// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //
“Oh fuck,” his accent is deeper, more of that Whitebrim grit that’s lost the pleasantries, the my dears and darlings. The curse slips from him like a breeze with the sudden sharp focus Danta draws as he grips and squeezes his cock. It throbs within his hold, the butcher’s hands shifting slightly and creasing the squeaky leather again. It works in Danta’s favor though, because it certainly has his attention drifting from the sudden bloodlust onset — mostly because he’s unable to move his hands and too drunk to think of a better way to slip the restraints.
So he’s docile, as much as the sharp toothed cannibal can be. Tamed rather than domesticated. Distracted from the fine line he walks as the pendulum swings wholly into desire and lust with the warm heat of the Maverick’s mouth. More curses slip from him as his chin tilts down, scarred chest heaving as his dark gaze, black as it matches the lingering blood still on the other man’s lips.
“Are you going to take this opportunity to fuck me or ride me?” Comes the deep growl, arms shuffling as he rests his head against his arms, the horns propping his head up. He’s very wound up, to the point that either is actually perfectly fine for him in a rare occurrence — thanks to the liquor and the blood.
His tail sweeps up and presses the flat side of the spaded end against Danta’s chest, while his heartbeat in his neck thunders, half hidden by the wild hair that lays against it.
So he’s docile, as much as the sharp toothed cannibal can be. Tamed rather than domesticated. Distracted from the fine line he walks as the pendulum swings wholly into desire and lust with the warm heat of the Maverick’s mouth. More curses slip from him as his chin tilts down, scarred chest heaving as his dark gaze, black as it matches the lingering blood still on the other man’s lips.
“Are you going to take this opportunity to fuck me or ride me?” Comes the deep growl, arms shuffling as he rests his head against his arms, the horns propping his head up. He’s very wound up, to the point that either is actually perfectly fine for him in a rare occurrence — thanks to the liquor and the blood.
His tail sweeps up and presses the flat side of the spaded end against Danta’s chest, while his heartbeat in his neck thunders, half hidden by the wild hair that lays against it.
Astaroth
// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //
