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
They could argue back and forth until there was no air left that one of them was sorrier than the other. But it would get them nowhere. He concedes it for Danta, one little thing he could do to try and make it feel a little easier. But it doesn’t. Gods, it doesn’t at all. He doesn’t even know if the short nod of his head he wants to do is too much to set Danta off. So he stays, still as a statue, staring and counting the grain lines of wood that make his desk, the fingerprints left behind on the glass that’s empty of brandy. “Yes.” He says unhelpfully.
It was bad from all accounts. But here they are. He can feel Danta’s gaze on him, hesitant and cautious, and Asta remains as still as physically possible. He only steals a glance when he hears the whisper of need, and the most he does is let his dark gaze focus on his lover — wondering if they could fix this or if it was beyond stitching back together — offering another soft “of course. I can take you to bed.” A promise, a gentle vow, hesitation in the twitch of his fingers before he pushes himself up to stand, braced by his arms on the table and silhouetted by the oil lamp and low flame in the fireplace. “May I come close to you?” He asks as he straightens up, sucking in a deep breath that burns from the wound and the tightness of the bandage, but not letting it flicker across his face.
He knows the other Ancient had asked him to, but he had also asked him to show him all of his haunt. And here they were. Asta won’t take one step toward him until he hears Danta’s approval. And he’ll stop the second he tells him to, if he tells him to.
It was bad from all accounts. But here they are. He can feel Danta’s gaze on him, hesitant and cautious, and Asta remains as still as physically possible. He only steals a glance when he hears the whisper of need, and the most he does is let his dark gaze focus on his lover — wondering if they could fix this or if it was beyond stitching back together — offering another soft “of course. I can take you to bed.” A promise, a gentle vow, hesitation in the twitch of his fingers before he pushes himself up to stand, braced by his arms on the table and silhouetted by the oil lamp and low flame in the fireplace. “May I come close to you?” He asks as he straightens up, sucking in a deep breath that burns from the wound and the tightness of the bandage, but not letting it flicker across his face.
He knows the other Ancient had asked him to, but he had also asked him to show him all of his haunt. And here they were. Asta won’t take one step toward him until he hears Danta’s approval. And he’ll stop the second he tells him to, if he tells him to.
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
