hold you to the light, let you shine

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," Danta boasts - that his sense of decency is not at ground level, he means, and he smiles smugly against the butcher's neck. His kisses dissolve into decadent rumbles of pleasure to feel the other man's hands smooth along his sides, and were it not for their continued plans or how cold the ground is likely to get once the blood soaks into it and cools, he'd find it very difficult to resist the draw of sleep. "Mm? Do tell," he mumbles, all ears for their potential options as he noses further against the crook of Asta's neck and beneath the collar of his shirt.

Gods, I really do fucking love you.

He doesn't say it, doesn't dare to or need to, but the fingers stroking through dark hair do clutch him a fraction closer, even as the rest of him relaxes bonelessly against Asta's affections. "Let's go to the tailor. I don't need anything, but I could happily spend time staring at you," he decides. "Maybe we can persuade them to bring tea, and then we've done two things."

Dantalion