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 delightfully subtle, here in the shadow of the parasol on the beach, as Danta’s hips grind against his own and he bares the pale column of hie throat to him. The way he looks is tantalizing, jaw tilted up just enough to peer at him with those vibrant blues half lidded by desire. The butcher’s dark eyes linger on the blonde’s face, tongue dipping out to wet his lips and collect more of that copper taste with a low hum of approval.
His fingertips twitch where they’re tangled in blonde hair, thumb scraping against the sharp nicks of diamond horns as if in consideration. “Alas, not everyone survives it.” Though he doesn’t sound too perturbed by the fact. If anything, his gaze drops to the Maverick’s neck again, before he’s surgi by up and in, breaking the little distance made to press his rust tinted lips against the column of Danta’s throat, cautious enough to only barely press his teeth against the Theocrats pulse.
He sits there for a moment, hands smoothing down from his hair along his back again, craftily pulling him closer with those blunt hands. The action has his teeth scraping, pricking and drawing more beads of blood to the surface that has him muffling a groan into the blonde’s skin. His teeth are quickly replaced with the warmth of his tongue, a trail that pulls him up toward Danta’s earlobe as he pants. “How much of a show are you wishing to give, Dantalion, darling?” He asks in a very husky voice, impossibly more accented than before as his arousal presses against Danta where he keeps the other man settled in his lap.
His fingertips twitch where they’re tangled in blonde hair, thumb scraping against the sharp nicks of diamond horns as if in consideration. “Alas, not everyone survives it.” Though he doesn’t sound too perturbed by the fact. If anything, his gaze drops to the Maverick’s neck again, before he’s surgi by up and in, breaking the little distance made to press his rust tinted lips against the column of Danta’s throat, cautious enough to only barely press his teeth against the Theocrats pulse.
He sits there for a moment, hands smoothing down from his hair along his back again, craftily pulling him closer with those blunt hands. The action has his teeth scraping, pricking and drawing more beads of blood to the surface that has him muffling a groan into the blonde’s skin. His teeth are quickly replaced with the warmth of his tongue, a trail that pulls him up toward Danta’s earlobe as he pants. “How much of a show are you wishing to give, Dantalion, darling?” He asks in a very husky voice, impossibly more accented than before as his arousal presses against Danta where he keeps the other man settled in his lap.
Astaroth
you know what's on the line
