// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //
“Ah, even better. A dark red. A noir or.. mm, a cabaret?” He muses, equally daydreaming about a wine fountain, the red spouting like blood from dark marble fountains, reflected by firelight, spilling over hands and staining them with their sweet liquid. It’s a thought that fully distracts him (and admittedly sparks a slight flush to his cheeks, spurred on by the iron in the air).
It’s with a stare that greets the blonde and sets him off balance enough that his grin curls more playful, more dark and full of mischief, as if imagining all the wonderfully wicked things that something about being adorned just how Danta liked would spark.
His lips part briefly, fingertips drawing designs against his pulse and neck, as Danta’s lips crash into his and he presses into it with a surprising amount of heat, fingertips threading past to the nape of the Maverick’s neck, golden strands tangled into as his other hand pushes down the beautiful robe, so that fire can lick happily along his Theocrat’s shoulders.
It’s with a stare that greets the blonde and sets him off balance enough that his grin curls more playful, more dark and full of mischief, as if imagining all the wonderfully wicked things that something about being adorned just how Danta liked would spark.
His lips part briefly, fingertips drawing designs against his pulse and neck, as Danta’s lips crash into his and he presses into it with a surprising amount of heat, fingertips threading past to the nape of the Maverick’s neck, golden strands tangled into as his other hand pushes down the beautiful robe, so that fire can lick happily along his Theocrat’s shoulders.
Astaroth
// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //
