// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //
It floods his mouth in metallic heat, thick and dark and heavy. The inside of his cheek is shredded, sliced through the inside of the soft flesh and aching with sharp stinging pain. He doesn’t seem to care much about the pain, nor the blood, but it’s too much for his mouth to contain, falling from his lips against Danta’s back as he tries to pull himself back in. He’s still wild, an untamed beast who’s eyes are still too dark, too feral.
It feels far away when he hears Flora say his name, the fountain water ignored into the blur of the rushing blood in his ears, in the tightness of Danta’s hand still in his hair keeping him at bay. Flora’s healing works, cleans up the ache and pain in his mouth and staunches the blood, but his mouth is still full of it. Danta’s voice is also far away, despite his face being right there to nose into his hair, whispers that have those dark eyes closing – grounding himself.
Finally, after a few long moments of Danta’s soft reminders, the butcher’s gaze opens warmer and less monstrous, and he finds it in him to pull away – offering a gentle squeeze to Flora’s arm in return before untangling himself from the Maverick’s touch. When he’s finally parted, hands find his hair, smoothing it back before it trails down his neck where the blood has spread, where he sparks fire to burn away the still drying blood into flaking ash that mars his skin as he wipes it away. “Apologies.” He says roughly, hoarsely, once he’s swallowed enough blood to talk again.
It feels far away when he hears Flora say his name, the fountain water ignored into the blur of the rushing blood in his ears, in the tightness of Danta’s hand still in his hair keeping him at bay. Flora’s healing works, cleans up the ache and pain in his mouth and staunches the blood, but his mouth is still full of it. Danta’s voice is also far away, despite his face being right there to nose into his hair, whispers that have those dark eyes closing – grounding himself.
Finally, after a few long moments of Danta’s soft reminders, the butcher’s gaze opens warmer and less monstrous, and he finds it in him to pull away – offering a gentle squeeze to Flora’s arm in return before untangling himself from the Maverick’s touch. When he’s finally parted, hands find his hair, smoothing it back before it trails down his neck where the blood has spread, where he sparks fire to burn away the still drying blood into flaking ash that mars his skin as he wipes it away. “Apologies.” He says roughly, hoarsely, once he’s swallowed enough blood to talk again.
Astaroth
// and i'll paint it red //
