// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //
Between the ease of the morning and the low thrum of the Dusklight swift at work beneath them, the butcher finds the backdrop far more comforting than he might actually verbalize. It’s that comfort that has him waking up more to take this moment in – to scan his lover’s face and see the smoothness of his skin where at times a wry smile and the playful bounce of his brows would create that fine wrinkle line.
Like this, though, as he’s drawing his thumb across his hair in sooth and gentle strokes, he wakes him up enough accidentally to still in his bemused surprise, hand hovering over Danta’s head as he readjusts only to promptly land right in his lap and precisely where the sun can beam him into his face. The groan has the butcher stifling a quiet laugh, his grin widening even as his tail sweeps out from under the fold of a blanket to rise and hover where the shadow the spaded tip casts can blot out the sun from his eyes directly.
His hand lowers again, running through the liquid gold and brushing his fingertips along the back of his lover’s neck in smooth strokes, indulging in the closeness and ease of his morning so far, more invigorating than any of the teas on their shelf. “Shh, I will save you darling.” Comes the thickly accented whisper, mischievous as if the sun is a threat and his lover is suddenly at risk of becoming Icarus.
Like this, though, as he’s drawing his thumb across his hair in sooth and gentle strokes, he wakes him up enough accidentally to still in his bemused surprise, hand hovering over Danta’s head as he readjusts only to promptly land right in his lap and precisely where the sun can beam him into his face. The groan has the butcher stifling a quiet laugh, his grin widening even as his tail sweeps out from under the fold of a blanket to rise and hover where the shadow the spaded tip casts can blot out the sun from his eyes directly.
His hand lowers again, running through the liquid gold and brushing his fingertips along the back of his lover’s neck in smooth strokes, indulging in the closeness and ease of his morning so far, more invigorating than any of the teas on their shelf. “Shh, I will save you darling.” Comes the thickly accented whisper, mischievous as if the sun is a threat and his lover is suddenly at risk of becoming Icarus.
Astaroth
// and i'll paint it red //
