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

The praise is well received, enough so that Astaroth continues exactly what he’s doing, even as more of Danta’s neck becomes exposed for his pleasure. Luckily for him, his bloodlust remains settled, staying his hand from anything more than following the trail of blood and leaving little bruises above his collarbone, easily visible though the butcher knows Danta wouldn’t hide them.

The curse and the arch of his back as Danta’s orgasm sparks brings a smirk to his face, curling against his skin. His pace increases only a fraction — still relatively slow in comparison to how they typically found themselves like this — and it’s with praises quietly growled from his lips when he feels the mess spread between them, the hands clutching to him tightly as if he’s holding on with every inch of his life, and of course the quick pace of his pulse where the butcher presses his lips.

As Danta rides out the waves of pleasure, Astaroth continues to spark his own, legs and thighs trembling slightly as it continues to build and build, giving him enough time and room to nose his way in against the other side of Danta’s neck, away from the previous hickey left behind, to nip a bleeding mark into the Maverick’s flesh, staying his hand until he can withdraw enough to press his forehead against Danta’s and slice the inside of his cheek at the scar tissue already there, flooding his mouth with iron as he groans a deep moan wrapped around Danta’s full name, bucking sharply into him as he cums too, stuttering as he continues to ride out his own waves of blissful pleasure.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

Danta has never liked hearing his full name, in truth, not until Asta's return into his life, but as the butcher growls it out at the point of his orgasm, the Maverick thinks he might want to hear it said that way forever. With the scent of blood hanging heavy in the air between them, his grip around the other man grows more gentle if no less possessive, holding him through the waves of pleasure that crash and seize his body.

Left panting and exhausted despite this easily being one of their laziest tumbles between the sheets, Danta strokes careful fingers through the back of Asta's dark hair, releasing the sharp obsidian of his horn to curl around and brush his thumb across lips he knows will be red with blood. Leaning in to press chaste and gentle kisses to his mouth as if to chase away the scarlet stains, his free hand whispers feather-light touches across the butcher's back, looping patterns that take the suspicious shape of their initials if anyone - Asta - has the sense to realise it.

Only once he's content that he's made the butcher somewhat presentable (it's his excuse and he's sticking to it) does Danta settle back somewhat, brushing his nose against the other man's and offering him a small smile that says everything they don't need words to express.

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

Asta’s own grip remains just as possessive, just as dominating in the space between them as he pants, riding out each wave until he’s left exhausted and very sober. He’s forgotten his upset from earlier in this comfortable bliss, he rests heavily on the Maverick as his hand threads through the butcher’s hair, neatening it up before its swiping against his lips where it indeed comes away tinged red.

He meets Danta in the middle for the kiss, humming a content note against it as the blood transfers partially to bathe the Theocrat’s perfect lips in a darker shade. He starts to relax, the hand that ghosts along his back in patterns he can’t quite discern initially, but after a few moments of getting his mind through the fog of post bliss, he can tell what it is Danta’s scribing against his spine.

His heartbeat slows by the time Danta’s satisfied with his appearance and he rises just enough to feel him brush his nose against his own, allowing him a moment to press another chaste kiss to those smiling lips aimed right at him – one that he mirrors when he withdraws, reaching up to tease Danta’s hair back into place before the glamour returns to ruin all the hard work. His tail sweeps contently across the bed and he withdraws even further to clean them up (with the singed orange shirt because it was fucked anyway), and only then does he still shift to tug Danta up against him, still just as possessive, still just as silently, utilizing his body to express the words he can’t find in him to say so as to not ruin the moment of peace.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

It might be a surprise for them both that Danta doesn't immediately let his glamour drop - and more so that he hasn't lost his grip on it accidentally - but either way, Asta's fingers are able to smooth through the soft waves of his hair unhindered. Grumbling a sound of soft protest to feel the other man move away, even if it's for something as apparently necessary of cleaning up the mess he'd made, Danta folds back into the butcher's arms as soon as he's able, as if he'd been deprived of his touch for days rather than mere seconds.

It is peace he feels, he realises as he tucks his head beneath Asta's chin (and without the sharp curve of his horns, the gesture is a perfectly safe one), letting his eyes drop shut once more and his arms slip around the other man. Letting out a long sigh against his chest, one that has him relaxing completely into his grip, it takes a further few minutes for Danta to even consider breaking the spell that has fallen over them.

"Move whatever you want in here," he mumbles, his voice rough and sweet and quiet. "Move it all in. Just stay."

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 does surprise him when the glamour doesn’t reappear, though the butcher won’t complain. Not as they shift and readjust, as he cleans up the mess made between them and tugs the Maverick back in against his chest. He half expects to feel the sharp points of Danta’s diamond horns as he tucks his head in but is pleasantly surprised when there’s none to be found.

So he nuzzles his head in, resting it gently against the top of his head, arm tight around his shoulders, fingertips tracing a similar pattern to what Danta had traced into his own back, wondering if he’ll be able to parse it too (the initials, of course).

The silence is light and airy, comfortable and warm, and even as the blonde breaks it, Astaroth finds it a pleasant addition, nuzzling his bearded jaw against his crown. “Of course I’ll stay.” He vows quietly, his voice a touch hoarse. “Though I don’t believe the closet will fit all of my clothes.” The twist of the smile that forms can be felt as he continues to draw their initials into Danta’s back, tail sweeping over the blankets to wind around one of Danta’s legs comfortably before he snags at a blanket with his free hand to pull it up over them, trapping the heat within.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

"Then we'll get a bigger closet. You can keep your special occasion outfits in your room," Danta mumbles sleepily into Asta's chest, as if it's as easy as that - and it really is, when he's in this sort of mood. Spent and warm and tucked against a body he'll happily worship until his breath runs out, it seems disingenuous to say anything seems possible for Danta in that moment, but it really does. "I'll make Moira a nest in my office. We'll install a big mirror up here for you to preen in." He almost says on the ceiling, but just about manages to stop himself.

Nestling more comfortably against Asta as the blanket sweeps over them, he tilts his head up to press gentle lips against the hollow of the butcher's throat, his kiss as featherlight as the fingers currently writing love notes on his back. "Are you tired?" he asks; Danta could happily nap anywhere at any time, but he finds himself not wanting to miss any time with the other man if he isn't in the mood for sleep just yet.

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

Snorting lonely, the butcher nods his head slightly — ruffling the blonde that his jaw is pressed against. He doesn’t even tense up with the mention of Moira, instead he continues stroking gentle designs of their initials, complete with loops and swirls, humming a soft laugh. “That sounds lovely, darling.” Because he does preen, often, actually. And it’s charming that Danta mentions it for that rather than the other idea that he had mentioned in the heat of the moment.

Tilting his head up slightly as the Maverick’s lips trail up the underside of his jaw, Danta will feel the vibration of his voice just as much as the actual sound itself. “Somewhat. Physically, more so.” A long way to say that his body was tired but he wasn’t quite ready to sleep just yet. Not that he minds if Danta were to fall asleep. He’d earned it after all.

“I am simply enjoying the moment.” Because it had been beautiful and not at all like the usual fire that escapes them when they tumble into the sheets. He finds he doesn’t have a preference, but he wouldn’t be opposed to the slow burn of a night on occasion. “I am also imagining where I would put all my things.” He hums, tilting his head down toward Danta to snatch a slow and tender kiss, one full of a tired playfulness.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

Smiling - it does sound lovely, if he says so himself - Danta is interrupted by his own little shiver of pleasure caused by the butcher's fingers drifting down his back, and he tilts his head up to peer at the other man through half-lidded eyes. "Mm, well we did climb all those stairs," he says, as if that ought to be a good enough explanation for his physical fatigue. Not to mention most of a bottle of whiskey, never mind whatever they'd just done. (Not that it had been tiring compared to some of their other antics).

"As moments go it's a pretty enjoyable on--" Cut off by the kiss the other man delivers to his lips, Danta curls an arm further up and around Asta's shoulders, wanting to both draw him back over his body and simultaneously push him back so he can sprawl atop him. Settling on neither, it's only as they finally part that he's able to respond properly, the words mumbled against the butcher's mouth.

"I could renovate," he suggests; the arched ceilings in the room are certainly high enough. "Could make an extra half level, move the bed up there. We'll get a ladder for it - no stairs." Maybe Danta will even be able to dart the distance eventually.

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

“Ugh, the stairs.” He groans quietly in a flat tone. (Imagine the way Alastor says Susan and it’s on par.) And he flashes Danta a soft smile shortly after before he leans in to steal the kiss, silencing him swiftly with the slow and gentle press of his lips, tail curling tight against his leg to feel his arms wind around his shoulders and his neck, and it only serves for Asta to make the decision of pulling Danta even closer over him.

They part and Asta settles again, resting his head back against the headboard, tilted enough to not let his antlers knock into the headboard. His brows lift at the mention of renovating, though, silently charmed at the idea that Danta wants him here so much he’s willing to completely add into the room just to fit the two of them together. And with the idea forming in his mind, his gaze lifts toward the ceiling to imagine it better, humming a soft note at the idea. “I suppose I will need to be somewhat sober when it comes to taking a ladder to get to bed.” He teases, though he does really like the idea of it.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

Susan.

Shifting enough to settle over the other man, his chin pressed to his chest as he peers up at him, Danta can't help but quietly enjoy watching the idea take root in Asta's expression, the way he glances up at the ceiling and considers all the things they might do with the space. "Either that or we'll make sure there's an extremely comfortable sofa down here," he suggests with a smirk. "Though I suppose we could leave that level for all of your things and tuck ourselves away in the dark underneath it instead."

He doesn't know what he'd prefer, honestly; the decadence of being able to sleep above everything versus the comfort of being able to creep into a dark, covered space. It doesn't matter for now, he supposes, Danta turning his head to rest his cheek against Asta's chest, his ear pressed to the steady thrumming of his heart. "I bet we could ask Charlie to help move things."

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 chest isn’t all that soft beneath where Danta props his chin up, it’s at least stable and steady despite the butcher’s breaths to allow him to peer up at him, to watch the idea formulate in Astaroth’s mind. “Hmm,” he starts to say when Danta makes his first suggestion of a very comfy couch – leaning a touch toward it, until the second suggestion reaches his ears and the force of which his gaze snaps to meet the content and tired blues of the Maverick’s, well, it’s a wonder it doesn’t break any kind of speed record.

“Obviously I am going to pick the one that makes our bed into a den, darling.” He lets the smile twist on his face, the low purr slipping from him as he winds his arms tighter around Danta’s shoulders, trailing his fingertips up his spine to the nape of his neck, tracing over tense muscles there from the typical day to day. Even as Danta’s head tilts to press his ear to his chest, the low thrum of his heartbeat and the vibration of his accented voice will be felt and heard amongst the tender attention he gives to the Maverick’s neck and shorter blonde hairs found there.

His tail squeezes relatively pleased to hear that they could enlist Charlie’s help, enough that the smile is nearly audible when he speaks again. “I am sure she would love to be a part of it.” And likely love to hear about all of the drama that had lead to the butcher allowing himself to love, and to be loved in return.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

Soft or not, they've both been forced to get comfortable on much rougher terrain in their time, and Danta clearly has no issue with it. Especially not as the butcher's fingers come to press at the tight muscles of his shoulders and at the back of his neck, the Maverick humming out a soft sound of approval and tilting his head forward ever so slightly. "A den?" he echoes, not understanding at first, until he puts two and two together. "Is this where you start sleeping as a dog at the end of the bed?" he wonders, grinning against Asta's chest.

Still, clearly he's content with anything that will make the butcher happy, melting further against him and listening to the smooth rumble of Asta's voice against his ear. "Mm, I think so too. Besides, she doesn't spend nearly enough time in the Dusklight, and I want to see how many cocktails it takes to get her drunk."

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

“A den.” The butcher confirms as he settles more, fingertips rubbing out the tension of the muscles at the back of Danta’s neck. He lets him piece the thoughts together, only to hear the comment that makes him huff a few quiet chuckles. “Mm, I would, but I would miss being like this with you.” He comments quietly, high praise for just how much this was his favorite place to be, with the Maverick draped over him.

Even if it spelt danger on occasion. But that’s what they have the neck corset and the muzzle for, right? Right.

Another soft laugh leaves him, trying not to jostle Danta too much, though the massaging pace of his fingers slow. “She is quite tiny. I would be willing to bet two? Perhaps three?” He muses thoughtfully, sinking his head back into the pillows as he contemplates. “Are we even taking bets?” He asks after a moment.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

"Okay, does that mean I'm going to wake up and you'll just be a dog right here?" Danta wonders with a raise of his eyebrows, before his expression fades back into a somewhat sweet smile, more than content to know that Asta doesn't want to instantly peel himself away now that he's just officially invited him to move in. Danger or no danger, clearly the Maverick thinks it's more than worth it, and he lets out a heavy sigh as the other man kneads the tension out of his shoulders and neck.

"You do her a disservice," he informs him regarding Charlie's tolerance. (He thinks he does, anyway). "And we are taking bets now, thank you very much. I think it'll be at least four - and to make it fair, for everyone she drinks I'll have one too." See? Fair. "If I win, I get to dress you for a day."

Dantalion

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