Astaroth
// but if you think I'm misery,
Deep down internally, Asta does think that Danta would mind them if they were worse. His haunt and some exposure therapy with him had helped, but they still haven’t gotten to the point of the darker manifestations of it. The blocked off portion of the Backrooms with the ‘monsters’ warning was still something to consider. Later, of course, because the bravado has the butcher grinning down at his lover with a slight raise of his brow while his shadows warble.
And what a sight it is when he asks — gold and mischief wrapped up in his shadows and sharkbite scars. It only makes the flush on the butcher burn hotter, like his body’s aflame and there’s very little he can do to prevent himself from combusting right then and there as he feels the brush of smooth skin against his calf and thigh as he straightens up. “Mm, very good.” He purrs, tail sweeping back behind him with idle flicks of the ashen tip. And while he expects the other Ancient to stand, he’s quite amused to find the game continue.
Something’s got to give, though, and it doesn’t seem to be Danta just yet. Though perhaps his stubbornness is making one hell of a point while he snags his mug of tea, Asta hesitating in a way that allows him to feel the barest, briefest brush of a nearly there touch. His shadows warble before they melt, pooling on the floor, leaving his own shadow casting along Danta’s torso. “You will find I am right a lot of the time.” The arrogance drips from him almost as successfully as Danta’s coyness, and he’s polite enough to wait for him to take a long sip and swallow it before he enacts the Peter Pan magic in his veins.
His shadow grows heavier, almost as if guiding Danta back without a semblance of real touch, so much so that the butcher takes a step forward in the space that’s hopefully left behind with the suggestion to guide him back. “How much do you prefer this robe over your others?” He asks as he sets the cup down, his gaze flicking from the tea he’d left back to his lover’s face, head curving in a smooth motion.
And what a sight it is when he asks — gold and mischief wrapped up in his shadows and sharkbite scars. It only makes the flush on the butcher burn hotter, like his body’s aflame and there’s very little he can do to prevent himself from combusting right then and there as he feels the brush of smooth skin against his calf and thigh as he straightens up. “Mm, very good.” He purrs, tail sweeping back behind him with idle flicks of the ashen tip. And while he expects the other Ancient to stand, he’s quite amused to find the game continue.
Something’s got to give, though, and it doesn’t seem to be Danta just yet. Though perhaps his stubbornness is making one hell of a point while he snags his mug of tea, Asta hesitating in a way that allows him to feel the barest, briefest brush of a nearly there touch. His shadows warble before they melt, pooling on the floor, leaving his own shadow casting along Danta’s torso. “You will find I am right a lot of the time.” The arrogance drips from him almost as successfully as Danta’s coyness, and he’s polite enough to wait for him to take a long sip and swallow it before he enacts the Peter Pan magic in his veins.
His shadow grows heavier, almost as if guiding Danta back without a semblance of real touch, so much so that the butcher takes a step forward in the space that’s hopefully left behind with the suggestion to guide him back. “How much do you prefer this robe over your others?” He asks as he sets the cup down, his gaze flicking from the tea he’d left back to his lover’s face, head curving in a smooth motion.
then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //
it never leaves me alone, no //
