// we haven't won, and if we win, //
There’s tension when the butcher moves, he can feel it in Danta’s otherwise pliable skin. The answer is too fast, too quick, and he finds himself frowning in the lowlight of the candles. Glancing around for a moment and spotting the wine, he also spies a small canteen of water he kept up here. Reaching for it instead, he sits up more fully so that he can hand it to his lover with a small “I’m sorry.”
The apology only goes so far, though, because as he hears the apology, his dark gaze does spot the way his lover’s hand goes to the silk slip over his arm, of the space he’d bit him not that long ago and his stomach sinks, filling full with dread and self deprecation. “You do not need to apologize.” He hums softly, hoping that the sleep in his voice distracts from the quiet upset at himself, even if his next question cements it.
“Was it me?” He can guess, and whether Danta lies to him or not, the butcher seems as if he already knows.
The apology only goes so far, though, because as he hears the apology, his dark gaze does spot the way his lover’s hand goes to the silk slip over his arm, of the space he’d bit him not that long ago and his stomach sinks, filling full with dread and self deprecation. “You do not need to apologize.” He hums softly, hoping that the sleep in his voice distracts from the quiet upset at himself, even if his next question cements it.
“Was it me?” He can guess, and whether Danta lies to him or not, the butcher seems as if he already knows.
Astaroth
// and if the morning light sets in, we've cheated fate again //
