all the blood and the dust

// no one wants a half remembered tragedy. You must know the width of the knife //

He will always forgive him, regardless of the reasoning and least of all this. And so he offers out his options, also recalling that rented room in Torchline. But it had been so long ago, and blood between them had flowed far more freely these days than the tightrope they’d walked. Sure, they understood it then, but not to this extent. Not to the extent where they can test those limits.

He’s confident in Danta’s capabilities, even if the Maverick isn’t. “I won’t, love.” He reassures him, despite the unfairness of it, and as he all but collapses in against him and the scent of blood becomes fresh and anew again, Asta’s arms sweep around him and hold him close. “We can take all of the precautions necessary.” He doesn’t mind. And as for the fact that it wasn’t like they hadn’t fought before since waking up, the butcher responds with a soft huff of a laugh.

“We have. And you have even tested me and I passed since awakening.” He nuzzles his cheek in, recalling the night after he’d asked him to marry him when Danta had loaded up with fountain water in Torchline and told him to indulge. And for a split second, it’s almost like his mouth is full of his lover’s blood again – a test, truly, one that had left him shaky but accomplished as he’s sure this will probably make his fiancé. “You’ve got this, wasp.” He purrs, pressing a series of kisses to the golden crown of his head.

Astaroth

// and how it ruined you. Name the organs it kissed //

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

You don't know that, Danta wants to say, but as Asta's arms wind around him to hold him tight, he shamelessly relaxes into the comfort of it. Asta believes it and Danta wants to believe it, and so that practically makes it true already, right? "Okay," he mumbles into the crook of his neck, offering a quiet nod that feels a lot more certain than he does. Still, the butcher does make a good point - he had pushed him very much to the limit only last season. In comparison, this ought to be simple. Easy, even.

Well, fuck.

"As long as you've got me," he protests nevertheless, mouth kicking up in a small smile that grows warmer at the sudden flurry of kisses pressed to his hair. "Ugh, you're the worst," he complains affectionately, nestling closer and fumbling out for one of the furs to drag it over the pair of them, as if declaring that he's quite finished with such deep conversations.

Dantalion

// no one wants a half remembered tragedy. You must know the width of the knife //

The mumble in the crook of his neck is all he really needs – keeping him close and trying to offer assurance where he can while he feels the nod against his skin. His hands smooth through blonde strands and don’t fight when the furs are snagged. If anything, the butcher helps them along before they’re effectively cocooned in the blankets of their makeshift nest in the den. “I always have you, darling.” He purrs as he continues to pepper those kisses in his hair.

The affectionate complaint is met with a huff of a laugh before the butcher’s finally starting to relax, nestling into the blanket that’s a makeshift pillow at this point, propped up above Danta’s head. “I know I am.” He smirks, agreeing quietly that the deep conversations should be over with as exhaustion settles in his bones just as much as he’s sure it’s weighing in Danta’s. "Sleep, love."

- FIN

Astaroth

// and how it ruined you. Name the organs it kissed //