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
It’s delicate and reverent, the way that Asta holds onto the Maverick and slowly fucks him, at such odds with their usual fiery passion. And with the adjustment sparking the thundering pulse he can feel, his hand smooths out from where it’s pressed against his lower back. He uses the hand to tilt him just enough to keep that slow steady thrust to hit that spot over and over again while the other releases Danta’s hair for balance, so he doesn’t crash down into the Maverick.
“Good.” Purring a husky sound, the butcher’s adjustment has placed themselves just so that with each slow thrust, the press of their bodies strokes Danta’s cock — equally just as slow and tantalizing. It gives him the opportunity to trail a kiss down Danta’s chin toward the hollow of his throat, panting slowly against the pale skin there, choosing a separate kind of impulse as he balances delicately to press his thumb against his extra sharp canine, drawing blood that he lets drip against Danta’s throat — a temporary mark, of course, but it allows him to trail the blood up his neck and chin to his perfectly curved lips, swiping a streak of scarlet against them as he looks down at him with lusty dark eyes. “You are perfect,” Asta purrs, thrusting against that spot again as a slow and arrogant smirk blooms on his face. “I wish you could see just how much you are enjoying this.”
“Good.” Purring a husky sound, the butcher’s adjustment has placed themselves just so that with each slow thrust, the press of their bodies strokes Danta’s cock — equally just as slow and tantalizing. It gives him the opportunity to trail a kiss down Danta’s chin toward the hollow of his throat, panting slowly against the pale skin there, choosing a separate kind of impulse as he balances delicately to press his thumb against his extra sharp canine, drawing blood that he lets drip against Danta’s throat — a temporary mark, of course, but it allows him to trail the blood up his neck and chin to his perfectly curved lips, swiping a streak of scarlet against them as he looks down at him with lusty dark eyes. “You are perfect,” Asta purrs, thrusting against that spot again as a slow and arrogant smirk blooms on his face. “I wish you could see just how much you are enjoying this.”
Astaroth
say your prayers now
