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

It is exactly what he was hoping for, craving the warmth of their bodies despite the kicked away blankets. It was far better than a cold shower, and Astaroth gets to simply indulge in ways that don’t have himself overwhelmed, riding the line between taking bite after bite out of the Maverick and being good. Here, he can simply be attentive and focused, relishing in the decidedly less focused answers he receives.

The nip at his lower lip has his cheeks flaring with a touch of heat, but it drives his focus more as he does untangle his fingers from blonde strands, slipping slowly down the Maverick’s body as his hand continues its pace, caring little for where Danta tries to reciprocate his touch, so long as he feels those warm hands. “All of this, just for me?” He purrs with a cocky arrogance, lifting his head from the trail of kisses he drags down the other Ancient’s chest.

His dark eyes meet blues made nearly just as dark, lips quirking into a small smirk as he leaves another bruise of a mark along the Maverick’s stomach, only stopping by the time he’s settled around Danta’s waist. His hand continues its quick and tight pace, though, and he litters the blonde’s inner thighs with more and more kisses before he lets his breath rake across Danta’s length.

Astaroth

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