so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
Once he’s sure the bear isn’t going to squish his lover, the butcher settles again, spitting out the bits of fur that have tried to lodge themselves in his mouth so that he can take his time, snagging strips off of the bear with the dagger while Danta sates the violent excitement that often was his bloodlust. Content to wait, stripping it in little snack sized bites, the butcher’s own bloodlust begins to sate as the creature finally gives its last cry.
He’s settled on his knees at the bear’s side, working at the portion of the beast’s hindquarters, seeking out the lean portions. And when, eventually, he notices Danta sitting back, the butcher’s attention flits from the bear back to his lover as if realizing he’s finally sated his own bloodlust.
Which means it’s time for Asta to get to work. Flashing a bloodied smirk to his lover, the butcher immediately gets into motion - flaying fur from skin, revealing pale meat beneath it that he carves out with both the dagger and his fingers, immediately snagging bite after bite until he’s had his fill with his precise carvings. Only then does the butcher’s own bloodlust fully depart, leaving him in that peaceful reverence as it always had. Sitting there on his knees, bloodied hands in his lap, eyes closed and horned head angled up toward the canopy just as his lover’s is, taking those short and long meditative breaths.
He’s settled on his knees at the bear’s side, working at the portion of the beast’s hindquarters, seeking out the lean portions. And when, eventually, he notices Danta sitting back, the butcher’s attention flits from the bear back to his lover as if realizing he’s finally sated his own bloodlust.
Which means it’s time for Asta to get to work. Flashing a bloodied smirk to his lover, the butcher immediately gets into motion - flaying fur from skin, revealing pale meat beneath it that he carves out with both the dagger and his fingers, immediately snagging bite after bite until he’s had his fill with his precise carvings. Only then does the butcher’s own bloodlust fully depart, leaving him in that peaceful reverence as it always had. Sitting there on his knees, bloodied hands in his lap, eyes closed and horned head angled up toward the canopy just as his lover’s is, taking those short and long meditative breaths.
Astaroth
so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
