southern comfort's comforting, isn't it?

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

Similarly fighting to catch his breath as they come down from the bliss of the past few seconds, Danta's smile is almost self-deprecating as he follows Asta's gaze to the mess all around them. "Hopefully the spirits aren't too mad at having to clean all that up," he says, his voice rough, his thumb brushing softly across the other man's cheek.

Asta doesn't say it but Danta can almost feel the panic jump through him as his dark eyes move from the blood on the floor to his neck, and he tilts his head up to show him his perfectly intact throat, caked with blood but nothing more. Surrendering his hand for capture and kisses, as the butcher parses through all that just happened, when he finally speaks, Danta's shoulders ease against a tension he'd not realised he'd been holding.

"You took the words right out of my mouth," he says, leaning in to touch his forehead to Asta's. "It got a bit dicey back there, huh." Understatement of the century, but hopefully he can be forgiven; he still feels a bit lightheaded, truth be told.

"Not that it wasn't hot as fuck, but... yeah. We'll give it a while before doing that again."

Dantalion

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