// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //
He does not need to be told to keep still – of course, but the look that the blonde gives him in return is one that almost dares him to do it just if only to see the repercussions. Next time, perhaps. Because for now he hums a note on the maybe, maybe-not cursed deck of tarot cards as he keeps his hands in a precise position to keep the polish drying without getting messed up, even as Danta readjusts and shifts more comfortably onto his lap to get closer to his face.
It's the sudden insecurities that swarm in like locusts, the urge to ask – to check that the Maverick, his Theocrat is happy. And its with eyes honey dark, bright enough that the shades of mahogany can be seen when Danta’s brushes back his dark curls from his face dexterously to not slice his hands open from the pronged horns on his head. And the butcher watches and feels the relief swell through him to see the smile that curls across those perfect lips, to the slight wrinkle he gets in the corner of his mouth when something takes him off guard in a good way.
He can’t do anything as he’s drawn closer, though there isn’t any other place he’d rather be – trapped within the warmth of Dantalion’s embrace, fussed over, drowning happily in the scent of sage and citrus, of lingering smoke and fruity, deep wine. “Yes.” He says softly, taking a deep inhale of a breath, nuzzling his face in before Danta ends up doing too much to it where he can’t (just like how his nails are at the present moment). “I believe I am the happiest I have ever been.” Comes the quiet admission (which is huge considering all of the feats and glee the butcher had gotten in varying sprees) as he presses a soft kiss to the hollow of Danta's throat.
To be here, to wake up beside the Maverick, to love him and be loved in return? Far exceeds anything else he could have ever imagined for himself.
It's the sudden insecurities that swarm in like locusts, the urge to ask – to check that the Maverick, his Theocrat is happy. And its with eyes honey dark, bright enough that the shades of mahogany can be seen when Danta’s brushes back his dark curls from his face dexterously to not slice his hands open from the pronged horns on his head. And the butcher watches and feels the relief swell through him to see the smile that curls across those perfect lips, to the slight wrinkle he gets in the corner of his mouth when something takes him off guard in a good way.
He can’t do anything as he’s drawn closer, though there isn’t any other place he’d rather be – trapped within the warmth of Dantalion’s embrace, fussed over, drowning happily in the scent of sage and citrus, of lingering smoke and fruity, deep wine. “Yes.” He says softly, taking a deep inhale of a breath, nuzzling his face in before Danta ends up doing too much to it where he can’t (just like how his nails are at the present moment). “I believe I am the happiest I have ever been.” Comes the quiet admission (which is huge considering all of the feats and glee the butcher had gotten in varying sprees) as he presses a soft kiss to the hollow of Danta's throat.
To be here, to wake up beside the Maverick, to love him and be loved in return? Far exceeds anything else he could have ever imagined for himself.
Astaroth
// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //
