i will never go backwards, i will never be seen
in the wake of disaster ...
in the wake of disaster ...
Half curled into Danta as they part and he sidles up against his side, he takes a second, more indulgent sip of the sweet blackberry champagne as he hears the whisper. Glancing sideways at his lover to know that he is, in fact, not looking at him when he says it, the butcher does the wise choice in pretending not to have heard him. Instead, he simply lets his tail curl around his legs a touch more and downs the rest of the blackberry champagne, as if he might be able to get the buzz quicker before he staunches it with the promise of food.
“They have white chocolate, darling.” He protests, as if that was the whole reason he was undressing them in the first place. It was one of his favorite chocolates, given how sweet and creamy it tended to be. “Alas, fine, fine. Remind me to treat you when we get home for allowing me my indulgences.” He purrs, because they both know Asta won’t need the reminder (and with the powernap on the skyship on the way home he’s likely to encounter, well…)
With his arm still snug around Danta’s side, the butcher drifts further down the tables to the desserts, pausing at the white chocolate covered cherries as if debating how formal he wished to be. And in true Dygra fashion, given the season, rather than politely snag one or two, the butcher snags a handful of them and promptly shoves them all into his mouth.
“They have white chocolate, darling.” He protests, as if that was the whole reason he was undressing them in the first place. It was one of his favorite chocolates, given how sweet and creamy it tended to be. “Alas, fine, fine. Remind me to treat you when we get home for allowing me my indulgences.” He purrs, because they both know Asta won’t need the reminder (and with the powernap on the skyship on the way home he’s likely to encounter, well…)
With his arm still snug around Danta’s side, the butcher drifts further down the tables to the desserts, pausing at the white chocolate covered cherries as if debating how formal he wished to be. And in true Dygra fashion, given the season, rather than politely snag one or two, the butcher snags a handful of them and promptly shoves them all into his mouth.
Astaroth
will you sink down to me?
