one hundred sleepless nights

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

Parting before his lungs cry out once again (but with a hum of appreciation for the nip to his lower lip), it’s with far less panting that the butcher shifts and lifts himself enough to focus on the blues of the Theocrat’s eyes, his hand drawing random patterns in the other man’s shoulders. “I told you that I would make it up to you.” Asta purrs cockily through a rumbling hoarse voice of his own, nosing his way in to meet Danta halfway for the next kiss.

He pulls away after a few long heartbeats, nose brushing along Danta’s before he sighs a little and straightens up, already preparing for the whine of complaint from the Maverick. His fingers ghost along the wound in his shoulder, shallow yet deep enough to absolutely match the sharp tines of the butcher’s teeth, before he looks up to catch Danta’s gaze, the shadow from his horned head casting a menacing look across the other man’s face smeared with blood. “Before you whine about missing me, darling, I will come back.” He says with an air of dramatics (like he’s planning to leave the room itself and not just the comfortable space they’d made), a wink offered from dark eyes, pausing briefly to see whether or not the other man will throw a giant fit.

It doesn’t last long as Astaroth moves, easily pulling away temporarily from the other man’s body to grab the ruined shirt still by the bedpost, before going to manhandle the Theocrat again if only to push him further up onto the bed to the pillows so that the dark haired Ancient no longer has to stand on legs that tingle and feel unsteady. And hovering above the blonde does he — very much unlike himself — use the torn shirt to clean them up before he’s immediately draping onto the other Ancient again.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

"That's true, you did say that," Danta says with a grin, wincing ever so slightly as the butcher shifts them and straightens up and away from him, leaving him spent and ruffled in the silken expanse of the sheets. "I can assure you that you did a stellar job." And he's got the blood and bruises to prove it, not to mention the fact that he daren't get himself on his feet just yet for fear that he can't hold his own weight.

Luckily Asta is already on it, and though Danta does whine about it (granted, it's with a playful smile and mischief in his blue eyes, but still), he allows himself to be settled further on the bed and cleaned up by a shirt he feels he'll never see again. Either way, it's with open arms that he welcomes the butcher back to blanket him, relishing the heat and weight of the other man's body and turning to nose into the side of his neck and against his dark hair.

"I do hope you don't have any other plans tonight," he mumbles. "Because I might have changed them on your behalf."

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

A knowing tut of a sound slips from the butcher's lips, as if in enough of an answer to say I certainly did say so and then did, but that’s beside the point. Because the hum of a compliment would have him preening were he attuned, but in lieu of it, settles for a shark toothed smirk. “Good.”

It plays on his face as he watches the equally playful and dramatic shift in the Maverick to whine about his departure, snorting lightly as he cleans them up and readjusts them into the bed, before he promptly presses back in to drape himself over Danta’s body, his face bullying its way in against the opposite shoulder from which he’d marked him. His hand toys with the edges of the blonde strands as he relishes in the warmth of Danta’s face nuzzling in against his neck and cheek. “Mm, come to think of it, I believe I had plans with the bartender tonight.” He drawls a touch playfully, absolutely lying, forcing his face into the Maverick’s skin to hide the twist of the smile blooming on his lips.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

Danta finally feels as if he's able to relax; well and truly fucked, with the butcher pressed against his body enough that the heat between them can flare and kindle as it pleases, and with nothing but time at his fingertips, he lets his eyes slip shut to enjoy the phantom affections from Asta's wandering fingertips. Of course, then he has to make his quip about the bartender, and the Maverick snorts a laugh that almost has him choking on it.

"Oh I see," he drawls, making absolutely no attempt to disentangle himself from the other man, his tail flicking idly in his amusement. "Well, far be it for me to ruin your evening. Off you go, then," he tells him; absolutely no part of him, of course, expects Asta to go anywhere, and if he does, well, then Danta will have something to say about it.

Shimmying up enough just so he might nuzzle into one of the other man's pillows, his fingers stroke idly through dark hair as he blinks his eyes open to watch the light from the fire dance across the ceiling. "Do you ever remember how loud The Climb was?" he asks suddenly, curious. "It made even the main floor of the Dusklight seem quiet."

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

The laugh that spills from Danta’s throat is one paired with the rumble of laughter that leaves the Butcher’s own, amused at the fact that neither of them move as if knowing it was such a blatant lie. “Off I go, then.” Astaroth hums, still draped and pressing in all around Danta as if this was precisely the plan all along.

Of course, then he moves, and Astaroth’s head tilts up, nose brushing against the other Ancient’s collarbone before blood stained lips press against the skin there. “It was like it never stopped.” He agrees with a soft sigh, contemplative for the moment, before he shifts to prop his bearded chin up on Danta’s collarbone, watching him with dark eyes glittering with his own curiosity. “When I became Ancient and they gave me my room, I did not actually sleep for a month.” A dark brow lifts as if to punctuate the same point. “It was impossible with all that racket.”

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

"Mm, it really was," Danta recalls, both arms looped loosely around Astaroth to play through the back of his dark hair as if considering working a braid into it as they speak. "I grew up there, so I guess it didn't really affect me. But when I woke up after we slept for so long, suddenly it was all so quiet. It felt deafening." He'd hated it for a long while, and even now it explains his enjoyment of the noise and bustle of the more public spaces.

"Oh, you didn't? That explains why you were such a delight from day one," he adds with a smirk, glancing down toward Asta. "Still, better than the alternative, right?" What is the noise of The Climb compared to the shrieking of gore crows, to being bound and left out in the heat to be eaten alive?

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

“Ah, that explains quite a bit about you, darling.” Astaroth hums, lips still pressed against the soft pale skin of the other Ancient’s shoulder, before his head tilts slightly to focus a bit more on him, bearded jaw pressed into his chest, allowing more room for Danta to place little braids in should he feel inclined to. It isn’t like the butcher would stop him.

Seeing the smirk, that same shark grin spreads across the butcher’s face, each tine on display as he blinks a touch coyly. “I am far more aggressive when I have sleep deprivation.” He hums as if it weren’t common knowledge, despite the fact that it very much was. As for the alternative, he snorts and rolls his eyes with a heavy sigh, before he shakes his head after a moment of contemplation, hands idly smoothing out rogue pieces of Danta’s blonde.

“The alternative of being eaten alive, yes. The alternative of before when I was in Whitebrim? No.” He admits, and for a moment his face softens into something nostalgic as he thinks about it, gaze dropping to Danta’s lips while he contemplates. “I had gotten used to silence much of my life. Snow is quite a dampener.” Glancing up with dark eyes glittering with nostalgia, Astaroth’s lips twitch from that bright grin of before into a softer smile. “I was given two options in my clan. Either I become a scout, or I become fodder for growing our population.” His head cocks slightly into Danta’s hand a bit more. “Obviously I chose to become a scout. I spent many nights listening to the falling snow and the crackle of a fire and nothing else.”

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

"I suppose it does." Not often one to let himself be analysed, no less by someone who used to torment him daily, Danta can't deny that the other man nonetheless does have a point. (And of course he takes full advantage of having the other Ancient's hair to play with, that's a given). "When you have sleep deprivation, when you are hungry, when some gobshite gets a bloodstain on your favourite shirt," he lists - he should know, having once been that very gobshite.

Still, the amusement of their prior clashes - because it was funny to Danta then and it is now, albeit for much different reasons - all fades away as he catches the strange note of nostalgia in the other man's expression - that, certainly, isn't something the Maverick is used to seeing. "Oh?" he echoes, giving Asta the space to talk even as his fingers continue to tease through the fine, dark silk of his hair.

"Fodder, huh? Sounds delightful," he murmurs sarcastically. "The snow and the fire, though... that really does sound nice, I guess. I'll see if I can get some good sound proofing for your door."

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

“Correct on all accounts.” He rumbles with a twitch of his lips, amusement flaring in the flick of his tail, still studying the Theocrat’s face as the nostalgia creeps in. It’s why he’s been so tame here. Enough sleep, enough food, and so little gobshites to ruin his clothes (and thankfully, a good enough tailor to fix any issues that did arise).

But nostalgia overcomes Astaroth in a way that he’d typically never allow – so the Maverick is fortunate in being able to see this side of him, not without the panic induced nostalgia that the Halovian liquor had sparked when he’d met Moira for the first time. “Once we were done being useful, we were eaten.” He says of the fodder comment, which truly explains a lot about himself given the upbringing he had. It also proves that he’d never known his father, but that’s a story for later. Or another day. Whichever.

“That isn’t necessary, darling.” He hums, shifting to prop himself up a bit higher, chasing after the warm breaths that leave the Maverick’s lips. “Here it is… Like a comforting middle ground. Loud enough to remind me of the Climb yet the fire crackles loud enough to dampen the sound in turn.” The best of both worlds, of course. An answer that’s sealed with the way he leans in to capture another brief kiss from the blonde, fingers tugging on tousled golden strands, before he pulls away and pins the Theocrat with a wickedly amused glint of mischief in his dark eyes. “Did you know that Astaroth isn’t even my real name?” He asks on a whisper of amusement.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

"We should all consider ourselves lucky that the Dusklight is able to provide so many amenities, mm?" Danta grins, unintentionally voicing everything Asta is thinking. Tame isn't the word he'd use, granted, but there's no mistake that the world they find themselves in is a lot more civilised than the one they've left behind, and they've had to make a few adjustments accordingly.

Having been carefully braiding a section of Asta's hair behind his sharp horns, the Maverick's wrinkled nose is impossible to hide as the other man continues. "Don't get me wrong, I can track the logic. But that sounds like there's a potential for a lot of people being eaten, and not enough being anything else." He's sure Charlie would know the right terms for it, to be able to keep a sustainable population of livestock.

Asta shifts over him and Danta abandons his braiding to let his warm hands run down the length of the other man's back, accepting the kiss dropped against his lips as if it's something he's owed. "If you're sure. I didn't ban one problem from this place only for you to still have to deal with others," he points out, about to return to his various affections when he's pinned with the butcher's most mischievous look.

And gods if it isn't a doozy. "Shut up," Danta blurts, nudging the other man as if to get him to admit it's a joke. "Of course it is, that's what everyone has always called you."

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

Snorting in response to the way that Danta seems to read his mind, Astaroth nods his head, feeling the weight of the braid behind the sharp tines of his horn as he explains more about the place he hails from. And honestly, he doesn’t expect Danta to bring up such good points, so much so that it has Astaroth’s chuckle rumbling from his chest. “You could choose to become fodder if you were tired of scouting.” He explains before running through the other potentials. “And it often went in cycles. I just happened to be brought up in the timeframe they culled.” Bouncing a dark brow, he shrugs lightly. “It was supposedly an honor.” But Astaroth, having never been interested in sex to begin with, would have certainly been devoured the first time he ever made an attempt, with how cutthroat the matriarchs were of his home.

But ah, things had changed, and they had eaten themselves to extinction, left a void where other cannibal clans came in, claiming to be from Whitebrim all the same.

By that time, Astaroth had long been changed, granted new identity, and never stepped a foot back into a snowy tundra to see what became of his family.

Warm hands chase away the chill as mischief floods in, however, and Astaroth braces his elbows on either side of the Maverick, humming a note as he parts from the kiss and hears the answer. And it’s easily bypassed in favor for the look and the nudge the blonde starts to press him with, that the grin spreads across his face with a huff of a laugh and a dramatic roll of his eyes. “That is what they called me, because when I was brought to Dygra I could not speak. And by the time my voice returned and I had completely healed and gotten used to this new body, well.. Everyone had spent so long calling me Astaroth that it felt wrong to return to the name that had led me to the fate of gore crows in the first place.” A changed body, a new life, a new identity.

He drops suddenly onto the Theocrats chest, as if pouting, arms looping around the other man’s neck. “Now I do not wish to tell you.” He drawls, throwing every inch of his Whitebrim accent on display, a deeper and more suave sounding tone. “You might torment me with my secrets.” He whines out, dark gaze peering up at him from where he’s propped up against the blonde’s sternum.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

"You," Danta says slowly, an indulgent smile spreading across his lips, "could never be fodder, Asta. You don't know how." Given that the Maverick doesn't actually know the specifics of what taking on such a role meant for the Whitebrim cannibals, it's perhaps not the compliment he makes it out to be. But hey, since arriving at the Hollowed Grounds, he can't say there's a damn thing wrong with the butcher's libido. (Case in point: fucking look at the state of them right now).

Asta continues, though, and Danta listens with curiosity, his fingers gently mapping the scars on the other man's back, the ones he's coming to know quite well, all the while ensuring his touch remains gentle so as to not agitate the still healing bruises. "Huh - I had no idea," he admits, wondering if he's the very first Ancient to receive such an honour, or if there had been others within The Climb Asta would have spoken with.

Huffing out a breath as the butcher suddenly drops onto his chest, the Maverick can't help but chuckle. "Come on now - there's no might about it. I'll definitely torment you with them, especially if you keep that up." He's not heard much of the Whitebrim accent, but he can't say he dislikes it coming from Asta's lips.

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

“Which is why I never became fodder.” Astaroth agrees – compliment or not. He takes it for what it is – because these days, yes, each and every circumstance was just right in order for him to indulge like this. It also helps having a partner that understands the dangers of it.

Perhaps that’s part of the thrill.

It doesn’t stop his gaze from dropping to his mark on the other man’s shoulder, though, instead nodding to the fact Danta hadn’t known (because they definitely weren’t friends then), and then plopping down a little roughly onto the other man and offering each little tidbit fun fact he has through a voice that’s still his, but one that’s become darker and almost smoother, rougher in a way that seems tantalizing. “Keep what up?” He drawls in that same intonation, fingertips dropping to run along the Maverick’s shoulders. “You have to promise me you won’t tell.” Not that he thinks Danta would, but it has to be said anyway.

And he blinks expectantly at the other man, dropping all the polite tendencies he’s filtered into his verbiage and accent, a tone more similar to less formal sentences akin to Danta’s own speech.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// light shines in the darkness //

"You know exactly what," Danta drawls, flashing a fanged grin down at the other man. Now that his limbs are finally feeling less like jelly he's able to wind them around Asta a little more readily, shifting as if ready to reverse their positions and be the one pinning the butcher down before long. He lingers for now, at least, nosing into his dark hair and smiling to hear the request tumble from his lips, stripped bare of any of the usual etiquette he's used to hearing.

"You have my word," he tells him softly, mischief twinkling in his blue eyes as he shifts back enough to gaze at the other man. "I promise, the name of the Butcher of Whitebrim won't leave these four walls, not unless someone peels it out of my mind themselves." Darling, he almost adds, but thinks better of it at the last moment.

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //