// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //
The small smile is seen only in the way Danta’s cheeks puff up with the movement, the brief flash of fangs as his fingers drop to brush a loving touch against his lover’s neck. “Always, love.” Asta hums softly, settled in comfortably enough to let Danta curl back into his lap and expose the sensitive skin waiting against the back of his neck, something the butcher takes advantage of with the patterns he paints into his skin as he takes in the quiet delight.
He does let him doze further, if he decides, but as Danta starts to move and tuck himself closer to him, the butcher can’t help the soft lilt of the smile that’s edged into the wrinkles on his face as he makes room for him and straightens his back so that they’re chest to chest, his head tilted enough to give him space against his neck.
Once he feels the horns melt away, he nuzzles his cheek into the golden crown of his fiancé, his hands wrapping around his middle beneath the blanket to let his long fingers stretch out and drag a gentle caress from the small of his back up to his shoulder blades and over every scar in between. “Good morning, darling. How did you sleep?” He asks, pressing a half kiss to his forehead (or wherever he can reach, truthfully), not wanting to give up the feeling of the Maverick’s hands in his hair too much.
He does let him doze further, if he decides, but as Danta starts to move and tuck himself closer to him, the butcher can’t help the soft lilt of the smile that’s edged into the wrinkles on his face as he makes room for him and straightens his back so that they’re chest to chest, his head tilted enough to give him space against his neck.
Once he feels the horns melt away, he nuzzles his cheek into the golden crown of his fiancé, his hands wrapping around his middle beneath the blanket to let his long fingers stretch out and drag a gentle caress from the small of his back up to his shoulder blades and over every scar in between. “Good morning, darling. How did you sleep?” He asks, pressing a half kiss to his forehead (or wherever he can reach, truthfully), not wanting to give up the feeling of the Maverick’s hands in his hair too much.
Astaroth
// and i'll paint it red //
