the gold and the rust

// you knew who I was //

Scoffing and managing to pull at least one feather off his exposed skin - for all the difference it makes - Danta doesn't exactly disagree, but the idea of any white clothing remaining that way once he starts wearing it is laughable, as he imagines they will both agree. "A priest?" he echoes, raising his eyebrows. "Is that so? I'll let Charlie know later today - I'm sure she'll be delighted." Priest is a step down from Theocrat, granted, but Danta can actually see himself doing something like that if he ever gives up leadership over the Grounds.

It's at this point that Astaroth takes advantage of his thoughtful musings, and it's with a hitch of surprised breath that Danta suddenly finds himself pinned beneath the butcher, feeling heat in his cheeks and down his neck despite the fact that his body is in no position to take again just yet. Grumbling something that might be construed as affectionate if one listens closely, the Maverick gets his elbows beneath him to watch the other man straighten up.

Running his tongue across his teeth (because no small part of him wants to prowl after Asta for reasons that have nothing to do with getting clean), eventually he hums an affirmative and also rolls to his feet. "Why not," he rumbles, sauntering past - and if he's able, his tail will flick out to slap at the other man's bare ass as he goes by.

~FIN

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //