Astaroth
// but if you think I'm misery,
It’s a comment given as a warning as much as anything else was, the fact that should they decide to continue that he would need to do some behind the scenes prep. For now, though, she seems to understand that, and as he meets her gaze momentarily in the mirror before she’s spinning in his grip, his hands loosen if only to allow her twisting. Her hands move like water along his neck and shoulders and his own dip lower toward the curve seen through the silk of her dress, waiting with a touch of amusement to see what it is she comes up with.
She's a quick learner, he finds, as her fingers pulse to ask him to drop lower, and so he does — the scent of woodsmoke invading her senses briefly as he obliges her request. Bright aqua floods his vision momentarily before her lips ghost against his, quite a chaste kiss as she continues her path — showing him, rather than instructing him. Of course, his horned head tilts away from her slightly to allow her more room to stake her claim, fully expecting a sensation of her teeth scraping and pinching against his skin.
It isn’t what happens, though, lulled as he is by the siren song of her lips against his throat, the warmth of her tongue, his fingers twitch from where they are very much covering her ass atop the silken fabric as she marks him. A pressure point, drawing blood to the surface yet not breaking it, his nostrils flaring slightly as his breath hitches as he takes an inhale of breath and he’s sure she’s left it in a spot very clearly on display above the collar of his shirt and green vest. Not that the butcher would complain, not with how happy she seems right this second.
His skin rises with pebbles of goosebumps as a vibration does leave his throat in the means of a soft chuckle, the grin slapped back onto his face even as his eyes shift a touch darker. “Ah, I see.” It’s with that moment of possessiveness that Flora wished he had earlier that Astaroth’s hands curve around her, keeping one spread along the warmth of her ass, the other that rises and threads long fingers through her bound, curled hair, that he shifts to slip his nose and lips along the column of her golden neck, extra careful to keep his too sharp teeth from making an appearance, and when he’s found the spot he’s chosen, he tugs her lower half up against him. “Just like this.” The accented purr presses against her skin, in the soft space beneath her ear where his mark would selfishly cover the thrum of her beating heart.
Whether it’s beating faster now or not is no qualms to the butcher as he mimics her, warm lips and an even hotter tongue prepping the space before his own lips close around the spot chosen, incredibly cautious to keep his teeth out of the way, as he hums his own vibration, drawing blood up to the surface enough that the bruise would be fairly dark in the coming days. Pressing soft kisses to it as if in apology, the butcher withdraws to nose his way back up to her own. “A temporary one, but one nonetheless.” Comes the deeper and accented purr, withdrawing with calculating dark eyes to scan her face and the splotch of red blossoming on her skin that matches the one she’s left on him.
She's a quick learner, he finds, as her fingers pulse to ask him to drop lower, and so he does — the scent of woodsmoke invading her senses briefly as he obliges her request. Bright aqua floods his vision momentarily before her lips ghost against his, quite a chaste kiss as she continues her path — showing him, rather than instructing him. Of course, his horned head tilts away from her slightly to allow her more room to stake her claim, fully expecting a sensation of her teeth scraping and pinching against his skin.
It isn’t what happens, though, lulled as he is by the siren song of her lips against his throat, the warmth of her tongue, his fingers twitch from where they are very much covering her ass atop the silken fabric as she marks him. A pressure point, drawing blood to the surface yet not breaking it, his nostrils flaring slightly as his breath hitches as he takes an inhale of breath and he’s sure she’s left it in a spot very clearly on display above the collar of his shirt and green vest. Not that the butcher would complain, not with how happy she seems right this second.
His skin rises with pebbles of goosebumps as a vibration does leave his throat in the means of a soft chuckle, the grin slapped back onto his face even as his eyes shift a touch darker. “Ah, I see.” It’s with that moment of possessiveness that Flora wished he had earlier that Astaroth’s hands curve around her, keeping one spread along the warmth of her ass, the other that rises and threads long fingers through her bound, curled hair, that he shifts to slip his nose and lips along the column of her golden neck, extra careful to keep his too sharp teeth from making an appearance, and when he’s found the spot he’s chosen, he tugs her lower half up against him. “Just like this.” The accented purr presses against her skin, in the soft space beneath her ear where his mark would selfishly cover the thrum of her beating heart.
Whether it’s beating faster now or not is no qualms to the butcher as he mimics her, warm lips and an even hotter tongue prepping the space before his own lips close around the spot chosen, incredibly cautious to keep his teeth out of the way, as he hums his own vibration, drawing blood up to the surface enough that the bruise would be fairly dark in the coming days. Pressing soft kisses to it as if in apology, the butcher withdraws to nose his way back up to her own. “A temporary one, but one nonetheless.” Comes the deeper and accented purr, withdrawing with calculating dark eyes to scan her face and the splotch of red blossoming on her skin that matches the one she’s left on him.
then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //
it never leaves me alone, no //
