// smile like you mean it //
It is wildly arrogant, but it appears as though the two of them are enjoying dancing with fire. Her, more so than him, but it is a delicate balance of trying to ensure he remains restrained enough. She isn’t Danta, whom the butcher can place bites and marks all across with the mutual understanding that he absolutely could tear a chunk out of his body, yet knows precisely how to handle the butcher so that he doesn’t.
Flora’s learning, though admittedly has not received the entire story. He’s not exactly in the habit of explaining his proclivities, especially to those who aren’t ancient.
Regardless, the Doubletake continues to dance with fire as she straddles his face, his hands rising to run along her hips and lower back, dropping down to the curve of her ass and to her thighs as she teases and taunts him, which he does in return — lips pressing a touch roughly against her own, trying to spark some of that overwhelming sense, before she’s twisted to place her unmarked thigh against his sharp mouth. His dark gaze bores into her darkened blues, not knowing entirely how not to be too greedy. It’s a test for them both, with her hand in his hair coiled tightly and his lips parting against a salty, sweat shone thigh. His hand cups the opposite side, eyes remaining locked on hers as he sinks his teeth in — a mimicry of before where he doesn’t aim to take a chunk, but to puncture and slice, to leave a bruising and scabbed mark in the shape of his teeth.
“Fuck,” the second the blood coats his tongue, the vibrating and grittier accented groan leaves him, eyes shuttering shut as his fingers tighten against her thigh, a shiver races down his spine that has him gasping a hot breath against her skin. He withdraws before he can completely lose it and tear the bite out, instead pressing his lips and nose to the mark, his dexterous tongue running along each of the bleeding wounds.
Flora’s learning, though admittedly has not received the entire story. He’s not exactly in the habit of explaining his proclivities, especially to those who aren’t ancient.
Regardless, the Doubletake continues to dance with fire as she straddles his face, his hands rising to run along her hips and lower back, dropping down to the curve of her ass and to her thighs as she teases and taunts him, which he does in return — lips pressing a touch roughly against her own, trying to spark some of that overwhelming sense, before she’s twisted to place her unmarked thigh against his sharp mouth. His dark gaze bores into her darkened blues, not knowing entirely how not to be too greedy. It’s a test for them both, with her hand in his hair coiled tightly and his lips parting against a salty, sweat shone thigh. His hand cups the opposite side, eyes remaining locked on hers as he sinks his teeth in — a mimicry of before where he doesn’t aim to take a chunk, but to puncture and slice, to leave a bruising and scabbed mark in the shape of his teeth.
“Fuck,” the second the blood coats his tongue, the vibrating and grittier accented groan leaves him, eyes shuttering shut as his fingers tighten against her thigh, a shiver races down his spine that has him gasping a hot breath against her skin. He withdraws before he can completely lose it and tear the bite out, instead pressing his lips and nose to the mark, his dexterous tongue running along each of the bleeding wounds.
Astaroth
// take a chance and you could seize it //
