the gold and the rust

// you knew who I was //

Running his tongue across his teeth and lifting his chin as Asta's fingers tug at the necktie, Danta's smile is as crooked as they come. "A peek into your subconscious, mm? I am flattered, Astaroth," he purrs, the tips of his fingers tickling across the patch of sensitive flesh he's found, rings glinting in the low light of the fire, tail flicking idly against the blankets. "Can't wait to see what I find--" he continues, only for his words to be cut short by the rise of the other man's hips.

Inhaling sharply, simultaneously surprised and delighted by this turn of events, thankfully there are no bindings or muzzles involved this time, and in an environment so comfortable, the risk (while never entirely diminished) is markedly lower than it had been in Torchline. "I was hoping you would say that," Danta murmurs against the thumb that brushes across his lower lip, reaching up to cover Astaroth's hand with his own.

It's with a sly smile and a hot tongue that he takes his thumb into his mouth, lavishing it with the sort of attention that might be mimicked elsewhere even as his hips roll again against the other man's. Only once he's certain he's made his point does the Maverick release him, leaning in for a hungry kiss instead - one that cuts short so he might begin his slow descent down the butcher's body.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

“Cherish the moment, Dantalion, darling.” Astaroth smirks on an accented sigh, shivering a bit again when the hands continue to run along the sensitive part of his chest, with the way Danta cuts off the sentence where the butcher rolls his hips. His grin sharpens even as he indulges in the sensation a bit longer, trailing his hand along the blonde’s lip.

He pauses as his grin curves brighter, his hand covered by the other man’s and he watches as the sleeve falls down his arm a fraction. But his distraction is changed the second that Danta’s tongue wraps around his thumb and he takes it in and Asta’s breath hitches, a gasp escaping him as he shivers beneath the Maverick in a turn of events. It’s chaste, though, because Danta is leaning forward and stealing a kiss, one he happily gives with the sharp nip against Danta’s full lower lip as he withdraws.

Astaroth’s hands move to run along the other Ancient’s back and his blonde hair, running along his diamond horns, sinking back into the bed comfortably, rolling his hips a bit impatiently despite enjoying the show, watching with hooded dark eyes.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// you knew who I was //

It's a refreshing sort of change, given the nature of their past dalliances, because Danta happens to be very good at giving a show (and that was even before he was the owner of a brothel). His lips blaze a trail down the other man's body that his fingers are keen to follow, hips lifting and tail curling up that he might better settle between Asta's thighs. Nipping a gentle mark against the jut of one of his hips, it's with a playful smirk and through eyes made dark with arousal that he straightens abruptly, one hand still teasing against Asta's stomach while the other starts to unbutton the vest he's wearing.

"I wouldn't want to ruin these fine clothes," he drawls - because he guarantees it's exactly what the other man would have done, and there's a painstaking few moments where vest and shirt are opened and the tie is slipped off. Discarding the garments - sorry Asta, but if you think he's folding them nicely you're mistaken - at last Danta is in a position to properly take what he wants, and he gives his attention, finally, to the butcher's hard cock.

Gripping the base, he takes Asta into his mouth with almost painstaking patience, humming a note of enthusiasm around him and squeezing.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

Asta is nothing but an attentive watcher to the show Danta gives, as he descends down his body and presses his lips along the scar tissue and the nip left behind on his hip. Asta rumbles a deep sound, blinking down at the Maverick with a gaze that seems hungry and all encompassing. If his eyes didn’t nearly match his pupils, one would think his eyes have been swallowed up. But as it stands, he watches with perfect content, letting his hands run along wherever he can touch the other man.

The lower he gets, he may notice the scabbed cut along the inside of his thigh, healed and nearly gone but still there, an ignored wound as he shivers and watches Danta slip out of the clothes. And while he would typically protest the wrinkling of the clothes, this is a dream and his “subconscious” is finding that he doesn’t mind so much. Wrinkles he can get out. This view is something that burns into his mind.

Especially when he sinks down to take his cock and Asta growls out a sound, throbbing hard at the attention and his fingers dig into Danta’s scalp and tugs at his hair with a shiver that racks through him. His chin lifts, not enough to inhibit his view, but he keeps his hips stilled to not rush the process, even as his tail slinks around to wrap around Danta’s middle in another caress.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// you knew who I was //

Not to worry - Danta isn't in a rush at all, and the way his tongue curls around the head of Asta's cock tells as much as he draws away, idly stroking the other man's length as he decorates his hips and thighs with kisses. And it's with curiosity that he notes the mark along the butcher's inner thigh, raising a brow up towards him. "I don't recall doing this," he purrs, as if inviting the other man to elaborate.

If he can, that is, because the Maverick's attention soon moves back to the task at hand. Happy to practically gag himself on Asta's cock, the butcher will find him predictably skilled in this arena, and were it not for the way his own arousal throbs insistently for attention, he might have been happy to let the other Ancient finish like this.

Alas, Danta is never one to leave himself wanting, and it's with his chest heaving for breath that he finally straightens back up, reaching over Astaroth and across to a drawer in his bedside table. "I hope your dreams prepared you for this," he says through a breathless laugh, collecting the lubricant he's been looking for and applying it liberally, both to himself and to the other man.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

“Because it wasn’t you, my dear.” He says with a breathy and bratty remark, grinning despite himself to try and explain. “A spar.” He manages to get out in between the wonderful work that Danta does, sparking such a brilliant sensation through him as the butcher flushes and gasps for a breath, sharp teeth biting down on his lower lip as he pants through his nose before figuring out the rest of what he’s trying to say. “A newish Ancient I met in Torchline.” That’s as much of an explanation as he can offer, swallowing down anything else with the groans that pull from his throat.

Alas, Danta tortures him, and his hips roll a little as if chasing the sensation of the wonderful and despicable things the Maverick’s mouth had done, before he settles a bit and his tail pats against Danta’s back as if asking what the problem was. But he blinks up at Danta, all flushed and nearly torn apart, seeing the silhouette of the light swarming Danta’s skin and the rainbow hues that reflect from his horns in a pattern against his skin, and it’s nearly angelic compared to his previous monstrous appearance that it feels almost like a perfect yin and yang.

And then Danta’s reaching into the drawer and Asta rumbles a little laugh, adjusting to help Danta wherever needed, allowing a playful suspicion to slip into his gaze. Skepticism, perhaps, as he runs his hands along Danta’s stomach and sides and chest, cocking his horned head which catches on one of the pillows with a small tear, feathers spilling out into his sleep tousled dark hair. “They have not.” He purrs, shifting his legs a little to better accommodate the other man. “But I look forward to the real experience. I imagine it’s better than any potential dreams.” A subtle way to say get on with it, despite his crooked sharp grin, and despite the way his cock throbs hard, as if in anticipation.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// you knew who I was //

"How rude," Danta quips, even as he tosses the lubricant aside and adjusts himself more comfortably between Asta's thighs. Whether it's that another Ancient had landed an injury on Astaroth that he takes offence to, or merely the fact that he'd been sparring with anyone else to begin with... well, it's anyone's guess. The Maverick certainly isn't in a position to expand on his comment, bracing himself over the other man to steal another lusty kiss from his lips, even as the feathers spill from one of his pillows and he considers, vaguely, the places he's going to be finding them for the next few days.

In the meantime his free hand descends between them, gentle but insistent and focused entirely on preparing Asta for something a great deal larger than his fingers. "You have no idea," he assures him, smirking another kiss against the strong line of his jaw before shifting enough to press the head of his cock against the other man's entrance. It's with a slow roll of his hips that he enters him, breath stuttering against his throat, and though no small part of him wants to fuck hard and fast, gods but he knows better for at least a few moments.

"You have no idea how long I have wanted you like this," he purrs, voice sounding rough even to his own ears.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

“Apologies, darling.” Astaroth drawls with a deeper, hoarser sound. He cares little for the feathers that crown him, white and fluffy in contrast to the dark oil slick hues of the gore crows, despite his gaze having no reason to leave the Maverick’s form as he’s shifted and adjusted.

His lips quirk back into that sharp grin as Danta’s voice purrs out, adjusting to let the other man have his way, arms falling back above his head, pressing in against the prongs of his horns. He blinks like a lazy cat as Danta starts to press his cock into him, Astaroth shivers, chin tilting up and breath hitching, his chest rising a little as he holds his breath. It’s a new sensation for the butcher, but not an unpleasant one he finds.

Not at all, in fact, because with the slow pace of the theocrat pressing in deeper, Asta lets out that breath in a quiet and bitten back sound. His arms adjust, one pressing against his mouth while the other remains at his horns, giving him something to bite should he feel the desire to. “How— How long, dear?” He stutters, warmed up enough to shift his hips a little to grind down against Danta as another small bratty attempt to get him to bottom out, paired with the incessant press of his hips.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// you knew who I was //

Flushed to the tips of his ears and wanting to simultaneously tear another pillow to feathers and fluff and simultaneously lavish Astaroth in kisses, Danta can hopefully be forgiven for his momentary lack of eloquence. It's early (and so this won't last long, despite his best efforts), he might still be a bit tipsy, and this is all entirely too much, so sue him. At least he has experience to fall back on, though the other man's shifting body does drag a breathless moan from his throat.

In response Danta's hips begin to move in earnest, Asta's voice reaching him from somewhere that feels far away, though it's enough for him to huff out a laugh. "Since the Spire," he admits, gently nipping at the other man's throat and smiling a kiss against the abused skin as if in apology.

Regrettably that's the extent of his conversational skills at present; hissing a curse and shifting to grasp at the other man's thigh with one hand, he's fully focused on the moment.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

Oh he’s absolutely forgiven, because Asta’s thoughts are zeroed in on the sensation dragged with the slow descent in, sped up by the shift of the butcher’s hips. Smirking against his arm when he hears the curse, it’s one that’s repeated from Astaroth the second Danta’s sunk fully in. It’s a great start, because no sooner than he gets used to that, Danta’s pace increases, and he’s flushing immediately, meeting the press of the other man’s hips to keep driving him deeper with a louder punch of a groan.

Thoughts of the spire are nonexistent (aside from the induced thoughts of returning there with the sole purpose of using that slab he’d torn apart the deer on for fucking the Maverick) but he focuses on the here and now instead. Because there’s a sharp nip at the sensitivity of his throat and his cock throbs hard between them again, and Asta finds his mouth wrapping around his arm, teeth pressing into his forearm.

He likely isn’t going to last very long doing this, but gods if it hasn’t opened a whole new range of sensation for the butcher.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// you knew who I was //

"Careful, now," Danta rumbles a warning against the soft space beneath the other man's jaw, practically able to feel the way his teeth threaten to bite down against his own flesh, though with very limited cognitive resources, it's the only time he'll be able to offer such a thing. His blunt nails will leave small crescents against Asta's thigh by the time he even realises how hard he's been gripping him, and at that point he can already feel his climax as a pressure building against the base of his spine.

"Fuck, you feel good," he growls softly, finally shifting enough that he might be able to pay attention to the other man's cock trapped between them. With strokes that are almost lazy compared to the pace of his hips, Danta nonetheless grips him hard and squeezes, even as his orgasm creeps up on him. With a stuttered moan against Asta's throat, the Maverick cums hard and his vision whites out into little more than static and bliss, his tail curling around one of the other man's calves as if to anchor him in place.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

He wants to bark back a careful, what? because he knows fully what he’s doing, even if his urge and mind seem to suggest otherwise. But as it stands, he’s blocked and muffled, panting and grunting against the arm that keeps his sounds from being too loud. Not that he thinks Danta would mind, but there’s a reputation to uphold, isn’t there?

The praise is met surprisingly well, flushing and shivering in his anticipation. His dark eyes close and his body rocks with the sensation of the Theocrat’s lazy strokes on his aching, ignored length. Bruises will likely form beneath where Danta’s hands keep his thighs, but there’s absolutely zero complaints. He’s done worse. In fact, the second Danta thrusts and cums, Asta bites down just enough on his arm to not draw blood, but enough to leave marks against his skin, held in place by the other man’s tail.

To which, Asta isn’t far behind, the tight tether snapping as his tail curls around Danta’s own in a mirror of a spiral of snakes, body twitching as he cums, spreading the mess all between the two of them with another growled groan of curses. The bliss lasts all but a second before his hands are moving now, tugging Danta down in a devouring, all consuming kiss.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// you knew who I was //

Later Danta will realise that they are both covered in feathers, and it might even be funny to him. For now, though, he's too lost in ecstasy and in the feel of Asta all around him to be aware of much more than the huff of their breath and the muffled sounds of pleasure that escape the other man's lips. That, too, might be worth commenting on eventually, but no sooner has he shifted enough to peer up at the other man when Asta is dragging him into a kiss, one that Danta sinks into willingly.

With a soft moan of satisfaction, he keeps himself braced on one forearm, his other hand clasping the butcher's jaw as if searching for the taste of blood in his mouth. Finding none - a pleasant surprise and then some - it's only when his lungs begin to burn that he draws back, panting hard. "Gods, fuck you," he hisses out through a playful laugh, just before diving into another heedless kiss.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

His arm will certainly be bruised, but Astaroth is caring little for that potential pain for the bliss that blurs his gaze and has his breath coming in short pants, even more so as the butcher claims the Maverick’s lips in a searing kiss. It’s a full reversal of the night before with Danta bracing himself above the other man, his other hand cradling his jaw. There’s a purpose in the kiss, however brief, but unfortunately (or fortunately?) no tang of iron remains in the butcher’s mouth. Nothing but the taste of their kiss.

He parts, though, and the panting hiss that shifts to a laugh has a deep rumble of one leaving Asta as he tilts his head back. “I’d say fuck me yourself, but..” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence with Danta diving back in, and he gladly presses up into it, until his lungs heave and he withdraws when he feels like he’s seeing stars to trail his lips along Danta’s neck, nosing his way just under the soft space of his jaw to leave a matching mark to the one that is already starting to darken on his own neck. “Gods, you are a marvel.” Comes the hint of sentimentality, before he doesn’t let it take root.

He withdraws a split second later, and peers up at him with a mischievous dark gaze, hands moving to collect some of the feathers and drape them over Danta’s shoulders (because they’re going to stick and be a nightmare and it’s his turn for some chaos in the moment with how subdued and tamed he’s been). And with it he lets another chuckle of a laugh leave him, enough that the movement has spread some of those pale feathers along his own darker bronzed skin.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //