[SE] or christ, hold me like a knife

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

"I wouldn't want you to spoil your reputation entirely," Danta purrs back to Astaroth. Gentleman monster has such a lovely ring to it, and whilst the balance might skew one way or another these days, it doesn't change the whole. "And I love it when you say please," he adds with a dark and mischievous glitter in his eyes. Of course the Maverick stubbornly stays put, too, as the other man approaches to test the temperature, putting Asta's sharp teeth very close indeed to his jugular, before he settles into the water.

"Promises, promises," he teases, still perched at the side of the tub and reaching out to plunge a fiery hand into the water so it hisses and bubbles, raising the temperature to something an Ancient is much more likely to enjoy. "I'll take a bruise from you and wear it with pride - if you can put one on me." The banter is easy, and it almost makes Danta ache with the knowledge that it comes on the heels of something arguably as painful as what put the marks on the butcher's body.

Perhaps that explains why his hand emerges from the hot water so he might brush his fingers gently across Asta's cheek. "It's going to be okay," he says suddenly, the words a surprise on his own tongue. "I should have said it yesterday, I know. But... it is, one way or another."

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //