laps up the vice like a wolf in the night

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Huffing out a sigh heavy enough that it feels as though he's been holding his breath all this time, the comfortable dead weight of the other man against him is almost enough on its own to have Danta succumbing to the comfort of some much needed sleep. His tail bats contentedly across the sheets, sweeping in occasional arcs to brush up against the butcher's side, and whilst his arms wind securely around Asta, his fingers still can't help but play through his dark hair, occasionally straying to his horns as if to map the curves and sharp points of the tines.

"Good," he says about Flora being alright, and he means it not only in a political sense. "I'll still be sending her a letter. I feel as though I owe her for what happened with the wicker woman just as much as you do. Hopefully I'll not need a follow-up date with Frey as a mediator." Unable not to smirk at that, he raises his eyebrows down at Asta. "If she wants to save channelling a literal deity for other matters, though, I would be more than happy to keep you in line."

And he'd laugh about it, were it not for the buthcer's continued words, Danta nosing into his hair and pressing a kiss against his crown. "Good on her for being resourceful," he mumbles, and just in case Asta believes he's teasing, Danta squeezes him closer for a moment. "You have never claimed to be anything but what you are," he whispers back. "She's healed, and you did come back to yourself."

Dantalion