// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
He wouldn’t dream of pulling away from the kiss — enjoying the taste of their kill, of the satisfied bloodlust that tingles through his being, of Danta’s tongue and lips in a sweetness he couldn’t ever accurately describe. The weight of the other man atop him simply adds to the perfection that the evening has delved into — this part of the temple naught more than candlelight, dark shadows, the lifeless and torn apart carcass within reach.
He doesn’t reach for it, though, too occupied with the way the heat between them seems to blossom tenfold without the spark of fire, and Astaroth is completely content to bask in the possessiveness displayed in each movement of the blonde’s body. He pants when they part, too, basking in the beauty of the sharp edges of Danta’s cheekbones, the flush to his skin, shadowed by the way he rises enough to start working at the buttons on their pants.
A low and content hum of a laugh escapes him, rising up onto his elbows to watch the display, even if it means withdrawing his hands from the other Ancient’s hips. He makes up for it with the reverent swipe of his tail along the Maverick’s back, matching the slow sweep of his tongue across his lips, savoring the taste. The grin returns shortly after, before the slight shimmy is done to slip their pants down further. The requirements of his own lust are met easily in this instance, and with the radiating heat of Danta, the butcher’s length springs free with a sigh of relief, already slightly rolling his hips as if to garner the Maverick’s attention where precisely he wants it, content with however quick and inelegant this is turning out to be.
He doesn’t reach for it, though, too occupied with the way the heat between them seems to blossom tenfold without the spark of fire, and Astaroth is completely content to bask in the possessiveness displayed in each movement of the blonde’s body. He pants when they part, too, basking in the beauty of the sharp edges of Danta’s cheekbones, the flush to his skin, shadowed by the way he rises enough to start working at the buttons on their pants.
A low and content hum of a laugh escapes him, rising up onto his elbows to watch the display, even if it means withdrawing his hands from the other Ancient’s hips. He makes up for it with the reverent swipe of his tail along the Maverick’s back, matching the slow sweep of his tongue across his lips, savoring the taste. The grin returns shortly after, before the slight shimmy is done to slip their pants down further. The requirements of his own lust are met easily in this instance, and with the radiating heat of Danta, the butcher’s length springs free with a sigh of relief, already slightly rolling his hips as if to garner the Maverick’s attention where precisely he wants it, content with however quick and inelegant this is turning out to be.
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
