reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
Well that’s a new sound that leaves the blonde’s lips, the butcher’s own smirking as he keeps the other man pinned beneath him, content as can be to have sparked such a reaction from the Theocrat. It’s okay, though, because it has a similar effect on the taller Ancient, especially with all the curses, threats, and delectable promises that vehemently leave the blonde’s throat.
The adjustment is met with growls of approval, tail wrapping around one of Danta’s legs to tug it up as his hips snap again and the hand pinning the Theocrat’s wrists grow a bit tighter, body shivering in delight and cock throbbing within Danta with the admission — whether it’s true or not, the butcher can’t say.
He does, however, purr into the Maverick’s ear, his hips stuttering into a slower, softer pace for a moment that matches the speed of his hand. “Fuck, Dantalion.” As if his mind is blank for a moment, like the compliment has blue screened him for a moment. Recovering, he noses his way against Danta’s shoulder, teeth marking him in a very obvious way. Surprisingly not deep, but enough to draw blood, enough to scab in precisely the arcs that make up each prong of the butcher’s teeth, enough to have him groaning and snapping his hips again. “Maybe.. Maybe they’re afraid they will break you.” He growls out a touch possessively.
Because if anyone knew the limits of the Theocrats body, it was the Butcher of Whitebrim. He’s had years to learn it, after all. “I know how far to push you, darling.” He purrs, hot tongue flattening against the bloodied mark.
The adjustment is met with growls of approval, tail wrapping around one of Danta’s legs to tug it up as his hips snap again and the hand pinning the Theocrat’s wrists grow a bit tighter, body shivering in delight and cock throbbing within Danta with the admission — whether it’s true or not, the butcher can’t say.
He does, however, purr into the Maverick’s ear, his hips stuttering into a slower, softer pace for a moment that matches the speed of his hand. “Fuck, Dantalion.” As if his mind is blank for a moment, like the compliment has blue screened him for a moment. Recovering, he noses his way against Danta’s shoulder, teeth marking him in a very obvious way. Surprisingly not deep, but enough to draw blood, enough to scab in precisely the arcs that make up each prong of the butcher’s teeth, enough to have him groaning and snapping his hips again. “Maybe.. Maybe they’re afraid they will break you.” He growls out a touch possessively.
Because if anyone knew the limits of the Theocrats body, it was the Butcher of Whitebrim. He’s had years to learn it, after all. “I know how far to push you, darling.” He purrs, hot tongue flattening against the bloodied mark.
Astaroth
i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////
