[SE] 'til you get to the bottomland

// there's a reason that they hate me, a reason that they need me //

The soft breath gasped against his mouth is only a boon that the butcher takes into account as he presses back into the kiss, intentional and attentive in all the ways he has zero qualms about being this season. Like the lock had been opened and misplaced for his whims and choices – and perhaps that’s part of what makes him so dangerous this time of year too. But for Danta, well, the butcher covets him, worships him in all realistic ways a cannibal can.

Such that when he parts to catch his breath, the butcher’s panting as well, face flushed and dark eyes even darker despite the lanternlight, desire clearly written in the panes of his face and the lines placed there by age. “We have plenty of time now, do we not?” He asks with that smug arrogance, that thick accent, enough that it allows him to use it as a distraction as he draws him back against him, nestled in the blankets and pillows of their nest, keeping him close to steal another chaste kiss before he’s trailing his lips along the other side of Danta’s neck while a free hand drags up his side to cup his cheek, fingers threading and coiling through the strands of gold, illuminated brightly against the lanternlight in their tent.

Astaroth

// there's a reason to enslave me and a reason to defeat me //