Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
He certainly succeeds at holding him at bay, even at the cost of his sharp teeth sinking into his own cheek. But hey, all limbs and flesh are accounted for, and truthfully it got the job done as well, even if he suddenly has that sensation of hunger blooming in his gut. Either way, they stay like that, peering back at one another, Asta swallowing down the slick warm iron of his own blood despite some of it seeping out, until Danta’s fingers slip from his hair and the hand pulls away and Asta pants, hunching over the other man just a bit, braced by both hands on either side.
It's clear it’s taken a lot out of him, though, the way his arms tremble and the surprise that lingers momentarily after as Danta leans up for a kiss, pulling away some of the iron that he’s sure Danta appreciates as much as he has, even if his cheek fuckin stung now. Ah well.
Danta’s cleaned up and Asta quite nearly manages his escape (he’s never gotten to this point before, fully intending to go and take a long shower or bath until his limbs stopped feeling like static from the force of their shared orgasm. But Danta’s arm winds around his shoulders and each and every thread of his attempts to stand on his own two feet are diminished significantly as he tumbles into the bed full of fur blankets and sheets down onto the Maverick.
Asta’s never cuddled before, the sensation one that seems odd for him to press against Danta’s chest, so he instead shifts to settle them into the bed a bit easier, firelight cascading across their bodies as he drags Danta up to rest on his scarred chest, knowing better than to think he can get away, while the back of his free hand moves to start to try and wipe away the remaining, drying blood, quite literally at a loss for words.
It's clear it’s taken a lot out of him, though, the way his arms tremble and the surprise that lingers momentarily after as Danta leans up for a kiss, pulling away some of the iron that he’s sure Danta appreciates as much as he has, even if his cheek fuckin stung now. Ah well.
Danta’s cleaned up and Asta quite nearly manages his escape (he’s never gotten to this point before, fully intending to go and take a long shower or bath until his limbs stopped feeling like static from the force of their shared orgasm. But Danta’s arm winds around his shoulders and each and every thread of his attempts to stand on his own two feet are diminished significantly as he tumbles into the bed full of fur blankets and sheets down onto the Maverick.
Asta’s never cuddled before, the sensation one that seems odd for him to press against Danta’s chest, so he instead shifts to settle them into the bed a bit easier, firelight cascading across their bodies as he drags Danta up to rest on his scarred chest, knowing better than to think he can get away, while the back of his free hand moves to start to try and wipe away the remaining, drying blood, quite literally at a loss for words.
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
