i will never go backwards, i will never be seen
in the wake of disaster ...
in the wake of disaster ...
“Thank you for noticing.” He hums confidently back, chuckling softly to feel Danta’s overbalance, the way he twists into his chest a touch harder than he probably would have had he not indulged out while socializing. Not that Asta blames him, he’d be doing the same thing if given the chance.
As for the haunted portion of the woods they find themselves in, the sharp grin that lingers on Astaroth’s face mirrors the amusement of the flicking of his tail back and forth in anticipation. “Yes. I do believe this year I shall be better prepared.” Whether it was to ensure the ghosts were truly gone or if it would be his own fuckery that made it more of a game, well, time would tell them.
His arm winds around him gently as they start moving toward the drink table as Danta instructs the basket to stay, they pick a path that leads them toward the fringes of the dance floor. Not that Asta is focused on it for once, but when Danta suddenly speaks up the butcher stills immediately, dark gaze drifting to him immediately as if he might be searching for anything wrong – dark brows pinched yet hidden by the mask he wears. The swatting hits against his side, chest, and against the chainmail, and when the demand is made, the butcher’s confusion is very visible in his amber gaze. “Dance?” He’d be lying if he thought about the waltz, given the most recent experience with dancing had been in the Hanged Man. Such that he really doesn’t particularly think it’s a good idea, until he notices the variety of which everyone else on the dance floor is dancing.
And Danta seems delighted by the idea. And if it were something that could be a danger for him to do, he wouldn’t be suggesting it. So he pulls away, snagging his lover’s hand instead to take him up to the dancefloor with a quizzical look. “Alright, darling. What did you have in mind?” He asks, waiting to see just what the Maverick had planned.
As for the haunted portion of the woods they find themselves in, the sharp grin that lingers on Astaroth’s face mirrors the amusement of the flicking of his tail back and forth in anticipation. “Yes. I do believe this year I shall be better prepared.” Whether it was to ensure the ghosts were truly gone or if it would be his own fuckery that made it more of a game, well, time would tell them.
His arm winds around him gently as they start moving toward the drink table as Danta instructs the basket to stay, they pick a path that leads them toward the fringes of the dance floor. Not that Asta is focused on it for once, but when Danta suddenly speaks up the butcher stills immediately, dark gaze drifting to him immediately as if he might be searching for anything wrong – dark brows pinched yet hidden by the mask he wears. The swatting hits against his side, chest, and against the chainmail, and when the demand is made, the butcher’s confusion is very visible in his amber gaze. “Dance?” He’d be lying if he thought about the waltz, given the most recent experience with dancing had been in the Hanged Man. Such that he really doesn’t particularly think it’s a good idea, until he notices the variety of which everyone else on the dance floor is dancing.
And Danta seems delighted by the idea. And if it were something that could be a danger for him to do, he wouldn’t be suggesting it. So he pulls away, snagging his lover’s hand instead to take him up to the dancefloor with a quizzical look. “Alright, darling. What did you have in mind?” He asks, waiting to see just what the Maverick had planned.
Astaroth
will you sink down to me?
