// smile like you mean it //
Color him entirely intrigued with the look Flora harbors, especially as her hands smooth up against his chest and she stands in a very swift movement, giving him quite a good look at her legs as she does so (though he’s starting to think she’s doing that on purpose, he’s slowly starting to figure it out), he does help her where he can to let her stand and drift back toward the bags, and the butcher leans back on an arm to keep his back from being so hunched.
Watching with honey dark eyes as she refills their glasses and returns with a jar of something, focusing between it and her face as she properly straddles him and a ghost of surprise blinks into his eyes for a moment before it’s gone. “What might that be?” If it wasn’t sunscreen (something of which Astaroth seems quite unlikely to wear in the first place), what may have prompted her to bring whatever this was? Her warning is met with a snort and a raise of his dark brow before he gives into her request with an incline of his head. “I vow to keep quiet.”
Any other thoughts on it die immediately as he smells it — the warmth of the ingredients quite soothing all things considered, and Astaroth sits up a little straighter toward her as her hands find his scars again, as the warm scent wrapped around the balm, the small section she starts with has his gaze focused wholly on her despite the path her hand takes. “I had not figured they would.” Fade completely. After all, they’d baked in the heat in an attempt to heal after being ripped open again and again.
But then — gods, he’s forgotten how strong she is, like she didn’t save his ass against that shitty tree when it decided to smack him around — her thumb presses in against one of the gnarled, hardened scars and his nostrils flare with the sharp exhale (somewhat relieved despite the pain of it), that he can’t help but to pant a soft exhale to the ease of which she presses against those hardened scars. “You truly do think of everything, Flora, darling.” He practically purrs, breath hitching each time she presses against a particularly hard scar.
Watching with honey dark eyes as she refills their glasses and returns with a jar of something, focusing between it and her face as she properly straddles him and a ghost of surprise blinks into his eyes for a moment before it’s gone. “What might that be?” If it wasn’t sunscreen (something of which Astaroth seems quite unlikely to wear in the first place), what may have prompted her to bring whatever this was? Her warning is met with a snort and a raise of his dark brow before he gives into her request with an incline of his head. “I vow to keep quiet.”
Any other thoughts on it die immediately as he smells it — the warmth of the ingredients quite soothing all things considered, and Astaroth sits up a little straighter toward her as her hands find his scars again, as the warm scent wrapped around the balm, the small section she starts with has his gaze focused wholly on her despite the path her hand takes. “I had not figured they would.” Fade completely. After all, they’d baked in the heat in an attempt to heal after being ripped open again and again.
But then — gods, he’s forgotten how strong she is, like she didn’t save his ass against that shitty tree when it decided to smack him around — her thumb presses in against one of the gnarled, hardened scars and his nostrils flare with the sharp exhale (somewhat relieved despite the pain of it), that he can’t help but to pant a soft exhale to the ease of which she presses against those hardened scars. “You truly do think of everything, Flora, darling.” He practically purrs, breath hitching each time she presses against a particularly hard scar.
Astaroth
// take a chance and you could seize it //
