Astaroth
i think i'm the devil in disguise, here's my state of mind
The confirmation sparks an amused smile that’s felt more than seen at the proximity they have, happily twisting and moving slightly where he had to so Danta could strip him until the only fabric left on him are his pants, hiding away the rest of his body as the Maverick’s prize.
He is looking forward to it, too, feeling the pressure of Danta’s arousal in the press of their bodies, as he’s hooked closer with the eager pull of his lover’s hands. His hips align with Danta’s, indulgent and languid and flashy in the way he twists his body and sinks back slightly to allow him the view, the pebbling of shivers that bloom against his skin where the scars were the least heavy, all brought on by his lover’s attention.
“Then they’ll stay on.” Asta confirms in a deep rumble, a smirk as he takes over. His hands are warm where they cover Danta’s own, helping the fumbling fingers slip his belt buckle open, snaking it out from the pant loops to let it drop with a loud thud to the floor. And perhaps it’s the anticipation and the ease of last season that the butcher’s arousal isn’t entirely blood based any longer. It’s slower now, still requiring a bit of a jumpstart, but it’s clear in the slight tenting of his own pants without the metallic tang of blood in the air that it's possible. A flame the Maverick could certainly stoke. One that he hopes he does.
He is looking forward to it, too, feeling the pressure of Danta’s arousal in the press of their bodies, as he’s hooked closer with the eager pull of his lover’s hands. His hips align with Danta’s, indulgent and languid and flashy in the way he twists his body and sinks back slightly to allow him the view, the pebbling of shivers that bloom against his skin where the scars were the least heavy, all brought on by his lover’s attention.
“Then they’ll stay on.” Asta confirms in a deep rumble, a smirk as he takes over. His hands are warm where they cover Danta’s own, helping the fumbling fingers slip his belt buckle open, snaking it out from the pant loops to let it drop with a loud thud to the floor. And perhaps it’s the anticipation and the ease of last season that the butcher’s arousal isn’t entirely blood based any longer. It’s slower now, still requiring a bit of a jumpstart, but it’s clear in the slight tenting of his own pants without the metallic tang of blood in the air that it's possible. A flame the Maverick could certainly stoke. One that he hopes he does.
give me destruction, tell me i'm scrumptious
i'm a fucking delight
i'm a fucking delight
