Astaroth
i think i'm the devil in disguise, here's my state of mind
It’s a strange sensation to realize that he, too, regrets the decision of the muzzle for much of an opposite reason than he usually does. Usually, it’s a touch of relief to be locked away just to ensure he doesn’t do too much damage with the regret that the butcher can’t indulge in the occasional drive by kiss from his lover. Seeing it on Danta’s face when he clasps it into place makes him realize how much it must be dreadful to be in the Maverick’s place.
Though he can’t deny the striking figure that his lover cuts tonight. Intimidating and dangerous, and in spite of the exhaustion that lingers in his bones, it sparks a heat in his chest he can’t quite put out. “Good. You look amazing in it.” He confirms, despite being the one to wear it. As for the weight, his hand is conceded over to Danta’s own so he can judge his choices in the rings that adorn his fingers.
Warmth blooms in his smile at the confirmation, figuring it can go unsaid that he’s also picked them for good reason, withdrawing only to offer the cane, admiring the soft tap it makes and the additional intimidation factor when he realizes Danta’s right. A low laugh escapes him, surprised and perhaps a bit amused that he’d forgotten. “Right, right. I got most of the other things right.” His voice remains in that deeper Whitebrim tone, more casual than he usually is in front of people. “Let’s see how many people find themselves with a new fantasy tonight, hm?” He isn’t talking about himself, of course.
Stepping over to the door, he’s less rigid and spine straight as he goes, tail sweeping against his heels as he takes charge in heading down toward the heady, already busy Dusklight. Warmth blooms from the sconces, the heat radiating between the lights and the people within, and he parts with a quiet squeeze of his hand to slip behind the bar, golden shirt swishing with the movement as he forces himself to move as effortlessly as Danta does.
Though he can’t deny the striking figure that his lover cuts tonight. Intimidating and dangerous, and in spite of the exhaustion that lingers in his bones, it sparks a heat in his chest he can’t quite put out. “Good. You look amazing in it.” He confirms, despite being the one to wear it. As for the weight, his hand is conceded over to Danta’s own so he can judge his choices in the rings that adorn his fingers.
Warmth blooms in his smile at the confirmation, figuring it can go unsaid that he’s also picked them for good reason, withdrawing only to offer the cane, admiring the soft tap it makes and the additional intimidation factor when he realizes Danta’s right. A low laugh escapes him, surprised and perhaps a bit amused that he’d forgotten. “Right, right. I got most of the other things right.” His voice remains in that deeper Whitebrim tone, more casual than he usually is in front of people. “Let’s see how many people find themselves with a new fantasy tonight, hm?” He isn’t talking about himself, of course.
Stepping over to the door, he’s less rigid and spine straight as he goes, tail sweeping against his heels as he takes charge in heading down toward the heady, already busy Dusklight. Warmth blooms from the sconces, the heat radiating between the lights and the people within, and he parts with a quiet squeeze of his hand to slip behind the bar, golden shirt swishing with the movement as he forces himself to move as effortlessly as Danta does.
give me destruction, tell me i'm scrumptious
i'm a fucking delight
i'm a fucking delight
