fuck that shit let's start a riot

// you knew who I was //

Not caring even if Asta were to press his hand directly over the dressing between his shoulder blades, Danta all but melts himself against the butcher, and it's with a shiver of effort that he lets his glamour drop and his horns melt away so he might nuzzle all the closer against the side of his neck. "Me too," he says of their bed, shifting enough to peep at the sling and Asta's heavy bandages beneath it to keep the limb from moving too much.

"I bet," he agrees, sneaking a gentle kiss to his cheek with the words. "It won't be for long, though." Brushing his nose against the curve of the other man's jaw, Asta's uncharacteristic silence and solemnity don't go without notice, and though Danta's teeth itch with the urge to ask about it - to ensure the other man is alright, even though he knows he fucking isn't - he keeps it caged.

Instead, leaning in again, his lips meet the butcher's in a kiss that tries to say all the things words can't; further apologies written with every flick of his tongue, reassurance and gratitude wrapped in each soft press of his mouth, warm fingers stroking along his side down towards his hips. "We could always sneak out of here," he suggests as he draws back, the words practically mumbled against Asta's lips.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //