witching hour

all you have is your fire
and the place you need to reach

Leaning up to meet the other man’s lips, Danta doesn’t realise how much he craves and enjoys Asta’s touch until he receives it. Once he might have lied said it could be anyone, that any warm body would do, but it’s a slowly dawning reality that the Maverick craves the calloused hands and honeyed words of the butcher more than anyone else’s. Parting just enough to snatch in a breath and to let his hands drift up and around Asta’s shoulders, Danta leans in to press his forehead against the other man’s.

”I don’t think I could do this without you any more, you know.” he mutters. ”This whole Theocrat thing, I mean. So it’s probably in the best interests of the Grounds for you to keep yourself safe.” And me, of course. Always me.

Letting one hand slip between them, Danta makes short work of unbuttoning Asta’s pants and follows suit with his own; it doesn’t much matter how it’s done, only that the Maverick soon wriggles free of his clothes and settles himself in the crook of the butcher’s neck, lips pressed to the place where he can feel the dull thud of his pulse. He doesn’t care if it’s dangerous given the nature of Asta’s nightmares - Danta can handle anything after the afternoon’s horror show, as far as he’s concerned.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons
but always keep them on a leash