// with our one foot in the grave //
If only it were a bear or an elk or a void creature, he might feel less bad about all of it. There’d be less of the sorrow and angst, more anger and ruthlessness. But no, as he explains and he feels the tension thrumming through the Maverick, Astaroth feels all the more slimy for it. It doesn’t stop him from not looking up at him when guided by gentle fingers, chin tilted up until his dark gaze lands on a murderously calm face and a certain kind of cold that isn’t temperature related.
A more rational part of Astaroth can understand why and can perhaps pick it apart later — the similarities between this exchange and the one the blonde knew all too well with Morax, and it sparks the muscles of his jaw to feather as he murmurs a muffled “mhm, yeah.” His fingers tighten again in the back of Danta’s shirt before they widen and open up, warm palms spreading across the other man’s spine as he subconsciously takes apart his own feelings and focuses wholly on the blonde’s own.
He doesn’t expect the relief that floods through him to hear the long breath, to feel that Danta isn’t just going to leave him alone to enact vengeance on his end. A shuddering blink betrays him as the other Ancient’s thumb grazes his cheek, his emotions so at odds with one another that one of his hands slips around in front of him, snaking up to cup Danta’s jaw in turn, offering him a small, sharp toothed smile in an attempt to reassure him (but it’s a look that Danta would see right through immediately).
Luckily, Astaroth already knows this, so when he shakes his head it’s with an explanation on the tip of it. “Not right now.” In terms of Danta doing anything about it. “I still feel.. terrible about all of it. I feel even worse that I have to run to you to fight my battles.” The smile fades to a tight line as he exhales a sigh, closing his eyes and tilting his head into the blonde’s hand while his own curls into the hair at the nape of Danta’s neck.
“The only thing I want is to enjoy the meal and the wine.” Pretend like everything is normal, like his body isn’t just a walking kaleidoscope of bruises. And selfishly, “and I want you to stay…” He pauses briefly to take a slow and short breath. “Stay with me” Hold me.
A more rational part of Astaroth can understand why and can perhaps pick it apart later — the similarities between this exchange and the one the blonde knew all too well with Morax, and it sparks the muscles of his jaw to feather as he murmurs a muffled “mhm, yeah.” His fingers tighten again in the back of Danta’s shirt before they widen and open up, warm palms spreading across the other man’s spine as he subconsciously takes apart his own feelings and focuses wholly on the blonde’s own.
He doesn’t expect the relief that floods through him to hear the long breath, to feel that Danta isn’t just going to leave him alone to enact vengeance on his end. A shuddering blink betrays him as the other Ancient’s thumb grazes his cheek, his emotions so at odds with one another that one of his hands slips around in front of him, snaking up to cup Danta’s jaw in turn, offering him a small, sharp toothed smile in an attempt to reassure him (but it’s a look that Danta would see right through immediately).
Luckily, Astaroth already knows this, so when he shakes his head it’s with an explanation on the tip of it. “Not right now.” In terms of Danta doing anything about it. “I still feel.. terrible about all of it. I feel even worse that I have to run to you to fight my battles.” The smile fades to a tight line as he exhales a sigh, closing his eyes and tilting his head into the blonde’s hand while his own curls into the hair at the nape of Danta’s neck.
“The only thing I want is to enjoy the meal and the wine.” Pretend like everything is normal, like his body isn’t just a walking kaleidoscope of bruises. And selfishly, “and I want you to stay…” He pauses briefly to take a slow and short breath. “Stay with me” Hold me.
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
