mississippi boys, inner city boys

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

"Mm, you do, but I see that more as overtime than your actual job. Or even just a violent little hobby," Danta says with a smirk and a gentle shrug of his shoulders. As the butcher's lips brush across the pad of his thumb, the Maverick strokes his hand across his cheek and the elegant rise of his cheekbone before sinking his fingers into his dark hair around the jut of his horns. "And perhaps that's true, but how many people go out there who were actually there?" he points out. "I bet half of them don't even know what they are looking for."

Of course, it might be the case that Asta doesn't want to return to that part of his past, which is entirely understandable - Danta feels much the same way, after all. Which likely explains the wrinkle of his nose as the questions are turned back on him, and he huffs out a warm breath into the crook of the other man's neck. "The Climb was The Climb, even when I was a kid. You don't really need to be brought up to speed on that." he shrugs his shoulders.

"I remember fighting a lot; kids and their pecking orders, you know? And I remember being hungry." A feeling that had followed the Maverick well into his adult life, as Asta well knows. "I'm probably not the best example. It would have been different if I'd had real parents, I guess."

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //