[SE] refugee from stone and sand

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

He is perfect. For every single thing the butcher has ever laid his eyes on or come in contact with, the Maverick was perfect in each and every way. Even back then in the darkest dredges of their combined history, when they were at ends with one another — Danta was his perfect opponent. The perfect match. Never in a million years would he have believed he’d be here now, but gods if Danta isn’t bleached into the black pit of his heart, impossible to rid himself of even if he wanted to.

And he really, really doesn’t want to. He’s happy to live and breathe him, to be his and claim him as his own. A perfect myriad of obsession and chaotic desire. And with each and every second they spend together, he’s reminded again and again of just how much he wants to drown in Danta’s silver tongue and diamond horns.

Danta, as expected, sinks back against him and he’s helpless to ignore making him do all of the work. So as his lover’s silent request is made, the butcher gives in, his hips rocking into him with a low growl of a moan of his own. The flame collar burns brighter around his throat as Asta’s hands find purchase against his lover’s hips, fingertips digging in enough to bruise. And with the quick and needy pace they’d started at, the butcher finds himself slowing a touch if only to readjust them again.

Essentially manhandling him, the butcher’s hand flattens against Danta’s chest, drawing him up and back against him as he sinks back onto his heels, burying his face into his neck as the collar of flames part to offer a muffled “How are you enjoying your view?” He asks, breathy and muffled against his lover’s skin, peering at him from the reflection as his free hand drags across his lover’s lower stomach, toward his nearly forgotten cock.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

// you knew who I was //

Danta enjoys being manhandled on the best of days, but gods when Asta is like this, there's something exquisitely chaotic about it that ramps things up to an entirely new level. Huffing out a breath as he's pinned back against the butcher's chest, every thrust of his hips dragging an involuntary moan from his lips, one of his hands drops to cover Asta's, entwining their fingers over the thunder of his heart.

"It's--" Cut off by another hitch of breath and the way he tries to cage the sound of his pleasure behind clenched teeth, his free hand braces against the other man's forearm, even as his touch glides tantalisingly lower. Danta's cock twitches impatiently, hard and aching and ignored, though as he lifts his gaze to their reflections, it's enough to have fresh heat curling low in his belly.

"Gods," he whispers, deliberately rolling his hips back. "I could watch us forever, you know."

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

“Mm, so could I.” Comes the moan of agreement, an almost dramatic flare if it weren’t for the way Danta’s pitched back so perfectly that the press of his hips against the driving thrust Asta provides blooms a brilliant heat into him he can’t help but to show. It precedes his gliding hand, finding the twitching, aching cock, and snagging it in a deft manner that’s certainly geared toward not prolonging the result.

Each tight stroke mirrors the butcher’s rocking hips as he drowns himself in his lover’s shoulder, in the scent of sage and smoke and citrus that sparks with the briefest, barely there hint of iron from the butcher’s sharp teeth as it catches on one of his lips. It’s a superficial wound, one that he likely wouldn’t notice until he drank liquor or lemonade, but enough to tack the scent into the middle of his favorites.

He turns that attention to Danta’s neck, now, sucking in a dark kiss against his neck with the scrape of teeth to drag more scarlet to the surface, finally breaking his attention from the mirror with the curtain of dark hair that sweeps across his shoulder to blot him out.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

// you knew who I was //

That faint scent of iron will be Danta's undoing in the end, whether he knows it or not - he's danced this dance with Asta for long enough now that blood has all but become routine, the crimson kiss preceding heights of reckless ecstasy. His fingers flinch around the butcher's forearm as he finally grips his cock, the overwhelming feel of him already dragging him inexorably towards climax. "Fuck, Asta--"

Cut off by his own gasp of pleasure, his head angles willingly to the side that the other man might claim his property with a bruising kiss. That in itself has something dark and altogether contradictory crackling through Danta's blood, but gods - gods - it just makes it all fucking better. "Don't stop," he begs, his fingers squeezing around the butcher's to guide his hand from his chest up and around his throat.

"Fuck, don't stop--" Encouraging him to squeeze and squeeze hard, Danta cums with a rough cry of bliss that absolutely won't be muffled behind the closed door of the tailor's. Not that he thinks the merchant has stuck around to listen. (Or maybe he has? Kinky.)

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

Danta will be able to feel the smirk that tugs on the corners of his lips as he dives in against his lover’s neck, drifting up toward his jaw and jeweled ear with a neediness that can only be helped by the grinding increase of the rocking of his hips. Of course, hearing the sounds that leave the Maverick’s lips only spur him on further, desire dragging an indulgent curl of his tail around Danta’s thigh as he gives into his begging both in his voice and the space he’s tugging his hand.

It drifts up and Asta’s position changes, lips painted a faint red from the brief scratches caused on his lover’s neck as he hovers around his shoulder as he squeezes his throat with the encouragement practically pouring from his lover’s lips, that he works him enough to work himself up in the process. His tongue sweeps across his bloodied lips, pairing Danta’s request and panting breaths with quieter grunts of confirmation and groans of his own.

And as he watches him come undone, the butcher’s lips twitch in a breathy smirk before his own orgasm claims him with a sharp and stuttered, deep thrust that has him buried. “Gods, Danta,” comes his own unbidden moan, louder and more possessive as his arms sweep around to caress him closer - reverently as they ride out the bliss that floats in their limbs, uncaring weather the tailor had stayed or left as far as he’s concerned.

Though he’d be lying if the thought of him lingering didn’t help spur him further in a possessive he’s mine and I’m his kind of way.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

// you knew who I was //

For an brief and blissful moment, the world seems to slow to a crawl, each second a lifetime that burns in Danta's lungs. Sound reduces down to the thunder of his pulse and the rough hush of Asta's breath in his ear, and as he's clutched closer he offers no resistance, happy to be owned and possessed and claimed, as long as it's in the safety of the butcher's arms.

Reality drips back into place with the slow return of his senses, and a soft, breathless laugh shudders out from Danta's throat. Turning his head, he offers a smiling kiss to Asta's cheek, to his jaw, to any part of him that he can claim with his lips, before he carefully sinks back on his knees with a satisfied groan. "Are you gonna do that to me after the masquerade?" he whispers, voice hoarse and altogether far too pleased with himself.

"Because if the answer is no, I don't want to go any more."

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

Warmth spreads through him, like the flame he’d nearly encapsulated his lover with has soaked into his bones, racing through each of his veins like a shot of lightning crackling through him comfortably. It’s the reverence of worshipping Danta in such a way that he melts into the kiss pressed to his cheek, jaw, the side of his neck when he reluctantly loosens his hold on his lover so he can sink back onto his knees.

Even still, he can’t fully let go of him, his hand sluggishly following him briefly to stroke a gentle touch across his back, reaching forward to hug him from behind in an all encompassing touch as he continues to work to catch his breath. “Oh, darling, I was intending on doing that and more.” Comes the proud boast, the affectionate nuzzle of his cheek and face in against the Maverick’s sharp edged cheekbone.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

// you knew who I was //

Not having expected Asta to go very far, Danta welcomes the embrace around him, relaxing into the warm weight of the other man against his back. "And more?" he repeats in a whisper, sounding appropriately scandalised, though it's mostly ruined by the fanged grin that's all too visible in their many reflections. "You are far too good to me," he purrs, fighting against the way his eyes want to grow instantly heavy.

"I hope you know I'm taking notes of all this. It's your birthday next season, after all." And whilst Danta has promised he won't spring any surprise parties on the butcher, that doesn't mean that surprises in general can't be arranged. And the Maverick is being given plenty of inspiration throughout Leafchange, put it that way.

"Do you think we ought to clean up all these clothes?" he asks after a while with a raised brow.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

“And mooooorrre.” The butcher purrs breathlessly against his lover’s ear, his tongue trilling over the rolled r despite his breathlessness. As for being too good to him, the butcher’s soft laugh is a gentle vibration pressed into Danta’s back as he shifts, pressing a kiss to his spine right between his shoulder blades, over scars he’d long since put there, as if a subconscious way of saying how good he was to him now while acknowledging how terrible he had been in the past.

Pausing briefly at the mention of notes, though, Danta would feel Asta’s bearded chin press against his shoulder as he angles his horned head, peering at him in the reflection with a curious gleam to his gaze. “Ah, so shall you be treating me or is it you are keeping track of your favorites for another rendition?” He asks, seeking clarification before he forces himself to actually withdraw from his lover.

Nodding to the mention of clothes, he reaches off to the side already for the chain cape he’d intended on taking, folding the heavy material lightly into a pile they can take with them. “I suppose we should. We do wish to be able to come back, don’t we?” He hums, flashing a shark-tooth grin over Danta’s shoulder to the mirrored reflection of him.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

// you knew who I was //

An involuntary shiver trills up the length of Danta's spine as Asta purrs into his ear, the Maverick grinning and playfully trying to swat the other man away - not very hard, of course, since he relaxes back into his arms again soon enough. His eyes slip closed to enjoy the feel of warm lips between his shoulder blades, and it's with a fiendish grin that he tilts his head to rest against Asta's. "Yes," he says simply in response to his question. Yes he plans to treat him, and yes he's filing away all his favourite parts of this season for another day, rainy or otherwise.

But gods, much as he'd love to sit here for an indefinite time with the butcher, as the other man leans to the side, Danta stretches and gingerly gets to his feet. "I think so," he agrees, chuckling. "I've grown to quite like this place, you know." Pottering about to pull on his clothes and to gather the rest into a decent attempt at a folded pile, of course it's never going to be as crisp or tidy as Asta's, but then that's what the butcher let himself in for. "Shall we?" Danta smiles.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

“Ah, yes to both I see.” The butcher purrs with a touch of delight – unsure what the next season might await him in terms of how he might change from the overwhelming sensation this has caused. But either way, seems relatively pleased with the prospect of it. But for now, they do need to clean up, and as much as the butcher would love to craft this little space into a temporary den to keep them hidden away a bit longer, he knows it’s unrealistic.

He watches Danta stand as he, himself stands, stepping over to collect the puddle of chainmail that would make up his cloak, draping it over an arm as he steps over to set it with the rest that Danta has attempted to fold into a halfway decent pile. Snagging his own clothes, though, he slips into them with surprising ease and swans easily over to his lover’s side, arm sweeping into the space of the small of his back, warm hand pressed against the jut of his hip. “I am overjoyed to have converted you.” He smirks, before nodding and guiding the Maverick out of the fitting room so the tailor might actually be able to work without losing a finger.

- FIN

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap