i will never go backwards, i will never be seen
in the wake of disaster ...
in the wake of disaster ...
“Indeed she has.” The butcher confirms, soothing any metaphorical worries Danta might have of Dygra growing tired of classical music. She hadn’t in all the years prior to the butcher’s reawakening, when he’d often prayed in the confines of his den to similar tunes, or when he’d practiced and learned how to do it for the first time. He’s so well versed in fact that the trek to the refreshments is an easy one that he cuts through the rest of the dancers with ease until they’re stepping off of the dance floor and Asta’s possessiveness grows.
Letting the grin bloom across his face as he leans into each press of a kiss to the muzzle, the butcher’s tail sweeps low and around to his leg, curling against him in a gentle press. “Blackberry champagne, mm?” He immediately latches onto the idea as Danta mentions it was too sweet for him, and when the flute comes within sight and the straw is plunked into it, the butcher takes it gently, fingers brushing against his lover’s in the process. Leaning in to steal a sip from the straw, it works funnily with the bubbles, such that it feels as though it’s mostly bubbles he’s sipped.
Such that his nose wrinkles and he casts a glance around the fading event before his warm gaze flits back to Danta with a mischievous glint. “How terrible would it be if we were to remove the muzzle for a few moments?” He asks, head tilting enough that his dark hair slips to the side slightly, still trapped by the antlers that sprout from his skull.
Letting the grin bloom across his face as he leans into each press of a kiss to the muzzle, the butcher’s tail sweeps low and around to his leg, curling against him in a gentle press. “Blackberry champagne, mm?” He immediately latches onto the idea as Danta mentions it was too sweet for him, and when the flute comes within sight and the straw is plunked into it, the butcher takes it gently, fingers brushing against his lover’s in the process. Leaning in to steal a sip from the straw, it works funnily with the bubbles, such that it feels as though it’s mostly bubbles he’s sipped.
Such that his nose wrinkles and he casts a glance around the fading event before his warm gaze flits back to Danta with a mischievous glint. “How terrible would it be if we were to remove the muzzle for a few moments?” He asks, head tilting enough that his dark hair slips to the side slightly, still trapped by the antlers that sprout from his skull.
Astaroth
will you sink down to me?
