black magic preacher

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

A toast to Danta indeed, if they weren’t busy with their hands right now. As it stands, Asta continues to toy with the Maverick’s wrist, making claims here and there about his ability to be sore while also barely feeling anything at all. But he does listen intently to the comments of the hunger, humming thoughtfully as he does lean down to swipe up the warm blood, sighing at the iron tang, the heat of it against Danta’s sleeve.

“There is too much cotton.” He says with a soft laugh, still sharp toothed as he moves, utilizing the more relaxed stature of Danta to slip him back against the bed, drawing that hand above the Maverick’s head to keep it restrained as he leans in to get another taste against the blood on Danta’s neck.

His tongue is hot as he swipes it up the side of his neck, withdrawing to hover as he formulates his thoughts, settling instead for a halfway commentary of before when talking of bloodlust. “This is the longest I have gone without indulging.” He says with a hint of pride, but there’s a dark gleam in his gaze that seems to suggest that this is satisfying enough to stave it off.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine