drink 'til you choke

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

Danta feels every lingering touch like a brand he's proud to receive, and he'll be sure to wear those bruises with just as much pride and ego as soon as his mind reorders itself into something capable of rational thought. The fire that warms his fingers in Asta's hair is ghoulish and beautiful, seen only through the periphery of the Maverick's hooded gaze, and he feels the crimson kisses the other man paints against his face as a distant pleasure, one that takes a necessary backseat to the aftershocks of bliss that pulse through his body.

For the longest time, it feels, it's just the thunder of two heartbeats and the soft sound of panting breath, Danta having closed his eyes properly and surrendered himself to his other senses for a bit. His fingers loosen in Asta's hair at last, trickling through the dark strands to ghost along the back of his neck and down between his shoulders, clasping there to keep him close. His other hand drifts upwards to cup the other man's cheek, and before he knows it, Danta is laughing breathlessly.

"I think you broke something," he whispers, sounding thoroughly amused by the fierce ache in his hips and the deep satisfaction that lingers there. "Do it again later?"

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me