(SE) straight up to the sun

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

"Good," Danta murmurs, leaving it at that as he brews their tea and empties a generous (read: all) amount of the liquor into the kettle as well. "Oh?" He smirks, unused to having anything to make anyone else envious - not that he'd ever particularly cared, but this is a new and refreshing feeling. "Oh, I see. Maybe it's a good thing that you can't use it again yet, then - not while you're still expanding your wardrobe." He wiggles his fingers.

Smirking and moving to sit back down with the kettle between them, he tilts his head at the other man's appraisal of the tea set and scoffs under his breath. "Never have I seen a man so enamored by bone china," he drawls, picking up the kettle and waiting for Asta to hold out the cup before pouring the tea; richly amber, steaming and smelling faintly of whiskey, cinammon and cloves, it's about as warming as the fire without needing to set any clothes alight.

"How are you feeling?" Danta asks off-handedly, pouring himself a cup as well and instantly taking a long sip.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Snorting lightly at the comment, Astaroth’s head tilts a little toward the fire again as he nods. “I already need to get the coat fixed. I can’t possibly afford more.” He sighs wistfully, some of that humor returning as he warms up and he finally isn’t grey any longer. He remains by the fire, of course, to inspect the china and continue to warm up more internal parts of himself that still feel a bit sluggish and slow, he glances over toward Danta when he sets the kettle down and sits beside him.

“Shut up.” He says with a laugh – taking a taunt out of Dantalion’s book for the sheer amusement of it – before holding the cup out for him to fill. “It isn’t my fault you don’t know how to appreciate finery.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s a touch of affection in his tone and the smile he flashes toward the Maverick.

His fire warmed tail slips out of the fire now to wave a little behind him, before it slips around Danta’s side as he draws the cup toward his scarred chest – the scar of Danta’s bite fully visible now amongst the gore crow scars as he inhales the steam from the tea. “I feel much better.” He murmurs before taking a sip of the too hot liquid and sighing with relief as it spreads through his throat and chest, warming him further from the inside out.

Astaroth

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

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

"Are you implying that you aren't adequately compensated for your work here?" Danta raises his eyebrows at the other man. "Because I'm sure I could splash out for an extra outfit or two for you," he purrs; a jest, of course, given that he knows exactly how crammed the other man's closet in his room is. (Then again, knowing Asta, he'd take Danta up on the offer anyway).

Snorting as he's told in no uncertain terms to shut up, the Maverick can't help but to bark out a laugh, lifting his teacup touche and taking another welcome drink. "I can appreciate good liquor, at least," he says to make up for it, and he's soon reaching for the kettle to top up their cups.

Where previous affections might have been batted away, previously or otherwise, today Danta accepts the other man's presence at his side without so much as a blink of discomfort; time and place and all that, right? "I'm exhausted," he mutters after finishing his second cup of tea. "So I have no idea how tired you must be."

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

“Oh, if that’s on the table, I absolutely would appreciate the additions.” He is going to take you up on that offer, Danta, regardless if he has room or not for it. It still sparks a hum of a laugh regardless, joining the bark of laughter that the Maverick offers as he shifts a little to lean in against him again, letting the liquor and the tea warm him up further until he can feel just how much the cold had weighed on him. “I do appreciate your taste in that.” The admission is easy, because so far he’s never been disappointed by Danta’s choices in liquor. Not like Sari’s attempts.

Anyway.

Content to leach warmth from both the fireplace and the Ancient at his side, Astaroth finally feels warm and tingly enough to continue to cradle the cup between his hands, humming a quiet note of agreement before he downs the next cup like it’s a race to get his insides boiling hot. “I am very tired,” comes his own muttering, tilting his head a little to peer up at Danta with his dark gaze. “May I share your bed tonight?" Until he gets enough rest and matches the times where he can go and devour that piss-poor ring leader.

Astaroth

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

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

"Then consider it done, and I shan't hear any further complaints from you," Danta says, all exaggerated haughtiness and childish grinning, and he reaches out to (gently!) clink his cup against Asta's as if to seal the deal. "To ridding the Dusklight of vermin," he toasts, finishing his tea and setting his cup back down, ensuring that the box and the set are far enough from the roaring flames that they won't catch.

Unsurprised, neither by the other man's fatigue nor his request, nonetheless Danta can't stop himself from scoffing playfully at the taller Ancient. "Gods, no," he drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm, "go fuck back off to your own room." Still smirking as he rolls to his feet, he holds his hand out to help Asta up off the hearthstones. "I was never planning to have it any other way," he adds, just in case.

Stepping away to tug the sheets and furs back, Danta takes only a moment to drag the flames down from the sconces, leaving them in twilight, before moving to draw the curtains against the late afternoon. "I'll make sure we're told when our friend will be alone," he murmurs, figuring he'll likely awaken before Astaroth does.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Snorting in response to Danta’s own childish exaggerations, a tone not unlike his usual proper taunting, he’s more than willing to seal the deal with a gentle little clink of the china. “Permanently.” He adds with a quiet, whispered drawl and a too hungry toothy grin. It’s a grin that hides behind the cup as he drains the last bit of spiked tea, settling again when the warmth hits his stomach, letting a shiver of delight run down his spine for how much warmer he feels because of it.

Raising a dark brow before the sarcasm is registered, Asta sets his cup down and gladly takes the Maverick’s hand, drawn back up to his full height as he lets a breathy chuckle leave him, padding his way immediately over to the bed as the blankets are turned down. “Good, because I would not have left anyway.” The gentle, probing tease leaves him easily, because who would throw Asta out of Danta’s room when Asta is the bouncer.

Regardless, the butcher gets comfortable, watching with a glimmer of exhaustion in his dark gaze as Danta gets the room ready for rest, tucked into the blankets and warmth and leaving space for Dantalion to join him when he’s done prepping the room and curtains. “Good. I would love to have a chat.” It’s the polite way to say it, though they both know Asta very clearly means bite. “Now come here before I freeze again.”

Astaroth

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

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

"Mm, I figured as much," Danta drawls - the answer, of course, is that the Maverick himself would need to be responsible for throwing Astaroth out on his ass. And whilst it might make for an amusing fight - especially given the other man's current state - not even Danta is so cruel. Not towards this particular Ancient at least; not any more.

Having finished drawing the curtains and dimming the light by the time Asta's voice purrs towards him, Danta offers him a grin with a flash of fangs, inclining his head to agree. Chat, bite, all the same really, right? "Well we can't be having that," he says, of the other man freezing again, "not after all my hard work."

And so, padding back across the room and slipping into the warmth of the bed, the Maverick's eyes are heavy as well as he reaches for the other Ancient, drawing close to share the heat and the comfort of touch away from any prying eyes.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

He’s still polite enough to ask to stay rather than presuming that he can. And as such, Astaroth snorts lightly to hear that they had been under the same assumptions as each other when it came to whether or not the butcher would be leaving. For now, he certainly intends to remain, especially with the blankets wound around him and the promise of more heat to come from the body drifting around the room, idle chatter until the purred request is aired.

“You did work hard.” The agreement comes easily because the Maverick slinks into the space available, and as he reaches for him Astaroth is quick to follow, a surprising shift of their previous normality where Astaroth shifts to slip his head back into that crook of Danta’s neck, the bridge of his nose pressing against his pulse while he tangles them up good and proper, legs, tails, arms, all of it. “You even remembered to retrieve my tea set.” He whispers into Danta’s neck, soaking in the radiating heat, the quiet tone lending to more of his gratitude.

Astaroth

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

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

It is a change, such that Danta has to figure it out at first, finally settling with his arms around the other man, his nose buried in dark hair and the scent of smoke and cinammon and whiskey. He doesn't respond to Asta's first remark, though the taller Ancient will likely feel the Maverick's smirk and the prideful puffing out of his chest before he relaxes again. Say it again, he might have teased if he weren't so tired, tell me I worked fucking hard.

At the next comment, though, he huffs a soft laugh as if wondering what else Asta had expected him to do, Danta shifting just so to get more comfortable, his fingers teasing loosely through the back of the other man's hair to play against the back of his neck. "Didn't want you to almost freeze to death for nothing," he points out, his eyes already growing heavy as the heat kindles around them.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

He does feel the smirk bloom, the way the blonde’s chest seems to rise with a sort of pride that Astaroth can certainly pick up on. He’s starting to get the hang of reading the Maverick, and as such he buries his face again a little bit more, content to let the compliment lie where it is as they settle and get more comfortable. He’s not unlike a cat in where Danta shifts just a bit to get comfortable, his fingertips threading through the butcher’s dark hair to his neck, a light shiver racing down his spine as goosebumps flare in the spaces that aren’t destroyed by scar tissue.

“My consolation prize is breaking a collarbone and a beautiful set of fine tea ware.” He hums, stifling a bit of a yawn, before he takes a deep breath only to promptly sigh it out against the other Ancient’s skin. “Perhaps I should look into making statement pieces with the bones I acquire.” Get him back to that edge of terrifying – if only Maea didn’t find out just what the bones were from.

Or, perhaps that should remain only within the confines of his bedroom.

Astaroth

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

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

Given that Asta's acting like a cat, Danta is content to pet him like one, and whilst the Maverick is certainly given to affection within the confines of his bed, it's usually under markedly different circumstances to this. Nevertheless, he isn't going anywhere, and neither is the other man, as far as he's concerned. "Do you know," he murmurs suddenly, sounding impressed as if Asta has only just reminded him, "I don't think I've ever seen someone break a collarbone with a single punch. I quite enjoyed it."

Granted, perhaps the reason behind it was because Asta's fist had partially turned to stone by that point, but Danta is willing to give him a pass; rule of cool and all that. "Oooh, count me in," he says, waving a hand idly at one of his shelves, "I'll take a weird bone sculpture from you. Bonus points if it also works as a jewellry stand." You know, like a skeletal hand to hold his rings.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

The impressed tone that suddenly leaves Danta sparks a purred and breathy chuckle from him, nestling in again as his nose butts up against the edge of Danta’s neck, humming a little sound that’s far too nonchalant for the fact that he was also surprised. It was partially the fact that his hand had already hardened, but the fact is that he did know where to hit to do the most damage. And that’s a smile that curves against the Maverick’s skin when he offers a little purred reply. “It’s easy when you know where to hit, darling.” All of his confidence and haughtiness back in his tone, even if he’s more akin to a pleased cat than anything else.

As for bone statement pieces, he shifts his head a little to see where Danta’s gesturing, any multitude of shelves that are empty he’s sure he could craft something to go into those spaces. “Mm, I am certain I could manage that.” And already the ideas spring to life in his head of not just one jewelry stand for the blonde, but two. One along the same vein as Danta’s internal thoughts of a skeletal hand, while the other, a small beast’s ribcage with more than enough tines to place anything the Maverick wished. “Promise me that you won't let Maea find out they're real.” He adds, conspiratorially, ironically wishing to keep the friendship alive without issues.

Astaroth

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

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

"Right, riiiight," Danta says, his grin audible, "it was all skill, I see." And you know what? As far as the Dusklight was concerned, it really was. "Next time we train you can teach me," he decides, before quickly adding, "on a training dummy, Astaroth." They might be friends now but he has no desire to learn how to break a collarbone by having his own fractured by the other man.

Apparently Ancients dream of skeletal sheep, based on where both of their thoughts are going, and Danta is thoroughly looking forward to his new addition(s) to his shelf when Asta speaks again, and the Maverick lets out a rich laugh of genuine mirth. "I am absolutely not going to promise that," he tells the other man, the opportunity for fun far too entertaining. "But I won't bring it up on purpose," he adds, as if that will help.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

“Of course it was.” Astaroth comments as if it was anything but, regardless if it was true or not. So long as the Dusklight saw him half stone half destroying shit, he could care less about the rest of it. But his tongue clicks as if disappointed but his body language seems to say anything but that. “Yes, yes, on a training dummy.” He sighs a little wistfully as if mourning the thought, even as his hot breath pours over Danta’s skin.

It's about the time that he makes his little request and Asta smirks into the other Ancient’s shoulder and neck, even as he plans his next move, trying not to laugh to ruin the effect of it. Instead, he takes a sharp inhale and groans a vibrating sound of a sigh. “Please, darling?” It’s in a pleading tone that’s an absolute first coming from the butcher, but it’s aired against the Maverick’s body all the same.

Astaroth

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