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
Asta’s own grip remains just as possessive, just as dominating in the space between them as he pants, riding out each wave until he’s left exhausted and very sober. He’s forgotten his upset from earlier in this comfortable bliss, he rests heavily on the Maverick as his hand threads through the butcher’s hair, neatening it up before its swiping against his lips where it indeed comes away tinged red.
He meets Danta in the middle for the kiss, humming a content note against it as the blood transfers partially to bathe the Theocrat’s perfect lips in a darker shade. He starts to relax, the hand that ghosts along his back in patterns he can’t quite discern initially, but after a few moments of getting his mind through the fog of post bliss, he can tell what it is Danta’s scribing against his spine.
His heartbeat slows by the time Danta’s satisfied with his appearance and he rises just enough to feel him brush his nose against his own, allowing him a moment to press another chaste kiss to those smiling lips aimed right at him – one that he mirrors when he withdraws, reaching up to tease Danta’s hair back into place before the glamour returns to ruin all the hard work. His tail sweeps contently across the bed and he withdraws even further to clean them up (with the singed orange shirt because it was fucked anyway), and only then does he still shift to tug Danta up against him, still just as possessive, still just as silently, utilizing his body to express the words he can’t find in him to say so as to not ruin the moment of peace.
He meets Danta in the middle for the kiss, humming a content note against it as the blood transfers partially to bathe the Theocrat’s perfect lips in a darker shade. He starts to relax, the hand that ghosts along his back in patterns he can’t quite discern initially, but after a few moments of getting his mind through the fog of post bliss, he can tell what it is Danta’s scribing against his spine.
His heartbeat slows by the time Danta’s satisfied with his appearance and he rises just enough to feel him brush his nose against his own, allowing him a moment to press another chaste kiss to those smiling lips aimed right at him – one that he mirrors when he withdraws, reaching up to tease Danta’s hair back into place before the glamour returns to ruin all the hard work. His tail sweeps contently across the bed and he withdraws even further to clean them up (with the singed orange shirt because it was fucked anyway), and only then does he still shift to tug Danta up against him, still just as possessive, still just as silently, utilizing his body to express the words he can’t find in him to say so as to not ruin the moment of peace.
Astaroth
say your prayers now
