laps up the vice like a wolf in the night

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

He could have sworn he had locked the door — only he hadn’t. He’d been distracted, guided toward changing into clothes that felt more like himself, finding a package with a note as a proof of life from Flora which makes his reaction all that much more genuine when his door opens and Danta promptly stumbles in.

The hey,’s are met with Asta’s head snapping toward the Maverick, the floral shirt cleaned and pressed and lifted up out of the little box it had been sent in. Letting it drop to the table, hands still in it, he looks back down to the letter and away from Danta as if he were still trying to keep his promise. “Hello.” He says quietly, jaw feathering as he moves to stand after a second more, sweeping over to the fireplace to put a kettle of water onto the fire, collecting the tea set that Danta had given him.

An offering for him to make himself comfortable, for what he imagined to be an uncomfortable talk.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Hello, says Asta, and Danta has the absurd idea that he wants to walk across the room and shake the other man for it. Both looking and feeling as if he's just this second woken up, if it weren't for the whole explaining themselves part of the conversation that he's sure is to come, the Maverick might have simply shuffled to Asta's bed to nap for a few hours. Instead, he settles on a very eloquent "No," trying to cross the room and swat the butcher's hands away from his tea making without actually putting any of the delicate crockery in danger.

Much as he'd really like to throw one of the cups off the top of the Dusklight, just to see how it shatters. And that's on a good day. Ugh.

"No, you listen," he continues, squinting at him with sleepy irritation. "I was shitty to you yesterday, but you were even shittier to me. You were king shit, and you don't get to slink off down here like it was your idea."

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

“No?” He immediately reiterates, stopping what he’s doing the second Danta steps toward him. That’s proof enough that he cares immensely about what the blonde thinks, so much so right now that a simple statement has him halting, has him falling into line. The tea set settles on the mantle, unharmed as he faces the Theocrat, dark gaze still fucking exhausted as he listens.

A talk without tea, it seems, which is a shame. He was hoping it might wake him up more.

“I was terrible to you and I am sorry.” He reiterates, essentially frozen in place. “I only wanted to give you my true word when we agreed it was only last night.” But evidently he’s misread, fucked up, again.

He wants to argue, wants to say that he’s only done it for him, but the sleepy irritation in his gaze stays his hand, keeps his lips properly shut, awaiting whatever decision the Theocrat has.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"So you should be," Danta quips back, and though their future conversations might well parse through whatever blame belongs to each of them individually - because bloodlust or not, the Maverick is not completely innocent in yesterday's conflict - at least they can settle on this first. Astaroth has apologised, and Danta is going to give him shit about it regularly until it becomes a sly sort of in-joke. That's maturity, Asta. (Is it, Danta?)

"You left before I could decide if I'd changed my mind," he tells him stiffly, resisting the urge to fold his arms across his chest because if anything is going to make him seem like a petulant child - you know, apart from bursting into the room grumpy and sleepy - it's that. "...And I did," he adds, clenching and unclenching his fists to at least give himself something to do.

"I don't want you to go. I like waking up to you being there. I was just... it was a really hard thing to hear, yesterday." Not just the comparison, but the blunt realisation that apparently he does turn into something vaguely unhinged when the butcher disappears without warning, or doesn't arrive back when expected. Quite when that has become a festering anxiety for the Maverick he doesn't know, but he doesn't like it about himself.

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

He remains silent to the you should be, because he is and has already said it and it would do little use to keep saying it. Instead, he remains near the fireplace in his room by the tea set Danta had gifted him and the warmth radiating through hollow bones and adorning their faces in hues of flickering oranges and reds, frozen as the Maverick continues, dark eyes focused on the other Ancient’s face as if surprised, silently, that it was a thing that could even be changed so quickly.

Not that he’d voice those words and complain — gods knew he didn’t want to do this. He wanted to stay in Danta’s bed, feel the warmth of him wrapped around his body, feel the full soft lips as they press against his pulse as if to make sure he was alive, feel the soft breaths that slowed into a soft snore when the Theocrat fell asleep.

Nodding, his lips part, finally not failing for words for the first time in the past couple of days. “Yesterday harbored a lot of unfairness from me, but I too like waking up to you being there. And even if I complained, I do also like being missed when I’m gone.” By you, especially.

The butcher’s dark gaze takes on a hint of a more calculating one, taking note now of the exhaustion there still brimming in the blonde’s face, highlighted by the fire still flickering brightly, and Asta steps forward to tug the Maverick into his embrace, this time not trembling or shaking, this time he stands as a strong pillar. “Would you prefer to sleep more?”

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Asta isn't the only one surprised, not only by Danta's sudden change of heart, but by the speed of it as well, but luckily the Maverick hasn't woken up enough just yet to question it. In the end, he thinks, it's that for as much as the butcher's words had felt like a mutiny, as much as the distance might have brought peace and clarity in the long run, it hurts more for Danta not to have what he's found, to be allowed to keep it and covet it whenever he pleases.

"Good," he mumbles, or just about, before Asta is seizing him and drawing him back into his arms. Danta invades every available space to press himself against the taller man, looping an arm around his neck and the other around his waist, head tucked snugly just beneath his jaw. "I would, yes," he rumbles, of sleeping more, and it doesn't matter how crisp or clean the buthcer's new shirt is, he'll have to fight to get it off around the Maverick's touch as he stumbles towards the bed without letting Asta go for even a moment.

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

Relief swells through him as Danta’s warm arms wrap around him, around his neck and his middle, pressing against the crisp shirt. His own arms slip around his shoulders, holding him tight to him as he tucks his head under the butcher’s bearded jaw. As he’s tugged back, he goes easily with him, walking back toward the bed. “Alright.” He hums, his voice far more relieved sounding than the uncertain, almost clipped tone of before.

The bed meets the back of Danta’s knees, and he doesn’t let them part at all as he sinks down with him, covering the Maverick’s body as he tries to scoot them back toward the head of the bed, bunching up blankets and furs in the process, hands leaving him to start to unbutton the nice shirt the butcher had put on, craving the feel of Danta’s hands on his scarred skin.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Were it not for Asta, Danta might have just let the bed catch him as he falls, let the butcher blanket his body in weight and warmth and called it a night (or a morning) from there. Only at the other man's insistence does he battle his way properly towards pillows and furs, feeling exhausted all over again by the time he's sinking into them at the top of the bed.

While Asta deals with his shirt, Danta unbuttons the butcher's pants and slides the belt out from its loops, casting it aside before promptly letting warm hands glide across the taller Ancient's scarred torso. He thinks he might be able to map Asta by scars alone at this point, his fingers pausing to gently caress the marks that still look painful after all this time, to reach up and push the shirt back away from his shoulders.

Leaning up quite without his own permission, Danta seeks out the other man's lips for a kiss he thinks he's probably craved since long before yesterday. Letting his fingers twist and tangle through the back of Asta's dark hair, he nevertheless tries to draw him back into the blankets, clothes be damned.

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

He is insistent, trying to push him back into the bed properly, if only so his long legs don’t have to hang off of the bed when they finally get comfortable. Once settled near the top, the pillows (thankfully not made with feathers), press and cup against the Maverick’s shoulders as Astaroth unbuttons his shirt completely while Danta works at the pants.

Slipped out of them easily, the butcher presses into the hands that sweep across his chest, hands sliding down to rid Danta of those grey sweatpants he’d put on to trudge down here. He has also craved the kiss that greets him as Danta leans up, and he dives into it with perhaps a touch too much greed and neediness unlike him from the past few days. Shrugging out of his shirt and slipping it off to the side with the rest of their clothes to completely press in against the blonde, head pressing in with the relief of fingers in his dark hair, sighing into the extended kiss and fully intending on keeping it going until his lungs feel like they’re burning.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Left softly panting into the small amount of space between them as his lungs burn and his vision turns spotty at the edges, Danta twists and moves as best he can until there's nothing between them but heat and scars and the plush comfort at their backs. The Maverick had said sleep and he'd meant it, but so sue him if his body is always convinced that he can be closer to Asta than this if only he tries hard enough.

Eventually, at least, he relaxes back into the pillows, his fingers still buried in the back of the other man's dark hair, caressing gentle patterns against the back of his neck even as he draws the butcher over him entirely. "...I did miss you," he says quickly, the words almost whispered under his breath as if worried he will poison the air with the admission, that it will drag them too close too quickly after fighting to even get to this point again.

"I always do. I hate it." Because he wouldn't be Danta if he didn't.

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

His lungs ache but it’s a burn he relishes as he’s tugged completely over the Maverick, slotting himself into the space offered once the clothes are gone. When he relaxes into the pillows and blankets, the kiss breaks, and Astaroth pants above him before pressing his forehead against Danta’s, careful to not press his horns in painfully.

Eyes slipped shut, relishing in the feel of fingers drawing patterns in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I missed you too.” Comes the quiet admission, immediately on the heels of Danta’s, not thinking of it any deeper than that, at least for both of their sakes.

A soft huff leaves him at the mention of hating it, something they both are so unused to, both so uncomfortable with needing and being needed. And yet, the kiss proves otherwise. The neediness the butcher has for Danta’s touch, the way he refused to let him push him away the night before. “I know.” He pushes in for another chaste kiss, withdrawing slightly after to peer down at him with dark eyes, arms boxing him in so that his fingertips can run through blonde hair, can dance along sharp diamond tines. “It is why I wouldn’t let you be alone yesterday even though I should have.” His gaze drops to his lips and anywhere but those vibrant blues. “I needed you. I hated that I did, but.. I couldn’t let you leave.” I couldn’t be alone.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Shut up, Danta automatically wants to bite out as Asta replies, but instead he shuts his eyes against the world and the words being spoken between them, fingertips stroking across the nape of Asta's neck, nose brushing against the other man's. The Maverick might have said more were it not for the sudden kiss pressed to his lips; chaste it might be, but Danta nonetheless melts into it, his free hand stroking down the length of the butcher's spine as if worried he might get up and walk out without an anchoring touch to keep him there.

Something twists in his gut, though not entirely unpleasantly, at those words - I needed you - and blue eyes blink open, of course, to see Asta looking anywhere but directly at him. "I'm here now," he mumbles. It's true that he'd been here yesterday as well, but likely not in the way the butcher needed, which, if Danta thinks about it enough, probably explains his pre-dawn escape from the Maverick's rooms.

Now, though? He might not be able to guarantee he'll stay awake, but he does try to tug the butcher down enough to wind his arms around him properly at last, nosing into his dark hair. "I'm sorry things were difficult for you, with Flora," he mumbles. "I hadn't considered how it might affect you in that way."

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

The warm hand trail down his spine and Astaroth melts into that touch in turn, fitting himself even closer somehow against the blonde Ancient. His tail winds around his leg, keeping him anchored just as much as Danta’s touch does. “You are. And so am I.” He breathes out, finally finding comfort and content, finally allowing himself the moment to indulge in it rather than feeling as though he must stand on occasion, like he can’t truly say the things he wishes to say for fear of them being wrong.

Which, for the butcher, is a change. Since when did he care what he said to people and how they took it?

Well, since Danta happened.

Easily dropping his weight onto the Theocrat with a sigh of relief, his nose brushes against the other Ancient's pulse, eyes shutting and lashes brushing against the underside of the blonde’s jaw. “It’s alright. She’s fine. She sent me back my shirt, pressed and clean, and even suggested speaking to Frey to find something that may work to not run into the same issue again.” Long story short, another date might be on the table.

One hand lowers to stroke along the Maverick’s shoulder, the butcher running over old scars he’d caused. “My bite tore her shoulder when the tide jaguar appeared between us to push me away.” He admits on a whisper, and Danta would feel the frown that tugs on his face. “That is what got me back my mind.”

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Huffing out a sigh heavy enough that it feels as though he's been holding his breath all this time, the comfortable dead weight of the other man against him is almost enough on its own to have Danta succumbing to the comfort of some much needed sleep. His tail bats contentedly across the sheets, sweeping in occasional arcs to brush up against the butcher's side, and whilst his arms wind securely around Asta, his fingers still can't help but play through his dark hair, occasionally straying to his horns as if to map the curves and sharp points of the tines.

"Good," he says about Flora being alright, and he means it not only in a political sense. "I'll still be sending her a letter. I feel as though I owe her for what happened with the wicker woman just as much as you do. Hopefully I'll not need a follow-up date with Frey as a mediator." Unable not to smirk at that, he raises his eyebrows down at Asta. "If she wants to save channelling a literal deity for other matters, though, I would be more than happy to keep you in line."

And he'd laugh about it, were it not for the buthcer's continued words, Danta nosing into his hair and pressing a kiss against his crown. "Good on her for being resourceful," he mumbles, and just in case Asta believes he's teasing, Danta squeezes him closer for a moment. "You have never claimed to be anything but what you are," he whispers back. "She's healed, and you did come back to yourself."

Dantalion