// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //
“Gods,” Asta breathes dramatically, breath scented like wine as he tries and fails to hide the soft laugh that leaves him. “Not only would it be exhausting but I could potentially pull a muscle.” The complaint is affectionate and buried beneath the hand that waves dramatically, but carefully enough to not spill the wine that he draws to his lips.
He can’t even imagine trying to keep up with Danta. Perhaps for his birthday he’ll try as a gift for the blonde.
Instead, the arm winds around his neck and he settles with their foreheads pressed, wine lowered between them while his freehand still rests easily against Danta’s thigh, brushing gentle patterns into the pale skin and toying with the hem of the robe. “So long as you kiss them and do not pulverize them anymore.” He teases, despite knowing it would help (and it has, all things considered). “What color would you choose?” He asks suddenly as if realizing Danta had said he could paint his nails, which sparks far more amusement, and perhaps a fair bit of fear, than it should.
He can’t even imagine trying to keep up with Danta. Perhaps for his birthday he’ll try as a gift for the blonde.
Instead, the arm winds around his neck and he settles with their foreheads pressed, wine lowered between them while his freehand still rests easily against Danta’s thigh, brushing gentle patterns into the pale skin and toying with the hem of the robe. “So long as you kiss them and do not pulverize them anymore.” He teases, despite knowing it would help (and it has, all things considered). “What color would you choose?” He asks suddenly as if realizing Danta had said he could paint his nails, which sparks far more amusement, and perhaps a fair bit of fear, than it should.
Astaroth
// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //
