— frozen grounds and leafless trees
The soft chuckle leaves him as he nods. “Great.” Comes the soft but no less warm agreement. He snags his tea in the interim as well and doesn’t take a sip just yet, inviting Danta into the warmth of being pinned between the blankets and fire and his exhausted body. The low rumble of a laugh accompanies the comment, tucking him in as he fully takes up the lounging role. “Mm, me too.” He mutters quietly, pressing back into the chaste kiss without the heat last season always provided.
It's a press of affection more than it is with ulterior motives. His free hand lifts to run through sleep tangled blonde, shifting enough to indulge his lover with the request to take a sip of the tea, feeling the warmth and sweet of the honey coat his throat. “Good. Everyone had been on their best behavior with last season’s policy of bite first, ask questions later. They can go a bit longer believing it to still stand.” He murmurs, nosing his way in for another kiss.
One that he keeps chaste as well, but only because there’s another knock at the door and a letter slipped under their doorframe – as had become customary last season for the possessiveness that lingered in his skin. This time, however, the butcher doesn’t seem to mind. “Would you like to check that or simply wait for your responsibilities to begin tomorrow?” He asks with fatigue pulling at the wrinkles in his face.
It's a press of affection more than it is with ulterior motives. His free hand lifts to run through sleep tangled blonde, shifting enough to indulge his lover with the request to take a sip of the tea, feeling the warmth and sweet of the honey coat his throat. “Good. Everyone had been on their best behavior with last season’s policy of bite first, ask questions later. They can go a bit longer believing it to still stand.” He murmurs, nosing his way in for another kiss.
One that he keeps chaste as well, but only because there’s another knock at the door and a letter slipped under their doorframe – as had become customary last season for the possessiveness that lingered in his skin. This time, however, the butcher doesn’t seem to mind. “Would you like to check that or simply wait for your responsibilities to begin tomorrow?” He asks with fatigue pulling at the wrinkles in his face.
Astaroth
the woods will haunt you like a frigid breeze —
