/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
They both break and fall apart and the butcher lets all of his sweet nothings and love pour into the Maverick’s mouth. It’s the bliss of those few seconds that keep his mind from getting into the actual realization of what’s happened. His heartbeat thunders in his chest, beats hard against his neck as he makes the fire collar disappear. Ash from the burnt blood smears against both of their necks as Asta’s head tilts into the touch to his cheek, panting to try and collect himself. “I love you too.” He breathes out slowly.
The blood is sticky against his cheek and chin and he pulls back to take in his lover’s face as the question reaches him. His brows pinch for a moment before the sight of the blood catches him and he looks down, following the trail to see it smeared between them, soaked into the pants and the floor that sits beneath the heap of the pale linen.
He knows he’s healed, though, because despite knowing it, his gaze flits immediately with some sense of panic and urgency to his lover’s neck where there should be a scar or a gaping wound, only to find absolutely nothing there. “I… Yes. I—Gods, Danta, that was..” Amazing, perfect, terrifying, exhausting.
“Wonderful, but maybe we could not do that again for a while?” He asks in perhaps the most awkward sentence the butcher has ever uttered. He reaches up, collecting Danta’s hand with the ring on it, dragging it to his bloodstained lips to press kisses to each of his knuckles, lingering on the ring.
The blood is sticky against his cheek and chin and he pulls back to take in his lover’s face as the question reaches him. His brows pinch for a moment before the sight of the blood catches him and he looks down, following the trail to see it smeared between them, soaked into the pants and the floor that sits beneath the heap of the pale linen.
He knows he’s healed, though, because despite knowing it, his gaze flits immediately with some sense of panic and urgency to his lover’s neck where there should be a scar or a gaping wound, only to find absolutely nothing there. “I… Yes. I—Gods, Danta, that was..” Amazing, perfect, terrifying, exhausting.
“Wonderful, but maybe we could not do that again for a while?” He asks in perhaps the most awkward sentence the butcher has ever uttered. He reaches up, collecting Danta’s hand with the ring on it, dragging it to his bloodstained lips to press kisses to each of his knuckles, lingering on the ring.
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///
does that make me insane? ///
