// with our one foot in the grave //
There are many things Astaroth would like to do. Many of them tampered down to this more acceptable version of himself. The kind that teases and plays rather than tortures and butchers. It helps that having the dull ache of the bloodlust in the back of his mind remains more as a visitor knocking at the door rather than a full on invasion, but it keeps the butcher collected despite how Danta unwinds his carefully kept facade.
Fire continues to singe, smoke and steam rising from where the flames burn and boil the blood. He sees Danta’s lips part but he doesn’t stop what his intentions are, dripping his own blood into the mix in a carnal, saccharine dance, even as he pauses in delighting and indulging in his own pleasure to press in and snatch a kiss from the Maverick’s full lips. He may have stopped the movement of his hips, as his heart continues to thunder against his neck, but his hand doesn’t — trying to pull Danta over that ledge. He wants him to see stars — not the kind that Safrin boasts, but stars made up of inky voids, ruby starbursts, singing white lines of lightning pleasure streaking throughout the fiery cosmos they have created.
A subconscious part of him is sure Dygra approves, especially as the short huffs of breath leave him with Danta’s nails digging in against parts of his body that do still feel pain as strongly, and it spurs him on. Nosing his way to let the blonde Ancient continue to offer directions or moan praises, the butcher’s bloodied lips are sticky sweet as they trace along the sharp edge of his jaw, up along a high cheekbone, until he reaches Danta’s ear. “I want you to fall apart.” Comes the heavily whispered, Whitebrim husky growl, selfishly starting a slow rock of his hips despite the much faster pace of his hand on the Maverick’s cock. “I want you to not know where you end and where I begin.” It’s a statement that's punctuated with another throb of his length, clear that he’s already so close, he’s just holding out for Danta to break before he does.
Fire continues to singe, smoke and steam rising from where the flames burn and boil the blood. He sees Danta’s lips part but he doesn’t stop what his intentions are, dripping his own blood into the mix in a carnal, saccharine dance, even as he pauses in delighting and indulging in his own pleasure to press in and snatch a kiss from the Maverick’s full lips. He may have stopped the movement of his hips, as his heart continues to thunder against his neck, but his hand doesn’t — trying to pull Danta over that ledge. He wants him to see stars — not the kind that Safrin boasts, but stars made up of inky voids, ruby starbursts, singing white lines of lightning pleasure streaking throughout the fiery cosmos they have created.
A subconscious part of him is sure Dygra approves, especially as the short huffs of breath leave him with Danta’s nails digging in against parts of his body that do still feel pain as strongly, and it spurs him on. Nosing his way to let the blonde Ancient continue to offer directions or moan praises, the butcher’s bloodied lips are sticky sweet as they trace along the sharp edge of his jaw, up along a high cheekbone, until he reaches Danta’s ear. “I want you to fall apart.” Comes the heavily whispered, Whitebrim husky growl, selfishly starting a slow rock of his hips despite the much faster pace of his hand on the Maverick’s cock. “I want you to not know where you end and where I begin.” It’s a statement that's punctuated with another throb of his length, clear that he’s already so close, he’s just holding out for Danta to break before he does.
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
