Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
Half of him wonders if Danta does know, given the smug tone he possesses. But the question doesn’t reach the air between them as the Maverick readjusts within the tangle of limbs they’d become, pressing little warm kisses to his throat that the butcher can’t help but to melt with. It drags his touch a bit more distracted, eyes shutting as his nose wrinkles to hear the term distinguished. “Distinguished Gentleman Butcher is far too long of a title.” He drawls playfully, even if his tone edges toward being serious.
He's just being a brat to be a brat.
He is rewarded, though, with the fingers that glide through his dark hair, paying special attention to the temple region, just below the hard obsidian of his pronged horns. “I cannot imagine you growing old.” He admits, tilting his head to let his dark gaze scan the Maverick’s face now that they’ve parted enough that he can. “However, shall we take it one season at a time?” One hand abandons Danta’s hip to seek out one of the hands that had feathered through his hair, collecting it gently within his reach to lift to his lips to brush a soft kiss against his knuckles.
He's just being a brat to be a brat.
He is rewarded, though, with the fingers that glide through his dark hair, paying special attention to the temple region, just below the hard obsidian of his pronged horns. “I cannot imagine you growing old.” He admits, tilting his head to let his dark gaze scan the Maverick’s face now that they’ve parted enough that he can. “However, shall we take it one season at a time?” One hand abandons Danta’s hip to seek out one of the hands that had feathered through his hair, collecting it gently within his reach to lift to his lips to brush a soft kiss against his knuckles.
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
