one hundred sleepless nights

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

A dark brow lifts in stubborn defiance to Danta’s teasing, even in the face of the fanged grin. He adjusts easily with the way the Theocrat’s arms wind around him, the butcher settling in for letting all etiquette drop from his tongue for the next few moments at the very least, head tilting lightly into the feel of Danta’s face in against his hair. It’s a touch that doesn’t last long as he blinks his dark honeyed gaze to meet the mischievous blues that peer down at him.

The butcher sinks in limply enough that if Danta did want to twist them, he’d find no fight in the cannibal’s attempts to keep them as they are, instead allowing himself to eye Danta suspiciously as if he can gather Danta’s motivations for himself, still debating whether to say it or not. Of course, the hum of his once-moniker strokes that ego of his and he sighs a huff of playful annoyance, tilting his head to where his cheek presses against the other Ancient’s chest, horns dangerously close to knocking against Danta’s nose. “My name was Ferox.” He says stubbornly.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

Relaxing once more with the butcher in his arms, Danta can't help but tilt his head a little at the other man's stubbornness, though if he gives it even a moment of thought, he'll doubtlessly understand. Still, it's with his tail sweeping in content arcs across the sheet and his fingers writing songs on the back of Asta's neck that he waits to hear him out, raising an eyebrow to feel him nestle in hard against his chest.

Ferox...

It's with a somewhat pensive expression that he lets the name echo out in the air between them for a few beats, as if trying to decide how it feels against his ear. "Nice to meet you," he declares eventually. "...Who you were, I should say. Unless this is what you'd like me to call you from now on?" He doubts it, given all of their combined history, but part of him thinks there must be a reason for Asta telling him all this besides simply wanting to.

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

The drumming of fingertips along his neck and the sudden awkwardness that yawns in the pit of the butcher’s stomach – he does feel somewhat different, allowing his formality to fall away in favor for that deeper, richer accent of his. Why he’s suddenly so nostalgic, he doesn’t know, but it yawns like a pit within him that he wishes he’d have put back into its place. Especially as he lets his real name escape him, aired into the space of his room, centuries and then some since the last time he’d heard it.

The silence feels weighty and the butcher closes his eyes, as if he can pretend that it hadn’t come out, or that Danta won’t simply immediately torment him with it. It’s that stillness that’s more predator than anything else, tense in his shoulders as if ready to pull away – vulnerability something that is incredibly difficult for the cannibal to manage.

His eyes open at the genuine tones that drawl from the blonde, a flicker of confusion before he tilts his head back to look at Danta, debating with himself in silence whether he does want to be called that again.

Settling on no, not entirely, he cocks his head a little and shifts to sit up, getting a bit closer to Danta’s face in the process. “No. But.” His nose wrinkles as more of that honestly comes pouring out, that tone of his voice that isn’t entirely his anymore, like he’s wearing an old coat he’s certainly grown out of. “I do want to hear you say it. Once, at least, before never hearing it again.”

He has no idea why, but something about it seems necessary suddenly. Even as his dark eyes can’t focus on the vibrant blues of the Theocrat’s, choosing instead to watch his lips to hear his original name fall from them.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

Happily sprawled against the pillows of Asta's bed, Danta is as decadently comfortable as he'll ever be, and so there's little protest from him as the butcher tries to reorient himself, though confusion does flicker across his face. The arm that had been looped about the other man's shoulders slips away to brush across his cheek, brows furrowed as he waits for the sudden and vibrating awkwardness that emanates from the butcher to make sense.

And when Asta speaks, it sort of pieces together, though Danta can't say he understands it entirely. Even so, who is he to deny the other man anything, especially these days? So he nods, considering what to say as if merely blurting out the name isn't enough, before finally settling on something. "Alright," he murmurs. "For surviving those few first days in The Climb, and for stepping aside so Astaroth could take over, thank you, Ferox."

He raises his eyebrows at the butcher. "How's that?"

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

He stubbornly stares at the other man’s perfect lips, shaded a tint red from the drying blood and taste of iron that remains, and the silence drags on and it feels like it’s sharp as he does just wait for the bare minimum of Ferox to spill from Danta’s lips. What he receives, though, while well intentioned, and he’s sure that the Maverick can see the way he’d thought it would be a good idea, only for it to hit a little too close and too soon, because the recoiling starts to rebound in his gut.

It's like when things had become too serious and too close back in Levinsward, only this time Astaroth had been the one to ask for this, suddenly realizing that it wasn’t at all what he wanted to hear. What he thought would sound like music and relieving sounds more like a snap in the realization that the man beneath him knows so much more than anyone else has ever known. And it’s fucking terrifying.

Unfortunately for Danta, he gets the version of Ferox’s tonality with the aged face of Astaroth, as the butcher wars with himself. “Fine.” He decides, because it wasn’t anything Danta had done. It does come out odd, though, unhelpful, zero formality, voice dropping in a strange way that he’d never allow as he feels trapped for the moment, pushing himself up and off the Maverick to bury his face into the pillow beside him to muffle the groan that escapes him from his own stupidity. “Sounds like a fuckin’ funeral.”

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

Danta watches it happen in real-time, because it's like looking in a gods damned mirror from that morning back in the Levinsward. A small blessing, then, that he realises it, because there's no misunderstanding on the Maverick's part, no feeling hurt or upset by the sudden emotional whiplash by the man in his arms. He is very confused, though. "Wh--" Cut off as he shifts enough to let Asta move and curl away from him, Danta sits himself up in bed, ruffling a hand back through his hopelessly tousled hair.

"Sounds like you don't want to die," he says softly, realising with a pang of something he can't place that he'd likely feel the same way if he'd lived Asta's life and gone through all the things he's endured. "I can give you some time, if you want," he suggests, wanting to reach for the other man but knowing better given the circumstances. "Or we can take all this back, say it never happened. It'll never come up between us again."

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

It’s a good thing that Danta knows what it is, because Astaroth can’t place the feeling he’s currently feeling rebel around his ribcage. So much so that he keeps his face buried, like he can pretend that he hadn’t asked for it, even though it had been both a mixture of exactly what he’d wanted but with the implications that were too far for him to be comfortable with. And it isn’t Danta’s fault, he knows that, nor does he blame him for doing exactly what he wanted in the moment. But he sighs back into the pillow, horned head shaking as he listens, before lifting himself from the pillow enough to respond coherently – even if it still lacked all of his Climb formality. “Obviously I don’t.” He hadn’t wanted to then either, which is why he’d managed to even be here at all.

Still, in the peripherals of his vision, he can see the way Danta both wants to reach for him and doesn’t, even as the rest of the words pour against wounds he hadn’t realized existed until he’d heard someone else say his name. “No, no. Just..” Fuck, it was tough to explain. He doesn’t even know where to start. So perhaps, much like in Levinsward, they leave it lie with the smallest amount of explanation possible.

If looks could kill, his pillow would be dead a million times over. Exhaling and running a hand through his hair, delicately enough to not ruin the braid still stuck behind a horn, Astaroth twists in the bed so that he’s on his back, staring stubbornly up at the ceiling all while he reaches for the Maverick to pull him back in. “I wanted you to. It’s just.. I don’t know, the first time I’ve heard it in a really fucking long time. Sorry.” I didn’t know how it would feel coming from your lips in particular.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

"Perhaps I should have spoken in the present tense," Danta reasons softly enough; it isn't a joke, per say, but equally the Maverick knows better than to make things too serious between them, especially at times like this. So even as he remains sitting up when Asta finally flops over in bed, he doesn't directly look down at the man until a hand snags out for him. Shifting to lay back down, Danta settles himself easily against the butcher's side, head pressed against the crook of his neck.

"Nothing to apologise for," he murmurs against the other man's throat, shaking his head as if to dismiss the notion before it even tries to take root. "Sorry that Zac and Rayla just went and named you without asking." Like a pet, in retrospect, and that really says it all given how both of their experiences in The Climb had panned out.

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

Somehow, he thinks talking in the presence tense would’ve made it worse. So much so, that the mere idea of it has his nose wrinkling as he glares stubbornly at the ceiling, like somehow it could right all the wrongs in the past – even if they didn’t feel entirely like wrongs. Because he wasn’t Ferox anymore. He was Astaroth. He was what they made him. They utilized his particular set of skills and forced him to follow suit. And he had.

And he was grateful for it.

He settles as Danta returns pressed up against his side, though where Danta’s head presses in against the crook of his neck, the Theocrat will feel the rabbiting pulse of his heartbeat, thundering hard against his neck. “It was fair, I guess.” Astaroth rumbles out, voice in that awkward in between. “Mighty Ferox doesn’t have the same kind of ring to it, does it?” He admits, before his sharp teeth start to gnaw at his lower lip, pricking it and drawing blood and paying it little mind. “And besides, I was nothing but a herding dog and a man too grateful for the second chance to care about the dirty work I was given.” I learned to enjoy it because it was the only joy I could get, and I was good at it.

It was dirty work that often involved fucking with the man currently pressed against him, a fact that has him closing his eyes, head tilting away from where Danta presses in his face, exposing more of his neck and the side of his cheek as his hand spreads around the middle of the other man’s back, fingers twitching as he then begins to trace old scars - scars that he had given him, knowing precisely where each and every one of them were.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

Danta can, indeed, feel the other man's pulse thundering against the soft brush of his lips, and he automatically slips a hand up to press it against Asta's chest, as if he might be able to steady his heartbeat by virtue of touch alone. "Oh, I don't know. I think it's got a bit of a ring to it, myself," he admits, though he doesn't repeat the monkier for obvious reasons.

Able to smell the blood in the air, the Maverick glances up towards the other man, reaching to gently direct his face back down so he can look at him. "You were a herding dog controlled by gratitude, and I was a stray who begged for scraps. I don't think anyone was anything legendary in The Climb back in those days." Or if they were, Danta was too low on the ladder to know it, and they hadn't helped the Maverick any, so why would he give a fuck?

Able to feel the pointed drift of fingers against the faint scars that mark his body, Danta shifts to reverse their positions suddenly, blanketing himself over Asta and leaning in to kiss the blood from his lips. "Besides, the Dusklight only knows you as this," he reminds him.

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

Rolling his eyes and sighing quietly, Astaroth simply lets the Maverick press his hand to his chest. His pulse still thunders, but it appears to be smoothing out as the seconds go by, as he uncharacteristically worries at his lip, drawing blood and making comments in that voice that is both his and isn’t.

The blonde Ancient’s hand is warm as it guides his face back and his dark eyes seem impossibly darker as he meets the blues of the Maverick. Somehow, the admission sparks a humorless snort, his eyes softening a little as they regain some life back into them. “We were both just fucked up pawns.” He says on a whisper, blood bubbling back up to the surface now that he isn’t fucking with it, spreading through the cracks of his lips when he speaks.

His hand remains ghosting along faded scars, head tilting slightly as Danta shifts, watching in a bit of surprise as the other man suddenly blankets him in turn, reversing their prior positions. Both hands find him now, resting against his sides and hips as he leans in for a kiss that Astaroth isn’t entirely sure how to feel about. He decides that its soothing, though, and he gives into it gently, pressing back into it and sharing the split of his lip and the blood that comes from it.

When they part and the reminder is there, his hand lifts to rub at his temple, wincing slightly before he reaches up to cup the side of Danta’s face. “You’re right.” He admits quietly, voice returning to something more familiar. “I have a reputation to uphold.” The joke falls on a whisper, even as a ghost of a smile creases the corners of his eyes, his pulse fading from its rapid pace as he leans up to steal another kiss.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

"Mm, and look at us now," Danta purrs; hardly pawns any more, they're both pieces on the board with their own share of influence, and gods if that doesn't make thinking of their old acquaintances as either statues or dead up in The Climb even more delicious. Content to relax against the other man, he leans into the warm hand that ghosts across his cheek, relishing the sound of a more familiar cadence to the butcher's voice as he speaks.

"You do," he agrees. "It wouldn't do now for you to start being inconsistent." The Dusklight has come to expect the polite gentleman who haunts the shadowy parts of the establishment, a smile on his face and a cane in his hands, and they've already proven that they miss him when he's gone.

Not expecting Asta to lean in for another kiss, Danta is nonetheless more than receptive, one hand braced over the other man and the other gently running across his chest. "Now," he murmurs against his lips, "can I interest you in either a bath or a nap? Because I'd like both, but in no particular order."

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

Now they were so much more than they had been in the Climb. Danta was a ruler, the Theocrat of the Grounds. He had reached the very top and made a space comfortable for those like him and others that decided to live and remain in the Grounds. It was such a shift from what he was used to, that he’d joined up, giving himself rules to continue to keep from breaking this peace the Maverick had created. And the only one that had his leash was the very one sitting atop him, and he finds that particular idea not that frightening at all.

Because even if he holds the leash, Danta’s given him so much slack on it.

Humming a note of agreement, head tilting slightly as his horns drag against the silk of the pillows, dark eyes focus on the other Ancient. “The last thing I want is for everyone to believe that I have lost my mind.” Comes the brief drawl, leaning up to capture the other man’s lips in a kiss. It’s short and he relishes in the pressure and weight of the hand along his chest, parting to settle and listen in for the options, hand slipping back to comb through long blonde strands.

“A bath sounds lovely, my dear.” Slowly warming up that frozen portion of himself, the butcher shifts to try and sit up, to press his chest against Danta’s briefly as his arms loop around his middle, twisting them slightly so that he can keep the Theocrat with him as they move to stand. “We can take a nap after.”

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

"And the last thing I want is for people to believe that I have found mine," Danta purrs; his chaos and inconsistency are the very things that keep him interesting, he's found, not to mention impossible to pin down or understand, save for by the man beneath him. Asta has done a pretty disgusting job of managing that as of late, and if he were in the sort of mood to examine it too closely, he might have fled into the Outer Brambles.

Luckily, instead he merely sinks into the kiss offered by the butcher, turning to get himself on his feet without drawing away from the other man much if at all. "You're the boss," he drawls, straightening up only to have to lean quite heavily agains Asta, barking out a laugh. "Ah, that's right," he mutters. "You tried to break my hips earlier."

Regardless, he doesn't sound as though he minds it at all, corralling them towards the bathroom where he'll continue to make Asta fuss over him for his crimes.

~FIN

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //