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
The butcher doesn’t wake when the intrusion occurs, nor does he wake after everyone has gotten all settled in. No, Astaroth wakes when the sun starts filtering through the room in refreshing hues, and warmth radiates from him to sink into Danta’s back. He hadn’t dreamt and perhaps had slept well enough to forget the night prior.
Either that or he simply hasn't woken up enough to see the addition to the bed (one he thought that should it had happened, would remain on the foot of the bed). Because he’s twisted slightly, eyes still closed as he unclasps the muzzle and sets it off to the side, so that he can return and bury his face properly into Danta’s neck and the sleep tossed blond strands that splay against his skin and the pillow they’ve ended up sharing.
He presses soft kisses against the Maverick’s neck, ones with the intention of a gentle wake up, soft and tender as his arm moves to slip back around him when he feels the additional hard panes of a body essentially sandwiching Danta between them.
It has him immediately awake, tail twitching under the sheets as his dark gaze surveys the situation; the fact that Frey’s demigod had not been a shift at the foot of the bed (regardless of the fact Astaroth had taken up most if not all of the space there with how he’d stretched out in the night). The only boon so far is that he isn’t under the sheets with them, and from what he can tell, he still remains in his rumpled clothes.
A long hard frown twists onto his face, an awkwardness blooming that has a flush of near embarrassment heating his cheeks, but one that also has his arms twisting around Danta a touch tighter, pressing him in against his chest possessively. “Danta, darling, he is in our bed.” Just in case the Maverick was unaware of such a thing – which he assumes he isn’t with how his arm is wound around the other. It takes everything in him to bite back that flare of jealousy, trying to rouse the blonde into wakefulness before he does anything horribly drastic and dramatic.
Either that or he simply hasn't woken up enough to see the addition to the bed (one he thought that should it had happened, would remain on the foot of the bed). Because he’s twisted slightly, eyes still closed as he unclasps the muzzle and sets it off to the side, so that he can return and bury his face properly into Danta’s neck and the sleep tossed blond strands that splay against his skin and the pillow they’ve ended up sharing.
He presses soft kisses against the Maverick’s neck, ones with the intention of a gentle wake up, soft and tender as his arm moves to slip back around him when he feels the additional hard panes of a body essentially sandwiching Danta between them.
It has him immediately awake, tail twitching under the sheets as his dark gaze surveys the situation; the fact that Frey’s demigod had not been a shift at the foot of the bed (regardless of the fact Astaroth had taken up most if not all of the space there with how he’d stretched out in the night). The only boon so far is that he isn’t under the sheets with them, and from what he can tell, he still remains in his rumpled clothes.
A long hard frown twists onto his face, an awkwardness blooming that has a flush of near embarrassment heating his cheeks, but one that also has his arms twisting around Danta a touch tighter, pressing him in against his chest possessively. “Danta, darling, he is in our bed.” Just in case the Maverick was unaware of such a thing – which he assumes he isn’t with how his arm is wound around the other. It takes everything in him to bite back that flare of jealousy, trying to rouse the blonde into wakefulness before he does anything horribly drastic and dramatic.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
