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

That’s his intention, if he’s being honest. He wants to drag it out of him with claws, ripping if he has to. And he essentially does that as he feels the tension flood through Danta’s thighs, as the orgasm hits and the butcher hums a sound of satisfaction even as the glamour vanishes and the Maverick’s tail sweeps across the bed, the distinct sound of the diamond edges of Danta’s horns as they scrape against the pillows.

He drags everything he can out of the other Ancient, swallowing away any need for an immediate shower, only withdrawing when he’s sure that the Theocrat is well sated and comfortable. He draws himself back up to hover above the Maverick, taking in the scorch marks on the headboard, and with that too sharp grin on display does he finally let his own glamour fall.

Dark hair spills out of the way as pronged horns extend from his skull, the sharp teeth where his fangs would be, extend and shift impossibly sharper, his tail whips behind him briefly before it settles to intertwine with Danta’s own as he hauls himself up to blanket him again. “Satisfied?” He asks breathlessly, voice a touch hoarse and heady, thick with his accent.

Astaroth

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