[SE] hearthlight

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"All this preparing, we're starting to sound like we're not children of Dygra at all," Danta jokes, smiling a kiss into Asta's dark hair before his fingers continue their fuss, trickling down the back of his neck on occasion to kiss his skin with the flames. "You're right, though. It'll just be part of life by next year. Means we can spent less time rolling with the punches and more time doing the punching."

Scoffing at his own bad joke, he can almost feel the exhaustion in Asta's smile against his shoulder, Danta shifting a little in his lap to get comfortable and to tug the blanket around them both. "Sleep, if you're still tired," he tells him gently. "I'm not going anywhere." Especially not with the cold dark having fallen outside. "And I'll be sure to wake you if any exciting letters get pushed under the door."

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

— frozen grounds and leafless trees

Chuckling to hear his joke, Asta’s shoulders shrug lightly – the blankets shuffling around them with the movement. “I like to believe that she enjoys my organization.” He teases him back, thriving with each shiver of heat that touches his skin and brushes his scalp. “Perhaps it is because of the macabre tendencies within it.” He half asks, punctuating the thought with a warm kiss pressed to his shoulder again, nodding slowly as his fingertips stroke idle patterns into his skin as he hums another soft laugh.

He only adjusts when he feels Danta shift in his lap, lifting his head from his lover’s shoulder until he’s settled and he tucks his head in again, placing the bridge of his nose against his neck. “Mmm, I am afraid I will still be tired even after the fifth nap.” He drawls, his amusement evident in the twist of his lips. “Next time I shall teach you how to craft a mouse.”

Astaroth

the woods will haunt you like a frigid breeze —

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Mm, it's true. You're probably one of her more interesting children, especially because you weren't born an Ancient," Danta agrees, half murmuring the words into the dark cascade of Asta's hair and settling once the other man has gotten himself comfortable tucked against him. "That's not to say that the likes of Charlie and I aren't prime examples of our race." He grins. "Maybe I'm biased, but I can see why she'd find something special about you."

Punctuating the thought with a kiss to the crown of Asta's head, Danta's touches grow slower and more indulgent but still tipped with fire, as if to lull the butcher off to sleep while they chat. "If you are, then you'll just have to nap again," he says reasonably. "We've got all season, and right now you're on extended vacation. If you spend it asleep, so be it."

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

— frozen grounds and leafless trees

“Do you think so?” He hums softly, a bit of amusement flickering in his face despite the exhaustion, unseen aside from how the Maverick might feel it from where his face is pressed in against the smoothness of his skin. “You and Charlie are truthfully the picture perfect image of Ancients to me.” All of the chaos in their blood that the butcher only seemed to harbor a fraction of. He makes up for it in other ways, he’s sure, but for the moment he feels as though if he were to do anything else but sit here curled up with Danta he might simply crumble into dust.

His touch lulls him enough to close his eyes, nuzzling his face into his neck gently, his breaths slowing as his arms grow a touch slacker from where he’s wrapped them around his middle. “So long as you do not mind, darling.” Asta hums softly, forcing himself to stifle the yawn the best that he can in this half sleepy state of delirium.

Astaroth

the woods will haunt you like a frigid breeze —

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"I absolutely do think so," Danta confirms, gently leaning his head against the butcher's and letting a smile tug at his lips. "Mm, but we aren't the only image of Ancients," he agrees, chuckling softly. "That wouldn't be very Dygra for a start, if we were just cookie cutters of each other." He likes to think that their differences only add to the elements of chaos and shifting change that defines their goddess, and Asta plays just as important a part as the rest of them.

But already he can feel the other man starting to lose his battle to stay awake, Danta leaving a scattering of gentle kisses against his hair and his temple. "Of course I don't mind," he says, his voice dropping into something quieter now as well, his fingers trickling down the back of Asta's neck. "Sleep," he says again, as if to reassure him for good that nothing bad will come of it. "You'll feel better for it." Eventually, anyway, though there's no telling how many more naps it will take.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

— frozen grounds and leafless trees

“No, that is true.” Asta agrees with a small huff of a laugh – one that’s only there in lieu of keeping him awake as they settle in. “And for what it is worth, you and Charlie are not identical. You are quite the chaotic little beast.” He teases softly without all the fire of his usual teasing – even with the little comment made. It’s amusing as much as it is the perfect thought to flicker around his head until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.

Such that the smattering of kisses to his head and temple lull him into the comfort of a deep sleep, exhaustion weighing on him heavily. “Wake me if anything good happens, mm?” It might take an act of Dygra herself to wake him, but either way he wouldn’t fully miss out on any good drama. For now, though, it’s the last thing he manages to get out before his lids shut again and he’s out cold again, soft airy snores warming the space between them where Asta nuzzles in.

- FIN

Astaroth

the woods will haunt you like a frigid breeze —