/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
Quite content to sit there and watch his fiancé prowl back over, his dark gaze drifts from the bottled fountain water to the blonde Ancient as he straddles his lap. A soft hum leaves him as he feels his hands thread through dark strands, deftly avoiding the points of his horns with expert practice as he dives down for a kiss to the corner of his mouth. A soft laugh leaves him, tilting to press a kiss to his jaw as his hands smooth out over his lover’s thighs and the billowy fabric still found there. “I was going to say something but I figured it was better that I did not.” Hence the bite to his cheek.
Don’t worry Danta, the offer you’re giving will have him absolutely dark and dangerous. He hears the bottle open but doesn’t look at it, not as he tilts his head back and chin up, pressing into the kiss and loosens a soft hiss into it to feel Danta’s hips rock against his own, his arousal still trapped but not without a certainly desirable amount of pressure. When the Maverick withdraws and slyly places his throat within bite distance, though, Asta’s fingers twitch against his lover’s thighs, a slow and measured exhale leaving him as his pupils blow — darkening the otherwise honey hue of his eyes.
He meets Danta’s hooded yet molten blues with the silence of a question forming, before the glint of healing water catches him, and between that and the pulse that rabbits in Danta’s neck, the butcher finds himself on quite the losing battle when Danta’s silver tongue is moving so beautifully like this.
He doesn’t bite just yet, though, testing the waters so to speak as he dives in to press the start of his kisses against the other Ancient’s collarbone, trailing it up over previous scars in the meatier bits of his shoulder he’d already left behind. “You will tell me if it is too much, won’t you?” He purrs, the rumble a vibration against his skin. He hesitates and continues to pepper his sun kissed throat with kisses that grow more and more greedy and pressured but still there’s no slice of sharp teeth into the waiting veins.
At least, until there is.
It’s the expert precision of a man who’s used his teeth for far more than just a tool to charm and eat. They’re a practiced weapon as much as his knife collection is, and the second that they sink in, the pain isn’t there immediately. The immediate swell of blood is, though, filling the butcher’s mouth with it far enough that he can’t even keep it all contained. It spills from the corner of his mouth into his dark beard, down against Danta’s chest and his own. A combination of a growl and a groan leave him with force, a punch escaping his throat against Asta’s will. He almost loses himself in it, if not for the last split second of pulling back and pressing his cheek against the wound in a piss poor attempt to staunch it, preventing himself from rocking his hips lest he make the bite worse but Danta will feel the effect it sparks through him. He flushes tenfold, his cock jumping hard against where the Maverick has him trapped, and the throaty, deeply accented “fuck, darling—” that leaves him as he tries desperately to not lose this battle and to enjoy it as much as he’s allowed himself.
Don’t worry Danta, the offer you’re giving will have him absolutely dark and dangerous. He hears the bottle open but doesn’t look at it, not as he tilts his head back and chin up, pressing into the kiss and loosens a soft hiss into it to feel Danta’s hips rock against his own, his arousal still trapped but not without a certainly desirable amount of pressure. When the Maverick withdraws and slyly places his throat within bite distance, though, Asta’s fingers twitch against his lover’s thighs, a slow and measured exhale leaving him as his pupils blow — darkening the otherwise honey hue of his eyes.
He meets Danta’s hooded yet molten blues with the silence of a question forming, before the glint of healing water catches him, and between that and the pulse that rabbits in Danta’s neck, the butcher finds himself on quite the losing battle when Danta’s silver tongue is moving so beautifully like this.
He doesn’t bite just yet, though, testing the waters so to speak as he dives in to press the start of his kisses against the other Ancient’s collarbone, trailing it up over previous scars in the meatier bits of his shoulder he’d already left behind. “You will tell me if it is too much, won’t you?” He purrs, the rumble a vibration against his skin. He hesitates and continues to pepper his sun kissed throat with kisses that grow more and more greedy and pressured but still there’s no slice of sharp teeth into the waiting veins.
At least, until there is.
It’s the expert precision of a man who’s used his teeth for far more than just a tool to charm and eat. They’re a practiced weapon as much as his knife collection is, and the second that they sink in, the pain isn’t there immediately. The immediate swell of blood is, though, filling the butcher’s mouth with it far enough that he can’t even keep it all contained. It spills from the corner of his mouth into his dark beard, down against Danta’s chest and his own. A combination of a growl and a groan leave him with force, a punch escaping his throat against Asta’s will. He almost loses himself in it, if not for the last split second of pulling back and pressing his cheek against the wound in a piss poor attempt to staunch it, preventing himself from rocking his hips lest he make the bite worse but Danta will feel the effect it sparks through him. He flushes tenfold, his cock jumping hard against where the Maverick has him trapped, and the throaty, deeply accented “fuck, darling—” that leaves him as he tries desperately to not lose this battle and to enjoy it as much as he’s allowed himself.
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///
does that make me insane? ///
