i'm the escape to something that's worse
i am the shadow driving the hearse
i am the shadow driving the hearse
“I think I would have a preference for knives if given the opportunity.” Astaroth admits, his lips quirking at the corners. He has not seen the dart board downstairs, but the idea of practicing with knives and getting really good at it would likely only prove to the patrons more that the butcher isn’t to be trifled with. So long as it isn’t these poor shots with the darts.
Either way, he steps back to fuss over himself, letting his dark gaze flit back toward the Maverick as he collects the darts and returns to his side. “Perhaps we don’t count that one.” Bending ever so slightly to help Danta readjust the lock of dark hair behind his pronged, antlered horns. He settles back on his heels and his tail flits easily at his heels as he regains his near perfect posture.
Draining his cup of tea if only to snag the darts, the butcher nods and finds himself smiling easier. “I would love to.” But not before he leans in to press his forehead to his lover’s and steal a chaste kiss, humming a soft “thank you, love” as he parts, for all of the help the Maverick had been to get him back to himself.
Resetting to face the board and continue to mimic the Maverick’s body position, the butcher launches his first green dart, watching as it plunks a bit closer to the bullseye and better than his last throw had been – but still, not quite there yet.
Either way, he steps back to fuss over himself, letting his dark gaze flit back toward the Maverick as he collects the darts and returns to his side. “Perhaps we don’t count that one.” Bending ever so slightly to help Danta readjust the lock of dark hair behind his pronged, antlered horns. He settles back on his heels and his tail flits easily at his heels as he regains his near perfect posture.
Draining his cup of tea if only to snag the darts, the butcher nods and finds himself smiling easier. “I would love to.” But not before he leans in to press his forehead to his lover’s and steal a chaste kiss, humming a soft “thank you, love” as he parts, for all of the help the Maverick had been to get him back to himself.
Resetting to face the board and continue to mimic the Maverick’s body position, the butcher launches his first green dart, watching as it plunks a bit closer to the bullseye and better than his last throw had been – but still, not quite there yet.
Astaroth
what was it like to feel in love?
