you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name
“Don’t be.” Comes the comment the second Danta speaks, realizing that the Maverick is, in fact, awake. And with this realization, the tension from Astaroth’s body loosens, too, keeping him held against his chest as they melt into the blankets and the bed further, though his fingertips continue to stroke and brush back the Maverick’s hair away from his face, over and over again in smooth, soft movements. “I have had more than enough that you have dealt with. I think one waking me up is fine.” He admits, and Danta will feel the slight kick of the butcher’s lips into a small, sleepy smile.
He shakes his head, though, twisting to press his lips to Danta’s temple before he settles again. “Evidently I did my trouble making before I fell asleep.” He rumbles with a tone of mischievousness, trying to smooth out the heartbeat that thunders beneath his touch. “It was not bad.” Just in case Danta was worrying about that in particular. “How can I help?” Still running his fingers through blonde strands of hair, the question comes with a touch of apprehension, as if the butcher isn’t sure what to do that might help him.
After all, it is a first for him. Before Danta had opened Astaroth’s eyes, he’d lived entirely solitary. For nightmares, it was only his own to shake out of and get rid of, never with someone else around. And so, for as much as he loves to be in control, he loathes this feeling of not knowing just what to do when Danta had handled the butcher's nightmares time and time again. It feels unbalanced, to him.
He shakes his head, though, twisting to press his lips to Danta’s temple before he settles again. “Evidently I did my trouble making before I fell asleep.” He rumbles with a tone of mischievousness, trying to smooth out the heartbeat that thunders beneath his touch. “It was not bad.” Just in case Danta was worrying about that in particular. “How can I help?” Still running his fingers through blonde strands of hair, the question comes with a touch of apprehension, as if the butcher isn’t sure what to do that might help him.
After all, it is a first for him. Before Danta had opened Astaroth’s eyes, he’d lived entirely solitary. For nightmares, it was only his own to shake out of and get rid of, never with someone else around. And so, for as much as he loves to be in control, he loathes this feeling of not knowing just what to do when Danta had handled the butcher's nightmares time and time again. It feels unbalanced, to him.
Astaroth
fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart
