[SE] sleep deprivations got me at my heels

// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //

"Mmhm," Danta says, hiding his smile behind his wine (since he doubts Asta would ever admit to his decision being a poor one) and tipping his head back to finish his second glass in short order. Then it's time to get themselves on their feet, and the butcher isn't the only one deciding to ignore the protests of their body, Danta grumbling as he carefully straightens up and snags the rest of their bottle. Pouring himself a refill - and reaching across to do the same for Asta - it leaves the bottle empty, allowing him to set it down nearby.

"Gods, I bet," he purrs in response to the other man's whining, admiring the way his horns spiral out and cast shadows against the wall and resisting the urge to grab at his weaving tail. "Good thing we don't have to leave it until we're good and ready after this, mm?" Ushering Asta towards their den, Danta is thoroughly enjoying the buzz from the alcohol as he sets his glass down and hides a wide yawn behind the back of his hand.

"I'm back to being big spoon," he informs Asta haughtily, gesturing for him to collapse into bed and get comfortable.

Dantalion

// the little death that make you feel alive //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

The end of his spaded tail flicks a touch more rapidly when the glass of wine is filled and handed back, and he does manage to flash a grateful smile toward his lover before he’s beginning to make his way toward the bed, humming a note of agreement when they reach the darkened interior, setting his wine glass down on the side table of a portion of the bed he hasn’t seen in days. A flare of magic has the oil lamps in their room lowering but the fire remaining just as high and warm to battle the chill outside. “That is quite good, yes.” He murmurs in response, before his gaze drifts across the bed to the Maverick with the announcement.

He would protest, but given the bandage on his arm and everything he’s put him through the last three days, he realizes he doesn’t have anything to stand on. And so, he snorts and sheds his clothes the best he can given his arm, debates removing the sling again before leaving it on, and slides into the bed with a whisper of fabric from the sheets and furs to curl up with enough room for the Maverick to indeed be that big spoon – and to help him with the muzzle, because he inevitably will require the additional hand. He can, however, hold it against his face, but he doesn’t deign to do that until he gets one last kiss from the Theocrat, twisting enough to nearly demand it by his positioning as he presses his scarred back against Danta’s chest.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //

Similarly shedding his clothes as best he can, Danta pointedly tries not to look down at the bandages still covering his arm. The wound itself has long since closed and the wrappings aren't strictly necessary, but with this particular wound, he's keen not to look at it until long after the bruising has faded. He gets the impression, too, that Asta might feel the same way.

Taking one final sip of wine as Asta climbs beneath the blankets and furs, it's with a shiver that the Maverick swiftly slips under the covers to join him. Prepared to nuzzle against his back after fastening his muzzle, he's left puzzled to see his lover twist around instead, only realising belatedly what he's after.

"Who am I to deny you a last kiss goodnight?" Grinning and leaning in, Danta makes sure it counts, his lips warm and his tongue wicked, and he doesn't draw back until he knows they'll both be panting for breath. "Hopefully that lasts you until the morning." Winking and reaching out, he spends a few careful moments ensuring the muzzle is fastened and secure, before promptly melting against Asta, his arms winding around his middle to keep him close.

Dantalion

// the little death that make you feel alive //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

He sees the puzzled look on Danta’s face, and no he doesn’t elaborate. He knows Danta will figure it out quickly, and much to his confidence – he does. “Correct.” He hums haughtily, smiling into the kiss. They’re perhaps lucky, or mournful, that with the tinge of blood still on his tongue that Danta’s wickedness doesn’t spark anything else to occur – and left satisfied and panting, the butcher shifts a little to place the muzzle up against his mouth to cover his jaw, precisely where it sits comfortably so that Danta can get the muzzle into place.

“I think it’ll last perfectly, darling.” He hums now that he melts into the bed and the pillows, feeling every ounce of his exhaustion return to him in full force. It takes hardly any time between when Danta fastens the muzzle into place and winds around him, that the butcher isn’t already sacked out, his good arm tucked into Danta’s that wind around his middle, to thankfully have a very uneventful sleep.

- FIN

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine