[SE] refugee from stone and sand

// you knew who I was //

"And you are oh so very good at it," Danta trills, the praise spilling easily from his lips even as he's forced to stand still and let Asta put his hands all over him (and only one of those things is a problem). Glancing up to catch the butcher's eye in the mirror over his shoulder, he grins his agreement. "Of course. And that way we'd both always look perfect. Not that you're far off on a regular day, of course."

He might have reached for Asta then, were it not for the sudden flurry of pins and movement involving his cape-to-be, and the Maverick all but freezes in the other man's hands to let him work. It puts him in quite the perfect (read: vulnerable) position for any mischief, and Asta will feel as much as hear Danta's sharp intake of breath, his head tipping automatically to the side as if to beg the butcher's mouth for more.

It's over before he has a chance to snatch a hand out, though Asta's touch never truly leaves him, and it's with heat flushing his cheeks and blood already starting to flee south that he admires their reflections in the mirror. "I'd say all I'm missing is a mask and you on my arm, wouldn't you?" He smirks. And pants, but who needs those?

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //