// there's a reason that they hate me, a reason that they need me //
He knows that’s a lie – he knows Danta thinks quite often, actually, but it wholly depends on what the Maverick decides to stick at that particular time. There are things Danta thinks about and remembers far better than the butcher does, and as a man proud to retain too much information and offer random not so fun facts far too often, he’s quite charmed by them. For now, though, it’s quizzical and playful as he meets his lover’s gaze, soaking in the sharp glint of blue that he’s greeted with as he leans into his space.
Asta doesn’t move, staying precisely where he is as Danta cleans up and ignites the tissues with nothing more than a brief wind of ash that makes it vanish completely, all while Asta’s preparing to see what the other Ancient has to offer. “You expect it, do you?” He asks, lips quirking into a smirk that almost eggs him on. It’s a dare that’s swiped away with the press of his lover’s lips, distracted tenfold with the sensation that spills against his scalp and back, and he’s entirely helpless to prevent the huff of air that exhales out of him slightly sharp with the surprise of it.
Dark eyes close, head tilting into the touch slightly stubbornly, he’s held in place with the other hand that cradles his face and rubs at his temples, and Asta melts into it much against his better judgement. “You’re terrible.” He accuses in that rough, Whitebrim voice, though the smile that tugs on his face proves Danta’s everything but that. “I need more of an example, if you will indulge me.” Dropping his glamour, the horns melt away from caging Danta’s fingers and his wagging tail vanishes to nothingness, his dark hair falling around his face and tangling against Danta’s fingers and along the expanse of his back between his shoulder blades and across his shoulder, likely soon in need of a trim.
Asta doesn’t move, staying precisely where he is as Danta cleans up and ignites the tissues with nothing more than a brief wind of ash that makes it vanish completely, all while Asta’s preparing to see what the other Ancient has to offer. “You expect it, do you?” He asks, lips quirking into a smirk that almost eggs him on. It’s a dare that’s swiped away with the press of his lover’s lips, distracted tenfold with the sensation that spills against his scalp and back, and he’s entirely helpless to prevent the huff of air that exhales out of him slightly sharp with the surprise of it.
Dark eyes close, head tilting into the touch slightly stubbornly, he’s held in place with the other hand that cradles his face and rubs at his temples, and Asta melts into it much against his better judgement. “You’re terrible.” He accuses in that rough, Whitebrim voice, though the smile that tugs on his face proves Danta’s everything but that. “I need more of an example, if you will indulge me.” Dropping his glamour, the horns melt away from caging Danta’s fingers and his wagging tail vanishes to nothingness, his dark hair falling around his face and tangling against Danta’s fingers and along the expanse of his back between his shoulder blades and across his shoulder, likely soon in need of a trim.
Astaroth
// there's a reason to enslave me and a reason to defeat me //
