run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
Cutting him off has an amused twitch blooming on the butcher’s face, a soft and warm, breathy laugh escaping him from where he’s buried himself for the moment. It’s a breathy sound that twists into a delightful shiver as Danta’s hands smooth down his back, against numb yet somewhat painful scars.
“Mm perhaps it only requires a stoking of my jealousy.” He muses, muffled against the sweet taste of the Maverick’s neck, where he noses up right in time for Danta to push against him. “Hey—” It does flare that control freak within him, enough that his fingertips dig in, pushing him back only to realize now he completely supports the blonde (and with the door at his back, he supposes). “All you had to do was ask, darling.” Comes the playful chiding, the butcher withdrawing to press the weight of his hips into his lover’s against the door.
And it’s a strange turn of events, as it turns out, because there is not any blood present (nor the scent of it), but it’s very clear from how he presses against Danta there’s a pressure there that very rarely ever is, as if something about how the night had gone had broken through his usual triggers to get hard.
Not that it really matters to the butcher right this second. Right now, his hand abandons his hair to drop to his hip, the other hand at his outer thigh slips up his leg further, until both hands manage to cradle Danta close to him. Accompanied by the flame tipped fingers, Asta’s horned head surges in as if to snatch a kiss, but he hesitates far enough away that it’s wholly a taunt and a tease, if the drawl of his voice wasn’t already a dead giveaway. “You wish to be held and kissed? Or… Worshipped?”
“Mm perhaps it only requires a stoking of my jealousy.” He muses, muffled against the sweet taste of the Maverick’s neck, where he noses up right in time for Danta to push against him. “Hey—” It does flare that control freak within him, enough that his fingertips dig in, pushing him back only to realize now he completely supports the blonde (and with the door at his back, he supposes). “All you had to do was ask, darling.” Comes the playful chiding, the butcher withdrawing to press the weight of his hips into his lover’s against the door.
And it’s a strange turn of events, as it turns out, because there is not any blood present (nor the scent of it), but it’s very clear from how he presses against Danta there’s a pressure there that very rarely ever is, as if something about how the night had gone had broken through his usual triggers to get hard.
Not that it really matters to the butcher right this second. Right now, his hand abandons his hair to drop to his hip, the other hand at his outer thigh slips up his leg further, until both hands manage to cradle Danta close to him. Accompanied by the flame tipped fingers, Asta’s horned head surges in as if to snatch a kiss, but he hesitates far enough away that it’s wholly a taunt and a tease, if the drawl of his voice wasn’t already a dead giveaway. “You wish to be held and kissed? Or… Worshipped?”
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
