i've always liked to play with fire

Astaroth

// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //

The second the blonde settles back into his lap, Astaroth’s warm hands are on him, roving over fire warmed skin and sheer fabric alike, taking note of the poised lips and the prompt silence that comes from them. He supposes that makes two of them, though, because he had been so close to nearly ruining the moment turning it too sappy. He’d caught himself, head tilting easily this way and that as his lids flutter with the feel of the Maverick’s hands in his dark hair, tugging along sharp horns. “Perhaps –” He doesn’t get to finish the sentiment, which is probably a good thing, with the warm hand that tilts his chin up and snatches a kiss that Astaroth melts into.

Hands smooth out along Danta’s hips and up his spine, tugging at the longer ends of curling blonde, before curving up to curl around the top of Danta’s shoulders, pressing back into the kiss and puling away with a small sharp nip, cheeks flushed suddenly as he surveys Danta again. It’s reminiscent of a sun god, he thinks, with the way the flickering light of the fire dances on the spiked tines of diamond. “Whether you believe it or not, you are the sun.” He says softly, tentatively, unable to keep biting his tongue if he wants it to remain in his mouth.

“And I am your shadow.” Lips quirk into a small smirk, head cocking as he shifts his arms enough to move between them now, curving up warm hands along Danta’s chest and neck to his jaw, fingertips threading through golden strands of hair.

// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //