// you've got a passion in those eyes //
Just say it's a bear, Danta almost wills the other man. Say it's a bear, or an elk, or some other void-fucked creature out on the bridges. But no, of course that isn't the case, and as Asta's words - she followed me - drip from his lips, gods damn it but the Maverick almost wants to scream in frustration. It's a miracle that his hands stay as gentle as they do on the butcher's abused skin as Asta explains in full (at least, Danta thinks it's a full explanation, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him or anyone else).
And in fairness, it feels like a standard fight, albeit one that should never have happened, until they reach the crux of the issue. "She what?" He scowls, his fingers dancing up to slip through the other man's dark hair, to carefully tilt his head up until he can look at him properly. For a moment the Maverick is stock still but for the agitated lashing of his tail, like a porcelain statue set to shatter at any moment.
In years past, gods but he'd have relished breaking away from the comfort of this room and throwing himself on the wing to hunt. It had been the closest thing to freedom for Danta, a man constantly bound and put to heel; and with that freedom came the sating of his bloodlust, came an end to his hunger and a brief wave of peace in a life fraught with pain and uncertainty.
But fuck, it isn't his fight.
Letting out a long breath he hasn't realised he's been holding, it's with uncharacteristic restraint that he speaks, a thumb grazing across Asta's cheek. "Is there anything you want me to do about this?" he asks. Say the word. "Anything you need?"
And in fairness, it feels like a standard fight, albeit one that should never have happened, until they reach the crux of the issue. "She what?" He scowls, his fingers dancing up to slip through the other man's dark hair, to carefully tilt his head up until he can look at him properly. For a moment the Maverick is stock still but for the agitated lashing of his tail, like a porcelain statue set to shatter at any moment.
In years past, gods but he'd have relished breaking away from the comfort of this room and throwing himself on the wing to hunt. It had been the closest thing to freedom for Danta, a man constantly bound and put to heel; and with that freedom came the sating of his bloodlust, came an end to his hunger and a brief wave of peace in a life fraught with pain and uncertainty.
But fuck, it isn't his fight.
Letting out a long breath he hasn't realised he's been holding, it's with uncharacteristic restraint that he speaks, a thumb grazing across Asta's cheek. "Is there anything you want me to do about this?" he asks. Say the word. "Anything you need?"
Dantalion
// so aim it straight and true //
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
