// don't you fight my hold on you //
Perhaps one day there would be – but for now, the butcher’s already a mess with the blood and mud and the thrill of the hunt – sated in a way that does not come too easily for him. Enough that he can revert to being more akin to Ferox with the flippancy of his appearance. Especially as Danta laughs and they adjust in a bloody, messy heap at the base of this tree, water sprinkling through in droving showers – soft at first, then all at once.
He supposes it’s a good thing he’s taking the brunt of it, leaving Danta’s middle somewhat dry from where he’s collapsed on him. “I have. But I have not had my fill of you yet.” So he could deal with the things he didn’t like all that much if it meant he got to sit here and hold him and share the warmth and victory of a successful hunt.
It’s Danta’s next words, though, that distract him – too focused on the feeling of his fingers against the fire obsidian horns, streaked with splashes of blood. He can’t help the way his arms squeeze around him and he looks up slightly, head tilting so that his dark gaze can peer up at his lover, his smile hidden by the position of where they’re settled. “I never thought I would either, darling.” He murmurs gently – shifting to nuzzle the side of his face into Danta’s chest.
It had taken seasons for Asta to break the panic of letting someone in enough to be able to do this. And despite all the struggle and stress, the love and adoration he has for the man beneath him outweighs each and every second of worry and self-doubt, the one that had not balked at the butcher’s history or preferences, but instead took his worries like they were a challenge – and won.
“I am lucky to have you.” He tacks on a little quieter, eyes closing despite the cool drops of rain that flick from the tip of his ashen spaded tail.
He supposes it’s a good thing he’s taking the brunt of it, leaving Danta’s middle somewhat dry from where he’s collapsed on him. “I have. But I have not had my fill of you yet.” So he could deal with the things he didn’t like all that much if it meant he got to sit here and hold him and share the warmth and victory of a successful hunt.
It’s Danta’s next words, though, that distract him – too focused on the feeling of his fingers against the fire obsidian horns, streaked with splashes of blood. He can’t help the way his arms squeeze around him and he looks up slightly, head tilting so that his dark gaze can peer up at his lover, his smile hidden by the position of where they’re settled. “I never thought I would either, darling.” He murmurs gently – shifting to nuzzle the side of his face into Danta’s chest.
It had taken seasons for Asta to break the panic of letting someone in enough to be able to do this. And despite all the struggle and stress, the love and adoration he has for the man beneath him outweighs each and every second of worry and self-doubt, the one that had not balked at the butcher’s history or preferences, but instead took his worries like they were a challenge – and won.
“I am lucky to have you.” He tacks on a little quieter, eyes closing despite the cool drops of rain that flick from the tip of his ashen spaded tail.
Astaroth
// pour the gasoline, strike your match on me //
