reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
“Keep that key to my room, I suppose.” He answers with a soft snort, because he certainly wasn’t about to go wander around the Dusklight like this, not if he could help it at all. As Danta had found out, it’s part of the whole vibe he gives off, and it was a powerful thing.
Dark eyes linger on the blonde’s face, even as he can feel those warm fingers trace the wisps of yellow bruising poking out and Astaroth takes a moment to pause to hit the tobacco pipe one more time, giving him the option to decide whether or not they relieve some of this tension within him.
Humming a note with a curl of smoke, the butcher flashes the Maverick a sharp toothed grin. “It is so.” It comes out a touch haughtily, because of the plan running through his head, one that’s already at least half dashed away as Danta says he won’t fight him. But his dark eyes continue to watch for any shift in the Maverick’s face for the second option, sparking a twitch of a smirk to bloom on the corners.
He withdraws his hand from Danta’s hip, though it slides and caresses along the other Ancient’s lower back, before he downs the rest of the whiskey in the glass and snuffs out the pipe, leaning into the wandering touch at his chest, before those hands unbutton the next two buttons of the white shirt, down to the vest he thinks Danta might prefer to deal with himself. Either way, the more revealed his chest is, the more it’s become only green and yellows rather than the stark blues and purples. Obviously the rest he’s been getting has been working.
But because the butcher is the butcher and he is stubborn, a snort escapes him as he pins Danta with a gleam of mischief, (because honestly he’ll do anything right now to make him feel better, even if it hurts himself in the process). “I would not have offered, darling, if I did not think myself capable of it.” He drawls stubbornly, rolling his eyes for added effort. A kind of silent way to say; Come on, play with me.
Dark eyes linger on the blonde’s face, even as he can feel those warm fingers trace the wisps of yellow bruising poking out and Astaroth takes a moment to pause to hit the tobacco pipe one more time, giving him the option to decide whether or not they relieve some of this tension within him.
Humming a note with a curl of smoke, the butcher flashes the Maverick a sharp toothed grin. “It is so.” It comes out a touch haughtily, because of the plan running through his head, one that’s already at least half dashed away as Danta says he won’t fight him. But his dark eyes continue to watch for any shift in the Maverick’s face for the second option, sparking a twitch of a smirk to bloom on the corners.
He withdraws his hand from Danta’s hip, though it slides and caresses along the other Ancient’s lower back, before he downs the rest of the whiskey in the glass and snuffs out the pipe, leaning into the wandering touch at his chest, before those hands unbutton the next two buttons of the white shirt, down to the vest he thinks Danta might prefer to deal with himself. Either way, the more revealed his chest is, the more it’s become only green and yellows rather than the stark blues and purples. Obviously the rest he’s been getting has been working.
But because the butcher is the butcher and he is stubborn, a snort escapes him as he pins Danta with a gleam of mischief, (because honestly he’ll do anything right now to make him feel better, even if it hurts himself in the process). “I would not have offered, darling, if I did not think myself capable of it.” He drawls stubbornly, rolling his eyes for added effort. A kind of silent way to say; Come on, play with me.
Astaroth
i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////
