don't need love when it comes in a bottle

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

Despite Danta’s flinch, the butcher’s hand continues to drag gently down his back as if proving to the both of them that there’s nothing that awaits him there aside from the pale and long since healed scar tissue crossed along his spine. And when the Maverick finally relaxes a fraction from the realization, the butcher’s arms are warm as he tugs him back into him again, like the space he’d granted during the nightmare was too much and he suddenly can’t remember how to breathe without Danta pressed against him.

“I’m so sorry. For all of it.” He whispers on the heels of Danta’s grounding words – because he hates it too, but he doesn’t want to make Danta feel bad for having these nightmares, nor does he want him to think he shouldn’t share them with him. Gods knew that he’d had more than enough with Danta – enough that the silver scars of his teeth still linger against his arm from a nightmare woken up from not soon enough.

His tone is still very much Ferox as he nestles in closer, using his beard as a blockade to prevent Danta’s sharp nicks of his horns from piercing him so he can tug him in closer. Angled the way they are, he’s able to move his hand gently across his lover’s side, his fingertips imbuing with fire to offer a heated, warm caress in case he feels too cold from waking up from hell.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life