hold me tight or don't

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

Some becomes many, and the butcher finally loosens a breath as he reaches the landing their room is on. Giving Danta’s hand a squeeze and exhaling a breath that smells far more like whiskey than smoke at the moment, he’s content to let the Maverick fumble with locks until he finds their door.

It’s an immediate invasion of senses as Danta’s hand slips from his, the blonde bathed in streams of moonlight that have him captivated with the way it shines off of diamond horns, the way it turns the usual gold of his hair into a pale white. He finds himself staring a touch too long, silent, awkwardly — suddenly wanting to fill the space with words.

Before he can get his drunk mind to figure anything out, Danta’s pressing against him. Words turn into a sigh of relief as he gives in, the hands in his hair causing him to stutter in a breath, having to consciously think about not pressing so hard into the kiss that his teeth don’t break skin. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even think to. Arms wrap around Danta as he walks him back, pausing in a drop of moonlight, breaking the kiss when he’s sure he can see stars. Panting and pressing his forehead against Danta’s, Astaroth tries to take a deep breath. “This is not how I anticipated tonight going.”

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //