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
“I think that may be best.” He agrees quietly, his voice still equally just as soft, the sound of a gentle breeze through summer leaves. And he finally starts to relax as Danta’s arms offer warmth into his chilled bones, into the panic and worry that had set their roots into him. Asta nuzzles gently, feels the desperate desire to apologize, and without letting a second pass to talk himself out of it just lets it out.
Asta takes a slow deep breath as he spots the tears, immediately wondering whether he’d done a bit too much as the silence grows. But he doesn’t pull away from him, doesn’t immediately respond with fire or anger or upset. He just.. Compartmentalizes it, as far as the butcher can tell.
Forgiveness isn’t something that the butcher expects. But it spreads through him as a cool balm to the tangle of and fraying of his nerves. “Thank you.” He says on a whisper, closing his eyes and leaning in to feel the kiss, hesitant as it is to his cheek, and releases him as he steps back. Asta’s tail is still at his heels, the ashen spaded tip pressed flat against his ankle as he steps back to regard his lover too, and with a quiet nod and an exhale of a breath he’d not realized he’d held, the butcher looks back up at Danta’s face. “Good idea, love. Perhaps we should wash up, too.” Based off of the dried blood still clinging to them.
But he doesn’t move until Danta starts to, with the plan to snag a bowl and fill it with water to heat with a cloth to scrub away the worst of the day.
Asta takes a slow deep breath as he spots the tears, immediately wondering whether he’d done a bit too much as the silence grows. But he doesn’t pull away from him, doesn’t immediately respond with fire or anger or upset. He just.. Compartmentalizes it, as far as the butcher can tell.
Forgiveness isn’t something that the butcher expects. But it spreads through him as a cool balm to the tangle of and fraying of his nerves. “Thank you.” He says on a whisper, closing his eyes and leaning in to feel the kiss, hesitant as it is to his cheek, and releases him as he steps back. Asta’s tail is still at his heels, the ashen spaded tip pressed flat against his ankle as he steps back to regard his lover too, and with a quiet nod and an exhale of a breath he’d not realized he’d held, the butcher looks back up at Danta’s face. “Good idea, love. Perhaps we should wash up, too.” Based off of the dried blood still clinging to them.
But he doesn’t move until Danta starts to, with the plan to snag a bowl and fill it with water to heat with a cloth to scrub away the worst of the day.
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
