// with our one foot in the grave //
It’s a casual follow, until it isn’t anymore. And when the Maverick’s tail doesn’t brush against his side as often, he knows to increase his pace to match his lover’s. Eventually, though, they crest the open air – the slight coolness of the vast expanse of the sky brushing against their skin. “Is it?” He murmurs, because he scents blood in the air briefly before Danta’s telling him to back up.
Confused beyond belief, the butcher only has enough time to step back a few steps where he hesitates – because the shape is so like the lyvern of his lover’s that he’s anticipating it to remain that way.
Except it doesn’t. And it keeps growing. And growing. And suddenly, the butcher hardly has room to stand beside him, shuffling back awkwardly when his shoe catches on a ridge in the lava rock. Asta goes down, though thankfully not too hard, only to peer up at his lover as he takes the magnificent form of a black dragon.
His eyes widen and he peels himself up from the ground, approaching him slowly in awe. “Darling! Ha, you’re a dragon!” It’s his bewilderment and surprise that makes him not at all eloquent, because obviously Danta is a fucking dragon. But he’s awed at the beauty in the flex of the black scales, the smoke that billows from his nose, the sharp reptilian stare, the leathery wings that shuffle as if craving flight.
Flight that the butcher can’t join him with, unfortunately.
Confused beyond belief, the butcher only has enough time to step back a few steps where he hesitates – because the shape is so like the lyvern of his lover’s that he’s anticipating it to remain that way.
Except it doesn’t. And it keeps growing. And growing. And suddenly, the butcher hardly has room to stand beside him, shuffling back awkwardly when his shoe catches on a ridge in the lava rock. Asta goes down, though thankfully not too hard, only to peer up at his lover as he takes the magnificent form of a black dragon.
His eyes widen and he peels himself up from the ground, approaching him slowly in awe. “Darling! Ha, you’re a dragon!” It’s his bewilderment and surprise that makes him not at all eloquent, because obviously Danta is a fucking dragon. But he’s awed at the beauty in the flex of the black scales, the smoke that billows from his nose, the sharp reptilian stare, the leathery wings that shuffle as if craving flight.
Flight that the butcher can’t join him with, unfortunately.
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
