[SE] kept us awake with wolves teeth

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

He isn’t in the mood to be a hero, either, and for a moment as he hangs the clothes onto offered hangers, he reflects on Maea’s penchant for such avenues. It causes his nose to wrinkle, silently mulling it over. But luckily, he’s distracted from it by Danta’s own attempts to distract from the task at hand. It works to distract him away from both, his hands slowing as he hangs each shirt.

A shiver slips down his spine and he shakes his head, dark hair falling against the back of his neck and down against his shoulders. “That makes sense.” He drawls, ridding himself of the thoughts of everything past with the puff of a sigh and dragging his attention back toward Danta’s face.

“Well, I imagine things were much more relaxed beforehand.” He hums, raising a brow for Danta to go on a tangent about all of the wild things he’d gotten up to in the past before he’d been brought back to become his walking shadow.

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

// light shines in the darkness //

Unable to see the wrinkle of Asta's nose, rest assured that if Danta knew his thoughts were lingering on Maea, even for a moment, he'd have stepped up his distractions tenfold. Luckily(?) for the other man, his fingers remain just playful enough as they drift across his shoulders, smoothing through his dark hair for a moment before trickling down his back. "Before I came here to rule the place, you mean?" He grins.

"Relaxed is one word for it. I was drifting - it was chaos." He can't help but laugh at the memory, ignoring the clothing entirely now in lieu of draping himself up against Asta's back, his hands slipping loosely around his waist. "I tumbled down from The Climb to Torchline, where I met Flora and caused trouble for a bit. Flew across to the Greatwood for a bit, and ended up at the Grounds during that Blood Moon Festival I told you about. I don't know what made me stay... the place just seemed like no one cared about it."

One man's trash and all that.

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

Pulled from any lingering thoughts of a particular Ancient banished from the Inner Quarter, the butcher snorts to hear Danta’s question. “Before Starfall,” he clarifies, because without having all of the strange alien purple people out and about, threatening everyone, Danta likely had the opportunity to be a real chaotic pain in the ass.

Not that he would complain, he finds he quite likes the Maverick’s brand of chaos.

He draws silent as Danta drapes around him and he pauses in hanging up the clothes if only so he can rest his arm against the blonde’s that winds around his waist. “What a beautiful way to wake up.” He hums — to immediately start creating a ruckus. Though he supposes he had as well, with the way he’d immediately launched at Danta in threadbare clothing from centuries of sleep, how the blonde had tried to bury him again.

“You have done amazing things here, darling.” He confirms after a moment, unbothered by praising his Theocrat where he sees fit. “I read about what it was like before, and of course talked to those that lived here before you changed it.” Maea. “It was a hopeless place shrouded in the darkness of tainted memories. And now look at it.” Lifting his hand to gesture to not only the room around them but the region beyond it.

It gives him the opportunity to twist just enough to nuzzle his cheek in against the Maverick’s own from over his shoulder.

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

// light shines in the darkness //

It's true - Danta has built his brand on being a real chaotic pain in the ass; Astaroth has been on the receiving end of it multiple times, and that's even after they'd begun to be cordial with one another. "Ah, but that wasn't how I woke up. Not really." He shakes his head, the words almost murmurs against the warmth of Asta's shoulder. They'd spoken about it briefly before, he thinks, but details are better left scarce when it comes to certain points in their past. "I spent my first year awake in The Climb, waiting for Morax."

Only when it became apparent that his proprietress definitely wasn't showing up did Danta dare to tiptoe out of the region. At least from there he had flourished.

"Mm, you are such a flatterer," he purrs; the butcher has ever been generous with his compliments, and Danta is far from going to brush them off now. "You read about it, though? I should have guessed from all those histories you keep trying to read to me." Glancing up to nose against Asta's cheek as he turns his head, the Maverick snatches a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth before releasing the other man, however reluctantly, to continue unpacking.

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

It’s a very good thing that he faces away as Danta explains the awakening he’d endured, because there’s the immediate mask of the smile on his face, the slight tilt of the corners of his lips that seem more forced to stay upright as opposed to outright frowning. “What did you do while you waited?” He asks softly, curiously, even as he dreads the idea that the other Ancient had forced himself to stay just in case rather than flee to live his life.

At least he’d gotten there eventually.

Relaxing as his compliment is received and he tilts his head to nuzzle in against the Maverick’s cheek, the butcher’s smile starts to warm into more genuine territory. “I did.” He murmurs the second Danta’s pulling away, already mourning the loss of his warm embrace.

It forces him to speed up the process of hanging his clothes, and there’s a noticeable uptick to the speed at which he finishes the last few boxes while he speaks. “There was a barrier that kept this place separated from the rest of Caido to keep the Voice contained. The Spire even was said to harbor a demon of sorts. I imagine that is a large reason why it was desolate by the time you ventured here.” Why stick to where you’d endured so much hardship when you could have left it all behind to start over new?

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

// light shines in the darkness //

"Slept. Hunted," Danta says slowly. "Explored the differences between The Climb I woke up in compared to the one back then." And yes, waited. Too afraid to actively search in case of what he found but too bound to the place to venture far enough to claim his freedom. Until, eventually, time had done what his courage could not. The Maverick frowns softly at the memory, but it soon passes in lieu of easier conversation, and he turns his attention gladly to Asta's voice.

"Oh...? I'm sure I heard about that barrier, yes. I confess I zone out whenever they mention that Voice person." Smirking and collecting up Asta's empty boxes once he's finished with them, he darts over to the fire to burn them before venturing back to help hang the remainder of the other man's shirts - under strict instruction, of course.

"Still, good for them for leaving. Maybe someone else will set themselves up in The Climb like we did here. I wouldn't be upset about it, though I am still glad we've got a direct route back there." Danta has a complicated relationship with the region to say the least, but if nothing else they've got the fire and lava on their doorsteps.

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

All similar things to what he had done, all things considered. Only he hadn’t stayed in the Climb, not when its loneliness reminded him too much of Whitebrim’s barrenness after the sprees had started. That, and he had a guiding light of a red jacket and blonde hair and a vendetta to get him the fuck out of there.

Even if he did abandon him the second the skyship landed.

Content to let that part of the conversation die, he starts to hang the clothes as Danta darts away, humming a soft chuckle under his breath. “As do I. Though the rumors say that she made a pact with our dear Dygra so much so that when she died she had managed to wake our Dark Lady.” That is intrigue enough for the butcher to at least pay some amount of attention. Because if not, they’d still likely be slumbering.

The instructions are strict, but rewarded well as they finish and Astaroth finds himself crowding into Danta’s space, hands outstretched to tug through the loops of his fishnet sweater to draw him in again. “They would have to be quite hardy people to survive well, provided they aren’t Ancient.” He muses, before he tilts his horned head and lets his grin twist a touch nostalgic. “I remember what it was like before the crows came.” it’s said softer, opening up the opportunity for Danta to ask should be wish to.

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

// light shines in the darkness //

"Ah, that's right. I'm sure Kiada or Maea mentioned that at some point." The whole Voice-Dygra pact, he means. "They both used to be Ascended, so at least waking up was half worth it." The harpy is invaluable, after all, as the sole member of his council. The less said about Maea the better, though.

Following the instructions as best he's able (not that they're unclear, Danta is just a bag of shit), they're finally finished putting the clothes away by the time he's being ferried back against Asta, the Maverick playfully swatting at the other man. "I didn't put this on for you to stretch it out of shape by using it to pull me about," he informs him.

All is forgiven though, apparently, since he soon drapes himself against Asta's chest, arms curling loosely around his neck. "Oh? I bet it was hot," he says with a raise of his eyebrows, absolutely taking the opportunity to knit together more of the other man's story whenever he's willing to tell it. "You said you were dragged there by others from Halo, right? People who weren't into your lifestyle choices?" Those choices being a fucking cannibal, of course.

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

Maea’s name immediately makes the butcher’s nose wrinkle in distaste, but its soothed by the mention of Kiada — someone, who much like himself, he views as much Ancient as anything else. Maybe it’s the penchant to fire. Maybe it’s the same writer. It’s hard to say.

Anyway, he nods and finishes up the organization before he’s reaching for Danta and pulling him in close against him, rewarding him despite how it had taken twice as long to accomplish their task. “Oh? I truly thought that was the point of it, darling. Why else would it be designed in such a way that makes it easy to pull?” He lets his brows rise in playful innocence, as if not knowing what the point would be otherwise.

Either way, it looked good on him. But then again, everything and nothing looked good on the Maverick.

“Mhm.” Asta confirms as he slides his hands under the fishnet sweater, smoothing his hands along Danta’s lower back. “It was a town outside of Halo. I had tried to make it as far away as I could before I grew hungry.” It had been far enough to get to a more refined place, both fortunately and unfortunately. “I made quite the mess and didn’t escape quick enough.” He rolls his eyes, ever dramatic.

“Anyway, I was held in a barn for a day, I believe. Then, the group marched me into the Climb and as I stepped foot within it, the heat was immediately suffocating.” He tilts his head down to let his dark gaze meet Danta’s bright blues. “They had taken my shoes, whatever threadbare horrible things they had become over my travels, and the ground felt as if each step burned my feet.” Now, he’d contently lay skin to skin against the surface of the Climb. Back then? He had to be dragged part of the way.

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

// light shines in the darkness //

"It's meant to be alluring. Like I'm still wearing clothes, but I may as well not be," Danta informs him, eyebrows bouncing playfully, though honesty, the Maverick is liable to give any old bullshit answer if it means he sounds like he knows what he's talking about. Either way, with him pressed flush against Asta, hopefully the other man won't feel the need to continue pulling him about. If he does, Danta might just have to remove the shirt. Oh no.

With the butcher's fingers spreading like starbusts of fire against his lower back, Danta finds it easy to relax into the embrace, his own hands smoothing through dark hair as if to keep them busy while Asta speaks. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, surprising himself with the words. "I don't think I ever really thought about what it must have been like, to get home and find them all ripping each other apart." Then to have to break out and try flying solo, only for it to go horribly wrong?

No one is free of their traumas, it appears.

Wincing - not just at the idea of burns, but at having to be dragged across the hot rock, his head tilts up to meet Asta's gaze. "Remind me to have someone give you a foot rub." He smirks.

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

“Ah, mystery.” He drawls playfully, as if satisfied with the answer he’s received. In reality, he finds he doesn’t care one way or another so long as Danta kept his hands in the butcher’s dark hair. It’s soft beneath his fingers, the length having grown a touch to where it curls against the top of his shoulders and in between them.

He explains his experience, fully not expecting Danta’s apology and it’s evident in the raise of his brow as his dark gaze locks onto bright blues. “I cannot say I was surprised. Our options had grown quite limited.” He admits, leaning into the touch before he continues, idly stroking his fingertips along vertebrae he can feel. “However I was not interested in devouring a sibling. Or being devoured, myself. Believe it or not, I was one of the weaker ones.” The wrinkle of crows feet at the corner of his eye deepens as he winks.

The mention of foot rubs immediately spark a groan and another wrinkle to his nose. “That was the least of my concerns, all things considered.” He smirks, before he’s nosing his way in to press a kiss to the blonde’s nose. “Though I would not be opposed to back rubs.” Over the majority of his scar tissue, that is.

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

// light shines in the darkness //

"Exactly," Danta purrs. Very demure, very mindful, very mysterious. All things the Maverick absolutely is, right Asta? Alas, the smile that might have curled across Danta's lips is stifled by the story the butcher has to tell, and instead a soft frown draws his brows together. "Did you have brothers and sisters?" he wonders idly, even as he continues his fuss down the nape of Asta's neck and onto his shoulders.

"Now that I don't believe." Asta? One of the weaker anythings? Pull the other one. "You're the one who survived out of all of them, after all. That doesn't sound like something a weak person would get through."

Too distracted to swat away the kiss to his nose, Danta playfully snaps his teeth instead. Asta makes a very good point, though, the Maverick's clever fingers pressing in with a touch more pressure down his shoulder blades and back. "Well, I don't have any of the fancy oils that Flora does, but I can do my best."

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

Astaroth

// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //

It depends on the day, Danta.

“Yes.” Asta murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “I had two half blooded siblings, but those of us around the same age considered each other to be siblings for the most part.” Never the same father, given the whole praying mantis thing. “There were often groups of us raised by Matriarchs. I do not remember my real mother.” Something they can both relate to.

Huffing a laugh to hear Danta’s disbelief, he rolls his eyes affectionately. “That, my love, was because I ran.” He purrs in defense, owning up to the cowardice of it. “Last I heard there were three or four remaining from where I was born and they split off from one another to start their own varying clans.” He shrugs casually before he’s leaning in to snatch that kiss to the Maverick’s nose.

Greeted with the snap of teeth, though, his own widens and is a touch sharper than it had been. “We can always purchase some for later.” He muses before he’s closing back in on Danta’s space, aiming to walk him back toward their candle lit den.

// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //

// light shines in the darkness //

"No shit," Danta says, his surprise and curiosity genuine at this little piece of information. "I don't know why I always had it in my head that you were an only child, especially given what you told me about the way things worked in Whitebrim." He supposes it's because Asta had always been such a solitary creature up in The Climb; it had never occurred to the Maverick until very recently that he'd been that way out of necessity rather than choice or desire.

Trying and failing to hide the slight flush to his cheeks at the pet name - my love - however casually delivered it might be, Danta is all too willing to be ushered back towards the candlelit den he'd helped make in Asta's absence. "Good," he says softly, honestly. "I'd have made the same choice. And if you hadn't, you probably wouldn't be here now." So, cowardice or not, he'l never be sad that the other man had fled instead of fought.

His hands slip back around to Asta's chest, aiming to carefully unfasten his waistcoat buttons, though he's forced to stop as the backs of his legs meet the bed and he slumps down to sit.

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //