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+---- Thread: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? (/showthread.php?tid=12431)
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Astaroth - 01-28-2026
Too lost as he is in the moment of his teeth puncturing Danta’s pulse that he barely has time to think about the fact that he could give Danta the warnings and suggestions that maybe it isn’t that good of an idea to bare his throat as openly for him as it sounds. But they’re already here, the butcher’s already delved in, puncturing and coating them in the scarlet blood that drips and stains between the both of them, bringing the butcher to life.
It takes everything in him to indulge this far, to feel the familiar press of Danta’s fingers in his hair even if they aren’t as tight to keep him at bay as they usually are. He’s invigorated, the mixture between the butcher of the Climb and the cannibal from Whitebrim, a perfect venn diagram that results in nothing but a dark murderous desire that intermixes with lust.
His fingers twitch at the Maverick’s thighs to hear his name, brought back for a second with a shuddering and wet breath, lifting one hand to put over his wound to staunch the bleeding as he tilts his head up to look at Danta with perhaps the darkest look he’s seen. It's raw, it's carnal, it isn’t the same he’d seen in the Climb where the butcher had the intent to harm. It’s the depth of hunger for a pang that is not often sated.
It should be a good indicator of just how much the butcher loves him, though. To know that he can because the depth of his heart and feelings for the Maverick outweighs the animal in his heart and mind to have him look up at his lightheaded fiancé, blood dripping and coated in the dark shade of his blood. “[say]Drink.[/say]” He says in a growl, a demand, a need for him to drink the fountain water to heal the depth of the wound he’s caused so the dream doesn’t turn into a nightmare.
Blood still drips from his palm where it covers the bite, and the butcher leans in and drags his tongue along the path of the blood, lapping it up like he isn’t more than the dog in his soul as he patiently tries to wait, hips twitching impatiently beneath the weight of his lover.
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Dantalion - 01-28-2026
It's like looking into a mirror, Danta realises distantly as he gazes down at the butcher, his pupils blown wide and his hand clamping over the wound in the Maverick's neck. Like looking into the yawning, hungry depths of himself and seeing it reflected back, only instead of feeling shame and pity for the way instinct has brought out the very worst in Asta, Danta is struck dumb by the vicious beauty of that darkness. His lips are numb and refuse to form the words he wants to say - you're perfect - and he might have let the bottle of water slip loose between his fingers to shatter on the hardwood floors were it not for the command that rumbles through the air.
Panting softly as if it might keep the world from going dark, Danta's eyes slip shut and he leans into the hand fastened around his throat without thinking much of the consequences, caring only for the hot flick of Asta's tongue and the way his fingers could crush and break him with only a little more pressure.
Ah, the water though.
Blinking his eyes open in a bid to force himself to concentrate - and blood has started to pool alarmingly now, soaking greedily into the white linen of Danta's pants and dyeing them crimson - he raises the bottle and tips his head back, letting the water hit his tongue. He swallows at least some of that first gulp he thinks, the rest dripping from his chin and across his throat (or rather, across Asta's hand at present), but already he can feel clarity try to nip at his heels. Trying again, this time the cool, serene power of the fountain is able to flow where it needs, closing cuts and melting away any scars that might have formed.
[say]"I'm good,"[/say] he says thickly, a dozy smile curling across his lips. [say]"Just be gentle with me."[/say]
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Astaroth - 01-28-2026
It’s nothing he’s ever considered either, the fact that the rawness with which Asta looks up at him might be a mirror for the Maverick who’s never truly been sated either. Beaten down and prevented from eating and devouring and quelling his bloodlust. Asta peers up at him before the command drops from his lips, the hooded look made pure black, a tension in him that grows as he waits for Danta to drink the fountain water.
The first sip spills, mixing with the blood on his hand and there’s a moment of possessiveness and a quiet, hardly there hiss as it dilutes it. But when Danta goes for the full sip, he takes advantage of the moment to lap up some of what’s left; removing his hand when he feels the blood stop pouring.
It becomes a paint after, his hand still coated in red that reaches up to cup his cheek, leaving his handprint stained in crimson along his jaw, cheek, temple, and blond braid.
“[say]Of course, darling.[/say]” He purrs, raining himself in as he shifts them slightly, hand dropping to carefully readjust them and remove Danta’s billowy pants, his hands dragging bloody marks along his sides and pale skin. He indulges himself in the trail of kisses along his collarbones and chest, his breath hot where he pants against his skin as he pulls himself back in mentally. His body, however, has no trouble reacting to the blood that stains the both of them, pooled in the crevices of his scars.
He shifts them enough and gently too in order to slip his pants down to his ankles, not even going so far as to kick them off as the relief swells through him and he rolls his hips against Danta’s own as he focuses his attention again up at the Maverick, tugging him down for an iron filled kiss based from instinct and love.
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Dantalion - 01-28-2026
Only when the bottle is empty does Danta let it slip from his fingers, and he's lucky in that it clatters and rolls across the floor rather than shattering completely. Blinking a little more sense into his gaze, he's nevertheless all but putty in the butcher's hands, head tilting readily into his grip that paints a red print against his cheek and jaw. Curling his arm around the other man's shoulders, he assists with the removal of his pants as best he can, huffing a soft laugh at his own lack of coordination.
But soon enough Asta is shifting them again, rocking his hips up and against him, and with nothing between them now but the shreds of their self-control, even that is almost too much for Danta to handle. The sly quips that might normally purr breathlessly between them are nowhere to be found tonight, the Maverick's lips parting in a breathless gasp as he grinds down and against Asta, and he moans into the kiss the butcher claims a second later.
[say]"I want you,"[/say] he whispers, the words raw and barely audible against the other man's lips, and though he's unconvinced that he can hold his own wait, it doesn't stop Danta from shifting foward and against Asta's chest to encourage him to take him at last.
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Astaroth - 01-28-2026
He’s uncoordinated, but Asta’s sure if he tempers himself and doesn’t immediately take the advantage of more blood loss with the other bottles lingering about that it shouldn’t be too long before Danta starts feeling better. So he goes slowly, gently, as much for the Maverick as much as it is for himself. His hands smooth along his lover’s skin, spreading and smearing blood everywhere he touches.
Red marks settle at Danta’s hips eventually in the long stretch of his fingers. An open mouthed “[say]I want you too. Gods, so much so.[/say]” He can’t stop himself from the slight vocal gush, the whisper back one that’s made of his own lightheadedness — though while it isn’t from blood, it’s from admiration and adoration for everything Danta does for him.
When he sinks forward, the weight of his arm over his shoulders has him moving a little slower than he usually does. He aligns them, his cock aching as he sinks into the Maverick. It’s with a guttural growl that escapes his throat, the rhythm a gentler one than he might usually do, but the possessiveness of his hands and how he holds Danta screams everything else that usually sits in the butchers heart.
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Dantalion - 01-28-2026
Let it never be said that they don't take full advantage of all the furnishings in their room. With the bed in Danta's eyeline, the Maverick nevertheless wants to be nowhere else but here, marked with the shape of Asta's hands in his own blood and dizzied by everything leading up to and including this moment. The soft moan that escapes his lips as the butcher finally takes what he's been craving is nothing to the feral growl that rumbles between them, and the combination is music to Danta's ears.
[say]"Fuck, you're so--"[/say] Everything, is what he can't find the words to say. Everything he didn't know he needed, everything he craves, charm and wit and horror all wrapped together in a perfectly fitted suit. Giving up on the attempt and rocking his hips in time with Asta's gentle rhythm, the feel of him is overwhelming in an entirely different way, Danta's fingers gripping hard against Asta's shoulders as if to tell him not to stop.
[say]"I love the way you fuck me,"[/say] he whispers, his free hand smoothing through the butcher's hair to keep his head tilted up towards him, wanting to see the look on his face when he comes undone.
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Astaroth - 01-28-2026
Asta’s more than willing to go slow and gentle, especially when the start of this had been far more carnal than anything they’ve done so far — burnt headboards and tables included. Danta’s moan is a boon, one that guides him further to driving him deeper in slower, more intense thrusts. His breath hitches with each one, unable to last quite as long as he otherwise does. The deluge of blood previously sparking the quicker intensity of his edge growing.
“[say]Mm?[/say]” He prompts, not really caring whether he answers it or not. What he does know, is Danta feels amazing, and he is literally all the butcher thinks and feels. The grip to his shoulder is a shade, too, one that he notes but becomes part of a whole.
Jostled slightly with the match of their hips rocking together, it’s with those same heavy panting breaths still coated in blood that’s slowly drying as he looks up at Danta with the hooded gaze, fingers digging into his hips to drive himself deeper. “[say]You feel amazing.[/say]” He groans up at his lover, summoning a ribbon of fire to wind around Danta’s neck in a hot collar that crosses over to his own, the fire burning away some of the blood in smudges of ash in a circle that combines the both of them and lightens his black gaze even brighter until it looks like it could be the lava rock within the magma as he meets his lovers gaze. Both are intertwined in more than one way, and the fire couldn’t be more symbolic for them right this second.
Realization dawns on him as he rocks his hips with a bit more intensity, chasing the rising tension with moans and growls that make him perhaps the loudest he’s been for the Maverick yet. “[say]I won’t last long with you looking like this, love.[/say]” His bloody lips curl in a smirk.
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Dantalion - 01-28-2026
Danta's already forgotten what he was trying to say, so it's a good thing Asta doesn't expect him to finish his thought. It's about all he can do to catch his breath between each slow buck of the other man's hips, every thrust adding fuel to the fire that's been lit at the base of his spine. [say]"I'm all for you,"[/say] he manages in response to the butcher's groan of pleasure, head tipping back a little at the feel of the fiery collar about his neck. [say]"All yours."[/say]
The light of it flares behind his closed eyes, Danta letting out a moan that almost begs the butcher to force him over that edge, but as he gazes back down at the other man it's evident that he won't be falling alone. [say]"Good,"[/say] he whispers, hips rocking a little more sharply against him, the friction between their bodies trapping the aching length of his cock and coaxing him even closer.
[say]"I don't want you to last,"[/say] he pants, fingers flinching in Asta's hair as pleasure crackles through his core and threatens to overflow entirely. [say]"I want you to cum."[/say]
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Astaroth - 01-28-2026
There’s a certain other stroke that Danta sparks as he makes the claim that he’s all his. It buries deep in the confines of his ego, the fact that leaves him in a growled and equally breathless confirmation. “[say]You’re mine.[/say]” It’s half a snarl half a promise, the fiery collar around both of their necks tightening in a delicious heat of flame.
His warning isn’t so much of a warning, it seems. With the way Danta’s hips twitch harder, changing and shifting their thrusts that Asta quickly takes over, the pace increases to chase the tension burning through him. He holds him closer, providing the friction Danta needs himself, the clear indicator that both Asta and Danta are going to reach that edge together.
The butcher wouldn’t have it any other way, though. It isn’t so much of a race to the finish line as it is the ease of falling into it. The speed does increase, but it doesn’t last, the tether in him snaps so violently that he doesn’t expect it. There isn’t even the urge to bite again, just the tug down to capture his lips as he growls his lovers name and all kinds of sweet nothings into the kiss.
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Dantalion - 01-28-2026
[say]"Always,"[/say] Danta hisses in response, before his breath is stolen entirely by the way Asta clasps him closer, thrusting into him more deeply and prompting his fingers to tighten around the other man. Not to keep him at bay - quite the opposite in fact, it's more to give the Maverick something to hold onto as they ride out those last few moments into bliss. The butcher's name is lost in the kiss suddenly pressed to Danta's lips, muffling his moan as he cums and arches into Asta, utterly undone.
It's a glacial few seconds, it feels, before he forces himself to draw back and pant for breath, ecstasy still roaring through his veins with every heartbeat. [say]"I love you."[/say] He whispers the declaration against the butcher's lips, a bloody hand (with a bloodier engagement ring) lifting to cup his cheek. [say]"Are you okay?"[/say]
A strange thing to ask, some might think, given that Danta is the one whose blood still covers them, their clothes, the floor even, but he's no fool. This had been the closest they'd ever come to falling from the tightrope Asta walks, and he doesn't want to downplay it.
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Astaroth - 01-28-2026
They both break and fall apart and the butcher lets all of his sweet nothings and love pour into the Maverick’s mouth. It’s the bliss of those few seconds that keep his mind from getting into the actual realization of what’s happened. His heartbeat thunders in his chest, beats hard against his neck as he makes the fire collar disappear. Ash from the burnt blood smears against both of their necks as Asta’s head tilts into the touch to his cheek, panting to try and collect himself. “[say]I love you too.[/say]” He breathes out slowly.
The blood is sticky against his cheek and chin and he pulls back to take in his lover’s face as the question reaches him. His brows pinch for a moment before the sight of the blood catches him and he looks down, following the trail to see it smeared between them, soaked into the pants and the floor that sits beneath the heap of the pale linen.
He knows he’s healed, though, because despite knowing it, his gaze flits immediately with some sense of panic and urgency to his lover’s neck where there should be a scar or a gaping wound, only to find absolutely nothing there. “[say]I… Yes. I—Gods, Danta, that was..[/say]” Amazing, perfect, terrifying, exhausting.
“[say]Wonderful, but maybe we could not do that again for a while?[/say]” He asks in perhaps the most awkward sentence the butcher has ever uttered. He reaches up, collecting Danta’s hand with the ring on it, dragging it to his bloodstained lips to press kisses to each of his knuckles, lingering on the ring.
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Dantalion - 01-29-2026
Similarly fighting to catch his breath as they come down from the bliss of the past few seconds, Danta's smile is almost self-deprecating as he follows Asta's gaze to the mess all around them. [say]"Hopefully the spirits aren't too mad at having to clean all that up,"[/say] he says, his voice rough, his thumb brushing softly across the other man's cheek.
Asta doesn't say it but Danta can almost feel the panic jump through him as his dark eyes move from the blood on the floor to his neck, and he tilts his head up to show him his perfectly intact throat, caked with blood but nothing more. Surrendering his hand for capture and kisses, as the butcher parses through all that just happened, when he finally speaks, Danta's shoulders ease against a tension he'd not realised he'd been holding.
[say]"You took the words right out of my mouth,"[/say] he says, leaning in to touch his forehead to Asta's. [say]"It got a bit dicey back there, huh."[/say] Understatement of the century, but hopefully he can be forgiven; he still feels a bit lightheaded, truth be told.
[say]"Not that it wasn't hot as fuck, but... yeah. We'll give it a while before doing that again."[/say]
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Astaroth - 01-29-2026
Danta’s voice is rough, but the sentiment is measured equally versus Asta’s own thoughts as he takes in the pools of drying blood. A slight wince leaves him, evident in the way the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes crease a little deeper. It’s a depth that continues as he lifts his gaze from it to Danta’s neck as if remembering the feeling of his teeth sinking in and just how close he came to not being able to rein it in.
He realizes then, that perhaps the revivify feather might have served a different purpose. Quietly grateful that it didn’t and they’d made it out, he presses the sentiment into each kiss to his lover’s blood stained knuckles.
Happy to hear that Danta shares the same sentiment, some tension loosens in his shoulders alongside the soft exhale, pressing his cheek to the Maverick’s hand he keeps held there, eyes shutting for a few moments to come to a little more. “[say]A bit.[/say]” Comes the hoarse agreement. However, as Danta continues, Asta can’t help the soft snort that leaves him as he pulls himself together enough to look up at him and offer a gentler smile. “[say]I suppose it is a testament of how much I love you that I was able to stop.[/say]” He murmurs a little softer, agreement in the undertones of his accented voice.
“[say]Let’s go get a shower, mm? I would like to hold you for a while if that is alright?[/say]” There’s a quiet glint of a plea in his eyes, one so very rarely there that the butcher can’t hide – not from Danta.
RE: southern comfort's comforting, isn't it? - Dantalion - 01-29-2026
[say]"Not that I ever feel as though we need to test that sentiment, but... nice to know how much you care for me I guess,"[/say] Danta mumbles with a crooked little smile, leaning up to gently kiss Asta's forehead. [say]"Mm, a shower does sound good,"[/say] he agrees, his free hand coming up to brush the butcher's dark hair out of his face and back behind his horns. Another soft kiss and he draws back a bit, blinking in surprise to see the sudden vulnerability in the other man's face.
[say]"Of course it's alright,"[/say] he says, lingering for a couple of seconds more before carefully getting himself upright. A huff of barely audible laughter leaves him as he's forced to bear his own weight - a combination of blood loss and the very thorough job Asta has done makes it much more difficult than expected. [say]"You might be holding me far before the shower at this rate,"[/say] he jokes, carefully meandering across the room to their en suite and ignoring the bloody footprints he leaves against the floorboards.
It's thankfully very little effort to turn on the shower, steam soon rolling through the air and caressing Danta's skin, but he waits for the butcher before stepping beneath the hot jet of water.