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
Never let it be said that the butcher can’t wonderfully fake being asleep. Because he’s confident he does a damn good job — even with the way he can’t see the exchange happen with how his eyes remain closed; he doesn’t move when he feels Danta’s warmth escape his embrace other than to shift to take up most of the bed. Something he’d do in his sleep anyway.
Only when they’ve parted from the dark of their den does Astaroth finally open his eyes, watching as the bow is tied on the demigod’s wrist, and in the time it takes them to say their goodbyes and Danta to offer his instructions, the butcher prowls. Possessively, he refuses to let anything ruin the wonderful start to the day; and as such, when the door clicks shut with Danta’s help, the butcher has snuck up behind him in the soft filtered morning light.
But he isn’t soft, not really, not when he hesitates for a split second for his lover to turn before he’s surging forward like a predator capturing his prey, pushing his lover back and up against the wall in a far more beautiful reflection of what had occurred seasons ago in an Inn not far from here, staunching any complaints by the devouring kiss pressed against Danta’s lips.
Only when they’ve parted from the dark of their den does Astaroth finally open his eyes, watching as the bow is tied on the demigod’s wrist, and in the time it takes them to say their goodbyes and Danta to offer his instructions, the butcher prowls. Possessively, he refuses to let anything ruin the wonderful start to the day; and as such, when the door clicks shut with Danta’s help, the butcher has snuck up behind him in the soft filtered morning light.
But he isn’t soft, not really, not when he hesitates for a split second for his lover to turn before he’s surging forward like a predator capturing his prey, pushing his lover back and up against the wall in a far more beautiful reflection of what had occurred seasons ago in an Inn not far from here, staunching any complaints by the devouring kiss pressed against Danta’s lips.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
