you could call me babe for the weekend

Flora

Don't worry Asta, Flora is full of ideas.

Humming needily as his hand all but covers the globe of her breast, the queen allows herself a moment of greedy revelry as her eyes slip shut and she presses herself into his touch. There was something so gratifying about the whisper of silk against her skin, the way it wouldn't wrinkle beneath the heat of his hands, and how it felt that much more forbidden than it would have if she stood before him entirely naked. Of course there might be those of you wondering but Flora, didn't you nearly have a panic attack with Jack about what had happened, and to that I say uhh, chorus is coming up it was nothing that some surprising sweetness from the captain or the magic of being 21 couldn't fix.

Flora could handle a bit of pain, but certainly nothing close to what Asta would need from her, especially if his bloodlust hadn't been sated in some time. That alone should have kept Flora from pushing things, and yet..

His question has the queen's eyes flash opening as a catlike smile curls at her lips. Spinning slowly in his grip as if to emphasize the water-like quality of the silk against his own body, Flora peers up at him, an eyebrow raised in an effort to match the cocky affect she'd seen from him so often. "As it happens.." She purrs, stretching her hands up around his neck (and if doing so revealed the half-moon curve of her ass beneath the slip in the mirror, so be it). "Just a mark, then." So saying her fingertips will pulse softly against his neck, not pulling him down— she's already learned that he likes to fight against any sort of pressure directed at his ability to be in control—but merely encouraging him to do so. Should he, he'll find the queen's bright blue eyes filling his vision as her nose brushes softly against his own, her lips whispering, "—like this—" against his mouth.

Breathing deeply the dark scent of him, lost in the carefully curated manliness of him that has her breath hitching in the back of her throat, Flora lets her lips feather down his olive skin, past the brambles of dark hair on his jawline toward the cords of muscle on his neck. Her own teeth whisper against his skin as her tongue flicks out finding not a single trace of sea salt upon him. Closing her lips, Flora draws up blood, pulling it towards the surface without ever allowing it to break the skin. Instead she simply chases away the subtle pressure of burst capillaries with the tip of her tongue, all while humming a vibration she hopes he'll feel rising up the back of his throat.

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

It’s a comment given as a warning as much as anything else was, the fact that should they decide to continue that he would need to do some behind the scenes prep. For now, though, she seems to understand that, and as he meets her gaze momentarily in the mirror before she’s spinning in his grip, his hands loosen if only to allow her twisting. Her hands move like water along his neck and shoulders and his own dip lower toward the curve seen through the silk of her dress, waiting with a touch of amusement to see what it is she comes up with.

She's a quick learner, he finds, as her fingers pulse to ask him to drop lower, and so he does — the scent of woodsmoke invading her senses briefly as he obliges her request. Bright aqua floods his vision momentarily before her lips ghost against his, quite a chaste kiss as she continues her path — showing him, rather than instructing him. Of course, his horned head tilts away from her slightly to allow her more room to stake her claim, fully expecting a sensation of her teeth scraping and pinching against his skin.

It isn’t what happens, though, lulled as he is by the siren song of her lips against his throat, the warmth of her tongue, his fingers twitch from where they are very much covering her ass atop the silken fabric as she marks him. A pressure point, drawing blood to the surface yet not breaking it, his nostrils flaring slightly as his breath hitches as he takes an inhale of breath and he’s sure she’s left it in a spot very clearly on display above the collar of his shirt and green vest. Not that the butcher would complain, not with how happy she seems right this second.

His skin rises with pebbles of goosebumps as a vibration does leave his throat in the means of a soft chuckle, the grin slapped back onto his face even as his eyes shift a touch darker. “Ah, I see.” It’s with that moment of possessiveness that Flora wished he had earlier that Astaroth’s hands curve around her, keeping one spread along the warmth of her ass, the other that rises and threads long fingers through her bound, curled hair, that he shifts to slip his nose and lips along the column of her golden neck, extra careful to keep his too sharp teeth from making an appearance, and when he’s found the spot he’s chosen, he tugs her lower half up against him. “Just like this.” The accented purr presses against her skin, in the soft space beneath her ear where his mark would selfishly cover the thrum of her beating heart.

Whether it’s beating faster now or not is no qualms to the butcher as he mimics her, warm lips and an even hotter tongue prepping the space before his own lips close around the spot chosen, incredibly cautious to keep his teeth out of the way, as he hums his own vibration, drawing blood up to the surface enough that the bruise would be fairly dark in the coming days. Pressing soft kisses to it as if in apology, the butcher withdraws to nose his way back up to her own. “A temporary one, but one nonetheless.” Comes the deeper and accented purr, withdrawing with calculating dark eyes to scan her face and the splotch of red blossoming on her skin that matches the one she’s left on him.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //

Flora

The way he touches her is unlike anyone else; it lacks the boyish pawing and youthful passion from Koa, but nor did it come from a place of knowing the way Jack's did. Instead, it was possessive when it wanted to be, when he wanted it to be, and polite at other times. The dichotomy between gentleman and butcher had fingers of heat reaching up from Flora's belly toward her throat, squeezing with hot fingers so that her breath would catch from nothing more than the glimpse of the butcher in the mirror. All it took was seeing the flash of sweet mahogany turn to burnt caramel, or for the smile on his lips to grow ever so slightly tense as he looked over her body, and she'd have opened a vein for him right then and there if only he'd promise to make her flesh sing before devouring her.

The mark Flora leaves on the butcher's neck is the first of its kind. Most often the queen's souvenirs were left from her nails, and if her lips and teeth had ever brushed so forcefully as to leave a bruise, it had always been unintentional. Whereas the pleasure others might receive from such an act came from the ownership the bruise indicated, for the queen it was in the moment itself and the way she could incite shivers and the pebbling of the butcher's skin with nothing more than her tongue and lips.

Standing on her toes as if willing his hand to sink beneath the hem of her slip to clutch her skin properly, had the Doubletake the ability to dart! she'd certainly have used it to pin herself higher against him where her legs might wrap around his waist. Instead she's left fighting gravity, and even though Asta is fully capable of bending down towards her, Flora stretches as much as she's able, up and into the hand that tangles through her curls. Were he a mindreader like Jack, Asta would have heard the way she considered pressing her neck against him ever so slightly, as if she might be able to extract just one bead of blood from his teeth against her skin. Had he not mentioned his bloodlust she might well have done it, if only for the satisfaction of seeing him flush, but even Flora wasn't so stupid as to go that far.

The butcher would indeed feel Flora's heart beating faster; not quite hammering, but the tempo was certainly one of arousal and youthful impatience as she moaned in shaky harmony with the hum against her skin. Without quite thinking about it, Flora pressed her lips against his as he straightened, her tongue appropriately cautious in his mouth but demanding nonetheless.

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

She succeeds in that endeavor, in the one that makes it so that the butcher’s skin rises with the flush and pebbling goosebumps all from the mere action of her lips on him. It’s a calculated move, given that the butcher has gone for many years without letting a single person leave marks of any kind. Since awakening, it appears to be happening more often than not, and so long as there was mutual pleasure there, well, how could Astaroth complain?

He isn’t in the slightest, not as his lips meet her neck, as she stands a bit taller with how she presses against him, the slip of silk from beneath the discarded gown not more than a whisper beneath his warm hand. She succeeds in how his fingertips clutch at the hem of it, how it dives below to rise up against the curve of her ass and small of her back, skin to skin. He bends when she stands a bit taller, his lips drawing that mark to the surface that’s met with her shaky moan. Astaroth gains some deep satisfaction in the fact that it feels almost effortless to have her react like this under simply his touch and attention, though this is nothing that he voices.

Instead, he straightens, almost intending for that to be the end of it before she’s surging toward him and her lips collide with his, taking him by surprise in that he huffs a soft sound into her mouth before pressing back into the kiss not nearly even with the same desire Flora presses against him with. It isn’t her fault, though, not as Astaroth is able to actually keep himself reserved this time. He’ll indulge her, of course, enough so that as the kiss deepens and the two of them are more than aware of his too sharp teeth, he walks her back toward the mirror on the wall, a hardened surface to press her against.

Bracing himself, one hand leaves her to rise to her jaw, withdrawing from the kiss with soft huffs of trying to catch his breath. “I won’t do more than this, darling.” He says in a huskier tone, wondering if she would agree given that he was not at all prepared, neither in bloodlust or muzzles. Even as the words leave his lips, his thumb lifts to rest against her full bottom lip, running gently across the soft, plump surface, still pressing against her and invading her space.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //

Flora

Flora hums a note of encouragement against the butcher's lips, just in case the way she lifted or pressed herself against him hadn't been obvious enough. The way his large hands are able to touch so much of her at once has heat flushing through her core and if she thought there was any point in it at all she'd have curled one of her legs high around the back of his thighs in order to encourage his fingertips to wander over more of her. But, he hadn't been lying back in the Climb when he said that blood finished things for him but also helped spark them. Still, it felt strange to feel the distinct lack of any tension in his lower half even if the way he kissed her and held her spoke of some sort of attraction.

Letting her fingertips dance up one of his horns, tracing the smooth facets and jutting edges knowing fully that were she to press against one of the tines she could draw blood as easily as she had from his teeth. Very nearly she does just that as he begins to walk her backwards if only out of surprise. Luckily it's her other hand which tightens around his neck, the one on his horn immediately dropping into his hair, as she's pressed against the cool glass of the mirror. Inhaling sharply, her slip pulled up and the peach-shaped imprint of her ass on the mirror, Flora has to stop herself from clenching her fingers into his hair to keep him from moving. Searching his gaze, the colours blurry because of how close he was to her, the queen gives her head a little shake as her lips part around his thumb. Her tongue whorls around it and while she sucks against his fingertip in a modest repeat of what she'd done to his neck, the gesture was meant to have him thinking of something else entirely.

"Just kiss me again," she whispers as her teeth grate lightly against the pad of his thumb. Perhaps they'd not be able to go as far as the characters in one of Mateo's romance novels would have, but worse stories had been written than the one featuring Torchline's queen with a silk slip tugged up around her hips in the arms of a handsome foreigner within the dressing room of an upscale boutique.

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

He’s content to indulge in her, to press his body against hers and prove to her that he does find her attractive, even if his body doesn’t respond in the way she wishes it to. Blondes have always been his favorites, and the way her curls bounce, while bound and up off of her neck, look like molten gold with how close he is in her space, breaking the kiss with a soft pant to tell her that he isn’t able to do more than this.

Last time it had been a challenge, this time she seems to realize what the warning poses, and that in and of itself speaks to the mind that’s behind stunning aqua eyes. Her hand dances along a smooth fire obsidian horn, along sharp tines until they come to a stop and the hand has dropped into his slicked back hair. Withdrawing slightly to cup her face, thumb tracing along her lip before she sucks it into her mouth and the creases on his eyes deepen with the small smirk that blossoms on his face.

It does make him think of other things, though there still isn’t any stirring in his lower half, her smooth, blunt teeth scrape against the pad of his thumb before he withdraws it, spreading a slight sheen of her spit along her lips to her cheek as he guides her head up, diving in for a softer kiss, humming a soft note into the kiss as his other hand slips further under the slip of silk, pressing her lower back up against him.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //

Flora

Things might only be working for Asta on a superficial level but quite the opposite is true for the queen. Finding it just as attractive to see the butcher's defenses crumble with a single tear of her blood as it was to see them remain in place—because of how much he cared for her safety Flora told herself—the gentle press of his lips against hers only further fanned the flames in her belly rather than dialling back the intensity between them. It very nearly had her guiding his hand between her thighs; there was no reason she couldn't enjoy her time with him, even if he had to stay restrained, was there?

Instead, Flora straightened, her breasts rising and falling with every breath such that her nipples all but teased themselves against the silk. Flushed, the queen smirks up at the butcher, lips twisting as her eyes flinch down between them. "My dress is still on the floor, you know." She whispers teasingly, leadingly. Having no reason at all to think that her words will have the butcher doing anything but instantly kneeling to right that particular wrong, if he does, he'll feel the queen's hand softly on his shoulder. Given their height differences it's a rather delicious vantage point for Flora, who lifts her hand from his shoulder in order to curl it into his hair, before slipping her calf where her fingers had just been over his shoulder. "One more mark?" She whispers, raising an eyebrow, the tug of her fingers encouraging his gaze onto the flesh of her inner thigh, where it had practically been plated for him.

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

He’s well aware her dress remains on the floor, despite the prior promise, but given that she seems all too keen to have him drop, the butcher can’t help but to indulge her. Pulling away with a soft chuckle on a breath, he lets his nose brush by hers, before he does start to kneel. “It is, isn’t it?”

Still remaining just as against her as he had been, one leg bends behind him first as he kneels, clothing brushing against the front of her as he drops. The height here is nearly perfect, where should he stand perfectly on his knees his face would meet about her chest, but instead, the butcher reaches for the pools the dress had fallen into, before lifting it to set on the little bench in the room so that way it was at least off the floor.

Her hand rests gently on his shoulder and his own hand has dropped to cup the back of her calf, just below the swell of her ass when she lifts her leg up over his shoulder. The skin on the inside of her thigh where he’d left crescent marks flickers in his mind briefly, as if they were still there, but upon a second glance he finds it smooth and pristine.

Peering up at her, because her arousal is not lost on him, the butcher’s horned head tilts slightly as he looks up at her with a glimmer of mischief in honey dark eyes. “One more.” His hot breath rakes against her thigh as he dives in, kisses traveling along the inside, high enough to drive her insane and not give her precisely what she’s looking for, when his lips find a particular spot. This mark is darker, with all the blood vessels hidden beneath, and it instantly turns red as his hands curve inward on her thighs, his tail waving against the ground with a quiet content.

Withdrawing from the mark with a parting, apologetic kiss, one of his hands slips in further, giving her something to roll her hips against should she wish to. “Something tells me you appreciate this view immensely, mm?” Comes the whispered, deeper voice, a sly attempt at asking if she wanted to do this here and now, even if he’d not partake.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //

Flora

The slow way he descends nearly as Flora moaning her impatience, but she keeps the sound locked in the back of her throat; she enjoys the teasing and the tension almost as much as the result and gods she's almost certain Asta knows it.

Biting her lower lip as he agrees—one more—the queen hisses in a deep breath as the heat of his mouth warms her inner thigh. Crying out softly—not in pain but in pleasure—as his kisses find their mark and a bloom of dark red blossoms on her skin, Flora has to force her lower lip out from beneath her teeth lest she inadvertently begin something neither of them would feel good about finishing just now.

Moaning softly, her blue eyes hooded as she gazes down at him, her expression is one that nearly looks pained one moment and then awestruck the next, as lines crease her forehead and her lips form silent words—pleas, prayers—before his touch has her breath hiccuping in her throat. "I just didn't want you to have to keep bending down." Flora purrs, her words drowned in crimson not unlike the flush across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

Her fingers tangle a touch desperately in his hair, ruining the perfectly combed lines. She'll fix it later when the desire of having this man—this beast, this butcher—staring up at her from his knees has burned itself out, but for the moment the queen has little interest in maintaining his hairstyle as her hips roll slightly forward, her fingernails scraping against his scalp.

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

Humming a note of understanding when her voice leaves her lips, breathless as it is, and the butcher looks up at her to meet the crimson splash across her cheeks that truly only serve to bring out the aqua of her eyes and the very same hue in her earrings. His head tilts slightly, a smirk revealing sharp teeth and an even sharper fang, playing the part nicely (so he thinks).

A bit too nicely, as he’ll realize eventually. For now, though, her hands delve into his hair and ruin the perfectly kept appearance he strives for, having never really allowed himself to dance this close to the line. Why? Because usually they didn’t care enough to or because they’d spark something that was far hungrier, far older than many of them imagined.

Flora dances that line, and in an effort of keeping himself, well, the gentleman rather than the butcher, a glimpse of teasing continues to sparkle in his eye as her hips roll slightly forward, against a small amount of pressure he offers her. He can hear the rustling of fabrics in the room outside of the curtain, though, which stays his hand, and he peers up at her with a raised brow of curiosity beneath the shadow of a pronged antler-esque horn. “Perhaps we should have planned better?” He asks with a huff of a warm laugh, withdrawing slightly more to nod his head toward the sound of someone perusing the finery.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //

Flora

Closing her eyes as if by focusing hard enough on the sensation of his hand she might will the pressure to increase, as the butcher withdraws Flora's eyes flash open. It isn't because she's worried about being overheard or discovered, but because her immediate thought is that once again he's pulling away from her. Soon he'll be telling her to move, to get dressed, to go, to get out.

Only as she gazes down at him, she realizes he's doing none of those things: his eyes are just as darkly mischievous as they had been, his hand at least more or less in the same place, and his words are amused rather than disappointed. "I could always just call out that I'm buying this whole place and for everyone to leave?" The queen suggests in a voice that's as frustrated as it is playful.

Letting her leg slip from his shoulder with a sigh of regret, she'd have finished in under a minute she was sure, Flora begins to softly comb the butcher's hair back into place while it was still easy to reach. "I hope you're proud of yourself." She scolds in a low voice, now that she's quite certain there's no way for him to be unaware of just how much his teasing had riled her up.

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

It’s none of those things, simply a drive to make sure they both don’t fall into something they’ll regret later — whether it be the gossip that he’s suddenly learned Torchline is phenomenal at spreading (sorry buddy, the rumors probably have already spread). Either way, another dark chuckle leaves him at her offer, rolling his free shoulder gently. “Perhaps we should not bite off more than we can chew?” Raising his brow as his hands start to lower, situating her silk slip back into place as her leg slips off his shoulder.

He remains there as she fixes his hair, and when it’s back properly in place, Astaroth starts to stand, adjusting her curls and fussing over her as she scolds him. “Mostly.” He teases her, flashing her a playful wink before he withdraws further, to keep her from being pressed against the mirror. It’s here that he turns to actually hang the dress, pretending like it hadn’t rumpled to the floor. All the while, the rustling continues to get closer, before a screech of happiness erupts from a random woman who’s likely found the perfect gown.

His voice is still hushed even as he chuckles to the sound outside. “At least you will have the faded memory?” Sore enough to press on and remind her of the experience, maybe it might help to finish the job.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //

Flora

For all of Flora's foolishness, she wisely doesn't comment on just how much each of them could likely bite off, instead choosing to fix Asta with an alluring smile that her cheeks rounding and here yes sparkling; not simply with lust anymore, but with a boldness that has the divine goods to back up.

"The things you'll be able to do to me at the turn of the season..." Flora whispers, her voice low and sweet, in sharp contrast to the burst of excitement heard from just beyond the curtain. "As much of me as you could ever want. Mouthfuls of blood and flesh to carry you over the edge, and I won't feel a thing." It's adoringly said as if Asta had been unfairly denied some basic pleasure rather than having to gorge himself in a way most would find utterly gruesome just to achieve a release.

Pausing, the queen's lips twist roguishly as she lifts an eyebrow. "Well, nothing I don't want to." She purrs. Flora would still be able to feel his mouth on hers, the fullness of him inside of her, his tongue and hands and whatever other little pleasurable marks and touches he was inclined to leave on her body. But when it came to pain, though? When it came to the sort of wounds his teeth were made to create? No; those and the resulting wounds they'd cause, Flora would simply ask Frey to take away.

"Mmmmmm." Smoothing down the slip and not quite able to see the mark on her inner thigh without twisting, Flora hums a sound of agreement. Indeed later that evening, alone in her bed, it would be with thoughts of the butcher on his knees finding his way into the core of her without interruption, as she pressed her thumb against the dull echo of his mouth. Gods help her if dating Asta did have her growing accustomed to the presence of pain; gods help Jack, too.

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

The low and sweet hum that leaves Flora’s lips immediately captivates his attention, dark eyes flicking over toward her rather than the excitement beyond the curtain. The way he stands and looks to her, she could likely clearly see the darkening mark she’s left on him, the way he swallows and surveys her.

It’s strange for the butcher to war his way between viewing her as a friend, one that had saved him from the wicked woman — to viewing her like she was nothing more than an offering. And while, yes, the goal of getting off would be nice, that isn’t the reason he’s imagining just how sweet her blood was. His head tilts a little, the silver chain and band dancing with the movement, a lock of dark hair coming loose from his carefully kept hair.

A turn of the season meant a long time, for him, and he’s careful when he plucks her white dress from the hanger and approaches her with it extended, dark gaze warring between himself and the prospects. “What happens in a turn of the season, darling?” He asks, curious just how she thinks it might go to make that an offer.

“Come, let’s get you dressed.” He flashes her an easier smile, turning the dress in his hands so that he might be able to slip it over jer head, letting her get her arms through it, before tugging it down completely and fussing over any wrinkles.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //