i will never go backwards, i will never be seen
in the wake of disaster ...
in the wake of disaster ...
“Good,” He groans against the rough and quiet voice that fills his ear, their bodies rising and falling in a perfect rhythm to match each other. Asta continues to burn with his desire, with each press of a bruising kiss feeling more like a brand ringed around his throat as a badge he’d gladly leave in the open to shine. And with the encouragement, well, it doesn’t take longer than a split second for the butcher to catch the hint, helping with the rocking of his own hips, trying to dredge up all kinds of sounds to reverberate and echo from the trees around them.
He grows more insistent and the butcher mirrors him with it, the need for control beginning to take over despite how much he’d stuffed it down, such that with each sharp press of nails in his skin and the crescent marks left behind, the butcher’s own drags lines up and down his lover’s sides, pink in the low light. “Mm, the scandalous deal of the century.” He pants, tilting his horned head to bury his lips in Danta’s neck as the hand along his side slips around to the front, dragging more pink lines down along his chest and stomach in pursuit of his cock.
Gripping it with a kind of confidence that the butcher’s seemed to master as of late, the strokes are perfectly in time with how he bucks his hips against Danta’s own. “How envious all of them will be, hm? The jealousy.” He growls with delight at the thought, teeth scraping gently enough to cause nothing more than superficial scratches against his neck, body splotching with more red as if imagining pinning him to the multitudes of options — the deck of their skyship, a wall in the Last Whisper with a view of the Dusklight in the distance, the Dusklight itself against the large table that breaks up the traditional booths as a centerpiece.
He grows more insistent and the butcher mirrors him with it, the need for control beginning to take over despite how much he’d stuffed it down, such that with each sharp press of nails in his skin and the crescent marks left behind, the butcher’s own drags lines up and down his lover’s sides, pink in the low light. “Mm, the scandalous deal of the century.” He pants, tilting his horned head to bury his lips in Danta’s neck as the hand along his side slips around to the front, dragging more pink lines down along his chest and stomach in pursuit of his cock.
Gripping it with a kind of confidence that the butcher’s seemed to master as of late, the strokes are perfectly in time with how he bucks his hips against Danta’s own. “How envious all of them will be, hm? The jealousy.” He growls with delight at the thought, teeth scraping gently enough to cause nothing more than superficial scratches against his neck, body splotching with more red as if imagining pinning him to the multitudes of options — the deck of their skyship, a wall in the Last Whisper with a view of the Dusklight in the distance, the Dusklight itself against the large table that breaks up the traditional booths as a centerpiece.
Astaroth
will you sink down to me?
