hold me tight or don't

// there's shadows on the walls //

It somehow feels violent between them, the force of their shared orgasm, and perhaps it has something to do with Asta's hands being so tightly bound or the heavy scent of blood on the air. Regardless, Danta can only brace against the snap of the butcher's hips and the crest of his climax, panting heavily around the irresistible taste of iron and the blood he knows is continuing to drip at a steady pace anywhere from Asta's throat up to his lips and cheeks.

It could be seconds or minutes that pass after that point - Danta has no idea, honestly - but by the time he sits back and releases his grip around the bindings that still hold Asta in place, his own fingers are numb and tingling. "Gods," he whispers, feeling suddenly shaky with the comedown of it all. "Fuck, Asta. Are you good?" He's dazed as he glances up at the other man, wondering whether he's going to need to make a very swift exit indeed.

"I can go and see if the reception's got a stash of water," he suggests. Anything not to have blood flowing so freely between them. "Or I can let you head out..." Which isn't the ideal, honestly, given that they are in someone else's region and he doesn't trust Asta not to go for a person rather than some less enticing prey.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //