black magic preacher

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

It is and then some, Danta cocking his head as if to make sure he's properly heard the lack of a coherent response from the other man. "That's what I thought you'd say." He grins, his fingers smoothing across Asta's shoulders as the Maverick moves at last, stepping around to stand before him. "I think it rather suits you," he murmurs of the muzzle, leaning in to drop a kiss or two against the strong line of Asta's jaw.

Meanwhile his hands are busy unfastening the buttons of his silk shirt, tugging it open so he might bare the taller man's scarred chest and continue his greedy explorations. "I never realised how alike we were," Danta continues, conversational despite the fact that it's understandably one-sided, and he leans in to blaze a trail of kisses down the side of Asta's neck, his hands possessive at the other man's waist.

"Want to know a secret, though?" he whispers, and suddenly the cadence in the Maverick's voice is softer, almost sinister in its confession.

"I don't really get bloodlust any more, I don't think. I'm always hungry."

And this time it's Danta who'll leave marks on the other man's skin - and then some - because as his sharp teeth come down against Asta's neck, he breaks the skin completely, and the heady scent of blood fills the room.

Dantalion