// don't you fight my hold on you //
Watching with open admiration as Danta slices fingers off, the butcher is resigned to keeping his hands to himself (he would prefer to keep them all, thank you very much) and instead works to restrain the bottom half of the prisoner as the fight is slowly lost. He really tries to go for it, though, and for that the butcher can find some appreciation in the fight. But as it stands, the man succumbs in a slow decline, until he’s no longer moving or breathing.
Just a limp, cracked open dinner waiting to be nibbled on. It’s about this time that Danta seems to recall Asta being there, and the butcher glances at him sideways to spy the slight snarl and the dripping fingers, the way he seems to come back to himself enough to know he’s there. And for that, the butcher takes it as his opportunity.
He’s impossibly quick to twist around and dive in himself — plucking innards out and devouring them with ease as a bloody hand withdraws the butcher’s pack brought with him. Unfurling it, the knife he withdraws is prime for flaying, letting him carve off some of his favorite places (most notably, the muscle above the collarbone). He carves and preps portions out, devouring some and sharing some with the Maverick, until he thinks enough time has passed for his lover to be less feral about it.
Which results in the butcher digging the knives in a space where Danta could utilize them if he wanted, but then it’s the butcher’s turn to get lost in the cooking prisoner’s corpse; sharp teeth and meticulous hands making very short work of more of the criminal.
Just a limp, cracked open dinner waiting to be nibbled on. It’s about this time that Danta seems to recall Asta being there, and the butcher glances at him sideways to spy the slight snarl and the dripping fingers, the way he seems to come back to himself enough to know he’s there. And for that, the butcher takes it as his opportunity.
He’s impossibly quick to twist around and dive in himself — plucking innards out and devouring them with ease as a bloody hand withdraws the butcher’s pack brought with him. Unfurling it, the knife he withdraws is prime for flaying, letting him carve off some of his favorite places (most notably, the muscle above the collarbone). He carves and preps portions out, devouring some and sharing some with the Maverick, until he thinks enough time has passed for his lover to be less feral about it.
Which results in the butcher digging the knives in a space where Danta could utilize them if he wanted, but then it’s the butcher’s turn to get lost in the cooking prisoner’s corpse; sharp teeth and meticulous hands making very short work of more of the criminal.
Astaroth
// pour the gasoline, strike your match on me //
