// we haven't won, and if we win, //
“Towels. Danta.” He reiterates, flashing a smirk over his shoulder briefly before he notices the Maverick has sunk down to rummage in his bag and Astaroth steps forward toward the edge, letting the crimson mist caress him, letting the iron invade his senses, letting it soak through each and every portion of him that seems out of sorts so that it might be the glue to piece him back together.
And it works, even as he feels the warmth of Danta’s approach, too far focused on the blood falling from the waterfall and the press of the Maverick’s warm body behind him, he’s entirely distracted enough that he doesn’t notice the mothman scales leave his pocket. What he does notice, is the man’s chin resting over his shoulder, a momentary second that has him tilting his head in against the blonde, soaking in his scent amongst the blood and relaxing all the more for it, even as he’s handed the canteen and his tail is tugged.
Which, results in the quick whip of it as it zips through the air with a zwing sound in the hopes of smacking Danta on his departure, only to fail. “I did. I did not realize how much I missed it.”
And rather than wait to get into the water, the butcher watches as he goes to collect the canteen of blood from the edge, turning instead to set his bag down and strip down, folding his clothes nicely beside it before he collects the canteen once more and promptly dives right in, settling in deep enough that the water laps against his scarred chest, he holds the canteen below the surface until the air bubbles have left, cradling it close before capping it off.
And it works, even as he feels the warmth of Danta’s approach, too far focused on the blood falling from the waterfall and the press of the Maverick’s warm body behind him, he’s entirely distracted enough that he doesn’t notice the mothman scales leave his pocket. What he does notice, is the man’s chin resting over his shoulder, a momentary second that has him tilting his head in against the blonde, soaking in his scent amongst the blood and relaxing all the more for it, even as he’s handed the canteen and his tail is tugged.
Which, results in the quick whip of it as it zips through the air with a zwing sound in the hopes of smacking Danta on his departure, only to fail. “I did. I did not realize how much I missed it.”
And rather than wait to get into the water, the butcher watches as he goes to collect the canteen of blood from the edge, turning instead to set his bag down and strip down, folding his clothes nicely beside it before he collects the canteen once more and promptly dives right in, settling in deep enough that the water laps against his scarred chest, he holds the canteen below the surface until the air bubbles have left, cradling it close before capping it off.
Astaroth
// and if the morning light sets in, we've cheated fate again //
