all the blood and the dust

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

Asta might have been tearing out Danta's throat with his teeth for all the Maverick has the sense to care, his head tipped back, bloody lips parted in an expression that might be mistaken for pain if one didn't know better. And the butcher will absolutely know better, Danta managing to steal in a gasp of air just as the other man's mouth meets his own, copper flooding his tongue and that feral growl still echoing in his mind as he rides out Asta's climax.

The world has started to blot itself out at the edges by the time he forces himself away, lungs burning and fingers numb as he pants for breath, but gods if that vaguely untethered sensation doesn't make it all even better. Collapsing back against the furs, something within the Maverick wants to suddenly grab and mark and claim the butcher all over again, as if to warn whoever might be around (no one - there's no one) just who the other man is to him.

Instead, though, one arm hooks loosely around him, fingers splaying at the small of Asta's back to strum gentle fingers up the length of his spine, the other clasping his jaw as if to brand the sight of him into his memory. "You're fucking incredible," he whispers, smile edged with exhaustion and adoration in equal measure.

Dantalion