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

Huffing a deep laugh that vibrates against Danta as he holds him close to his chest, the grin is both seen and felt with how it stretches across his face. “Too late.” He hums, flashing a glance that seems to say not guilty as he very much continues being a bit of a brat. But it’s worth it in the end with how they settle into the chair, letting Danta deal with the blanket to drape it over them as the sound of the sea nearby roars a calming sound, as does the breeze that passes by — smelling of salt and seaweed, melding awkwardly with his usual scent of honey smoke.

It’s drowned out soon, though, gladly accepting the cigarette pressed between his lips, the butcher waits patiently as his hands wind around Danta’s lower back, fingertips smoothing out along the soft skin. Dragging on it as the end is lit, he lets it hang from his lips as he smirks, smoke billowing slowly from the end. “I am sure I will.” And honestly? It’s probably easier, too. Portability wise.

Slipping one hand around to the front of them he sparks fire from his fingertip, so that Danta can light the one he slips between his lips too, before the butcher’s taking another drag and slipping it out from between his lips to rest between his index and middle finger. “Perhaps it may be worth carrying some of these around for when I do not wish to deal with the pipe.” He muses thoughtfully, dark eyes peering down at the cigarette between his fingers, the glow of the cherry a light source in the darkness of the night.

Astaroth

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