mississippi boys, inner city boys

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

Tensing and trying to pull away at the hands that reach for him - and it could have been anyone, not that it likely helps Asta at all right now - Danta nevertheless ends up manoeuvred however the butcher chooses, his breath leaving him in unsteady gasps. Whatever words the other man speaks are lost in his nightmare at first, the Maverick curling in on himself, tail lashing beneath the blankets. "No, don't--" His voice is a hoarse whisper, accompanied by a sudden flinch hard enough to drag him from the depths of it and back into the waking world.

With a shuddering inhale that he nearly chokes on, Danta grips at the pillows and blankets, trembling as he tries to keep as still and silent as possible, as if that might keep him hidden from anything lurking beyond the bed. Only as the seconds pass and his conscious thoughts catch up with him does he recognise the hush of the sea outside, the smell of salt and honey and smoke, the warmth of the body at his back. "Fuck," he groans, blinking hard into the darkness.

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

“Shhh--” the butcher hums as he manages to be that space that keeps Danta from falling off the bed and really getting an abrupt awakening, and only when it seems like he isn’t going to move or throw more of a fit (it’s about the time that Danta flinches), Astaroth’s arm snakes underneath him to wind around his chest, keeping his back pressed against him, his nose pressed into tousled blond. “You’re okay.” He tries again, still gently, still trying to get him to relax.

He doesn’t realize at first when Danta fully wakes, even the groaned fuck registering as something that could still be part of the nightmare between the sudden intense stillness and the tension that lingers in Danta’s bones. His other hand lifts to thread the Maverick’s hair back and away from his face, his own tail hanging off the bed beneath the tossed around blankets, flicking with the internal awkwardness of being unable to do much, not without fear of making it worse. “You are safe.” He decides to say instead of I’m here, because depending on the torturer of the evening, he might not be that relieving of a realization.

Astaroth

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

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

Danta doesn't realise he's been holding his breath until his lungs start to burn, the Maverick trying to parse the difference between where he'd assumed he just was and where he actually is. Letting out a shivering sigh and panting for air, he finally registers Asta curled around him, the warm arm against his chest, the sleep roughened voice, and he mutters another exhausted curse. "Gods, sorry," he says in a hoarse voice, melting back into the other man's embrace just a little. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Or himself up for that matter, Danta closing his eyes and leaning into the fingers working through his fair hair as if trying to focus on that instead of the images still flickering through his mind. "And here I was expecting you to be the one causing problems on vacation," he mumbles, scoffing out a mirthless laugh that does little for his still rabbiting pulse. "I hope it wasn't too bad."

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

“Don’t be.” Comes the comment the second Danta speaks, realizing that the Maverick is, in fact, awake. And with this realization, the tension from Astaroth’s body loosens, too, keeping him held against his chest as they melt into the blankets and the bed further, though his fingertips continue to stroke and brush back the Maverick’s hair away from his face, over and over again in smooth, soft movements. “I have had more than enough that you have dealt with. I think one waking me up is fine.” He admits, and Danta will feel the slight kick of the butcher’s lips into a small, sleepy smile.

He shakes his head, though, twisting to press his lips to Danta’s temple before he settles again. “Evidently I did my trouble making before I fell asleep.” He rumbles with a tone of mischievousness, trying to smooth out the heartbeat that thunders beneath his touch. “It was not bad.” Just in case Danta was worrying about that in particular. “How can I help?” Still running his fingers through blonde strands of hair, the question comes with a touch of apprehension, as if the butcher isn’t sure what to do that might help him.

After all, it is a first for him. Before Danta had opened Astaroth’s eyes, he’d lived entirely solitary. For nightmares, it was only his own to shake out of and get rid of, never with someone else around. And so, for as much as he loves to be in control, he loathes this feeling of not knowing just what to do when Danta had handled the butcher's nightmares time and time again. It feels unbalanced, to him.

Astaroth

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

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

Huffing out an almost silent laugh, Danta nods a little in response to the other man's reassurance, all but feeling the tension bleed out of the body pressed behind him. His eyes already feel heavy, though with the adrenaline drumming through him, he doesn't stand a chance at sleep again any time soon, so he blinks slowly out at the outline of the room that he can see. "You were no more trouble than I was," he mumbles, though it doesn't stop the smile curling at the corners of his lips to feel Asta's gentle kiss.

"Good," he mumbles, glad to know he hadn't been a menace, or worse, tried to snap at the other man. (He doesn't know if he has the patience to sit and model for a muzzle of his own). "You're already helping," he continues, tilting his head back against Asta's shoulder and letting his hand slip to cover his own. "Just keep doing what you're doing - it's helping a lot."

And with time to ground himself, to realise that the weight and warmth of the man at his back is real, Danta is able to relax enough to speak again. "It was about her," he mutters. "I'd done something to displease her, I don't remember what. I was a kid, it could've been anything." He shrugs.

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 doubts heavily that he’s no more trouble than Danta was – because at the very least it seemed like Danta was doing everything in his power to get away from everything. Astaroth, on the other hand, finds one single speck of movement and it’s target sighted. Perhaps that’s the main difference between the two of them, though, because the last thing the butcher would have expected from the Maverick would have been getting his throat torn out by rows of sharp teeth.

He'll be the fool the day it happens, though.

So he hums a note of understanding even if it isn’t felt, the butcher’s fingertips tracing soft lines into Danta’s hair and only pausing as his head tilts back. Even if the nightmare had been bad, the butcher would’ve lied and said it wasn’t if he could have gotten away with it. Thankfully, though, as Danta starts to relax, a soft “alright,” is murmured against his ear, legs shifting to tangle around his to keep him close. And while this might appear like he’s boxing him in, trapping him within the confines of his arms, the butcher knows better than anyone at just how slippery the Maverick could be if he didn’t want to be pinned. He knows that Danta could escape this hold with complete ease, and Asta would absolutely let him if that’s what he wanted.

So selfishly, he’s glad that Danta doesn’t move. And instead, Astaroth’s tail flicks in annoyance and protectiveness to hear that it was about Morax – even if a small part of him was relieved it wasn’t about him. “She had no right to do the things she did to you.” He murmurs, voice heavy with the touch of anger from what Danta had gone through. She had no right to make me do the things I did to you, either.

Astaroth

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

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

Thankfully for them both, the more time that passes, the less Danta feels trapped by the man tangled around him; Asta is a comfort rather than a source of panic, and as he nestles in closer the Maverick relaxes bonelessly back against him. It is alright, he wants to tell him, finding himself absurdly wanting to reassure the butcher as if he's the one who had awoken from a nightmare, not the other way around. His nose wrinkles, though, at the further mention of Morax, Danta shaking his head gently in disagreement.

"I was her property. She had every right to do whatever she pleased with me," he mutters. "And it was happening long before you became an Ancient, remember." He'd been barely walking when Morax had taken him under her wing, so to speak. It's all he'd known, all he'd grown up with; it might not make it right, but in a terrible sort of way, it did make it comfortable.

"Still, every day I'm glad to wake up away from 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

His arm tightens imperceptibly, the hand that had been stroking through his hair shifts to focus on dragging his thumb gently along the curve of his jaw. “Yes, but…” Astaroth begins with a quiet, contemplative breath of a sigh. “People are not property.” He murmurs gently, as if that was all the points he needed to make. Just because Danta didn’t know better at the time and felt that it was how life should go, didn’t mean that she had the right to take what life the Maverick could have had away from him. It didn’t give him the right to punish for varying bullshit reasons, either.

Yet here they are. The butcher wrapped around Danta tightly as if somehow worried if he were to let go that Danta might vanish into thin air and this entire thing would have been a long dream. “I am glad you wake up away from it, too.” He agrees, because it’s the easiest thing to say from him and mean every ounce of the word. But the next one is softer and just for his ears only as he nestles his head down a little to press his lips to the Theocrat’s ear. “I am also selfishly glad for the days I get to wake up with you.” Because, not unlike Danta, living in solitude his entire life, he hadn’t known what it was like to have continuous touch – the second the Maverick had opened the door, the butcher hadn’t been able to go long without it.

Astaroth

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

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

Lifting his head automatically into the way Asta runs his finger along his jawline, Danta turns into the touch and offers a sad and yet knowing smile up at the butcher. "Not any more they aren't, it seems," he murmurs. Granted, his own situation hadn't been as simple as pure slavery; his relationship with Morax had been much more enmeshed, much more complicated. But even so, he'd still belonged to her in almost every sense of the word.

Still, with Asta's agreement - that he does wake up away from it, and he does so gladly - Danta is able to ground himself further into the here and now, letting himself relax away from his tightly curled position to lay a little easier in bed. It makes it very easy for the butcher to murmur his sweet nothings into his ear, the Maverick feeling a smile that's far too genuine to show the rest of the world spread across his lips.

"There's nothing selfish about that," he whispers. "And if there is, I am equally as guilty. I can barely sleep without you these days," he admits, tail flicking idly against the sheets. "...Thank you, by the way. For telling me I was safe. I think I needed to hear 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

For everything that Astaroth knows, even in the cannibal clan that he was in, people still hadn’t resorted entirely to owning one another. Sure, they had jobs and some were less than ideal (aka, the specific job he did not pick), but it had been an honor to do it anyway. They had been proud to continue the cog of the machine that made up the Whitebrim cannibals. And he had been happy to participate, too, before things started to take a turn for the worst. But Danta had lived a life fully in the shadow of Morax, his own abilities entirely dependent upon whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. And so, in response to the sad smile that he’s greeted with, dark eyes peer down at the Maverick with his own soft frown forming on his lips. “Never again.” He hums, like it’s a personal vow that Danta would never end up in a situation like that again.

As Danta begins to relax, though, Astaroth takes full advantage of it – curling up easier against him and keeping him tucked in all warm and content, continuing the soft ministrations of his hands along the blonde’s jawline, down the side of his neck, stroking gently along the jut of a collarbone as he pulls back just enough to see the genuine smile spread. It kicks his own into gear, forming a touch wider and toothier as he nestles his head in against Danta’s shoulder. “Perhaps I should move some of my things into your room, mm?” He suggests, before he’s nuzzling his bearded face into the other Ancient’s neck, aiming to soothe but perhaps coming off a touch ticklish. “You’re very welcome, darling. You are always safe with me.” From him, is another story all together, given he did throw him into the fountain just that day.

But if anyone else would have dared to try, the butcher would have certainly seen red.

Astaroth

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

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

Even Danta isn't sure whether he believes Asta's vow, solemn and earnest as it sounds coming from the butcher's lips. He wants to, desperately so, but things are still a little too new, a little too recent for him not to watch around the corner for any sign of a return to the past. Being Theocrat helps, it's true, but gods - the fact that he's still having nightmares is proof enough that even one's best efforts can't always keep the wolves from the door.

What he can do is surrender fully into the other man's affections, humming a note of tired approval at the calloused fingers that stroke along his skin, and he scoffs out a laugh as Asta speaks again. "That depends on what kind of things you'll be moving," he mumbles. "I don't have the space to fit the entirety of your extensive wardrobe." Bunny slippers and a toothbrush, though? They wouldn't be so bad.

The reiteration - that he's safe with the butcher - is enough to have Danta finally shifting to turn in Asta's arms, nestling back against his chest and breathing in deep the scent of honey and smoke and blood. "I hope you didn't have any plans to wake up early," he mumbles. "Because I might have just cancelled them."

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

Whether it’s believable or not, time would tell. For now, though, the butcher believes it wholeheartedly, because so long as the nightmares remain while sleeping it’s better than dealing with them in the day to day. He’d gladly lay there and hold him until they’re over, because they’d end at some point.

Keeping him close and sharing the radiating heat between the two of them, Astaroth lets a smile kick up on his face as Danta’s laugh is heard. “A shame, though if I converted my room entirely into a large walk-in closet…?” He hums thoughtfully, perhaps a touch eagerly. But for the moment? The toothbrush and muzzles would be the essentials to add. That, and his tea set, cane, and pipe.

Loosening his hold on Danta to let him shift easier, Asta winds his arms back around him, stroking along his spine and down to his lower back in long soothing strokes, adjusting his head to rest carefully along those diamond spiked horns. “We're on vacation, darling. I was hoping to sleep in.” The smirk might be felt that grows along his face, but he keeps his face pressed in where he can. “Was there anything you wanted to do? More rum, a smoke?” He suggests, because now that the sleep has left his body with Danta’s nightmare, he’s relatively quite awake. And he is contemplating one of those cigarettes from the pack Danta had snatched.

Astaroth

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

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

"Mm, but then where would you go when I inevitably get on your nerves?" Danta wonders, the words mumbled into Asta's chest and the grin audible in them. "I wouldn't want you to have to sleep in a walk-in closet." Snickering and letting his arms wind up and around the other man's neck, he relaxes into the feel of liquid fire stroking down the length of his back, humming his approval against the butcher's throat as he lifts his head a little.

"Good," he purrs, glancing fleetingly about the darkened room and suppressing a yawn despite the way his limbs still feel as though they're at risk of brushing against a live wire at any moment. "I wouldn't say no to a smoke. No rum for me, though -  it's too sweet now," he rumbles, wisps of fire twisting between his fingertips as his hand plays across the back of Asta's neck. "We could go and sit on the balcony, I guess."

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

“I have an office, my dear. I could sleep there.” He teases, like an office is an upgrade from a walk-in closet. At least the closet would have clothes to bundle and utilize as pillows. But he can’t help the soft laugh that leaves him with the thought of it, regardless, nestling into the hands and arms that wind around his neck, shifting his head a little to give Danta more room against his neck.

His hands continue their gentle strokes even as he hums a note of his own approval with the heat that crests from the fire at Danta’s fingertips. “I was very much hoping you would say that.” Here he doesn’t hide the touch of eagerness in his tone, twisting a little to pull the Maverick with him toward the edge of the bed, snagging a blanket to come with them (given they’re both still nude). Once his feet touch the floor, he slips his arms under Danta to pick him up and hold him against his chest.

Drifting toward where Danta left the cigarettes, he lets the blonde snag them before taking him out to the balcony, to the white metal seat beside the small table to accompany the balcony, aiming to settle into it without having to part from the blonde for too long. “I left my pipe back in the Grounds.” He murmurs with a sheepish, sharp smirk.

Astaroth

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