run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
Blood is scented nearly immediately after it’s begun, and Asta’s jaw works slightly as he fits his sharp teeth together and tucks his head in as Danta’s back arches, a pose he knows all too well as he’s often been on the other side of it. And all he can offer is a version that isn’t himself, that falls awkwardly from his lips in an attempt to draw him back to him.
“I know it does. I’m sorry.” No terms of endearment or nicknames accompany it, even if his lips part and his breath hitches like he’s going to add it. It’s too much of an indicator that it’s him to let it slip. And when he cringes closer to him, Asta welcomes him with open arms even if his heart aches long and deep.
Something falls and it makes the butcher jump, too, as Danta wakes with an unpleasant startle. His heartbeat thunders in his chest and rabbits against his neck as he tucks Danta into his chest, warm and comfortable, and inviting — all direct opposites of a previous life they’d lived.
His glamour is still up, hiding his horns and tail as he pulls his lover close against him, arms winding around him now that he’s awake in a protective wrap that would suggest he isn’t planning on letting anyone near but himself. “You’re okay.” He confirms, muffled into the crown of tangled blonde curls, pressing his bearded face into his head and hoping that the scruff he’s meticulously kept up is enough of a barrier for the sharp prongs of Danta’s diamond horns to not break through entirely.
Even if he’s sure he deserves whatever pain might come from it, he knows it isn’t what Danta would want.
So he’s careful as his fingers spread out gently, a tender touch that strokes slowly down his lover’s back as if for proof there’s no raised skin, swelling, or blood that would come away from it. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to get you while I’m here.” His voice drops further, nearly a low growl, as if he can pretend that the version of himself that had done all these terrible things wasn’t the monster he sees in the mirror each and every day.
“I know it does. I’m sorry.” No terms of endearment or nicknames accompany it, even if his lips part and his breath hitches like he’s going to add it. It’s too much of an indicator that it’s him to let it slip. And when he cringes closer to him, Asta welcomes him with open arms even if his heart aches long and deep.
Something falls and it makes the butcher jump, too, as Danta wakes with an unpleasant startle. His heartbeat thunders in his chest and rabbits against his neck as he tucks Danta into his chest, warm and comfortable, and inviting — all direct opposites of a previous life they’d lived.
His glamour is still up, hiding his horns and tail as he pulls his lover close against him, arms winding around him now that he’s awake in a protective wrap that would suggest he isn’t planning on letting anyone near but himself. “You’re okay.” He confirms, muffled into the crown of tangled blonde curls, pressing his bearded face into his head and hoping that the scruff he’s meticulously kept up is enough of a barrier for the sharp prongs of Danta’s diamond horns to not break through entirely.
Even if he’s sure he deserves whatever pain might come from it, he knows it isn’t what Danta would want.
So he’s careful as his fingers spread out gently, a tender touch that strokes slowly down his lover’s back as if for proof there’s no raised skin, swelling, or blood that would come away from it. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to get you while I’m here.” His voice drops further, nearly a low growl, as if he can pretend that the version of himself that had done all these terrible things wasn’t the monster he sees in the mirror each and every day.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
