so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free
i can give you what you crave, just not for free
The possessiveness in Danta’s words, whether intentional or not, soothes the butcher tenfold as he makes the shift in their positions, settling easily onto his stomach, thankful for the blanket atop the sand so that the hut of his rib cage doesn’t press too uncomfortably against the solid, packed sand. As the Maverick continues, a snort leaves Astaroth, his shoulders start to relax as he wonders just how not careful Danta would end up being with this, though honestly only half wondering with the distraction of his lips by his ear.
As the Theocrat starts, Asta is immediately met with the pressure of the blonde’s hands, initially suspecting such pressure leaves him silent as the knots are found in his back and spine, yet all his resolve starts to crumble as Danta finds the difficult ones and starts to work them out. “I somehow seem to keep embodying it.” He says — about the stress, that is — until his breath hitches and his horned head angles down a touch like the reorientation of his head might help loosen it.
It helps a lot, thankfully, and with the continued motions there’s a loud pop that comes from where Danta massages. And the butcher, unable to keep the inhale of a gasp wholly silent, emits a “Gods,” as a slightly relieved curse while the tingles spread through his spine and shoulder blades.
As the Theocrat starts, Asta is immediately met with the pressure of the blonde’s hands, initially suspecting such pressure leaves him silent as the knots are found in his back and spine, yet all his resolve starts to crumble as Danta finds the difficult ones and starts to work them out. “I somehow seem to keep embodying it.” He says — about the stress, that is — until his breath hitches and his horned head angles down a touch like the reorientation of his head might help loosen it.
It helps a lot, thankfully, and with the continued motions there’s a loud pop that comes from where Danta massages. And the butcher, unable to keep the inhale of a gasp wholly silent, emits a “Gods,” as a slightly relieved curse while the tingles spread through his spine and shoulder blades.
Astaroth
you know what's on the line
