// day breaks sorrow //
It was in Danta’s best interests to stay busy, because if he didn’t, it would be guaranteed to be trouble afoot. But as Danta offers his margarita for the butcher, he takes it lightly, taking a pleased little sip from it before handing it back, letting his dark gaze flicker back toward Flora as she settles in - momentarily, his gaze flitting back to Danta in the short silk robe that leaves very little to the imagination (not that anyone in this room hadn’t just seen what each other has to offer).
The look shot his way sparks a low chuckle from Asta as he tilts his head toward his lover with a raised brow. “It is her room, darling.” He informs him, like it was common sense. It’s in that time that the butcher snags the rest of the cucumbers from the sharp tines of his horns, offering the rest for Danta to devour while Flora gets more comfortable.
She returns swiftly and Asta’s gaze flits toward her with a glimmer of appreciation of the slip she wears, shifting to stand so that he might snag the face mask, his sentiment is much the same as Danta’s as he steps to the side of her chair, lowering himself so that he might tip her chin up and apply it delicately and meticulously. “I doubt that, though perhaps that means this is working, no?” Shaking the jar of face mask, the butcher flashes her a wink before he continues to apply it to her face, and when he’s satisfied, he sits back and caps the jar.
“Better, darling?” He asks with an almost confident hum, leaning back from where he’s perched himself on the edge of the chair beside Flora to snag Danta’s margarita for another sip.
The look shot his way sparks a low chuckle from Asta as he tilts his head toward his lover with a raised brow. “It is her room, darling.” He informs him, like it was common sense. It’s in that time that the butcher snags the rest of the cucumbers from the sharp tines of his horns, offering the rest for Danta to devour while Flora gets more comfortable.
She returns swiftly and Asta’s gaze flits toward her with a glimmer of appreciation of the slip she wears, shifting to stand so that he might snag the face mask, his sentiment is much the same as Danta’s as he steps to the side of her chair, lowering himself so that he might tip her chin up and apply it delicately and meticulously. “I doubt that, though perhaps that means this is working, no?” Shaking the jar of face mask, the butcher flashes her a wink before he continues to apply it to her face, and when he’s satisfied, he sits back and caps the jar.
“Better, darling?” He asks with an almost confident hum, leaning back from where he’s perched himself on the edge of the chair beside Flora to snag Danta’s margarita for another sip.
Astaroth
// and i still feel the edge of this cold knife //
