hold me tight or don't

// there's shadows on the walls //

"I thought I imagined that," Danta remarks, turning and flinching just a bit as he's swatted by Asta's shadow. "Looks like we're both full of tricks tonight." Raging bloodlust aside. It's something for further consideration tomorrow as the Maverick finds a warm hand against his cheek, his lips directed down towards the butcher's forehead. Smiling against the kiss he's been coaxed into delivering, one of his hands slips from Asta's shoulders up to the nape of his neck, teasing through his hair.

Nodding his understanding, Danta presses another kiss there for good measure before slowly straightening up. "Get dressed," he says gently. "We'll go now. Might not be as good as in the Grounds, but it'll be something." Whatever will help at this point is worth doing, in his opinion. And so, slipping off Asta's lap, the Maverick goes to dress himself again as well, annoying as it might be to pull clothes back on.

"Ready?" he asks when he's done. He doubts it; between the emotional exhaustion of their admissions tonight, the raw pit of bloodlust and the abrupt reminder of his trauma, Danta will be surprised if Asta feels like himself for a while. He doesn't say that, though.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

Oblivious to the shadow that has swatted Danta, at least until he opens his eyes and sees the flicker of his shadow being a menace. Not entirely sure what it means, he sighs a little more contently to feel the press of the Maverick’s warm lips to his forehead, relaxing a fraction more to feel the hand thread through the dark hair at the nape of his neck. Another kiss is pressed, before the blonde slips out of his lap and Asta lets the blanket fully fall, straightening up and pressing against his face a little before he stands.

Slipping on his clothes as well, leaving the waistcoat behind, the butcher’s shirt is billowy as it is wrinkled from the heap on the floor, still smelling of the Hanged Man, Flora’s perfume, and liquor. “Anything will help.” He agrees a touch wearily, before he nods his agreement to being ready. His tail sways low above the floor and he gestures for Danta to lead the way, following not unlike a lost dog to be guided to the space it might be okay to let loose.

Distantly he thinks of the ramphire herd that Isla had shown him, wondering if perhaps taking one by surprise in its slumber might be the best option for them at the moment. And unfortunately, another bloodbath after Danta had just cleaned him up from the last one.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

Having no intention of making Asta follow at his heels like a lost dog, Danta waits until they're outside the inn, at least, before dropping back and stepping in against the butcher's side. At this time of night they easily just look like a couple of barflies fresh out of a tavern (like they very much had been only an hour or two before), though the Maverick is much more direct in his footsteps this time. 

He doesn't know exactly where the ramphire herd is, his arm snug around Asta's waist and his voice low as he queries whether the butcher has hunted here before. Following his general directions until they are able to break out from Haulani's clusters of buildings and out into the swaying, dark grasses, Danta has no ability to see in the dark, but he keeps a bit of fire low enough for them to catch where they're going.

"Let me know when you spot something," he whispers to the other man.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

// go get your gun, get your gun //

He’s tense, because a large part of him would rather follow Danta like a lost dog — but he doesn’t get the chance to do it, not as they step out next to each other. The moon filters in, not as bright as it had been before, but the flame Danta casts helps to guide them as they walk.

He does direct the Maverick to the inquiries, a soft recollection of when he’d hunted with Isla. So he seeks it out, and the closer he gets toward where he’s sure the herd might be, he starts to loosen up a little. Perhaps it’s due to the fact he’d be able to let loose, get the inner tension out.

He barely gets out an answer for Danta to say he’s spotted something before he’s pulling away, a low hum before he shifts. Instead of the fyrhund from before, the butcher’s form grows larger and longer, scales and too many teeth glinting in the small fire. Casting one glance back toward the Maverick, the butcher utilizes the speed of his shift to dive through the dune grass, before a herd of ramphires bolts. There’s one, though, that remains, and with a cry of sound it sounds like the butcher has hit his mark.

Astaroth

// and lets find out what it does //

// there's shadows on the walls //

Practically able to feel the tension melt away from Asta's muscles as they slow their steps, Danta shifts to let the other man move away from him, before he's smoothly dropping to the ground in his lial shift. Smiling to himself in the light of his little flame, the Maverick closes his eyes to listen rather than strain to see in the darkness. He hears the rustle of the grasses, the flurry of calls from the ramphire and the thunder of their hoofbeats. Then he smells the iron-rich tang of blood on the air.

Sighing out something like content - but mostly relief, in reality - only once he knows Asta has found his prey does the Maverick step further into the grass, finding a comfortable place to sit and listen to the distant roar of the ocean while he waits. He has to force himself to stay upright, in all honesty, feeling more exhausted by the second, but whilst a nap int he soft grass would have sounded wonderful even an hour or two ago, there are more important things to deal with first.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

He absolutely makes a mess of the ramphire, feathers and blood clinging to the volcanic rock that make up his shift. Heat burns and twists the tang of blood on the air into ash. He takes his time with it, devouring and sating and trying his best to feel normal again. As close to normal as he can.

Only when he’s satisfied does the Lial seek out the Maverick, a low rumble announcing his presence as he weaves through the grass. A hard nose pokes gently at Danta’s back before the butcher returns to himself, coated in blood and bones aching with exhaustion. He’s on his knees, face to face with the blonde, before he presses in and absolutely ruins Danta’s clothes to blanket himself and steal a bloody, iron tinted kiss as he selfishly fits himself onto the other Ancient’s lap.

Withdrawing to bury his face into Danta’s neck, his weight is heavy. “Thank you.”

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

Blinking his eyes open long before the nudge to his lower back, Danta is both trying and not to glance over his shoulder lest Asta be unsatisfied by his ramphire and has come seeking out better prey. Luckily the lial that appears is harmless if not absolutely caked in ichor, as is the butcher when he reappears. Leaning back on one hand, it's with a crooked smile that Danta is about to make comment on it, before his lips are promptly stolen and he's all but forced back into the grass.

Moaning something quiet but encouraging, his arms reach out to twine around the other man despite the blood and other filth he's covered in, Danta reluctant to part if only because he doesn't know if this is going to happen again any time soon. "My pleasure," he pants, his head tilting to rest against blood-slick hair, relishing in the warmth and dead weight of the other man blanketing his body.

"I'm glad you feel better," he continues in a whisper, before raising his eyebrows down at Asta. "...You do, right?"

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

The mess that spreads between them is ignored, even with the cool stickiness that clings to his clothes. Instead, he presses into the kiss, pushing the Maverick down into the grass accidentally, but not complaining for the slight blunder — especially with the sound that leaves the blonde’s lips.

Instead he utilizes the opportunity to press down a bit harder into the other Ancient, covering him and wrapping his arms around him where he can. Danta’s head nuzzles in against blood slick black hair, and for a moment he’s quiet before he tilts his head up to look at the blonde through hazy eyes from the alcohol, the bloodlust, the exhaustion.

“Yes.” He hums softly, nosing his way up and leaving a trail of blood in the process from his nose. “I needed it.” Comes the quieter admission, as if not wanting to say it out loud, despite how they both know how true it was. The bruised leg proves the point.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

"Then nothing else matters," Danta all but purrs, smiling to himself and kissing some of the blood from Asta's forehead and cheek before his lips naturally try to press against the other man's again. Here in the dark with no one else around, caked in blood and with chaos vibrating on the wind, this is where the Maverick might be able to admit to something like love; where he might be able to show it, as flawed and brutal as it might be at times, as clumsy and imperfect as the man behind the emotion.

Sighing and parting from Asta with a final, chaste kiss against his mouth, the Maverick clutches him close as if expecting them to pass out right here in the grass. It's tempting, honestly; were it not for the plush sheets and comfortable bed waiting for them back in Haulani proper, he might have just said to hell with it. But no - after a long few moments trying to smooth the creases from Asta's bloody shirt, or teasing a lock of blood-soaked hair away from his dark horns, Danta gives the taller man a reluctant nudge.

"Come on. We both need another shower," he points out. "Before it gets back to Flora and she assumes we've murdered someone."

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

Content to have Danta’s lips wherever the blonde deems them necessary, Astaroth relaxes tenfold compared to how he had been. As their lips meet, he presses into it, amongst all the chaos and mess between them, caring far little for it while they lay there. He finds that he could sleep there, too, passed out amongst the dune grasses and the pale bones from the carcass left behind, tiny green feathers sticking to ruined fine clothing.

But Danta sits up and the butchers arms sluggishly lift to pull himself up as well, and it says a lot to the relaxation and the chaos brimming its under current through the taller Ancient that he clears his throat while Danta tries to smooth out wrinkles and brush his hair back again. “Don’t worry about it. I will purchase a new set.” He glances down to the bloodstained sleeve beneath the blonde’s fingertips.

Heaving a soft sigh, Astaroth noses his way in to press a return kiss to the Maverick’s now messy cheek before he moves to stand, offering his hand to help him up. “I am sure that will go wonderfully.” He says on a heave of another sigh before he shakes his head a little. “Do you think I should send her a letter when things smooth out?” He asks, a soft frown forming on his face.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

"I think you may need to," Danta says with a hint of a smile up at the other man; they both might, before they so much as go near the docks and a skyship back to the Hollowed Grounds. At least they can wave their tails and flash their horns as an excuse for their bloody appearance; Ancients might not be all that common away from the Grounds these days, but he's sure most people know of their needs, if not Asta's particular preferences. Ones that thankfully have been kept at bay for now - so he hopes.

Smiling softly at the kiss left so casually on his cheek, Danta accepts the hand up and draws himself back to his feet. Giving Asta's hand a squeeze before releasing it, he turns to lead them back towards Haulani, fire once again bobbing at their feet to light the way. "I think we both ought to send her something, to apologise," he says, and with the remnants of a very heavy night of drinking still in his system, he feels another prang of guilt low in his belly.

"And to thank her as well," he adds, shrugging lopsidedly. "Mostly an apology, though. Especially you - you were really dumb."

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

That’s a problem for later, because the butcher fully intends on curling up and sleeping through the morning if not the afternoon too. For now, though, those thoughts are gone immediately as soon as they arrive, filtering through his mind. Wandering back toward Haulani, Astaroth walks side by side the Maverick, a clear opposite of earlier when they’d ventured out here. And despite feeling more like the butcher, his tone takes on the casual grace and accent of Ferox — something Danta may or may not realize as the groan parts his lips in a hint exhaustion and frustration.

“I didn’t know.” He protests, reaching up to rub at his temple. “We never talked about it turning into something serious.” He glances sidelong at the Maverick, rolling a bloodied shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve never been on any dates before, in case everyone forgot.” He’s just excellent at pretending. Or was. Either way, his tone drips in a touch of sarcasm.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

"Not knowing isn't an excuse for hurting someone, especially when that someone did us a favour," Danta points out in a drawl, raising his eyebrows across at Asta. He likes Flora, and she'd dragged him out of his feelings when she might have just as easily slapped him across the face. Smirking, if not at the casual roughness of Asta's voice then at his whining, the Maverick steps back onto Haulani's cobblestones.

"Actually," he corrects, "you've been on two now, and you had a third planned - more than I have ever been on, and even I can see you were dumb as fuck. I'd say your plausible deniability disappeared when you agreed to that third one." So there, Astaroth. Giving him a gentle bump with his shoulder, Danta turns towards the inn. "You owe her an apology. Don't be an ass about it."

Otherwise whatever comes from tonight will always taste a little sour in his mouth, and given how new it is for him to admit to those sorts of feelings, it could well put him off forever if he's not careful.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

Perhaps it’s the fact of just how not attached Asta had been to it that he doesn’t quite realize it’s a matter of hurt rather than facts. So he hums, nodding a little in agreement before puffing out a soft sigh. “You’re right.” Comes the concession, gaze focusing on the way Danta’s fire reflects off the colorful buildings they pass by toward the Inn.

The subject over dates as well, though, has him glancing back toward the Maverick — thoughts bubbling in his mind immediately, nothing set in stone thanks to the alcohol still buzzing through him (notably less now), but as Danta nudges his shoulder they flit away for later as well.

Instead he tries to think about what third date he agreed to, but he’s too fucked up and the night too out of control to actually parse any of it without a sober mind. “I won’t.” He tells Danta as they reach the door to the inn, his tail brushing against the other man’s calves in a gentle touch. Holding the door open for the other Ancient, he steps in after him. “I’ll figure it out when I’m sober.” Flashing a small too sharp smile toward Danta, he’s content to return to the room where things had begun to spiral.

Astaroth

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