Astaroth
// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //
The sharp edge of the mumble Danta offers is enough for Asta to certainly make a point to prove he isn’t going to let it happen again, and with it the butcher sighs out a little sound in the absence of the returned I miss you, at least until the comment is aired. In the meantime, the blonde hasn’t pulled away, and Asta hasn’t let him go either, instead he clings to the sensation of his hands as they smooth out the wrinkles in the new shirt (as if he cares much for the wrinkles in the face of everything here).
Letting Danta shift enough to prod at the wound, Astaroth shifts in turn, nuzzling his bearded chin against the other man’s crown, before his tail unwinds from the Maverick and he starts to walk them back toward the bed, his tail twisting to catch the handle of the bag to drag it along with. Offering support enough that when Danta’s calves hit the edge of the mattress and he sits, does Astaroth release him, shifting to unbutton the shirt and slip it off to reveal the precise stitches along his collarbone and shoulder, and his forearm. “They are healing nicely.” He offers in the quiet crackle of the room, the fireplace flickering light across the interior.
It's enough of a break that he shifts to grab the bag he’d drug along with them, reaching in to pluck his coat out and place it elsewhere before reaching in again and collecting the gift he’d gotten for Danta. Only then does he decide now is as good a time as any to hand him the gift, wrapped in a deep purple paper. "This is for you, my dear." Comes the accented drawl, stomach still swirling with his stress.
Letting Danta shift enough to prod at the wound, Astaroth shifts in turn, nuzzling his bearded chin against the other man’s crown, before his tail unwinds from the Maverick and he starts to walk them back toward the bed, his tail twisting to catch the handle of the bag to drag it along with. Offering support enough that when Danta’s calves hit the edge of the mattress and he sits, does Astaroth release him, shifting to unbutton the shirt and slip it off to reveal the precise stitches along his collarbone and shoulder, and his forearm. “They are healing nicely.” He offers in the quiet crackle of the room, the fireplace flickering light across the interior.
It's enough of a break that he shifts to grab the bag he’d drug along with them, reaching in to pluck his coat out and place it elsewhere before reaching in again and collecting the gift he’d gotten for Danta. Only then does he decide now is as good a time as any to hand him the gift, wrapped in a deep purple paper. "This is for you, my dear." Comes the accented drawl, stomach still swirling with his stress.
// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //
