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
It’s a dark rumble of amusement that escapes the butcher’s throat, vibrating along where Danta presses his lips and joins the blonde’s own laughter as he claims that the taller Ancient is lying. To be honest? He is, but he’d at least choose his over everyone else’s head. And right now, he doesn’t think of much more other than the warm and soft press of the Maverick’s lips against his skin.
His hands continue their stroking and designing of random patterns along the Maverick’s spine as he tilts his chin up, dark eyes closing contently to feel just how Danta blankets him so snugly, there’s the pull of a smirk that tugs on his lips, one that remains even as those lips begin to lay claim to the olive hued column of his neck. “Good—” He breathes, starting off strong until Danta’s claiming his neck with a mark that is already throbbing and red and will soon be shitting colors.
The sharp pressure of it has his fingertips digging in roughly against his spine, a light gasp passing from his lips with the inhale of breath, and before he has a chance to say anything the Maverick is snatching a true kiss. And Astaroth wants nothing more than to be devoured in that moment. He presses into it greedily, hands smoothing over the soft pale skin of the other Ancient to rest at his hips, digging his fingertips in enough to make marks of his own in the shape of his fingers. And all the while he sweeps his tongue across Danta’s lower lip, mindful enough to keep his teeth at bay for the moment, to press back into the kiss with a soft and content hum that nearly seems to say then lets do it all day.
The butcher would never complain.
His hands continue their stroking and designing of random patterns along the Maverick’s spine as he tilts his chin up, dark eyes closing contently to feel just how Danta blankets him so snugly, there’s the pull of a smirk that tugs on his lips, one that remains even as those lips begin to lay claim to the olive hued column of his neck. “Good—” He breathes, starting off strong until Danta’s claiming his neck with a mark that is already throbbing and red and will soon be shitting colors.
The sharp pressure of it has his fingertips digging in roughly against his spine, a light gasp passing from his lips with the inhale of breath, and before he has a chance to say anything the Maverick is snatching a true kiss. And Astaroth wants nothing more than to be devoured in that moment. He presses into it greedily, hands smoothing over the soft pale skin of the other Ancient to rest at his hips, digging his fingertips in enough to make marks of his own in the shape of his fingers. And all the while he sweeps his tongue across Danta’s lower lip, mindful enough to keep his teeth at bay for the moment, to press back into the kiss with a soft and content hum that nearly seems to say then lets do it all day.
The butcher would never complain.
Astaroth
you know what's on the line
