// divide me down to the smallest I can be //
Danta is no stranger to breaking things, mostly on purpose and almost always for fun, and as the scent of liquor curls into the air around them he can only smile, careful not to knock into the glass with his own horns as his head tips back. "I doubt you do. That doesn't mean it won't break," he whispers back, the heat of Asta's breath against his throat enough to send fire roaring down his spine where it blooms and burns in the pit of his stomach.
As the window fogs up behind him, revealing only the press of his back and shoulders, the Maverick's grin twists into something crooked, especially as the butcher's blunt fingernails drag across his chest and down the length of his body. He doesn't know what it is, but there's always something about Asta's glamour settling into place that scratches a very specific itch. It's with an expression not unlike awe that Danta lets his eyes dance across olive skin struck silver with scar tissue, up to dark hair and eyes like molten mahogany and lips whispering instructions that broker no room for argument.
And so, for once, no argument is given, and Danta shifts forward enough (cheeks flushed and a soft gasp escaping him at the fingers that come ghosting across the hard length of his arousal) that he might turn as Asta desires. "Like this?" he asks, flashing a coy glance over his shoulder that suggests he's entirely at the butcher's mercy.
As the window fogs up behind him, revealing only the press of his back and shoulders, the Maverick's grin twists into something crooked, especially as the butcher's blunt fingernails drag across his chest and down the length of his body. He doesn't know what it is, but there's always something about Asta's glamour settling into place that scratches a very specific itch. It's with an expression not unlike awe that Danta lets his eyes dance across olive skin struck silver with scar tissue, up to dark hair and eyes like molten mahogany and lips whispering instructions that broker no room for argument.
And so, for once, no argument is given, and Danta shifts forward enough (cheeks flushed and a soft gasp escaping him at the fingers that come ghosting across the hard length of his arousal) that he might turn as Asta desires. "Like this?" he asks, flashing a coy glance over his shoulder that suggests he's entirely at the butcher's mercy.
Dantalion
// put your, put your v-v-venom in me //
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
