hold me tight or don't

// there's shadows on the walls //

Purposely moving his bleeding hand out of reach - and gods if they'd been sober or been able to plan and think about this, maybe Danta would have gotten some healing water from the fountain - it's with a dark smile that the Maverick rocks his hips against Asta's, meeting every roll and thrust and biting back the moan that threatens to paint the air. He barely notices the stirring shadow again until he glances down at the butcher's face, but in this light and in his current headspace, he might be imagining it.

It wouldn't matter either way, not unless the shadow has any intention of making things more difficult, and as the butcher's hips rise sharply enough to finally drag a curse from his lips, Danta is reaching down to stroke his own cock, increasing his pace and biting at the inside of his cheek. It's not enough to draw blood, not yet, and besides, he's got no intention of putting his lips anywhere near Asta's right now.

A shame, honestly. He very much enjoys the taste of him.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //