we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within
let your desire be simply acquired within, within
It’s strange.. but not unwelcome – to not hear the snark or wit to Danta’s tone. Just a general indulgence of love in return, one that somehow manages to kindle even more warmth in him than their actions just now had. His tight embrace continues because of it – hearing the next exhausted response, but nuzzling in anyway because of it, with a breathy huff of a chuckle. “I am glad.” Comes the quiet hum, the gentle accompaniment to his words.
The kiss up his throat to his cheek has him settling back a little easier, his grip on his lover loosening to drag his calloused fingertips along the Maverick’s back in swirls of unknown design, letting the low rumble of content escape his throat at the sensation of his hands in his hair. “It was.” His tone is distracted, but nonetheless indulgent of the touch.
A thought strikes him, one that has his fingers drawing those designs further along Danta’s lower back to the base of his tail before dragging in a straight line up his spine to the nape of his neck, playing with the shorter strands of gold he finds there. “I am eternally grateful we got a second chance.” He starts, realizing belatedly the heaviness of his tone. “I am also grateful that I get to lie here with you and rewrite those memories I had from before I became Ancient.” And here he pauses, to angle his head just so, to brush his lips against Danta’s sharp jut of his cheekbone in a saccharinely sweet motion. “I am so very lucky, Dantalion, to have you as I do.” He knows he hates his full name, but there's something about the moment that the butcher can't help but to let it slip.
The kiss up his throat to his cheek has him settling back a little easier, his grip on his lover loosening to drag his calloused fingertips along the Maverick’s back in swirls of unknown design, letting the low rumble of content escape his throat at the sensation of his hands in his hair. “It was.” His tone is distracted, but nonetheless indulgent of the touch.
A thought strikes him, one that has his fingers drawing those designs further along Danta’s lower back to the base of his tail before dragging in a straight line up his spine to the nape of his neck, playing with the shorter strands of gold he finds there. “I am eternally grateful we got a second chance.” He starts, realizing belatedly the heaviness of his tone. “I am also grateful that I get to lie here with you and rewrite those memories I had from before I became Ancient.” And here he pauses, to angle his head just so, to brush his lips against Danta’s sharp jut of his cheekbone in a saccharinely sweet motion. “I am so very lucky, Dantalion, to have you as I do.” He knows he hates his full name, but there's something about the moment that the butcher can't help but to let it slip.
Astaroth
if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap
