laps up the vice like a wolf in the night

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

Gods if Danta’s trailing fingers aren’t a siren song for the butcher to sleep and relax. And unlike the night before, Asta doesn’t stop Danta from wanting to send a letter. Flora has started this side of the communication, and he will continue it, but he won’t prevent the Maverick from sending his own. And despite the frown, he does huff a little sound. “She was intending on getting an item, I think.” He comments, already shriveling inside at the idea of Frey accompanying them.

It has him burying his face in more, lips ghosting along Danta’s pulse again as he listens. “You do keep me in line. You are the only one who has.” Maybe if Danta read between the lines on that one, he might realize that the butcher hadn’t finished — cutting it short before he had completely lost control.

“Yes, but, I still feel… Wrong about it.” Another admission, sighing a hot breath against the blonde’s throat.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Psh, Accepted and their items," Danta drawls, his tone playful and his smile audible even if it's mostly hidden against the butcher's dark hair. Shifting enough that Asta might bury his face against his throat, the Maverick's eyes are shutting of their own accord, though he's still content to speak and listen to the other man, especially as he continues to give further details about his date with the Doubletake. "We'll just send you with that muzzle I got you next time," he says, as if that will solve all their problems, only to peel one eye open and tilt his head a little.

"Gods, I'm so sorry. You came home with blue balls as well, didn't you? And I slapped you for your trouble." It shouldn't be funny - it really, really shouldn't be - but as the first rumble of laughter escapes Danta's throat, he can't help himself. "Gods, you have the worst fucking luck." He scoffs, only to tilt up the other man's chin and press a smiling kiss against his forehead.

"Wrong?" he echoes. "Why?"

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

A soft groan of agreement when it comes to accepted and their items. It’s enough to replace the frown on his face with a small amused smirk, sighing heavily into the skin pressed against his lips. “Well had I known that was the intention, I may have packed it and brought it along.” But poor, poor Asta had not made the connection that a date = sex. Especially on the first one.

Rolling his eyes immediately, Asta can feel the laughter before it bubbles out of the Maverick’s body, sighing and shifting the second he’s tilted up and the kiss is placed on his forehead. “Both of them hurt, thank you very much. And this one as well.” Shifting so that Danta might see the circlet of bites and scratches he’d decorated his bicep with.

As for why he feels wrong, he situates a bit to sit up so that he might look at Danta’s face, so that brighter blues might meet the abyss that makes up the butcher’s gaze as he stares down at him. “I feel wrong because I made her cry when I chose not to continue and she tried to save the moment.” And it had felt oily and wrong whether he continued or didn’t, whether she wanted him to use her or not. And he didn’t want to feel like that anymore.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Well, I had assumed you would just be strolling along some boulevard or sitting in a restaurant, oblivious as you like," Danta admits. And more fool him about it, honestly, because he knows Flora, and her interest in the butcher had been fairly blatant (even if Asta is dumb as a rock and hadn't realised it). Still, he's in fairly high spirits if not for all the wrong reasons after the other man's admission, even if he does wince apologetically to see the thorough gnashing he'd given his arm as a lava wyrm.

"I will make it up to you," he promises, reaching out to stroke long fingers against the soon to be garish bruises on his bicep, before Asta is sitting up enough out of his arms for the Maverick to look him properly in the eyes. "And you would have felt right if you'd made yourself continue?" he asks gently, raising his eyebrows. "Sometimes there's not going to be an answer that makes everyone happy," he admits with a soft shrug. "I think you did the right thing for yourself, for what it's worth. And Flora has written to you, so she clearly doesn't hate you for your decision."

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

He had also misread the situation, a fool and oblivious as can be, because to Danta’s imagining of the date, Asta nods his head. “I thought we would go shopping.” He says with a hint of a whine. “I did not imagine it would be a rushed courting.” A perhaps too close admission of just how much Astaroth understood about all of it.

Danta’s fingertips trace along the spreading bruises of the bites and scratches on his bicep, they don’t really hurt precisely in this moment, probably because of the fact he’s in his most comfortable spot – somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks of how Danta had held him in the windowsill in Levinsward, how despite how fucked up he was, the memory remained strong. It had been safe.

“No. It may have taken the whole rest of the day for me to get back to that point anyway.” Despite Flora trying. Either way, the butcher peers down at Danta, arms shifting to brush his fingertips along the sharp jut of his cheekbones, a ghosting touch. “You are right.” He admits softly, exhaling a sigh. “I just wish she hadn’t cried.” That was the crux of it, really. He hadn’t cared when tears had spilt when he’d marked her thighs, but the second that shift from tears of pain turned into emotional tears, that is what tears at him.

Sighing, he carefully runs his tongue along his too sharp teeth. “But, it does not matter now. What’s done is done.”

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

A rushed courting. Danta is mostly successful in not letting his amusement seep into his expression, and he does manage a nod for the butcher in agreement, but gods if the other man's turns of phrase don't tickle him sometimes. "The whole rest of the day? I'm glad you didn't attempt it - that would have probably upset her as well," he points out - for obvious reasons even for Asta, he hopes.

Tilting his head into the brush of calloused fingers and the warmth of a hand that had once been responsible for several of the scars that litter his body, Danta leans into the touch and closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the simplicity of it all. "I suppose you will just have to make it up to her by being your usually charming self," he decides, blinking back up at Asta and offering him a lazy smile.

"I think you'll manage it just fine," he adds, before tugging the other man back down with him, as if to silence his uncertainty with their combined heat and the comfort of the bed beneath them.

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

“Probably so,” the butcher agrees, suddenly quietly thankful that he had done what he’d done. But it isn’t like it matters much anyway as he sighs a little, still stroking Danta’s face gently as he listens, snorting softly and flashing a small sharp smile.

He can be his usual charming self when not set on the back foot, when people don’t expect more from him than he’s able to provide at the drop of a hat. And it soothes him enough that he relaxes especially as he’s tugged down, hand slipping up to thread and brush his sleep tousled blonde out of his face, fingertips running along the smooth horn nestled within.

Humming a note of quiet agreement and letting the smile remain on his face, pressed against his pulse. “Get some more sleep, darling.” He says in a soft whisper, blanketing the other Ancient completely.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Danta doesn't expect to relax so completely as the weight of the other man covers him again, and especially not when the gentle order to rest reaches his ears. He shifts only for a moment to get more comfortable in a tangle of limbs and tails, nipping affectionately at the inside of Asta's wrist as it brushes against his cheek. "Only if you do as well," he mumbles.

Which he doubts will be a problem based on last night's restless sleep and this morning's rude awakening. Danta will be surprised, in fact, if they emerge back out into the Dusklight before late afternoon at the earliest, and even then he imagines hunger will be responsible for their getting up. For now, though, the Maverick loses himself in the comfort and familiarity of the man sharing the bed, reaching out with tendrils of magic to bring the firelight and torches low.

He's asleep before he can even properly say goodnight.

~FIN

Dantalion