so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free
i can give you what you crave, just not for free
He doesn’t expect Danta to reach out, despite having quite literally asked for this. It was in a heated moment, one made up of guilt that hasn’t shifted or changed, and it makes for a restless sleep despite the other man’s arms around him that he keeps pressed tightly to him, to the face buried in his dark hair, the lips that thrum against his pulse.
He does sleep, a dreamless sleep, only to wake when he can hear the Dusklight begin to rise from its quiet moments from the early morning. Danta, still asleep, has Astaroth slowly peeling out of the other man’s arms and out from the blankets, silently and carefully snagging the bag that he’d left there, slipping out the clothes he’d arrived in Torchline wearing — rumpled and wrinkled, he slips away to the confines of his room. Giving Danta the space he needs, that he deserves, rather than putting up with him in the morning too.
Slinking into his room, he leaves it unlocked — not thinking about it as he changes out of the clothes he’d worn to simply get here ungawked at, into a nicely pressed scarlet shirt and a nice pair of pants, sinking into the chair at the table in the back with a letter and a package addressed to him, from Flora, which at the very least sparks some amount of relief for the butcher.
He does sleep, a dreamless sleep, only to wake when he can hear the Dusklight begin to rise from its quiet moments from the early morning. Danta, still asleep, has Astaroth slowly peeling out of the other man’s arms and out from the blankets, silently and carefully snagging the bag that he’d left there, slipping out the clothes he’d arrived in Torchline wearing — rumpled and wrinkled, he slips away to the confines of his room. Giving Danta the space he needs, that he deserves, rather than putting up with him in the morning too.
Slinking into his room, he leaves it unlocked — not thinking about it as he changes out of the clothes he’d worn to simply get here ungawked at, into a nicely pressed scarlet shirt and a nice pair of pants, sinking into the chair at the table in the back with a letter and a package addressed to him, from Flora, which at the very least sparks some amount of relief for the butcher.
Astaroth
you know what's on the line
