Astaroth
// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //
The butcher does silently regret not having a mirror placed precisely where he can see that satisfaction on Danta’s face. All he has to go off of is the sounds that leave the Maverick and the rock of the other man’s body with each thrust, and for the most part the butcher is quite sure that there’s nothing but content seeping from Danta.
Hands continue to offer pressing, bruising touches, his tail tightened around to offer more support from where Asta stands, hips snapping into the Maverick with a pace that increases to hear the moaned warnings. His hand loosens in Danta’s blonde as he adjusts, smirking and groaning himself before the blonde is slamming back against him, causing an almost hiccuped sound to leave him.
It’s precisely what the butcher needs as he rocks with Danta to ride out the orgasm, his own creeping up on him in ways that have him bunching up the gilded shirt, tugging Danta back as if to stand on his knees, arm slipping around his middle as he buries his face into the open expanse of pale skin of the Maverick’s neck. It’s truly a dangerous position, given his history, but Asta is quite focused on ensuring he doesn’t dive in too far. Just enough, however, to get himself off too. The tether snaps of his own climax, sinking in deep and hesitating, a moan poured in against Danta’s shoulder that’s muffled shortly after by the press of his teeth against the muscle above his collarbone on his shoulder, sharp teeth pressing in enough to draw pinpricks of blood that he laps up like a vampire of sorts. It works enough that his own orgasm claims him, hips stuttering as he fills the Maverick and pants against his skin, pressing apologetic kisses to the wounds occurred.
No chunks of flesh are missing, though, so perhaps the butcher is learning?
Hands continue to offer pressing, bruising touches, his tail tightened around to offer more support from where Asta stands, hips snapping into the Maverick with a pace that increases to hear the moaned warnings. His hand loosens in Danta’s blonde as he adjusts, smirking and groaning himself before the blonde is slamming back against him, causing an almost hiccuped sound to leave him.
It’s precisely what the butcher needs as he rocks with Danta to ride out the orgasm, his own creeping up on him in ways that have him bunching up the gilded shirt, tugging Danta back as if to stand on his knees, arm slipping around his middle as he buries his face into the open expanse of pale skin of the Maverick’s neck. It’s truly a dangerous position, given his history, but Asta is quite focused on ensuring he doesn’t dive in too far. Just enough, however, to get himself off too. The tether snaps of his own climax, sinking in deep and hesitating, a moan poured in against Danta’s shoulder that’s muffled shortly after by the press of his teeth against the muscle above his collarbone on his shoulder, sharp teeth pressing in enough to draw pinpricks of blood that he laps up like a vampire of sorts. It works enough that his own orgasm claims him, hips stuttering as he fills the Maverick and pants against his skin, pressing apologetic kisses to the wounds occurred.
No chunks of flesh are missing, though, so perhaps the butcher is learning?
// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //
