when you're close to me

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

It’s strange.. but not unwelcome – to not hear the snark or wit to Danta’s tone. Just a general indulgence of love in return, one that somehow manages to kindle even more warmth in him than their actions just now had. His tight embrace continues because of it – hearing the next exhausted response, but nuzzling in anyway because of it, with a breathy huff of a chuckle. “I am glad.” Comes the quiet hum, the gentle accompaniment to his words.

The kiss up his throat to his cheek has him settling back a little easier, his grip on his lover loosening to drag his calloused fingertips along the Maverick’s back in swirls of unknown design, letting the low rumble of content escape his throat at the sensation of his hands in his hair. “It was.” His tone is distracted, but nonetheless indulgent of the touch.

A thought strikes him, one that has his fingers drawing those designs further along Danta’s lower back to the base of his tail before dragging in a straight line up his spine to the nape of his neck, playing with the shorter strands of gold he finds there. “I am eternally grateful we got a second chance.” He starts, realizing belatedly the heaviness of his tone. “I am also grateful that I get to lie here with you and rewrite those memories I had from before I became Ancient.” And here he pauses, to angle his head just so, to brush his lips against Danta’s sharp jut of his cheekbone in a saccharinely sweet motion. “I am so very lucky, Dantalion, to have you as I do.” He knows he hates his full name, but there's something about the moment that the butcher can't help but to let it slip.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

Grumbling something endlessly affectionate and encouraging to feel Asta's fingers spiralling against his back, Danta almost shivers as his hands dance lower only to drag up towards the nape of his neck, arching into the touch automatically. "Mm, so am I," he mumbles, the words muffled against the crook of the butcher's neck where Danta has settled himself, intending to stay there for a good deal longer if he gets his way. Of course, the sudden gravity to Asta's tone doesn't escape his notice, the Maverick peeping up at the other man as he continues.

It's the truth of the words as much as the tone that has him speechless, even with his full name spilling from his lover's lips, and his tail thrashes and twitches as if he can't decide how to feel. Except that isn't right, exactly - he knows how he feels, he just doesn't know how to show it; for a man rarely if ever shown affection in his past, Danta often comes up short when giving it to others in a context that isn't sexual. Eventually shifting enough to wind his arms around Asta in turn, he lets out a long, deep sigh against his neck.

"...In the interest of rewriting memories," he says slowly, "do you mind if I...?" Gesturing to the room around them, he clearly means to ask if Asta minds if he warps and changes the scene.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

He doesn’t need to respond – Astaroth doesn’t really expect him to, knowing how Danta is. But the butcher can’t help but to love bomb when given the chance, because he often bottled everything up so well that it had a tendency to explode, but at least he’s figured out the time and place. The Maverick’s arms are warm as they wind around him and he continues to toy with the strands of gold at the nape of his neck, soft and reverent strokes and twirls.

“Mm?” Asta murmurs softly, indulging in the warmth of his sigh, eyes closing momentarily as he listens and decides perhaps the change of scenery be better left a surprise (even though he’s fairly confident he knows what he means when he says rewrite. “Of course, darling. I don’t mind at all.” He confirms, keeping his eyes closed as he lowers his arms, winding them around his middle to keep him just as close, tail flicking like a content feline’s while he waits for the change, expecting stifling hot heat similar to this, but the familiarity of the bowels of the Climb.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

Asta is correct, of course, but even with his agreement and knowing that the man he's tangled around is one who knows him better than anyone, Danta is still hesitant to commit to the change. He spends a further few seconds enjoying the comfort of the butcher's arms before finally twisting the room to his own imagination. The snowblock house drops away, replaced by hot stone and stifling air, and even the darkness that falls upon them feels warm.

It isn't true darkness - there's an outline of light somewhere nearby in the crude shape of a closed door, and Danta lets a ribbon of fire twist to life over their heads. The room they lay in is small and bare but for the fur they are settled upon, the ground hard beneath their bodies. Danta shifts automatically as if he might get more comfortable - unlikely - and he curls himself a little tighter against Asta.

Outside, the sound of The Climb and of Morax's crew at work is loud enough that it might as well be beside them; a cacophony of laughs and jeers and shouts, of drinking and hunting and fighting. Finding himself frowning without meaning to, Danta forces himself to sit in the status quo. "This is where I was kept until I was needed," he mutters.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

His eyes remain closed as he waits for the changes, for however long it takes before Danta manages to swap the room into something else. He shifts with him, still keeping his eyes closed until he’s sure each and every portion is done. He feels the shift of the soft cushiony mattress beneath them turn to hard stone — to the stifling warmth and even the warm darkness that descends. It even smells like he remembers, the ashen soot of fire after fire, scorching ash into stone long past the ability to be heat up so far to melt as it had once before.

He does see the small burst of flame from behind his closed lids, but he doesn’t open them until Danta speaks, shifting with him to get more comfortable against the hard, rocky floor, tangled up with Danta in his arms and against him, as if he refuses to part especially in this dark memory.

He can’t help the way his muscles tense to hear the sounds from outside of the room, especially those of Morax’s crew, and when Danta’s voice reaches him, his dark gaze opens, adjusting to both the surrounding dark with the outline of light and the little flame Danta’s sparked to dance above their heads. He first looks to his lover, spotting the frown and obvious discomfort, before he looks around them.

It’s a place he had never been — because Danta would often be brought out whenever they had their fights. But somehow it makes sense why he’d never seen the other man out and about unless strictly necessary, especially with Morax and her crew as the guard to keep him in. Though he wonders if Danta ever wanted to escape, if this was all he knew for the time. The bare stone walls, the stifling heat, the absolute nothing but furs on the ground like he was nothing more than a dog left to have the scraps and an empty, pitiful doghouse.

The frown reflects on his face, too, and he twists so that he can lay on his side better and draw Danta closer, as if he might be able to be the one thing in this memory worth clinging to. Like he could be the piece of intricate blood red stained glass that gave the Maverick hope to not be swallowed up in this darkness.

“I am so sorry.” He says quietly, feeling the gravity of the situation, unable to provide any kind of jest or means to make it seem lighter than it was. But this was an oily black stain and no amount of witty cleaning would get rid of it, it would only smear it around more until it was bigger. So he tries to soak it up, to absorb it, because maybe if he can help Danta unload the burden, the oil stain might have a chance of fading ever so slightly. “You had to listen to them all day and night.. I cannot imagine.” The frown remains but he reaches up to brush his knuckles against Danta’s cheek, to thread through the blond at his temple and comb it back, offering a semblance of humanity in a very inhumane space.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

Danta shifts without protest, curling against Asta and keeping his back to the small space gloomily lit up by his ribbon of fire. "It wasn't so bad," he mumbles, and perhaps what's worse is that he means it. "The hunger was bad enough to drive me crazy. Listening to them was a good distraction, kept me grounded. As much as I could be, back in those days." He wrinkles his nose.

Having not dared to conjure any of the restraints that would have kept him from sneaking out until he was needed, or any of the more painful details of his enclosure, instead Danta lets out a long, deep sigh and presses his eyes shut. "Anyway," he mutters, "we're meant to be rewriting this memory."

And now it's the Maverick's turn to tweak and alter the scene to suit his tastes. Beneath them the ground grows plush and comfortable, a bed rising from the stone with a canopy of light and fluttering silks, perfect for shading them from the harsh glare of sunlight. The door and its outline melts back to darkness, before promptly yawning open into a bright and panoramic view of The Climb as they'd have known it before slipping into Dygra's slumber.

Blinking his eyes back open and relaxing into clean sheets and plump pillows, Danta feels the tension begin to unlock from his spine. "This is much better," he purrs.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

He nods as he listens, taking in the scene with heartbreaking clarity, even as the frown remains on his face. He focuses entirely on the Maverick, on the way he closes his eyes and exhales the sigh, as he lets this memory sink in for long enough to really make it count, before swapping it to something leagues better than it had been.

So he watches and feels as the hard floor gives way to a plush bed from the stone, the silks and light similar enough to a den that the fyrhund in Asta already approves. The door melts away — and even the sounds and smells of sulfurs this far down — into the brilliance of an open view of the Climb from back then, with familiar juts and crags of rock.

Immediately as Danta relaxes, the butcher releases the tension in his shoulders, shifting enough to curl in beside him and plunge his fingertips into the golden strands of Danta’s face, leaning in to press his bearded cheek against his own in a somewhat obnoxious nuzzle. “Immensely better, darling.” He agrees — and the evidence of it smooths out his voice in return.

Shifting suddenly, the butcher scoots back toward the headboard of the bed, tugging Danta with him to settle between his legs, warm hands lifting to stroke along his shoulders, trying to alleviate even more tension that might have sparked from the memory. “How are you feeling now?” He asks as the change starts to take effect, warming the air differently than the stifling underbelly.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

Leaning into the touch, Danta turns his head to press his lips to the pads of Asta's fingers, willing himself to relax completely as the room opens into something more comfortable if no less familiar. "I'm glad you approve," he murmurs, a faint smile curling across his lips as he accepts the butcher's obnoxious fussing with weary contentment.

Having been expecting to lay here indefinitely, Danta's eyes widen a fraction to feel Asta suddenly scoot back, not to mention how he's tugged up to sit between his legs. "What are--" Cut off by his own sharp inhale of relief to feel the butcher's hands press and stroke against muscles still held tense despite his best efforts, the Maverick hums a note of encouragement and hangs his head a little.

"I've been a lot worse, put it that way," he says, a smile audible in his voice. "Thanks..."

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

It isn’t his approval that matters, but it is Danta’s that does. Still, he offers it all the same as he nuzzles in and offers a softer smile before his big impulsive plan takes place. Drawing Danta back against him and spreading warmth in his shoulders, he slowly starts to work at the tension still lingering there, soft and gentle at first. He doesn’t need to answer the question seeing as the actions speak for themselves — especially as he notes the way Danta’s head starts to hang.

Working at some smaller knots, the butcher injects some fire into his palms, occasionally pausing to press a kiss to the back of Danta’s crown or neck. “Yes, you have.” He agrees before continuing a little softer, a little more adamant because of it, injected with love and a protective possessiveness that always seemed to come out of him as of late in regards to the Maverick.

“But you do not have to anymore.” So help him if anyone tried to put Danta back in a box, he’d tear them apart with his teeth.

He continues the massage, drifting toward the tighter knots, working at them gently and slowly, before he noses his way in against Danta’s jeweled ear. “I don’t suppose you brought the wine along with?” He hums a touch playfully, not wanting to linger along the sorrows when they’re rewriting them.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

Utterly at the butcher's mercy and far from complaining about it, Danta lets his eyes slip shut to enjoy the amber light that falls on them from the Climb outside, the heat of the sun on his face pairing with the fire flaring into his tense muscles. "No? I s'pose you're right there," he agrees softly, his voice low as he twists ever so slightly as if to help release a particularly tight knot in his upper back. Sighing as he feels it release, he sags back into Asta's very capable hands.

"Mm...?" having been enjoying the expert touch of calloused fingers and the affectionate kisses pressed to the back of his neck, Danta has all but fallen into a doze when Asta asks about the wine. Blinking his eyes back open and smirking, he nods across the side of the bed. "I think the food and drink comes with us, however we change the look of the place. Same with our bags. Hopefully it's still down there, but I might fall out of bed if I try to reach for it right now."

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

“Mhmm,” he agrees, knowing he’s right about it because he won’t let anyone take Danta away from his freedom. And for the moment, with it just being them and the beauty of the Climb they knew, Asta focuses on warming each and every cold chill away from his lover’s bones, helping him work out the knots and tension that had lingered there for centuries.

As for the food and drink, though, his dark gaze — made a perfect hue of blood hued honey with the amber light of the sunset of the Climb, drifts toward the side table with a low vibrating chuckle that Danta would be able to feel from how he’s wound around the Maverick. “I thought it might, but I was not sure if you squirreled it away somewhere else.” He teases, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck before he leans over to snag a glass still half full of wine.

Taking a long and indulgent sip of it, he offers it to his lover before winding his arms around his middle and presses his chin atop Danta’s shoulder, blinking out at the sun as it encases the view of the Climb they have. “As for our bags, I do not think we will need them any time soon, either.” He surely doesn’t have plans of leaving this room right now, nor does he think Danta plans to either with the way he seemed to keep nodding off now and then.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

"Me? Squirrel away food and drink in a place where I was starved on the regular? Doesn't sound like something I'd do." At least Danta can grin about it now - and Asta will be able to hear it too in his voice. Still, he straightens up a little to let the other man reach for his wine, accepting it graciously as it's offered his way. Taking just as deep a sip from the glass, he relaxes back against Asta almost at the same time as the butcher's arms coil around him, cocooning him in warmth and comfort.

"Mm, I should hope not," Danta says of their bags with a soft laugh. "The night is still young, after all, whatever time we might decide it is in here." Not that it seems to make a difference when it comes to the Maverick's mind and body trying to trick him into snoozing. He seems to realise it though, at least, tipping his head back to kiss the sharp curve of the butcher's jaw. "If I fall asleep, just give me a nip," he suggests, grinning, even if he already knows Asta is likely to just let him sleep.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

“Not at all.” The butcher agrees with a soft laugh, glad to see and hear him grin about it. It alleviates a darker hold on the inner black abyss of his heart, relaxing him as he fills it in turn with the warmth of this newfound memory and the sweetness of wine that wasn’t even a thought when the scene before them was true to life.

So he nestles in, a warm cocoon to watch the sun and the way the gold plays against the scarred skin of the Maverick, to revere him in the light as something even more holy than he had been in the confines of his snowblock home. “Ack, and run the risk of seeing the water boy?” The butcher hums, feigning his dramatics so terribly that the laugh bubbles from his throat shortly after, giving him away.

Shifting slightly as Danta tips his head back, he closes his eyes briefly to feel the press of his lips against his jaw. “Of course, darling.” He lies, but it’s the only lie he’ll ever tell his theocrat again. Danta deserved his sleep, had certainly earned it if the delicious soreness of his body was any indicator. And now it’s his turn to return the favor of one of the best nights of sleep he could get.

Of course, it doesn’t stop the butcher’s mind from wandering, his eyes opening to tuck himself into the crook of Danta’s neck as he peers back out at the view. “I knew it looked different since we woke, but I did not realize it was this different.” He murmurs into Danta’s throat.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

// sun comin' up on a dream come around //

"Good." Danta smiles through the lie he can hear in Asta's voice, nuzzling at the underside of his jaw before he settles again to watch the haze of heat ripple across The Climb outside. The spill of golden light is near blinding, which only has the Maverick keen to keep his eyes shut, but he forces himself to squint out at the panorama as the other man speaks again. Tilting his head a little to let Asta get comfortable, Danta turns to press a careful kiss to his raven dark hair, careful to avoid his horns.

"In fairness," he says of the view with a crooked smile, "I can't guarantee my memory is perfect when it comes to this place. I might be romanticising the fuck out of it because you're here." Laughing under his breath and relaxing further back into the cradle of Asta's arms, Danta lets his head loll against the other man's, succumbing once more to the comfortable darkness behind his closed lids.

"...I'm pretty confident this is the best birthday I've ever had," he remarks, the words low and quiet as if he's already starting to drift off.

Dantalion

// one hundred years from the empire now //