// with our one foot in the grave //
Smirking with a sharper fang already sticking out despite the already too sharp teeth, the butcher chuckles low. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” He teases, knowing full well it was lie number two. But, withdrawing with the answer already announced by the way that Danta starts to shed his shirt, Astaroth isn’t shy about the way his dark gaze roves over the pale skin.
Gladly taking the shirt as it’s shoved against his chest, he withdraws from pinning Danta in against the tree to give him an opening to slip out, and for him to find a place to put the reward. “Ah so I do have luck.” A brow bounces playfully as he packs away the shirt and sparks fire from his fingertips, letting it curl around Danta’s middle and up his spine in a warm embrace. “I would keep you warm, you know.” He drawls a touch haughtily, glancing back to the painted boulders that look like apples that mark the entrance of the orchard.
Gladly taking the shirt as it’s shoved against his chest, he withdraws from pinning Danta in against the tree to give him an opening to slip out, and for him to find a place to put the reward. “Ah so I do have luck.” A brow bounces playfully as he packs away the shirt and sparks fire from his fingertips, letting it curl around Danta’s middle and up his spine in a warm embrace. “I would keep you warm, you know.” He drawls a touch haughtily, glancing back to the painted boulders that look like apples that mark the entrance of the orchard.
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
