the gold and the rust

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

Asta is nothing but an attentive watcher to the show Danta gives, as he descends down his body and presses his lips along the scar tissue and the nip left behind on his hip. Asta rumbles a deep sound, blinking down at the Maverick with a gaze that seems hungry and all encompassing. If his eyes didn’t nearly match his pupils, one would think his eyes have been swallowed up. But as it stands, he watches with perfect content, letting his hands run along wherever he can touch the other man.

The lower he gets, he may notice the scabbed cut along the inside of his thigh, healed and nearly gone but still there, an ignored wound as he shivers and watches Danta slip out of the clothes. And while he would typically protest the wrinkling of the clothes, this is a dream and his “subconscious” is finding that he doesn’t mind so much. Wrinkles he can get out. This view is something that burns into his mind.

Especially when he sinks down to take his cock and Asta growls out a sound, throbbing hard at the attention and his fingers dig into Danta’s scalp and tugs at his hair with a shiver that racks through him. His chin lifts, not enough to inhibit his view, but he keeps his hips stilled to not rush the process, even as his tail slinks around to wrap around Danta’s middle in another caress.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //