southern comfort's comforting, isn't it?

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

Asta's laughter is contagious, Danta shrugging his shoulders innocently as he finishes folding the shirt and setting it aside, though of course he doesn't complain at all when the other man follows suit. Moaning his encouragement into the kiss and freeing himself of the garment, his hands blindly reach up to unloop the chains from the butcher's horns with uncharacteristic care. He has to fumble back to set them on the table though, of course, an act that has him crowding even further into Asta's space, warm hands pressing to his scarred chest when he's done.

"Do you trust me?" he whispers suddenly, the words low and rich and full of dark promise. Providing the answer is an affirmative - which Danta assumes it will be, naturally - his fingers will slip into the waist of Asta's pants, tugging him and one of the chairs from the table towards the centre of the room. "Sit," he invites, mumbling the command into his mouth and drawing back at last.

Slinking across the room to one of the drawers, Danta steps back with a couple of bottles of fountain water, which might give the butcher some indication of what he has planned.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash