run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
Having zero qualms with leaning in as his lover does, Astaroth still presses into the threaded cane as he leans into earshot — hearing the whispered story and being absolutely perfectly stoic in how he does not react. Even if internally he realizes it’s quite a shitty thing to experience. Still, his tail thrashes only by its spaded tip by the time Danta is done, his otherwise fiery exterior extinguished in lieu of the realization that his lover is being quite the Theocrat toward him.
And honestly? It’s admirable. And it’s also a touch humiliating, given that Danta knows just which buttons to press on him that have him conceding. And it’s that calculation and the masked sharp smile that remains even as he straightens up, shaking out any flares of tension to become far less of the angry hound that had quite literally nearly been snarling at the thought.
“You are right, I do not like it.” He starts off, just to make sure that Danta knew that (though how could he not?) He eyes his lover with honey dark eyes that blot out the gears moving in his head when he finally concedes. “A large stag tomorrow, then a herd of luxere when Deepfrost arrives.” He counters, head tilting as he waits to see if the deal is struck.
Which, knowing Danta, he could only assume it would be. So he steps around the edge of the bar to follow his lover back toward the sad sack of a demigod. “I cannot promise I will be kind.” Comes the warning, but as soon as he is beside Danta, his arm and tail brush against his lover in both apology and appreciation.
And honestly? It’s admirable. And it’s also a touch humiliating, given that Danta knows just which buttons to press on him that have him conceding. And it’s that calculation and the masked sharp smile that remains even as he straightens up, shaking out any flares of tension to become far less of the angry hound that had quite literally nearly been snarling at the thought.
“You are right, I do not like it.” He starts off, just to make sure that Danta knew that (though how could he not?) He eyes his lover with honey dark eyes that blot out the gears moving in his head when he finally concedes. “A large stag tomorrow, then a herd of luxere when Deepfrost arrives.” He counters, head tilting as he waits to see if the deal is struck.
Which, knowing Danta, he could only assume it would be. So he steps around the edge of the bar to follow his lover back toward the sad sack of a demigod. “I cannot promise I will be kind.” Comes the warning, but as soon as he is beside Danta, his arm and tail brush against his lover in both apology and appreciation.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
