// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //
Like it was back then, the butcher doesn’t flinch from the snap of teeth. Not while he gets his correction underway, the fact that he knows the blonde Ancient so thoroughly that the correction was the important part – because never once had Asta ever yielded to Danta. They had never yielded to each other previously – more often than not pulled apart before they could do any true lasting damage by observers.
This, though, was entirely on them. And as the blood splashes down onto his lover’s face and it streaks down the side of that handsomely sharp jawline, his body aches and pulses with each slice through his flesh, the hair that’s spread across the bloody floor and clinging to the portions of them still wet and sticky with blood.
His flinch isn’t missed, nor is his question, and as the whisper and the please leaves him, Asta’s immediately moving. He’s trying to stand, slipping not once but twice when his boot hits the bloody floor not quite well enough to retain traction. His tail whips behind him once he finally manages it, crossing the distance between the door and where they’d succumbed to their fight, leaning heavily on the door and smearing handprints of blood in the process.
He opens it, the world around them resets, his hair back to normal, no more pain and blood soaking through his shirt and down his skin, and only once he’s positive it’s worked on Danta too does he close the door again and sink back against it, half bent with his hands braced against his knees. “Darling, are you okay?” He winces despite his attention flickering from the floor to the Maverick with the question, chest still rising and falling as he catches his breath and his wits about him again.
Perhaps this was a terrible idea.
This, though, was entirely on them. And as the blood splashes down onto his lover’s face and it streaks down the side of that handsomely sharp jawline, his body aches and pulses with each slice through his flesh, the hair that’s spread across the bloody floor and clinging to the portions of them still wet and sticky with blood.
His flinch isn’t missed, nor is his question, and as the whisper and the please leaves him, Asta’s immediately moving. He’s trying to stand, slipping not once but twice when his boot hits the bloody floor not quite well enough to retain traction. His tail whips behind him once he finally manages it, crossing the distance between the door and where they’d succumbed to their fight, leaning heavily on the door and smearing handprints of blood in the process.
He opens it, the world around them resets, his hair back to normal, no more pain and blood soaking through his shirt and down his skin, and only once he’s positive it’s worked on Danta too does he close the door again and sink back against it, half bent with his hands braced against his knees. “Darling, are you okay?” He winces despite his attention flickering from the floor to the Maverick with the question, chest still rising and falling as he catches his breath and his wits about him again.
Perhaps this was a terrible idea.
Astaroth
// a smile so bright, you'd never bat an eye //
