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
A low chuckle slips past the butcher’s lips, agreement and approval in equal measure at the sight of Danta’s restraint. Asta is often meticulous, even with this sort of thing — unless he’s gone too long, instead letting it become a tempest whirlwind of violence before he’s controlled enough to return his roots, shifting from the uncontrollable violence into the sweet comfort of ritual.
Such was the cannibal’s life, wasn’t it?
So as Danta presses in, the butcher watches with utmost content and pleasure to see how he changes tactics, having expected those fingers to be like claws on the slow pulse. But the flimsy blade is chosen, the one that slices with such sharpness it would almost cut you if you stared at it too long. The blood sprays and Asta’s shifting from standing beside his lover to stand behind him, arms snaking around his middle and his head tucking into the crook of his neck, pressing a bloodied kiss to precede his words. “Eat, Dantalion.” A quiet demand but still sharp nonetheless, his hands departing from Danta’s sides and chest to follow down his arms toward the open chest cavity of the wrangler, ready to sate himself alongside his lover provided he takes the first step.
It was always easier for the butcher to match Danta’s chaos than it was the other way around. At least this way he can try to keep the room mostly clean.
Such was the cannibal’s life, wasn’t it?
So as Danta presses in, the butcher watches with utmost content and pleasure to see how he changes tactics, having expected those fingers to be like claws on the slow pulse. But the flimsy blade is chosen, the one that slices with such sharpness it would almost cut you if you stared at it too long. The blood sprays and Asta’s shifting from standing beside his lover to stand behind him, arms snaking around his middle and his head tucking into the crook of his neck, pressing a bloodied kiss to precede his words. “Eat, Dantalion.” A quiet demand but still sharp nonetheless, his hands departing from Danta’s sides and chest to follow down his arms toward the open chest cavity of the wrangler, ready to sate himself alongside his lover provided he takes the first step.
It was always easier for the butcher to match Danta’s chaos than it was the other way around. At least this way he can try to keep the room mostly clean.
Astaroth
i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////
