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 burn that has been stoked within him, slowly but assuredly, mounting into a growing pressure that blossoms through him, spiderwebbing heat through each of his veins in an electric spike. His hornless head is cradled and he’s content to peer up at him all the more if he gets to receive this kind of attention. Even if the kiss is chaste, he presses up as if to follow before Danta’s voice reaches him.
It’s the mischief, the explanation, that has him flashing a too sharp and knowing grin up at him, his hand slowing against Danta’s cock as if to ward his orgasm away stubbornly, momentarily, to relish in the look and feel of the other man leaning forward into him. From here, he gets that bouncing view of the sun illuminating Danta’s back from the shade of the parasol, the way the diamond horns glint and cast moving rainbows across the underside of the umbrella. He looks like the sun, like something holy, something of pure divinity, and it causes the butcher’s hips to stutter in their movements as he lets the groan slip past his lips.
Leaning up and catching Danta’s lips in his own chaste kiss, he randomly strokes a few times lower, lazily, languidly. “You, mm, do not get to cum until I tell you to.” He tests the water in a husky and arrogant, thickly accented voice, especially as he glances over the blonde’s shoulder as if spying yet another person joining the beach for a stroll, before his dark gaze returns to the vision of gold he’s buried into.
It’s the mischief, the explanation, that has him flashing a too sharp and knowing grin up at him, his hand slowing against Danta’s cock as if to ward his orgasm away stubbornly, momentarily, to relish in the look and feel of the other man leaning forward into him. From here, he gets that bouncing view of the sun illuminating Danta’s back from the shade of the parasol, the way the diamond horns glint and cast moving rainbows across the underside of the umbrella. He looks like the sun, like something holy, something of pure divinity, and it causes the butcher’s hips to stutter in their movements as he lets the groan slip past his lips.
Leaning up and catching Danta’s lips in his own chaste kiss, he randomly strokes a few times lower, lazily, languidly. “You, mm, do not get to cum until I tell you to.” He tests the water in a husky and arrogant, thickly accented voice, especially as he glances over the blonde’s shoulder as if spying yet another person joining the beach for a stroll, before his dark gaze returns to the vision of gold he’s buried into.
Astaroth
you know what's on the line
