I told you, you were brave

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

Feeling something almost feral tighten in the base of his spine and the back of his throat with every gentle roll of Asta's hips, Danta's head tilts back into his pillows as if he might stretch himself further into the other man's grip. Swearing softly under his breath, as the butcher twists the Maverick is forced to glance down, gladly caught in a kiss that steals the air from his lungs. More, he wants to urge, relishing the press of Asta's fingers gripping his ass, the way pleasure sneaks towards pain with how deep he's able to thrust into him.

A moan breaks into their kiss, Danta's fingers flinching against the other man's lower back and in his hair against his horns, and as he gasps for breath the sudden thunder of his pulse will tell Asta all he needs to know about the sweet spot he's just hit. "That feels amazing," he manages, just about, and though he wants to slip his fingers between them to touch himself, gods but it's all he can do to just hold on.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //