i've always liked to play with fire

Astaroth

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

“Use you, mm?” Astaroth purrs, content that the Maverick has not asked him to elaborate further on that admission – because it would likely turn into something stupid and sentimental again, and truthfully how many times can the butcher recover from his sudden bout of loose lips? Not too many more times.

Grateful to get Danta to move along with him, Astaroth settles easily behind the other man, hands ghosting and moving along in taunting, tantalizing ways, that’s truthfully a front for him to survey the curve of the other man’s body and come up with a little plan of just how he wanted to fuck him. It’s prolonging it out, of course, but as Danta’s wondering voice reaches him, Astaroth hums out a laugh, because he does know better than to assume Danta wouldn’t beg for whatever he wanted, so long as he got it. “Something tells me that it would not feel like a victory if you did.” He muses, realizing that’s how it often seemed for those that craved to hear them beg. “I prefer to believe you're entirely mine.” At least for this moment, this second, the minutes they share just like this.

Instead, the butcher’s game plan starts to fall into place, the ghosting touch replaced by a sudden withdrawal, leaving the air cold where his hands had been – but only momentarily – because no sooner than Danta can realize he isn’t hovered and pressed against him, Astaroth’s sharp teeth find purchase against the swell of Danta’s ass, leaving a mark that will certainly bruise into a round shape before his hands find both of the blonde’s hips again, pressing into fingerprint bruising just as before, pressing harder as he lines them up without much warning and sinks his cock into the other man with a groan.

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

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

"You heard me," Danta purrs, and gods but he can't help it if the other man's touch, soft and teasing as it might be, doesn't drive him wild. Shifting to sit up and press flush back against Asta's chest as he continues to ghost his fingers against all the places the Maverick wishes he would bruise, thoughts of begging and victory start to grow tragically distant.

With his eyes slipping shut, he can feel as well as hear the rumble of the butcher's voice; and whilst the idea of being entirely anyone's would usually send him into a tailspin (Danta had spent the majority of his life up until now being owned, after all), when it comes from Asta, it doesn't carry the same fear and shame. On the contrary - he quite likes the idea.

Shifting back onto his elbows as the other man disappears, the Maverick just about has time to glance over his shoulder with soft confusion writ upon his face, when the sensation of teeth, bruising and delicious, shivers through him. "Wh--" he begins, the word half caught in a moan, only for Asta to quite literally give him exactly what he wants.

A moan punches out from his throat as he's suddenly taken and had, Danta grasping at the sheets and arching his back into the sensation, as if to provide an anchor for Astaroth to fuck against.

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 //

“Loud and clear, darling.” Astaroth purrs as he maneuvers the other man, shifting and adjusting them in gentle touches that he knows drives Danta insane. (He’s seen him with people in the rest of the Dusklight, he knows the speed of which Danta wishes to go, but Asta’s more meticulous.) As such, it allows him the time to enact his plan.

A mark of claim felt any time Danta will sit, paired with the sudden and quick shift into gripping his hips and sinking into him. Bruising fingers lay more of a claim, a hidden smirk as Danta’s confusion flares and turns immediately into a moan. The way his back arches offers up a brilliant view for the butcher as he picks his pace, a punishing one at first that allows him to keep adding more and more bruises along his skin.

Hands move so that one can hook into the anchor point Danta offers, hips snapping into the other man’s at a meticulous pace before he starts to slow, as if savoring the moment while his free hand splays against Danta’s spine at his lower back, pressing down and sliding across his skin to his shoulders, before his fingertips grab and tug at rogue, sleep tousled hair. “What was that, my dear? I didn’t hear you.” Comes the cocky purr, broken up by a hoarse and throaty hum.

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

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

It's true that Danta's usual pace is more hard and fast, but as Asta will soon discover for himself, it isn't the only pace he enjoys. Every bruising touch and deep thrust of the other man's hips drags a sharp moan of approval from the Maverick's throat, and as Asta's pace slows and gentle hands come skating up the length of his spine, Danta's chest all but melts against the furs and sheets. "Nn..." His head tilts back as fingers tangle in his fair hair, leaving him panting for more.

"I said I love the way you fuck me," he huffs, a cocky smile of his own curling across his lips. "And that I want to feel you cum." Running his tongue across his teeth, he can't fully glance over his shoulder at the butcher, but it's hopefully enough for the other man to see the smirk on his face. "Think you can manage that?" Wrapped in sheer gold and warmed by wine and arousal, Danta starts to feel that perhaps Asta hasn't been entirely wrong in his poetics; he feels like the sun on a Longheat afternoon.

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 //

His hand smooths against Danta’s spine, wrinkling and moving the gilded fabric in the process to tug and pull on blonde strands that he finds. In the face of the smirk that blooms against Danta’s face that the butcher cannot see, he can hear and feel the way his smoother, languid thrusts allow the Maverick to claim his breath, to speak such words that have Astaroth’s cock throbbing, a low hum leaving him as he does finally see the edge of the smirk on the other man’s face. “Mm,” he pauses, breath hitching as he snaps his hips into Danta, sinking in as far as he can go and pausing to hold himself there for a few of his thundering heartbeats, curled over the other man so his voice and warm breath curves over his shoulder.

“Oh, I can, darling.” He purrs, withdrawing to stand back up fully, tail moving now to curl up and around Danta’s leg as he withdraws his cock fully, pressing the head of it against Danta’s entrance. It’s about the time he grabs a handful of the Theocrat’s hair, tugging against it with a growl of sound while his other hand wraps around Danta’s thigh, leaving more bruising finger marks as he sinks back in again, as deep as he can go, a sudden loss of composure as he gasps out a “Gods, Danta…”

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

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

Stifling his cry of pleasure behind his teeth as Asta's hips suddenly snap forward, the movement does have Danta's smirk twisting more into a wince, though it's far from pain he feels. "Fuck," he hisses breathlessly, suspended for a blissful few moments before he feels the other man withdraw from him at last, though already the Maverick aches for more. And he's about to say as much when all at once there are strong fingers in his hair and a hand bruising against his thigh and the force of Asta's cock driving into him hard enough to steal his breath and his sense entirely.

Hearing his name spill from the other man's lips like that, though, has his lips parting in a needy moan, Danta's fingers clutching at the sheets with white knuckles. "I could listen to that all day," he groans, rolling his hips ever so slightly as if Asta might be able to thrust deeper into him, an act that has the Maverick almost seeing stars. "More," he urges nonetheless, though whether he means the butcher's cock or the sound of his name on his tongue is anyone's guess. (It's both though, let's be honest).

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’s enough to drive him wild momentarily, even despite the fact that he harbors the control in the situation. He’s the one that sets the pace. And perhaps that’s reason enough that he does it to himself — prolonging and taunting and playful, only so he doesn’t end up losing all sense. Once again, it’s one of those times where Danta’s neck is nowhere near him (thankfully), and it leaves him more calculating and to his own devices, drawing pleasure both for the Maverick and for himself.

A win-win.

Danta’s moans are like music to his ears, however, and only when it’s broken up with the admission that he could listen to that all day does Asta commit it to memory. It also helps with how Danta grinds his hips back against the butcher’s cock, a shiver rolling down his spine in delight as his pace stumbles for a moment before he regains each thrust. More is a command that he can happily give, though, increasing the snap of his hips to draw more stars across Danta’s vision, fist holding onto a handful of blonde and twisting slightly to keep him in place so that the butcher might do exactly what Danta had asked earlier — to use him. “Fuck—”

It takes a substantial amount of mental effort for Asta to growl out his moaned addition, though, despite the sounds already leaving him, ensuring that Danta’s name spills from them time and time again.

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

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

Used, fucked, had, taken - it certainly does seem as though Astaroth holds all the cards here, but the dark satisfaction in Danta's blue eyes (an expression that the butcher regrettably doesn't have sight of; perhaps a mirror on the wall or the ceiling?) suggests very much otherwise. Even so, the pleasure-pain of tight fingers in his hair and the way he knows his thighs and hips will ache deliciously in the days to come is enough to entice him towards climax even without taking into account the brutish thrust of the other man's cock.

Not that Danta is in any position to discount that either, of course.

"Fuck, I'm gonna--" It's not a sentence he can finish, one of his hands leaving the sheets to slip between his thighs so he might stroke an almost feverish rhythm along his cock. "Fuck, Asta--"

His hips roll back hard into the other man even as pleasure erupts outwards, Danta moaning the butcher's praises (and perhaps even a few curses) as his orgasm seizes him with electric fingers and ruthless abandon.

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 butcher does silently regret not having a mirror placed precisely where he can see that satisfaction on Danta’s face. All he has to go off of is the sounds that leave the Maverick and the rock of the other man’s body with each thrust, and for the most part the butcher is quite sure that there’s nothing but content seeping from Danta.

Hands continue to offer pressing, bruising touches, his tail tightened around to offer more support from where Asta stands, hips snapping into the Maverick with a pace that increases to hear the moaned warnings. His hand loosens in Danta’s blonde as he adjusts, smirking and groaning himself before the blonde is slamming back against him, causing an almost hiccuped sound to leave him.

It’s precisely what the butcher needs as he rocks with Danta to ride out the orgasm, his own creeping up on him in ways that have him bunching up the gilded shirt, tugging Danta back as if to stand on his knees, arm slipping around his middle as he buries his face into the open expanse of pale skin of the Maverick’s neck. It’s truly a dangerous position, given his history, but Asta is quite focused on ensuring he doesn’t dive in too far. Just enough, however, to get himself off too. The tether snaps of his own climax, sinking in deep and hesitating, a moan poured in against Danta’s shoulder that’s muffled shortly after by the press of his teeth against the muscle above his collarbone on his shoulder, sharp teeth pressing in enough to draw pinpricks of blood that he laps up like a vampire of sorts. It works enough that his own orgasm claims him, hips stuttering as he fills the Maverick and pants against his skin, pressing apologetic kisses to the wounds occurred.

No chunks of flesh are missing, though, so perhaps the butcher is learning?

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

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

Dragged up and back against the other man and made senseless by the force of his own climax, Danta is malleable and eager to please. He tilts his head to offer the full expanse of his neck and shoulder to the butcher, moaning enthusiastic approval to feel teeth and pain and apologies pressed to his flesh in quick succession. With one hand clasped against Asta's arm around his middle and the other reaching back to tangle in his dark hair, the Maverick is lost to the movement of their bodies and the phantom aftershocks of his orgasm.

Panting hard long after his heart rate begins to slow, Danta leans his head against Asta's and huffs out a tired laugh. He feels as though speaking might ruin whatever peace has fallen over the room, and gods but if peace hasn't been a hard thing to come by in recent days. Closing his eyes, he resists the urge to melt forward and back into the bed, instead turning to press a kiss against the butcher's temple.

"You're a mess," he tells him sweetly, and though it might sound ridiculous, it's definitely meant as a compliment. "Never change."

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 //

His legs tremble the second that he starts to come back into himself again, lips still pressing soft apologetic kisses to the teeth punctures left behind as Astaroth catches his breath, tilting his head ever so slightly into the hand that rakes through the long and dark, now loose, hair. Eyes shutter as the kiss is pressed to his temple and a low rumble of a laugh leaves him breathlessly in response to the compliment, nosing his way up to plant a kiss to his jaw.

It's about now that he untangles from the Maverick, tail unwinding and twisting them so that he can sit on the bed and give his legs a bit of a break, iron tainting the corner of his lips as he adjusts himself and Danta to face him and let his fingertips trail around the reddened bite marks left behind. “You as well, darling.” He responds instead, voice hoarse and his accent even thicker, even as his dark eyes don’t slip away from the pools of blue that Danta has to offer, lips quirking into a smirk that’s still tinted red.

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

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

Not complaining in the slightest as he's moved on the bed, Danta settles back in Asta's lap with his legs astride the other man, his tail swishing contently from side to side. "How rude," he protests the butcher's agreement, though the smirk kicking up the corner of his mouth gives him away. "I'm perfectly well-adjusted, I'll have you know."

Ha ha, Danta - pull the other one, why don't you.

Leaning in to kiss the tang of blood from Astaroth's lips, he's careful of the other man's stitches as he shifts closer, eager for the warmth of his skin and the familiarity of his touch. "I think," he says softly, the words mumbled across the line of his jaw as the fingers of both hands play though the butcher's dark hair, "perhaps we should show our faces at the bar, now."

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 //

Peering up at the Maverick with amusement crinkling his dark eyes, Astaroth’s head tilts slightly as the smirk remains. “Mmhm,” he says in a tone that seems to suggest he doesn’t believe the other man in the fucking slightest about his claims. Arms slip around his waist, though, bunching up the gilded fabric with the movement as Danta leans in to steal a kiss to the corner of his lips before the butcher tucks him in close, soaking up the warmth.

His eyes close to feel the words beginning to be mumbled against his bearded jaw, the comfortable way that Danta’s fingers thread through his dark hair and cling to his pronged horns, and in an act of retaliation for such a suggestion, the butcher’s arms tighten just a fraction harder around the other man’s lower back, pressing right into already growing sore bruises. “Do we have to?” He asks, surprisingly like a petulant child. “I didn’t get a nap earlier,” like you did, “and I have been traveling all day.” A deep accented whine is brought out in his exhaustion, as is the distinct lack of the poetics of his typically more formal speech – a tone far more akin to the edge of slang terms from Whitebrim in centuries past.

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

Dantalion

innocence died screaming
honey, ask me, I should know

Whether or not Asta actually agrees with him, Danta takes the butcher's response at face value, and he smiles smugly against the other man's jaw right until he grasps him closer, and the bruises at his hips sing their displeasure. "That's so uncalled for," he whispers against the butcher's neck, before drawing back enough to hear him out.

And what he hears, of course, is the Dusklight's head of security, The Climb's fabled hunter, the Butcher of Whitebrim, sounding like a complete brat. It's enough to startle a laugh out of the Maverick, and though every part of him would like to needle the other man further, he isn't ignorant to Asta's situation either.

"Fine," he drawls, already shifting to ease them back into bed, kicking the sheets into some kind of an order. "But I get to be the big spoon." Or whatever the equivalent is that has Danta drawing the other man against his chest, where Asta can fall asleep nestled against the sheer gold fabric of his shirt.

I slithered here from Eden
just to sit outside your door

Table base by Skylark