// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //
He waits until he’s fairly certain that the Maverick won’t tear off his arm from approaching so close, but by the time that he has it seems the exhaustion has begun to sink into Danta’s body. His hand is taken, the blood cooling on his lover’s hands but still slick when it slides into his own and he helps him up. Completely unbothered by it, the butcher keeps his arm close around him as his offer is made, just in case the Maverick does decide he can’t stand on his two legs any longer.
Danta’s hoarse voice is quiet, but the butcher is so close that he’s easily heard as he agrees to being carried home. “Not at all, darling.” And he doesn’t, not with the charm on his arm. He could carry him wherever he wished to go, for however long he wanted him to. So he waits until his lover’s form becomes a ball of dark, ebony feathers, and the butcher reaches down to carefully collect the corvid into his arms.
It takes some finagling, but eventually he gets Danta tucked partially into the warm jacket he wears, pressed between it, his arms, and his chest. He gives one last look to the massacred fox and the sensation of the creatures lying in wait for their departure, and he begins to pluck the pathway toward home, guided by the stars and familiar paths that he’s fairly certain guide back toward the Inner Quarter. “If you would like to take a nap, I will understand.” Comes the soft murmur, the gentle and soothing press of fingers against Danta’s crown and neck and along his cheek beside his beak, in gentle strokes.
Danta’s hoarse voice is quiet, but the butcher is so close that he’s easily heard as he agrees to being carried home. “Not at all, darling.” And he doesn’t, not with the charm on his arm. He could carry him wherever he wished to go, for however long he wanted him to. So he waits until his lover’s form becomes a ball of dark, ebony feathers, and the butcher reaches down to carefully collect the corvid into his arms.
It takes some finagling, but eventually he gets Danta tucked partially into the warm jacket he wears, pressed between it, his arms, and his chest. He gives one last look to the massacred fox and the sensation of the creatures lying in wait for their departure, and he begins to pluck the pathway toward home, guided by the stars and familiar paths that he’s fairly certain guide back toward the Inner Quarter. “If you would like to take a nap, I will understand.” Comes the soft murmur, the gentle and soothing press of fingers against Danta’s crown and neck and along his cheek beside his beak, in gentle strokes.
Astaroth
// and i'll paint it red //
