// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //
Oh but he does, because he knows he won’t be alone with the terrible taste on his tongue the second he downs it and surges up to press the kiss to Danta’s lips – proving the point that the sedative really needs something sweet and flavorful to balance out the herbal bitterness that he wishes he could sleep without just because it tasted so terrible. But the Maverick doesn’t withdraw immediately and for that the butcher is grateful, flashing a too sharp smile that doesn’t come close to the usual haughty grin he’d put on display. “Was it?” Comes the butcher’s bratty response, clearly unfettered by the idea of it.
He does concede, though, as Danta peels away and Astaroth straightens out to stand – shorter than before and without the swaying tail behind him, He looks normal as he approaches the bed with the blanket like a little cape – the scars on his chest reflecting shadowed firelight as he climbs onto the bed, hovering momentarily in front of Danta for him to place the muzzle but it serves as a perfect position for the blonde to get a perfect view of the butcher from before he’d been saved by Dygra. Hair ruffled and beard neatly kept, dark eyes framed by the dark hair and nothing more. "I think you could've carried me. You're stronger than me, y'know." He drawls softly into the other Ancient's space.
The second Danta goes to slip the muzzle into place and buckle it, he’s leaning into the touch as if the sedative has started to take the rest of his inhibitions away that his panic attack hadn’t thus far. And it’s proof even more so that the Theocrat is a comfort for him, one of the fair few that can get away with these touches, this affection, as if he’s finally learnt to accept it, to enjoy it.
He does concede, though, as Danta peels away and Astaroth straightens out to stand – shorter than before and without the swaying tail behind him, He looks normal as he approaches the bed with the blanket like a little cape – the scars on his chest reflecting shadowed firelight as he climbs onto the bed, hovering momentarily in front of Danta for him to place the muzzle but it serves as a perfect position for the blonde to get a perfect view of the butcher from before he’d been saved by Dygra. Hair ruffled and beard neatly kept, dark eyes framed by the dark hair and nothing more. "I think you could've carried me. You're stronger than me, y'know." He drawls softly into the other Ancient's space.
The second Danta goes to slip the muzzle into place and buckle it, he’s leaning into the touch as if the sedative has started to take the rest of his inhibitions away that his panic attack hadn’t thus far. And it’s proof even more so that the Theocrat is a comfort for him, one of the fair few that can get away with these touches, this affection, as if he’s finally learnt to accept it, to enjoy it.
Astaroth
// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //
