my, my, those eyes like fire, i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre
come now, bite through these wires,
come now, bite through these wires,
“It was perfect.” He repeats without any hint of apprehension or stress like last year’s party had held. It felt good this year, despite the exhaustion, that if he did have to celebrate his birthday Danta had picked the best way in order to celebrate – with the quiet whispers of happy birthday quiet enough for the restaurant to not overhear and interrupt, just as Danta had determined.
Feeling Danta still enough he can slip the crow feathers from his hair, his fingertips stroke along his jaw gently as he goes to set it on the side table along with the golden trinkets and his belt, happily tugged forward to delve into the slow kiss that the butcher indulges with a certain kind of reverence. “Mm, well, it would have worked with me.” The butcher teases, shooting him a shark toothed grin in return as the waistcoat and tie are undone.
He slips out of them easily, folding them neatly and quickly before setting it aside. “And the thought may have inspired me to have found some last minute energy.” He pauses, tugging Danta closer this time to get him out of his suit and get up, fingers working deftly along buttons fabric until he can feel the warmth of his lover's skin.
Feeling Danta still enough he can slip the crow feathers from his hair, his fingertips stroke along his jaw gently as he goes to set it on the side table along with the golden trinkets and his belt, happily tugged forward to delve into the slow kiss that the butcher indulges with a certain kind of reverence. “Mm, well, it would have worked with me.” The butcher teases, shooting him a shark toothed grin in return as the waistcoat and tie are undone.
He slips out of them easily, folding them neatly and quickly before setting it aside. “And the thought may have inspired me to have found some last minute energy.” He pauses, tugging Danta closer this time to get him out of his suit and get up, fingers working deftly along buttons fabric until he can feel the warmth of his lover's skin.
Astaroth
i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired
