// with our one foot in the grave //
It’s perfect, it’s exactly what the butcher needs, craves, desires. He doesn’t even care if the sounds they make reverberate through the Dusklight, knowing fully well that whatever bruises sit on the Maverick’s skin will be on full display the second the blonde leaves the room. It’s a satisfying thought, that possessiveness roaring in his head and drowning out the knocking of his bloodlust.
The hand in his hair keeps his head from pressing forward to taste the shared blood on their lips, a loss for the moment but one that will be made up swiftly. The fire spreads out, curling up Danta’s arm and up against disheveled black locks. It’s as close to a kiss as they can get when Danta’s orgasm racks through him and the slow but intense snap of the butcher’s hips cause his own to crest.
There’s no sharp teeth at Danta’s throat or tearing at his perfectly full lips. Instead, there’s simply a too sharp show of teeth, the blood still pouring from his lips — less than before, of course, but it still drips and spills, still encases his orgasm with iron and curses and praises and possessiveness as his antlered head tilts back into the blonde’s hand. The heels at his back keep him pressed in tightly, even as he pants and gasps for his breath, pushing hard against the hand in his hair to place his weight onto the Ancient beneath him.
The hand in his hair keeps his head from pressing forward to taste the shared blood on their lips, a loss for the moment but one that will be made up swiftly. The fire spreads out, curling up Danta’s arm and up against disheveled black locks. It’s as close to a kiss as they can get when Danta’s orgasm racks through him and the slow but intense snap of the butcher’s hips cause his own to crest.
There’s no sharp teeth at Danta’s throat or tearing at his perfectly full lips. Instead, there’s simply a too sharp show of teeth, the blood still pouring from his lips — less than before, of course, but it still drips and spills, still encases his orgasm with iron and curses and praises and possessiveness as his antlered head tilts back into the blonde’s hand. The heels at his back keep him pressed in tightly, even as he pants and gasps for his breath, pushing hard against the hand in his hair to place his weight onto the Ancient beneath him.
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
