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Simple and Easy

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I just have to make him love me, that’s all.

It really is that simple, isn’t it?

Simple? Perhaps. But simple did not necessarily imply easy.

In fact, in Mako’s experience-- especially the three years spent working for Datenshou-- easy things were rarely simple. Creatures that appeared easy-going, collected, secure, were, deep down, a complex construct of madness upon madness; balanced precariously to form intricate comorbidities, each structure fragile and unique as a snowflake.

No, a simple task was not preceded by an easy journey.

The road to hell, and all that.

It was as much a help as a hindrance that J knew very well what Mako’s plan for him was; on the one hand, his amused encouragement boiled Mako’s blood, made him ravenous for his revenge, on the other, his complete lack of fear of what Mako could and would become made the whole messy plan seem childish and unattainable. How could Mako properly come into his own when his own master, the creature that had initiated him into this, had no faith in him?

Perhaps faith was the realm of the angelic, too bright and useless for the pits they lived in.

Perhaps having faith in Mako would have done him more harm than good.

Mako felt the familiar tingle of an oncoming migraine, deep-set eyes aching even as he closed them, with the promise of the lightning-strikes of pain that were mere moments away from arcing across his vision.

Thinking about J always gave him a headache.

Being in this house again gave him a headache.

There were too many memories here; despite how little time, relatively, he’d spent in J’s home compared to Datenshou’s brothel, or wandering about the demonic realms beyond J’s lands. This place was cemented in his mind as a unique sort of torture chamber, the place he’d never intended to see, and had found himself dragged to, through the veil of mortality and even further still.

This house…

The comfort it brought Mako made him feel ill to his bones.

He needed something, a niggling little desire at the base of his spine, just between his wings, ached like a pulled muscle during a cold spell. It ached for touch, the press of a familiar palm, the heat and heaviness of a living thing breathing and groaning and morphing above and within him.

He needed J, and he hated himself for it.

Usually, he’d call for Fjord, wrap himself up in the comfort of his presence, bury himself in the cloying coils of the smoke that rose from the end of his cigar… But Fjord wouldn’t be able to push this ache away. No proxy, no matter how talented, would be able to make this feeling subside.

Mako had to admit to himself that in a moment of weakness, he needed his master. And worse still, he wanted him.

No curse could fall as heavy from his tongue as his footfalls in the corridor when he went to seek the release his body demanded.

He found J lounging, leonine toes splaying and stretching as his tail flicked one way and back again, a mere twitch of motion that spoke volumes to his mood. One hand was bent up against his cheek, knuckles pressing to the bone beneath the skin, holding up his head as J cast his eyes over a rolled parchment in his other hand.

This profile struck Mako dumb for a moment, and he forced himself to breathe again, to not get hypnotised by something so simple as the core root of his desires laying so open and vulnerable in their shared space.

Simple , he noted disdainfully, but not easy .

“You’ll burn a hole through this missive before I’ve even finished reading it,” J pointed out playfully, after what felt like time had ceased to exist for minutes. Mako shook his head to clear it, took a step closer to J’s chaise longue.

“I don’t care about the letter.”

“I do like that about you, Mako,” J continued, tilting his head back just enough to catch Mako’s eyes over his shoulder as he approached. “You stick your nose into all sorts of things you shouldn’t, but only if they’re valuable to you.”

Efficiency was one of the first things Mako had learned in Datenshou’s care. The memory quirked a dimple against his cheek, but nothing more.

“The house has been so empty without you, my dear boy,” J sighed, the letter in his hand vanishing in a puff of ash as he dropped his hand to his lap with a flourish. “I daresay I’ve missed you quite terribly.”

“Have you?” Mako’s voice clicked in the middle, like a skip on an old-school tape recording, the sign that someone was listening in on the other end. “How much?”

J’s smile spread slick and slow across his handsome features and Mako felt like the earth had opened up beneath him. That. That panicked moment of freefall. That helpless sensation of weightlessness. Not even flight gave that to him. Only J.

“Not enough, I suppose, if my naughty thing is feeling so neglected.”

Mako’s top lip snarled up, teeth bared, and his hands clenched tight into futile fists. What use was getting angry? J took Mako’s anger and frustration as a personal victory. He took everything as a personal victory.

It was accurate to just end on “he took everything”.

J seemed to take in the unspoken displeasure, scented the lingering ache in the air, and stretched out, linen-limbed and lovely, for Mako to look his fill. Then he lifted a hand and crooked his finger, coaxing the boy close. Mako went, stuttered steps still reluctant but something in him pulled in by that smile, that coiling of J’s entire being. He was grotesquely stunning, this lord of demons, this monstrous master.

“Tell me,” J wheedled, when Mako was close enough for him to reach out and wrap his fingers around Mako’s wrist. “What’s got my darling boy so forlorn? I do hope I’m the cause of it.”

Mako moved as he was guided, then he moved further; crawling into J’s lap and laying pressed against him, hip to hip, chest to chest, cheek nuzzled up beneath J’s chin.

“I want it to stop,” he mumbled.

“You’ll need to be a little more specific my dear.”

The white noise in my skull. The fire in my blood. The ache in my bones that wails so loudly it makes my teeth rattle. I want it to stop.

“J,” he groaned in lieu of a verbal answer. And when J’s arms shifted to wrap around him, to hold him close, and when his summoned wings enclosed them securely and privately in their own little corner of the world, Mako let himself close his eyes. “Make it stop,” he whined.


Humans were fickle creatures, capable of a great many things, but rarely single-minded enough to achieve them. That single-mindedness, that determination and desire to learn and grow and tear oneself free from every bond ever placed on them, that was what had caught J’s attention and curiosity when he’d first appeared in Makoto’s summoning circle all those years ago.

That was what had pulled at him to bend some rules and bring the ferocious little thing back with him.

J had his own hungers, every creature did, but he was a masochist when it came to satiating them.

He held back for as long as possible, forced his willpower to stretch farther than it ever had before, all for the relentless, overwhelming pleasure of finally, eventually getting what he so desired. The rush was such that it floored him, turned him inside out and flayed him, every time. Such pleasures were rare and precious.

Such a pleasure was Mako, curled little and angry in his arms now.

He glowed like an ember, his desires written across his pale pretty features clear as a book. J wondered if Mako had yet realized that he was being so obvious; that his determination to dominate was coming across as endearing, rather than something to invoke fear and wariness.

Quaint.

Adorable.

“Dear little thing,” he sighed, nuzzling Mako’s hair, breathing in the scent of need and want and now. “You whither without stimulation. We’re the same in that regard, you and I. Our desires are bottomless, our hungers dark and greedy black holes in our very beings. They’ll eat us alive if we let them,”

J ducked his head and caught two fingers beneath Mako’s chin to lift his face up. For a moment he just let himself take the delicate little thing in. Delicate, but not fragile. Makoto had proven himself time and again that he was a hardy thing, ruthless and brutal as befitting of Duke J’s charge.

“I’ll help you,” J told him finally, and Mako’s pupils dilated dark, quick enough to almost entirely wipe the color from his eyes.

“How?”

J just smiled.

The set up wasn’t complex, nothing to what Datenshou-now-Fjord would have set up for a special occasion. Intimate, if you will. Just right and just so for the two of them to have their needs met without monumental efforts on either of their parts.

“Strip,” J told him as soon as they entered his bedroom, one hand coming up to work free the froth of lace around his own throat. Just enough to show the arch of his throat, the teasing curve of a collarbone. His tail was the only part of his body that hinted at his growing impatience and desire for this; swishing in jerking motions before wrapping around his leg. He turned to flop gracelessly back onto the bed with a laugh, resting up on his elbows to watch Mako hesitantly start to obey.

He’d seen every inch of him, knew this pale pink body by heart. He’d been the one to tear it to pieces, and stitch it back together. He’d been the one to dress it and dote on it and covet it.

Mako made a frustrated sound and tossed his clothes carelessly to the floor. So bared, he approached the bed, eyes set and jaw tight with anticipation. J could only hope to imagine what he was thinking about right then, what sort of horrors and wonders he assumed J would force upon him.

J waited until Mako was just a step away from climbing into bed himself before he pulled free the implements he wanted to use on him, relishing the response.

Nothing too frightful, not nearly enough by any stretch of the imagination to scare off someone like Makoto. And yet, the boy’s features paled further, his breath stuttered, his thighs pressed tight together.

What a beautiful reaction. J couldn’t have hoped for better.

He sat up more comfortably, one foot curled beneath him, as he lay the toys out for them to consider properly.

Two sets of cuffs, a short chain between them. A shiny ribbed sound in black obsidian. An obscenely bent plug of the same material. That same stretch of lace he’d used to cover Mako’s eyes before, delicate to look at, impossible to see through.

J patted the bed beside him with a smile, and watched Makoto fight with himself before choosing to sit down.

“Good boy,” he murmured, kissing Mako’s hair. His fear had brought out his natural scent further; mingled with the iron-tinged smell of panic, and the arsenic-sweet cloy of desire, he was irresistible. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Clever thing,” J praised, parting his lips as though to bite down against the tip of Mako’s ear before reconsidering and licking a tickling line along the shell of it instead. “You shouldn’t, not ever. But you’re going to, today.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because you came to me,” J reasoned, sitting back more comfortably, crossing his legs and dragging Mako into the space between. “Because you begged me so pretty.” 

First one, then the other of Mako’s knees was bent and hooked over J’s, legs folded to lie alongside his thighs and forcing him to sit spread and vulnerable. Immediately, Makoto shifted to cover himself, a disgruntled sound escaping his throat that made J want to taste it. Instead, he took up the first of the cuff pairs and worked the tongue of leather through the buckle.

“Of course, you can choose not to take this like a good boy,” J told him, fastening one of the cuffs around Mako’s left ankle as he spoke. “But then I can’t promise that this will be as enjoyable for you as it will be for me.”

“And this,” Makoto gestured vaguely, pursing his lips when J caught his left wrist and kissed the pulse point. “Is going to be enjoyable?”

“Marvellously,” J grinned, cuffing Mako’s wrist to his ankle before leaning in to take up the other pair, forcing Mako’s body into a tight little bow with the motion. “If I know my boy. And I do.”

“It’s not fair to use your words on me like that,” Mako complained, watching with growing dread as these cuffs were attached to his other ankle and wrist, leaving him now unable to conserve even a modicum of modesty. He tested the give and found none. J could feel his heart speed up, from a rushed jog to a sprint against his ribs.

“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed, though his amusement was palpable as he took up the next implement from the bed: the delicate sound. “I shall refrain, sweet thing, just for you.”

“What is that?” Mako’s voice pitched younger, and J suppressed a full body shiver.

“Something you’ll like.”

“Where is that-- J. J what are you going to do with that?”

J cradled Mako’s semi-soft cock in the palm of one hand as the other manipulated the intricate little instrument against the slit of Mako’s cock.

“Stay still,” he whispered, kissing Mako’s cheek as the other whimpered and tried to squirm free. “It won’t hurt if you do as I say.”

“Stop it… no!”

“I’m putting it in, Makoto,” J calmly replied, “whether blood is involved is entirely up to you.”

Mako cursed, a helpless little whine escaping him as he shoved himself back against J’s chest hard, muscles tense and trembling. J took his time teasing the tip of the sound into and around the head of Mako’s cock, until the other was hyperventilating in panic, quivering so hard he was almost vibrating.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t…”

“Deep breath,” J warned, and then he slid the sound into him, in one smooth, deliberate motion.

Mako’s back arched and he cried out, confusion and terror warring in his tone as the predicted pain didn’t come and the odd sensation of being sounded overwhelmed him instead. He shivered, squirmed back against J more, seeking something without knowing what, trying to get away from the feeling of being filled up at the front, where he’d never been filled before.

“There, there,” J cooed, pressing a wet kiss to Mako’s cheek. “You’re doing so well for me. Just a few more adjustments and you’ll be ready.”

“Ready for what?” Mako whined, blush warm over the arch of his nose, bringing his freckles up to stark relief where usually they lay quietly hidden.

“Your lesson,” J told him, bringing the plug up to Mako’s lips and easing it into his mouth when he parted them. “In the meaning of dominance.”

Mako made a fussy sound around the thing in his mouth, but obediently sucked it as J watched, chin resting on Mako’s shoulder.

Lord, was he lovely. This prideful, powerful, precious boy of his. He would be J’s undoing in the end, of that he was certain, and the anticipation, that masochistic dragging-out of the inevitable, was starting to make J weak.

“Dominance isn’t about violence and strength,” J whispered, parting his lips to draw his tongue in a long wet line over Mako’s jaw, feeling his muscles shift as he continued to suck. “It is about control. If you ever want to dominate me, my dear boy, you’ll have to learn that. You’ll have to master it.”

He pulled the plug free from Mako’s mouth and teased it over his lips, watching them part spit-slick as though aching to take it into his throat again.

It was tempting, but in truth, Makoto was a walking temptation. One J had forced himself not to succumb to, over and over, with every thud of his desperate heart.

And he didn’t then, either. Instead, he shifted back, laying Makoto down with his head in J’s lap, and teased the toy between his legs. He didn’t build the anticipation of this penetration up as much as he had with the sound; he’d seen Makoto’s body ravaged before, first by Fjord, then on occasion when he happened to stop by to check on him when he was working. He’d watched many things fuck into him, heard the little sounds of pleasure Mako gave those unworthy creatures who got to taste him.

Once the plug was in, once Makoto was shifting about again, trying to get comfortable and knowing he couldn’t, only then did J take up the lace and climb off the bed entirely. He caught Makoto’s eyes as they desperately sought for him, watched the nerves that had brought Mako to his side earlier shiver through him, pulse outwards like soundwaves.

“Be good,” he teased, setting his hands on either side of Mako’s head as he leaned over him. “I’ll see you soon.” He kissed away any pleas before Mako could voice them, and covered his eyes with the lace.


Darkness.

Silence.

Just the overwhelmingly loud hammering of Mako’s heartbeat in his own skull, the hiss of blood as it rushed in his ears.

He felt so full, so filled. Front and back, every shift and shiver of muscular twitching brought up a new sensation. Sometimes pleasurable, sometimes far from it, but none that he could escape. He was helpless. He was entirely at the mercy of the creature he sought with every ounce of his being to destroy and tear apart.

“J?”

Even Mako’s voice sounded too loud to his ears. Everything was too much. “J, are you still there?”

Surely he had to be, surely he wouldn’t have just left Mako like this and gone. Surely.

Surely.

But then… torture was a hobby of J’s, he was a master at it. Leaving Mako bound, spread, vulnerable, and filled would be a piece of cake for the likes of him. Teasing him, building up the promise of something and never delivering… most likely that’s what J had done.

Mako’s heart felt too full, too heavy; his breathing came harder and harsher, hissing between his teeth as he squirmed about on the bed.

J had left him on his back, the way his wrists were cuffed to his ankles left his body on full, shameless display to any eyes that would seek to look at him, and the thought humiliated Mako to his core. He’d done his time being seen, he’d paid his dues as the whimpering creature begging and sobbing beneath the hungers of eldritch horrors.

A shiver shuddered through him, and Mako bit his lip. His cheeks felt fever-hot, that lightning that had been promising a storm behind his eyes finally flickered to life and illuminated in his mind’s eye the scene from J’s perspective, were he still in the room:

Tied up, like a gift to unwrap, and spread whoreishly on J’s bed; every quick breath enough to show his ribs stark through his skin; the leather of the cuffs biting just enough into him to tease a blush of red from beneath the bands… His ass filled with the thick obsidian plug, leaving Mako unable to close his thighs or move at all without pleasure clawing up his spine and making his cock twitch. His cock, just as filled, trembling with every gasp and whimper…

Brought to his base, pathetic instincts; left to ache and desire and crave…

“J,” it sounded like a prayer, an incantation. Mako bit his lip and arched his back, dropping his head back further into the bedding, offering his throat up to starving eyes and sharp teeth that never made contact with it. And he wanted them to. He needed them to.

“J, I need you to touch me,” he shivered, listening out for any hint of noise or movement, anything that would give him an idea as to whether J was still there, watching him, devouring him with his gaze, or if he’d simply left Mako to wallow in his own shame.

Mako tasted ozone at the back of his throat, like the promise of oncoming rain, an observable drop in air pressure. He’s here. He’s here and he’s watching.

I don’t want him to take his eyes off of me.

I have to make him love me.

“J,” Mako whimpered, bridging up on his toes, his knees, his shoulders, and the crown of his head. “Don’t look away, don’t look away from me.”

He didn’t care, then, that he’d regret the words later. He didn’t care that he sounded like the most desperate, most slutty, most human he ever had, down here. He didn’t care, because it didn’t matter. If J was watching, and Mako was certain that he was, that was all that mattered, that was all he cared about.

Mako gasped as he pressed his thighs together and rolled to his side, moaned at the shift of the plug and the sound against the same spot inside him that drove him to helpless, weak little sobs. He adjusted himself until he was on his knees, back arched and face smeared into the sheets that smelled overwhelmingly of J. He spread his legs wide enough that the tip of his cock brushed against the bed and jolted pleasure through every nerve.

“Touch me,” Mako begged, “touch me, please touch me, I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything!”

Toes curled, relaxed, ragged breath drawn up from quivering lungs… Mako knelt as though before an altar, as though in ravenous worship. He’d sell his soul again, if he had one to give, for the barest brush of those elegant fingers. Please, J, please--

Mako’s pleading went unanswered, his begging unheeded, and for what felt like an eternity he was in his own personal hell, so overwhelmed with pleasure he could barely breathe, so overwhelmed with sensation he almost didn’t register when J caressed his knuckles up the backs of his shaking thighs.

Almost.

“J!”

“Such a good boy you are,” J’s voice felt omniscient, booming, a comfort so deep Mako was drowning in it. “Doing so, so well for me. Do you understand now?”

Mako could barely remember his own name.

J teased a fingertip around the edge of the plug, pushing in just enough for the pressure to change, for Makoto to wail with desperate need, rutting down against the bed and finding no relief.

“Do you understand?” J turned the plug within him, and Mako was certain he was smiling, that insufferable self-confident smirk that drove Mako feral just thinking about it. He was helpless against him. He was nothing against him.

He shook his head, hair a mess, undone from the ribbon he wore in it, spreading like ink across the sheets.

“I don’t know!” He tried to swallow air like a drowning man. “I don’t-- J, please!”

“I’ve done nothing to you,” J responded, as though Mako’s words were just a passing breeze, unheard and unnoticed. “Beyond restraining your limbs, and offering you something to stoke the fire in your loins. And yet, you call for me,”

“I need-- I need you!”

“Such pretty words,” J praised him, and Mako shuddered when he felt his breath against his sweaty skin, J hovering somewhere between his shoulder blades as he spoke. “Such powerless ones. Do you understand, sweet boy? Do you see?”

Control.

Dominance isn’t about violence or strength.

Dominance is about control.

Oh.

Oh.

“J,” Mako murmured, biting his lip as the pleasure built and built within him, as it was denied him over and over. Bleed me, beat me, kill me-- "Take me apart…”

J sighed, his breath pulling goosebumps up over Mako’s sweat-slick skin, and leaned in closer; enough that Mako could feel the hush of his clothing against the side of the bed, could feel that promising tease of revealed skin press firebrand-hot to his shoulder.

“Just like that,” J breathed, teeth bared where Mako could feel them, sharp and dangerous and primal. “Now you understand, Mako, now you see. It will not be my words that undo you, nor my hands that rend you limb from limb, it will be this.”

He grasped the plug and pulled it roughly free, shoving it back in before Mako even drew enough breath to cry out in panic.

“Just this. Complete control, and your utter submission to it,”

“Yes,” Mako could feel the cold tendrils of adrenaline caress his temples, could feel his vision tunneling, closer and closer fainting, to putting an end to all of this. “Yes, J, yes! Please!”

“Please, what?”

“More, please more!”

More. Harder. Deeper. Rougher. Crueler. Again, and again, and again--

J hooked his finger in the sound’s loop and pulled, dragging Makoto’s pleasure, his voice, and his consciousness with it.


J moved Makoto only enough so he wouldn’t smother himself to death in his sleep.

He left one cuff attached to each of his feet, and removed the lace from around his eyes, but otherwise left him spent and filthy. He didn’t touch him, though he could have, with the boy helpless and vulnerable and unconscious. He didn’t touch him because it wasn’t time yet, the anticipation of his own downfall was dizzying. J stepped out of the room and leaned against the door as he closed it.

He wouldn’t be there when Mako woke up, he wouldn’t watch him tremble in pain, cry out as his muscles screamed at being stretched after so long constricted.

He’d wait. He’d patiently wait for Makoto to take in his lesson, to hone his skills. He’d be there for the boy to spit his vitriol at, and punish him accordingly. And then…

Perhaps, someday, he’d allow himself to succumb to his boy’s fatal charms.

A simple choice, but not an easy one.