sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

Danta relishes the butcher's touch when it comes, firm hands gripping his hips, fingers grasping him with bruising force like he's something to be owned, to be had. And were it anyone else it would not be scratching such a specific itch in his bones, but gods, with Asta, for Asta, he really is good, in a way no one else will ever get to see. His lips part to respond - some quip or bratty remark intended to amuse and infuriate, but of course before he manages it, the other man is everywhere, warping his answer into a broken moan of surprise and ecstasy.

"You feel so fucking good," he grates out, breathless and clutching at the arm of the couch, back arching to give Asta something to fuck properly against. "More," he half begs, voice little more than a rough whisper, hips rocking back teasingly. "Don't hold back on my account - I'm all yours."

Dantalion