nobody gets their kicks for free

and you'll wake up all alone, on an old beat-down dirt country road
and you'll crawl back through fire and snow

The press of his kiss is nothing short of a warm brand to his crown that the butcher feels lingering long after he’s standing from the couch, embracing the rumble of thunder and the flash of lightning that flickers through. He’s okay with it these days, int eh confines and comforts of his den, stepping over toward the tea as he tries to decide just which to make for himself. Deciding on the spiced apple, he glances over his shoulder to spy Danta with the blanket in his hands.

“Mm, there just so happens to be some left.” He drawls with a warm chuckle, bending into a slight crouch to snag the new tin of the vanilla chai he’d purchased and kept in their stores. Drawing back up and prepping their tea, it’s with the low murmured hum of adding honey to his own cup and making sure verbally that he doesn’t add it to Danta’s, that the butcher finishes up their tea and takes himself and his cape of shadows toward the windowsill where presumably the Maverick has reached.

He settles in, arms widening for Danta to settle into his lap before he hands him his cup once Danta’s wrapped them up in the blanket. “No honey and plenty of vanilla chai left.” He purrs softly, nosing a kiss against his temple.

Astaroth

'cause there ain't no other place to go

open hand or closed fist would be fine

"Clearly I am a lucky man," Danta announces, grinning at the storm outside and the steady drum of rain against the ground and the windows. He's lucky in more than just vanilla chai, but he figures that Asta will get his meaning. Tucking the blanket a little closer as he waits for the other man, the soft hum of his voice is a soothing accompaniment to the weather, and by the time the butcher comes to join him Danta already seems a bit sleepy.

"Ah, my hero," he trills, wasting little time in wrapping them up in the blanket and indeed settling himself in Asta's lap, the Maverick acceping his cup of tea and melting back against his lover's chest. It's a comfortingly familiar routine by now, this, regardless of how they choose to sit, and he turns his head to nuzzle against the underside of the butcher's jaw. "You know," he mumbles, "I think this is one of my favourite places, these days."

Dantalion

the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

and you'll wake up all alone, on an old beat-down dirt country road
and you'll crawl back through fire and snow

“Indeed you are.” The butcher purrs playfully, grinning back at him when he settles into his lap. He does get the meaning, though it does little for him at the moment to elaborate it and inflate his ego even more, so the butcher contently opens up the space for Danta to settle in against him, tea in hand, ready to be tucked in to fall asleep as they make up stories about strangers outside their window amidst the storm.

The glass is cool in comparison to the rest of their room, keeping his chin lifted to give Danta space to tuck in before he nuzzles his jaw back into him. “It is mine too.” Though it’s unclear if he means the window sill or having Danta curled up against him in his lap, or both. Regardless, the tea settles in his free hand while the other strokes gentle passes along his lover’s back beneath the blanket as he gazes out the window. It lights up periodically here and there but for the most part they get an easy view of everyone below running from building to building to avoid the rain.

And for the brief bit of time itll take Danta to fall asleep, the butcher comes up with a wide array of stories to give these strangers a means and motive for their need to be out and about in this weather.

- FIN

Astaroth

'cause there ain't no other place to go