// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //
Smirking against the honesty, despite how he’d said he would be good — they both know it’s likely better to take no chances. So trust is easily given, knowing in the bones of his being that they aren’t like how they once were, how handing so much over to Danta as he’s guided and the fire is extinguished in the process, his arms surprisingly don’t fight back as they’re pulled above his head, clasped together, distracted by the heat of the Maverick’s lips against his jaw and throat.
His arms are tied together against the headboard, and only as Danta’s hands start to move down along his exposed skin does Asta test the binding. It’s tight enough that he can’t get loose, his dark eyes lift to focus on the blonde as he’s straddled and a shivery sigh escapes past his lips.
As his head tilts up, he presses up into Danta’s kiss before he aims to try and respond. Only, it falls short the second that Danta’s pricking his tongue against the fang that’s notably sharper than the rest of his already sharp teeth.
It’s the tang of iron and heat, vibrant and sweet, that has him chasing after it — tilting up the best he can to shiver and groan — teeth aiming to nip and bite and claim. He doesn’t get anywhere with it aside from leaning up into the open air, with Danta (smartly) nowhere near his face. His breathing has picked up already, but the bindings hold steady.
Dark eyes focus too intensely on the Theocrat, the way that the moonlight still filters in and drapes him in silver lines, the way that he straddles his hips with confidence, the way that the darkness of the room seems to not even touch the blonde with the pool of moonlight that crosses the bed. It’s intoxicating for the butcher, the siren song of both the blood singing through him and the powerful stance Danta harbors right now. He’s in complete control, and for once the butcher doesn’t mind.
It doesn’t mean he won’t be a brat, though, because Danta’s sparked this combination of desire and bloodlust. His hips rise in a slight roll which has Asta’s breath hitching with the pressure. His voice drops lower as his Whitebrim accent slips in, surveying Danta with dark eyes made darker by the blood, the desire, and the alcohol when he says. “Indulge me, Dantalion.”
His arms are tied together against the headboard, and only as Danta’s hands start to move down along his exposed skin does Asta test the binding. It’s tight enough that he can’t get loose, his dark eyes lift to focus on the blonde as he’s straddled and a shivery sigh escapes past his lips.
As his head tilts up, he presses up into Danta’s kiss before he aims to try and respond. Only, it falls short the second that Danta’s pricking his tongue against the fang that’s notably sharper than the rest of his already sharp teeth.
It’s the tang of iron and heat, vibrant and sweet, that has him chasing after it — tilting up the best he can to shiver and groan — teeth aiming to nip and bite and claim. He doesn’t get anywhere with it aside from leaning up into the open air, with Danta (smartly) nowhere near his face. His breathing has picked up already, but the bindings hold steady.
Dark eyes focus too intensely on the Theocrat, the way that the moonlight still filters in and drapes him in silver lines, the way that he straddles his hips with confidence, the way that the darkness of the room seems to not even touch the blonde with the pool of moonlight that crosses the bed. It’s intoxicating for the butcher, the siren song of both the blood singing through him and the powerful stance Danta harbors right now. He’s in complete control, and for once the butcher doesn’t mind.
It doesn’t mean he won’t be a brat, though, because Danta’s sparked this combination of desire and bloodlust. His hips rise in a slight roll which has Asta’s breath hitching with the pressure. His voice drops lower as his Whitebrim accent slips in, surveying Danta with dark eyes made darker by the blood, the desire, and the alcohol when he says. “Indulge me, Dantalion.”
Astaroth
// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //
