/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
Smirking at the question, the butcher still takes his time – deciding eventually what he wants as he descends back into the wine-soaked taste of his fiancé’s lips. He leans in to hear the purr, his hands sweeping up along the back of the acid watched shirt he’d suggested Danta wear earlier as he feels the light nibble to his lower lip. His bearded chin brushes softly against his lover’s cheek as he nuzzles in and huffs a soft laugh as Danta guides him back.
“Oh nooo.” The butcher whines dramatically despite the grin that lingers on his face. His tail flicks a little softer now, gentler, the thump a mere brush rather than the harder wag of the ashen tip, though it hardly matters when Danta’s stepped them back enough to make sure he doesn’t take out the leg of the table in his quiet excitement. As his shirt is unbuttoned, he’s distracted by the next kiss he greedily dives into, his own hands slipping up under his shirt to feel the heat of his scar flecked skin beneath.
He withdraws only when the shirt is pushed over his shoulders, exposing his scars to the heat of the room and the light of the oil lamps and fire in the fire place. And he watches with eager anticipation to see Danta start to fold his shirt, smirking over his shoulder at him in a way that very nearly has him frog blinking at him before he barks out a laugh. “Of course you would choose tonight to enact my prior traditions. Feeling nostalgic, are we, darling?” He asks, prowling a bit closer to unbutton Danta’s own shirt and slip it from his skin, folding it over his arm in a swift motion as he crowds in again for another kiss, letting his hands take and map the full expanse of his skin no longer blocked by fabric.
“Oh nooo.” The butcher whines dramatically despite the grin that lingers on his face. His tail flicks a little softer now, gentler, the thump a mere brush rather than the harder wag of the ashen tip, though it hardly matters when Danta’s stepped them back enough to make sure he doesn’t take out the leg of the table in his quiet excitement. As his shirt is unbuttoned, he’s distracted by the next kiss he greedily dives into, his own hands slipping up under his shirt to feel the heat of his scar flecked skin beneath.
He withdraws only when the shirt is pushed over his shoulders, exposing his scars to the heat of the room and the light of the oil lamps and fire in the fire place. And he watches with eager anticipation to see Danta start to fold his shirt, smirking over his shoulder at him in a way that very nearly has him frog blinking at him before he barks out a laugh. “Of course you would choose tonight to enact my prior traditions. Feeling nostalgic, are we, darling?” He asks, prowling a bit closer to unbutton Danta’s own shirt and slip it from his skin, folding it over his arm in a swift motion as he crowds in again for another kiss, letting his hands take and map the full expanse of his skin no longer blocked by fabric.
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///
does that make me insane? ///
