lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was
If orange was a color that Danta preferred, well, the butcher may or may not already be thinking subconsciously of the variety of oranges he could get. This one, while lovely, had succumbed to his drunken impulses, though may be able to be mended with a different pattern. Not that he’s thinking too much about it as he slips out of it.
No, because Danta’s fingertips run along both smooth and raggedly scarred skin, and he’s relishing in the heat from both of their bodies as he’s pulled close, as he peers up at him and the way the firelight flickers against half of his face while the other’s bathed in darkness. The hand at his cheek is just as warm and inviting, even as his compliment slips his lips and he can almost feel the heat that blossoms across the Maverick’s face.
As their lips meet in a true kiss, it’s half of what’s on Danta’s mind while the other focuses on all the ways he does find him beautiful. He is a phoenix to the butcher. And Astaroth finds him equally stunning whether he’s wearing his carefree attire throughout the day or if he’s soundly asleep in the bed, hair a mess and curling about his ears in the heat of Longheat, looking for all the world at peace and comfortable.
He pulls him in a bit tighter once he’s sank into his lap, hands spidering out against his lower back and rising to his shoulders along his spine. And perhaps to Danta’s surprise, he returns the kiss with his own little wicked promises. Maybe it’s to soothe that final nail in the coffin, maybe it’s because he hasn’t indulged since Torchline. Either way, his hands spread out more protectively and a touch greedy as he breaks from the kiss when his lungs burn, tail curling around Danta’s own tail, as if intending to lock them together. “I want you.” He says quietly on a breath, brushing his nose against Danta’s as if waiting to see just how the blonde might react.
No, because Danta’s fingertips run along both smooth and raggedly scarred skin, and he’s relishing in the heat from both of their bodies as he’s pulled close, as he peers up at him and the way the firelight flickers against half of his face while the other’s bathed in darkness. The hand at his cheek is just as warm and inviting, even as his compliment slips his lips and he can almost feel the heat that blossoms across the Maverick’s face.
As their lips meet in a true kiss, it’s half of what’s on Danta’s mind while the other focuses on all the ways he does find him beautiful. He is a phoenix to the butcher. And Astaroth finds him equally stunning whether he’s wearing his carefree attire throughout the day or if he’s soundly asleep in the bed, hair a mess and curling about his ears in the heat of Longheat, looking for all the world at peace and comfortable.
He pulls him in a bit tighter once he’s sank into his lap, hands spidering out against his lower back and rising to his shoulders along his spine. And perhaps to Danta’s surprise, he returns the kiss with his own little wicked promises. Maybe it’s to soothe that final nail in the coffin, maybe it’s because he hasn’t indulged since Torchline. Either way, his hands spread out more protectively and a touch greedy as he breaks from the kiss when his lungs burn, tail curling around Danta’s own tail, as if intending to lock them together. “I want you.” He says quietly on a breath, brushing his nose against Danta’s as if waiting to see just how the blonde might react.
Astaroth
say your prayers now
