my, my, those eyes like fire, i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre
come now, bite through these wires,
come now, bite through these wires,
The playful grin shot Danta’s way once he’s noted what tools might work on him is just as amused. It’s not like the Maverick would have to try hard to do anything to convince him or plead with him, but he can absolutely see Danta pulling it out for minimal things just because he could and that it would likely spark some amount of fluster in the butcher’s face.
Either way, they race one another to undress, Asta shrugging out of his waistcoat and other adornments, even getting Danta out of his own to feel the soft silken, scar flecked skin beneath by the time that his lover becomes victorious in the unbuttoning of his shirt to reveal his own skin, mapped by the hard line of his own scars. He slips out of it easily and tugs Danta back in for a warm and tight hug, hands smoothing along his back and his head tilting to press his cheek against the other Ancient’s.
“Mm, we are already undressed. Something here would be beneficial I believe.” Whether that be a waltz or a simple game, the butcher isn’t that picky. He has Danta in his arms and that’s truly all that matters. “Perhaps a slow waltz or a game of sorts?” He muses, lips pressed into Danta’s golden crown.
Either way, they race one another to undress, Asta shrugging out of his waistcoat and other adornments, even getting Danta out of his own to feel the soft silken, scar flecked skin beneath by the time that his lover becomes victorious in the unbuttoning of his shirt to reveal his own skin, mapped by the hard line of his own scars. He slips out of it easily and tugs Danta back in for a warm and tight hug, hands smoothing along his back and his head tilting to press his cheek against the other Ancient’s.
“Mm, we are already undressed. Something here would be beneficial I believe.” Whether that be a waltz or a simple game, the butcher isn’t that picky. He has Danta in his arms and that’s truly all that matters. “Perhaps a slow waltz or a game of sorts?” He muses, lips pressed into Danta’s golden crown.
Astaroth
i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired
