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
“Mmm, well, no.” He responds, tongue clicking when he adjusts the two of them. And he fully anticipates on snatching Danta’s breath away (and then some), when he moves again. He sinks in, a shiver of delight flitting down his spine to feel the way he tightens then loosens, an acceptance of sorts that only spurs the butcher on.
One hand remains splayed, fire licking against the divots of scars and the smoothness of his skin, the other digging into his hip for purchase. And to Danta’s amused chuckle, a breathy one passes by his own lips. “Mhm, ah—” He growls when Danta sinks back against him, pressing himself deeper. It’s a growl that pairs alongside the moan of delight that passes his lover’s lips, and it’s one that the butcher focuses on as he withdraws, beginning to pick a pace that’s perfect enough to keep conversation (mostly), but enough to also derive pleasure.
“All of them.. going about their day.” Asta drawls, shifting a bit to lean over the Maverick, increasing the pace a fraction before his fiery hand expels its flame again, slipping down to stroke along Danta’s chest and stomach. “Unaware of just how perfect their Theocrat looks right this very second.” He purrs, a loose hand enclosing around his lover’s hard arousal, so that each thrust the butcher gives, offers a loose stroke.
One hand remains splayed, fire licking against the divots of scars and the smoothness of his skin, the other digging into his hip for purchase. And to Danta’s amused chuckle, a breathy one passes by his own lips. “Mhm, ah—” He growls when Danta sinks back against him, pressing himself deeper. It’s a growl that pairs alongside the moan of delight that passes his lover’s lips, and it’s one that the butcher focuses on as he withdraws, beginning to pick a pace that’s perfect enough to keep conversation (mostly), but enough to also derive pleasure.
“All of them.. going about their day.” Asta drawls, shifting a bit to lean over the Maverick, increasing the pace a fraction before his fiery hand expels its flame again, slipping down to stroke along Danta’s chest and stomach. “Unaware of just how perfect their Theocrat looks right this very second.” He purrs, a loose hand enclosing around his lover’s hard arousal, so that each thrust the butcher gives, offers a loose stroke.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
