mississippi boys, inner city boys

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

"Not necessarily," Danta is saying with a crooked grin, even as his head tilts into the fingers in his hair and his back arches against the teasing touch dragging its way down the length of his body. "You know I am more than capable of having a good time by mys--" The Maverick, of course, is cut off at that point by wicked lips and hands capable of doing much worse, such that the rest of his sentence is moaned softly into Asta's mouth.

He ought to feel guilty, he realises; something something not being able to reciprocate and so on, but gods if the man beside him doesn't dominate his every thought, making it impossible to feel anything that Asta doesn't want to tease out of him. "Fuck," he whispers against his lips, before diving into another kiss, kicking the sheets away and drawing the butcher closer. "You don't have to--" He tries, at least, the words spoken through a wry smile.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //