i've always liked to play with fire

Astaroth

// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //

Snorting at the explanation, Astaroth hums in thought – agreeing and finding the idea quite perfect for the Maverick to have chosen, even if it didn’t suit himself particularly well. Then again, leadership of any sort didn’t suit the butcher in the slightest, a task that has him shying away from it immediately. “It’s a perfect choice. And no, I am not jealous.” He teases back, at least until he’s maneuvering the other man into his lap, quite content and settled now as he baps around behind the other man to collect the discarded gift.

“I have.” Not strong enough, though, but he keeps those self deprecating thoughts away in lieu of the current positioning. “My fire magic is stronger now.” He flashes that same sharp toothed grin as he drops the package into the Maverick’s lap and makes his request, dark eyes watching Danta’s face as he picks it apart, making a comment of the Family and their colors, before a playful seriousness overcomes Astaroth’s face.

“Purple is not owned by anyone, regardless if someone wishes to base their presence entirely on such a mediocre color.” It isn’t that Asta thinks purple is terrible, but it certainly isn’t his color. Which is precisely why he’d picked it for the covering, knowing that Danta was the type to simply destroy the paper rather than carefully remove it.

Inside, the box is white and once it’s opened, within that box sits a golden sheer shirt – long enough to be half worn almost as if it were attempting to be a dress (had Danta been just a bit shorter, that is), but sheer enough to give a gilded appearance of the sun within the flickering flames of the fire and along the other man’s ivory skin. And all the while, Astaroth’s gaze is glued to the other man, waiting.

// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

Rather than dignifying Asta with an answer - because he absolutely believes the other man ought to be jealous given his closeness to their goddess - Danta accepts victory gracefully, in his humble opinion, shifting just enough on the other man's lap to get intimately comfortable, before accepting the gift.

"Is it, now?" he asks, raising his eyebrows and turning to grin up at the butcher. Reaching up with a free hand not busy ripping at the paper, he gently grasps Asta's jaw - and flames flare from his fingertips, licking gently at his cheeks. "Mine has too," he whispers, as though it's a secret he's been keeping.

But then there's a gift to open, and regardless of Asta's opinion of the mediocre colours, it's what's inside that counts, as they say. Releasing the other man so he can lift the lid from the box, Danta holds up the shirt with eyes that widen a fraction at the craftsmanship (and the sheer nature of the fabric, which will hide absolutely nothing when he puts it on). In short, it's exactly in his ballpark, and the smirk he shoots to the butcher is positively diabolical.

"You know me very well," he purrs, sidling out of his lap so he might tug his existing shirt over his head to discard it. "This is very thoughtful, thank you," he croons, tail curling up with affection before he slips into the new garment. And so, turning with the blazing fire at his back and sheer gold wrapped about his slender form, he spreads his hands. "And what is the verdict?" he wonders.

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

Table base by Skylark

Astaroth

// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //

“It is.” The butcher hums as he grows just malleable enough to let Danta’s free hand cup his jaw, the flame reflected in his eyes as it begins to lick against his cheeks gently and spark such a warmth that Astaroth relaxes immediately into the touch. The light turns his eyes a golden hue of brown as opposed to the dark bottomless depths as before, and its those eyes that crinkle into a sharp grin as he tilts his head and focuses just enough to curve part of Danta’s flame down his wrist not unlike a lover’s caress. “How charming.” He murmurs gently, before his gaze and Danta’s hand drops away to continue to open the gift.

The smirk is met with the very same, content sharp edged grin, as he sits back a fraction to watch as Danta slips it on, tail flicking idly up and down as he waits. Now, he doesn’t expect it to be such a sight as Danta spreads his hands and stands before the fire, and it’s evident in the speechlessness that overcomes the butcher so very much unlike him. Dark eyes take in each and every way the gold seems to melt against his skin yet reflect the dancing flames of the fire and his grin twists a bit more full of surprise before he leans forward, as if beckoning the Maverick to return to him.

“You look beautiful.” He comments at first, still taking him in with full appreciation. “Like the sun on a longheat day.” Like if I could sit here forever in front of you, I might never know what it’s like to be cold.

// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

Now, Danta has worn (and not worn) a great many number of things in his time in the Dusklight, and well before then too. Never, though, has he felt revered in the way he does as Astaroth's honey dark eyes rove over him, and it's enough to have a flush of heat flooding his cheeks. Drawing closer as he's beckoned, he settles himself astride the other man's lap, eyes averted and lips poised to tell the butcher to stop being ridiculous.

No one has ever called the Maverick beautiful, much as he's been referred to in other (positive and sexual) ways, and he finds his tongue tied up by the term. "If only I were as warm as that," he murmurs when he finally finds his voice again, fingers reaching out to tease through the other man's dark hair and against the sharp tines of his horns. "We might never have to worry about Deepfrost."

Smirking, he lets one of his hands cease with its fussing so he might reach down to tilt up Asta's chin into a kiss that was always waiting, from the moment the butcher set foot into the Dusklight.

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

Table base by Skylark

Astaroth

// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //

The second the blonde settles back into his lap, Astaroth’s warm hands are on him, roving over fire warmed skin and sheer fabric alike, taking note of the poised lips and the prompt silence that comes from them. He supposes that makes two of them, though, because he had been so close to nearly ruining the moment turning it too sappy. He’d caught himself, head tilting easily this way and that as his lids flutter with the feel of the Maverick’s hands in his dark hair, tugging along sharp horns. “Perhaps –” He doesn’t get to finish the sentiment, which is probably a good thing, with the warm hand that tilts his chin up and snatches a kiss that Astaroth melts into.

Hands smooth out along Danta’s hips and up his spine, tugging at the longer ends of curling blonde, before curving up to curl around the top of Danta’s shoulders, pressing back into the kiss and puling away with a small sharp nip, cheeks flushed suddenly as he surveys Danta again. It’s reminiscent of a sun god, he thinks, with the way the flickering light of the fire dances on the spiked tines of diamond. “Whether you believe it or not, you are the sun.” He says softly, tentatively, unable to keep biting his tongue if he wants it to remain in his mouth.

“And I am your shadow.” Lips quirk into a small smirk, head cocking as he shifts his arms enough to move between them now, curving up warm hands along Danta’s chest and neck to his jaw, fingertips threading through golden strands of hair.

// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

Danta can't be the sun on a Longheat day, he decides, because if that was the case, Astaroth's hands could never feel as hot as they do roving across his skin. Shifting against his every touch as if starved of it - a ridiculous notion for someone who spends as much time between other people's sheets as the Maverick, but it's nonetheless true - he says with his lips and tongue things that his voice would never air.

Drawing back enough for the butcher to speak and for his wandering hands to continue their wicked path, Danta raises a brow as he continues to wax lyrical, fingers whispering across his cheek until he can rest the back of his palm against the other man's forehead. "No fever," he drawls, mischief glittering in his blue eyes. "So you must have hit your head on your way back from the bar." Only that would explain this sudden warm turn, right? Right?

Tilting his head into the fingertips teasing along his jaw and through his hair, despite the obvious - that being his position in Asta's lap and everything it's guaranteed to ignite when it comes to Danta's libido (sorry) - the Maverick brushes his thumb across the other man's lower lip, as if trying to decide if he wants another taste. "I never took you for a poet." He smirks.

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

Table base by Skylark

Astaroth

// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //

She watches as his hands move along the blonde’s skin, as he meets that blue gaze that seems almost more confused with the raise of his brow and the words the butcher airs. It isn’t until the back of the Maverick’s hand is pressed against his forehead that Astaroth understands, and it immediately sparks the rolling of his eyes, even if that sharp toothed smirk twists a bit more vibrant. “Not quite, darling.” He admits, puffing out a breath that could be akin to an exasperated sigh.

Dark eyes blink back to meet the blue’s as Asta’s hands continue their little soft plunge into the golden strands of hair and his thumb brushes along the hard edge of the other man’s jaw, content with however the night goes and simply glad to be home. He feels as Danta’s thumb swipes along his lips but his gaze remains on the Maverick regardless, lips parting to speak, however briefly. “I read quite often, Dantalion.” It’s said in a somewhat amused and bland tone, but there’s mischief in his dark eyes as his fingertips curl to tighten in the blonde locks and he leans in to nip lightly at Danta’s finger on his lip, dragging it further into his mouth with too sharp teeth, careful to not draw blood, but checks with the swipe of his tongue just in case.

// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

"Oh, did you trip?" Danta raises his eyebrows at Asta's not quite, the mischief in his eyes telling that he knows well what the other man means, but he can't help but keep ribbing him. "Walk into something, perhaps?" How else did one get concussions and start to sweet talk their best-friend-with-benefits-and-also-boss?

Grinning to hear the butcher sigh out his annoyance against the pad of his thumb, Danta tilts his head and lets his other hand continue to twist gently through his dark locks. "I have never once seen you with a book," he protests, glancing around the room as if he might have missed the other man's extensive library.

Not that he much cares to look, especially at the nip of teeth and flick of a hot tongue against his thumb. Tightening his fingers in the back of Asta's hair, Danta clasps the other man's jaw and leans in to close the distance between them with a kiss, hungry for another taste of him.

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

Table base by Skylark

Astaroth

// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //

Another scoff threatens to leave the butcher’s lips – another roll of his dark eyes as if it punctuates the point, despite it doing anything but. The ribbing was fun, comfortable, normal, and that’s literally all Astaroth wants and craves in this moment. “Perfectly sound.” He supplies instead, even if the crinkle of amusement remains in his gaze, even as he nips at Danta’s fingers and lets a little laugh escape him.

No books line the shelves, but there is a discarded one on the opposite nightstand, and a small little journal with a pen as if he’s in the process of keeping tabs on things or adding down tidbits and notes about the world as they now knew it. But Astaroth doesn’t care what Danta finds or doesn’t find, nor does he care to answer as the blonde clasps his jaw and he tilts his head up for their lips to find each other again.

This one is different, a bit hungrier than the prior ones, and it allocates a moment for Astaroth’s hands to slip back down and around Danta again, palms warm and open as they smooth along his sides to his hips, curving in against his ass.

// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

Moaning greedily against Asta's lips as he feels the other man come alive beneath him, it's with a playful lash of his tail that Danta shifts his hips to purposely create friction between them. Both wanting to shove the butcher back against the bed and also to reverse their positions to feel the weight of Asta's body pressed into his own, the Maverick ends up doing nothing at all. Well, nothing besides writing his name against the other man's tongue tracing the old scars along his shoulder blades.

Drawing back enough only to glance down at himself and the sheer gold shirt he's still wearing, it's with a devilish smile kicking up one corner of his mouth that he tilts his head at the butcher. "I assume you'd like me to keep this on?" he asks, his voice sounding husky to his own ears. Perhaps after this Danta will start a rumour in the Dusklight that Astaroth was once able to fuck the sun.

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

Table base by Skylark

Astaroth

// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //

Gods, if things don’t feel absolutely normal right now – so much so that he feels nearly ridiculous for how the first half of the day had gone, from his lateness, to expecting to get absolutely reamed for his absence when he should have returned. And yet, all he could do was melt and press into the Maverick, a low growl of a groan escaping him as Danta adjusts their positioning just enough to spark that friction more and it sparks the twitch of his fingertips into threatening to grip the blonde’s hips hard enough to leave little fingerprint bruising.

The kiss breaks with Danta drawing back and impossibly darker eyes scan him while he regains some of his composure again, hands loosening to lift and tug at the golden threads of the sheer shirt, lips quirking into a sharp smirk. “Of course I do, darling.” He purrs, leaning forward to wrap his arms around Danta’s middle, pressing him in close as he works his way back onto the bed further, tossing ripped purple papers onto the floor as he backs them up further onto the bed.

It's with a slight twist that Astaroth adjusts them, reversing their positions so that Danta’s back presses against the furs and soft blankets, as he dives in and leaves a kiss and a mark to the soft space beneath Danta’s jeweled ear, all while withdrawing just enough to try and slip out of the rest of his clothes, maximizing his multitasking.

// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

It's true; things don't just feel normal, they feel right, and Danta is the type of man to absolutely capitalise on that sort of moment. Having been able sleep off the stress of the past few days, not to mention the addition of wine, gifts, and the other man beneath him, it's almost a relief when Asta finally turns to pin him down against the furs.

Hoping that his ass and thighs will bear bruising fingerprints by the time they're done, his head tilts willingly to accept the biting mark against his soft flesh, and he can only watch with hungry eyes as the other man shifts to get out of the remainder of his clothes. His fingers finally leave the butcher to work on his own pants, and it's with the sort of fumbling haste that's more befitting of a teenager that they strip themselves off.

"You know," he purrs, shifting to roll onto his front and glancing over his shoulder to the other man with eyes made dark with lust, "for someone who says they don't often get this urge, I spend an extraordinary amount of time biting your pillows." Flashing Asta a fanged grin and lifting his hips to press back against him teasingly, it's clear that Danta absolutely does not mind.

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

Table base by Skylark

Astaroth

// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //

Asta can certainly guarantee that the Maverick’s body will be littered with bruising that perfectly matches the butcher’s hands by the end of the night, especially if he keeps looking the way he does at this precise moment. As it stands, it doesn’t take him very long to slip out of the rest of his clothes, bare aside from old scars and soon to be new ones with the stitching that adorns his arm and collarbone.

Turning his dark gaze back toward Danta once he’s shifted to his stomach, Astaroth snorts in response and exhales a somewhat dramatic exasperated sigh. “Yes, well, it’s still true.” He pauses, biting back a hum of a sound at the press of Danta’s hips. “It’s somewhat different these days.” And he doesn’t know why or how or what changed, but he does know that it has helped immensely with the other aspects of his life. “Perchance I am too fond of interior design that I would feel terrible replacing good pillows, and can simply use you as an excuse to satisfy my conscience?”

But rather than getting sentimental, well, Astaroth’s gaze darkens a fraction as he reaches forward to place both hands on Danta’s hips, hard enough to bruise now, and tugs him toward the edge of the bed to make it easier for him to lavish the Maverick in his attentions. And once he’s satisfied with the placement, one hand moves to trail along the curve of his ass, the other slipping up underneath him to trail down his chest toward his cock, before he simultaneously ghosts his fingers along the other man’s length and teases at his entrance, surprisingly patient in the moment despite how hard his own length is.

// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

Tell me more, Danta wants to say, of things being different these days, though luckily for Asta he's soon silenced by the hard grip of the other man's fingers against his hips. Huffing out a breath of anticipation and arousal both, the Maverick shifts more than willingly towards the end of the bed, his back and shoulders tantalisingly concealed beneath the sheer gold fabric. "You can use me however you like," he purrs, smirking over his shoulder as if to invite the other man to be as rough as he pleases.

The reality, of course, is almost infuriatingly patient and gentle, and as Danta's knees spread and the butcher's hands sweep down his chest and across the curve of his ass, he's left melting into the touch as if he might make it something more by willpower alone. A soft moan escapes his lips to feel the not-enough touch of fingers against his arousal, his cock twitching impatiently and his hips shifting as if to try and get more of all of this somehow.

"Are you going to make me beg you to fuck me?" he wonders, and for those who might suspect Danta to be beneath such things, well, they're in for a surprise.

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

Table base by Skylark