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Entry tags:
[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.
-----
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.
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.
-----
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."