[SE] black shades, white gloves

my, my, those eyes like fire, i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre
come now, bite through these wires,

He realizes very quickly that Danta is not prepared for his question. From the way the heat rises in his cheeks, the huff of laughter, the avoidance in his gaze. He’d known it was the only kind of worst truth he could think of – something emotional, that is. They’d gotten a lot better ever since the admission of their feelings and opening up, but there were some old habits that were difficult to bury. Ones that would cause the gut reaction of a pause or hesitation before the answer came.

“I know.” He hums a touch confident when he calls him a bastard, but the sharp smile softens immediately to realize he doesn’t have to think hard about it at all. And it’s charming in a way he hadn’t expected, his smile brightening a touch as he nods – recalling the day. “I am almost glad you did not fully realize it then. It sat in repeat in my mind night after night wondering if you’d picked it up and how I would have to try to explain my way out of it if it were… too close?” He admits softly, ducking in to press a kiss of gratitude to Danta’s lips, brief and chaste but no less sweet before he pulls back, lifting a hand up to run through the golden strands of his lover’s hair.

Astaroth

i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired