you tell me it feels a little colder

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"I didn't want to insult you by assuming you'd want to be carried," Danta sasses tells Asta, his smile as sharp as his words are sweet. Turning as the other man climbs onto the bed, he twists to properly face him so he can slip the muzzle over his nose and mouth.

But of course, before doing just that, the Maverick takes full advantage of the last time he'll be able to kiss the other man this evening, leaning in to press his lips warmly against Asta's. His affection is soft and slow, almost tender compared to what might others might expect from him, and only once he's certain he'll be able to last the whole night without more of it does Danta draw back again.

"You ought to be careful - I could get used to this look," he chastises with a playful smile, meaning of course the lack of obsidian horns for him to catch his fingers on as he clasps the muzzle. It really is a beautiful piece of metalwork, Danta carefully setting each piece in place and ensuring the butcher is comfortable before sitting back, smoothing his dark hair back out of his eyes. "There. Beautiful."

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //