southern comfort's comforting, isn't it?

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

Only when the bottle is empty does Danta let it slip from his fingers, and he's lucky in that it clatters and rolls across the floor rather than shattering completely. Blinking a little more sense into his gaze, he's nevertheless all but putty in the butcher's hands, head tilting readily into his grip that paints a red print against his cheek and jaw. Curling his arm around the other man's shoulders, he assists with the removal of his pants as best he can, huffing a soft laugh at his own lack of coordination.

But soon enough Asta is shifting them again, rocking his hips up and against him, and with nothing between them now but the shreds of their self-control, even that is almost too much for Danta to handle. The sly quips that might normally purr breathlessly between them are nowhere to be found tonight, the Maverick's lips parting in a breathless gasp as he grinds down and against Asta, and he moans into the kiss the butcher claims a second later.

"I want you," he whispers, the words raw and barely audible against the other man's lips, and though he's unconvinced that he can hold his own wait, it doesn't stop Danta from shifting foward and against Asta's chest to encourage him to take him at last.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash