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
It’ll be a mess to clean up later, but the butcher finds he doesn’t particularly care. The chaotic scene only seems to scream them all that much more. Especially as his lips make fiery warm trails along his lover’s smooth skin, pressing him between the warm heat of his body and the cool pane of glass, trying to warm from the cold night before.
In fact, the heat of them blurs the window some, only in the spaces Danta isn’t touching; fogging up the glass as the butcher rumbles a soft breathy and hot laugh against his skin. “I do not intend on breaking it.” He muses before he withdraws enough to grin down at Danta, one hand lifting to splay right against his sternum, before he drags blunt painted nails down his chest slowly. It’s a distraction as he slips his glamour into place to ensure that his horns wouldn’t knock into the glass. “Just in case, though.” Comes the explanation, his hand drifting lower to stroke along the V of his torso, lower and lower in an attempt to taunt and tease.
“Now,” satisfied enough that he isn’t going to wreck the window with his horns, he straightens up, ghosting his hand against the Maverick’s length and inner thigh. “Turn around, darling.” It’s a demand as much as it is a request.
In fact, the heat of them blurs the window some, only in the spaces Danta isn’t touching; fogging up the glass as the butcher rumbles a soft breathy and hot laugh against his skin. “I do not intend on breaking it.” He muses before he withdraws enough to grin down at Danta, one hand lifting to splay right against his sternum, before he drags blunt painted nails down his chest slowly. It’s a distraction as he slips his glamour into place to ensure that his horns wouldn’t knock into the glass. “Just in case, though.” Comes the explanation, his hand drifting lower to stroke along the V of his torso, lower and lower in an attempt to taunt and tease.
“Now,” satisfied enough that he isn’t going to wreck the window with his horns, he straightens up, ghosting his hand against the Maverick’s length and inner thigh. “Turn around, darling.” It’s a demand as much as it is a request.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
