hold me tight or don't

// there's shadows on the walls //

Of course Danta preens to hear that he's right, the Maverick offering a roguish little bow as he steps in through the door Asta holds open - and they must be in luck, because the reception is empty for now. Ushering the other Ancient through and slipping up the stairs before anyone can see the sorry state of them, he's digging the key from his pocket and groaning as he unlocks their door. "Ugh, I am not looking forward to that," he admits.

Being sober will bring with it a very powerful hangover, he feels, along with... well, he has no idea, truthfully. He has no idea what the stone cold sober version of himself will make of tonight and all the things admitted and acted upon, and it's with a frown that, like Asta, he puts it to the back of his mind to worry about later. For now, back in the relatively clean and well-lit room (thanks to Danta's efforts earlier), the Maverick is free to peel off his clothes and head to the bathroom, leaving them in a heap on the floor.

"Come on," he calls out to Asta, followed by the sound of the running shower. He has no intention of showering alone for a second time, evidently.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

“Same.” Asta sighs with a shake of his head, dark eyes peering into the reception area to find nobody within. Breathing a sigh of relief, the butcher makes as quick of a haste as he can in the state he’s in, until Danta gets the door unlocked and he can finally relax. He can also finally take in the clean state of the room and the space his belt had been before he’d burned it off in his frenzy.

Letting the flames spark to life again, the butcher strips out of his mess of clothes, trying to place them somewhere they may not stain the floor, before Danta’s request and the sound of water has his shoulders (tainted red by the ichor drying to him) slumping in relief.

Immediately changing his trajectory toward the bathroom and the siren song of the heat of the water, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror to gain a true understanding of the state he’s in. His wrinkling slightly, he leans over to hover by Danta’s ear with that charming grin. “I look terrible, don’t I?” He asks with a soft laugh, pulling his attention back to the Maverick who’s likely to just drag him into the hot stream of water.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

Asta is correct - no sooner does he enter the bathroom when Danta is reaching out to try and snatch him under the stream of water and against his waiting lips. One might conclude that he's trying to spare the other man the horror show of his appearance, but it's just as likely that the Maverick simply wanted to kiss him. "You're a mess, yeah," he does manage to mumble, smiling and parting from him if only to gently tilt his chin up into the hot stream of water. "Best looking mess I've ever seen, granted."

But still a mess.

Not to worry, though - the butcher won't have to do much more than stand beneath the jet of water and the curling steam. Whether he'll admit to it openly or not, Danta is still feeling a deep sense of guilt and responsibility after his stunt with the gore crow; as such, it's with gentle hands and careful, considerate touches that he works the blood and inchor from Asta's skin and hair, waiting until the water runs clearer than not before relenting enough for the other man to take over.

At that point, though, he's more hindrance than help in truth, continually trying to press kisses where soap might need to be scrubbed, or to nip and grab and upset the other man's balance as he cleans up.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

The kiss is a slight surprise for an answer, until they part and Asta’s almost chasing after his lips for another when the answer comes. And then, it’s with an almost cocky look, lips smirking and hiding his shark-like teeth as Danta works to clean him up. His hands are gentle as they are careful, running the steaming water along his skin and hair, over his horns and his chest and shoulders, and the entire time his tail winds around the Maverick’s to keep them connected. He’s content to be pampered over — another sign that he’s far more relaxed than he was before, thoughts of gore crows away from his mind.

The dream quickly becomes a bit of a nightmare, though, as the butcher starts to utilize the soap to get the rest of the blood off of him. Sudsing it up and rolling his eyes for the first few times Danta interrupts the attempts, it’s with a dark gaze that’s more readable than it had been most of the night that he looks to the other Ancient with mischief lingering in his eyes.

“You know,” he starts to say, twisting their positions as he reaches for the Maverick, only to press him back against the wall of the shower, dropping soap and water. “If I fall and get a concussion you will have to care for me.” It drips from his lips in a playful threat, one that doesn’t last as his soapy hands spread across the Theocrat’s chest, shortly lifting up and over his shoulders, then down his arms. He leans in to steal a more devouring kiss, utilizing the soap to wash Danta up now that he’s completely clean, if not still covered in soap.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

"If I have to care for you, you'll be the one complaining about it," Danta assures the other man, though reality has proven otherwise in the past where he's has been forced to step into such a role. Hopefully Asta doesn't realise that, though, and given how focused he is on pressing Danta back against the shower and covering him in soap and kisses, the Maverick likes his chances.

Pressing back against the butcher's lips, Danta's arms wind around him enough to guide them both back under the stream of water, letting it rinse them clean even as his kisses migrate down against Asta's throat. It's a long moment before he even considers wanting to step out from the roar and heat of the shower; long enough that he's finally given up on his mischief, his chin resting gently against the taller Ancient's shoulder.

"Gods, I'm tired," he admits, huffing a sigh against his wet skin, and it's only the siren song of bed that has him reaching out to shut the shower off, fire roaring up around them in its stead to dry them off and keep them as warm as possible.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

“Mm, I’m sure.” Asta breathes, though he does realize that Danta took care of him when he needed it. He’d told Flora just as much. It’s what spurred the whole change of the night, the admissions said that couldn’t be admitted aloud by the two of them that it required a separate party. Either way, he soaps up and cleans up the Theocrat, easily guided back by other Ancient and the kisses up his throat into the streams of water.

Letting it rinse them, his arms wind around the blonde’s in turn, keeping him close once the soap is gone. It feels like a slow dance, with the way they sway under the warmth of the water, letting it hit each portion of their bodies that have been occasionally neglected. Only when Danta untangles himself and turns off the water does the flame lick up to dry them off and keep them warm, and he’s immediately still touching the Maverick, refusing to part for too long. “Me too.”

He does guide them out toward the bed, surprisingly affectionate, a signal of just how drunk he still was. But it’s easier to do and show while inebriated, and if there’s something he wants to prove to Danta, it is all the words he doesn’t know how to say. “I am dreading waking up, though.” He admits a touch sheepishly, letting the fire flicker away into nothing as they reach the plush furs and he fixes the blanket he’d snagged to sit on the balcony. “How are you feeling? Aside from just being tired.” He asks, tugging the Maverick into the bed, fully preparing to curl up with him.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

Ferried along without complaint, Danta's footsteps are soft and his posture relaxed as he heads straight for the bed; evidently thoughts of tomorrow are far from his mind, right up until Asta mentions it. Biting at the inside of his cheek and glancing up at the other man, he raises an eyebrow. "Why?" he asks, despite almost certainly knowing the answer.

As for how he's feeling, the Maverick collapses into the sheets with the other man, burying his head in his chest. He doesn't care if he's at risk of getting bitten should Asta act out any of his night terrors while they sleep; after the past few hours, he's pretty sure he could handle it. (A dangerous assumption to make, true, but it's where he's at).

"I feel... good?" he decides, his voice muffled before he fights to peer up at the butcher through the moonlight. "A little uncertain, but... good, mostly."

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

“I had a lot to drink.” Astaroth hums, as if it wasn’t obvious, but he’s sure the Maverick knows precisely why he’s dreading the hangover. Subconsciously, though, it’s not even just the hangover. It’s the break up, the realization that he does have feelings even if he can’t aptly describe them, and how things might be in the morning.

Maybe Danta would regret the whole thing?

Maybe it was too much all too soon and the butcher would have to revert back to distancing himself?

Those are tomorrows problems, though, because Danta’s head presses against his chest and the butcher relaxes tenfold, his arms winding around the Maverick’s shoulders, holding him close as his legs tangle with his and his tail winds around to keep them touching everywhere they can.

Tilting his head as Danta speaks to give him more room, it’s with a sigh of relief (much to his surprise), that he flashes a softer smile down toward him. “Uncertain about what?” He asks in a whisper, letting his hand lift to run his fingertips through the other Ancient’s golden strands of blonde hair.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

”Mm, we both did. I had a fair amount of snapdragon as well,” Danta agrees, the admission an easy one since Asta knows all too well what he’s like. Add in the apparent minor breakdown he’d been having to see Flora so cozy with the butcher, and it should be a surprise to absolutely no one that he’d decided to self-medicate to the point of knowing little and caring less.

Only now here they are, and that is indeed tomorrow’s problem. Sinking into the warm hands that press against his body and enjoying the heat kindling between them, it’s with relatively docile blue eyes that he fights for an answer to Asta’s question. ”Well, I’ve just never had anything like this before, or been in this sort of situation.” He shrugs his shoulders. ”I’d hate for anything to be different or strange because of this.”

Why would it need to, Danta thinks, when the reason he’s got these feelings in the first place is because of how things have been? But then, therein lies the uncertainty. Should things change? Are they somehow doing it wrong if they don’t?

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

“You did.” The butcher murmurs. And while he hadn’t seen how much the Maverick had, he could tell that he had plenty. And now, in the face of everything that had occurred tonight, comfort swells through his bones with the weight of the Maverick against his chest, arms wound around him, embracing the warmth offered.

Even if it feels tentative, unsure and uncertain with the answer Danta had given. A seed of worry sparks in his gut, only slightly alleviated when the answer comes. Relieved to know it isn’t anything he has done, but something that is simply a response to their traumas.

His hand lifts from the blonde to run his fingers along the curve of diamond horns, blinking down to him for a moment before he shakes his head. “Why would it change?” He asks softly — never once thinking that it would. “I would prefer it to be the same. There is no need to adjust it if it works.” He murmurs, before he leans in to press his lips to Danta’s forehead.

“Now there is just a name to it. We don’t.. we don’t have to tell anyone, if you don’t want to?” Asta doesn’t care who does or doesn’t know. All he knows is that right here is precisely where he wants to be.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

Letting his eyes close as Asta’s fingers drift from his hair and against his horns, Danta sighs and tries to let himself have this, if nothing else at all. Even if things did change, for better or worse, at least he can still crawl into bed with the butcher at the end of the day and have this. Still, Asta’s response does have a smile curling at the corners of his lips - he ought to have known they’d be in agreement with one another, based on how they’d all but fled from reality for so long.

”As would I,” he murmurs, blinking his eyes back open and shifting to look up at the other man properly, tilting his head as he considers his proposal. ”I won’t hide it,” he decides with a gentle shrug. ”But I won’t advertise it either. Let people draw whatever conclusions they like.” Which they would, he’s sure. But in the interest of not letting anything change, there’s no need for some big, official announcement. That feels a little too much.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

It’s exactly what the butcher wants too – and while the word of what exactly it is, stalls on the tip of his tongue. Navigating around it, despite the liquid courage in his veins, the butcher simply continues to let his fingertips trail against the diamond horns and dive into blonde strands as Danta’s blue gaze lifts to meet his nearly black gaze in the lowlight of the room. “Maybe that would be fun.” He suggests, lips quirking into a too sharp smirk at the thought. “We can keep a tally of what people think or assume in the back rooms.” Head tilting into the pillows a bit, the grin remains just as sharp toward the Maverick in his arms.

His hands slip down to rest against his shoulders in a tight embrace, fingertips tapping little designs and patterns into the blonde’s spine as he slowly starts to consider the events of the day and the insanity of what had happened earlier, and now would likely be that time to announce the heartfelt I love yous for the Maverick’s ears – but he shies away, letting the sensation flipflop in his stomach. So instead, he lets his smile falter slightly – still gentle and content despite being too sharp – when he begins to speak. “I want to keep you safe and happy.” It’s a quiet admission, awkwardly escaping his thicker accent, despite how he focuses hard on how Danta takes it, like he’s trying to gauge whether or not Danta would pull away like he had in Levinsward.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

”Sure, if you don’t think it’ll be all too obvious to them,” Danta replies with a smirk; if he thinks about it too much, it’s likely that a lot of people already have their suspicions. And that’s exactly why he isn’t thinking about it at all. Instead, drawn tightly against Asta’s chest, the Maverick hums something muffled yet deeply content into the side of his neck, eyes closing as if he’s already prepared to drift off right here and now, as they are.

Only the other man’s voice draws him back out of it, and he smiles a kiss against the butcher’s throat before leaning up to seek out his lips. Danta’s tongue is wicked and his hands doubly so, and were it not for the events preceding this, he might have disappeared beneath the sheets to lavish Asta in the sort of attention he thinks he deserves.

”You’re doing a stellar job,” he says instead, the words mumbled into his mouth, made all the sweeter by the playful nip of his fangs.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

His first thought of the tally was to make it in origami, hidden yet in plain sight. But it’s a fleeting thought as the sudden anxieties sweep in – something the butcher isn’t used to in the slightest. It’s a slick sensation within him that he tries desperately to smooth out, even as Danta’s lips press against his throat and lifts to capture his own lips. Humming a sound into the kiss, arms and body twisting and moving to better press the Maverick to him, it’s with a low huff of a sound that Danta speaks into his mouth and nips at his lip.

He isn’t doing a good job, though. At least not up until this precise moment. He’d tried to eat him, leaving him bruised and in pain – and if not for the weeks before where he’d not come back home on time and in the angry spiral had made comments he wish he could’ve hid, well…

Safe is probably the only thing he has done right.

“Thank you.” He lies, and rather than let it cement the sorrow injection into the mood it wants to do, Astaroth presses forward enough to chase Danta’s kiss. “We should probably try to sleep now, mm?” He asks quietly, already sinking into the bed, praying to Dygra silently for a dreamless sleep.

Hopefully the alcohol does that enough for him.

Astaroth

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