// with our one foot in the grave //
“Is that so?” Asta hums breathlessly, a brief second before he takes his own breath as Danta’s lips meet his again, a slow and steady kiss that has him suddenly not wanting to rush anything. His arms remain just as tight around the blonde even as he starts to walk them back, and there’s a moment of stubborn hesitation initially before he gives in.
Walking backward until the mattress meets the backs of his legs, he slips a little as he stumbles a little, plopping back onto the bed amongst the furs and blankets, huffing a light laugh as he grins a shark toothed smile up at the Theocrat. It’s a laugh that intertwines with the golden threads of Danta’s own, before his hands slide to his sides, tail unwinding from the blonde but remaining close to stroke along his side.
“Is today one of the days you wish to have my teeth in your throat?” He asks with a touch of amusement. His chin tilts up, a soft breath shakily escaping him as he makes no move to help Danta unbutton his shirt and waistcoat the rest of the way, letting the goosebumps rise along his skin with the warm path of kisses along his jaw and collarbones. The scars creep up, raised heavily in a patchwork for Danta’s lips to trace, and the butcher’s hands lift to run gently along his sides toward his shoulder blades, blunt nails dragging along the raised edges of the Maverick’s spine.
Walking backward until the mattress meets the backs of his legs, he slips a little as he stumbles a little, plopping back onto the bed amongst the furs and blankets, huffing a light laugh as he grins a shark toothed smile up at the Theocrat. It’s a laugh that intertwines with the golden threads of Danta’s own, before his hands slide to his sides, tail unwinding from the blonde but remaining close to stroke along his side.
“Is today one of the days you wish to have my teeth in your throat?” He asks with a touch of amusement. His chin tilts up, a soft breath shakily escaping him as he makes no move to help Danta unbutton his shirt and waistcoat the rest of the way, letting the goosebumps rise along his skin with the warm path of kisses along his jaw and collarbones. The scars creep up, raised heavily in a patchwork for Danta’s lips to trace, and the butcher’s hands lift to run gently along his sides toward his shoulder blades, blunt nails dragging along the raised edges of the Maverick’s spine.
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
