// And they glow, with the help of Lucifer Yellow //
“I am well read, Wasp.” Asta points out. It isn’t the erotica specifically within the book that he’s got complaints about, it’s the descriptors of such things. But the complaints have only seemingly just begun as Danta cages him in to prevent him from leaving to read the book – which he shouldn’t have to worry about, given the regret that pools in the pit of his stomach and the way he wonders if he can inhale enough of the fire currently by his face that it might latch onto the memory in his mind and burn it out.
He feels Danta shift slightly and he peeks up at him with those dark eyes, flickering honey gold with a nose wrinkle as if trying to read the double meaning of what Danta asks. Because his initial gut reaction is to say it absolutely is that line which would also mean that he would not love Danta if he were, in fact, a worm. Which is something he can be at times and Asta loves him even if he’s shrieking and biting at him.
It has him rising slightly, enough that he can cup both sides of Danta’s cheeks with fire hot hands, scanning his face. “There is nothing wrong with your mucus. But there are far better ways to describe such a thing that does not make one think of, perhaps, things that would not inherently make someone rock hard.” He tries to explain, a delicate dance on the edge of a sword that could go either way at this point and the butcher already has an impending sense of doom that he’s falling. “Things that may, perhaps, inspire me to take you to the stars. That may, perhaps, inspire me to make you light up like an ignis pulse at the pinnacle of a storm..” He lists out just the two that come immediately to mind, before he puffs out a sigh because this was absolutely not the right kind of vibe he was going for and he is not an author of erotica, even if he was a man that had a sway with words.
Defeated, somewhat, the butcher plants his face into his fiance’s chest.
He feels Danta shift slightly and he peeks up at him with those dark eyes, flickering honey gold with a nose wrinkle as if trying to read the double meaning of what Danta asks. Because his initial gut reaction is to say it absolutely is that line which would also mean that he would not love Danta if he were, in fact, a worm. Which is something he can be at times and Asta loves him even if he’s shrieking and biting at him.
It has him rising slightly, enough that he can cup both sides of Danta’s cheeks with fire hot hands, scanning his face. “There is nothing wrong with your mucus. But there are far better ways to describe such a thing that does not make one think of, perhaps, things that would not inherently make someone rock hard.” He tries to explain, a delicate dance on the edge of a sword that could go either way at this point and the butcher already has an impending sense of doom that he’s falling. “Things that may, perhaps, inspire me to take you to the stars. That may, perhaps, inspire me to make you light up like an ignis pulse at the pinnacle of a storm..” He lists out just the two that come immediately to mind, before he puffs out a sigh because this was absolutely not the right kind of vibe he was going for and he is not an author of erotica, even if he was a man that had a sway with words.
Defeated, somewhat, the butcher plants his face into his fiance’s chest.
Astaroth
// I had it, concerning madness, sink into satin, focus on the static //
