Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
There’s already a certain smugness that starts to overtake Asta, especially hearing the breathlessness Danta offers with each stroke of his length and thrust of his hips. There’s even more satisfaction as his own wound up crest builds immensely quick, enough that he’s easily tugged back and away from Danta’s throat by his hair (which only serves to make quite the mess between them as Danta reaches his climax).
It's all distracting and fun and all, until he starts to growl out a choppy and less eloquent “Good bo-” in response, cut off immediately as the hand is slapped over his mouth right when he thrusts sharply and his body tenses, arcing over the Maverick hard enough that he’s quite silent and muffled when that tether snaps and his orgasm breaks through him, leaving him trembling and dark eyes glued to Danta’s own face, while Asta bites down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste the iron of his own blood, riding out the waves of pleasure for the both of them, a dark brow rising as his freehand lifts to tangle in Danta’s blonde locks, thumb pressed against his jaw to tilt his head ever so slightly to get that good look at the now darkening marks.
Oh, and for good measure, Danta might think it’s drool with how warm the inside of his palm gets against Astaroth’s mouth, but when he pulls away he’ll find it’s most certainly not. Ah well, at least everyone’s made it out with limbs and flesh in tact.
Mostly.
It's all distracting and fun and all, until he starts to growl out a choppy and less eloquent “Good bo-” in response, cut off immediately as the hand is slapped over his mouth right when he thrusts sharply and his body tenses, arcing over the Maverick hard enough that he’s quite silent and muffled when that tether snaps and his orgasm breaks through him, leaving him trembling and dark eyes glued to Danta’s own face, while Asta bites down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste the iron of his own blood, riding out the waves of pleasure for the both of them, a dark brow rising as his freehand lifts to tangle in Danta’s blonde locks, thumb pressed against his jaw to tilt his head ever so slightly to get that good look at the now darkening marks.
Oh, and for good measure, Danta might think it’s drool with how warm the inside of his palm gets against Astaroth’s mouth, but when he pulls away he’ll find it’s most certainly not. Ah well, at least everyone’s made it out with limbs and flesh in tact.
Mostly.
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
