there's an angel on your story and a demon in your bed
feels a bit surreal, feeling bad, don't feel it yet
feels a bit surreal, feeling bad, don't feel it yet
He feels the trajectory of Danta’s fingers as it threads away from his shoulder to the back of his neck, tangling in the sleep tousled strands of black that have only become a touch more knotted with their actions of the morning and his surprising carelessness at fixing it. But like a shark that scents blood, when Danta’s readjusting and his neck becomes exposed, well, who is he to deny himself?
Especially when his lover is so good at knowing when to press those buttons. So when the please comes and Astaroth finally wraps his hand around his lover’s cock, it’s purpose driven for the both of them, even as he feels the Maverick come undone within mere moments.
“There you go, darling.” It’s a gritty purr, a low hum of praise before Asta’s hips snap those last few punishing motions, meeting his lover halfway when he collapses to bury his face into his neck, biting down as gently as he can to swell the blood he doesn’t feel he really needs right now, but knows it’ll certainly do the trick.
The growl that escapes him the second the iron hits his tongue is nothing short of feral. His climax reaching a point before his hips snap with less and less intensity, distracted as the weightlessness blossoms like static in his limbs. His arms shift, wrapping around Danta’s middle as his tail curls in complete delight around the other Ancient’s own, and he lingers there in the crook of his shoulder with panting breaths to accompany the low, hoarse hum of “you are perfect.”
Especially when his lover is so good at knowing when to press those buttons. So when the please comes and Astaroth finally wraps his hand around his lover’s cock, it’s purpose driven for the both of them, even as he feels the Maverick come undone within mere moments.
“There you go, darling.” It’s a gritty purr, a low hum of praise before Asta’s hips snap those last few punishing motions, meeting his lover halfway when he collapses to bury his face into his neck, biting down as gently as he can to swell the blood he doesn’t feel he really needs right now, but knows it’ll certainly do the trick.
The growl that escapes him the second the iron hits his tongue is nothing short of feral. His climax reaching a point before his hips snap with less and less intensity, distracted as the weightlessness blossoms like static in his limbs. His arms shift, wrapping around Danta’s middle as his tail curls in complete delight around the other Ancient’s own, and he lingers there in the crook of his shoulder with panting breaths to accompany the low, hoarse hum of “you are perfect.”
Astaroth
it's a roulette kinda deal, black and red is what you get
