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
“Then we will have to be careful, mm?” Comes the deeper rumble before the show, before he’s willing away his horns and tail in favor for ensuring that the window won’t break. It also serves to give him a more rugged look, hair that despite being sleep tousled, typically used to being tucked behind the fire obsidian horns, comes loose to fall into his face as he takes in his lover, smirking down at him as he’s looked back at with doe eyes.
He really, truly does expect an argument. So when it doesn’t come, the butcher’s grin twists into something purely delighted. The light from the window brightens his expression some, turning dark eyes into amber honey; at least for the moment before he’s making his demands, withdrawing to give space for him to turn.
Asta doesn’t wait to put his hands back on him for Danta to be completely turned around. No, his hands find his lover’s sides, his back, stroking in smooth and warm passes of a thank you before he’s meeting that coy look from the Maverick that has Asta purring a “perfect, love. Just like that.” Sparking more flames to his hands, the butcher draws up behind him, fire encasing his fingers and his palms as he presses initially between Danta’s shoulder blades, before he drags down and down to his hips.
The gentle and loving touches seem to pause there, though, as he manhandles the Theocrat, flame coated hands lifting his hips a touch higher to ensure Danta’s on his knees. One hand smooths back up his back to push him down into a stretching kind of position; the kind that makes one’s back pop in such delightful ways. Yet, regardless of whether Danta’s back would pop, he’s treated with the smooth caress of his other hand, before he’s letting his golden gaze scan the fogged reflection of his lover when he slips a finger in; not quite giving in just yet — like he wants to see what kind of sounds and reactions he can drag from his lover first.
He really, truly does expect an argument. So when it doesn’t come, the butcher’s grin twists into something purely delighted. The light from the window brightens his expression some, turning dark eyes into amber honey; at least for the moment before he’s making his demands, withdrawing to give space for him to turn.
Asta doesn’t wait to put his hands back on him for Danta to be completely turned around. No, his hands find his lover’s sides, his back, stroking in smooth and warm passes of a thank you before he’s meeting that coy look from the Maverick that has Asta purring a “perfect, love. Just like that.” Sparking more flames to his hands, the butcher draws up behind him, fire encasing his fingers and his palms as he presses initially between Danta’s shoulder blades, before he drags down and down to his hips.
The gentle and loving touches seem to pause there, though, as he manhandles the Theocrat, flame coated hands lifting his hips a touch higher to ensure Danta’s on his knees. One hand smooths back up his back to push him down into a stretching kind of position; the kind that makes one’s back pop in such delightful ways. Yet, regardless of whether Danta’s back would pop, he’s treated with the smooth caress of his other hand, before he’s letting his golden gaze scan the fogged reflection of his lover when he slips a finger in; not quite giving in just yet — like he wants to see what kind of sounds and reactions he can drag from his lover first.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
