// with our one foot in the grave //
Humming a note of agreement, Astaroth’s dark gaze lingers in the flickering fire as Danta’s fingers dance along his ribs. They have been civilized. Astaroth has been trying to run this delicate balance of not being too much while simultaneously trying to learn about all the changes that have occurred in his centuries of sleep. For now, though, he thinks he’s got enough of a handle on it to delve in, point all of his attention into training and strengthening the weaknesses sustained in centuries of stone.
As for speaking to her, the butcher’s nose wrinkles slightly and he closes his eyes, soothed only by the fact that any action would be his own. Perhaps the Theocrat will simply be giving a warning. But he concedes, hand dropping to rest along an arm that winds around him, until warm lips press up against his bearded jaw, and Astaroth feels an awkward mixture of who he was and who he’s been surge to clash within him.
Maybe both have a place in the hollow cathedral that makes up his body. Maybe it’s worth a try to find out.
He twists in Danta’s embrace, tail uncurling from the other man to help him face him, though there isn’t any scanning of the Maverick’s face, only a bullied push into pressing the blonde’s back into the mantle, completely invading what space was there to steal a real kiss, something greedy and demanding within it before he breaks it before it can become too close to feeling like it’s desperate.
“If I say please, mm?” Comes the same drawl, pulling away from Danta back toward breakfast, suddenly quite starved. He plucks a piece of bacon from the tray and begins to devour it, sharp teeth making little work of tearing the bites off. “I should like to take another bath, first, to soothe my muscles.” But here is when he does look at Danta more fully, dark eyes harboring more of the Butcher and less of the reawakened Astaroth, but a glimpse in them is conveyed well enough. Would you like to join me?
As for speaking to her, the butcher’s nose wrinkles slightly and he closes his eyes, soothed only by the fact that any action would be his own. Perhaps the Theocrat will simply be giving a warning. But he concedes, hand dropping to rest along an arm that winds around him, until warm lips press up against his bearded jaw, and Astaroth feels an awkward mixture of who he was and who he’s been surge to clash within him.
Maybe both have a place in the hollow cathedral that makes up his body. Maybe it’s worth a try to find out.
He twists in Danta’s embrace, tail uncurling from the other man to help him face him, though there isn’t any scanning of the Maverick’s face, only a bullied push into pressing the blonde’s back into the mantle, completely invading what space was there to steal a real kiss, something greedy and demanding within it before he breaks it before it can become too close to feeling like it’s desperate.
“If I say please, mm?” Comes the same drawl, pulling away from Danta back toward breakfast, suddenly quite starved. He plucks a piece of bacon from the tray and begins to devour it, sharp teeth making little work of tearing the bites off. “I should like to take another bath, first, to soothe my muscles.” But here is when he does look at Danta more fully, dark eyes harboring more of the Butcher and less of the reawakened Astaroth, but a glimpse in them is conveyed well enough. Would you like to join me?
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
