[SE] with dirt on your knees and blood in your teeth

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

It’s the not knowing that really gets them, at the end of the day. And it’s the one thing that drives the butcher insane. He’d prefer to know a reason, if nothing else, but for the moment he has to resign himself to being okay with what they do know. And it’s challenging.

So, he focuses on the Maverick instead. On helping him get out of his shirt and helping with the towel as he dries his hair, taking a moment to scan him without his horns or tail. It’s still such a strange vision that he can’t help but to approach with hands coated in flame, waiting for the towel to lower before he’s reaching to thread those fire tipped fingers through Danta’s golden strands and along his scalp, his spaded tail winding around his lover’s leg. “Do not come crying to me when you do not feel well.” He drawls with a huff of a laugh, his lips quirked into a crooked smile.

As for being home in time, the butcher nods and his smile grows affectionate, curving to cup Danta’s jaw and tilt him up enough for him to capture a kiss, before withdrawing enough to murmur his quiet admission. “I missed you, darling.”

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //