reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
Oh, he does have quite the plan already forming – but it’s permission granted by the Maverick that stays the Butcher’s hand. A dog, seeking approval for the bone he is about to receive, and with it granted in the low fetching tones of his lover’s voice – he cares little for whether or not Morgen can hear. Of course, his gaze does drift around the room that they had set up – a variety of instruments to choose from and he very nearly struggles trying to decide which to start.
It's that decision that takes a few moments while Danta speaks to their guest, returning to hear the whispered hum. “You are beautifully wicked.” He drawls affectionately to the Maverick, reaching up to cup his jaw and cheek, pulling him in for a short kiss – a promise of more to come once the start of the fun has been had.
"Do not worry to much about your bearings, darling." It’s to Morgen that the butcher looks next, knives dropped around the wrangler with the intention of utilizing plenty of them in the coming minutes. But he doesn’t choose to take the stranger’s life just yet – not as he plucks what appears to be a fish knife – the blade flimsy but sharp as hell – and takes his time deciding just where to start. His moniker is quite the indicator, however, because as he presses the blade flat against Morgen’s chest, he begins to flay the wrangler at the top of his torso down, relishing in the blood that begins to bubble from the surface.
Unable to help himself, of course, this is sliced easily to be shared amongst himself and the Maverick – casting a too sharp and too dark grin over at his lover with the offering before he plucks a sharper, longer, butcher’s knife and begins to actually carve.
It's that decision that takes a few moments while Danta speaks to their guest, returning to hear the whispered hum. “You are beautifully wicked.” He drawls affectionately to the Maverick, reaching up to cup his jaw and cheek, pulling him in for a short kiss – a promise of more to come once the start of the fun has been had.
"Do not worry to much about your bearings, darling." It’s to Morgen that the butcher looks next, knives dropped around the wrangler with the intention of utilizing plenty of them in the coming minutes. But he doesn’t choose to take the stranger’s life just yet – not as he plucks what appears to be a fish knife – the blade flimsy but sharp as hell – and takes his time deciding just where to start. His moniker is quite the indicator, however, because as he presses the blade flat against Morgen’s chest, he begins to flay the wrangler at the top of his torso down, relishing in the blood that begins to bubble from the surface.
Unable to help himself, of course, this is sliced easily to be shared amongst himself and the Maverick – casting a too sharp and too dark grin over at his lover with the offering before he plucks a sharper, longer, butcher’s knife and begins to actually carve.
Astaroth
i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////
