mississippi boys, inner city boys

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

“I promise, so long as you do nothing to deserve it.” Comes the playful rumble. As it stands, though, the butcher is very familiar with how the strings of a corset work and just how to tighten and tie them. Now whether or not the Maverick would be itching to get out of it for other reasons remains to be seen (how well could he handle the ghosting of the butcher’s fingertips along his skin, the way his hands would smooth over his hips).

So he focuses instead on tracing the Maverick’s skin with his lips, posing his question and eagerly awaiting the answer even if he already knows which way it’s leaning. “And then I put my office right across from yours..” He drawls as if for extra proof of ensuring Danta can hardly get anything done.

Not that he’s complaining, though, and honestly part of his own fun is winding up the Maverick in turn.

Rising from his neck to brush his nose along the blonde’s own, he hovers again with a glint of mischief sparking in his dark honeyed gaze. “My poor Theocrat.” It’s back to those playful dramatics, thumb brushing along the other Ancient’s temple. “Whatever shall we do?” Raising a brow toward him, he remains just as pressed in, just enough to continue to poke and prod the fire blooming in Danta’s hips.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart