games of luck

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

That's the thing with predators - it's almost a carnal thing, knowing how to make the measure of another individual. Often it's a way to play a hypothetical game of who's winning with a potential rival, but every now and then, along comes a creature for far in a league of their own that the game look petty in the scale of their power. Danta hasn't felt that sort of way even with the demigods of Caido, for all their strength.

With Dorian, though? He watches the man sink into the hot water without really seeing him; his eyes, rather, are on the long, long shadow he feels he must cast. Lifting his chin at the blonde, she retrieves the glass of wine and saunters it over to the bath; Danta, meanwhile, chooses self-preservation, and so he gestures for the lady of the occasion to bring him a refill as well.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," he murmurs, drawing the sweater over his head and casting it aside carelessly. Taking a long sip of wine, his arm curls around the blonde's middle, drawing her back against him. "Did you travel far, to get to the Grounds?" he wonders softly, the question aimed at Dorian even if it's all but whispered into a tumble of fair tresses.

Dantalion