// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //
Iron invades and remains, filling Asta’s senses in a strange mixture of primal instinct and the haze of the liquor in his bones. It stays his hand, feeling the warmth radiating from Danta’s hands on his chest and collarbones, the view of the blonde above him bathed in moonlight, lips painted black until a glimmer of moonlight shines on it, painting it a deep purple that distracts him entirely. His tongue swipes out, chasing the taste with a huff of a stuttery sound as Danta’s words reach him and the slow grind of his hips.
It’s certainly working, the butcher’s body a mix between tension and brimming pleasure. His wrists still pull at the binding, but he watches through hazy dark eyes as Danta sheds the rest of his clothes and tugs his own off. His breathing stutters as the Maverick surveys him, the sound of leather moving as Danta starts to stretch over him and his arms tug again at the binding. His tail sweeps over to brush affectionately along the Maverick’s side, the cool air making each bloodied kiss spark as a pathway of intention. The blood and intentions help his body warm up, his cock filling out with each kiss that trails lower down his body.
His legs shift slightly, giving the Theocrat more room, his head tilts up and he tries to settle, closing his eyes to keep from thinking about the blood as much, though it doesn’t stop the light growl that escapes his lips, a hum of desperation that he tries to hard to hide but the alcohol places it in plain sight. A mixture of man and beast that he doesn’t know exactly how to manage, but for the moment he certainly walks that fine line.
It’s certainly working, the butcher’s body a mix between tension and brimming pleasure. His wrists still pull at the binding, but he watches through hazy dark eyes as Danta sheds the rest of his clothes and tugs his own off. His breathing stutters as the Maverick surveys him, the sound of leather moving as Danta starts to stretch over him and his arms tug again at the binding. His tail sweeps over to brush affectionately along the Maverick’s side, the cool air making each bloodied kiss spark as a pathway of intention. The blood and intentions help his body warm up, his cock filling out with each kiss that trails lower down his body.
His legs shift slightly, giving the Theocrat more room, his head tilts up and he tries to settle, closing his eyes to keep from thinking about the blood as much, though it doesn’t stop the light growl that escapes his lips, a hum of desperation that he tries to hard to hide but the alcohol places it in plain sight. A mixture of man and beast that he doesn’t know exactly how to manage, but for the moment he certainly walks that fine line.
Astaroth
// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //
