you could call me babe for the weekend

Flora

Nearly as tall as he is on the pedestal, Flora flashes the butcher a cunning smile as he approaches, before having to tilt her chin up to keep his gaze within hers. "But..." She hums expectantly, turning as he gestures for her to, regarding the pair of them in the mirror and waiting for what she assumed his actual opinion was.

Sipping in a small breath and holding it as the butcher bent at her side, Flora watches his fingers meticulously measure out something known only to his mind, before deciding on what the best length for this particular dress would be. "I think you're probably right." She agrees, tentatively bending her knees until the dress prevents her from lowering anymore. "Alright, this one's a no, then." From somewhere in the shop the keeper's voice calls out just a few more minutes! which has Flora raising an eyebrow.

"One more, then?" With his approval, Flora will disappear back into the changing room where the slow rustle of fabrics and the curses she mutters under her breath suggest the one she's trying to find her way into is fighting back.

Poking her head out, Flora flashes the butcher an adoring smile. "I might take you up on your offer, now." She purrs, disappearing behind the curtain, where, should the butcher follow, he'll find the queen wrapped in a deep wine-coloured lace gown. Turning to place her back to him and glancing at him coquettishly over her shoulder, Flora dropped her eyes that he might see what she needed help with: composed entirely of boning and lace, the corsetted back dripped with ribbons that would have been impossible for her to tighten on her own. Once tightened, the gown would hug her figure down to her waist before the lace would spill away from the structured bodice in waves of deep red.

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

He does measure, only based off of thoughts in how her body worked – thankfully having seen it without clothes to be able to determine where she would be able to get the most movement out of it. Her agreement, however, has him rising up and his hand leaving her hip especially as she bends already, nodding despite the protest locked on the tip of his tongue. A small alteration would make it functional for her, if she truly loved it, but something tells him she may not be so attached to it as he thinks.

Glancing back toward where the shop keep had disappeared to, his head tilts back to Flora with a sharp grin, stepping away to lean against the side of the mirrored alcove, allowing her room to step down and out. In the time before she asks him to join her, he simply adjusts the tie around his throat and smooths out the vest he wears, until her head pokes out and she’s asking him for the help he’d offered earlier, and he immediately steps down from the pedestal.

“Of course, darling.” Astaroth hums, stepping into the stall behind the curtain along with her, and he would be lying if he didn’t immediately drink her in while she wears one of his favorite shades. “Oh, this is lovely.” He breathes on a softer note, dark gaze immediately moving to the back that she needs help with, while fully expecting her to have seen the way he nearly stopped short at the sight of her in it.

Hands still warm, they smooth up the back of her to straighten out the back piece, before moving to the lace at the bottom to start to tighten – his fingers dexterous in how they maneuver along each portion. “Let me know if it is too tight.” Though something tells him she’d handle it either way, he doesn’t want her to be unable to breathe.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //

Flora

Of course she notices, Asta.

The gown is perhaps...unconventional for a meeting with Dahlia, but that hadn't been Flora's intent behind picking it, truth be told. Instead, she wanted him to see her bathed in a red so dark it would make her golden skin look pale in comparison, with a texture of lace that might be reminiscent of blood hazily speckled against a wet surface and left to run. "Feel the texture." She invites in a low voice, her eyes meeting his in the mirror.

Smoothing the panels down and standing straight to make his job somewhat easier, the Doubletake's posture improves by degrees as he begins cinching. "I'll let you know if it's too much." She purrs casually as if not realizing it was a promise she'd made to him before. "I take it you've done this before..?" Perhaps it's a more leading question than she's entitled to ask, though it's about as close to who was the last woman you dated? as she's going to ask.

As her waist becomes smaller and the boning lifts her breasts until they pool in perfect semicircles above the dark fabric, the queen finds the image of the butcher's soft intensity from behind her rather alluring and while she normally finds this a rather tiresome part of the process, she'd have seen his fingers thread ribbon through a thousand eyelets if it kept him focused on her the way he was.

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

Unconventional yet stunning and it captivates the butcher in ways that he typically otherwise doesn’t let his gaze linger. So at her offer, before he starts to lace up the back, his hands do roam through the silk and lace and chiffon, looking up to let his honeyed gaze meet hers in the mirror with the smile that remains on his face – a touch more awestruck than the typical grin. “Breathable, light, soft. All wonderful choices.” He hums, before his hands slip around her waist back toward the back to start lacing up the back of the corset.

Nodding, Astaroth starts to lace the back, more level headed than he had been the last time she’d made the same promise, and it’s enough that he doesn’t even comment on it despite filing it away in his mind. Looking up at her next question, though, the butcher nods and meets her aqua gaze with honeyed ones of his own as his fingers continue to walk up her spine, tightening and moving with ease. “I have.” He confirms, before the smile blooms a bit wider and more playful. “Though not for any reasons you may think.” No prior girlfriends, no prior engagements, simply just a love of fabric and styles and having to learn for the sake of expanding his knowledge on the subject.

By the time the butcher is done, it fits her figure in such a way that Astaroth’s hands return to her sides and hips, large hands spreading along the smooth corset, tracing along the boning beneath. His gaze lifts to hers again in the mirror and he leans in a little toward her ear, horned head angled just so to prevent her from knocking into them if she tilts her head back toward him in turn. “I will let you in on a little secret about myself... I have never truly courted before.” His voice is a low whisper, a secret shared for her from himself before he starts to withdraw slightly, the grin that spreads across his face one of arrogance as if to say he has played the part enough times that nobody knew that the butcher had never actually dated before.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //

Flora

Holding her breath as the butcher's hands wander, and had this been one of her brother's romance novels Asta would have already pulled her tight against him, fingers undoing the work they'd already done. It isn't though, so he doesn't, and as he goes back to the corset, Flora lets her breath out slowly. "Something about lace...maybe how delicate it is, but part of me always wants to tear it, you know?" Lifting an eyebrow, Flora's aqua gaze, made all the more blue by the sapphires shining from her ears, grows darkly mischievous as she shrugs.

His non answer has the girl raising a brow, though she keeps silent in her musings. Would it surprise her at all to know that the butcher had once been a couturier? With the way he dressed, the way he eyed her with such intent and knowledge, the way he'd spoken to the staff? No, not at all.

Pressing one of her hips against his palm as it comes to rest there, the queen brushes her fingers across the pillowy cleavage the dress gives her before her eyes find his in the mirror. The way he smells of cleansing fires and olive groves has Flora sipping in a small breath, and, aware of where his horns are, she does stretch back to press the back of her head against his shoulder, her nose angled up toward his jaw. It shows the stretch of the lace if nothing else as Flora's body elongates so that she might coil one arm around the butcher's neck. "No?" Her lips twist just as the light catches one of her earrings and sends a flash of rainbow fire dancing across her neck. "And yet it seems to come to you so naturally."

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

“You should.” He supplies instantly – like he has done a lot of tearing of lace – though not for the reasons she might think. And despite the deeply, now ingrained, love of finery and beautiful fabrics and clothing, Astaroth’s chaos comes from finding a particular relief and desire in hearing lace in particular rrriiippp. “Provided it’s thin enough, it makes for quite a satisfactory feeling.” His tone almost sounds nostalgic with it – not that he would tear into the lace here, but perhaps they should consider getting a yard or two of lace just to simply shred.

It's that thought that has his fingertips twitching at her hips, especially as one presses in harder against his palm. He watches her with a hint of intensity creeping into the honey of his gaze, as her hand travels along the bulk of her cleavage on perfect display, as she curls up against him and angles her back against his chest, arm wrapped around his neck. It’s like a siren song and his head angles in a bit further to chase her scent Flora by Gucci was it? but it puts him in the prime spot to also make sure his teeth marks hadn’t lingered in her torn shoulder. A low hum slips from him in answer to her question, dark eyes chasing the rainbow effect as it dances across her golden skin, and the hand not pressed in against her hip slips to rest against her stomach as if keeping her there for at the very least a few moments longer.

“You have the honors of being my first.” He teases her lightly, his accented voice rumbling nearer to her neck – a dangerous space to be, but thankfully the butcher is restrained as is. They are in public, after all. “I find it fun to be charming and aloof.” He offers her honestly, though he leaves out the fact that it’s a perfect cover to hide any of his other motivations.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //

Flora

"Thin enough, or if it's in hands that know what they're doing." She suggests coyly. No doubt the butcher could make quick work of the gown if he'd wanted to despite it's immaculate construction if only because he'd know precisely where to begin pulling. The mere mention of it would later see Flora buying red lace underwear for her next rendezvous with the butcher. Perhaps she'd even buy this gown as well, just for him. Something told her that while he reviled in finery, she could twist his arm into deconstructing it with his teeth.

It's Flora Gorgeous by Gucci, the one in the tiffany blue bottle, as it happens. It isn't a flush that spreads across Flora's cheeks so much as it's pure heat. She watches with a gaze nearly as intense as his own, her eyes following the movements of his fingers with a predatory wonder as her skin ripples with gooseflesh beneath the lace, begging for his touch to grow assertive and possessive as it had done before. "A shame none of them lasted." She murmurs softly, noting the way Asta's gaze had dropped to her shoulder. "I'd have liked more than just a memory to remember you by." Her fingers combed the back of his hair, ensuring it stayed perfectly in place even as he leaned over her, and though she hadn't any such ability, Flora willed the butcher's large hand to drop from her belly and make its way further south.

Tilting her chin in order to brush her cheek against his jawline—gods but he was so tall—Flora laughs lightly under her breath. "I find you charming and aloof." She replies, her own tone teasing before slowly untangling herself from around him and spinning slowly. "Shall we look in the larger mirror..?"

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

“Mine know what they are doing.” Astaroth boldly says, this time knowing what Flora means and flashing a sharp, shark toothed smirk for the answer of it. Not unlike a bull attracted to red, the butcher does keep his head on his shoulders where his touch is of the gentler possessive type, and nothing more than that.

Pulling his gaze away from her shoulder, even as he leans in a bit more to feel her fingers run through the back of his hair, if he could stay there purring like a cat, he would. Instead, she gets the brief reflection of his tail waving contently like a lazy feline. And in an attempt to remain that aloof and charming figure, a soft hum leaves him in consideration. “It is quite a shame.” He agrees on the edge of a whispered whine. “Perhaps we could find a way to leave one for the physical reminder?” He muses thoughtfully, glancing toward her again in the mirror as her cheek brushes against his bearded jaw and Astaroth presses in against her in turn.

Perhaps it says a lot about the butcher, for having scars he would just as soon forget, to wanting to have others wear the reminders of where he’d been.

Perhaps that’s just trauma.

Either way, she replies and he snorts, “that is the goal, darling.” Withdrawing from her enough to let her untangle herself and spin slowly, his hand lifts to gently caress her cheek and jaw, before slipping down her neck and shoulder, down her arm to her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before he guides her out toward the alcove of mirrors again, ever the gentleman, helping her up onto the pedestal again. “I think perhaps it isn’t for the occasion you seek, but you definitely should still purchase it.” Selfishly, of course. It’s his favorite color and a mixture of his favorite fabrics, and he cant deny the way it makes her look absolutely ravishing.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //

Flora

"Do they ever." Flora agrees in a low voice, shivering slightly at the memory. Colour dances across her cheeks as she nibbles the inside of her cheek and while it's an entirely foolish and reckless thing to do all things considered, the queen presses her teeth against that little bit of skin that always seems to stick out on the inside of her cheek until a bead of blood appears. Just how sensitive were the butcher's senses when it came to that sort of thing? She presses at it until her tongue tastes of iron, and though her lips only part slightly, the queen carefully marks Asta's s pupils for any sign he could recognize such a small amount of blood from where he was.

Not wanting him to appear at all ruffled when they do exit, though Flora's nails press against the base of his neck they don't stray beneath the collar of his shirt. In the mirror, she imagines the butcher's hands roughly rising along the lace of her gown until it had the skin of his palms singing, only to wrap his large hand around her throat, twisting her head away that he might mark her neck anew. "If you're good." The queen hums, the husky quality of her voice betraying the casual tone she was aiming for, but with his hands on her it was impossible to play it cool when he made her feel so terribly hot.

As the pair emerge, if the shopkeeper is at all surprised to see them do so, nothing in his expression betrays it. (They wouldn't be the first young couple to fuck in one of his changing areas, and so long as his merchandise is all paid for he doesn't really care. Besides, he knows this customer in particular is good for it). With swathes of blue fabrics draped over his arm and an assortment of scale-y material, he smiles expectantly at Asta. "I could..er simply prepare this as I normally would or we could try it on the model first?" His eyes flicker briefly towards Flora, assuming of course that's who the materials had been for.

Ignoring all of this, or pretending to—Flora loved to be surprised after all—the queen steps onto the pedestal once again, twisting this way and that to see every side of herself in the alcove of mirrors. "I think you're absolutely right. What was that you said before? About seeing something you just had to have?" Her blue eyes darken slightly as her lips twist into a crooked smile, her gaze pointedly upon him.

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

A breathy laugh of agreement pours over Flora’s decorated earlobe and neck, before he continues his light little inspection of her skin, making his little offer of a deal should she wish to take it at some point. For the moment, though, silence overcomes them, and with her jaw working, his gaze focuses back on her aqua ones when her lips part slightly. And while, he wasn’t a bloodhound of sorts, this close, his gaze does darken a fraction and he’s half tempted to lean in and kiss her if only to chase the scent and taste.

Her nails pressing against the back of his neck keep him in line, though, and his smile turns a touch sharper as he exhales a breath of slight relief, trying not to be so desperately ruffled as he otherwise could be. But gods does she know how to toy with him, suddenly reminded of the last time he’d sated his bloodlust, figuring that if it were to happen he’d need to sate it right before laying a marked claim on the queen of Torchline. “I can be good.” His tone takes on a playful informative tone, straightening up even as his olive skin seems a touch flushed, he pretends like he doesn’t notice as the shop keep comes into view with the bolts of fabric and scaley material. Dark eyes dancing between his date and the shop keep, he hums a touch thoughtfully. “Prepare as you usually would, however, in a mermaid fashion with a slit in the side for easy walkability. Pair it with three quarter sleeves.” A touch demanding, he knows, but with the way Flora had toyed with him, his voice has taken on a bit of a rougher tone.

Approaching briefly while Flora peers at herself in the mirror, he looks at the scaley material brought and plucks one out of the multitude of them. “I think an underbust corset with this would look divine, don’t you?” He asks the shop keep, his smile still a touch too sharp, before he’s looking over his shoulder to Flora to drink her in entirely. “I think you have to have it, darling.” He offers, before clarity sparks and he’s reaching for a few bolts of fabric on the wall beside the alcove to try the material on. “Might I also ask for a paired set – utilizing these three fabrics – in two variants of a corset. One for the bodice and one for the neck?” He asks the shopkeep, reaching into his pocket to procure a piece of paper with measurements (Danta’s measurements, to be specific), that he hands to the shopkeep.

Once all of that is completed, he drifts back toward Flora more fully, joining her on the pedestal to fan out the edges of fabric against her hips, giving her a more buoyant look, like she was standing in the middle of fire from the bottom up, for the top half to caress her curves like a second skin of wine dark blood. "This is my favorite, so far."

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //

Flora

So that was a yes.

It makes her feel powerful in a way which only speaks to her own brand of trauma, and had she not been wearing a gown she didn't want him to tear off of her (yet), Flora might have indeed dragged the butcher's lips down against hers. "Not too good, I hope." Flora's voice is a velvet purr and had she not known what sort of man he was, she might have pressed her hips back against his own. Instead, she merely lets her tongue slide across her lower lip, painting in the faintest of reds before parting the curtain.

"Ah, very good sir." Reaching for a pad of paper and making a few notes, he waits politely as Asta moves to scrutinise Flora's gown.

Glancing over her shoulder, Flora's eyes widen as she looks at the fabric. She'd never have selected anything like it on her own, but in Asta's hands it suddenly seemed the most decadent fabric. Letting her fingertips trickle over the scales, her fingers weaving in and out of the shapes, Flora gently tucks a stray bit of hair behind one of Asta's horns with a coy wink. "I think it would look incredible. Would you wear it with something...fitted on the bottom? Or flowy?" It would depend on where she planned to wear it, of course, though really the answer she was hoping for was that he'd pair it with a glass of red wine and his own mouth.

The queen takes a moment to let her hands sweep down her own curves, savouring the way she looked in the dark fabric. Watching Asta go and pretending not to wonder what he was doing, the queen let her body undulate left and right if only to test the stretch of the lace. Rather, that's what she would say she was doing if asked.

"Of course, sir. And where shall I send everything when it's completed?" The shopkeep wonders politely as he notes down Danta's measurements and the instructions.

Turning towards the butcher, Flora stretches one of her arms around his waist, tucking herself at his side before appraising their reflection in the mirror. Their outfits didn't match presently, especially not the cheerful green of Asta's shirt and the wine-dark luxury of Flora's gown, and yet they looked good together. Asta, tall, refined and handsome, with eyes so wonderfully dark and possessing words that weren't just charming because of his accent, but dripped in knowledge and experience as well; Flora, toned, tanned fit and ready and poised, powerful and cunning in her own right with influence that was nearly unmatched. Yeah, they definitely looked cute together.

"Mmmm, I think so too. I almost don't want to put anything else on, after this, you know?" What else could possibly compare? Turning her head toward him, her eyes on his in the mirror she whispered, "—are you ready to take it off of me?"

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

Simply a spell for trouble, Flora was, walking that thin line of danger and not, to which when the curtain parts and her lips are painted with the thin sheen of red from the speck of blood that’s invaded his scent, Astaroth is more than content to flash her a too sharp grin that seems to say we’ll see.

Nodding to the shop keep and glancing between him and Flora, Astaroth seems quite pleased with the results of everything thus far. And as Flora tucks a rogue piece of dark hair back behind a pronged horn, Astaroth’s smile widens a fraction toward the queen as he inclines his head. “Flowy, if you wish to move easier. Fitted if for a night out.” He suggests, leaving it up to her to think of what other context within his words she might find.

Leaving Flora to admire the dress and so that he might be able to pluck out his own materials, he answers swiftly. “Where would you like the dress to go, Flora, darling? Your home?” He asks over his shoulder, before nodding to the molten fabric he’d picked out. “The other one can be sent to the Dusklight in the Hollowed Grounds.” And what a surprise he intends it to be, when he turns back to Flora to feel her arm snake around his waist, as she tucks herself against his side and his arm loops around her shoulders gently, peering at the two of them in the mirror.

His thoughts are nowhere near where Flora’s go, but he does admire how strong the two of them look standing there, and already the butcher is plucking pieces he already owns that may match Flora’s dress all the better for it. Turning slightly toward her to brush back her blonde curls behind her ear, he fusses over her a small amount before he settles and returns his attention into the mirror, catching her aqua gaze with an easy smile. “When you have found the one, you don’t need to waste time trying the rest, mm?” He comments, thinking of nothing else but the clothing she’s wearing, even if his words could be misconstrued for something else.

Nodding and turning toward her, he takes in one more full look of her in the dress, his hands shifting to smooth over the fabric again before taking her hand to bring her back behind the curtain. By now, he’s sure the shop keep has left them on their own for the moment, which gives the butcher enough time to settle himself back at Flora’s back, his hands smoothing along the fabric of her sides and stomach, tracing the lines and boning of the corset before wandering back toward her back, fingers making even quicker work of shedding her from it. “You are beautiful, Flora, with or without wearing my favorite colors.” His tone has a hint of teasing to it that he hides behind the smile on his face, and as one hand pulls the last of the laces through, his other glides up along her front, over her chest in a slow pass to her neck, fingertips pressing surprisingly tender to the underside of her jaw as she guides her head toward his, his touch harboring much more possessiveness than they had earlier, likely due to the faint lipgloss of blood she’d put on her lips. “I almost wonder if you are testing me.” Raising a brow playfully, the butcher flashes her a too sharp smile in turn.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //

Flora

Lifting a brow, the queen runs her tongue along her teeth as her fingers continue to dance across the fabric. "It's nice having pieces that can be flexible, mmm?" Despite this conversation, Flora still makes a show of looking adorably surprised when Asta casually reveals that the gown he'd been constructing had been for her. "I'd say your floor, but I'm sure you'd never let something so beautiful touch the ground." Flora laughs, and though the shopkeeper glances up at this, he's either not at all bothered by the queen's flirting, knows enough to keep quiet about it, or is simply relieved to hear that wherever the dress goes, it won't be onto the floor.

"My house will be fine, thank you." She answers with a slight eye-roll as the shopkeeper clears his throat. Of course, the flirtatious behaviour isn't just one-sided much as Asta might not understand it, such that once he has everything he needs, the tailor disappears without a word to leave the couple to their antics.

"Astaroth!" The queen laughs loudly before nudging the butcher with her hip, lips falling playfully open as his words could be—and absolutely are—misconstrued. Mischief sparkles in her eyes as she shakes her head at him, feigning outrage for his forwardness before his hand slips against hers and they're back behind the curtain.

There was something about watching Asta from the mirror rather than over her shoulder that made Flora feel as though she was standing in the Celestine, watching some injured predator who was very nearly healed and ready to go. Docile if only because it had all its needs met, with no nearby enemies or threats, one could be lulled into thinking it was harmless in all settings. Flora wasn't so foolish as to have forgotten what had happened when last they were together, but gods it was so easy to toe the line with the butcher firmly on one side of it, rather than straddling it for dear life.

Sipping in a breath that feels far too shallow, and not simply because of the corset, Flora sighs softly as the butcher's hands wander over her lace-covered body before a few quick movements of his fingers have the material all but relaxing off of her in waves of deepest red that pool at her feet. "Oh, are they?" She hums of the colour palette. "I had no idea."

Having put on just an ivory slip of silk to try the dresses with, Flora covers one of Asta's hands with her own as it rises up her belly if only so that his fingertips might brush against one of her nipples before pausing at her jaw. Her own hand continues to rise, tangling in his dark hair as she stretches onto her toes and leans back against him for balance, chin lifted. "Not a test." The queen says softly, her blue eyes blazing. "Only that...unless there was something else you wanted to do this afternoon, this might be your best chance of leaving me with a fitting memento of our date, mmm?"

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

“Oh, but of course.” Astaroth agrees, huffing a laugh as Flora suggests his floor, in which the butcher completely ignores him to beam a too sharp smile at the Queen as she plays at being surprised. He knows her well enough to know she pays attention to the subtly of things. “Flora, darling,” the deep chuckle bubbles from him before he can finish. “It would have its own space, hung and pristine.” Because he was OCD enough about it to make sure there was room for it, plenty of spaces to hang to not get wrinkled.

Letting the shop keep leave with a parting thank you, he drifts back to Flora’s side as the loud laugh leaves her and he snorts a quieter one, rolling a shoulder as if to say am I wrong? Of course, the mischief in her own gaze is met with a playful one dancing in the honey of his the entirety of the few step walk back behind the curtain.

This is where he starts to realize just how close to the line she is dancing, and him to recollect on just how long it’s been since the bloodlust. Still, it doesn’t keep him from dancing amongst the flames, not as his hands ghost along her back and laces and his accent is a touch thicker when he comments on his favorite colors. “They are indeed.” Letting the fabric drop, despite having made a comment about it not happening, the butcher doesn’t seem to mind so much as his hands continue to ghost along her skin, as his face leans in enough to her neck that his nose brushes along it in a whispered caress.

He’s even docile enough to let her guide his hand, distracted by the thrum of her heartbeat, her pristine neck, the scent of Flora Gorgeous by Gucci, the one in the tiffany blue bottle intermixed with a soft scent of salt from clinging ocean waves. Her hand covers his as it makes its path up, pausing by her nipple in a ghostly touch, before he’s cupping her jaw. She curls back against him and he braces for her, not as strong as she is but tall enough to make the difference. The butcher relishes in the touch again, her offer on the table before him and he has to remind himself it’s a gentler one — like leaving a vase of flowers as a gift rather than a full course meal to devour.

Withdrawing before he can press his lips against her pulse, he releases her jaw to let his hand travel back down her body, along the jutting of her collarbones and down to the swell of her breasts. “Alas, you do not like pain, and I have not taken care of my bloodlust in some time.” He says a touch apologetically, horned head tilting to peer at their reflection in the mirror. “Unless you had another idea, darling.”

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //