// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
It’s different from the last time. They know each other more, they love each other openly now. There’s no cuffs and restraints in sight, just Danta harboring the leash of the butcher who complies so easily it’s both odd and beautiful. And he is wholly, fully, at the Maverick’s whim.
He can hear the sighing of fabric, the flickering shadow of his lover as the shirt is deposited on a nearby crate, and having focused so much on that without seeing Danta approach, the second warm fingers race up his skin beneath his shirt a shiver dances down his spine. “I trust you, darling.” It’s a quiet purr, a warm and deep hum as he continues to remain braced against the wooden door, listening to both the sounds outside of it and his lover’s voice.
Warmth bursts from the back of his neck from the kiss, the flush framed by the ends of long hair curling above the tops of his shoulders and back. A shivery breath leaves him to feel the pressure relieved, and to hear the invitation offered. He obliges, paired with his own amused smirk to hear something drop outside of the door and the series of curses that trail after it.
One is his own, with the quiet “fuck,” that escapes him as his hand strokes his length into fullness, sparking more of the warm flush to his bronzed skin.
He can hear the sighing of fabric, the flickering shadow of his lover as the shirt is deposited on a nearby crate, and having focused so much on that without seeing Danta approach, the second warm fingers race up his skin beneath his shirt a shiver dances down his spine. “I trust you, darling.” It’s a quiet purr, a warm and deep hum as he continues to remain braced against the wooden door, listening to both the sounds outside of it and his lover’s voice.
Warmth bursts from the back of his neck from the kiss, the flush framed by the ends of long hair curling above the tops of his shoulders and back. A shivery breath leaves him to feel the pressure relieved, and to hear the invitation offered. He obliges, paired with his own amused smirk to hear something drop outside of the door and the series of curses that trail after it.
One is his own, with the quiet “fuck,” that escapes him as his hand strokes his length into fullness, sparking more of the warm flush to his bronzed skin.
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
