love, do you want love?
do you want lust? say you don't know
do you want lust? say you don't know
There are more interesting things that could be happening rather than continuing the conversation, and that’s precisely what Astaroth intends on. The moan is a lovely touch, bubbling up and spreading more of that warmth that seems to radiate between them, bolstered by the heat of the hot springs, steaming up around them in a heavy humid plume.
It’s comfortable, though, and it gives the butcher more than enough time to indulge in the perfect press of their lips, the greed and the taste of the Maverick on his tongue without the need for blood just so far. Conditioned as he is, the butcher’s quite pleased with his dexterous make out session as to have not sliced his or Danta’s tongue on his too sharp teeth. Instead, as the Maverick’s hips tilt into his own, the butcher’s hand snakes around the outside of his thigh, lifting so that the blonde could wind his leg around the butcher’s own. And in an air of testing the other man’s flexibility (which he knows is already quite something), he presses in again to push Danta’s chest back ever so slightly above the edge of the rock.
It's precisely the time that Danta’s copped his feel and between the starry breathlessness Astaroth is currently enduring, a charmed yet breathless laugh is drug out from the recesses of his lungs, while his hand in Danta’s hair tugs lightly before moving to cup the back of his head as the butcher utilizes the time to keep letting the Maverick touch wherever he pleases, but selfishly allowing himself the moment to nose his way in and press lingering, possessive, claiming kisses to the column of his Theocrat’s throat. It’s been a while since he has laid claim, after all. The marks are gone (or as close to it as could be, he hadn’t checked before he’d decided to reapply them).
It’s comfortable, though, and it gives the butcher more than enough time to indulge in the perfect press of their lips, the greed and the taste of the Maverick on his tongue without the need for blood just so far. Conditioned as he is, the butcher’s quite pleased with his dexterous make out session as to have not sliced his or Danta’s tongue on his too sharp teeth. Instead, as the Maverick’s hips tilt into his own, the butcher’s hand snakes around the outside of his thigh, lifting so that the blonde could wind his leg around the butcher’s own. And in an air of testing the other man’s flexibility (which he knows is already quite something), he presses in again to push Danta’s chest back ever so slightly above the edge of the rock.
It's precisely the time that Danta’s copped his feel and between the starry breathlessness Astaroth is currently enduring, a charmed yet breathless laugh is drug out from the recesses of his lungs, while his hand in Danta’s hair tugs lightly before moving to cup the back of his head as the butcher utilizes the time to keep letting the Maverick touch wherever he pleases, but selfishly allowing himself the moment to nose his way in and press lingering, possessive, claiming kisses to the column of his Theocrat’s throat. It’s been a while since he has laid claim, after all. The marks are gone (or as close to it as could be, he hadn’t checked before he’d decided to reapply them).
Astaroth
maybe you just like the control
