// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //
He is quite full of spite when he wants to be, and he can direct it quite beautifully when required of him. But for now, there’s nothing but the Maverick and the Butcher, and he’s far too appreciative of this moment even if the rain is trying its best to tear down the glass of their windows. It isn’t hard to ignore everything else when Danta’s hands are warm and roam numbly over the scar tissue, the touch that much more vibrant against the portions of his skin where he does still have some semblance of feeling.
It's a shaky soft laugh that’s pressed back into the kiss – pressing into the kiss after as if to vow to him that he would gladly take him up on the offer if it ever came up. For now, though, he presses into the kiss and the affections in turn, letting his own calloused hands flare along Danta’s skin, lingering against the jut of his hips and the curve of his ass, fingertips trailing against the edge of his tail. When Danta retracts a touch and he sees the way he tilts his chin up, it’s something the butcher takes the opportunity for immediately.
He surges up, hands sliding up to the small of his lover's back, his hornless head fitting neatly between the space of Danta’s neck and his shoulder, lavishing his neck with a variety of kisses – carefully keeping his teeth away for the moment in lieu of leaving a few warm and dark marks, high up above the collar for all of his possessiveness.
It's a shaky soft laugh that’s pressed back into the kiss – pressing into the kiss after as if to vow to him that he would gladly take him up on the offer if it ever came up. For now, though, he presses into the kiss and the affections in turn, letting his own calloused hands flare along Danta’s skin, lingering against the jut of his hips and the curve of his ass, fingertips trailing against the edge of his tail. When Danta retracts a touch and he sees the way he tilts his chin up, it’s something the butcher takes the opportunity for immediately.
He surges up, hands sliding up to the small of his lover's back, his hornless head fitting neatly between the space of Danta’s neck and his shoulder, lavishing his neck with a variety of kisses – carefully keeping his teeth away for the moment in lieu of leaving a few warm and dark marks, high up above the collar for all of his possessiveness.
Astaroth
// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //
