Astaroth
// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //
As if in response to Danta’s attention, the dragonling’s bony jaws clack in her own approval, puffing out a smidge more smoke when Danta starts to give her attention. It’s almost like she’s saying that from what she gathers, the Butcher required some kind of companion that could keep up with him, so she’s quite pleased to be here when it comes to being part of the new demigod’s soul. She laps up the attention to each and every vertebrae and ribs, before another huff of smoke slips past her lips and she hops off the bed to go and inspect the room now that she’s got free reign to do so.
Which leaves Asta fully committed to the Maverick with the laughter that finds its way past his throat. “That is correct.” He very well might die, should he not get the attention he thinks he deserves. Attention he captures with the ghoulish green of the fire that comes to life between his fingers, warm and inviting and perfectly eerie.
The kiss is much needed and very much wanted, though, and he extinguishes the fire once Danta’s surged through it to snatch the kiss, blotting out any retort the Butcher might have. His hands slip around him again, keeping him tucked against him close. One hand rising up to drag his fingers gently along the nape of his fiance’s neck while the other presses into the hollow of his hip. “No, you are, darling.” The Butcher retorts, smirking in spite of himself, wondering if his kiss tastes like the honey-wine, ashen Dygra still.
He doesn’t wait to find out, though, not as he surges back in for another kiss – this one greedier and more needyin part, bolstered from the visit with Dygra, shifting them to sink back into the bed so he might be able to strip himself of all of his clothes he’d had to bundle on to make the trip to the Climb.
Which leaves Asta fully committed to the Maverick with the laughter that finds its way past his throat. “That is correct.” He very well might die, should he not get the attention he thinks he deserves. Attention he captures with the ghoulish green of the fire that comes to life between his fingers, warm and inviting and perfectly eerie.
The kiss is much needed and very much wanted, though, and he extinguishes the fire once Danta’s surged through it to snatch the kiss, blotting out any retort the Butcher might have. His hands slip around him again, keeping him tucked against him close. One hand rising up to drag his fingers gently along the nape of his fiance’s neck while the other presses into the hollow of his hip. “No, you are, darling.” The Butcher retorts, smirking in spite of himself, wondering if his kiss tastes like the honey-wine, ashen Dygra still.
He doesn’t wait to find out, though, not as he surges back in for another kiss – this one greedier and more needy
// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //
