don't you ever tame your demons

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"I will," Danta trills, his tail flicking at his heels and brushing occasionally against the butcher's side as they walk. What starts as a loose stroll ends up as quite the determined stride before too long, as if the Maverick is in some sort of a rush to get up and out into the open, and when the endless skies of The Climb finally unfurl for them, like a geode cracked to bear its jewels, he lets out a shuddering sigh of relief he doesn't realise he's needed.

"That's better," he mumbles, even though it isn't, Danta worrying at his lower lip enough to draw a bead of blood. Shaking out his hands, his tail lashing suddenly, he glances towards Asta. "Hey, can you... I... Yeah, I feel like you should back up. I think something's happened."

Not waiting for the butcher to fully start to move out of the way, as if he can't cage the feeling stretching and building within him any longer, it's with as much instinct as anything else that Danta rolls his shoulders and starts to shift. At first it seems as if he's becoming the now-familiar shape of a lyvern, all shimmering dark scales and leathery wings, except this time, it doesn't stop.

Enormous talons bury into the rock and earth, and the wings that stretch from his shoulders are enough to cast vast shadows over the surrounding area. Stretching a draconic neck and whipping out a tail ridged with spines and rougher scales, Danta shakes himself off with smoke already billowing from his snout, focusing cool reptilian eyes on the world as if it's made for him and him alone.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

It’s a casual follow, until it isn’t anymore. And when the Maverick’s tail doesn’t brush against his side as often, he knows to increase his pace to match his lover’s. Eventually, though, they crest the open air – the slight coolness of the vast expanse of the sky brushing against their skin. “Is it?” He murmurs, because he scents blood in the air briefly before Danta’s telling him to back up.

Confused beyond belief, the butcher only has enough time to step back a few steps where he hesitates – because the shape is so like the lyvern of his lover’s that he’s anticipating it to remain that way.

Except it doesn’t. And it keeps growing. And growing. And suddenly, the butcher hardly has room to stand beside him, shuffling back awkwardly when his shoe catches on a ridge in the lava rock. Asta goes down, though thankfully not too hard, only to peer up at his lover as he takes the magnificent form of a black dragon.

His eyes widen and he peels himself up from the ground, approaching him slowly in awe. “Darling! Ha, you’re a dragon!” It’s his bewilderment and surprise that makes him not at all eloquent, because obviously Danta is a fucking dragon. But he’s awed at the beauty in the flex of the black scales, the smoke that billows from his nose, the sharp reptilian stare, the leathery wings that shuffle as if craving flight.

Flight that the butcher can’t join him with, unfortunately.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

Danta doesn't see Asta go down, focused as he is on the new flush of instinct and need that sings through his bones and in his blood. Nothing like this has ever existed in him before - pure predator, sleek and defiant and unyielding to rules or expectations. Snorting a lick of fire and snapping his maw, revealing rows upon rows of white, jagged teeth, it takes a second for the Maverick to orient himself towards the sound of a familiar voice.

And when he does, he regards Asta with a mix of confusion and curiosity, as if to ask him what he's doing all the way down there. On the ground, on his ass, whichever makes the most sense. Leaning in close, his serpentine neck curving gracefully to lower his snout towards the butcher, he gives him a nudge with warm, rough scales - gentle, for a dragon, but likely enough to almost throw him back off his feet if he's made it upright.

Why yes I am, he seems to blink at the other man, his talons flexing and dragging up rock and earth beneath them. How about that.

Stretching his wings out to catch the warm billows of air that breeze across The Climb, he lifts his head almost longingly towards the sky, but equally doesn't want to abandon Asta here on the ground. There will be time for it later, he assures himself.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

The great sized face of the dragon swings toward the butcher and he’d be lying if a thrill didn’t shoot up his spine, making his tail swing in jagged movements. It leans in close and Asta unfortunately has gotten partially to his feet by the time Danta’s nose presses into him, nudging him until he’s losing his balance again with a bark of a laugh, scrabbling onto Danta’s face for purchase.

He goes down again, picks himself up again, and watches as Danta’s head swivels toward the sky. “You can fly if you wish to. Just.. Come back at some point.” He calls up to Danta, his sharp grin on full display toward his lover. “Or, perhaps you can take me with?” He’s never flown, but fuck it if the idea didn’t seem tempting.

Besides, it isn’t like he hasn’t ridden Danta before, right?

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

Dragons can't smile, but there's a definite slant of amusement in the reptilian expression as Asta is forced to scrabble for purchase against sleek black scales. And gods, when he says it - fly if you wish to - his wings are already feathering out, as if they can taste the thermals high above and what it would be like to glide on them, to stretch to their full span and freewheel against the heat of The Climb, to see it all for the first time with new eyes. The suggestion, too, that Asta might come with him, has a low rumble of near glee rippling through Danta's flank.

He's clearly game for it, already starting to lower his head, only...

Grumbling suddenly and resting his chin directly on the stone, it's with a slow harrumph of breath that the Maverick promptly seems to change his mind.

And it takes a monumental effort to even begin to shift back, but within a minute, the draconic form is shrinking back down to the shirtless theocrat, on his knees, flushed and breathing heavily from the exertion of it. "You don't have a flighted shift," he pants, offering an apologetic smile up towards Asta. "And so if you fell..." If he fell and Danta didn't notice, couldn't catch him in time...

Well, that would be it.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

He almost thinks that Danta will go for it, the thrill flaring through his spine at the mere idea of it and the power within his lover’s draconic wings as they ruffle and flare. Only, shortly after does Asta watch as Danta slowly shifts back into himself and already he’s crossing the distance toward the Maverick, reaching out with warm hands, meeting him against the stone where he kneels along with Danta. “I do not.” He laments, sighing softly because he understands.

“Perhaps one day, then?” He murmurs, flashing that sharp toothed smile because he was still on cloud nine for Danta having found such a shift beneath his skin. “Provided I can be blessed with a flighted shift. If not, perhaps we’ll simply have to fashion you a saddle, mm?” It’s a gentle tease, one to show him that he isn’t upset at the idea of not joining for this moment. And perhaps when they get back to the Grounds he can take to the skies and survey all that is his.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"One day," Danta promises, turning to melt into any touch that Asta is willing to offer. Still a bit dazed and flushed - and still smiling, yes - he reaches out to sling an arm around the butcher's shoulders, leaning into his support and trying to get his feet back beneath him so they don't have to sit in the dust and rock and ash. "Me a saddle or you a harness. Maybe both," he suggests with a breathless laugh, waggling his eyebrows at his lover.

"Thank you," he adds, though he isn't specific about what. For being you, for being here, for being mine. "I think once I've gotten used to the shape a bit too, I'll feel more confident. I don't... I've never had anything like that. I only knew one or two Ancients who did." Morax being one of them, and gods, the sudden comparison is a wild one for Danta.

"Shall we go? I think I need a nap," he admits with a bark of laughter.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

“Perhaps both.” The butcher agrees easily, letting the low rumble of his laugh accompany Danta’s own breathless one. His hands are warm as he helps Danta to his feet, letting his arm hang around his shoulders as he winds his own around Danta’s middle to keep him pressed up against him.

The thank you isn’t what he’s expecting, nor can he reasonably figure out what it’s for, but the butcher doesn’t mind. Not when he can keep Danta tucked in close against him, nuzzling his cheek gently. “Of course, darling.” He murmurs softly, gently, twisting them so that they can focus on heading back to the portal, taking a few steps in the direction of it. “I knew only of a few that did as well.” Likely the same as Danta, but he supposes it goes to show just how strong his lover has become.

“You can nap for as long as you like after the day you have had.” Comes the gentle purr, ensuring that they get back to the portal and back to the Dusklight so that he can nap the beauty of the day away. And Asta will be at his side the entire time.

- FIN

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //