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
Somehow, he thinks talking in the presence tense would’ve made it worse. So much so, that the mere idea of it has his nose wrinkling as he glares stubbornly at the ceiling, like somehow it could right all the wrongs in the past – even if they didn’t feel entirely like wrongs. Because he wasn’t Ferox anymore. He was Astaroth. He was what they made him. They utilized his particular set of skills and forced him to follow suit. And he had.
And he was grateful for it.
He settles as Danta returns pressed up against his side, though where Danta’s head presses in against the crook of his neck, the Theocrat will feel the rabbiting pulse of his heartbeat, thundering hard against his neck. “It was fair, I guess.” Astaroth rumbles out, voice in that awkward in between. “Mighty Ferox doesn’t have the same kind of ring to it, does it?” He admits, before his sharp teeth start to gnaw at his lower lip, pricking it and drawing blood and paying it little mind. “And besides, I was nothing but a herding dog and a man too grateful for the second chance to care about the dirty work I was given.” I learned to enjoy it because it was the only joy I could get, and I was good at it.
It was dirty work that often involved fucking with the man currently pressed against him, a fact that has him closing his eyes, head tilting away from where Danta presses in his face, exposing more of his neck and the side of his cheek as his hand spreads around the middle of the other man’s back, fingers twitching as he then begins to trace old scars - scars that he had given him, knowing precisely where each and every one of them were.
And he was grateful for it.
He settles as Danta returns pressed up against his side, though where Danta’s head presses in against the crook of his neck, the Theocrat will feel the rabbiting pulse of his heartbeat, thundering hard against his neck. “It was fair, I guess.” Astaroth rumbles out, voice in that awkward in between. “Mighty Ferox doesn’t have the same kind of ring to it, does it?” He admits, before his sharp teeth start to gnaw at his lower lip, pricking it and drawing blood and paying it little mind. “And besides, I was nothing but a herding dog and a man too grateful for the second chance to care about the dirty work I was given.” I learned to enjoy it because it was the only joy I could get, and I was good at it.
It was dirty work that often involved fucking with the man currently pressed against him, a fact that has him closing his eyes, head tilting away from where Danta presses in his face, exposing more of his neck and the side of his cheek as his hand spreads around the middle of the other man’s back, fingers twitching as he then begins to trace old scars - scars that he had given him, knowing precisely where each and every one of them were.
Astaroth
i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////
