[SE] or christ, hold me like a knife

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"Only the best for you. I know you're used to your mansions," Danta teases, grinning and clicking the door shut behind them, making sure to lock it securely, by which time Asta is already bringing the fire higher. "I've got it," he assures the other man, rubbing his hands together and extending his magic towards the crackling flames. He isn't exhausted and in gods know what kind of a state, after all, and the fire responds to his energy and manipulation, popping and roaring its way to a very merry blaze.

"Mm...? Oh," he says, smirking over his shoulder to see the butcher all but go to worship the bathtub. It's only once he's content with the fireplace and turning to glance at the rest of the room properly that he zeroes in on the colourful patchwork of bruises that span Asta's upper body, the Maverick instantly seeming to ripple with shock and tension. "Asta, what the fuck," he hisses, immediately sweeping across the room to stand before the other man.

"You never said it was this bad," he scolds, swatting the butcher's hands away so he can deal with belt and buttons, reaching out to softly tilt Asta's chin up to meet his eyes. "Who?" he wants to know.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //