mississippi boys, inner city boys

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

"Don't say that, or I'll let you," Danta warns, the words muffled against Asta's throat where he'll be able to feel the Maverick's smirk. Shifting enough that he might be able to bury his face in the crook of the other man's neck and batting at the sheets until he can find the blankets to drag back over them, clearly Danta is well into the post-orgasmic bliss and exhaustion part of his night, and he's ferrying Asta along for the ride.

"Not as glad as I am," he teases, grinning up at him and letting long fingers stroke out an idle rhythm against the scars that stripe across his back. "I wonder if there's any healing out there that would fade these for you," he wonders, almost to himself. He doubts it - what's done is done - and he doesn't even know if Asta would want it at this point. But he can't help but be curious.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //