hold you to the light, let you shine

// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //

He will laugh however much he wants to about it. At the very least, this hasn’t been an expectation, simply just a happy accident that will certainly destroy his clothes and coat himself in every inch of the scarlet warmth. Only the bare minimum is pushed down and removed, and Asta bears his weight on his elbows as his tail caresses Danta’s spine, slipping up and under the beautiful black fabric. The second that the blonde grabs both of their cocks, stroking with an eager pace, it nearly takes him by surprise at the intensity of it that sparks that fire in his gut tenfold.

There’s no room to say much, though, not when Danta’s lips crash into his and the growled out moan is poured into the Maverick’s lips, a light pant when they part and Danta’s warning is heard loud and clear and he can’t help but to nip with his sharp teeth on the fullness of the blonde’s bottom lip. “Eager, Dantalion, darling?” He asks in a low hum that seems like he intends to take his time, but he presses up to push Danta back ever so much, so that his tail sweeps around to add a bolstering point of keeping his balance while his bloodied hands leave handprints against the curve of the blonde’s ass, before dragging up and making a mess against his hips. His hands are sure and confident and he wastes zero time adjusting the Theocrat so that the butcher can press the head of his cock into the blonde, testing how tight he is, already just as greedy.

“I’m half tempted to find out what you might do…” Comes the purr as he trails his lips along the curve of the other Ancient’s sharp jawline, diving into the blood streaked blonde locks against his neck, trailing a hot tongue through the mess of crimson, uncharacteristically allowing Danta the first move to sink down onto him if he wants to speed it up.

A rare opportunity from the butcher to give Danta the reins, but one he suddenly finds he craves, bolstered by the lingering echo in his chest of the lyvern’s roar and the ruthless and chaotic energy he wants nothing more than to worship right this second.

Astaroth

// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

There's a feral sort of fire burning in Danta's usually cold eyes, a challenge that suggests that he'll show Asta how eager he is if he wants to try teasing him too much right now. Hissing a mix of anticipation and impatience as he's shifted back and forced to stop lavishing them both with attention, it's only the not-enough sensation of the butcher's cock that has him clinging on to patience like a lifeline. The taunt, though, has him raising his brows, fingers flinching against the other man's shirt where he's braced a hand against his chest.

"Later, I'll show you." He whispers it like a threat, because if Danta really wanted to take the reins, he'd be flipping Asta over in the dirt and fucking him as if his life depended on it. For now, though, he tightens his fingers in the other man's shirt and sinks down onto the hard length of his cock, lips parting in a decadent moan, leaning into the possessive grip of his hands.

Without even a moment of pause to adjust or enjoy, the Maverick's hips are already moving, setting a pace that begs Asta to join him lest he drag himself over the edge too quickly and leave the butcher wanting. "Fuck," he breathes, "you always feel so fucking good."

Dantalion

// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //

The hand flinches against his scarred chest, enough sensation that the butcher can feel it. And with the threat for what it was, heard loud and clear, Danta would feel the way his lips curl into a sharp smirk against his neck. “I look forward — fuck — to it, darling.” Cut off by the curse moaned from his lips and pressed into Danta’s neck, Astaroth’s stomach muscles clench beneath his shirt, his cock immediately throbbing hard with the tight sensation that’s almost there and gone again with how quick Danta’s hips are moving.

It might be a record of time, the butcher used to the playful casualness, the slow moments of preparing, the savoring the stretch before his thrusts become a brutal pace. Danta’s intentions work, though, dragging him up and over multiple hoops to where the spark becomes a fire engulfing his chest. The possessiveness sparks tenfold, hands at his sides and hips twitching before digging in and helping Danta with the fast pace. “And you always take me so fucking well, don’t you?” He growls out in the husky Whitebrim tone, sharp teeth scraping and leaving tiny red lines against Danta’s neck, before he takes a notion learned from Flora sorry babe, where his too sharp teeth are replaced with his lips, sucking a dark mark to match the others in against his throat.

Astaroth

// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"Take it as a compliment," Danta breathes, his cocky smile a brief thing that Asta likely won't see given how he's occupied with the Maverick's neck. "If I could take even more of you, I would--" Cut off by his own sharp moan of pleasure as the other man's hips drive into him just so, Danta tilts his head and relishes the pain singing against his throat from the butcher's lips and teeth. With one hand still fisted in Asta's shirt, bracing him there, the other slips between them to all but ensure they finish at the same time.

"Gods, just like that--" He gasps, the ache deep in his core already growing to something hungry and insatiable, his hand stroking out a quick pace against his own cock. "I'm so close--" And it's really to the surprise of no one, given how they'd gotten here and how little time Danta has wasted, such that when he cums he barely has the sense to wrap his cry of pleasure around Asta's name, arching against him like a bowstring.

Dantalion

// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //

“Gods,” he starts to say, the moan swift from his lips from where they press against Danta’s neck, his hot breath raking over the other man’s skin. It’s a thought that only spurs him on, just how much Danta could take, how much Asta’s willing to give, but the haze of desire and lust blossoming like a neon sign in his mind has him pulling away from those thoughts about as quickly as they came.

Braced by his tail and the hold on Danta, the butcher’s hips drive up and into him in quick thrusts — a goal to be met on the forefront of his mind, given how he can feel each twitch and pull of the blonde’s body to prove how close he is. The announcement is met with a purred “come on, darling” a hot second before he can feel the warmth spread heavily between them, the tension that snaps within the blonde as he arches against him. And Astaroth isn’t far behind, not with the blood and the dragged out moans from the back of his throat, clawing their way out.

A few short and quick thrusts send him over the edge too, along with the nip of the inside of his cheek over the scar tissue, his own blood melding with the pool around them that soaks and drips from their clothes. He’s left panting, riding out the crashing waves of pleasure, horned head angled so his forehead rests against the other man’s throat, arms winding around him to keep him close and indulge in the rabbiting heartbeats they share.

Astaroth

// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

It's over before it ever really gets started, not that Danta is complaining at all. And when he considers all that led up to the moment - the stag, the kill, the bloodlust - he's neither surprised nor disappointed. Not when he feels Asta crest into oblivion only a short few seconds after he finds his own release, the Maverick left panting hard, all points of thought and feeling reduced to the places where the butcher has his hands upon him.

His fingers slip through dark hair soaked with blood, tangling loosely at the back of Asta's neck as if to keep him cradled there against his throat; it's easy to offer his neck to the cannibal when he knows the risk is minimal, after all. Distantly, Danta remembers a time when the butcher had called him love, as brief and unintentional as the pet name had been, and it has a smile curling against his lips even as he continues to fight for breath.

"Well, I learned something today," he all but whispers, his voice hoarse and breathless. "Apparently I put out on the first date." Not very demure, not very mindful, Danta.

Dantalion

// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //

Panting and pinned into Danta’s neck is perhaps his favorite place to be, absorbing the scent of the blood, of iron that blankets the underlying beauty of the Maverick’s own smokiness, the hint of earthy undertone of sage, and the bright clinging citrus that always is sharp enough to rise above the blood. He nearly shivers as his heartbeat comes down from its racing pace and the blonde’s hands tangled loosely within the dark, blood soaked hair at the back of his neck, listening and hearing the vibration of the whisper as its said.

It sparks a breathy laugh from him, the grin pressed into Danta’s skin, shaking his head just enough to not jostle the other man’s hands where they settle in his hair perfectly. “Evidently, I do as well.” He responds through a voice that’s husky and hoarse, still tinged with that Whitebrim tone. His arms squeeze around Danta’s middle before he starts to withdraw slightly, enough to nose his way up to steal a proper kiss, pressing into it deeply before withdrawing before they need air. “Or, perhaps we could keep our decency and claim it was simply a perfect date? One thing lead to another... dot, dot, dot.” He suggests with a bounce of a dark eyebrow and a bloodstained grin, corners twisting up in the edge of a smirk.

Astaroth

// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

Scoffing out a laugh, Danta gives the other man a gentle nod. "You do have form, now," he remarks, of course referring to his 'first date' with Flora, however poorly it had ended. Luckily, Asta catches his lips in a kiss before he can expand on that comment, and the Maverick forgets what he'd been about to say in lieu of the taste of blood and smoke on the butcher's tongue. He almost resents Asta drawing back before his lungs scream for breath, his fingers tightening gently in his hair, and he raises a brow right back at him and his oh-so-proud of himself smirk.

"Bold of you to assume I had any decency to begin with," he whispers with a dark smile, unable to keep his hands or his lips off the other man, such that Asta will be treated to further kisses against the line of his jaw, the soft space beneath his ear, the pulse against his throat. "We could always keep the date going," he suggests. "Though I would probably advise we get a change of clothes first."

Dantalion

// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //

It hadn’t been something he’d anticipated on the date with Flora – but already having it happen twice in a row for the butcher leads him to think that perhaps things are different now – though it wasn’t like the cannibals were all that different. Whitebrim didn’t have dates, and when he’d been allowed to venture out and learn after becoming Ancient, the butcher had been around during a time where people were large fans of courting and the like. Here, though, he’s managed to find the mix – Danta’s managed to restrain his attempts to praying mantis him, and so far everything has been nothing but perfect.

In such, that he doesn’t care about the protests from the Maverick as he withdraws before his lungs hurt, instead huffing a laugh at the dark smirk and remark that meet him, head tilting easily to offer up more room for the blonde’s lips to trail against his bearded jaw, against his heartbeat that still thunders in his neck. “The bar may be low, but it was not on the ground, darling.” He retorts haughtily, arms unwrapping from around the other man to run his hands up and down his sides in slow stokes, bunching up the dark bloodstained shirt the Maverick wears.

“I have some potential options once we clean up.” He starts to say, head tilting a bit further to give the other man some more room along the expanse of his bronzed neck, the smokiness of his scent lingering mostly by his collar. “We could get tea or you could come with me to my tailor if there were anything you wanted made… or we could peruse the markets?” He trails the options out slowly as if savoring each and every touch, making no attempt to move just yet.

Astaroth

// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," Danta boasts - that his sense of decency is not at ground level, he means, and he smiles smugly against the butcher's neck. His kisses dissolve into decadent rumbles of pleasure to feel the other man's hands smooth along his sides, and were it not for their continued plans or how cold the ground is likely to get once the blood soaks into it and cools, he'd find it very difficult to resist the draw of sleep. "Mm? Do tell," he mumbles, all ears for their potential options as he noses further against the crook of Asta's neck and beneath the collar of his shirt.

Gods, I really do fucking love you.

He doesn't say it, doesn't dare to or need to, but the fingers stroking through dark hair do clutch him a fraction closer, even as the rest of him relaxes bonelessly against Asta's affections. "Let's go to the tailor. I don't need anything, but I could happily spend time staring at you," he decides. "Maybe we can persuade them to bring tea, and then we've done two things."

Dantalion

// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //

“I am almost positive I have said nicer things, alas, they are few and far between.” He pauses, still lingering on that teasing tone with a hint of truth in them. The nicer things Asta has said toward the man in his arms are so much more minimal in comparison to all of the terrible things he’s said over the years. Even recently. And whether or not the Maverick believed any of them, was another story.

Some stay locked behind his too sharp teeth – like the fact he still recalls this space as the one where he feels the safest. The location of where can change, and does frequently, but so long as he’s wrapped up in Danta and his hands are around him in one way or another, safe is the only thing that gets his scarred shoulders to lose their tension.

He continues the gentle affections and touch, even as the blood starts to dry on his hands, causing the smooth motion to start skipping as it clings. “Perhaps you might find yourself willing to craft something for me, then?” He muses, withdrawing enough to press another chaste kiss to his full, reddened lips. “They have a beautiful lounge chair you can relax in while I get prodded and squeezed.” He suggests, starting to withdraw a bit more so that they can get started, even if it feels like tearing himself away from the sun.

Astaroth

// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"I make sure I write them all in my diary," Danta boasts, his voice muffled but the smile something Asta will absolutely be able to feel. "I will read them to you later." Laughing and finally glancing up enough to find his lips captured anew, chaste is anything but what he wants to be, though he does his best to behave since they have more of their date to continue. 

"You will regret ever giving me that choice," he informs him sweetly nevertheless; Asta has seen Danta's fashion sense, after all, and having it unleashed on the butcher could make for some interesting results. "But watching you be prodded and squeezed is far too good an opportunity to pass up."

And thus they begin the monumental effort of getting up, getting dressed, and getting rid of the deer carcass. The Maverick resents every part of that, though having fire at their fingertips does help a great deal, and by the time they saunter out of the Temple it's only themselves that remain a mess. Danta, of course, keeps the stag's antlers so the state of the two of them doesn't seem quite so horrific, and their next stop is the Dusklight so they might each go to change.

"I will meet you out front in a few minutes?" he suggests, smirking to the other man.

Dantalion

// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //

“Oh I am positive I will regret it, but I am feeling generous.” Comes his retort, the smile flashed too sharp but satisfied. A predator that’s content and not at all a threat. It’s a smile that sharpens a bit sadly as they part, but the clean up goes surprisingly well and already Astaroth is daydreaming about how to utilize the antlers which admittedly have far more points on them than his do which is a somewhat chafing thought for the moment.

Nevertheless, the Temple is clean and the work for the shrine completed enough to continue on with the date, leaving the gift of the alcohol behind for Charlie to enjoy should she wish to as they return to the Dusklight. It’s to a few oohs and ahhs (reminders for patrons with ill intentions to not fuck with them at the very least), that they stroll into the Dusklight and already Astaroth is flashing his beaming grin toward the Maverick and bowing halfway in acceptance. “Until then, darling.” He trills.

Astaroth wastes no time, truthfully, cleaning away the blood completely and swapping out the clothes for ones that sit a bit tighter and more elegantly against his body. A new pair of pants and a new pair of boots, suspenders sit beneath the teal silk shirt he wears over it, paired with a cream waistcoat that he’s sure is useless to put on with Danta planning the outfit, but it makes him feel more whole for the moment.

Once he’s got his hair combed back into place, the butcher drifts out toward the front of the Dusklight, tail sweeping low and contently, baring teeth at anyone that tries to touch him as he walks past until he’s comfortably out front, posture prim and proper as he awaits the Maverick to join him, taking in the glow of the bonfire and the night as it crests over them.

Astaroth

// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

Oohs and aahs are very much Danta's flavour, and he offers a full (and almost true) play-by-play to one of the patrons who catches him on his way upstairs, having given the actual antlers to one of the staff to take care of until he or his security can decide what's best to do with them. Once he's paid his dues to the Dusklight, only then does the Maverick head up to clean himself, too.

His own clothes are burned off rather than folded and discarded, the fire used to cleanse the blood and dirt from his hair and skin as well. And when he emerges to go and meet Asta once more, unlike their matching dark clothes at the Temple, now they are a study in opposites.

Danta approaches the butcher on boots with steel heels that tap out each footstep in rhythm, his pants tight and low on his hips and his shirt - if it can be called that - something sheer and mesh and crimson that hangs off one shoulder. "Fancy meeting you out here," he drawls, preening up at Asta and gesturing for him to lead the way with hands once more bedecked with rings.

Dantalion