the evidence is on my body
but I never complain
but I never complain
“Oh it most certainly does, love.” Asta purrs, lips forming a soft kiss to press against the fingers that trace the blood that has both stained and dried there, before they quirk into a smirk as he hums his agreement with an air of a soft chuckle to hear the rage room one more time. “All the more reason, yes.” At least then the butcher wouldn’t have to worry about going too far. Because if it did, well, they had their oopsie button upon exiting (though a part of him wonders just how horrible he’d feel after, if it did come down to that.)
Anyway, Astaroth meticulously cleans the Maverick, tenderly and reverently, as if each portion of the other Ancient was something to be worshiped and revered (he is), and he relinquishes control of the rag to let the fire lick at Danta’s jaw and cheek as he leans slightly into the warm rag that wipes away the remnants on the butcher’s own face and neck, humming soft notes of affection in return. He’d purr like a feline if he could, but Asta has always been more suited to letting his fyrhund show when it came to his affection.
Dark eyes flickering with streaks of warm honey when the fire’s light flashes upon the panes of his face scan the Maverick’s face, nodding as he starts to stand and collect the rag and the bloody bowl. He takes a moment to press a soft and tender kiss to Danta’s full and perfect lips before he’s rising and retrieving the very same tea kettle that he had been gifted (it’s one of his most cherished items). “I believe you will be trying Isla’s sedative before I have had a chance to. Do tell me how it is.” In terms of taste and feeling, though he imagines given Danta’s state he won’t last very long either way. The tea is prepped and set in the fire that he can manipulate, returning with the sedative and sweeteners to make the tea exactly how Danta liked it, and sinks down onto the bed to pull the blonde in against his raised, scarred chest, peppering him with kisses and affection while he waits for the kettle to start whistling.
Anyway, Astaroth meticulously cleans the Maverick, tenderly and reverently, as if each portion of the other Ancient was something to be worshiped and revered (he is), and he relinquishes control of the rag to let the fire lick at Danta’s jaw and cheek as he leans slightly into the warm rag that wipes away the remnants on the butcher’s own face and neck, humming soft notes of affection in return. He’d purr like a feline if he could, but Asta has always been more suited to letting his fyrhund show when it came to his affection.
Dark eyes flickering with streaks of warm honey when the fire’s light flashes upon the panes of his face scan the Maverick’s face, nodding as he starts to stand and collect the rag and the bloody bowl. He takes a moment to press a soft and tender kiss to Danta’s full and perfect lips before he’s rising and retrieving the very same tea kettle that he had been gifted (it’s one of his most cherished items). “I believe you will be trying Isla’s sedative before I have had a chance to. Do tell me how it is.” In terms of taste and feeling, though he imagines given Danta’s state he won’t last very long either way. The tea is prepped and set in the fire that he can manipulate, returning with the sedative and sweeteners to make the tea exactly how Danta liked it, and sinks down onto the bed to pull the blonde in against his raised, scarred chest, peppering him with kisses and affection while he waits for the kettle to start whistling.
Astaroth
i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing
