and you'll wake up all alone, on an old beat-down dirt country road
and you'll crawl back through fire and snow
and you'll crawl back through fire and snow
“I could teach you.” He says a touch distractedly, happy to think about the whole ballroom style of dancing because at the very least he knew what to expect. There was distance and intimacy, but at least you knew where it was coming from, never a surprise with the precise and careful movement of your steps. He misses it, having underestimated the intensity of the dancing that occurred these days. He’d also underestimated himself, thinking the warmth in his bones and the alcohol might bolster him.
It didn’t, unfortunately, but at least he has the sound of gulls and hels, and the waves crashing down the street, to offer a good semblance of distraction as he soothes his heartbeat. His arms slip around Danta’s waist as he’s fussed over, he hears the apology and shakes it off. It wasn’t the Maverick’s fault. “It was my idea.” Comes the soft hum before he’s keeping Danta close, tucking his nose and mouth into his lover’s golden crown.
Truthfully, he hadn’t thought about it either. “I thought I had been getting better with touch, but I too blame the whiskey.” He laments, pressing a grateful and surprisingly gentle kiss to Danta’s forehead. “Evidently I am not as well off as I thought I was. Or perhaps it’s the sheer number of strangers.” Amid his aversion to feeling pressure against his scars unless he knew directly from whom the touch came from.
It didn’t, unfortunately, but at least he has the sound of gulls and hels, and the waves crashing down the street, to offer a good semblance of distraction as he soothes his heartbeat. His arms slip around Danta’s waist as he’s fussed over, he hears the apology and shakes it off. It wasn’t the Maverick’s fault. “It was my idea.” Comes the soft hum before he’s keeping Danta close, tucking his nose and mouth into his lover’s golden crown.
Truthfully, he hadn’t thought about it either. “I thought I had been getting better with touch, but I too blame the whiskey.” He laments, pressing a grateful and surprisingly gentle kiss to Danta’s forehead. “Evidently I am not as well off as I thought I was. Or perhaps it’s the sheer number of strangers.” Amid his aversion to feeling pressure against his scars unless he knew directly from whom the touch came from.
Astaroth
'cause there ain't no other place to go
