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
Parting before his lungs cry out once again (but with a hum of appreciation for the nip to his lower lip), it’s with far less panting that the butcher shifts and lifts himself enough to focus on the blues of the Theocrat’s eyes, his hand drawing random patterns in the other man’s shoulders. “I told you that I would make it up to you.” Asta purrs cockily through a rumbling hoarse voice of his own, nosing his way in to meet Danta halfway for the next kiss.
He pulls away after a few long heartbeats, nose brushing along Danta’s before he sighs a little and straightens up, already preparing for the whine of complaint from the Maverick. His fingers ghost along the wound in his shoulder, shallow yet deep enough to absolutely match the sharp tines of the butcher’s teeth, before he looks up to catch Danta’s gaze, the shadow from his horned head casting a menacing look across the other man’s face smeared with blood. “Before you whine about missing me, darling, I will come back.” He says with an air of dramatics (like he’s planning to leave the room itself and not just the comfortable space they’d made), a wink offered from dark eyes, pausing briefly to see whether or not the other man will throw a giant fit.
It doesn’t last long as Astaroth moves, easily pulling away temporarily from the other man’s body to grab the ruined shirt still by the bedpost, before going to manhandle the Theocrat again if only to push him further up onto the bed to the pillows so that the dark haired Ancient no longer has to stand on legs that tingle and feel unsteady. And hovering above the blonde does he — very much unlike himself — use the torn shirt to clean them up before he’s immediately draping onto the other Ancient again.
He pulls away after a few long heartbeats, nose brushing along Danta’s before he sighs a little and straightens up, already preparing for the whine of complaint from the Maverick. His fingers ghost along the wound in his shoulder, shallow yet deep enough to absolutely match the sharp tines of the butcher’s teeth, before he looks up to catch Danta’s gaze, the shadow from his horned head casting a menacing look across the other man’s face smeared with blood. “Before you whine about missing me, darling, I will come back.” He says with an air of dramatics (like he’s planning to leave the room itself and not just the comfortable space they’d made), a wink offered from dark eyes, pausing briefly to see whether or not the other man will throw a giant fit.
It doesn’t last long as Astaroth moves, easily pulling away temporarily from the other man’s body to grab the ruined shirt still by the bedpost, before going to manhandle the Theocrat again if only to push him further up onto the bed to the pillows so that the dark haired Ancient no longer has to stand on legs that tingle and feel unsteady. And hovering above the blonde does he — very much unlike himself — use the torn shirt to clean them up before he’s immediately draping onto the other Ancient again.
Astaroth
i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////
