so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free
i can give you what you crave, just not for free
Oh the butcher knows all too well that Danta is serious about the matter – so for his luck, he’d evidently picked the correct option this time. Because the scene is set and the butcher’s voice dances along the pages, outlining the words from the page, pausing wherever needed for emphasis, interjecting with the lower tones and higher tones of his accented voice to spur the tale on. He’s so focused in his task, that is, that the hand that strokes Danta’s jaw is soft and distracted, the spaded tail completely inert after a few moments where it rests against the other man’s collarbone, and only when he hears and feels the vibration of the light snoring does Astaroth pause to lift his attention up from the book to glance at the blonde.
He's stunned for a moment by the simplicity of it – the comfort with it – the way that the sun draws warmth through the sand that radiates from both of their bodies, the way that Danta clutches his tail gently in his sleep, the way he looks so peaceful (and dare he think happy?) that he can’t help the light smile that glimmers on his face at the sight, thumb stroking his jaw once more before withdrawing enough to try and shift as much so as to not bother Danta, but enough to partially curl up against him – letting the book sit on the sand after he’d dog eared the page they were at.
He props up his head with one hand, simply watching the Maverick’s rest with the roar of the ocean and the far away cries from Hels down the beach, the scent of sage and citrus and salt filling his nose with a comfort he didn’t know he could feel without the attempts at inebriation or being so panicked out of his mind that he’d cling to whatever felt safe. And so he settles like that, until his own lids grow a touch heavy and he starts to be lulled into a very light slumber alongside the Maverick.
He's stunned for a moment by the simplicity of it – the comfort with it – the way that the sun draws warmth through the sand that radiates from both of their bodies, the way that Danta clutches his tail gently in his sleep, the way he looks so peaceful (and dare he think happy?) that he can’t help the light smile that glimmers on his face at the sight, thumb stroking his jaw once more before withdrawing enough to try and shift as much so as to not bother Danta, but enough to partially curl up against him – letting the book sit on the sand after he’d dog eared the page they were at.
He props up his head with one hand, simply watching the Maverick’s rest with the roar of the ocean and the far away cries from Hels down the beach, the scent of sage and citrus and salt filling his nose with a comfort he didn’t know he could feel without the attempts at inebriation or being so panicked out of his mind that he’d cling to whatever felt safe. And so he settles like that, until his own lids grow a touch heavy and he starts to be lulled into a very light slumber alongside the Maverick.
Astaroth
you know what's on the line
