/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
It’s nothing he’s ever considered either, the fact that the rawness with which Asta looks up at him might be a mirror for the Maverick who’s never truly been sated either. Beaten down and prevented from eating and devouring and quelling his bloodlust. Asta peers up at him before the command drops from his lips, the hooded look made pure black, a tension in him that grows as he waits for Danta to drink the fountain water.
The first sip spills, mixing with the blood on his hand and there’s a moment of possessiveness and a quiet, hardly there hiss as it dilutes it. But when Danta goes for the full sip, he takes advantage of the moment to lap up some of what’s left; removing his hand when he feels the blood stop pouring.
It becomes a paint after, his hand still coated in red that reaches up to cup his cheek, leaving his handprint stained in crimson along his jaw, cheek, temple, and blond braid.
“Of course, darling.” He purrs, raining himself in as he shifts them slightly, hand dropping to carefully readjust them and remove Danta’s billowy pants, his hands dragging bloody marks along his sides and pale skin. He indulges himself in the trail of kisses along his collarbones and chest, his breath hot where he pants against his skin as he pulls himself back in mentally. His body, however, has no trouble reacting to the blood that stains the both of them, pooled in the crevices of his scars.
He shifts them enough and gently too in order to slip his pants down to his ankles, not even going so far as to kick them off as the relief swells through him and he rolls his hips against Danta’s own as he focuses his attention again up at the Maverick, tugging him down for an iron filled kiss based from instinct and love.
The first sip spills, mixing with the blood on his hand and there’s a moment of possessiveness and a quiet, hardly there hiss as it dilutes it. But when Danta goes for the full sip, he takes advantage of the moment to lap up some of what’s left; removing his hand when he feels the blood stop pouring.
It becomes a paint after, his hand still coated in red that reaches up to cup his cheek, leaving his handprint stained in crimson along his jaw, cheek, temple, and blond braid.
“Of course, darling.” He purrs, raining himself in as he shifts them slightly, hand dropping to carefully readjust them and remove Danta’s billowy pants, his hands dragging bloody marks along his sides and pale skin. He indulges himself in the trail of kisses along his collarbones and chest, his breath hot where he pants against his skin as he pulls himself back in mentally. His body, however, has no trouble reacting to the blood that stains the both of them, pooled in the crevices of his scars.
He shifts them enough and gently too in order to slip his pants down to his ankles, not even going so far as to kick them off as the relief swells through him and he rolls his hips against Danta’s own as he focuses his attention again up at the Maverick, tugging him down for an iron filled kiss based from instinct and love.
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///
does that make me insane? ///
