now i am the violence, i am the sickness
won't accept your silence
won't accept your silence
It’s a blissful, dreamless deep sleep that the butcher finds himself in, motionless aside from his breathing as Danta stretches out and curls back in, as lips trail along his body. There’s no flinching or whines, no suggestion that there’s any thoughts that drift toward malice.
The second Danta drops onto his chest, the butcher starts to stir, his arms sweeping up to wind around his lover’s middle again, head tilting to press against his lover’s crown as he slowly begins to wake. The ashen tip of Asta’s tail flicks against Danta’s leg where it’s still wound around, and he shifts a little to stretch, waking up to hear the sound of the downpour hitting the windows in a low ticking sound, content to stifle his yawn and curve into Danta a bit more in turn, assuming he’s still asleep and trying to keep him from waking so that he can get as much sleep as possible.
The second Danta drops onto his chest, the butcher starts to stir, his arms sweeping up to wind around his lover’s middle again, head tilting to press against his lover’s crown as he slowly begins to wake. The ashen tip of Asta’s tail flicks against Danta’s leg where it’s still wound around, and he shifts a little to stretch, waking up to hear the sound of the downpour hitting the windows in a low ticking sound, content to stifle his yawn and curve into Danta a bit more in turn, assuming he’s still asleep and trying to keep him from waking so that he can get as much sleep as possible.
Astaroth
beg me for forgiveness
