// no one wants a half remembered tragedy. You must know the width of the knife //
Asta, too, doesn’t look for where the shirt lands. If anything, he focuses all of his attention on the tightening of his fingers, the slip of gold through each olive finger, the scent of sage and citrus that aren’t as vibrant as they typically are back in the Dusklight but still have buried its way into the Ancient beneath him. And as he cuts his lover off with the kiss, amusement flickers in the kiss momentarily, a huff of a laugh that’s pressed there that’s equally cut off the second he tastes the pinprick of Danta’s tongue beading up with a smidge of blood.
Not unlike a shark in similar ways, the butcher’s low thrum of appreciation vibrates out of him almost unwillingly. “You always do.” He purrs, breaking the kiss but not before he presses a chaste and punctuated one against the soft plush of his slightly redder lips. With a cheshire lilt to his smirk and the press of his hips even sharper with his arousal, the butcher rises enough to fumble Danta’s shirt off, too, essentially manhandling him in a way to get it so he can drape himself over the Maverick skin to skin, burning with warmth.
Not unlike a shark in similar ways, the butcher’s low thrum of appreciation vibrates out of him almost unwillingly. “You always do.” He purrs, breaking the kiss but not before he presses a chaste and punctuated one against the soft plush of his slightly redder lips. With a cheshire lilt to his smirk and the press of his hips even sharper with his arousal, the butcher rises enough to fumble Danta’s shirt off, too, essentially manhandling him in a way to get it so he can drape himself over the Maverick skin to skin, burning with warmth.
Astaroth
// and how it ruined you. Name the organs it kissed //
