// with our one foot in the grave //
“Please give it a negative five, would you?” Astaroth rumbles as he momentarily fights with the blanket to settle in comfortably while Danta gets the room ready. It’s a certain kindness that Astaroth is too drunk and sore to think about, when the Maverick leaves the window open to watch the lightning strikes now that the sun has set, and with the sconces darkened, the only light comes from the flickering and roaring flames and the cracks of lightning outside.
He doesn’t fall asleep immediately upon feeling the softness of the bed and getting comfortable – because it’s only a superficial comfort when he wants nothing more than to sit on that ledge with the Maverick and have him hold him just as before. It’s unrealistic, and he doesn’t even know why he’s craving it so much all of a sudden, but it is put to rest when he feels the weight of Danta joining him on the bed. He wants to respond to the comment of knowing when it would work, when nothing manages to pass by his lips except for a “mm, thank you darling,” that escapes his lips the second Danta’s wrapped around him.
And just like that, despite the careful attempts Danta makes with not applying too much pressure while he’s awake, the butcher promptly passes the fuck out. A fact that Danta would be able to feel so intensely with how much tension suddenly drops from the taller ancient’s body. He’s essentially deadweight, maneuvered however Danta chooses, passed out to the point that Danta does have the time if he has the will to fully inspect each and every bruise without a single sleepy complaint from the butcher, lulled into his reparative sleep by the fire, the lightning, and the warm arms that embrace him.
He doesn’t fall asleep immediately upon feeling the softness of the bed and getting comfortable – because it’s only a superficial comfort when he wants nothing more than to sit on that ledge with the Maverick and have him hold him just as before. It’s unrealistic, and he doesn’t even know why he’s craving it so much all of a sudden, but it is put to rest when he feels the weight of Danta joining him on the bed. He wants to respond to the comment of knowing when it would work, when nothing manages to pass by his lips except for a “mm, thank you darling,” that escapes his lips the second Danta’s wrapped around him.
And just like that, despite the careful attempts Danta makes with not applying too much pressure while he’s awake, the butcher promptly passes the fuck out. A fact that Danta would be able to feel so intensely with how much tension suddenly drops from the taller ancient’s body. He’s essentially deadweight, maneuvered however Danta chooses, passed out to the point that Danta does have the time if he has the will to fully inspect each and every bruise without a single sleepy complaint from the butcher, lulled into his reparative sleep by the fire, the lightning, and the warm arms that embrace him.
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
