// i get a toothache every time i lie to someone i love //
The slowing of the rush of blood is palpable as it is beautiful, as Danta’s breath sharply inhales with Asta’s gentle but still sharp bite, with the curl of his tail to bolster his lover’s incoming climax. He can feel Danta’s tension, like a wire taut and ready to snap, and with all the coaxing and quiet murmurs of sweet nothings between sharp panting breaths, the butcher’s hold on Danta is just as strong as the Maverick’s are against himself.
His name is a gentle chorus that lingers long after the tones of it are gone, and they remain pressed against one another as the high comes down, the aftermath heady and warm in a way that might even make the Climb envious of the heat they radiate, all while Asta continues to clean up the brief bloody mess he’s made of Danta’s neck, pulling away to survey the damage only to find little marks that would leave a ring of silver shark-bite crescents behind.
He can’t help but to think of that image fondly, though he wouldn’t blame Danta if he wished to have them heal to nothing. For the moment, they both can bolster marks of the other in plain view. He noses his way in, then, when Danta’s fingertips trail along the back of his neck, to claim him in a greedy but tender kiss, soft and full of promise of love and adoration before he withdraws to press his forehead against Danta’s, both hands rising to brush back the blonde from his face, lowering to cup the sides of his face so tenderly. It’s like he’s made of glass with how delicately and tenderly the butcher touches him and holds him, like he too doesn’t want the moment to end.
But it does, because life was still moving on. The snap of a piece of wood in the fireplace grounds him and he withdraws just enough to search his lover’s face, hands still holding him delicately. He doesn’t need the rush of the moment to offer more sappy poetry, because the warmth in his eyes and the gentleness of his touch prove it to be his absolute truth when he says “I love you.”
His name is a gentle chorus that lingers long after the tones of it are gone, and they remain pressed against one another as the high comes down, the aftermath heady and warm in a way that might even make the Climb envious of the heat they radiate, all while Asta continues to clean up the brief bloody mess he’s made of Danta’s neck, pulling away to survey the damage only to find little marks that would leave a ring of silver shark-bite crescents behind.
He can’t help but to think of that image fondly, though he wouldn’t blame Danta if he wished to have them heal to nothing. For the moment, they both can bolster marks of the other in plain view. He noses his way in, then, when Danta’s fingertips trail along the back of his neck, to claim him in a greedy but tender kiss, soft and full of promise of love and adoration before he withdraws to press his forehead against Danta’s, both hands rising to brush back the blonde from his face, lowering to cup the sides of his face so tenderly. It’s like he’s made of glass with how delicately and tenderly the butcher touches him and holds him, like he too doesn’t want the moment to end.
But it does, because life was still moving on. The snap of a piece of wood in the fireplace grounds him and he withdraws just enough to search his lover’s face, hands still holding him delicately. He doesn’t need the rush of the moment to offer more sappy poetry, because the warmth in his eyes and the gentleness of his touch prove it to be his absolute truth when he says “I love you.”
Astaroth
// please just look me in my rotting smile and tell me i'm the only one you think of //
