mississippi boys, inner city boys

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

"Old? As if," Danta says through a snort, his words half muffled against the side of Asta's neck. Clearly the Maverick gives not two fucks about what it means to get older or how people perceive it - in fact, to hear that Asta turns forty is far from horrifying. It's just another milestone, in Danta's opinion, and one worth celebrating, such that the butcher will feel his grin against his throat long before he peers up at him. "You do not," he hisses, as if the other man is playing with him. "When, exactly? You weren't going to let it slip by without comment, were you?"

Leaning back enough for Asta to look down at him in turn, the Maverick's smile fades, at least, as conversation returns to the deep scarring across his chest and back and shoulders. "Mm, I'm inclined to agree. You've definitely grown into them," he murmurs. "That being said, though, they don't make you as a person," he adds, leaning up on purpose to plant a kiss against the butcher's cheek and his temple, far away from his scars. "I think that honour belongs to your sharp teeth," he teases.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //