it stings sometimes

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

"Me? A liar? I would never," Danta says with a flash of teeth, but he's soon backed right up against the tree, all but pinned there while Asta creeps further into his space. The butcher has a point though, he supposes - refusing to climb and fall for his amusement is a forfeit, however ridiculous he might think it, and so with a resigned sort of sigh, the Maverick reaches up to draw his shirt over his head.

That's what he'd bet after all, right?

Balling it up and pushing it against Asta's chest - don't panic, it's just some faded linen thing he'd worn for the sake of coming to the Outer Islands, nothing that will wrinkle beyond recognition - he raises his eyebrows as if to ask whether that's enough for the other man. "You're lucky it ain't Deepfrost out here," he adds - not that it would have stopped Danta. Not when it's a matter of stubbornness and pride.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Smirking with a sharper fang already sticking out despite the already too sharp teeth, the butcher chuckles low. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” He teases, knowing full well it was lie number two. But, withdrawing with the answer already announced by the way that Danta starts to shed his shirt, Astaroth isn’t shy about the way his dark gaze roves over the pale skin.

Gladly taking the shirt as it’s shoved against his chest, he withdraws from pinning Danta in against the tree to give him an opening to slip out, and for him to find a place to put the reward. “Ah so I do have luck.” A brow bounces playfully as he packs away the shirt and sparks fire from his fingertips, letting it curl around Danta’s middle and up his spine in a warm embrace. “I would keep you warm, you know.” He drawls a touch haughtily, glancing back to the painted boulders that look like apples that mark the entrance of the orchard.

Astaroth

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

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

"Mm... on this occasion, yes," Danta concedes, making a show of having to squeeze out from the cage of the butcher's arms. And if his attempts have him close enough to very nearly brush his lips against Asta's, what of it? It's the other man's fault for being so close.

Regardless, once he's free to pick up the jar with the seed ghost in it, he's already sauntering towards the outskirts of the orchard when the fire laces up from his lower back and around his torso. Holding the jar at a safe distance, Danta glances back over his shoulder with a smirk that's far too warm to be as sassy as he'd once want it to be.

"I know," he says with a raise of his eyebrow. "You did last year." Granted, they'd both come through for each other that season, but Danta hasn't forgotten.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

There is absolutely zero complaints with the way Danta moves in to inevitably move out — lips just barely brushing against one another — and rather than tug him back to continue it, he offers his appreciation in the lick of fire to keep him warm as they sort and Danta plucks the jar up from the ground and heads back toward the path.

He follows easily, tail sweeping behind the other man as he draws his fire up around Danta’s neck as if to keep it from accidentally reaching the jar before he lets it vanish into nothing — his long strides bringing him up beside the Maverick. “You did too, darling.” He reminds him a touch softer, sidling up beside Danta, tail waving contently behind him. In a shift of subject, he glances over at the blonde before nudging him lightly with his elbow. “Your gift should be completed by the time we get back. Are we hailing a cart or staying in another inn tonight?” It doesn’t matter to him one way or another.

Astaroth

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

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

Wreathed in fire as if it's a garment as fine as any shirt Asta might have commissioned for him to wear, Danta is just as content as he heads back out onto the path, glancing over his shoulder in time to spot Astaroth drawing up beside him. With a flick of his tail he peers out towards the wagon marked roads in the near distance, and it's an easy decision for him to make. "I think we've seen enough inns for a while," he says, "so unless you've any objection, let's commit to getting home?"

They can take a cart or carriage at least part of the way even if they change their mind, after all, and it's only a few minutes of walking before one rumbles along. Hailing it down and offering a few glassy chunks of obsidian and a ruby that he'd kept in his pocket for trade, Danta hops into the back of the cart and pats the wood for Asta to come and take a seat as well. He might have to extinguish the fire, alas, but they don't want to burn their ride down, do they?

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Despite not complaining either way, there is the excitement of the idea of retrieving the gift to see Danta’s face when he opens it, and it has the edges of his smile brightening ever so much as he nods his head in agreement. “Absolutely zero objections here, darling.” He nearly purrs with the prospect, wandering alongside Danta down the path of wagon wheel marks, before one shows up.

Content to let Danta deal with securing the ride, he does in fact drop the fire the second the Maverick is climbing up onto the cart, waiting for a moment (long enough for the patting of the seat beside him) to actually climb up after him.

He sits close, almost too close if they hadn’t had that drunken admission in Torchline. But they had, and rather than say much of it, the butcher simply sits close enough to Danta that the heat of his body radiates and his arm easily slips around the Maverick’s middle to offer more warmth and comfort rather than the wooden rail of the cart to lean against. “I can either surprise you with it or you can come with me to pick it up?” Leaving the options open, his horned head tilts slightly when he tears his gaze away from the passing trees to look down at the blonde.

Astaroth

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

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

"Mm, good," Danta says with a lopsided smile, and he's not at all averse to the butcher's proximity as he clambers into the cart after him. Without the caress of the flames, he's already shuffling beneath Asta's arm. It's a companionable enough seating arrangement, given how they'd acted long before Flora's announcement on the stage of The Hanged Man, but Asta of course is right; things are different now.

Glancing up at the other man for a moment, Danta pauses before shifting to sink further against him, relaxing with a long, deep sigh. "I do love a surprise," he says, the grin curling across his lips as he tilts his head back to gaze at the other man. "Unless you'd like the company, in which case I could be persuaded to come with you." It's still a surprise, right? Just... a little sooner.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Content to let the blonde slip under his arm, Asta’s arm tightens around Danta’s shoulders to tuck him in against his side. He doesn’t concede to give him his shirt back to keep him warm when he’s sitting right there, yet he doesn’t seem to relax completely until Danta’s already sinking in harder against him.

His dark gaze peers down to meet those bright blues of the other Ancient’s, and the butcher’s tail curls around Danta’s own in answer. His grin sharpens a fraction as if debating which he’d prefer, before he squints a little. “Mm, well, while I would adore the company, I think I’ll get the best result surprising you back home.” He pauses, tilting his head a fraction closer, testing a subconscious line of whether he’s doing too much or not enough at all. “Alone.”

While it might seem like a flirtatious statement, it isn’t when it falls from the butcher’s lips. Instead, it’s a more genuine reaction he seeks, one not influenced by anyone around that might force them to act a certain way.

Astaroth

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

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

"Oho?" Danta hadn't expected a best result out of the butcher's plans, and there's mischief in his eyes as he tilts his head at the other man, his tail flicking contently where it loops around the butcher's. "Alright. You'll find me back in my rooms, alone," he confirms with a gentle dip of his chin, as if they'd just made plans for a business meeting. With that done and with the urge to suddenly drag Asta into an arguably sloppy makeout in the back of a wagon, instead Danta turns to keep a steadying hand on the jar with the seed ghost in it.

It seems to be buzzing about quite merrily, at least, pausing every now and then before eventually deciding to resume its burrowing into the apple Danta has captured in the jar as well. And that's that, for a time - comfortable but at the same time feeling somewhat untethered, the Maverick falls into a relaxed silence as they make their way back across the Bone Bridges towards the Inner Quarter.

Night has almost fallen by the time they arrive, Danta stretching stiff limbs as he slips out of the cart. "I'll see you back at the Dusklight, then?" He tilts his head at Asta, before leaving him to it with the seed ghost still safe in his hands.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

“Perfect.” Astaroth hums, flashing that same too sharp smile before it fades into something comfortable along with the silence — attention torn between the view over the edge of the bone bridges and the trees whirling past, to the occasional glance toward the Maverick and the seed ghost flitting about within the glass.

Only when they draw to a stop so Danta can get out does Astaroth reach up to give his arm a small squeeze and to hand his shirt back with a playful tilt of his head. Hopping out of the cart and letting Danta slip away back toward the Dusklight, Astaroth slips away down the Inner Quarter, seeking out the tailor.

He’s gone just long enough for Danta to get settled and get the seed ghost jar in a safe place, before there’s a knock at the blonde’s door. Just like before, he announces his presence in case Moira is around, and when Danta opens the door there’s not one box, but two. Both wrapped in beautiful burnt orange and dark brown paper, decorated with a ribbon spilling from the tops of them both. One is larger than the other, but both are strictly for Danta to open while Astaroth gets more comfortable (aka, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his fine shirt and rolling the sleeves up before adjusting the waistcoat.

Astaroth

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

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

Tugging his shirt back on before he heads back to the Dusklight, Danta does indeed make himself comfortable. He keeps the seed ghost safe in his office in the Backrooms, planning to head to The Climb in the next couple of days to deliver it to Flora in Torchline, then grabs a bottle of chilled white wine and takes himself upstairs to his rooms.

By the time the butcher taps at his door, the fire has been stoked and is crackling merrily, Moira has been evicted to go and hassle passers-by out near the bonfire in the square, and the Maverick is a glass of wine into the bottle already. Already grinning as he steps aside to let Asta into the space, his eyebrows raise at the sight of the boxes.

"You know these are all wasted on me, correct?" He gestures to the elegant wrapping, the ribbons, the effort that has gone in that he stands no chance of appreciating. Nonetheless, he accepts them with a murmur of thanks and a gentle roll of his eyes, taking them to a small side table so he might open them up.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

“I am intimately aware, darling.” Asta hums with an amused lilt to the smile on his lips, drifting in further once the boxes are handed off, rolling his sleeves up and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. “But it truly wouldn’t be from me if they weren’t finely decorated, would they?” He muses, already spotting the bottle of wine and the glass. With a flick of his tail and zero thoughts on it, he snags the stem of the glass to lift the white wine to his lips, taking a long sip.

The first box, smaller than the other is opened to reveal a covering of white lace. Removing it reveals what looks like a tiny corset, adorned with black and orange hues, sparks and pops of golden yellow. The laces themselves are black as well, tied in a neat bow in the back of the small garment, and when lifted out of the box it appears hard to the touch, woven so tightly that nothing seems like it could get through it. Looking at the whole, though, it almost clearly represents an accurate depiction of the lava lakes in the Climb.

All the while, the butcher sips from the wine, posture straight as he watches over the rim of the glass for Danta’s reaction.

Astaroth

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

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

"No, I suppose it wouldn't," Danta drawls, leaving Asta to get himself comfortable and taking zero care in unwrapping the smaller gift. Lifting the lace - and then the garment, whatever it is - out from the box, the Maverick takes a second to turn it over in his hands, and his smirk only grows as he realises what it is and what it's for. "I see," he drawls - and he almost quips that this really is the most kinky think Astaroth has purchased for him, but it's enough to know that he knows.

But he's not going to put it on yet, oh no. He might not even wear it at all tonight. Suddenly he doesn't mind the idea of the other man's teeth locked around his throat.

Setting it purposely back down, Danta steps forward to snag his wine glass from Asta, taking a slow sip that's punctuated by a mischievous flick of his tail, before he hands it back and returns to unwrap the second box. "You certainly have been busy, haven't you?"

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Infinitely pleased he doesn’t have to explain, the butcher watches as he downs another sip, lowering the glass slightly if only to actually let his lips curl into that bright, too sharp grin. There is a moment where he debates asking whether or not Danta wished to wear it, more than happy to offer his skills in lacing it up along the other man’s neck. But before he can get the words out, the glass is stolen from his hand momentarily and the butcher is huffing a soft laugh instead.

Drifting a bit closer now that the other gift is starting to get broken into, this one’s box is larger. “Quite.” He nearly trills — obviously this is the one he’s most excited about, even if it was wholly at odds with conversations they’d had in the past. Perhaps it’s because of how much he cares about Danta now. Perhaps it’s because he has control over the situation.

Regardless, what is revealed when the box is opened is a smooth metal mask of sorts, glittering and gleaming in the firelight. It’s shaped perfectly to cover and latch the butchers jaw from letting his teeth dig into anything it shouldn’t. A cage of sorts, yet with enough movement to allow him to sleep comfortably and to talk. “What do you think, Danta, darling?” He asks, voice dropping a bit lower as he watches. His hand slips into his pocket and the other lowers the wine glass, dark eyes far too intensely focused on the Maverick’s reaction.

Astaroth

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