I told you, you were brave

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

As the Theocrat’s head tilts into his hand that still rakes through blonde hair, the butcher takes the moment to run his nose and lips along the Maverick’s exposed neck — still just as tender and gentle, he’s distracted immediately by the way his hand suddenly can sink into Danta’s hair further, no spiked horns of diamond to prevent his fingertips from plunging into the blonde. Asta very nearly comments on it, lips parting in order to do so when Danta claims his kiss and the subsequent slice of his tongue against his even sharper canine.

Now it’s the butcher that lets a stuttery sound escape him, pouring the sound into Danta’s mouth as he presses into the kiss. His hand tightens in the blonde, his fingertips stroking along spaces where horns would typically prevent. The butcher keeps his own on full display, tail curling to wind around Danta’s leg to hook it around him, pressed against the other man’s chest with how tight the other Ancient winds his arms around him. It leaves little space, keeping them pressed together in such a way that Danta would be able to feel the heat that swells deep in Asta’s gut, flaring across his cheeks and in patchy hues along his neck and shoulders.

With their minds set and the butcher diving into the kiss long enough to chase the taste of iron, his own tongue promising all kinds of ways he’d worship him, his cock starts to fill out between them as he manages to smoothly roll his hips against Danta’s as if to prove to him just how much he does want him. He breaks the kiss when he desperately needs to breathe, twisting just enough to keep one hand in Danta’s hair while the other spreads along his chest, ghosting light touches against his collarbone, down over a nipple, before he continues to trail down toward his navel, the movement slow and reverent as opposed to the heated times of before.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

Humming his approval into Asta's mouth, Danta's hips shift to anchor him further against the other man, a leg locking around his waist, a gasp breaking from him to feel calloused fingers smooth decadently through his hair. And there's something that feels right about the butcher keeping himself wholly Ancient, from the spaded tail wrapped tightly around his calf to the sharp points of fire obsidian he knows are more than capable of tearing flesh and fabric. 

"You always taste so good." Breaking their kiss to snatch in a breath or two of his own, Danta's moan is comparatively quiet at the way Asta's hips roll against him, though he's well able to feel the hard press of the other man's cock between them. The Maverick's body has long been responding in kind, such that as Asta's clever hand blazes a trail down his torso, he's heedless to stop the way he arches greedily into the touch.

Quietly frustrated that the butcher is still wearing his pants, though Danta doesn't try to interrupt him, the hand smoothing down the length of his back does grab his ass somewhat mischievously, as if to remind Asta not to neglect such a thing.

Dantalion

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

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

It’s a touch ironic, keeping himself wholly Ancient in the face of Danta’s glamour, but it’s comfortable and adds to the requirement of control that the butcher preferred so much. His tail wound around the blonde’s calf, his fingers threading through the available space, pressing gently along parts of his head that otherwise are blocked away. And despite their kiss breaking, there’s the feeling of the smile that tugs on his face to the compliment, pressing his lips to the corner of Danta’s lips as the butcher’s hand makes its trajectory down.

He feels the press of the blonde’s body against his, helpless to keep the rough breathy laugh from leaving him at the insistence of his Theocrat in regards to the pants that still remain, as if he’s forgotten them. Perhaps, though, for the first time the butcher wishes to take his time. “I have not forgotten, darling.” Comes the playful purr – tail coiling to squeeze Danta’s leg gently as the hand continues to move between them.

Ghosting the touch along Danta’s length, it’s a prime position to unbutton his pants the rest of the way, unable to keep the slight hitch of his breath with the relief it offers, before he’s forced to unwind his tail from the Maverick’s leg and forced to gain some distance between them as he sits up a bit – peering down at Danta with dark, lustful eyes, lips reddened by the lingering blood spilled into their kiss. Both hands abandon the other Ancient for the moment if only to give him a show as the butcher slips his pants off, and in prior tradition of Asta's preferences, he teases Danta longer as he folds them before setting them aside, taking his time before he allows himself to return to Danta’s warm comfort, hardly able to keep the amusement from tugging up the corner of his lips.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

"I was just making sure," Danta whispers in his defence, though with an indulgent smile he stops himself from fussing too much, instead leaning into every available touch that Asta lavishes upon him. Tilting his head into the fingers in his hair and hitching in a soft breath to feel clever fingers brush against his cock without ever giving it any real attention, the Maverick narrows his eyes a fraction, half playful to feel the butcher sit back.

It's through hungry eyes that he watches Asta undress, scoffing at his audacity to fold his pants afterwards. "You're such a prick," he curses affectionately, welcoming him back into his embrace with hands flickering with wisps of fire, as if to further warm the butcher's skin where it might have grown cool from their separation. Moaning his open approval to feel the press of his arousal as their hips meet, like the other man, Danta is far from in a rush, but there's no denying the way Asta practically makes his mouth water with lust and greed.

"Slow," he requests, leaning in to press warm kisses to the underside of Asta's jaw. "I want to feel every bit of this."

Dantalion

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

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

Half of him wants to utter a mmhm to the whispered defense, but his actions say it loud enough for the Maverick to know – especially as he rises and so slowly slips out of the rest of his clothes, folding his pants to prolong out the moment, stubbornly and tauntingly, even the cursed affection is heard. A low rumble of a laugh slips from him, that sharp grin back on display as he rumbles a “I know” before he’s returning to Danta’s embrace, indulging in the wisps of fire at his fingertips, feeling it curl against his skin in sharp blips of heat.

His breath hitches when they meet again, when Danta’s moan fills his senses, and his tail slides against the blonde’s side to slip under him, the flattened portion of his spaded tail pressing against the small of his back as the butcher indulges in the multitude of kisses pressed to the underside of his jaw. “That is precisely what I was hoping for.” Comes the quiet admission, tilting his horned head slightly to press his lips to the blonde’s temple, trailing down along the jut of his cheekbone as he lines them up and one hand slips back up to tangle into Danta’s blonde, twisting slightly to gently tug his head to the side so that he can trail his lips toward his neck, where Asta can feel his heartbeat with the press of his lips.

Perhaps a part of him wants to feel it begin to thunder beneath his kiss as he indulges Danta. Perhaps a part of him wants the full, strong scent of sage and citrus that blooms amongst the underlying current of smoke from the bonfire earlier. Whatever the reason, the butcher keeps his lips pressed there, even as his breath hitches again as he starts to slowly press his hips against Danta’s, his cock throbbing hard as he enters him, well enough restrained and collected to keep the pressure slow and even, patiently waiting for the rise of the Maverick's heartbeat beneath his lips.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

Malleable and utterly compliant in the other man's hold, Asta will find that Danta can be incredibly obedient when the situation calls for it - especially so when it's his own choice. As such he arches his back against the coaxing from the butcher's tail, his head tipping up and to the side to welcome the kisses to his throat and the grip tightening in his hair. "More," he whispers, one arm looping gently around Asta's neck so he might gently tease his fingers against one of his dark horns.

And gods, he doesn't disappoint - Asta will be treated to the way the dull thud against his lips picks up as he teases his way forward, Danta's stuttered moan for the butcher's ears only. Hitching his leg higher up the other man's waist, only when Asta can absolutely go no further does the Maverick let out the breath he's been holding, the sound wrapped around the other man's name in anticipation. "Fuck me slow," he groans, tugging gently at the tines of the horn in his grip as if to spur him on.

Dantalion

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

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

His wish is Asta’s command, as such that when the more is whispered, the butcher indulges – slowly pressing in to fill him even as his body thunders with a rampaging war of want, need, and desire. Feeling the fingers tease along his dark horns, he keeps his head precisely where it’s at – eyes shuttering closed as Danta’s heartbeat picks up and by the time he’s sank in fully, his own heartbeat is rumbling in his ears, pulsing against his neck as he tamps down the sudden want to bite into his skin.

“Gods.” He breathes instead, to hear his name and the groan, to feel the way Danta’s hand tugs at the sharp juts of his antlered horns. His tail slips further up Danta’s back, a coaxing sensation as his fingertips remain tight in the Maverick’s blonde hair. Asta’s other hand freely slides down his body again to hook around the leg hitched up against him, granting him that requested slow withdrawal, pulling back until just the tip of his cock remains. Only then does he slowly press back in with his own stuttered breath, a whispered “you feel divine, Dantalion,” leaves him for the blonde’s ears only, punctuated with the way he noses his way down a touch further to the soft space where the Maverick’s neck meets his shoulder, laying a somehow surprisingly gentle bruising mark, careful to not cut with his teeth.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

Shivering at the feel of Asta's tail dragging up the length of his back, Danta's lips part again in a soft moan, savouring the grip of the other man's hand against his thigh, the hot breath against his neck, the rumble of his voice. "You have no idea--" he begins, cut off by the way Asta thrusts forward again, deep and slow and filling him completely. Frowning in a way that suggests anything but pain, the Maverick savours the bruise he knows will be left against his pale skin, his hips rolling decadently against the butcher's.

"Gods, just like that," he whispers, the encouragement delivered against a gasp of pleasure. His free hand slips down the length of Asta's spine, pressing against his lower back and the base of his tail as if to somehow get more of him despite there being nothing more to have. Either way, it's with his pulse thundering that he fights not to pick up his pace, to beg to be fucked fast and hard even if he knows they'll both enjoy it.

Dantalion

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

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

Indulging in the mark left behind and the cut off tone of Danta’s voice, the butcher’s tail continues to press against his lower back, easily helping the roll of his hips as Asta continues his slow and gentle pace. It’s a pace he continues, his body shivering with delight, cock throbbing within the other man as he presses in again.

Goosebumps rise against his spine, radiating from where Danta’s hand presses against the base of his tail, causing a slight stutter to the slow thrust in. He recovers swiftly, though, twisting ever so slightly to claim Danta’s lips with his own, indulging in the kiss that still harbors the tang of iron, moaning softly into the kiss as he continues the slow pace, his hand at the blonde’s leg moving slowly to slide up, possessively cupping his ass and pressing his fingertips to the base of Danta’s own spine where a tail would otherwise sprout, trying to maneuver him in such a way he can press in deeper, even if only by a fraction.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

Feeling something almost feral tighten in the base of his spine and the back of his throat with every gentle roll of Asta's hips, Danta's head tilts back into his pillows as if he might stretch himself further into the other man's grip. Swearing softly under his breath, as the butcher twists the Maverick is forced to glance down, gladly caught in a kiss that steals the air from his lungs. More, he wants to urge, relishing the press of Asta's fingers gripping his ass, the way pleasure sneaks towards pain with how deep he's able to thrust into him.

A moan breaks into their kiss, Danta's fingers flinching against the other man's lower back and in his hair against his horns, and as he gasps for breath the sudden thunder of his pulse will tell Asta all he needs to know about the sweet spot he's just hit. "That feels amazing," he manages, just about, and though he wants to slip his fingers between them to touch himself, gods but it's all he can do to just hold on.

Dantalion

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

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

It’s delicate and reverent, the way that Asta holds onto the Maverick and slowly fucks him, at such odds with their usual fiery passion. And with the adjustment sparking the thundering pulse he can feel, his hand smooths out from where it’s pressed against his lower back. He uses the hand to tilt him just enough to keep that slow steady thrust to hit that spot over and over again while the other releases Danta’s hair for balance, so he doesn’t crash down into the Maverick.

“Good.” Purring a husky sound, the butcher’s adjustment has placed themselves just so that with each slow thrust, the press of their bodies strokes Danta’s cock — equally just as slow and tantalizing. It gives him the opportunity to trail a kiss down Danta’s chin toward the hollow of his throat, panting slowly against the pale skin there, choosing a separate kind of impulse as he balances delicately to press his thumb against his extra sharp canine, drawing blood that he lets drip against Danta’s throat — a temporary mark, of course, but it allows him to trail the blood up his neck and chin to his perfectly curved lips, swiping a streak of scarlet against them as he looks down at him with lusty dark eyes. “You are perfect,” Asta purrs, thrusting against that spot again as a slow and arrogant smirk blooms on his face. “I wish you could see just how much you are enjoying this.”

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

With heat flooding his cheeks once more, there's no resistance in Danta as he's shifted and adjusted, a soft sound of surprise mingled with pleasure hiccuping from his throat to feel Asta thrust into him again, sending ecstasy crackling up the backs of his legs. Arching into the butchers every touch and movement, it's just enough to feel their bodies do the work his hand might otherwise accomplish, and as the tang of iron hits the air afresh, it's through eyes made dark with arousal and faint bloodlust that he nips at Asta's thumb.

"It's enough that you can see it," he purrs through lips painted scarlet with blood, though whatever crooked smile is starting to curl at the corners of his mouth is pushed away by the next thrust of the other man's hips, Danta's fingers curling hard into Asta's dark hair and around his sharp horns. "Fuck - again," he pleads, rolling his hips as if to encourage him further, already feeling his climax starting to creep up the base of his spine.

Dantalion

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

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

The curve of Danta’s body against his own has his one hand spreading out against the small of his back, fingertips pressing in against the space where the Maverick’s tail would be while the other traces Danta’s lips, smirking slightly as the blonde’s blunt teeth nip at the wounded thumb, sharing more of the iron. His lips part with the tightening of Danta’s hand in his hair and around the sharp pronged horns, a breathy huffed start of a moan escaping him.

Hearing the pleading in the Maverick’s tone, Astaroth presses in just as requested, precisely the position of before to reach that spot as well as press their bodies together tighter, head lowering to press his lips to the trail of blood he’s left behind. “Just like this?” He purrs, shifting the movement enough to make it still slow and sweet, but shorter thrusts. It works in tandem with spurring on his own orgasm, feeling the sparks stretch along the backs of his legs as he pants quicker breaths against Danta’s marked skin.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

"Just like that--" Danta praises, his head tipping back to give Asta all the space he could ever desire at the Maverick's throat - to tear into it, if that's what would make him happy. With the butcher's quick pants of breath echoing in his ears and the thrust of his cock driving him closer and closer to that edge without any sign of relenting, Danta is already fighting a losing battle against pleasure, but gods he wishes he could have more.

"Fuck," he hisses, pressing into the hand at his lower back as if the other man might be able to arch him further into the sensation of their bodies moving as one. "Asta, please--" Please what isn't something Danta is able to answer, in truth, and as the butcher's hips buck into him just so, it's enough to have fireworks detonating throughout his body, and the Maverick lets out a sharp moan of near surprise as he cums - hard.

Asta will be able to feel his pulse galloping against the caress of his lips, Danta's hands clenched tightly against any part of the other man he can get - his hair, his horns, his tail - as he rides out those waves of pleasure, utterly lost to anything else.

Dantalion

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