mississippi boys, inner city boys

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

"Should have brought some of that water back with us," Danta remarks with a smirk and a bounce of his eyebrows, and he's about to mention that at least they'll have something to drink later when Asta is promptly peeling himself away. Now it's the Maverick's turn to whine, Danta resisting the urge to reach after the other man, though he is propped up on his elbows, tail thrashing across the blankets, to watch him cross the room.

And he is welcome, as it happens - not just for the rum but for the show as well, Danta's blue eyes (made near black in the moonlight) tracking every nick and scar on display, every shift of muscle as Asta collects the bottle and returns to bed. "Thank you," he drawls nonetheless, since it's been prompted, and he shifts a little as the other man invades his space, taking a long sip from the bottle before setting it down.

"You want me to try that?" he asks suddenly, smirking and nodding at the distinct lack of Ancient features Asta has been sporting lately. "I've not put my glamour up for more than a few minutes for anyone, but I'll make an exception for you."

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

“We probably should have.” Hindsight is 20/20 though, is it not? And just as soon as the thought arrives, it vanishes with Astaroth’s retrieval of the rum. He takes a healthy sip of it (and thanks to having forgotten when the last time he ate was, he’s already feeling his limbs loosen and his thoughts become less reserved), settling in above the Maverick as he hands it off, almost ready to return to being a personal blanket for the blonde when the question is aired.

A single dark brow lifts and he hesitates before a grin spreads across his face, head tilting enough that a few soft strands of his hair sweep across his face. “I would be honored to see. Pure curiosity, of course.” And it’s with whole and undivided attention that the butcher remains on his knees, straddling the blonde’s legs, waiting for the grand reveal of Danta’s ancientness to vanish before his eyes.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

"Mmmhm." Pure curiosity, he says, and Danta pins the other man with a very dry look before acquiescing. Having been born an Ancient - and given that his entire life had been spent in The Climb with no reason to hide any of his racial traits - it's of little surprise that the Maverick rarely if ever finds himself needing to do without those parts of his existence. Nevertheless, as Asta hovers over him, the curved diamond of his horns fades to nothing, the fidgeting tail among the sheets disappears, and when he opens his mouth, you guessed it - no fangs.

"My head always feels so light at first," he complains with a scrunch of his nose, rubbing at his forehead and tilting his head to the side in an attempt to crack his neck. "But do I make a passable Accepted?" he wonders with a raise of his eyebrows. "Or an Abandoned or Attuned, I suppose. We can do enough magic and change enough shapes to get away with anything."

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

He watches with a surprisingly eager anticipation as Danta begins to utilize the glamor, eyes first finding the diamond curve of his spiked horns vanished, blonde locks falling a touch out of place with it. The tail in his peripheral is gone, too, and with it the fangs in the blonde’s mouth which already have his nose scrunching a little — grateful for once that his cannibal clan made each and every one of his teeth quite sharp.

“Mine does too.” Astaroth confirms, leaning in to glide his fingers through the blonde with complete and utter ease, paying special attention to the spaces on the Maverick’s skull that the horns prohibited any touch from. One hand drops to curve around the other Ancient’s jawline, as if reverently committing it to memory — and it seems somehow wrong.

At least Astaroth had a decent portion of his life not as an Ancient that this now reminds him of. Danta? Ever since he can remember the blonde has had those sharp diamond horns on display. Proudly.

“Quite a possible anything, love.” He hums, utterly distracted before shaking himself out of it a tad. “It’s rather odd to see.” It isn’t said like it’s a bad thing, it’s just… different. Unusual. And as if to make up for it, the butcher leans in trying to snatch a kiss from his perfectly curved lips.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Whatever Danta is going to say ends up bitten back with the moan he tries to hide, the Maverick's jaw clenching as he leans into the sudden and glorious fingers in his hair. Fine, he supposes he can see what the fuss is all about - or maybe he just particularly enjoys any fuss when Asta is the one giving it. Either way, the butcher's hand migrating to his jaw has him reluctantly glancing back up at him, and he raises an eyebrow as if to ask if something isn't to his liking. "I can always bring them back if you take such offence--" he begins, only for the other man to lean down and silence him with a kiss.

Love, he thinks - he's only called him that once before, and it had been far before they were together; it's with flushed cheeks and suddenly possessive hands that Danta meets Asta halfway, an arm winding around his waist to encourage him to drop his full weight onto his body. Drawing back only enough to sip in a breath of air, he doesn't wait for the butcher's response before his lips are back on his, back arching against the bed and his tongue writing wicked promises into his mouth.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

See Danta? It’s pure bliss. Like scratching an itch you’ve had for years. And Astaroth is more than willing to fuss and comb through the blonde strands with his fingertips, seeking out the spaces of Danta’s head that likely haven’t had much attention to it since, well, ever. And he’s so distracted in fact that he doesn’t notice the love that spills from his lips, like a ghost of the Sparkbird’s Nest, of when things had moved too fast and too quickly and it had been the first thing to burn him in years.

This time, though, their lips meet and the butcher easily drapes himself over the Maverick, pressing the majority of his weight into the blonde like a weighted blanket, parting from the kiss to catch a breath before Danta’s diving back in again for another greedy one, one that has all sorts of dark wicked things sparking in his mind.

They really should have brought back some fountain water just in case, huh?

Shifting slightly to drop a hand from Danta’s head, it smooths down the other Ancient’s back, possessively pressing into the arched small of his back that’s blissfully wound free, keeping him pressed against him everywhere he can, already forgiving him for being such a sour sport earlier. He breaks the kiss briefly, though, chest already rising and falling to try and catch his breath. “Perhaps we pretend to be dull and horribly normal for a moment.” He replies smoothly, withdrawing a fraction to flash a too sharp grin down at him, one missing the extra sharp length of his fangs, but the threat still remains in the confines of his mouth.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Danta has also forgotten how much of a sourpuss he'd been even a few minutes ago - how is he supposed to stay in a bad mood, anyway, with Asta's fingers in his hair and the taste of him on his lips? As for the fountain water, they can regret not bringing some of that back with them later; for now it's with a hum of approval to feel the butcher's hand pressed against the small of his back and the weight of him stretched across his body that he considers his remark.

"Are you sure either one of us knows how to be dull or horribly normal?" he asks, his smile as devilish as it is amused, even if it might be lacking in fangs for the time being. "You still have sharp teeth and a kink for biting, and I'm not happy until I've wound you up to the point where you're a danger to everyone around us," he reminds him, eyebrows raised. "For this to work, we'd have to bore ourselves to death and pretend to get off."

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

Oh he isn’t sure, because he’s never exactly been boring or normal. He’s been a cannibal his entire life, from the very first memory he can recall, it has always been not normal. Back then, though, it had been because he hadn’t known anything else. But given time to learn about the rest of the world? It was as far from normal as one could get.

Rolling his eyes affectionately, he shakes his head with a deep rumble to hear just what Danta liked to do regarding him in particular, before he’s continuing and the deep laugh that breaks from him vibrates from where their chests are still pressed, the grin stretching across his bearded face as he lets his dark gaze find him. “I meant in appearances. As for you, though, continue to lay out your roadmap of happiness regarding me. I am an interested party, you see.” And for added emphasis, the butcher drops all of his weight onto Danta, removing the hand from his back to prop his head up on his hand, blinking at him curiously as if he might not do anything else until the Maverick answers him.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Asta doesn't know this and Danta will likely never tell him, but the butcher's laughter is quite contagious; as such the Maverick is already grinning even before he unceremoniously drops all of his weight onto him. "Regarding you?" He laughs, the sound perhaps a little strained given that he's got an entire cannibal on his chest as an eager audience; regardless, his fingers spiderwalk the length of Asta's bare back before stopping to trace his scars with slow and languid touches.

"Let's see, other than the usual - covered in blood, fresh out of a fight, or about to cum with your teeth in my neck?" He raises his eyebrows with a salacious smile. "I am happiest having you just like this." Pinned beneath the other man with nothing but the rest of the night stretching out before them, with no crisis to resolve or stressors to fight off - nothing else matters.

"Oh," he adds, "I suppose I'm also very happy when you're dressed impeccably and having to fend off all that pesky attention from people the Dusklight." It's his favourite show, truth be told.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

“Mhm,” the butcher encourages, keeping that bright and sharp grin pointed directly at the Maverick, eating up every offered word of just what Danta enjoyed regarding the butcher. He makes a mental count, checking them off as the ones he does know full and well are aired, even if his nose wrinkles slightly to hear the mundane placed beneath the excitement of being covered in blood or burying his teeth into the Maverick, something that Danta has made somewhat clear he may not do again.

But that just proves he could get away with it again if he just so wanted to, if it was one of Danta’s favorite things, right?

He’s very content here as well, honestly, with the warm hands of the Maverick tracing the lines of his scars, ones that are ridged and hard beneath the soft smoothing fingertips. His hand drops from propping his head up to trace his own fingertips along the jut of Danta’s collarbone, up along the other Ancient’s neck, trailing along his jaw as he decides his next set of words. “Dressed impeccably like I typically am, or in your favored Dusklight uniform? Because the latter certainly attracts more attention and there are far more people I must fend off. Need I remind you of the woman the very first day I wore it?” Raising his brow to Danta, the butcher’s head tilts, enough that his soft hair sways and brushes over Danta’s chest.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Hissing in a breath as if Asta has just asked him to pick between paradise and heaven, Danta considers each option as he presses gentle, massaging fingers into the muscles of the butcher's shoulders. (And yes, of course he'll be able to get away with those particular proclivities - the gods know Danta is likely to forget his grumpiness the next time Asta is anywhere near his throat). "You need not remind me," he purrs, glancing down at him and turning his head to gently nip at his fingers with blunt teeth.

"For all that I did adore you in leather, there's something to be said for your usual attire," he admits. The crisp, tailored shirts, delicate embroidery over rich colours, the way each button is fastened just so to paint the colours of a gentleman over the butcher beneath? Danta is helpless to resist.

As for the mundane that Asta has been wrinkling his nose about, Danta would argue were it not for how at ease he feels, however unexciting the other man might find it.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

It’s good that he doesn’t need to remind him, because the butcher would certainly prefer to forget it. Especially given the state he’d settled grumpily into after their date when Danta had stepped in to snag her away from bothering him because he was unable to do it himself. It likely didn’t help that the sharpness of his teeth were hidden. She may have thought twice.

Or tried harder. They’ll never know.

Letting the smile curl further with the admission that his usual attire was just as good, he lets the finger that’s been nipped with blunt teeth trace along the perfect swell of his bottom lip. “A good choice.” He agrees with a hum, before he shifts to alleviate where the majority of his weight settles, enough to hover slightly over the other Ancient. “I prefer you in sheer and glittery attire.” Like that golden shirt he’d gotten the blonde. “The corsets are stunning, yet I know how you feel regarding them.” He whines a little, as if wounded by the fact Danta acts like a cat getting a bath in order to wear one. “The gold, however…” Slipping his hand back to cup the side of Danta’s cheek, he nears in to press another kiss to the blonde’s lips, but before he has a chance to give into the warmth of the kiss, he speaks again. “Makes you look like a coveted treasure.” And in lieu of further words, his kiss says and you’re mine.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Tilting his chin up slightly to kiss the pad of Asta's thumb, Danta's smile is almost arrogant to hear he's made a good choice, curling across his lips as he shrugs his shoulders. It's at that moment that the butcher shifts his weight, however, giving the Maverick the opportunity to curl a leg around Asta's waist, as if to make sure he doesn't go far. "Oh?" He raises his eyebrows, not having realised Asta even had a preference for himself. (Though if he'd taken even a second to think about it, perhaps he wouldn't be so surprised).

"I will save the corsets for special occasions. Perhaps one of us can bribe Kiada to keep her knee out of my back when she fastens them, and I will start to enjoy them a little more," he says dryly, his hand drifting up to whisper across the back of Asta's as he leans in close. Even the word treasure is enough to have him raising his eyebrows, and though the butcher follows it up with a kiss, of course Danta finds it hard to believe.

Perhaps that's why he presses himself further against the other man, deepening the kiss and slipping his fingers distractedly through the back of his hair until he's forced to draw back, not just to catch his breath but also because of the very obvious kindling interest south of his waist. "A cold shower is on the cards for me, it looks like." He grins.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

“Oh yes.” Asta purrs, because if Danta thought about it long enough he would certainly see the way his gaze lingered each time
The gilded shirt was donned, each time the Maverick wore so many jewels that light reflected from him with each and every way he moved. Captivated, awed, and wanting nothing more than to bask in his presence.

A snort is heard with the mention of Kiada and her bony knees, though, and he affectionately blinks down at the Maverick with that grin still playing on his lips. “Perhaps I should put you in it.” And make it worth his while, maybe. But there’s a leg hooking around him and he straddles Danta a bit easier with it, body curled over him to dive into the kiss to say the words he doesn’t air into the space between them.

The hands in his hair spark a hum of appreciation, though, content to let his wounded tongue speak more volumes between them silently before Danta’s withdrawing, and yes, he does feel the spark of heat and pressure from the blonde down below as he meets the other Ancient’s grin. A cold shower sounds like not the ideal thing, though, given how warm he is right now and how content he is to be nestled into the Maverick. And so he dives back in, trailing his lips along Danta’s jaw and neck, fingertips curling in the blonde hair at the nape of his neck. “Do I wind you up that much, darling?” He asks through a deeper accented tone, his hot breath raking across the exposed skin.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart