// with our one foot in the grave //
“You had better.” Astaroth rumbles with a snort and a playful bounce of his brows as Danta tugs on a black pronged horn. His head adjusts with it slightly and his grin shifts brighter at the admission that nothing could be quite like him. Whether it was flattering or Danta’s skills weren’t as good as the butcher assumes, he doesn’t care. He chooses to believe (and soon be proven wrong) that the other man’s arts and crafts abilities were in a league above the rest.
That grin remains when Danta sits up, the fire he’d caressed around his head reflects in the dark honey of his eyes, a devilish halo that now laps at the rainbow edges of each of the Theocrat’s pronged horns. A coy look suddenly has his head tilting despite the grin that remains. “You have yourself a deal, darling.” He drawls, coaxing the fire down toward the blonde’s lips in a kiss of flame, releasing him to collect whatever items he needed to collect.
And his clothes, because he’ll certainly need those to leave this room eventually.
That grin remains when Danta sits up, the fire he’d caressed around his head reflects in the dark honey of his eyes, a devilish halo that now laps at the rainbow edges of each of the Theocrat’s pronged horns. A coy look suddenly has his head tilting despite the grin that remains. “You have yourself a deal, darling.” He drawls, coaxing the fire down toward the blonde’s lips in a kiss of flame, releasing him to collect whatever items he needed to collect.
And his clothes, because he’ll certainly need those to leave this room eventually.
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
