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
Between the two of them, Astaroth’s body may be lean and spidery with his height and thin frame, but it’s Danta’s hand that springs open like a trap, capturing his jaw and clamping it shut as it does draw that dark gaze toward cool responsible blues. A dark brow lifts at the first statement, a mumbled “as would I have,” passing his lips before he waits with surprising patience to hear the but that’s coming.
His hands smooth out from their possessive, bruising grip, smoothing up his sides in slow languid strokes. “When did you become so wise?” He teases in a rough tone once the blonde’s grip softens, and he focuses his attention elsewhere. Notably, the glass of whiskey. Filling it up a little he takes a sip, downing enough of it to leave the last bit for the Maverick before he hums his agreement.
“Fine, fine.” He drawls with a playful roll of his eyes, arms winding around Danta’s middle to keep him close, waiting until he’s put the tray back before he tries to nestle them back into the blankets.
His hands smooth out from their possessive, bruising grip, smoothing up his sides in slow languid strokes. “When did you become so wise?” He teases in a rough tone once the blonde’s grip softens, and he focuses his attention elsewhere. Notably, the glass of whiskey. Filling it up a little he takes a sip, downing enough of it to leave the last bit for the Maverick before he hums his agreement.
“Fine, fine.” He drawls with a playful roll of his eyes, arms winding around Danta’s middle to keep him close, waiting until he’s put the tray back before he tries to nestle them back into the blankets.
Astaroth
i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////
