so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
Ah, he isn’t sure how much of that kind of affection he’ll be getting away with in the near future. But alas, the strangeness begins to disperse and Astaroth focuses wholly on the way Danta looks at the valet tray, letting the smile tug onto his face to see those beautiful blues light up. “I do try.” Comes the soft admission, Astaroth shifting slightly to let Danta sit up more properly – mourning the loss of Danta’s legs, but it makes up for it with the kiss pressed to his cheek and the thanks muffled into his bearded jaw – one that’s grown out a fair amount longer now that he doesn’t have the ability to trim it regularly.
It's his turn to watch his lover drift across the floor, scanning him for any signs of pain or distress and when he finds nothing but easier movements, the butcher relaxes and sips from the cup of tea as his lover returns. Looking up at him from where he’s settled in the arm of the couch, the butcher snags the leather box with his right hand, quietly grateful for the size of his palms when he goes to open it one handed.
The smile brightens to see the bloodstone and silver fang revealed, peering up at Danta from his burrito-ified hood of a blanket to flash that sharp smile at him full of gratitude. “These are beautiful, darling.” He hums with every ounce of his exhausted happiness, setting the box down in his lap after inspecting them before he runs that hand through his long hair, brushing it back and out of the way without the antlers to hide it. “I am afraid I cannot get them on myself just yet. Unless, of course, you might take pity on an old man.” It’s a playful teasing, his jest isn’t as witty as it otherwise would be given his state.
It's his turn to watch his lover drift across the floor, scanning him for any signs of pain or distress and when he finds nothing but easier movements, the butcher relaxes and sips from the cup of tea as his lover returns. Looking up at him from where he’s settled in the arm of the couch, the butcher snags the leather box with his right hand, quietly grateful for the size of his palms when he goes to open it one handed.
The smile brightens to see the bloodstone and silver fang revealed, peering up at Danta from his burrito-ified hood of a blanket to flash that sharp smile at him full of gratitude. “These are beautiful, darling.” He hums with every ounce of his exhausted happiness, setting the box down in his lap after inspecting them before he runs that hand through his long hair, brushing it back and out of the way without the antlers to hide it. “I am afraid I cannot get them on myself just yet. Unless, of course, you might take pity on an old man.” It’s a playful teasing, his jest isn’t as witty as it otherwise would be given his state.
Astaroth
so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
