so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
Blood spreads from the bite up the side of his neck toward his bearded jaw, Astaroth incapable of doing much in the sudden and quick realization that the Maverick was much stronger than he was, is easily forced to his knees when Danta applies pressure to his shoulders. And from his height, it isn’t exactly graceful. He drops with a thud, a huff of air from his nose as his dark gaze continues to watch Danta, especially as he collects the cane.
He did, in fact, have one back then. And he had used it a great deal of times on varying things that he’d been told to. But it’s still with a hint of wariness that creeps in as Danta starts to pass over a threshold of haha fun! to haha, fuck you! with the lifting of his chin by the handle of the cane. Of course, he does as instructed, the bite still dripping a little stream of blood into his silken shirt, but his dark gaze remains wholly focused on the Maverick.
And then laughter from outside changes something. And he sees Danta suddenly in a way that he’d never expected to see him. There’s no flinching or wincing when the cane clatters, just a statuesque watchfulness that Asta offers as Danta comes to, peering up at him from dark hair that’s fallen into his eyes.
The muzzle is removed first, followed by the bindings, and the taller Ancient surges to his feet, immediately moving to crowd Danta. “It’s alright. You didn’t hurt me.” Comes the deep rumble, hands and tail trying to pull the Maverick in against his scarred chest. Sure, he was bleeding, but to be honest it was nothing in comparison. “Would you prefer to talk about it or would you prefer to dip into the wine and forget about it?” He asks, his hand threading through Danta’s shoulder length blonde, snagging at a diamond horn.
Astaroth doesn’t care one way or another. Danta had helped him through his own panic when faced with gore crows. It only seems fair that he does the same now with this.
He did, in fact, have one back then. And he had used it a great deal of times on varying things that he’d been told to. But it’s still with a hint of wariness that creeps in as Danta starts to pass over a threshold of haha fun! to haha, fuck you! with the lifting of his chin by the handle of the cane. Of course, he does as instructed, the bite still dripping a little stream of blood into his silken shirt, but his dark gaze remains wholly focused on the Maverick.
And then laughter from outside changes something. And he sees Danta suddenly in a way that he’d never expected to see him. There’s no flinching or wincing when the cane clatters, just a statuesque watchfulness that Asta offers as Danta comes to, peering up at him from dark hair that’s fallen into his eyes.
The muzzle is removed first, followed by the bindings, and the taller Ancient surges to his feet, immediately moving to crowd Danta. “It’s alright. You didn’t hurt me.” Comes the deep rumble, hands and tail trying to pull the Maverick in against his scarred chest. Sure, he was bleeding, but to be honest it was nothing in comparison. “Would you prefer to talk about it or would you prefer to dip into the wine and forget about it?” He asks, his hand threading through Danta’s shoulder length blonde, snagging at a diamond horn.
Astaroth doesn’t care one way or another. Danta had helped him through his own panic when faced with gore crows. It only seems fair that he does the same now with this.
Astaroth
so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
