hold me tight or don't

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

Content to have Danta’s lips wherever the blonde deems them necessary, Astaroth relaxes tenfold compared to how he had been. As their lips meet, he presses into it, amongst all the chaos and mess between them, caring far little for it while they lay there. He finds that he could sleep there, too, passed out amongst the dune grasses and the pale bones from the carcass left behind, tiny green feathers sticking to ruined fine clothing.

But Danta sits up and the butchers arms sluggishly lift to pull himself up as well, and it says a lot to the relaxation and the chaos brimming its under current through the taller Ancient that he clears his throat while Danta tries to smooth out wrinkles and brush his hair back again. “Don’t worry about it. I will purchase a new set.” He glances down to the bloodstained sleeve beneath the blonde’s fingertips.

Heaving a soft sigh, Astaroth noses his way in to press a return kiss to the Maverick’s now messy cheek before he moves to stand, offering his hand to help him up. “I am sure that will go wonderfully.” He says on a heave of another sigh before he shakes his head a little. “Do you think I should send her a letter when things smooth out?” He asks, a soft frown forming on his face.

Astaroth

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