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
A soft chuckle slips past his lips, one at odds with the way he handles his lover. “I will keep you in line.” Comes the decisive answer, lips twisting into a smirk as he focuses his affections and intentions against the smooth warm skin of the Maverick, gaze darting between him and the glass window fogged up, making out the barely there reflections.
Danta’s back cracks delightfully so and it only broadens the appreciation in the lines of his olive toned face, slipping his finger in enough to simply watch for the reaction before a low hum sighs past his lips. “I think it might be you who’s wound up this morning, no?” Comes the playful tease, his hands withdrawing to slip along his skin again, gripping his hips in a way that would certainly have fingerprint bruises forming in all the ways that would remind him of this every time he moved.
There isn’t much bravado to it, nothing more to lead up before he grants Danta his wish. He lines them up, sinks in with enough speed to be cautious yet not too slow it seems he’s too careful, and he muffles the low keen of a groan from his throat with the splay of his hand against his lover's lower back. “Tell me what you see.” He purrs through a lower tone, stubbornly preventing himself from sinking wholly into the pleasure, craving the hitching of the blonde’s voice, the moans that he hopes to receive.
Danta’s back cracks delightfully so and it only broadens the appreciation in the lines of his olive toned face, slipping his finger in enough to simply watch for the reaction before a low hum sighs past his lips. “I think it might be you who’s wound up this morning, no?” Comes the playful tease, his hands withdrawing to slip along his skin again, gripping his hips in a way that would certainly have fingerprint bruises forming in all the ways that would remind him of this every time he moved.
There isn’t much bravado to it, nothing more to lead up before he grants Danta his wish. He lines them up, sinks in with enough speed to be cautious yet not too slow it seems he’s too careful, and he muffles the low keen of a groan from his throat with the splay of his hand against his lover's lower back. “Tell me what you see.” He purrs through a lower tone, stubbornly preventing himself from sinking wholly into the pleasure, craving the hitching of the blonde’s voice, the moans that he hopes to receive.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
