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 does help when Danta starts to wrap his arms around him properly, without being so openly looked at he stands a chance of trying to get his senses under control and the flush of his skin back to a normal hue and temperature. His arms tighten around his waist, thumbs stroking idle patterns against the hollows of his hips.
As their conversation and quips become a bit less personal and more playful, there’s a smidge of relief in the butcher’s laugh to hear Danta’s playful offense that he’d let the game lapse. Which is entirely fair, it was his idea, after all. Though if asked, he would say it wasn’t his fault Danta’s question had thrown him off track so vastly. “Yes, yes. You win, love.” He says on the edge of a playful sigh, perking up a touch when Danta asks the truth again.
This takes a moment of consideration, however, enough that he nuzzles in to press a kiss to his cheek. “My most favorite place would have to be my hair and horns, though I suspect you knew that already.” With how often he plunged his fingers into the raven black of his hair, the butcher thinks Danta’s figured it out quite easily. “My second favorite would have to be my shoulders where they meet my neck.” He tacks on the second half in a whisper, a secret just for Danta’s ears only.
As their conversation and quips become a bit less personal and more playful, there’s a smidge of relief in the butcher’s laugh to hear Danta’s playful offense that he’d let the game lapse. Which is entirely fair, it was his idea, after all. Though if asked, he would say it wasn’t his fault Danta’s question had thrown him off track so vastly. “Yes, yes. You win, love.” He says on the edge of a playful sigh, perking up a touch when Danta asks the truth again.
This takes a moment of consideration, however, enough that he nuzzles in to press a kiss to his cheek. “My most favorite place would have to be my hair and horns, though I suspect you knew that already.” With how often he plunged his fingers into the raven black of his hair, the butcher thinks Danta’s figured it out quite easily. “My second favorite would have to be my shoulders where they meet my neck.” He tacks on the second half in a whisper, a secret just for Danta’s ears only.
Astaroth
i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired
