Astaroth
// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //
Humming a note, Asta’s gaze focuses a bit too sharply on the Maverick’s, the tone not harboring the bite he expects even as his brows pinch and his stomach sinks a bit further as the gift is passed off to the side. He’s nearly prepared to start a monologue of why now is precisely the best time, if only so it meant that the blonde doesn’t push him out or away, his lips twitching as they gear toward a frown. His shirt is disregarded as he formulates the words and Danta kicks off his shoes, which certainly should be an indicator to the butcher that he isn’t going anywhere, but Astaroth doesn’t trust it well enough yet.
At least, until the arm snags him and he loses just enough balance to slip onto the bed – one he’s so sorely missed it almost hurts how welcome the feeling is with the weight and warmth of Danta curling up into him. He loosens a breath that’s been caught in his throat, good arm winding around the other man’s shoulders, head adjusting to offer him more room when the quiet stay is heard.
And with the anxieties slowly leeching from his churning stomach, Astaroth curls and holds Danta to him a bit too tight. “Of course I’ll stay.” He says as if there’s no other option – which for him, the idea of blasphemous – and he tilts his head to rest his cheek against the spikey part of Danta’s horn, finally taking a breath that seems far less shaky than he expects it to be. “Take as long as you require.” Comes the softer edged request – both for himself, too, because gods, he doesn’t know what he would have done had the Maverick pushed him away. Something dramatic and stupid, he imagines.
For now, though, he shifts to curl into Danta all the same, arms winding around him and one hand lifted to run through sunkissed gold, simply taking in the shared heat, the familiar scent, and using each and every one of those grounding feelings to piece him back together.
At least, until the arm snags him and he loses just enough balance to slip onto the bed – one he’s so sorely missed it almost hurts how welcome the feeling is with the weight and warmth of Danta curling up into him. He loosens a breath that’s been caught in his throat, good arm winding around the other man’s shoulders, head adjusting to offer him more room when the quiet stay is heard.
And with the anxieties slowly leeching from his churning stomach, Astaroth curls and holds Danta to him a bit too tight. “Of course I’ll stay.” He says as if there’s no other option – which for him, the idea of blasphemous – and he tilts his head to rest his cheek against the spikey part of Danta’s horn, finally taking a breath that seems far less shaky than he expects it to be. “Take as long as you require.” Comes the softer edged request – both for himself, too, because gods, he doesn’t know what he would have done had the Maverick pushed him away. Something dramatic and stupid, he imagines.
For now, though, he shifts to curl into Danta all the same, arms winding around him and one hand lifted to run through sunkissed gold, simply taking in the shared heat, the familiar scent, and using each and every one of those grounding feelings to piece him back together.
// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //
