hands in the same spot.

His smile turns sultry. The laugh he lets out in response is breathy and full of affection, albeit it a bit knowingly. Of course he's making jokes. The blush on his face though, that's new. It's adorable.

"We might still," he answers. "You're just as excited as I am."

Still smiling, he leans down to bring his lips to the wound. The wonderful raw smell of fresh blood fills his nose and sends another thrill through his body.

"...you can touch me while I do this, if you want. Ready?"

He can't exactly deny Makoto's statement. He definitely was, and the more seconds pass, the more absolutely fine it feels. He gets that positive feedback with the smile, the almost coy comment, and Makoto continuing forward. And so he gives a conceding nod, agreeing to both of those. They might still, sure, and yeah, he's absolutely as excited as Makoto is.

He hadn't thought of the other man this way before-- but maybe that was just his own fixation on his death, blinding him to everything else around him. And not having the experience of this, the pressure of him sitting in his lap, dangerously close to his dick, leaning in as though this is something of a treat.

"Yeah. Sounds good." And, almost as though testing, he does roll his hands over the other man's hips as Makoto draws closer to the wound, thumbs pressing in at the ridge of his hip bone, beginning a careful exploration there. It definitely gives him more to do than just sit here with blue balls, after all.

The warm hands shift downward, although not as far as Makoto might be yearning for. Nevertheless, the pressure of his broad hands gripping his hips makes his cock lurch in his pants with eagerness. He's fully dressed, so his erection isn't as immediately embarrassing as the pajamas-clad young man beneath him, but he'll be suffering blue balls just as much as Shinji.

With a hum of approval, Makoto presses his lips to the wound again and bites. Not ruthlessly, but hard and fast enough to pierce the skin just a little bit more, allowing blood to enter his mouth just a little bit faster. He huffs out his nose and begins to wonder how he could have ever had any reservations about doing this to someone.

He gives Shinjiro's shoulders a gentle squeeze before sliding them downwards to his chest. There's hints of fur along the way, which sends another thrill down his spine. Extra hair might come off as gross to others, but Makoto finds himself enjoying the texture, especially when it transitioned into smooth skin.

While his tongue presses into the wound again and his throat gulps down a mouthful of blood, he drags one fingertip around the border of Shinji's right nipple. He hadn't invited Makoto to touch him the way Makoto did, but he's betting that he won't mind.

Makoto bites him, and there's that flare of pain once again, something deeper this time, jolting all the way down his shoulder to his fingertips as the teeth wrench deep into the cut. The fingers on that side twitch against Makoto's hips, and he rolls his own up at it, grinding hard against the vampire straddling him, as though the sensation and friction there would help distract from the bite.

And-- well, because it feels good, too.

His breath has definitely picked up as they returned to it here, slotted so closely together, Makoto sucking at the wound, rolling fingers over his chest, lighting up all those nerves with casual, aimless touches. And in turn, he turns his head slightly to nip at Makoto's ear with his teeth, returning the bite on a much smaller scale, as he continues his hands roving over the other man's thighs.

After a moment, he huffs out a quick: "You mind if I...?" The words distractedly lost as he just cups at Makoto's erection with one hand, testing the limits of this thing that had built up between them so quickly. Before now, he wouldn't have guessed he'd be into getting chomped on and bitten by a vampire, but even through the pain, there's something distinctly erotic about it. The closeness, the vulnerability, the burning, stinging of the tongue laving and pressing at the open wound, ripping the flesh that much more...

He'll have to offer to donate to Makoto more often.

The pressure against the front of his pants makes him hum with approval a noise in between a sexual moan and a mm-mm good comment on the blood in his mouth. He pinches Shinji's nipple between his thumb and finger and pulls softly, adding another sensation onto the pile to help distract from the pain.

The cupped hand pulls another noise from him, much more erotic this time. Makoto pulls his mouth away and sits up, his eyes moving to their crotches without looking at Shinjiro. There's a slight smudge of blood around his lips. To keep the bite from bleeding everywhere, Makoto stamps a hand over it.

"I told you to touch me, didn't I?" he says with laugh. Shinjiro was probably just making sure, but Makoto won't turn down an opportunity to harmlessly make fun of him. "I wanna see yours, too."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Closed] Can't think, need drink, wrong kind of thirst

/RETURNS FROM THE DEAD OF VACATION

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