mississippi boys, inner city boys

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

He watches with a surprisingly eager anticipation as Danta begins to utilize the glamor, eyes first finding the diamond curve of his spiked horns vanished, blonde locks falling a touch out of place with it. The tail in his peripheral is gone, too, and with it the fangs in the blonde’s mouth which already have his nose scrunching a little — grateful for once that his cannibal clan made each and every one of his teeth quite sharp.

“Mine does too.” Astaroth confirms, leaning in to glide his fingers through the blonde with complete and utter ease, paying special attention to the spaces on the Maverick’s skull that the horns prohibited any touch from. One hand drops to curve around the other Ancient’s jawline, as if reverently committing it to memory — and it seems somehow wrong.

At least Astaroth had a decent portion of his life not as an Ancient that this now reminds him of. Danta? Ever since he can remember the blonde has had those sharp diamond horns on display. Proudly.

“Quite a possible anything, love.” He hums, utterly distracted before shaking himself out of it a tad. “It’s rather odd to see.” It isn’t said like it’s a bad thing, it’s just… different. Unusual. And as if to make up for it, the butcher leans in trying to snatch a kiss from his perfectly curved lips.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart