/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
Too lost as he is in the moment of his teeth puncturing Danta’s pulse that he barely has time to think about the fact that he could give Danta the warnings and suggestions that maybe it isn’t that good of an idea to bare his throat as openly for him as it sounds. But they’re already here, the butcher’s already delved in, puncturing and coating them in the scarlet blood that drips and stains between the both of them, bringing the butcher to life.
It takes everything in him to indulge this far, to feel the familiar press of Danta’s fingers in his hair even if they aren’t as tight to keep him at bay as they usually are. He’s invigorated, the mixture between the butcher of the Climb and the cannibal from Whitebrim, a perfect venn diagram that results in nothing but a dark murderous desire that intermixes with lust.
His fingers twitch at the Maverick’s thighs to hear his name, brought back for a second with a shuddering and wet breath, lifting one hand to put over his wound to staunch the bleeding as he tilts his head up to look at Danta with perhaps the darkest look he’s seen. It's raw, it's carnal, it isn’t the same he’d seen in the Climb where the butcher had the intent to harm. It’s the depth of hunger for a pang that is not often sated.
It should be a good indicator of just how much the butcher loves him, though. To know that he can because the depth of his heart and feelings for the Maverick outweighs the animal in his heart and mind to have him look up at his lightheaded fiancé, blood dripping and coated in the dark shade of his blood. “Drink.” He says in a growl, a demand, a need for him to drink the fountain water to heal the depth of the wound he’s caused so the dream doesn’t turn into a nightmare.
Blood still drips from his palm where it covers the bite, and the butcher leans in and drags his tongue along the path of the blood, lapping it up like he isn’t more than the dog in his soul as he patiently tries to wait, hips twitching impatiently beneath the weight of his lover.
It takes everything in him to indulge this far, to feel the familiar press of Danta’s fingers in his hair even if they aren’t as tight to keep him at bay as they usually are. He’s invigorated, the mixture between the butcher of the Climb and the cannibal from Whitebrim, a perfect venn diagram that results in nothing but a dark murderous desire that intermixes with lust.
His fingers twitch at the Maverick’s thighs to hear his name, brought back for a second with a shuddering and wet breath, lifting one hand to put over his wound to staunch the bleeding as he tilts his head up to look at Danta with perhaps the darkest look he’s seen. It's raw, it's carnal, it isn’t the same he’d seen in the Climb where the butcher had the intent to harm. It’s the depth of hunger for a pang that is not often sated.
It should be a good indicator of just how much the butcher loves him, though. To know that he can because the depth of his heart and feelings for the Maverick outweighs the animal in his heart and mind to have him look up at his lightheaded fiancé, blood dripping and coated in the dark shade of his blood. “Drink.” He says in a growl, a demand, a need for him to drink the fountain water to heal the depth of the wound he’s caused so the dream doesn’t turn into a nightmare.
Blood still drips from his palm where it covers the bite, and the butcher leans in and drags his tongue along the path of the blood, lapping it up like he isn’t more than the dog in his soul as he patiently tries to wait, hips twitching impatiently beneath the weight of his lover.
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///
does that make me insane? ///
