you tell me it feels a little colder

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

Smiling despite himself as he watches Asta linger nearby, Danta has already made himself comfortable in the window by the time the other man sinks back against him, his arms slipping around the butcher beneath the weight of the blanket he draws up and around his shoulders. The Maverick lets out a long breath he hasn't realised he's been holding, tilting his head to rest it gently against Asta's, careful of the shimmering oilspill of his horns.

"Not unless they look really hard," he says of the crowds beneath them, the words near enough murmured against the shell of his ear with their positioning. "Especially if I do this." So saying, the fire dies somewhat, as do the lamps on the walls, bathing them in the sort of twilight that might be eerie were they not the men they are. "I see that street performer a lot - the one with the firework fire? He's not half bad."

Danta watches as the man creates an arc of fire that 'explodes' into sparks that rain down on those walking through the street, much to the delight of those who have stopped to watch. "Maybe I should've done that instead," he remarks, smirking and letting his fingers stroke out idle patterns on the other man's bare chest underneath the blanket.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

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

Warmth spreads through his face as Danta’s cheek presses in against his, the weight added between that and the blanket soothes the lingering worries that continue to burn through his gut. It feels less intense, less overwhelming, and it soothes a fraction more as Danta announces that they wouldn’t be able to see them unless they were particularly nosy. But then, the whisper and the lights dim, and despite the stress that weighs exhaustion on his lanky body, it’s intimate and dare he think romantic.

His dark gaze lingers on the man with the fireworks, watching as he amazes those walking by — a little thing to brighten the days of the people passing by. It distracts him momentarily, too, enough that beneath the fingers that draw designs against his already patchwork set of scars, it rises with a huff of a laugh, a lingering smile that can be seen in the deepening crows feet against his eyes.

“A magician?” He asks quietly, watching the man as he takes the trails of fireworks and begins to spread them out like shooting stars in an arc above the next series of watchers.

Astaroth

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

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

Never having experienced romantic for himself, of course Danta's thoughts aren't painted that way, but he does agree that the low lighting, their close proximity and the splashes of colour and muffled sound through the window makes for a very intimate setting. "Is that what they call them?" He grins; magician has a fairly nice ring to it. "I would have said charlatan, though I suppose if he's an Abandoned he does have true magic at his fingertips. I'd say he's got a touch of illusion there too." If the way the fireworks are now changing shape and texture have anything to say about it, anyway.

Shifting ever so slightly to get more comfortable and nosing against the butcher's temple, the Maverick's sneaky fingers to emerge from the blanket soon enough if for no other reason than to tease Asta's dark locks back behind his horns where they belong, smoothing through his hair in gentle strokes. "Oh," he says suddenly, sounding almost as though they need to speak quietly in case the person hears, "I know that man - he used to work in a cocktail bar down the other end of the Whisper. They fired him because he kept bringing luxere behind the bar. Said they wanted to hear him sing."

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

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

Nodding, the butcher ignores the way it bunches his hair against where his head is pressed into Danta’s shoulder. “It is.” He hums softly, snorting shortly after at the charlatan comment — and while otherwise, he might have agreed, but the abandoned magics were still something that Astaroth found inspiring — especially those that mastered their gifts.

Distracted from the terrible day by thoughts of Deimos and his utilization of his magic, Danta’s story takes him a touch by surprise, paired with the warm fingers that rake his dark hair back from his face and behind the pronged oil spilt antlers. “Which one?” He asks, scanning the group until he spots one person that looks like he could fit the bill and he points them out with a nod of his chin. “That one? He looks like the type.” The butcher says with a breathy laugh. “How’d he even fit ‘em back there?”

Astaroth

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

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

Not having been thinking of his bestest best friend in the world Deimos and his array of magics and instead concentrating on ensuring Astaroth's appearance is as sleek and menacing as ever, despite how he might feel on the inside, Danta follows the other man's gaze down to the crowd. "The very one," he says, impressed and giving the other man a gentle nudge. "You being head of security has paid off, I see. Bet you could spot half the idiots who cause trouble in the Dusklight in a lineup."

Letting his hands relax, slips his arms back around the butcher to hold him shamelessly close. "I'm pretty sure that's most of the reason he got fired - he couldn't fit them back there." He smirks, nodding at the fiery-haired woman who seems to be getting very cozy with luxere-man. "I bet she's an Attuned with antlers," he adds. It suits for the man to have a luxere kink, he reckons. "We'll probably see them in here at some point."

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

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

Letting a deep satisfaction curl in his gut as opposed to the darkness threatening to spill over, the butcher aims for focusing his attentions on the ‘luxere man’. Watching as she sidles up next to the man in a very comfortable motion, the next statement Danta makes has him wrinkling his nose, exhaling a whispered ugh, as if wondering why the Maverick had him thinking about it that deeply.

“Lovely.” He drawls with a sigh before he has a thought and he nestles in against Danta’s chest a bit tighter. Activating his glamor, the horns that threaten to pierce Danta should he lean in too close suddenly vanish, as does all the work he’d done to comb his hair back as it falls forward into his face again.

That, and the tail that has been wound around one of Danta’s leg vanishes too. “Let me just preemptively prepare myself.” He says with a sigh, rolling his eyes as he lifts his gaze up toward Danta — because now he won’t impale him with the action.

Astaroth

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

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

Not having been thinking about his sort-of-antlered companion, Danta is busy trying to see where the redhead's hands are going in relation to luxere-man when Asta manages to steal his attention entirely. Raising an eyebrow down at the other man as he's obnoxiously nuzzled, the Maverick is about to ask whether he's feeling better when all of a sudden he becomes as good as an Accepted in his arms. "Hey," he barks out; he doesn't think he's ever seen Asta use his glamour in all the time they've known each other. Danta certainly never uses it anyway.

"Hey, now," he repeats, still sounding affronted but there's perhaps a whisper of amusement there too as he's able to run his fingers properly through the other man's dark hair. "What about my kinks in all of this?" Who said he wasn't into antlers, after all? "Then again, this would make sleeping a great deal easier in some cases." Alas, Danta does not decide to join the other man, his tail flicking idly beneath the blanket.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

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

Amusement flickers through him as the realization hits Danta, a smirk blooming on his too sharp mouth, curling as he peers up at the Maverick completely unobstructed. Just as Danta’s fingers are unobstructed as they glide through his dark hair. It reaches a point where his fingertips glide over the space his horns typically sprout from, and somehow it feels amazing. His lids flutter as they glide over an itch he didn’t realize was there, until his brows pinch and he barks out a scoff of a sound, seemingly mortified.

“You should tell me now if you’re only in it for the horns.” Comes his playfully offended scoff, letting his head fall back against Danta’s chest with defeat — even if he’s entirely thankful for all of these thoughts to pull him away from the gore crows.

As for sleeping, a bare shoulder rises and falls before he lifts the blanket back up. “I am not sure if I can keep it going while asleep. It’s the first time I’ve used it in years.” He admits, dark gaze lingering on luxere man and his red headed partner, trying to duck under an eve of a shop on the street.

Astaroth

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

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Oho, speaking of kinks," Danta purrs, his tone as wicked as it gets as he realises the mischief his fingers might make with Asta's glamour in place. But he behaves for now, if for no other reason than he'd hate to ruin a comparatively fun exploration in the midst of what is still a bit of a breakdown for the butcher. And so instead, giving the other man's dark locks a gentle tug before leaving them be, he merely takes advantage of being able to nose against the crown of his head unimpaled.

"I'm absolutely in it for the horns," he murmurs, smirking. "And also the rest of the man they're attached to, as it happens." Lifting his gaze back to luxere-man and the redhead as they disappear beneath an awning, Danta scoffs as if they've ruined their fun by going somewhere private. "I'd suggest you try sleeping with the glamour up so we can see, but I don't want to be poked in the eye if it does drop," he remarks, gazing down at him and realising all of a sudden that this would have been how Asta had looked before The Climb, back at Whitebrim.

Unable to explain the complicated tangle of feelings that curl in the pit of his stomach, or his sudden need to be closer to the other man, the Maverick merely does instead of thinking about it, leaning in to brush his lips against Asta's in a slow and gentle kiss.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

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

He realizes very quickly that he isn’t that interested in talking about kinks at the moment, and so he rolls his eyes to the mention of it and the tug on his hair, huffing another soft annoyed sigh before Danta’s head is pressing into the center of the top of his head where ordinarily, he would lose an eye.

There’s a certain sweetness to the comment made, though, even if the beginning has him a touch skeptical. His gaze lingers at the window, watching their entertainment fade, and so he drags his attention back toward the magician for a fleeting moment. “Good.” He decides, because that meant that there was more to him than just a menacing appearance. Oh, and the fact that having no horns meant that he was shorter now — a fact he doesn’t dwell on for too long. “I can try.” He hums, though he’s in agreement he doesn’t want to hurt Danta if it falls.

He is, however, completely unaware of what Danta’s thoughts are — but he is right. A bit younger, no horns or tail, no scarring aside from the minimal ones sustained growing up as a cannibal, and less wrinkles — this is precisely more Ferox than it is Astaroth, and as he glances up to ask the Maverick if he’s okay. “Mm?” He’s promptly shut up with the gentle and slow kiss that perhaps does more to ground him than everything else has so far. He leans into it, reaching up with one hand from under the blanket to curve around the back of Danta’s head, threading through the blonde locks and the curve of his horns in his own tender touch back.

Astaroth

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

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

Danta is absolutely okay, not that Asta has a chance to ask as much, the Maverick too focused on the man slouched back against him to even consider himself in the equation. His arms tighten around the butcher as he feels him respond in kind, Danta simultaneously trying to kiss the other man and also lean into the fingers in his fair hair. Multitasking evidently isn't his strong suit, and it's with a soft and apologetic laugh that he finally parts from Asta, turning his head to nip gently at the inside of his wrist.

"I think our magician's show is ending," he says quietly, nodding out into the night where the last colourful whirls of magic are beginning to fade, promptly a muffled applause through the glass. Danta might have joined in if his hands weren't perfectly content in their current position. "Here," he murmurs, shifting enough to produce the vial of the sedative he'd grabbed from the drawer. "Before I kiss you again and forget. Wouldn't want the evening to take a nosedive, mm?" Not when it's just beginning to (sort of) look up.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

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

Not at all worried as Danta parts from the kiss and Astaroth is left a touch breathless and dazed with the flurry of emotions he’s gone through today, he merely blinks up as Danta nips at his wrist. His fingertips curl to rake through the blonde a little bit slower, allowing the touch of reverence to take hold.

It only drops as Danta shifts, mentions the magician and he nods without care of his horns for once (something that feels strange and like he has to focus on more to remember that they aren’t there to bonk onto the blonde’s head). His hand drops precisely back down against his chest as the sedative is offered, he murmurs a quiet and accented “thanks,” that sounds more like the Whitebrim of old than his usual tones.

Lifting it to his lips, he takes it with another hiss and a wince in a replica of their night in the Sparkbird’s Nest, only this time without the attempts to hide the feelings sparked between them — and in an effort to drown it out he twists a little to capture a real kiss once more with the bitter taste of the sedative still on his tongue.

Astaroth

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

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Mm, don't thank me yet," Danta says with a smirk, given that they still haven't managed to sweeten the medicine with anything. A fact that Asta soon learns as he empties the vial into his mouth - and that the Maverick learns as well as he suddenly finds himself caught in an unexpected kiss. It's the definition of bittersweet, and something akin to outrage rumbles through Danta's chest, though he of course does nothing to draw away from Asta until there's nothing but the taste of each other left on their tongues.

"That was uncalled for," he whispers; it can't rightly be called a complaint, because of course it isn't, but that doesn't mean he has to be thrilled about the sedative that's snuck along through Asta's kiss. "Come on - we'd better put you in bed before I have to carry you there." They can expect hilarious results from any of those attempts, though no one will end the night comfortably - Danta can guarantee it.

Even so, it's with painstaking reluctance that he peels himself away from the other man, however briefly it might be, the Maverick crossing the room to sink down onto the bed once more and withdraw the delicate metal muzzle from his bedside table.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

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

Oh but he does, because he knows he won’t be alone with the terrible taste on his tongue the second he downs it and surges up to press the kiss to Danta’s lips – proving the point that the sedative really needs something sweet and flavorful to balance out the herbal bitterness that he wishes he could sleep without just because it tasted so terrible. But the Maverick doesn’t withdraw immediately and for that the butcher is grateful, flashing a too sharp smile that doesn’t come close to the usual haughty grin he’d put on display. “Was it?” Comes the butcher’s bratty response, clearly unfettered by the idea of it.

He does concede, though, as Danta peels away and Astaroth straightens out to stand – shorter than before and without the swaying tail behind him, He looks normal as he approaches the bed with the blanket like a little cape – the scars on his chest reflecting shadowed firelight as he climbs onto the bed, hovering momentarily in front of Danta for him to place the muzzle but it serves as a perfect position for the blonde to get a perfect view of the butcher from before he’d been saved by Dygra. Hair ruffled and beard neatly kept, dark eyes framed by the dark hair and nothing more. "I think you could've carried me. You're stronger than me, y'know." He drawls softly into the other Ancient's space.

The second Danta goes to slip the muzzle into place and buckle it, he’s leaning into the touch as if the sedative has started to take the rest of his inhibitions away that his panic attack hadn’t thus far. And it’s proof even more so that the Theocrat is a comfort for him, one of the fair few that can get away with these touches, this affection, as if he’s finally learnt to accept it, to enjoy it.

Astaroth

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