[SE] with dirt on your knees and blood in your teeth

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

“Yes you are.” The butcher affectionately drawls, humming a soft laugh toward the end as he pulls him closer, trying to warm the damp and cold skin of the Maverick. He’s steady on his feet like a pillar as he’s draped against, roaming his hands along Danta’s spine and shoulders and toward his lower back.

Snorting a sound along the lines of I knew it, the butcher grins and presses his bearded cheek into the side of Danta’s less damp hair. “Shall I put on some tea? A medicine ball will help you feel better, darling.” Comes the suggestion.

It’s one that doesn’t last as he’s guided back toward their den with an insistence only likely because of the warmth and heat Asta flares into Danta’s bones. But he happily goes, humming a deeper accented “like a lighthouse.” Something he’d nearly said before he redirected himself toward beacon.

Once the bed hits the back of his calves, he’s sinking down into it, incessantly trying to pull Danta into his lap to continue his affections. “Tea or me, darling?”

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

"Tea sounds nice. Not as nice as this, though," Danta murmurs, which is practically an answer to the question Asta is about to ask all on its own. Nevertheless, the Maverick settles himself in his lover's lap without hesitation, his arms draped around his shoulders and his nose buried in dark hair, eyes slipping shut to enjoy the simple pleasure of being warm and home and dry.

"You first. Then tea," he decides after a few moments, but the odds are good that he'll be asleep long before tea ever gets a say in things. Granted, before he can even consider dozing off, another clap of thunder vibrates through the Last Whisper and against their windows, and Danta turns his head to glance out through the drapes towards the sound, though it's soon covered by a violent lash of rain upon the glass.

"Happy Flowerbirth," he drawls, nestling closer to Asta as if worried the downpour will find him again inside. "Remind me again why I chose to be Theocrat of the region with the worst weather?"

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

The second that Danta settles into his lap, the butcher’s arms wind around him tightly, squeezing him in against his warmth to additionally warm him up further. “Mm, alright.” An order of operations, as it were. But he tilts his head enough that Danta can press into the dark strands of his hair, soft and warm and dry in comparison to the still damp golden waves of Danta’s own. Something he focuses on as one hand lifts to thread through the blonde again, finger combing it back to try and dry it and maybe style it a little.

“Happy Flowerbirth, darling.” He keeps the happy birthday part silent for a while, still trying to figure out what kind of event the Theocrat might respond well to – in comparison the butcher’s own birthday party. He has an idea for the true gift, however, something he keeps wholly under wraps.

Ah, but then the downpour is continuing outside, the rain thundering against the window panes. Unfazed by it because it’s how it had gone all night which Danta had unfortunately been caught in, the butcher squeezes him a bit closer and nestles his bearded cheek in against the other man’s sharp jaw bone to press a kiss there. “Personally, I believe it is because deep down you like to tell people what to do.” He teases the accented drawl nearer to a jeweled ear. “And despite it’s terrible weather, it is quite charming, no?”

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

Grumbling a thoroughly content sound to be held so tightly against the other man, Danta leans readily into any fuss Asta is willing to offer, though it might mean he inadvertently ruins any attempt to style his hair with his affection. Stretching against the butcher as best he can, he's happily draped all over the other man, arms slung around his shoulders and his eyes grumpily on the rain that hammers against the windows, even if his nose is still buried in his dark hair.

"Is that so?" He barks out a soft laugh at that, shifting just enough to enjoy the kiss to his cheek and jaw, plunging his fingers into the back of Asta's hair. "Well, given that I spent all my life up until now being the one told what to do, I'm not going to apologise for it. So I suppose you've got a point," he says with a smirk. "And it certainly can be charming. Especially down here in the Whisper."

In short, fine, he admits that things could be much worse. "Can we admire it being charming from in here for the next couple of days, at least?"

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

Goosebumps rise against the butcher’s skin when Danta’s fingers plunge into his dark hair, and after a moment of consideration he hauls up his glamour to see if Danta’s fingers can find those particular spaces his horns settle in that feels heavenly to be scratched (giving into his canine soul shift a little heavier these days). “Precisely, darling. No one is asking for an apology, either.” Comes the low accented hum of amusement, pressing another kiss to his cheek and down to his jaw.

“Oh, absolutely. I much prefer to be dry and warm these days.” He says with a laugh, shifting enough to squeeze Danta closer as he scoots back a little along the bed, before trying to extricate himself enough to slip his hands in between them to unbutton the shirt he wears, craving the warmth of his lover’s skin against his own. “Besides, we must ensure you did not catch a cold.” Teasing, the butcher can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

"Good, because you and I know that one isn't going to be forthcoming," Danta says with a wicked laugh. Eyebrows raising a little as he watches Asta's Ancient traits melt away before his eyes, the Maverick is of course more than willing to indulge his lover in his attention. Letting his fingers scritch slowly across the butcher's scalp, he lingers against he spaces he's learned are Asta's favourites, even if he has to shift to adjust as he scoots further back onto the bed.

"Mm, I can't imagine what it was like for you having to grow up in Halo," he agrees with a scrunch of his nose, parting from him just enough that he might be able to unbutton his shirt. "And you know, I'm feeling better just sitting here with you. Maybe you have the magic touch." Or maybe Danta just can't get enough of the other man (ding ding, we have a winner).

Slipping his hands out of his hair, he wastes little time in pushing Asta's shirt down over his shoulders, closing the meagre distance between them with a kiss and winding his arms back around him.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

He can’t help the snort that leaves him – knowing how not-forthcoming the apology would be if there was one to give. It’s amusement that reflects in the dark of his gaze as his Ancient traits melt away and Danta finds those perfect spaces against his scalp that has him melting into his touch. Shivering in delight, there’s a low hum that leaves him as he tilts his head ever so slightly into the touch.

“Perhaps when we take a trek to the House of Midnight I can show you what it was like.” The butcher hums thoughtfully, because yes – it had been just as dreadful as Danta can imagine, he’s sure. It’s a small mercy that he hadn’t been anything but an Accepted at the time, otherwise he truly wouldn’t have survived it.

He works to unbutton his shirt, smiling affectionately up at the Maverick to hear that he feels better, he returns his hands to Danta’s skin when he leans forward enough for the shirt to be pushed down. He doesn’t get a chance to respond, though, not with the press of the kiss – though the butcher would never complain. If anything, his arms tighten around him and he presses back into the kiss, greedier than normal, a true indicator of just how much he missed him in the time he’d been gone.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

"Oh? You still want to go, even after meeting Sunjata?" Danta mumbles against Asta's lips with an audible smile, thoroughly tangled up in his arms and having no intention of creating even a fraction of distance between them. "I'd like that, though, to see where you came from. Though I'd prefer it if it wasn't actually freezing cold." He doesn't want to visit King's End and its famous magical brothel only to end up keeling over and turning to stone.

For now, at least, right here and right now is more than enough, and the Maverick would be lying if he said he doesn't thoroughly enjoy Asta's greedy and possessive touches. Jealousy might not be the best trait in a lover, but luckily enough, Danta loves every part of the butcher and his quirks. "I was only gone for a few hours," he says in faux protest, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

“So long as he is not in the room with us, then it shall be fine.” He hums back against Danta’s lips with a warm huff of amusement. But he nods to the second request, pressing a soft kiss against the Maverick’s nose briefly, before he nods, brushing his own nose against Danta’s shortly after the kiss. “I am sure if it can be whatever we would like, I can make it have the appearance of snow without endangering us.” Comes the thoughtful tone.

Though he doesn’t really know if that’s how it works – he imagines if he goes by his own imagination of it that he could manipulate it as such. If they can’t, perhaps they simply stick by the door just in case for a quick exit before turning cold and grey.

He knows it has only been a few hours, but as he winds his arms around Danta’s skin and presses his hands into the dimples of his hips, the butcher huffs a small sound of protest. “Mmm.. A few hours too long.” He murmurs against his skin, diving in for another all consuming kiss, snatching any retort with the slip of his tongue.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

"Aw, not one for exhibitionism?" Danta croons, though despite his shit-eating grin he knows exactly what the butcher means, and he's more than content to have him entirely to himself for the duration of their visit to the House of Midnight. "Mm, or maybe just imagine us in a nice warm cabin with the view of it all outside," he suggests with a chuckle. Either way, it's sure to be an interesting experiment if nothing else - though he might also linger by the door until he knows it's safe.

Inhaling sharply in delight at the hands that press against his bare skin, he yields automatically into Asta's touch, his response dying in his throat as he finds his lips very much occupied. Humming approvingly and letting wicked fingers graze down the other man's neck and across his scarred chest, it's with his breath screaming in his lungs that he finally draws back, panting softly and raising an eyebrow at the butcher.

"If I didn't know better I'd say you more than missed me," he quips with a crooked smile, adjusting himself to sit more readily astride Asta, his tail flicking its amusement.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

“Not with him.” The butcher clarifies, already feeling the shit eating grin and humming a low huff of a laugh — because thankfully Frey’s demigod was far away from here (he hopes), and most importantly not currently in their room. Still, as he lavishes his attention on Danta, he makes the mental notes of dreaming up a comfortable cabin to keep them warm should it require it when the time comes, before it’s quickly drowned out by the possessive demands of his kiss and his hands.

Letting Danta draw back, the butcher’s gaze scans his face affectionately, his hands rising up against his sides before dropping to curve around his thighs. “Somehow I imagine you will not complain.” He tilts his head in a playful challenge, pressing back against the headboard to arch his back a little to press his scarred chest into Danta’s hands harder.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

"Noted," Danta says, his eyes lighting up with dark glee, because of course he's gleaned that this isn't a no from Asta, but simply a not with Sunjata. Which, fair, given that they'd gotten along about as well as a house the butcher had set on fire out of spite. Luckily for them both, the Maverick forgets entirely about Frey's demigod in lieu of the warm and calloused hands that roam over his skin, and as the other man arches back against the headboard, his fingers press indulgently against the patchwork of scar tissue he knows can only feel a fraction of what he's offering.

"I want you to slap me if you ever hear me complaining about your attention," he tells Asta, laughing softly and sneaking another kiss before the other man can respond, his lips as teasing as the touch of his hands had been. This time when he draws back, the Maverick tilts his chin up ever so slightly, as if to offer his throat to the other man should he want it.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

He is quite full of spite when he wants to be, and he can direct it quite beautifully when required of him. But for now, there’s nothing but the Maverick and the Butcher, and he’s far too appreciative of this moment even if the rain is trying its best to tear down the glass of their windows. It isn’t hard to ignore everything else when Danta’s hands are warm and roam numbly over the scar tissue, the touch that much more vibrant against the portions of his skin where he does still have some semblance of feeling.

It's a shaky soft laugh that’s pressed back into the kiss – pressing into the kiss after as if to vow to him that he would gladly take him up on the offer if it ever came up. For now, though, he presses into the kiss and the affections in turn, letting his own calloused hands flare along Danta’s skin, lingering against the jut of his hips and the curve of his ass, fingertips trailing against the edge of his tail. When Danta retracts a touch and he sees the way he tilts his chin up, it’s something the butcher takes the opportunity for immediately.

He surges up, hands sliding up to the small of his lover's back, his hornless head fitting neatly between the space of Danta’s neck and his shoulder, lavishing his neck with a variety of kisses – carefully keeping his teeth away for the moment in lieu of leaving a few warm and dark marks, high up above the collar for all of his possessiveness.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

Catching his arms around Asta as he quite literally goes for Danta's throat, the butcher will find himself more than welcomed against the soft column of his neck and the steady bump of his pulse - a beat that kicks up a notch with the bruising kisses he leaves in his wake. Shivering in a breath and arching deliciously against the other man's grip, Danta clutches gently at the shirt still clinging to Asta's back, shamelessly wrinkling it between his clenched fingers.

"Gods, I love you," he whispers, his mouth angled towards the butcher's ear as if to let the words trickle down to him and him alone. It isn't that they aren't forthcoming with their declarations of love, but Danta can't remember ever saying it just because, rather than as a gentle reminder in moments of stress or torment. And now is as good a time as any, he thinks, though the flush to his cheeks suggests that the words have slipped out more than anything.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //