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

He’s well aware that he doesn’t have to. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to, especially as he soaks up the moan offered into the kiss, even as it doesn’t have much of an affect on him. Half of his experiment with this is being decidedly not overwhelmed with his lust, to be able to enjoy each and every sound and movement pulled out of the blonde.

The kiss deepens and the sheets are kicked off before the curse is panted into the air, before another kiss keeps him from commenting. When it breaks, though, he’s burying his face in against Danta’s neck, dark hair and head unimpeded by horns ghosting along the blonde’s cheek, fingertips dragging through the space offered by the horns missing from the Maverick’s own head. His lips find the soft space along his neck to suck a dark mark into, replacing the sharper ones that have long since been healed from the fountain.

Trying to drag more sounds from the blonde, he’s shifted enough to wrap his hand around Danta’s cock, stroking an easy pace as he tilts his head to the other side of Danta’s neck, to leave a matching bruise behind. “I know, darling. I want to, though.” He hums after leaving the mark, both hand and lips lavishing the Theocrat with expert attention.

Astaroth

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