the evidence is on my body
but I never complain
but I never complain
“It’s okay.” He says perhaps too quickly. He was used to it then, content and comfortable not letting anyone close, only letting Zac and Rayla have the free reign to touch him without his own initiation. It had been easy.
But he doesn’t flinch as Danta’s hand rests against his knee, and he uses the warmth as a boon to inject into his cold bones despite the area around them being quite warm. The chill remains as he curls up, humming a note of confirmation to hear the optimistic side of it, even if it feels longer.
He does, unfortunately, flinch when he feels the warm press of Danta’s body against his scarred back, his lungs tightening with the breath that sticks there. “Just one night.” He confirms, closing his eyes tightly and stubbornly, clinging to Danta’s hand as the fur comes and covers them part way. His jaw is tight and he seems impossibly small with the way he’s curled up, but his tail snakes out to wind around Danta’s leg, another point of contact, and he waits.
He counts the seconds and the minutes until the liquor in his system drags him underneath. The silence of the area around broken only by the crackling of the fire and their breaths, and it becomes a lullaby of sorts. His body gives up the fight, and if Danta’s still awake he’ll see the exact moment he does fall asleep. It’s as if the tension drains from him, sinking into the bedroll and the stone as if molded by it.
Hours go by before there’s the soft scrabble of talons on the stone, four gore crows invading the both of them — two at Danta’s back to poke and prod by the dying fire, and two who start to pluck at strands of the fur blanket that’s wound around them both, but closer to the butcher’s face. Inquisitive, more than outright vicious hunger.
But he doesn’t flinch as Danta’s hand rests against his knee, and he uses the warmth as a boon to inject into his cold bones despite the area around them being quite warm. The chill remains as he curls up, humming a note of confirmation to hear the optimistic side of it, even if it feels longer.
He does, unfortunately, flinch when he feels the warm press of Danta’s body against his scarred back, his lungs tightening with the breath that sticks there. “Just one night.” He confirms, closing his eyes tightly and stubbornly, clinging to Danta’s hand as the fur comes and covers them part way. His jaw is tight and he seems impossibly small with the way he’s curled up, but his tail snakes out to wind around Danta’s leg, another point of contact, and he waits.
He counts the seconds and the minutes until the liquor in his system drags him underneath. The silence of the area around broken only by the crackling of the fire and their breaths, and it becomes a lullaby of sorts. His body gives up the fight, and if Danta’s still awake he’ll see the exact moment he does fall asleep. It’s as if the tension drains from him, sinking into the bedroll and the stone as if molded by it.
Hours go by before there’s the soft scrabble of talons on the stone, four gore crows invading the both of them — two at Danta’s back to poke and prod by the dying fire, and two who start to pluck at strands of the fur blanket that’s wound around them both, but closer to the butcher’s face. Inquisitive, more than outright vicious hunger.
Astaroth
i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing
