I'm where the spiders go

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

“I love you too.” He says with a surprising amount of fervor in the statement. As if they were his last words and he needed to ensure that if something cemented from tonight, it was that fact alone. He could take a blade between the ribs. He could take Danta running from him so long as the Maverick knew deep down just how much he meant to him.

His head tilts into the hand that cups his cheek, his dark eyes hollow and haunted, nodding his understanding in a gentle little nuzzle that doesn’t have him moving too much. “I am on your timeline. Whenever you would like to try, I will do so.” A promise, that maybe one day when he unleashes it either knowingly or not, that Danta would no longer need to fully hide from him.

One hand abandons Danta’s side to lift and cup the hand at his cheek, adding that extra boon of warmth and connection as he lets the thoughts in his mind fall from his lips, feeling as if they need to be heard now more than ever before. “Danta,” he braces himself with a somewhat shallow breath. “I am so sorry for every scar and all of the pain I have ever left you with.” Physically and mentally. Each and every single one of them. He doesn't know if he's ever apologized so sincerely. The butcher can't remember right now. All he knows is that he has to say it.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

Danta's lips flicker in the ghost of a smile, and he nods softly to Asta. "We'll see how I feel in a few days. I think I'm more a fan of your initial idea now too, to start small." Granted, perhaps given time he'll be glad that he's seen the worst, that he knows it can't get darker than that. Tonight, though? Far from it.

Sighing out a shaky breath as the other man nuzzles into his touch, as his hand comes up to cover Danta's fingers, he ought to expect it, really, when Asta starts to apologise, and yet it still somehow takes him entirely by surprise. Unsuccessfully blinking back the fresh sting of tears - but feeling in control of himself enough now to resent them - Danta bites back his response for a few beats, as if trying to untangle what he automatically wants to say versus the truth.

"I forgive you," he whispers at last. "It wasn't you, really. Not the you that's here now. But I still forgive you." Leaning up, he brushes a gentle, hesitant kiss against Asta's cheek, then steps back at last to gaze down at himself. "I think I'm going to get changed..."

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

“I think that may be best.” He agrees quietly, his voice still equally just as soft, the sound of a gentle breeze through summer leaves. And he finally starts to relax as Danta’s arms offer warmth into his chilled bones, into the panic and worry that had set their roots into him. Asta nuzzles gently, feels the desperate desire to apologize, and without letting a second pass to talk himself out of it just lets it out.

Asta takes a slow deep breath as he spots the tears, immediately wondering whether he’d done a bit too much as the silence grows. But he doesn’t pull away from him, doesn’t immediately respond with fire or anger or upset. He just.. Compartmentalizes it, as far as the butcher can tell.

Forgiveness isn’t something that the butcher expects. But it spreads through him as a cool balm to the tangle of and fraying of his nerves. “Thank you.” He says on a whisper, closing his eyes and leaning in to feel the kiss, hesitant as it is to his cheek, and releases him as he steps back. Asta’s tail is still at his heels, the ashen spaded tip pressed flat against his ankle as he steps back to regard his lover too, and with a quiet nod and an exhale of a breath he’d not realized he’d held, the butcher looks back up at Danta’s face. “Good idea, love. Perhaps we should wash up, too.” Based off of the dried blood still clinging to them.

But he doesn’t move until Danta starts to, with the plan to snag a bowl and fill it with water to heat with a cloth to scrub away the worst of the day.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

Brushing his thumb across Asta's cheek before finally letting his hand drop, Danta sighs and gazes down at himself as if remembering the blood as an afterthought. "Yeah," he mutters, wrinkling his nose, "good idea." He steps back at last, already missing the other man's warmth, and works on unfastening the lengths of chain and bone that drape across his shoulders, carefully setting them down on one of the tables they'd pushed into the corner of the room. To dance, he remembers, though it feels like it happened a lifetime ago.

Instinctively keeping an eye on Asta's location in the room, unable to help himself just yet, Danta does slip out of his shoes and pants, setting the knife in his boot, far, far away from their den, before he pads over to the bowl of water and the cloths the butcher has prepared. Wincing as his hand plunges into the warm water, several of his nails broken and bloody from trying to scrabble at the other man's office wall, it's with a long, tired sigh that he glances up at Asta.

"Let me," he offers, squeezing the water from the cloth and reaching up to clean his bloody face and neck, careful not to let any water drip down onto the dressing patching his chest. "You left your medicine downstairs," he remembers, distantly. "Do you want some of the other stuff we have up here?"

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

He misses Danta the second that there’s an inch of space between them. But for right now, this was required. It was needed. And only when they were all cleaned up and well enough again does Asta think they might be at a point to curl up together.

One step at a time, though, and the butcher feels intimately aware of his actions while he fills the bowl with water and heats it up with a flare of scorch, folding the cloths beside it until Danta’s joining him. The only movement aside that of his hands is the gentle and careful flick of his tail as he focuses, trying to ignore everything else in the time it takes for the Maverick to join him.

He doesn’t look up right away, spotting the broken and bloody nails he’d missed as the blonde had tried to excavate his way out of his office. But when the other man speaks, his gaze flits up immediately to Danta’s face, as if unsure, but he lets him. His gaze closes slowly, relishing in the soft touch of the warm cloth. “Please.” Comes the soft hum, having been content to forget about it if only to not ruin this hesitant peace.

The blood wipes up easily from his neck and face, and his hands he can wash up on his own with ease. The rest of him thankfully had already been cleaned up by the medic staff in the Infirmary, and while his hair still remains bloodied and dried, it’s a vast improvement.

But before Danta has a chance to step away, it’s his turn. He snags a cloth and dips it in and moves slowly enough for his lover to be able to tell his movements are coming before they become a surprise. And he starts gently washing away the splattered blood on his forehead, down his nose, to his cheeks - swiping away the tear tracks in reverent touches.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

"I'll go and fetch them when we're cleaned up," Danta mumbles, focused mainly on a stubbon red streak across Asta's throat, like he's been slashed with an invisible knife. It comes away though, in the end, and the Maverick steps back, satisfied with his work. Squeezing the blood from the cloth into the bowl, he's about to turn away to get the medicine, as promised, before he notices Asta move out of the corner of his eye.

Freezing, unable to help himself, he sighs out the breath he hasn't realised he's been holding as the gentle touch and warm cloth wipe across his face, tired eyes closing to let the butcher do his best to make him seem presentable again. "That already feels better," he admits. It feels like wiping away everything that had happened downstairs, like he's allowed to stop thinking about it for a while.

Swiping the cloth along his arms and chest in a rudimentary cleanup as well, soon both men are in a fairly similar state, and Danta finally abandons the bloody water to step back. "I'll bring the medicine to bed," he decides, ghosting away to find it. At the same time, he drags on an oversized knit sweater and a pair of checkered pajama bottoms, all but drowning in the fabric by the time he ducks beneath the drapes into their den.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

“Alright.” With the plan in place, Asta settles as Danta scrubs away the stubborn blood that’s clung and pooled against his skin, dried and lingering. It’s when Danta begins to move away that Asta’s snagging the cloth. And he notices the way Danta freezes. Like the surrounding area is full of eggshells and one wrong step would bring the monster back out.

Once upon a time, it might have. But now? Now it’s the last thing on his mind aside from keeping it stuffed so far down it might vanish again completely as he lifts the cloth to his lover’s skin, gentle and diligent as he wipes away tears and blood and anything else that might linger from their destructive night.

“I am glad.” He murmurs softly as he withdraws, wringing out the cloth and stepping away from it a fraction to let Danta finish up, watching as he ghosts away as a fraction of his usual self while the butcher’s slow going in his approach to their den. Shedding all of his clothes and remaining in the dressings only - the bloodied chains on his antlers getting placed on the nightstand - the butcher curls up into the dark and under the blankets, curled up within them as small as can be before Danta approaches.

The knit sweater and pajama bottoms look incredibly soft, and Asta appreciates them immensely for the comfort he’s sure they bring. He wants to reach for the Maverick, but he isn’t sure if his sudden movements might make things worse. So he waits until he’s settled in the bed and the butcher has taken the pain medication, before Asta’s slipping over toward him, slowly reaching for the ruined hand to lift it to his lips and press soft and gentle kisses to his fingers that are red and puffy and angry.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

Danta doesn't draw the fire low as usual as he slips beneath the sheets, as if worried what the dark will remind him of given the events of the past few hours. But he doesn't seem bothered about collapsing into the sheets and pillows with the butcher so close - likely because even in his wildest nightmares, never could he imagine laying in bed with him - and as he turns to reach for the Maverick's hand, Danta surrenders it willingly.

"I didn't realise I'd done it," he confesses, of his torn and bloody nails, watching as Asta presses kiss after kiss to his sore fingers and feeling a sudden and reckless surge of affection for him. Swallowing hard and letting out a shivering breath, he finally shuffles himself closer to the other man, easing into his arms and being mindful of his injury, but tucking himself as close as he can.

And it's stiff and awkward, at first, until the exhaustion that singes his frayed nerves finally burns through everything else. Danta's body relaxes like it's the first time in a long time, curling itself around Asta as if to keep him and covet him and steal him away from the other version of himself the Maverick has seen tonight. Nosing against the side of his neck, his lips pressed to his throat in a silent kiss, it might be far from their most interesting position in bed, but Danta wouldn't have it any other way.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

Asta also leaves the fire as it is, focusing instead on taking Danta’s hand into his own, pressing gentle kisses to each and every swollen and red finger. Taking diligent care in not hurting more but simply offering affection where he could, where he didn’t think it would trigger anything of their past by doing it. But he hears Danta’s soft voice, and presses a warm kiss licked with fire against the back of his lover’s hand before he lets it go. “I did not realize either.” He says in a mournful tone, exhaling a slow sound and making a mental note to make sure he helps him clean them up in the morning.

Because right now, the Maverick is finally curling into him, stiff and awkward but pressed against him and he can feel the soft press of the oversized clothes that Danta wears, and he presses in equally as much - slowly to start, because he’s still unsure. And just like that, he feels his lover’s body finally relax. He feels the tension bleed out, the brush of his nose against his neck, the quiet kiss pressed to his throat.

The butcher’s head tilts down a little to press against Danta’s golden hair, slipping his arms around him to keep him just as close and closes his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with a surge of affection and surprise that feels so heavy in his throat that not even swallowing gets the sensation to lessen. "I love you." He repeats the mantra quietly, the silver thread that had blossomed in the entirety of the day. It's 319. I won't hurt you. I love you.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

"And I love you," Danta replies, his voice barely even a whisper, the words exhaled into the crook of Asta's neck. Utterly boneless in the other man's arms, the butcher will be able to hold him as close as he likes, Danta's tail flicking absently beneath the blankets before settling to curl loosely about Asta's calf. This is what he'd meant when he'd said I need you - that this, all of this that they've built together, might be enough to counteract the thing his lover had become down in his office.

They're different enough, certainly, that Danta is able to succumb to the pull of sleep, and before he's even realised he's done it, he's snoring softly against Asta, too tired even for nightmares to reach for him. And how bad would they have even been, anyway, given the living nightmare he's just experienced?

The Maverick won't be difficult to move throughout the night should the butcher need to get up or adjust them, stirring only if he feels the other man's warmth disappear for too long. And the sun is long past risen when he finally stirs, groggy and still drained (unsurprisingly), grumbling and turning to nuzzle into the pillows. "No," he mumbles hoarsely.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

He feels it the second Danta finally collapses into sleep. It’s boneless and heavy, impossible to move - not that the butcher would. And he remains awake for Dygra knows how long, settling in the best that he can with the numbing of the pain still dressed up in a nice bandage. The pain meds work well, keeping the stinging from being unbearable as he tries to fall asleep after his lover, but it definitely takes work and time.

Eventually, though, he succumbs. And not unlike the other times he’d been injured and taken these painkillers, he’s a statue in the bed once he’s gotten onto his back and tugged the blonde Ancient into his chest. Still close, still radiating heat. He doesn’t even stir when the sun starts to try and trickle into the dark of their den.

If anything, he shifts now to roll onto his side, biting back the fresh sting of pain from the wound with the movement, having forgotten about it briefly in his sleep. He mutes it, though, but it certainly wakes him up. He hears the no, mumbled hoarsely into the pillow, and he knows that he should get up and take more of the pain medication, but he can’t bear to part with Danta for too long upon waking up.

So he swallows down the pain, propping himself up a little more comfortably, arm still wrapped around his lover while the other lifts to thread his fingers through the still bloodstained blonde, gently brushing it back. Enamored silently with the way the sun filters along his golden hair, even though it’s tainted with copper, has all the appearance of liquid gold. “I will not go anywhere.” Comes his equally hoarse whisper, fussing gently over the Maverick while he can, committing every second to memory and to soothe the pain in his heart.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

"Mm, good..." Like Asta, Danta has also forgotten that he'd fucking stabbed his lover in the chest been injured the day before, so hopefully the butcher will forgive him for not realising it for a few more minutes. He's groggy as he slowly turns into the other man's arms, huffing out a long, slow breath and silently enjoying the soft touch of fingers that come threading through his hair. Rarely one to suffer fuss, evidently this morning is Danta's exception to that rule, and he leans into Asta's gentle caresses as if they might well put him back to sleep.

His own fingers skate along the small of Asta's back, as if to relish the solid presence of him, and after a long yawn and a longer sigh, he finally tips his head up to peek at the other man. "Hey," he mumbles, leaning in to softly kiss his collarbones. "How are you feeling?" He means specifically after all that had happened in Asta's office the night before, but it probably applies in general, too.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

He does forgive it, even if the stinging pain lingers in his chest a touch brighter and heightened than it had the night before. When he’d been numb to the pain with the pain killers and the exhaustion of the night before. But he fights through it if only to continue to feel Danta press against him, like the actions of the night before just didn’t exist. And he cherishes it, in the bleariness of the morning, his fingers brushing gently and fussing while he can get away with it.

Wholly surprised he’s gotten this far, even.

His fingers hesitate when Danta lifts his head up, he butcher’s dark gaze dropping to look at Danta with a glimpse of the fondness overwhelmingly blooming in his eyes. “Hello.” He murmurs softly, lip quirking into a soft smile. The answer is one that he hesitates with, though. Because on one hand, he’d rather lie and say he was fine. But he isn’t, and Danta would know it the second he answered. The second it had taken him a long while to respond. “Sore.” He says instead, flashing a small smile. “But alright, otherwise. How are you feeling, darling?” Because that was his ultimate concern. His own wound didn’t compare to the mental wounds reopened last night.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

"Mm, you need more medicine. It's on the table behind you." Danta says with a furrowed brow, waving a hand in the direction of the bedside table that Asta is facing away from. At least it means it's close enough for him to take without having to get up, though. Still, to hear that the butcher is in pain, he loosens his grip on him ever so slightly, careful of his injured side and glancing down to check that he hasn't bled through the dressing.

Only once he's satisfied does he relax once more, gazing up at Asta through blue eyes that seem a touch distant, as if he's settled into a mild shock overnight. "Tired," he admits, huffing out a sound that wants to be a laugh. It's true, though, even after a long night of undisturbed sleep, he still feels exhausted by the world and everything in it. Everything except Asta.

"Maybe a little hungry. I think I want to make tea, as well, but I don't want either of us to get up." He wrinkles his nose and tries for a smirk. "Things feel okay here, though."

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //