Astaroth
// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //
He doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved to hear such a simple string of two words, evident in the way he relaxes the rest of his taught muscles the second that Danta stretches out before returning. Playfulness returns in full and Astaroth chuckles lightly to hear the fumbling of what his new title would be. And after a second of thinking about it, he decides that elite has a quite nice ring to it. “Elite, mm?” He asks, letting his lips quirk in a smirk as if it truly is getting to his head. It isn’t, but the fun is still there.
Music continues to bleed through the closed and locked door, and his hand continues to run idle little marks and symbols into the Maverick’s back, when the suggestion hits of wine and retrieving such a thing. Gods, it sounds heavenly too, and with everything he has to make up for the other man, Astaroth is already starting to move the second it’s suggested.
Pressing his luck as well, Astaroth shifts the other Ancient more onto his back, hovering over him as he gets his legs untangled from the mess of blankets and limbs, and once he has he leans in for a chaste kiss, before withdrawing to stand. It’s with a bit of soreness that he slips on his shirt, deciding to wear something rather than have the rest of the Dusklight oogling his new (and admittedly beautiful) stitches.
He flashes one of his charming sharp toothed grins over his shoulder before he vanishes for a few minutes, slipping into the heat and warmth of the Dusklight in full swing, returning with a bottle of Danta’s favorite wine, two glasses, and a tray of snacks. It’s a bit of a juggling act, but he manages to get it to the bed, sliding the tray on before he hands Danta his own glass and sits on the bed to remove his shirt once more (hating the sensation of the fabric against the stitching), before he opens it to fill Danta’s glass. “Help yourself, darling.” He hums to the tray of snacks he’d brought, as if it weren’t obvious it was for the both of them.
Music continues to bleed through the closed and locked door, and his hand continues to run idle little marks and symbols into the Maverick’s back, when the suggestion hits of wine and retrieving such a thing. Gods, it sounds heavenly too, and with everything he has to make up for the other man, Astaroth is already starting to move the second it’s suggested.
Pressing his luck as well, Astaroth shifts the other Ancient more onto his back, hovering over him as he gets his legs untangled from the mess of blankets and limbs, and once he has he leans in for a chaste kiss, before withdrawing to stand. It’s with a bit of soreness that he slips on his shirt, deciding to wear something rather than have the rest of the Dusklight oogling his new (and admittedly beautiful) stitches.
He flashes one of his charming sharp toothed grins over his shoulder before he vanishes for a few minutes, slipping into the heat and warmth of the Dusklight in full swing, returning with a bottle of Danta’s favorite wine, two glasses, and a tray of snacks. It’s a bit of a juggling act, but he manages to get it to the bed, sliding the tray on before he hands Danta his own glass and sits on the bed to remove his shirt once more (hating the sensation of the fabric against the stitching), before he opens it to fill Danta’s glass. “Help yourself, darling.” He hums to the tray of snacks he’d brought, as if it weren’t obvious it was for the both of them.
// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //
