hold me tight or don't

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

It had only been a few weeks since then, hadn’t it? It feels like months, with the pace of how everything had gone, the trajectory of how their relationship had its ups and downs, and in spite of the consequences of just hours before, the butcher finds that so many things just make sense. The relaxation of the Maverick in his lap, the way his arms tighten around him, the way he clings.

Even the joke doesn’t receive a reaction other than the dull thud of his heartbeat, the slight tightening of his arms. He blinks and tries to focus when the hand touches his cheek and he leans into it belatedly, to the kiss that follows in his dark hair. Perhaps it’s the last statement that Danta makes that allows him to relax, because air escapes his lungs in a slow sigh, nodding as his posture slumps even more, like adrenaline and tension had warred to keep his back straight.

“Let’s be better prepared next time, yes?” He asks, tilting his head back to nose his way into pressing his forehead against Danta’s, like he’s making a quiet vow between them even as the wrinkles around his eyes darken with a quiet worry. “I wanted it to be a surprise, but, I have also commissioned a new kind of muzzle.” To sleep beside you so I don’t tear your throat out.

Astaroth

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