Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
The warmth is delicious, especially with the raging fire in the fireplace – the room feeling more like a sauna than anything else at the moment, especially with the press of their bodies and combined heat. It would be uncomfortable for anyone else, but for the two of them, it’s perfect, evident in the way Asta hums into the kiss with the sensation of Danta’s hands making their paths along his deeply scarred skin. His own hands pause as the Maverick sheds out of his shirt, and he continues his little path of exploration against the soft yet hardened by muscle skin that Dantalion has to offer.
He's panting when they part, head tilted up as his hands smooth up Danta’s stomach toward his chest, and with the offer clearly shown with how he tilts his head, Asta’s immediately more engaged, like a bloodhound to a scent. He dives in, dark hair falling into Danta’s as his lips trail a blazing path along the Maverick’s neck, on places marked and not marked, dragging his sharp teeth along and wondering idly as his thumbs brush against the blonde’s nipples if he should make them quite a visible sign.
So he does – drawing himself back up to the soft space beneath Danta’s jaw and ear, biting down and tempering himself enough to simply bruise, hips pressing in against the other man’s where his have tilted up. He seems singularly focused, though, ensuring the mark that he leaves is only just a mark, before he trails down a fraction to do it again.
He's panting when they part, head tilted up as his hands smooth up Danta’s stomach toward his chest, and with the offer clearly shown with how he tilts his head, Asta’s immediately more engaged, like a bloodhound to a scent. He dives in, dark hair falling into Danta’s as his lips trail a blazing path along the Maverick’s neck, on places marked and not marked, dragging his sharp teeth along and wondering idly as his thumbs brush against the blonde’s nipples if he should make them quite a visible sign.
So he does – drawing himself back up to the soft space beneath Danta’s jaw and ear, biting down and tempering himself enough to simply bruise, hips pressing in against the other man’s where his have tilted up. He seems singularly focused, though, ensuring the mark that he leaves is only just a mark, before he trails down a fraction to do it again.
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
