the evidence is on my body
but I never complain
but I never complain
Being here sparks all kinds of self-deprecating thoughts for the butcher, most notably the one that pings against his mind of he’s too good for me, intermixed with the flickered memories of the horrors this space provided. It’s appreciated immensely, especially as he feels Danta’s lips press against his neck and jaw, the careful placement of him at his back to prevent him from feeling so exposed. Just another point left into the bank of just how much Danta cared, that he’d thought about it enough to realize that would help him feel more comfortable.
So he sips from the bottle, leans into the lips pressed against him, like he can blot out everything else if he just focused on how much the Maverick loved him – even for all of his faults and flaws.
He thinks about staying up all night, but even he knows that the stress of all of this is enough to drive him insane, to make him feel quite exhausted emotionally. It would be one of those jagged times of falling asleep, of the constant panic of waking himself up if only to ensure that he wasn’t chained down. And eventually, his body would give up the fight of exhaustion.
For now, though, he’s horribly awake and slightly drunk, leaning back into his lover’s embrace, pressing his bearded cheek against Danta’s own as he casts a glance toward the fire, utilizing it as yet another point of everything being different this time. The heat didn’t bother him, the sun baked volcanic rock didn’t burn him, and the fire nearby wasn’t sweltering and horrible. All points to prove it was that much more different.
Twisting a touch in Danta’s embrace, his forehead presses in against the sharp jawbone of the Maverick, a surprisingly small and tender gesture as the silence of the canyon seems to relax him some. “That sounds great.” He murmurs, handing the bottle to Danta as he focuses on the man holding him rather than the familiarity with this space. “Did you bring sticks for the marshmallows?” He asks, the feeling of his eyes closing like a gentle brush of wings against Danta’s jawbone.
So he sips from the bottle, leans into the lips pressed against him, like he can blot out everything else if he just focused on how much the Maverick loved him – even for all of his faults and flaws.
He thinks about staying up all night, but even he knows that the stress of all of this is enough to drive him insane, to make him feel quite exhausted emotionally. It would be one of those jagged times of falling asleep, of the constant panic of waking himself up if only to ensure that he wasn’t chained down. And eventually, his body would give up the fight of exhaustion.
For now, though, he’s horribly awake and slightly drunk, leaning back into his lover’s embrace, pressing his bearded cheek against Danta’s own as he casts a glance toward the fire, utilizing it as yet another point of everything being different this time. The heat didn’t bother him, the sun baked volcanic rock didn’t burn him, and the fire nearby wasn’t sweltering and horrible. All points to prove it was that much more different.
Twisting a touch in Danta’s embrace, his forehead presses in against the sharp jawbone of the Maverick, a surprisingly small and tender gesture as the silence of the canyon seems to relax him some. “That sounds great.” He murmurs, handing the bottle to Danta as he focuses on the man holding him rather than the familiarity with this space. “Did you bring sticks for the marshmallows?” He asks, the feeling of his eyes closing like a gentle brush of wings against Danta’s jawbone.
Astaroth
i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing
